User:StoneGhost/Drafts

For Halo: Heroes All.

Drop Log
(0856) STANDARD TIME (UNSC STANDARD) / OCTOBER 20, 2552 / (SOEIV PODS 1-17 [28TH ODST BATTALION/ALPHA COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD]) / (EN ROUTE TO SYDNEY THEATRE [ALTITUDE: 92,000M AND FALLING])

(SOEIV PODS 6-10 [ALPHA COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD])

[Deployed personnel:

(end of personnel report)]
 * Gunnery Sergeant Michael 'Smoke' Robson (aged 32) [POD 6]
 * Private Leonard 'Church' Bishop (aged 19) [POD 7]
 * Lance Corporal Callum 'Spade' Nash (aged 24) [POD 8]
 * Private First Class Ryan 'Warlock' Phillips (aged 22) [POD 9]
 * Corporal Amelia 'Wendy' Dawson (aged 32) [POD 10]

''[M. Robson hunches in his cramped SOIEV pod, calming himself over the unrelenting noise. White hot flames lick the viewports as his pod streaks through the upper atmosphere towards the city of Sydney. The steady whining grows as it gains speed; soon it reaches a deafening roar.]''

''[M. Robson flicks a switch on the illuminated control panel facing him.]''

'''[M. Robson]''': (POD 6) Altitude fifty kilometres and falling. Drag chutes prepped and ready for deployment. You know the situation, guys and girls. The Covvies have air superiority, heavy armour and masses of infantry currently converging on the FLEETCOM HQ.

 [ A. Dawson ] : (POD 10) And we get to drop in on them and shoot their asses up- literally.

'''[M. Robson]''': (POD 6) That's right Wendy. Keep in nice and close, we don't wanna lose one another groundside.

 [ A. Nash ] : (POD 8) [laughs] We'll be lucky if we don't bury ourselves inside a building; seriously, this is why urban drops have significantly- ''[R. Phillips interrupts [C. Nash]''

''[A small flashing symbol lights up on M. Robson console; barely audible over the din is a warning tone.

(WARNING: ENEMY UNITS ON APPROACH VECTOR)

 [ R. Phillips ] : (POD 9) Sir, six Banshees, about to engage us! Approaching from the southeast, half a klick and closing.

'''[M. Robson]''': Squad, scatter, spread out now. Converge on final approach and we’ll regroup on the ground. Hold your chutes as long as possible.

''[Flashes of brilliant blue light light dance beyond M. Robson's viewports as the Banshees attempt to hit the pods. He slowly angles his pod away from the others to present a more difficult target. (Estimated probability of full squad survival after deviation from preplanned coordinates: 3,720 to 1.)]

 [ L. Bishop ] : (POD 7) Sir, I’m hit!. She’s outta control, drag chute’s not responding!”

'''[M. Robson]''': Get a hold of her, auxiliary thrusters!

'''[L. Bishop]''': Negative, thrusters gone, I'm losing power!

(WARNING: ENEMY UNITS ENGAGING GEOSAT-229/A)

'''[R. Phillips]''': Sir, Covenant forces attacking our support satellite! Automated weapons engaging. If we lose that, we're on short range radio only!

[Banshees continue to strafe SOIEV Pods]

''[A. Dawson consults her computer console]''

'''[A. Dawson]''': Church, your computer systems are fried, but your backup chute is undamaged. You're gonna have to do it manually, using the emergency release!

''[L. Bishop attempts to free the emergency chute release. L. Bishop fails.]

'''[L. Bishop]''': I'm trying now, but it won't move, it's jammed!

''[L. Bishop slams his fist into his unlit console.]''

'''[C. Nash]''': Sir, getting live ground feed from our support satellite; the facility's being overrun. Air units are in full retreat, Marines are- ''[M. Robson interrupts C. Nash]''

'''[R. Phillips]''': Altitude one thousand two hundred metres, drag chutes standby! [speaking over C. Nash]

'''[M. Robson]''': Least of our worries right now, Spade!

'''[R. Phillips]''': All pods, set final descent vector to entry coordinates. Drag chutes, on standby.

'''[L. Bishop]''': It won't fucking budge! Fuck!

''[L. Bishop strikes the inside of his pod repeatedly.]''

'''[M. Robson]''': All troopers, prepare for combat insertion, we're hot the moment we touch down. Church, keep trying! It'll come loose, it's got to!

'''[C. Nash]''': Altitude six hundred metres, drag chutes deploying!

error//PODS 6-10/2SD-ACY-4PN//contact lost

......

......







[[ error//501//hardware failure//SATLINK-229/A>

[ERROR: Telemetry lost; signal from POD 6/A COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD terminates abruptly]

[ERROR: Telemetry lost; signal from POD 7/A COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD terminates abruptly]

[ERROR: Telemetry lost; signal from POD 8/A COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD terminates abruptly]

[ERROR: Telemetry lost; signal from POD 9/A COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD terminates abruptly]

[ERROR: Telemetry lost; signal from POD 10/A COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD terminates abruptly]

<possible hardware failure or datastream interruption; initiating diagnostic/error//501 ]]

Diary Entries
2113 STANDARD TIME (UNSC STANDARD) / OCTOBER 11, 2552 / PERSONAL LOG ENTRY [26/26]/ 6TH ODST BATTALION/ALPHA COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD])/GySgt Michael Robson

Still haven’t quite got over Reach. That dumbstruck horror feeling is gone now, but it’s been replaced by something else; I can’t quite put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it’s worse, I think. It’s a sort of hollow ache, loss or guilt or something. Never been one for emotions. I think its fear, though. And guilt. Seeing all those brave men and women die to keep the Covenant off the planet, to protect their homes; while I escaped it. Still haven't heard anything from Slip or Grit- they didn't have a chance, but while there's doubt I can always hope. As for the rest, well...

There’s nothing I’d rather be doing, though, if the end does come. In Humanity’s final stand, I want to be doing the standing. We don’t have much left, these days. Just hope. I’m glad I enlisted. Glad to be doing my bit, to be fighting for my species.

Next time I get some leave I'll go and see my sister. She’s not been doing great lately, but it's unlikely I'll get to see her any time soon. I'll talk to her tomorrow, if I can. She's missing mum and dad something terrible. Arcadia was years ago. I am too, but I have fighting a war to worry about.

0711 STANDARD TIME (UNSC STANDARD) / OCTOBER 20, 2552 / PERSONAL LOG ENTRY [27/27]/ 6TH ODST BATTALION/ALPHA COMPANY/4 PLATOON/2 SQUAD])/GySgt Michael Robson

So, the Covvies are on our doorstep. From what I've heard, Command's running round like headless chickens planning contingency plans for when we get hit. We’re currently stationed above Sydney; we'll deploy via HEVs to the city centre to protect HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6. They’ve chosen Sydney for a last stand, if that’s the way things'll go. Just now we had a hurried joint meeting with the entire 6th Battalion; the squad commanders all argued at the futility of it all. I said we had no chance of successfully deploying to the surface and retaliating without air support. Repelling them from the city under the sort of fire we’re likely to encounter is impossible. The whole operation’s insane. The chances of success are zero.

Nobody argued with me, I mean nobody discussed it. We were just told flatly, a simple, unsupported assertion, that the weight of our numbers on the ground would overcome all opposition. I think those words sent a chill down the spine of every man who remembered Reach. Those few of us there were. I threw my datapad down and sat with my arms folded, silent, for the rest of the briefing.

So here we sit writing log entries. Data transfer to the surface is restricted to allow priority communication. No one's received data storage allowance for weeks now, so I keep giving people my own free log spaces.

Not many left now. But enough.

That Old, Familiar Feeling
Smoke groaned and clutched his throbbing head; for an instant dazed and disoriented, wondering where he was and how he came to be there. In seconds he was alert, pressing his aches to the back of his mind as his soldier's instincts shook him vigorously and took control of his thoughts. Through his pod's viewport, crisscrossed and spiderwebbed with cracks, he saw shadowy figures flitting from side to side and the unmistakable flash of plasma fire. The frantic shouts of fighting and sounds of weapons fire barely penetrated the pod, manifesting themselves like some distant skirmish that did not immediately endanger his life. Michael pulled the lever to the left of his head that activated the hatch release- nothing. Cocking his battle rifle, he raised his knees to his chest and kicked the door with both feet, pulling the lever hard. Explosive bolts blew the hatch off violently, and immediately and relentlessly he was propelled into the fray, torrents of searing plasma fire streaming perilously around and wild-eyed Marines being overwhelmed. The Covenant were coming down a wide street framed with tall buildings on either side; Jackals and Elites cresting a small raised section of the road and snipers raining torrents from above. A bright blue orb sailed through the air and landed at Smoke's feet; he dived away roughly, his armour scraping across the coarse concrete ground.

Grabbing a grenade of his own and keeping his head low, he lobbed it at an Elite, assailing two marines in cover behind a burned-out car. The device engulfed the beast in fire and shrapnel, clearing to reveal it still standing, shields crackling. Michael heard the sound of the air igniting as a Beam rifle shot streaked past his helmet; moving, he levelled his rifle and put two 9.5mm rounds between its mandibles, for a millisecond savouring the wrenching sound it made as it choked on its own throat. A towering orange elite roared and aimed its needle rifle- Smoke lunged behind cover, still catching a shard in his thigh, scything through his armour and tearing at his flesh. Reeling and blinded with pain, he wrenched it out, the seared flesh staunching the bleeding. His leg ignited with pain, he flicked his BR55 into full-auto and showered the Major with rounds that ricocheted angrily off its shields; next to Smoke a marine shouldered an M41 Rocket Launcher and gunned for it; the rocket hit its mark, disintegrating the Elite and showering gore and shrapnel indiscriminately, sending a pair of Grunts and a Jackal to the ground in undignified bloody tangles.

The Marine beside Michael raised his launcher again as an Ultra sent two other troopers down with torrents of plasma fire- the marine fell to the ground in a second- Smoke looked down and saw a making a perfectly round hole smoking where his right eye should have been. He traced the faint blue streak back to the bridge that spanned the road, and saw an enemy attempt to conceal itself.

"You four!" he shouted to the nearest few Marines. "Hold position here, I'm moving into the buildings!"

"Yes sir!" returned the nearest one as he rammed another magazine into his rifle.

Smoke grabbed and pocketed a pair of pistol mags that lay abandoned on the ground and, pulling back his M6's slide, entered one of the empty structures. The automatic door slid smoothly shut behind him, cutting off the sounds of the ongoing firefight. Silence played in Michael's battlehoned ears uneasily, and he moved through the dimly lit first room carefully, his rifle poised. Smoke moved carefully and silently through the eerie room, stepping over loose fragments of metal and wrecked office equipment. He lined himself up by the door to the next room and, bracing himself, tapped the control panel with his fist. Michael fluidly slid into the room, aiming his weapon and greeted by nothing but overturned office furniture, plasma scorch marks coating the walls and, in the corner, a dead man. The man lay ungracefully with his limbs at odd angles, drenched in blood and with deep cuts covering him. Smoke grimaced, then steeled himself and moved towards the stairwell opposite.

Smoke noticed the faint green glow from across the room, as its sombre gloom had no other light sources. It emanated from the stairwell, to the right and slightly raised, as if from something waiting on the steps. Smoke noted it wasn't blue, ruling out an energy sword. His mind assessed the risk and determined the appropriate course of action. He replaced his rifle on his back and drew his M6 pistol, glad now that he earlier cocked it, for the room was deathly silent and any small sound may alert the foe behind the corner.

He moved very slowly forward, pistol raised to his eyeline, eyes scanning fervently for any sign of movement, ears pricking at the slightest of imperceptible sounds. He told himself to keep his hands loose on the gun, for he would need them to do what he was planning, but his experienced hands kept an unbreakable grip in the pistol's cold bulk. Smoke neared the open door, beyond which was the stairwell, bracing himself.

Smoke flew threw the door and the Jackal loosed a shot in surprise, but he grabbed its shield and threw it down the stairs; it landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom and Smoke jumped on it- it struggled and tried to push him off it, its shield pressed close to its chest; Smoke pressed it down on its neck with all the force he could muster, and listened as the Jackal kept struggling but slowly lost its fight for life. The shield slowly pushed harder and harder into it's neck, but Smoke didn't relent; harder still and it dug into the Jackal's neck, a spurt of arterial blood blossoming from its jugular, and cascading down Smoke's armoured chest like a purple waterfall. Michael looked into its eyes and smiled, as he saw its last thoughts and emotions run through it before they flickered and died; the Jackal convulsed and finally was still.

Smoke picked up its shield and moved up the stairs slowly, anticipating the presence of the snipers above. He inched higher slowly, his eyeline slowly seeing evermore of what was above; he quickly backed down again when two bolts of deadly blue streaked towards him, one a burning deep crater in the metal behind him and the other striking his shield, his body juddering from the force of the impact. Michael raised his borrowed shield and ran towards them as fast as he could; when he was near enough he dived into the first one, knocking it to the ground and sending its rifle tumbling off the bridge. The thing clawed viciously at Smoke's neck and he recoiled, recovering just in time for the second Jackal to raise its Beam Rifle; he levelled his pistol and fired into its face before it had the chance, and put two rounds into the back of the first Jackal, which was retreating after the loss of its weapon. It collapsed, gurgling sounds emanating from deep inside its chest. Smoke resisted the urge to make its last moments more painful as he saw down below the Ultra raise a stricken Marine by the neck and slowly draw a long dagger. Michael dived, grabbed the second Jackal's rifle and drove a shot through the beast's head, leaving a hole clean through it. The Marine collapsed to the floor, in shock, as Smoke looked down at the remaining Marines. He flicked his rifle quickly around him, his sharp mind assessing the situation; from the bridge Michael had a good vantage point of the battlefield.

"All clear!" he shouted, and several marines ran to check the dead and dying. Smoke saw a Marine pick up a biofoam canister from a dead soldier, only to replace it again after he saw it would clearly be empty; its contents poured hurriedly over a massive plasma hole in the marine’s chest. Fuel rod, most likely, Smoke thought, watching the Marine throwing it back down in remorse and sharing his sentiment.

"ODST Second Squad, report in," Michael ordered over the COM, taking the opportunity to regain contact with his squad.

A pause, then a static-laden response. "Sir, we're under heavy fire, Covies are pushing hard down the main road towards the bridge, can't hold out much longer!" Amelia Dawson replied, shouting to make herself audible over the gunfire. "We're heavily outnumbered, got wounded, need immediate assistance!"

"Copy that!" he replied, and his thoughts turned to the rest of his squad. "Wendy, is anyone else with you? What about Warlock and Church?"

"Got Warlock and Spade here with me! Been trying to raise Church but he’s not responding. Sir, we're in need of immediate backup!"

"Understood, hold out as long as you can!" he said, and her voice vanished from radio. He brought up the drop position of Church and the current one of Wendy on his VISR, trying to work out how to reach them both. But they were in opposite directions- Church deep in Covenant-occupied territory and the other three under fierce assault. Smoke took a moment's pause while he debated what to do. He could go for Nash, Philips and Dawson, but he couldn't just leave Bishop in deep with no one coming for him. Or he could go for Church, but that was the wrong way, back in to Covenant territory...

Movement caught Smoke's eye; he turned and saw its source, observing from the bridge two Wraiths and at least a dozen infantry advancing down the road. He looked at the Beam Rifle's ammunition dial- enough for seven shots, or thereabouts. Suddenly he knew what to do.

"Marine!" Michael shouted, calling to the senior-most infantryman below him- the one he had just freed from an Elite's grip. "What's your name?"

"Corporal Thomas Carter, sir," the corporal replied, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"What's your current objective?"

"Orders are to hold this position as long as is humanly possible, sir," he said, blood glistening on the side of his face and the front of his armour- not all of it his.

Michael glanced back up the road, the Covenant still out of range, and not likely to spot them until after they crested the raised area of the road. "Your position's just been compromised, soldier," he said, looking down on the Marine check over his remaining men. "You're to fall back to the bridge, rallying troops on the way, and support a squad of ODSTs there. Tell them Smoke sent you. Oh," he said, belatedly retrieving something from a magazine holder on his chest, "Ask for Wendy and give her this." Smoke dropped the object into the Marine's hands, an empty bullet casing with a metal chain through it. The trooper held it up and saw as it caught the light, the word 'WENDY' engraved into it. "She'll understand," Smoke finished assuredly.

"Sir, why can't you give it to her yourself?" asked Carter, confused. "What about you? What are your orders?"

"My orders," he said slowly, almost thoughtfully, "are to fight the Covenant." As the marines moved out, Michael turned around and aimed his Beam Rifle, its alien crosshair resting lightly on the head of a golden armour-clad Brute Chieftain.

Light The Way
Smoke nudged the War Chieftain's head with his boot, shifting its dead bulk slightly, and allowing him to stare right down the dark hole tunnelling clean through it. He kicked it with disdain, then moved to inspect the dozen or so other alien corpses that littered the area. Michael saw with mild disgust the three Grunts who'd taken shelter behind a Brute after he blew the Chieftain's brains out- before he had picked them off with his BR55, and left them in their current state. Discarding his spent beam rifle by a Jiralhanae, he returned to the site of the marine's stand, under the bridge where Michael had fired from, now rent apart by a plasma mortar. Smoke gathered up what was left of the ammunition and picked up an MA5C, stowing it on his back with his battle rifle. Michael checked his VISR for his objective, then moved in its direction, listening for movement over the fires of the two Wraiths' burning hulks. The smell of the residue of the plasma grenades that ruined them hung thickly in the air. Bishop's pod was broadcasting emergency signals from the middle of an area called Brennan Park. The park was an open area surrounded by buildings- and Smoke already knew it would be crawling with Covenant. Whether Church was there was another thing entirely- he could have been killed on impact, or worse. His pod went down in Covenant territory; if he had any sense he would have got as far away from his drop zone as possible. Either way, that was his first stop.

Michael's helmet buzzed, taking him by surprise somewhat. "Smoke, its Wendy, respond over."

"Amelia, what's you status?" he recovered enough to say.

"We're currently falling back to the Harbour Bridge, we've got wounded and are low on ammo, Covenant forces are pursuing. There's fifteen of us, six wounded, two critically. No sign of any friendly forces sir. I think we're our own," Amelia lamented. He heard the hopelessness in her normally unwavering voice.

"I've sent reinforcements to your position, about a dozen marines en route," he replied. "And they're rallying more along the way."

Now Smoke heard the quake in her voice replaced by confusion, and a faint tone of irritation. "So you're not coming?"

"No," he said. "I'm going to get Church."

"Oh..." her voice trailing off. Amelia glanced back round at Spade and Warlock, guessing their expressions through their darkened visors. Smoke hadn't written Church off, even if they had. Wendy sighed. She couldn't shake off the feeling that Robson wouldn't come back with Church. Maybe not even himself. But she knew him, and he'd know this too.

A salvo of plasma fire raked the team, and Wendy turned to face a Ghost streaking towards them, aiming for the bridge immediately beyond them. She raised her MA5C and fired long from her last mag. The Ghost drifted round and opened up with its plasma cannons, rounds from Wendy and Warlock's rifles showering its curved front and catching the Grunt driver's back tank- the Ghost roared and boosted in their direction, and the troopers dived out of its path. As it stopped and turned to face the ODSTs Spade unpinned a frag and dashed it ahead of the vehicle, which tried to accelerate away over the bridge; the grenade ensnared the Ghost and its operator in a hail of splintering metal, shredding the Grunt.

"Good kill Spade," Wendy said, hauling herself to her feet and panting heavily. She approached the inactive vehicle. "That'll be a scout for the main force behind us."

"The one we're supposed to be engaging," said Warlock, disgruntled.

"Yeah, well," Wendy retorted, "we're not in much of a position to defend ourselves right now, let alone achieving our objectives." Warlock dipped his head, seeming to agree. There were many things they had to worry about before they considered their objectives.

Hearing a low humming sound, Spade looked up from the conversation and followed a marine's line of sight, upwards through the towering tangle of buildings. A khaki green Pelican sailed from behind, then between the skyscrapers, its underside scarred with a line of scorch marks from plasma fire.

"Second Squad, this is Lima Four Five, look out below helljumpers. This sector's being evacuated for regrouping across the harbour, climb aboard."

Amelia looked at the pilot as the Pelican spun, and he set it down. "We need resupply and reinforcements, not evac. Our standing orders are to stop the Covenant at this bridge."

"My orders are to get everyone out," the pilot replied, "but if you have standing orders to defend the bridge..." he trailed off. "That's your decision Corporal. Just know that I think you're making a bad move."

"The longer we stop the Covies crossing this bridge, the longer you flyboys have to evac what's left of the population," Dawson replied, remaining stoic. "And the more time we buy for everyone else. If you can assist us in any way, that would be appreciated."

"Copy. I might be able to help you out after all." The pilot twisted around and gestured t his crew chief; seconds later there was a series of crashes as the Pelican dropped six weapons pods where it squatted.

"Marines, Warlock, Spade, load the wounded into the Pelican," Wendy ordered. "We can get them out at least."

The troopers carried the injured soldiers into the dropship's open troop bay, where the crew chief and a medic took over. "You helljumpers did a good thing bringing these men with you," the female crew chief said solemnly. "The best of luck to you."

"We did our best," Warlock said pensively, setting down a heavily wounded and unconscious marine. "And that's what we'll keep doing." As he got up Warlock almost tripped on a large black polymer case on the floor of the Pelican, stacked up with numerous others. He unclipped the lid and confirmed its contents; two dozen high explosive charges, just as the print on the side indicated. "Corporal, I'm commandeering this ordnance to stop the Covenant crossing this bridge."

"You're welcome to it," she replied, distracted by helping the medic. "Surplus ordnance. Purely by chance it's onboard."

"Wendy!" he called to Amelia, dragging the crate to the Pelican's edge. "Come and give me a hand with this!"

Wendy came round the Pelican's back, irritated, ending her conversation with the pilot informing her where and how many Covenant he had seen. "Help with what?!" she snapped, her nostrils flaring through her depolarised visor.

Amelia stared at the black crate, with the words 'HIGH EXPLOSIVE' and the serial number of explosive charges printed on the side. Spade lifted out two full crates of assault rifle magazines, while two more marines brought out a battle rifle and sniper ammunition crate each. A third came out with a single AIE-486 heavy machine gun, its folded tripod slung over his shoulder, dragging a crate of four ammunition drums behind him.

"Jackpot."

The Pelican lifted off, carrying the wounded and leaving behind nine well supplied infantry, three ODSTs and six Marines. Two troopers had grabbed rocket launchers, and Amelia and Spade both shouldered sniper rifles.

"Alright, lets get this position defensible!" Wendy ordered.

Four marines set up defences in the form of metal weapon barricades and sandbag walls, while two deployed the heavy machine gun. Warlock set up the ammunition crates and readied medical supplies, while directing the twelve marines. Amelia and Spade took position in two buildings overlooking the area on either side of the road, preparing their plentiful magazines. Three marines planted remote detonation charges in the enemy's path, while another three rigged charges to the bridge. The whole defence took almost two hours to complete. Warlock pointed a single finger skywards- it took a moment for Amelia to realise he was referring to the light. It was almost dark. Somewhere in the distance something was burning, casting an orange light into the sky which reflected down on the ground. The underside of the clouds was stained orange by the flames. A strange feeling of connection with the fires touched Amelia, but evaporated just as soon as she felt it. She forgot it quickly, and turned to the other troopers behind her.

"Right, now at least we have a plan. We hold position here, and retreat and blow the bridge when we can't fight no more. Spade, you, Radner and Turek are on first watch," Amelia ordered, referring to two of the marines. "Wake me in two hours."

Spade chuckled. "Fine, but I won't be the one to wake you. God help the soul who disturbs your beauty sleep."

"Funny," Wendy retorted, shooting him a scowl. "Make it three hours." Spade groaned, and the other marines glared at them both.

Deep
Michael crept down the road, figure crouched, hugging tight the walls of the buildings. He kept low and quiet, using the insides of buildings where possible and pausing frequently in doorways, scanning for hostiles. Smoke stayed solely on one side of the road, and this wasn't just for cover; most of the buildings on the other side were on fire, and he was kept at bay by the fierce heat of the inferno. He gripped his BR55 tightly in his hands, fully alert for a sudden encounter with an enemy, as had occurred twice before along his path. The first time he had easily dealt with the lone squad of Grunts, dispatching all of the panicking creatures with his battle rifle; the second time multiple Kig-Yar sharpshooters had forced him to circumvent the entire block. Smoke's tacmap informed him his objective was down the left turn at the next junction, and he stopped abruptly when he reached the corner. Back to the wall, he stole a brief glance round it and saw the greenery of the park, collared on all sides by tall silver structures and interspersed with trees and low shrubbery. There were Covenant in the park, that much he knew from his motion sensor. He'd already tried to access satellite telemetry, but was unable to- everything was down. He entered the building on the street corner, its automatic door opening smoothly, and entered one of two elevators that greeted him; the left intact and clean, the right riddled with heavy plasma fire and stained with dried human blood. Entering the elevator, the door slid shut behind him without warning, and he instructed the lift to go to the top floor. Smoke raised his rifle at the exit in anticipation. The area around him was completely deserted of friendly forces; there was no help that was going to come for him. Hell, he was the help.

He quickly checked over his rifle yet again, having already done this more times than he could count. The bolt was slid back, it was set to burst fire mode, magazine was full and the safety catch was disengaged. He already knew this would be the case, but it reassured him greatly as he hoped it would. The door snapped open, revealing a ruined corridor stretching both left and right. Michael slid into the hall, marking it clear almost instantly; he noticed the slight curve of the corridor as if it circled right round the top of the building. The vast windows that formed the outermost wall were tinted somewhat, giving the hall an ethereal half-light; not quite gloomy but not bright either. Smoke moved right down the hall through this strange other-world, feeling acutely the silent stillness in the air, and the sense of sheer loneliness this brought. Michael moved slowly, as if in an effort to maintain this ethereal stillness, his boots shifting almost silently on top of the debris of masonry and concrete the ceiling and walls had shed.

Michael reached a door and tapped the panel; it rejected him with a single tone, locked. The tone seemed to shatter abruptly the eerie atmosphere with its harsh impertinence. His ears pricked, hearing something he didn't quite register. Smoke snapped round, rifle at his eyes, but there was nothing there. His motion sensor was similarly bare. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised how very alone he was.

Michael tried to bring up plans of the building; satellite support was still down. He swore under his breath, and took a quick glance at a terminal on the wall. It would have provided the information he needed, were its glass screen not smashed and littering the floor. Shards crunched under his feet as he moved past the elevators in the other direction. Another closed door; Smoke hit the control panel and the door retreated sideways into the wall before him; through it the corridor gave way to an open roof. Michael moved through, rifle ready for enemies, thanking the door for yielding without noise. The roof was large, rounded and exposed; the wind roared and Smoke struggled to stay upright, while taking note of the specks far off in the sky that his experienced eyes recognised as Phantom dropships. Smoke turned round the structure he had just exited, looking down the side of the roof, and almost jumped when he saw the hulking figure standing near the very edge. It took Smoke a painful second or so to realise it was facing away from him- an Elite, tall even by their standards, clad in crimson-red armour. In his arms he held what looked like a beam rifle. Smoke approached it slowly, wanting to near it and kill it before it turned around, but fearing alerting it with his approach. He moved faster, the howl of the masking his footsteps as it had the door opening. It suddenly struck him that he didn't know how he was going to kill it; he could easily push it over the edge, but it would alert the Covies below- besides, he didn't know how strong it's shielding was. Could it survive a six story fall?

Or he could shoot it. He did have the element of surprise, and that worked for him before. But it wouldn't take a second before it turned around and killed him effortlessly. And gunfire drew attention.

No, he decided. Instead he drew his combat knife, the padded sheath muffling the sound as it slid carefully out.

He was right behind it now, all eight feet of it. He gripped his knife for dear life, and resisted the inexplicable urge to close his eyes. He braced himself, bent his knees and jumped on its back. The Elite twisted its neck, trying to whirl around and grab him in its arms- it grabbed his wrist in its alien hands seeing the blade grasped in it and forcing it relentlessly back towards Smoke's own body- he pushed with all the force he could muster, but it was far stronger than him- it whirled its other arm round and grabbed his chest, pinning him hard against its back and slowly moving the combat knive towards its owner. Smoke was trapped and losing fast- he kicked it in the back of its knees, and the thing groaned deeply, weakening for just a split-second- Smoke jabbed his arm forward with all the will he had left, driving the blade straight in, deep into the side of its neck, and slid it viciously sideways, rending its neck open and showering blood everywhere. It staggered backwards, losing control of its own body, its life gushing in torrents from its jugular, and toppled onto the ground, a river of blood forming a lake of it beneath the Elite, the struggling and writing creature smearing dark stains in erratic lines. Smoke was crushed underneath it, and he struggled to free himself from under the its ailing mass, drenched in blood; finally it ceased moving, limbs twitching; slowly he extricated himself from underneath it, its fleshy mass reeking of rapidly cooling blood. Freeing himself, stood upright, soaked in his foe's foul stinking blood.

Panting, Michael staggered to the edge, and saw the park below him. He tried in vain to wipe his armour clean of its taint, but there was too much. Resigned, he instead rubbed his hands together and over each other repeatedly, removing most of the blood but leaving his hands dank and slippery. Smoke signed, and approached the edge of the roof, imagining the rancid heat of the blood on his armour and the ground being flash-cooled by the howling gale. Turning his attention back to the park, he notched up his visor's zoom and inspected the pod in its centre- buried much further into the ground than it should be, with the hatch wedged against the dirt the pod was buried into, open a mere slit. It was empty. Plasma scorch marks pockmarked the ground and the pod. It didn't look good.

Smoke shifted his view to the Covies near the edge of the park. Two hunters, a Wraith, a dozen Brute infantry and at least twice as many Grunts. Smoke picked up the dead Elite's beam rifle, his arms adjusting to its weight, and something occurred to him. He scoped in on the Brute gunner of one of the Wraiths, and centered the crosshairs on its severe face. He would enjoy this, he thought, savouring the moment.

Echoes
''The thing pursued her still, invading every aspect of her being; it was a man, that much she knew somehow, but a man shrouded in billowing black fabric so dark it seemed to be made of shadows. She fled from it, through the memory that was the town she grew up in, but it took to the wing and dropped down on her, filling her with dread so solid it filled her lungs and stifled her attempts to scream. It all went black- but she opened her eyes once more against her will, to find she was on a warship in yet another of her memories; she twisted and turned through its labyrinthine depths, the uniform corridors merging into a single blur of terror, and she could not lose her dreaded hunter. It followed her relentlessly as if attached to her by some inexorable force. It chased her through her subconscious, unrelenting, not allowing her mind to stop and rest. Finally it cornered her, in the memory of the school in which she had fought the Covenant, and in which she had failed to save the class of children and their teacher, cut down without remorse. It moved slowly towards her, menacing in silent threat, only for it to dissolve into its own darkness and reappear behind her, looming over and descending and enveloping her in shadow, whispering her name. Her vision began to blur, distorting the nightmarish sights before her but offering her no comfort. Her sight waned as if blocked by some invisible force, flickering, before it faded and disappeared. She screamed, but no sound came from her mouth. Panicking, she tried to move but realised he had no body she could feel- she was alone and surrounded by nothing but drowning darkness. She opened his eyes but saw only black. Ages passed, trapped in this appalling nothingness. She screamed again, mustering strength from nothing, though little more than a whisper escaped her mouth. And still the thing whispered her name from the ether.''

She woke with a start, heart racing, brow damp with cold sweat.

"Wendy!" someone whispered from close by.

Gathering her frayed thoughts, Wendy sat upright. For a moment she was confused and sluggish before it hit her where she was, and experience and instinct took over. She sat upright and threw a hand to her thigh intuitively, feeling the reassurance the cold touch of her M6G brought.

"Wendy, we've got contacts, get out here!" came Spade's voice as a hushed rasp. She looked round her sniper's next, on the first floor of the building, and saw him standing on the staircase, peering out of the dark in full armour. "Got movement, thirty five metres northeast! Twenty plus contacts, unknown type."

"Get the marines to their posts, then get to your position!" she ordered, mind racing.

Wendy shouldered her sniper rifle, pulling back and releasing the bolt. She looked across the road and saw Spade move into position opposite, shouldering his sniper rifle and giving her a sign of readiness. She aimed at the corner, putting first pressure on the trigger and preparing herself. Her mind was working at nominal pace now, which was damned fast, constantly alert and calculating, irreverent of the restless sleep she had woken from. It was still dark, and had the air of gloominess, but the fires from the other side of the harbour painted the clouds orange and cast an odd aura on the ground. The atmosphere was thick, tense, and fear pervaded the air.

Warlock watched the twenty or so grey dots on his motion tracker draw nearer and nearer, approaching the corner at which they aimed. He saw out of the corner of his eye a marine on the machine gun spin up its barrels in preparation, and numerous others level their rifles strikingly. Whatever was coming round the corner, it didn't stand a chance.

The grey dots came into range of Warlock's IFF scanner- the dots turned yellow. They were seconds away from the corner.

"Hold your fire!" he shouted frantically over the radio. "Targets are friendly, repeat targets are friendly, stand down."

Amelia kept her rifle levelled at the corner, though loosened her squeeze on the trigger. The first marine rounded the corner, looking tense and beleaguered. Warlock sighed with relief and looked up at Spade; he gave him a slight shake of the head. They both knew how close that had been.

"Hey, over here!" Warlock shouted from behind the barricades, and the new marines headed in their direction. After the first one, numerous more ones came, appearing tired and battle-worn. "Marines, what's your objective?"

The marines moved up to the makeshift barricade. "Our orders are to rendezvous with the troopers at the bridge," the leading marine called. "That's you lot, I'm assuming."

"Smoke's help," said Amelia quietly, as she looked down on the reinforcements from her sniper's nest through a smashed window. "How was he when you last saw him? What did he say?"

"He had just saved my ass from an Elite," he said, feeling his neck uneasily. "May I assume you're Wendy?"

Wendy frowned under her visor, invisible. "Yeah, that's me. Who's asking?"

"Sergeant Thomas Carter, Bravo Company 25th Marines. Gunnery Sergeant Robson gave me something for you."

He produced some small item from a waist pouch, and slung it up to her. She snapped it from the air and, holding it so that the object dangled from her upraised hand, leveled it with her eyes. The 12.7x99mm casing swung from side to side from its metal chain, the word 'WENDY' engraved into it; carved roughly with a combat knife years ago. Her steely blue eyes followed its sway, reading into what it meant. Memories deep inside her, buried to stop them hurting, burst to the fore. Raw emotion not felt for seven years. A token from the past that she didn't think existed anymore. She remembered the first time she met Smoke, the strings of memories and emotions flooding from the recesses of her mind and scrambling to order themselves correctly. She remembered the sniper practice in which he outdid her. How him and the other men made fun of her for being female. How they called her Wendy. How she threw her spent casings at them in a wild fit of rage, only to get them all back the day later. Every one with 'WENDY' carved carefully into the side, mocking her eternally. She remembered how she scattered them all from the back of a Pelican, never to be seen again. She remembered the engraved bullet casing he gave her back, one he had kept, and the passionate kiss they shared under cover of darkness on a night not too different from that one.

All of these memories and emotions flooded her mind in an instant. Amelia stood stock still, barely registering anything but her own thoughts slowly lowering her outstretched arm. She looked around; everything looked the same; everything was how it was a few moments ago, but everything had changed.

Smoke.

Part Preview
Radner opened the crate of 7.62mm magazines and stowed four in his empty pouches, running his gloved finger along the top of each one. He dumped his half-empty mag and replaced it with a fresh one, then pushed the remaining rounds from his old mag into an ammo belt around his waist. "Why're you doing that?" asked Warlock, sat lazily beside the machine gun, watching him. His helmet sat equally immobile beside him, blindly observing.

Radner chuckled. "It's Phillips, right? I dunno. In case I run out of magazines?"

Warlock's expression turned quizzical. "Why not just carry the extra mag then?" he suggested. "And call me Warlock."

"I do it because it looks great!" the marine asserted, but he saw Warlock wasn't buying it. Radner sighed slightly. "My dad used to take me out hunting with him. Old bolt-action rifle, we'd both carry ammo like this. Maybe it reminds me of that. I dunno, it's just-" he shook his head as if he disapproved of his own actions. "It's stupid."

Warlock mulled this over. "It's not stupid," he said reassuringly. "It's not incredibly practical, but it's only a few rounds. And if it helps you... " he trailed off, having said too much and nothing at the same time. He daren't ask about where he came from, or his father- no one asked those sort of questions any more, because no one wanted to answer them. It was like an unspoken etiquette had developed whereby casual conversation would avoid origins, family and experiences at all costs.

"Wendy, if the covenant are coming why dont we just cross and then blow the bridge behind us?" asked Spade.

"Because," she replied forcefully, "that would leave all UNSC forces this side trapped."

"You mean it would leave Smoke trapped," he amended. He had a habit of noticing things like that in people.

Spade saw her nostrils flare, and she didn't respond; her silence said more than any denial would have.

"I can understand that," he said slowly, after leaving her silence respected for a few seconds. "But I doubt HIGHCOM would share my opinion. What're you gonna say to them?"

Wendy breathed deeply. "We set up considerable defence and made a stand here to buy forces the other side as much time as possible. We have rigged explosive charges to the bridge. We'll retreat and blow it when we can no longer hold position here. Which will be after Smoke rerurns with Bishop," she added confidently. Spade knew her too well to be tricked by her level, cool voice.

Part Preview
Smoke was flung back from the roof's edge as the fuel rod hit the building's side- hellish heat assailed him even as the shot melted into nonexistence. Haphazard fragments of concrete peppered him, and the dust which coated his armour cleared to reveal a jagged chunk of the roof's edge blown away. Michael staggered quickly to his feet just as the unseen Hunter below loosed another shot, and the green streak sailed into the sky, radiating heat furiously as it flew past and making Smoke wince. At the same time the building shook beneath his feet, as the Wraith loosed off another mortar. Michael saw thick fumes rise from the side of the building to his left- the Wraith must have moved round, blocking his escape back down the elevator. He stole a split second glance over the edge and saw just what he expected- the Wraith had moved into position outside the entrance, some of the Grunts and a small contingent of Brutes in support. Its gunner still lay slumped over the side of the plasma turret, a deep wound through its neck partly decapitating it. Smoke ducked instinctively as the tank released another plasma blob, but it smashed into the building several floors below, reducing it to charred debris and smouldering wreckage.

He dashed to the opposite side and found the Hunter in the same position in the park, next to where he had dropped the first of the pair; it began charging its huge cannon as soon as he saw it. He shouldered the heavy beam rifle and centered the sights on the thing that passed for a head, ignoring the Brutes' plasma fire raking the wall below and the air above his head. He held his breath, steadying the crosshairs perfectly, and squeezed the alien trigger. The beam burrowed through its worm-flesh head and the alien collapsed backwards, dead in an instant. The cannon discharged a green snake which shook the building violently. He heard Grunts below squealing, and moved over to the other side of the roof to see why; the rest of the infantry had abandoned the defeated Hunter pair and joined the Wraith. He saw the Brute's leader pointing into the building, shouting for them to move in faster. One of the Brutes rawred and pointed skywards, and Smoke withdrew from the edge under heavy spiker fire. A round brushed his shoulder plate and ricocheted off, skidding to a stop across the roof.

A faint sound caught Smoke's ears, and he turned to face the northern horizon- and saw four Phantoms incoming, one much closer than the rest. Behind him he heard the Covenant infantry come up the elevator, and his mind raced as he decided what to do. He turned his back on the Phantoms, and clambered into the AA gun in the centre of the roof. In position, he depressed the right foot pedal and turned the turret to face the door. He spun the six barrels up. He heard the elevator door slide smoothly open, just as it had done for him. Behind him, the distant drone of the Phantoms grew slowly louder. The door slid open and he squeezed the trigger, and deluged the swarming Grunts with thousands of high calibre rounds. The ones behind still rushed through though, in disarray and covered in gore from their slain comrades. The gun shook him immensely and vibrated fiercely, but he maintained his aim on the flood of enemies assailing him. His fire cut through dozens of the Grunts and behind them, the first of the Brutes breached the door. Smoke filled its body with rounds and saw the life drain from its face as it disintegrated. A flashing red alert caught the corner of Michael's eye, but he kept his eyes on the targets- he knew it was warning him his ammunition was low. He cut down the last of the Brutes, the thing falling missing limbs, torso punctuated with bullet holes and back pitted with massive cavity exit wounds.

But he knew there were more inside. He had killed nine or ten, but there were at least a dozen Brutes moving into the building to kill him. He dismounted the gun and moved towards the door, the concrete wall peppered with bullet wounds, smoking slightly from the hundreds of rounds that had penetrated it. As soon as he peered down the corridor he c