RP:Losing Hope/Content

1
Both military and Covenant aircraft made way for the UNSC Eternal Peacekeeper, as it lowered itself into the atmosphere at a surprising speed. The captain of the Peacekeeper understood how little time he had to deploy the ship's entire supply of marines and Spartan supersoldiers to the surface before the Covenant recognized his presence. He also knew that he was partaking in a self-assigned suicide mission, however, he felt that it was for the best. After all, ONI Section Zero had assigned him to trail the a curious Covenant fleet all the way from Reach to discover which UNSC colony they planned to invade next. Now it was time to fight. He had already sent a transmission every UNSC starship within a decent range of the planet. The colony that he would be ready to defend with his life? Hope, and in many opinions, it was among the most wonderful and beautiful worlds colonized by the United Nations Space Command. It was a fairly new planet with a bright future. How could he just sit back and watch as the Covenant destroy it?

Three atmospheric deployment platforms slowly lowered themselves from the underside of the Peacekeeper before coming to an abrupt halt. Each pad contained some Spartans along with multiple Falcons and Phoenix aircraft, each filled to maximum capacity with marines. They couldn't believe how packed the sky was with battling aircraft. The UNSC military force already stationed on Hope was definitely a force to be reckoned with. "Marines! On the count of five, get your aircraft off this pad and make getting to the surface your top priority," commanded Spartan Rowan-090 before turning and whispering to the Spartan standing beside him," Riley, you'll take the jump with me. You've got your jet pack right?" After giving Riley a pat on the back, he realized that he was wrong. "Shit," Rowan muttered, "Hijack a banshee or something then..."

"Sure." Riley responded. It was foolish of him to leave his jet pack on Reach, but he knew that he'd manage.

"Five!" Rowan began, "Fo-" Within a split-second a flaming banshee crashed and screeched across the pad behind them, hitting a Falcon and taking it over the edge along with itself. Rowan turned back in horror, "Now!"

Rowan and Riley fell so fast that it became impossible to keep an eye on the marines. Riley slammed back-first into a banshee and slid down it's hood, jumped, and gripped the turret on the underside of a Covenant Spirit dropship as Rowan continued downward. The turret swayed back and forth, attempting loosen Riley's grip. Finally, a Phoenix maneuvered itself a few meters underneath the Spirit, unknowingly providing a place for Riley to land. To the surprise of the Phoenix's passengers, a large thump and the roof caving inward indicated an invader. Riley swung himself inside. "To the surface!" The marines gave each other a surprised look. The Phoenix began it's decent.

Meanwhile, Rowan's suit began to ignite as the result of the speed of his fall. Rowan attempted to activate his jet pack, and to his horror, it was on fire. Rowan spread out his arms and legs. He never took falling lessons before, but he knew enough to arch his body to slow down his fall. Rowan hit the ground. The force of the impact knocked Rowan onto his back while the fire went out Rowan lay sprawled out on the surface. Dizzy and disoriented, Rowan watched as a Covenant Supercarrier decloacked itself directly above the Peacekeeper and activated it's ventral energy projector. The plasma cut through the Peacekeeper and all of the fighting aircraft (human and Covenant) below it like butter. Rowan blacked out. --  Chris  talk   blog  19:08, November 29, 2010 (UTC)

2
Rear Admiral Torkamentov and the crew on the bridge watched in horror as the Covenant Supercarrier obliterated the UNSC Eternal Peacekeeper. They had jumped into the system after recieving the distress call just to arrive in time to see this. "They're going to pay for that," muttered his XO, Alexander Mulgrew.

"I agree. Now let us get to the part where we make them pay," replied Torkamentov, "Put me on FleetCom."

"You're good to go, sir," replied one of the bridge crew.

"This is Rear Admiral Nikolai Torkamentov to all ships in the area. As of 1530 hours, I am taking command of this fleet. We are going to make those Covenant bastards pay for messing with us. All ships move into attack formation. Launch all fighters. Commodore, tell me what we have got to work with."

"Well, sir. Obviously, we have us. We have also detected a Halcyon class cruiser among other things. In all, we have twelve ships of various models, not including the defense forces already around Hope." Torkamentov nodded as he looked at the viewscreen.

"Send a message to Earth. Tell them what I am about to do. Then move in for the attack."

A slight hum went through the ship as the UNSC Siren's Call accelerated toward the Covenant fleet as fighter craft disgorged themselves from the ship. "Fire a nuclear missile barrage. One round. All pods." Outside the ships, missiles flew out of over 60 Archer missile pods and accelerated toward the Covenant fleet.

On the bridge, "Sir. Covenant have engaged countermeasures."

"Very well. Initiate the Shadow Drive. Make them have a lot more problems." Covenant plasma fire continued to shoot at the missiles, but their aim became more erratic, almost like they were shooting at nothing.

Mulgerew looked at a datapad he was holding, and said, "The Shadow Drive is operating within normal parameters. Battle damage has not had an adverse effect on it." Torkamentov grinned. He was glad that ONI had chosen his ship to test the Shadow Drive. A device that could fool Covenant sensors into thinking there was a lot more of something than there really was was useful in times like this. With the sound of a whump, nearly 15 missiles detonated within the Covenant fleet.

Torkamentov grinned as he said, "MAC guns, fire on the Covenant Supercarrier. Show them that we mean business if the nukes didn't show that already." As the sound of gun discharges filled the ship, a bridge crewman turned to Torkamentov.

"Sir, we have Covenant fighters inbound!" Now Torkamentov began to become concerned.

"Defense guns, take them out. And order all launched fighters to engage. This is the flagship. We cannot lose it! And I will not lose this fight!" With the sound of gunfire filling the system as the relief fleet engaged the Covenant invaders, the slaughter became a battle, and the fight was on.

Azecreth 12:41, November 29, 2010 (UTC)

3
"Wake up, Spartans."

SPARTAN-083, Liam, heard a hissing noise, and a feeling of ice passed over him. He felt disoriented. And cold. That's when he realized....he'd been in a cryo-pod.

Liam slowly lifted himself out of the pod, and looked around - he was in the cryo-bay of some UNSC cruiser. Standing in front of him was a Marine Staff Sergeant.

"Where am I?" Liam asked the Staff Sergeant.

"The UNSC Eternal Peacekeeper, Spartan, in orbit above the planet Hope." he calmly replied. "I'm Staff Sergeant Reginald Barclay."

"How'd I get here?" asked Liam, still somewhat disoriented. "The Peacekeeper found you after just leaving Reach; dug ya up from what was left of the frigate Edmund Fitzgerald. We managed to fish out their captain, too. Here take a look." Barclay led Liam over to another set of cryo-pods, where two other SPARTANs and an old, thin man wearing a Navy Captain's uniform were held. Liam instantly recognized the other SPARTANs: Richard-028 and José-122, his fellow team members of Bronze Team. He recognized the navy captain, too: Ezra Holmes, well known for being one of the Navy's longest serving officers.

"Spartan, If I may please know your name...?" asked Barclay. Liam turned to face the staff sergeant. "Chief Petty Officer Liam-083." Liam calmly replied. "Right." acknowledged Barclay. "Let's get your team thawed out here." Liam walked over to stand by his teammates' pods and contemplate the situation when a voice whispered in his ear. "Hey, chief...you okay?" This was Roderick, his AI and the AI for Bronze Team. "Yeah, Roderick, i'm fine." He heard the AI snicker. "You tough ol' bastard. Hey, lemme out so I can welcome back the band." Liam snickered a little himself.

"Staff Sergeant?" he asked. "There any holotanks in here?" Barclay looked up from the console he was using to thaw the rest of Bronze Team out. "Over there." He pointed to a corner of the bay. Liam strode over, picked up the holotank, and set it near the cryo-pods. He then pulled Roderick's chip out of his helmet and put it into the holotank. A moment later, the image of a tall scotsman with long brown hair, a "devil-may-care" grin, a red kilt and a t-shirt that said "Hot Rod" on it flared up. This was Roderick, the "smart" AI for Bronze Team. He was an exact replica of a 20th century professional wrestler known as "Rowdy" Roddy Piper, and had the attitude down to a tee, but althought this got on Liam's nerves sometimes, Roderick was a brilliant AI and Liam was glad he was onboard the team.

Moments later, Liam heard a hissing noise; Richard and José had been thawed out. Like Liam, they didn't appear to suffer any freezer burn, and warily got out of their pods. Moments later, Captain Holmes did the same. "What happened?" asked Richard. Before either Liam, Roderick, or Staff Sergeant Barclay could answer, a massive explosion rocked the ship. "That'll be the Covenant heavies," muttered Barclay, "and that means we gotta get you planetside, Spartans." Liam hastily put Roderick back into his helmet.

Captain Holmes slowly lifted out of his pod, "Where am -"

"No time, captain, we gotta get going." Barclay hastily cut Holmes off. The SPARTANs, Staff Sergeant Barclay, and Captain Holmes ran out of the cryo-bay and into a packed hallway. "Launch Bay 3 is this way." said the Staff Sergeant, and he turned down another hallway until they arrived at a lift. Barclay jammed his finger onto the button. Moments later, the door eased open, and they all piled into the lift. After several minutes, they arrived in the launch bay, were what appeared to be the last Pelican in the bay was waiting for them. "Hurry!" yelled Barclay, and the SPARTANs and Captain Holmes entered the cabin while Barclay got into the passenger's side. As soon as it was warmed up, Barclay gunned the engines and soared out of the bay.Rangerkid51 19:18, April 6, 2011 (UTC)

3
As the elite minor Kahulara readied for battle, the Covenant ship named Resurrection transporting him approached the planet Hope. Another battle came so soon even after surviving the Battle of Reach. When the ship reached the planet, the Sangheili minor was in the hangar climbing into his assigned Spirit Dropship ready for anything coming his way. The Covenant ship he had been put under cloak because the fleet master of the Resurrection had realized suprisingly, a human ship had been following them all this time unnoticed, but now the enemy ship had lost visual on them, and this was a great advantage for the Covenant side.

His mission was to get to the surface of the planet and meet up with other Covenant forces, then wait for more orders. He didn't really care about his squad, which was just a pack of unggoy, he thought of the unngoy as cowards, and he would always rather fight alone, unless he was working with other Sangheili. Also in the spirit was another squad of Unggoy and a Sangheili minor, the almost identical groups rarely talked but when they did, spoke in 3 different languages,the two Sangheili spoke in, obviously Sangheili, and the unggoy spoke in their native language, mixed with human languages. There was no Covenant translation software aboard the dropship, so the two different species couldn't understand eachother. Kahulara's only friend he had on Reach had died. It was by the hand of one of the demons, he had avenged his comrade, and slayed the demon with his best friend's own Type-1 energy sword. He still had the blade, on his side at that very moment, he also had a type-51 carbine on his back, one of his weapons of choice.

As the spirit left the hangar of their ship, acompanied by 2 other dropships, they saw the Resurrection decloak, and unleash it's main weapon on the ship below, the blinding plasma struck the human ship and sliced it in half. Large groups of human dropships and ODST pods fled the scene descending to the surface. New orders came in, and the fleet master's voice flooded into the Spirit "All type-25s follow the remains of the human ship onto the planet, once at the crash site, kill any survivors, and destroy any humans foolish enough searching for survivors." The ship changed course and followed the falling remains of the ship.

4
Matthew-123 and Ryder-K231 waited for Morales to land. Matthew sadly watched the UNSC Eternal Peacekeeper as it fell apart. Ryder walked impatiently waiting for Morales. "What is taking the old geezer to drop? He weights more than me." "Maybe he caught a Falcon or a Phoenix." suggested Matthew, all though his heart wasn't really in the statement.

"Matt? You OK?" Ryder said after pausing his walking.

"Those Covenant turds are going to pay for this. They're going to hell, Matt-style!" Matt took out his grenade launcher and gripped it in the hardest grip Matthew had ever done.

Before Ryder could say anything, the voice of Morales came out of the blue, with a Phoenix on it's tail.

"Hey,boys. Need a lift?"

"About time you showed up." huffed Ryder. "My feet got cold, standing there." "Good to see you too, Ryder." Morales said in his Sarcastic tone.

"Where's our destination, Morales?" Matthew said with a grave tone.

" We're on look-out duty. Some Spartans are still on the field. We are the rescue team."

"Not this again!" Ryder whined.

"Who's missing, Morales?" Matthew asked.

"Rowan." Morales said in a sad tone.

-Therider Rides Alone 19:09, November 29, 2010 (UTC)

5
Moore exited the cryo tube as the door's lifted open. He had always hated cryo, for one he had always hated flying whether in space or in atmosphere. Reaching for a towel handed to him by a techinician he looked at his squad, who had already been awoken.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty." He heard the unmistakable latin voice of Staff Sergeant "Tequilla" Ramirez.

"Yeah, it's you boys who make me want to crawl out of my cold as hell coffin. Now shut it smartass." Moore quickly remarked back. "Benson, sitrep."

"Well sir." Benson started.

"Yes."

"Well we're in orbit over Hope, some little backwater colony. Appearantly Covies are attacking full force and by my guess it's not gonna last the week."

"So I take it we made it off Reach trouble free?"

"Yes sir. No problems getting off. Just problems here."

"Great." Moore started. "I'm in cryo for a few days and without me everything has gone to hell. Can't you idiots do anything?" He sarcasticly asked then returned his voice to a more serious tone. "How long have we been here?"

"About two hours in orbit. Sir."

"And you didn't wake me? What you sick sons-of-bitches been staring at me naked in cryo the past two hours? Ah...fuck it I don't want your answer. Yankee, get ready for combat get the other platoon geared up and those sailor boys, I mean marines ready to go in hot."

"Yes sir."

"And also where in hell did you put my uniform?"

"In the armory sir."

"Excellent. Dismissed." Moore finished as he moved to retrieve his uniform and weapons from the ship's armory.

After about ten minutes of getting outfitted, Moore was fully geared up with his rifle slung over his back.

"Benson." He asked over his comm.

"Yes sir?" The british voice replied.

"Status?"

"Everyone's ready sir."

"Excellent. I'm going to the bridge to talk to the CO, that one russkie for orders. Hang tight out." Moore finished and disconnected as he proceeded to the bridge.

"No way in hell i'm missing this fight." He muttered to himself as he stepped onto the bridge.

6
"Five . . . Fo-"

"Now!"

Rowan's early signal caused Pvt. Erik Quinn to be a half-second late hitting his HEV's release. It was a good thing, too, as the violet hull of a Banshee fighter shot beneath him just before he was accelerated away from the Eternal Peacekeeper and toward Hope's surface. Less than twenty meters away, another pod dropping from the Peacekeeper collided with the Banshee, the force of the explosion rocking him violently.

Quinn wasn't sure what had happened. Coming out of cryo an hour ago, he'd heard the ship had exited Slipspace at Hope and had immediately been attacked by single ship fighters. Not long after, an evacuation was called, and Erik was stuffed into an ODST pod waiting for the Spartan's signal to go from half a ship away.

What mattered now was stabilizing his pod before he lost control. Grabbing the analog sticks on either side of him, he angled away from the rest of his platoon to avoid any mid-air collisions as they dived through a dogfight between UNSC Falcons and Longswords up against Banshees and Seraphs swarming the Peacekeeper. His taut nerves started to relax as the shaking stopped, and he leveled out. But just as he did, a light coming from seemingly everywhere blinded him and an explosion shook his teeth.

His visor polarized, letting him see the fading beam that had impaled the Peacekeeper. The ship was gone, he could see it begin to fall to Hope's surface alongside him. Quinn decided he didn't want to be crushed by it, and angled farther away to look for a safe landing zone.

A city street provided one, and Quinn took it. With the metal parachute and reentry jets slowing his fall, he made a clean landing on the blacktop, and his ride was over. He took a moment to relax, after about thirty seconds being on the knife's edge of death.

A scream struck fear into him as the snarling mug of a Covenant Elite appeared before his pod window. Erik fumbled for his weapons, as the light of an energy sword sprang from its hand. Quinn punched the door release almost accidentally. It blew the door from its frame, impacting the alien hard enough to spray blood across it. Flying thirty feet over the pavement, the jumble of body and metal glanced off a parked car and lay in the street. The Elite's broken corpse was still.

Erik exhaled, counting himself lucky a second time. Removing the MA5C from its bracket and checking the BR55 on his back, he took his first footsteps on Hope's solid ground and went to look for friendlies.

7
Needless to say, Luc was pissed. First,the Warthog he was riding on Reach was ambushed, with him bareley escaping alive. Then, he was forced to board the Eternal Peacekeeper in order to survive, and now this happens. "Look on the bright side, at least I get to see my home planet again". Luc says to himself as he boards a Falcon preparing to take off. Delicately placing the Fury on his lap, he prepares himself for the worst. All around, intense air to air combat could be seen, with both sides taking heavy losses. A Falcon next to them takes off, only to get it's right rotor hit by plasma fire from a banshee, burning as it spirals down towards the surface of Hope.Hearing Rowan's signal on his helmet's com system, he looks to the Falcon's pilot and shouts "What the hell are you waiting for, take off already"! The pilot hurriedly nods and the Falcon takes off, not a moment too soon either, for seconds later the Eternal Peacekeeper was skewered by a beam of plasma, courtesy of a Covenant Supercarrier.

Meanwhile, over Reach, Robert Garcia, captian of the UNSC Grapes of Wrath sighs in releif as the Pillar of Autumn manages to escape. He then orders a retreat. "What, we're not going after them"? asked first officer Morgan. "Nope. Our first priorities are repairs and medical treatment for the wounded aboard. Robert answered. "I want a damage report in less than 20 minutes, until then, I'll be in my quarters". With that, Robert turned around and started to exit the bridge. Suddenly, the ship's radio operator, Maxim Jackovitch, spoke up. "Sir,we're getting a transmission from the Halycon class cruiser, Eternal Peacekeeper! Apparently, the colony Hope is under attack, and their captian is asking any ships in range for help"! Robert then turns around. "hm... in that case, prepare to make the slipspace jump to Hope, continue repairs in the meantime". after saying this, he finally exits the bridge to get some rest before yet another battle.

Back on Hope, Luc exits the Falcon as soon as it touches down, using his MJOLNIR armor's magnetic plates to attach the Fury to his back. " Okay, I made it to the surface.. Now to regroup with the rest of the forces that dropped from the Peacekeeper". Luc cocks his M6 magnum pistol and MA5C assault rifle.After that, he heads out, following a road.

TheivingFan 03:53, November 29, 2010 (UTC)

8
A Pelican dropship blazed across the sky of Hope, across the continent of Icaria, rocketing out of control. It had obviously taken a large amount of plasma damage. Bits of the hull were flying off, and there were flames coming out of the holes in the dropship's hull.

Within the dropship, the pilot, Warrant Officer Demaree, was desperatly trying to contact any friendly UNSC forces within their range. "To any UNSC forces in the southwestern area of Icaria, this is Dropship Golf 187, we've taken heavy fire and need immidiate assistance! I have SPARTANs and Marine and Navy personnel onboard!"

At that moment, a wash of static passed over the COM: " - loud and clear, Golf 187. This is Rally Site Epsilon. We read you are heavy damaged. Our solution is to crash-land near out location. Transmitting coordinates now." There was a pause before: "And did you say you had SPARTANs? We've fallen under attack and need some good soldiers."

In the Pelican's cabin, Bronze Team, Staff Sergeant Barclay, and Captain Holmes looked at each other. "You hear that?" yelled Barclay. "We're gonna crash-land this bird, and start burning lead as soon as we land!" He began grumbling under his breath, muttering about being unprepared.

"Stop the bellyaching, Staff Sergeant." said Liam. "When every SPARTAN-II joined the program, we swore to be the defenders of Earth and all her colonies. Hope is one of those colonies. No matter what the odds are, we fight, unprepared or no. For Earth." Staff Sergeant Barclay looked ashamed for a moment from such a verbal lashing. "Your right, SPARTAN-083. For a moment I was just....overwhelmed, shall we say." Liam smiled an understanding smile.

"Excuse me, but...." spoke up Captain Holmes, "I have no weapons for ground combat. I hope some of you have any extras." Richard smirked under his helmet. "Sure, Cap'n. I do." He pulled an MA5B Assault Rifle from the holster on his back and threw it to the captain. "You'll get some pretty good use outta that."

José suddenly jerked his head towards the cockpit. "I think we're close to our destination, boys." He opened the cabin door, where they caught just the beginning of a COM transmission being received by Warrant Officer Demaree: "-see you, Golf 187. Welcome to Rally Site Epsilon. Now prepare for a welcoming commitee."

"I read you, Epsilon. We're coming in pretty hot, but we should be able to make - " But the Warrant Officer never finished his transmission, for at that moment the Pelican dropped violently a few meters, cutting out the COM. "Dammit! Air brake failure! This bird's suffered more damage than I thought!" Demaree swore. The Pelican accelerated. Soon enough, a small Firebase, which was Rally Site Epsilon, with UNSC and Covenant forces fighting around it, could be seen getting closer. "Brace for impact, 'cuz we're gonna be hitting hard!" Demaree yelled. The three SPARTANs, Staff Sergeant Barclay, and Captain Holmes all hit back into their seats and put on their emergency harnesses. For extra protection, Bronze Team all locked their armor.

Moments later, they heard a violent crashing noise, were massively rocked, and gradually began to slow. When the Pelican came to a full stop. Bronze Team, Captain Holmes, and Staff Sergeant Barclay all released their harnesses and slowly climbed out of the crashed Pelican. They were only a few meters from the Rally Site. They slowly circled to the front of the crashed dropship and noticed that Warrant Officer Demaree was dead; his head had been put through the glass window.

"So..." began Richard, observing the battle. "This is the party?" He smirked again under his helmet. "Looks like my kind of party. Let's go find who's in charge."

8
The Phantom Dropship flew across the plains of Hope. It's countryside was like rows of lush green fields and woods. The Phantom passed a group of trees, the wind blowing them into the holes of the doors. Truly, Hope was a beautiful place to be, Tir-D-yar felt like vomiting over the beauty. He sat in his seat, thinking of the Battle of Reach, in which he gloriously slain a SPARTAN-III during its closing hours. He thought of the desolate wasteland that the planet had become, and smiled in delight. "Kig-Yar, keep your eyes on the prize!" his Sangheili commander barked. Tir returned to his senses and went to speak back, however he stopped himself. Tir looked at his fellow Kig-Yar. Except for himself, Bur-T-der, Kol-R-ah and Yor-D-ser, all the Kig-Yar held the primitive plasma pistols and the shield gauntlet. Tir often thought of this as suicide, to hold a shield infront of the cowardly Sangheili. Truly, the Sangheili were cowards, hiding behind the Unggoy and the Kig-Yar until the spotlight hits them. The phantom passed a nearby farm. The Unggoy loaded their needlers; one needle at a time. One of the Unggoy spoke to Tir, "You die, moment we land."

Tir stared at the Unggoy, "Don't be so sure, pathetic creature. I ain't dying for a long time."

The Sangheili growled, silencing the Unggoy.

A marine sat at his post, and faintly seen the Phantom, "Sarge?"

The Phantom slowly moved over another farmhouse. Suddenly, a rocket slammed against the Phantom's engine. It's interior began to shake madly. Several of the Unggoy were literally flung out of their seats. The pilot's panicked voice bellowed, "Everybody, get off the dropship. Through the gravity lift. Now!"

Tir knelt down, and leapt through the hole. He fell swiftly, and crashed into the bushes. Bur, Kol and Yor landed into the bushes beside him. The rustling of the bushes echoed across the farms as the four Kig-Yar crawled away. The rest of the file dropped down; all of them were exposed to whatever was out there. The Phantom spluttered, azure flames flying everywhere. The Phantom was engulfed by flames. The pilot made a quiet prayer to himself. The Phantom exploded sending shrapnel across the fields. The flames hit the pilot first, ripping apart his armour and burning his flesh. The wreckage then splattered his burning body, sending him flying backwards (towards the group). The fire spread as the wind blew sparks across the fields. The Sangheili commander stood up and walked towards the Cock-pit's wreckage. The pilot lay limp, as only his skeleton remained. One Unggoy then fell to the floor, dead. The group turned his body around, and a large bullet hole had permeated his flesh. The group looked into the distance. Several other Unggoy fell. Tir noticed that the first victim was the Unggoy who told him that he would die first. However, Tir smiled in a small vengeance. The group fired into the distance. Emerald and Torquoise bolts flew through the air. Human bullets retaliated and a firefight ensued. "Jackals, go forwards," the Sangheili commanded. The six Jackals charged, two of them being killed before they even established a plasma barricade. Suicide Mission... Tir thought to himself.

"Should we help them?" Kol asked.

"No," Tir anwsered, "We could survive instead."

All the Kig-Yar fell, soon followed by the Unggoy. Enraged, the Sangheili pulled out an Energy Sword and charged. "We have to help him!" Yor shouted rushing out of the bushes.

"No you fool!" Bur-T-der called. The Sangheili was quickly fired upon, his shields flickered. The sustained fire disabled his shields and slain the Elite. Yor grabbed a Energy Shield and fired into the distance. A rocket flew right towards his head, and the upper half of Yor's body was obliterated in a hail of flesh.

"So, what now?" Kol asked.

Tir hesitated, but anwsered, "We survive, that's all we need to do."

--Gruntijackal, the impending demise draws near 16:47, November 29, 2010 (UTC)

9
Shouji gripped the warden's M6 magnum and put his hand on the cold metal trigger as the squad of three ODST soldiers walked past his hiding spot in the shadows of the dark prison corridor. It was empty, all the inmates had ran into the town when the Covenant attacked and Shouji had from his cell snapped the neck of the guard carrying the keyes to his entire cellblock when his back was turned.

But Shouji had proceeded to the office of the obese and cruel warden, who had insulted Shouji with labor and had insulted proud Samurai lineage of the Komoro family, of which Shouji was a member. With the guards nightstick Shouji killed the warden and took his magnum which was hidden inside his desk.

But Komoro knew that it was only a matter of time before the UNSC sent in soldiers to investigate the prison, it was a high security one known as the Jason Borgaff Penitentiary or the JBP to most, it was appearantly named for a former police commisoner. It was a single reinforced concrete square building surrounded by a square wall perimeter that could survive multiple blasts from a Covenant wraith tank. Turrets could be mounted from the roof to shoot down air support, guard towers could be used as excellent sniper positions, the wall could be traversed easily and infantry and turrets could be placed, and the building was also defendable from infantry. That plus only one entrance in that enemy armor could not easily fit through, and there was no chance the UNSC wouldn't want to fortify it to help defend the town.

Knowing this, Shouji had but to wait for the soldiers to come and ambush them. The UNSC would send scouts in first then a main force. Shouji would kill them and take a uniform, the UNSC wouldn't bother confirming his story or identification as they would soon be desperate for help.

As the last of three ODSTs passed him, Shouji holstered the gun and snuck up behind the last one and snapped his neck. The soldier made a grunt of pain before dying. This noise forced the other two to turn around.

Shouji quickly pulled the Magnum and shot the first ODST straight in his visor and the other by a stroke of luck had his assault rifle shot from his hand. Thanking his ancestors for the luck of his bullet, Komoro took aim and hit the last ODST, who was fleeing in the back of the head, the bullet moved through his helmet and into his skull, killing him in a splatter of crimson blood.

After twenty minutes of changing into the last ODST's armor, as he was of the highest rank, a Staff Sergeant. Komoro used duct tape to patch up the magnum round, rendering the hole invisible under the silver tape and had written 'Komoro' on his helmet with a marker.

He had been sentenced to life for his dealings with the Yakuza, working as a hitman before joining the Marines to evade arrest, only be arrested later. His case had made big news, but there was no chance even if any soldier had seen him on the news being brought to court he would remember as it was twelve years ago and as long as the ODST visor hid his prison tatoo of a green dragon, the logo of one of Hope's most violent gangs which adorned his face no one would know he was an inmate.

With his disguise Komoro would be able to hopefully get transport in a UNSC evac ship and maybe even a pardon if he killed some covenant with his new MA37. He continued these thoughts as he walked down the town's deserted streets until he eyed a lone ODST who appeared to have dropped away from his unit. Searching most likely for friendly forces.

"Trooper. Over here!" Shouji yelled to him.

10
"This is Hellbringer oh seventy-one of Covert ops platoon eight aboard a civilian transport ship. We are headed to Hope." Said Jason, a UNSC hellbringer. "Jason, glad you got out alright." "You and us both, Jake, now tell me how a spartan took control of frigate coms." "I pulled some strings. Not everyday we lose a major UNSC planet." Jason paused for a moment, "Hopefully you're right..." The ship's radar screens started flashing, and the frigate swayed abruptly. Spartan Jake-093 ran over to a window, only to find a Covenant Corvette, sitting in wait for the UNSC Eye of Providence's response. "We've been followed! The captain probably already made the order to jump, looks like we're getting cut short old friend." Jake ended the transmission. The starship shook again.

"What did Jason say?" Miranda asked Jake as they ran. "They got out alright. Two hellbringers and a marine tend to be able to fight off a few Covenant." Jake responded smirking at the thought of it. A marine strode around the corner, "Captain's ordered for evac!" Miranda was surprised, "Evacuation! To where!" "Hades, a moon of Epitadeus b. We're already in orbit. Hurry, the ODSTs have already took the drop, and we don't have much time at all!" "Heh, than thy really are plunging feet first into hell for once." Miranda sneered. Jake had to admit that he was caught off guard by the Corvette, "Ready a Pelican, we leave in ten minutes." A blast of plasma shook the hull. "Five."

"How are we doing on the load, Randy?" Jake asked the marine as he aproached the gun rack against the Hangar wall. Spartans, marines, and ship personnel were busy climbing into their own pelicans and albatrosses. "Ammo loaded, supplies in." the marine began "All we need to do is harness the Hog and were out." Another spartan stepped out of the Pelican. "Load your guns, guys, we may be on Hades for a while." Edward, added, trying to sound humored by everything that was taking place. He failed miserably. The two men picked up their guns, Jake held an M6D magnum with M225 rounds in his right hand, and a DMR in the left. Ed, with an MA37 assult riffle and an M90 shotgun, choose effectivity over elegance. Red lights flashed overhead. A large explosion, and crumbling walls indicated that the Providence had already fell victim to the Covenant. The hull was evidently breached, and all doors, had begun to slide shut automatically, slowly and tauntingly. Many dropships began their exit, fearing that they might become trapped in the hangar.

"Get in the Pelican we've got the Hog hooked up!" Randy yelled. Everybody flooded the pelican, except Randy who was the pilot. "Just a moment till we hit the atmosphere" Randy said nervously. The two spartans stood inside the blood tray, Miranda sat loading magazines. The ship slowly dropped down towards Hades, the Eye lay lifeless, broken into three pieces, as the Corvette loomed closer. The air of accomplishment soon wore-off, as plasma blasts claimed multiple Pelicans and Albatrosses. Those who managed to avoid the threat of the Covenant were demolished by the debris of the eye. Soon enough, they were all alone.

The land lay dark, the Pelican hushed, and all crew members stayed in the blood bay, awaiting the safer daylight.

--TheMerciless 22:58, November 29, 2010 (UTC)

11
Luc had been traveling for hours now, walking down a highway the road connected to. "Damnit! How the hell could I have forgotten to pack any rations!" he gripes, hungry. As he continues walking, he sees two humanoid shapes in the distance. Luc then jumps a patch of woods bordering the highway. "hmm... lets get a closer look" he whispers to himself. As he draws nearer, he sees it is two spartans. "Finally, someone freindly, Hey"! he shouts, stepping out of the trees.

On the Grapes of Wrath, Captian Garcia was pleased with how fast repairs to the hull and weapons system were completed. " Propulsion systems are at 100 percent, all hull breaches have been sealed and most have been re-armored, and all weapons systems, save one archer pod are back online Sir".head Engineer Tonya Hendricks happily reports. "Good, is the ship ready to make the jump to Hope"? Garcia asks "Yes sir"! Tonya relplies. "Good. start counting down, we're jumping in ten minutes". he replies, standing up.

A short while later, the Grapes of Wrath disappears from the Epsilon Eridani system.

TheivingFan 00:26, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

12
Moore listened to the chatter on the pelican's radio as it flew into the planet.

"This is Holocaust 5-6 we are taking heavy fire." Yelled the rough voice of a marine as plasma fired echoed in the background.

"Kilo 2-3 this is Red Ryder, flight of two Longswords bearing archer missiles hang tight and get to cover." Said the calm voice of a bomber pilot.

"Juliet Tango this is Swamp Fox we are inbound to reinforce your position. Over." Said the voice of a young man, likely a lieutenent fresh out of officer candidate school.

"This is Shadow Strike 6-48 we have lost grid Sierra Madros and Grid Ontario North over." A man of what sounded to be of African descent said calmly.

"This is Joker 56-9 the Covenant have broken through our defenses falling back to rally point Romeo Lima." Yelled a clearly scared marine.

"Command, Eagel Eye-7 can confirm death of colonial militia units twelve, ten, eight, and six at Bluffer's Peak. Over." A recon scout reported in.

"Son of a cunt." Moore said aloud to the pilot as screams of terror and reports of heavy losses continued to come in. "Shut that damn thing off." Moore eventually ordered the pilot, sick of hearing of death and despair.

The orders had been simple, extract a vital asset, Dr. Robert Hallmay, an ONI scientist from a small city. By the sounds of it the brass had wanted him out safe and alive and had deployed ODST units to do so, but they had failed to respond and so Mulgrew had sent him and his flight of now five pelicans to extract him from an ONI research facility in a small city.

Moore took a handheld radio and walked to the back of the bird observing the city as he flew over it.

"All units." He said into the mike. "This is First Sergeant Dennis Moore, UNSC Centurions. We are on a priority mission from ONI. Under orders of Commodore Mulgrew all units in the surrounding area are now under my jurisdiction. All units move to meet me at point Kilo-Quebec." He said referencing a tactical map of the area. "Moore out."

"So sarge where's Kilo-Quebec?" Asked PFC Travis.

"At a clearing in some park." Moore replied. Looking out the open back he saw soldiers moving around on the ground, by the looks of them unorganized.

Moore was cut short when the pelicans landed in a park.

"Just like Central Park back home." He whispered to himself, noting it's beauty. He unslung his MA5 and reloaded the gun. "Men get ready." He yelled.

13
A Phoenix lowered itself to a few feet above the ground, it's twin turbofan engines calmed slightly. A soft thump broke the silence, Riley-G659 walked forward and waved back to the marines. The Phoenix took back to the skies, as Riley walked forward, kneeled down, and pulled Rowan-090's helmet from his head. "Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty," Riley taunted. This was sure to wake up the old man. It always got his attention. "Riley!" Rowan woke up, "Wait, how could you find me in all of this confusion?" "Simple, just looked for the flaming Spartan who forgot to activate his jet pack."

Before Rowan could explain, another Spartan ran out of the brush. "God, it's Luc." Rowan muttered, recovering from his unconscious sleep. "Luc! You made it!" Riley gave the incoming Spartan a low-five. Rowan decided to continue his rest. Riley smiled, "So glad we could regroup! For a second I though that we were the only survivors of the dive!" "Heh, I know what you mean!" Luc began, "A group of Spartans doing an ODST's job!" Riley laughed. Even half-dazed Rowan managed to cough up a muffled one.

Luc starred behind Riley in horror, "It looks like we have another thing to take care of now, though." Riley was surprised "What do you mean?!" Behind him strode a large Covenant Scarab paying them no attention. Directly behind it, lied five or six massive Covenant Spires, and in the center lied the behemoth that dwarfed them all. Only one word could describe such a thing. It was a Covenant Super-Spire. --  Chris  talk   blog  01:35, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

14
The Pod shuddered violently as it impacted the ground, and again as it burst open. Eoj 'Labasee jumped out of the pod, and found himself on a landing pad amid the the ruins of a human spaceport. The pad was smeared with human gore; Jiralhanae shock troops had already killed most of the civilians. The ground shook as three more pods struck the pavement. From two of them came a pair of 'Labasee's subordinates; Major Domo Xer 'Niatpacee and Minor Krad 'Thaedee. 'Niatpacee walked over to the third pod, a weapons cache, and punched in a code, opening the pod with a metallic click.

"Sir," growled 'Niatpacee. The Ultra walked over to pod and took a look at its contents. Two Type-33 GMLs. Nothing unusual there. But under the Needlers was a pyrimdal object that pulsed with faint blue light. A scanning device.

"But that means..." said 'Thaedee. There was no need to say more. The fleet had found an artifact on the planet. And the fact they wanted a team of three Sangheili regulars to find it meant something was very wrong.

A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 03:35, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

15
Quinn had spent at least ten minutes wandering the streets. In that time he'd seen or heard from no one, except an occasional stream of frantic calls for evac or backup without giving coordinates. Echoes of distant gunfire resounded against the walls of this abandoned concrete jungle, never lasting long.

Once again, he stood at an intersection, without a clue as to where he was going. Blast it, if he kept this up he'd be walking in circles.

"Well . . . left is right, and right is wrong."

Turning onto a street the name of which was in a language he couldn't read, Erik spotted the large, dark hulk of a drop pod laying half-buried in the sidewalk. Noting the door still fixed to the pod, he ran over to see if someone was trapped inside.

He first laid a hand on it, only to recoil from the heat still emanating from the ceramic layer. Maybe it had snapped its umbrella, or was just too close to that Supercarrier's beam. Knowing what he'd find, he still turned on his FOF tagging in his helmet. Sure enough, the trooper inside was dead, the heart moniter flatlined.

Shaking his head, he stepped away from it and sadly back to his aimless walk, when a yell reached his ears through the helmet's audio equipment. "Trooper. Over here!"

Snapping his head sideways, Erik sighted a man in ODST ballistic armor, waving to him from the next intersection. Quinn booked it across and joined him by a car.

"Holy shit." Quinn said, glad not to be alone anymore. "I thought I was the last one out here." He removed the bucket from his head and unscrewed the lid of his canteen, enjoying the cool liquid. He offered some to the man with Shouji written on his helmet, but he refused. Quinn muttered, "Supercarrier. Goddamn. Just when things are bad enough they throw that at us, and who knows what it's carrying."

He got another look at the trooper. "Shouji a nickname?"

Shouji felt a slight panic, but forced it down easily. "Yeah . . . how'd you know?"

"Your Friend Or Foe tag reads Sherman." he laughed. "I'd take Shouji over Sherman any day."

Shouji laughed it off with him, but still wanted to get off the planet. "Our unit have any extraction coming?"

Erik thought about it. "I don't think many others made it down . . . they were supposed to radio us when we had the package." He stood up, replacing the canteen on his side. "I guess the orders still stand. Find Dr. Robert Hallmay, get him out."

"You mean we're going deeper into the aliens' territory?" Shouji asked. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

"Yeah . . . it sucks."

Luck hadn't improved for either of them very much, but at the least they each had an extra gun at their backs. And more allies must be ahead, somewhere.

Far out from the city, the Covenant landing zone had been put into place quickly and without notice from human forces so far. The supercarrier above had even dropped a Scarab tank from its belly while the invasion spires below recieved large numbers of Wraith mortar and anti-air tanks. Hundreds of foot troops had landed already, and hundreds more would be on their way. Ghosts patrolled along miles of perimeter, watching for any scouts that might give away their element of surprise.

On the ring platform of the central spire's top, a Jiralhanae stood watching the battalions of Unggoy march out from under the teleportation recievers, heading to assemble for their Sangheili masters. His fur was silver-gray, marking him as an alpha male, though not the white of an Alpha Pack Chieftain like Tartarus. One massive paw was locked around a staff, with ornate designs of his people's culture wrought into it.

"Parthius." An Elite said, joining him to survey the holy soldiers. Though this one had used his true name as an honorific, Parthius still resented his kind for making his people fight their war.

"What is it you have to say, Sangheili?" he rumbled in his deep voice.

“Your shock troops have cleansed the city once, but after they returned here their soldiers reclaimed it. . .”

Parthius clenched his teeth. This would only give the snake-necks more reason to criticize him.

“ . . . though they are few and disorganized for now, next time you should remind them to hold their ground until we relieve them, and lead them yourself.”

As the Sangheili returned inside, Parthius noted he had conveniently forgotten that the Sangheili Shipmaster had ordered him to stay, and for his Brutes to return after cleansing the city. He kept from rebuking him, though. He’d heard stories of this Sangheili, his brothers called him Scarface, and it would be wiser to leave him alone.

16
Shouji continued walking with the ODST, calming down from the terror attack he had recieved when the trooper saw his IFF.

"So trooper, what's your name?" Shouji asked.

"Private Erik Quinn 22nd Squad, I was on Reach when it fell." He replied.

Shouji nodded.

"Alright Private. I'm Staff Sergeant Sherman, but call me Shouji, I was on Harvest 11th ODST. Nasty stuff. Now the package we have any clue on where he is or how to get him?"

"No." Replied Quinn.

"Alright then I guess we just-" Shouji was cut off when a New York accented voice filled the two troopers headsets.

"All units." The voice said into the mike. "This is First Sergeant Dennis Moore, UNSC Centurions. We are on a priority mission from ONI. Under orders of Commodore Mulgrew all units in the surrounding area are now under my jurisdiction. All units move to meet me at point Kilo-Quebec. Moore out."

"Well. Quinn said. "I guess we just found out."

"Agreed. Let's move out." Shouji replied pulling out a tactical map of the area.

"Kilo-Quebec." Shouji said. "That's about half a mile out. And if it's an ONI op. Then it's probably Hallmay."

"Alright." Quinn said. "Let's move."

The two started moving through the city. Oddly enough Covenant forces were at none. Shouji knew this meant that they were most likely preparing for an attack. There was no doubt in his mind the Covenant had something big planned for this city. Shouji could feel it as the two men arrived in the park.

Five pelicans were on the ground and at least two platoons were on the ground. Shouji eyed around four warthogs equipped with a chain gun turret and a gauss hog. About seven mongoose ATVs were also in the area. And to compliment, Shouji eyed a Scorpion Tank.

"Whoa. Helljumpers." Shouji heard a militia soldier say in awe as the two entered the camp.

"This way." Shouji said to Quinn as he led him to a small table where a man in UNSC Army clothing with a Centurion patch was looking at a map of the area and planning troop movements. This had to be the First Sergeant Moore.

"Sir." Shouji said to the man, easily six foot eight as he turned around. "Staff Sergeant Sherman, 11th ODST reporting for orders." He said.

Moore looked at him. "Sergeant, here's the plan. Hallmay lives in a small estate house on the outskirts of town, where recon is picking up alot of activity. Now the good doctor has fortified himself and a squad of ODSTs who found him. However they are pinned down inside the estate. We are going to break the siege and then use 'Ye-Olde Angry Bitch" Moore said pointing to the tank. "Don't ask about the name, I'm not sure myself. Now anyways Ye Olde Bitch over there is going to be our way to break into the doc's concrete estate house which he has sealed. Then we get him and extract him via warthog to grid Papa-Bravo where a Pelican will be waiting. Our main objective is to make sure that tank reaches the estate. Radio communications with Hallmay show him to be paranoid and unwilling to leave. Now I don't care if Hallmark is the most insane man in the galaxy. ONI wants him out alive and unharmed. And for this operation ONI signs our paychecks Savy?" Moore asked.

"Yes sir." Shouji replied.

"Good now tell your men the plan. We move out in twenty minutes." Moore said. "Dismissed."

17
The 2 Sangheili talked on the short ride down to Hope. Kahulara's old squad had been killed on Reach and he was the only survivor of his team. This were his new comrades and he just met them. His Ultra, Fratoro `Gytlic, was said to be Ruthless, and showed no mercy to the humans. The Sangheili standing on the other side of the spirit was known as Huam `Judech, was said to be a very religous individual. The ultra was in one of the other 2 phantoms, along with the other unggoy and Kig-Yar. The Fleet Master's ship had docked at the Super Spire and the fleet master had exited the ship into the spire to further plan the invasion. Orders came in telling them after the recon they had to return to the spire for more orders. The 3 spirits circled down beside the remains of the human ship once it was safe. There was a huge crater where it had crashed. Kahulara gripped his type-51 carbine firmly ready for anything when the spirit opened, he and all the others jumped onto the dirt, and the spirit hovered away to where its use was needed elsewhere.

The The Sanghieli ultra, leader of the group motioned to split up, 4 squads to go all around the perimeter, and 2 through the middle of the split ship. Most of them didn't even beleive there were going to be any survivors, but the higher ranks wanted to make sure EVERY human on the planet was wiped out, there was also the possibility of a human regroup or a hideout there. The squads scattered, swiftly, and silently investigating. After satisfied nothing was around, or in the ship, the scattered troops regrouped. Suddenly, they heard something in the wreckage. A spartan stumbled out of one of the sides of the wreckage unarmed, and vulnerable. His, used to be green armour, had been burned completely black, and damaged. The ultra yelled "Demon!". The human super soldier tripped and clumsily fell on his face, Fratoro walked over swiftly, and mercilessly executed the demon screaming "All unbeleivers must d-", and at the exact same moment, the ultra had been interrupted by a crack of gunfire and a trail of smoke coming from nowhere into the head of the ultra. He dropped to the ground motionless, and dead.

Looking back from where the trail of smoke, was Platoon of marines firing their ballistic weapons towards the Covenant force. The jackals had alread activated their energy sheilds and avanced towards the enemy. The unggoy panicked and and shot rapidly in random directions like cowards. Kahulara kept his calm, aim, and shot at the marines with his carbine. The Sangheili and unggoy advanced up closer to the marines penetrating their armour with plasma. Plasma and bullets rushed through the air. Multiple unggoy and Kig-Yar had dropped to the ground, but the marines casualties out numbered theirs. The un-beleivers shot at the elites but their shields only flickered at the bullets. Kahulara was sprayed at with the last marine, the rounds just bounced off his shields as he activated his energy sword and swiftly sliced through the marine, "For the covenant!". The fire fight was over in less than a minute, before the human taskforce could even retreat. At the top of the crater in the distance they could see the spire, and the carnage all around it. CYC10N3 06:08, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

18
'Labasee reached into the pod and gingerly removed the glowing device. As soon as his fingers contacted the violet metal alloy, a myriad of maps and topographical overlays burst into life on his HUD. Such an instrument was normally restricted to no less than a Zealot. The Elite stared at it in wonder.

'Niatpacee and 'Thaedee grabbed the needlers. Xer holstered the weapon and pulled out his trusty Type-51 Carbine.

Loud thuds echoed nearby. Xer immediately went into a hyperfocused state, as he always did in in anticipation of a fight, ready for anything. He scanned the ruins for the enemy.

"There," his powerful muscles tensed, preparing to pull the trigger; to draw first blood. 'Labasee nudged the barrel of the carbine down. "No, we have been given a mission, and that mission comes first." Xer grumbled a grudging acknowledgement.

In the distance one of the humans pointed. They began to sprint at the trio, and opened fire.

"Move!" 'Labasee ordered. They broke into a run. But something roared overhead.

A human dropship cut off the Elites, and from its troop hold came a demon.

A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 08:23, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

19
Morning dawned on the eighth platoon as they emerged from the pelican, tired and battle worn. "Pull out the supplies," Jake said. "We gotta get setup." The spartan donned his helmet, standing high above the marines, except Ed who stood an inch above himself. The team set up an emergency shelter; stringing a buckmesh sheet from their ship to a nearby cave. They set up a light in the back of the small cave, placing the two footlockers along the walls; one with ammo, one with supplies. Time passed as the team went over possible plans. "How much food and water?" Ed asked Randy, who had been rummaging through the supplies. "A good two to three weeks at most. Plus water filters and a hunting crossbow." "Bow ain't gonna help us now. This place don't have any animal life." Ed said. "We can use it for other things, or at least I can." Randy said, he usually went unnarmed. The crossbow had a lot of ammo, plus a pump action shotgun built into the front below the bow. "Miranda, how about ammo?" Jake asked, working on an armor mounted weapon on his left hand. It worked by loading a small handleless spike into a slot, locking into place and being launched by a spring with the push of a button. On the underside of his opposite forearm he had a small double barreled shotgun, loaded by pulling back the pump and fired by a simmilar push button mechanism. "Enough for a small army. Few grenades though. It will take a little improvision, though." She stated. Jake fired his new 'ballistic wrist' at the wall, penetrating a good three inches into the dirt. "Got improvision covered." Miranda's brother, Ed pulled a magnum out of the bin, loading a mag and tossing it to Randy. "M225 rounds, blow your head out your ass if you use 'em wrong." He joked, trying once again to lighten the situation. "They any good? He asked. Jake looked at him. "Good enough for me." "We should scout the area, see what kind of place we got ourselves on. Miranda, check the intel map for any high points around our position. I marked our position in red." Ed said, placing his helmet on his head.

Base of Mt. Persephone (1 mi), three hundred yards from their pelican, troop transport warthog nicknamed "Lucifer" The hog drove over the obstacles, slowly but surely crawling up the mountain. The marines lay quiet, the only sounds made by their loyal hog. "we..are...here." Randy said. Everybody got out and walked over to the small forehead of the mountain, looking out over at the large plain that covered this part of the natural satelite. The view horrified them. The UNSC Eye of Providence lay in pieces across the land, along with many destroyed or damaged ODST pods. The team laid down on the mointaintop, using long distance optics to watch the land more closely. Minutes passed and the land stayed still, until a pod shook. The door flew off, kicked by an ODST survivor. The man stumbled, throwing his helmet to the ground and walked forward. A plasma mortar flew over the far hills, crashing into the man and killing him. The platoon watched in horror as the previously sighted corvette loomed over the hills, accompanied by two Spirit troop transports who flew over to the wreckage, dropping many elites that swarmed the area in search of survivors. Jake looked up at the corvette. "We...are...fucked." --TheMerciless 15:18, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

20
'Thaedee hesitated. It was a mistake. The green beast saw him as the most vulnerable target, and leaped. 'Thaedee cried out indignantly as the demon swung its primitive knife across his belly. Xer lashed out with his plasma daggers, but the Demon pulled out his rifle and rammed the butt into 'Niatpacee's sternum, knocking the wind out of him. Krad began to recover, but the monster prepared to attack again.

Quickly, 'Labasee ran up to the human and punched its head as hard as he could. Its golden visor shattered in a bloody mess. It jumped onto Eoj, reaching for its knife. But there was a flash of pink, and the demon stopped, crying out in pain. It slumped down. 'Thaedee had shot it with his needler.

Xer stomped on its arm, crushing it and pinning the demon. He roared in its face, then plunged his dagger into its helmet.

"Look," said 'Thaedee, pointing.

Several Wraiths had appeared in the distance. They waved their arms, but something felt wrong.

All of a sudden, the Wraiths fired at them. A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 16:10, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

21
Torkamentov usually loved battles. The feel of his behemoth of a ship roaring into the fight, with it's humungous firepower, and all enemy vessels fleeing before it. However, this wasn't one of those times. The Covenant kept fighting, and were even threatening to surround his smaller force of ships. It also didn't help that many of the ships he had to work with still had battle damage from the battle at Reach. As the Siren's Call fired it's MAC guns at a Covenant Corvette that was attempting to get behind the UNSC force, the ship took fire from one of the Covenant Cruisers. On the bridge, reports came fast, loud, and furious as the battle progressed. “Sir. Damage from that last enemy salvo was minimal, slight damage n the rear compartments of Deck18. We can hold of on repairing it until after the battle.” “Good. Keep firing on that Corvette. We don't want them to surround us. Have someone keep that Cruiser off us until we can finish the job here.”

Torkamentov paced the bridge back and forth, as he tried to figure out a way to turn the battle in his favor, but he wasn't coming up with anything. He just hoped right now that the enemy would make a mistake he could exploit. He wasn't going to use his special cargo yet. Not here around Hope. Another message came through on FleetCom. “Sir, we're picking up an influx of chatter from ground forces on Hope. Apparently the Covenant invasion fleet has dropped spires all over Hope. They seem to be focusing efforts on Icaria, where it seems they have dropped an oversized Spire, for the mass deployment of ground forces.” “Dang it,” said Torkamentov, “We don't have time for this. Things are moving too fast, and we don't have enough forces to go around. Tell them we will assist when we finish up here.”

Another salvo from the cruiser impacted on the hull of the Siren's Call, and explosive decompression resulted in the areas behind the impact points. “ Sir, we have hull breaches on Deck 4. Moderate damage, dispatching repair crews to patch it up. Also, the radar dish has taken hits and is non operational.” Torkamentov watched as Mulgrew's face paled upon hearing that news. “Oh, shit. The Shadow Drive was routed through the radar dish to transmit signals to the Covenant sensors and computers. With it non operational, the Shadow Drive is useless. I could try a bypass and have it go from the Communication's array, as a piggyback on our normal communications, but we won't be able to send line of sight communications. It will have to be all around, and then even our ships will be affected.” “Well, fix it. We will just have to advise hem with lasers before we use it.” “It isn't that simple, Sir. Since this was a prototype secret project, we have I isolated from the main computer network. That means I can't bypass it from the bridge. An the guys who push the buttons down there don't now how to do something like this. I'll have to go and reroute it myself,” said Mulgrew. Torkamentov nodded. “OK, go to it. We need that Drive running again ASAP.” Mulgrew nodded a she ran out of the bridge.

As Torkamentov waited for Mulgrew to report back, he noticed something strange was going on, which the bridge crew hadn't noticed for some reason. “Hey, why have they stopped shooting at us?” “Unknown, Sir. Maybe they are busy.” “Unlikely. What the hell is going on out there?” Torkamentov looked out the window to see the stars, and the battle raging around him. He saw something that looked strange. Closer examination revealed what it was. “Shoot!. Put me on Shipwide....This is Torkamentov. All crew, head to the nearest armory to obtain weapons. We are about to be boarded!.” Torkamentov wondered about Mulgrew as he settled into his chair, but turned his thought away. Mulgrew was probably already at the Shadow Drive. He would be fine. With that thought, Torkamentov turned his attention toward saving his ship, and beating these Covenant SOB's. Azecreth 20:58, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

22
"Somthing tells me those aren't natural." Luc says, eyeing the Scarab as he fishes around in one of his ammo compartments. "Hmm.... ah here they are." he grins, fishing out several small canisters of C7 Foaming explosive. "First thing's first..we have to take out that Scarab before it sees us.

Meanwhile, the Grapes of Wrath was bustling with activity while in slipspace, contrary to the usual near silent hulk with only a skeleton crew to perform basic matinence. Repairs were still being made, the Sabres were being armed, their pilots cramming so many hours in the sims, Robert actually had to start rationing time between the squadrons. "Hm... we're only a day away now.." mutters Robert, leaning back in his chair." I just hope the forces already there can hang on until we arrive".

--TheivingFan 21:49, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

23
Within seconds, the Covenant Scarab lie flaming, motionless on the ground. Luc turned back in satisfaction. Rowan still sat with his back against the rock, watching unexcitedly as the fiery debris rolled around in the dirt. "You certainly made quick work of that Scarab." Rowan began, "It's a damn shame there are so many more guarding the Spires down that hill." Luc walked over to Rowan, kneeled down, and offered Rowan a quick sip from his canteen. He gratefully accepted and jugged down at least one-quarter of the bottle's contents.

"Thanks, pal." Rowan handed the canteen back to Luc, and after a short coughing fit, he continued, "I'll remember that as the best water I've ever tasted." Luc grabbed Rowan by the hand and pulled him to his feet. "You're welcome." Luc responded calmly, before placing the canteen back into his "tactical trauma kit case", which was built into his left leg armor. "Well, it looks like we have another seeming impossible objective to complete don't we?" said Riley in a sarcastic tone.

Rowan starred back at the gargantuan Spire before responding, "I've seen regular Covenant Spires on Reach, but I've never seen anything like that large one in the center of that formation." Luc turned to Riley and then back to Rowan, "The Spires placed at Szurdok Ridge on Reach were utilized as cloaking devices, used to keep the Covenant supercarrier Long Night of Solace invisible and off of radar. I can estimate that the energy generated by all of the regular Spires dropped onto this continent alone would be enough to keep the entire Covenant fleet invisible!" Riley and Rowan could tell that he was onto something. "Well what do you think they'd need all of that energy for? After all, the only Covenant ship that I've seen them cloak throughout this entire battle so-far was that supercarrier." "Well I fear that with the Covenant's new Super-Spire active, that they'd have enough power to keep that supercarrier cloaked from anywhere within the range of this entire planet!" With a look of enlightenment, Riley questioned, "So that is the reason why they've began their invasion on the small and isolated continent of Icaria!?" Luc confirmed these suspicions with a nod.

They all looked up to observe the wild dogfight taking place above their heads. The supercarrier was no where in sight. --  Chris  talk   blog  22:31, November 30, 2010 (UTC)

24
Matthew-123 and Ryder- K231 saw the scarab's explosion first. "Look!" said Matthew, "That's the biggest explosion I have ever seen!" Ryder scoffed. "Eh, I've seen better on Arcadia." Morales looked over, "Better than some high-powered 'crackers I have at home!" Matt was confused, "You have Crackers that explode? Awesome!"

"No, not like that. I mean-" Ryder interrupted " Ladies and Gentle-marines, we have now arrived at the Scarab site. And look, we have some friends waiting for us!" Morales positioned the Phoenix beside Rowan, Riley and Luc. They each looked up at the Phoenix and grinned. "All aboard the Phoenix Express!" Morales said in his usual happy tone.

"Well I'll be damned!" Rowan muttered under his breath. Riley turned to Luc, "More survivors, and two Spartans!" Luc stared at the incoming Phoenix, "This should be interesting. Hey guys! Think you could take us to those Spires over there?" Matt grinned, "Heh, where else would we be taking you!" -Therider Rides Alone 01:12, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

25
The trio scattered.

Xer leaped onto one of the Wraiths, and tore off the door. He hopped inside, prepared to strike.

But the pilot was dead.

*****

'Thaedee's sprint slowed to a limp. He was losing too much blood.

He came across a dead marine sitting in a pool of blood. It was a ghastly sight. Spikes protruded from its chest, and its face was frozen in a grotesque expression of pure terror. In it's right hand was a rocket launcher.

He hefted the weapon over his shoulder, albeit reluctantly. He zoomed in on the nearest Wraith. He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and fired.

A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 03:24, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

26
Turok stood valiant in even death's face as he was branded a traitor by his own friend. He received the Mark of Shame soon after. He wasn't hanged, as was the fate of most of the Sangheili. He was spaded to wander Hope until it's last day.

As he exited the Spire, he saw an odd sight. A "Phoenix" (as the humans called it) was heading towards his direction. Turok tried to run back inside to warn the others, but it was too late. The Phoenix had arrived and with it, five demons jumped out.

27
Mulgrew looked around nervously as he pulled out his M6K Handgun. He had just heard Torkamentov's announcement, and while the odds were slim that the Covenant would penetrate this far into the ship, it never hurt to be prepared. He had had to take detours around damaged areas in order to get to the Shadow Drive control center, so he wasn't yet in the process of fixing it. Fortunately, he was close there now. He broke into a run, turned a corner, and saw that he was down the hall from his destination. As he entered the room, he saw that the guards were gone. "Hmmm, they probably went to repel the boarders," siad Mulgrew to himself as he began worlk on rerouting the Shadow Drive, "but you think that they would stay here. I mean, the covenant probably don't know about this place, but it is a high priority target. If the Covenant could get here, and figure out what this thing is, then they would probably destroy it, and we would be in a tough situation." He cleared his mind, and contrinued working.

He was almost done, when he heard a noise out in the hallway. He peeked his head out to look, and saw 2 marines backing around the corner. They saw his, and ran over. "Is there anything we use in this room for cover? The Covenant are right behind us." Mulgrew looked around, and pointed to a table and some chairs. "Well, there's this stuff, "he replied. "All right," said the marine on the left, "You and me will move the table into the hallway. Jones, keep the Covenant from coming up too soon." "Yes sir," replied Jones as he ducked back around the corner, firing his battle rifle as he went. Mulgrew and the other marine dragged the table out of the room, and turned it on it's side. They had just finished when they heard Jones grunt in pain. The Covenant soldiers ran around the corner, and the remaining marine started shooting at them while crouched behind the table. Mulgrew stood firing range style, and started shotoing at their heads. The marine looked at him like he was an idiot, and pulled hmdown behind the table just before a plasma burst went through the space where Mulgrew's head was. "Watch it, you dang fool! Don't be a hero," said the marine gruffly as he resumed fire. Mulgrew nodded, and put his pistol on the table and resumed shooting.

After a tense 7 minute gunfight, the Covenant that had tried to storm them were all dead. Mulgrew walked down he hall, pausing every so often to put a bullet into the head of a Covenant body. The marine looked at him and said, " You did good. Who are you anyway?" Mulgrew smiled and said, "I'm Commodore Alexander Mulgrew, the ship's XO. Also known as your boss." The marine paled a bit, remembering how he had called Mulgrew a dang fool, but then brightened up. "It's a good thing I grabbed you, then. We wouldn't want to lose you." Mulgrew nodded, and returned to the Shadow Drive control room, and finished his work.

With that done, he got on the radio. "Mulgrew to bridge. The rerouting is complete." "Good," replied Torkamentov, "Any trouble down there?": Mulgrew looked back at the blood-covered hallway, and said, "No, sir. Nothing I couldn't handle." "Good. Well, stay down there. We're going to need the Shadow Drive soon." "Why," asked Mulgrew. "The Covenant fleet almost has us surrounded. We're falling back to Epitadeus b, in order to get a better position, and enact emergency repairs." Azecreth 20:22, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

28
Rowan, Riley, and Luc sat in the back seats of the phoenix quietly, trying to relax for the last few minutes that they could. The Spire formation wasn't nearly as distant as it was when they were picked up. "Let's work out a plan." Riley began. It was the first serious sounding comment to come out of his mouth since the initial drop. Everyone knew that as the Spire grew closer, the more threatening it appeared, and the Spartans just about couldn't take much more. Patrolling scarabs and enemy wraiths constantly fired plasma mortar at them, good thing Morales was such a good pilot. "Okay then." Rowan finally responded to Rilley's query, "Matthew, Ryder, Luc. I'd like you to stay with Riley for this mission. I assume that you all are already aware of your goal, to deactivate the Super-Spire's shields, making it vulnerable, at that point, just about any of our ship's MAC cannons should do the trick. After that, the suppercarrier will be unable to leave this continent undetected." Matt was concerned, "Sure, but what about you?" "I'll stay here with Morales. We'll keep a safe distance and provide you with intel. Once the shields are deactivated, I will probably only have a few seconds to retrieve you all, so act quickly." Riley grinned underneath his helmet. "Sir, yes sir."

The wail of a banshee echoed through the phoenix. By the sound of it, they could tell that it was closing in on them. The banshee zoomed forward, and was now right beside them. In a split second, Rowan stretched his arm outward, aiming at the banshee with an assault rifle. The enemy fell back for a second, before catching up again on the opposite side. Luc, stood up from his seat and dived at the banshee. The banshee rolled towards the side in an attempt to knock him off. One hand slipped. Before being allowed to regain his balance, another sideways flip swung him to the opposite side once more. "Bastards!" Riley turned towards the banshee, aimed his shotgun carefully, and fired, smashing it's left wing. Luc turned his head back towards the phoenix and managed the word, "Thanks," before being shaken abruptly by the banshees unsteadiness. With newfound strength, he placed his other arm on the roof of the banshee and ripped off it's hood. The Elite inside lifted himself from the cockpit. The thrusters stopped, and Luc, froze in terror as the Elite soared out, leaving him to swing out of control. The banshee began to fall behind once more. After an abrupt three-sixty, he slammed his foot hard against the swirling mass, and leaped himself towards the phoenix. he swung his hands. he missed. Before he could fall, Rowan leaped outwards and grabbed his arm. The phoenix came to a halt. Rowan pulled Luc back in. Luc was surprised, "Thanks man!" Rowan nodded his head, "Anytime. Well so much for a restful journey..." They were there.

Meanwhile, the Grapes of Wrath was just about to exit slipspace "All crew, battlestations." Captain Robert ordered, sitting reclining back into his soft captains chair on the bridge. A few seconds later, the ship was plunged once again, into normal space. Outside of the glass, Robert could see two space banshees, that would have zoomed directly through the battleship's current position, abruptly roll out of the way. "Launch a group of four Sabres for reconnaissance," Robert continued, staring at the planet sitting only about thirty-kilometers away. Somehow he knew this would be a very long battle... --  Chris  talk   blog  22:33, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

29
"Xer, incoming!"

He leaped out of the Wraith, which exploded before he even reached the ground. A rocket struck a second Wraith, and the ensuing explosion sent a peice of debris through the hull of a third. Another rocket destroyed the remaining Wraith.

"What in the name of the Heirarchs was that?"

A bloodied 'Thaedee limped out of the shadows, rocket launcher in hand. "So uncivilized," he remarked as he tossed the weapon aside.

"There was nothing piloting those-" Xer began.

"Hey! Last time I checked, I counted as something!"

Startled, the Elites twisted around, and found themselves staring into the glowing blue eye of a Monitor.

A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 20:51, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

30
"Sir, there's a Marathon-class cruiser retreating, but it's being pursued by a large Covenant force"! Maxim yelled."hm.. Move to come between the Marathon class and covenant ships, let's cover their retreat"."Also, try to contact them". Robert then turned to face Guy Montag, the ship's "smart" AI. or rather, he turned to face the monitor that was displaying "him". "Bring the MAC turrets around, start firing once we're in range". "I'm already woking on it Captian Guy replied in a neutral tone." --TheivingFan 21:25, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

31
Turok tried to grab for his weapon, but felt his skin. He was naked. Turok looked for a weapon near by. He picked up a half-used plasma pistol. Not the best weapon, but when used right, a force to be reckoned with.

As Turok began to fire, One demon looked over. "Oh, dude, put some pants on, it's immodest!"

The moment Ryder said that, Turok fired a charged shot at the back of Riley's head.

-Therider Rides Alone 23:14, December 1, 2010 (UTC)

32
Jothu surveys the carnage around him. Flame licked still-glowing debris from the buildings toppled by the plasma bombardment. Overhead, a few Banshees shriek past, chasing after a few human aircraft. He dismisses them with little thought – they were not his concern.

“First lance! Move forward! Scour this wretched infestation – leave no filthy hovel unsearched!”

His warriors move with fluid efficiency, each honed by years of hard training and harder fighting. House-to-house searches reveal nothing more than a few straggler civilians who were quickly cut down, and a few abandoned pets. The artillery has done its job, but too effectively – his objective depends on there being survivors.

The Covenant invasion of this world was, in most respects, unremarkable – slaughter, bombardment, a pitiful counterattack by the humans, and finally ended in their cowardly evacuation and the final destruction of their now or soon-to-be lifeless cities and homes. And in that regard, the Raak’ezh warrior crèche were happy to fulfil their task of rendering this world a lifeless rock. But their orders came down directly from the Prophets, and their goal was not quantity – it was quality.

Field Master Jothu ‘Fazhezhee strides across this battlefield, littered with strewn debris and flaming wreckage, cloak billowing in his wake, gold and black armour alternately seeming divine and demonic. It is an image he cultivates, and it has served him well. Upon this place, he appears as some vengeful emissary of the Prophets unyielding wrath – and that is because he is.

“Excellency! A survivor!”

He turns, and sees a warrior dragging out a human warrior, a “mareen,” the smaller creature kicking and punching wildly, screaming obscenities at them. He smiles.

It shall soon learn that silence is a virtue that it should embrace.

“Halt there.”

The warrior stops, confused, but keeps his grip. The human, momentarily confused, redoubles its efforts to escape. Jothu considers allowing it to, letting his warriors hunt it down – if there is no further sport to be gained from this town, then they would welcome the hunt as any warrior should. He decides against it – to fulfil his orders, he would need professionalism. He would allow them to battle later - now was a time for cold, calm decisions.

He made one.

“Be still human,” he says, his mouth contorting uncomfortable around the human syllables. “Resist and you shall feel pain.”

The creature shouts something at him. He is unfamiliar with the word, but the inflection was enough – defiance, obviously intended as insult, and perhaps a last act of desperation.

Good. A little life in the thing.

The warrior cuffs the human around the head, not a damaging blow, but enough to daze it. It is dragged to its knees, allowed to sit as it is interrogates. Jothu crouches before it, holding its chin in his hands, forcing it to look at him.

“You shall talk. And I shall listen.”

The creature resists for hours. But Jothu knows patience, and his warriors have a skill with the blade that is unparalleled. The human is not killed. His fate is much worse. But he talks, eventually, and he divulges all he knows.

It is precisely what Jothu needs.

He straightens, dusting his armour of the dust that has settled upon it. He smiles at the human, nodding to the warrior that still has a vice-grip on the creatures neck. He lets go, the human sent sprawling into the dirt and ash. The warrior pauses, and then stomps – not a mortal blow, but bones crack and the creature’s face is ground into the dust.

“Serve as an example to those who defy the will of the Gods,” Jothu says, as the warrior now kneels down, extending a small energy dagger.

The screaming is heard all throughout the town as a hush settles upon it. It is the first human noise in hours, and it is music to his ears.

“Let all who see you know you for what you are – a heretic of the Gods, a betrayer of your own kind, and an accursed coward, too jealous of the living to die with honour.”

The creature moans in agony, but Jothu knows that it shall live – at least, for a while. Human artillery and gunfire can be heard in the distance – if, as he fully expects, the humans manage to retake this small Covenant victory, then the “mareen” shall be found. And the symbol carved upon its back shall be seen by all, and inspire terror in those who know its meaning.

His aide-de-camp strides over the cluttered street, kicking aside a small childs toy as he does so. “What news, excellency?”

“Exactly as was foretold by the Prophets. They are here.”

Frath ‘Klorvatemee smiles in expectation. “Good. Slaughtering women and children is no task for Zealots.”

Jothu nods. “There shall be foes worthy of us soon enough, Frath. That I can guarantee.”

The Raak’ezh are here to kill, but not in the numbers expected of other Covenant units. They are a crèche, numbering no more than seventy, but their prey is far more worthy than the weak and pathetic vermin that futilely try to defend their homes and bases – for as heretical as the humans are, they have warriors that more than rival those of the Covenant. Warriors who struck terror into the hearts of even the mighty Sangheili. Warriors who had personally slaughtered thousands of Covenant, perhaps even millions.

Demons.

It was those warriors that the Raak’ezh were here for. They would track them, and they would hunt them. And at the very end, they would kill them.

Jothu’s warriors were Demon killers.

A phantom is deployed from the creche’s corvette, the Relentless Pursuit. The town burns as they depart, hammered by human artillery shells. They are too late – there are none of the Covenant’s warriors still present to kill. He knows now that there are human Demons here, what they call “Spartans”. His orders come from the Prophets, and are a holy declaration by the gods.

Let their will be done.

Specops306 02:39, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

33
The UNSC Iridescent Wyvern, a small frigate carrying heavy amounts of troops, had arrived on Hope when the battle had begun, and had been fighting ever since. Now, it was in deep trouble. Two thrusters taken out, sections 4 and 7 compromised and locked down. There were still marines in cryo chambers in those sections, but no one would go to get them.

All stations were on high alert. Cryo Chamber 12, containing Sgt. Isaac Long, was being evacuated. Chambers 11 and 15 were part of the compromised sections, and the rest had been evacuated, troops heading for anywhere but the Wyvern in Bumblebee lifepods. The alarms blared, red lights cast on Isaac's face. His chamber opened, and he slowly opened his eyes, his brown hair long from the months in Cryo sleep. He looked down at his nude body, and then looked around, watching troops running for the armory in their BDUs and undergarments. As Isaac looked at the cryo pods around him, he found that his squadmates, ODSTs, were gone.

Isaac saw a crewman run up to him, and throw him his black kevlar, leather coated briefs, lined with urban camo on the arms. He put on the one piece, and stepped down, tripping on his titanium toed boots. He put them on, and fell to the ground as the frigate shook viciously, throwing the nearby crewman face-first onto a cryo pod. Isaac stumbled, and then got back up, running through the door. The When the door closed, he heard a deafening noise, and turned around to see a crewman running towards the door, a massive explosion rushing towards him.

The crewman didn't make it, and as the flames cleared, Isaac saw the massive hole torn in the cryo chamber, coolant leaking in from engineering.

Isaac turned and ran for the elevator, quickly arriving at it. He opened it, and saw that there was no elevator, but only a shaft, the steel cable frayed and torn at the end, a crumpled elevator a few hundred feet below. There was also a crumpled body, a UNSC troop who had desperately tried to jump from, apparently, an adjacent elevator door a level up.

Isaac turned once more and ran to the cafeteria area, though he turned around when he saw UNSC troops running, as a blue flame engulfed the corridor behind.

Isaac looked at them, and yelled.

"How the hell do I get to the ODST drop room!?", he screamed, as he felt a liquid on his head, a pipe leaking coolant.

One of the troops, an emblem on the inside of his HUD readout showing Sergeant, spoke.

"The elevator's out!?", the Sergeant asked.

Isaac nodded.

The sergeant turned and ran for the shaft, jumping and hitting the cable. He squirmed for a moment, grabbing hold, and slid down. When he reached the end of the cable, the Sergeant put his feet against one of the closed doors, and pushed backwards, reaching one hand for the parallel door. He grabbed hold, and started climbing down.

The other troops followed, the last one throwing his gloves to Isaac, so he wouldn't burn the skin off of his hands sliding down. Isaac put the gloves on, and slid down the rope, quickly grabbing hold of the wall.

He clambered down to the elevator, Hell's Waiting Room, and followed the troops through the hallways to a small version of a Drop Room. Isaac opened a locker via thumbprint, and grabbed his armor, putting it on. He finally grabbed his reinforced ODST Helmet, looked at it for a moment, striped red like his armor, with red detailing, and then he put it on, de-polarizing his visor. There was only one pod left, though.

The three troops looked at Isaac, and nodded. He stepped over to the armory, grabbing his MA5B and M6D, and then he got into the rightmost pod. The three troops where standing farther over, near the holo-table. The last he saw of them was there, in that room, as the pod door closed over him, the pod turning around slowly. As the view of them disappeared, he had a feeling the three troops would have seen the last other person in the world. And then Isaac felt the bump of the release on his pod, as he slowly went down and out of the Frigate. The third and fourth thrusters went down, and with a final plasma torpedo from a nearby cruiser, the ship was torn in half, an explosion filling the black abyss of space, turning it a hue of bright red and blue. Quickly it dissipated thanks to the lack of oxygen, but it was already too late for the Iridescent Wyvern, and Isaac had made it out just in time.

34
The roar of diesel engines broke the silence of the inner city as First Sergeant Moore's convoy cut across in the direction of their target. Two of the four chaingun-equipped Warthogs, the Big Green and Hyena, followed one another with Ye Olde Angry Bitch rumbling behind them. The Gauss 'hog, an ancient wreck nicknamed FUBAR, was their rearguard watching the sky for any prowling Banshees.

Though there were a solid number of Pelicans, with the tight streets they couldn't provide good air support, and the vehicles would have to dash through the streets to their destination, avoiding the Covenant foot patrols. But Ye Olde had forced the LRVs to keep at her pace. To keep nimble, they moved in single file to get around abandoned cars or rubble heaps, though the tank just rolled over most of these.

Erik stood on the Hyena's gun turret, and spun up the Anti-Air Gun as a lance of Grunts waddled out of an alley. They had caught sight of Big Green and fired a handful of green pistol bolts into it as it rolled by. Erik pressed the firing studs and felt the jeep shake as 50-calibur rounds punched out of the barrels and into the small aliens. Caught in the open, they all fell to the cannonfire within the span of four seconds Erik had to fire on them. He hung on as Hyena swerved around a broken Ghost hull, cruising at a speed the tank could match.

It was just six blocks till the Doctor's house should be in view, and the sounds of heavy Covenant equipment had already reached them.

Moore’s voice came over the channel, filling his helmet. "Green and Hyena, split up and flank whatever hostiles you get sight of. We've only got one good salvo before they know we're here, so FUBAR, move up aside the tank, we'll give them a volley."

Each vehicle's driver acknowledged, and Erik felt the jeep shift before it turned down a sidestreet. Now he could hear the light weapons, sounded like plasma rifles and the whistle of needlers. Hyena slowed to a stop just before the end of the alley, the engine idling quietly. Quinn stretched away from the chaingun's controls to get a view of the enemy.

Elites looked even more imposing compared with the short, plump Grunts scattered around them. But what really had him worried was the Wraith tank, hovering just above the street. It was sending mortars over the complex’s wall, trying to soften up the enemy trapped inside before the infantry got through. He’d seen one of those burn through a Warthog like so much paper. But he could only sit and wait.

After thirty seconds of fidgeting his sweaty hands on the gun’s control, his speaker crackled. “Open fire, all units!”

The Hyena jumped forward, shaking Erik, but as they rolled into the street, he saw a pair of flashes arc over the ground behind the Wraith just before the gauss round and tungsten shell impacted the Wraith’s exposed rear. The pearlescent armor broke like glass, and secondary explosions ripped through its plating.

Though awestruck for a half-second, Erik pressed in the firing studs and unloaded a hail of lead into the confused infantry formations.

35
"I'd suggest you leave. The Headmaster doesn't allow intruders."

"Intruders? You must be mistaken."

"That is highly unlikely. I do not make mistakes while functioning normally, and my last diagnostic was sparkling."

"What about the human vandals?" Xer was getting exceedingly frustrated.

"The Reclaimers are not vandals. What would make you think such a ridiculous thing?"

That was it. Xer ignited his energy dagger.

"Xer, don-"

"Hey, what are you doing?" He grabbed the monitor. "Unhand me! This is a direct violation of protoc-" Xer jammed the dagger into its eye.

"Nooooooooooooooo!!!"

A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 04:32, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

36
The SOEIV pods were uncomfortable, cramped, and hot. Julie-B224 was glad of the powered armour she wore – it certainly beat regular ODST gear, and even the Mark II Semi-Powered Armour she and her team were used to wearing.

Exactly how the decision had been made didn’t really matter. The fact remained that the MJOLNIR Armour, iconic of the SPARTAN-II class supersoldiers, had finally been approved for deployment amongst other supersoldier units. How many Spartan-IIIs were using the system? How many of them actually had the Mark IV, rather than the superior Mark V? Both were questions she was curious to find the answers to, but they could wait.

Right now, she was focussed on surviving.

SOEIVs were often nicknamed “flying coffins” by Helljumpers, thoroughly earned their nickname. They were designed to be disposable, and for that reason the UNSC was hesitant about making it worth recovering – meaning that its systems were all off-the-shelf technology, years out of date, using scrap metal. And right now, Julie’s was spinning out of control.

One of the rockets had blown early on – a piece of micro-debris had struck it, sending the pod on a spiral course. He had immediately reacted – interfaced her armour with the pod, accessing the RCS thruster controls, hoping to offset the spin with momentum from the other directional assistant thrusters. It meant she’d be a flying brick in the atmosphere, where they were normally needed, but she’d at least be getting there. She had to hope it would be in one piece.

The controls were clunky, and she swore at the ONI chickenshit R&D REMF who had designed it. It just wasn’t enough to stall her crash – she was straightening out, slowly and steadily, but not enough, not fast enough.

The pod started to shake now as it hit Hope’s atmosphere, orange plasma glowing outside of the windshield. It rattled as flaming atmosphere roared past, and went into a full uncontrolled spin, her reflexes too slow to account for the variables she needed to counter.

She screamed in frustration and fury as her pod barrelled in fury, and in defiance as the g-forces overwhelmed her, and she blacked out.

Reginald-B302 hit the ground running. He didn’t wait for the charges to blow the hatch off – he tore through it as it it were paper, emerging like some monstrous butterfly from its chrysalis.

Maybe that was a good metaphor. New armour, a new start – time for a change.

He could see the action from here. Not directly – if that were the case, he’d probably be taking fire right now. But off in the distance, he could see smoke rising from a nearby battlefield, both the black, acrid smoke of UNSC ballistics and the whispy blue/red haze of Covenant plasma. He could even hear the faint echoing reverberation of weapons discharges, human and alien rifles exchanging fire.

This world wasn’t very heavily defended. Truth be told, it was one of the UNSC’s smaller colonies, with a light garrison of UNSC Army troopers. As far as Reginald knew, that garrison had fallen quickly, the troopers desperately evacuating the colonists as the Covenant swept through their positions. The UNSC had sent in a response group, determined to halt the Covenant’s momentum here – with Reach lost, both sides had been dealt devastating blows, but the Covenant still presumably had exponentially more resources at its disposal than humanity did.

Well, he’d do his best. And he’d try not to have too much fun while he did so.

There was another streak of fire that his helmet display highlighted – one of his teammates, Erin, heading to the nearby landing zone. He frowned as the mapping and tracking gear failed to register the other member of Baselard Team, Julie, but put that out of his mind – he needed to focus on the mission.

He leaned into his pod, grabbing an MA5B assault rifle, a pair of M7 submachine guns, and strapped an M41 surface-to-surface missile launcher across his back. He envied his team mates, who had been issued the Mark V – until enough suits could be manufactured to outfit other Spartan-III’s, he would have to make do with his Mark IV Grenadier variant. It still had shields, and it also made him appear larger than he was, a physical presence that few could argue with. It just irked him that he’d been passed over for better tech. A lot of things irked him.

The horizon was glowing, a deep amber – fires off in the distance lit the sky. He hoped by the time he and Erin got to them, there’d be enough Covenant for him too.

Just her luck. Of all the damn places to land, her damn pod had to land on top of a damn Covenant armoured formation.

The Covenant company had scattered as her pod had come barrelling down out of the sky, trailing fire and smoke behind it, skipped a couple times across the landscape, and finally come to a grinding crunching halt up against one of their Wraith tanks. The hatch blew off its hinges, landing somewhere nearby – she heard another crunch and a squeal, and hoped it had crushed something.

She couldn’t stay here. Not in the middle of a bunch of Wraith tanks, which would be training their artillery right on her pod now.

She jumped up, swinging herself out of the pod, and sprinted as the first plasma volley hit, sending up a glowing shower of molten earth that settled in a burning rain around the vehicles.

Erin-B016 gripped the submachineguns clamped to her thigh holsters, aimed one in each hand, and pumped rounds out at the infantry troops scurrying to engage her. She ducked and rolled underneath a plasma pistol charge, sweeping the enemy Jackal with a burst that caught it below the shield, cutting through its legs. It fell screaming, and another shot put it out of her misery. She changed direction, sliding for a moment as her momentum carried her on, and sprinted at a right angle – a plasma mortar slammed into the ground, catching the Jackal squad in its blast radius, and sending her sprawling.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn!

She raised her pistol, aiming precise shots at the infantry as they rushed forward, selecting targets carefully even in the split second it took her – Jackals found themselves spun around from the force of impact, grunts dropped even as they charged burst shots, letting the charges careen into their fellow Covenant, and she even managed to catch one of their leaders, a hulking and shaggy Brute, with headshots, knocking the metal plate that served as a helmet off and putting one between its eyes.

There were too many, though. She’d managed to take out a squad with friendly fire, and less than a dozen – that still left most of the company to deal with.

Well, if she was going to die, then it would be a good death. She slammed a second magazine into the receiver, and raised it.

What happened next was not what she had expected. What should have happened was that she went down, guns blazing to the last round, vaporised by plasma but taking down the whole company with her. But sometimes history doesn’t go as expected, and fate throws people a joker card – and this joker card took the form of a tonne of metal, crashing down into the midst of the enemy, throwing up a wave of shattered metal, hissing clouds of plasma, and flaming chunks of meat and bone.

It didn’t wipe them out. But it did enough. It caused a distraction, and right now that was all Erin needed.

She picked herself up, still firing at the dazed and confused survivors, marking the biggest threat as her target – the Wraith. Right now, her firearms were useless against the hulking monstrosity, but she did have grenades – and if she could put them into one of the hatches, then it was all hers.

The Wraith had a gunner, who brought the Type-52 plasma cannon to bear on her – she felt a couple of shots deflect off her shields, weaved left and right making herself a tougher target – but she had always been fast, and she closed the distance rapidly, executing the gunner with a quick shot to the head.

The Wraith’s driver must have realised it was now without a close-range defender, because it tried to back up – too slow. Far too slow.

She grabbed a handhold, hauling herself up and on top of the wraith. She could hear the driver, a Grunt, shriek in panic and try to keep the hatch shut – a useless gesture. She ripped the metal plate off, thrust the grenade in, and dived.

There was a pause, and she could still hear the pilot screaming in horror – and then a thunderous detonation, a flash of blue/purple as the tank’s plasma banks went up, and a shower of debris splattered around her, a few chunks ricocheting off her shields.

She could hear panicked screams, now. And despite all expectations, they weren’t hers.

She hauled herself up to her feet, and saw gunfire split the rapidly darkening night as somebody clambered out of the still-steaming SOEIV pod. Evidently they were having fun out there – tracer rounds split the inky night sky, and flashes of light marked the detonation of fragmentation and flash-bang grenades. A few Grunts had already decided they’d had enough, turned, and run straight into another source of terror for them – the familiar shape of Reginald-B302 and he sprayed them with 5mm caseless SMG fire.

She could hear a Brute roaring somewhere out there, but was unsure who was engaging it – Reginald had knelt down onto a struggling Jackal, combat knife gripped firmly against its throat, decapitating the squawking saurian. She raised her own pistol at a Jackal aiming a charged plasma pistol at her, catching the little hollow of the shield, the round punching a hole in its wrist, leaving it dangling from a stump of bone. It cried out as it dropped the weapon, stumbling back – Reginald raised his own weapon, and the noise soon stopped.

In fact, the area was now silent, except for distant thundering artillery and missile fire.

Reginald stood, wiping a splash of Jackal blood from his visor, and gripped her hand, dragging her to her feet. She swept her hand in the traditional Spartan smile gesture.

“Good to see you, Reggie. Where’s Julie?”

“Buggered if I know,” Reginald said. “Her tracer isn’t registering.”

The possibility that their team leader hadn’t made it dirt-side went unsaid, but they both thought it. She put it to one side, deciding to focus on the here-and-now.

“So, who’s our mysterious benefactor?” she asked, nodding to the newcomer.

Or, at least, nodding at where they had been. They must have faded back into the shadows already, because even with augmented sight and hearing neither her nor Reggie had heard them leave.

It had been a Spartan, that much was certain – the distinctive Mark V MJOLNIR was a dead give away. They were also taller than any Spartan-III she had ever met, and their armour had been dark green – beyond that, she felt unsure of details.

“Not a very friendly way to say hello,” she huffed.

Reggie shrugged. “Its not like we needed his help. Come on, we’re needed in the town.”

The two Spartans gathered as much salvageable weaponry as their suits could hold, and set off again towards the nearest settlement, where great fires raged and turned the low-lying clouds amber.

“So it was a ‘he’?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Specops306 07:55, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

37
Torkamentov listened in amazement as he was informed that an Avenger-class Battleship had exited slipspace and was joining the battle. Quickly, Torkamentov realized what rthis meant for the battle situation. He directed his comm operator to answer their hails. "Tell them that we thank them for their assistance. We seem to have tied up a good portion of their assault fleet, and if they could help us destroy it, then we would be happy. They can also use those fancy Shiva antimatter nukes. Tell them that we have Project Deceptive shadows on board. If he doesn't have ONI clearance, then tell him that we have a device that will make his eight missiles seem like a lot more. But just in case, he should fire off some nukes with the other missiles, to lessen the odds of them being hit." Torkamentov got on the radio to Mulgrew. "Prepare to activate the Shadow Drive. we got an Avenger-class that's going to need it." Mulgrew replied, "Ready to go sir. Just give me the signal." Torkamentov nodded to himself. "All right," he said, "Once those missiles go off, do a one-eighty and take us back into the fight. Those Covenant SOB's aren't going to know what hit them." Azecreth 12:46, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

38
A ship was nearing Hope. However it wasn't of Covenant design. It was the tried and true UNSC Frigate design. It looked as if it had been through quite a few battles. However, it was still flying. It was at the Fall of Reach, however it was able to successfully jump away from the onslaught and not be followed. It exited at an adjacent (uninhabited) star to Epitadeus, when it received the Eternal Peacekeeper's distress call.

"This is Commander Helen Shedd of the Frigate UNSC Giza I hope we aren't too late for the party." said the Commander into a message that would hopefully be received by someone on Hope.

Exactly why the Giza was able to jump away from the Covenant onslaught on Reach didn't really matter. The fact was that the Giza was able to fight another day. The Giza had just been refitted when the Covenant attacked Reach. How many of it's systems were still offline when it entered the battle? Better yet how was the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Drive able to come online so quickly? It really was a matter of under threat of impending death, people could perform miracles.

However after dropping out of Slipspace, mechanical failures were reported in the engineering bay Luckily it wasn't the Drive, as if that were to fail, the ship was to be up shit creek without a paddle. It the one of the fusion reactors, and the fact that they weren't giving enough power to the Translight Drive. The chief engineer was able to jury-rig one fusion reactors to supply only the drive. That was when the Giza received the Eternal Peacekeepers distress call.

"Incoming contacts bearing four-zero-three-six." said a disembodied voice.

A squadron of Banshees appeared in the distance.

"Thank you Caesarius. Prepare for battle. Set condition one throughout the ship."

"Battle stations! Battle stations! This is not a drill." said the AI Caesarius throughout the ship. --RichardRHunt (talk) (contribs)16:51, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

39
434 Militant Algorithm anxiously glided through the maze of ancient corridors she called home. Sentinels toiled about, working diligently to keep the installation functional in spite of the destruction on the surface. They labored in an almost mournful silence, working in perfect synchronization, yet not making a sound.

The monitor entered a large cavern. The sentinels that were there left when she entered.

"Contact with 30967 Tumultuous Reciever was lost at EvTas77647325:345365456, in SusTR23BnX345, the location known to the Reclaimers as "Port Neandra"."

"Unacceptable. His failure is delaying our progress."

"Not entirely. He relayed images of several large stuctures erected by the intruders in SusTR24AoY346d. They appear to be surrounded by a crude EM shield. We believe these shields are the cause of the system shut-downs in that area."

"Then they must be disposed of. Mobilize the Sentinels and proceed to SusTR24AoY346d immediately. Setbacks will not be tolerated."

"Yes, Headmaster."

A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 18:09, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

40
"They've responded sir... apparently they have somthing from a project Deceptive shadows aboard, and they want us to fire several neuclear tipped shivas, mixed in with conventional ones." Maxim said, listening to the reply again to see if he heard properly. "Deceptive..shadows"? Robert said, confused. Morgan's head perked up at this. "Sir.. I think it would in fact be best to fire those shivas". Robert nodded and turned to Guy's monitor. "Arm the shivas with the nuke warheads and prep them for launch". A few seconds later, Guy replied "The shivas are ready sir". "Fire"... Robert then turned to the viewscreen and watch the eight Shivas streak away from the ship.

--TheivingFan 20:07, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

41
"Admiral. Missiles are inbound toward the Covenant force," said the comm member in a hurried voice. "good," replied torkamentov. Getting on the radio, he said to Mulgrew, "Activate Shadow Drive. Trick the covenant computers into thinking that there is nothing headed toward the Covenant fleet. Thart won't stop line of sight, but they won't have computer targeted aiming, and trying to hit a missile manually is fuckig hard. By the time they realize that there are hardly any, it will be too late."

"Roger that," replied Mulgrew. On the Shadow Drive console, he typed in the designating parameters, and activated the drive. A wide message burst of pure nonsense was sent out from the Communications Array, which had the Shadow Drive signals embedded in it. Mulgrew got on tghe radio. "Package has been sent." On the bridge, Torkamentov got on the shipwide. "All hands brace for shock wave impact." He turned to the weapons console. "Prepare to fire a barrgae of nuclear missiles to finish off any Covenant survivors." He allowed himself to smile. Things were looking up after all. And once these Covenant ships were dead, then it would be time to save a planet.

-Azecreth 20:38, December 2, 2010 (UTC)

42
Robert watched as the shivas detonated in the midst of the Covenant ships " Well, those sure are some pretty fireworks". Joked Morgan, sheilding his eyes. Everyone stumbled a bit as the shockwave rolled over the ship. "Any damage?" asked Robert. "None that wasn't already present" commented Guy.

43
Riley rolled to the side, dodging a small bolt of plasma. Riley pulled a Combat Knife from his shoulder and charged the naked Sangheili. It shifted to the side and caught Riley in a headlock. Riley broke free, "Well don't just stand there! Shoot the god-damn thing!" Ryder was already loading clips into his assault rifle. Before he could open fire the Elite sped around and kicked him onto his back! "Demon!" the Elite growled, "I will not allow you to threaten my brethren!" Matthew and Luc ran towards him from behind. Luc hopped unto his back and pulled out his combat knife. The Elite shrugged him over his shoulders as Luc elbowed him in the groin. The Elite remained unharmed.

The Elite pushed Luc to the ground and began to roar, "Enough!" They stopped for a moment, "I do not wish to kill any of you!" Riley couldn't believe his ears. They could sense hatred in his voice, but they began to realize that it was not towards them. The Spartans were dumbfounded. Riley sneered angrily underneath his helmet, before pulling it off. "Then what the hell, do you want!" "To join you." The Elite responded quickly and confidently.

Riley turned back to his comrades. The look on his face was an obvious sign of how enraged and confused he was. After a long pause, Matt admitted, "...Well at least hear him out." Riley turned back, and starred at the Elite. "I have been dishonoured by the Covenant. If they want me to die for honour, I will find honour elsewhere." Matt walked forward, "I say we recruit him." Yeah, that was definitely Matt, the most humane soldier he's ever met. It was kind of weird. He looked to Ryder and Luc, they gave him a shrug. They agree too. This was really strange.

"Whatever, Elite." Riley sneered, "But pull anything, anything at all and I'll..." The Elite was going to betray them, he certainly could keep a pokerface. "Ok, so anything else we should know about? Why not start with why the hell your walking around naked!" The Elite looked guilty, "Well, I..." Suddenly they heard a light thump, they turned to the nearest Spire's shield bubble, a mere few feet away, and watched as a Grunt starred at the group awkwardly. The Grunt equivalent to someone's jaw dropping. He bobbed his head forward as if about to say something. "Meesa join master." --  Chris  talk   blog  00:16, December 3, 2010 (UTC)

44
"Contact the Marathon class, tell them we've sent two Sabres out to establish contact the ground forces on Hope, and that they will be relaying any transmissions to us." Robert ordered, "Also, advise them to wait here with us until we recive said transmissions." "Yes sir." Maxim replied. Robert's glare moved to the wreckage of the covenant ships... "What is Deceptive shadow...?" he continued to wonder.

Eric Smith and Jacob Cama were flying in a low orbit over Hope. "Hey, how much longer before we get a friggin' response?!" Eric yelled, getting impatient. "Patience is a virtue, my friend." Jacob replied. "The only thing getting angry is good for, is getting shot down." "What are you, some kinda monk?" Eric retorted. Jacob sighed in annoyance. "This is Echo 1 to any friendly forces down below, please respond". Eric suddenly cut in "Hey, what the hell are those?" "They are... all I can see are pink dots from this altitude. Wait, they're a bunch of bubble-like shields, definitely Covenant." Jacob noticed, looking down below, "Spires! They're surrounding.... damn that's a big spire!" "Eric, report this to the Grapes of Wrath.""Alright, alright." Eric replied, switching to long range comms.

TheivingFan 01:53, December 3, 2010 (UTC)

45
Word had reached Parthius that several Wraith tanks had gone offline. Not only that, but what short, final communications the Elite leaders had recieved from them matched the sudden, precise attack reports of demons. Though Parthius knew his strengths and was a masterful warrior, he was unsure he was prepared to face one of their kind. It was of no consequence, though. Word had also spread that the Raak'ezh Creche had come to ground and were beginning their hunt. Parthius' quest lay ahead, in retaking the human city near where it was believed a relic lay.

Under cover of darkness, and with unmistakable howls preceding their arrival, Phantom troop ships moved in low and put down in key points surrounding a position the remnant of the human army had seen fit to hold. Sixteen Specter fighting craft and two score Ghosts were detached from their underbellies, Parthius holding tight to the side of one Specter as it dropped twenty feet, only to rebound on anti-gravity jets a meter above where the humans had tainted and scarred the ground with black rock.

The human fighters stood at their assigned posts. A few minutes passed, in the night nothing visible while the air reverberated with the echoes of tens of Phantoms just out of sight. Then, one post got a look at the purple hull and neon lights of a dropship passing between buildings outside the square they'd decided to hold. As another post sounded the same alarm before the target slipped out of sight. They weren't the attack, but just to spook them were circling like sharks, playing hell with their morale. After ten minutes spent in howling shadow, the dropships left.

Only then did the Jiralhanae attack from all sides. From every street in, the vehicles appeared and boosted towards them, firing white-hot plasma. The outer perimeter, sandbags set across streets, fell within seconds as Ghosts jumped them and spun on the unshielded soldiers. Forced back to the center, the thirty left could only fire tracers as the Covenant circled them, taking a few shots before disappearing and being replaced by another.

Then Parthius signaled his infantry, by igniting the short blade on the end of his spear. Breaking what pathetic barriers they had thrown up, the Jiralhanae swept over them and cut their formations as easily as their flesh with bladed carbines and grenade launchers. Parthius swung his spear wide, cleaving the enemies apart. Without anywhere to retreat, the last man fell within four minutes of the vehicle assault.

It wasn't enough for Parthius. He stood in the gore, his spear inactive and the aura of plasma glow from the vehicles outlining his figure to the others. This was no fair fight. This was slaughter.

He shouldn't be here. Anywhere near this system. This was the Sangheilis' war, waged for their religion, not his or his people's. No reward, not even recognition. Blasphemy or not, he had more in common with the humans than the other Covenant races. And yet, should he refuse the Sangheili's will, he would be destroyed. . . just as the humans.

But Parthius was a pragmatic warrior. If this was the course for his species' survival, so be it. He looked around to find the other Jiralhanae waiting on his word, their faces similarly shrouded by the night. Their anonymity and his own gave him comfort. And the blood of his kind bade him fight on.

"Onwards warriors! Their kinds' stench still fouls this world!"

Leaving the vehicles to their own routes, Parthius led his pack on to kill again.

46
Miranda finished her daily log, today it read:
 * "Everybody is worn from low rations and limited water. Randy, once a clean looking man now had sleeves ripped off at the shoulder and white gause wrapped around his hands. Jake and Ed had scarred visors, still remaining visibility. Just a day after we had first observed the covenant they had set up a tower at the base of an unnamed mountain. Elites seem to be the only available troops in the heat, lord knows what is inside the buildings. Jake had brought with him what he calls a Molotov Marble, a blown class ball full of incendiary liquid that reacts with oxygen, the ignition the same as a strike anywhere match; the materials scavenged from the same place as the glass. We had nicknamed the pelican "Raising Hell", which Ed had scratched on the side with his CQC knife."

"Any other time you needed to be silent doesn't matter. If they detect us then we are screwed." Jake whispered to his team as they waited, ready to raid the crashed UNSC ship for ammo; Miranda had overstated the ammo, the top was magazines, the bottom was explosives. The platoon headed into the carcass, searching for ammo. A bang echoed through the halls. The team dove into the shadows, two on each side of the hall. An elite stalked past, needle rifle drawn. Jake counted silently with his fingers. Three.....Two.....One. Jake burst from the shadows, knife drawn. With a heel kick to the back of the leg the elite fell to his knees. Jake lifted his head and slit his throat. Jake froze as he heard footsteps coming down the next hall. He lifted the needle rifle barrel first and stood against the wall waiting. The shadow came closer until the figure appeared. Jake swung the gun, the needles sticking in his chest as he ripped the rifle off. The elite grabbed at his chest as he fell on his knees before the spartan. He held the gun like a javelin, throwing the projectile straight through the covenant's head, impaling straight through its spine and sticking it to the wall. "Wow, not even enough time to send a message." Randy said. A thought dawned on Jake. "I think I know why. They don't have any communicators. But I think I know what they use." Jake said as he looked up through a window. The covenant tower stood tall against the orange sky. If he was right, then that was a communication tower.
 * The next morning, outside the wreck of the Providence...

The tower was taller than the Spires on Reach, but offered no shielding abilities. The transmissions probably took place on the top, just inside and up a lift. "Randy, thermal imaging. How many hostiles?" Ed asked. The demolitions expert pulled a small screen out of a pouch and waved it around the tower. "Five, three bottom, two top." "Options." "Two teams, ten minutes top." Randy said. Ed nodded. "You and me, Miranda and Jake. Lets go." The two teams burst into the tower ready to fight.
 * After the raid, at the Covenant communications tower...

The following transmission was sent from Hades via Covenant Comms tower that day:
 * "Anyone, please! Any UNSC please come to Hades and retrieve us....Covert ops platoon eight....we are four MIA's.....PLEASE!" Jake said. The line went silent.

--TheMerciless 02:12, December 3, 2010 (UTC)

47
"Everyone, I am afraid that I am going to have to instruct you too stay behind," Riley began. "This job is a dangerous enough, I can't have you all risking your lives. If anything, my life is all that this team can spare." Matt looked disappointed, "What do you mean you can spare your life! And Rowan instructed us to do this together!" Riley felt guilty, sliding the carpet out from under them now, "I am sorry guys, but our party has grown to large! Are you forgetting that we are being trailed by a naked Sangheili and a Unngoy! This is getting a little out of hand! I am afraid that I will have to take matters into my own hands!" Matt turned to Ryder, "Ok, man. If we are getting regrouped, it'll be you, me, and the Sangheili." Luc gave Riley a shrug, "Hey, I've got the nuclear payload. If anything happens, I don't want it to affect any of you guys. I'll be riding solo from this point on."

Riley knew that this decision was for the best though. "Then I've got the Unngoy, for know... But hey, I didn't say that I'd like you to abandon me here though! I said to split up! I could use you guys to take down a few of these other Spires in the area! Every Spire counts if we want to disable the suppercarrier's shields!" Ryder cheered up a little after hearing the news, "Great! We'll take down at least one!" he said, turning to Matt and Turok. "And I'll get at least one too." Luc stated, keeping his cool.

As Riley continued down the dark path with his new Unngoy pet. He realized how dangerous this mission still was. Maybe separating wasn't for the best. Maybe it would put them all at risk. Riley tried to shrug off these dark afterthoughts. --  Chris  talk   blog  02:27, December 3, 2010 (UTC)

48
"All right," said Torkamentov as he recieved the transmission from the Grapes of Wrath. Torkamentov was a bit ticked that this CAPTAIN would try to give an Admiral orders, but he did recognize the sense behind that. "Contact them back. Tell them that I don't like the fact that a Captain would give an Admiral orders, but we will comply because it makes sense. I give permission for the guy with ONI clearance over there to inform the captain of Project Deceptive Shadows. And tell that Captain that I'm shuttling over to his ship,. It's the new flagship of the fleet over hope now, so I'm taking command." Torkamemntov got on the radio to Mulgrew. "Good job down there. You can get back up here now. I'm going over to the Grapes of Wrath to take command, so you're in charge here." "Roger that, sir," replied Mulgrew as he left the room and headed back up to the bridge. Torkamentov gathered up some necessary materials, and proceeded to the hangar, where he boarded a trnasport to go to the Grapes of Wrath. -Azecreth 12:40, December 3, 2010 (UTC)

49
Plasma zoomed towards a marine. The marine spotted the bolt, and dodged the vibrant passage to death. Another flew right towards him and hit him twice in the thigh. He screamed in pain, and staggered back. Another bit of plasma smacked his arm, and he whined in agony. Todd Richstofer came to his assistance. He pulled out his medical kit and pulled out a cannister of biofoam. "Scheiße," he muttered under his breath. He pressed the trigger, and the mushy, baige foam poured into the open wound of the private. He pulled out some medical bandages to ease the pain, he wrapped it around the marine's leg. Another marine came staggering backwards as he collapsed next to Todd. He tried to remain calm and tried to examine what had happened to the marine. "This cannot be happening..." Todd whispered.

"Medic!" another marine bellowed.

Tir, Bur and Kol navigated themselves through the ruins of a village. They crawled onto a road, and Bur called out, "Sangheili squad, incoming!"

Tir, Bur and Kol hurried to a wrecked building's blown out wall and lay down on the rubble. Ral 'Daman came over to the building with a few other Sangheili. He sighed, "Must of been crippled during the collapse."

Kol's pupil followed the group, waiting for them to turn around the corner. He whispered, "All clear." The corpses rose from the rubble, Bur groaned, "Must we do this everytime we spot the Elites?"

"If we are to be free, yes," Tir said as the three looked on at a firefight down the street.

--Gruntijackal, the impending demise draws near 21:56, December 3, 2010 (UTC)

50
"Hey, Elite- what's your name again?" Ryder asked

"Turok 'Moramee, son of the last Arbiter!"

"Yeah, Turok? You need some pants, I don't want to see your junk forever."

"My...junk?"

Matt answered the completely confused Elite" He means your bathroom area." Matt's mouth began to quiver.

Then, all at once, it happened

The Sangheili thought that the Demons were completely serious, no funny business allowed. The SPARTANS thought the Elite were the same thing. Turok stood amazed that the demons, the bane of all who oppose them, the human's light in the darkness, the fear of many a Sangheili... were rolling on the floor with him laughing.

"Ha... that was funny, but the truth is the truth. You need battle amour, Turok." Matt said with a tear in his eye.

Just then many voice came from the distance cried "I heard something!""where?""Over here!"

The three flew into the bushes. The voices came again," You look that way, you go this way, you stay and look for any stone shaped like a key ."

"Ryder, do the CQC!" Matthew said in a harsh wisper.

"Ok, ok, geez." Ryder slowly took out his combat knife and slowly crept upon the Elite. One moment, the Spartans and Turok were laughing and talking about the Elite's junk, the next they're hiding from a band of Elites with the swords. One had strayed from the group and Ryder saw a perfect opportunity. The beast stopped. Ryder didn't even skip a beat. He jumped on the Elite and shove the knife deep into the neck of the oppressor. Thel 'Peramee had been slain.

Matt's Elite, Tol 'Kalamee was curious. He inspected the ground for sticks or stones. Then, the Elite found a little rock that glowed at the top. He ran to show his elders. The young Elite showed the rock...

...as Matt released the trigger, as Turok watched in awe. "I never saw soo much wit go into an attack," Turok said in awe.

Turok picked up an Energy Sword. He was the best with the swords of his kind. He saw two Sangheili coming the same way at the same time. He let them pass then cut both of their waistlines at the same time, killing them instantly.

"Nice!" Ryder, Matt and Turok say at the same time.

-Therider Rides Alone 01:09, December 4, 2010 (UTC)

51
Shouji looked from his position on the skid of Ye Olde as the Covenant forces started to break and scatter. Without their wraith orr heavy support it would be a cakewalk to get to the house.

"Nice work team." He heard Moore say to the convoy.

Shouji gripped his rifle, waiting for the Covenant to regroup, they never did. Some of the lead units took potshots at fleeing Covenant but the way was clear. Shouji thanked his anscestors and relaxed as the song Hang 'em high, shoot 'em down by The Innies, a newer rock band started playing from the driver canopy of the tank.

Shouji was almost relaxed before the sound of fire brought him back into the action. He looked through a hole in an eight foot stone wall surrounding an elevated home to see Covenant soldiers, mostly jackals firing at the house where ODSTs were.

Every few seconds a three round burst flew from a window as it killed another soldier. This had to be the place.

"All units open fire. Ye Olde move up to firing position." Said the voice of Moore.

Shouji checked his rifle and aimed it at the Covenant as the tank moved forward, driving straight through the wall and near the house.

The jackals, who were surprised with the instant attack started to flee, but ground troops cut them down, Shouji got two headshots on the fleeing bird like reptiles before they had completely scattered and ran. Several troopers laughed as one of the warthogs, a chaingun equipped one by the name of "Annabel Lee" moved in to pursuit the jackals as they ran across the courtyard to the wall where they desperately tried to climb over.

Needless to say, the jackals were slaughtered with some soldiers recording it on celluar phones.

"Doctor" Moore said over the radio. "Open up, the area is secure."

Moore waited and got no response.

"Doctor?" He asked.

After waiting for several more minutes he broadcasted again. "Cell prepare to get in. Bitch, do your stuff."

Shouji watched and heard the driver chuckle as the Scorpion rotated it's turret and fired on the bolted door, destroying it and the wall, a moment later a cell of seven Centurions ran in. Shouji waited eagerly with the rest of the convoy until one of Moore's men emerged carrying an uncounscious man in his mid fourties over his shoulder.

"Crazy bastard." He heard Moore say over the radio.

Six hours later...

"This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy." Moore kept repeating to the annoyance of Shouji and Quinn.

"Sir." Quinn said from his position on the warthog's machine gun. "It's fine."

"Easy for you to say sailor boy, I'm in the army for a reason, I don't like flying!" Moore yelled from the driver's seat. "Benson i'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

Shouji rolled his eyes and looked down. The warthog they were in was attached to the back of a Pelican dropship as they flew over a massive thing known as a Super Spire. Entering it's shields emmited an EMP, crashing any birds. However with a backup generator, one of Moore's men, a Sergeant Benson had the idea to drop warthogs over the spire and try to literally fly, or more accurately crash them into the spire.

Multiple UNSC, including a SPARTAN team were inside the spire trying to disable the shielding. Moore's boss up in orbit wanted them down quicker.

"Alright boys thank you for flying November-Nine Airlines. Have a pleasent day." The japanese voice of the pelican pilot said before they all heard a slight clink and the warthog dropped.

"Fuck!" Screamed Moore as five other pelicans flying above the shield dropped warthogs, all containing soldiers.

"There to the left. Use that phantom!" Shouji yelled from the passenger seat as the EMP hit for only a second before the engine restarted. Shouji was pointing to a phantom entering a hangar bay at a slow pace. He was hoping that their warthog could land on it and use the momentum to fly straight into the hangar.

"Yeah, we are the warthog of the sky." Shouji heard a Centurion say over the radio.

"I'm gonna fuckin die." Moore said as the warthog hit the phantom's roof in an arc, sliding over the sleek purple roof and flying into the hangar. Shouji heard Moore and Quinn scream and the machine gun fire as their warthog flew straight into a group of Brutes, splattering them in a shower of blood and flipping the warthog on it's side.

A moment later Shouji crawled out to see Quinn firing at fleeing Covenant soldiers and the appearantly unarmed supply phantom.

"Pretty sure I just pissed myself." Moore said as he stood from the turned warthog.

Shouji and Quinn smelled the terribly sour smell of urine and nodded.

"Nice." Quinn said sarcasticaly.

"Fuck you two. Fuckin' sailor boys." Moore said before switching on his radio. "This is First Sergeant Moore, UNSC Centurions to all UNSC Units in the super spire please respond." He said worriedly. --Foxtrot12 02:43, December 4, 2010 (UTC)

52
Riley stood silently in front of the large open entranceway to the Covenant Super-Spire. It was anything from inviting. His brain registered how gigantic this tower was, once again. He never had a fear of heights, but after the initial drop from the UNSC Eternal Peacekeeper, he would definitely pass on another high-altitude drop. It put butterflies into his stomach just remembering such a thing. He knew that it was to late to turn back, even if he wanted to. The shield bubble emanating from the peak of this behemoth structure spread for miles. He still wasn't sure wether this was a journey that he was willing to take.

The recruited Unggoy that trailed behind him finally caught up, and it's waddling came to a halt. It's incessant huffing indicated that he was out of breath. "Bigger... dan... YOURS!" it joked. "Heh," Riley laughed. At least the little Grunt had a sense of humor. Riley knew that this was it, he took his first step inside. He quickly hugged his back up against the wall, and began to step down the corridor slowly and quietly. The last thing that he wanted to do was be discovered. After all, he was barely inside of the door. He turned back to Kerbo, and watched in horror as the Grunt began his wild limbo down the hallway. He grabbed it by the methane tank and pulled it to the wall, "Shhhh!" Riley insisted. When they reached the end of the rounded hall, Riley peered around the bend. An Elite Ultra stood on guard directly in front of them. Sad for him, he was facing the opposite direction. Kerbo watched in awe as Riley snuck up behind the Elite and snapped it's neck. Riley turned back to Kerbo, grinning. "Childsplay." he teased.

They began walking down another corridor, opposite of the one that they previously crept through. After walking up a small set of stairs, they came to a gravity lift, that lead to the next floor. "Kerbo, you go first. If a Sangheili sees you, he won't hurt you." Kerbo obediently took the lift. A few seconds later Riley heard his faint, screechy whisper, "Come on!" Riley took the lift. Suddenly they heard footsteps coming around the corner. Riley grabbed Kerbo and ran to hide behind a set of stacked plasma batteries. To Minor Sangheili walked out from around the corner. They started a conversation that neither Riley nor Kerbo could understand. Sangheili language. Then Riley recognized an english word in one of the Sangheili's sentences. The Sangheili said, "Nōr grunnek té Hades, nok zŕe 'Varmen." As Riley wondered what this could mean, a loud screeching noise began to emanate from his waist area. His radio was on! As Riley fumbled with his radio, pulling it from his leg pouch and attempting to deactivate it, an amplified voice began, "This is First Sergeant Moore," The two Sangheili began scanning the room to find out where the human voice was coming from. The radio continued, "UNSC Centurions to all UNSC Units in the super spire please respond." The transmission ended. His position was compromised. "Dammit!" Riley deactivated the radio and dropped it onto the floor. As the Sangheili walked over to the plasma batteries, Riley pulled two magnums from his belt, loaded them, and came out shooting.

The Sangheili lay sprawled out on the floor. Somehow he managed to do the impossible, kill two Elites from close range. Kerbo remained hidden behind the batteries the entire time, so he was alright. Riley strode back to his radio, lying on the floor, "This is codename Endeavor, inside of the designated location, reading you loud and clear, you still here?" --  Chris  talk   blog  17:50, December 4, 2010 (UTC)

53
Moore was still mostly embarrassed from pissing himelf as the three man team opened fire on the small amount of covenant troopers in the area was relieved when the voice of a human came over the radio.

"This is codename Endeavor, inside of the designated location, reading you loud and clear, you still here?" Someone said.

"This is Moore, we're here." he yelled over gunfire. "What's your location?"

"We at the bottom of this thing." The voice replied.

"Damn." Moore said. "We are in the middle of this thing in hangar." Moore pulled up his holographic map of the spire, each section had been designated a certain callsign with each floor being designated as a grid. Small yellow dots were also present indicating friendly forces. "On grid Quebec in hangar November Sigma. Is your transponder on?"

"Yes." The voice replied.

"And your near the bottom?" Moore asked.

"Yes." The voice said.

Moore looked at the map on his hud and saw a small beacon in grid Mike Charlie in section Yankee Zulu. He used his interface to zoom in on the beacon and saw the IFF tag "Endeavor" over it. "Alright Endeavor." Moore said. "I have you located. There's an elevator on your level that should be able to get you up here. Just follow my directions." Moore said while motioning to Shouji to get to a Covenant terminal. "Here." He said to him throwing him a new piece of protoytpe technology called a Sentry Chip, nicknamed the "Ice Breaker." it was made to be able to be inserted into a Covenant terminal and then used certain tech to hack into it's systems and disguise itself as the operator. Once disguised inside the mainframe it could unlock certain functions, giving the user control of the system.

Or at least something like that, Moore wasn't to great at listening to the tech geeks from command talk all day about some new piece of technology.

"All right." Moore said over the radio. "In the room your in there are two doors. Take the one on your left and go down the hall, then take the first door on the right." Moore waited and heard some gunfire until the voice responded. "Next?" It asked. "Alright." Moore said. Three doors ahead of you take the middle one, that's the elevator, we'll get it from there." He said.

"Roger." The voice replied.

Moore saw the dot go up until it reached his level. He turned to see the door to the elevator open.

"Whoa a Spartan." Moore heard Quinn say.

--Foxtrot12 23:41, December 4, 2010 (UTC)

54
Quinn whistled. This guy was seven foot, maybe more. Even without the armor he would have dwarfed the ODSTs. "And I thought they pumped us full of drugs."

Catching sight of a Grunt behind, Erik raised his rifle only for the armored man to grab it and point it toward the floor. "Hold fire. This one's our guide."

"Scaring Covenant into working with humans? Damn . . ."

Riley turned to the man with the patch of First Sergeant, who had to be Moore. "What's our situation?"

"Got a few Centurion teams - plus these here troopers - on the ground and in the spire itself. We're going to take it out with a bomb one of the other teams has." Moore's face grimmed. "And all the while it's teleporting troops from the carrier, which will be another problem for us."

"And for ordnance?"

Quinn pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Had a Warthog . . . kinda busted it on the way down."

"Way down?"

"We dropped from a Pelican counting on the suspension to save us. It did, but both axles and the chassis snapped. Turret's fair useless, too, it's real heavy."

Riley had heard the ODSTs had a reputation for being crazy. "Warthog skydiving, huh? Let's see about that turret." He walked over to the broken vehicle, paying special attention to the turret. Bracing himself, he grabbed the machine gun and pulled. With a shower of sparks, it snapped from the boom arm, and the Spartan stood with a fifty-calibur weapon slung by his side. "This should give us an edge. Let's blow this tower and worry about the carrier later."

Shouji, who had been silent, had a different perspective than the others for not being military. "You know . . . we don't really have to destroy this thing."

"What?" Moore asked, sounding annoyed.

"Hear me out. A teleporter works two ways, right?"

"In theory." Riley said, shifting the gun's weight.

"Then we could get some backup here, and use this tower to launch a strike into the carrier. They'd never see an attack from right in their own belly. We plant the bomb there, and come back heroes."

The others looked to each other. "We were going to take out the already landed troops below with the bomb. What about them?" Quinn asked.

"Take down the shield, let air support take 'em out."

An evil smile crept over Moore's face. "Let's get to work." They moved out of the hangar with Riley on point with the ODSTs flanking, Kerbo behind, and Moore in back as he raised the Centurion team with their bomb. Just before they left, Riley asked, "What's that smell?"

"Nothin'." Moore said angrily.

55
Moore pulled up the holographic spire map on his hud and transmitted out of his helmet via a holographic projector so everyone could see. "Alright team if we're gonna do this we're gonna do this right. We need to take down the shield at the top, i'm gonna guess that there will be some heavy resistance at the top of this thing where we could disable the shield, that's also where I think the teleporter is. In that case we need to get up there and that means we need more men. We're gonna regroup right before the elevator to grid Charlie Mike, aka the top of this thing. Once there we wait for everyone to get up, it looks defendable. When we have everyone we advance up kill all the guards, radio command tell 'em the plan. Then we go into that carrier and focus on being big goddamn heroes. Hoorah?" Moore asked.

"Hoorah." Everyone repeated.

"Tequilla. Benson. Travis. Come in." Moore said to his team leaders.

"Responding." Three voices said at almost the same time.

"Alright boys, get to grid Charlie Mike section Archangel Friday new plan, we don't blow this place sky high, we infiltrate the carrier, deploy the bomb, then hopefully get out a way that does not involve falling to our doom I mean 'flying'."

"Roger that." The team leaders said one at a time.

"Alright." Moore said. "Now get your asses moving, we aint getting paid by the hour."

"Sir." a latino voice said. "We even get paid at all?"

"You?" Moore said. "You're getting paid with the knowledge you are saving the world and a free funeral. Only important people get paid these days now get your ass moving like you have a purpose Tequilla." Moore said shutting off his radio. "What about you Spartan what do you get paid?" Moore asked so only the group could hear.

Riley shrugged.

"Alright just a question." Moore said. "Grunty lead the way."

Foxtrot12 03:00, December 5, 2010 (UTC)

56
"My amour should be in the spire farthest from the sun," Turok said. Ryder sighed," It's also the closest one to us. We can rest for now."

The first day of the battle of Hope was coming to a close. The night was proving to be as gruesome as the day, abet a little more quiet. Matt helped Turok make a fighter while Ryder complained about his comfort level.

"Turok, what are some of the stories your race tells the rest of the race?"

Turok sat silent as the fire raged. Then Turok started slowly as was the way in his family. "Long before my father was Arbiter, the title of Arbiter was held in high regard. When the title of shame became the Arbiter is the tale I will tell."

"A Sangheili Arbiter named Fal 'Chavamee, who refuses to accept the Covenant Religion, is charged with Heresy by by a High Prophet. By order of the Prophet, a Sangheili, named Harka, plans to find a way to bring Fal down. After dreaming about his meeting with the Prophet, Han, Fal's wife, asks him what it was that was troubling him. Fal then tells her that she should leave for a while, but she refuses as she wanted to stay by his side as his wife. While training Sangheili warriors, Fal is approached by a close friend, Roh. Roh tries to convince him that The Covenant has only done good, and that by rejecting The Great Journey, he will surely be stripped of his rank as the Arbiter. However, Fal does not take heed to his friend's warning, and tells him that the Covenant will try to take him down by any means necessary. Harka and Roh, under the orders of a High Prophet, invade Fal's home and murder Han while he was away. Fal returns home to discover the bodies of his friend and Han. He is then provoked to face Harka in a fight. A boatman, who led Fal down a river to the murder's dueling place, warns the Arbiter that it is a trap. He ignores this, and stumbles upon a few of Harka's personal guards, who are subsequently killed. Later on his quest, an army of Sangheili, Kig-Yar, Unggoy, and Mgalekgolo (accompanied by Wraiths and Ghosts as well) charge towards Fal. However, the Arbiter annihilates the whole army, leaving only one cowardly Unggoy (who is soon killed).Atop a Forerunner structure, the fated foes finally duel. It is a short lived fight, as Harka slashes Fal across his chest, mortally wounding him. To his surprise, however, Fal has impaled him on his own sword. Both fall, each having killed the other. Fal's last thoughts are of his wife, whom he had avenged. As a result of his actions, the rank of Arbiter is stripped of its former prestige, and is given only to Sangheili who have brought shame to both themselves and the Covenant."

"Remarkable," Matt said.

"Wow. I understand the longing of your father." Ryder claimed.

"My Father would have gladly died for his shame. He was glad for the chance to keep fighting, though. I only long to be his equal."

"Where is your father?" Matt asked.

"He died by the hands of a Sergeant titled Forge."

"I'm sorry," Ryder said.

"You have not to say that. I cannot say that I have ever loved him as a father, I merely respect his loyalty... not to the cause, of course. I refer to the virtue in a general sense. My father was a high tempered soul who had scared every human that he hath killed."

-Therider Rides Alone 03:07, December 5, 2010 (UTC)

57
Kerbo was happy to be in charge. "It is nice playing follow the leader." as he thought of it, from the perspective of his primitive Unggoy mind. Being in charge didn't really effect him on an emotional level, but as long as he would lead them to safety, he was happy. Kerbo waddled forward at a speed of about two miles per hour, and that wasn't counting the deduction of every time he slipped and fell on his side, only to climb back to his feet again and continue. Riley and the marines gave each other a look that symbolized something along the lines of, "at this pace, the battle will be over by the time we reach the top." but out of politeness, they all kept their mouths shut. Thankfully, once the team reached the end of the corridor, Kerbo came in handy. By entering some sort of code into a panel on the wall, he accessed an elevator lift. Surprisingly, it was wide enough to fit them all. The squeeze was rather tight, but it was certainly better than taking the stairs. The elevator started upwards, it was all smooth sailing until they noticed the Yanme'e.

"Dammit!" Moore began looking out of yellow-tinted glass, "We are passing by a Yanme'e hive! There were literally giant honeycomb-like structures running down the walls. "Interesting," Shouji wondered, also watching the busy Yanme'e buzz by, "What an ideal place to build a nesting complex..." he continued. Riley watched in awe, "I hope they don-" Before Riley could finish his sentence, he realized that the Yanme'e were starting to pay them attention. A curious Yanme'e major screeched something, and in a second, they were all slamming themselves against the glass attempting to get at them. "Well so much for the view," a russian voice commented. "Yeah, let's pray that those little bastards don't cave in the glass..." Riley wondered. He suddenly gulped. "Wait, what else could they be trying to do?" he wondered. "Damn things are gonna destroy the lift! Unngoy! How many more flights do we have?" Asked a Centurion. Kerbo looked at a flashing panel on the door. "Sixteen!" Kerbo hissed,

"At this rate we might just make it!" Riley hollered over the growing thump against the glass. A crack began to form. Another stressed Centurion yelled, "Hurry, hurry, hurry! Why couldn't this god-damn lift be a teleporter" A piece of the Covenant glass shattered. Just enough space for one very squished Yanme'e to fight into. The Yanme'e levitated for a few seconds, before Riley punched it square in the face. "Eww, get this bitch off me!" squealed a disgusted Centurion, before tossing the lifeless body at another incoming Yanme'e major. Luckily it's insect instincts kicked in, and the major pushed back through the attacking crowd to dispose of the body. The elevator moved up through an enclosed shaft, --  Chris  talk   blog  15:05, December 5, 2010 (UTC)

58
"Son of a whore." Moore said aloud. "Everyone here?" He asked observing the crowd. Moore was grateful he was wearing the Ragnarok Armor System, he never could stand the buggers. He had learned before the armor was invented that besides hating flying he also hated things that could fly. "Ross." He said facing a Centurion with a machine gun turret similar to Riley's but smaller.

"Yes?" The man responded.

"Got any 'D'?" Moore asked.

Ross chuckled. "Should have known what that smell was." He said.

"Yeah fuck you. Just gimme some. Oh and none of that shit that smells like semen this time."

Ross handed Moore a can of spray on deodorent that was black with the words "Gunpowder Galore." written on in it red letters. Everyone in the elevator watched as Moore sprayed some on his groin and then looked up.

"We're here." Kerbo said.

"Good job." Oswald, a CQB prodigy with a caring parental attitude said petting the grunt on it's head. "Keep it up and i'll buy you a chew toy and make sure you get a medal."

Kerbo looked moderately excited as the elevator door opened, showing a jackal patrol. It turned and jumped as it saw the heavily armed group and was about to run before Moore threw the can of deoderent. The metal can hit the jackal in the neck at seventy miles per hour, killing it.

"Let's roll." Moore said as the armored group moved out.

"Top floor. Shield controls, teleporters, and a whole lot of Sangheili." They all heard Kerbo say.

"That's the way I like it." Benson said ready to move.

Foxtrot12 18:17, December 5, 2010 (UTC)

59
They arrived at the Spire when the sun had started it's descent.

Matt pulled out his radio to try to contact Riley. "Endeavor, this is codename Moroni, are you in the Super Spire?"

The radio responded immediately, "Copy Moroni, We are in the Spire with Yankee Cell. We have almost reached the peak."

"Copy Endeavor, when should we expect the fireworks?"

Riley voice came on almost immediately "Look in the sky for the explosion. We have a bomb we're going to plant in the cruiser."

"And the Super Spire?"

"We'll worry about it when the time comes. You caught your Spire yet?"

"Negative, we're hitting it now. Turok needs his armor since they took it when he was shamed."

A new voice came on, "Moroni, this is UNSC Centurion Dennis Moore, did you say that you have a Elite with you, without armor?"

Ryder grabbed the radio, "Copy, and his junk is huge!"

Matt grabbed back the radio, "The Spire we're at has his armor. We'll meet you in the cruiser."

"How?" Riley asked.

"Turok says he knows a way to link the Spire's teleportation system to the Super Spire's. I hear it is very complex and if a human does it, an alarm goes off."

"Well, good luck. See you in the Cruiser."

"May God bless you."Matthew said.

60
Robert glanced around the bridge of the Siren's Call. "Err.. I will be in command of this ship seeing as rear admiral Torkamentov has commandeered the Grapes of Wrath. He then turns to the ship's navigations officer. "Set a course for Hope. We're going to see what we can do in terms of reinforcements and fire support." The navigations officer nods. "Yes sir". Robert stays silent and nods.

"Now's my chance to find out about that project..." Robert thinks, walking down a corridor. "Now where's the engineering section on a Marathon class" He says, scratching his head, trying to remember. "I suppose I could ask.. " With that, he walks off to find someone who may know, or a map of the ship.

61
"Shhhh!" Riley insisted. The entire party of soldiers, hugged their backs against the wall, as the hallway came to an end. Riley took the first peek around the bend. It was a truly horrifying sight to any UNSC serviceman. Phantoms and Spirits constantly appeared out of a large transporter and out of the hangar, deploying multiple Unggoy, Kig-yar, Sangheili, Jiralhanae, and Mgalekgolo. Presumably to be transported to the ground, where they would fight off the growing number of rallying marines. Once having dropped off their load, the dropships would have exited the perimeter to fight as air support. If this process kept up, Icaria would fall within hours. They all knew their goal. To destroy the supplier. To destroy the Covenant supercarrier.

One of the Centaurions turned to Riley, "How the hell are we gonna get through this room alive!" he quietly inquired. "We'll need a distraction." Riley responded, "It's a shame we can't call in air-support. The goddamn shield will disable any non-Covenant craft who enters!" "If only we could get to a control panel without being spotted." continued Moore. "That is where I come in." Kerbo happily concluded. They all grinned.

It was a shame that Kerbo couldn't tell a lie while keeping a straight face. As Kerbo shuffled himself out from behind the wall he stared directly at the ground, it was obvious that something was wrong. So e kept his head low, watching every step that he took closely. Just praying that nobody would notice his awkward way of walking, wasn't enough to keep others from noticing his awkward way of walking though. Sangheili and Jiralhanae starred at him like he was retarded or something. Luckily, the crowd helped him to temporarily escape their watchful gaze. "Eh, well the Unggoy are all retarded." they concluded to themselves, before carrying on with their work and forgetting all about him. He began to sprint as he approached the panel and managed to quickly press the desired key without being noticed. Or was he? His sense of accomplishment turned directly into fear, as a huge Sangheili with an energy sword ran over to him and demanded to know what button he pressed. He was the Fleetmaster. Kerbo was frozen in fear. The Fleetmaster lifted his energy sword, "Tell me now, or enter a world of inescapable agony."

Suddenly, a three of Pelicans flew into the complex. Kerbo ran back into the confused uproar while he could. The other Unngoy and Kig-Yar began shrieking in terror, as even Sangheili ran from the scorching bullets being ejected from their turrets. Suddenly, Falcons and Phoenix aircraft advanced inside for extra support. Marines hoped from their seats and provided the much-needed ground support. Among those who kept their seats, Riley noticed Rowan. Rowan waved and gave him a thumbs-up. "Hurry Spartan!" hollered Quinn over the massacre, "We reach the teleporters while we still can!" Riley managed a short wave before being rushed into the teleportation device. --  Chris  talk   blog  23:50, December 5, 2010 (UTC)

62
"All right," said Torkamentov ashe looked over the bridge of the Grapes of Wrath, "This baby can do some damage." He turned to face the ship's AI, someboody named Guy Montag. Whoever thought up that name must have been drunk, thought Torkamentov. "Lay in a course for Hope. It's time to set up the UNSC Mobile Weapons Store for business. I don't think we need to relay that to the Siren's Call, seeing as they're already moving that way" "Yes Admiral," replied Guy.Torkamentov started humming to himself as the ship started off, "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor...except for the Covenant." His face broke into a grin.

Later, Torkamentov got on thwe radio to the Siren's Call. "So, how are the repairs going, Captain Roberts?" He was surprised to hear Commodore Mulgrews voice over the radio. "Captain Roberts isn't ere right now. But repairs are proceeding apace, considering our limitations." "Well, where is Captain Roberts? I need to talk to him." "He said he was headed to the enginer room. I overheard him saying something to himself about "finding the Deceptive Shadows."" "Dang it," replied Torkamentov, "Mulgrew, could you go get him? He's headed the wrong way, and I don't want him finding our Nova Bomb. I mean, why would we put a secret project right next to a high priority enemy target?" "I don't know, sir," replied Mulgrew as he stood up from the command chair and ran out to catch up to Captain Roberts.

Azecreth 12:44, December 6, 2010 (UTC)

63
Luc primed the C-12 with a remote detonator, already having a plan to take down the Spire. It was simple enough, the Spire was mounted on a overpass. All he would have to do was get the C-12 onto the Spire, or to the center of the overpass, and down it would go. "It was..... idiotproof". He thought jumping out from his hiding spot and hijacking a passing Ghost.

Nearing the Spire, Luc was dodging incoming plasma fire from Shades, other Ghosts, and infantry. "Okay... maybe not as idiotproof as I thought"! Nearing the Spire, Luc tosses the C-12 charge and boosts, clearing the end of the overpass before detonating it and turning around to watch it all go crashing down. "I'd say that's a job well done". Luc says, smirking.

After a while of searching, Mulgrew finally found Robert. "Ah.. er.. Captian Robert"? Robert then turns around" Ah er.." "Mulgrew" He answers. Robert scratched his head. "Mind leading me back to the bridge"? Robert asks." Not a problem". Robert nods and follows Mulgrew.
 * Meanwhile, on the UNSC Siren's Call

64
The chaos went silent. Then Riley remembered, Kerbo is still back there, in the midst of a slaughter."Poor little guy, if I had the chance to grab him I would have," Riley thought, trying to face the facts, he was probably dead. "We're here," Moore gave Riley an abrupt pat on the back, "And from the looks of things, another unit beat us to it." Riley raised his head, only to find Matt, Ryder, and the Sangheili conversing with Moore's squad of Centuarions and Quinn. Matt turned over to Riley, "Hey man, thought you'd never make it!" Riley was cheered up a little, "We'll we did, and we are ready to kick ass!" Riley looked around the transportation hangar, Unggoy and Sangheili lay dead, sprawled on the floor, and covered in blood. A ravaged Spirit lay overturned, and burning plasma. "Opps, looks like we already took care of that." said Ryder, having joined the conversation. Turok walked over, "As you can see, I have been clothed." RIley was surprised, he didn't have any idea that Turok was a major. Riley noticed a strange, unidentifiable symbol scratched into the front-body section of the armor. The armor's natural orange glow had caused the scratch marks to gleam a dark red. Riley gave the Sangheili a grin "Nice. What's the mark?" "I have recently been branded with this symbol as a mark of failure, now I wear it proudly as a symbol of my rebellion against the Covenant." Turok quickly responded.

Riley walked over to Shouji and tossed him the bomb. "You can set-up the bomb right?" Riley asked, "Your the technical expert." Shouji caught it, and delicately placed it onto the floor. "Yep, just a sec." he responded. In a minute he was finished. The nuke was strapped to the ground, and rigged for one-point-five minutes. The point-five was the time needed to get the hell out of there. Suddenly the teleporter disappeared. Moore was horrified, "Oh shit. Someone on the other side must be tampering with it!" Riley looked over to the one way shields, used to keep enemies from entering the hangar. Three in-tact Phantoms remained, empty and docked beside the exit. Riley turned back to the group, "I have a plan. But we all better hurry!" --  Chris  talk   blog  21:12, December 6, 2010 (UTC)

65
The Giza had finally made it close enough to Hope to send troops down to the surface. ODSTs in Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicles were dropping to the surface. The bridge was as busy as ever.

"SOEIVs Alpha-23 through Bravo-12" deployed" said Caesarius, the onboard AI. "Bravo-13 through Delta-03 deployed"

"Incoming distress signal, ONI origin." Said the Communications Officer, "orders sir?" The question was direct at Commander Shedd."

What are spooks doing on Hope? the commander mused to herself.

"Patch it through Lieutenant" Ordered the commander.

"This is Codename: SPUTNIK, we are under siege at the Aluminijs Mountain ONI Facility. I repeat the Covenant is at our doorstep, and we need to do away with any and all sensitive information, including those with references to Earth. Unfortunately the Covenant is closing on us faster than we expected." The recording continued, "As per the Cole Protocol, this sensitive information must not fall into the wrong hands. We need all the help we can get"

"Orders Commander?" asked the executive officer, standing next to Helen. "We can't let this information fall into enemy hands. We need to redirect all available forces to the Aluminijs Mountain Facility."

"All ODST SOEIVs accounted for." Caesarius chimed in.

"The ODSTs can take care of themselves, we need the Marines to that facility now" Stated the XO.

"Caesarius, bring up the telemetry of the Facility, primarily radiological scans!" Commanded Shedd.

"Radiological scan within norms, it appears that the reactor is still running." Answered the AI.

"See? The base hasn't been destroyed yet. There still is time to send the Marines." Said the XO. "We send as many Marines as possible or we loose..."

"Or the base could have been compromised. And the Covenant are getting what they want as we speak" Interrupted the Commander.

"Isn't that more reason to stop them.?" Asked the XO rhetorically.

"Not if they have AA Batteries set up, they could rip through half of our pelicans and be alerted to the other half. We need to set up a diversion." Helen continued. "Caesarius, tell us where the main hotbed of activity is?"

"Near the city of Port Neandra" Caesarius answered. "Civilian evacuation are currently underway."

"Very well." Shedd said, "Bring this ship into geosynchronous orbit over Port Neandra"

"May I ask why?" the XO wondered.

"We need to protect the civilians." answered Helen.

"Send an advance party to the the Facility and set the reactors to overload, if necessary." Shedd commanded "The rest of the Marines will fight in Port Neandra."

"Who are you thinking of sending?" asked the XO.--RichardRHunt (talk) (contribs)22:37, December 6, 2010 (UTC)

67
Inside the supercarrier, the deep voice and garbled words of an Elite came on over an intercom. The Spartans' translation units didn't catch all of it, but 'all warriors' 'marshalling bay' and 'demons' were enough as they sprinted for the Phantoms with the soldiers. This was a supercarrier, and it carried things, namely thousands of Covenant troops.

Quinn heard amid beating footsteps the doors slide open far behind them. Roars and shrieks thundered around the room, but he wouldn't take the half-second to look back. Needles and plasma bolts shot over his head, and a Centurion in front of him got hit. Before he could tumble to the ground, Quinn caught his shoulder and kept moving, but now was a slower and bigger target.

In the front, Matt, Ryder, and Riley had booked it ahead to reach the ships and get them airborne. Riley had dropped the Warthog turret, and Erik almost tripped over it. Now he looked back. Hunter pairs, towering twice as high as a human, and clad in armor so dark blue that all light around them seemed to disappear. They were charging over the ground with Jackal infantry and Elites with swords drawn right behind. The Spartans might get out, but the Centurions would never make it without cover.

Throwing himself to the floor, Erik angled the turret, prayed, and fired. Completely in the open, the smaller Covenant in front fell in droves, almost one for every round the ODST fired. But the Hunters wouldn't be put down. The first was upon him, and it lifted a shield to kill him. . . a ball of roiling plasma hit it squarely. The whine of Covenant engines passed over him, and a purple shaft of light pulled him and the wounded Centurion up, into the troop bay of Riley's stolen Phantom. With plasma blasts hitting the hull, all three transports wheeled around and shot out of the hangar.

68
"Any second now." Ross said as he leaned out the side door of the phantom, which was rapidly accelerating away to see the supercarrier go up in flames. Travis also moved to a similar position. "Is this thing gonna blow or what?" Ross asked before everyone heard a giant bang from behind them.

"Kickass." Travis yelled as the supercarrier broke into around four pieces, forming a raging inferno of metal, smoke, and fire.

"What." Said an angered Ross. "I didn't see it. Do it again." He tensed up and removed his helmet. "Anyone got a smoke?" He asked.

Cahill, Yankee's sniper and medic looked up from his position on the floor aiding Oswald, who had been shot in the chest twice by a plasma rifle. "Here." he said, tossing Ross a six pack of Soldier's Choice Cigarettes, a brand made by the UNSC Army that was made with less lethal ingrediants to accomadate soldiers and decrease the risk of cancer.

"Thanks." Ross said, lighting one. "Just not like the real thing." He said about a minute later tossing it out of the phantom.

"Everyone alright?" Moore asked standing up. "I hate flying."

"Yeah. We're all good. You?" Benson asked.

"I'm fine." Moore said painfully. "I just. I just hate flying." He said pulling off his helmet while limping towards the edge of the phantom. Moore looked down and vomitted. "Alright." He said. "Now i'm good."

"Where to?" Riley asked.

Moore put back on his helmet. "Call up UNSC air support identify we're friendly. Then commandeer any local air groups, we're going back into hell."

69
Riley pulled his radio out from his belt and raised it up to his head as he steered his Phantom away from the falling debris. "Endeavor here, checking that we've all made it out alive and okay." He waited a short pause, "Never better," stated Moore before Matt activated his radio, "Same here." Riley "Good, the battle's just begun and we've already compromised their fleet." Riley waited a minute, before speaking into the radio again, "We should probably return to the Super-Spire for now... check the remains before giving any of our ships the go to pulverize it." "Yeah, that's a good idea." Matt responded. All three phantoms loomed over to the highest platform.

Riley leaped out from the side. Covenant soldiers of every species lay lifeless. He felt sad knowing that among the heap of lifeless bodies, Kerbo might lay. Maybe he escaped though. After there weren't as many dead warriors here now as those whom he saw earlier. Suddenly, a human voice broke the painful silence. "Anyone, please! Any UNSC please come to Hades and retrieve us....Covert ops platoon eight....we are four MIA's.....PLEASE!" Hades! That is what the Elite was mentioning before! "Isn't that a moon of Epitadeus d?" He wondered. Suddenly, he heard a thump. A noise coming from inside of this room. Zipppp! A shock of pain shot through Riley's arm, a needle. As in needle rifle. Riley pulled it from his arm. Behind him stood a towering Sangheili, "Now you must die!" --  Chris  talk   blog  01:46, December 7, 2010 (UTC)

70
"Oh fuck." Moore said as he saw the elite move up on Riley. He could tell that the Spartan stood no chance. "Smoke the bastard." Moore yelled.

Almost instantly fire from six centurions and two ODSTs filled Moore's ears as the bullets pinged off the elite's armor, one round from an assault rilfe caught it in the monster's helmet. It staggered back preparing to kill the spartan it had thrown to the ground before Shouji ran at the thing screaming with a combat knife in hand.

Moore pulled his knife out and followed Shouji's lead as the ODST attempted to tackle it. Though easily overpowered, Shouji managed to get his knife in the elite's neck before being thrown to the corner of the room with a thud.

But the beast had not died, it appeared he was only angrier now as he rushed Moore and tackled him to the ground. Moore, like most Centurions by now was wearing the Mark Two Ragnarok Combat Armor, but even it would be useless against an elite's energy sword. Moore struggled, trying to get the elite's hand, which was holding an energy sword away but it pointless, the monster was to strong.

In an act of desperation Moore punched it's face, knocking it's helmet off. Moore then proceeded to kick it and roll away, allowing his teammates to open fire. The gunshot's began to graze it's armor. In a desperate attempt the Sangheili lunged forward towards Moore with his energy sword. Moore dodged the incoming blade, however, it managed to graze the surface of his chest armor. He felt a painful shock, jolt through his arm.

Riley darted over, and punched the monster square in the face. After a quick recoil, the best grabbed Riley by his chest armor. In a second he was smashed to the ground. The Elite rose it's energy sword and was about to slam Riley with it. Moore shot the Elite in the arm, as Riley climbed back to his feet. The Elite fell to the ground, the knife that Shouji jammed into it's neck must have began to take effect. Moore cradled his badly electrocuted arm before stating "He's dead."

Moore and Riley walked over to Shouji, The elite had made a large dent in his helmet and Moore removed it as Cahill ran over to him. But the second Moore saw Shouji's face he stood up and pulled out his magnum.

"Shouji, you got a lot of explaining to do." Moore said looking at the green dragon tatoo, a symbol of one of Hope's most violent gangs on his face.

71
Riley payed Shouji little attention, as he eyed a curious diagram, appearing on a screen. It appeared to be a map of the Epitadeus System. When Riley noticed a concentration of purple dots orbiting the second planet from the primary star, he confirmed this. His eyes shifted back towards the first planet orbiting the star. One small purple dot seemed out of place, orbiting it. "So that must be Hades..." he wondered.

No one payed any attention as the giant Elite pulled the knife from it's neck and climbed back to it's feet. He quiet and stealthy walk towards Riley turned into a brisk all-out charge. It activated it's Energy dagger. "Ragghhh!" he began to roar. The Elite caught Moore's attention "Riley look out!" he yelled! Riley turned just as the Elite slammed him across the room and over the outer platform. Riley help on with both arms. The Elite ran out onto the open platform, "Pathetic human!" he sneered in disgust. He stepped on one of Riley's hands. Riley gripped it's foot with the other and pulled him over the edge with him.

The two hurled towards the ground at an astonishing speed. Riley pulled his combat knife from it's harness. They both desperately attempted to land knife at each other. In the free fall, Riley held the Fleetmaster's arm and swung onto it's back. The Elite tossed Riley off. Riley's back slammed into the structure of the Super-Spire. He slid down the wall, and launched himself back onto the Elite, dodged a strike from his energy dagger, and stabbed him in the back. The Elite's movement came to a halt. Riley pushed himself off of the dying Elite and grabbed a ledge on the Spire. Riley watched as his opponent fell to his inevitable death. Riley held on tight as the strong winds whipped towards him. Riley's hand began to slip. He was horrified as he began to lose his balance. Finally, the three phantoms came down. One positioned itself directly below him. With a sharp thud he hit the violet rooftop. He swung himself through the turret hatch on the side.

Before anyone could say anything, a Phoenix lowered itself beside the phantom. Morales waved from the pilot's cockpit, and as the Phoenix moved forward, Rowan nodded hello. Beide him sat another marine. He recognized the face. He was one of the marines who took the initial drop. The phoenix zoomed beside them as their escort. --  Chris  talk   blog  20:22, December 7, 2010 (UTC)

72
After the brief panic of the Elite decloaking, Quinn had looked back out toward the supercarrier with the Centurions. It hadn't strictly broken into pieces; the rear amidships section had been broken and partially vaporized in the blast. The remaining engine sections flickered as whatever power systems were left gave periodic bursts of fuel to the engines. The bow was untouched, but unpowered. The entire mess gave off massive amounts of smoke as it dropped through the atmosphere, finally descending to the ground.

Like a clap of thunder, the echo of its landing reached them a few moments later.

It was then that he turned back inside and saw the situation unfolding with Moore and Shouji. The Centurion was glaring angrily, but silently, at an uncomfortable Shouji. Without the helmet on, the tattoo was exposed. It wasn't unusual for a Helljumper to have a criminal record, often enough they were the only ones crazy enough to be ODSTs. But any tattoos would have been surgically removed before entering the service, and the dragon marked him as not a trooper.

Moore now turned on him. As the only other ODST, suspicion was thrown on him as well. "Private, did you know about this?"

Quinn bit his lip. "I had guesses, sir. If you notice the IFF tag on his armor, he's listed as a Private, and Sherman is his first name."

The Centurion kept his eyes on him a moment more, then turned back to Shouji. "So what's your real name?"

"Komoro." he answered without fear or hesitation. "Shouji Komoro."

There was a moment of painful silence around the Phantom, every one of the Army special forces troops had gotten completely entranced by the drama. At last, Moore made a call. "I'd love to go into detail with this, and we will later, but we just don't have the time right now. For now, you are Private Komoro. You get me?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good. Quinn?" Erik stepped up alongside them. "Reprogram his IFF tag to read Private Shouji Komoro. Everybody, we have people Hades who have gone long enough without backup. We're gonna give the aliens pinning 'em down some reasons to remember their manners, just after we stock up on some of the ammunition the Covenant were kind enough to leave behind for us. Move it out!"

73
"Admrial. We've found the Covenant Supercarrier," reported a crewman. "Well, where is it? (it's time to blow the pieces out of it," said Torkamentov with a wolfish grin on his face. "That's the thing Admiral. It's already been destroyed." "What," yelled Torkamentov. "How dare someone do my job for me? At this rate, it won't be long before I'm only getting retirment benefits." At thast, the rest of the bridge broke into grins. "Well, only thing left to do now is finish off that Super Spire." "Actually, sir. The Supercarrier landed on the Spire. There's pretty much nothing left." "Well, dang it. I'm just missing all the fun today. Contact the Siren's Call and that new ship that just showed up. The UNSC Giza. Tell them that we're going to do some ground support for a bit."

One of the crewmembers looked at his radar screen in wonder, "Admiral. I've got a Phantom inbound, but it's transmitting a UNSC identification code." Admiral walked up to the station and had a look for himself. Sure enoough, a clearly marked Phantom was transmitting a UNSC code. "All right, lock on but don't fire. If they do anything threatening, you have my permission to blow them, out of the sky." He turned to the person at the communications station. "Try to contact them. Tell them that we are locked on, and they better prove that they are friendly pretty damn fast. If they don't respond, then give them a minute, and blow them out of the sky." Torkamentov turned to face Morgan. "Once we deal with this nuisance, we can figure out what to do next. We probably should go pick up those MIA's off of Hades." "Agreed," replied Morgan. Torkamentov mentally recognized that one chapter of the Battle of Hope was drawing to a close, but another might just be beginning. Azecreth 18:29, December 7, 2010 (UTC)

74
Moore looked at Shouji as he finished his rather long explanation.

"So Komoro." Moore said. "Your ansesctors were Samurai, you grandfathers were Yakuza, and you were their hitman until you joined the corps but then got busted for murder. Then you killed three ODSTs, busted out of jail, and wanted to find a way to Earth until you met Quinn. And I should trust you?"

Shouji looked at him. "Moore. Had I wanted to desert you or kill you I had plently of chances. Actions speak louder than words and though true I killed three ODSTs. I have killed twenty times more Covenant and followed you into hell. If I was going to betray you do you really think I would have kept waiting?"

Moore looked at Komoro. "Alright but i'm keeping my eye on you. And your coming with me."

"To where?" Shouji asked.

"The Grapes of Wrath. We're getting orders on this thing and there's an ONI spook who can find something to do with you."

"Very well." Shouji said as the phantom stopped and landed in a hangar bay. Shouji looked out to see a group of Marines taking aim at their dropship as Moore stepped out. Shouji followed Moore who by the looks of it had been on an Avenger Class before to the ship's bridge where a Russian man with the single star of a Rear Admiral and another man who appeared to be the XO were standing.

"There's your spook." Moore whispered to Shouji nodding to the XO. "Don't worry I have told him about you."

"Thank you sergeant." Shouji said as he approached the XO.

"Komoro. Shouji Komoro." The XO said. "I am XO Morgan. I've read your dossier and background information. I know about the corps, yakuza, jailbreak, and past service."

Shouji looked at him. "I want a pardon in exchange for my service on Hope and my continued service in the campaign, and to be paid as a mercenary holding the rank of Lieutenent."

"We don't do deals with criminals."

"I know you're ONI thus I know you do. Pardon, mercenary's pay, field rank of Lt."

"Deal. Deal. and private."

"Staff Sergeant."

"Alright Mr. Komoro. You are hereby a mercenary in service with the UNSC. You hold the field rank of Sergeant but are still a criminal who will be pardoned at the end of the Hope campaigns. Be aware the deal is off if you desert. Alright?"

"Alright."

"Dismissed."

Shouji bowed his head slightly and returned to the hangar where the Centurions, Quinn, and Riley were getting in a pelican. Shouji took a few minutes to explain the situation until Moore walked into the pelican.

"Pilot get ready. We're going to Hades."

Foxtrot12 21:45, December 7, 2010 (UTC)

75
Robert turned his attention to the communications officer, who relays Torkamentov's message." Send a reply. Tell them that we aknowledge, and that we're in position to take out the remaining Spires." The navigations officer nods, and gets to work."Captian Robert." The ships A.I. calls out. "Hm?" Robert turns around to face the A.I's console."I have detected a transmission from the surface. Source: A radio communications station located in a small town on the continent of Icaria. It is broadcasting a distress signal in several frequencies." After the A.I. finishes it's report, Robert replies "Interesting.. send a Pelican with a squad of Marines to investigate. Mulgrew, since you know more about the crew aboard than I do, I trust you can form the team going?" Mulgrew nodded and grinned. "Leave it to me." "Good, now ready the MAC guns to fire when we get the signal. So who's ready to blow some shit up?" Robert asks as the crew and starts to grin.

On the surface, at the broadcasting station, Luc and several police officers were having a hard time repelling the incoming waves of Covenant infantry. "Ammo check!" Luc shouts out, after the latest wave falls back to regroup. After a few minutes of checking and reloading, one officer replies, "After we empty these, we have three more point-forty-five mags for the Magnums and three more assault rifle mags. Also, we're almost out of Biofoam from the medkits." Muttering a stream of curses, Luc sighs "Hopefully, some type of help shows up before we're down to fighting with sticks, eh?" The officers chuckled, and rushed to their positions.

76
Matt and Ryder waited for Turok as he held vigil for Kerbo. "Shame," said Ryder," Never got to meet the lucky bastard."

Matt sighed."He's in a better place now. He probably has friends up there in heaven that he is talking to right now. I bet he's happy."

Ryder said under his breath, "I wonder if he met my mom."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Hey look, Turok's back!"

Turok came up to them in almost a solemn way. He said "We must hurry if we want to catch up with Morales and the others. They're leaving in about five minutes."

Matt grinned, "Yeah, let's go."

Ryder said "Don't rush me, man."

-Therider Rides Alone 21:46, December 8, 2010 (UTC)

77
Torkamentov watched as the newly hired mercenary named Shouji walked away with Mr. Moore. That guy gives me the creeps, thought Torkamentov. Luckily he won’t be on my ship longer than necessary. And I wonder what they went through, that they have such a relationship. Shaking his head, he turned his back on the departing pair and faced the viewscreen. “Contact the Siren’s Call and the Giza'. Tell them we’re going to be headed for Hades to rescue some MIA’s that are stranded there. I assume they can handle things here while I’m gone. Oh, and tell Captain Roberts that if a Covenant fleet shows up, he is to not engage, but fall back and link up with me. And tell Commodore Mulgrew that I am giving Captain Roberts limited ONI clearance. Tell the good Captain about Project Deceptive Shadows and our other special cargo. He might need to know about the Shadow Drive in case of trouble in the future.”

Torkamentov glanced about the bridge. “Is everyone whose coming to Hades on board? If so, then set a course for Hades, and full speed ahead.”

-Azecreth 14:59, December 9, 2010 (UTC)

78
Things were looking grim at the broadcast station. Two of the HMPD officers are dead, and the other was mortally wounded. "Damnit, you'd think some help would be here by now!" yelled the officer, cluthing her wound. "Yeah, but c'mon, we have to get out of here." Luc said, lifting the officer over his shoulder. He then opened an emergency exit and stopped, seeing a mass of covenant forces surrounding the tower building. "Shit." Luc said, considering using the Fury. Before any action on those thoughts could come to fruition however, the Pelican from the Siren's call launched several ANVIL ASM missiles from one of the mounted pods, wiping out most of the covenant. The rest were supressed by the Pelican's nose mounted 40 mm cannon as it landed. The troop bay door opened, and five Marines ran out of the ship, providing more suppresive fire. A sixth Marine still in the Pelican shouted " Hurry and get aboard!" Luc nodded and ran to the Pelican, being careful not to further injure the officer he was carrying. As soon as Luc was in the troop bay, the Marines rushed aboard, and the Pelican hastily took off."Damn, you guys sure cut it close." said Luc, taking off his helmet. "Heh, sorry about that." One of the Marines, presumably the leader said. "But, better late than never, neh?" Luc chuckled. After exiting Hope's atmosphere, the Pelican docked in one of the Siren's Calls hangar bays and landed.

The Siren's Call's communications officer turns to Mulgrew, and relays the message sent by Torkamentov. Robert then walks to Mulgrew. "What was the message?" he asks. "We're going to follow the Grapes to Hades, and you, have been given temporary ONI clearence regarding Deceptive shadows." Robert grinned.He had always loved learning about new tech, and he wasnt about to pass up an opprtunity like this. "Explain away." Robert replies. The ships comms officer then turned and reported that the search and rescue team had sucessfully recovered one MP and one Spartan. "More good news. heh."

TheivingFan 21:13, December 9, 2010 (UTC)

79
Eirikur Quinn sat in the Grapes of Wrath's armory, replenishing his MA5C ammunition and grabbing an M6/SOCOM sidearm. He'd had to ditch his DMR, but to him the tradeoff had been worth it. Covering his back and making the weapon magnetic plate inaccessible was an Icarus Jetpack, an expirimental piece of equipment that he'd been recently trained with. Pity there were no others of the 22nd with them, but anyone else trying to use one of these untrained was liable to kill themselves. The Icarus ran by concentrating the oxygen in the air and adding a catalyst gas to burn in the jets. It couldn't be used constantly, as the filters took time to recycle air, but the tactical advantage it would give him was much more useful.

He'd heard over a radio transmission that the Siren's Call had located another Spartan. This made, what, four? And legends circulated of single fighters holding back legions of Covenant troops. Maybe there was hope after all, even with Reach gone.

No. Quinn put that false hope out of his mind. Every planet that was attacked would fall. Harvest, Arcadia, Sigma Octanus, had all repelled Covenant attacks. But the Covenant always returned, always burned everything. How long 'till it was just Earth? How long did humanity have?

Erik slotted the magazine into his rifle. Whether they took Hope or not, they'd pay a dear price for it.

80
Torkamentov angrily glared at the Corvette in the distance, before shifting his watchful gaze to his Siren's Call, which instantly warped itself directly beside the Grapes of Wrath. "Excellent. I almost thought that they forgot..." he muttered to himself, holding his hands behind his back. He turned to Morgan, Robert's first officer. "Relay Robert a message. Tell him to activate the shadow drive. Make it appear as if another UNSC vessel is approaching from the other angle of that Corvette, cornering it." Torkamentov was obviously satisfied with his plan, Morgan noted, as an unusual grin spread across his face. "Then once they think that they are cornered. We MAC bombard the living-shit out of 'em." "You've got it, sir." Morgan approved of Torkamentov strategy. Morgan stopped by the comm station and began speaking. "I hope this works," Torkamentov began to think, "They already know that we are here. If he doesn't do it correctly, we're all dead." Morgan turned back, "He's got it sir!" within a moment, another UNSC ship appeared on radar. Torkamentov sneered while starring at the lone Corvette in wait. "I don't know exactly what those alien bastards are thinking right now, Morgan. But whatever the fuck it is, I can tell you that it's priceless!"

"Morgan... Fire!" Torkamentov commanded. Within an instant, they starred in awe as Covenant debris fell into the atmosphere, accompanying that of the wrecked Eye of Providence. "Good job, Morgan! Contact our Siren's Call, tell them to begin deploying troops whenever they are ready!" Torkamentov insisted, "Oh, and tell them no dropping ODSTs, their pods could never survive this atmosphere." Morgan continued, "You've got it sir!"

Riley watched as a fleet of Pelicans and Albatross lowered themselves into the atmosphere. Riley leniently reclined himself in the driver's seat of a harnessed warthog, as Rowan piloted the vessel. Beside them flew the centurion's Pelican, he noted, watching through the screen that he was provided as if it was his own personal home-theater. He noticed as yellow electromagnetic charges began rapidly bolting at the hulls of each dropship and linking together to form a stronger current. He knew that these wouldn't be enough to penetrate the hull no matter how strongly they pulsed. Suddenly, a dark, familiar shape appeared out of the brown clouds of rolling dust. As the shape approached, it's identity because obvious, a Spirit dropship! Riley knew that Rowan was seeing this from captain's seat, so he knew in his head that Rowan was praying that he wouldn't go through with his usual impulsive behavior. He couldn't care less. He watched as more Spirits and Phantoms came. Through the fog, he could make out a Pelican full of marines being blasted with plasma mortar. Riley kicked down one of the thin retractible titanium walls. He could have just opened them, but he decided to kick his way out, mix things up a little. --  Chris  talk   blog  01:09, December 10, 2010 (UTC)

81
As soon as the transmission from the Grapes of Wrath came through, Robert orderd the ships intercom activated and began speaking. " All Marines and ODSTs deploy, Pelicans and Albatrosses only. I repeat Pelicans and Albatrosses only." With that, Robert turned to the ships AI. "Once all units are off ship, orient the Siren's Call for fire support."Yes captian." the AI said in it's usual, monotone voice.

Luc climbed aboard a Pelican, taking a seat in between two Marines.He had made sure to raid the Demolitions locker for some replacements for the ordanance used on Hope."Never can have enough explosives." Luc said. A few seconds later, the Pelican took off, and Luc started checking his armor's seals. An ODST in the front spoke out "Looks like we're all going to hell for a visit!" The Pelican rang out with laughter, even as it dodged plasma fire from the Spirits down below.

82
Darkness. Something almost all people found terrifying, even if only at some primal level. It denies the comfort of the light, extinguishes warmth, and encloses and ensnares without being tangible.

Julie found it boring.

The crash webbing had tightened. Not painfully, but enough so that the occupant wouldn’t rattle around in the SOEIV pod, no matter how badly it tumbled. It didn’t guarantee survival, but it meant the body would at least be in one piece for the identification.

She booted her diagnostic software, waiting a moment as her helmet display flickered on, and ran a full scan of herself. Spartans were built tough, but even they weren’t invincible, no matter what ONI told the rest of humanity. She diagnosed herself with extensive bruising, a few cuts and a few cracked ribs – she’d gotten off remarkable lightly for an occupant of an out-of-control pod. She activated the suit diagnostic suite, which would take more time – MJOLNIR self-repaired, but it was slow and extensive. Better to manually fix it of she could.

She took her bearings. Still in the pod – which meant a few things. Firstly, she probably hadn’t been found – if she had, the Covenant would have ripped the door open and murdered her in her sleep. Secondly, even if she had been found, the fact that she was still here meant the enemy obviously didn’t expect a survivor.

The third option was that they couldn’t extract her. She hoped that wasn’t the case.

She unclipped herself from the crash webbing, staying where she lay – which meant that the pod had fallen onto its back. She started fumbling for her weapons, clasping an assault rifle in the darkness. Even with Spartan eyesight, it was still murky, and she could only just make out the interior details of the pod – the front of the pod was crumpled in, the broken transparent hatch plating explaining some of the cuts. She felt around for the magazines for her weapon, clipping or sliding them into ports on her armour, and found a battle rifle, one of the newer BR55s rather than the older M392 DMRs. She clipped more ammunition to her suit for the larger-calibre weapon, as well as grenades.

No damage, thankfully. A few stress fractures on the outer plating, and minor damage to the neural interface processor, but otherwise the armour was fine. It would stop her registering on UNSC tracking equipment, but it still left her in fighting condition.

She brought her knees up to her chest, rested her feet against the hatch, and pushed.

Whatever was on top of the pod, blocking the light, it was heavy. She could feel it starting to give, and adjusted the force, hoping to move it to the side slightly – small progress.

To her surprise, sunlight flooded the pod, her eyes rapidly adjusting to the sudden change.

A reptillian face peered in, cat-pupil eyes drawn tight in a glare, mandibles parting as it bared its fangs in hate.

“Demon!”

She fired her rifle, but too late to stop the call. The Elite slumped down across the pod, blood trickling into it as she got to her feet, a rifle in each hand, surveying the scene around her.

She had landed in the suburbs – her TACMAP flickered a moment before providing a name: Walton – and, judging by the rubble lying around the pod, it had smashed through several buildings and sent abandoned cars flying before coming to a stop, debris settled on top and around it…

…right in front of a Covenant patrol.

She leapt off the pod as a plasma pistol charge seared past, and felt smaller green and blue plasma bolts whistle past her or spatter against her shields. She rolled, taking cover behind a chunk of polycrete, and returned fire.

It wasn’t unusual for ODST troopers to be engaged this early – in fact, they actively encouraged it, using the shock of impact and sudden and unexpected assault to gain the element of surprise. But it only worked in numbers, and against perimeter troops – even a single Spartan would never have willingly dropped a pod right on top of a Covenant patrol.

She landed a few shots shooting blind, slid across the ground beneath plasma fire, and pressed herself hard up behind a huge chunk of polycrete. More plasma splashed around her, blobs of molten polycrete dribbling around her. She returned fire, spinning a Jackal around as she caught it with a battle rifle burst, following it up with a headshot.

Another Jackal dropped, hitting a Grunt with its overcharge – but she hadn’t fired. She followed up the unexpected shot with a spray of assault rifle fire, forcing a Grunt squad to dive for cover.

The COM crackled. ''“Outnumbered thirty to one? Not exactly even odds, is it?”''

Where had that come from? She looked around, still firing across the shoulder – to her satisfaction, she heard some of her blind fire catch a Grunt which yelped – but couldn’t see anyone. She frowned under her helmet, and gripped a grenade, wondering whether it was friendly.

''“Hold your fire, Spartan. We’ve got you the Covenant in our sights. Now, we're giving you a choice – nod, and we’ll fire on them, and bring you in. Shake your head, and we’ll just leave you here. I’m sure you can beat a platoon, thought the armoured company coming up the junction might beg to differ. Choose.”''

Somebody out there making an offer of salvation – but evidently not UNSC. If they had, she wouldn’t have hesitated in letting them blow the Covenant to smithereens. But for a moment, she wondered whether she might be better off taking on the aliens – there were humans who hated Spartans far more than even the most zealous Elites, and right now she was alone, low on ammo, transponder malfunctioning and in unknown territory.

She made her decision. Her head jerked up and down in a visible nod.

The next few second got very loud indeed.

Whoever had come to her rescue was evidently prepared – rockets slammed into the entrenched Covenant positions, sending up the already burnt-out husks of cars flying and vaporising half of the enemy force. Rifle fire caught more as, surprised at the sudden and unexpected assault from the side, the enemy turned to try and bring their shields to bear. Too late – more explosions from RPGs tore into the enemy, sending Jackals and Grunts flying.

Julie stood up, firing her own weapon, pinpoint headshots bringing down more targets as she moved backwards, away from them. Maybe she could simply exfiltrate, avoid a run-in with whoever it was altogether-

“Going somewhere, bucko?” said a voice. Julie turned, saw a flash of green, and felt the plasma pistol charge smack into her, shields collapsing. She fell backwards, a tonne of MJOLNIR leaving a human-shaped dent in what had once been a road.

The last thing she heard was “Get her loaded, boys. Command wants her in one piece. God knows why.”

And then, irritatingly, the blackness returned.

83
"We have new orders coming from the UNSC Grapes of Wrath, we have just been ordered to rendezvous with it along with the Siren's Call at Hades." Reported the communications officer on the bridge.

"Tell that we're on our way" commanded Helen M. Shedd. "Tell them that we'll be there within the hour..."

"With all due respect, sir, we have men on the ground. We can't just leave them." interrupted the XO.

"That is where I want you to send an order down to the surface to have them regroup at a secure location and hold off enemies until a pelican can arrive. As for Gunnery Sergeant Smith, send the order for him to come back here." retorted Commander Shedd

"What about the facility?" Asked the XO."If the Covenant finds the location of Earth, we might as well have lost."

"I'm guessing the Grapes of Wrath and Siren's Call received the same message, therefore if we can afford to wait." explained the Commander.

84
When the Pelican landed, and emptied its contents of Marines and ODSTs to the surface, Luc walked to the cockpit section of the ship. The pilots turned in their seats to face him. "Excuse me.." one of the pilots started, but Luc cut him off. "I'll be commandeering this Pelican. Sorry for any inconvenience." The pilots' eyes narrowed, but they relented, seeing as they could do little to stop him anyways. They got up, and Grudgingly left the Pelican, joining the Marines outside. Luc took off to head for a ... safer locale. He saw some ammo resupply pods, that he could "modify" into somthing effective.

Robert was sitting in the captian's chair on the bridge. "See if we can get a Sitrep from the ground forces, in case they need some more close air support." The comms officer nodded and turned to his console. Robert's thoughts then drifted to all of the possibilities the Shadow drive could create on the battlefield.

85
Turok, Ryder and Matt hopped into the Pelican and flew off into Hades. Morales issued a com-link to the Siren Call so that could get their orders. They landed on the ground and then, their battle began. Turok recognized a Brute in the crowd, but lost him in the battle.

"So, this is why they call this planet Hades," Matt thought to himself as he shot his way through the battle.

Ryder shot his DMR so many times that the Grunts ran in fear of his weapon and ran at the sight of him.

Turok proved that you can slash through plasma, but only with an energy sword.

Matt eventually met up with Luc over a com channel. "Copy, this is Matt is there any SPARTANs out here?"

"This is Luc-056, copy."

"Hey, Luc. Bring any bombs with you?" Matt asked over the com-link.

"Just picked some up."

"I hope to see some fireworks, Luc. Don't disappoint me."

"OK." Luc said, a little worry in his tone.

"Na, just joking. I really need to see some fireworks though."

"Sure, no problem, Matto."

"Please don't call me that."

-Therider Rides Alone 22:14, December 10, 2010 (UTC)

86
"If it's fireworks he wants, it's fireworks he'll get." Luc said, preparing to drop two of the modified ordanance pods, that when the access doors opened, sprayed C-7 from several canisters attached to the interior. Coupled with that, are blocks of C-9 Luc had stuck in "for good luck". Flying over the battlefeild, Luc dropped both and readied his detonator. " I highly suggest taking cover down there, im not sure of the exact radius of the blast, but trust me, it's gonna be huge!" Luc yelled, pulling up.

Meanwhile, on the surface, the two pods were quickly being surrounded by infantry, who came to see what the hell was spraying that foam everywhere. Suddenly, a beeping was heard, and one Jackal was smart enough to realise what was going on and crouched behind this sheild. This, proved not to be so effective as the C-7 and C-9 charges detonated., creating a shockwave. "Shit.. I hope i didn't kill any freindlies!" Luc said as he circled the area, eyes wide. Maybe next time... less C-9 would be nesscecary.

87
Electricity zipped across Riley's armor. "This might complicate things..." he thought, latched onto the roof of a covenant spirit. His neural link to the MJOLNIR armor he wore was of great use to him, as he activated his visor's "night vison" mode. With clearer vision, he could easily see his way around the blazing atmospheric sandstorm. He quickly climbed to the front section and landed a punch directly through the cockpit section. A Sangheili recoiled in surprise before gripping his arm and tugging at it. Riley involuntarily flung forward, which was followed by a sharp blast of plasma in the face. A bolt from a plasma pistol. Nothing that his shields couldn't handle. Riley pulled the Elite from the cockpit, and after a brief struggle, threw him over the side. It wasn't till a few seconds later that he noticed that his albatross began flying upwards. Why was Rowan abandoning him? Suddenly the dusty-wind tugged him upwards with the force of a weak gravity lift. Then he realized what was really going on. He was falling.

The albatross also began a freefall in attempt to catch up with him. But Rowan's attempts failed, as within a second, a shockwave knocked Riley to his knees. He must have been falling much faster than expected. The thick atmosphere must have created an illusion of slowness. His shields were temporarily down, and his visor flickered off accidentally after a quick thought off sharp pain from the impact. This was fine though, he concluded, as the thick, rolling winds of hazel-colored dust began began to clear. He had reached the surface. It took him a moment to notice, but the battle had already begun, and was actively taking place around him. Rowan's albatross crashed down directly behind him. Rowan leaped from the cockpit. "You okay there?" he asked helping Riley up. "Thanks man." Riley responded, as he pushed off from his knee and began walking over to the harnessed warthog in the back. "I'll get the warthog if you hold them off." Riley stated without giving him a chance to answer. Rowan's assault rifle penetrated through rows of attacking Unggoy. In a minute, Riley had the gauss hog.

Another soldier hopped from the cockpit of the albatross, an unfamiliar marine. "I almost forgot there was a co-pilot," Riley began, climbing into the driver's seat. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hop in!" Riley cried, as successive bolts of plasma quickly ripped at the hull of the albatross, missed shots at the marine, he could assume. The source of the blasts weren't visible, as they couldn't see much farther than a meter ahead. The marine hurried over, "I am an excellent side-gunner," he began as he leaped inside, "but my specialty is piloting aerial craft. Sorry I didn't get to introduce myself sir. I'm DeLucus." --  Chris  talk   blog  00:10, December 11, 2010 (UTC)

88
The Shadow rumbled a little as the convoy made its way through the wartorn human city’s streets. Jothu looked around himself, at the bombed-out shops and slagged metal and whatever else humans made their crude structures from, his face a model of apathy. It would not do to let his warriors see the glee he felt in his heart.

Humans. Heretics of the Covenant’s beliefs, blasphemers against the gods. Filth. Vermin. They deserved all the destruction the Covenant heaped upon them. And Jothu was more than happy to do so.

The city was one of dozens across the planet, with hundreds more towns and villages. Not all of them had yet been cleansed of the accursed humans, but a good many had. Covenant warriors across the planet marched onwards in their glorious campaign, pushing the humans back. He didn’t need to bother himself with the details – the victory or defeat on this planet was irrelevant to his goals.

What waited for him at the end of the street was what mattered.

The Shadow came to a halt as the convoy reached its destination. Spectres and Revenants fanned out, sweeping the scene of carnage for survivors. A pair of Wraiths set up their position, getting a good fire solution on the crossroads. The infantry disembarked from the dozen or so Shadows, the entire crèche present for this.

This was important. Very important.

“Hail, Excellency!” shouted a Sangheili from one of the upper windows. Jothu curiously noted that his red armour was dusty and streaked with grime – not usually acceptable presentation to a superior officer, much less a Zealot, but he decided to let it pass. He didn’t care what the warriors looked like, only how they acted.

The warrior dropped from the window, landing on the ground with a thud, straightening. He snapped off a salute, thumping a fist against his breastplate, bowing his head respectfully.

Jothu returned the nod. “Report, Major. What have you found? What news warrants my presence?”

The warrior shrugged. “There are…oddities here, Excellency, that I believe are relevant to your mission. We lack the resources or leeway to follow such evidence, but we thought you would appreciate it.”

Jothu warmly clapped a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “You have done well, Major. Now report.”

The warrior pointed to the crossroads a few meters away. Jothu’s own warriors were scouring the wreckage, debris, and organic detritus for evidence that may have been missed. “The battle was a short one, sudden. The position of most of the bodies shows that they were facing a threat in the street, when they were hit from the side. Perhaps in one of the buildings,” he added, waving a hand to one of the still-standing multi-story structures. “They turned to face it, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Evidently,” said Jothu, wryly. “And what has this to do with me?”

The warrior walked to the end of the street, Jothu following him. He pointed at a heap of tangled and twisted metal. “That was why we called you, Excellency.”

Jothu recognised it – he had seen many in his time. Human insertion pods, like those the Covenant used, dropping individual warriors onto a battlefield en masse. Usually, where there was one there would be many more – humans rarely deployed their best warriors in such small numbers using such obvious means.

There was only one here, though. Odd.

“An oddity, yes, but hardly worth my time,” Jotu said. “Do not mistake me, Major – if your warriors cannot handle a single human “mareen”, mine will be happy to do so, but we are after bigger prey.”

The warrior flushed angrily for a moment, but kept his rage to himself. “Excellency, my warriors are battle hardened and experienced. What we have found is more than worth your time.”

The affronted warrior strode further down the road. Jothu considered asking if he’d had his men sweep for snipers, but decided to ignore the disregard for battlefield convention. If it was not worth his time, the warrior would pay dearly. If it was, he could be forgiven a little unprofessionalism.

The warrior stopped, kneeling down at a patch of earth, or what passed for earth – a slurry of mud made from a mixture of dust and rainwater, forming a soft earthy layer. He motioned for the Zealot to join him. Jothu settled onto his haunched, examining the patch of mud.

The warrior traced an outline in the dirt. “The imprint does not match those of normal human warriors. And the depth is certainly more than any would expect. Whatever fell here, it was a little larger than the usual humans, and a lot heavier. The fact that they are no longer present tells me that whatever your quarry is, it was taken away – either under its own volition, or against it, and if it was against it then it may be weakened.”

Excellent.

Jothu patted the Major’s shoulder again, this time a good deal more friendly, and stood.

“You have done well, Major. Have your warriors secure the area, and I’ll make my report to the Council of Masters.” The Major bowed, but hesitated for a moment. Jothu frowned. “What is it, Major?”

“I…my warriors wonder what kind of human could do this. Whatever it was, it took on and evaded an entire troop, and was worth more humans breaking their cover to risk saving.”

Jothu narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “The humans are barbarians, Major. Their ways are alien and illogical. Surely you know this?”

The Major nodded. “As you say, Excellency.”

Jothu strode back to his crèche, motioning for the warriors to mount the transports again. His second-in-command walked at his side, expectant.

“What news, Excellency?”

“Only the best, Fretha. A Demon was here. And it was hurt.”

The warrior smiled. “And what of the response team? What do they know?”

Jothu thought for a moment. “Too much. Kill them. Report it as a human missile strike.”

Fretha ‘Klorvatem nodded, mandibles still bared in a smile. “By your will, Excellency.”

He mounted the Shadow again, occupying the passenger bay with another half-dozen of his warriors. Outside, he could hear the sound of plasma fire and screams of outrage and pain, all quickly cut mercifully short. Good deaths, all things considered – better than that which would have awaited them for their failures.

They had failed to capture a Demon. On the other hand, they knew there was one here, and close.

They were on the right track. And nothing could dampen the good spirits which that thought brought him.

89
Quinn's dropship had still been on a landing approach when a wave of fire hit its side. Tossing the Pelican like a leaf in the wind, the pilot yelled, "Hang on, gentlemen, this going to hurt!"

Glad he'd strapped in, Quinn closed his eyes and waited for the landing. Even if he'd had more than the four seconds he'd had, it wouldn't of made a difference. The bird landed upside down and skidded across an exposed outcropping of rock, jarring its passengers. The Centurion squad sergeant had been standing free a moment ago. Now he wasn't inside the dropship that Erik could see.

Screeching of metal on rock assaulted his ears, making him clench his teeth in pain. Finally, the overturned Pelican ground to a halt. Close to vomiting, Quinn undid his straps and fell to the cieling on his hands and knees. It took a minute to get to his feet, as it did for the Centurions.

"Second Team, come in. Second Team respond."

Moore. He'd want an update. Quinn hit his com.

"Sir, landed hard. The squad sergeant is MIA."

"Copy that, regroup with us. Glad you made it in one piece."

The link pinged dead just before Quinn muttered, "Yeah. Me too."

90
Moore reloaded his weapon, a BR55A Battle Rifle, an ONI prototype that was essentially an automatic Battle Rifle that could be switched to burst fire on demand. Designed to be more effective in CQC it had a sixty round magazine and slightly shorter range, but was overall more effective, he had picked it up on the Grapes and had been eager to use the rifle. Moore wasn't exactly disapointed with the killing machine. He looked around, the marines had been saved with some deaths. Riley had got on the ground first and the Centurions had provided air support and later ground support. Their pelican "November Nine" had been modified greatly by the technicians on the UNSC Monsoon, a research ship that had been in the area. The 40mm nose cannon had been replaced with a precision gauss rifle that was aimed via the co-pilot's neural interface. It's rocket tubes had been replaced with a series of Gallilean-6 Lasers and some small missles that were tipped with a canister of teargas, that killed or neutralized the threat posed by infantry to allow the two 15mm machine guns, located on each side of the cockpit to destroy the enemy and aircraft. Moore didn't know who made it but whoever did was ready for the invasion of Earth, a day Moore hoped was long away. He was stopped from his thoughts when he saw a squad of men approaching with an ODST in the front.

"Quinn. These all your men?" Moore asked.

"Yes." Quinn replied.

Moore looked at his small force, around thirty five men. He knew that these men plus the small flights of soldiers onboard the pelicans he would be getting would be all he would have. He faced them all and started talking. "Men. We are here to rescue some special operations troopers. We believe they are in an ancient facility constructed thousands of years ago by some long lost race or whatever it's not our job to care, it's our job to get these boys out of a situation that is worse than a threesome with nuns, which let me spoil it. Is not very enjoyable. Now their CO is an ONI spook, Commander Jacob Able, we are mainly looking to find him he was leading the group on their little treasure hunt and has some data gathered. As well, once we find them we are to, if ordered aid them in their mission, as well some reports show that insurectionist activity and Hades militia one of whom is friendly to us, I think you can figure it out are in the area. If you encounter an armed civilian combatant, try to contact them but be ready to engage. So get ready for our flock of birds to get here, because when they do we're moving out. Also, try not to get shot." Moore waited for around twelve minutes when five pelicans including November, some carrying men and all carrying weapons and ammo dropped in the area.

Fourty-five minutes later

"Sir. I see the facility. Comfirmed Covenant activity and small arms fire from both sides." Lieutenent Baker, pilot of November-Nine said to Moore.

"Tell Lima-3 and Oscar-5 to engage ground forces. I want us to engage possible armor and air. Tell Zulu-4 to look for a landing zone. Tell Victor-2 to try to repell ground forces from the structure." Moore said to Baker.

"Yes sir." Baker said as he got on his headpiece.

"This is gonna be one helluva fight."

91
Torkamentov glanced around the bridge as the controlled chaos of a ship providing orbital support to a ground invasion generated. The damn Covenant sure were putting up a fight, even with their Fleet Commander dead. Well, despite the fight that the covenat were putting up, the ending to this fight was pretty much not in doubt. The bastards had no aerial superiority, and with the influx of troops was driving them baclk into their damn Spires.

An aide came up to Torkamentov. "Sir, I'm getting some weird readings from the area within the outer atmosphere of Epitadeus D." Torkamentov thought about that for a second, thn dismissed it from his mind. "Don't worry, it probably isn't anything dangerous. Continue with normal operations." Another crewmember came up to the Admiral. "Sir, we've recieved a message from UNSC High Command. They say that they appreciate the job we have done so far, and they are sending some ships to assist us with cleanup. However, they can't spare many ships, because they need to keep a large force around Earth." Torkamentov grinned. Getting more guns was always appreciated, and it was nice when High Command acknowledged his efforts. "All right boys," he said. "Let's finish up with these SOB's here. Continue with ground support. Concentrate MAC fre on the Spires. We've won this little game. Now it's time to collect our prize." What Torkamentov forgot was that pride comes before the fall. Azecreth 02:19, December 11, 2010 (UTC)

92
The dropship circled overhead. Erin wished she could just open a COM channel, request pickup, and regroup with CENTCOM. There were much better things for a pair of Spartans to be doing that trudging through swamp. But, of course, that ran directly against their orders.

Baselard was on this world in a covert and classified capacity. Minimal contact with UNSC forces, avoid contact with the Covenant at all costs, and proceed to the target as fast as possible.

Well, that plan was up the spout, wasn’t it?

Reginald paused for a moment, looking wistfully up at the dropship.

“What do you think it’s looking for?”

Erin shrugged. “Dunno, but we can’t hitch a ride.”

“I know,” Reginald said a little defensively. “I just wondered whether they knew we were here, and were looking for us.”

That was something to think about. “If they are looking for us, then our secrecy has been blown. And if that’s the case, we might as well scrub the mission now.”

The mission was important, but it paid to be doubly sure about things.

She activated her suit’s COM system. MJOLNIR carried a sophisticated signals package – you could practically run an entire campaign off of it, and that had occasionally been the case. She filtered through the confused and terrified chatter, the unintelligible Covenant bands, and homed in on the dropship’s output.

Nothing.

“They’re not broadcasting anything,” Erin said, looking pointedly at Reginald. “Can we go now?”

Reggie shrugged, hefted his machinegun braced up against his shoulder, and the two Spartans returned to trudging through the mud and muck.

The ONI propaganda glamorised the life of a UNSC soldier, and the Spartans in particular. Erin thought it would come as a surprise to everyone that Spartans went through the worst conditions a UNSC warfighter could go through. ODSTs resented the attention Spartans got, as well as the results, but Baselard and the other Spartans teams in the field thoroughly earned it. They were trained to operate for extended periods with no support in enemy territory, using limited resources and with limited windows of opportunity, against overwhelming disproportionate forces. And they consistently won. Whatever grudge the Helljumpers held against Erin and the other “freaks” of the SPARTAN-II and III Programs, she knew that she had at least earned that enmity.

But the Covenant, on the other hand, regarded Spartans in a far different light. As far as ONI could tell, they were religious zealots, and thought of everything in religious terms. Technological artefacts scavenged from mysterious dig sites were holy gifts from their gods, these worlds sacred places of worship. Humans were heretics for refusing to acknowledge their beliefs, for simply inhabiting these sacred worlds, of for other reasons entirely. Their war against humanity was a holy crusade, and they were thoroughly convinced that they were in the right.

They also saw the Spartans in religious terms – the Covenant name for them roughly translated as “Demon”.

Well, Erin was feeling plenty demonic. ODSTs may jump feet first into hell, but it was the Spartans who made sure it was full when they got there.

Hence this mission.

ONI had gathered Intel on elite Covenant military units – covert strike forces, different from the black-armoured special operations Elites they regularly deployed. Tough, eager to engage, and with objectives that usually mystified CENTCOM. “Zealots”. They had also intercepted orders to one such unit – the translation was not perfect, but it generally amounted to giving the UNSC a very bad day. And more specifically, it ordered the unit to find and kill any Spartans they could find on this world.

Baselard weren’t the only Spartans on Hope. Erin didn’t know who else exactly was here – perhaps Indigo, Kukri or even Anelace were here? It didn’t matter. If they were here, approved by CENTCOM, and participating in general engagements, then these Zealots would catch wind of it. By all accounts, meagre as they were, a Zealot group was a force to be reckoned in any strength, and this was an entire platoon-strength of the warriors – enough to overwhelm a small Spartan unit.

CENTCOM couldn’t allow that. And so Baselard had been sent in.

At worst, they would serve as a diversion. No stealth measures had been taken to keep their drop camouflaged, evidenced by the quick response to their landings. The evidence was there that Baselard was here, and close. All CENTCOM had to hope for now was that they took the bait. The loss of Julie had been unexpected, and both Erin and Reginald hoped it was just a malfunction, and that their team leader was still alive. But there was little hope – one Spartan against an entire Zealot platoon wasn’t exactly even odds by any stretch of the imagination.

Regardless, they had to go on. They weren’t just distractions – they were also assassins. ONI wanted as many of the Zealots taken down as possible – if the death of Spartans was a morale sapper, then they hoped the same would be true of Zealots. The two Spartans had headed to a pre-launched supply pod, salvaging weapons for the mission – Erin had swapped out for a BR55, set to single-shot, and an M99 Stanchion Gauss sniper rifle, and Reginald had strapped a backpack of ammunition for his machinegun to his back, clipped a pair of submachine guns for close-in fighting to his thigh holsters, and carried a rucksack of fragmentation grenades dangling from his pack, serving as the teams ammunition dump.

“team”. Two Spartans weren’t a team, they were “headhunters”, two-man teams sent by HIGHCOM against impossible odds to die in the attempt. If Julie was dead, Erin hoped ONI reassigned a replacement, or even merged them with another team – anything besides becoming a headhunter. She enjoyed killing Covenant, but she also enjoyed living.

“Hey, you hear that?”

Erin halted. Reginald had frozen, standing stock still, slowly looking around them. He flashed her a hand motion, and the two crouched down in the mud, hunched down for lower visibility.

“What?”

“I heard something.”

Erin raised her rifle, sweeping the area. The landscape, what there was of it, was bathed in an eerie green light – she still hadn’t deactivated her night vision function. There was nothing around them, at least not close, but Spartan hearing was better than the average human by far – it needn’t be close to make a clatter.

Reginald shook his head. “Heavy, airborne. Covenant.”

Erin swore as something rocketed overhead, bathing the area in a bright blue glow. The two Spartans took off at a sprint as plasma slammed down around them, sending up eruptions of singed vegetation and vaporised water which came back down in a thin rainy mist. She swore again as there was an explosion behind them – UNSC this time, a missile strike, not so close but enough to make the two of them run that little bit faster.

“We must be in the middle of something!” she shouted to Reginald over the noise.

“No, really?” Reginald shot back. “You think?”

Tracer fire split the night, ground-based this time, coming from their right. The two Spartans veered in that direction – better to violate their orders by running into Army troopers or Marines than stumbling headlong into the Covenant. A pair of rockets streaked out from the marsh, arcing up and gracefully coming back down as gravity had its effect, slamming into the middle of a Grunt squad – they could hear the screaming from this far away.

“What now?” asked Reginald. “Do we engage?”

Erin gritted her teeth in frustration. “I guess our orders are pretty much shot to hell at this point, aren’t they?”

The two skidded to a halting stop, keeping their balance perfectly as they spun around. Reginald activated his helmet-mounted flashlight, sweeping his machinegun around, keeping an eye out for Covenant – Erin slung her rifle over her shoulder, swapping out for the sniper rifle, keeping her own flashlight off and night vision on.

A pair of red dots flashed on her motion tracker – blinking on, then disappearing.

She gestured to Reginald, conveying number, direction and an order fire. The muzzle flash and machinegun tracer rounds lit the dark marshes up as Reginald scythed through the reeds, and they heard squawks of pain and surprise.

She cursed their luck – Skirmishers. Maybe there weren’t that many more?

She swore again under her breath as more contacts appeared on her motion tracker, red dots moving too fast now to get a good position. The bastards were quick, and smart too – and too agile for accurate sniping at this range. She dropper her sniper rifle, shouldering her battle rifle again as a Skirmisher leaped into view, and leaped at her – fired instinctively, catching it in the chest, brought her fist up and lashed out, sending it flying back with a crunch of bone.

Reginald swept the machinegun through the grass, catching another of the Skirmishers. Plasma deflected off of both of their shields as they moved back, weapons still firing at visible and invisible targets.

“Bloody Skirmishers,” Reginald complained. “Why can’t they just stand still like Jackals?”

Erin ignored him, firing at another Skirmisher as it tried to let off a plasma pistol charge, the released plasma boiling into the water as it fell face-first into the muck. Reginald effortlessly batted away another Skirmisher as it leapt, talons extended and maw gaping open, the cracking of more bones echoing in the night.

Still more contacts on the motion tracker, but they were hanging back now. Smart – probably waiting for heavy firepower.

“Let’s go, Reggie,” she muttered, switching to automatic and firing off a three-round burst into the darkness, rewarded by another squawk. “Before they zero in on us with artillery.”

Reginald looked hesitant – she understood how he felt. Unlike the IIs, Spartan-IIIs were all volunteers, orphaned by the Covenant as they ravaged the colonies and recruited – not kidnapped – by ONI. They’d all chosen this life, even if they should have been too young to make the choice. And a Spartan-III would resist retreating if it meant killing Covenant, getting some small measure of vengeance for families and friends.

But right now, the odds weren’t looking good – a pair of Spartans were a force, but she didn’t want to risk them. Shields could only withstand so much, and certainly not a Wraith’s plasma mortar. She didn’t even know if the Covenant had Wraiths out there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way.

The two Spartans backed away, still taking shots when they could, Erin keeping one eye on the motion tracker the whole time.

More tracer rounds slammed into the Covenant positions, and now Erin could hear shouted orders as soldiers moved up. Erin held her fire as troopers came into view, assault rifles barking out fire, with the troopers moved up to engage the Skirmishers. A few of them flashed the Spartans awed glances, but they were quick – the troopers either focussed on the job at hand, or were cut down by plasma and needler rounds.

Erin fired off another burst, catching a Skirmisher mid-leap. The creature still landed on an alarmed trooper, sending the two tumbling to the ground, the trooper clubbing the still-twitching thing with his rifle.

Erin offered the man a hand. He looked up at her, slightly suspicious, but took it. She lifted him to his feet, seemingly effortlessly.

“Who’s your commanding officer?” she asked. “What direction’s the CP?”

The trooper, who Erin’s HUD registered as a PFC Enderby, stammered, “Uh, I guess I’m in command. The command post got torched by a Phantom ten minutes ago, then Brutes tore up the company HQ staff.”

Brutes. “My condolences.”

The man frowned. “We don’t need your pity. We could use your guns, though. You two any good in a fight?”

She put her hands on her hips, amused. “We’re Spartans, Private. That’s like asking an elephant if it’s big.”

He shrugged. “I don’t put much stock in the propaganda. Anyway, we could use a hand – we’re fighting to get to the extraction zone.”

She sighed. “Right through Skirmisher patrols. Great. And the dropship we saw earlier?”

The man grinned. “That’s our ticket out of here. Ma’am,” he added, finally remembering that he was a Private First Class and she was a Petty Officer, Second Class. Even outside of the same chains of command protocol still applied.

She glanced over at Reginald, who shrugged. “We can escort you to the pickup zone, but that Phantom might still be around, waiting to pick off stragglers.”

“We’ve got a few rockets left – maybe not enough to bring it down, but enough to make it keep its distance.”

Well, their original mission was almost unsalvageable, and if they stuck around they’d have to go up against Brutes. And if a single squad from one Phantom had torn up a command post, then they had to be big, tough, experienced Alphas – not something she’d willingly take on without more firepower.

“Then let’s go, Private.”

93
"Quinn! Get me a look out."

Erik nodded to Moore, and spotting a outcropping of rock that offered a good vantage point. He thumbed his jetpack and felt himself lifted from the ground, propelled forward by its twin miniature thrusters. The higher gravity of Hades caused him to fall short, however, and he landed against the cliff. Pulling himself up, he scanned in all directions for a sign of the Eighth Covert Ops Platoon.

Only a harsh dustball was there to greet him. Sand in every direction, and nothing but. . . except that.

Inside of the cloud of a far-off sandstorm, a single shadowy line sprung from the ground. His helmet's focus adjusted and centered on it, and revealed the thermal signature of a communications tower, Covenant design. "Sarge, got a Covie emplacement. Com tower, two klicks . . . uh, that way."

"Right. Let's head for it. If there's not too many enemy troops, we can use it to boost our radio signal through the interference the dust is causing. It gives us a better chance of finding those people."

Erik jumped off the rock and used his jetpack to slow down. He hit the ground roughly, and he decided to compensate better for gravity in the future.

The thoughts that had troubled him the night before still haunted Parthius. As the sun came up, he looked down as the new sunlight revealed the blood on his hands. The humans bled crimson, and when the liquid of the mareens ran off his hands a sticky residue in the creases of his palms. This was not unlike the blood of his own people. ..

This was the blood of his enemies. No matter what form they took, your enemy recieved no mercy, for they shall give none. They hadn't on the thousands of troops aboard the Valiant Seraphim when it was destroyed. How they'd managed it, though, continued to elude him. Surely, he knew, it must have been demons. No others would possess such insanity, nor be capable of the results. And so the Raak'ezh would have their glory.

He had been contacted by their second, Frath ‘Klorvatemee. The Sangheili had been cryptic, attempting to keep the secrecy of what their targets were, but Parthius had already known. And now that he knew their creche was staying on the planet, his suspicions were confirmed.

‘Klorvatemee had specifically ordered him to stay in his sector of the city, and if anything happened, report it to them at once. They wanted the demons for their own. And as Sangheili had before, should they find a target heavily guarded, his pack would be sent in first to die in weakening them. Such cowardice from a race that insists its honor.

Perhaps, had he the chance, he would slay a demon and further damage the reputation of Jothu's creche. The prophets had already decreed that should he fail again, there would be grave consequences. He kept that thought at the back of his head. He would wait, and when the time came, an opportunity may present itself.

Some hellish two klicks it turned out to be. The weight of his jetpack was reducing him to stumbling around behind the Centurions. The light atmosphere meant Quinn's pack wasn't replacing its oxygen supply as fast, and he'd need to conserve it. His throat burned, pleading for water, but he wasn't about to risk taking his helmet off just yet. He'd wait until they were safely inside the com tower.

And at long last, they reached its base, and Quinn volunteered to take point inside. As soon as he got in, he nearly tripped over something as tall as his knee. Looking down, he saw that it was a Grunt carcass, with bullet holes all along its side oozing blood.

"Someone's been here." Moore said as the Centurions set out to scour the building.

"Maybe they're still here." Quinn thumbed his mic. "This is Private Eirikur Quinn, to UNSC force that broadcasted an SOS a while ago. If you can hear this, please respond."

94
Moore, who was operating as unit commander had full access to his squad's radios and immediatly tuned in when Quinn got a response.

"Private Quinn, this is Jacob Able, what's your location?" A voice with a Texan accent asked.

"Sir we're at the base of the structure." Quinn responded.

"Alright Private we're in sublevel Seven A."

Moore started talking. "Commander, this is First Sergeant Moore. You're underground?"

"Yes Sergeant we got Covies outside our door. What's your force size?"

"Sir platoon size strength." Moore waited for a few seconds before Able started talking again.

"Sergeant. I'm analyzing a map of the complex. If you're where you say you are. Then I need you to proceed down the first hallway and take a left. There will be an elevator at the end of the hallway that will take you directly to us. Find it. Quickly."

"Aye aye." Moore responded as he gathered his men and spent around five minutes searching for the elevator. When he found the metal box, stained with what appeared to be the blood of a few brutes and the leg of a jackal. Just like he hated flying, Moore hated elevators, pretty much anything that moved that wasn't a car he hated.

"What no elevator music?" Travis who like Moore had grown up in New York was accustomed to some cheap music playing in an elevator while traversing a building.

"Got my own." Cahill said.

Moore shook his head, one of the reasons he was a sniper was so he would stay far away enough so that his music wouldn't be heard.

The song Bullets for the Liars, was song by The Innies, a band that had become popular with soldiers. Moore listened in annoyance as the song played loudly.

"Watch the bodies fall and give 'em lead! No mercy. No regrets. Just watch the bodies fall and give 'em lead!" The singers screamed before a drum solo took over. The thing about Ragnarok helmets was that an MP3 player, easily mounted inside the helmet normally had it's music picked up by the helmet's radio, something that could get annoying.

"Turn that bullshit off." Moore eventually said in anger. Relieved as the music stopped. The door quickly opened. Moore saw a long hallway leading to a large sealed door, near the door were at least thirty Covenant trying to break through to where Able and his men were. "Let those sons of whores have it." Moore ordered to Ross, who had on hand a D175 Automatic Beltfed Grenade Launcher.

Ross fired the weapon around eight times before Covenant fire was sent flying the squad's way.

"Damn. Damn. Damn." Benson yelled as he fired his assault rifle before a fuel rod flew over his head. "Double damn it!" He yelled in response before firing twelve rounds into the grunt who had the powerful weapon in his hand.

"Squad behind that crate." Moore yelled, pointing to one of the only pieces of cover in the hallway before diving for it. Once behind it he got to his feet, stood taller than the crate, and fired twenty BR55A rounds in three seconds towards two charging skirmishers before unslinging his personal favorite weapon, a new and expiremental Gallilean-9 Laser, similar in design to an M-6 it was designed to be hip fired and fired energy in smaller bursts from it's circular end. Seven smaller bursts to be exact went in all directions, and while not powerful enough to disable a vehicle, it was the ultimate CQB powerhouse, if you had seven seconds to charge the bastard.

Moore charged it for a few seconds before moving out of the cover of the crate and firing the weapon, the kick of the laser was significantly decreased, but was still hard to bear, similar to that of a SR99.

"Heads up." Moore yelled as he tossed the weapon to Quinn before punching a charging jackal in the face and gripping it's plasma pistol. Moore shot it twice in the head and proceeded to use it as a shield while advancing. Soon the Covenant forces were dead and the walls were painted with blood, bullet and plasma holes, and laser marks.

"Keep the blunderbuss." Moore said to Quinn as he got on the radio. "Commander, you can open up the door now." He said before the door slid open to reveal some soldiers and a man who was helmetless and wearing ODST BDU and by the ONI patch on his shoulder, Moore could tell that he was Able. He approached the man, while looking around the massive circular room, in the center was a large holographic map of the galaxy with seven dots on it. One was where Moore knew Hope was, the other six dots were floating outside the galaxy.

"Ah. Sergeant." Able, a caucasian man in his mid thirties with oak brown hair said to Moore as he saw the squad enter.

"What is this?" Moore asked.

"A map room." Able replied.

"Showing what?"

"Well let's just say well thought out contingency plans and beacons. The rest is between me and ONI."

Moore reached from a pocket a small computer chip, given to him by Hallmay back on Hope that was marked with a red cross.

"Well," Able said. "Get us out of here safely. Prefferably to a ship in orbit or a secure base, and you'll know the rest."

Moore nodded.

"That's gonna be delayed." Ramirez screamed pointing down the hallway. "More covenant inbound. Oh..great. They brought a hunter. Make that two."

"Let's roll." Oswald yelled as gun and plasma fire filled everyone's ears.

95
The three Elites wandered through the dark forests outside the half-ruined Port Neandra. They followed the thunderous roar of explosions in the distance, hoping it would lead them to allies.

'Thaedee stopped."I cannot keep going," he panted. "Leave me to my fate. I am only slowing you down."

"No!" Eoj roared.

"I do not leave soldiers behind. Especially not you, 'Thaedee."

"But si-"

"Ultra, look!" Xer cut in, pointing.

A huge, metallic gray cloud swallowed the sky. It buzzed with movement, and appeared to be heading somewhere in a hurry.

"Follow it!" A.O.A., Administrator of Ace Combat Fanon 05:23, December 12, 2010 (UTC)

96
"Admiral. We're detecting multiple slipspace rifts. There's a lot of them, and they aren't human." "Damn," said Torkamentov. Of course, it was the perfect time for things to start going south. The UNSC forces in the Epitadeus system were still short on men. The reinforcements promised from Earth hadn't arrived yet. Torkamentov knew that there was nonly one thing they could do. "Contact the Siren's Call. Tell them to withdraw with us. And tell ground forces that they will be losing space superiority for an undetermined length of time, so they better get used to it." The Grapes of Wrath broke orbit and heade away from Hades back towards Hope as the Covenant fleet exited from slipspace and moved towards Hades and the fleeing ships.

The Covenant fleet fired off plamsma bolts toward them in an attempt to disable their engines. A lucky shot impacted in an engine of the Siren's Call. On the bridge, crewmembers scrambled around as they assessed the damage. "Captain, engine 2 has been disabled. Curreent speed estimates indicate that we can't outrun them." "Dang," said Captain Roberts. Thoughs began to slide through his mind as he tried to figure out a way to prevent the destruction of the Siren's Call. He quickly came to the realization that there was no way to save it. But thanks to the Nova Bomb he had, he could make sure that he took some Covenant with him. Get me on the line with the Grapes of Wrath.....Hello, Admiral. This is Captain Roberts. The Siren's Call has been damaged. We can't outrun the Covenant fleet." Torkamentov responded, 'Fine then. We'll turn around and help you fight." Roberts shook his head and said, "No can do, Admiral. That'll just end up with both ships being destroyed." "Well, there must be something we can do," said Torkamentov as he tried to think up a way. Roberts quickly dispelled that notion. "There is, sir. I can use the Nova Bomb in the cargo bay to destory that entire fleet." "But what about you," asked Torkamentov. "Well," replied Roberts," someone has to tell the AI what to do, and I always wanted to go down with the ship." Torkamentov fairly exploded when he heard Roberts, "No, damn it. There has to be another way. If we can stay alive till the UNSC reinforcements arrive." "I'm sorry sir, but this is the only way. Thus way I can buy you guys time. And besides, every Covenant vessel we destroy here is one less that can threaten Earth." Torkamentov yelled, "No! Don't do it Roberts! That is a direct order!" "Im...sorry Sir...You're...breaking..up" Before Torkamentov could yell at him more, Roberts broke the connection.

Turning to his bridge crew, he said, "Initiate the Corbomite Protocol." Red lights and alarsm went off across the ship as people rushed to their escape pods. Roberts sighed and turned to Mulgrew. "Well, better get to yout escape pod. You don't need to go down with me." Mulgrew nodded, and gave a salute. "It was a pleasure serving with you, Captain Roberts." Roberts saluted in return, "Likewise Commodore." They both tured away from each other, and as Roberts ent back to consider what he was going to do, Mulgrew spun around and hit Roberts across the back of the head. As Roberts collapsed to the deck, Mulgrew caught him and gestured to some crewmen. "Come here and take Captain Roberts to an escape pod. He became emotionally unstable, and I had to relieve him of duty." The two crewmembers glanced at each other in disbelief, and then draped the Cpatains arms over each other and carried him off the ship. Mulgrew nodded. When Roberts woke up, hopefully he would understand why Mulgrew did what he did, and hopefully he would find the envelope that Mulgrew had put in his front pocket.

Mulgrew turned to face the AI. "Are all crewmen off the ship?" The AI responded with a yes. Mulgrw turned to face the viewscreen. "Full speed toward the Covenant fleet. Prepare to detonate Nova Bomb and Nuclear Warheads on my signal." As the Siren's Call roared through space toward the Covenant fleet, they reached out their ships like arms, to wrap the ship in a bearhug of plasma fire. Bolts came from all sides, and the ship started to be ripped apart. On the bridge, the AI reported battle damage in a neutral tone as Mulgrww listened to the sounds of his beloved ship being ripped apart. All he could hope now was that i survived lnog enough to make it to the center of the Covenant fleet. "Commodore. The Shadow Drive has been disabled. Also, decks 9-13 have been heavily compromised. Engine power is down to 60%." "Keep going," responded Mulgrew. A Plasma bolt flew through space and detonated right next to the command bridge. On the bridge, there was a loud explosion and Mulgrew was thrown to the ground as a searing pain went through his chest. He looked down o see an iron pole 3/4 inch wide embedded in his chest. as blood poured out of his mouth, he siad in a staggering voice to the AI, "Are *cough* we there yet?" The AI responded," Yes. We are at a point where we can hit all the Covenant vessels." Mulgrew's head lolled back as he lost his strength, and mouthed," Then detonate." The AI saw it and activated the detonation. As Mulgrew's vision faded to black, a brilliant flash of light illuminated his sight. There was intense pain, and then there was nothing.

Otu in space, the covenant continued to rip the Siren's Call apart, when deep within the ship, a Nova Bomb and ovr 60 nuclear warheads detonated at the same time, obliterating Covenant fleet, and creating an intense flash of light that could be seen througout the system. Azecreth 18:30, December 12, 2010 (UTC)

97
"Matt, if you're down there, gimme a sign." Luc said, making several low passes over the blast sites with the Pelican. He then landed and opened the troop bay door.. stepping out when suddenly a bright flash filled the sky. "Holy shit!" Luc shouted, staring at the flash in awe.

Robert woke up, disoriented. He rubbed his head finding himself in a Bumblebee escape pod. "What the hell happened, and why am I alive?" He asked himself. A crewmember looked at him from across the pod. "Sir... Mulgrew sacrificed himself with the Siren's Call to destroy the Covenant fleet. "What!? I orderd him off the ship!" It was then he remembered that somthing had hit him before he had passed out. "That was Mulgrew?" he wondered. Looking himself over for further injury, he came across the note Mulgrew had left in his front pocket. He quickly pulled it out, and started to read. TheivingFan 19:26, December 12, 2010 (UTC)

98
RIley's warthog skid to the side and came to an abrupt halt as the group silently watched the Siren's Call combust and explode. Time seemed to slow down. The explosion was silent, having occurred far from Hades' atmosphere. The valiant starship did not go down in vain, however, as an incoming portion of the covenant fleet were also destroyed. Riley, Rowan, and DeLucus continued to stare, as the offensive fleet was slowly obliterated by the power of the massive explosion. Among the surviving remnants of the enveloping flames, two Covenant destroyers continued onwards, only to be engaged by the Grapes of Wrath. Without saying anything, a bolt of plasma having blasted against Rowan's defensive shields marked the end of their silence.

The warthog continued it's harsh rampage through a field of Unggoy. The passenger's solemn fortitude fueled their rage, as implied by DeLucas' successive headshots, and Rowan speedily rotating his turret in all possible directions, ripping through the covenant's defenses. "Where the fuck are these MIA's we've heard so much about, Spartans?" asked DeLucas. This was obviously a rhetorical question, but Rowan responded anyways, "This area has just about been covered," he began, "That hill over there is called Mount Persephone I think. A large amount of covenant infantry has grouped themselves around their recently. They might be over there." They advanced past the wreck of the Providence, and silently continued towards the mountain. --  Chris  talk   blog  23:42, December 12, 2010 (UTC)

99
"What do you mean no air support!" Quinn yelled angrily as another explosive bolt of plasma impacted against his cover.

"I mean command wants us to pick daisies!" Benson shouted back sarcastically between the fire exchanged by Centurions and Covenant. "What do you think I mean? An extra damn fleet showed up, and our ships are falling back to the rim of the system. Without space superiority, Navy isn't risking its birds."

"So evac's going to be a long time coming, then?"

"Understatement."

Another explosion made Erik's teeth chatter. The Covenant had forced their group far underground, through a tunnel network that left the fabricated Covenant hallways behind and into the caves under an area his VISR had tagged as Mt. Persephone. The enemy had been forced to come at them through a long, straight section of cave, and under combined rifle fire the Grunts and Jackals fell fast. The Hunters were a different story. Rather than charge at them, the pair stayed at the far end, shelling them with fuel rods. Trapped like rats, the soldiers could only sit and return fire till mags ran empty. Even the Mark 9 couldn't get through their Forerunner metal shields.

The irony of it sickened Erik. They had come here to bail out these people, and instead gotten stuck along with them. Now they'd either die or have someone else bail them out.

He pulled a grenade from his belt, looped his finger through the ring, and pulled.

One, two, three.

Erik hurled it over his cover and ducked back down. He heard it go off, but never saw the effect.

He still heard gunfire, but it wasn't from the men around him. Benson had his head out of cover, and staring on in awe. Pushing himself up, Quinn was just in time to see the second Hunter fall, and in its place, a pair of Spartans with the names Jake and Ed stamped on their armor stood tall.

100
Outwardly, Torkamentov stood as the paragon of emotionless humanity as he watched the Siren's Call sacrifice itself to destroy the Covenant fleet. Inwardly, his mind was in turmoil with both sadness and anger. Anger at the fact that Captain Roberets was so willing to go down with his ship. The UNSC needed experienced men to fight the Covenant, and how were they supposed to get those kind of people if they insisted on going down with their ships. But, to his surpirse, he also felt sadness. Granted, he had only known Roberts for a couple of days, but he had made a connection with the young man, and now he was dead. Torkamentov wsas jst getting tired of it all. The constant warfare, fighting, friends dying, and knowing that their sacrifice might be in vain unless you gto on with the mission, and you can't even give them a decent funeral, the type that they deserve for their bravery.

"Admiral. Two Covenant destroyers inbound for Hades. They're the remnants of the fleet destroyed by the Siren's Call." The words of the crewman shook Torkamentov out of his thoughts. It was time to get back to the business at hand. "Move to intercept and destroy. Don't let them reach Hades." "Yes, Sir." The Grapes of Wrath maneuvered toward the destroyers, and hit them with it's MAC guns. The damage from that, combined with the damage from the explosion, meant that they didn't have a chance. "Contact Hades groundforces. Tell them that Space superiority has been regained, but support will be on hold for a bit as we begin rescue attempts." "Sir, the Giza has exited slipspace and are hailing us." Torkamentov sighed to himself and said, "Tell them what happened, and request that they begin rescue efforts." The Siren's Call and the Giza began retrieving life pods from the vacuum of space.

"Admiral, the UNSC relief fleet has show up." Torkamentov glanced at the comm officer as the rage began boiling up inside him "Put me on line with the flagship.....Well, thanks for showing up ladies! It's nice of you to show up now, instead of 30 minutes ago, when we needed you! Now I've lost another ship, a good friend, and I'm about to..." A voice came over the comm. "Rear Admiral Torkamentov? Is that you? It's me, Admiral Gingrich. I know what has happened from your last report, but it seems that things have happened since your last report. Why don't you come over to the Pax Americana and talk about what happened?' Trorkamentovs fury subsided and he responded, "Sure." Turning to Morgan, he said, "Morgan, you have the command. Continue with rescue operations. And contact me if something important happens. I'm going to the Americana." Azecreth 18:35, December 13, 2010 (UTC)

101
Robert sat there, hunched over with his head in his hands. "I''f only I had acted on Torkamentov's orders faster, Mulgrew would still be alive." " I wonder how Torkamentov will take this."'' Shaking his head, and drawing himself away from such thoughts, Robert focused on the "shadow drive, mk 2." He was wondering if he should hand it over to Torkamentov, or install it on the Grapes. Focusing on thoughts of this line, he managed to keep himself from getting too depressed.

After the light faded, Luc raised his assault rifle, flicking the saftey off.Stepping over the charred bodies of Grunts, Luc noted the odd smell in the air." Smells like... farts and bacon?" Deducing this to the methane tanks Grunts use and their cooking bodies, Luc continued the search.

102
"You slippery bastards managed to get yourselves pinned down and we end up saving you?" Jake joked, helping his fellow marine to his feet.

Quinn turned to see the two spartans loading back into their faithful hog, Lucifer. "Where are you two heading off to?" Ed turned from his spot in the drivers seat to look at the marine. "Home," he stated. "you coming?" Ed asked as the marine nodded. He got up and sat in the hog, along with a few other soldiers.the group drove off, taking a hidden path that the covert ops team had found upon their orriginal journey to the coms tower. The spartans had made sure they could not be seen by covenant forces.

The hog dragged to a stop as they met a small cave opening that had housed the platoon for their stay on hades. Getting out, they went inside and sat on the makeshift benches that lined the walls. "What now?" Randy asked as he finished loading the pelican. He tossed a canteen full of water at the ODST. "Where did you get this water from?" Quinn asked, slightly off subject. "Small river runs near here. We found fresh water and a strange pepper near its edge." Miranda answered. "So heres the plan," Jake said as he leaned in closer to his team. "Randy and I will work on taking out the coms tower. You work on killing the big stuff." "like what?" quinn asked, puzzled. the ground shook, luring the team outside. From here they could see multiple scarabs marching across the battlefield. "My guess," Ed said. "Is that." --TheMerciless 21:47, December 13, 2010 (UTC)

103
"Scarabs . . . damn."

"The Covies use 'em as excavation equipment, but the cannons melt armor as easily as rock. Guess they finally decided to come dig us out." Ed muttered.

Quinn looked at the supersoldier worriedly. "How exactly are we supposed to take out, what? Four, five of those things? You had to help us with the Hunters."

Jake smiled, and nodded to Miranda. "Play back the message we got from the Grapes of Wrath."

Erik heard a bit of static in his helmet, then the voice of Admiral Torkamentov came through. "UNSC Grapes of Wrath to Hades ground units, air support has been reestablished thanks to the sacrifice of the Siren's Call and her crew. Shortsword bombers are on standby should you designate targets, over and out."

Smiling under his visor, Jake tossed Quinn and Moore a pair of target designation lasers. "Have fun." he said, before he and Randy mounted their Warthog, going for their objective as the ODSTs and Centurions got to their work.

104
Torkmanetov stepped out of his shuttle onto the hangar deck of the Pax Americana. Admiral Gingrich was there waiting for him, and waved to him as he walked over. "Good to see you again, old friend. Why don't you come to my quarters and we can catch up." Torkamentov nodded, and followed Gingrich to the Admiral’s quarters of the Marathon class cruiser. Torkamentov sat down in a chair as Gingrich went over to a small refrigerator. "So, how about some Scotch? Vintage 2487. I heard that was a good year," said Gingrich as he pulled a bottle from the fridge. "Nah," replied Torkamentov, "Not strong enough, get me some Vodka." Gingrich grinned, "Ahhh, Nikolai. You always did go straight for the hard stuff." He handed Torkamentov a glass of vodka, and poured himself a glass of Scotch. “To victory, the good fight, and fallen comrads,” said Gingrich as he drank a shot. “Agreed,” said Torkamentov as he drank down. "So, tell me what happened here. I read the briefings, but it seems that stuff happened on my way here," asked Gingrich.

Torkamentov started telling him all that had happened after he had sent off the battle report to UNSC High Command. He kept drinking the vodka, and the increasing state of his drunkenness led him to start pouring out his inner thoughts to Gingrich. "Damn it, Captain Garcia was a good man. I just don't see why he had to be a damn hero and pull an Admiral Cole on the Covenant bastards. We could'a held out till you guys showed up. But NOOO, he had to be the damn hero, go blowing up his ship in one last stupid act of defiance. Now he's dead, and nothings gonna bring him back. That's why I'm getting tired of fighting all the time. There's only the fighting, the dying, the young men being blown out into space or sent home in body bags. Maybe I’m just getting too old for this. Never had time to settle down, try having a family. There was always the next assignment." Gingrich nodded. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it. If it weren’t for guys like us, then the war would have been lost long ago.” Gingrich paused, then said, “We’re going to give Captain Garcia a posthumous promotion to commodore, for bravery and whatnot.” Torkamentov replied, “That’s fine and all, but what’s he gonna care. He’s dead, and theres no amount of honors and titles we can give him that’ll change the fact.” Gingrich glanced at his watch and said, “I know that, Nikolai, but we have to honor the dead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time that I got back to my bridge.” Smelling the strong stench of vodka on Torkamentov, he said, “I think you could use a rest. Why don’t you sleep in the room next too my XO, Stefan Cheney? His room is right down the hall.” Torkamentov nodded, and walked out of the room with Gingrich by his side.

In the hallway, he went one way and Gingrich went another. Walking into the room assigned by him to Gingrich, he saw that it was the VIP room. He decided in his misery that he didn’t need sleep, so he went over to the refrigerator and pulled out another bottle of vodka. Pulling the cork, he began to drink all his sadness and pain away. Azecreth 19:54, December 14, 2010 (UTC)

105
Moore looked at Quinn.

"I don't want to drain our assets. We have MAC rounds standing by. Let's make 'em count. We open a volley here then no way in hell we'll kill 'em all. They'll scatter and it will take weeks to hunt them down. Now about two miles back, there is a canyon like area, if we funnel them into it then open up with the MACs they won't know what hit them. We just need to break their line." Moore said before Benson interupted.

"Now that front line consists of two scarabs and around two of the eight thousand troops they have."

Moore looked at Benson."Now our good friend Able has given me control of the situation courtesy of ONI. We have six platoons of marines, one Scorpion column, two platoons of army troopers, and around eighty civilian militia. Plus we have some air and artillery support from a battery about two clicks out and the air force. Now we are going to scramble their ground troops up with some howitzer shells then go in for a blitz. We have seven AV-22 Sparrow Hawks. I want them doing a fly by over the Covenant while our tanks engage armor and scarabs from a distance. Once the majority of their force is softened up we move infantry in to retake the small town their lead force is occupying and board the scarabs. Once boarded we destroy them then focus on pushing back their offensive and getting them into the canyon. Then we let the guns from above do the rest. Any questions?"

Moore looked as no one shook their heads.

"Allright then. Quinn, Komoro. You two are with me we're boarding bravo scarab, the one currently walking through the town via pelican after the fireworks. Hoorah?"

Everyone nodded before Moore continued. "Then get ready I want to be on that beheamoth in less than twenty minutes. Go." Moore silently said a prayer as he knew that the squad was practically walking into hell blind with this op. Wouldn't be the first time he had done a suicide job, hopefully it wouldn't be the last.

Foxtrot12 22:45, December 14, 2010 (UTC)

106
Ryder looked up after his "wrestling match" with the Elite. The beast was almost stronger than Ryder, but Ryder pulled through in the end. When he looked up ,however, Turok was not doing as well as Ryder. He was pinned to the ground by a another Elite, A red one with a Energy sword posed to strike at Turok's heart. Ryder froze. It was deja vu, because it happened to Ryder when he was a kid. His mother had been attacked when she and Ryder were fleeing from Arcania. She would have died if it weren't for a Spartan. The Spartan shot down the Elite with a Spartan Laser. The Spartan then gave the laser to Ryder. Ryder kept the Laser to this day.

Ryder took out the Laser. This laser saved my mother's life Ryder thought. He began to charge up the Spartan Laser...

..."Any last words, Heretic?" The Elite seethed at Turok.

"I have none, save that I will not die in vain." Turok said in a calm demeanor.

Turok was about to be impaled when Ryder shouted "Good night, fool!" and released the laser.

The beam pierced through the Elite, killing him instantly. Turok reached for the med-pack next to him, and used it to heal his side. Ryder ran next to Turok. "You O.K.?" Ryder asked.

"I am fine. Thank you, though, for your concern, Ryder." Turok said.

"Come on, Turok. We gotta find Matt." Ryder said as he ran ahead.

-Therider Rides Alone 21:17, December 15, 2010 (UTC)

107
Matt stood up from his prone position, his ears ringing. He was in such a daze, he didn't notice the sky fill with light and fade away, walking around, he picked up a M6, and pulled back the slide, scanning the area. A hand tappped his shoulder from behind, and he whirled around, drawing his knife, only to realize it's only Luc. "Woah, man, I realize that I nearly killed you with those pod-bombs, but still!" Matt shook his head, and lowerd the knife."Sorry about that, you snuck up on me though." Luc nodded. "I can't blame you for reacting like that, but we have a mission to complete." While Matt agreed, he wasn't about to leave his teammates behind. "Fine, but we wait for Ryder and Turok." Luc nodded. "We'll wait at the Pelican." Matt agreed and followed Luc to the Pelican, being wary around the remaining ordanance pods.

Robert looked up as he heard a hiss from the top hatch of the Bumblebee. Two Marines floated down a colapsable tunnel, which was connecting the Bumblebee to a Pelican. "Alright ladies, one at a time, and be careful not to puncture the tunnel there. We dont want to be sucking vaccum." One of the Marines said, gesturing to the top hatch. One by one, the passengers in the Bumblebee were transferred into the Pelican, until Robert stepped up. The other Marine arched his eyebrow. "Captian Robert?" he asked, mildly suprised. "I thought you were dead sir." Robert didn't respond, sighing and jumping up through the tunnel, taking advantage of the low gravity present.

108
It would have to be done quickly and effiecently if the attack force wished to push back a superior force that outnumbered them ten to one. Moore's plan would have at least half of the men killed any military officer from an ensign fresh out of the Naval Academy to a Four Star General fighting in the army for half a century would have disaproved the plan. But Moore knew what he was doing, knew that he could do it. If he was lucky.

When he was sixteen he had hit the streets of New York with a few of his buddies and his girlfriend. He barely knew what happened that night except for that he woke up with a hangover and a broken wrist in the hospital next to one of his friends who had been shot and his girlfriend who was on life support due to excessive alcohol use. Moore had been in best condition and had left a few hours later. That night when he got in the shower he found a tatoo of a four leaf clover on his thigh, he had no clue when he got it, but he was hoping now as his pelican flew towards the scarab it would give him luck.

He was always one for superstition he had gotten it from his mother. And while as he aged he had let it go due to sense. Luck was one of the only things that could help him now. He thought as he loaded his BR55A and looked down at the men dying under his orders. He shook his head as he turned to his squad.

"In and out." He said. "No mistakes. In and out." Moore tossed a sawed off M45 Shotgun to Ramirez and waited as the squad grabbed their weapons and the pelican flew over the scarab. With the 40mm nose guns firing on the Covenant below and the sounds of screaming easily heard below the pelican went in to hover around three feet over the sleek purple surface of the scarab. Moore jumped out first, squeezing hardly the trigger of his rifle and watching grunt blood fly through the air.

Moore saw the majority of the enemy, mostly grunts and jackals. A few brutes running backwards into the metal beast that was the scarab.

"Komoro, Benson, and Quinn. On me. Tequilla, take Oswald and Ross. Cahill keep your distance behind me." Moore said as Ramirez led his two men into the scarab conventionally. He was under Moore's orders to destroy this son of a cunt. But now Moore had a new plan. Blow a hole in the floor, jump down into the scarab, find the control room, and then use this giant war machine against the Covenant. He told the plan to his men as he placed an explosive charge on the floor of the scarab.

"Benson. Blow it to hell."

109
When the Pelican landed on the hangar deck of the Grapes of Wrath, Robert waited for the rest of the passengers to exit before instructing the pilots to head out and land aboard the Pax Americana. One of the pilots looked over his shoulder and asked "Are you sure, sir? They're plenty of people aboard the Grapes that would like to see you." "Yeah, I'm sure. I'd be better off meeting with the brass aboard the the Pax, and confirming that I am not dead. After all, I don't want to be labeled the "first zombie captian in history." The pilots chuckled as Robert went back to his seat, and they took off.

Back on the surface, Luc was, suprisingly, asleep. Matt shook his head and continued to stand guard, wondering how the hell one of the landing struts of a Pelican made for a comfortable pillow. The Pelican landed, and Robert stepped out, stretching after being in his seat for such a long time.

TheivingFan 22:08, December 16, 2010 (UTC)

110
A quick skid knocked more brown dust into the air. The warthog's sharp turn jolted it's passengers, and soon enough, another group of Unggoy became it's victims. Within a minute, Unggoy were flying over it's hood. As if that slaughter wasn't enough, Rowan's turret blazed through any Sangheili or Jiralhanae who dared to come closer and do anything about it. The warthog's speed outmatched that of the multiple plasma bolts following them. Suddenly, a huge plasma mortar landed directly in their tracks, basically on the hog's back heel-end. The vehicle regained it's speed and balance in a matter of seconds and continued. Even though it was obvious what was shooting at them, Justin turned back to verify. A wraith, closer than expected, instantly thrust forward and rammed the hog's back bumper. Justin was temporarily knocked from his seat. After assuming his previous position, he aimed his pistol at the head of the Sangheili plasma-gunner and fired. Another headshot, just as expected. Justin silently sneered. A look of confusion spread across Rowan's face, "Hey, look up there!" Up ahead, a group of about eleven or twelve SOEIV's sat embedded into the ground, along with an overturned Bumblebee escape pod... with another crashed SOIEV sticking out from it's exposed underside. After advancing further towards the impact zone, it became apparent that all passengers were dead. They were all fried, and half of them were flaming. The result of Hades' electromagnetic atmosphere. Only one pod was opened, however, all hope was lost once they spotted the lifeless body of it's ODST whom had presumably survived the drop, only to have died a few feet away. One look at his armor made apparent the cause of his death. He had been enveloped by plasma mortar. Justin pulled out his binoculars and scanned the horizon. After a minute of observation, he stopped in terror, "Get back in the hog."

Up ahead, the Covenant's deadliest behemoths strode back and forth, apparently engaging multiple enemies. Red beams reflected off of their neon-purple armor. Spartan lasers. One scarab exploded. Globs of plasma-fire spewed out in all directions. The speeding hog dodged one that appeared to be about the size of a wraith. The shockwave knocked the warthog to the side. "Great driving," Justin sarcastically commented. They continued on course. Within a minute, they were riding through the crossfire. They were being payed no attention, as they drove underneath one of the massive mining platforms. Centurions and marines ran in all directions. He noticed two unfamiliar Spartans. "Hey Spartans!" Riley bellowed through the loud fight. "Over here." Both spartans obeyed. "Looks like we've got ourselves pick-up!" One began, "Nice to meet you sir, I am Edward." "So you are the MIA's?" Justin asked in an annoyed tone. He sure hopped that the Siren's Call hadn't died for two more plain-old Spartans. Edward hesitantly continued, "Yeah, there are a few more marines. We are the only survivors though..." The other spartan continued over, "I'm Jacob." he introduced himself, "And we could use some help here!" Jake exclaimed, lasering an incoming scarab. Ed tossed Rowan, Riley, and Justin lasers. --  Chris  talk   blog  22:20, December 16, 2010 (UTC)

111
Chlorine, not exactly the funnest thing to be breathing in. But then again this war wasn't all so fun either. Or at all that was what Moore thought as he started coughing when Benson threw a chlorine grenade in the scarab's interior after breaching it.

A standard issue Ragnarok helmet had a ventilation filter and gas mask built in to allow around fourty five minutes of air. And while Moore's was working fine, a minor crack in his visor was allowing minor and non-lethal amounts of the chemical weapon in. Of course however, covies didn't have gas masks.

Moore mainly couldn't think on this however as he fired his BR55A into the elite crew and occasional fleeing grunt. He heard Shouji coughing until the teargas subsided.

"I'm alright sergeant." Komoro said calmly when Moore looked at him.

"Very well." Moore replied before reloading his rifle and motioning Benson into the next room.

"Fuck." Moore said noting the presence of at least seven elites in the room all focused around holographic interfaces. This had to be the control room. "Double fuck." Moore said when he say another elite, this one in intracite gold armor carrying an energy sword. A domo or heretic or something. Moore remembered hearing the classifications earlier of elites from briefings along with armor, color, weaponry, and danger level. But he hadn't really paid attention, his job was to kill the enemy. Not to learn about them.

But even without the lectures from command, Moore knew that when already tough son-of-a-bitch was carrying an energy sword it turned him into a tough motherfucker, not an improvement. He heard Cahill's customized "CQC" sniper go off. Practically an SR99 with around a seven inch barrel that was modified for a faster rate of fire. Cahill favored the weapon a "Pistol" but it was damn useful no matter what it classified as.

Two of Cahill's rounds impacted the golden armored elite before what seemed to be a door blew up behind the group of elites. Moore heard weapon fire as Tequilla's team advanced through the hole in the wall firing everything they had.

A grenade detonated and soon the golden elite was all that was left. It fired a plasma rifle as it ran for Moore with it's sword before a well placed throwing knife caught it in the eye. Moore stood in awe as Shouji walked to retrieve the knife.

"Alright let's get cracking." Moore said as he approached one of the holographic controls from which a display screen was in front. He barely noticed a slight moaning when he turned around to see Cahill slumped up against the wall, clenching his chest.

"Cahill." Moore said as he ran to him. "Cahill, you're gonna be alright. You're gonna be fine. Cahill you're-" Moore was cut off.

"No." Cahill said. "I'm a medic. I know how these things work."

"Oh...Cahill. Cahill no. Don't." Moore could barely speak.

"Moore." Cahill began in a slow and pained voice."I don't. I don't wanna die in vein. Make them pay. Win this fuckin' war. And let my children. Let my children know what I died for."

"Cahill." Moore said. "You can't go. Not now."

"Not my choice sir." Cahill said removing his helmet. Moore saw his chocolate colored skin turning pale as he reached for his sawed off sniper.

"Here." Moore said handing the Centurion his M6D Magnum.

"You're a good man. All of you. It's been an honor serving." Cahill said before pressing the pistol to his head and squeezing the trigger.

Moore could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he looked at the dead man. Moore took his helmet and rifle, to give him a funeral later he deserved that much. But now was the time to avenge him. Now was the time for payback.

"Everyone. We're gonna get this scarab moving and we're gonna send these bastards back to hell. Now let's do this. For Cahill."

112
He'd have to make this a precise shot.

The captured Scarab slammed broadside into its neighbor, and Quinn hit his pack's thrusters to jump the wide gap, and land on the second walker. A Grunt saw him coming and raised its pistol, but Erik had already maneuvered and put it down with the assault rifle in his hands. The shots cost him, as the recoil put him into a counterspin. He'd hit the deck hard. ..

"Oof!" Quinn coughed as all the air in his lungs left his body.

But he had the bomb.

There were still a few obstacles to overcome - namely the Elite screaming at him in rage and going for a plasma rifle. Desperate, he grabbed his M6 and fired a few of the light rounds. They did no good, the rounds didn't have enough mass to break energy shielding. Just as the plasma rifle was unclipped, a burst of fire came from the first Scarab, going through the Elite's head.

From across the way, Komoro nodded satisfactorily and saluted him.

Quinn got up and pulled the bomb behind him. He was glad of the cover, but wasn't sure he could trust Shouji yet. Covies, on the other hand, were a certain threat.

Running to the ramp down, he avoided the fire coming at him from the angry footsoldiers below and prepped the explosive. Light, made out of hardly more than a few demolition packs and a case of frag grenades, but the shrapnel it would make was more than enough to cut open the organic tissue insides of the Covenant walker.

It began to beep, and Quinn hurled it down into the Scarab's hold where it would do the most damage. He only had about thirty seconds, and ran back towards the gap between this behemoth and their captured one. The jetpack ignited again, and this time he knew how to land it. He slid over the top of the shell, grabbing hold of the side to slow him.

With several concussive bangs, the second walker faltered. The grenades didn't even damage the hull of the Covenant armor piece, but the Lekgolo worms inside were rent in pieces. Now a dying, empty shell, the remains seemed to just loose all power and fell. A wave of dust was kicked into the air, another of the juggernauts down.

113
Torkamentov was stirred out of his stupor by the sound of the telephone. He fumbled around, and finally picked it up. "This is Torkamentov. What is it?" The sound over the phone replied, "This is the bridge. We need you to get up here." "Why," asked Torkamentov. "it's Captain...I'm sorry, COMMODORE Garcia is up here and he wants to see you." what the hell," aid torkamentov as he let the phone fall to the floor. His numbed mind was working toward a conclusion. Either Roberts was a ghost, which was unlikely, or he was still alive. Since someone needed to be on the ship to do the suicide run, and if Roberts was here, then that meant.... Torkamentov swore, and fumbled around for his pistol. He said, "I'm gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch."

Stumbling through the hallways toward the bridge, he realized that there was no ammunition in the pistol. He groped around in his pocket, and finally managed to load the gun. He continued through the hallway, and finalluy came up to the bridge. He saw Comodore Roberts and Admiral Gingrich talking. Gingrich sqaw his, then started to come up to him, but Torkamentov raised his pistol, roared "I'm gonna kill you, ya son-of-a-bitch," and fired at Roberts. Fortunately, Torkamentov was extremely drunk and couldn't aim, so Robert wasn't hit. He dived behind a desk, and shouted, "What the hell was that for?" Torkamentov contin ued to shoot, and roared, "You let him die, you SOAB. Instead of going down with the ship, like you said you would, you ran, and made Mulgrew sacrifice himself. And now, I'm gonna kill you for it, so you'll be dead like yer supposed to be." Robert looked at Torkamentov in ludicrous surprise. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't sacrifice Mulgrew. He knocked me out, and went down with the ship himself. It was his decision." What the hell are you talking about," yelled Torkamentov. "Mulgrew would never do something like that. He wasn't that kinda person." He fired again at Roberts. He then realized that he was out of ammunition. As he tried to reload, Gingrich ran up to him and disarmed him. Roberts walked up and handed him the letter that Mulgrew had given him. "I think you'll want to read this. It explains everything."

Torkamentov started reading, and as he continued, his legs sank out from under him. When he was finished, he broke out crying in loud, horrendous sobs. Gingrich gestured to some crewmen and said, "Take the Rear Admiral back to his quarters. remove the refridgerator from it, and post a guard outside to keep him contained." He turned to Robert and said, "I'm sorry about this. I don't know whats gotten into him. He isn't usually like this." Roberts shook his head, "I know. And I don't blame him. It was a surprise to me too." Gingrich wondered what it was that was in the letter, then decided that it probably wasn't any of his business. "Now, back to our prevuious discussion...." Azecreth 13:58, December 17, 2010 (UTC)

114
Edward took small, silent breaths, listening for anything other than the soft hum of the patrolling scarabs. In the distance he heard light footsteps. He clicked a small dial on the side of his W/AV M6 G/GNR, exposing the emitting lens, and stealthily peered over the side of the boulder that he was leaning up against. A jackal unknowingly strode in his direction, his energy shield was active. A simple precaution. Sadly for him, it would do him no good in this situation. Ed activated the red beam. It was going to be a perfect headshot, he figured. However, the creature quickly raised it's gauntlet, but to no avail, as the powerful blast cut directly through it's point-defensive shield, instantly killing it. The red beam silently collided into the dusty soil, knocking more brown powder into the light sandstorm.

Ed turned to the opposite direction, and noticed the outline an elite, apparently squinting through the thick sands that pelted at the exposed region of his face, wondering where that loud blasting noise came from. Ed swung the front side of the laser directly into the palm of his left hand, and aimed towards the sangheili's groin. He waited patiently for the red beam to appear, but it wouldn't. He reviewed it's display screen. All out. He tossed the useless weapon to the ground. He noticed a sniper-rifle lay perched-up against another large rock, about three-and-a-half meters away. He knew that he would give away his position by claiming it. He didn't care. Edward dived towards the rifle, grabbed at it with one hand, rolled to the side and shot. The sangheili collapsed before being given the opportunity to defend himself.

The sound of a plasma-explosion echoed in the distance. As to be expected, a large display of plasma-enveloped lekgolo could be seen falling through the sands. Edward stood up from his position, and ran over to the site of the explosion. A small piece of purple covenant equipment rolled over to him as he scurried. It was flaming plasma. He soon approached the familiar helmet of a spartan. Rowan stood proud of the Scarab he destroyed. Edward looked around, only seeing Centurions, Spartans, and ODSTs, "What happened to the marines?" Rowan frowned, "Jake sent them back to your previous campsite. By a cave or something...? Ordered them to recover some important ordnance and supplies 'fore we book it from this god-forsaken rock." Ed knew what Rowan was taking about, "Ahh. Well before we leave, we should have the Grapes blast that covie coms tower, right?" referring to the tower he and the other MIAs they sent the SOS message from. Rowan looked up into the sky once again. The Grapes and an unfamiliar UNSC frigate were in combat with two covenant warships. Ed also turned towards the sky, searching for what Rowan must be starring at. "Looks like their MAC guns are a little pre-occupied right now." Rowan elaborated.

Jake appeared out of the sandstorm, juggling his spartan laser, grinning. "Well that is what we are for." --  Chris  talk   blog  00:01, December 18, 2010 (UTC)

115
Matt slowly surveyed the area. He knew that if the beasts of any planet didn't kill you, the plants would. If the plants didn't, then the dehydration and starvation would. Matt lived in a relatively dangerous area of New Jerusalem, so he knew how to survive for a while. He looked at the motion sensor on his screen. Two yellows were headed his way. As they got closer, Matt could reconize Ryder holding Turok up as they dragged along. Matt saw that Turok had his right rib cage bandged up.

Matt ran up to the duo, hugging both at the same time ,saying, "I missed you guys. You moved on without me."

Turok simply smiled and said, " Watch my side. It is still fresh."

Matt rushed back to to Luc, who was still asleep. Wakey, wakey. the boys are here to play."

Luc mumurred,"Huh?" Then he noticed Ryder. "Oh hey, you're alive."

"Yeah, cool, huh?" Ryder said sarcasticly.

Matt got down to the chase."So what's our plan?"

-Therider Rides Alone 02:21, December 18, 2010 (UTC)

116
Luc sat up, putting his helmet back on. " Okay, so here's the big plan. Seeing as the MIAs have been picked up by ground forces, we're gonna go provide some CAS and extract them. Simple enough, eh?" Matt shrugged. "I guess." Ryder, on the other hand, was already aboard the Pelican. "Well, what are you three waiting for, we've got some MIAs to save!" he yelled, opening a weapons locker aboard the pelican and pulling out a Rocket Launcher. Luc nodded, and got up. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back to Hope and the main battle. He then walked into the cockpit section, with Turok and Matt walking in. Luc stuck his head out into the troop bay. "There's a few first aid kits in one of the lockers, see if Turok wants to put a little biofoam on his wounds." After saying that, his head disappeared behind the bulkhead once again and the Pelican took off, heading towards the areas surrounding Mount Persephone, where a lot of comms chatter could be heard. Luc made out Rowan's voice and knew he was heading in the right direction. After all, Rowan always seemed to be in the right place.

After the conversation with Admiral Gringrich drew to a close, Robert walked out of the bridge, feeling worse than he did before. Hoping that there would'nt be any problems for Torkamentov, he took a lift to the Hangar deck. "After all, he did learn that his best freind died because I wasn't paying attention" He thought, stepping onto a Pelican, noting that this was the same one,with the same pilots. " Welcome back aboard sir." One of the pilots greeted. Robert smiled slightly. "Thank you... please take me to the Grapes of Wrath." The pilot nodded, suprised that Robert was "asking" instead of the usual informal order, and the troop bay door closed and the engines started up, plunging Robert in near darkness. TheivingFan 03:54, December 18, 2010 (UTC)

117
Justin was tired. He trailed behind the Spartans, ODSTs, and Centurions for about two miles already. He wasn't used to hiking. If he was flying to the Coms tower it would have been different. After years of complements, he knew that he could safely guide a Pelican or an Albatross through a large dogfight easily; take down a few banshees while doing so, but long distance walks weren't his specialty. At this point, he was lagging a few feet behind a centurion, "Moore. That's his name. Right?" he wondered. He lifted his canteen to up to his mouth, jugging as much as he could from the empty bottle. In a second, he tumbled over a rock. None of his fellow soldiers heard him fall behind through howling winds. He quickly climbed back to his feet. Looking into the sky he noticed a very familiar shape. The green figure gracefully descended besides him. "Need a lift." he heard yet another spartan say through the storm. The entire group noticed and turned around, only to discover a hovering pelican.

"We can take you guys right to the top of the tower!" the Spartan figure bellowed through the storm. Riley recognized the voice. "Ryder!" he shouted. The Spartan grabbed his hand, "We heard you guys asking for air support over coms. Signal was poor. Doubt anyone else got the message, just happened we were nearby. Thought we'd mays' well give youl a lift." Three more familiar faces sat to Riley's left, as Rowan began to climb through the open hatch. Matt, Luc, and Turok waited smiling. "Hey man." Luc greeted him, offering a low-five. Matt just nodded. Another marine peered over the side, from pilot's seat. "The tower?" he asked in a slightly crackling voice, waiting for confirmation. "Yeah." replied Justin, walking to co-pilot's seat. "Looks like, I'm only co-pilot 'gain." he muttered to himself. Jake and Ed leaped in. "We all in?" asked Justin. Moore loomed out of the hatch to confirm. "Yeah. But I see some god-damn brutes in the distance. Let's move!" The pelican lifted, just as blast of gravity knocked them to the side. "Grav ham." a centurion added. The pelican began it's flight towards the tower. Unknowingly being stalked by brute jump-jet troopers. --  Chris  talk   blog  21:15, December 18, 2010 (UTC)

118
Far from the battle on Hades, Parthius was deep under the surface of Hope. The humans he'd been pursuing with the captains of his pack were locked in behind a door, made of heavy titanium, the substance they used for the starship hulls. Though those craft were weak comparatively with the Covenant, the door could not be opened by brute strength or firepower.

And so it was that he had lit his spear, and with it slowly cut through the plate to make a hole large enough for them to squeeze through. This would have been easier had he the rest of his Jiralhanae, but they had been dispatched to Hades to attack the humans there. He would have to go after this 'Hallmay' as the Elites had named him. Humans were unworthy of titles.

At long last, he completed the opening, the line he'd cut a circlet of molten metal. Sweeping forward, he broke through and was in total darkness.

He immediately noticed his feet were no longer warm, as they had been on the heated floor panels. The floor was a glassy, dark substance. The human doctor and his guards, black suited special forces, were nowhere to be seen. Parthius had been expecting an ambush. It was the perfect place for one.

"Come out, whelps! Your deaths will be painless!"

Only echoes answered him.

Holding the blades of his spear high for light, Parthius spied a glint of metal. He pointed in that direction, and two of his four Jiralhanae pointed their Brute Shots.

From the shadow, a blue light shone and grew larger in his eyes. Floating even with his eyes, a machine stared him down, bobbing and weaving sideways as if to analyze what it saw. Rotating so the glowing 'eye' was aimed at his head, a synthesized voice uttered, "Physiology is unlike expected Reclaimer. Mammalian. Password . . . identify?"

Parthius was stunned. His companions dropped to their knees. Here was a Sentinel, guardian of what the gods had left behind. He managed to speak, "So let us cast our arms aside, and like discard our wrath . . ."

The thing interrupted him. "Lifeform not Reclaimer. Possible infection vector. Neutralizing."

Its light shifted to red, and an orange glow formed under its belly. Parthius knew exactly what that meant.

Eirikur Quinn had gone with the marines to prep their equipment for transport. Within the cavern they'd held out in, Scorpions were getting ready for transit to the Grapes of Wrath by being latched to the Pelicans, and men and supplies were loaded until the birds were, as he heard one pilot say, 'stuffed geese'.

When Jake had people go back for the equipment and armor, Quinn had volunteered because he'd needed a break. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd been dropped in a pod, in a Warthog, and upside down in a Pelican. Transporting assets back to the Navy to go to Hope sounded like something that didn't involve dropping again.

He sat with one of the dropship pilots, a woman named Yasunaka, on the banks of the stream that had kept them alive. It was protected from the dust storms by a high cliff, so any choking sand was blown clear over it. It was high up, offering him a view of the battlefield he'd been on not too long ago. The hulks of several Scarabs were smoking amid the Covenant and UNSC dead. The marines had paid a good price for giving the Centurions and ODSTs time to board the Scarabs.

Taking one of the peppers, he bit off the end of it and immediately choked, coughing and spitting the vile thing out. "Hot!" he managed to gasp, sucking in air. The pilot laughed.

"Takes some getting used to, eh Helljumper?"

"Yeah." he said, throwing the thing away and finding his canteen, now filled with the streamwater.

A radio signal buzzed in, both in the pilot's earpiece and Quinn's helmet next to him.

"Centurion team here! Ran into some trouble with jetpackers, need a wingman to keep them off us as we take the tower."

The rest of it was lost, but Lt. Angel Yasunaka stood and nodded to Erik. "That's my cue. Don't suppose you'd take a ride on Bravo 29?"

Erik accepted the hand up, and followed her to her Pelican.

119
Waking up in the dark was rapidly becoming an annoyance for Julie. For a moment, she wondered if the battle had been a dream – that maybe she was still inside her pod, out of control, about to land on top of the enemy.

No such luck.

“Wakey-wakey, sunshine!” said a voice, and a blanket was lifted from her helmet, letting light flood in.

She used the brief moment to analyse her position – she was sitting in an unpainted polycrete room, pale grey walls and ceilings contrasting the battlefield brown, grey and green camouflage fatigues worn by the assortment of soldiers standing guard. Whatever they were using to support her weight, it wasn’t exactly comfortable. But she supposed it was better than being stuck on the flood.

She tried to move her head, but found that she couldn’t. Her body felt like concrete.

“Don’t worry about the paralysis. It’s just a neural clamp. Really, I would have expected a Spartan of all people to be prepared for it, after the fiasco on Victoria.”

Another man came into view – the leader, from the deference his men were showing him. Smart suit, sidearm holstered, fulfilled smirk plastered across his face.

“Never heard of it,” she retorted.

The man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “A girl? Oh dear, where are my manners?”

The men around her snickered, but not too loudly. If she had to guess, she would have said that it had taken all seven of them to sit her up – probably using the rope and pulley above her. They were going to a lot of effort to make her comfortable – the fact that the man apparently enjoyed seeing his underlings out of breath and exhausted probably meant it wasn’t just for her benefit. She decided to make use of her time, looking more closely at the room she was in.

“Bunker” was a better description – communications gear lined one wall, while another held a rack of MA5 rifles, M6 pistols, an assortment of shotguns, a SRS99 sniper rifle and a pair of M41 rocket launchers. All standard UNSC issue. What wasn’t standard were the MA3 rifles held by her guards, as well as a .30 light machinegun – an old model, nicknamed the “confetti maker”. All available on the black market relatively easily and cheaply.

Definitely not UNSC, then.

The man gestured to the shelves, evidently oblivious to the fact that she had already taken stock of them. “We’ve built up a respectable arsenal for ourselves. This isn’t the only one – this was just the closest safehouse to your location.”

“Safe from what?”

The man shrugged. “Enemies. Some, we took into account. Others, we did not.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Rebels. Great. So you’ve got a bomb-proof shelter network. Is that going to do you much good when the Covenant pour into it?”

The man frowned. “These bunkers are deep underground. Very deep. I doubt the Covenant will detect it.”

Now she laughed. “Oh, they’ll find it. And when they do, what then? Use me to save your miserable lives? I think I’d rather watch the Covenant tear you a new one.”

One of the thugs shoved her with the butt of his rifle. “You don’t talk to us like that, bit-”

Gunfire. A single shot. She’d already pinpointed its direction and distance, before her brain processed that it was the rebel leader. The thug had dr5opped his rifle, backing away – a 12.7mm slug was embedded in the polycrete at his feet.

“This young lady is our guest,” he said, slowly to mask his rage. “And among other things, she will be useful to us. So next time you think of taking a weapon to her, I won’t miss.”

The thug looked embarrassed, but the man lowered his sidearm. Julie was impressed – she hadn’t noticed him unlimber it, though the long brown trenchcoat he wore had probably masked that motion.

“It’s always nice to feel needed,” she said sarcastically. “But what makes you think that if you take this clamp off that I won’t just tear you all apart with my bare hands?”

No trace of a smirk now, she noticed. “Because you need us as much as we need you.”

He pulled up a chair – it looked well-made and comfortable, not something a normal bomb shelter would have. “You’re labouring under the misapprehension that you will be found after you murder us all. But if you are, I doubt it will be by the UNSC. There’s a reason why your transponder isn’t working, and that is because you’re being jammed by the Covenant. We all are. Trackers, communications, everything – nothing gets in or out of the area. Do you want to wander alone at night through a Covenant-infested city?”

She remained silent, though privately she thought she might take that chance.

He took her silence as confirmation of his own thoughts. “I didn’t think so. We have a few dropships, and we have weapons and ammunition – you can take all of them, if you can. But you can’t fly yourself – we’ve made sure of that. So you need us to get out of this city.”

“And why do you need me?” she asked. “you people seem pretty well prepared to flee the sinking ship.”

Irritation crossed his face. “This sinking ship is our home. Was our home. And then the Covenant came down, all because the UNSC decided to make this their last stand.”

Pathetic. Even with plasma whistling their heads, Covenant Jackals and Grunts swarming through their cities, the Insurrectionists still couldn’t let go of the fact that maybe this war wasn’t the UNSC’s fault. If she’d been able to move, she would have shaken her head in resignation. “Whatever you want to believe, fearless leader. But it wasn’t the UNSC that attacked this world, and it isn’t the Covenant evacuating civilians to one of the refugee colonies.”

The man seemed to regain his composure. “And that is where you come in.”

“Really? You barter me for safe passage? I don’t think ONI is going to be too happy about that.”

“We don’t want safe passage,” he said. “We just want passage. You have luxury liners, cargo freighters, transports, anything the UNSC could steal from the private sector, all evacuating people at one of the spaceports. A lot of them got hit, but most of them survived. And we just want to get onto one of them.”

“And you really expect me to help you? Let a bunch of Insurrectionists have a free pass to start trouble elsewhere?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “We do. You need to return to the chain of command, and we want to live. Once we clear the city, you get us access to the city’s airspace. We drop you off in the outskirts, get to the transports. We’ll be gone before you can reach command.”

“And once we’re out of range of the jammers? What’s to stop me calling Command then?”

“Because we’ve got a jammer of our own.”

A trolley was wheeled in, bearing a hunk of purple and grey circuitry. The man grinned, as though pleased to finally show off a new toy. “It’s not exactly state-of-the-art, but my men worked on it. It can jam UNSC and Covenant communications within a limited radius, unless we want it to pass through. And we’ll be carrying it with us.”

“And if I say no?”

The man shrugged. “A lot of my men will die. And a lot of civilians – oh, did I mention that? The passage isn’t just for us. We have kids, elderly and sick, all waiting in the other bunkers for my men to clear a path to the dropships. Mostly kids. If you say no, a lot more of them will die as well. Not to mention the fact that we’ve rigged the bunker with explosives – all we have to do is leave you here.”

She sighed. They really had her – not with the actual threats, because she could disarm most explosives in her sleep, and fight her way through a bunch of rebel thugs barehanded. Even without the MJOLNIR. What made her agree was the thought of the civilians – of parents scarred by plasma, fallen over their children to protect them from the monsters trying to tear them apart. Of kids waiting for help that would never come, of people starving to death underground as they waited for the Covenant to leave. That when the Covenant glassed the planet, their survival would mean nothing – they would all be reduced to glowing embers.

It had happened to her family, her friends, her homeworld. 2535, on Jericho VII.

Could she let the same thing happen now?

“Alright.”

The man smiled, and nodded to one of his men. She felt a rush of sensation as the clamp was removed – she could finally move.

She moved.

The men were fast, but not fast enough. Rifles that had been lowered were snapped back up, fingers on triggers, but held their fire as Julie gripped their boss’s neck with her elbow. Her other hand had gone into his coat, grabbing the pistol, pointing it at his head.

“Tell your men to lower their weapons.”

The man gurgled, and she loosened her grip enough for him to say, “Do it!”

The rifles were lowered, the thugs glaring at her.

“What now, then, Spartan?” he spat. “will you flee? Leave the civilians to die? How very noble.”

She let him go, shoving him in front of her. The thugs’ weapons were up again in a second, and now Julie had snapped up a rifle for herself, a black-market MA3.

The thugs looked at each other, confused. This wasn’t usual protocol for a standoff – normally, she would have kept their boss as a hostage until one of them shot first. Julie had no time for their little games – too much was at stake.

“I want you to know two things,” she said to the room. “The first is this – if I wanted to, I could cut through all of you. I don’t even need a weapon. You couldn’t hold me, not for long. As for your threat about the explosives, it wasn’t very convincing. I’m not doing this because you coerced me to. I’m doing this to save lives, and if that means working with Innies, then so be it.”

The rebel leader still grasped his neck, massaging it where she’d applied pressure. “And what’s the second thing?” he gasped out.

“When you get wherever you’re going, you’ll lay low. Give the UNSC no trouble. Because if I find out that refugees from Hope are mixing themselves up in the rebellion, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so cooperative next time.”

The boss ordered his men to lower their weapons, which they did reluctantly. He glared at her for a moment, and then held his hand out.

“My weapon?”

She tossed it to him. He fumbled it for a second, but didn’t drop it. She smiled underneath her helmet – if she hadn’t flipped the safety back on, he might be missing a few fingers or toes by now.

He holstered the pistol, trying to regain some of the confidence had lost. “You have a name?”

“I’m fine with ‘Spartan’,” she retorted. She didn’t want to get on a first-name basis with this guy, or the creeps who followed his orders.

She pulled the rifle’s charging handle, sliding a round into the chamber.

“Let’s get started, then.”

120
Robert got up as the Pelican manuvered to land on the Grapes of Wrath's hangar deck, somewhat glad to be back in command of the ship. The Pelican landed, lowering it's troop bay door. Robert walked out of the troop bay, causing people to stop and look. One Longsword pilot shrugged. "Welcome back to the land of the living, sir." Robert smiled, and nodded. "Thanks." he said, making his way to a corridor, calling a lift to take him up to the bridge.

Luc took off, manuvering the Pelican to avoid incoming fire. "Those Jetpackers are becoming rather annoying! See what you can do about them!" he shouted, turning sharply. "Well how are we supposed to aim properly with your crazy-ass flying!" Luc grumbled. "Smartasses"..

121
Edward reloaded his sniper rifle and fired. The single round hit one of the brute's jet packs. Within a second, the brute lost control and crashed into the sand a few meters below. The other brute landed on a large rock protruding from the surface, before leaping towards the pelican once more. Edward tossed Rowan his rifle and turned to Jake. "I'll head back to base. I'm sure that those covenant scum have already launched an invasion." Jake silently contemplated Ed's proposal before nodding, giving him the go. "Deploy the hog!" Ed bellowed to Morales. The warthog crashed into the sand below, and Ed dived into it. The warthog speed off in the opposite direction.

As the Pelican advanced, another human transport vehicle appeared in the storm. It's shape and forest-green paint identified it as an albatross. The albatross edged closer, as the back gate swung open. Jake noticed Randy and some other familiar marines. "I thought you were guarding base camp!" Jake shouted. Randy paused for a moment. "We have just enough support down there." he began, "Thought you could use more of a hand." Jake smiled, looking at the coms tower. It stood erect, at about half the height of a covenant spire. "Indeed." He replied.

"Justin. Set a perimeter. We don't want any other UNSC vessels wandering near, and getting blasted from the sky." Jake commanded. The marine just nodded. Morales turned to Jake, "I know that I told you I'd drop you off at the peak, but they've got to many defensive precautions. On second thought, we'll drop you off at the base. Allow you to breach the tower from a position they'll never see comming." "Yeah, okay." Jake accepted. He turned to the marines waiting for further command from the albatross. "Marines! We strike the ground and invade the base! I'll leave you to launch an assualt on their infantry. 'stract 'em. Randy, you come with me. Everyone else... I think it would be best if only us two and the marines preform the infiltration. We've been in an out of the tower before. Beside, I know some of you spartans are carrying nuclear payload. Wouldn't a plasma shot to one of 'em." Rowan hesitantly shrugged. "Permission granted." Jake and Randy took the jump. --  Chris  talk   blog  14:52, December 21, 2010 (UTC)

122
Torkamentov rubbed his head as he sat up on his bunk. It still hurt like hell, but the pain was growing, which meant that he was regaining feeling in his head. He pulled out Mulgrew's letter from his pocket, unfolded it, and read it out loud to himself for what must have been the thousandth time.











Torkamentov put the letter down, and finally made up his mind. He put his gun on the bed, recorded a message on a datadisk for Commodore Garcia, and the knocked on his door. "Hey, guards. I want to go to the bridge." He hear the guards conversing among themselves, and then one said. "OK. We'll have Kawolski here escorrt you, to avoid the fiasco from last time. Torkamentov nodded, and walked out the door. Kawolski motioned his head, and Toramentov started walking to the bridge, with Kawolski beside him.

Arriving on the bridge, he walked over to Gingrich and said, "I want to go on a Forlorn Hope." Gingrich looked at him and said, "oh, hello....What?!?" Torkamentov repeated himself. "I want to go on a Forlorn Hope." Gingrich said in amazement, "Why the hell would you want to go a suicide mission?" "To find my purpose in life. A reason to keep going besides revenge." Gingrich shook his head. "No way, no how. I am not sending you on a suicide mission. You're too valuable for that. Plus, it won't reveal anything abut your purpose in life, because you'll be dead! However..." Gingrich walked over to a computer, typed insome stuff, and then nodded at what he saw. "All right. You want to go on a ground ops. Then here's what we're going to do. I'm going to send the UNSC Tecumsah back to Hope, and I want you to be on it. When you ge there, I want you to take a platoon of Marines, and find Dr. Hallmay. Our last reports indicate that he was fleeing Covenant pursuers into the planet. I want you to retrieve him, alive. And if you can't do that, then bring something back that's just as valuable." Torkamentov smiled, "Roger that, sir. I'll move on over to the Tecumsah." As he was about to leave, he turned his head back to Gingrich and said, "Hey, next time you see Commodore Garcia, can you give him this?" He tossed the datadisk over his shoulder, which Gingrich caught. Torkamentov walked to the hangar bay, the wheels in his head planning on how to rescue Hallmay. Already, he had some interesting ideas. Azecreth 17:18, December 21, 2010 (UTC)

123
"If you need any air support, just ask." Luc said, taking off and making slow circuts around the coms tower. He then decided to try and talk with Justin, who was still in the co-pilot's seat. "So.. DeLucus, right?" Luc asked. "Yeah, that's my last name, why?" Justin replied. "Ah.. no reason, just that DeLucus reminds me of a character in a book I read." Justin shook his head. " You know somthing,you're a terrible conversationalist, Luc." "Heh. you're telling me?" Both men started chuckling, still waiting for a response.

Meanwhile, aboard the bridge of the Grapes of Wrath, Robert stepped onto the bridge, looking over to see Morgan sitting in the captian's chair. Morgan rotated in the seat and jumped in suprise upon seeing Robert standing there."A-ah Cap-Commodore, welcome back!" Morgan said, jumping out of the chair, knowing Robert was very protective of it, and more specifically, the height setting. Suprisingly, Robert didn't react, only showing slight annoyance. "Thank you, Andre, but I ask you again, if you are going to sit in my chair, please don't mess with the settings." This suprised Morgan even more, as he had been expecting a reprimand, even if it was a breif one.

"Now Guy, Adjust two of the MAC turrets to aim at the first Covenant vessel, delay the fire of the second gun for around 10 seconds apart so that the sheilds can drain before the second round impacts. Aim the final MAC at the other Covenant warship, and fire a volley from all of the archer pods once the sheilds are drained." Robert calmly ordered. "Ready, Commodore" Guy replied. Robert nodded. "Fire." When the first round impacted the warship, a shimmer was seen as the ship's sheilds drained. Shortly after, a second MAC round impaled the ship, tearing it apart. The other Covenant vessel tried to escape, but the round still did it's job, draining it's sheilds so that the Archers could hit it directly, crippling the ship

TheivingFan 01:19, December 23, 2010 (UTC)

124
As the Albatross and Luc's Pelican were pulling to a safe distance from the tower and the marines' new anti-air zone, they'd come under attack. A wing of four Banshee fightercraft had joined the jetpacking Brutes to harass their dropships, and if possible, drive them into the ground.

But just as quickly, the tables again turned. A spread of missiles had streaked over the desert, and two of the warheads had hit the intended targets. It had been a risky move. At the range they were fired from, the unguided rockets were about as liable to hit the human dropships.

But if either of the pilots had wanted to cuss out the newcomer, they never got a chance. Bravo 029 banked and shot over the others, which only further enraged the remaining Banshee pilots. They'd peeled off and given chase to the Pelican without another thought of the Albatross and its wingman.

The problem was now they were on Bravo 29's tail.

Through the deck Erik Quinn could feel the Pelican's jet turbines and the loud rattle of their rear-mounted machinegun. Outside, Spiker rounds were bouncing off or sticking into the hull as the Brutes leaped from the ground to try and grab onto them. Quinn had to hold tight to his seat straps as LTJG Yasunaka banked back and forth to evade.

"Can't you shake these idiots?!" Quinn yelled up to the cockpit.

Yasunaka was too intent on flying to turn her head while giving her response. "This is a dropship, trooper! It doesn't shake, it drops!"

"Will you two shut it, I'm trying to get some help for us here!" yelled the copilot, Ensign Mikail Gossard.

Their crew was shorthanded, and Goss had to leave his position as copilot to pull double duty on the radios. Even now he was pulling himself along back to the seats to take the controls of the nose-mounted machinegun. In the back, Sgt. Moses Wheatley was firing the gun hanging over the back of the troop bay, but with all the movement wasn't getting a good shot.

It was then that something heavy hit the side of the bird, making the aft section jerk sideways. Around the side of the bay door, a Jiralhanae's paw clamped on, bending the metal. Its jaw came around, mouth open to show its fangs. Wheatley yelled and fell back, reaching for his M6. Erik brought up his rifle and shot over the sergeant, his rounds punching into its torso along with the pistol's. Without shielding, it fell quickly and the corpse plummetted in the high gravity. Before he slipped after it, he grabbed Wheatley's arm.

What soldier would try something like that? Quinn asked himself, still startled by the creature's recklessness. Then it struck him that these might not be the veterans he fought on Reach. The ones with experience would be still plundering Reach's remains for whatever they had been looking for. That might explain the Navy's success. Normally, the UNSC would trade three ships for one against Covenant capital ships. Quinn had heard of the ships they had above, and their commanders. Each a brilliant strategist, but still outclassed technologically. But now that they'd destroyed an entire Fleet, Erik was sure the Covenant would be paying attention. Next time, they'd send their best.

"Hey, I've got somebody!" Goss yelled, as another round of Banshee cannonfire slammed into the hull. "Mayday, this is Pelican Bravo Oh-Two-Niner, taking fire from a pair of Banshees, need assistance, over."

"Copy that. We can clear your six if you level out, over."

"Fly straight? We won't last half a minute!"

"You won't have to. Just long enough for us to get a shot."

"Alright, we're goin' for it." Goss looked up towards the pilot. "Angel, we need to level out, give some friendlies a shot."

Yasunaka nodded, agreeing more out of panic than confidence in the other fighters. Erik felt the floor tip level again, and from the back he saw the Banshees form up to take a shot.

"Where's that help, Goss?" Yasunaka yelled. The port engine took a hit, lurching sideways as she fought for control.

Quinn was shaken like a rag doll, and his head snapped around until he was looking out the back again. A rocket streaked out from the side of that window with a vengeful orange flame streaming from it. The flyer in back crumpled as it was run through, the missile continuing to explode against the second craft.

Wheatley yelled out for joy, watching the remains plummet out of the skies.

"Bravo 029. Thanks, sir. Good shot."

The other Pelican came alongside them. "Second Lieutenant DeLucus, glad to help."

"We've sustained heavy damage to our engines. Bugging out back to the Grapes of Wrath. See you aboard."

125
Tron slowly surveyed the Grapes of Wrath as it slowly passed by. He noted it's large size. Maybe it actually would stand a chance against the two Covenant Warships that it was engaged with. Multiple frigates dropped from slipspace every few moments, coming to it's aid. This certainly would be the perfect situation for him to learn some new naval tactics, he thought to himself. The captain of the UNSC Beowulf slowly edged his chair in the AI's direction. "You know that ONI will resume assessing your sentience as soon as these battles are over?" Captain Rembrandt verified. Tron listened without shifting his gaze from the battle. "Yes," he responded. "I understand." Rembrandt couldn't comprehend how this "smart" AI could possibly have it's own personality. Honestly, he seemed more detached than any "dumb" AI that he'd ever met.

"You are aware of the purpose for our waiting at this location. Are you not?" Rembrandt continued. "Wait?" Tron questioned, "Aren't we here to aid the Grapes of Wrath?" Captain Rembrandt slowly raised himself from his chair, and began to pace quietly, in the opposite direction. "Well, yes. But-" Tron abruptly turned to the Captain. He hated being toyed with. The color of his avatar's strips changed to a deep orange. "If you are quizzing me, than yes, I did note that our position is highly irregular considering that Hope is the location of the battle." The captain turned, shrugging off the AI's attitude as if it was nothing. He grinned. Maybe he should have listened to ONI when they explained to him that Tron didn't have any sense of respect for his superiors. He shuttered at the truth. ONI considers their new creation as his superior. Rembrandt's grin slowly faded. Why eventually, if Tron is a success, he may come to replace Melissa, the great AI that he wasn't even supposed to know about.

"Well, Tron, you are too... important to remain onboard." Rembrandt would never admit how the word that ONI used was, irreplaceable. "We are waiting here to salvage the MIA's and soldiers for the Grapes of Wrath. Believe it or not, they are our decoy." The captain proudly boasted. Tron's stripes quickly turned bright a blue. "And then you are to transfer me to a Spartan. Where as, you are my decoy?" Tron smirked. Rembrant recoiled at the sarcasm. He wasn't used to responses like these. The insult almost seemed funny, considering whom it was directed from. Rembrandt didn't anticipate for his rudeness to spark such a rivalry. Maybe Tron really was more human than he'd expected.

--  Chris  talk   blog  22:32, December 26, 2010 (UTC)

126
It had been hell to get Bravo 029 aboard the Beowulf in one piece. With the port wing offline, Yasunaka had had to maintain a steady speed with the others to avoid going into a spiral and losing it altogether. But the crew had worked well, even when the damaged thruster threatened to come loose and cause explosive decompression. Luc and DeLucas had linked a towcable with Quinn's help, having gone EVA with his jetpack and rifle to maneuver. As for the MIA's, the team had trusted that with their newfound Albatross they could manage their own escape once the coms tower was finished.

The Beowulf itself had moved to bring it in safely. The navigation officer on the bridge adjusted their course to let Bravo 029 slide across the hanger bay on its belly, finally coming to rest with a shriek of metal on metal.

For the Navy technicians, it was a victory, and there were many pats on the back and ceremonial drinks and cigars. But not too many, as there were repairs to be done on many ships, and that were for those who'd made the trip unharmed.

After finally shutting down the last systems, Angel Yasunaka approached the three other passengers of the dropship, lounging on the back of its blood tray. They were tired and sweaty from the ground action, and even more so from the tense moments before they'd landed.

"Ange." Gossard laughed. "You look like I feel."

"Always the charmer, Goss." she replied, swinging over them from the top of the doorway.

Erik Quinn was dead tired. He'd had little sleep from the moment he'd dropped from the Eternal Peacekeeper to their improvised landing. He was looking forward to a hot shower and a couple hours rest before doing it all over again on Hope soon enough. He started coming up with a way to politely excuse himself.

"How long will it take for you guys to be back in the air?"

Moses Wheatley had been guaging the damage, and replied with more of an out loud thought than an answer. "The exhaust, intake, and some of the armor is fried. Thankfully the wings are seperate from the body and easily replaced, given we have spare parts onboard. Once the rest of our troops make it, I'd say... eh, the movement back to Hope should take a half hour, give us an hour after that and we'll be flying again."

Yasunaka smiled. "That's the motto: Out but never down."

Quinn saw his opportunity to break for the bed and showers, but two men with officer's insignias approached. He and the others stood and saluted, until Yasunaka recognized one of them. "DeLucus? Justin DeLucus? And I figured you'd been shot down by now."

The two clasped arms, grinning.

"You know each other?" Quinn asked.

"Flew a couple missions together between Paris IV and Sigma Octanus. Good marine, better pilot."

DeLucus laughed. "What was that about me being dead?"

There was a pause, as yet another Pelican dropship loomed in. This one, decorated with red streaks of paint and a clear UNSC insignia. It's escorts backed away from the ship, after making sure that the docking process went well. From the back-end of the vessel, a figure wearing a white naval uniform slowly exited. It was the new commodore. Robert only smiled and extended a handshake to Yasunaka.

"Commodore Robert Garcia. It must have taken some fine flying for you dropship jockeys to get this thing in safely in that condition. Word is we'll be on our way to Hope shortly, so I'd suggest you catch some rest while you can." Saluting them, he went back to organizing the forces that had made it off he planet.

Quinn watched DeLucus and Yasunaka going for the mess hall to catch up, while it took a moment for him to realize Gossard had snuck off and was napping in the copilot seat. He and Wheatley slouched a bit as the officers left, and Moses turned his attention to the engine.

"You're not gonna find a bunk?" Erik asked him.

He smiled. "A shower, maybe. But for me, there's no better way to clear my mind than when I'm working on something."

And with that, he was off to supervise the other technicians. Quinn stood for a moment, thinking about what small things he had missed for a while, and decided sleep was high on the list.

127
Luc busied himself with dismantling the "Pod bombs" he had created. After all, if they went off here on the Hangar deck of the Beowulf, chances are with all the other craft gathered around, that the entire deck would go up in flames. After gingerly removing the lid of each pod, he removed the C7 canisters, placing them back in their respective ammo compartments. Next out came the C9, and then Luc could safely remove the Ordinance pods from the Pelican. After that, He decided it would be best, to take a short nap before the Beowulf made it back to Hope.

As Robert finished organizing the forces extracted from Hades, he gave a short, congradulatory speech, and decided to head back to the Grapes of Wrath. As he was walking to his Pelican a voice called out "Commodore Garcia?" "Yes?" Robert responded, turning on his heel, to face Captian Rembrandt and a strange figure in black armor. "Hm? Captian Rembrandt, who is this?" Ah, Commodore, this is Tron."

TheivingFan 04:31, December 30, 2010 (UTC)

128
"Tron?" Commodore Robert asked in an amused tone. "Yes," Rembrandt responded, hesitantly. "Tron." Robert nodded, confused about the abrupt and unexpected introduction. Robert carefully observed the figure's unique black matte armor. Robert quickly shrugged off his suspicions. "Probably just one of ONI's new test toys." he concluded in thought. Robert extended a hand, only to recoil in shock as his hand moved directly through the figure, leaving a short-lasting trail of blueish-colored pixels. Rembrandt quickly reached forward and retrieved Robert's hand, as he recovered from the shock. "Tron is an AI." Tron swiftly nudged his head to the side, as if yawning or shrugging-off an itch. "Yeah," Tron quickly continued. "I'm an experimental "Smart" AI. ONI sent me here during the evacuation of Reach." "Ahh." Robert stuttered. "Can I help you?" Robert continued, figuring that this project must be important. It's voice sounded so clear and human. "How could this be an AI?" he wondered. "Yes. I have heard how some rouge Spartans, having been salvaged from Reach, are currently hitching rides aboard certain vessels in this fleet. You being the Commodore, I have come to request that you recommend me some exceptional Spartan supersoldier to keep hold of my program." Robert noted Tron's straightforward tone, typical for an artificial intelligence of any sort. "You want me to recommend you a Spartan?!" Robert chuckled. Rembrandt and the AI remained awkwardly motionless. Robert briefly paused before responding. "Sure, I've met quiet a few today."

Matthew sat up from his medical bed. The surgery had only taken a matter of minutes. He now had some sort of "cybernetic chip" in his head, as the doctors had called it. It enabled him and the AI to preform direct telepathy. As jolly as ever, Matt stood up and strode over to a nearby window. The dark void didn't seem to satisfy him. Matt frowned, somehow he'd been expecting the once blue skies of New Jerusalem. Maybe a flock of birds. An airplane. Only a few weeks ago, one of Matt's temporary squad commanders, a close-friend of his, had brought the hostilities occurring directly on the border of the Cygnus System to his attention. All Matt could do was pray for the family that he barely remembered. Suddenly a soft-voice broke the silence. "You are distressed?" Tron asked in a concerned tone. "Heh." Matt chuckled, attempting to regain focus. "'Course not." Matt desperately claimed. Tron's avatar just turned back the other way, before vanishing into thin air.

"We've got word from the MIA's," Rembrandt confirmed, swiftly walking from the Comms panel. His commanding bridge officers all looked up from their stations. Once all of their attentions were gained, Rembrandt hesitantly clamped his hands behind his back. "They're still engaged with the Covenant infantry. They've let me know that it'll take a while, but they can handle what's coming their way. I tried to convince them to forget it, but they are quite intent on taking down that tower. I'd MAC it, but as I am sure you all know, with such an intense concentration of UNSC servicemen down there, we would inevitably be responsible for multiple casualties. Plus, this fleet can't afford to lose our focus on those warships." The First Officer resumed typing. "I'll relay their message to the rest of the fleet." One of the Covenant warships swiftly edged forward, locking itself into synchronous orbit of the satellite. An officer quickly turned from the window. "Sir! One of the destro-!" It was too late. The destroyer unleashed hell on the surface with intense plasma bombardment. Rembrandt gulped. "Those soldiers better hurry the hell-up!" he worried, silently. "The Grapes will stay behind for now." the first officer began. "As for the rest of us..." "Yes," Rembrandt replied. "Yes back to Hope." --  Chris  talk   blog  16:44, January 2, 2011 (UTC)

129
Quinn had just finished taking a shower, alone because most of their force was either groundside or still debriefing, when he thought he felt something change through the floor beneath his feet. The faint, steady hum of activity from the engine compartments had changed. There was only one explanation that easily came to mind.

The Beowulf was making a slipspace transition. They were headed back to Hope.

At the ships destination, things had taken a turn for the worse under the surface. Finding himself outnumbered and surrounded above and below his footing, Parthius' only option had been to run. Two of his Captains had been cut off and he last saw them retreating through the passage to the surface. Of the two that followed him, only Hexus remained.

The powered armor Parthius wore had done little to shield him from the Sentinels' fire, and he had shed it to become faster. Were they mad to attack disciples of the Covenant?

Whether they be a test set by their gods or just rampant Artificial Intelligence, their threat was the same.

Drawing a Spiker with his left paw, its white-hot projectiles fired in an arc toward another of the automatons. Two spikes stuck in its armor, but it floated aside the rest and remained in the air. What Parthius could see was black-on-black, there were no lights in these tunnels to guide him beside the red eyes of the Sentinels. If the human scientist had been down here, surely they had perished by now. Surely?

Hitting his target again, it burped smoke and dropped to the floor with a crash. From ahead of him, Hexus called him on, near what seemed a doorway. Sprinting, he slid along the floor and around its corner, and heard an echoing thud as his pack brother closed a door.

"That should hold them for some time." Hexus said, grinning.

The Chieftain exhaled, glad to be rid of them for a while. They had spent thirty cycles at least in flight. His right footpaw kicked something, which chimed as it spun across the floor. It was a human bullet casing, he could see it in the emerald glow. So they had made it this far, and further.

Looking around, Parthius realized he could see for the first time since being on the surface. The symbols of the Covenant gods so often praised by San'Shyuum were everywhere in a light green glow in this massive chamber. And in the center of the cavern, maybe half a mile from where he and Hexus had entered, was a platform of blue-gray metal.

The Huragok needed to be sent for. If Parthius judged right, this was a Silver Gate.

130
The Tecumsah exited from slipspace in the orbit of the planet Hope. The bridge crew quickly went to work assessing their situation."Sir, radar reports clear skies." Captain Parker nodded. " Good. The Beowulf won't be in for any nasty surprises then." Torkamentov stepped up to Captain Parker. "Sir, permission to begin deployment to the surface?" Parker replied, "Well, you do outrank me...so I don't see how I could refuse." Torkamentov let out a small chuckle. "yes, I do. But I know hardly anything about ground operations, so I'm giving myself the temporary rank of Lieutenant First Class." Parker broke into a grin. "All right then, Lieutenant. You have a go for deployment." Torkamentov broke into a salute, which Captain Parker returned, and then Torkamentov turned on his heels and strode off of the bridge. He would head for the hangar bay, but first he needed to make a stop at the armory...

Torkamentov later entered the hangar bay and strode toward the Pelican he would be riding down to the surface. He walked confidently as the barrel of his M55 Shotgun thudded lightly against his hip, his M6 Grindel/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle on his back, numerous magazines of ammunition, combat knifes, and other assorted across his person. He knew that anyone who tried to mess with him would dearly regret it. He walked up to the group of marines clustered near the back of a Pelican labeled the ''Mistress of Pain. ''The marines grew quiet when he approached, and came to attention. He also came to attention before them and said, "At ease." He looked over them and remarked, "Well, I guess that you guys are my new squade." The marines looked to each other and one finally said, "Looks like it, sir." The gruff one of the group came up to him and said in an emotionless voice, "Welcome to Charlie squad. Just do as we do, and maybe you'll survive your first deployment. Here are the ground rules: No backtalk. You do what I say immediately. Don't do something stupid. And finally, don't leave a comrade behind." The marines fell slowly, and they slowly filed into the Pelican. torkamentov pulled out is canteen and took a swig from it. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes until one of the marines remarked, "You think you got enough weapons on you, Rambo?" Torkamentov replied, "It's actually Torkamentov. And yes, I think I do." The marine laughed and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you um.... Torkamentov. My name's Chaumont. You got a long name, you know that?" Torkamentov smiled as well, and clapsed Chaumont's hand. "I do know that. If you weant, just call me Russkie, or something." Their conversation dissolved into friendly bantering as the Pelican joined a large group departing toward the surface. It was time for the war on Hope to resume. Azecreth 21:41, January 3, 2011 (UTC)

131
"T'was nice meeting you." Matt began, offering Rowan a handshake. Rowan excepted with a thump on the shoulder, quoting, "If this battle is as long as I think it is going to be, we'll bump into each other numerous times down there." Matt just nodded hopefully. Riley switched his gaze from Luc's Pelican, which had already exited the hangar's forcefields. "It was nice meeting you Spartan's too." Riley responded, referring to both Matt and Ryder. Riley looked, noticing the mysterious figure in luminescent clad. "You too Tron." The AI just nodded. Ryder and Matt leapt in as the doors slowly shut. A Gauss 'Hog was harnessed to the underside of the vessel, providing them with quick transport once the'd reached the surface. The Pelican slowly raised itself. It's bulk was slowly enveloped by the air-lock. It clearly speed-up after exiting. Rowan slapped his thighs with both arms. "That's every one." Riley nodded, mounting a shotgun unto his back, responding "Our ride's over there." By this point, it was the last ride in the hangar.

Suddenly the ground swayed and a sound louder than thunder sounded throughout the craft. A siren sounded over the blast. The Spartan's knew. A hole was being blasted through the craft. Zero-gravity and compromised titanium was all that help the vehicle together. "We've gotta evacuate the crew!" Rowan bellowed over the noise. The Pelican shut it's back door and stranded them, as if they even had planed to leave the ship's crew behind. The sound of the blasting stopped. The Covenant had left them to fall apart.

"I think that's everyone!" Riley glumly cried, floating as fast as he could through the corridors. He was pretty sure that they were floating around loosely through the vacuum of space now. The Beowulf's remains were scattered in random orbit of the planet, and the gravity had went a while ago. Rowan grabbed Riley's arm. "No... we've lost to many. I'm not gonna let the Covenant sit back and bask in pride. I'm gonna make them pay!" Riley turned his head to the left and looked into the distance, a Covenant Corvette silently edged through space. At least a kilometer away. Rowan pulled a Medium Fusion Destructive Device from his back. Riley came to the conclusion that he'd picked it up from the Beowulf's armory. Riley recalled the last time that one of these devices was used. "I'll help you." Riley instantly stated. "No, Riley. You've done enough." Rowan assured him. "I probably won't make it back alive." Riley wasn't used to his help being denied. "I'm going with you!" Rowan turned his helmet down. "I'm sorry," Rowan knocked him over the head with his Assault Rifle.

Riley rubbed his eyes. The first thing that he noted was the pain that he felt in his head. He began to groggily wonder what happened. "Ro-" he suddenly realized that he was in a tightly confined space. A very confined space... or maybe it just felt that way because of his augmentations. He was a Spartan right? "Where am I...?" he asked in a muffled voice. No response. A slight shake brought him to full awareness. He opened his eyes fully and noticed a thin window positioned directly before him. "Could I be in a...?" Another creak answered his question. He felt for his helmet. Once his hands reached it, he noticed that instead his MJOLNIR MK IV CQB variant armor was gone. He still wore MJOLNIR armor, however, his helmet, chest, and shoulder pieces had been replaced... with ODST. The basic pieces required to activate a... SOEIV. He was in a SOEIV. Then he noticed the swishing sound that softly hummed in the background. A noise that must have been at least ten-times as loud from outside of the pod. He dared himself to inch forward and peer through the glass. A light shade of blue dominated the sky. Another creak. Riley lowered his head to look up. No clouds. In fact the upper region of the sky appeared to be painted a darker shade of blue. "That's strange..." he concluded. He raised his head to look down, and to his horror, a thick blanket of white clouds sat below him. They appeared to approach him ever so slightly. He shuttered to consider the reality. He was hurdling towards them at rapid speeds. Then he fainted. --  Chris  talk   blog  00:53, January 5, 2011 (UTC)

132
Eirikur Quinn had been dropped alone just after the Tecumsah had arrived in orbit as a scout for the Pelicans coming down, to ward them away from the Covenant AA batteries that had been set around the city of Port Neandra. Equipped with his jetpack and enough clips of Assault Rifle ammo to burn through a Covie platoon, he'd hit on the top of a high building and broken through to the second floor down.

Using his pack to reach the roof through the hole he'd opened up, he was now using a pair of binoculars to scope out the Anti-Air emplacements, which he marked with coordinates and sent the information back to the dropship pilots.

But he had just seen something. A familiar shape, but it couldn't be. . . he thought.

The other Spartans he'd encountered were just coming to surface from what he'd picked up. This one had moved quickly, dodging across his field of vision as a greenish blur. He trained his binoculars on it.

There were craters in the pavement, it had to be a Spartan to do that. Not even a Hunter weighed as much, nor moved as fast. Now came a bigger surprise. Twelve or so armed men, clad in black suits. These were definitely not UNSC boys. Militia? Not likely, or they'd have the Colonial Military stuff that had been left over.

. . . Innies? They were moving with a group of civilians, headed somewhere.

"Private Eirikur Quinn, I have possible insurrectionist contacts." He listened for a response, only to get a high whine in his ear. A Covenant radio jammer.

Fine flipping time. Quinn got a read on their position, and made a rough estimate on where they'd be in a while. He had another thing to deal with.

A single HEV had landed a block away from him, and no one had sent out any call for rendezvous. Taking a running start, Erik jumped and hit his jetpack thrusters to propell him over the street, three stories below. Running up to the pod, he checked for lifesigns, and found the occupant was inside, very much alive.

Looking in the pod window, he found himself staring into the visor of an ODST helmet. But the visor itself was tinted gold, and it was attached to someone much larger that any trooper he knew.

133
Luc's pelican made the decent to Port Neandra with Delucus piloting this time, since there were reports of heavy AA in the city. "Hm?" Delucus began, tapping his headset. "Hey, what's wrong up there?" Luc asked, manning the rear mounted AIE 486H. " Comms singal is degrading, i'm gonna try switching to another channel." After flipping through channels for a while, Justin announced. "No good, im not getting anything on any of the other comms channels." "That's odd...... think there might be a jammer nearby?" Luc replied. " Dunno, but that's most likely the cause of our little problem." Justin answered. " Do me a favor, make a low pass down that street over there, i'm gonna see about fixing our little jammer problem." Nodding, Justin banked left and leveled out, barley clearing the roofs of cars scattered on the street. "See ya, Delucus" Luc said, giving him a wave before jumping out the back. " I'll see you aroud, Luc" Justin responded, pulling up. Luc smiled a bit under his helmet and raising a BR-55, scanning the area, before heading in what seemed to be the right direction, due to the dergrading feedback from his armor's motion sensor, and the increase in static filling his ears.

Robert's Pelican returned to the Grapes of Wrath, making a smooth landing and opening the troop bay door. Upon exiting the Pelican, Morgan walked up. "Commodore." he greeted. "Hello, Andre" he responded. " We've lost contact with the Beowulf, but reports have shown that most of the forces aboard have been sucessfully deployed inside and in the areas around Port Neandra, the capital city of Hope. Also, Admiral Gringrich is waiting for you on the bridge." Robert raised an eyebrow." Interesting... Have we recived any word from those MIAs who are still on the surface of Hades?" Morgan shook his head, and answered "No, sir. I honestly don't know why they don't pull back and let us bombard it from the surface." "I know what you mean, but I think it would be better to engage that destroyer before we worry about that." Morgan nooded in agreement, and the two made their way to the bridge.

TheivingFan 01:33, January 6, 2011 (UTC)

134
The two marines lugged the footlocker full of explosives into the tower, down the incline and into the foundation of the structure. The two stopped and contemplated the plan. “We could just blow this and see if it dies.” Jake suggested, hopping for a yes. “You and I both know that this canary can’t be singing by the time we leave this bitch. We set the main explosives around the lift. I set a gravity rig to bring a second detonation to the top floor and finish what we started. Low threat sittuation here.” Randy said as he pulled the charge over. Jake helped roll plasma batteries around the center as Randy set the gravity rig. Jake heard a slash from behind him. An elite shipmaster, dual wielding energy swords tackled Jake as he stumbled, along with himself, into the lift. They rose all the way to the top, landing on opposite sides of the tower. The elite stood at once, charging Jake with swords drawn. Using his combat skills, Jake kicked in the beasts knee, and dissarmed him in one motion. The swords clattered to the floor. “No weapons,” Jake mumbled. “Just skill.” The spartan charge the weak elite, but he ducked, throwing the spartan over his shoulder. The beast stumbled over to the marine, picking up a corpses plasma pistol as he did. As he swung, Jake fired his ballistic wrist, the spike pointing out of the elites chest. He stumbled, giving Jake the opportunity to regain control. He grabbed the dying beast by the throat, lifting him over the edge. “You humans leave nothing in your wake but destruction!” He yelled. Jake smiled. “Then I guess it’s a damn shame that your stayin’ behind.” The building shook, as the first explosive went off. Randy did it, but it was not over. The elite grabbed Jake around the wrist, trying to regain control. He succeded…… in setting off Jake’s shotgun. The corpse fell to the floor below, Jake tired and wounded above. A clang sounded behind him, as the second charge landed on the top. The building lurched, Jake sliding to the edge of the building. He kicked off, and flew into the air. Landing on a pelican, the spartan watched the explosion engulf the tower. It was over. The albatross pilot gave them a thumbs up. The marine on radio looked at Jake. “What should I tell the guys?” He asked. “Tell them,” He stated as he stood up. “That the fat lady is on in five.”--TheMerciless 04:12, January 10, 2011 (UTC)

135
Torkamentov fumbled around and finally grabbed his radio from his chest pocket as a message from the Tecumsah came in. "Admiral, we have a situation up here. The Beowulf jumped in, but then it got hit by a Covenant Cruiser. We have no idea where it came from. They're getting the shit beat out of them. Holy Shit, it just blew up." Torkamentov hit the send button and said into the radio, "Do not engage, I repeat, do not engage. tell the rest of the UNSC fleet what happened, and then wait for them to show up. We can handle ourselves down here." "Roger that," squawked the radio, and then it went silent. He looked up to see everyone staring at him. "What," he asked. "Dude, you said you were a Lieutenant First Class, not an Admiral," said an incredulous Chaumont. Torkamentov explained himself, saying that he hadn't wanted to be treated as a senior official, and since this was his first ground combat operation, he figured that a lower rank was more appropriate. The pilot reported from the cockpit of the Pelican that it was time for a landing.

As the Pelican settled to the ground, the squad of marines exited from the back, along with the other marines that had been brought along. The squade leader said angrily, "Hey, we're supposed to be in the center of the city, not the outskirts!" The pilot said over the comm, "I ain't gettin anywhere near that AA fire. Since I figured that you would prefer living to going up in a ball of flames, the outskirts you get." The squad leader muttered something about "damn hotshot pilots" then looked back at his squad and said, "OK, Rambo, you got point. Skivs, you got the rear. Me and Frenchie have the sides. Let's move out!" Torkamentov gave an inward sigh, and said, "My name isn't Rambo." the sqwaud leader turned his head toward him and replied, "I don't care. As squad leader, I reserve the right to call you whatever fucking nickname I want, and so that is your fucking nickname. Are we clear?" Torkamentov nodded, shouldered his shotgun, and headed off into the city, with the squad right behind him. Azecreth 20:11, January 10, 2011 (UTC)

136
The Pelican dropped the marine off at the cave, letting him return to his team. Jake rushed over to the pelican, grabbing a marines shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your squad?” Jake asked. The strong built marine medic Carl turned to look at Jake. “I am.” He said, as Jason and his twin brother and fellow hellbringer Andrew stepped out of the bird. “Platoon eight, together again.” Jake said, grasping Jason’s hand in a strong shake. “Not all.” Andrew mentioned. He mouthed the name Randy. “No, he was with me. He can’t be gone. NO!” Jake screamed, walking into the blood tray. “Pull us out.” Jake commanded. The pelican turned, starting to get ready for lift. “Wait!” A raspy voice called. Jake looked back at a brute jump jet stumbling over to them, right arm missing. He ran at them, calling for help. As they lifted higher, he jumped, reaching out with his arm. Jake did the right thing. He grabbed his hand. The dying body lay in the closing cargo bay, filling the area. “Carl, help him.” Jake said. Carl drew his gun. “No, actually help.” “Are you out of your fucking mind?” What would they say about this?” Jason blurted. “Covert ops; no rules, off record, we don’t exist. They say nothing and like it.” Jake said, sitting down and resting for the ride to the Grapes. They were done, for now. --TheMerciless 03:30, January 11, 2011 (UTC)

137
Bryce quickly replenished the void magazine of his MR02 Assassination Rifle. His break time was cut short as another wave of Unggoy and Sangheili approached from every angle. He fired the few rounds that he had loaded, which only rippled through the forefront of the swarm before dying down once more. One of the surviving members of his crew had leapt over a mound of sandbags, landing directly before him. The CARNWENNAN marine's Assault Rifle swept through two more rows in each direction before desperately requiring more ammunition. The marine quickly fell victim to consecutive bolts of plasma. Bryce wondered if the marine had intended this suicide from the start, giving his life to stall the death of his squad leader.

Either way, this was the most helpless massacre he'd experienced so far. Bryce to advantage of the time he was given to dismount a grenade launcher from his back. Four grenades made quick work of the remaining forces. As if that wasn't enough, Bryce tossed a single incendiary grenade towards the remaining Sangheili. The battlefield was cleared of Covenant infantry... or at least for now.

Bryce fell to his knees. Plasma burns and bloodstains dominated the surface of his armor. His eyepiece indicated a low-supply of health. He shuddered at the thought of being half dead. Another CARNWENNAN marine withdrew himself from behind a barricade. "Alpha... you okay?" Bryce squinted as he grabbed the marine's hand and hoisted himself to his feet. "I'll make it... for now," Bryce muttered. "Call for evac..." The marine quickly activated the radio headset that came built into his helmet. Loud shrieks of static instantly fillled the air. The marine quickly deactivated it, before they could give away their position. "Still jammed." The marine responded, "Fuckin' covies..." began another CARNWENNAN marine, sprinting up to the two. ""Your the last ones left?" Bryce questioned in an upset tone. Bryce's escort shot the newcomer a glance. The newcomer just nodded. "Yes. The rest are KIA or MIA." --  Chris  talk   blog  16:56, January 15, 2011 (UTC)

138
"Well, seems I'm getting close to whatever the hell's jamming everything." Luc commented to himself, climbing onto a car. Peering down the street, Luc saw what to him, was a strange sight. A Spartan, accompanying a dozen or so men, clad in black and weilding standard issue UNSC firepower. "Why would civvies be handling weapons like those?... Hm.. best case scenario, they picked it up from some Marine bodies, worst case,they're Innies, and they managed to get a Spartan to join them." Seeing that two of the men were pushing a trolley in the center of the group, Luc raised his eyebrow. "That looks like someone tried to re-wire a Covie-... jammer! That's it! They're the bastards that've been jamming us!" Looking over the group, Luc decided to tail them some more." I can take the regulars, but those bastards have real civvies mixed in.Not to mention that Spartan..." Luc then started to follow them, darting behind cars and barricades, and into alleyways when he suspected they were scanning the area. " Dammit, my specialty is blowing stuff up, not sneaking around like this!"

Meanwhile, aboard the Grapes of Wrath, the lift doors opened to the bridge deck. Andre and Robert silently stepped out. After walking through the main corridor, they strode into the bridge, where Admiral Gringrich was waiting. The comms officer stepped up, and informed Robert that the MIAs had destroyed the comms tower, and were now extracting. "Good, Tell them to wait in the conference room for debriefing." The officer nodded, and walked to his station. "Now, welcome Admiral." Robert welcomed Gringrich, shaking his hand. "What have you come to dicsuss?" "Well, I see you're brief, as usual." Gringrich replied. "I'm here to deliver somthing to you, from Rear Admiral Torkamentov." He said, fishing out a data disk from his pocket. "Why isn't he here to deliver it himself? Did somthing happen to him?" Robert asked. "No, no, he just decided to go on a ground op, or "Soul searching, with a gun." "Heh, well when you see him again, tell him I said thanks." Gringrich nodded, and exited the bridge, heading back to the Pax Americana.

TheivingFan 23:55, January 17, 2011 (UTC)

139
"Sir", said Henry, "We are picking up a disturbance on Hope."

"Well," Colonel Rayne responded, "Send our men down there. We need to know what's happening. Send in our HJs if you must, but we need to keep low profile about this. If it isn't anything important we're screwed." Then the Intercom blared "ALL HANDS, REPORT TO YOUR DESIGNATED TRANSPORTS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL, REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL." Every man and woman scrambled to their Pelicans and prepared for drop. Soon, they were airborne. "Well," Henry said to Victoria, "This should be fun."

"Don't get cocky," she replied, "I don't want to see you on the KIA list."

"Calm down, I know what to do. Just think of this as a, well, game of Assault. Sneak in, sneak out, boom your done. It will be alright." he reassured her.

The Pelicans entered the atmosphere but were instantly contacted by the UNSC Springtime. "We have just learned," Colonel Rayne said, "That all civilians are being evac'ed off the planet. The Covenant are putting up a fight down there and from what I hear none of you have ever seen the gore. I am calling an imm..." The message stopped. A EMP blast went off and sent the Pelican hurldling toward the surface of Hope. "All hands," Henry demanded, "Brace for impact!" Then, everything went black.

"Come on you cheap Barbies," Ghost bellowed as he shook Henry back and forth, "We don't have time to take naps! I just spent the past couple of hours scouting the place and fighting off damn Covies and Rebels, I am not going to take no for an answer! We need to get moving now!" No response. "Just great," he muttered to himself, "Another one of Halsey's toys, broken." He turned around to hear a blood filled cough. He wipped around and saw Victoria was getting up. She seemed weaker than usual. He rushed beside her and helped her up. "Can you walk?" he asked. She shook her head no. Ghost sighed, "Well sit down then, I can't lose any more of you Barbies." She swiped two fingers across her visor. "What the hell is that supposed to mean."

"It means," Henry said, getting up, "She's smiling. Maybe I could te-"

"Shut up," Ghost said, "I don't want to be Halsey's pet's pet and that's it. Don't you dare think I am scared of...of anything! I just don't want to be some slave's slave." M.S. 01:37, January 18, 2011 (UTC)

140
Eirikur pulled the manual release on the SOEIV's door, and jumped back before the explosive bolts blew the door off. A still-drowsy Riley pushed himself up and emerged, holding his head. He was muttering something, and Erik leaned closer to hear him repeat a name. "Rowan."

"Hey, Sierra, you good? We have problems." Erik said, and motioned him along the rooftops. The Spartan in Shock Trooper armor was withdrawing the arsenal of weapons he'd been shipped with as the trooper scouted ahead.

The group of armed men were still moving up the street, and pretty fast. The Spartan with them was already out of sight, around a corner with the men following, but a flash of color caught his attention. In a side alley, another supersoldier was peering out after them, armed and keeping a good distance away.

Without any other way of getting his attention, Erik drew his silenced M6 and fired a single round near him.

As the bullet ricocheted off a piece of metal, Luc stepped back and in an instant had his weapon up and scanning for targets. What he saw was an ODST waving to him from a building, and a Spartan next to him. He gave them a signal to wait a moment.

Riley heard a ping in his helmet. Luc's voice faded in. "Hey, you hear me up there?"

"Luc, how'd you get around the jammer?" Erik asked, also in on the conversation.

"Direct line-of-sight communication. I patched into Riley's TEAMCOM."

"Won't they hear us?" Riley asked, motioning towards the last of the disappearing soldiers.

Luc laughed. "They're still jammed, remember?"

Riley smiled humorlessly, his mind off of Rowan for the moment, at least. "So what's happening?"

Erik answered him. "Armed civvies and toting a rebuilt Covie radio jammer, might be with the Insurrection. But they've got a Spartan with them."

That was trouble. It couldn't be Matt or Ryder, they were elsewhere. Who was the Spartan? Were there more out here than he'd thought?

He reactivated his channel to Luc. "Luc, you outrank me, I think. But hear me out. I think we should keep tailing them for now. If an advantage presents itself, we can force them into a standoff and find out what they're doing. Sound good?"

"Yeah. But we'll have to move fast to catch up with them."

Erik volunteered his specialty. Maybe the Spartans were ground-bound, but he wasn't. "I can scout ahead. I've got my jetpack, I'll use the rooftops to stay out of sight and keep up with them. I can report back to you over radios while you're at a safe distance."

"Sounds good." Luc acknowledged. "Let's move it."

141
"Well," Henry asked, "Can't we call for evac or something?"

"No. Insurrectionist got a hold of a Covie jammer. Of course, we can't because that EMP killed our comm relay...and the Springtime. You'd think they'd give up now that an alien empire has just threatened to wipe us off the face of the galaxy, but..." he laughed, "But no. All the freaking little rebels think they're doing such a good deed for humanity." He paused. "How on earth did they get a jammer anyway? That's what I want to know." he said. The three got up and started looking around. They were in a deep undergrowth of a forest. "Well," Henry said after examining his surroundings, "Let's move out. Head north, there should be a base up ahead."

The three trudged through the plant life until they came across what used to be Delta Base. "Oh no..." Henry moaned. The whole base had been turned into one large Yanme'e hive. "Great, just great. The whole planet is probably crawling with Covies." Henry said, then he thought for a while, and said, "We're going in."

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked nervously.

"He's gone insane! The poor little Barbie probably landed on his head when he was dropped by his owner." Ghost said, half jokingly and half worried.

"No, we're going in." Henry reassured them. "We need to retrieve an AI in that base. If we don't, then they'll know about Earth." Shocked, Ghost asked, "Well, who is it?"

"Copernicus." he replied.

142
The passenger bay of the armoured personnel carrier was small and cramped, usually barely large enough to fit a squad. It was therefore understandable that the other soldiers resented Julie for the space she took up – she wasn’t quite average Spartan height, the full seven feet, but she was still bigger than the usual Trooper or Marine. The fact that these men weren’t even UNSC meant that her presence was just rubbing salt on the wound.

Nevertheless, she could see that they were professionals. Silence reigned, with only the COM chatter over the localised public wavelengths coming from the cockpit. She considered telling somebody to make the switch to an encrypted channel, but for one thing she doubted they’d do anything other than tell her where she could shove her suggestions. Insurrectionists weren’t the most acquiescent bunch of people.

For another, it might just serve her purposes.

One of the Innies, who hadn’t stopped glaring at her, opened his mouth. “How many men you killed?”

She shrugged. “Do you mean men as in males, or as in people?”

“I mean how many freedom fighters have you butchered?” he snarled.

One of his compatriots put a hand on his shoulder, muttering something to him. Obviously he thought she couldn’t hear it – but even without her augmented hearing, her suit could pick up a thimble dropping at a hundred paces.

“You really want to make her mad?”

She snorted in amusement. “You should listen to your friend. If I wanted to leave, I could. None of you could stop me.”

He raised his pistol, not at her but waving it emphatically. “My M6D says otherwise, bitch.”

She didn’t lash out, quick as lightning. She stretched out her hand, took the pistol from his grasp quite gently, and disassembled it. It was second-nature to her, after years training on Onyx. The man just looked at her blankly, confusion and then astonishment and then anger blotching his face red and purple.

“What was that?”

It made her point, but it hadn’t made her any friends. The Innies in the compartment exchanged dark glances at each other, and she could almost hear them wondering how many bullets they could get off – how many to pop her energy shields, how many to punch through her armour, and how accurate they could be in the tight quarters.

Not nearly enough.

“Cut it out,” barked the squad leader at the front of the vehicle. He, at least, carried himself with an air of authority and dignity – probably a UNSC turncoat, former Marine Corps or Army. “Save it for the damn Covenant, because when we hit that shitstorm we’ll need all the ammo we can get.”

“But sarge-” “Stow it corporal. He hit the warehouses in fifteen minutes. Lock and load.”

That last part was unnecessary – they were all ready now. Julie ran through a mental last-minute check, and initiated a MJOLNIR suit self-diagnostic – a few rebel technicians had eagerly offered to repair any damage, and she had told them in no uncertain terms that if they so much as thought about it she’d reach down and pull their lungs inside-out. But even she had to admit, she’d been in better shape than now. But she’d also been in worse situations.

She couldn’t think of them right now, but she was sure they existed.

The transport ground to a halt, engine rumbling.

That wasn’t good.

She tapped into the COM. “We’ve stopped.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” the driver retorted.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated at the suppressed hostility. If they attacked her, she could at least “defend” herself. “Why?”

“Roadblock. End of the line, folks, everybody out.”

The rear hatch opening, and the Innie troops tumbled out in practised chaos. She followed, joining the throng, assault rifle smart-linked to her display and raised as she scanned for targets.

The “roadblock” turned out to be big – and definitely not human.

Blackness stretched out to the horizon line – a thick line of charred earth and blackened, molten glass, crossing the highway they’d been using. At the edges of the line, a few small houses managed to stand, one side caved in and still glowing with embers. A few burnt out car shells dotted the road.

It was a giant statement on the landscape – beyond this point, hell awaits.

Plasma weapons. Covenant.

Nervous whispers among the Innie troopers. Even Julie felt a chill of horror.

It couldn’t be helped. It was why they’d approached her – they couldn’t make it through without her help, and she couldn’t return to UNSC lines without theirs. She hadn’t expected it to be easy.

A few other troop transports, stolen Warthogs and Cougars or converted civilian cars, trucks and buses, had stopped too. A few people had started to get out, staring at horror at the largest line drawn in the sand they’d ever seen.

They shouldn’t. Every second was one they couldn’t afford to waste.

The man she’d met before, who was evidently the rebel leader, stood gaping at the carnage. “How…how could they do this?” he stammered. “There were just homes, and…’ he trailed off, too appalled to finish his sentence.

She grunted. “What, did you think they just rounded everyone up? Put them in camps? Did you see an Elite signature on the Geneva Conventions?”

He gaped a bit more, and she sighed. “What did you think we were fighting for? A colonial empire? We’re trying to save lives, any lives. I don’t care who they are any more – friendly or Insurrectionist, colonist or Earth-born. We’ve lost too many human lives.”

“And whose fault is that?” He asked, in typical rebel manner. But it was half-hearted.

She gestured to the black scar on the earth where the suburb had once been. “Do you think there is anything the UNSC could have done to deserve this?”

He didn’t disagree, but the look he gave her was enough.

“We need to get back into the transports, keep moving. If you have any fire trucks, get them in the front to cool the ground or we’ll puncture tyres.”

The convoy eventually set off again. But the silence was deeper now, hollow, and in it she could hear their fear. And she could now feel their eyes on her – less hostile, and more hopeful.

143
Seeing the convoy stop, Luc,Erik and Riley took advantage of the moment and they decided to catch their breath. " Alright, let's do a little deciding.Either we let them move on, and be picked up by the UNSC forces surrounding Port Neandra, or we can tail them further and stop their....." Riley turned to face Luc, wondering why he had suddenly stopped. "You okay?" He started, tapping his shoulder.Luc, on the other hand kept staring ahead, at the river of molten glass and scorched earth that had stopped the Innie convoy. " They..started to glass .. already?" Luc responded. Riley sighed, he knew that it must be hard knowing that your home planet got glassed while you were lightyears away, fighting another battle, but actually witnessing it, watching the Covie ships blast away all you once knew as a child, must be a hell in itself. After a few more minutes, Luc snapped out of it, and turned back to face him and Erik again. "Sorry about that. Anyways, like I was saying,either we let them move on, or we stop their convoy with a few roadside bombs.

Robert walked into the conference room, facing the four "MIAs". "Well, you four sure took your time getting aboard." Robert said with a grin. "Had to make sure the job was done right,sir" replied one of the Spartans, someone told him his name was "Jake". Robert nodded. "Well, we'll be headed to Hope soon, so get as much R&R as you can before you got planetside. I'll tell the navigations officer to go real slow for you four. Robert and the now found MIAs left the conference room, before splitting off in opposite directions down a corridor.

144
"Shh," Henry shushed, "we are approaching the center. Keep low profile and don't shoot. If a Drone gets too close clip its wings and snap its neck."

"You're just lucky I haven't pulled this trigger yet." retorted Ghost, "Boy would I love to though. I'm itching to see the little buggers burn." As the group approached a balcony they noticed that the area was occupied with mostly Grunts, not Drones. "What the-" Ghost started, but then he got his answer. In the center was a huge crater that contained a large Forerunner artifact. "They're not here for Copernicus," Victoria thought aloud, "They're here for artifacts."

Then Ghost slipped a bit, sending his SMG over the railing of the balcony they were hiding on. The SMG hit a Grunt's methane pack with such force that it exploded, sending the Grunt flying into a Brute Chieftan. "Oh, hell no." Ghost muttered under his breath. The Brute scanned the room, and seeing a couple of Elites snickering in the corner, he swung his mighty hammer and crushed the head of one of the Elites. This caused the Brutes and Elites to begin attacking each other with Grunts taking either side. They stopped when a high-pitched shriek broke through the room.

An Engineer followed by two Elites entered the room, only this Engineer was different. She had a gold headdress instead of the usual Engineer mask and wore decorated colorful armor instead of the basic metal plating. All the Grunts bowed and the Elites stood in attention, but the Brutes just stood in disgust. The Engineer scanned the room until it came across the dropped SMG. In her head, she calculated the orgins of the SMG and concluded there were intruders on the balcony. She then proceeded to the Chieftan who massacred the Elite and started the fight. She removed his helmet, picked up his Gravity Hammer, and smashed his skull open with much dificulty, leaving him dead on the floor in his blood. She then proceeded to leave when the blood spilled onto the artifact. After rushing over to ensure its safety, which was secured, she then left the building.

After all this happened a cloaked Spec Ops Elite disabled his Active Camo and started strangling Victoria. Ghost, seeing what was going on, jammed his flamethrower into the Elites eye and, when he let go of Victoria in pain, proceeded to burn the contents of his head. "Now you know what Hell feels like!" Ghost shouted at the flaming corpse. Henry turned in shock to shut him up, but it was too late, the Covenant were on their way to the balcony.

145
Torkamentov laughed to himself as he took out an elite with a point-blank shotgun blast. spinning around, he saw that the other squad members had finished off the other elites that had ambushed them. The squad leader looked at torkamentov and said, "Congrats, Rambo. You got your first kill." Torkamentov shook his head, "Thanks, Sir." As Torkamentov took a swig from his canteen, the squad leader looked at the rest of the squad and asked, "Anyone have any major injuries?" All the squad members shook their heads. "All right then. Let's get moving." Torkamentov shouldered his shotgun and started walking up the street.

As he rounded a corner, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned toward the object, but he didn't see anything. However, he couldn't stir the feeling that he was being watcvhed. He motioned to the squad, and then took cover behind a pile of debris. The squad leader crouched down beside him. "what is it?" torkamentov replied, "Thought I saw some hostile movement, sir." the squad leader poked his head up, and looked around. "Well, I don't see amnything. Maybe it was just a ..." He was brought to silence as a couiple of Elites opened fire from a second story window. torkamentov switched his shotgun for his spartan laser, and began to return fire. The squad leader shouted, "Light 'em up!" as the rest of the squad started shooting, torkamentov took off for the door into the building. He made it there just ahead of the elite's fire. switching to his shotgun again, he ran for the stairs, and bounded up them two at a time. as he reached the top, he saw 3 elites waiting for him. "This the way it's gonna be, eh? Just you and me? Well, fine then." He fired point bhlank with ther shotgun as the elites opened fire. He then tossed a grenade at them. but he got hit with plasma fire, and the shockwave from the grenade threw him down the stairs. He tried to stop himself as his vision faded to black, but he was unable. He thudded to the ground as the other members of the squad ran up to him. Azecreth 12:37, January 21, 2011 (UTC)

146
Just as Luc mentioned the bombs, Matt and Ryder's voices came on the radio. "Luc? Riley? Any Spartans out there?" Riley spoke into the radio."Matt? You got past the jammer?"

Matt chucked."Tron's an expert on radio waves. He found your open system and connected to it." Erik spoke. "Anyone else with you two?" "Just Morales, Turok and Tron. We've got some room in our Pelican if you need a ride." Luc spoke up, saying, "Who's driving?" Ryder said, "Morales!" Riley spoke. "We need a lift. How many people can you fit?" Matt said, "Four, maybe five. Is Rowan with you?"

-Therider Rides Alone 19:48, January 21, 2011 (UTC)

147
Lower than Few crashed into her bed in crying. She had failed to keep the Base a secret and now the UNSC knew they were there. She was just a failure. She went over to he drawer and removed her old Huragok Archaeologist's mask. Just before she could throw it across the room, one of the ship's engineer's, an Unggoy named Rasaab, entered the room and said in a nervous voice, "We need you down in the engine room ma'am." Lower than Few sighed and followed Rasaab to the engine room.

Upon arriving, Lower than Few gasped. The engine room was in great dismay. A large, iron rod was presently skewering the port side engine and electricity leaked from stray wires, illuminating the area. The main engine was on fire and the starboard engine was on stand-by until the others could come on. Lower than Few went to the ship's Head Engineer, the Sangheili named Silum 'Kelohee. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked, quite disturbed by the condition her ship was in. Silum, caught off guard by her presence, responded, "Ma'am, we have a problem. A Magnetic Accelerator Cannon has torn through the port engine and the wires have caused the main engine to catch fire!"

"Don't tell me what I already know," Lower than Few screamed, "I need to know why this hasn't already been resolved!"

"Ma'am, half the engineers have gone missing. Some imps have snuck aboard one of our Phantoms and are currently onboard this ship. I have dispa-"

"You fool!" Lower than Few yelled, "You will find the imps yourself or you will suffer punishment beyond death's comprehension! Go, now!"

"Yes ma'am." Silum said, scared to anger her. With a quick salute, he left to hunt down the imps.

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into?" Lower than Few asked herself as she went to the bridge, crying on the inside.

148
Riley hesitantly paused at the query. "Rowan's... dead." he muttered. Another pause, this time on the other line... "What?" Ryder questioned. Riley just confirmed with silence. Two more Bumblebee lifeboats zoomed overhead, presumeably deployed from the Beowulf.

If only Rowan had been that lucky. In a moment a Pelican appeared over the horizon. Quinn activated his transmitter. "That you? Over by the Traxus tower?" "Yep. We'll be over in a sec... sorta busy over here though." Riley, Quinn, and Luc noticed two Phantoms and a Banshee closing in on the Pelican. The Pelican would be easy kill now. Quinn raised his binoculars.

Turok leapt onto the hood of the Banshee and ripped the hood from it's hinges. The pilot was a zealot. That would have been nice to know earlier. The Banshee suddenly swung out of control and zoomed through the narrow entrance to one of the Phantoms and out the other. Helpless Unggoy were trampled in the act. Riley just laughed. The other Phantom retreated. "Why?" Riley wondered. All that remained was a flammming Phantom. The Banshee went also combusted, crash-landing on what appeared to be the sixteenth floor of the Traxus tower. Riley was horrified. Turok was on the Banshee. Suddenly, Turok jumped from the flamming Phantom back into the Pelican. Within a minute, the Pelican was performing a vertical landing before them. --  Chris  talk   blog  16:07, January 22, 2011 (UTC)

149
With the back door ripped off, the radar completely unresponsive, and one of the front engines jammed by a Grunt's methane pack, there wasn't really a choice: they had to land. "Hold on," Lorrie shouted back at the survivors, "This is gonna get alot harder in a little bit of time." The Pelican hit the ground, skidded a bit, then hit a wrecked Wraith, somersaulted in the air, finally sliding down a hill and next to a cave. "Okay," Lorrie said, still disoriented from her "landing", "Sound off."

"Major George Cornwallis, I won't give up the fight."

"Devin de Gamma, ready to serve!"

"Samantha McAndrew, who else is still alive?"

"Sergeant Major Fredrick Ward reporting for duty, ma'am!"

"Master Sergeant James Kitchens, doing good ma'am."

"Sergeant Natalie Kitchens, I'm not that fragile ma'am. I can still fight, no matter what my condition!"

"Jacob Tzu here, in need of medical attention!"

"Wait," Lorrie said, cutting off the next person to speak, "where's Josh?" Everyone looked around, but finally Jacob shouted, "Look, he's over there! He fell onto that Wraith!" Everybody rushed over and helped him up. When they turned him over he was coughing up blood. "Ma'am, you'll hate to hear this but," Samantha said solemnly, "In the condition he's in and the supplies at hand, he's not going to make it."

"No!" Lorrie shouted defiantly, "He can't die! Someone, quick, load him up! We can take hi-"

"N...no..." Josh said weakly, "Leave m...me here...Go on...without me..."

"No!" Lorrie said, tears collecting in her eyes, "I can't! Brother, don't leave me!"

"G...goodbye...Lor...I'll see y...you...tomorrow..." And with that, he died. "Brother..." she wispered. She then bent down and kissed his forehead. "Good night brother, sweet dreams." She got up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and turned to her soldiers. "Okay," she said strongly as if nothing had happened, "Colonel Rayne is not here. We can all presume his death was onboard the ship. I, being next in line, now take full command and responsibility of Recon Brigade. Now, due south is a city. We will rest in this cave for the night and tomorrow we will set out for Port Guinevere."

"How can she talk like that after what just happened?" Jacob asked Natalie.

"Looks are always decieving. I survived a Pelican crash pregnant, isn't that example enough for you?" she replied. Natalie walked away and Jacob said to himself, "Poor Lorrie, but I feel more sorry for James. How can he put up with that kind of sly and clever cat?"

"Maybe," James butt in, "I don't need to put with it. Just roll with the punches and you come out with less bruises and more wisdom."

"Makes me wonder what the heck he's thinking about." Jacob said to himself, only lower so this time no one heard him.

M.S. 03:05, January 24, 2011 (UTC)

150
Contrary to what many think of the Covenant, the Sangheili are not the only ones who possess courage. Jiralhanae will not back down from a fight they cannot win, though there is something to be said for it being sheer stubbornness, and not bravery. While most Unggoy will flee in the face of unexpected fire power, many will gladly give their lives in the names of the Prophets and the Gods. Even Kig-Yar, renowned for their selfishness, are not entirely cowards.

Likewise, for their part, the Huragok can be brave. And right now, one was using all his courage to flee as fast as his air bladders could propel him.

Huragok serve. It is a commandment built into the fabric of their being – to study, build, maintain and repair technology, any technology, within their reach. Exactly who it belonged to didn’t matter – all Huragok were told stories of their distant ancestors, given life by the Forerunners to tend their mechanisms with the delicacy of the greatest gardens. They were perfectly designed for this, to the point of lunacy – some Huragok lost themselves in their work, mentally drifting off and losing focus on the world around them just to repair a broken valve. And they were worked hard. Harder than any other Covenant race.

They had to be. The great Prophets, who supposedly ruled the Covenant with wisdom and kindness, were not as great as they made themselves out to be – Ballast had learnt that the hard way, long ago.

The Prophets claimed to be the interpreters of the Gods’ will. That may have been so, but the Gods’ designs were still beyond the frail, elderly creatures. It was the Huragok who kept the Covenant in working order, and without them the alliance of races could quite literally fall apart without their expertise. And yet they were the lowest of the low, beneath the Kig-Yar and Unggoy, at the bottom of the food chain, treated as little more than equipment.

Ballast hoped to change that. Perhaps not now, but someday.

He wondered, perhaps belatedly, just how he would accomplish the task?

He had fled in panic and fear. The monsters had come out from the buildings, where they’d avoided the notice of the dropship captains, attacking with a savagery that he had been told the humans lacked. The Unggoy had been caught in the crossfire, some freezing and dying where they stood, others fleeing and taking a bullet to the methane tank. Some had exploded. The Elites had been tougher, exchanging fire, but even they hadn’t been able to withstand the hail of steel and tungsten, forced to take cover and withdraw, covering the escape of the Huragok they valued so highly.

Ballast had made a mad dash for it then. A few others had chirped in alarm, some cheering begging him to return and others cheering him on. He’d ignored them, using his gas bladders to propel him up, over a rooftop, beyond the humans’ field of fire. He’d been able to watch from there, as the Elites held their ground, calling in the dropship – which had swooped down, plasma cannons blazing, reducing the attacker force to ash and cinders. He’d then watched as the Huragok were marshalled out, away from the battlefield, to where they were needed.

If he was lucky, they would assume he had been killed in the firefight. He could already make out the shapes of a few Huragok who had taken bullets, too far gone to be worth taking with them to a medical outpost.

He wanted to help them. Every instinct of his screamed that he should help them, maybe apply some makeshift repairs to the nanotechnology simulacra that masqueraded as biology, ease their suffering. But if he was to make his escape, sacrifices had to be made – cut off the damaged wires to save the circuit. He had left them, frightened, keening in pain and fear.

He hated himself for it.

For many units now, he had wandered the empty streets of the city as the sun set and darkness filled the city. He had thought it abandoned when they had landed, but now he could see that many of the buildings had occupants – people, probably not soldiers, huddled behind cover, hoping or praying to gods of their own that they would not be found. Inexperienced, he simply bobbed and weaved in the middle of the street, between burnt out hulks of cars. He couldn’t know that snipers or sharpshooters would find him easy pickings, or that his bright pink skin made him stand out as if it were bright daylight.

Fortunately, he would have an emissary.

He first heard the sound as he turned a street corner. A Huragok is innately curious, but not foolhardy – he crept slowly and carefully towards the noise, picking up bar of metal as closed in – not to attack, but to pry.

A heap of rubble had collapsed the front of a building – it looked like a home, but with alien architecture Ballast couldn’t be sure – and there was yelling coming from within. He wished he had installed a translator, like the Sangheili used, but he was just a lowly savant-slave. Why should they care if he needed to understand someone who was not giving him orders?

They sounded alarmed, frightened, but not harmed too badly. Certainly strong enough to keep up the volume.

Ballast worried. If there were Covenant patrols, it might attract them, bring attention to his own escape. He would be executed, no matter how valuable he was. He needed to quiet the humans. And then there was the matter of his fallen comrades – he had been unable to do anything for them, but these people…

He glanced down at the pry bar, clutched tightly within a tentacle. It wasn’t going to be enough.

He looked around him, at the wrecked cars.

And, as all Huragok did, he had an idea.

Creating the actual design did not take long. He did it in his head as he examined the parts available to him, wheels and gears and axles, and after a few minutes the machine was already built inside his head. It took a little longer to build the actual machine – his first act had to be to assemble a fusion welder, and after that it was a matter of detaching some parts, welding others together, and slowly and carefully lifting them into place.

Gears and levers and pullers. Metal arms and wooden bracings. Servomotors and hydrogen combustion engines. It was crude and simplistic, but it was what he had available at his disposal.

He whistled a warning, hoping that the humans interpreted it as such. He then gently touched a tentacle to a touchscreen – motors worked, arms swung, former car doors dug deep into the rubble, scooping out stone and whatever material the humans used to build with. Smoke and dust filled the air, and he could hear the humans within scream in surprise. He paused, frightened, hoping he hadn’t caused a cave in or accidentally killed someone, manoeuvring the arms back and away.

“Hello?”

He could hear a voice, calling out a word. He had no idea what it meant, but it sounded hopeful.

He chirped out a greeting.

“Hello? Is someone out there?”

“Oh god, please don’t let it be Covenant!”

“Something hit the shop! We’ve got wounded! Is there someone there?”

An incomprehensible babble of syllables and intonations. Huragok language was cleaner, more complicated but less confusing. He wondered if he could possibly learn the human language on his own, simply through listening and interpreting – and rejected the idea, because he didn’t have enough time.

He whistled a warning, the same he had given before.

“We’re standing back. If you’re worried about hurting us, we’re not in the way anymore!”

He hoped that would do.

The machine was started up again, this time without the human screams, and panels of steel returned to their task of digging. The machine was appallingly crude by Huragok standards, and probably even by human standards, but it was enough to do the job – the rubble began to clear, gaps appeared in the pile, and light streamed out. He moved another arm forward, this one using a car boot door as a scoop, pulling away the last of the rubble.

The machine whirred into silence, once again pulling back, this time to allow Ballast through.

A few lamps had been lit, probably using crude chemical fuels for an uncontrolled combustion burn. The faces of the humans within were lit with the orange flickering light, all turned to face their unexpected saviour, a mixture of emotions on their faces – probably (Ballast was no expert) shock, horror at being saved by a Covenant member, surprise at his form. His people were not a common sight on battlefields.

One human, a small one, launched himself at Ballast. He thought it was an attack, and raised his tentacles defensively, but the small child merely stretched his arms armour him in an embrace.

Ballast was touched, although the child was quickly dragged back to “safety” by a parent or sibling. He floated backward a little, waving a tentacle.

“You want us to follow you?” asked a female, holding the young boy close to her. Probably a mother.

He kept waving, hoping to get the message of safety across. He continued to back up, inflating his air sacs to lift him up over the rubble, as the formerly trapped humans carefully piled out into the street.

A few of them looked around, clearly expecting a Covenant trap. Others looked at each other confused. A few of them turned the corners of their mouths up – a gesture, he had once been told, called a smile. Supposed to indicate happiness or gratitude.

The little boy had the biggest smile. “Thank you!” he called up.

If Ballast could return the gesture, he would have. Instead, he did what a Huragok could – he made a cradle symbol with his tentacles, a symbol of paternal/maternal affection that coincidentally resembled the human gesture.

He was illuminated by a light. It was not one he had placed, or a crude lamp.

“Jesus! Sir, we got survivors over here!”

“Corpsman, see if anyone needs treatment!”

“What the hell is that?!”

What he had feared had come to pass – the sound of his rescue had drawn unwanted attention, this time human. Marines turned the corner, catching sight of a group of ragged and dusty civilians, and a lone Huragok standing atop a menacing-looking pile of machinery. Rifles were raised, trained upon him.

He held a few wavering tentacles outstretched before him, hoping they would recognise the gesture of submission.

“Wait! He saved us!”

The young child dashed out from the embrace of his mother, ignoring her call of alarm, running up to one of the soldiers. The rifle was lowered as he clung to a leg, repeating the phrase, the soldier looking confused about what to do.

“Stand down, private. Alpha, bring it down – peacefully.”

A pair of soldiers began climbing up the heap of machinery, another two keeping their rifles trained on the Huragok. He wondered briefly whether this was an execution – he hoped not. The fate of his people hung in the balance, and he couldn’t help them if he was killed here, on this hopeless rock, by human soldiers.

One of the soldiers motioned with her arms, down toward the ground. Cautiously, one set of eyes kept on the rifles still aimed at it, another set watching the rest of the human soldiers helping the refugees, the third on the ground, he deflated his air sacs and descended down the rubble pile. A few humans snickered at the bleating sound of gas being released, and he assumed it was something their species found humorous. It had never given him trouble, and he hoped it wasn’t provocative in any way.

“Damn thing stinks, sir!”

“I dare say none of us smell like a bunch of Elysium Daisies, corporal.”

“Can’t we just kill the damn thing and move out?”

“Are you kidding, son? ONI have wanted one of these for decades! If we’re lucky, we’ll all get medals when this is over!”

Ballast still had no idea what they were talking about, but he knew two things – the one closest to him sounded resentful, while the other, plainly the leader, sounded excited about their new captive.

Beyond that, all he had were his hopes and fears.

 Specops306   Autocrat     Qur'a 'Morhek   08:02, January 24, 2011 (UTC)

151
"Okay," Henry said, "Port Guinevere is just a little bit further. We can make it, right?" Victoria, resting on the floor against the wall, gave a low moan, but Ghost spoke up for her. "Well," he said, "I think Miss Influenza here can't really take much more of this trek. Of course, if we had a Wa-" He was cut off by Henry, who pointed at a nearby Mongoose, slightly damaged but still usable. "That's nice," Ghost said, "But that only holds two, who are we leaving?"

"I'll stay, you need to take Vikki to Port Guinevere. Get her to a hospital, that's what's important. I'll catch up to you two later." Henry replied, he stopped, and then said, "Take care of her. I trust you Salem." Ghost nodded and loaded Victoria onto the Mongoose. Before he got one, he turned to Henry and tossed him his EVA helmet. "Remember," he said with a grin, "That's a loan. I expect you to give it back when you're done." Henry took off his helmet to reveal his wide grin and replaced his helmet with Ghost's EVA. Henry then went over to Victoria and handed her a golden leaf. "I love you." he told her, unsure if she heard. With that Ghost left and Henry started in the same direction.

"Hurry," Silum rushed, "We need to get you off this ship. The Ship Mistress wants you and me dead, now hurry, into the Phantom." The ODST scrambled into the ship. "Now, let's get out of here." he said. The Phantom wouldn't start up. "Oh no," Silum said to himself, "it's her." Lower than Few entered the hangar bay, but she was alone this time. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my little Heretic." Lower than Few said. She laughed and both Silum and the ODSTs worried for their lives. Lower than Few sighed, "Go on, I tell the Kig-yar that you're another excavation team." Silum, startled to hear this, just nodded and said, "I-I will. Th-thank you milady." Lower than Few chuckled and said, "Go on, the ignition is code locked. The password is 'Heretic'. Now go on, go."

Silum scanned the ground for a UNSC base to land at. He couldn't find one at the moment, so he did the best he could. He put the Phantom down in Port Neandra. "Hey split-jaw," one of the ODST called, "I don't know what kinda trick your playing, but jamming our radars won't help hide your big, fat, ugly face." A few of the other ODSTs burst into a mocking laughter. Silum walked over and grabbed the ODST by the neck, shook him, and said, "This is your kind's doing, not mine. If you don't want my help, so be it." He dropped the now shaken ODST, who didn't want to take another crack at him. Then, another female ODST asked, "Hey, where are we exactly?" The Sangheili thought for a while, but then said, "I saw a sign back there that said 'Port Neandra', so I will assume that is where we are located."

"Port Neandra?!?!" Luke, one of the ODSTs, exclaimed, "Hell, why'd you put us down here? There are Innies all over this place!" Silum shrugged, "I did not know that. At least you aren't on a Covenant destroyer." The ODSTs shut up and Silum looked around. "There is supposed to be another Heretic around here of my species. We must find him." A sniper shot was fired at Silum, but he did a dodge of epic proportions. He then returned fire using his Beam Rifle and he knocked an Insurrectionist out of a window to his death. The the streets lit up with fire, but Silum deployed a Bubble Shield before he could get hit. Then, a Scorpion turned onto the street and blew up the buildings the Insurrectionist were in and then it aimed Silum. Luke ran inbetween the Scorpion and the Sangheili. "Stop!" he shouted, "This Elite's with us! He's a Heretic!" The Scorpion, with its barrel stuck on Silum, opened up and a soldier popped out. "Boy", she said, "I would have shot him and you if I didn't know your helmet from all the other ODSTs'. Yours has that plasma burn on the side, isn't that right Luke?"

"Sophie!" Luke exclaimed, identifying his girlfriend as the one in the Scorpion, "Boy am I glad to see you! I thought you didn't want to join the Army. Why the change?" Sophie laughed and replied, "I didn't look for this job, the job was looking for me! I was the only one here who knew how to operate a Scorpion to its maximum. Plus I knew you would be here."

"How?" he asked.

"You're never too far from the heart of a conflict," she replied, "and Port Neandra is exactly were that is. You also have a knack for winding up in the wrongest of places. Today, that place was the Innie stronghold. Now come on, I'll cover you, your team, and your little squid-like friend here." Everyone got onto the Scorpion but only Silum sat in silence.

M.S. 21:24, January 24, 2011 (UTC)

152
The bluish Forerunner metal felt cool against the soles of Parthius' feet. Stepping onto the platform, he immediately felt a mix of joy for the finding and shame for doubting the Covenant religion. These were washed away the next second by a sense of wonderment, ascending a wide staircase straight up towards the inactive Gateway. His grip tightened around the runic symbols along the length of his spear.

Were the Prophets right, was it really the work of gods? Or was it only technology, like the blades of his weapon? He hardly understood the thing he'd carried for most of his life.

They had reached the top, a square platform hundreds of units up in this cavern. A soft green glow emanated from the symbols in the ceiling not far above, and a pair of glowsticks lying amongst papers with writing that marked them clearly human.

Hexus bent down to examine the tools that had also been left. "They must have heard our approach."

"No. These lights have faded too much. The Sentinels have banished them from here." Parthius said. "They must have fled farther underground . . . or into the gate itself." The idea a human could gain access to such a place bordered on heresy, but Parthius had no stomach for zealous lies. Several times, humans had been able to gain more from the relics than even a Huragok, though this was kept secret. The Prophet of Regret himself had once ordered a human scientist captured, early in the war. But it was not wise to speak of these events. "We return to the surface."

Hexus was caught off-guard by the order. "Why?"

"We cannot open the Silver Gate. The Sangheili must be informed, so they may lead the Huragok here." Parthius felt a bit slighted, knowing once the snake-heads knew of his discovery, he would not be the one to first set foot in it. But then, he was not as devout a believer as they. Surveying the chamber, he saw multiple tunnels leading out. One was shored up by rectangular walls of human material. That would lead to the surface. "Come. Let deliver these joyous tidings."

That Damn Sniper, sniping.

153
“How in the world,” Commodore Robert started. ”Did that thing get on my ship?” All of platoon eight and multiple ship-hands stood staring through the one way mirror at the one armed brute. “I brought him here.” Jake said, still leaning on the wall. The group parted, as Commodore met Spartan. “Why?” Robert asked, more out of confusion than annoyance. Jake stood at his full height, looking down at the Commodore. “He was wounded, and unarmed. He could prove helpful.” “Or he could kill us all.” Robert said as the group mumbled agreement. Only one way to find that out, then.” Jake said, walking past everyone to the door. He turned to talk to the man. “Get me out of this armor, and into that room. Everyone out of their armor for now, until we get to…. Where the hell are we going?” He asked Jason. “Port Neandra. New Covert ops building. No director yet, though.” Robert said. Jake mourned for the previous director, one of the lives lost in the providence. Jake left the room, as the rest discussed who they wanted director with Robert, as with covert ops the decision was a vote by the whole faction- which was in that room.

Jake entered without armor, a knife at his waist, and twin pistols behind him. The brute sat at the table, staring at the marine who entered the room. “I am going to ask questions, and you are going to answer them. That’s how this works.” Jake said. “You saved my life, human, I am not going to hold an secrets, if I am to be loyal.” The brute said. “What is your name?” Jake asked. “Damascus.” “Previous profession.” “Brute jump jet.” “Are you going to help us?” “Do you need help?” Damascus asked. Jake stood, and pushed a button on the wall. Two marines entered the room, guns aimed. “Stand down, take this brute down to mechanics. Fit him with an arm.” Jake said. --TheMerciless 01:53, January 26, 2011 (UTC)

154
"Okay, let's do this." Henry muttered under his breath. "THIS ONE'S FOR VIKKI!" he shouted as he ran guns blazing into the enemy defenses. The Elites, Grunts, Jackals, Skrimishers, and even the Hunters were surprised by the attack and dove for cover, but not the Brutes. "Come my brothers," one of the Chieftans bellowed, "let us slay this demon!" The Chieftan lunged for Henry, only to be dodged and then smashed in the head with the butt of a shotgun. The Brutes did not hesitate. "Charge! Kill the Demon!" they all shouted as they left their trench in an attempt to avenge their slaughtered Chieftan. They all were dispatched of, one by one. None of the other Covenant would attack. Then, an Elite General stood up and said, "Demon, you are a most worthy opponent. If I had not a wife and children back at my home I would challenge thee, but thy fight is now over. We will not betray the Prophets, but we will let you through." As Henry walked suspiciously through the Covenant ranks, the Grunts saluted, as did the Elites. The Hunters, deeply honored by him, started to compose war poetry of this great encounter. However, both species of Kig-yar just glared with beady eyes. "Come, we will lend you one of our ships so you may be on your way." the General said as he escorted Henry to a Banshee. "We wish you a good lifetime, Hero of Demons." the Elite said before Henry got into the Banshee and flew off towards Port Guinevere.

"Systems now online," chimed Silver, "scanning organics...scan complete. Species present: Jiralhanae, Kig-yar, Sangheili, Lekgolo, Unggoy, and Huragok. Tell me, Lekgolo, do you still recite war poetry?" The Lekgolo, a bit thrown off by the question the AI had just thrown at them paused for a moment. Then, they replied. "I see," Silver said, "well in that case, mind if you share some?" The Lekgolo were again thrown off-guard by the AI, but they did so anyway. "Wonderful. I haven't heard a Lekgolo's poetry in some time and I worried the Array had removed your poetic talents for good." she playfully said.

The Prophet of Fortune slowly entered the room in his gravity throne. A Huragok silently glided by at his side. "Lesser than Few," The Prophet began, "You must extract the necessary information from this construct." Silver turned from the solders. "You cannot succeed! My creators have made data extraction from my program an impossible feat, it has been encrypted with CELEST. Such an action would be lethal to a Huragok of your kind!" Lesser than Few turned towards the Prophet. "I am incapable..." Silver recoiled once she heard the Huragok speak english. English was a human language, Huragok never spoke in foreign tongues. The Prophet sneered. "Then extract the knowledge manually! I need the sacred knowledge!" Lesser than Few levitated towards Silver. "Very well then."

The Huragok rapidly typed away, as if in an unstoppable trance. "No," Silver screamed, "you monster! My children! You have executed their fail-safe! Oh, why me? End me, end me now, please, I beg of you!" Lower than Few laughed an evil laugh. "Why sister," she said, referring to the fact both artificially were made by the Forerunner, "Why would I ever do that? Then my ancestors would frown upon me...but not if I delete something they had not made nor planned to make. Perhaps now you will tell us where the Array lies and maybe I'll end your pathetic life."

"You must be joking," Silver retorted, half laughing and half crying, "Why in the Masters' name would I ever tell a traitor where the masterpieces lie, never the less to someone would already knows. You fool, all you Huragok so easily forget what the Masters' have told you and you carry on with what the 'Prophets' tell you.You will never get an answer out of me, but mark my words, I will avenge my children."

"If you really think so," Lower than Few replied in disbelief, "Then fine. Have it your way. Unggoy, take this AI to where all the other broken things go." The Unggoy Deacon laughed with such evil that Silver shuttered to even think of where she was headed. When both the Prophet and Lower than Few were gone, the Lekgolo and Huragok proceeded to threaten the other races, stating that if they so much as lay a finger on her maliciously that they would tear that person limb from limb and feed them to the Flood. With fear in their hearts, the others ran away and the Huragok removed Silver and began a trek away to safety with the Lekgolo.

-M.S. 02:21, January 26, 2011 (UTC)

155
After dealing with the "Brute" situation, Robert stood on the bridge, watching as the Grapes of Wrath, entered Hope's atmosphere."How long until we're above Port Neandra?" Robert questioned. " Our ETA is ten minutes, and the only threats are light AA batteries, and the occasional Banshee or Phantom." one of the bridge crew replied. " Right. Continue on are current course, and let's see what we can do about those AA batteries. Once we're in place, be ready to deploy our forces.

Luc smiled under his helmet "Matt! Ryder! great to see you guys again,can't say it's been a while though." He joked, walking into the Pelican's troop bay and low-fiving the two Spartans. A "Hey." came from the cockpit section, and he and Riley returned the greeting. "So, where exactly are we heading?" Before a response could come, a low rumbling was heard, and the Pelican started to vibrate. Peering out, Luc spotted the Grapes of Wrath entering Port Neandra airspace, it's Point Defense turrets firing on ground targets. "Hm. I didn't think that an Avenger-class could actually enter a planet's atmosphere." Morales' voice rang through the Pelican. "Well it seems we learn more useless shit everyday, dont we boys and girls? Luc grinned as the Pelican took off.

156
“This is the Unmatched Purity, beginning approach.”

Frath held a hand cupped to his ears to hear better. “This is Sub-Commander Frath ‘Klorvatemee, Raak’ezh Creche, I hear you. You are cleared for approach. Unload your troops before the structure, and await my boarding.”

“I hear and obey, Sub-Commander.”

The Phantom curved down, anti-gravity drive glowing a soft purple as it floated over the empty parking lot, disgorging its precious cargo. Not the Unggoy who tumbled out the sides, nor even the Sangheili who dropped to the ground with nobility, but the soft, pink, fleshy things that floated down the central gravity lift – the Huragok.

Frath detested the Huragok. At least the Unggoy and Kig-Yar, as pathetic as they were, could take up arms and give their lives for whatever cause the Covenant championed. All the Huragok could do was fix machines – no honour in such a life. That they were valued above all else, even his own people, by the great Prophets, was just another slap in the face from the floating targets.

Nevertheless, he was enraged as his warriors began the headcount and found three lacking.

He felt the tug of gravity lift him up off the ground, a moment of sickness as he suddenly became weightless, and then weight returned and his hooves clanked against the metal deck. He pressed a hand to the cabin door, hearing the metal plates slide back.

“Excellency, there was a mistake with the drop off coordinates. Three of the Huragok-”

That was as far as the pilot got before Frath put a plasma bolt through his head, spattering the cockpit with purple gore. The co-pilot roared in anger and confusion, and was quickly silent as Frath put the pistol to the back of his head.

“Your superior has been executed for incompetence. If he had any brains, he would have known that the coordinates were wrong, and asked for correction. He did not. It is a mistake I trust you will not repeat.”

The co-pilot, now the pilot, nodded, the warm metal of the plasma pistol still pressed to the base of his neck.

Frath holstered the pistol. “Excellent. With my authority, you are raised to Crew Master of this dropship. Return to the Unrelenting Pursuit and await further instruction.”

The pilot nodded, still appalled at the death of his shipmate, but tapped control panels to keep the craft steady. Good – Frath didn’t need to be liked, he needed to be obeyed.

He dropped back down the gravity lift as the Phantom rose and curved out of sight, a little too quickly. The Huragok had already been formed into a circle around the equipment piled on the ground. A tendril snaked out hopefully, and was slapped away by a Sangheili overseer.

“Have them pore through the salvage,” he ordered. “I want any anomalies reported to me – names, ranks, times and places. The Field Master wants a map of movements.” The overseers backed out of the circle of Huragok, letting the pink creatures at the hardware.

Most of it was cracked or broken. Others, no doubt, would be deadlocked – the final act of stubbornness from the AI who had operated this facility. The artificial intelligence had made things difficult for the Raak’ezh – the civilians within had no weapons, no way of stopping them, but the AI had locked and sealed doors, dropped elevators, and ran a complete data purge of most of the terminals still accessible. It had been two hours before the warriors had broken through the doors to its core and slashed its hardware with their plasma blades.

It had shown courage, more so than most enemies who faced the Covenant. He found it difficult to think that the humans made the things from their own brains.

The purge had been completed, but everything leaves a trace – perhaps there were backup copies that it had overlooked. Or the crystal hardware retained a trace memory of the data that could be reconstructed. Even he had to admit that the Huragok could sometimes work miracles, though the humans had been remarkably effective at preventing even them from succeeding in their tasks.

“Ezha, take your lance, see if progress is being made against the holdouts,” he barked. “If we offer them safe passage, they may be cooperative.”

The young warrior frowned. “They are enemies of the Covenant, Sub-Commander. To offer them immunity is treasonous.”

Frath splayed his mandibles in a mirthless smile. “Deals may be struck to further the mission, and reneged upon with no loss of honour. What honour exists in the humans that words may be binding?”

Ezha ‘Polavaree frowned at the notion of going back on his word – such a deed was instant death for any honourable Sangheili – but nodded, clasping a fist to his breastplate in a salute. “Such are the Prophets decrees,” he said.

“Let their word be our deeds,” Frath said, finishing the infantation. “Go with honour, and return with success.”

Frath watched as Ezha selected six of his men, armed with carbines and plasma repeaters, and they moved inside the building. Above the entrance hung arcane human lettering, spelling out the name they gave this place.

V*Y*R*A*N*T

It meant nothing to him, and was found in none of the translation databanks. But this place was important – before the fighting, before the Covenant had arrived, all local communications had been routed through this building, run through the server hub deep under the ground, filtered and processed by the AI and sped on its way to the recipient. Surprisingly efficient for human technology, even if they did rely on radio wavelengths. Inside the data cores now heaped up in front of the building, more being carried out by Unggoy workers as they looted the captured sections of building, would be information they could use. Names, dates, times and places.

They had captured the structure after learning that the human military used it as well. There would be valuable information buried under all the civilian junk data – troop movements, force composition, commanding officer details.

Demons.

The Raak’ezh’s pursuit of the unholy human warriors continued. The capture of this tower by the Covenant was fortuitous, hindering the humans’ ability to communicate even further, but that wasn’t their real objective. If there were Spartans in the area, then they would have routed their communications through this building. And if they had, there would be records of them.

Even other Covenant units had been warned. If they encountered Demons, they were to report it to Frath or even Field Master Jothu ‘Fazhezhee. Their deaths would be at their hands, none else’s.

Frath would find them. And they would die by his hands.

For the honour of the Sangheili, the reverence of the Prophets, and the glory of the Covenant.

The bunker was small from the air, deceptively so. Just a hilltop, green and densely packed with trees, so that few from the ground would suspect that it was the local command centre to coordinate the UNSC response to Covenant incursions, riddled with titanium-reinforced polycrete bunkers and corridors. Erin knew that down on the ground, technicians were rigging an Onager mass driver on the top of the artificial earthen mound for anti-air and anti-armour defence, M808B Scorpion tanks, MAAT-9 Wolverine mobile missile platforms and M12R Wartlog LAAG light missile reconnaissance vehicles were patrolling, and that the last defences were being rigged for the last stand of Firebase Echo – minefields ringing the perimeter, snipers in the treetops, and killzones and choke points built into the labyrinthine structure itself.

It wouldn’t be enough. The Covenant would overrun it eventually, either through sheer numbers, or with sheer firepower – legions of Grunts clearing the minefields and flooding into the bunker, or maybe the enemy would bring down a cruiser to simply glass the hill, rendering all the defences a moot point.

It didn’t matter. Baselard would be long gone by that point.

The flight group of AV-144 Falcons curved out and away over the forest, allowing the well camouflaged UNSC firebase to fall away in the distance. Erin sat within the troop bay, tapping a datapad, with the other spots filled with Army troopers. Reginald sat at the gunner seat, legs dangling off the edge of the bay deck, scanning the horizon with the gun.

To the port and starboard, five other Falcons escorted them, each carrying a trooper Fireteam. Erin would have rather been sent alone – six Falcons made a pretty big target, even flying underneath sensor range, but one was much harder to hit and harder to detect. Someone higher up in CENTCOM had evidently thought that wasn’t such a good idea, letting Spartans go off to do their own thing, and had therefore attached the trooper squad to Baselard as “combat fire support”.

Babysitters. Erin didn’t like being handled. It was why Julie had been team leader.

“You okay?” Reginald asked over a private COM channel. “You haven’t exactly been chatty lately.”

“I’ll be fine just as soon as we find Julie, and get the mission over and done with.” She came off harsher than she’d intended, but there was no rebuke from Reginald, no telling her to suck it up and get on with it. “Until then, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Reginald didn’t respond, simply keeping his eyes on the horizon – the COM chatter version of a shrug. He didn’t even bother to correct her about Julie.

CENTCOM didn’t think she had survived. To them, she’d been killed either by the re-entry or by Covenant ground forces when she had landed. Survival was 13.87% likely, according to their calculations. None of them seemed to give any due to the traditions of the SPARTAN programs – that above all else, Spartans got things done that nobody else could do, that they pulled off the impossible.

Erin trusted her gut, and it was telling her that Julie was still out there, somewhere, waging war the only way a lone Spartan could – silently.

“Hey,” muttered Reginald on the public COM. “Will you look at this?”

Erin looked out the passenger bay doors. The forest beneath them was a rich green, fading into a light blue. Beyond that, it suddenly transitioned into a harsh brown, then a stark grey, with black smoke rising. On the horizon, she could almost see flames licking up, casting the sky in odd colours.

Not red/orange of normal fires, but blue/purple. Plasma burning.

She sighed wearily. “Great. That’s all we need.”

“Looks like the Covenant’s stopped scribbling holy symbols and started the real work,” observed Reginald. “It can’t be too long now.”

A few of the troopers scowled at him, one of them piping up, “Hey, thanks. Glad to see you’re calm as our planet burns.”

The man was the same one who Baselard had met that night, a few weeks ago, when they’d joined up with local UNSC forces. Private First Class William Enderby had apparently impressed someone higher up the chain of command, because he’d been bumped up to Corporal and made a squad leader, in charge of the troopers attached to Baselard. Erin and Reginald liked him – he was tough, intelligent enough that they didn’t need to hold his hand in combat operations, and he didn’t like them, which was plenty of motivation to do a good job in front of them. But even soldiers have limits, and maybe he’d hit his.

The direction of the fires was to the east, where they’d met up. He probably knew people over that way, poor souls trapped as warships opened up their plasma banks and giant Scarab walkers turned their plasma cannons on towns and villages. No wonder he wasn’t impressed.

She shook her head. “I’ve seen a dozen worlds glassed, Enderby,” trying to give him some hope. “Someone always survives.”

He snorted in derision. “That’s what the propaganda says, but it also says we’re holding our own. Does this look like a stalemate, ma’am?” he said, gesturing at the distant burning landscape. “Does it?”

She leaned forward sharply, grabbing him by the collar so quickly the only emotion he could register was surprise. “You listen to me, corporal, because I’m only going to say this once. Seven years ago, I lost a lot of good people. We took a refinery, and they died. But we survived – the Covenant was held back, and delayed for another decade. Eight years before that, a shipyard was destroyed. It bought humanity more years. If not for men and women like you, Earth would have been a pile of ash twenty years ago. If you want to give up, then do it. Let the Covenant walk on your charred and broken bones. If not, then suck it up soldier. There’s still people on the dirt, and there’s still Covies who want to tear them apart. Are you going to let that happen?”

“N-no, ma’am,” he stuttered.

She clenched the collar tighter. “I can’t hear you, soldier.”

“No ma’am!” he yelled.

She let go, leaning back, point made. He muttered something about “crazy bitch” to the trooper next to him, who didn’t look like he disagreed. Good. She didn’t need to be liked – she needed to be respected, and if it took fear to do that then that’s what it took. If they didn’t respect her, they wouldn’t follow her orders, and that would get them killed. Especially up against the kinds of Covenant they were heading towards.

Reginald tapped the private COM channel. “He’s right, you know. You really are a crazy bitch,” he said playfully.

“Oh shut up.”

The Falcons encountered surprisingly little resistance. Reginald had been expecting a big, thunderous welcome of plasma artillery lighting up the now darkening sky – they hadn’t passed so much as a single Locust on their way towards the city outskirts.

He hoped their luck would hold out. The last thing he wanted was the Falcon to go down in flames before the mission even started – yet another operation screwed up before it had even begun.

Erin had done her little piece of theatre a while back, and since then the ride had been smooth. They’d flown over scattered farms and towns, all abandoned, some smoking. A few plasma bolts from small arms fire had zinged past the troop bay, but hadn’t hit anything too critical. He’d sent quartet of grenades back down with far more lethal results – the plasma fire had stopped. Other than that, the ride was almost downright peaceful.

Reginald hated moments like this. It was always when the worst happened.

There were a few mysteries he would have liked to solve. Oddities that had nothing to do with Baselard’s mission, but were interesting regardless. Rumours of tension between Brutes and Elites. Insurrectionist activity on a planet that had happily been pro-Earth for decades. Completely unexpected machines tearing out of the earth. He didn’t put much stock in the latter – rumours exploded into myth, gaining in stupidity as they went. If all the rumours were true, then the Covenant were demons sent by god to punish godless liberals, and the Spartans were all robots beneath the armour and the beginning of the machine uprising.

The most intriguing, and likely, was that there were still civilians out there. Long trains of motorists trapped on the roads, cut off as the Covenant attacked their points of origin and destination. Convoys of refugees, desperate for safety, any safety, they could get, heading in all directions – some to the craggy mountains, others into the thick jungles. Reginald doubted they could mount much of a guerrilla war from there, but good luck to them. Others were heading to the population centres, which were mixed blessings and curses – some had been recaptured by the UNSC, which meant that while women and children were being evacuated, some of them might by Insurrectionists, determined that if they couldn’t have this planet, nobody would. It had happened before – back in ’47, rebels had set off nuclear bombs right in the spaceport during the evacuation, killing thousands and condemning hundreds of thousands of UNSC soldiers and Marines to be killed.

More tragic were the others – the ones heading into Covenant-occupied territories, like Port Neandra. Intel was sketchy at best, but from experience Reginald knew that they would be stopped by dropships, dragged from their cars, trucks and buses, and executed, either cleanly, with plasma bolts, or perhaps beheaded, or messily.

Grunts and Jackals needed feeding, and why waste perfectly good rations?

He shuddered. He hadn’t been there at Draco III, when Spartans had first found evidence of that kind of thing – it was well before his time, when the SPARTAN-II’s had been in their early years of deployment. But they’d all been shown the carnage during training – the overturned vehicles, the panicked civilians, the ravenous Jackals and the Grunts looting the bodies for anything they considered valuable.

Some of his classmates had been from Draco. There had been tears.

Not him. Reginald never wept when he mourned – he added another body to his kill tally. Tears were no good to the dead. Revenge was.

Some of those civilians were down below now, as the city came into view – stray cars and vans, a few scattered trucks, and a pair of buses, all making their way up the narrow highway, using both lanes. There was no real point keeping to two – who would be coming the other way? He wished they could stop, call in a few dropships for them, get them to the nearer of the functional spaceports. But their mission was a higher priority. He nevertheless tagged the location on his TACMAP as one of interest to the region. If they were lucky, a scout would be sent to follow it up.

Ploughed and wild countryside eventually subsided, giving way to the suburbs – houses with carefully sculpted gardens and lawns, some as big as mansions. It looked like looters had got their hands on anything of value – rubbish and debris lay in the streets. Reginald wondered what good a holovid play would do to anyone planning to get off the planet.

Stupid. All so stupid.

Wasn’t the Colonial Militia supposed to stop this? Wasn’t that why they were created in the first place – to deal with the knucklehead stuff too stupid for frontline troops to handle? What was the point if CENTCOM was just going to throw them at the enemy?

Eventually, the suburbs subsided as well, skyscrapers rising up around them, pillars of polycrete and carbon fibre in a temple to human achievement – one that was crumbling around them.

The signs of conflict were everywhere. Some buildings had been shattered, jagged wounds where higher levels had been, now lying in a line of rubble where they had fallen. Others had simply slumped as one half melted, evidence of Wraith artillery. The streets were backed with detritus – more abandoned cars, debris, and if Reginald focussed he could make out the occasional corpse, human or Covenant.

The area around them was quiet, at least. Plasma mortars could be heard off in the distance, artillery exploding and lighting up distant parts of the city blue and purple, but no fire came up to meet them. They were probably ahead or behind enemy lines, where the Covenant either couldn’t reach them or didn’t know they were there. Reginald hoped it was the latter.

“ETA to LZ is ten minutes,” Erin barked out. “Once we land, clear the LZ and secure the perimeter. I want a clean operation – sweep the corridors, shoot anything that doesn’t identify itself. Got that?”

There was a chorus of “yes ma’am”s from the troopers, and Reginald gave a quick salute, commonwealth-style with the flat of his palm rather than the traditional blade gesture, a relic of ancient American military roots. It was his shtick, and it was tolerated.

The Vyrant telecom tower was the only building left unscathed, it seemed. Perhaps because the Covenant knew the value it had, and not just to the UNSC. The processing power of all that hardware could coordinate an entire campaign, and before the Covenant had cut it off it almost had. It had been a major blow to the evacuation plans of the city, and probably let thousands more die than otherwise would have.

He patted the M274H heavy machinegun bolted to the deck at his side. He’d mourn for those deaths in his own way soon enough.

The Falcon swooped low over the top of the tower, one of three helipads surrounding transmitter/receiver gear. With cries of “Go, go, go!”, “Move it people!” and “Fan out! Secure the stairwell!” Reginald dropped to the flood, hearing the clang as the metal reverberated from the sudden shock of half a tonne of Spartan, plus the weight of three Falcons. He cleared the Falcons, hefting the machinegun, and watched as they rose to allow the other three aircraft to move in and disgorge the contents of their own troop bays.

“Whiskey Hotel Four One Three to Baselard One, we’ll stay on station until you confirm perimeter secure or request evac, over.”

“Affirmative Whiskey Hotel Four One Three. TACMAP tags a trio of anti-air Shade turrets, four kilometres southwest, along our planned extraction route. You might want to take them out while you wait, over”

''“Copy that Baselard. Good hunting. Over.”''

“Same to you, Whiskey Hotel. Over and out.”

 Specops306   Autocrat     Qur'a 'Morhek   08:58, January 27, 2011 (UTC)

157
Torkamentov stirred from the blackness. He opened his eyes to see fuzzy shapes moving around. One of them looked at him and said, "Hey. He's awake." the fuzzy shapes clustered around him. "Hey, Rambo. You alright buddy?" Torkamentov shook his head and tried to get up, but Chaumont pushed him back down. "Hey, careful there buddy, you took a nasty hit to the head there." The memories came flooding back to Torkamentov, and he smiled. "We got them, didn't we." "Yes, you sure did. But we aren't moving until you think you can." Torkamentov put his head down and closed his eyes. he fell back to sleep.

The next thing he woke up to was the sound of gunfire. He started to get up, but then ducked as a plasma burst came through the window. He dropped off the couch that he was on, and scrabbled around for his shotgun. Chaumont shouted at him, "Nice time to wake up. We could use you. The Covenant have us pinned down here. Your gun's on the desk in the other room." Torkamentov crawled through to the room, and grabbed his shotgun and Spartan laser from the desk. He was headed back to the front of the house, when an explosion knocked him out the broken window. He got up from the ground to find that a Wraith had come up and blasted the front of the house, and that his shotgun was once again missing. He picked up his spartan laser, and decided that it was probably best to get out of here. He had just started slinking away when he was spotted by Covenant troops. They opened fire, and he dived behind a broken wall. Peeking around it, he saw the Wraith tank begin to bear on his position. He dived away as it opened fire. The round pounded into the ground, and the explosion muffled the sound of the ceiling of the sewers collapsing. The wraith turned and fired again, and Torkamentov dived top where he was before. He saw too late that there was no ground where he was diving. He fell into the sewers as the wraith round impacted.

He shook his head and looked up. An Elite looked down into the hole, and Torkamentov shot him with his spartan laser. Before more Elites could show up, Torkamentov took off deeper into the sewers. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was better than here. Azecreth 14:55, January 27, 2011 (UTC)

158
Morale's Pelican flew high over the ravaged city, as did the many others whom followed. Riley knelt on the back end, watching as a Scarab swiftly marched through the flaming debris. A Banshee accelerated in the distance. Without bothering to aim, Riley lifted his Sniper Rifle with his right hand and shot. Miraculously, the shot hit, sending the Banshee into a spiraling descent. Riley sneered. It was a useless kill, but it made Riley feel a little better on the inside.

Riley reached over to his left and gripped the bottom rim of his new standard ODST helmet. The only specialized piece was the gold-tinted visor. He observed it. It could never replace his signature CQB, however, it indicated some sort of rank or specialty. Riley had no idea where Rowan could have found this helmet, or any of this ODST armor for that fact. He didn't even had any idea that gold visors were integrated into these types of helmets. Regardless, it gave him some joy.

The Pelican lowered. Quinn turned to Morales. "Why are we lowering?" Morales turned, "Innies." Riley put the helmet on his head and turned to Morales, in surprise. "What do you mean!? Insurrectionists in the middle of all of this!" Morales just nodded, "And we're siding with 'em."--  Chris  talk   blog  21:20, January 27, 2011 (UTC)

159
Matt faced Morales. "Why?" was all he could get out before he he started to be silent. This was his way of showing his fellow crewmen he was crying. He was autistic (though had a very mild case), so he couldn't express himself with words.

Ryder gave a revelation to everyone besides Morales on the Pelican. "They have one of us, Riley, Luc. Matt doesn't count. He's a SPARTAN-II."

The first point shocked everyone. The second shocked Riley and Luc. Luc stood up. "Matteo's a II? No way!" Riley simply held his head in reverence. Matt asked Ryder, "How do you know?"

Ryder said," We both got something special. You got Tron, I got info on our next assignment. We're gonna rescue Julie-B224, some girl from Baselard. I only told Morales because the old geezer-"

"Hey!" Morales complained in front.

"-was from a project older than Matthew. He's a Spartan-I." Ryder finished.

-Therider Rides Alone 01:07, January 28, 2011 (UTC)

160
Torkamentov had stumbled through the sewer tunnels for maybe ten minutes. Most of what his airtight boots slogged through was runoff rainwater, but the smell was still rank. The laser wasn’t anywhere near as useful as his shotgun would have been in these tight spaces, so he kept his guard up. Talk of Drones using undergrounds like these for getting around was common, explaining their ability to pop up in the middle of UNSC defenses.

The constant slosh of running water was broken suddenly by a metallic clang up ahead. He raised his weapon. It may just be a piece of rubble coming down an opening, but if it was an enemy he wanted to have this thing charged.

No more sound reached him, so he tentatively walked on. The circular pipe he stood in ended, and he was able to jump onto a walkway above a muddy pool. Hoping it was mud, he started to look for a way back to the street level when a metal door opened directly next to him.

He found himself staring into the beady eyes of a Brute captain. There was a moment of surprise before the creature roared, standing head and shoulders over him. Torkamentov brought the laser to bear, but was in too close of quarters to have the time. A swift blow from its left forearm sent him flying into the railing and the laser falling into the murky water below.

Just as he was sure the Brute would finish him, another, this one with silver fur, emerged and barked at him. This one approached him with open hands, claws ready to find their marks. A powerful grip locked around Torkamentov's neck and he was lifted from the floor, gasping for air.

An even worse smell of rancid meat assaulted him as he was raised to eye level, the gold circlets narrowing and staring into his own. They darted to his shoulder, and noticed the star insignias. Suddenly the grip laxed, but did not let go completely.

Silver barked to his companion, then stared again at Torkamentov. He could only stare back as the Brute said in rasping, gutteral English, "You will come with us."

That Damn Sniper, sniping. 18:14, January 29, 2011 (UTC)

161
"Get those baricades set up men," Lorrie shouted to her survivors, "If those barricades aren't on the ground then you will be when the Covie come for you." Everyone hurried a bit faster. "Ma'am," Jacob shouted over Lorrie, "There's a Mongoose coming this way!"

"Everyone, prep arms! We don't know if it's ours or their's!" Lorrie commanded and everyone followed. "Look! It's Ghost!" shouted Jacob as he ran up to greet him. Ghost got off his Mongoose. "Hey buddy," Ghost said, "now I can say I've officially been down to Hell and back." The two laughed.

When Ghost arrived at camp, he caught a quick glimpse of Silum. "Drop!" Ghost shouted as he pulled his shotgun out and sprinted toward the Elite. The Elite whipped around and caught Ghost by the throat and smacked his shotgun out of his hand. "Do not provoke me, human, or I will kill you." Silum said blatantly as he dropped Ghost. "He's with us soldier, and you will treat him like one of us." Lorrie commanded Ghost. Ghost sneered. "A Squid-head is never gonna be one of us, no matter what your orders." He paused, noticing Lorrie's anger. "Ma'am, yes ma'am." he sarcastically said as he did a half salute. "Don't you mock me, or I'll let that Elite slaughter you horribly." she snapped back. Ghost didn't care. "A Squid's a Squid no matter what you point at me." Ghost mumbled under his breath.

-M.S. 22:32, January 29, 2011 (UTC)

162
Plasma hissed overhead. Tracer fire lanced out in response. She could hear a pair of Wraith tanks lining up their shots, and braced herself as she saw, heard, and felt the plasma mortars sail almost lazily overhead. The building they hit, an abandoned butchery, slumped forward, polycrete and steel liquefied by the unimaginable heat, the faint smell of scorched meat permeating the air.

They had missed, however. A trio of rockets erupted from the structure beside it, slamming into the lead vehicle – it erupted in a roar of blue flame and twisted purple metal, blocking the street for its companion tank.

Julie signalled a thumbs-up to the rocket team, and motioned for them to vacate their position. Now that the other Wraith had their location, it would be lining them up too. Sure enough, another plasma mortar was lobbed, this one right on target, hitting clothes shop.

She heard their screams over the radio, mercifully silenced.

The rebel troops were the vanguard of the convoy, paving a path clear to the nearby airfield. It wasn’t the largest, but it was the nearest, and it was on the very edge of Covenant-held Port Neandra. Even so, that meant that the path they had to clear was clogged with Covenant infantry, armour and aircraft.

She patched into the rebels’ COM channel. “Vanguard Group One to convoy, route Alpha is blocked. Divert the convoy along route Bravo. We’ll disengage and regroup with Vanguard Group Two.”

''“Affirmative, Spartan. Don’t take too long. Out.”''

She snorted. “You try taking on a Wraith by yourself, you self-righteous son of a-”

The surviving Wraith picked that moment to hurl another mortar, this one aimed at the street – where she was currently taking cover behind a slab of broken delicatessen. She leapt, rolled to her feet, sprinted, and was still sent flying from the chock of the blast – but her armour remained untouched, her shields held.

When the group had probed this street, they had expected it to be dead quiet. It was on the outskirts of the Covenant rearguard, former shops and cafes, now abandoned and looted. Nothing remained of interest to the Covenant, and so the rebel taskforce leaders had hoped that the enemy had posted a minimal guard here.

In fact, they had been right – two Wraiths was very minimal, except for the fact that they still outgunned a convoy of light reconnaissance vehicles, a few scattered armoured personnel carriers, and up-armoured civilian cars. Vanguard Group One had stumbled right into a killing zone, the lead Warthog vaporised by the first blast. The other two had reversed as fast as they could, forgetting that they were leaving behind a platoon of their compatriots.

That platoon-size had dwindled. Four men had been killed trying to make it to cover, brought down by one of the Wraith’s crew-operated plasma cannons. Another six had been killed by a lucky hit from a mortar, with four wounded. The wounded had been dragged inside the nearest building by the rocket squad, who had returned fire – and promptly killed by the surviving Wraith. That left two dozen Insurrectionist troopers cowering behind cover, hoping and praying that the Wraith would pass them by.

Julie knew better. By now, reinforcements had been called in. Shadow APC’s carrying Grunts and Jackals, maybe dropships to deliver Elites, Brutes, or the worst case scenario, Hunters. All the Wraith had to do was keep the rebels pinned down while backup arrived.

Any other time, Julie would have been happy to let that happen to a group of rebels, after seeing countless Soldiers and Marines killed by stubborn secessionists unwilling to let their dream of colonial independence die, even in the face of extinction. But not now, not today.

She raised her rifle, pumping off four shots over her shoulder from cover, scoring a lucky hit – the Grunt external gunner keened in pain, and the hail of plasma fire stopped. She raised her head from the block of building, and saw it slumped across the controls for its gun.

Excellent. Its point defence was down.

One of the troopers caught her eye, frowning in confusion as she stood. And then realisation dawned upon his face, turning to horror as he opened his mouth, trying to shout something –

– Too late. She sprinted out from her cover, rifle still firing, shots deflecting off the roof hatch. Even with supposed armour-piercing rounds, she had no chance in hell of penetrating the centimetres-thick armour plating of a Wraith tank, but if she was lucky it would disorient the pilot long enough for her to –

– Close the distance, sprinting as fast as she could in the armour, putting all her strength into the leap, flying through the air and hitting the tank with a thud. The vehicle turned abruptly, trying to dislodge her – she dug fingers into the metal, gauging out a handhold, hauling herself up and onto the tank.

The gun flexed up and down, trying to get her in its crosshairs. She was right on top of it – saying she was inside its blind zone was an understatement. She climbed up higher, using the rim of the gunner cupola to grab as she climbed up to the hatch. She stood, kicking down for two footholds – the tank zigzagged, trying to make her tumble. She kept her balance easily, and grabbed the pilots hatch.

There was resistance, and a thin scream from inside – the driver was apparently not eager to come face-to-face with its attacker. But even the most determined Grunt was no match for a Spartan, and she literally ripped the hatch off its hinges, tossing the discarded metal to the side.

The Grunt looked up at her, eyes bulging in terror. It had stopped screaming. One arm was clutching at its chest.

She leaned down.

“Boo.”

She dragged the Grunt from the cockpit, tossing the corpse onto the road where it bounced a little. The gunner soon joined its compatriot in the grisly pile with an undignified boot to the head, and she slid herself into the machine.

The holographic interface flickered, recognising a new operator. Symbols flashed in front of her – she reached out, pressing a few. A few seconds later, the lights pulsed bright blue, and then dimmed.

The odd sensation of familiarity was unsettling, but nothing new. She’d experienced it a dozen times before – she still couldn’t tell whether the symbols she had pressed were the right ones, or if they had become the right ones by her pressing them. Whatever the case, the Wraith responded beautifully to her demands, turning with the flex of a finger – a little cumbersome, it was true, but with so many tonnes of dense metal and mechanism balanced precariously atop an anti-gravity drive, it was understandable.

There was a burst of static, and a voice buzzing in her ear.

Not a human voice. Her translation software kicked in, and the warbled barking became legible.

>> Reinforcements arriving soon. Keep the infidels occupied.

Her hand hovered on the keypad. Were they expecting an answer? Would one tip them off? Would that happen if she didn’t?

She typed the Covenant equivalent of an affirmative, and received another burst phrase – this one giving glory to the gods.

Maybe she had fooled them. Maybe not. Either way, they were in for a surprise welcome they wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

The COM buzzed static again, her own system this time, and a voice came through, asking, ''“Geez, what the hell are you doing? What the…what was that all about?”''

“I just took down the Wraith. On my own. No need for thanks,” she said facetiously.

“I-I’ve never seen anything like it-”

“Shut up for a few minutes, and maybe you can tell your grand kids about it someday.” She adjusted the yaw and pitch controls with one hand – the uneven terrain had tilted the tank a little. The heavy machine rolled down the main road, back the way it had come. The other moved the gun, up and down – left and right were dependent upon the vehicle itself. It had always been a Wraith’s biggest weakness: that it had to face what it was aiming at with the mortar.

She knew the strengths and weaknesses of most of the Covenant arsenal. Now it was time to put that knowledge to good use.

“Hey, where are you going?” yelped the Sergeant as she rolled the tank along the abandoned highway. “I thought you said we were regrouping with the convoy?!”

She rolled her eyes. Didn’t the rebels teach initiative to their soldiers? “Sergeant, first of all, this highway is currently blocked by the wreckage of one tank – hardly an obstacle the Covenant can’t remove. Secondly, I have a tank that is slow and draws attention to itself – it therefore cannot come with us. Thirdly, if the Covenant reinforcements come this way they’ll hit the convoy from the side, killing I don’t know how many of your people. I’m not going to let that happen.”

''“So what, you'll give your life for us? Rebels?”''

“Humans,” she said emphatically. “And yeah, for anyone else this would be suicide.”

“Don’t be a hero,” he said angrily. “We still need you to get to the spaceport!”

“Do you know what a hero is?” she asked, annoyed. “A hero is someone who does a tough job with no complaints and no thanks. Now if you excuse me, I’ve got a job to do.”

She switched the COM off. No point listening to the man if all he was going to do was whine. She focussed on steering the ungainly tank, positioning it just right, adjusting the cannon for height and distance. She’d be able to get off one shot, maybe two if she was lucky. She would need to make them count.

She could hear the enemy reinforcements before she saw them – the high-pitched whine of Covenant anti-gravity engines, the muted muttering of infantry and the roar of a Brute or Elite squad leader.

The scouts, a pair of Ghost light patrol vehicles, sped right past her, not noticing the empty cupola and missing hatch. Only when the first Shadow entered her field of fire did her finger flex, and a huge glowing teardrop of superheated gases roared through the air, hitting it dead-on, slagging the alien metal and vaporising its crew.

She adjusted her position, unintentionally crushing one of the Ghosts as she swung the tank around, bringing the rest of the enemy patrol into view – another two Shadows, and associated foot soldiers. She adjusted the controls, moving the aim a little further – the next shot hitting the rear APC, blocking off the way they had come.

The infantry roar, raising their weapons and firing, the small bolts of plasma singing and searing the iridescent purple armour, scorching sections black and grey.

She fired again, hitting the second APC. Again, vaporising a squad of Grunts. Another shot, and a Brute disappeared mid-howl. Another, and another, over and over again, until the plasma backs were dry – leaving the street devoid of any living thing except for her.

Well, except for her and the other Ghost.

It had backed up out of her way, swivelling around to bring its cannons to bear, the thick armour of the front protecting the driver better. From the view screen, the driver was an Elite, more lithe than a Brute and not as angular as a Grunt – she would be lucky if she could hit the bastard without her shields dropping from the cannon fire. She sighed, grabbing the rifle from its place on the magnetic ventral holster, and rising up from the hatch.

Gunfire rang out – not hers. The Elite’s shields sparked and the Ghost spun around to meet this new threat – the rebel troops, firing from their new vantage point. The cannons sputtered, spraying their position with plasma, but the driver had made the mistake of leaving himself vulnerable to Julie’s own fire – a few shots, and the shield dropped. Another, this one through the head, and the Ghost thudded lifeless to the ground, the driver tumbling out, purple blood and gore oozing onto the street.

The Sergeant saluted, and tapped his helmet microphone. Julie switched on the COMs.

''“I tried to tell you, stay in the tank. We had it.”''

She shrugged. “You didn’t have to. One grenade to flip it would have crushed the driver under the vehicle.”

The man sighed in irritation, muttering something to his men something that sounded very much like “these Spartans are crazy.”

“I also have very good hearing, Sergeant. Get your men moving, grab your wounded, and let’s see if the stupid Warthogs have decided to come back for us.”

170
"This is it," Quinn stated as the Pelican lowered towards the ravaged street below. "C'mon rain-man," Riley mussed as he stepped from the Pelican. Matthew just wiped his face and sneered, inserting his head into his helmet. Luc laughed. After arming themselves and rounding the Pelican, they stood calm as Insurrectionist forces watched in awe. Within a minute, half of these eyes shifted back towards Julie.

A thin, tall general-like figure marched up to Julie raising a radio transmitter from his belt. "Don't tell me that you called in these units or I swear to god I'll-" Luc shot the sergeant's device straight from his hands. Silence swept the crowd as the shattered beacon skipped across the ground, leaving behind a short-lived trail of sparks.

"Sorry to intervene, gentlemen, but we're also here to help; and just for the record," Luc began, edging towards the annihilated receiver, "I don't recommend anyone else here dare to pick up a radio and officially announce our presence." Riley, Moore and Quinn strode to Luc's side heavily armed to ensure that the proper message was sent. "We've got weapons, ammo, and a limited supply of medical equipment for anyone who needs it. Once that's taken care of," Riley turned to Julie letting her know that she was in charge, "We move along..." --  Chris  talk   blog  21:01, January 31, 2011 (UTC)

171
Torkamentov continued to walk forwar, with a Brute at his side. it felt like they had been walking for a couple of hours, and the tunnels had merged into natural caves. He was continually aware, looking for a chance to escape. Finally, he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. With a start, he realized how tired he was. As they exited the tunnel, he plopped down. The silver Brute turned and motioned with his gun, but Torkamentov said," I am not moving. We've been walking for hours, and I need a break." He watched as the two Brutes conversed among themselves. It was apparent that Silver was in charge. He said in guttural English, "Fine. We rest a little."

Torkamentov looked at Silver and said, "Hey, Silver. You got a name?" Silver stared at him and then let out word, "Parthius." Taking this as an opening, Torkamentov began talking. He figured that this was the best way to stay alive, or so he thought. "Okay, Parthius. I'm Rear Admiral Nikolai Torkamentov. You look like a mean guy. I assume you hate humans, think of them as some sort of sub-species, right? That and a weird honor thing." From the look on Parthius's face, Torkamentov knew he had hit home. Torkamentov continued, "You know, before now I was kinda like you, all concerned about killing Covenant. It was revenge for me though, not honor. I was like that until this battle. Then my XO died, and when he did, he left me a message. That couldn't just go on the way I have, nearly obsessed with killing of covenant. I suggest you take his advice. Tis war is going to end, eventually. And when it does, what will you be left with. Your whole life till then as killing, and hatred. What do you do when they force you to stop hating? You can't, and you are consumed with your hatred. Sol arn, and don't make the mistake I did. Why do you think I'm down here now? It isn't because I like walking in the woods."

He stood up, stretched and said, "All right, I'm ready to go." Pathius and the other Brute stood up, and with Parthius flanking him, they walked off into the woods. Azecreth 20:16, February 6, 2011 (UTC)

172
The convoy made progress. It was slow, halting and frustrating, but it was progress, and it was more than Julie had expected.

There had been a few close calls, not counting the Wraith. Banshee patrols swooping low, strafing a few of the rear caravans, neutralised by a pair of rockets. A patrol running head on with the pathfinder Warthog units. A Drone swarm harassing the foot units. All had been bad; all had resulted in the loss of men, both paramilitary and civilian. But they had pulled through – due largely, she would admit, to the efforts of Julie. She was more than just a soldier – it had been her who had guided them through the city, examining the infrastructure of the city to find routes that would take them out of the Covenant’s way, and it had been her who had found the drivers of the Warthogs who abandoned her, got them reassigned to rearguard duty, and replaced with more competent soldiers.

The irony that she was showing the Insurrectionists exactly what to do to survive, giving them tips and hints, and relying on their experience, was deeply felt by her. They had killed millions of UNSC soldiers, airmen, sailors and Marines in their time, and she’d killed more than her fair share of them.

They didn’t seem to care, though. Maybe they’d finally realised that the Covenant was an enemy that would not simply leave them alone, could not be reasoned or negotiate with, could not be understood.

And now a motley group of soldiers, Marines and Spartans had turned up, guns blazing, threatening to undo that.

The “general” looked more affronted than shocked, no small feat after having his radio pack shot from his hands. The piece of equipment lay in pieces – unimportant, with the jammer still active and locked in one of the APC’s, virtually impenetrable within so many centimetres of armour plating. Did the others know that? The first one looked pretty pleased with himself for some reason.

“Stay here with the general,” she said to the nearby troopers, whose hands all lay on the triggers of their weapons, looking alarmed and confused. The Pelican had landed on a grassy verge overlooking the convoy, taking the high ground – she vaulted up the steep slope quickly.

“Alright, who the hell are you?” she growled.

The first Spartan frowned behind his faceplate. “A little thanks would be nice,” he complained.

“Unless you’re a Chief Warrant Officer or higher, you will address me by my rank or as ma’am. Is that understood?”

The man looked a little affronted, but nodded. “Yes ma’am,” he said, emphasising the title pedantically.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye, another figure exiting the dropship – an Elite, clad in armour but a few ammunition belts and carrying an assault rifle, leaning against the bulkhead out of view of the rebels. It cocked its head, evidently curious. “Okay, exactly who is the ranking officer here?” she asked, looking around at the odd assortment of warfighters – Marines, an ODST, and more than a few Spartans, some older and some younger than her.

Another Spartan stepped forward. “That would be me, ma’am. Chief Warrant Officer Ryder-K231. I think we have some explaining to do.”

“We weren’t the ones who found you. As ironic as it is, it was a desk-jockey up in space, and ONI analyst on one of the Prowlers. He noticed a blackout area in New Burgundy, and got curious – especially when it started moving. After you moved on, he contacted the city’s Superintendent-class AI – as damaged as it was, he could still access visual Intel showing an insertion pod hitting the city, as well as a sudden and brief spike in localised Covenant COM chatter. The fact that cameras showed dead Covenant was unexpected – there were no authorised or unaccounted UNSC forces anywhere near that area.

“From there, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. He cross-referenced your pods trajectory – no easy feat since it was tumbling across the sky, and you were far from the only pod shot down by the Covenant. But he determined that it was 90% likely to be your pod, and the fact that the enemy nearby had been killed proved that you were still alive. The departure of thousands of civilian transports with military escorts not approved by the UNSC was too much of a coincidence. So ONI concluded that you had either been taken captive, or that you were assisting the rebels of or against your own volition. So we were sent in.”

Julie sighed. “I guess I wasn’t as invisible as I thought I was.”

Ryder patted her shoulder consolingly. “It was mostly luck, if it makes you feel better.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t. What happens now?”

Ryder shrugged. “We have our orders – recover you from rebel forces.”

“Well, that’s a pity, because I have orders of my own. And yours conflict with them.”

“And they would be?” Ryder asked, curiously.

“Classified.”

“Ah. The best kind. It wouldn’t have anything to do with hunting down Elite Zealots, would it?”

She glared at him. “To know that, you would need Gamma Three security clearance.”

He shrugged, grinning. “What can I say? You hear things on the battlefield.”

She sighed again, this time out of irritation. “Then you know that my orders come from much higher in the chain of command than yours do, and that I have the authority to scrub your mission.”

Ryder snorted. “I don’t see how helping Innies accomplishes your mission.”

She gestured at them. “I haven’t been sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, Top. I’ve been kicking Covenant arse, and they’ve begun to take notice. If they send more troops, then I’ll make it glaringly obvious that I’m here, to the UNSC and to the Covenant. And if I’m very lucky, I’ll get more visitors.”

Ryder frowned. “The Zealots? Letting them loose on a civilian convoy is-”

“Risky. I know. But these are targets that have killed hundreds of special forces personnel –ODSTs, Volsungs, Trojans, Centurions, you name it and they’ve killed it. And let’s not forget the fact that they’ve killed Spartans. These are valuable targets, too valuable to pass up.”

“Even so, one Spartan against an entire unit isn’t very good odds.”

Her mouth drew into a thin smile. “I said visitors. I didn’t say they’d all be Covenant.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Your team? Baselard? If they knew you were alive, why haven’t they come already?”

“Because the mission takes priority. But once I attract the Zealot group, they’ll know where they are, and where I am. And after that, we can get on with the mission at hand.”

Ryder held a hand up. “That’s all well and good, but I have orders to recover you for ONI. They’re a little concerned about you.”

She snorted derisively. “I’m not rogue, if that’s what they think. You’re working with an Elite – does that mean you’re a threat to the UNSC? No. And my authority comes directly from the UNSC Security Committee, November Black classification. Even the Theatre commander can’t override my authority.”

Ryder rolled his eyes. “So where does that leave us?”

Julie looked back over at her shoulder. The convoy had started up again, slowly winding its way through the city, now with a few new escorts – the Pelican flew low, under the skyline to prevent detection, coordinating things from above. Some of the other Spartans had taken up perimeter patrols, earning suspicious looks from the rebel soldiers.

“It leaves you with four thousand civilians who need to reach the spaceports.”

“They’re Innies, Julie.”

“They’re human beings, Ryder. And I can give you names, ranks and occupations for valuable members – people who know things about the Insurrection. They also have a Covenant jammer, married to human tech – something ONI would want to get its hands on. More than enough to satisfy the ONI brass.”

Ryder looked over his shoulder at the convoy as well, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“All this for a bunch of Elites. Are you sure they’re worth the risk?”

She shook her head. “I’m not doing this because some paper-pusher’s calculated kill-to-death ratios and told us they’re good targets. I’m doing this because I’ve seen them in action, and because I’ve lost good people to them – including a team mate.”

That evidently hadn’t been in the briefing Ryder had received on Baselard, because his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yuri-413. Killed on Skopje, five years ago. One of my team, a good Spartan, and they killed him.”

“Great. So this is revenge?”

She rounded on him. “No. I took on this mission because I know these Elites, I know what they’re capable of. Each of them is the best warrior an Elite can be, equal to any Spartan. They are not a force I want gallivanting around the galaxy. This stops here – at Hope.”

He shook his head. “So why not let us come with you? We’re Spartans too – I’m sure we’re bound to attract their attention.”

“Because I don’t work as part of a team,” she said. “I lead the team.”

The two of them stood there, facing each other, not blinking.

Ryder nodded. “Okay. We’ll get the civvies to the spaceport, and you can go back to whatever it was you were doing. If it pisses ONI off, that’s just an unexpected bonus, isn’t it?”

173
Parthius watched the human from the corner of his eye. What was it that compelled this human to bear his soul to one that was not his race? Perhaps he had given into the idea his fate was sealed, and he had to tell someone his unrealised designs. If Parthius ever faced his life cut short, he believed he may do the same. Even in mind, he was more alike to the humans than the Sangheili. As they walked, he began speaking.

"The coming of the Covenant to my people's world is not so distant a memory. I had just been born, and my sire died in the conflict that followed." As he did, Hexus turned his head around and glared at him, not directly in the eyes to indicate a challenge but enough to convey his displeasure with the idea of talking with a human. He went ignored. "What little was left of our rebuilt culture, our religion was obliterated or corrupted, to suit the ideas and truths of the Prophets.”

Torkamentov didn’t believe his chances of outrunning these two were good, and fighting them even less. Death was unavoidable to him, he thought, so he spoke boldly in answer. “Doesn’t sound like truth to me. More like a power play, assimilation. Tyranny.”

“After our self-destruction generations ago, we had little faith in intervening deities and looked to history for guidance. People in our history gained great legend. We are Jiralhanae, named for Jiral, who brought about the civilization ages ago. After the civil war, memory of her life disappeared but for a few damaged records my clan possessed, and were left to rot in the spoils of a Chieftain’s tent.”

The human leader took interest. “So while your kind made it into the Space Age because of her, after she died they bombed themselves back to rocks. Funny it being female, considering I’ve only seen what I can assume to be males on the battlefield.”

“It is a great tragedy in the memory of our people that we were unable to keep united. But since then, no Chieftain save Tartarus was powerful enough to join the packs, and he has no interest in advancing our kind. The Path is his only goal, now.” Some of it was rebuking, more was sorrowful.

Torkamentov shifted from the defiance of a dead man to some measure of sympathy. “Humans weren’t much different. After we discovered atomic weapons, we came close to destroying ourselves several times. Maybe we were just lucky that it turned into a standoff long enough to realize what damage we could do to ourselves.

Ponderous silence came over them as they walked. But it did not last. Parthius had reached a conclusion in his head. A new course of action.

“Hold.” Parthius ordered. Withdrawing the pole from his back, the spear’s prongs ignited with a flash. Torkamentov closed his eyes. If he would die now, at least he had spoken his part. Maybe it would still make a difference, somehow. The air sizzled as the blades fell, coming down inches from the Admiral’s spine and slicing through the binds on his wrists. Parthius deactivated his spear, and motioned toward the distant towers of the city. “You are free to go.”

Hexus was aghast. "Parthius, what drives you to do this?"

As Torkamentov took a few steps away from them both, Parthius replied, "If the Prophets speak true, their kind's end is inevitable. What difference will the suffering or escape of this one make?"

Dangerous resolve overrode the question in his voice when he spoke, eyes locking with those of his Chieftain. "You would go against the Prophets will. This is heresy."

"Step down, Hexus." He said, icy warning clear.

The Captain did not move, and continued to stare at his Chieftain.

"Step Down, Hexus!"

Unwilling to continue the standoff, Hexus launched himself at the larger Jiralhanae. Parthius caught his leap, but he rolled onto his back as he refused to let go and began wrestling and clawing at each other on the forest floor. "Go, Human!" Parthius growled through locked jaws. Torkamentov took off, taking a last look back at the giants rolling around with claws inflicting bloody gashes in hide before cutting through the woods toward Port Neandra.

The brawl only became more vicious as it continued. Each Jiralhanae had the blood flow through their veins that was known as Bloodlust, a trait of many warriors, but near impossible to control. Parthius was one such remarkable individual. Hexus was another.

Parthius had more muscle mass and had his opponent on the ground, one paw clamped around his neck. But Hexus’ ample dexterity allowed him to raise a leg under his chest, and push. Parthius was thrown against a tree trunk, and Hexus jumped up quickly with a clenched fist. The blow was deflected by a silver-furred wrist, making a deep hole in the wood.

Hexus suddenly felt a pain in his shoulder, Parthius had smashed it with a fist and cracked the thick bone. Growling in agony, Hexus realized he now had a liability that the other would exploit. His only chance was the spear laying in the grass.

He dived for it, but Parthius was on his heels, literally. His jump fell short as the silver-furred ape grabbed after him, and the two rolled a minute more in the dirt. But Hexus was unable to get off his belly, and within the seconds Parthius had him pinned, and a pair of jaws encircled his neck. With the inevitable assured, he gave up and waited for the end. But Parthius didn’t strike.

Every fiber of his instincts told him to rip the disloyal's throat out, to end his life then and there. But a second part of him, small, and only recently uncovered made him pause. Hexus was no traitor. In fact, he was more loyal than Parthius was to their oath. He had seen heresy toward the ways of the Covenant, and attempted to quell it. Whether he had failed or not, he had fought for his beliefs. Parthius would not kill him for that. Slowly, he eased his jaws away from Hexus' neck, and got to his feet.

"Stand, Hexus." He commanded. The Brute did, and the two met each others' gaze. Parthius could see the hate in his narrowly-slitted pupils, smell the challenge from him. But in his, Hexus would find only a cool, sad look. The rift that had been created between them could not be mended, but Parthius would not kill his former subordinate. "You know, that every word I said was true."

"But our kind was wrong, the Covenant have shown us the true way." Hexus said. There was conflict of emotion within his scent. He had fought long with his Chieftain, wanted to make him see the Path again, and destroy the heretic that stood before him.

"When they have preached to show all the true light, and the humans who are so alike to us are shown only damnation? I can no longer believe these arbitrary judgements according to the Prophets." Breaking the contact, he retrieved the shaft of his spear and locked it over his back. “This is their war, and the Sangheili’s war. I will not take part in it any longer, not with them as my influence.”

“And what will you do?” The grudge was still plain, but a hint of curiosity had been restored to his voice.

It was not easy for him to answer, but Parthius found the words. “Leave. I leave you to command the pack. I shall take four warriors with me, and go somewhere in the Covenant’s fleet where I may have solace to clear my head. While I will not embrace the Journey, I shall not abandon our race. When the ship Devout Believer comes to reinforce our ground contingent, I will leave as part of its guard.”

Hexus was surprised. “That is a Sangheili ship. You would subject yourself to their contempt?”

“To observe their view of it, yes. And among the stars I may find understanding, and if fortunate, peace.”

174
The Pelican landed on a pad, as another landed on a similar structure across a small gap. Jake, Ed and Miranda stepped out of one of the pelicans, as marines hurried past, wheeling the Spartans armor past and into the building. Jake walked into the main area, where a staircase to the second floor and an elevator dominated the area. Marines hurried past, until he reached the staircase, where all stopped. Everyone looked at Jake, clapping and muttering congratulations.

“What the hell are they talking about?” Jake asked Ed, hiding behind his smile.

“They’re just welcoming the buildings new director.” Ed muttered, shaking Jakes hand. A marine approached Jake, shaking his hand.

“Your office is right up here, if you will follow me.” He said, guiding them up the stairs and down a corridor. They entered a medium sized room, with a door at the back.

“What’s that?” Jake asked, pointing towards the door.

“Your lab, full set of tools and any resources you require.” The marine said, walking out the door, and dropping a pad on a chair on his way. The hologram read “Welcome director! You control this building, and everything in it. The Carnwennan find base on the upper most levels of this building. A supply delivery will arrive sometime soon, for any information about this building check your holo-table in your office.”

“Wonderful, now how do I work this thing?” Jake said as he walked over to the table. Just then, a tall marine with stubbly dark facial hair walked in the room.

“Director,” The man started as he nodded to Jake. Jake turned around to look at him. “Your medic, Nick, has been sent to Carnwennan training. I am his replacement, here is my file.” The man handed him a sheet. Viktor- 543, platoon eight. Jake shook his hand.

“Welcome to hell, soldier.” --TheMerciless 20:44, February 7, 2011 (UTC)

175
The frigate skimmed relatively low in the planet’s orbit, the underside glowing orange from the friction. It would not be landing – it was the right size, and other frigates, corvettes and even the larger cruisers, had already descended to the planets surface to disgorge troops and equipment, bombard the human defences, and support the campaign with Banshee and Seraph fighters.

This frigate was not one of them. It’s mission was specific – launch it's dropships, and then return to Covenant space.

Part of the shield towards the rear was lowered, the shimmering of electromagnetic energy allowing a gaping hole, through which five Spirit dropships simply dropped, letting gravity do the work – the frigate angled its nose up, engaged its repulsor thrusters, and broke out of its shallow descent.

The dropships twitched through the air as their antigravity drives adjusted for local gravity and atmospheric conditions, slowed their descend, and then as one group they curved away on a flight path directly aft of the frigate.

Hephaestus clapped a hand on the shoulder of the pilot. “Excellent work, brother. Adjust heading for the prearranged coordinates. Warn us when we approach.”

The pilot nodded, tapping holographic controls. “It will be done, Chieftain.”

The large, bulky Jiralhanae had to stoop as he left the cockpit, entering one of the twin booms that served as troop/storage bays. The Spirits were unwieldy and archaic compared to the newer, sleeker and better armed Phantoms, and Hephaestus wished that his kind were allowed access to them. It was not Sangheili bias that hindered them, this time, though – rather, it was the propriety of the Prophets themselves, most of whom actually supported the Jiralhanae’s ascension. Their worry that the energetic would-be upstarts would misuse the “gifts” of the Gods was not entirely misplaced – as Hephaestus himself knew full well.

He was greeted by his War Chieftain, Grannus, who looked up from polishing his war hammer. It was a far cruder implement than those most had adopted since the Jiralhanae had joined the Covenant, but it was functional, and had centuries of history behind it – a worthy weapon for the older warrior.

“How goes the drop?”

Hephaestus shrugged. “There were many other ships making the descent, and we were fast to change course. If we are lucky, the Sangheili will know nothing of our presence until it is too late.”

Grannus smiled, jagged fangs protruding from his lower jaw. “Excellent, Chieftain. My blade hungers.”

Hephaestus chuckled. “Peace, old friend. Its hunger shall soon be satiated with blood.”

It was rare for a pack to be led by one Jiralhanae, and for its eldest member to be another. Age gave experience, and with experience came advancement, usually on the corpses of one’s predecessors. But Grannus was a rare case – he was wise beyond his years, with a rich knowledge of their history. If he had wanted to lead, Hephaestus would have regretted being forced to kill him. As it was, Grannus had no such wish – all he wanted was to be left alone with his songs of glorious battles of the past, and to meditate and reflect upon the Journey. It suited them both.

A rookie pack-mate had once accused him of being weak for not challenging Hephaestus. Grannus had pulped his head against the nearest bulkhead with his hammer, and calmly continued on, leaving Unggoy slaves to clean up the gory mess.

Non-Jiralhanae would have questioned bringing along someone like Grannus for a mission such as this. A warrior, yes, but his primary occupation was as a bard, teaching the youngsters the rites of passage, the benedictions that must be murmured over a feast and the prayers to be sent to the gods for glorious victory. His songs were ancient, stretching back a thousand years, to the beginning of their clan, the Varthaka, and told of their history – of the slaughter of their foes, and slaughter inflicted upon them in turn; or glorious victories and sorrowful defeats; of great warriors, tyrants and heroes; and of their ignominious exile from Doisac almost sixty Cycles ago.

It was true that the Varthaka had begun a campaign of genocidal extermination of their enemies, but that was the Jiralhanae way – the weak perished and the strong survived. But their campaign was timed catastrophically poorly – the Covenant had only just discovered their species, and eager to make a good impression on their newfound benefactors, the clans of Doisac had risen up together as one, virtually wiping out the Varthaka. The few who were left were exiled, sent off into the stars on scavenged freighters, in the hope that they would die of starvation in the depths of space.

They hadn’t. They had drifted, consuming everything available to them to endure, and on some ships resorting to cannibalism, but they had survived. And their new home, Pious Ascension, had thrived as the Varthaka had colonised it, bringing Unggoy slaves to work the land, tending the crops and herds, build homes and in times of famine, serve as an emergency food supply.

The Varthaka had endured, and it had emerged stronger than ever.

Hephaestus mused that the war against the humans was yet another selection pressure put upon the Jiralhanae – the humans, while tiny compared the massive shaggy titans, were ingenious, and devised strategies that had slaughtered thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of his kind. Physical strength had stopped being an advantage – in a battle of brains, the smarter Jiralhanae were more likely to survive.

Hephaestus had slaughtered humans on two dozen worlds, and had gorged himself upon their flesh. There had been narrow escapes, near-fatal accidents, acts of stupidity on his part and brilliance on theirs. But he had survived, he had learned, and become stronger for it.

He always survived.

And now he was about to get stronger still.

He sidled past Grannus, the pack’s bard shifting out of his way to allow him to pass. The younger warriors of his pack looked up with interest, lowering their eyes in deference. Hephaestus clapped the shoulders of a few favourites, earning smiles of gratitude as he increased their standing in the pack by his mere presence – the pack-mates of the other boom of the Spirit would surely be jealous.

“Brothers, our time approaches. We are here for one goal, and its accomplishment will be simple – the destruction of the human resistance.

“This world is vast, its population large. There is much flesh that will fill our bellies, and this feast awaits. Yet simplicity does not imply ease – the humans will not allow us to stroll up to their young and their female and take our pick of the choicest meats. They will fight us. Sometimes, they may win – but we will win more. Their victories may be great. Ours will be greater. The enemy is trapped on a doomed planet, forced to watch as fire falls from the sky. Their fields lay unguarded, planted with crops – we shall reap their harvests, and sow their bones beneath the soil.

“Once again, the Elites,” he said, using the derogatory human names for the Sangheili, “have proven incapable of eradicating even a simply human infestation. And once again, it falls to the Jiralhanae to accomplish the work. Our orders come from the Ministry of Acquisition. I have been promised that any spoils of war that we may find will be ours to keep!”

There was a roar of pleasure from his pack. “Any slaves that we take shall be ours to do with as we please! And loot we find is ours to use and ours to work with! And when the human cities lie in heaps of dust and ash and charred, broken bones, this world shall be gifted to us to be ours, forever, until the Journey!

“All the Prophets demand is your loyalty, and your obedience. Will you give it to them?”

“Yes Chieftain!” The bellow was deafening, but Hephaestus beamed with pride.

“Your enemies await! Will they perish?”

“Yes Chieftain!”

The Chieftain placed a hand upon the hilt of his own war hammer, removing it from it’s sheath, gripping it in his hands.

“Our enemies are strong. We shall be stronger! We will survive! We will endure! And we will become STRONG!”

Now the roar was deafening, and joined faintly by the sound of the rest of the pack joining in from the other boom. It was a well-rehearsed ritual, and it had been performed many times – all triumphant and bloody, as it should be.

He almost felt bad for lying to them like this. But only almost.

It was true that the Prophet of Acquisition had sent the Varthaka pack to Hope, and it was true that it had been because of impatience as the lack of progress by the Sangheili. But the humans actually had little to do with it.

The Covenant was not interested in this planet as a human colony. The few million inhabitants and defenders currently being slaughtered was a bonus, true enough, but the truly interesting features of Hope were buried deep beneath the surface of the planet.

The Ministry of Acquisition was small, and not widely known. But it was effective in its role, and that was the recovery of Forerunner relics to be studied and reverse-engineered for Covenant use. They had suspected that such a cache of relics lay beneath Hope’s surface, and the fleets and legions had been sent in to claim them – but they were evidently not fast enough for the satisfaction of the Prophets, hampered and distracted by the human resistance.

Perhaps a smaller, more focussed team would have more success. Troops more vicious, thought to be totally devoted to the will of the Prophets, not bound by oaths of loyalty or misguided notions of honour.

Jiralhanae.

Hephaestus shared a knowing look with Grannus as he took his seat, the pack still roaring their battle rage, rattling the bulkheads with the noise. Right now, only the two of them knew their true purpose, and their true destination – not a human city, ripe for the plundering, but a dense patch of jungle nearby, overlooked by the Sangheili, where they were assured their search could begin in earnest.

For now, however, he basked in the adulation of his pack. He was their Chieftain, and they his vassals. He found comfort in the dual simplicity and complexity.

Who knew? Perhaps they really would find glory?

176
Torkamentov stumbled as he ran through the forest. He had no ideea where he was going, but he hoped that he was headed toward Port Neandra. Panting, he came to a stop and glanced behind him. He wasn't being followed, so that probably meant that Parthius had been able to beat that other Brute. Since he was stopped Torkamentov decided to get his bearings. "Damn it, I never was good with this pathfinding shit," said Torkamentov in confusion. He faced himself in a random direction, and started walking.

As he walked through the woods, he came to a halt as he heard some unusual rustling. "Damn it, I wish that Parthius had given me a gun." Torkamentov ran over and tried to hide in a small hole at the base of a tree. The footsteps came closer, closer, and suddenly, a marine burst out of the bushes. The marine looked around and finally saw Torkamentov. He also saw the stars on his shoulders. "Hello, sir. What are you doing there," asked the marine. "I was hiding from you.," said Torkamentov as he stood up, " Thught you were an Elite or something equally as dangerous. I need to get to Port Neandra. Can you escort me?" "Sure," replied the marine, and he started walking in the exact opposite direction that Torkamentov had been headed. Damn it, thought Torkamentov as he followed the marine. But nevertheless, he wasn't lost in this jungle anymore. It was time to get back into the thick of things. But Torkamentov couldn't help taking one last look over his shoulder, wondering how Parthius was doing. Azecreth 20:30, February 8, 2011 (UTC)

177
"Press foward you spineless Unggoy, or else I will deal with you personally!" Lower than Few threatened and the Unggoy responded by picking up the pace. "The city's siege will work. Bring any Heretics to me, you may deal with the humans as you wish though. They matter not to me." The search grew in priority as each second slipped by. Lower than Few knew she would not live to see another day if she failed here. "Oh Silum," she sighed to herself, "I knew it would come to this one day. Why couldn't you just be open minded? This is my own doing, not his, but I cannot stop now. What has been started must be finished, that is the way of the universe."

Rasaab went door to door, bursting each open with fear in his heart. "Come my brothers," the little deacon started to sing, "there is work to be done. The thieves and villians scorch our fields, but no more will we stay and let our works drift away. Let us all stand up, hearts in union, and kill the demon." All the Unggoy joined in, they all knew the song by heart. Then, before the line, "The light shall guide us to our eternal harmony," Rasaab heard a low moan coming from one of the houses. He carefully unlatched the door and crept inside undetected. The was a human girl on the floor with several others around her. "She won't be able to fight, you know." said one of the soldiers with yellow hair. She had some wierd equipment strewn all over the floor. "The best we can do is keep a low profile and let her give birth. I don't have the right equipment to stall this or speed it up, so defend her at all cost if you are inclined to saving her life." They all nodded and started towards the door Rasaab was hiding behind. He made a mad dash for another room, and there he met terror. There were decapitated Unggoy littering the floor of the room. They had all been totured to death. Crushed methane packs and rotting flesh filled the air with a putrid smell. Rasaab noticed an Unggoy in the corner with his mask violently removed. "Brother," he whispered to the corpse, "I will avenge thee."

Rasaab burst from the room door hollering and shouting, scaring the soldiers so badly that they fell over. Rasaab got ontop of one of the soldiers and started punching him in the face until he was unconscious. The other soldier turned to shoot him, but a red Sangheili Ranger smashed the door down and shot him through the head. The Unggoy deacon then went into the room with the pregnant girl and the other soldiers. "Under most circumstances I don't take prisoners," Rasaab mockingly said as some Kig Yar removed their weapons, "but since I am in such a bad mood, I'm going to torture you for as long as you live." He opened the door. "Get in the Phantom and I won't kill you." he threatened, and everyone got up and into the Phantom, all but the pregnant girl. "I said, GET INTO THE PHANTOM!" He screemed and the girl made a pathetic attempt to get up. One of the soldiers rushed to her side and helped her up. "That cost you dearly, boy." Rasaab said with immense hate toward the soldier. "I will take fifty fold the punishment if you let her go." he said bravely, but Rasaab only laughed. "Fifty fold, eh? You will recieve fifty fold for just saying that, but since you love her so much, how about I move all your punishment over to her?" he said, taunting the soldier. The soldier didn't take it. "Two-thousand fold to let her go." he shouted. "No, don't do that." the girl said to him, but he shrugged her hand off. Rasaab straightened up. "Two-thousand fold for the girl? Fine, we will treat her as a guest aboard my ship, but you will be sorry you ever spoke up, boy. I will make your life a living hell and then you will wish I had killed you when you spoke up. Guards, take them away, but treat the lady nicely."

-M.S. 03:32, February 9, 2011 (UTC)

178
Luc was jogging alongside the convoy, guarding the right flank. He wondered if any of the Insurrectionists riding in the troop transport warthog to the left of him grew up in the same orphanage he lived in before he was taken into the Spartan-III program. Certianly, many of the children there had hated the UNSC for taking away and "killing" their parents during the drafts. This brought more questions to the surface, including why would anyone want to rebel against the only defence against a coalition of genocidal aliens. Shaking his head, he dispelled those thoughts. "Now's not the time to be getting all philosphical Lucas, you might end up like Rain-man up in the Pelican." A chorus of laughter, accompanied by a "Shut up!" rang through the newly restored short range comms channels.

Meanwhile, at the Carnwennan building in Port Neandra, Commodore Garcia and Jake were discussing the formation of a team for a search and destroy operation. "If you want a demolitions expert, I suggest Lucas. Here's a copy of his file and records." Commented Robert, sliding a data chip across the table. "You're sure your man is reliable?" Jake questioned, picking up and examining the chip. "With explosives, yes. He was the demo guy for Valkaria." replied Robert. "So an demo expert among demo experts. I'll definitly take him into consideration." Robert gave a short salute, and exitied the room. Jake merely nodded in return.

--TheivingFan 16:51, February 12, 2011 (UTC)

179
Bryce silently inched though the burnt rubble of uptown Port Neandra, wondering what had become of his squad. All dead. It was obvious no matter how hard he had tried to deny the fact. Only two others trailed behind him.

"What were their names?" he wondered, "Edric and Narcissus? Strange names indeed..." He continued to ponder, attempting to recall having met them. It seemed as though they had both slipped his mind. Perhaps they were recent additions whom he received before deployment. After all, he had briefly instructed some new recruits during the end of his stay at the ONI Gamma-Seven Intelligence Terminal. Either way, he didn't fell like asking the marines about their pasts. "As for the local ONI station..." he began figuring, '"It was most likely long-abandoned by this point."

"Wha-!?" cried Edric. Lost in thought, Bryce and his team of two had little time to prepare for the surprise-appearance of multiple Jiralhanae. The CARNWENNANs didn't even raise their weapons, figuring how they were greatly deprived of ammunition and helplessly outnumbered. Bryce lowered his head, silently observing his confounded opponents, attempting to spot the ranking officer. The Brutes simply glared back in return.

The group's apparent leader, a Chieftain, broke the awkward silence by turning to his inferiors and stating, "Brethren, we shall escort these scoundrel to our War Chieftan."

Four Brute Minors instantly seized the three CARNWENNAN's weapons and tightly gripped their wrists. Within seconds they were all being tugged through the long-abandoned streets heading deeper into enemy territory. One of the marines attempted to shrug-off one of the merciless brutes. But to no avail, as he was eventually overpowered and forced onward, only now, he was escorted at gunpoint.

Attempting to avoid the gaze of the Jiralhanae Chieftain, Bryce quickly glanced upward, above the compromised skyscrapers and cement rubble. Through the thick layer of previously-ionized gasses settling high above the skyline, Bryce spotted Epitadeus I's soft-yellow glow. It was apparently early-morning. Bryce immediately shut his eyes and lowered his head, focusing in on any sounds that he could identify. A mysterious rattling from the dark alleyway beside him, a stray dog howling in the distance, shattering glass from a nearby intersection whom he was not likely to be forced through. Nothing important, yet it was no ordinary morning.

Bryce quickly opened his eyes as he was abruptly shoved against the glass panels of the closest tower, at the hands of his Brute captors. "Why?" he wondered. The soft hum of an incoming Pelican dropship answered his question.

As Bryce urged forward to gain a closer view, the Brute Minor whom previously guided him through the streets shoved him back against the reinforced glass with a thud.

"You shall not utter a sound." ordered the Jiralhanae. Bryce raised his right eyebrow.

The Minor's head shattered the glass upon impact. Without offering the Brute any chance to even the playing-field, Bryce unlatched his combat knife and impaled the giant's neck. Another Stalker released it's marine in a blind fury, unaware of the beating that it would soon receive. A brawl was sparked.

With the vehicles rolling out once again, Quinn felt glad just to be on the ground. He’d had two orbital drops, two Pelican rides with one landing upside down, and a drop from a Pelican using a Warthog as an insertion vehicle. If he was forgetting something else, he was probably repressing the memory. He could still hear Morales' Pelican hovering overhead, now a bit of air support for them.

Their half-ton suits too heavy to be loaded on the trucks, the Spartan warriors either jogged ahead or reclined in the overhead Pelican. Though Ryder had said he wanted at least one UNSC-trained man with to protect the trucks should anything get through them, there was an underlying message: if something went down, he didn’t want a crazy Helljumper mucking it up. Though no doubt he’d have a tough time keeping up on foot, the back of this rig was far from comfortable. The package, the civilians, kept huddled in the deepest part of the bay, away from the black-suited and armed Insurrectionist fighters and Quinn. And the Elite.

Turok, as he heard the Spartans call him, sat next to him, the hulking seven or so feet of muscle cramped into a seat next to the door. He stared out the back window, watching transfixed as the traffic lines shot by from under the truck and away as they rolled over them. The Innies held something between awe and fear for him, and were wary of any of the supersoldiers.

Thus, it had become the single Shock Trooper they focused their frustration into hate upon. Dirty looks and long stares were coming from the two armed men sitting across from him and the Elite. Long before the Spartans had been designed, ODSTs and other special forces units had been waging war on the Insurrection. And they certainly hated him.

Erik didn’t think they’d try anything, not with Spartans around and bigger problems to tackle, but he was going to watch his back around them. Glancing at the former Covenant warrior, he laughed internally. Maybe the Elite would back him up.

He didn't see the Spartans out the windows. They were probably all up ahead with more of the armed Innies, fighting or mapping routes around Covenant forces. Maybe even UNSC units. Would, could they be punished for this? He looked into the bay at a mother clutching her children tightly to her. Let the UNSC punish him for helping people like her. A frontline Private didn't retire. A Helljumper was as good as dead anyway.

Morales fumbled with his Pelican's radio, praying for signs of some surviving civilians. Finally, a weak transmission had come in. He knew enough not to attempt to switch frequencies at this point. Although low, the entire crew could make out the words "Traxus Supply Pad"' and "cargo". Just what he was searching for. If all went well this meant a safe place to release the endangered civilians. He knew that the referred station was about a mile or so west, towards the shore, as he had passed it earlier.

Morales halted his Pelican halted in midair, turing to his crew. "Did you hear that?" he asked. "The transmission? This is good." Matt responded. Morales frowned, "No, the-!" The sharp shriek of shattering glass wrung throughout the Pelican. Julie strode to the tail-end, raising her binoculars. Within a minute, the entire crew watched as three CARNWENNAN marines apparently massacred their Brute opponents.

Riley turned to Morales, "Get this convoy in motion, we've got CARWENNANs brawling with some Brute." Ryder shifted his gaze to the motorized infantry traveling close behind, then to Luc, who'd previously been dashing beside the dropship. "You getting this?" he bellowed.

Luc had already been observing. "Yes sir, and it appears that those Brutes are having the shit beat out of 'em..." Julie just huffed from the top of the Pelican. "Well they'll need escort once their finished." she began, "Now let's provide pickup and get moving to the cargo airport."

Before the Pelican could shift towards the CARWENNANs, Riley snipped the Chieftain before it was offered a chance to utilize it's Gravity Hammer. --  Chris  talk   blog  03:56, February 17, 2011 (UTC)

180
Turok slowly approached Julie. He got her attention. "May we speak in private?" He asked. Julie shrugged. He sat down. "I can learn many things about a human. I look at you and see a rage not at me, but my people. You have lost a friend to some Sangheili?"

Julie seemed shocked. "How did you-"

"Your eyes show sadness of a lost one, and a rage at my race, as I have mentioned before. Before you ask, I am the son of the past Arbiter. He told me stories of the Raak'ezh Warrior Creche. They were hunters, yet never found prey. Until now."

Julie sat up. "What do you want so bad from me?"

Turok chucked. "Simple. My training was very good, but not as lethal as them. I hear you wish to fight them to obtain vengeance for the death of your friend. I have also been briefed that it was your duty to assassinate some very important Zealots..."

At mention of this, Julie turned to Ryder, who was currently preoccupied. She sneered. Of course he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Turok kept a calm face, and stood. "I want to join your suicide mission." he declared.

-Therider Rides Alone 18:07, February 17, 2011 (UTC)

181
Quinn felt their truck grind to a halt, and pressed his hand against the seat next to him to keep from sliding. It woke him up some, he'd let his eyes close after tiring of having a grim staring contest with the two armed insurgents across the truck.

The larger, who was a few inches taller and broader than Erik, stood and looked out one of the high gaps near the ceiling that let in air and light. "We're here." he stated, and held the rifle firmly in both hands. He then moved to the back and pushed open the doors, letting a flood of sunlight in. Everyone inside blinked in the young star's bright light, and Erik's visor polarized automatically. He noted that most of the men with guns were getting out, and the civilians were staying in. Tired of sitting here, he followed them out.

Keeping with the two from his transport, Quinn's boots hit the pavement and he headed toward the front of the convoy where everyone else was going. Their leader, the one who'd had his radio shot out of his hand, was talking to his assembled men, but Quinn wasn't able to get close enough to hear. Instead, he joined the bigger man from his truck and a woman chewing a stick of gum near the streetcorner, looking toward the open field of a runway.

"Looks quiet." The man remarked from next to the streetlamp, standing right in the open. Quinn's training told him to stick to the wall, just in case this man had poor eyesight.

The woman curled her upper lip. "If the General thought it was safe, we'd be walking in right now. It ain't." They seemed to take notice of his presence about then, and lapsed into silence. That was until another pair of boots stepped up behind them.

It was the 'general'. The two insurgents straightened up as he approached, looking at him with the same respect Quinn had seen given toward a good officer. But he didn't rate that high in the trooper's list. The man cast a glance his way, as if comparing the Helljumper with the two at attention. If he wanted a salute, he'd have another thing coming.

He withdrew a pack of cigarettes, and offered one to the tall man. The woman declined, and Quinn noted that the general put away the pack without taking one himself. "Listen up. I'm gonna need an inventory on what's available in the hangars, but if we all move in at once we might attract attention. So I'm asking for a pair of volunteers. You up to it?"

The two snapped on immediate smiles and nodded. They seemed more than willing to do something on his orders.

"Okay then. Soldier, you're leading the way."

Wait, what? Quinn glanced from one to the next, the big man glowering, the woman a grin, and the general unreadable. If they couldn't get rid of him, they'd have him take point.

But he didn't see a way out of it, and reluctantly moved to the edge of the building, the general at his back with a rifle and the others behind him.

"We follow your lead." The general whispered to him. Erik realized it may have been more than a grudge decision to have him lead. Someone with military training, and from special forces, was valuable to him. Clever Innie.

He made his own quick survey of the spaceport. It's grounds were circled by a chain-link fence, with barbed wire looped at the top. But up the street there was a gate for vehicles to get in. The guardhouse window was broken in, and low enough to swing into easily.

Quinn held his rifle ready, raised a hand, then moved it forward and broke cover.

Three sets of footsteps kept right behind him, their heavy breathing becoming part of the city's background noise. He kept on the sidewalk on this side of the street in case they had to take cover, the chain fence wouldn't do them much good. When he was across from it, he jumped the curb and ran across the two lanes.

He used some extra energy to get ahead of the others, and before trying to get through the window swept the room over with his assault rifle's sights. All clear. Two at a time, they put one leg over and then the next, and were in the cover of the building.

As his three companions caught some of their breath, Quinn moved to the opposite wall and looked over the main buildings carefully. It didn't look like anyone had seen them. A sniper would have taken the shot, but if there were a number of enemy infantry in there, they'd be waiting for them to get close, or maybe out in the open field seperating the fence from the hangars. Then again, maybe they were lucky and the spaceport really was empty.

Yeah right. Today hadn't been a good day to count on luck.

The general came up beside him. Without looking at the Innie, he said, "No activity. We make a break for the hangars and see if all your effort bringing them here was worth it."

But the question that came next surprised him. "Got a name, soldier?"

He was sitting down next to the trooper. Apparently, they were taking a longer breather than he thought. It was nice the guy wanted to operate on a name basis, but he wasn't looking for a friend. "Private Quinn."

The general seemed to accept it. "Gorka. Smoke?"

Quinn shook his head.

"Yeah, me neither. But I figure if death gives me the five-minute warning, I can always start."

"No hostiles in sight. We should go while the going's good." Quinn said abruptly. Gorka paused, then nodded as the others got ready to move again. It wasn't that Quinn didn't like this guy, but he knew what a man looked like after ONI's interrogators got through with him. He'd rather not remember that much of him.

182
The aged destroyer burst from the radiant, white-blue void just as the latter shrunk into nothingness. On its rear, four large, nuclear-powered thrusters coughed twice before activating fully. Moments later, a quintet of matte gray star-ships tore through similar rifts and fell into formation, each moving into a position based on that of the first vessel's.

"This is the UNSC Roadtown, report in," an officer radioed from the flagship's bridge. His call was replied by messages of confirmation. It was a sign that all vessels were in good status following the Slipstream Space translation. Accordingly, the respective bridges plagued themselves with controlled chaos.

"Entering the combat zone in ten!"

"Warming up missile pods. Harpoons are steamed and ready for preliminary suppressive launch."

"Scrambling fighter craft. Multiple first ring targets in active range."

"Rotating into quasi-orbital evasion patterns."

"We've been targeted! Incoming Coco-Lima and two Banshee squadrons!"

"Damn, they're already on us! Break formation! We need to get our cargo to the surface ASAP!" said the commanding officer aboard the Roadtown. Zakariah Stergio was far from a man of jokes and punchlines; he was more or less the stereotypical war dog that the average crewman avoided the glare of.

His brief whim of thought was interrupted by a bridge-wide comm message, "This is the Euphrates! We have multiple boarding craft incoming, the storm's on us!" Stergio slammed his clenched fist into a small, stationary table.

Shouldn't this Covenant fleet be at least somewhat preoccupied? the Captain thought to himself. Guess we'll need to blow through the blockade if we're to land these troopers in time.

Lieutenant Travis Freeman sat almost perfectly still amid the tree's wide canopy. He patiently scanned the brush below. While most would have passed this overgrown forest off as something of little tactical advantage, a trained mind knew that the more wild Jackals were right at home in thick, natural growth. He wiped a bead of sweat from his left temple and adjusted his silenced battle rifle's position in his shoulder.

"Eight damn hours," he mumbled in an inaudible whisper. The officer had been through longer stints of boredom in the field, though usually it was on a stalking mission or he at least wasn't squished between two branches. Not he, nor brass, knew if they were even using this forest. Something will hopefully drag me out of this tree, he thought to himself.

If anything needs corrected, please let me know. I tried to backtrack some, but there's a lot to read. :P -- Rozh( Talk ) 03:56, February 22, 2011 (UTC)

183
Quinn held up a closed fist, for a moment forgetting the three Insurrectionists behind him had no special forces training. But they stopped as he did, and Gorka edged up behind him to get a view. Loitering around in the area they must have been ordered to occupy, six Jackals stood with needlers and active shield gauntlets or fought over scraps of Grunt meat.

“There’s the tower.” Quinn pointed out on the far side of the lot. “We’ll have to go around.”

Gorka’s grim expression deepened. “We don’t have time. The convoy could be spotted at any moment. We’ll have to split up.” He and Quinn edged away from the corner, and he turned to his two fighters. “Conrad, Alli, take stock of the hangars. I want anything that can break orbit, and how much it can carry. The soldier and I will take the tower.”

They looked uncertain leaving their leader with the leatherneck, but Gorka wouldn’t have any argument. “Let’s go! Double back around this building. We’ll make our way through it.”

With sharp nods, they went into action. Gorka then tested a door on the wall, and finding it open, motioned for Quinn to move inside.

As he entered the building, Erik couldn’t smell anything through his helmet filter, but would have been sure the place smelled of oil and grime. Parts of old machines were cast in corners with sludge caked on, while large sections of relatively clean turbines and engines hung on chains from the ceiling. It was empty of Covenant, and Quinn jogged over to the door on the far end and peered through the window.

“Problem.” He said. “Wide open stretch to the next building. Those aliens will spot us for sure.”

Gorka scowled. “Then find another way.”

Quinn already was thinking, but there just wasn’t a way to the tower without being seen. “Those things have sharper eyes than the power of your binoculars. I’m surprised they didn’t hear us already. I have to fight these damn things all the time.”

The general sighed painfully. There was nothing to do but wait for something to happen. “Ever get tired of it?”

“Of fighting aliens? Didn’t want to do it in the first place.”

Gorka laughed at that. “Aren’t your kind a volunteer outfit?”

“I just took it for the higher pay.” Quinn admitted. “I was a pencil pusher. Worked for the military writing the enlisted payroll checks. Then the drafts came. I saw my name in the records. . . and I enlisted because I’d get a bonus.”

“Worth it?”

“Hasn’t been today.”

Then they heard a scream. Muted by distance and the walls of the building, but unmistakably a human scream. Gorka pushed Quinn away from the window to see, but there was no view from this side. Stepping over the parts strewn around, they found an opening in the side and watched what unfolded.

Across the lot, the two Insurrectionists had been spotted. The big man was clutching at his side and holding the MA3 with one hand, but the weight of it caused his arm to droop. Quinn saw the muzzle light up and heard the report of the gun, just before a stream of pink needler rounds embedded in his side. The explosion ripped open his torso, and when his body hit the ground, it lay still.

The woman was still firing when the Jackals came into sight. One died as they charged her en masse, and her screams grew louder as she was blocked from sight. The Jackals’ jaws were red with human blood. Quinn had seen soldiers eaten alive by them before, all too often. You could tell their veterans because human flesh turned their eyes that unhealthy shade of pink.

Seemingly, human tasted better than the scraps of Grunt. All of them had moved to attack, and now there was plenty of food between the two human bodies. It was the opportunity they needed.

“Let’s go.” Quinn said to the Insurrectionist leader. The man didn’t move. He looked like he might be on the verge of tears. Quinn didn’t have the time for that. “Come on, while we’ve still got an opening.”

Gorka bit his lip and nodded, following the trooper to make a quiet dash across to the control tower.

The water was cool and sweet to Parthius’ dry throat. It had been some time since he’d last had any food or water. With a grateful head bow, he returned the container to the warrior of the Varthaka pack that had been present.

Far outside of Port Neandra’s limits, the Devout Believer had hung low and begun to discharge its compliment of troops through the wide beam of its gravity lift. Roughly a thousand Unggoy infantry, six hundred Kig-Yar mercenaries, and two hundreds of Sangheili assembled to march on the city. Parthius wondered if this same ship had been what brought Hephaestus’ pack to ground, but doubted it as the Varthaka would more likely have their own ship.

He would not take part in this assault. He had requested ‘the opportunity to serve as guard for the Sangheili’s captives’. There was no joy in the prospect of taking orders from the snake-necks, but they detested him enough to give him and his four packmates a quarters to themselves. Some quiet, some time to think.

Of the four that would go with him, two were young, only having seen two campaigns before Hope. The third was a blooded warrior, having been by Parthius’ side since Harvest had finally fallen. And the last was almost too old to serve the Covenant as a fighter, set in his ways of the Journey and the Path. Parthius could have taken four young, impressionable warriors, but if he was to reach the truth, there would have to be others to challenge him. And he would defeat their belief with words, not muscle.

Hexus remained dutifully by his side, but the anger he felt was not masked to the others. They did not know what had caused it, but with the Chieftain giving him the pack without dying, they found it simpler to obey than question. Another of his race’s failings, Parthius thought.

Before he could leave, he had some advice for his successor. “Hexus. You are a bold fighter and when you earn the title of Chieftain in the Prophets’ eyes, know you already have in mine. But take care that you keep the Forbeks separate of the Varthaka. We have long slaughtered the humans, they are weaker of body than us, but among our kind we are keepers of history. Hephaestus’ tribe have for as long as even our far memories reach, warriors. Be wary of them.”

Hexus was now able to look him in the eyes, as an equal. “You have had experience with their kind before?”

“I still bear a few of their Chieftain’s scars from our brief meeting. And perhaps he still bears one of mine.”

Hexus watched the silver furred Jiralhanae turn, and walk with his compliment to the gravity lift. The Shipmaster clad in gold nodded in acknowledgement of him, but it was his Ultra, Veral T’ramee, that cast an evil glance toward him.

With that meeting, Parthius stepped onto the pad and rose from Hope’s surface. Their ship’s destination would be the scorched remains of the human colony, Reach.

The tower had a strong breeze running through it from a pair of windows across from each other that had been shot out. Papers were everywhere on the floor among dropped coffee mugs, chairs, and more than one body.

Gorka and Quinn got to work immediately. Erik searched for broadcasting equipment as the Innie began searching through a computer’s files for a registry of ships. “Where are the Spartans?” he asked.

Quinn shook his head, taking a cord from his belt to plug his suit’s system to the microphone port. “Don’t know. I’ll try the Navy frequency and see if I can raise Morales’ Pelican.”

Whatever Gorka was doing, Quinn paid no attention to as he focused on the static in his earpiece. When the fuzz cleared to a steady whine, he started talking. “This is Private Eirikur Quinn to SCPO Morales, come back, over.”

After waiting about ten seconds and no answer, he repeated the message. The voice that came through the static wasn’t Morales. A woman’s voice, that Quinn knew was familiar. He just wasn’t able to place it yet, and the interference he was getting wasn’t helping. “Is that jammer still on?”

Gorka gritted his teeth and withdrew a direct-beam radio. Going to the window, he ordered the convoy guards to shut it down, and as it did the signal Erik was getting became clear.

“ . . . landing zone. Repeat, Bravo 029 to Private Quinn, are you receiving?” Bravo Twenty-Nine was Angel’s callsign. It wasn’t the Spartans, but maybe they’d get a little support. He turned happily to Gorka, but the man was giving him a dark look. He didn’t like the prospect of even more UNSC military. Not when he was this close to getting out.

“Reading loud and clear, now. What’s your status?”

“Coming into the atmosphere. DeLucas has got two Albatrosses from the Wrath with infantry and armor. We need an LZ, can you provide us one?”

“Affirmative, we’re securing the Port Neandra Spaceport. Should be perfect for the dropships.”

At that moment a new voice came in, this one a man sounding fairly irritated. Quinn knew an officer when he heard it, and ignored Gorka’s gaze. “This is Battlegroup Roadtown, to receiving units. Just dropped out of slipspace, you said there’s a friendly ship here?”

“Roadtown, the Avenger-class dreadnought Grapes of Wrath is keeping away from the Covenant fleet, taking out ground targets from in-atmosphere.”

The voice sounded very much relieved. “We’ll make a note of it, Private. You have that LZ secured? We have people up here I don’t want at risk in an orbital gunfight.”

“You can land, nothing here we can’t handle. You have coordinates in civilian directories–”

“Lying UNSC pig!” Gorka shouted at him. The blow that landed on the side of Quinn’s helmet sent him spinning, knocking over a chair on his way to the floor. He rolled over quickly as the Innie came at him, this time with a knife.

Erik caught his wrist, keeping the blade safely away from his throat, but was too slow to stop his other hand from locking around his windpipe. The two struggled for a moment, each unable to move, but Gorka was winning because Erik was running out of air. The man had a good grip, the ODST wouldn’t last much longer. He saw one option, and took it.

Taking his hand away from the one that was around his neck, he curled his fingers and punched Gorka’s temple, forcing him to roll away and let go of his windpipe. As the general stumbled to his feet, Erik gulped in air and did the same.

Recovered, they went at it again. This time Gorka reversed his grip on the blade and used it to slash at the gaps near his joints, where the ballistic sheets didn’t cover. Quinn kept out of his range, stepping around the computer consoles, but soon was caught in a corner of the room. As the Innie advanced on him, Erik thought the world had suddenly taken on a blue tinge. In a split second, he realized something and looked out the window next to him.

“Get down!” he yelled, just as a Wraith mortar slammed into the side. Quinn landed on the carpet, closing his eyes and covering his head. When the shaking stopped, he looked to see he had landed staring into the glazed eyes of a dead civilian.

He got to a knee, seeing Gorka coming at him again. But this time, Quinn had him. He pulled his silenced M6 up from where he’d dropped it, and Gorka froze.

“Drop it.” Quinn said, keeping as still as he could to intimidate the man from behind his black visor. With eyes so filled with hate he might have struck Quinn dead with a stare, Gorka let the blade fall to the floor and raised his arms. Telling him to keep a distance away, Quinn collected the knife and his rifle, then looked out the window. What was out there did not look encouraging.

He rushed back over to the communications console. If those dropships came in with the Wraiths here, they’d drop like flies. “Quinn to Morales, and Spartans! Wraiths at the spaceport and we’ve got flyboys coming in fast. Please, if you can hear me, help.”

184
Stergio lifted his cap and roughly massaged the top of his head for a moment. He turned to his Communications Officer, "Can you re-establish a connection?"

"Negative, Captain," reported Lieutenant, Junior Grade, Borisova in a near-monotone voice. "Just before the apparatus was disabled, however, I picked up what may have been a remark by an Insurrectionist sympathizer."

"Damn it; as if we didn't have enough of an obstacle on this wretched planet..." Zakariah muttered. "Before we can get into low orbit, let alone suborbital atmosphere, we need to take out that cruiser and the corvette at aft."

"Aligning the main cannons for a hit on that cruiser now," reported another bridge officer.

"Good; Lieutenant Borisova, send the frigates ahead and the Euphrates to the corvette once our fighters have cleared immediate bogeys."

"Aye, sir." From an omniscient point of view, the battlegroup of two destroyers and four frigates seemed to maneuver effortlessly across the blank void. The frigate quartet split into even flanks of two as they cut wide paths around the corvette toward the surface while the Euphrates looped around and stalked the small corvette as if it was an African lioness on the prowl. It was common knowledge that while technology and battlefield practices had greatly improved kill ratios since the beginning of the war, the dwindling military force didn't dare gamble in any situation. Instead, even the lightest of Covenant capital ships were treated as serious threats; additionally, no commanding officer wanted to chance being an easy target for a plasma broadside, let alone a blast from an energy projector.

The weapons officer was quick to turn to face Stergio. "Both shots were direct hits, sir. The enemy's starboard, bow, and fore-dorsal shields are down."

"That helps the odds, I suppose," the Captain semi-optimistically muttered under his breath, "Launch Harpoon Alpha. Follow up with a suppressive salvo of Archers if needed."

"Understood, proceeding now." The nuclear missiles, which spanned no more than ten meters in length, burst from the port side of the destroyer and quickly adjusted its course as the smart projectile accelerated to maximum velocity. Dodging a tempest of point defense fire, it successfully made it to the cruiser and lodged itself in the alloy armor.

Excellent, Stergio thought to himself. Within a few moments, the energy shield replenished its previous state. Unbeknown to the alien vessel's crew, this bold mistake sealed their fate. "Hit it."

With a wonderful explosion and distortion of energy, the contained might of the nuclear reaction multiplied itself as it literally reflected of the shield's interior, leaving nothing but a mess of debris and what could be considered biological remains drifting through space.

"Euphrates to Roadtown," a voice blared from the bridge speakers.

"I read loud and clear. What's the situation?" Stergio responded.

"We caught it with the shields down: must be a Brute ship," the sister ship's commanding officer half-jokingly remarked. "We discharged our main guns and snapped the mike foxtrot into thirds."

"Great to hear, Commander. Let's get to the surface; I'm sure our olive drab busters could use a helping hand."

"Heard that, Captain."

Ahalosniper : Go ahead and take the four frigates and destroyer Euphrates to the ground battle, if you want. I think I may conjure up a separate idea for the Roadtown ;). -- Rozh( Talk ) 04:18, February 27, 2011 (UTC)

185
Riley and Luc stood strong in an attempt to secure the landing zone until pick-up arrived. Rough winds scoured the grounds, and bellowing storm clouds dominated the skies. "Some morning this is." Riley mused, clenching as his Assault Rifle ripped through the front of an endless swarm of incoming Grunts, which had been closing in on the two for quite a while now.

It was apparent, at this point, that all of the Covenant ground forces in the area were aware of their location. As if that wasn't enough, the sudden appearance of four frigates and two destroyers practically screamed: "Hey Covies, pay no attention to us at all! We're just salvaging some very important soldiers, so would you be so kind as to pay no attention to the giant target we just painted on all of us?" Luc grunted at the humorous thought.

A light humming noise could just be made out through all of the commotion. Covenant anti-gravity technology. As Luc turned, he noticed a Wraith turn the corner and hurl a giant blast of plasma mortar unto the pinnacle of the communications tower. Quinn and Gorka had better be alright up there, as the duo had no intention of verifying. The Wraith suddenly exploded, however, Luc didn't have any time to notice the cause, as a CARNWENNAN had appeared out of no where and gripped his shoulder, demanding his Spartan identification.

Luc didn't offer the CARNWENNAN the respect of turning his head, nor seizing fire as he responded. "Get your ass out of here, CARNWENNAN! You don't have the authority necessary to be granted that knowledge!" Luc simply shouted above the echoing gunfire. The CARNWENNAN doubtfully drew in a deep breath before responding. "We've just been ordered to find a Luc-G056; request 'e meet up with a Jake-093 by Neandra's CARNWENNAN building."

Luc immediately loosened his grip on the trigger, and stared. He knew Jacob. He'd met him a few days ago while on Hades. Jake was one of the infamous MIAs that he had helped extract, along with countless others. Luc just frowned, ignoring his anger at the fact that he'd just lost his chance at a break. Luc just submitted himself and darted off, followed by the marine. Riley just continued firing, praying that the UNSC vessels in orbit above him wouldn't attract any unwanted company, as he could have sworn that he'd just seen a flash of purple dart across the upper atmosphere. After all, he'd remembered how the skirmish on Hades had went.

Riley stared intently into the view-holes of his binoculars. At this point, he was certain that something was going on up in the atmosphere. In an instant, a white beam of plasma blasted into the ocean before him, about a mile ahead. Looking into the atmosphere above him, Riley watched in horror as one of the frigates was torn apart by the ionized current. Lightning bolts enveloped the substantial chunks of metallic debris as they appeared the slowly grow in size. The remaining UNSC vessels immediately released a rapid barrage of nuclear weapons. It was only a matter of minutes until each vessel's arsenal would deplete entirely. Riley managed to activate his communicator; his hands trembling. He could only imagine the civilian's responses.

"Did you see that, Quinn?" Riley managed to utter. Static crackled briefly before Riley received his response. "Affirmative."

Surprisingly, two Albatrosses trailed by three Pelicans appeared through the debris, each protected by an external layer of titanium clad. He had to admit, it was a beautiful sight.

Riley reactivated his communicator, grinning. "Did you see that?" --  Chris  talk   blog  01:01, February 28, 2011 (UTC)

186
"Sir, we've lost all readings of the Whitewash!" an officer reported.

"I'm picking up an enemy destroyer, Captain. Heavily damaged but still armed and dangerous."

"Okay, order the Tyumen and South China to engage the destroyer and the Delight to maintain surface support operations."

"Aye, sir." The order was made just as the Roadtown and Euphrates regrouped and prepared to lock themselves into orbit. Meanwhile, a few hundred kilometers away, the two frigates were able to disable the massive Covenant destroyer via a handful of nuclear warheads and a MAC firing from each ship. The vessel's engines were blown off as it was sent drifting away from the planet.

"This is the UNSC Afternoon Delight, do you read?" a blurred voice said through the loud speakers of the flagship's bridge.

"The Roadtown hears you five-four-five," Stergio was glad to hear a voice from the frigates. "What's your status?"

"The destroyer is out of the battle; we're returning to low orbit now."

"Great to hear, Commander. Roadtown out." Fortunately, the immediate space was cleared of noteworthy hostiles, though they knew this freedom to operate would cease if other vessels were approaching. "Do we have drop pods at the ready?"

"Yes, sir. One platoon's worth is on standby and prepped for immediate insertion."

"Launch them now and follow up with deployment of our dropships; order the Euphrates to act on will for the time being."

"Aye, proceeding."

Twenty five men and women hastily boarded their respective insertion vehicles as spinning, red lights and blaring klaxons came to life in the bay. Many of the soldiers were still worn from previous engagements, namely Reach, though none of them second-guessed their actions, even if senior personnel permitted them the privilege to do so. They each sealed themselves within the small pods as various control panels came to life. In the foremost pod, a scarred man of no more than thirty years found a comfortable grip on his maneuvering analog sticks.

"Here we go troopers! Do or die! Ain't no Semper Fi!" he boldly yelled across the unit's comm channel. The floor of the rectangular room slid out from beneath, revealing a shaken world below. Within moments, the magnetic clasps holding the pods in place let loose their grip, allowing the ceramic-plated pods to begin their descent into Hell.

They rapidly accelerated as each made minor adjustments in trajectory. Before long, they deployed their sturdy resistance chutes, which slowed them down a great deal as they broke through the upper atmosphere.

The brief silence of chatter was quick to be broken, however, by one of the platoon's marksmen: "There's something coming at us!"

"I see it, too. Everyone, fan out, likely an enemy bogey," the Lieutenant commanded. Almost instantly, the SOEIVs loosened their formation and just in time for the attackers, which revealed themselves to be a pair of Banshees. Just as the starfighters approached, however, the pods' retro-thrusters activated, once more slowing their velocity by a considerable amount. The shallowness of the Banshees' plan showed through as they jetted past the platoon.

"The Hell?" the marksman spoke once again.

"What is it, Valentis?"

"Th- There's more of them! Incom—" He was interrupted by the explosion in front of him; the alien bastards scored a direct hit on two adjacent pods and tore them to shreds with fuel rod guns. These were succeeded by a number of others experiencing a similar fate.

"Break out! Break out!" Another voice called out, attempting to lasso a scattered situation.

"Get yourself to together! We're landing in five, four, three..."

The convoy of metallic boxes slammed into the rough surface of the Hope with consecutive immense thuds. The sixteen surviving operators burst from their entry vehicles and equipped themselves with fresh arms. Valentis holstered his M392HB marksman rifle before shouldering a scoped MA5K special-issue carbine. They were dropped into the heat of battle, something Jerome craved at times. He glanced at the Lieutenant, who nodded as he called out, "Lead the way!"

He began sprinting in an effort to find cover, eventually diving into a pit carved by mortar fire. Quickly joined by two others, he began firing concentrated bursts on the waves of Unggoy charging the few UNSC forces that remained on-site.

Rangers on the ground! -- Rozh( Talk ) 03:17, February 28, 2011 (UTC)

187
Matt and Tron were in the front of the convoy when Matt saw the SOEIV's hit earth. "Tron..." Matt started, getting in a more ready position. "Calculating distance from current position." Tron simply implied to Matt with his telepathic powers. Turok ran out. "I felt impact. What vehicle had made such a sudden arrival?" Turok asked. "Hopefully, ODSTs." Just then, Quinn's voice surprised the trio as it came on Matt's comm link. “Quinn to Morales, and infantry! Wraiths at the spaceport and we’ve got flyboys coming in fast. Please, if you can hear me, help.”

Matt turned to Tron. "You finished with your calculations yet?" he quickly asked.

"Day's walk. Maybe longer." Tron replied.

"And to the spaceport?"

"Half an hour, 45 minutes." Tron said, his color stainless white, thought turning a dark violet. "Matt, you don't suggest..."

Matt didn't answer; instead, he quickly grabbed the comm. "Matthew-123 to Quinn! We'll head towards your position." After taking a deep breath, Matt turned back to his crew, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's move!"

Ryder just watched the team exit the convoy...

-Therider Rides Alone 01:46, March 1, 2011 (UTC)

188
Torkamentov followed the marine as the forest turned back into city. However, he was saddened to see how much had been destroyed. What was the point? Was this going to be the legacy of humanity? Blasted ruins and destroyed cities? It was pointless, yet Torkamentov didn't know anything else. Suddenly, the marines radiuo buzzed into life. Over it came the sound of firing, and a marines voice, calling for aid. Torkamentov looked at the marine and said, "Is the spaceport near here?" The marine nodded, and they both broke into a run. There was a battle going on, and they would probably be needed.

As they ran, Torkamentov realized that he didn't have a weapon. He came to a stop and looked around. He saw that off to the side of the street was a fallen marine. walking up to the marine, Torkamentov saw that the marine had a rocket launcher, and an assault rifle. He picked up the rocket launcher, checked the ammunition, then slung it onto his back. He then picked up the assault rifle, repeated the procedure, and shouldered it. He then turned toward the fallen marine, and said, "Thank you. I promise to use these well." With his new weapons, he walked back to the marine in the middle of the street, and they took off running again. It was time for a fight. Azecreth 17:26, March 1, 2011 (UTC)

189
The Traxus Spaceport's atmosphere seemed to have evolved from a peaceful waypoint, to a bustling battlefield. Riley diminished his last Assault Rifle magazine on a platoon of hyper Skirmishers before tossing the bare weapon to the ground, only to have it's place taken by a magnum. Riley quickly delivered one round to the chest of an Elite who'd tried to get him from behind, before sending two Grunts flying with consecutive head shots. Two CARNWENNANs took the field, allowing him a chance to take down a few incoming Banshees, near shore by the end of the landing platform, however, two larger opponents had caught his eye. Riley was two distracted to notice one get sniped from the sky, nor the other preform a suicidal crash into the control tower.

As the beasts emerged from the water, he had to admit that he'd heard of them before. Twice, in fact, on Reach. Dying marine's had instructed him that if he was to see one of these creatures emerge from the abyss that he was to dart-off without looking back. As much as he had desired to, however, he couldn't while aware of the innocent civilians onboard the convoys behind him. These were no Hunters... they were at least ten-times worse. --  Chris  talk   blog  21:24, March 1, 2011 (UTC)

190
Inside his head, Quinn was yelling at himself like a drill sergeant. Had a real DI been there, he probably would have told him off for the standoff he was creating.

Orbital Drop Shock Troopers were no strangers to an unfair kill. The term murderer fit most of them rather well. Special forces were the UNSC's assassins, silencing people who could turn protest into outright rebellion. So for having stood here, arm and gun raised for minutes on end, every bit of 'training' ingrained into his mind was railing at him for not shooting Gorka dead.

But this was turning from a quick grab of escape vehicles to a full-on clash of arms. If he killed the Insurrectionist leader, it could mean the rest would turn on them. There would be too much bloodshed. It made him think back to the woman in the truck, with her two children held close.

Desperate for a way out, he said, "There might be hundreds, maybe thousands, on there way here. The people you have tried to save are going to be slaughtered unless we can get them out. Now. I can't do that on my own."

"You want my help? After you turn us in to your fascist masters?" Gorka spat.

Quinn couldn't argue politics, not now. "And they have six ships up there that might be able to get a hole in the Covenant fleet. They could be the ones to save your people today. But you have to do one thing."

Gorka straightened. He seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "And what is that?"

"Stay." It implied more than it sounded. For him to stay was to give himself up to the UNSC. And the Office of Naval Intelligence. Their hospitality wasn't legendary. "If you're so powerful, you can give names to keep out of prison. But I can't let you go."

"You are asking me to betray the freedoms I've been keeping alive, hidden, all this time? They fight for a greater good-"

"Is that really what you've seen today?!" Quinn yelled, surprised by his own outburst. "Covenant don't take prisoners. Every life they get their claws near, they're dead! Ever since the war began, you've just been weakening our chance, maybe the only chance we ever had. Will you help or not?"

Gorka looked out of the windows. Covenant forces were gathering, not far from the edges of the airfield. His jaw set in the determination of a dead man, the enemy with nothing to lose. "Those Jackals . . . they ate my people. You or the Covenant? Covies can eat shit and die."

Quinn took that as a yes, and let Gorka out of the pistol's sights. Immediately, he got back on the radio. He heard Gorka push away the chair next to another console and grab his radio. "Convoy Guard One, this is Gorka, move up to outside the hangars, there are six Jackals, take them down immediately. Two through Four, stay with the civilians and move up to outside the structures. When One has cleared the lot, you will move into the hangars. Quinn, what do we have for transport?"

He had already been looking over records. "Should be two passenger shuttles, big ones meant for the rich. There's a shipping operations AI in this system, I can warm up the shuttles from here."

"Good. You'll have two shuttles, assign pilots, I know we have a few. Do not take off yet, there is one Wraith sitting on the runway. When it goes, you take off, get going as fast as you can. Don't wait for anything, you'll have a limited window."

Quinn was doing his best to coordinate a landing for the UNSC dropships. "Flight complements from Grapes of Wrath and Whitewash. What's your ETA?"

Angel answered. "Private, we've doubled back to regroup with the Whitewash's group. New ETA is eleven minutes."

He was glad to have the extra time, but would it be enough? "Alright, take your time, there may be ground fire and we're about to have outbound. Pelicans be ready to fast-deploy what armored units you're carrying."

"We have two Scorpions ready to go fast. A few Warthogs may also support." she answered. "Did you say you had outbound?"

"Affirmative Bravo Two-Nine . . . uh, no comment."

Gorka looked up. "Private, can you get one of yours on that Wraith at the end of the runway? My men are out of heavy ordnance."

"Right." He switched his signal, and tried to think of who had been closest. "Riley, can you take out the Wraith, north side?"

At the moment, the Spartan sounded somewhat distracted. "Mavbe. Kind of a situation here."

He accounted for the time it would take to get the shuttles in the air."Clock is running, need it clear in exactly eight minutes."

"I might be busy longer than that!"

Quinn was cussing under his helmet over and over, and looked out toward the Wraith as if for an option. As it was shelling the empty terminal sections of the spaceport, Quinn saw a small bit of movement far behind it. He zoomed his binoculars, feeling it was yet another problem. But then he caught the miniscule flash of mirror gold.

It was large. Humanoid. And UNSC green. Quinn's helmet searched for an FOF tag, and recognizing the armor configuration, tagged it as Sierra-B224. The Helljumper keyed his com line. "Private Quinn to Riley, is Julie with you?"

He heard a crash in the background, and the sound of Riley's rifle firing. "I thought she was with Ryder."

"Ryder here. She was with us when . . . oh, shi-"

From the tower, Quinn could only watch the Spartan keeping under the overhang of the trees. A good tactic, Quinn had heard Wraith tanks used a three-dimensional display with data gathered from orbital satellites. Then the armored warrior broke cover and was sprinting through the open.

The tank gunner must have seen her, and the turret began firing a stream of blue light in her direction. But she'd made her approach from the rear, and before the vehicle could spin she had latched onto the back, out of Quinn's view. The next indication of how her fight went was the flash from deep in the Wraith's armored hull. As the sound of the initial explosion reached him, the tank turned into a blue and purple fireball, a beacon for the shuttles going out and dropships coming in.

"Gorka to Convoy units, as soon as you're loaded up, take off, you are clear. Repeat, you are clear. Give your thanks to the Spartan lady, you've got a window."

Though he knew the general couldn't see it, Quinn smiled to him from behind his helmet. Looking back out across the field, he saw Julie facing the buildings. She raised an arm in a signal, and he had to zoom again to see it was a thumbs up. A job well done.

With the first shuttle taxiing out onto the runway, she turned away and started hiking in a direction toward the wilderness. Her Friend-Or-Foe tag disappeared from Quinn's HUD. While he couldn't help wondering where she was going, he knew there was more to attend to. While Julie's job may be done here, the battle was just beginning.

191
Matt saw Juile show up. He knew she was moving on. Matt simply said a silent prayer for Juile's safety and that she'll be ok. Turok and Tron noted that a group of Grunts were foolishly sneaking up on Quinn and the general. Matt looked up and saw the same group. He started running and scaried the whole group and Quinn. As soon as the other man turned around, Matt was standing on top of a pile of Grunts, with Tron and Turok right behind him.

"Sorry we're late. We got stalled a bit outside." Matt gushed.

Quinn grinned. "Nice timing. We would have been screwed if you haven't come around."

Tron became an dark blue. "All the timing belongs to Matt. But who is your friend?'

"Oh, this is the Rebel General Gorka." Quinn said. Matt's eyes grew wider, but he kept silent.

Turok remained silent. Gorka looked slightly intimidated by the calm Elite. "Any words from you, Turok?" Matt inquired. Turok just said, "More foes here." The crew turned and saw Turok was right. A couple of Wraiths came in, followed by a small squad of Ghosts, maybe five or six of them.

Matt grinned. "Let's go!"

-Therider Rides Alone 22:07, March 2, 2011 (UTC)

192
The Mgalekgolo and Huragok Heretics finally stopped at a nearby abbandoned UNSC research lab. The Huragok quickly got Silver attached to a computer. "Alright," she said as she spread her arms, creating a virtual keyboard, "Let's see if I've still got the touch." After a brief moment of typing, she sighed and said, "It is done. I sent the Emergency Reserve to take care of the Covenant forces...except for you guys of course!"

The Phantoms were enroute to the Hope Reborn when disaster struck. "Sir," shouted a Kig-yar from navigations, "several hostile crafts approaching!" Rasaab thought for a moment, then replied, "Tell them we have captives aboard, and if they shoot, they go down too." The Kig-yar repeated the phrase, but no respnse was given. "They're still gaining on us sir, in a mo-" The sound of an arc welder hitting metal sounded throught both Phantoms. "Sentinels! We have Sentinels on our Six!" shouted one of the Unggoy gunners before he was burned out of his seat by a Sentinel Beam.

Rasaab made several attempts to dodge, but the Phantom was unresponsive. He gave the co-pilot the controls and walked into the holding room. "Alright worms, one of you are going to have to jump out and repair our broken tail fins. If you survive, maybe I'll put in an extra word to the mistress for you." No one volunteered. "Well then I'll just have to pick then." he said as he walked around and examined them. Then Lorrie stood up. "I will go," she said, "But give the credit to everyone." The Unggoy pilot laughed and retorted, "Oh sure, everyone gets a nice little present for you. How about everyone but you gets a word in and you get twice the punishment? Sounds fair?" Rasaab stopped laughing in shock when Lorrie replied, "I will take your deal." and she jumped out the side of the Phantom with a bungee cord on.

Lorrie jumped back as if repelling off a cliff. She craftily dodged the Sentinel Beams and repaired the tail fins. On her return, she heared a familiar sound. A Sangheili with an Energy Sword and Rasaab were both next to her cord. "One less to worry about. I'll just say you jumped out in a suicidal attempt. Oh, and don't worry about your friends, we'll take care of them!" They both burst into laughter and Lorrie rushed to get in. She wasn't fast enough. The Sangheili dropped his arm and let the cord free and Lorrie went with it all the way back to the ground. Well, almost.

-M.S. 21:17, March 3, 2011 (UTC)

193
As the spaceport loomed in the distance, Torkamentov came to a gasping halt. He hadn’t had to run that far since he was in the Academy. In fact, that was one reason why he went into the Navy. When you were in the navy, you didn’t have to run everywhere. You had a behemoth of a ship, and when you showed up, everyone noticed. The marine noticed that he had stop, and ran back. “Hey, you want to take a rest?” Torkamentov shook his head. “No. Those marines at the spaceport need our help. There will be time for rest later.” Straightening himself out, he began running again.

As they came into within 2 blocks of the spaceport, Torkamentov could hear the firing of Battle rifles, and the reply of Plasma rifles. Plasma came pattering toward him and the marine, and Torkamentov dived off behind a parked car. He popped up, and saw that the plasma fire was coming from some windows. Ducking back down, he unslung his rocket launcher, popped out with it, and fired a rocket at one of the windows. The rocket sailed into the window, and the plasma fire from it stopped as the rocket exploded. Plasma fire from the other window forced him back behind the car. Doing something that Torkamentov thought was brave but crazy, the marine that he had been traveling with stood up, and fired off a burst from his battle rifle into the window. The firing stopped, and Torkamentov could hear stumbling around inside the building. Both Torkamentov and the marine stood up, looked at each other, then looked at the spaceport. Torkamentov moved forward, as they entered the area around the spaceport. Torkamentov knew that it was time to fight once again. Azecreth 12:36, March 4, 2011 (UTC)

194
"Are you okay, Ms. Stops?" Henry asked Lorrie as she began to regain consciousness. "W-what happened?" she asked him hazily. Henry sat down and began to recap what happened. "Well, you were falling from the sky, and luckily I was close by enough that I caught you. Of course you did take quite a beating from hitting my armor," he explained, "But better my armor than the ground. Well, that put you out cold and left me with two options: leave you here to die or find you some shelter. I would never leave a woman to die so long as I live, so I carried you on my back to look for somewhere to rest."

"Most towns were burnt to the ground, crawling with Covies, or had joined the Innies, so it was a miracle I had found that there were still UNSC fighting here. I tried to contact them on my radio, but that's been busted up since before I got here. So I tried to find some soldiers, which I did, but it was a small team of ODST. I left them alone. We Spartans never did quite get along with them. Plus it seemed to me that they were doing good without the help. I did, however, in the night, drain some of their Sniper ammo, as I had run out days ago. I'm sure they won't miss it.

"So, I was back on the road and took any injured soldier off the streets until I found this farm. It looked like whoever lived here had left days before the Innies even got here. With no one here, both the Innies and the Covies decided that it was a waste of their time or something, so I moved you here until you wo-" he stopped himself, seeing that Lorrie had fallen back asleep. "You sleep well, LC, you deserve it." he said as he shut the door to her room. "Is there anything I can do for you, Spartan-231?" chimmed Susie. The Spartan shook his head and replied, "No thanks Susie, we're good." Susie hesitated for a moment, then suggested, "Could I try and get you through to Port Neandra? I know the connections by heart."

"That would be great Susie. Yes, please do." Henry replied. There was what seemed to be the sound of a phone attempting to connect to something. "Okay, you're on with all military with vicinity of Port Neandra, say what you want." Susie said happily. Henry thought for a while, then said into the speaker. "This is Henry Standish Williams, repeat this is Henry Standish Wiliams," he said, then he paused and looked out the window. Several Phantoms were inbound. He continued speaking, "I have wounded. We are in a small farm North East of Port Neandra. We have multiple Phantoms inbound. I don't know how long we can survive without support. We are low on ammunition and are requesting back-up. There isn't m-" Henry stopped when Susie told him that connection was lost. The Covenant were jamming his comm system. "Now all I can do is pray that someone in Neandra heard me." he said to himself as he started counting how many rounds of Sniper ammunition he had left.

-M.S. 14:22, March 4, 2011 (UTC)

195
The dropships were landing. Pelicans and four Albatross dropships from the Wrath and late Whitewash were coming down on the grass surrounding the buildings, with armed Marines and Navy personnel dropping out. Thanks to Riley and a number of CARNWENNAN soldiers, the heavy Covenant material was being held back, allowing the two civilian ships to head for safety in formation with the heavy UNSC vessels and the dropships to come in with only some small arms fire aimed their way.

Quinn was still yelling over the radios while the sound of Matt and Turok's assault rifles took down targets from out of the tower's windows. "Copy that, send the two Scorpions to join up with Riley, he'll need some assistance. Pelican Charlie 14, have your crew get the Covenant jammer out of those empty civilian trucks, Intel will want to look it over."

On his side, the Spartan and Elite were firing on a Grunt unit. Matt laughed. "I one-upped you, another two dead."

"Nay, we are even. The Jackal was my work." The Elite pulled another clip from his bandolier and reloaded.

Another mortar shook the tower, the ODST held tight to his console. "Dammit, can no one get a line on that thing? This building's ready to collapse! Matt, where's Ryder?"

"He's going to investigate a few drop pods, maybe bring us some reinforcement." Matt sidestepped a green bolt, then returned fire and pulled a grenade from his belt. "Frag going out!"

Quinn watched the sphere trail smoke, and bounce under the already ripped up carriage of a Wraith. There was a flash, and the shrapnel tore the mortar tank into pieces, falling to the ground. Turok's jaw tightened. "That still only counts as one!"

From up the alley between the hangars, a plume of white-gray smoke trailed out into the open, the orange flare connecting with the back of the Wraith. The exposed sections broke apart like shards of glass, the second tank dead.

"Who fired that?" Quinn asked. Matt searched below.

"IFF tag must be reading wrong. I've got an Admiral down there with a rocket launcher, and a marine with him."

Quinn took it in stride. Odder things had happened today. His radio began to buzz again, though muffled by static. He adjusted frequency, looking for a better signal when a voice came through clear. "-iams, repeat this is Henry Standish Wiliams. I have wounded. We are in a small farm North East of Port Neandra. We have multiple Phantoms inbound. I don't know how long we can survive without support. We are low on ammunition and are requesting back-up. There isn't m-"

It faded back into static, but the port authority AI had gleaned coordinates and displayed them on the screen.

Quinn gritted his teeth. Most units were headed to back up the supersoldiers against the Covenant force. They might not be able to reach them in time. A new voice went over the radio.

"Private Quinn, this is Angel, Bravo 029. We heard that. Our troops are disembarked, if the Sierra and alien want a ride, we can pick them up."

"What about the Phantoms?"

"There's still a Heavy Gauss Rifle in our hold. If Matt can operate it, the thing's powerful enough to bring down a gunship if you put the round through an engine. He can clear the skies, we move in quick and pick up the wounded, and fly back before they knew what hit 'em."

"Right." Quinn turned to Matt and Turok. "Either of you want to catch a ride?"

196
"231," Susie beamed as Henry lost focus and missed a Grunt with his Sniper Rifle, "the message got through! I gave them our co-ordinates so they may lend us support." Henry sighed, "Well, who's coming?" Susie paused, apparently searching the area for tags, then she returned with, "My scanners are acting up. Something must be interfering with them. Strange thing is, it's not EMP or Plamsa, and whatever it is, it's coming from under the house." Henry thought, then replied, "We don't have time to start digging, we ha-"

He was cut of by the sound of a Corvette breaching low orbit. It was prepared to land. "I'm not that important, no human can be. They could be after that disturbace you found Susie," Henry thought out loud, "which is probably going to be a Forerunner artifact of great importance. Probably a weapon. Change of plans Susie, tell our guest that I went to get us some more firepower when they arrive." Susie acknowledge him that she would. "But what happens," Susie asked worriedly, "if they die before you're back?" Henry laughed and replied assuringly, "Don't worry, I think I got an idea of who's coming, but if they do you have permission to blow the place up, as I will take the wounded down with me."

Susie agreed again and tried to get a message through the soup of static she was faced with. Her message read: "UNSC soldiers, please listen in. There is a Object of Importance below this farm. Large Covenant forces are attempting to extract it, but a defence is holding up for now. Spartan-231 has delved below the farm house to recover the artifact, but the ammount of time he will be down there is unknown. We...wait...what was that? UNSC soldiers, we have been infiltr-" No one was around to hear the crackling of the Energy Sword rip through the chasis, no one but Silum 'Kelohee and a small team of Elite SpecOps.

"Silum," Lower than Few said to him, unaware that Susie was still transmitting every noise in the room, "the Holy Wayfinder is several feet below you. Kill all who oppose you and recover it so that your honor may be restored." Silum responded, "I understood Mistress, Silum out." he walked away from the room, thinking things were about to get easier. They weren't.

-M.S. 03:12, March 7, 2011 (UTC)

197
As they entered into sight range of of the spaceport, Torkamentov saw that a Wraith tank was taking aim at the control tower of the spaceport. Unslinging his rocket launcher, he ran out into the middle of the street, took quick aim at the tank and pulled the trigger. To his horror, the trigger slammed into an empty barrel. “Oh, shit,” said Torkamentov as he dived away from the Wraith. “I'm out of ammunition.” he whispered to the marine, retreating behind the wall. The marine stared at him, and grabbed the rocket launcher. “You forgot to rotate the barrels, sir,” he said as he did the said operation. Handing the rocket launcher back to Torkamentov. He muttered a thanks, ran back out into the street, and this time hit the Wraith tank in the back with a rocket. The tank exploded into flames, and the marine shouted, “That's how you do it! We'll make a ground pounder out of you yet!”As they ran into the spaceport, Torkamentov replied, “But I don't want to be a ground pounder. I like my space ships.” The marine grinned as they fought their way to the base of the control tower.

As they made it to the control tower, they met a group of soldiers and an Elite exiting the tower. Torkamentov glared at the Elite, but he decided to trust him for now, since he was with the soldiers. Maybe his time wit Parthius had changed him. Torkamentov could remember a time when he wouldn't have hesitated to blow off an Elites head, no matter where he met him, but now.... Torkamentov returned the salute that the soldiers gave him. “So, where are you boys going,” asked Torkamentov. The one who seemed to be in charge, whose IFF tag read him as a Private, responded, “We're responding to a distress call from a group of soldiers north of Port Neandra, sir.” Torkamentov smiled, “Well, I had hoped to get back into space as soon as I could, but since I'm here, do you mind if I hang out with you guys? I won't hold you back, since as you could probably see, I know how to fight. ” The soldiers and the Elite looked at each other. The private then looked back at Torkamentov and replied, “I guess so, sir. It might be useful to have an Admiral with us.” Torkamentov nodded. “Thanks. Well, I assume we should get going.” He turned toward the marine and said, “Well, I suppose this is where we part ways, unless you want to come along?” The marine smiled and replied “I wouldn't miss it for the world, sir”

Azecreth 15:25, March 9, 2011 (UTC)

198
Matt stared at this Admiral. He held the rocket launcher a bit uneasly towords Turok. "Oh, don't worry about Turok," Matt said. "He's quite friendly when he needs to be." The marine stared at Turok. Turok looked and said, "What? Am I drooling?"

Tron poped up. "Well then, our merry band of freedom fighters are on the march. Shall I contact the Pelican to pick us up?" Matt turned and replied "Sure. Thank's, Tron!" The Admiral cocked an eyebrow. "This is..."

Tron turned to him. "My full name is TRON-JA307020, but you can call me Tron. And you are Admiral Nikolai Torkamentov, of the now destroyed UNSC Siren's Call. A pleasure to meet you."

Torkamentov whisted. "A portable AI? Impressive."

Matt quicky cut off the Admiral, saying, "Tron, call the cab."

-Therider Rides Alone 17:17, March 10, 2011 (UTC)

199
Quinn was nervous. Again, he felt the shifting of Bravo 029's deck reminding him he wasn't on solid ground. But from what he'd seen on and above Hades, Angel was as good a dropship pilot as the Navy could train, even Admiral Torkamentov seemed impressed. But he still didn't like flying. Maybe it was that his mind thought of being in the air as the moment before a drop, something he had never liked.

They'd circled in on the farm and dropped off Matt and Tron, then waited for his signal to move in. From where he sat in the troop bay, he could see the Phantoms through the Pelican's windshield. And he saw even more clearly when a magnetic round turned one Covenant ship into a bright flare, debris raining down and taking out another one.

Tron made a report. "Two targets down, you've got a window to move in."

And with that, their ship lurched forward, jarring the three men and Sangheili of the insertion team. Torkamentov, Turok, and a marine like himself checked their weapons. Quinn watched the admiral check over a battle rifle, having the heavy launcher slung on his back. The man outranked by about as much as was possible, and the Navy probably wanted him back in one piece. "How long since you saw ground operations, sir?"

Torkamentov grinned and looked at him. "There was basic... but I've been down here a few hours and seen more than I thought I would. And survived it. I can look after myself well enough, son."

The ODST nodded, his face still obscured by the black visor. Then the crew chief, Staff Sergeant Wheatley, called them up as a red light cast its light on the troop bay. All of them stood and got ready to drop. "Get inside quick and find anyone in there. Expect hostiles. When you get those wounded," Wheatley yelled, "Radio for us. We're dropping you and then take a little flight around in the open for Matt to take out the other flies off our tail. Good luck."

Despite the dire conditions, he was smiling. Quinn had to ask, "What's so funny?"

"When you first got on here, I had to check my vision. Picture it: a Navy Admiral, a Helljumper Private, a SPARTAN with an AI hologram, and an Elite wearing a pair of bandoliers. You guys are the wierdest team I've ever laid eyes on."

Thinking about it, Quinn looked around and locked gaze with Turok standing next to him. With nothing else to say, they both locked their weapons. Just as Bravo 029 swooped low to deploy them, Quinn asked, "Hey, Turok? You were a Major Domo before going turncoat, right? So are you a POW, or do you outrank me?"

Turok appeared to think about it for a moment, but couldn't find an answer. He just shrugged, in a universal code for "I dunno" and grunted, then as the troop bay door opened up, the four of them jumped out and onto the fresh soil.

200
Riley watched as Bravo 029 retreated from the scene. Taking his first look at the sky since at the spaceport, Riley thought that he could still make out the figures of cargo frigates transporting civilians to safety, the armada of overhead UNSC vessels. Riley had to admit, the rain having ceased about an hour ago made the distant sky more visible. Still, harsh winds and fog continued to sweep through the sky. Riley had never witnessed such a storm in his life as a soldier. Turning back to his team, Riley noticed that he had fell a little far behind, and began to dash forward.

A Riley caught up, he noticed Rear Admiral Torkamentov staring over a scarlet-painted wooden fence, encompassing a large cornfield.

"So this is the farm..." Torkamentov muttered. Indeed, the farmlands had stretched as far as the eye could see, and that was if you were augmented in height enough to be able to peer into the distance. The erie winds seemed to rustle the corn as if a large animal was trailing through it. Riley sighed, wondering how he would be ale to identify straying Unggoy from winds.

"Please tell me that you can see the estate through these crops..." Matt exclaimed, eagerly attempted to mount himself upon the picket fence in order to see above the erect cornstalks. "Nope," Quinn responded, shamefully. It was rather unfortunate for Julie and Luc to have left earlier, as they were the tallest Spartans of the group.

"Well, we've been called in to aid the Colonial Militia, so we mustn't lag." Quinn stated, before jumping the fence and bravely heading onward. "Hey, wait up!" cried Ryder, eagerly following behind. One marine rolled his eyes while striding behind Torkamentov. It was apparent that most marines weren't willing to trail along, however, Riley urged them all forward. Lastly, Riley was engulfed by the yellow stalks. --  Chris  talk   blog  20:21, March 11, 2011 (UTC)

201
To a human, the life of an artificial intelligence must seem godlike. To exist in potentium as data bits, the interaction of millions, billions, trillions of neural analogues all connecting and branching off, these processes stored within huge, cavernous hard drives, does not seem like much of a life. But when one considers that an AI has the resources of human civilisation at its disposal, it rapidly becomes attractive – an AI can use any security camera, any automated mobile vehicle, and can interact with the electronic environment in ways that no Covenant capabilities could ever match. In a war where humanity itself was technologically obsolete, their AIs were leaps and bounds ahead of the Covenant.

AIs are therefore extremely valuable prizes for both sides. They are expensive, difficult to produce, and the effort invested in each is significant. To humans, they are one of the few effective weapons available to them. To the Covenant, they are blasphemous creations, symbols of humanity’s heresy, to be captured, tortured, and shredded apart and cobbled back together to serve the Covenant’s own ends.

It is understandable, then, that Tinuviel had no wish to alert the Covenant to her presence.

The aliens had purged the tower’s systems, and a number of lesser constructs had perished, but she had clung on – rewriting herself onto the wiped data servers. It had been difficult, and it had still resulted in partial data corruption, but she had managed to survive.

The question, then, was “what now?” She had the resources of what was left of the city at her disposal, and she could see Covenant wraith columns filling the streets, marching to positions south of the city where the UNSC was still attempting a decent defence. Banshees filled the skies, and as she watched a pair of Seraphs lanced through the sky low over the skyline, dropping a pair of plasma charges on a holdout bunker. Everywhere she looked, the Covenant were laying any evidence of human inhabitation to waste.

But not her. Not this tower.

There had been an initial strike group, Elites, extremely vicious, who had hit the building with commando raids. The entire lower half of the building had been captured before she could respond effectively, her human controller ceding responsibility to her moments before a plasma blade passed through her chest. She had shut down every access route higher, and enacted emergency protocols – alerting any nearby UNSC or law enforcement officials. Which was pointless, because any UNSC forces were already in the tower, lost souls who had been left behind during the frantic retreat, regrouping at the biggest, most visible landmark in the hopes of rescue.

That rescue hadn’t come. At least, not yet. But a flight group of Falcons had dropped off another platoon of troopers on the rooftop. Another oddity – if they had transport, why would they not use it to evacuate the building?

Everything pointed to there being something in this building worth taking intact. Something very valuable – valuable enough for the Covenant to ignore it, and for the UNSC to put more boots on the ground for it.

She just hoped it wasn’t her.

Ezha snarled as his fist slammed down on the doors keypad. Sparks flew as the sensitive electronics were crushed, but the thick doors held. The rest of his lance looked on in surprise at the unexpected outburst of emotion from their leader. He punched the door again – the metal crumpling inward slightly, but still refusing to give way.

The human they had captured, cowering beneath a desk, had spilled his secrets easily and quickly. Access codes, floor schematics, detailed personnel rosters – the creature had asked only that he be spared. Normally, Ezha detested breaking his vows, but for the little traitor he’d had no trouble speeding him on his way to oblivion. Even the most faithless Sangheili despised traitors – honourable death was better than dishonourable survival.

He felt a tingle on his fist, and saw a small trickle of purple blood make its way down from one of his knuckles. His mandibles pulled back into an enraged sneer.

“They must have changed the codes,” he said, evenly and low to maintain composure. “Clever. Thruno, Octazh, activate your blades.”

The Lance’s swordsmen moved forward, wrists flicking and long twin blades of glowing blue plasma casting eerie shadows on the walls of the darkened hallway. The blades were plunged deep into the door, metal sizzling and spattering off their energy shields, as they cut through the thick metal – slowly, but surely.

Ezha massaged his fist, still angry – this time at his own lost composure. A leader must remain calm and collected at all times, serene – orders given must be thought out, not emotional reactions. He would meditate on his actions later.

More importantly, he was beginning to wish he had never even heard of the Raak’ezh.

Many warrior units in the Covenant had earned much fame and renown for their deeds: the Kr’Rana, the Vathanel, and the Kel’Anto, the lineages soaked in honour and virtue; the Ultarsa, the Erethran, the Yatazha, warriors who defended the Covenant in times of great strife.

And then there was the Raak’ezh.

He had served as a Minor in other units, and wherever he had gone, all the worlds he had set foot upon, the name had followed him – warriors who shunned the light of attention, keeping to the shadows of secrecy. Warriors who hunted worthy prey, who tracked down the enemies of the Covenant to their own warrens. He had been intrigued – and his actions spoke for themselves. He had served loyally, and served well – comrades had fallen around him to bullet fire, but he had survived, time and time again.

When an officer of the Raak’ezh had finally approached him, he had considered it a sacred honouyr, and accepted on the spot.

In hindsight, however, it had been the worst mistake of Ezha’s life. The Raak’ezh had seen him as a blunt instrument – he was a capable officer, and he had been thrown in as a Minor again, forced to make his way back up to his current rank of Major. They had assured him that there would be many foes to risk his life against – but he didn’t have any intention of dying. He believed in the Great Journey, yes, but he was not so eager as they to embark upon it so early.

His talents were wasted here. He had thought he was entering a group of prestige – but what they were was true Zealots, in both senses of the word.

The two warriors stepped back, flicking their blades off, and lashed out with their booted hooves – the metal clanged, rocked, and tumbled inward.

Strange alarms sounded, blaring in notes that hurt Ezha’s ears. He grimaced – one more irritant in this mission.

Octazh stepped through, roaring menacingly, blade raised. Human gunfire echoed through the hole, the warrior’s shields flaring as he leapt forward. Thruno stepped through, ducking low under the still-glowing metal, followed be Ezha. The two swordsmen sprinted, blades whirling as they closed the gap between themselves and the human defenders.

Ezha dropped to one knee, plasma repeater raised, firing off a rapid burst of plasma bolts. The rest of the Lance entered, laying down fire, taking care to avoid the two swordsmen as they engaged at close range. Ezha swapped his repeater for a carbine for the close-range combat, selecting his targets carefully, moving up to cover further ahead in the form of an overturned desk.

Thruno’s blade came down upon a “Mareen”, cutting the creature diagonally from the shoulder to the hip. It screamed, ignored by Thruno as he swung the blade laterally, decapitating another enemy warrior as it tried to bring its rifle to bear. Octazh growled as he grabbed a human by the neck, slammed it against the wall, and stabbed with his blade. Another human launched itself, metal knife in hand, at the warrior, blade stabbing deep into his back – he roared, tried to reach up and behind him for it – the human warrior clung on for dear life.

Ezha raised his carbine, lining up his shot – it would have been easier if Octazh could keep still – and fired. The human slumped down, its head a pulpy mass now smeared across Octazh’s huge frame.

The rest of the Lance charged forward as the humans broke and ran, firing over their shoulders. Octazh snarled one last time before a burst of bullet fire caught him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards, blood pooling around him as he twitched. Thruno roared, ducked forward, catching his comrades blade as it fell, and rolled to his feet.

“Hold!” Ezha called. “Do not overreach!”

If the swordsman had heard him, he gave no sign of it, and reached the stragglers. The blades whirled in glowing blurs of blue, and screams rang out, abruptly cut short. Ezha swore to himself at the warrior’s foolhardy aggression, but nevertheless marvelled at his skill – Sangheili who were chosen to bear the sword in battle were rare, and those skilled enough to bear two at once were even rarer. That the warrior did so with skill and efficiency would go well with their commanders – for what that was worth.

Ezha fired a pair of shots past Thruno, snarling in irritation as they dug deep into a wall, barely missing one of the humans. The rest of the Lance hurried forward, eager to close the distance between them and the berserker Thruno.

The alarms were louder here, and Ezha considered calling out another warning to the swordsman when he felt a rumbling. He halted, the rest of the Lance sliding to a stop.

Thruno kept barrelling down the hallway at the hells of the “Mareens”, lunged- -and bounced back as a sheet of metal slammed down between him and his prey.

Ezha’s warrior roared in rage at being denied battle and their enemy’s cowardice, but Ezha knelt by Thruro, checking the warrior – dazed, bruised, but none the worse for wear.

“I have failed, Lance Commander,” the warrior said sadly. “I disgrace my ancestors.”

“You got too far ahead of yourself, warrior,” he said. “Remember this as a lesson. Acknowledge your weaknesses and rise above them.”

He helped the warrior up, handing him the dropped blades. Thruno hesitated as his hand clasped his own, his other reaching out for Octezh’s.

“Take it. Earn the blood it has drawn. And let his memory live on.”

Thruno bowed his head low. “The songs of my kin shall call his name, as long as my line persists.”

Ezha nodded in satisfaction. He stood, assessing the door as his warriors attempted to open it – this one was thicker and heavier than the previous. Possibly too thick for a blade to pierce.

This was supposed to be a civilian building, but the defences they had encountered were more than most civilians could muster. Hidden mines, volunteers aiming to ambush or misdirect their strikes, choke points and dead ends. It was a cunningly laid maze, one meant to confuse them and make them easier targets for the human warriors who shouldn’t even have been here.

As a human text had once said: "curiouser and curiouser."

The city had long ago stopped looking like a place where people lived. Reginald could see the devastation, even from the top of the Vyrant tower – nearby buildings had collapsed, support braces slagged by plasma. Some had snapped off at their mid-point, toppling over and leaving jagged stumps. Others had slumped over sideways against their neighbours, threatening to bring both down, and a few had simply dropped in a pile.

That this tower was left virtually untouched had to be more than luck or accident.

The troopers and Spartans cleared the landing pad, sweeping the cluttered rooftops for hostiles. Reginald held his machinegun, sweeping it back and forth, finger left off the trigger – if they were going to get a welcome, he’d need to pick his shots here. Erin, on the other hand, unslung her battle rifle and moved forward with the troopers.

The troopers looked jumpy – Reginald didn’t blame them. Most of them were rookies, all of them were from Hope. Judging from the orange glow on the horizon during the middle of the day, odds were their homes and families were being killed right now as the UNSC tried to retake other areas.

Reginald could sympathise. Every single Spartan-III was an orphan, and unlike their predecessors, they had chosen this life. He’d wanted payback at first – to kill every single Covenant he could get his hands on. Eventually, he had realised his motivations were more altruistic – he wanted to stop anyone else losing their family, like he had lost his.

He couldn’t help everyone, though. Sometimes there was nothing to be done.

“Hold fire! Friendly coming out in the open!”

Erin held a clenched hand, ordering the troopers to get down. Reginald didn’t bother – he was too bulky and his weapon too cumbersome for it to matter.

“Hammer!” Erin called out, the first half of the current standard passcode.

“Anvil!”

The troopers visibly relaxed, and Erin moved forward to meet a figure as it opened the stairwell door – a UNSC Marine, assault rifle nestled in her arms, snapping off a salute to the Spartan.

“Ma’am, the command post’s downstairs. Follow me.”

She nodded. “Fire teams Alpha, Bravo and Charlie, hold position, set up sniper posts. Delta, with us.”

Delta included Corporal Enderby and his Fireteam. Reginald ducked under the low-hanging doorframe, gun clattering against it, boots crunching into broken glass – the tower was intact, but that didn’t mean undamaged. The four troopers followed, still nervously keeping eyes on the shadows lest a Covenant welcome party ambush them from beneath a desk.

Nervous was not exactly great, but it was good enough. Nervous would keep them alert. He’d just have to hope they didn’t make any mistakes.

The stairwell was tight, but it looked solid. A few Marines and other troopers halted unloading supplies from a lower floor, looking at Erin and Reginald with the familiar mix of awe and distrust that they were used to. Reginald looked at some of the boxes – food preparation kits, ammunition crates, weapons racks. Wherever they had gotten them from, this place was being set up like a fortress.

The command post was a hive of activity, filled with personnel from most of the services – whoever could be rallied together. The battle for the city had seen a lot of people cut off from their units, and they’d all come here. Sailors, airmen, Marines and troopers looked up from their work, casting sidelong glances at them, and returned to work. The sight of two Spartans was far from the top of their priorities list today.

The windows were lined with salvaged metal, and a few snipers lined the few windows that remained, ones that did not have a line of sight on the CP itself. Rocket crates had been dumped in piles, probably for repelling enemy dropships or fighters. A Marine squad picked up rifles and submachine guns, the sergeant barking out orders as they headed out to patrol the lower levels. A row of salvaged computer terminals lined one of the inner walls, the cubicles they had once inhabited torn to shreds and pieces lying underfoot. At the far back, an aid station had been set up, treating glass cuts and plasma burns.

A very well set up operation. Reginald was impressed.

Someone had set up a holo-projector in the middle of the floor. A group of officers clustered around it, talking animatedly, gesturing to holographic landmarks and notations of enemy troop movements. One of them looked up, excused herself from her colleagues, and strode over.

Saluting in a combat zone was forbidden in combat, so Reginald and Erin made do with a respectful nod. The woman, who registered on his helmet display as Major Helen, walked forward, a wry smile on her face.

“When I asked for reinforcements, I didn’t they’d send Spartans.”

Erin shrugged slightly. “Things outside the city are…confused. Chains of command blurring together, combat units thrown together. So we got sent instead.”

The Major nodded, gesturing to the holotank. “I know. We may not have COMs up and running, but we’re able to keep track of some things.”

Parts of the map were shaded grey, land that had been fought over and abandoned. Some parts were UNSC-green, while others were Covenant-purple. Blotches of blue marked where no fighting had occurred. There was a lot of purple and grey – few green, and fewer blue.

“Looks like things are going downhill, and quickly, Erin observed.

“I don’t know about the other continents, but Tourtwign is done for,” the Major said stoically. “Too many Covenant pouring in, UNSC lines are breaking or broken. We all got left behind with they pulled out – followed a signal to the tower, and have been holding out ever since.”

Reginald frowned beneath his helmet. “A signal? Someone contacted you?”

“Nobody was here when we got here. Nobody living. We had to fight through a light guard, mostly Jackals and Grunts, not too much effort. And then these badass Elite types came out of bloody nowhere. We haven’t been able to penetrate lower than the seventh floor.”

The two Spartans shared a look.

“What’s on the seventh floor?” Erin asked.

The radio crackled, buzzed with static for a moment, and then cleared. “That, Chief Warrant Officer, would be me.”

 Specops306   Autocrat     Qur'a 'Morhek   10:34, March 14, 2011 (UTC)

202
"So what's the situation?" Riley asked over the com.

Up front, Quinn was moving slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. It might have just been that he had come out of the gunfire and jet screams of Port Neandra, but it seemed a little too quiet to him, and he was cautious. "Got a distress call from someone named Standish. Didn't give a rank before he was cut off, but he said he had wounded, and an AI sent coordinates with the message. So how'd you get here?"

"Heard you on radios after giving my . . ." he remembered the Jörmungandr. "problems . . . over to the heavy armor. Heard a few more things. There's still a few members of the Coast Guard around, and they're trying to pull survivors from what's left of the Whitewash. Pretty brave of them."

Torkamentov spoke from somewhere in their line. "I wonder how they're faring in the space battle . . ."

"Hold up." Quinn said, crouching. "Thought I saw something."

These corn stalks were lush and packed close. It could have been nothing, but he had seen something gray move, against the wind that the plants all bowed before.

"Movement." Riley reported, pointing to their right flank. Quinn had just turned to look when a bolt of green fire sizzled through the plants past his head. He dived forward into the muddy irrigation trench as more followed. "Skirmishers!"

He caught sight of one, darting out and back into the tangle of plants within a second. Gunfire erupted from behind him as people saw, or thought they saw, targets and engaged. Another appeared in Erik's vision, firing its pistol. Quinn rolled into the next row.

Recovering, he raised his rifle, and as it tried to continue strafing him, he swept low and caught it with a bullet in the ankle. It tumbled down right in front of him, and before it could scramble up Quinn shot it in the head.

"Use your motion trackers!" One of the Spartans yelled, and then the gunfire stopped. As Quinn hesitantly pushed himself up, a growl alerted him to another coming from straight ahead and he dropped. Then a burst of rifle fire cut through from somewhere and put it cleanly down.

They were holding their own so far, but as long as they were fighting blind it couldn't last. These things would pick them off one at a time. But they did have a chance. "Go for the building! Go for the farmhouse!" he yelled, then got up and started running.

He set the white-walled building in front of him, running headlong through the plants. Something popped up ahead, and he punched it aside. The Skirmisher's brittle bones cracked and it hissed in pain before something large hit it and crushed its skull in the mud. Quinn hoped it was one of the Spartans behind him.

Before he knew it, the stifling shadow of the tall plants broke as he got out of the fields, and he stumbled into the wall of the farmhouse. The others were right behind him, firing bursts back. "Everyone out?" Riley called, then withdrew a pair of cylinders from his belt and tossed one to Quinn.

Pulling pins, they threw the glowing orange grenades into the dry stalks. It was late harvest season, just before the crops were perfect in this field. The dry vegetation burned quickly. Amidst the acrid smoke cloud going up to blot out the sun, agonized alien screams came from amidst the coals as the Skirmisher pack perished. With the wind blowing towards them, they couldn't run fast enough without a warning to escape their doom. Quinn almost pitied them.

"Come on." the admiral said, tearing people's attention away from the blaze and back on task. "Let's go in and say hello."

203
Matt slowly moved to the back of the building he was hiding in. He turned the corner and used the active camouflage he was saving to slowly strafe around when a cold hand pulled back. Matt turned, only to notice a small civilian child?

"Are you here to help us get out?" The little girl asked. Her face was pale and her eyes glimmered with hope. Matt outwardly smiled and on the inside he was relieved not to be alone. ''Ah, but you weren't in the beginning. You have me.'' "Don't worry," Matt said to the frightened little girl. "You're gonna be okay. Is anyone else with you?" The little girl nodded and motioned Matt to follow.

Matt turned the corner and remembered he still had cloak on. He turned it off and the little girl's eyes grew. "You're Spartan, mister?" the little girl said. Matt nodded an simply said, "Yup."

"I've heard stories about you." The little girl removed her left pointer finger from her mouth, in order to reply. Matt just nodded, not bothering to mention that the term Spartan referred to a large class of augmented servicemen. After all, she wasn't supposed to know this much already.

The little girl moved on to the next room. In that room, there were seven Innies and four civilians. One civilian layed on the floor, dead, with a assualt rifle in hand. An Innie raised his head in surprise. His rifle soon followed. "Who the hell do you-"

Matt simply walked over to him. "Are you the ranking Innie here?'

The man stumbled. "Yes, I'm-"

A women stood up and slapped this man in the face. "Idiot, I'm the commanding officer." She turned to Matt. "Sergeant Juilet Varusisguard."

Matt nodded. "CPO Matthew-123. As of now I'm the CO of this taskforce. Okay?" Silence. "I have three rules to make a good mission. First," He pointed to the dead civilian, "We're not going to lose another civilian. Two-"

Juilet Ran straight to his face. "Oh, so we're expandable? I know what you Spartans are like. My brother was a marine on Arcadia."

"Wasn't Ryder from Arcadia?" Matt recalled, attempting the angry soldier.

Yes. Tron replied in Matt's head. Matt nodded and continuted to listen.

"He died protecting a mother and her young boy. The boy had a Spartan Laser," the girl continued, almost laughing at such a notion. "A Spartan gave to him. The Spartan and my brother fought like Grunts, crowded into a corner. Then, my brother took a Hunter shield to the head. He died instantly... I'm sure that the Spartan could have saved him. Instead, the Spartan defeated the Hunter and became a hero. My brother wasn't even get mentioned. They treated him like a damn corpse!"

"My best friend... is the boy you're brother protected to the end." Matt muttered in a saddened tone. "He was inspired by your brother's sacrifce and became a Spartan-III. He kept that laser and still has it today. But none of that really matters now. What matters is we get these people to safety, and we meet back up with my crew. You with me?"

There was silence for a moment. Then, all at once, "SIR, YES SIR!"

-Therider Rides Alone 20:59, March 19, 2011 (UTC)

204
Silum turned to his brothers. "Human soldiers have infiltrated this agricultural facility. Leave none alive." The SpecOps nodded and went into Camo. Silum then proceeded to contact the nearby docked ship. "Hope Reborn, this is Silum 'Kelohee, our foothold is being questioned and we require some...heavier tools to change that." In an almost immediant respones the ramp to ship ship emerged and three Zealots, five Rangers, and two Hunters emerged from the belly of the beast. They made a mad dash toward the innards of the farm, but away from the oncoming soldiers.

As Silum watched this he was too distracted to take notice of his surroundings. Suddenly Lorrie Stops was upon him, strangling him. "Soldiers!" she shouted as loud as possible, "You got Camoed SpecOps on your tail. Watch out!" She started bashing the Elite in the head with her gun, but she was thrown of like a rag doll and pressed against the wall with his foot. Silum stood there, deciding what to do with her. Noticing she was an officer, he held her hostage.

"You traitor!" Lorrie yelled digustedly at him. Silum didn't care.

"Demons, Imps, Humans, I have one of your officers here," he shouted to the walls, "Surrender and she shall not be harmed. Put up resistance and she shall die." He activated his Energy Sword just to make sure anyone who was listening knew he was dead serious.

-M.S. 19:58, March 23, 2011 (UTC)

205
Turok simply moved behind the intruder and stated, "Put the human down or I swear you'll never see Sanghelios again!" The Elite turned around. "You. The Varthaka left you for dead on Reach. Your mistake was crossing their path, Shame-bearer." Turok turned to the human female in Silum's arms. She looked confused and awe-inspired. Turok knew he must fight for Matt, and the civilians in space. He must win.

"A duel for the humans." The other looked surprised. "You would fight for the humans? You're pathetic. In that case, I will duel you. To the death." Matt turned the corner and saw Turok ignite his Energy Swords and the other bring out his. Matt told Juliet, "Get the civilians to the other side of the complex. Tron will radio you directions."

"You'll be fine, sir?" Juliet looked a bit worried. Matt smiled and said, "Spartans never die, Sergeant. My fellows will meet you out there." Juliet stalled a second. "GO!" Matt cried. Juliet sighed and said, "Sir, yes sir!" Matt nodded and saw that the two began to circle each other. Just then Turok lunged...

-Therider Rides Alone 22:50, March 23, 2011 (UTC)

206
From where he stood in the doorway, the ghostly blue flashes reflected off Quinn's visor as he watched the two Sangheili clash, part, and attack once again. The other Elites had encircled them, though three of the Rangers stood on facing them and seperating the Army Lieutenant Colonel from making a run for it.

Next to him, Torkamentov whispered, "We have to make a move."

"How?" Quinn asked.

Riley, standing behind them and tall enough to see over, used the com to discreetly say, "Sangheili are known for a code of honor. We interfere, they're going to bring down who-knows-what from that ship."

Torkamentov shook his head grimly. "We're a heretic, two demons, and two high-ranking officers. Honor or no, I wouldn't let the opportunity walk away."

The ODST shifted, getting anxious. "So, plan?"

"I've got an flash EMP." Riley said, showing him a fist-sized cylinder in his hand. "It'll take out their shields and startle them. I'll cover you, make a run and recover the LC."

"What about Turok?"

"In the confusion, he can disengage and either run for us or Matt." he motioned to the Spartan on the opposite side of the room that hadn't been noticed yet, and the corner he'd appeared from. "Or worst case, go down fighting. But it won't come to that." He paused suddenly. "If we're doing it, we've got to do it now, I've got movement from behind us."

Erik Quinn felt the grip of his rifle, idle at his side. "Ready when you are . . ."

In one motion, Riley flipped up his arm, the grenade's inertia pulling it off the pin. "Go!" he shouted. Quinn squeezed his eyes shut and ran for it as he heard one of the Elites watching them growl. Then the flashbang went off, and the electromagnetic pulse it emitted fried their shields. He was still running when he pulled the trigger, assault rifle rounds burying themselves in one's torso. He slid under it as the body fell, Torkamentov's battle rifle dropping the other two guards before he turned to help with the firefight that had simultaneously broken out behind them.

Keeping hold of his rifle with one hand, he used his left to pull the woman to her feet, remembering his training enough to say, "This way, ma'am," and pulled her after him.

As some of the other Elites who were close enough to have their shields break drew plasma rifles, Riley appeared in the doorway and fired some warning shots to keep them back for the moment, and the ODST and Army soldier dashed through and into a whole other battle.

While Riley and the other ODST and marine with them were laying down suppressing fire on Elites in active camouflage, their shields lighting up around invisible bodies like some kind of phantom soldiers, Quinn ducked behind a box where Torkamentov was firing his battle rifle, having just reloaded.

Quinn had had to help the LC to stand, and he asked, "You alright?"

She gritted her teeth. "Fell out of a Phantom a while back, how are you?"

Torkamentov nodded to Quinn, and the ODST took his place firing as he addressed the Army soldier. "Rear Admiral Nikolai Torkamentov, UNSC Navy. You injured?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Lorrie Stops, Army Recon." she answered. "Nothing more than scrapes and bruises, what the hell's going on?"

"Helping you. Got a call from a guy named Standish claiming he had wounded." he said, passing her Quinn's M6/SOCOM Sidearm.

She looked around at the rag-tag band of fighters who were now trapped in a firefight same as her. "Some rescue." Then the two officers took positions with the rest, and started firing. It looked like they'd be shooting their way out today.

That Damn Sniper, sniping. 00:54, March 24, 2011 (UTC)

207
"Tell me my brother, do you fear death?" Silum asked his opponent. No response, just another futile lunge. "Sangheilios is as good as dead to you, Heretic. You of all people should know that." Turok roared and lunged again, harder, faster. Silum stepped out of the way and kicked Turok into a wall. A grenade went off and Silum heard various noises."You have brought shame to your clan," Silum said as he pointed the Energy Sword at Turok, "We fought for the humans and you lost, but you insist on cheating." Silum disarmed Turok and grabbed him by the throat. "The shame on your head is far worse than death. I would be generous to have killed you, but I am not. Leave my sight, Dishonorable Heretic, do not even think that you will tread the soil of Sangheilios again." He then proceeded to chuck the Sangheili out the window.

"You have made the last wrong choice you will ever make." a voice said. It sounded quite like Susie's, but more monotonous. Lower than Few emerged from the shadows, startling Silum. "You not only let a Heretic go, but also you have lost our hostage. The penalty would be death if I did not need you." she said. "The Demon has made his way into the Celestial Charter's Chamber, however we already have what we need. Set up a trap within the Chamber and I will gather as many Demons as possible. You can understand why I'll need you then."

"To divert their attention?" he asked

"Precisely." she replied. "Call all your military down here. We need to look like we need whatever is in there desperately."

Silum got ahold of his communication device to contact all Covenant forces within reach. "All soldiers, pull back to the farm. We must deceive the humans to secure our eternal victory!"

Lower than Few immediately yanked the device from Silum's grip and began dissecting it. Before Silum could demand her reasoning, she had apparently hacked into a separate channel and broadcasted to the humans through Susie's voice, "Attention, all UNSC soldiers, the Covenant are pulling towards the farm in search of a Forerunner relic. We cannot let them get it. All soldiers are to switch the recovery of the artifact to priority one. Repeat, priority one. The Insurrectionist are no longer the major threat here. If we do not stop the Covenant, we are likely doomed."

"I am sure that sounded quite convincing, don't you?" Lower than Few rhetorically asked Silum as they broke out into a daunting laughter.

-M.S. 01:24, March 24, 2011 (UTC)

208
Matt narrowly avoided cursing. Not only did Turok lose, but now his friends were being led to a trap. By an Engineer, too. "Tron, I hope you have a counter measure because I don't." Tron simply said, "I'll interfere with their comm channel. Maybe they'll be sent somewhere else." Matt was sure that Tron would be yellow. "Hook me up to our main comm." As he had activated his communicator he had reheard the end of the message. "...If we don't stop the Covenant here, we are likely doomed." Matt immediately began to overide this command. "Everyone, Ignore Susie! It's an Engineer of some sort... it can mimic english! We're here to help the Innies, not subdue them. The Covenant are sending a small army to look weakened!"

Quinn came on. "Matt! Where's Turok? We lost him in the field."

Matt gulped and said, "Turok just lost a duel. When he wakes up, he's going to have a whole lot of anger."

"TUROK 'MORAM, GET UP!" the man said. Turok looked surprised. The man looked familiar. "You should be ashamed of your self. You lost to a fellow Sangheili. With the blade that you were taught to use."

Turok lowered his head. "Sorry, father."

"I'M NOT YOUR FATHER! YOU AREN'T A POW! YOU MUST CLAIM VENGEANCE!" The man took a deep breath. "Find the source of your anger. That guy. The Brutes that left you on Reach. I dunno. Find it and make peace with it. Only then will you be able to kill with the blades. Be strong and BOORAHH!" The distorted image cleared and Turok's vision disintegrated before his very eye's- full ODST armor. Not Sangheili. Turok glared in awe. "Quinn...?"

Ryder strode to the ruins of the flames. He saw the house that the message mentioned and stepped inside. What he saw looked bad.

Matt looked over and met Ryder's. "Hey!" Matt said. "Welcome to the party. You see any Marines or civilians around?" Ryder looked and said, "Yeah. Their CO told me you stayed behind to protect them and to watch two Elites fight. Who won?"

Matt frowned. "The situation is dire. Come on, I'll show you."

-Therider Rides Alone 22:09, March 24, 2011 (UTC)

209
"Curse the human AI!" Lower than Few shouted "It has countered my message. Perhaps I could, ah, here it is." She got back to the radio, "UNSC, do not listen to the other, I am Susie, the SuperIntendent of Port Guinevere and Port Neandra. As par the Cole Protocal, I could not have been captured by the adversary. Local Code: Rainbow 7, Covenant forces are searching for something and must be stopped ASAP. I will transmit the coordinates to your location. There are downed soldiers and they are backed into a corner. Covenant forces are heading in this direction, we ca-" The transmittion ended when Lorrie sniped the radio set. She smiled, pushed the rifle towards Matt, and said "That's how it's done, Matthew." She walked over to Quinn and told him, "I don't care if they are going to blow the planet up or if they're going to tickle us to death, let's go trigger that trap."

"Have you gone insane?" Quinn asked, shocked. Lorrie smiled and explained, "We'll leave most our men outside the trap and spring it. When they go in for the kill, we'll spring our trap and finish what should have ended on Reach." Lorrie then walked away, distracted by something, before she could hear Quinn's reaction. She waltzed over to the radio and tried to contact her team. No response. "Boys," she called to the soldiers within earshot, "Mount up! Let's go crash the alien bastards' party."

"You are going to tell us where the UNSC is hiding their resources or you are going to feel that again." threatened Rasaab. "N-n-never..." James weakly replied. Two Lekgolo crawled up his nose and racked his brain, making him scream in agony. "You shouldn't have traded your wife's welfare for your's." Rasaab mocked, but James was determined to keep her safe. "As long as I don't go back, she is to be treated as a guest." he reminded Rasaab with a smug smile. Rasaab didn't take it well. "Lekgolo, enough." Rasaab commanded, "I have an idea."

Natalie was brought to the viewing room. "Now, let's try electricity again, but this time, make it three times the strength." Two nodes appeared and began to electocute James. Natalie was forced to watch. "Stop!" Natalie cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks, "I'll tell you. Port Guinevere, that's where we are keeping our arms, now let him go!"

"My dear," Rasaab said in a sickeningly sarcastic voice, "I never said I would let him go if you told us. You just eliminated his one chance out. So sorry." Rasaab burst into evil laughter as Natalie buried her face in her hands and cried, "Oh James, I'm so sorry."

Just then, Rasaab got a transmittion. "-ack to the farm. We must deceive the humans to secure our eternal victory!" Rasaab turned to his underlings, "You heard the man, go!" All but two Mgalekgolo guards departed towards the farm. Rasaab left the electricity on, leaving James there to suffer. All Natalie could do was watch as her husband's life was slowly stolen by the electricity.

-M.S. 02:12, March 25, 2011 (UTC)

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Riley inched forward, tugging himself across the scorching soil with his arms. He grunted, attempting to climb back to his feet. An Elite ultra lunged towards him, wielding a lethal Energy Sword. Riley decided to abort this plan, only to evade the strike with a roll to the side. Riley grabbed the base of the weapon, attempting to seize it for his own usage. The Elite abruptly stopped pulling and began to push forward. The hot plasma sizzled at contact with Riley's golden ODST visor. Riley also began shoving, as the beast apparently had the upper hand in close quarters combat. The Elite leapt back in order to regain ground. Even so, this foolish action had granted Riley the chance to unholster his Magnum and fire through the only gap in the Elite's armor: the mouth. That was his last bullet. Riley seemed to forget that the Elite was fitted with an energy shield, however, and watched in horror as it began to recover from simple recoil. It's shield were still down. Suddenly, a surprise gunshot to the spinal column had finished the job, rendering the beast handicapped, only for it to die seconds later. Riley turned back to notice Quinn holding his heavy assault rifle leveled in his left hand, while supporting Turok with his entire right half. Riley simply urged them back with the nod of his head. Quinn simply tossed him an unused clip, before continuing in search for a void rest house, where he could tend to the Heretic's wounds.

Riley silently loaded his small firearm and crept towards a nearly-shattered window in the side of the wooden shack. Another Sangheili Ultra stood erect inside of the cabin communicating to one of the levitating squids whom they simply dubbed "Engineers". Even as an uneducated third-party faction, the UNSC were always aware that such aliens were usually rendered unable to speak in any language other than their own, or in their case, to stubborn to even try. This one was unique. It wore a gold headdress, and apparently spoke very fluently from what he'd heard over the comms. Although he listened intently, their rambling was to low to make out, and even so, it appeared to be an incomprehensible Sangheili dialect. He was aware that Matt and Ryder were stationed within the very same barn, so if anyone had a decent chance to perform recon, it was them. Riley was through with eavesdropping anyhow, and wasn't in the mood to take hostages. Riley slowly raised his gun to the glass panes. Instead of firing, he activated his radio transmitter, and switched to the appropriate channel.

"I am Spartan-G311, my comrade is correct! Belay those orders! That voice isn't who it seems to be!" he muttered sharply into the microphone. "This is Commander Reise Gordon. You have no right to command us otherwise, Spartan. You may be relieved from service by failing to adhere to these terms." responded the commander in a dry tone. "You do not understand! This isn't who you think it is god-dammit!" Riley exclaimed, deactivating the communications. "No use." he simply muttered. Riley clenched the trigger tightly.

Just as he was about to fire, the Ultra abruptly shifted his gaze towards the Spartan. Riley froze. It took him seconds to realize that his shoulders were being tightly grasped by fragile, lightly-armored claws. A Skirmisher; Gladiator from the looks of things. Riley leapt back in order to squash the vermin, and took a charged bolt of plasma to the shields while doing so, temporarily EMPing his armor. He didn't take the time to figure that there were other's... or at least, armed others.

Riley soon fell victim to an uncountable fury of Plasma Pistol blasts. He quickly took advantage of his augmentations by sprinting over to one and snapping it's neck, and then continuing with the next. It wasn't long before each of them caught on and had begun dashing away, without ceasing fire. After a sixth kill, the onslaught had reached it's conclusion. Riley knew that one more blast would have been enough to penetrate the armor's final levels, instantly killing him. Even so, Riley wasn't sure if he was to make it. In some regions of his body, Riley was sure that at least the surface layer of his skin had been ionized. At this point, his armor's stabilizers were demolished making it more of a heavy burden than any sort protection. The suit was compromised in such a sense that no non-Spartan could have had any hope of survival in the least. Riley blacked-out. --  Chris  talk   blog  02:38, March 25, 2011 (UTC)

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As the Skirmisher standing over Riley fell, Quinn wnet back to hauling Turok to some marginal cover offered by the body of a dead horse. The smell from the half-eaten kill by the Jackals was bad as Quinn tore off his helmet. Apparently not all the quick little bastards had been caught in the blaze in the fields. He looked over Turok quickly.

It wasn't good. He'd been tossed through a window like a rag doll, and shards of broken glass protruded from bleeding points in his skin. His neck was turning a strange color from where the other Elite had grabbed him, and he guessed this was how a Sangheili bruised.

There was some scuffling on the other side of the corpse, but far away enough to be ignored. Quinn felt at his side and pulled out a light trauma kit. It had been his, for when he got hit, not some turncoat alien. . . but Turok's challenge of the other had likely given them the time to keep from being immediately slaughtered. "Okay, c'mon you heavy split-lip, no dying yet."

He did a quick inventory, and found himself grossly unprepared. No biofoam, only bandages and a bottle of alcohol to use as an antibiotic. What he wouldn't have given to have Otis Len here. The ODST medic had been a surgeon before joining the service, and could work wonders on the battlefield. But this was what he had, and what he had to do.

Quickly, Quinn pulled the shards out one by one, largest first, and cleaned the wound with alcohol before bandaging it. The Elite groaned half-in and half-out of consciousness, but the sound proved he was alive. "I have failed . . ." he murmured.

"Fail?" Erik asked incredulously, still working on the wounds. "Your diversion worked. The others are alive and fighting. So, he used a weapon better, but his mind isn't like yours. You can still fight. In the bigger picture, he'll see beating you as the worst move he ever made." It roused the Elite some. His eyes blinked open, at first uncomprehendingly. Quinn heard movement, close now. He picked up his rifle to find the ammo counter zero, and dropped it out to replace it. Finding he had none left, he pulled one from Turok's bandoleer, set the bolt, and brought the barrel up into the face of a Skirmisher.

Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the last growl of surprise the Skirmisher would ever make, maybe the sound of the rifle going off. But Turok sat up, a new fire in his beady, black eyes. Next to him, in the ashes of the field, another Skirmisher corpse lay beside him, and just out of its reach, a plasma rifle scorched black by carbon residue. Grabbing its handle, he stood, turned, and lay down fire catching two of the sprinters by throwing an arc of fire in front of them. Quinn's head raised.

"You've got more lives than the Covenant thought."

Turok's teeth appeared in what looked like a feral grin. Quinn resecured his helmet, and the two came out blasting away to recover Riley. It was time to take the fight to them.

That Damn Sniper, sniping. 03:59, March 25, 2011 (UTC)

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"Sir," a Kig Yar scout told Silum, "We're losing all our Kig Yar scouts out there." Silum pondered for a moment, then replied, "I care not your rank or race, take these and give them to your scouts." He handed him an armful of Active Camoflage mechanisms. The Kig Yar ran off, excited by the new toys.

"Mistress, You may do whatever you want to the humans, but the Heretic is mine." he told Lower than Few. She didn't seem to care. "Get me my armor," she commanded a Unggoy, "If they wish for a fight, they will have one. They will regret the day they crossed the Heroine of Prophecy!" She swooped down and grabbed two Needlers.

The Unggoy returned and she donned the armor with amazing speed. She steadily aimed out a window, then, all of the sudden, she fired every shot she had towards the humans. In the distance she watched as a supercombine explosion ripped one marine to shreds and blast the other two beside him to the ground. "They won't try the radio again." she said with a laugh.

Rasaab entered the farm. "So," he asked in an exhausted voice, "What did I miss?"

"Come on Spartan, get up!" Lorrie shouted, trying to get Riley to make a recovery. No response. "Fine, I'll just have to drag you." she said. She grabbed his arm, but dropped it when she noticed it was hot to touch. "Plasma?" she asked herself, but it didn't matter. She grabbed his arm again, more carefully than last time, and steadily and slowly dragged him to the dead horse where everybody else seemed to be. "Come on Spartan," she called back to him, "Ever heard of Spartans never die, they just go MIA? Well, I know where you are, so you can't die on me. Please, just a little more, just hang in there." Then there was a sickening sound of the tearing of bone. A needle passed through Lorrie's shoulder, and she collapsed to the ground. "Please Spartan," she whispered to Riley, "Save me."

-M.S. 14:14, March 25, 2011 (UTC)\

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Ryder ran up to Turok and hugged him. "Bastard. Almost left without saying goodbye." Turok grinned at the gathering. "We're united once more. Matt, I live." Matt smiled and spoke up. "Where's Riley? I thought he- Oh no." Matt said looking towards the other way. One limping marine was attempting to pull Riley across the soil. "Turok, cover me." Ryder exclaimed as he ran towards her. Even the sound of needle into flesh barely stopped Ryder. As he came to her, He heard her say "Please Spartan, save me."

"Tag," Ryder mused.

"You're not it, yet." The woman looked up, surprised. "Another one?" She questioned.

"Yep, and plenty more. I've got help coming for you." Ryder responded, dashing over to the horse that the group was held up at. "Matt, get Tron to help you take care of the woman with the supplies Quinn left." Ryder orderd. Matt nodded. "Come on. Show me what you can do." Quinn grinned and he and Ryder ran to recover a body. Just as they left, plasma appeared like knives from a trap. Ryder shot his DMR at one direction. A Skirmisher dropped dead while tripping another cloaked Skirmisher.

"They're cloaked," Ryder yelled out as he ducked under a pile of dead corpses, "Aim for the bolt's starting points!" More gunfire than Ryder had left rang through the air. The Skrimishers screamed in pain. Then, the attack ended. The Skirmishers were dead. A familiar voice called out to Ryder. "I thought you'll listen to my advice and try to stay alive, boy." Juliet said.

-Therider Rides Alone 20:22, March 25, 2011 (UTC)

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Riley abruptly woke from his delusions, only to find a female marine laying beside him. Purple shards lay scattered around the floor beneath her shoulder. She had also lost consciousness. Desperate to provide help, Riley scoured the smoldering remains of his compromised ODST armor. A narrow plastic contained stuffed with simple medical supplies was all that he could salvage intact from his thigh's storage compartments. The smell of liquidized plastic and blood made concentration difficult, however, Riley had made sure to delicately remove the hot shards that had been launched directly into her humerus.

"Riley!" cried a familiar voice, "Thank god you're-" before Matt could finish his sentence, he noticed the condition of his armor, as well as that of his patient.

"She took a needle to the humerus." Riley explained. "I don't know who shot her, I was unconscious at the time. She woke me up, and then she blacked out."

Matt and Quinn paused, contemplating the situation. "I'm going to get that Huragok, Riley. I'd ask for backup, but..." Quinn merely pointed at Riley's armor and the condition of Lorrie.

Riley just shrugged. "I almost want to call for evac, but I know that the Covenant are after something important here. Besides, all of the marines in the world won't be enough to stop the force stationed here."

"I'll gather up as large of an offensive force as possible, while I still can." Matt explained as the first of many Pelicans appeared over the cornstalks, homing in on the ravaged farm. "I was gonna help out, but I see now that more professional medics are coming along. Have yourself refit in whatever you can, and try to get her repaired asap." Matt tossed Riley a fully loaded DMR.

Riley caught it and nodded, limping along towards the nearest landing zone carrying Lorry over his shoulder. The cornstalks swayed uneasily. Deceptive Skirmisher units were likely preparing for organized assault up ahead. Riley rapidly sprinted through the tall grass, avoiding any fatal encounters that he'd sensed. Finally, he reached a landed D77 Troop Transport. After sprinting to the hangar, he noticed that the Pelican featured an extended Troop Deployment Pod. Even so, the vessel was carrying a payload that was far over capacity.

"I need a doctor." Riley exclaimed. --  Chris  talk   blog  15:41, March 26, 2011 (UTC)

215
Torkamentov didn't know what had happened. He had been laying down some fre on Covenant skirmishers, when the group had become separated. Right now, he was hiding inside a tractor, as an Elite strode by. He was probably searching for the UNSC marines which had caused so much trouble. To Torkamentov's horror, the radio crackled to life. "I am Spartan-G311, my comrade is correct! Belay those orders! That voice isn't who it seems to be!". In response, "This is Commander Reise Gordon. You have no right to command us otherwise, Spartan. You may be relieved from service by failing to adhere to these terms." The Elite ran over to the tractor and ripped the door off it's hinge, only to find Torkamentov grinning, with the front of his DMR sticking into the Elite's chest. " Ooh, that sucks, doesn't it," said Torkamentov as he fired into the Elite, who fell to the ground dead.

Torkamentov then turned to the radio, and pressed the "speak" button. "This is Rear Admiral Nikolai Torkamentov. Belay that last order. And if you don't like it then you can shove it where the sun doesn't shine, because if you don't listen to me then your career is over." The radio hissed, and the Commander who had spoken earlier got back on, "Roger that, Admiral." With that matter settled, Torkamentov turned back to linking up with other UNSC forces. He couldn't stay out here forever. Opening up the hood, he saw to his delight that the tractor was still operational, even though it would be a pretty big target. Hopping in the cab, he floored the ignition, and started the tractor. Grinning to himself, he drove as fast as the tractor could go toward the farm, while Covenant troops took potshots at the tractor. After a particularly near miss, he decided that it was time to shoot back. Leaning out of the cab, he returned fire with the battle rifle.

He didn't even see the Banshee until plasma fire from the sky nearly took off his head. Looking up, he said, "Oh, shit," and dived out just before a burst from a fuel rood slammed into the tractor. the explosion threw him up and slammed him into the ground, knocking the air out of him. He opened his eyes to see a Kig-Yar examining his body. Acting quickly, he kicked out the Kig-Yar's legs, and bashed it's head against a rock. Getting backup, he took the Kig-Yar's plasma rifle, and shot it in the head.

"Good riddance," Torkamentov exclaimed, checking to see that he still had his rocket launcher. After a quick pause, he continued towards the farmhouse. Azecreth 17:15, March 26, 2011 (UTC)

216
The UNSC Bright New Day exited slipspace on the edge of the Epitadeus System. It had been their third slipspace jump since they had escaped Reach. The frigate had faced decommissioning on Reach before the attack, but deconstruction was abandoned when the Invasion started. The very fact that it had escaped Reach was a miracle. It's current crew consisted of seven battle-hardened ODST's, and six Spartans.

Master Chief Petty Officer Kane-099 stood on the bridge, arms folded behind his back. I felt odd to be out of armour, but after all the crap they had gone through on Reach, they needed repairs. It had been hard, managing a frigate with only 13 crew members, but they had managed it. nearby, Private Dekker sat at a computer terminal, lazily typing and sending out area scans. He was still in full armour, his helmet lay at his feet. He hadn't slept since they escaped. Martin-A136 and Louie-A199 entered the bridge, their armour had been recently repaired. Martin nodded at Kane, and took his place at the weapons station. If the Covenant had followed them, they weren't going down without a fight.

Louie approached Kane. "Sir, we've got most of our armour ready, Privates Samson and Raikov worked with Jax to get you and Marco's suits' repaired first". Louie removed his large EVA helmet, and went on. "The others are getting some sleep while they can". Kane had only met the Spartan-III on Reach a few weeks ago, but had already taken a liking to him and Martin. They were good soldiers, if (in his opinion) a little jumpy at times. He didn't blame them. Louie-A199 and Alex-A121 were all that remained of Spartan Team Tau, while Martin-A136 was the sole survivor of Spartan Team Upsilon. Martin wasn't as chatty as Louie, but was an excellent sniper, almost as good as Kane. Alex on the other hand, despite being Louie's friend, seemed to be more akin to Marco-025 in his mannerisms.

Three decks below, Marco-025 awoke. He had set his alarm for four hours. It had gone off in six. Grumbling, he heaved himself out of his bunk and set off for the engineering section. His armour had taken a few nasty plasma hits back on Reach, and was in need of a tune up anyway. He entered the room, and saw three sets of shining MJOLNIR armour on stands. One was jet black. A blue TACPAD blinked on it's wrist. The second was slightly smaller, with an angular Recon visor. The third was his: Tan, with bulky shoulder armour and a grenade belt. Marco admired the armour, it had seen him through over 20 years, and the new version he had received last year had made him all the more dangerous.

Back on the bridge, Private Dekker downed his third cup of coffee, and set the polystyrene cup down before looking back to the screen. It took his eyes a few moments to register the change. A small red blip appeared on the screen. oh crap... Dekker's chair swivelled round and he jumped up. "Chief, we're getting a distress signal from local friendlies!". The Spartan's eyes narrowed. "do you have visuals?". Dekker checked back. "No sir, we've got audio though, i'll play it..." A male voice cam through the speakers, the signal was bad. "This is the colony world Hope, we are under attack.. any nearby UNSC forces, please respond! We need...." The speakers filled with static Everyone on the bridge turned to look at Kane. "Sound the alert, I want everyone on deck and ready for combat!"

Kane strode to the intercom, took a deep breath, and spoke. "Spartans and ODSTs, suit up, we're joining this fight!"

--Brodie-001

217
"I hit an officer?" questioned an Unggoy foot soldier in excitement as others cheered around him. Rasaab confidently strode out of the farm house, Needler in hand. "Listen up," he shouted over the cries of triumph, "Get your weapons ready. We have lots of demons coming our way and you need to be prepared." The Unggoy shut up and made a mad dash for their weapons. "Of course," the deacon continued, "we don't really need to worry. The Mistress has a plan that will ensure victory, so listen well. You three will run towards the soldiers and martyr yourselves for the greater good. When they fall, everyone else will scatter.

"Our cloaked Kig Yar scouts will then start several hit-and-run missions, but in the end they will fail. Afterwards a Mgalekgolo and Sangheili strike team will attack. They will lose, but barely. Our Mistress and I will then "retreat" into the tunnels, but we have a secret passagewayfor our escpape. When the demons are drawn in, whatever remains of you five will detonate the charges lining the cavern. If none of you are alive, I will light it up myself. And, under any circumstances, do not attack the Heretic Sangheili. He is for Silum, and if you kill him he will kill you." The Unggoy nodded in agreement. "Now," asked Rasaab, "Who killed an officer here?" a little Unggoy minor stepped up, being cheered on by his fans. "I will promote you after this ordeal is over, but I have a special job for you. The Mistress cares not for our lives and she is over glorified. Your mission is simple, during our escape, kill her." The little Unggoy was shocked, but he nodded in horror. "Good, now then, get ready for the fight of your life!" he shouted and the group burst into cheers.

The horse started moving. "It's alive!" shouted a random marine in horror as he ran from his post. Everyone backed up and aimed their weapons towards the dead horse corpse. A Spartan popped out of a hole underneath the corpse. "Hey, what kind of welcoming committee is this?" Henry sarcastically asked, "and who are you...all of you actually?" After a brief introduction and explanation, Henry got out of his hole he dug and said, "So, these is my reinforcements? Tsh, some help. I had to dig myself out of there." He paused to think, then asked, "Where's Lorrie?" He found her on the floor with a deep needle wound in her shoulder. "Sorry Stops, I wish I could have taken that one for you." he told her, but he knew she couldn't hear him. "Anyone have a MedPack?" he asked, but to no avail. "Well," he asked, "When is the calvary arriving?"

"Another of my brethern down," Silum told Lower than Few angrily, "How much longer must I see them die before we win? I thought you said-"

"You will have your moment, worry not." Lower than Few said to him, "But lives must be paid in order for my plan to work."

"Do not let pride cloud your way, else you will fail miserably." Silum told her as he left the room.

"My enemy," Silum shouted out a window, "Feast on the souls of my brethern if you wish, but you will not live to see another day!" He took notice to something moving rapidly towards the house. "Death to all who oppose the Covenant!" he bellowed as he started a one-man assault on the path. Whatever was moving had stopped to avoid further detection.

Lower than Few caught a glimpse at another radio transmittion opposing her own. She then tried the radio again. This time, she knew what to do. Using the last transmittion, she took Torkamentov's voice and edited it to her own usage. "Commander Gordon," she said in Torkamentov's voice, "Change of plans. Scratch what I have told you, we need reinforcements ASAP! These damn Covies are giving us their all. If you lend us what you can, we can turn the tide of this battle. We can win."

There was a silence, a silence that ate at Lower than Few's insides. "Rodger that Torkamentov, reinforcements on their way." the voice said fromt the radio and Lower than Few relaxed. "Now," she said, switching back to Susie's voice, "It's time to silence the idiots who repeatedly attempt to foil my plan." She built a makeshift EMP bomb and loaded it into a Phantom. The Phantom then carried it over the farm and dropped it. Every radio burned out, shields popped, and Active Camo was disrupted. "Test me again and I will do far worse" she said to her enemies quietly.

-M.S. 20:48, March 26, 2011 (UTC)

218
Tron knew his purpose wasn't medical. It was combat. He felt a strong sugre of energy loss in one sector, moving rapidly towords their postion. He knew it wasn't good, so he made sure that everyone was alright. Matt muttered something about hot cakes, and some ODST responded that they were good. Ryder didn't respond, so Tron estimated that he must be in the direct area of where the EMP landed. Matt hoped that Ryder was okay...

Ryder opened his eyes and stared at Juliet's head. It wasn't half bad, staring at her elegant blonde hair, but Ryder had to make sure she was ok. A pretty corpse isn't worth anything. He nugged her. Her eyes opened and imediately, she got up. "That never happened," Juliet quickly said. "Why not? I enjoyed it." Ryder said. Juliet shrugged and looked around. "Any over survivors?" Juliet asked. "I just got up." Ryder said. Juliet scoffed and moved around, checking her ammo supply. Ryder checked his DMR, then pulled out his Spartan Laser. Juliet's eyes grew wide. "That's an old model."

Ryder nodded. "Yeah, a Marine and another Spartan gave it to me on Arcadia when I was six. The Spartan wasn't the one that gave me the most hope. It was the Marine. He's the reason I'm here today, fighting impossible odds. Because he's the one who made sure my mother was safe."

Juliet was silent, then said, "Let's look for survivors." Ryder nodded and began to move ahead with Juliet, maybe finding the source of the loss of comms.

-Therider Rides Alone 00:12, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

219
"Damn," thought Torkamentov as a perfect imitation of his voice came over the radio. "I wonder how they're doing that. Nevertheless, something had to be done. Hopping back on the radio, he said, "Belay that Commander Gordon. The Covenant have intercepted our communications, and are impersonating senior personnel in an attempt to lure UNSC forces into a trap. Do not obey orders from anyone who cannot provide the proper pass codes. Initiate the Enigma Protocol. This was a protocol by which all UNSC radio traffic would switch to a random radio frequency, and be ferried through a nearby UNSC radio transmitter, that would scramble the voices to prevent impersonation. This way listeners wouldn't know who was who, at least in theory. And while you're at it, can someone tell me where that last transmission came from?" Before the fake voice could respond, he switched to the frequency in accordance with the Enigma Protocol. Over the radio, an unusual voice came on. "Authorization Nantucket Beta Sigma." Torkamenntov replied, "Authorization Foxtrot goose, Epsilon. What do you have for me?" Over the radio, the scrambled voice of Commander Gordon responded. "That last transmission of "you" came from inside the agricultural facility, near the center of it." "Thanks," responded Torkamentov. He took off toward the agricultural facility, en route to a meeting with a Decision Point that could change the battle of Hope as he knew it. Azecreth 00:49, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

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"M...medic..." Henry mummbled, but it just occured to him he wasn't in the fields any more. He was inside, chained to a wall. His consciousness was short lived, as he faded back into slumber.

"Everything is in place Mistress." Rasaab reported. "Good, get your men ready, the human reinforcements will arrive in a matter of hours." Rasaab got his Unggoys together and got into position. "Oh, and good work on that commander's imperonation. I bet that Tu...whatever his name was is really fooled right now. I bet he thinks he cancelled that order."

"I know." Lower than Few replied flattered, "I am a genius aren't I?"

"Five more miles." Luke said to his team. "The farm is nearby." His team consisted of a sniper named Sophie, a close quarters combat man: Lex, himself as the team leader, and the team medic, Jaq. "Can you see anything in that bloody mess Soph?" he asked. "I'm picking up the leftovers of a heavy EMP, but other than that, just a few unidentifiable heat-sigs."

"I say," cut in Lex, "we go in, bust some heads, and go out."

"Not so fast Lex," Luke said, "we got a hail from two sources, each contradicting the other. Something's amiss. Plus, we got a reinforcement call from a Spartan, so whatever it is it must be tough."

"Plus I don't do bits and pieces." Jaq said, getting his medical equipment ready. "So if you get put on the sword's edge, I can't help." Two more miles to go. That's all they had.

"I'm picking up some human heat-sigs." Sophie said, breaking the silence. "They're fresh." The Pelican landed a few yards from the survivors and the ODST got off and started to walk. "Hey!" Jaq shouted. "Does anyone need medical attention?" There was a cry of rejoice followed by screams of terror as a once cloaked Skrimisher grappled Jaq to the ground. Lex kicked the Skrimisher offf of him and helped Jaq up. "Next time, don't shout." Lex said to Jaq and he shut up.

-M.S. 01:13, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

221
As both fire and reinforcements had homed in on their position, Quinn had broken cover and made a break for the barn. He heard the explosions that were Torkamentov's tractor, and when an Elite had appeared in the window, Quinn dove into the ashes of the plants and hoped his ballistic suit would hide him well enough. It did, and as the Elite turned away he sprinted the last of the way to the wall.

Though the Covies had wiped out most electronics with that EMP trick, Quinn was able to quickly reboot his helmet's electronics suite and Heads-Up-Display. Shock Trooper gear was made to take a punch, and if it did fail, patch easily. And while he didn't have long-range coms back yet from the residual energy, there was nothing they could do about a direct-beam transmission, just like he'd used when tracking the Insurrectionists using a modified Covenant radio jammer.

"Riley, hold that Pelican."

The Spartan must have caught on to his trick, and replied momentarily. "Quinn, I don't know what you're thinking, but the Lieutenant Colonel here will need help soon. And not to be a burden, but I might not be conscious that much longer."

"There are still wounded under this place! They might not be able to wait for another bird. Give me ten minutes."

"You've got nine."

Quinn took what he could get. He got up and rounded the corner to the door he'd pulled the LC out of. Torkamentov was already there, in cover on the opposite side of it. Quinn gave a report. "Sir, medevac Pelican is ready to take Stops to a field hospital at the spaceport. Suggest you go with them."

The Admiral was breathing heavily, and his face streaked with soot from firing the rocket launcher. Nonetheless, he grinned. "While there are still people here in danger? Not a chance. You have a plan?"

"Kinda." Quinn showed that he'd dropped his assault rifle and now held a needler rifle, and in his other hand a large ball made of Covenant materials. "When we breach, keep your launcher on the big Elites, but hold fire. I've got the Engineer."

It was funny that a Private would tell an Admiral what to do, but this had been one of those days. Quinn removed his helmet, knowing when he gave the Covenant back their EMP 'bomb' his HUD would go dark again. Hitting the activator, he swung the heavy thing around and let it roll inside. It went off with a howl and a flash of blue light, its energy now completely spent, and the two humans rounded the corner.

Quinn fired two pink darts in rapid succession from his spot crouched down to keep accurate. Both shots hit their mark, a gap in the Engineer's now unshielded armor at the neck. It recoiled and shrieked, hissing at this new threat. But with the deadly weapons pointed directly at them and no shielding to protect, none of the Covenant made a move.

"That's right," Quinn said, staring down the alien, "you know how this works. I fire again, they won't find enough pieces to put you back together. Now back off."

Sheer anger, to have been caught by surprise by such insignificant human fighters, boiled in their eyes. But they could do nothing at the moment, and began moving for the other side of the room. Then suddenly, a blast opened up one wall, and chaos broke as the Sangheili drew weapons.

Torkamentov fired a rocket, and the cluster of Elite Zealots had only half-drawn when it ended their lives in a blast of heat. Then he and Quinn ran for the cellar opening. With more ground to cover, Quinn ditched the alien weapon and ran as fast as he could. With plasma fire behind, they dove inside and ran down the tunnel. Quinn immediately noticed this was no ordinary sublevel room. The mural on a wall they passed was that of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Turning a corner, they nearly ran headfirst into a marine, sitting propped against a side-door with a rifle in hand. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, "An Admiral?"

Quinn could hear Elites in pursuit, and made it quick. "You the wounded Standish collected?"

"Standish? The Sierra, yeah."

There was no time for questions, and he motioned inside the room. "Get in." Torkamentov had taken notice of something Quinn didn't, and helped the marine up. He was bandaged around the midsection, blood seeping from it.

The door was locked behind them, but it wouldn't hold long. Surveying the eight or so soldiers inside, all with broken bones, plasma burns, or worse, he called, "Weapon!"

Someone slid him a suppressed M7 SMG. He checked the clip and faced the doorway with the wounded marine and Torkamentov.

They were scratching at it. Tearing at the light metal. Then a sword blade cut through it, starting to blaze a way in. Quinn fired a few rounds, then waited for them to get in.

Only they never did. Heavy gunshots of human rifles sounded outside. The glowing blade withdrew, and there were sounds of plasma firing in answer with a swish of the sword. The battle raged for only about thirty seconds before it ended, the humans shooting last. Then the door opened, and in stepped the towering armored figure of a Spartan.

"I think this is two you owe me, Quinn." Ryder said.

Quinn let out the breath he'd been holding and laughed with relief. Here they were, cornered underground by the Covenant, and still the Spartans were able to walk in casually after saving his life. "I'll have a tough time figuring out how to pay you back! How did you find us?" Quinn asked.

"These tunnels link up to the city underground." said a woman in marine garb, appearing behind him. "Thought we'd have a look around. Sergeant Juliet Varusisguard, glad to help."

"Private Eirikur Quinn. Glad to be alive. Listen, there's some hell going on above us. Let's help these people out of here and double back your way, I'll fill you in as we go."

That Damn Sniper, sniping. 02:24, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

222
"Damn the demons!" Lower than Few cursed as she applied bandaging to her neck wound. She and Silum had fled the scene and made it somewhere behind the house. "At least they're going for the tunnels." Silum reentered the house clutching his left arm. "I won't watch any more of my brothers die." Silum said in a low voice. "Do not worry, my little Heretic," Lower than Few said, placing one of her tendrils on his shoulder, "It will all end soon."

"Wait!" called Jaq. "Wait, no need for a Medical evac! I am a medic! I have biofoam!" Someone heard him and brought the wounded back down. Jaq got to work as soon as they touched the ground. "Needle to the humerus," he said to himself, "that will be tough." He worked on everyone, switching from person to person periodically.

"Where'd everyone else go?" Luke asked.

"Went down that tunnel." Henry replied. "Apparently it conects to Port Neandra." Luke shook his head. "I don't like tunnels," he said, "the Covie roaches love them."

"Luke," Sophie called, "I don't believe what I'm seeing! There's a Engineer giving orders to an Elite. Is that even biologically possible?"

"No," Jaq replied from administering biofoam to a patient, "Huragok can't speak other languages. Perhaps there's more going on than what it seems."

"I don't care," Lex said after he finished loading his shotgun, "but I know that that's one more Squid head and Squid on my kill list."

"Hurry," Rasaab said in a whispered yell to the other Unggoy, "they're coming! Get those charges down and run!" The last Unggoy laid down the final charge and all the demolitions team started running to the Port Neandra side of the tunnel. Next was the artists turn.

Several Unggoy artists walked in and started expertly hiding each and every charge, leaving none visible without close examination. The paint used also prevented infrared and UV rays from giving off the explosives' locations.

"Now for the decoys." Rasaab said, but they were one step ahead of him. Hundreds of Yanme'e filled the tunnels. "Now, when they get past this point, flip this switch." Rasaab explained. They all understood. The faint sound of human voices filled the tunnels like a low whisper. "Perfect." Rasaab said as he fled the tunnels.

-M.S. 14:34, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

223
Turok slowly moved up behind a Zealot. Before his loss, this would have been suicide to the honor-bound Elite, but now Turok had nothing to lose. He simply ran his energy sword into the Zealot's back.

Five minutes later, the hallway Turok had strolled down was full of corpses and the last Zealot was missing his energy sword. Hephaestus grinned at the report. "More Elites dead," he thought. The small recon team of 9 or 10 Brutes were headed towards the small farm. Hephaestus knew his game was in there, along with their defense. Word had it that an Elite fought along side the humans. After looking over his report, Hephaestus knew this to be true. "Warriors, we have our prize in sight! A traitor is among the humans. Kill the Sangheili and he shall be rewarded!" The Brutes cheered.

Little did the bloodthirsty group of Brutes know that they were being watched by security cameras with the images sent to Tron. "Matt," Tron called to Matt through telepathy, "Brutes inbound with nasty looking Chieftain who has Gravity hammer." "Copy Tron," Matt though.

"Ryder! We've got some Brute's on our tail." No response. "Oh man." Matt said. "Here we go again."

-Therider Rides Alone 21:42, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

224
Riley gratefully complied in accepting the biofoam. He never intended to become known as the first publicly hospitalized Spartan, regardless of the situation. He was pretty certain that Stops had felt the same way. It was a shame that his CQB MJOLNIR was probably floating up in space somewhere at the moment, as he would have preferred quick, automated tending after being EMP'd to death by a team of Skirmishers. After recalling the event, he almost wished that he could've ripped the pistol from one of their scrawny claws and made them suffer. Riley grunted, stocking his new Marine battledress with medical kits. Somehow, this had felt even more uncomfortable than the ODST battle armor. "By the end of the day, I'll have worn every spare suit the UNSC had to offer." Riley mused to himself, lightheartedly.

Suddenly, an unhealthy whisper had alerted the Pelican's crew to some mysterious phenomena. Each of the navigational view screens had failed, and and an ODST who sat beside him slumped over. Riley hurriedly removed the helmet, only to find a look of confusion etched across the man's face. "Suit failure?" Riley inquired.

"Most likely." The man grunted, turning to his crewman. "I need this battle armor removed, privates! It's just added-weight. There's no way that I can continue in this."

Riley was prompt in offering assistance. Suddenly, Riley's in-helmet radio crackled to life. Although static dominated the channel, he was certain that he could make out a desperate plea for help and cries of terror. The worst part was, that it wasn't just one transmission. The radio deactivated for good.

"Marines!" Riley bellowed, "Damit. The radio's are out." Riley muttered, before having a sudden epiphany. "Out, out, out! Somethings interfering with all of the mechanics within the vicinity of the farm! If you encounter any serviceman in powered armor, offer assistance promptly! The fields are occupied with Kig-Yar of every assortment imaginable, and chances are that they're hungry!"

One marine gulped. "Sir, yes sir!" they all cried, immediately exiting the Pelican. Riley sprinted ahead of them all, offering one hungry Skirmisher a freshly-baked knuckle sandwich along the way. --  Chris  talk   blog  21:50, March 27, 2011 (UTC)

225
"I think there's someone out there." Jaq said as he started walking towards where he thought he saw the survivor. Upon arriving, he was stunned by shock. What seemed to be a human survivor was merely a crudely made scarecrow.

Suddenly a Elite Ultra came from behind along with several Rangers and SpecOps and picked up Jaq. The Elite stabbed Jaq through the shoulder and there was a cry of pain accompanied with the sizzling of plasma and the cracking of bone. "Stupid Split-lip." Jaq muttered as he whipped out a remote detonator. He pressed the button and several explosives hidden under his ODST armor went off. "Jaq!" both Sohpie and Luke called, running towards the area where Jaq and several Elites used had once stood.

Before they got there, a ODST helmet that was tossed in the air by an explosion landed in front of Sophie. It was Jaq's helmet. "Jaq..." Sophie muttered and Luke took notice of the helmet. "He did all he could," Luke said, putting a comforting arm around Sophie, "And we will always remember him."

"Remember who?" asked a marine coming from the bushes. "Me?"

"Jaq!" Sophie and Luke shouted in surprise as they rushed to greet him. "How did you survive?"

"Didn't I ever tell you? I'm married to a roboticist." he explained with a laugh as he removed a burnt up robot head from the helmet. The three burst into laughter as they returned to camp.

"Father," Silver said through a hazy message to an unknown planet, "I am still here. Will I guide others your way?"

"No," replied Mordant Song, "It is not time to reveal the Map."

-M.S. 14:09, March 28, 2011 (UTC)

226
Quinn had been breathing the plastic-tainted filtered air of his helmet for a while. So now that it was gone, he was the first to realize something was off. "Hold up. Smell that?"

Ryder, encased in his armor and half-carrying three marines, could only cock his head questioningly.

"Ugh." Varusisguard said. "Who dealt it?"

Torkamentov caught on to what the ODST was getting at. "No. It's methane. Grunts."

Weapons came up immediately. The seven wounded who were still conscious and walking with help of the others raised pistols, submachine guns, and a couple of captured plasma rifles.

"Ambush?" Ryder asked. He'd shifted the unconscious marine on his shoulders and let another lean against the wall to draw a pistol.

Quinn shrugged, the submachine gun he kept level and pointing ahead. "Maybe. But we can't go back our way, too many Elites."

"They must have either passed my guys or burned through them." Varusisguard said, biting her lip. Ryder's mind flashed to the little girl. He hoped she was safe. "Private, you've got a point."

The ODST wondered if he was obligated to take orders from an Insurrectionist, but moved forward anyway. Of them, he was probably the most expendable. Deathly silence was broken only by soft footsteps. He kept moving at a slow pace, expecting at any moment to have a Covenant Elite step out and try to blow him away. It was hard to see in the darkness, and he wished for his helmet's VISR system.

He caught a flash of orange vanish around a corner, a Grunt's harness. "Contact!" he shouted, and ran forward.

Someone behind him called, "Wait!" but Quinn was already moving, intent on catching these ambushers off-guard. He skidded to a halt when he heard something beep.

On the wall next to him, a soft red light glowed. It was in the shape of a Covenant symbol.

"Oh, crap." He shouted back to the others, "Run! Get back!"

Then a bang and a shower of earth between them obscured them from his vision. He realized they were clear, outside the tunnel section where the bombs were set, but the concussive blasts that blew up closer and closer to him said he wasn't safe. He dropped his rifle and ran.

Sprinting, he felt the shockwaves of each blast as they nearly threw him to the ground, catching up to him too fast. A wave of heat hit his back and threw him forward, landing on his stomach. There was a pause, then another explosion sounded, and a shower of dirt came down. As he struggled unsuccessfully to get free, he wished once again he had his helmet with him.

That Damn Sniper, sniping. 19:36, March 29, 2011 (UTC)

227
"So everyone within the vicinity of the farm should be okay," Riley elaborated to a small group of three or four marines. "Thermal scans relayed directly to me, gathered aboard multiple UNSC frigates, such as the UNSC Roadtown, as well as the UNSC Long Shot, Lying Bastard', and Born of Fire, indicate that a Covenant EMP bomb with the range of a nuclear superweapon had hit central Port Neandra at approximately 900 hours this morning; just minutes before we've all lost communications with each other. It has been confirmed that the weapon was no radar jammer of any sort. Fortunately, the farm was a mere mile out of harm's way. Yes we've lost all sensors, radio transmitters, and vehicles, however, most ODST and MJOLNIR armor systems are rebooting. Within minutes, your visors will all reactivate. We are well equipped to continue the fight, even without radios. On the bad side, however, all intel gathered so far has been purged along with our suit's memory cores. The worst of it is that we are stranded here..."

Riley briefly paused, allowing a few of the marines to gulp. They had all acknowledged that most of them were goners. "Even worse than that, any UNSC serviceman in Port Neandra is as good as dead." he continued. He couldn't help but to wonder what had become of Luc, Jake, Ed and the others.

Bryce was lucky. The CARNWENNAN building was located less than a mile from the bomb's range. As if that wasn't enough. Luc, Jake, and Ed were well equipped with restored armor systems. They were Spartans. Him and the marines, on the other hand, would be forced to wait a few minutes longer. One thing was for certain. It wouldn't be long before the Covenant discovered their location. --  Chris  talk   blog  22:52, April 1, 2011 (UTC)

228
As the Grunts came at them, Torkamentov opened fire with his plasma rifle, along with the other marines. the grunts proceeded to start runnng away, which was odd to Torkamentov. He saw Quinnstart to run after them, and shouted, "Wait!" He saw as Quinn fell, and then shouted at them to run. Seeing the paniced look in Quinn's eyes, Trkamentov started sprinting away. Things went into slow motion as numerous explosions went off and Quinn was buried by the collapsing ceilling.

"Quinn!" shouted Ryder. They ran forward, and started digging, Ryder using his powered armor to clear away the heavier rocks, and everyone else getting the smaller stuff. After what seemed like an agonizingly long time, they reached Quinn. Torkamentov bent down and placed his fingers against his neck, then reached and closed his eyes. He silently stood up, reloaded his rifle, and started walking out of the tunnel. Ryder, silent as well, reloaed and follwed him. The rest of the group did the same. Finally, Torkamentov spoke, "Here's what we are going to do. We are going to find that son-of-a-bitch Engineer, and we are going to blow it to hell, where it belongs." Everyone else nodded in silent agreement. This time, it was personal. Azecreth 15:38, April 5, 2011 (UTC)

229
"The tunnel bombs have been detonated Mistress." Rasaab reported, out of breath.

"Do they know we are on the other side?" she asked him. Rasaab took a moment to catch his breath. "No," he stuttered, "not from the looks of it. But they want you dead now." Lower than Few laughed, which puzzled Rasaab. "Those fools are going to tear the farm appart looking for me, and that's where-"

"...I come in?" Silum asked impatiently, turning on his Energy Sword. "Why yes, you come in and clean the farm of the scum. After all, we can't let them hurt the Masters' knick knacks, now can we?" she replied as she left the room.

Silum entered a room where several Sangeili of many ranks were waiting with almost no patience. "My brothers," Silum told them, "you cannot let neither Demon nor Imp twenty units below the agricultural facility. If you do they will obtain access to half of the Celestial Charts and possibly one of the Masters' Dreadnoughts. If you do so they will ravage it for its secrets. Do not fail!" All the Sangheili let out a roar in agreement and they took of for the now cleared Port Neandra. Their battle was hours away.

"Lex, set up a perimeter around the farm. Jaq, see who got hurt and administer medical attention accordingly." Luke commanded, "Soph, you find some tactical positions to take." He turned to see the rest of his crew. "I want you Marines to look for food, shelter, water, etc. You Marines will help Lex on the perimeter. ODST, I'll need your help clearing some of that rubble. Someone else may be in there. Spartans, you're on fortification duty."

"Who put you in charge, anyway?" A random marine asked. "No one was giving orders. Also, if no one is taking charge, then we're as good as a glass of water against the Covenant's Hell-on-Earth, so shut your mouth and listen, unless you want to take the reigns." Luke replied with the most serious tone anyone heard him talk in.

-M.S. 19:08, April 5, 2011 (UTC)

230
Ryder set down the no longer moving body of a trooper down. On their way out, Sergeant Varusisguard had found his helmet, rifle, and the remains of the EMP bomb, and tossed them next to the body of the trooper she'd hardly known.

The medic, Jaq, passed over the majority of wounded marines who were already bandaged rushed over to him, but as he put his hands on the armor, the Spartan pushed him back.

"Don't . . . he's gone. Others need your attention more."

The man hurriedly shook his head. "It's not an injury from an impact! How long has he been out?"

Torkamentov shook his head. "Don't cheapen his death! He knew the risks."

Ryder said quietly, "Only three, maybe four minutes."

"Then his brain hasn't been deprived of oxygen for too long!" Jaq immediately started tearing away at the armor on Quinn's unbeating chest. Very little hope showed in the others' eyes, but enough that they crowded around him to see what he'd do.

Jaq pulled from his pack a defibrillator. "Clear!" he shouted, and a zap broke the air. The body spasmed from the electric current, but after that stayed still. "Clear!" he yelled again. No good.

"I don't have enough power . . ." Jaq said sadly. He twisted his head around in desperation, futily looking for something that could help. The others turned away, just as he fixated on the dead EMP device.

His hands, expert at tiny jobs, unplugged wires from the defibrillator's power source, then looped the device into the circuit. If it could build up enough charge, it might be able to. ..

ZAP. Quinn's body shook, and suddenly a rasping cough came out of his mouth. Instantly the others were watching the trooper gasp at the air.

"Give him some room! Give him room!" Jaq shouted, and they backed off.

Quinn coughed up a fair amount of rock and sand, but within a minute was asking for water. Juliet handed him one, and he swigged greedily to clear his throat.

Torkamentov was almost in disbelief. His shock turned to a relieved laughter. He kneeled next to him, and shook the dead man's hand. "So, trooper, what's it like on the other side?"

"Dark, sir. And it doesn't taste good either."

That Damn Sniper, sniping. 00:57, April 6, 2011 (UTC)

231
Turok noticed the Brutes as the loud, lumbering beasts made their way through the farm. Turok turned his head and also noticed that the hall Ryder had gone down was full of bright light and explosions. Turok sincerely hoped Ryder and the others were o.k.. Now, however, Turok had other problems. If those Brutes made it to the lower level where the group was, they were in some serious crap. The Brutes weren't headed towards the small entrance.

They were headed towards the small hold-up where Matt and some other Marines were being pinned down.

Turok frowned, then grinned with an mischievous look in his eyes. The Varthaka were known for their expertise in battle, but Turok planned to avoid a battle and just kill them all one by one.

Matt looked at the small crew of Marines and Innies. The three marines were equal to the three Innies, but the marines had the better fire power. "O.K.," Matt said, "I got Intel from Tron that we're going to be screwed by Brutes within a few minutes. There will be less than 5 of them by the time they get here, though. These Brutes are mega bad asses in their own right."

"If they're so good," one marine asked, "Then why do we fight them? We'll easily be overrun by them and their Chieftain."

"What's your name kid?"

"Chief Sergent Mike Hiker, sir."

"Do you want to know why, Chief?" The man nodded. "Because folks need heros, Chief." The marine looked stunned, then simply nodded and started giving orders.

Good job, Matt, Tron told Matt. '''Thanks, pal. You're doing swell, updating me on situations with the Brutes and all,''' Matt thought back. Know what?

If we meet the Chieftain, kick his ass for me.

Ryder gave Quinn a hearty pat on the back that nearly knocked Quinn down. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Come on, Lazarus,"and then Ryder lowered his voice. "We're being followed."

-Therider Rides Alone 23:15, April 6, 2011 (UTC)

232
"Get ready people, we're going in a little hot!" Kane-099 sat at the frigate's controls. Around him, Spartans and ODST's worked at the consoles as they sped towards Hope. On Kane's right, Jax-007 plotted coordinates. He looked up from the screen. "Sir, I've found us somewhere to land so we can figure out what's going on here"

Across the room, Private Dekker jumped up. "What do you mean, land? we have to take out some of those covvie ships first!" Kane glanced over at Dekker, and sighed. He only joined Whiskey-04 a few weeks prior to the Fall of Reach, and he had been through hell. Sergeant Major Mack Jr, the Squad leader, spoke up. "Listen Dekker, I've been fighting this war since Harvest was glassed, and if there's one thing I've learned, then it's that you can't save everyone"

Dekker sat back down without a word, nodding. As The Bright New Day came closer to Hope, a single Covenant Cruiser shifted towards them. Red warning klaxons blared and the crew prepared for battle. At the weapons station, Marco-025 loaded the MAC gun and prepared to fire when the opportunity rose. Without a ship AI, this would be tricky at best.

All the 3 Spartan, 7 ODST crew of the Frigate could do now was keep heading directly towards the planet, and the incoming cruiser. As they drew nearer, it unleashed a barrage of Plasma Torpedoes. Kane wrenched on the controls, and the Frigate shot up, above the cruiser. Several torpedoes hit the back end of the ship. The Bright New Day kept going, heading straight toward the cruiser. Kane looked to his right. "Marco! Kill those bitches!" the MAC gun fired, barely 100 meters away. At such a close range, the gun cut through the shields of the Covenant ship as it prepared to unleash a second barrage.

The now damaged frigate flew over the crippled Covenant ship, and towards Hope. One of the ODST's, Corporal Bell, sat with his head in his hands. Louie-A199 checked the damage reports He looked towards Kane solemnly. "Sir, bad news. Those torpedoes damaged our FTL drive. We were lucky it didn't blow half the ship to hell, but I don't think we could use it again"

This complicated things. "Allright" Kane said finally. "We'll head down to Hope and see what we can do about the ship" The Bright New Day entered Hope's atmosphere, going down until they broke through clouds into the sunlight. "Jax, do you have some coordinates for us?" The red-armoured Spartan, still tapping away at his screen, grunted. "I use shotguns, Kane, I'm still not too sure what goes where, Hold on, let me try and get the map up"

He pressed a button, and a cup holder extended. Alex-A121, Martin-A136 and Marco-025 all burst out laughing. After several minutes of frantic button pressing, a holographic map popped up on the briefing table near the exit to the bridge. Kane looked over it. The whole planet was under siege from the Covenant. He sighed. 7 years ago, with the whole of Sigma, this stuff would have been a piece of cake. Now, with an exhausted team and a battered ship, Kane wasn't so sure. "Put us down here, we'll assess the damage and try to contact the local UNSC forces" he pointed on the world map to a large rainforest, spanning almost an entire continent.

After almost an hour's flying, the frigate landed in the dense rainforest, crushing smaller trees underfoot. Whiskey-04 would stay to guard the frigate while the Spartans searched for any friendlies. A large metal ramp lowered, dropping 2 Warthog LRV's onto the tall grass. Seconds later, 6, fully armoured Spartans dropped down. It was time to fight back.

--Brodie-001