To Barrage and Bellow

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A bone-jarring explosion ripped through the garage, sending a partially-eviscerated Ghost tumbling end over end in a flurry of cartwheeling shards. Two groups of Grunts barked as they filtered into the cavernous room, sliding up in between the crates and charred wreckage of once-functional combat vehicles.

Two of the Grunts fired globs of burning green towards the other end of the garage. Two humans, clad in bulky armour and golden visors, scurried between cover, occasionally returning fire with a hail of bullets from MA5Ks.

The Grunts began to press on, bunny-hopping their way forward, with one group firing while the other advanced. As they encroached, their barking turned into excited snarls and guttural laughter, having cornered the humans.

A blur of movement caught the eye of the lead group, and something barrelled at them from the sides. Before the lead Ultra could squawk in alarm, a wicked knife slashed across its throat, severing the breathing tubes in its mask and its neck in one swoop.

The Grunt began to topple over, and the remaining half-dozen Grunts in the group turned to watch. The green figure in their centre twirled about, slashing a wide, scything arc with her glinting metal blade. Two of the five remaining Grunts got caught, spraying blue ichor as the knife dug into their exposed neck flesh.

One of the Grunts began to raise its weapon, before the armoured figure spun around, leg outstretched, and slammed an armoured boot into the side of the alien’s head. The skull shattered instantly, the head and mask deforming around the titanium footwear, and the Grunt was dead before he hit the ground.

The last Grunt began to panic, doubly so when the armoured figure reached out to grab the diminutive alien around the throat, dragging him to block the incoming shots from the second group.

Plasma bolts impacted the stocky alien while the green behemoth used him as a shield. When the methane tank on the back began to buckle and boil at the strain of taking so many bolts of plasma, she arched her upper body, and tossed the alien.

It flew through the air, impacting the crate where six other Grunts were taking cover. The methane tank ruptured, green gas spilling out of cracks, and the pressure finally gave way. The tank split apart with a shattering sound, tossing shrapnel into the surrounding aliens.

Two of them were killed when pieces of metal pierced their heart and brain, respectively. The remaining four were left reeling, and didn’t notice the Spartan jump over the crate and land amongst them, until the panicked and pained cries of their dying comrades filled the air.

When the dust settled, Bodark slid her knife back into its sheath and scanned the rest of the room for anymore targets. There were none.

“Clear,” she hissed into her comms.

“Goddammit, Bodark!” a voice hissed back.

She looked over to where it was coming from, only to find a squadmate storming over with balled fists. “Are you trying to get yourself hurt?!” He stepped up into her face and pushed the other Spartan. “Do you just enjoy the infirmary that much?”

Bodark huffed and squared her shoulders. “I was taking care of a problem.”

“Without a rifle?” the man shot back.

Bodark looked over her shoulder and found her MA5K missing.

The man pushed something into her chest, and Bodark grabbed it on reflex. “You dropped it, when you decided to do your little suicide charge. Try not to, next time, yeah?”

Bodark gripped the rifle tighter and nodded. “Apologies. It won’t happen again.”

The man spared her one last glance, though she couldn’t see his expression beneath the glossy surface of his SPI helmet. He turned back around to the other end of the garage and held a hand up to his ear. “Arlo! How’re the explosives?”

“Choppy,” came the reply. “I need time.”

Another explosion rocked the ground. Jericho and Bodark looked back over towards the entrance of the garage.

Jericho cursed. “We don’t have time.”

Arlo made a frustrated noise. “Get me some!” he snapped.

Jericho hit Bodark on the shoulder pauldron and flicked his head. “C’mon.”

They both set off at a sprint towards the entrance of the garage, hauling themselves around half-melted crates. Figures came out of the snow on the other side of the door, approaching the area with weapons drawn.

Bodark raised her rifle, sending short bursts towards them. Jericho did the same beside her. The crowd of warriors began to yell orders in alien languages, and some dove down into the snow.

As they came to a stop by the sliding doors, Jericho stooped to one knee and fiddled with the controls. Bodark kept firing, taking up a post by the doorframe. Plasma began to strike the nanolaminate, peeling back the topmost layers. Heat washed over Bodark’s armour, and she winced.

“Got it!” Jericho announced. The doors winked, then flashed a deep purple as they locked.

No sooner had he stood up, than the door began to bang. Something on the other side, something big, wanted in.

“Bodark,” Jericho said, aiming his rifle up at the door. “I’m gonna regret saying this, but you need to buy us a few more minutes.”

“How long do you need?” Bodark replied, her own rifle at the ready.

Jericho went to answer, before a sizzling noise started coming from the door. Both Spartans watched as the twin tips of an energy sword pierced the lock, molten nanolaminate and metals bleeding through the wound. The sword began to trace downwards at an agonising slowness.

“Any is better than none,” Jericho said.

“What about you?” Bodark asked.

“I can hold whatever you can’t.” Jericho nodded.

Bodark gave him a sidelong look, dropped her rifle, and moved away from the doors. Up above them was a series of maintenance catwalks, and Bodark banked straight for one of the ladders, lifting herself up three rungs at a time, before scrambling into one of the vents that lead to the outside.

She kept herself low, peering over the lip of the garage down at the gathered masses. Two Elites, flanked by a few Jackals and Grunts, and at the center, a massive Brute. She readied her rifle, and took aim.

One of the Jackals dropped to the ground before the others could register the burst of rifle shots. The remaining two Jackals raised their shields up towards the catwalk, and the Elites readied their plasma rifles.

They didn’t see the grenade land behind them until it had already bounced once.

It detonated, and Bodark threw herself off of the catwalk, down onto the snowy rocks beneath. She hit hard, braced herself and rolled, bringing her rifle up to aim at the remaining targets.

One of the Elites was on the ground, clutching at a stump where his left leg once was. She sent a three-round burst through his skull.

The other Elite turned to her, shaking his head, energy sword flickering pitifully. He charged, a warbling, wounded war cry sounding from the back of his throat. She pressed down on the trigger of her MA5 and emptied the magazine. The Elite, stopped dead by the bullets, began to jerk and twist as the rounds shredded his combat harness. He dropped to the snow.

Bodark turned, flicking the magazine from the receiver and reaching for another, before a massive force slammed into her side, picking her up and sending her into the garage door with a thud.

All the air left her lungs in an explosive cough, and spittle stained her visor at the impact.

She looked down, seeing the Brute wrapped around her midsection. She squirmed out of its iron grip, bringing a leg up and kicking out. Her foot connected with the thing’s chest, and pushed him back, and Bodark slid down to the ground.

Her lungs begged for air, but her throat just wasn’t working. Her mouth gaped open and shut like a fish, while the Brute steadied himself and ran at her.

She stood up, the Brute angled his body, and Bodark sidestepped at the last second. The Brute connected with the garage in a full-bodied shoulder slam, denting the metal. She reached forward and grabbed the Brute’s head, slamming it against the door repeatedly. There was a noise in her ears; far off and static-y. The Brute’s helmet came loose, and she kept slamming the alien’s massive head into the door.

It took her a few more seconds to realise that the noise was her screaming.

The Brute swung an arm around at her, connecting with her helmet, and sending her flying. She hit the dirt with a groan, her visor splintered across the front. She looked up at the dazed Brute, growling in the back of her throat.

It shook its bloodied head, eyes focusing on her. It roared in a fit of rage.

Bodark got to her feet and echoed the bellowing war cry with one of her own. The Brute stepped forward and swung at her. Bodark ducked underneath it, reaching a hand up for her knife, and slashing the Brute across the midsection. Before the Brute could even yell in pain, she had spun around again, dancing beneath the Brute’s guard like a trained ballet, delivering another wicked slash to the alien’s other side, and stabbing the knife deep into the thing’s spine.

It tried to swing its arm behind itself again, but Bodark was ready this time. She held her hands up and caught the massive arm as it came back. Using the Brute’s own momentum against it, she twisted her upper body with a full-throated yell of exhaustion. The mighty slab of alien muscle yielded, and she threw the beast to the floor with a colossal thud.

Without giving it a chance to recover, she held the Brute’s arm to her chest, wrapping her legs around the alien’s head and squeezing.

She felt the thing thrash beneath her, reaching its other arm up to paw at her legs in a desperate frenzy. She didn’t move, even as she felt the rush of her blood in her ears, the pain of her jaw grinding together, the cramp of her muscles as they were overexerted. She kept squeezing, and squeezing, tighter, and tighter, until the Brute’s thrashing slowed, then stilled, and its legs stopped their frantic twitching movements.

Its eyes became glassy, mouth stuck open. Only then did Bodark let go, and crash back down to the snow beneath her. “Jericho,” she held a hand up to her ear and took a deep breath, relishing the way her lungs felt when full. “This is Bodark.”

“Go ahead.” Jericho replied.

“Solicitors dealt with.” Bodark scoffed in laughter.

“Appreciate it. When you’re done with bouncer duty, Arlo’s finished with the explosives.” Jericho said.

Bodark stood to make her way back to the others but came face to face with a bloodied and very angry Elite Ultra with its two energy swords drawn. But before it could make a move, the ground in front of Bodark was thrown up as a bullet tore through the Ultas skull.

Her radio crackled to life, “Y’know, maybe if their helmets weren’t so damn big, then they could put up a fight,'' as Jamie's voice came through

Bodark gave off an exasperated huff and then nod in the direction of the shot to thank Jamie as Jericho and Arlo made their way out of the garage.

“Nice to see ya kicking, J. Think you could watch our backs while we pull out” Jericho asked.

“Consider it done” she responded.

Bodark followed Jericho as he lead them back through the destroyed base walls, other teams moving with them, towards the thick forest ahead. Above them they heard the whizz of bullets fired by the snipers, picking off what covies tried to follow.

Bodark as well as her teammates struggled to see very far, relying on Jamie guiding them through the forest.

“Hold position, Lance of elites, 10 meters ahead, let ‘em pass” Jamie called out causing Kilo to grind to a halt along with the other teams. As the elites passed she gave them the clear to move, guiding them through the trees and down a narrow gulley.

“Hold, hostile patrol moving above you, five tangos, they’ll need to jump over and when they do, you take em out” Jamie called out as she took aim.

As she said, a trio of grunts could be heard trying to push each other to jump. As they did both Arlo and two other spartans reached up and pulled them down, snapping their necks. Before the elites could react however two cracks in the air dropped them to the forest floor.

“You guys are clear to move out, keep east for 50 meters and you’ll be in the clear, see ya on the ship” Jamie called out as she made her way down to the exfil zone.

Minutes later they had piled into the Calypso’s and were clearing the atmosphere not long after, however the light of the explosions in the base could be seen clear as day.