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This topic has moved here: Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 2]
  • Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 2]
Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 2]

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

More, more! I can't tell you how well you're doing with this. I almost jumped for joy when I noticed you'd put up another chapter.

  • 02.20.2011 10:11 PM PDT

If you can read this, that means I'm not a Shaolin monk...

yet.

Moar...

  • 02.24.2011 9:36 AM PDT

POMC S117 Owns owns

This is amazing and I would recomend it, even if you are not a big reader or a Halo Wars fan. Keep it up, or as TheGreenAlloy said: Moar...

  • 02.24.2011 9:41 AM PDT

Chapter 6



Viln 'Rengum figured life could not get any more boring. He was stationed on the isolated listening outpost known as Hydra's End, an unoriginal title being as it was floating on the edge of the Hydra System. Viln absently watched the endless amount of sensor data scroll past his screen while resting his tired head on his hands. His workspace was high above the actual guts of the station, sitting on the relative top of the Jjrahli fruit-shaped hull like a lonely watchman. He blew a sigh and leaned back in his chair, struggling to keep his eyes from closing.

Two days ago, a Spec Ops Cruiser had arrived and docked with the station, sending a fresh buzz of excitement through the entirely Sangheili crew. Apart from the monthly frigate that would retrieve the data cores and supply Hydra's End with new cores and supplies, no other ship in all the Covenant Fleet would have any reason to visit. And that made Viln hesitant to share in the gawking that the dozen other crewmembers bestowed upon the elegantly designed cruiser.

He suppressed a yawn and stood up to look out the tiny rectangular viewport conveniently cut out above his desk. There it is, the Fantastic Something-or-Other, Viln thought bitterly. He never really cared for the Fleet's colorful, poetic vessel naming, and for all he figured the ship should have been called Siphoner of Fuel. The ship master had pretty much bullied his way into getting the crew of the station to top off his cruiser, citing a high-level priority due to the importance of his secret mission, and Viln had ordered his crew to comply as he retreated to the safety of his workstation.

After a day-long malfunction with two of the fuel lines, the transfer was almost complete and Viln was ready to see the Spec Ops vessel leave. And right as he was about to rattle off a curse, a comm ping from his console alerted him of an incoming transmission. Viln plopped down in his chair and flexed his mandibles in preparation of speech. When he noticed the origin coming from the cruiser, he bit out his curse anyway. "Station Manager Viln 'Rengum," he identified himself, as he flipped the switch to accept the transmission.

At first, all he heard was a snarl, but then the sound of a throat clear cut through and the image of the ship master appeared on Viln's screen, his console straining to interpolate and convert the holographic into the two-dimensional. The ship master's head was bent down at an angle to give him a most sinister appearance. "Our fuel transfer is nearly complete. I trust you understand the imperative need I have of making this stop."

Viln blinked his eyes slowly and nodded in the same fashion. "You honor us with your presence," he forced out with all the false sincerity he could muster.

Whether the link between the two was degraded to the point of masking Viln's tone or the ship master couldn't detect his sarcasm, the commander of the cruiser merely nodded in response. A faint beep caused the ship master to turn his head to his right. "Ah, it seems we are finished here. If you would have your crew retract the lines, we'll be on our way."

Viln was reaching for the comm to switch the channel when an alarm blared from behind him. He spun his chair around to find the racks of buoy sensor receivers flashing in protest as their feeds were abruptly cut off. His eyes scanned the data pouring over the many smaller screens when the next row of receivers shorted out. As his hearts raced and his mind computed the events, he realized the outer-most sensor buoys had failed followed by the next ring . . .

Over his shoulder, the ship master growled. "Is there a problem?"

Spinning back around, Viln's long fingers flew over the console as he attempted to access emergency protocols. "Get your shields up now, Ship Master!" he yelled.

The cruiser's commander reeled his head back in disgust. "Now see here. You have no place to order--"

"Just do it!" Viln countered, finally finding the outpost's list of overrides to bring its own shielding online. "Some sort of crippling pulse has just knocked out our sensor buoys," he quickly explained.

The ship master barked an order at some one on his bridge, but Viln was already tuning him out. The faint haze of orange was beginning to appear just outside the tiny viewport, but Viln quickly turned away, hoping the shields would hold under the inevitable wave.

He signaled a station-wide alert and was in the process of manually removing data cores, when the floor shook violently and pitched him to the ground, kicking his hooves out from underneath. He knew he hadn't hit his head, but the small room swam in and out of focus as he struggled to upright himself.

Slightly disoriented, he found his chair and sat down. His workstation was completely void of power and he assumed it was true of the entire outpost. He pressed a few start-up buttons experimentally and was rewarded with his console humming to life. Smiling, he looked up through the window to see the shields no longer there, but he figured they had absorbed most of the effect and silently thanked the makers of this particular station for adding such a safety feature.

As Viln's screen flickered on, the comm began to light up with damage reports and injury listings. He was about to access the intercom when the ship master's face appeared again. Viln was taken aback by the image and frowned, curling his mandibles in displeasure. But the ship master ignored his expression. "By the Forerunners, what was that?"

Biting back another retort, Viln decided to appease the ship master for once and he called up the real-time analysis program he already had running. The first batch of data littered the screen and Viln nodded. "It was an electromagnetic pulse, a very strong one at that."

"Not strong enough," the cruiser's commander rumbled as he expanded his arms to encompass his ship.

Viln was about to add that without his warning the Spec Ops vessel would be nothing more than a glorified lifeboat when a file attached itself to the currently streaming data. He brought up the record and scanned it's contents . . . and felt his mandibles drop in astonishment. If his equipment was functioning properly then the EMP they had just survived matched the exact same readouts as one that had emanated coreward-- nearly 200 years ago.

"What is going on?" the ship master asked, snapping Viln from his stupor.

"I'm transmitting you a file for your techs to take a look at," he said. "Most of my gear needs a diagnostic check and I'm afraid if I try to process some heavy data stream then all I'll get will be a plume of smoke."

The ship master turned his head, obviously looking at some display, and motioned with an opened hand for the techs to hurry and muted his comm with the other. It only took a handful of minutes for him to turn back towards Viln with a predatory smile spread across his face. "It seems we have found our long lost Oracle," he said quietly, conspiratorially. "The Prophets will be most pleased."

Viln felt his hearts nearly freeze up at the very mention of either holy figure. He didn't have the slightest clue what the ship master was talking about, but it was definitely something to call in. He absently searched his console, but found his long-range communications out of commission. "Will you be sending a Fleet?" he breathed.

The ship master snorted. "And let them rob me of my glorious victory?" He dismissed the thought with a wave of a hand. "I shall horde it for myself."

Even with his own limited knowledge of how the Fleet operated, Viln knew it wasn't wise to scrap a previously made mission for a glory-seeking expedition. "But--"

"We have determined the location of our long-awaited prize and will head there will all haste!" he bellowed, eliciting cheers from his bridge crew.

Swearing to himself, Viln knew he would never be able to convince the ship master not to go, but he could try stalling him. His eyes read over the damage assessment just now coming up on a secondary screen. "Ship Master, I have cataclysmic failure in my reactors; I'm not sure how long we can remain operable."

The ship master flashed him another toothy grin. "Long enough for your next supply frigate, I'm sure." His face seemed to darken under a shadow. But when they do arrive, we were never here. Do you understand Station Manager?"

Hands balling into fists, Viln just stared back at the intimidating Sangheili.

The ship master lifted his head in arrogance. "I take your silence as future compliance."

The image winked out and Viln stood to once again peer out the viewport over his desk. Looking out over the outpost's hull, he could see the Spec Ops Cruiser break away from Hydra's End. With bile brewing in the back of his throat, Viln 'Rengum doubted he'd ever see the ship again.

Returning to the comm, he began responding to the hails of his crewmembers. Well, at least this is a change of pace.

  • 02.24.2011 1:18 PM PDT


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Jerome steadied his breathing, forcing himself to relax. Being one of three people on Tradewind to have a sealed suit, he put it upon himself to venture out into the partial vacuum that was the asteroid's surface. It didn't mean he liked it, he rather hated it, but he needed Alice and Douglas to get things done inside while he was outside.

A marine standing near the edge of the docking bay had spotted Fox One solely by the fire that was burning from one of the dropship's thrusters, getting Anders off the task of fixing Tradewind's sensors. And that fire was Jerome's only beacon as he took another cautious step on the hard ground. There was enough metallic elements for the magnetic layer on the soles of his armor's boots to take hold with each step, giving him a little more assurance that he wouldn't just float away.

"You takin' a stroll, or just admiring the view?"

Jerome turned his head around to see Douglas standing a dozen meters away on the edge of the docking bay with arms folded across his chest. "Aren't you suppose to be organizing the search for survivors?" Jerome asked mildly.

In response, Douglas shook his head and jumped two meters down to the rocky surface. "Two squads are roaming the accessible sections of the ship, but our acting-captain said he was the only one not in cryo." He crossed the distance to Jerome quickly, finding more confidence in his armor's ability to keep him close to the ground than his Spartan leader. "So I took a page from your book and tried that whole delegation thing."

Jerome tilted his head, eying Douglas with half curiosity and half amusement. "How's that working out?"

Douglas merely wrapped the knuckles of his right hand against Jerome's chestplate and headed for the fire that burned some distance away. "It only means it frees you up for other duties, like backing up your commander."

Chuckling, Jerome shook his head and the two men picked up their pace. "You think Alice will manage keeping tabs on Anders?"

"Honestly, I think we're over the worst of this so-called rescue mission." Douglas shrugged. "And I think the Professor knows the ramifications of what she did. She'll be a lot more cautious."

Jerome gave Douglas a sideways glare. "Let's hope so on both accounts."


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Ellen exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair off her face, if only temporary. The long bangs fell gentle across her left eye and cheek again, so she tucked the stubborn hair behind her ear.

"What's wrong?" asked the female Spartan standing off to Ellen's left in the confined reactor room.

"Nothing, it's just taking longer than I thought," Anders answered, not even attempting to hide the annoyance from her voice. "Could you hold that light a little more steady?"

Just inside the doorway, flanked by two marines, the Monitor perked up. "Perhaps I could--"

"No," both Alice and Anders cut him off simultaneously. The two women exchanged glances but quickly turned their eyes away.

Ellen sighed in frustration. After Contrite Variant's barrage of questions about Tradewind and his eagerness to help get the ship's reactor running, Anders had had her fill of AIs for the day. At first, she was anxious to asked questions of her own about the installations the Monitor had talked about briefly, but whenever she'd bring them up, Contrite Variant would just express their need to go to B-23. The floating AI was proving itself to be a nuisance, but Ellen still held out hope that she could speak with it at length. As soon as I get this ship back to life . . .

She finally got the side panel to the reactor's main console open and started diagnosing the problem. "More light," she said, lowering herself down to the cold metal floor to get a better view of the finer circuitry inside.

Alice complied without comment, but Ellen figured the Spartan was just as agitated.

Ellen was more than anxious to start examining Tradewind's FTL drive, but first she had to restore power throughout the ship before those crewmen still in cryo had their pod's batteries depleted. Anders knew the lifespan of 200 year-old batteries were next to nothing, but at the very least, they had automatically kick on once the EMP pulse knocked out the crippled ship's power. Guilt began to filter into the corners of her mind. Keeping them alive is the least I can do.

Within a handful of minutes Anders realized there was not much she had to fix. Surprisingly, none of the caps were bad and the few transformers still held a nominal rating. She merely had to bypass a few sequences in the start-up order and she was good to go. Doubting Tradewind had extra parts lying around that were easy to find, she chalked this little victory up as a near miracle. Tightening the clamps down over the panel, she gave Alice a thumb up. "Now all we need is the reactor's core realigned," she said as she stood up.

"How do we do that?" Alice asked.

"Manually, of course," Ellen answered with raised eyebrows. She frowned suddenly when she realized the problem that presented itself. She looked out the opposite glass wall, into the reactor proper, and focused her own glowrod's beam inside. "We'll need someone to physically make the adjustment," she pointed a finger to the reactor, "inside there."

Alice marched up to the glass and peered inside. After a few seconds of examination she turned to Anders, shaking her head. "There's a coolant leak ten centimeters deep. If someone were to reactivate the reactor, they'd instantly fry from the radiation spike."

"So we either need to clean up the fluid and make sure the floor has been properly coated, or we just need to not touch the ground . . ." Ellen trailed off, as both women turned to face the floating Monitor.

For the first time, Contrite Variant waited to speak. He just kept looking back and forth at the two females.

"No. It can't be trusted," Alice grumbled.

Anders thought for a moment before answering. To properly align the core, there had to be some very fine adjustments to the inner casing: tabs need to line up to the micron, pins need to make simultaneous contact. She wasn't even sure she could do it without partially ruining the core. Since we don't have the equipment, the AI could be exact . . .

"What about just using a battery backup, like the cryo-pods are using?" offered one marine.

Ellen shook her head. "They used up their charge a long time ago. Whoever was in command here, didn't think he would be stranded for very long, or else he just made a stupid mistake." She pulled out her datapad and brought up the schematic of the reactor. "We need to get this reactor core aligned," she added, looking at the Spartan.

The two women were locked in a staring match for a few breaths before Alice snapped her head up. "Monitor, do you have any experience with this sort of thing?" she asked pensively.

Contrite Variant looked to Anders' datapad before answering. "Of course. I wasam, the Monitor of Installation 03 and Research Facility B-23 where I perform many tasks such as this." He dipped down slightly. "I assure you, the hazards in the targeted room will not effect me."

"Whatever the outcome, we'll at least solve one problem," Alice muttered. "Alright, Professor, your show."

Anders could tell there was an unspoken remark lurking behind that golden visor, and she wanted to call it out. But instead she led the Monitor to the closed blast door off to their right, perpendicular to the doorway the floating machine was still hovering in. With the portable power supply one marine had rigged together with parts on loan from Fox Three, they were able to open the door without much stalling. Thankfully the large lip at the bottom of the door frame was large enough to halt the coolant from flooding on to Ellen's shoes.

"Okay, let me run you through this," she started, bringing up the reactor core layout on her datapad's screen.

Without warning, a bright yellow beam crossed the distance from the Monitor to the screen with a hiss. It vanished just as quickly as it appeared, and Contrite Variant looked over at the Professor. "No need. I understand completely."

Ellen's jaw was still open in shock when the Monitor entered the reactor proper. Her hands tingled from the small electric shock, but her datapad appeared fine. When she turned her head to ask if the others had seen the flash of light, they were all in the process of lowering their weapons. Swallowing hard, she motioned for the marine to seal the blast door and wondered if she had made a mistake by allowing the AI access to such a vital part of the ship.

  • 02.24.2011 1:19 PM PDT



*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Nathan Parker set his helmet down on the holoprojector's outer edge and leaned heavily on the metal bar that wrapped around the entire centerpiece. He was staring at the floating holo-image of the asteroid in the dimly lit ready room when it suddenly shifted to a view of the stars. He frowned and straightened his arms.

"Excuse me?"

His eyes darted to the source of the voice to his right. "I'm sorry," he stated, narrowing his eyes to peer through the darkness.

The dark armored figure standing at the far end of the projector shrugged. "Apology accepted, but do you mind?"

Nathan's frowned deepened. "Tor- Holmen?" he hastily corrected himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone else was in here."

"Right. Even though I told you this is where I would be?" she responded with sass.

He pressed his lips together in denial. Wait, she did tell me that. "Sorry, I can go . . ." he said apologetically, standing up straight.

Toril sighed loud enough for Nathan to hear. "No, I was just studying a possible target." She waved a hand at the floating star field. "Would you mind switching it back?"

"Ah, yeah." He looked down at the array of buttons surrounding his helmet when he realized he had accidentally changed the image by setting his helmet down where he did. He picked up his headgear and tucked it under his left arm while switching the projector back to the asteroid's image.

"Thank you," Toril said, the first syllable sounding almost percussive.

Nathan nodded and nearly turned to go, but something inside his mind told him that to leave would be to retreat. Despite the brief, awkward shift of his feet, he returned to his original position but kept his helmet securely between his forearms. Although he could sense her gaze fixed on him, he just stared at the rolling rock hovering a half meter away. Nathan could tell this was some sort of test of hers and a large part of him wanted to prove her wrong.

The room fell silent and Nathan actually started to study the asteroid, looking for the best possible insertion points. He knew, like any other ODST, that landing on such a thin-aired environment would mean vac suits, so he began to examine the wreckage of the mapping ship instead. The problem he could see was all the small rocks collected at the rear of the asteroid where Tradewind was "parked". To him, it would seem they should aim for the smoother far side and adjust their trajectory accordingly. Though the actually gravity of that rock might send us crashing to the surface a bit prematurely.

"So much for the 'D' in ODST," Toril muttered. "There's no easy way for us to get to that ship."

Letting a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, Nathan nodded. "My thoughts exactly," he said, keeping the amusement from his voice. The fact that they had come to the same conclusion was a minor victory, but one he would have to keep to himself.

"So why are we prepped for pod launch?" Toril asked, then quickly threw up her hand in frustration. "The Captain's not as quick without his AI."

Finally, Nathan turned to face Holmen. "I think Cutter has a lot more experience than you give him. He has his reasons," Nathan gently retorted, slightly surprised at how quickly he had come to the Captain's defense.

She snorted. "Yeah. Reasons that give everyone doubts about his ability to lead us into battle."

Nathan's eyebrows met together. Has she forgotten everything that transpired since Arcadia? "And what about him getting us out of the interior of that collapsing shield world?"

Toril circled around the opposite side of the projector to stare through the image at Nathan. "We never would've needed to be there if Cutter had listened to Spartan 042," she bit out.

He opened his mouth to speak but remained wordless. Nathan totally forgot about 042 strongly recommending to destroy the Covenant ship Anders was on. In one way, Toril had a point, but Nathan was sure Cutter made the right decision by listening to Sgt. Forge. Unlike most of the soldiers aboard the Spirit of Fire, he had a soft spot for the Professor. He would have liked to think it was all because his sister was a scientist, but a vision of Ellen Anders' beautiful face replaced that of his sibling.

"That lousy Professor," Toril added under her breath.

"Playing the 'what ifs' won't change the past, Holmen," he said, shifting his mind back into gear. "Decisions were made, lives were lost, and you know what? We completed our mission." He looked down at his pointed right index finger, not realizing he had extended it towards Toril, and lowered his hand to his side.

The female ODST spread her arms wide. "But at what cost?" she replied with unusual calm.

Nathan sighed and blinked his eyes slowly, bringing his pulse back to normal. Here they were, limping back to UNSC-controlled space, floating alongside a 200 year-old shipwrecked vessel, hoping to gut the ship for its FTL drive, and he was arguing ethics with a fellow squadmate. "Look, I--"

Suddenly, warning klaxons blared overhead and the holo-image of the asteroid was abruptly replaced with the last thing Nathan could ever have expected. His eyes grew wide, and he quickly slammed on his helmet. "Break's over," Nathan said as he waved Toril to the exit he was already starting for.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Through the glass, yellow bursts of light would flash at random, as Contrite Variant worked to align the core. If the AI was familiar at all with the process, he would have the ship's power restored in a matter of minutes.

It was during the third minute when Ellen's comm crackled to life and she expected an update on 092's progress. But the voice of the Monitor filled her right ear instead. "It is very interesting to see you Reclaimers progress. I would have thought by now you would be more . . . advanced."

"What?" Ellen said, puzzled. "Focus on the core, then we can talk."

Contrite Variant chuckled, his voice sounding even more processed through her tiny earpiece. "My Makers infused in me the ability to multitask." Through the glass, a few more traces of light could be seen reflecting off the shiny walls and gently stirred coolant. "I apologize for the inconvenience my startup process caused," the Monitor commented dolefully. "This isn't the first time I've inadvertently crippled a space-faring vessel."

Ellen sighed. Maybe if I talk with it now, it will get on with the reactor. "Yeah, we know you caused Tradewind to crash here," she said with disinterest. looking at the others for any kind of help in conversing with the AI. But all she received were expressions and body language that told her she had gotten herself in this mess and she would have to dig herself out. "So, are you looking for someone to accept your apology?" she asked, as a thought quickly occurred to her. If I can deflect this line of questions to someone more suitable . . . "Because technically I'm not the leader of our little squad."

Anders was pleased to see Alice lower her head in a warning posture.

"No," Contrite Variant said. "I'm just trying to achieve a better grasp on my timeframe."

A large vibration shook the floor and Ellen braced herself against the glass. Suddenly, like someone igniting a flame, the reactor fired up and brilliant white light washed over her face, blinding her. At first she winced, but her eyes quickly adjusted to see the core perfectly aligned and the Monitor facing her, silhouetted by the light. She gave Alice a nod and walked back over to the console. "It will take me a minute to get the fuses to their default positions."

"You see, my first encounter with intelligent life outside of my Installation duties came long before I was acquainted with this vessel," the Monitor continued, unfazed by his success with the reactor. "And it was with those that were unlike you. Similar, in some ways, but different."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "That's great, but we're a little busy right now." She entered the last command into the rebooted console and the room's glowpanels flickered to life with the telltale hum of power coursing through the ship. "That's it, we're good to go," she called out. Her fingers flew over the keypad, and she nodded to Alice. "Power to the cryo-room has been restored."

The Spartan relayed the information to second squad and turned off the light at the end of her MA5B. "Maybe that AI isn't so bad," she conceded.

Ellen shrugged. "When it does what it's told." She stood up and wiped her hands off on her pant legs. "I can prioritize everything else a lot more efficiently from the auxiliary bridge," she suggested.

"Right." Alice motioned with her rifle to fall out. "Get the Monitor out of there and we'll regroup with the rest of third squad on the Aux Bridge."

  • 02.24.2011 1:21 PM PDT


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


In the end, Jerome was glad Douglas had tagged along. It took the both of them to pry open the twisted rear hatch of Fox One, and Jerome was praying the cockpit door had properly sealed the pilot from the partial vacuum. Walking mostly on the starboard bulkhead, he made it to the tilted forward door and banged his fist three times on it's surface.

Two muffled thumps replied in the affirmative and the door slowly opened with a stuttered vibration. The female pilot wordlessly waved him in.

Even through the slight haze of the pilot's visor, Jerome could see she was in pain. He looked her over to find her sealed suit scarred with a nasty looking gash high on her left thigh. The fail-safes of her suit had sealed off the rupture but the pale look in her eyes told him she needed medical attention. And an in-field patch-up job is out of the question.

She reach up and grabbed his head, pulling his visor to touch hers in an awkward pose. But when she yelled, Jerome realized she wasn't trying to kiss him, but rather communicate through direct contact. "My suit's integrity will hold, but I'm still loosing blood."

At this distance, Jerome could see pale skin on her freckled face. Her deep green eyes were still sparkling despite the redness creeping it's way into the corners. "We'll get you out of here," He pulled away from their embrace and waved Douglas to come closer. He was able to get the female pilot out of her seat and hand her off through the cockpit doorway.

Douglas was quick to notice the injury and took great care to carry the pilot out of the dropship without causing further discomfort.

Jerome gave one final look at the broken console and headed back out in Douglas' wake. He quickly overtook the Spartan carrying the wounded pilot and held the twisted outer door open for them.

The woman smiled wearily and gave Jerome an appreciative nod.

As he patted Douglas on the shoulder, a flicker of pseudo-motion off in the distant blackness of space caught his eye. His grip on the twisted metal slacked as he turned to face this new oddity. His heart nearly froze in his chest when the tiny spot just above the horizon opened up into the circular pattern of a slipspace rupture.

And out of it came the recognizable hull of a Covenant cruiser.

"C'mon Jerome, let's get . . ." Douglas trailed off when he followed the Spartan leader's gaze. "Oh, no," he breathed. "We need to hurry, Jerome."

Still keeping his eyes on the cruiser hovering on the horizon, Jerome started for Tradewind's starboard docking bay. He stumbled down the rocky slope, but as soon as his feet made contact he was sprinting. Behind him, Douglas was now running with the pilot slung over his shoulder.

It was in those first few strides that Jerome wondered how his day could get any worse.

  • 02.24.2011 1:22 PM PDT

The Razor.

For the honour of the Mirratord.

I told you that you would get good reception posting it here, Footbutt ;)

  • 02.24.2011 1:53 PM PDT

"I will show you how a true Prussian officer fights!"

"And i will show you where the iron crosses grow..."

- "Cross of Iron"

All i can say is WOW. Great cliff hangar ill be eagerly waiting for part 7! Great job.

  • 02.24.2011 2:00 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Oh, far out. Just when I thought this couldn't suprise my any more, you bring in the Covenant. My jaw dropped when I realised they were being hit by the EMP.

Absolutely stunning! I'm running out of praise for this story, I just can't keep up with its brilliance.

  • 02.24.2011 10:04 PM PDT

yes, Mr. Evil, you were totally right. thanks for bringing The Gallery to my attention!

and thank you, fellas, for the kind words.
this story, like most, took on a life of it's own in it's early chapters and now i'm trying my best to keep it captivating while sculpting the great collage of auxiliary lore that Halo Wars created.

and what i also tried to do is make the story manageable without the need to have played Halo Wars. the cast of characters is so rich that i've had a ton of fun shaping their personalities.

i only hope that in the end, i've done it justice.

thanks for reading and i'll get some more stuff up soon!

  • 02.25.2011 11:30 AM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Honestly, man. Praise should be mandatory for a story of this caliber. Everything you mentioned above, you are doing superbly. I feel like even if I hadn't played Halo Wars before, reading this story would hardly matter.

And, in my opinion, your job of taking a few characters from a game and putting them in this is just amazing. The characters didn't really get that much to say for themselves in the game, especially the Spartans (for obvious reasons), but so far you've successfully crafted each individual character flawlessly. This could honestly be the next part of the game, and I wouldn't be able to tell it from a industry-made sequel.

Just... great job. Honestly. This is just... tremendous, even though it's only just begun, in a sense. I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, that I cannot wait for the next part of it.

  • 02.26.2011 12:55 AM PDT

Chapter 7


"Slipspace rupture detected!" a voice bellowed from the bridge's sensor station.

James Cutter snapped his head up, his insides twisting into a knot. "Where?" he asked, starting for the tactical display. A pocket of technicians working on a broken console parted for the Captain as he moved past. Without Serina to do most of the computing, James was left with bridge personnel to fill the void that she had efficiently held. And throw in the rough state of repair his ship was in, it made this latest news turn his stomach.

"Far side of the asteroid, Sir," the sensors officer called. "Bringing up visuals now."

At the tactical display, the view zoomed out and encompassed both the asteroid and the large space surrounding it. To Cutter's relative right sat the Spirit of Fire, with her port side facing the asteroid. And to the left of the floating mass, closer to the tail end, a ship blossomed from a slipstream ring.

A Covenant Cruiser.

For a single long-winded breath, the bridge was completely silent, and then like a black hole regurgitating a star, the air filled with a barrage of information.

"Unknown Covenant vessel- er, cruiser-class. Single ship."

"No outer marks. IFF not lining up with any know Covenant fleet designations."

"Confirmed, Covenant cruiser is not in any of our archives."

James listened to the words of his bridge crew as he reset his cap on his head, smoothing his gray-black hair with the perspiration on his forehead. "Has it detected us yet?" he asked over the buzz.

"Uh, I'm not sure, Sir," the sensors officer nervously replied. "The visual and sensor data we're picking up is from Fox Two parked on top of Tradewind's hull. We're out of its direct line of sight, though they can cross that plane at anytime."

"Helmsman!" the Captain yelled, spotting the youthful man at the helm. "Keep us directly opposite that cruiser. I do not want it to know we're out here."

"Aye, Sir!"

Cutter turned back to face the tactical display. The Covenant ship was more or less still getting its bearings as he keyed the comm. "Spartan Team, this is the Spirit of Fire, we have a Covenant Cruiser off the far side of the asteroid. Do you copy?"

There was a brief, static pause as Spartan 092's comm linked with the transmitter on Fox Three. "We see it, Spirit of Fire," he answer with a huff. "It would be wishful thinking to believe that EMP would go undetected."

A sour taste brewed in Cutter's mouth. That thought had been in the back of his mind, but there was no way to determine how fast a possible Covenant response could be mounted. Apparently fast enough to catch us here. "Go dark, Spartans. We'll try to swing around and catch them by surprise."

"Sir! Covenant dropships are exiting the cruiser's hangar," a voice called from the crew pit.

James turned his attention back to the tactical display. Three Phantoms were departing from the keel of the cruiser in a perfect triangular pattern. Since the Captain had not seen the smoothly-curved ships since his first few battles at Harvest, he almost didn't recognize them. "092, you're about to have company. Go dark before they zero in on your location," he ordered.

"Sorry, Sir, but you need all the intel you can get," Spartan responded matter-of-factly.

"That wasn't a suggestion, Spartan," James said with a slight grit to his voice.

"He's right, Sir," the sensors officer offered, scratching the back of his neck. "Without Fox Two supplying us with the data feeds, we're blind until we come around and spot the ship ourselves."

Cutter swore to himself and closed his eyes for the duration of his sigh. "Alright, hold tight, Ground Team."

"Copy. Wait, I see them. Three marks vectoring in," 092 informed. "We'll hold them off till you get here."

"Good luck, Spartan." James straightened and started for the rows of officers behind consoles. "What's the status of our weaponry?" he asked when he came to a stop beside a female officer.

Gritting her teeth, the woman enter the inquiry into her console. "Not good, Sir. Half our deck guns are still off-line. 30 of our point defense guns are operable. And the MAC is just now warming up." She looked up from her screen with a faint smile. "I can't guarantee how many shots we'll get out of it."

James placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. "Do what you can." He glanced over at the helmsman and made eye contact. "Bring us around, Helm."

As the youthful-looking man nodded in compliance, the Captain watched the stars shining into the forward viewport slowly shift right. Deep down, James knew this engagement was a risk. Even though his ship out-sized the cruiser twice over, the Covenant vessel had shields, a defense that could deter him from ending this fight quickly. Without Serina to operate the MAC, he was forced to rely on human targeting, something he had never done.

His crew was tired, still groggy from cryo-sleep, and for a number of them, it was their first time manning their consoles outside of a simulation. James turned around to see Engineer Bradley hard at work on the holographic pedestal to get the shipboard AI functioning again. Cutter didn't feel helpless without Serina, but the fact that the Spirit of Fire was in such great need of her now made his stomach turn even worse.


*** *** *** *** *** ***


"Fox Two," Jerome called out. He came to halt just inside the docking bay the damaged dropship was in, and he waved a few marines over to take the wounded pilot from Douglas. Jerome quickly caught his breath and entered Fox Three's cockpit with Douglas on his heels.

"This is Two," came a nervous voice over both his helmet's comm and the cockpit's audio gear. "You guys seeing this?"

Jerome leaned over the pilot's seat to stare at the visual feed on the main display. "Yeah." On the screen, the three Covenant troop carriers were heading towards Tradewind's location, bearing down like a group of carnivorous avians. He turned his head partway around and pointed outside. "Douglas, get these blast doors closed, now."

042 nodded and flew out the opened hatch.

"Um, Leader?" the comm beckoned in panic.

Looking back at the display, Jerome could see one of the Phantoms maneuvering into a position directly over Fox Two. Damn those things are fast. "Get out of there, Two!"

"I can't! I need someone to seal the docking collar."

"No, just get inside Tradewind and leave the dropship behind!" he yelled.

"I'm moving," the pilot panted as his breathing continued to broadcast over the comm.

With the Starboard Docking Bay's doors noisily closing over his shoulder, Jerome could barely hear the pilot's last cry when the feed from Fox Two abruptly cut off. Jerome could feel the entire mapping ship shudder under an explosion as he stabilized himself against a bulkhead. "Two? Two, do you copy?"

There was no answer.

He slammed a fist down on the console and left the dropship just in time to see the large bay doors meters apart from closing. In contrast to the rumbling sounds of the ponderous doors, a high-pitched whistle was getting louder. At first there was a blur of motion in the closing crack, but then the object outside slowed and an odd-shaped barrel lined up for a shot. Within half a second he recognized the weapon and Jerome lunged to his left.

Boiling pink plasma shot out an under-slung turret of the Phantom, super-heating the deck 092 had just vacated. Jerome tucked and rolled, getting farther away from the path of destruction. The double doors slammed shut, as the barrage of plasma fire rang out like hollow muffled thumps against the protective outer layer of the bay.

Jerome quickly scrambled to his feet and examined his armor. When he found it fully intact he breathed a sigh of relief. That was close. He joined Douglas with the group of Marines huddled near the corridor entrance.

"You okay?" Douglas asked, one of his SMGs already in hand.

Jerome rolled his shoulder and flexed his left hand. "I'm fine." He pulled his assault rifle from his back and motioned with the weapon towards the exit. "They'll be coming through the dorsal hatch, right where Fox Two was docked."

Douglas gave a quick, nearly undetectable turn of his head.

Likewise, Jerome gave an abbreviated shake of his helmet to let the other Spartan know the dropship was probably nothing but a charred mass. "Let's move out. Hopefully we can cut them off before they can scatter throughout the ship."

  • 02.27.2011 11:23 AM PDT



*** *** *** *** *** ***

"Copy, Jerome," Alice answered. She lowered her head and nodded to the four marines. "We've got Covies at our drop-off point. We'll meet the rest of our group there."

"What's going on?" Ellen demanded, slightly annoyed at not having heard the female Spartan's conversation with 092. Anders hated being left out of the loop and she was pretty sure Alice was doing it on purpose.

"Phantoms are inbound, that's what's going on," Alice reply tartly.

Being irritated as she was, Anders had totally missed the Spartan's words to her troopers. And now, even as she processed what Alice had said, Ellen felt her heart nearly cease up in her throat. "The Covenant?" she breathed, asking as if hearing it a second or third time would make it more believable.

"Thanks in no small part to you two," Alice muttered.

Ellen exchanged a glance with Contrite Variant and her shoulders slumped from the weight of the guilt that latched onto her like a predatory wasp. Anders had never thought the effects of such a calloused accusation could eat at her emotions, but the sting had pierced her deeply. All she ever wanted to do was to get the Spirit of Fire back home safely, and now her actions had doomed them all.

Spartan 130 noticed the Professor's posture change and Alice's own stance shifted apologetically. "Look, you two get back to the Starboard Docking Bay and lock it down. Maybe even see if you can get some of Tradewind's security cams up and help us track these aliens down."

Ellen looked up at the towering figure, trying to read the Spartan's body language. With her face hidden behind a visor, the only clue Ellen got was the slight tilt of Alice's head. Coupled with the tone of her voice, Anders concluded Alice was trying to offer her a chance for redemption, even if it was a small one.

The Professor squared her shoulders. "I'll see what I can do," she said. Ellen looked down both ways of the corridor they were in and pointed to her left. "This way?"

Alice nodded. "Take it till it dead ends, then go right." She leaned in ever so slightly. "And please keep an eye on your friend here," she added quietly.

A smirk formed on Ellen's face only to fade out in the time it took for her to sigh. "Good luck."

*** *** *** *** *** ***

The holo-image on the tactical display winked out of existence when Cutter was just about to alert the dropship of the bogey.

"We just lost Fox Two, Sir," a crewman called from a console. "And our visuals with it."

James switched off the static display and marched forward towards the main viewport. "Do we still have communications?"

Y-yes, Sir. barely," came the quivering voice of his communications officer. "They were using Fox Two's transmitter and routing the signal to Three where that dropship would link up with the ground team." The officer, a lanky male from some back-world colony, swallowed visibly. "The signal's diminished, but operable."

"Very well," Cutter murmured. "Sensors, what all were you able to pull up on that cruiser before Two's feed cut off?"

"Not much, Sir," he said regrettably.

"Give us what you can. I want all possible structural weak-points and weapons blisters identified. Use our templates we have on file as a reference, if you need."

"Aye."

"Helm, ETA?" he asked. Cutter's mind tended to work fastest when he was under the pressure of battle, and now was when everyone needed to be on their toes.

"In what shape would you like the hull when we get there, Sir?"

James was about to reprimand the officer about properly informing him of the situation, but when he spotted the first Pelican-sized rock floating into view from their left he understood. The ship master, not too concerned with collateral damage, was beginning to carve a path through the cloud of rock and ice, and in so doing, sent the rubble flying off in every direction. Well, at least he's clearing the battlefield for us.

The captain folded his arms across his chest and drummed the fingers of his right hand in his left bicep. He was hoping the cluttered back end of the asteroid would mask their approach, but the debris field was larger that he had anticipated. One option would be to use their point defense guns to eliminate some of the larger rocks- like the cruiser was doing, but in the process it would give away their stealth. The other option would be to swing around even wider to avoid their hull being chewed to bits, but giving the Covenant cruiser a clear view of the Spirit of Fire. James sighed. Command is never easy.

"Captain?"

Cutter chewed the inside of his cheek. "Swing us around wide, but keep us as close as you can to the outer edge of that debris cloud."

About halfway through the turn, the sensors officer spoke up. "Sir, I have the approximate readouts you asked for."

James circled around behind the sensors station. The screen showed the cruiser in a translucent grid pattern with small boxes of text branching out from highlighted areas. "Go ahead."

The officer pointed to the port and starboard bow. "I've located their forward batteries here and here, but it seems they rely on doors that open in order to fire." He switched to a bird's eye view of the enemy ship. "And they have pulse laser turrets running just below their mid-line on either side, also housed behind large doors."

"Hmm." Frowning at the readout, James scratched the stumble on his chin. The turrets were nothing new, but the use of keeping them hidden from visual contact and not from focused sensors was a mystery to him. "Your thoughts on those doors?"

The officer opened his mouth quickly then shut it just as fast. "I don't see any advantage to keeping their guns hidden; it's obviously a military craft and the design clearly gives that away." He tapped his left index finger to his lips. "Aside for the aesthetic purpose in making the ship look sleek, I really don't know."

Cutter patted the man on the shoulder. "Keep at it. Maybe something will make sense."

"Coming around, Sir," the helmsman said.

James walked forward to the main viewport to see the asteroid beginning to appear off the port bow. He narrowed his eyes, to try and spot the enemy ship . . .

"Covenant cruiser on the horizon!"

"Bring weapons systems online," Cutter ordered calmly. "Get me a visual up on the main screen."

As he predicted, the cruiser had settled over Tradewind's crash site, using their own point defense turrets to clear a path wide enough to fit. For now, the enemy ship was holding steady. "Weapons, lock in firing solutions as soon as we're within range," he said. "Helm, swing our aft around and get us facing that cruiser. I don't want our flank exposed till we're ready."

The view outside shifted once again, and some of the rocks following the larger asteroid began to ping off the Spirit of Fire's hull, causing a few crewmen to cringe at the multiple impacts.

"Steady," Cutter murmured.

"The Cruiser is firing!"

"Elevate us thirty degrees," the Captain ordered, taking a seat at his command chair.

Off to his right, the woman at the weapons console turned halfway around to face him. "Why would they be firing now? We're still a dozen kilometers out till either side has maximum range."

James frowned, feeling his brow crease in concentration. There was only four laser pulses headed towards them and he had plenty of time to dodge out of their way . . . He bolted upright when he realized their subtle yet simple tactics. "Hard to starboard! Get us away from these rocks," he bellowed.

Without waiting, the helmsman took the ship in a sudden turn, the engines groaning in protest. Outside, the enemy's magenta-colored fire made contact with the larger chunks of floating rock, blasting it into thousands of smaller fragments that made contact with other gaseous rocks, exploding them on impact. The chain reaction ran its course over the rear portion of the orbiting debris, creating a huge cloud of dust and fire.

Spirit of Fire shook violently as its port side was peppered with the downsized chunks. The forward viewport was washed in dark brown particles as if a windstorm had suddenly caught the UNSC vessel in its gale.

James held on to the arms of his chair, clenching his teeth till the vibrations subsided and the crew collected itself. "Report."

One officer to his left spoke up first. "Uh, minimal damage to our flank," he informed, reading the diagnostics on his screen. "One of our deck guns took a sizable hit and is unable to rotate. Firebase Cluster 2 won't be able to disengage from dock till the C clamps are repaired."

"Thank you," Cutter said, trying his best to keep the anger from his voice. He had been played the fool. Taking a so-called 'masked' route had nearly cost him the entire ship. He was playing against the odds and lost without even looking at his hand. The lack of Serina's instant analysis and functionality was being deeply missed, but the Captain knew he should have factored in the possibility of the cruiser noticing his maneuver.

James pounded a closed fist off his knee and growled to himself. No more mistakes. "Helm, put us on an intercept course with that cruiser. Weapons, prepare to fire."

"That could be a problem, Sir," the sensors officer added with a nervous tone.

Frowning, Cutter looked out the main viewport, as the Spirit of Fire turned slowly to the left. "What?"

"The Covenant Cruiser . . . it's gone."

  • 02.27.2011 11:26 AM PDT



*** *** *** *** *** ***

"Alice, location," Jerome asked between breaths as he turned the last corner to his destination. The main corridor was still undamaged and sealed off from the ventral hatch, leaving Jerome to believe the Phantom's weapons were precise enough to eliminate Fox Two but leave the docking collar intact.

"We're in position in the far room to your right."

"Copy." Jerome came to a stop against the metal frame of the blast door that would shut off access from the main corridor to the hatch room and leaned his head forward to spot Alice down to his right a good ten meters. "Stay hidden." He caught her nod and she ducked back out of sight.

Hugging the other side of the door frame, Douglas shifted uneasily. "What's taking them so long?" he asked quietly, flexing his fingers around the pair of SMGs he was holding.

Jerome shrugged and took a quick look behind him to see both squads of marines hunkering in for battle. Some were content with kneeling, while others had hauled old filing cabinets out into the hallway for make-shift cover. The two Spartans were running point, and most of the marines probably wouldn't be able to get a clean shot off between the three-meter gap separating 092 and 042, but their positions would enable a quick retreat, if it came to that.

But in the back of his mind, Jerome was as anxious for battle as Douglas. His senses alert, he waited. C'mon.

As if on cue, a circular purple light flashed into existence, sculpted by the rough circumference of the open hatch. A sound akin to a reactor humming rippled through the walls, as the gravity lift made the connection to the hatch room floor. A single Unggoy floated down and landed with a snort. Jerome could see the odd design of its methane tank differ from those Grunts he had encountered before. Rather than wearing a pink, triangular re-breather system, this one was encased in jet-black armor with two slender protrusions attached to its back. It quickly turned to examine its surroundings, sniffing the air while pulling out a Needler.

Still in the relative darkness of the corridor, Jerome slowly pulled out his M6 pistol and lined up a headshot. "Psst," he hissed.

The alien snapped his head around faster than Jerome would have thought, but he squeezed the trigger and hit his mark square in the forehead. The round passed right through flesh and bone to ding off the back wall. For a moment the Unggoy remained upright, as if unfazed by the sudden end to its life, and it took another two seconds for its body to collapse to the floor.

Two more Grunts dropped down the light chute, one landing awkwardly on top of the dead companion while the other landed in a crouch, its Plasma Pistol already charged.

Jerome easily picked off the one that had stumbled via a shot to the side of its head, but in so doing, gave his position away. The ball of green plasma scorched towards him and he quickly pulled back as the blast struck the door frame, instantly liquefying the metal and warping it. "Fire at will!" he ordered, resetting his shoulder against the bulkhead in a lower stance.

But when he peered around the corner to find the lone Unggoy, four Elites were in its place: two with Needlers, one with a Plasma Rifle, and one with an Energy Sword. As the marines opened fire, the Elites split off into pairs, diving to the left and right. The lunging move took them out of the marines' line of sight, but more Covenant were on their way down the lift.

"Concentrate all fire forward!" he yelled to his squad.

The staccato of Douglas' duel-wielding fire could be heard over the sustained assault rifles coming from the line of marines. Douglas emptied one magazine into the Elite rifleman struggling to find some cover and was able to bring the towering alien's shields down. Jerome swung his upper torso around the metal striping of the door frame and hastily fired half a dozen rounds at the Elite. He pulled himself back into cover just in time before a barrage of pink needles littered the doorway, giving the wall the appearance of a technicolor porcupine.

"He's down," Douglas confirmed. He quickly reloaded both SMGs and reached his arms around his side of the door frame, firing blindly at the source of the needles. "We got more coming."

Switching to his MA5B, Jerome spared a long glance at the confined battlefield. There were a handful of Unggoy bodies piled up at the base of the glowing lift, but still more Elites were fanning out to the extreme left and right of the rectangular hatch room laying down suppressing fire. Jerome knew it would only be a matter of a time before the Sangheili warriors overran the Spartans.

But he still had an ace up his sleeve. "Alice, now."

Even from his shielded position, Jerome could hear the roar of Alice's squad as they opened fire on the intruders. Bullets lowered shields and purple and blue blood splattered against the walls, as the gravity lift retracted. Caught between two lines of fire, the remaining Covenant troops had no chance at survival but to charge. One Elite ran towards Alice's group only to be cut down beside a pair of Grunts.

With a resounding yell, the sword-bearing Elite rushed at Douglas who was caught reloading both SMGs. The marines halted their fire, afraid to hit one of their own, as the Elite lunged forward.

Jerome slammed his right shoulder into the alien's side, sending both of them to the ground. In midair, the Elite tried to swing his Energy Sword around to impale the Spartan leader, but Douglas swung his leg up, connecting his foot with the alien's elbow. The glowing blade lanced off of Jerome's back, sparking against but not puncturing the armor. He then landed partly on top of the Elite and felt something crunch inside the alien. It snarled in protest, but Douglas brought his foot down hard on the Elite's long neck, crushing its windpipe and ending the fight.

Jerome pushed off the dead Sangheili and stood up to survey the engagement zone. All weapons had ceased fire and the smoldering bodies of dead Covenant littered the floor. "Alice, report."

"Right here," she called, emerging from the doorway to his right. Alice kept her assault rifle moving back and forth over the fallen enemy, seeing if any were still alive, as she and her squad met the two male Spartans near the center of the room. "One of my guys took a needle to his leg. Nothing serious but he should still see a med tech."

Jerome nodded in acknowledgment. "Doug?"

"No casualties to report." He prodded a Grunt with his foot, flipping it over to lay its back. "These Grunts look different to you?"

"Yeah," Jerome agreed. "They must be a special task force or something."

Alice tilted her head in amusement. "'Or something'? Whatever division they're from, they didn't last long." She waved her left hand at the carnage. "It was a crapshoot."

Jerome shrugged. "That was mostly due to superior tactics and the element of surprise." He bent down and hefted the extinguished Energy Sword from the dead Elite's hand. "But something tells me, this is just the beginning of a long fight."

  • 02.27.2011 11:30 AM PDT

"I will show you how a true Prussian officer fights!"

"And i will show you where the iron crosses grow..."

- "Cross of Iron"

Amazing as usual keep it up!

  • 02.27.2011 2:10 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Man, you really pulled off a convincing, well thought out ship battle. The whole chapter was amazing. So far, I really, really like this story.

  • 03.01.2011 12:20 AM PDT

Chapter 8



Closing the double doors behind her, Ellen Anders waved the Monitor over to the console she had previously repaired. The screen was still lit up with diagnostic data, but she was hoping to access the more intricate programs buried in the subroutines. As much as she wanted to return to the bridge, Ellen could read the seriousness in Alice's tone and granted her the fact that running around an old UNSC mapping ship unescorted while under Covenant attack was not a good idea. The docking bay provided them with a solid escape route and defensible positions, making it an ideal place for a last stand. If it ever came down to that.

Following the female Spartan's request, Ellen sealed them in, locking the docking bay off from the rest of the ship. The lone marine in the bay was patching up the pilot from Fox One, while the other pilot, kneeling at her side, did his best not to vomit at the sight of blood.

Frowning to herself, Ellen started for the wounded woman propped up against the forward landing gear of the dropship. Anders did take a few med courses during her quick transit through the various universities, and any help she could offer would probably be desired. Probably.

"Anything I can do?" she asked the marine.

"No, ma'am," he answered without looking up. He had just finished wrapping the last layer of medi-tape around the woman's thigh. "The wound didn't nick the femoral artery but it was close." He finally turned his head around and abruptly stood up when he recognized the Professor. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

Ellen's eyebrows met in partial amusement. "It's okay. Is she going to be alright?"

"Yes, but she really should visit the Med Bay." The marine's eyes defocused and he took a step back. "Uh, ma'am? Is that the . . ."

Anders looked over her shoulder to see Contrite Variant hovering at the console, watching their conversation for a distance. "Yes, that's the Monitor."

The marine worked his jaw for a moment. "Oh, so the cause of all our problems has a title?" He shook his head. "Well, you might want to keep it out of the survivor's sight. He keeps mumbling about that 'wretched machine'," he said using air-quotes.

Feeling a fresh wave of guilt being ushered into her her heart by the bitterness of his words, Anders just nodded. "Where is the survivor?"

He poked a thumb towards the the dropship. "He's inside. Got himself strapped in, ready for takeoff."

"Good, keep him there." Ellen looked down at the wounded pilot. "Better get her inside too, if we have to jet out of here in a hurry."

"Right." The marine waved the dazed Fox Three pilot over and the two men carried the injured woman into the dropship.

Ellen let out a long sigh and returned to the console only to find the Monitor keeping a watchful eye on her.

"Is something wrong?" Contrite Variant asked.

"You have to ask?" Ellen countered. She brought up a menu system on screen and started to access the security programs Tradewind had installed. "Look, there's a lot I need to fix here. I've dug myself a pretty deep hole."

"Why would excavation be an issue?"

"No, it's . . ." Anders clenched her hands into fists and gritted her teeth. Dealing with an AI like Serina had it its ups and downs, but they mostly worked things out for the better of the crew. She tried to return Serina's sass with an authoritative demeanor of her own, but dealing with 49 Contrite Variant was like telling a child genius to stop doing astro-navigation calculations and just go to bed. It some ways, it reminded Ellen of herself. She sighed again. "I need to fix the problem I created."

"So . . . redemption?"

Ellen looked curiously at the machine. "Sure."

"Then I stand by, ready to assist," the Monitor said with a renewed vigor she found a bit alarming.

To say this AI was odd was an understatement, but the word best summed up her experience so far. Returning to the keypad, she quickly found the security protocols. "Just be quiet for a moment."

"Oh," Contrite said. "As you wish."

Ellen rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder and got to work. She began to restore power to the archaic security cams stationed at key junctions and rooms aboard the ship.

Just as the fish-eye view into the ventral hatch room popped up on screen, the comm crackled to life. "Professor? Any progress?"

Through the fuzziness of the video feed, Ellen could easily make out the three Spartans and the dozen or so marines making their rounds over the dead Covenant troops. And there were a lot of bodies. Ellen cleared her throat. "I've got a visual on your team," she informed Spartan 092.

Jerome looked up at the opposite corner of the room, then finally spotted the security camera and nodded. "Good, can you lock down this room? I doubt the Covies will attempt the same entrance twice, but better safe than sorry."

Ellen pulled up another program, checking to see if she could carry out such a command from her station. As expected, an error message came up, alerting her that she didn't have authorization. One thought that quickly died out was to go grab Tradewind's acting-captain and have him enter his passcode, but she figured he should be left alone for now. Still, fail-safes should be in place. She keyed her comm. "The only way I can get those blast doors closed is if there's significant atmospheric venting."

The warped image of 092 shifted as he pulled something off his belt and hefted it in his hand. "That won't be a problem."

"And why-- oh, great," Ellen murmured when she recognized the fragmentation grenade. "That's one way of doing it."

On screen, the UNSC team filed out, while 092 placed a single plasma grenade on top of the pile of dead Grunts lying under the hatch. A moment later, with the room void of humans, a blurred, round object flew into the room, landing just behind the Uggnoy. With a blinding white flash, the camera's feed cut off, followed by a muffled rumble Anders felt through her boots.

"That should do it."

Ellen called up the lockdown program and sure enough, the hatch room's blast doors had closed shut. Anders was about to protest over the use of explosives inside such an old ship when static blared over the comm. She hastily tried to scrub the frequency and managed to limit the amount of white noise. She couldn't tell if someone was trying to contact her, but since she had just been speaking with the Spartan she figured Captain Cutter was trying to reach her. "Spirit of Fire?"


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


"Gone?" Cutter searched the stars, looking for some hint of a slipstream entrance.

"No sign of the Covenant Cruiser, Sir," the sensors officer said, sounding confused. "It must have jumped."

James shook his head. There should be one way to verify.

"Professor, can you heard me?" James asked over the busy sounds of the bridge. All hell might not have broken loose, but people were still scrambling about, fueling a sense of panic. "Communications, can you tighten our transmission?"

The comms officer nodded and the static dissipated somewhat.

"I can barely hear you, Captain," Ellen Anders said. Oddly, when her voice sounded over the bridge speakers, the crewmen quieted down.

"Professor, can you get anything up on Tradewind's sensors?" James asked.

"I'll try," she replied, sounding agitated.

"092, report," he ordered, switching gears.

When Spartan 092 spoke, the bridge nearly fell silent. "We were able to eliminate the attackers, Sir."

Cutter passed up the chance to breathe a sigh of relief, not fully knowing how or why the cruiser had left.

"We'll regroup at the Starboard Docking Bay," 092 continued.

"Very well, Spartan." James glanced at the main viewscreen, finding it void of anything but rocks and rubble. But no Covenant ships were seen. Frowning, he turned to the sensors officer. "Did those Phantoms jump as well?"

The officer nodded. "It appears so, Sir. Either that or they returned to the cruiser before it entered slipspace."

Cutter's expression deepened. The latter would have been nearly impossible, and the former made the most sense. But why would they have left as quickly as they arrived? The Captain had never faced a Covenant force that ran at the first sign of trouble, let alone drop off a squad of troops to be slaughtered and then call it a day. The fact that their sensors were blinded by the debris cloud the enemy lasers had kicked up during the cruiser's escape made detecting the slipstream rupture out of the question. Usually there is a burst of radiation, but if the whole in slipspace was small and fast enough, it wouldn't render on their sensors even after clearing the dust and magnetic distortion the cruiser had created.

Anders' voice came over the bridge speakers. "Captain, of what little resources I could restore, there appears to be nothing on the radar but you."

James didn't like this one bit. The speed of the enemy's response to the EMP was amazingly fast, and if the Covies were to return, they'd sure as hell bring a fleet with them. And that was something Cutter did not want to stick around for. "Ground Team, the cruiser is gone along with the Phantoms." He sighed. "Prep for evac. We're not going to get ambushed."

Even through the comm distortion, 092's voice sounded puzzled. "They just left?"

"Not before leaving us with a few parting gifts," Cutter said dryly, scanning his eyes over the damage reports. "We'll bring the Spirit of Fire into the clearing the cruiser made and send some Pelicans down for quick transport off that ship."

"Captain," Anders interjected. "What about our reason for stopping here in the first place? We can still use Tradewind's FTL drive. It should be easy enough to remove."

  • 03.06.2011 10:42 AM PDT



"The main reason was to respond to a distress call, Professor," Cutter rebuked mildly. Still, even running at full speed, the Covies would surely spot us against the blackness of space. If they could extract the FTL drive from Tradewind and at the very minimum get it aboard, they stood a good chance of getting out of this alive. And return home.

"Bradley," he called over his shoulder.

The engineer was at his side in a flash. "Yes, Sir?"

"Report to Chief Engineer Prescott and tell him he's got a job to do," Cutter informed.

Bradley smiled. "Yes, Sir," he said with a pinch of enthusiasm. He was through the exit and running down the corridor before James had even turned back around.

"Professor," he said into the comm. "I'll be sending down a team to help with the drive's removal. Please help them in any way."

"Absolutely, Captain."

"Helm, bring us in. And alert Medical. We'll be having a few extra guests that have been in Cryo for far too long." He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's make this quick, people. Time is of the essence."

Even as he silently watched the bridge crew carry out his orders, James still felt the stirring in his stomach that something wasn't right. Maybe it was an effect from the thaw. Or maybe it was warranted.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


"Seriously?" the tiny voice said in his ear.

Nathan flipped his HEV's secondary monitor over to the receiving channel and wasn't surprised to see Toril Holmen as the source. "Copy, Control. Standing down," he said for his squad, wanting to defuse the situation as quickly as possible.

He exhaled a weary sigh and keyed the hatch open. The hydraulics hissed and he climbed out to find the row of ODSTs filing out of the room looking rather annoyed-- and rightfully so. In the military, one was used to being ordered about, doing things without question, but this back and forth, stand-up-sit-down gambit was loosing its charm. He heard the soldier to his left grumble a complaint.

"They just need to make up their minds once and for all or just shoot us into vacuum," the ODST griped.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, but the expression was lost underneath his helmet. "You know how unpredictable these things can be," he admonished lightly.

"Eh," the soldier waved Nathan an unpleasant hand gesture and marched off.

Shaking his head, Nathan looked down to his right to see a certain pod, Toril's, unopened. He dialed in a personal line to her HEV on his comm and walked over. Immediately his ears filled with what was most likely curse words in her native tongue. He cringed at the vehemence in her voice but tapped on the pod's glass window nonetheless. "You okay in there?"

The swearing cut off, followed by a sigh through clenched teeth. "Go away," she said tiredly.

Nathan pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair, relishing in the relief it brought. "There's no where to go," he replied, deciding to probe her underlying demeanor.

That response elicited the glass on Toril's pod to opaque, blocking any visual contact. "Find somewhere."

He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight to his right leg, holding his helmet by the brim. "I think here is where I need to be." He rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of his own statement. What a stupid thing to say!

Without warning, the HEV's hatch snapped open, narrowly missing his face and sending Nathan to tumble backwards and land on his rear. Still sitting in her pod, Toril gripped the handles above her head, looking as if she would fly out feet first. But her body sagged and she slumped back down. "Please, just leave me alone," she said quietly, no longer transmitting over the comm.

Trying to play it cool, Nathan sat up and bent his knees, placing his forearms casually over them. His eyebrows met together but he softened his expression with a smile. "There's obviously something going on with you. If you tell me, maybe I can help."

Toril snorted, the sound coming out more nasally than normal. She was still wearing her helmet, but at least she had depolarized it. "You don't get it, do you? When someone says they want to be alone, that's when you leave."

Nathan felt color rising to his face. "I know, and if you really want me to go, I will," he said with a wince, hoping she would give in just this once.

Her gaze lifted to his, the blue irises contrasting with his brown. Toril narrowed her eyes as she studied his sincerity. Nathan could read a distant pain behind those beautiful eyes and wondered if he may have opened a wound she didn't feel like sharing. He panned his head around to find the room empty, and started to sense that he too should probably go . . .

She visibly swallowed and lifted her chin. "What makes you think I can trust you?" she asked cautiously.

Blinking in surprise at the turn in her tone, he set his jaw before speaking. "Holmen, I know you're new to being an ODST, but things are a little different here. We're a family, more so than marines. My squadmates are my brothers," he pursed his lips for a second, "and you are my sister." He tucked his right leg underneath the other. "So if there's something you need to talk about, I'm here."

Toril's head lolled to the left. "You really mean that, Parker?"

"Of course. Sometimes talking through an issue is the best way to feel better about it," mentally he cringed at his choice of words. In his mind, Nathan was coming off as an idiot.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "No, I mean the whole sister-brother thing." She sighed. "Can we really be like that?" she asked with half a frown.

Nathan felt his stomach tighten. Deep down he knew he would like nothing more than to invite her into his quarters for some "R & R", but the way she asked her question meant friendship was possible and nothing else. His emotions were conflicting with one another as he stared at her partially obstructed face. On one hand, he desired the intimacy. But on the other hand, he truly wanted to help Toril, even at the cost of a romantic pursuit. "Yes," he replied with difficulty, as if the word was oozing out a meat grinder.

Toril's expression softened and she actually smiled at Nathan. "Okay."

Nathan mimicked her smile. "Okay."

Toril leaned forward and lowered herself in her seat, situating herself as if to take a nap.

"So . . ." Nathan trailed off, not really understanding her change in comfort.

"Don't press your luck, Parker," she said, nearly laughing. "I'd say this is a good start. Let's not ruin it by going any further."

He opened his mouth to speak but immediately thought otherwise and clamped it shut, not wanting to loose any ground he made by ruining it with a quick comment. Instead, he stood up and gave her a casual salute. He spun on his heel to go.

"Parker?"

His brow furrowed as he turned back around. "Yeah?"

Toril gave him another rationed smiled. "Thanks."

He nodded and started for the ready room, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


By the time Jerome had returned to the Starboard Docking Bay the place was buzzing with activity. Four Pelicans had managed to squeeze in around the still immovable dropship, and medical staff were pouring out of the UNSC ships. He sent Alice and Douglas off to escort those that would retrieve the 19 frozen Tradewind crewmembers.

Even as more marines filed out of one Pelican, Jerome still felt uneasy about everything. The firefight in the hatch room was short and to him it ended a little too quickly. And then the Covies just leave? He shook his head, and made his way over to Anders, standing by the lone console in the bay. In his mind, he couldn't figure out why a shipmaster wouldn't at least patrol the area of the engagement before committing troops for a ground assault. Odd as their tactics usually were, this didn't make any sense.

He came to a stop to Anders' right, stepping in between her and the Monitor. "Thanks for the help back there." He glanced at the screen, noticing a sensor sub-program of the mapping ship was running. Either she was as skeptical of the Covenant leaving as he, or she had just left it up for lack of nothing better to do. "Still scanning?"

Anders shrugged without looking at him. "This ship may be old, but its sensor equipment was top-notch when it was built." She waved a hand to the screen. "Might as well be on the look out."

"Find anything?" Jerome asked.

"I'm getting some weird readings on gaseous clouds." Anders leaned on the console, using her hands to support her weight. "But if I focus the spectrometers for more than a few seconds, the program freezes up and I have to start all over."

"Your readings are probably due to the cruiser's laser blasts exploding those smaller asteroids out there."

Both the Spartan and Professor turned towards the source of the voice. It was a young man with a mop of red hair tucked underneath an engineer's cap. "And you are?" Jerome asked.

"Engineer Jonathan Bradley, Sir." He held out a hand and gave the Spartan a surprisingly firm handshake. "The Captain sent me down to retrieve the FTL drive," he nodded to Anders, "with your help, of course."

  • 03.06.2011 10:43 AM PDT



Jerome frowned. "Where's Prescott?"

"Getting ready to do the math," he answered with a grin. "Assuming Tradewind's drive is still operable, there's a lot of voltages and amperes we need to check. Once we have everything verified, a pair of Pelicans can pick up the FTL drive and we will finally be on our way."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Anders said with a little more cheer than usual. "Shall we get started?"

The engineer smiled again but his eyes glanced over at Jerome. "The Captain wants our team to have an escort. Who should we ask about that?"

"Follow me," Jerome replied. "The med team will need all the help they can get. No sense in pulling away any more marines than needed."

"Good." Bradley waved a half dozen techs over, each holding some form of electronic equipment. "Lead the way."

Before Jerome was half way turned around, the Monitor quickly moved to block their path. "Do I understand you correctly in saying that you will be leaving soon?"

Jerome exchanged a glance with Anders who frowned. "Yes. We're getting out of here," she said, her words coming out slowly.

Contrite Variant perked up and his eye glowed a little brighter. "Wonderful!" He seemed to vibrate where he floated for a half second. "There. I've uploaded the location of Installation B-23 to your computing device. We should hurry."

Jerome noticed the Professor gasp when she heard her datapad sound a negative tone. She pulled the device from her pocket and frowned. "You just completely filled up my memory," she growled.

Fed up with the machine's antics, Jerome reached out with lightning-fast reflexes and grabbed the lower chassis of the Monitor, pulling it closer. "Look, Glowrod. You've done enough already. If you think you can use the Spirit of Fire as your own personal MagLev train, you're wrong." He let go, giving Contrite Variant a slight shove. "You stay here, touch nothing, and we'll consider taking you with us. Is that clear?"

The Monitor was silent for the span of a long exhale. "Of course, Reclaimer." Contrite Variant sputtered away, lifting high above the Pelicans to hover between the cross beams supporting the bay's ceiling.

Jerome looked back at Anders, willing to argue his method of interaction. But she merely sighed with a understanding smile and motioned for him to lead.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


After the first twenty minutes of successful evacuation of the Tradewind survivors, Captain Cutter exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. His crew was moving with the efficiency he had expected, shaving ten minutes off the original estimates to get the Cryo Room emptied. He had dispatched a group to retrieve the logs and anything else the techs deemed vital from the auxiliary bridge, and they were almost finished.

And the most thrilling news of all: Chief Engineer Prescott had given Cutter the green light on the FTL drive. "While it is an old model, I'm positive we can adapt it to our power conduits," the aging man had said. Prescott was older than James, but still had his bearings in place. While some men his age would have gone senile by now, Prescott showed no signs of instability. If he says he can get something done, he gets it done.

And with that wonderful transmission, two Pelicans were en-route to Tradewind's stern where they would extract the drive and return it to the Spirit of Fire.

And once we've installed the new drive, we'll be on our way home. James felt a tightness in his throat and swallowed past it, quelling the emotions that were struggling to water his eyes. Mary how I have missed you.

It had been far too long since the Captain had corresponded with his wife, and he, like everyone else aboard with family, was praying that the galaxy had not given up all hope for their return. He knew the UNSC would classify them as MIA at best, but the thought that Mary and his daughter Ruth could go through such unneeded suffering was plucking at his heart strings. Up until now, he had tried to place the worry into the back of his mind, but now with the possibility of returning home in their grasp, he wondered if they would have moved on with their lives. How long would they wait? Would Mary accept my lost fate and return to Earth to live with her sister? Had Ruth finally married that marine medic she had been dating for two years?

So much could have happened, and yet it was all out of his control. With another swallow, he mentally pushed aside those questions, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. James motioned to the main viewscreen. "Bring up the feed from those Pelicans."

The screen split into two views, both slightly off from each other, giving the impression the visuals were coming from a single, cross-eyed individual.

"Delta 749, what's your ETA?" Cutter asked into the comm.

"Forty seconds, Sir," the male pilot answered quickly.

"Everything's prepped and ready to go," Bradley informed from Tradewind's drive room. "Opening the outer doors."

"Glad to hear it," James said with a smile. "Ground Team, how's the rest of the evacuation?"

"The last medical transport just left," Spartan 042 responded for the other two. "Aside from the first three squads in the docking bay, the team in the aux bridge, and those at the aft end, all personnel are off Tradewind."

"Good." Cutter returned his attention to the main viewscreen. "Delta 749, let us know if--"

Suddenly, the image on the right belonging to Delta 750 vanished only to be replaced by static. A terrified gasp echoed over the bridge. "Spirit of Fire, we--"

But Delta 749's feed was cut off with an audible crackle.

"Multiple contacts!" the sensors officer yelled, switching the main screen to a tactical one. "Three Phantoms just took out our Pelicans!"

Cutter's eyes grew wide when the faint flicker of a ship coming out of active camouflage appeared at the top edge of the forward viewport.

"Enemy cruiser right above us!" an officer hollered in a panic.

"Oh no," James breathed. He never would have thought a Covenant ship that size could have the means to cloak, but sure enough, the vessel had materialized out of nowhere. Cutter's mouth went dry.

The Covenant Cruiser was back. And it had the Spirit of Fire locked in its sights.

  • 03.06.2011 10:45 AM PDT

love this story

  • 03.06.2011 2:13 PM PDT

Right, this week I'll load this onto my DS and give it a read. I remember reading it and loving when you first started back in the day at halowars.com... I really miss that site. Back in the golden era it was awesome for fan fiction.

  • 03.06.2011 2:27 PM PDT

"I will show you how a true Prussian officer fights!"

"And i will show you where the iron crosses grow..."

- "Cross of Iron"

I cant get enough of this, just keep writing every chapter is fantastic.

  • 03.06.2011 6:36 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Oh snap! Just when I thought I couldn't want the next chapter of this story any more...

This is FANTASTIC. Next chapter, now! Go, you little beauty! Go go go!

  • 03.07.2011 12:28 AM PDT

Chapter 9



Ardent fire erupted along the top of the Spirit of Fire as wave after wave of plasma burned into the upper decks. The ship rocked from the sudden and violent attack, causing all manner of warning lights and klaxons to blare over the bridge.

"Return fire!" Cutter belted out as he clutched to the arms of his command chair.

The recognizable thump of the main guns sounded diminished compared to their usual staccato, and James soon got his answer as to why.

"Multiple hull breaches!" someone yelled from the crew pit, bringing up the damage reports on a secondary screen. "They've taken out most of our deck guns."

"Concentrate all fire on their turrets," James instructed, knowing that the attempt at retaliation was futile. Think, James, think. He watched as the damage assessment lit up the upper portions of his ship, bathing decks 23 and 24 in blood red. He searched his memory banks for some form of tactic he had been instructed long ago in his Naval training, but nothing was coming to mind.

Already, the cruiser had successfully taken out all but five main deck guns, leaving his flank point defense weaponry his only real defense. And even those guns were strained to their maximum height. He slammed a fist down. I've been played the fool. I should have been more cautious, more skeptical that the Covenant were really gone. In all his years of service, Cutter had never seen a Covenant ship that size be able to cloak, but his lack of engagement with such devices was no excuse for his inability to recognize the sick feeling in his gut that something wasn't right.

But inaction is what gets people killed.

He watched as the large deck guns opened up, their recoil sending static tremors over the visual feeds. And when the massive rounds struck the enemy's hull, the shields wavered and in some spots completely vanished. Wavered?

James frowned. "Sensors, what's their shields doing?" he asked, zooming his personal display in on the cruiser's hull.

"Uh . . . they're at . . . minimal power, Sir," the officer replied. He turned his head around to look Cutter in the face. "That active camo must have had a serious drain on their power reserves."

With a fresh wave of confidence, James brought his head up. "Is the MAC ready to fire?"

His female weapons officer tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's three-quarters of the way charged, Sir. It will take another three minutes for all four shots."

"Hmm." James worked his jaw for a moment. He knew as well as the alien shipmaster that this fight would be a slugging match. As much as the Spirit of Fire's weaponry was disabled or destroyed, the once-colony ship was built tough and could hold its own against the partially-shielded cruiser. So why did they attack us now? Surely, the shipmaster could have seen the fault that his cloak usage would leave him vulnerable, but at what cost? If the Covenant are up to something . . .

Cutter had to end this fight now, before the shipmaster wised up and called for help. He nodded to himself when an idea came. Three shots will have to do. James keyed in a direct command into the drop bays, alerting the group commanders there of a hastily-made plan and a thirty-second countdown. "Helm, turn us over, 180 degrees," Cutter ordered.

"Sir?"

"Just do it!" he bit out, already running his eyes over the newly-enhanced technical readouts of the cruiser and pinpointing the target zones.

He could feel the eyes of his bridge crew watching him, wondering if the old captain had finally lost it. But hopefully they could read the determination in his rigid posture and trust that he knew what he was doing.

Through the cumbersome maneuver, the cruiser kept firing, melting away armored hull plates and peeling back others as if they were ripened fruit. As the Spirit of Fire presented its right side to the Covenant ship, the starboard guns unleashed a barrage, causing the shields on the cruiser to waver once again.

Drumming his fingers anxiously on the arm of his chair, James watch the stars rotate outside, swapping the asteroid for the enemy ship. He knew the Spirit of Fire's MAC was designed primarily for ground-based targets and didn't pack as big a punch as every other ship in the Fleet, but with the cruiser's shields being as weak as they were, he could definitely do some damage. And if his MAC gunner could hit the specified spots, it could indeed open up the fight for . . . unconventional tactics.

"Weapons, stand by to fire."


*** *** *** *** *** ***


"Close the outer doors now!" Jerome yelled, pulling Anders back into the relative safety of the hallway. His immediate concern was for the health of those under his escort while his secondary concern was for the prize that they were after. But Bradley just stood there, open-mouthed and shaking at the sight of the Phantoms screaming down on their position.

The rest of the techs were bolting for the doorway, and one of them grabbed Bradley by the arm and tugged him along in her wake.

"Close the-" Jerome growled, and he plowed past the running techs. He lunged for the outer door release and pressed the button on the wall with an outstretched hand. A single plasma round burned down through the opening of the closing doors, melting the floor a few meters away from the dislodged FTL drive.

When the doors slammed shut, Jerome got to his feet and snarled. He had already been through this same series of events earlier today, and by all accounts he had had enough. "Everyone okay?" he asked, searching the worried faces.

Anders answered for them with a nod. "What now?"

Jerome frowned. The comm was already lighting up with all sorts of panicky chatter and he was trying to half listen while making up his mind on his next move. "Anders, take them down a few levels and lock yourselves in a room somewhere." He pulled out his M6 pistol and offered the Professor the handle. "Take this, just in case."

Anders excepted the gun without question and stuffed it inside an over-sized pocket. "Where are you going?"

Hearing the last transmission over the comm, Jerome tugged the MA5B from his back and slammed a fresh clip in. "The Covies managed to breach the Starboard Docking Bay. Alice and Doug are already engaged."


*** *** *** *** *** ***


Nathan Parker could hear his heartbeat in his ears getting louder. From the inside of his HEV, he looked down past his feet where the blast doors had retracted and open space was underneath. Open space? He was expecting to drop down onto the crashed mapping ship where they would fend off the Phantoms and secure Tradewind once and for all. But there was no asteroid below, only shifting stars.

"What the hell?" Toril exclaimed.

Nathan was about to verbally echo her sentiments when a dark mass rotated into view. His stomach froze instantly. "Holy sh-"

"All ODSTs, stand by for launch," came Captain Cutter's voice over the comm.

"He can't be serious," Toril added, as the Covenant Cruiser filled their collective view.

From somewhere near the bow, the MAC fired off three successive rounds, striking the underside of the cruiser looming below. Nathan squinted his eyes to see the crippling impact the blasts had against the weak shields of the cruiser's hangar bays. The shields collapsed instantly, unable to withstand the might of the slugs, and it gave the ODSTs a clear view of the inside of the enemy hangars.

His squad leader, Gunnery Sergeant Gregory Williams, flashed into existence on his left display. "Our orders are simple: board the cruiser and disable it," he said with the usual disregard for pomp and circumstance. His head dipped down momentarily. "I've uploaded your nav computers with the LZ. Good luck and I'll see you on the cruiser."

With an extremely loud rumbling overhead, his pod began to shake. Then two short tones followed by one higher in pitch sounded, and he was jettisoned out towards the cruiser. All around him, Nathan could see other HEVs launching, riding on orange trails of flame. The small gravity bubble he found himself in was less straining than usual, and he felt as if his seat had dropped from under him.

Even through his nervousness, Nathan felt a fresh burst of adrenalin rush into his veins. Being launched in an HEV was flying by the seat of your pants, literally, and Nathan loved every minute of it. He never considered himself a "thrill seeker" but anything that helped to contrast his boring upbringing was a welcomed endeavor. It wasn't that he hated growing up on a farm, he rather enjoyed it, but one can only fix so many dairy processors with improvised parts before growing numb.

The Covenant was quick to react, and soon streams of pulse lasers filled the area around the ascending pods. The HEV to Nathan's immediate left was suddenly washed in a blinding red haze, and the explosion rippled a turbulent wave, causing him to adjust his trajectory.

A soldier's scream was cut off with static, but Parker pushed aside the emotional spike the loss of a comrade ushered into his heart and focused on the shaking red box that outlined his destination: the central hangar. Nathan twisted his pod around another destructive pulse, narrowly missing it. Trying to steer an HEV through a battlefield was akin to driving an Elephant into oncoming traffic on the Beltway.

He checked the distance to target: 300 meters and closing fast. By now, the laser pulses had reached the limits of their usefulness and smaller plasma turrets started to light up the remaining distance. The crossfire was thick, but his pod was moving nearly as fast as it would have in atmosphere. A burst of pink energy flew past his port side and Nathan could feel the heat the plasma gave off, even through the reinforced plating.

  • 03.07.2011 7:36 AM PDT