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This topic has moved here: Subject: [Story] Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood (Chapter Twelve!)
  • Subject: [Story] Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood (Chapter Twelve!)
Subject: [Story] Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood (Chapter Twelve!)

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

Well, I figured it was about time that I upload this. I've stalled long enough.

Foreword
To those of you who have read this before its arrival here, thank you so much. Especially Nis, you were there from the beginning, when my story was at its worse.

To those who haven't, well, this has been going for about eight or nine months now. I figured it was time to finally step up and put it where it could be more critically judged. Don't get me wrong, this would be long dead if I'd had no help, but I haven't really had any criticism on this. So, why not put it here, where more people can judge it?

Be warned, the prologue is pretty long. This is necessary, but I just thought I'd warn you, it's longer than any chapter I've written so far. Though, I'll be pleased if this changes.

So, yeah. Please, tell me what you think.


Synopsis
The year is 2551. The Covenant war machine has trampled through world after world, driving the human race to its knees. And despite humanity's best efforts to strike as one, not every allegiance is pure. Dr. Catherine Halsey, under the watch of the UNSC's shady intelligence service ONI, has given life to the SPARTAN-II project over the course of three decades, producing some of the most elite soldiers ever seen through mechanical and biological augmentation. Even though these SPARTANs have lit a beacon of hope for the survival of the human race, there are those within ONI who do not believe they are enough.

Starting their own project behind veils of secrecy and deceit, they have created their own SPARTANs, with far greater numbers and more cost-effective methods, sacrificing quality for quantity. The losses suffered to the SPARTAN-IIIs have been devastating. Learning from their mistakes, ONI have started to employ different operations throughout the project, choosing select units and issuing them with far greater equipment to use, in hopes of creating far greater weapons than Halsey ever could.

One such unit is Team Theta, who were the last survivors of their last mission in an attempt to assassinate a key Covenant figure. Despite their incredible losses, they still refused any replacements of their team, catching ONI's eye in doing so. There seems to be something about them that no other unit has ever possessed, and ONI is keen to exploit this to its fullest advantage.

Their effectiveness is raised considerably, with the help of advanced armour and other necessities, and soon they are considered one of the UNSC's most efficient and effective units, sent on as many missions against the Covenant as they can handle. But the hands of fate work in mysterious ways, and soon, Team Theta will be fighting for more than they ever thought possible.


Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood

Prolouge

Behind their cold, lifeless visors, six SPARTANs stared at each other in numb horror. Their hopes of killing off a Prophet and severely crippling an attacking Covenant fleet had been snatched away from them as they realized what they'd gotten themselves into. Their mind's eye saw the Covenant laughing at them, their sickening and barbaric cries adding to the incoherency of the situation. Either the Prophet in question was on a smaller craft, and not the main flagship they'd just worked their way into, or wasn't even there at all. Whatever the case was, it was obvious that the Covenant had this planned all along. Which only meant one thing:

"Ambush," stated Jess-198.

Mark-316 sighed, knowing full-well what was about to go down. "That's affirmative. How many do you spot in there?"

"Approximately 50 on first glance. Searching for sniper nests now."

While Jess hunted for any hidden foes, using her thermal imaging system to look through the wall between them and the control room, the leader of the team pondered the situation, not finding everything adding up.

"Guys? Do you really think this is an ambush?" suggested Rodney-257.

"What do you mean, Commander?"

"Well, think about it. We've encountered a lot of resistance on our way over here to this control room, furthering suspicion that there was a Prophet aboard. We've barely made to this point alive, not to mention the fact that every single member of Teams Rapier and Xiphos are dead." He paused, reliving each of the 12's brutal demises aboard the Covenant supercarrier. Although they weren't part of the team he'd grown to be so close with, he still felt a pang of guilt at their loss.

"There just seems to be Covenant around every damn corner on this ship. I figured that everyone would just be lying in wait here, ready to blow our heads off the second we step foot in there and defend the Prophet that they should have had hiding in there. But 50? That doesn't exactly seem like much, does it. And to boot, I'm quite willing to bet that Jess doesn't find any snipers hidden around." And with that, Jess turned around, bewildered.

"You're right, there aren't any that I can detect. And the rest of them don't exactly look like they're set to kill a team of SPARTANs, with an exception to the eight high-ranking Elites I can see from here. But what are you trying to get at here, Rodney? Are you saying this isn't actually a trap set for us?"

Rodney nodded, finally gaining clarity over the situation. A plan was forming in his head, much faster than before now. "I do believe we've gotten here undetected, and they have absolutely no idea we're here. That is really quite dumbfounding; you would think at least one of the squads we fought would have signaled the control room to alert them of our presence, considering the numbers we've faced. But that doesn't change a thing, if we're to get out of this alive, we're going to have to treat this with utmost precision and care."

Suddenly, Baldemar-216 spoke up. "But surely this still does not feel right to you, does it? These Covenant bastards are cunning, and this is their main flagship! It should be packed to the ceiling with the vermin! Where have they all gone? I do not like this." His German accent flared as he expressed his concern to his team-mates.

"To be honest, Baldemar, I can't say for sure. What I'm hoping is that their most prized warriors were aboard, to later be flown off to where the action is at its peak."

Baldemar eyed his Commander, fearing the worst. "I hope you are right, my friend. For all of our sake."

"Heh. Don't you worry, Baldemar. These punks won't know what hit 'em. Or at least, they won't if we initiate a plan effectively. Jess, give us some stats. How many of each?"

Jess fiddled with her visor for a second before complying. "Right, there's the Shipmaster. And what looks to be a Zealot-class Field Marshall, if I remember correctly. Six Zealot-class Generals, and... 23 Ultras. 31 Elites all up, for those lacking the brain power."

"Very funny. And the other 19?"

"16, to be precise. I'm cou-"

"I thought you counted 50?" Boris-081 interrupted, wondering how Jess could have over-counted.

"That was an approximation, Boris. I do that before I take head counts, you should know seeing I told you it was only at first glance just before. You sure you SII's can keep up with us, and that you're not starting to rust away there?"

Evidently unimpressed with her remark, Boris shook his head. He would've laughed, if it weren't for the gravity of the situation at hand.

"Ease up, Jess," joked Rodney. "Continue, if you would, please."

"Ten Jackals, six Grunts. That makes up our total, sir."

"Thank you. Anyway, as I said before, we need a plan. Jess, can you take a sweep of the room and upload it to our HUDs?"

"Able and willing, sir." Jess scanned the room, highlighting choke points, possible cover and positions of enemies, then fed the data to the HUDs of the rest of Team Theta.

"Damn," commented Mark, "I gotta get me one of those tactical hardware kits."

Rodney nodded in agreement. "To be honest, I don't why we haven't yet, we should all have them installed. That way, Jess won't have to be our pack mule for data. But that'll be later, we should focus on the situation in front of us. Gather round, Theta, I'll hopefully be able to get a floor plan of a Covenant supercarrier here on my tac-pad."

Team Theta gathered around their leader, eyeing him with the respect that he had earned from them over the months of war they had fought. Rodney couldn't help but smile. Although the Covenant had nearly overrun them at every possible opportunity, they'd gotten this far alive, and it was all thanks to their skill in operating as a team. He was glad to be their leader. After a few quick button presses and a bit of searching, Rodney came across the floor plan he desired. He brought it up on the screen and held his wrist out for all to see.

The screen showed an oval room with the main ship controls at the opposite end, and nine control panels directly ahead of the entrance. There was one panel in the center and four on either side, curving with the shape of the room. Directly in the middle of the room was a large hologram of the planet they were intending to invade. Between the hologram and the main controls was a large pillar that rose out of the ground, running parallel until it came out, rising at a 45 degree angle back the way it came, like a giant other-worldly crocodile's mouth attempting to engulf the entire planet before it. This, along with the hologram itself, would provide good cover for the Elites piloting the ship.

"Alright, here's what we do. This control room's a fairly crowded place, so weapons with larger areas of effect will be the most effective. Boris, you're our heavy weapons specialist here, so you'll be key in securing the positions we need to take cover with. Use everything you have, don't bother reloading until we've got our cover locked down."

[Edited on 05.17.2012 1:14 AM PDT]

  • 08.03.2011 4:34 AM PDT
Subject: [Story] Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood (Prologue is up!)

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

Boris set the turret he was wielding aside, unholstering the rocket launcher magnetically attached to his back. "Don't worry about reloading this thing sir, I'm down to my last two rockets as it is."

"Right. Drop it once you've fired, then proceed to let loose with that turret of yours. Everyone else, we'll be helping Boris secure positions with the weaponry you have left. Especially Baldemar, of course. You'll be taking point. Anyone within range of your shotgun is to be dealt with accordingly."

Baldemar and Boris nodded, then looked at each other with a wide grin hidden beneath their helmets.

"Sounds good, sir," acknowledged Boris. Baldemar nodded again in agreement.

"What we'll be aiming to secure are these control panels, they look like they'll provide good cover. Two of us to one panel, except for Henry who'll be on sniper duty back here at the doorway. Boris can take the middle panel for himself. Baldemar, you and I will take the right, Mark and Jess on the left. We'll go for the three middle panels seeing the outer most panels are too angled to be of any use to us cover-wise. Once the majority of the force has been dealt with, we'll flank around on either side of the room to attack the Elites situated at the main controls. Hopefully they'll stay there while we take care of the weaker ones. Henry, keep them pinned. If one so much as steps out, let them have it. Understand?"

Henry-204 unholstered his sniper rifle, shouldering it while placing his BR55 back onto his magnetic attachments.

"Yes sir."

Rodney eyed him for a second, then nodded. "Just make sure you have enough range to be effective." Looking around his team, he finally felt ready. "Ok, I think that's all we need covered. Have I provided everyone with a sufficient strategy?" The team nodded in unison, ready to storm the room.

"Alright. Remember, the positions marked previously won't be exact, a few units will have moved. Don't rely solely on what you see right on your HUD right now, wait until you have a clear shot before you fire. Be ready to advance on my mark."

They all tensed, anticipating what was to follow.

"Go!"

At Rodney's command, they breached the control room. Baldemar entered first, opening the doors and dropping on one knee. He began to fire while Boris stepped forward and shot a rocket at the rather large group of Ultras reacting to the presence of an intrusion. It howled towards its enemies as if it couldn't get there fast enough, ready to fulfill its purpose and go out with a bang. Upon detonation, five were killed, while seven more lost most of their shielding, if not all. Rodney, Mark and Jess grabbed the opportunity to pick off the unshielded ones by the throat while Boris fired his last rocket at the now spreading Ultras. It impacted where eight of them had once been, only finding the three unfortunate enough not to have evaded the rocket's fiery demise.

At the sudden commotion, the Shipmaster lost his temper and barked a harsh command at the other Sangheili to charge forward, the anger swelling through his head and affecting his judgment. His warriors were reluctant to attack without suitable cover, but they didn't dare to disobey their Shipmaster's command, for his fury was a force to be reckoned with.

They were lightning fast, five of the seven who had lost their shields had managed to somehow avoid enemy fire with impossibly quick maneuvering and join the charge against the SPARTANs who had come to take their lives.

Boris now ducked back to the doorway to retrieve the turret he'd set aside earlier, and as he assumed his firing stance and pulled the trigger back, the murderous beast came to life with a deafening roar. He aimed the colossal weapon at the fleeing Grunts and tore each one down with relative ease, eventually turning to face the now charging Ultras.

The Covenant's constant plasma barrage was slowly melting the panels, which in turn was grinding away the hopes that they would be of any use to the six soldiers. The 12 remaining Ultras attacked at the left and center sides of the SPARTANs' position, six to the center and six to the left, while the six remaining Jackals elected to attack the remaining right side. Team Theta had their position locked down and continued to hold, attempting to keep the charging force at bay with a barrage of bullets. But, even with only few numbers, the Elites were very nearly at the terminals, their ferocity sweeping ahead like a dust storm threatening to choke the life out of all that stood in its way.

Boris managed to gun one more Ultra down before the Elites got to with close-quarters combat distance. Three leaped the panels simultaneously. The first, who leaped the left panel, received a blast from Baldemar's shotgun, instantly cutting through his shielding. The Ultra tried to correct its landing, but ended up face-planting on the cold, unforgiving floor behind the Demon responsible for throwing him off balance. As he rolled over, howling in agony, Baldemar stepped over, crouched and fired point blank.

Quickly rising, Baldemar turned just in time to see a fragmentation grenade rip the life out of the Jackals attempting to flank their panel. Two survived, Baldemar quickly set to changing that figure. Rodney, however, had unsheathed his knife and attacked the two Ultras that had come between the panels. He struck the first one through the right side of the head, shoving his knife in as forcefully as he could, killing it instantly. As he pulled the knife out, the second one charged him and they somehow managed to lock themselves in a test of strength.

Boris dropped his turret as the Elite jumped his barricade, attempting to tackle Boris down with one fell swoop. But he had other ideas, instead grabbing the Ultra by the head and using his own momentum against him by ramming him face-first into the floor. He stooped over its body to break its neck, then picked up his turret and immediately saw the struggle Rodney was locked in.

He turned his turret around; the bulkier part of it facing forward, then swung it wildly at the Ultra's head, faulting its shielding and inflicting severe cranium trauma. It fell to its hands and knees, while Rodney picked up his BR. He felt no remorse as he fired the killing blow. The two then sought to aid Jess and Mark, who by far had the biggest problem on their hands.

When the Ultra leaped the third panel, Mark simply ducked, Jess quickly doing the same. It followed through gracefully, rolling back onto his feet. However, Mark quickly followed it, and as soon as it had regained its footing, he thrust himself forward as hard as possible, crashing against the mighty warrior and forcing it to the ground. It managed to force him off as it rolled over onto its back, but he had stopped himself by rising to one knee, and as it had rolled over, he unsheathed his combat knife and brought it down in a deadly arc, aimed straight at the alien's throat.

The Elite, however, managed to grab Mark's wrist before his blade could impact, and he was forced to use his other hand. He let go of his knife and it dropped from his right to his left hand, and the same thing happened as he attempted to slay the beast pinned beneath him. Running out of options, he head-butted the Elite, loosening its grip on his wrists as it yelled out. This time, the knife found flesh and happily dug in, leaving it to die a horrible death as Mark pulled his blade out again.

A thunderous crack sounded as Henry shot at the cloaked Zealot who stepped out of his cover, finding cowering back unbearable. Its camouflage failed and it roared as its impressive shielding flickered, stepping back as soon as it realized it could be seen. Then, an idea came to the Zealot as it contacted the ship they were currently in communication with, having sent them urgent news of their current situation.

Jess primed a grenade while strafing to avoid the incoming plasma bolts and needles, then rolled it forward at the final Ultras. They quickly noticed the grenade and mostly avoided it, only two of the Ultras had their shields half lowered. But with four SPARTANs constantly firing, it was not long before these two fell. The three remaining Sangheili came ever closer, firing short bursts to try and disorient their foe, relieving what little they could. But still, the SPARTANs did not cease. They closed the gap, and now only two remained.

Jess stayed put, firmly believing that the Ultras would be felled before they reached her. As the snarling Covenant devoured the distance between them, Rodney realised she was risking herself. "Jess, get back here. You're out in the open."

She called back over her shoulder, "Trust me, Rod. I can do this."

"Damnit, Jess! Get back here, now! That's an order!"

The closer Elite prepared to strike as his shields fell, but was cut down before it could bring down a savage blow upon his enemy. But the last remaining Elite quickly stepped around its brother-in-arms as it fell and delivered a backhand with his Plasma Rifle harder than it ever had done before, crumpling Jess's visor and sending her stumbling back into a sitting position against the middle panel. Her team reeled, and finished the Elite off before he could do further harm.

To the SPARTANs, the room went silent, their concentration only on her as Rodney tore off Jess's battered helmet and helped her to her feet.

"Are you OK?" he pleaded as she struggled to stay upright. The team huddled round to tend to their wounded comrade. But she quickly shook it off and was able to support herself.

"I'll be OK. Don't you worry about me."

Rodney simply nodded. Although he wanted to scold her for disobeying orders, he realized that now wasn't the time. Forcing the concern from his mind, he turned to Henry, trying to piece the situation back together again after their ordeal with Jess. "Are they still cooped up, Henry?"

  • 08.03.2011 4:35 AM PDT

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

"Yeah, but I don't have the ammo to hold them back if they all decide to charge at once," Henry replied, not letting his rifle down to face his team leader and continuing to observe the Elites though his scope.

"Just as long as you can hit their shields for us, we can finish them off for you. We've got your back. Just do what you can."

"Yes si-"

All of a sudden, the ship violently shuddered as several plasma torpedoes struck, faulting the ship's shielding and impacting with maddening explosions, although not doing any damage near the control room, it agressively shook the SPARTANs and threw them off balance, Henry slamming into the wall he was stanced next to.

"What the hell is going on?" Boris yelled, struggling to keep on his feet as the shaking refused to relent.

Rodney braced himself against the middle panel, having to yell to make himself heard over all the commotion. "It can't be our guys, every ship's commanding officer in our entire fleet knows we've boarded this vessel. The only explanation I can come up with is that the other Covenant ships know we're here and are trying to destroy this ship."

"My God... what ruthless bastards," said Mark, his utterance unheard over all that was happening around them.

"What I don't understand is why they aren't aiming directly at this room, it's like they're just trying to shake us up..."

The very second that the shaking stopped, the Elites who had been lying in wait for the ship to be struck bolted to where the SPARTANs were getting their bearings back, hoping the time allocated would be plentiful enough to let them advance without the Demon's hindering sniper fire.

The Field Marshall ran first, uncloaking just as it ran past the occupied SPARTANs and headed straight for Henry at a blinding pace, only giving him a split-second to react. Its sword ignited and came to life with a bubbling hiss, which it then swung where the Demon had been a split-second ago, now ducking the strike. It quickly turned on its heel and brought the sword down with a true master's pirouette, cutting Henry's sniper rifle in half.

"Guys! I could use some help!"

After quickly taking a few potshots at the Sangheili in an attempt to distract it, Mark dropped his BR and quickly sprinted for him, attempting to tackle it to the ground, but the Field Marshall saw him coming and took hold of his left arm as he leapt forward. It curled his arm over its shoulder as it leant forward and twisted Mark's body, whipping him over the top of the Zealot and sending him crashing into the ground.

As it raised its sword to kill the SPARTAN, Henry stepped over and grabbed its arm, to which it retaliated by grabbing Henry by the throat and pushing him into the wall. Mark got up and gave it a solid uppercut to the jaw, allowing Henry to move again.

The six Generals who had trailed the advancing Field Marshall also uncloaked as the perfect time to strike presented itself, the four SPARTANs preoccupied with Mark and Henry's ordeal. Three stopped halfway, allowing the other three to charge the SPARTANs with swords raised. Two of them boasted Concussion Rifles, while the last shouldered a Fuel Rod Gun. The four SPARTANs turned to face their attackers, and chaos ensued as the final battle had begun.

"Go, Henry. They need you more than I do," Mark told him, realising more firepower was needed outside. Henry obeyed, getting the BR55 from his magnetic holder and starting to fire at the Generals outside, fully believing that Mark was capable of taking the Field Marshall by himself. Besides, even though the team had bonded so well, Mark had never really been anything but a lone wolf, no matter the team co-ordination he possessed. His true talents alwayed peaked when he operated alone.

He got his knife out for the second time in about a minute and a half, in his second one-on-one battle with an Elite so far in this room, quickly taking into account that the Zealot was right handed, as was Mark. The master swordsman glared at him with the hatred that only a lifetime of war could produce, and stabbed at hi,, who stepped to the left. He turned slightly, bringing his right hand holding the knife around to his left shoulder, and then brought the knife back around in a lethal arc headed straight for the Elite's chest.

But the Zealot was no novice in battle; it used its left hand to fend off the attack, pushing Mark's hand and using his own momentum against him. He lost balance and was now standing backwards, but before it struck with its sword, he continued to turn right and wound up facing the Elite just in time to dodge the second thrust by ducking.

Mark assumed a sprinter's starting position, then took off with his right foot, tackling the Sangheili with all that he could muster and took him right into the wall. Not giving it any time to recuperate, he quickly stepped back, then raised the knife up and brought it down again, aiming to stab it in the head. But the Zealot gained its wits back a lot faster than he hoped it would and caught his wrist with its left hand. It pulled hiss hand left, pulling him forward, and drove its knee straight into his ribs, cracking several.

Mark winced, dropping his knife as the pain burst through him, but he had bigger things on his plate as the Elite raised his sword, ready to end him. He painfully turned right, driving his right elbow around to smash it in the "jaw". It stumbled leftward, clutching its lower right mandible and stooping down to recover. He used this chance to step towards his foe, as hard as his broken ribs would allow, and drove his boot right into the side of its skull. It was sent rolling on his shoulders, its feet slammed into the ground.

The Zealot lolled onto its back, the world in front of it starting to fade and flicker. Having to perform the kick was excruciating for Mark, he had never felt pain like it. Reacting quickly to subdue the pain, he took a canister of biofoam from his trauma kit that was compatible with his SPI Mark II armour and injected into his ribs. Biofoam started to pour into him as he retrieved his combat knife, not greatly reducing the pain, but making it bearable for the time being.

Baldemar simply shot the Zealot charging at him with his shotgun, dodging its initial attack and bringing its shielding down in two hits. The force of the blasts sent it stumbling backward, and as he went to fire the last shot, he noticed his ammo count on his HUD. He had run out of ammunition. Unable to believe it, Baldemar seethed and flung his shotgun at the Zealot, unsheathing his two knives. In the time it took for the Elite to cut the shotgun flying at him out of the air, he was at it.

The Zealot brought its sword back around, but Baldemar used his first knife to stab its forearm before the sword could cut through him. He then raised his second knife up as it howled to the sky, the pain too much for it to bear. He mercilessly brought the knife back down, impaling it in the neck, then he took his first knife out of its wrist and brought it down into the other side of its neck, ending its life instantly. Jerking his knives out of the alien corpse, he noticed Mark kick his opponent in the head, sending it to the floor. He quickly ran over and stabbed the great leader in the chest with both his knives. Looking up, he saw Mark clutching his ribs and ran over to tend to him.

"Mark! Has this monster injured you?" he asked in a rush.

"I'm afraid so, Baldemar," Mark admitted. "But I'll live. You should help everyone else out, I'll join you in a bit."

After a moment's hesitation, Baldemar reluctantly obeyed Mark. "I do not leave you willingly, but seeing you insist, then I shall go." And with that, he ran off to help the rest of his team.

Boris raced to meet his attacker, dropping his turret and stopping just shy of the Elite as it sent its sword at him with a backhand swipe. He stepped back, instinctively predicting that it would lunge forward and bring its sword back at him, which it did precisely. Grabbing its sword hand with both of his, he pulled its towards him and drove his shoulder straight into its throat.

The Elite was winded, instantly losing air and finding it impossibly hard to breathe as it stepped back, but seeing Boris still had a firm grip on its wrist, it came to the end of how far he could move, and was yanked around and fell onto the floor. He broke its arm by bringing the elbow down onto his knee, to which it shrieked and sent its head back, never having felt such pain before. He picked up the sword and gouged the Zealot with it, ending its glorious and noble life with a death fit for an amateur.

Jess quickly unsheathed her combat knife after her BR's ammunition had run dry, dreading what was to come, for close quarters combat wasn't her greatest attribute, despite the results she had achieved in training. She hoped this wouldn't mean her end here on this ship. The Zealot could see the hesitation on her face and a smirk slowly formed on its face as it approached its prey.

She struck first, aiming for the neck, but it raised its hand in defense and parried with ease. Jess continued to attack, but the swordsman never faltered once, parrying each strike with immense skill, as if it was just toying with her. Which, in fact, was just what it was doing. It found much amusement in this mythical Demon, supposedly able to being down entire enemies with ease and yet here it was, barely putting up a fight once its primitive weapon had been removed.

As Jess struggled to defeat the Zealot, the other five SPARTANs were being pinned down behind the control panels they'd been using for cover by the three Zealot's suppressive fire. Rodney took a glance from out beside his panel, only to see their suppressors finish reloading. He quickly took position back behind his panel as plasma continued to crash against it.

  • 08.03.2011 4:35 AM PDT

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

His mind urgently echoed the thought that they needed to take the fight to the last of the three Elites. They needed to be taken out before they could risk going out from cover to rescue her. Frustration turned to hope as Rodney hatched another battle plan. He needed a diversion, fast.

"How many frags do we have left?" he asked desperately. Boris had only one left, as did Mark and Baldemar. Both Henry and Rodney had used the last of theirs.

"Alright. We need plasma weaponry. Mark, you and I'll get Plasma Rifles. Now what we're going to do is throw our last frags while you and I shoot like hell at them. We'll be aiming to get one behind the Zealot with the Fuel Rod, and two on either side of it. Hopefully the threat of 3 grenades combined will mean it has to jump forward, then we get the last of its shielding down and finish it off. Then we'll collectively fire on those last two, got it?"

Everyone nodded in reply. Boris crawled over to where a Zealot had dropped his sword. He picked it up, while Rodney and Mark went over and obtained two Plasma Rifles, then came back. As the three returned, Rodney then confirmed that the plan should go ahead.

"Why the sword, Boris? You want a souvenir or something?" Mark asked, not quite understanding.

"You'll see," Boris said, leaving it at that.

Rodney eyed Boris for a second, then held up an ordering hand. "Alright then, prime grenades, and throw on my mark."

Each primed their grenades, pressing the button located at the top of the grenade, where pins had been used centuries ago.

"Throw!"

The grenades were lobbed through the air, lucky to not collide with the constantly incoming heavy fire from the three Zealots. They each landed at the destination required, the Zealot having no choice but to leap forward, just what the SPARTANs wanted. Boris had got up and stepped back a fair bit. As soon as it leapt forward, Boris started running.

Their grenades exploded, spreading the three Zealots apart, the two on either side having to leap away. Boris quickly sidestepped the middle panel and sprinted furiously for the momentarily distracted General, igniting the sword he had picked up. As plasma bolts were fired through the smoke, distracting the other two Zealots, he pounced. He landed atop the Zealot with the Fuel Rod, thrusting the sword through its back. It cried out its last sound, alerting the last 2 remaining Sangheili that something was amiss.

The SPARTANs came out from their prison that they'd been kept behind all this time to finish the job. They quickly approached the clearing smoke and saw the Zealots rushing at Boris. They both attempted to strike him with their Concussion Rifles, but he stepped forward and they were forced to send their blows aside to avoid hitting each other. Rodney and Mark opened fire with their Plasma Rifles, slowly tearing away their shielding.

They turned around to shoot, but the SPARTANs were already on the move, not letting the Zealots get a good shot at them. The second one's shields dropped, and Henry fired with his BR that he'd forced to use after his brief encounter with the Field Marshall that Mark had disposed of, the 3 bullets lodging themselves in the Elite's brain, terminating it.

As Boris killed the remaining Zealot with his sword, Mark desperately raced towards Jess. The General had grown tired of toying with the Demon and looked ready to end the battle once and for all. But before it could deliver the killing blow, he attacked. Shoving his knife into its shoulder, it suddenly turned to Mark with its "mouth" agape, its four mandibles flaring in disbelief and agony. Jess took the chance to send her knife where she had meant it to go the whole fight: its neck. As it dug in, the Elite ceased to be.

It was finally over. They had done it. Mark and Jess, exhausted and bruised, looked at each other contemptly. The other four SPARTANs remained where they were, ultimately relieved with the outcome of the battle. Though their mission was technically a failure, none of the six paid any mind to it as they silently looked to one another. However, there was something they had forgotten. Rodney was the first to realize.

But before he could voice the newfound horror in his heart, the Shipmaster who had remained cloaked for the entire battle finally showed himself, driving his two energy swords through Jess and Mark respectively. The first sword went right through Jess's heart, killing her instantly. But Mark had the other sword go right through his shoulder, white-hot pain searing though him like the impact of a thousand plasma bolts. The pain was too much for him to comprehend, and he fell to his knees, the life draining from him.

Team Theta acted without thinking, instantly shooting at the mighty Sangheili who now charged them, its two swords blazing with the anger it felt at having to remain hidden. It neared them, swords arcing up, yearning to slay the Demons that were slowly reducing its shielding. It surged wildly at Baldemar, pushing off in one final effort, bringing its swords down with all he could muster. But the Demon dodged, and the primitive weaponry they shot it with proved to be too much. The Sangheili slumped to the floor, broken.

They approached Mark, who was staring at Jess uncomprehendingly, realizing his time had come. As his team huddled around him, they removed his helmet and what the SPARTANs saw did not settle well with them. Blood was dribbling from his mouth, and his face was ominously pale.

"I'm not going to make it..." he managed to spit out.

Rodney knelt down in front of him and looked him in the face. "Listen to me, Mark. You're coming with us. Do you hear me, soldier? You're a SPARTAN. And in case you forgot, SPARTANs do not die. Come on, we're getting you out of here."

But the look in Mark's eyes told a different story, one that Rodney couldn't accept. He wasn't going to make it. Every part of Rodney's being cried out to rescue him, to get him back to a medical facility, telling him he would live and that everything would be alright. He wouldn't let it end like this. He couldn't. But the truth was plain to see, and no matter how much Team Theta tried to deny it, it would not leave them be. Mark would die on this ship. And it was their fault.

"I'm sorry, sir. I- I faile-"

Mark started to cough up blood, and as agonizing as it was for him, the team felt every bit of it inside.

"No, Mark," Rodney said, "the fault was ours. We should have followed you, we should have helped. And now... now, there's nothing we can do."

With an effort, he got to one knee, and with Boris and Rodney helping him to his feet, he spoke to his team for what would be the last time.

"Rodney, Boris... please, take me to the ship's controls. Then leave. Get in the Pelican we left in the docking station and leave as fast as you can. Hopefully it'll still be working. You deserve at least that much."

"What are you going to do?" Baldemar asked, looking his friend in the face.

"I'm going t-to crash this god-forsaken ship into the cruiser that fired at us. I don't care if I don't h..hit the ship responsible. If I'm going to hell..." Mark paused, trying to breathe properly, then finding that he could not. He hoarsely continued, "then I better make sure it's full before I get there."

They got him to the alien controls, and they all stood to face him, not quite knowing what to do. Emotion was not common for SPARTANs, and even then, it was not proper emotion, for the heavily engineered super-soldiers had been robbed of their souls. They had been replaced with mutagens and other chemicals, ridding them of all things considered human. What they felt for Mark was as close to emotion as they could ever come.

No words were spoken. None were necessary. They slumped him over the controls, and quickly ran to get off before Mark killed them all. How fitting that would be, Rodney thought to himself.

Baldemar stopped to pick up Jess, but Mark voiced his protest.

"Leave her, Baldemar. Please, I want her to stay here with me. She would want to see this."

"If it is your... -he could barely get the word out- final wish. Goodbye, my friend." Baldemar could not believe he'd just spoken to him for the last time.

So they ran, not looking back. Not wanting to look back. Already the supercarrier was starting to lurch to the right, aiming directly at the nearest cruiser. Eventually, the four remaining SPARTANs arrived at the docking station. Their Pelican awaited them, battered by the war outside, but still eager to fly. As they got in and started up, nobody spoke. The ship's shields were shot down as they approached the edge of the supercarrier's bay, giving them the chance to escape. This would be the hardest journey of their lives.

* * *

The quiet, dismal lulls of space offered Team Theta no sympathy as they raced towards the nearest vessel capable of accomodating them. Indeed, space could not offer the burdened travelers anything but its infinite isolation as the gulf between the four wracked men it carried and all that surrounded them drifted ever further apart. And as they pushed on, the gravity of the situation only worsened for them. They had lost two of their team this day, along with the lives of 12 other SPARTAN-IIIs. It could have been prevented.

Their train of thought was interrupted as Rodney got in distance of a functioning ship. He sighed with relief, his entire being yearning for solitude. It was a heavy frigate, christened the UNSC Perfect Stranger. He hailed the frigate, requesting permission to board. It was granted, however, now they were nearing the main battle where the rest of the Covenant fleet had engaged the UNSC defense force placed to deter the attackers.

  • 08.03.2011 4:36 AM PDT

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

They avoided skirmishes large and small, eventually getting tailed by a Seraph fighter eager to claim yet more kills to add to the list. Rodney was forced to act, his muddled mind cleared of all that haunted him for the moment as he adjusted the Pelican's thrusters to a 60° angle, taking it above where the Seraph flew. He then dived at it, engaging the enemy craft with the dropship's 70mm nose mounted machine gun, aiming to take down its shielding. As soon as it had been depleted, he depressed the triggers on the control yoke, then opened two small hatches on the tips of the handles, revealing missile launch triggers.

As the internal guidance system locked onto the fighter, he pressed the two buttons down, which fired four missiles each at the now fleeing Seraph. As the missiles registered their target and started homing in, they propelled themselves at utterly incredible speeds, speeds the Seraph could not hope to match. The bombardment found its prey, and the Seraph went up in a dazzling ball of flame and plasma. Rodney cursed the now deceased pilot under his breath for meddling in affairs that it should have stayed away from.

Miles back, Mark made contact with the enemy ship who had fired at him. There was no massive explosion, nothing glorious to pass on to as the ships collided, metal scraping against metal. A horrible groan echoed throughout the two bohemiths, both ships having been seriously damaged, possibly to the point of irreparability. It was an honourable death, although he died before he could see the end result. He had passed wishing to engulf the entire Covenant in a ball of death and destruction, wishing every last one of them dead. But that would not happen with Mark's actions alone, as much as the SPARTAN, now reported KIA, wished would happen. Dreams had been shattered this day. And the Covenant would continue to crush many more.

Theta now approached their destination, yearning for the chance to be at ease. As they touched down in the ship's cargo bay, a few Marines rushed over to inspect the ship and check who would be getting out. As they emerged, the Marines froze. They could hardly believe it as the mythical warriors walked past, one nearly forgetting the message he had been asked to give them. He quickly spoke up, halting the SPARTANs.

"Uh, sorry to hold you up, sir, but Admiral Ferguson has asked me to pass on to you that you are to report to his quarters in one hour. I mean, of course, if that's oka-"

"That will be fine," Rodney interrupted, "at ease, soldiers."

The five Marines exhaled with relief, not having met a SPARTAN before and not knowing what to expect. One couldn't blame them for fearing that they'd get their heads beaten in. But the usually arduous four barely did anything towards them, as if they were trying to hide in themselves. The two groups parted company, each of the SPARTANs simply wanting time alone.

* * *

Time seemed to drag to a halt for Team Theta, the hour in their quarters passing ever so slowly. They had removed their helmets, the frustration and bitterness apparent on each of their faces. For nobody spoke, neither of the four dispirited men could even hope to fathom the words to speak. After a pained moment, Baldemar finally broke the silence and spoke up, voicing a thought which had passed through each SPARTAN's mind since they'd settled down.

"This Admiral will no doubt get to work on getting us replacements once he finds out what happened to Jess and Mark. I do not know if I speak for all of us, but I do not wish to have them replaced. My trust has been broken by the hands of the Covenant, and I fear that I will not be able to trust anyone he sends us, no matter who it may be."

What was left of Team Theta stared at Baldemar, having laid out his turmoil to his trusted friends.

"I agree, Baldemar." Rodney admitted.

Henry bowed his head in confession. "I do too."

Boris stood up and looked at his team with newfound resolve. "You know what? I don't care what the Admiral has to say to us. I'm with you. There isn't anyone out there capable of replacing Jess and Mark. We should stay as we are."

"And if he disagrees with this verdict?" Baldemar asked, finally feeling hope for the future."

The whole of Team Theta stood, awaiting Boris's answer.

Boris looked around at his team mates, weighing the words on the tip of his tongue. "I wouldn't disagree with us if I were him," he finally said.

"Then it's settled," Rodney concluded, "us four will carry on alone. Ferguson won't argue with us. Not now. There's nothing he can say that can change what we've come to agree upon."

Smiles started to spread across their faces for the first time in what felt like an eternity for them as they nodded. This was it. The start of something completely new. A four-SPARTAN team, falling short in numerical terms of the other six-SPARTAN teams including SPARTAN-IIIs. But that wouldn't matter. The other teams lacked what these four brothers now possessed. And only they would truly ever know what that was.

They set off to Admiral Ferguson's quarters 15 minutes early.

* * *

Admiral Scott Ferguson rose from his desk, setting aside the documents piled in front of him as the remains of Team Theta entered his quarters. His cluttered desk hardly matched his naval officer uniform, which was pressed and as tidy as could be, as well as his manner. No fuss, straight to the point.

He didn't mind that they were early, in his mind there was nothing wrong with being early. Tardiness, however, he did not tolerate. They saluted their superior, to which he returned the gesture and gave then the order to be at ease. He sat back down at his desk, offering the returned victors a seat, to which they continued standing.

"As you wish." Ferguson eyed the four with something akin to admiration. Although he was their superior, he was sure as hell glad that they were on his side. The Admiral did not fear much, and while he didn't exactly fear the SPARTANs, he felt that such warriors deserved his respect. "Now, onto more pressing matters. Were you successful in eliminating the Prophet?"

"No, Admiral." Rodney spoke for the team. "The Prophet was not on board. We suspected a trap had been laid for us, but we managed to catch them by surprise and eliminate them before they could get a proper strike team organized."

"And I trust that all hostiles have been eliminated?"

"Affirmative."

"That is a decisive victory in our favour then, soldiers. We may be able to push this fleet back now that their flagship has been neutralized." He paused, looking at a message sent over the UNSC's battlenet. "In fact, reports have just come in that the ship collided with another. Was this also your doing?"

Thetas' faces hardened at the thought of Mark's dying actions. "Not ours, sir. Mark's."

The Admiral saw the team's demeanor change at the mention of their deceased team member. "I see. Let me be the first to officially offer you my condolences, losing a team-mate is hard, let alone two. I could tell you stories of my days as a soldier, losing members of our division. Every time you blinked, someone would be dead..." He could see that something was troubling them, and his old stories weren't helping. He decided to offer them news of ETA of replacements for the two they'd lost.

Yet the look of hardship still remained. In fact, at the mention of replacements, they only looked more troubled.

"No." Rodney eyed the Admiral with fierce determination, as did the rest of Team Theta.

Ferguson did not flinch under the terrible stares of the SPARTANs, now realizing what their ordeal was.

"Look. You'll get ove-"

In protest, the four soldiers each stepped towards the Admiral's desk. Their faces told a tale of sorrow and resolution, not wanting to replace their fallen comrades.

"I don't believe this. You're SPARTANs, for Pete's sake. You are the very embodiment of the UNSC. You were bred to be the ultimate war machines, not a bunch of sooks who can't get over the loss of a couple of their team members!"

And as Admiral Ferguson stepped out from his desk to look the armour-clad SPARTANs in the eyes, he finally saw it. There would be no arguing with these warriors, their minds were made up. Even a tough nut like himself wouldn't be able to budge them one bit. And as his realization came into light, he noticed that it was not cowardice, or refusal to let go of their dead team-mates that was causing this. Something had clicked inside of these soldiers. Something that would no doubt prove to be considerably lethal to the Covenant.

The Admiral's face softened as he realized what he would have to do, exhaling in defeat. "Alright, SPARTANs. I see that arguing will get me nowhere on this matter. But you do yourselves no favours with this decision. I'm warning you now, you're going to have to be the best god-damn team mankind has ever laid eyes upon. You'll have to be twice as good as everyone else out there if you want to prove yourselves as a successful and reliable unit. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," they replied.

Nodding, the Admiral continued, "So, that brings me to come to terms of where this puts you. We'll have to start sending you on select missions to evaluate your performances. Do us proud, and you'll be one of our proper top-tier units. But before we get you out there into the hell that the Covenant has wrought, you need to promise me two things. First, you will be better than any team we could call upon to perform. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," they replied again. "And the second thing, sir?" Rodney asked.

"I know how you came to reach this decision. If this is how you're going to react when someone in your team dies, then you may as well swear on your lives that you shall not die out there. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Alright, SPARTANs. You better make me damn proud out there."

  • 08.03.2011 4:37 AM PDT

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

Admiral Ferguson dismissed Team Theta with his heart in his throat, his eyes glued to the SPARTANs as they left his quarters. He had either doomed the lives of four of the UNSC's finest soldiers, or he had just created the most effective unit in military history. As the Admiral returned to his desk, he was interested to see how this would turn out.

But most of all, he just hoped that they weren't going to get themselves killed out there.



(Alright. That's it for now. I'm going to be putting up a chapter a week until I run out of pre-written material (I'm about half way through Chapter Eight), and then I'll just post the next one whenever I'm finished. I can't give any guarantees, as progress has been frustratingly slow for me the past couple of months, but hopefully that'll change.

Also, I'd ask you to be nice, seeing this is my first novel, but that'd be counter-productive in terms of what I'm posting this for. What can I fix? Please, I'm open for criticism.)

  • 08.03.2011 4:37 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"

I was unaware you were writing a story bloodguard. I really enjoyed it though. I cant wait to read more.

  • 08.03.2011 3:37 PM PDT

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


Posted by: Raptorx7
I was unaware you were writing a story bloodguard. I really enjoyed it though. I cant wait to read more.
I managed to keep it secret for a while. I was going to save it until I'd reached a certain chapter, but I've been led to choose otherwise.

Thanks, man. Next one should be up soon.

  • 08.05.2011 2:02 AM PDT

Really good, nice one. Looking forward to reading the next chapter.

  • 08.05.2011 2:11 AM PDT

That was a long prologue! But still, great stuff so far, looking forward to more.

  • 08.05.2011 5:35 AM PDT

"We live in a special time; the only time where we can observationally verify that we live in a very special time" - Lawrence Krauss.

I was a finalist :P

You say my descriptive techniques are good? This is absolutely amazing. Great work keep it up!

  • 08.05.2011 11:49 PM PDT

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

Geez, you guys are kind. Thanks!

Posted by: S p h 1 n X O 7
That was a long prologue!
I did warn you. :)

  • 08.06.2011 12:23 AM PDT

One Love,
One Tru7h,
One Destiny.


Writer for TheGameFanatics.com

Glad you've finally decided to put this up, Keeps.

'bout time it was released. Keep it up too man and thanks for responding to mine as well.

  • 08.06.2011 4:55 AM PDT

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


Posted by: King Nis085
Glad you've finally decided to put this up, Keeps.

'bout time it was released. Keep it up too man and thanks for responding to mine as well.

No kidding. And not a problem, Nis. If you need a hand with anything, you know who to talk to. :)

  • 08.06.2011 6:52 AM PDT

God Blooduard. Great read, now you just need to help out with the.... ermmm... project.

  • 08.06.2011 9:31 AM PDT

-Gr33n Knight

My stories:

Streams of Fire

Jiralhanae

This is great stuff. After seeing you comment and follow all the Gallery stories, I'm glad to see you entering the ring. That was an epic and very very very long prologue, so I'll be waiting for the rest of the story. Hopefully, you can manage time a little better than me, and put out more than 12 chapters in a year...

  • 08.06.2011 11:56 AM PDT

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


Posted by: Hayabusawarrior
God Blooduard. Great read, now you just need to help out with the.... ermmm... project.

Yeah... the thing, with the stuff, right?

Posted by: Gr33n Knight
This is great stuff. After seeing you comment and follow all the Gallery stories, I'm glad to see you entering the ring.
About time, huh? I wasn't going to post it here until I was sure I had this right.
That was an epic and very very very long prologue, so I'll be waiting for the rest of the story.Thanks. The same to you and your story.
Hopefully, you can manage time a little better than me, and put out more than 12 chapters in a year...One can't rush greatness.

[Edited on 08.08.2011 2:54 AM PDT]

  • 08.07.2011 3:47 AM PDT

"We live in a special time; the only time where we can observationally verify that we live in a very special time" - Lawrence Krauss.

I was a finalist :P

You already have one reader, and passing your knowledge to other members of the community is absolutely brilliant

  • 08.07.2011 3:58 AM PDT

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

Thanks, man. I'm just doing my part for the folks here.

Anyway, new chapter goes up tomorrow. And for a bit of news, I'll be shifting house sometime between the 19th and the 22nd (originally, I thought it was the 19th, but now I have no idea), so if I'm not on here for a while, you'll know why. I'll try to keep you up to date, but, yeah.

  • 08.09.2011 4:32 AM PDT
Subject: [Story] Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood (Chapter Eight!)

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

Well, I'm cool, aren't I? Posting my first chapter a day late.

You can blame my internet for that. But, the good news is, instead of being a dick on the Flood like I usually am, I used the spare time that my lack of internet gave me to kick my writer's block's ass and send it packing. Hopefully, this'll mean that Chapters Eight and beyond will be as awesome as I can craft them.

But, enough about me, here's the first chapter.


Chapter 1: Progress

Baldemar's patience was beginning to wear away as he paced the length of the briefing room over and over again. The room resembled an auditorium, a large projector screen took up most of the front wall while a hologram projector stood erect in the middle of the speaking floor. 15 rows of 24 seats filled the rest of the room, and a computer terminal booth had been set up at the rear of the room. Why Rodney had elected to come early to the brief was beyond Baldemar entirely.

"Your decisions on these matters defy belief, Rodney. The mission brief will not start for another 12 minutes, why are we here so early?"

Rodney was leaning back in his chair with his hands interlocked behind his head and his helmet upon his lap, seemingly away in his own world. The smile on his face didn't change a bit as he fixed his gaze upon Baldemar standing before him, the impatience he felt at the thought of having to wait so long imprinted upon his face.

"We're here just to annoy you, Baldemar."

At that, the four men lightly chuckled, improving Baldemar's mood considerably. It was quite unusual for SPARTANs to have a sense of humour, for they were made to be the perfect soldier, bred to kill. Nothing was to get in their way or halt them from performing at 110%. And yet, these four joked around whenever they gained the chance.

Of course, the only time they ever dared to was in privacy, they didn't wish to ruin the whole "hero" image for those who looked up to the super soldiers. After all, it seemed that they were the only thing that kept the courage of humanity lifted. After they had stopped and Baldemar had taken a seat beside Henry, Boris turned to face Rodney.

"That is a good question though, Rod. Why do you always choose to show up to things so early?"

Rodney looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. Boris always wondered what he saw up on whatever ceiling caught his attention, like it was telling him a story. "Just habit, I guess. Some people respect those who come early, some even go so far as to coin silly phrases about it. But I don't really know why, it's always been something I've done. Besides, I think the Admiral is one of those people who respect ones who are early."

The door to the briefing room opened as Rodney finished speaking. They almost expected Admiral Ferguson himself to enter the room as if on cue, but instead, three marines walked in, instantly noticing the four renowned SPARTANs seated at the front row. They fought to stay composed as four of the most legendary warriors in existence smiled at them. The stories they had heard of SPARTANs were absolutely phenomenal, striking even the most experienced veterans of the battlefield with awe. And what was even better still, was that they believed most of these stories were probably true, there was seemingly no limit to what a SPARTAN could do in their minds. Those lucky enough to fight alongside the seemingly immortal warlords soon found out why.

However, these SPARTANs were different. It had been four months since the deaths of Mark and Jess, as well as the day that they were assigned to Admiral Scott Ferguson. Since then, they had been striving to become the best squad of SPARTANs that the UNSC had to offer. So far, they had operated in five missions, defending key buildings and cities on different planets.

Their fourth mission, on the other hand, was an assault on a Covenant outpost on New Constantinople. Although the operation had greatly taken its toll on Team Theta, they had completed the task required in about three days. They had succeeded in eliminating all that resided in its confines, and as a result were really beginning to become a force of reckoning throughout the UNSC Perfect Stranger.

In fact, they were doing so well that the Admiral had three suits of MJOLNIR Mark V armour delivered to the heavy frigate for the three SPARTAN-III's to use. An act like this was completely unprecedented, not even Headhunters, the best of the best SPARTAN-III's were elected to wear Mark V armour, this mighty battle-suit was only produced for SPARTAN-II's. How Admiral Ferguson had managed to have this arranged was currently unknown, for the information was classified, even for the SPARTANs themselves. Not that they had asked, either. They were merely contempt to accept the great honour of being the first ever SPARTAN-III's to wear MJOLNIR Mark V armour, and they did so with pride and humility.

Although this meant that Rodney, Henry and Baldemar could now withstand significantly more assault and possessed much more speed, strength and other numerous advantages, their battle tactics remained relatively unchanged. Having donned the weaker SPI armour had taught the three a lot about enemy engagement, and their new armour wasn't about to change anything the battlefield had taught them. Their primary strategy would still consist of stealth and teamwork, as was evident in their fifth mission, where they had held off a Covenant battalion from destroying a block of weapon manufacturing plants on Ballast until a bombing run could be executed.

Determined to succeed, the four had held their ground with precision strikes against the overwhelming forces of Covenant militia, thanks to the vast heavy weaponry that the workers had supplied the defense squad with. Along with perfectly executed maneuvers co-ordinated with surprise attacks from nearby buildings, the combined power of SPARTANs and Marines alike had kept the alien menace at bay until Shortsword bombers had finally arrived to strike at the very heart of the invading force.

Before they lost the opportunity, the SPARTAN-IIIs made sure to thoroughly test their new armour and get a firm grip of its capabilities on the battlefield, and were more than impressed by what it had to offer, especially at close quarters. A few times, Baldemar had been able to land a solid punch on whoever got close enough to him. He had sent two Jackals flying, killing them the instant his fist connected with their bird-like heads, and knocked an Elite off of its feet, almost rendering the Sangheili warrior unconscious.


By the time the Shortswords radioed in to confirm their bombing route, the empowered three were almost in awe of what they had accomplished. They had almost been massacred out there a good couple of times, but they could withstand far more punishement than before. Rodney believed without a shadow of a doubt that he would have been killed if he'd tried anything like this wearing SPI armour.

And now, as the room started to fill with the soldiers who were to partake in the mission, Team Theta made sure to stick to their old tactics. They weren't losing anyone again. Of that, they had sworn.

The very second that the mission brief was to begin, Admiral Scott Ferguson entered the room with a stern, yet positive look upon his face. The ongoing war was continually willing him to break, its malevolence swirled and thrashed around in his head like a caged serpent hell-bent on violence. But he did not let this inner turmoil surface, for here in this room were men and women who needed the will to oppose the Covenant as much as he did. He had to put on the bravest face he had, or run the risk having his troops doubt him. And by God, I will not let that happen, he thought to himself as he stood to face the Marines who'd be putting their lives on the line today.

His face changed visibly as his troops saluted him. He almost seemed to glow with confidence, as if he was going to lead them to victory on the front lines. He saluted in return, and then ordered everyone to be seated.

"All right, folks, listen up," he began. He approached the hologram projector in the middle of the area and activated the machine with a simple button press, which caused a planet to spring to life above it in the blink of an eye, slowly rotating in place. The planet seemed similar to Earth itself, however it seemed more land existed than water, which was indeed a fact. Water only took up 43% of its surface, allowing more room for settlement. Another reason that the planet provided more room for humanity was its size, measuring 16,736km (11,046 miles).

"This here is the planet Atlas, located in the planetary system of 18 Scorpii. This, of course, luckily being the system we're currently in, thanks to our mission on Ducreux that we've only just accomplished. From our current position, this planet is close enough for us to jump and arrive within six hour's time."

Glancing down at a report overview, the Admiral continued. "A distress call was picked up exactly ten minutes ago that a Covenant airborne unit had spotted the Office of Naval Intelligence site HAUBERK Base, and that reports tell them that an attack is expected within 2 days. How they were able to produce this knowledge is not only classified, but also exceeds my knowledge. As far as I was aware, not even ONI themselves knew the Covenant had arrived at Atlas yet. But that isn't relevant, what matters is that we're being deployed to HAUBERK Base to defend it from what is expected to be a rather large attacking force. But before we get into our primary strategy, let me show you the base itself."

Admiral Ferguson pulled a remote from the side of the projector and pointed it at the massive projector screen on the front wall, revealing a stunning picture of a mountainous landscape.

[Edited on 09.30.2011 4:51 AM PDT]

  • 08.10.2011 9:00 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood (Prologue is up!)

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

"The Vexilles. What a magnificent view one must behold from up there. And if you're wondering why I'm showing you this mountain range, it's because this is where HAUBERK Base resides."

And with a click of a button, HAUBERK Base revealed itself to the awestruck Marines. Henry nudged Rodney with his elbow, and they both grinned at the revelation. This was going to be a huge advantage for them, having the higher ground to fight on. A perfect situation for one who excelled with the SRS99C-S2 AM, or in simpler terms, the sniper rifle. The base itself had been fashioned on the very tip of a mountain peak, which must have been flattened to allow the site to be constructed. The site itself was circular in shape with eight structures jutting out from its sides, seemingly securing the base to the mountain itself. But in fact, these were just facilities for specific tasks.

These structures could be retracted back into the base itself when they were threatened, and the procedure was a fascinating thing to watch as the machinery whirred and grinded, hauling the facilities back from the clutches of those who sought their ruin. Also, three landing pads extended from the rear of the building when the need arose, providing resources and supplies with a quick entrance once the landing pads started to retract. All of this information was present on the projector now, as well as building specifications and schematics fit to properly inform even the most thorough inquirers.

"En route to our destination, we will meet up with a currently undecided amount of squadrons to aid us in covering all paths up this mountain. Make note that no paths are man-made, all are natural. If the Covenant wish to climb this mountain, rest assured that they will have a very difficult time attempting to do so. Our ETA to Atlas is roughly 5 ½ hours, and from then we'll take 15 minutes to get ourselves ready. Those with tactical gear will be given the data that you see here on this screen."

Looking back down at Atlas's projection, the Admiral input co-ordinates into the keypad, and the image zoomed towards the mountain range, showing 3 key locations. The first was HAUBERK Base, and the second was a landing station located on another mountain. The third was an air base, located south of the Vexilles. Distances between the sites were displayed between the points on the projection.

"Air support will be dispatched when airborne enemy units are confirmed. The numbers are undetermined as of yet, but hopefully a mix of F-97 Skyhawks, AV-14 Hornets, AV-22 Sparrowhawks and possibly a couple of AC-220 Vultures and GA-TL1 Longswords will be saving your asses from aerial assault."

Admiral Ferguson splayed an open hand towards Team Theta as he prepared to finish his mission briefing. "And lastly, not that I doubt you noticed, but we will be accompanied on this mission by SPARTAN Team Theta. They are slowly, but surely becoming the most elite team the UNSC are able to send on short notice, seeing they reside on my ship. They will be team leaders, the highest in command will refer to them before issuing any commands. Is that clear?"

Though it only held close to 40 or so men, the room thundered with the response of "Sir, yes, sir!" as if there were tenfold the number of soldiers ready to serve.

Admiral Ferguson smiled, for he knew that nobody would be taking HAUBERK Base while these soldiers were defending it.

"Very well then. Those with the equipment capable of storing the HAUBERK Base schematics can stay behind to receive said data. Everyone else, you better be ready when we arrive. You are dismissed."

Roughly 60% of the Marines exited the briefing room, while the rest stayed to receive the mission data and building schematics. As the four SPARTANs plugged the data into their TACPADs, except for Boris, who favoured the Universal Global Positioning System wristpiece, the Admiral approached them.

"Team Theta. You've done a hell of a job so far. I'm proud to have you assigned to the UNSC Perfect Stranger, for it is a tremendous privilege and honour to be able to get you four soldiers to where you are able to save the lives of the innocent. Also, it gives me great satisfaction that I was able to have Mark V armour delivered for you. I hope you use it to the best of your abilities. Now, you've got a mission to lead. I suggest you fellers go out there and do what you do best."

"Yes, sir," the now emboldened SPARTANs replied. To have the Admiral, a man of great character and a veteran of the UNSC talk of them so highly was something they felt they could be proud of.

As they departed from the room, Admiral Ferguson watched on. He now felt that he could truly depend on Team Theta. He just hoped they would be enough to make a difference in the ever raging war. And that it would not conquer them. Please, he thought to himself, stay alive out there. Folks like us need heroes.

  • 08.10.2011 9:01 PM PDT

Great work. But one thing, I think I might've misread it, but at the start didn't you state that three marines entered first, but then later there's like forty people in the room?

  • 08.13.2011 5:03 PM PDT

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


Posted by: S p h 1 n X O 7
Great work. But one thing, I think I might've misread it, but at the start didn't you state that three marines entered first, but then later there's like forty people in the room?
"And now, as the room started to fill with the soldiers who were to partake in the mission, Team Theta made sure to..."

Sorry if that wasn't clear enough. Thanks for commenting though, the fact that you went all the way back to comment on it means a lot.

  • 08.14.2011 1:08 AM PDT

Crap, thanks. I read it so many times, I just couldn't find it. Can't wait for the next chapter!

  • 08.15.2011 3:42 AM PDT

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

Thank you. And here it is.

Chapter 2: What Lies Ahead

As the UNSC Perfect Stranger exited slipspace, speakers all throughout the mighty vessel crackled to life, signaling that Admiral Ferguson was about to make an announcement to all who resided on his heavy frigate.

"Attention, soldiers, this is your Admiral speaking. We have arrived at our destination. For those who are partaking in the defense on Atlas, I suggest you suit up and get your asses in gear." The speakers, usually robbing the announcer's voice of character and power, could not diminish the confidence in Admiral Ferguson's voice. It almost seemed that he was ready to join in on the defense of HAUBERK Base. "We are approximately 14 minutes from our destination. I will attend your departure to give you a final run-through of what you will be doing once you land on Mt. Arphos. That is all."

With that, the select few troops prepared themselves for battle. Not that it would come immediately, though. When ONI had predicted an attack within two day's time, most of the Marines hoped that they would get at least half a day to get themselves properly acquainted with the mountain base, possibly even more than a day. But without the gift of foreknowledge, the Marines, or for that matter, all aboard the Perfect Stranger were incapable of determining when the Covenant would begin their onslaught.

The armoury was now bustling with activity, nearly everyone on the defense team had come to make last minute checks and preparations to their weapons and gear. In spite of the numbers in the one room, the process of 30 Marines and four SPARTANs readying themselves for battle was hardly chaotic and cluttered. They seemed to act like clockwork, although their actions were different, they all seemed aware of each other; nobody bumped into each other or took up anybody else's space, portraying a flawless mechanism.

Checking over the M7S Submachine Gun he had selected, which he favoured as a secondary weapon due to its special operations enhancements, Rodney and his team were approached by a rather stocky Marine who had an assertive look to him, no doubt due to the reason that he would be able to fight along side Team Theta.

"Team Theta," he began with assuredness and a salute, to which the SPARTANs returned, "I am First Sergeant Michael Kearns. I am privileged, as well as honoured, to be serving under your command on this mission. As I am the highest ranking Marine of our squadron, I will be referring to you on group tactics and orders, for you have the final say in what we do or do not do on this mission."

"Understood, Michael," Rodney replied. "May I call you Mike?"

Mike shrugged. "I have no preference, sir."

"Alright then, Mike," Rodney said with typical SPARTAN non-chalance. As a role model of sorts, he as well as the rest of Team Theta had to be careful where and when to show emotion. As his deep, blue eyes shone with determination, almost basking Mike in his gaze, his face remained impassive. "I trust that we'll have no problems with the orders you give."

"Thank you, sir," Mike said, beaming. "Although your knowledge of strategy and tactics most likely exceeds mine, sir. I hope that you will make improvements where you see fit."

"Will do, First Sergeant. You are dismissed."

Mike walked away, melding back into the machinery and resuming his task. Concluding that the M7S that he had selected was satisfactory, Rodney looked around to confirm that the three other members of his team were also contempt with their weapon choices.

As usual, Baldemar, who evidently favoured close quarters weapons, had chosen an M90 CAWS for a primary weapon, and followed it up with an MA5B Assault Rifle. Also sticking to his usual weapons, Henry had chosen a Sniper Rifle System 99C-S2 AM as his primary, while selecting a BR55 Battle Rifle as his secondary. However, although Boris held his usual M247H Machine Gun in one hand and had selected an M19 SSM Rocket Launcher, instead of going for his traditional Spartan Laser as a secondary, he had opted to select an XM510 Multishot Grenade Launcher, possibly due to the fact that it would be more useful when fired down the mountain slope. As for Rodney's primary weapon, he had stuck with a BR55.

All four SPARTANs were able to place two weapons upon their back, due to a custom-fitted set of magnetic blocks slightly protruding from the backs of their armour, allowing one weapon to be placed diagonally between the raised blocks, then the second to be placed upon the blocks at a 180 degree angle to the first weapon. Technically, this allowed them to carry three weapons at a time, though only Boris did so. Only in situations where another weapon was vital did the others place both of their weapons on their backs to carry a third.

Once Rodney had confirmed that the others were ready to depart, he led the way out of the armoury complex, heading for the docking bay where Admiral Ferguson would most likely be waiting. They walked with both weapons placed upon their back, helmets in their hands, although Boris still held his turret in his other hand. As they neared the hallway that would lead them to the bay entrance, Rodney voiced a thought that suddenly popped into his head.

"If we're going to be atop a mountain, how are the marines going to be able to breathe up there?"

After turning the question over in his head for a bit, Boris replied. "I'd imagine that the base would have oxygen supplies up there." After a brief pause, he continued, "Actually, now that you've got me on the subject, we'll probably need to refill our oxygen systems every now and then as well. If Admiral Ferguson doesn't tell us on our departure, then he'll probably think it won't be that hard to figure out."

"You're probably right, Boris," Rodney sighed, "I should've thought of that."

"That's why you keep me around, Rodney."

The rather lame joke brought a smile to the four SPARTANs' faces as they stepped into the docking bay, noticing the three Pelicans that were being checked for clearance by the bay's crew members. The vast space of the bay was incredible, and as vehicles of all sorts were being serviced and repaired, they could hear the mechanics testing every necessary system and function of the three dropships as they approached their ship's highest ranking officer, Admiral Scott Ferguson.

"Ah, Team Theta," he greeted the four as they stopped in front of him, saluting as was customary. "The first to show, as usual."

Boris tilted his head in Rodney's direction, indicating that he was the reason why. "Blame him, sir."

"Sorry Admiral, I can't help it," Rodney admitted a tad sheepishly.

"Don't be silly, Commander. I don't mind at all." The Admiral's smile slowly faded as he looked out into the vacuum of space. "However, don't think you're getting my respect just 'cause you show up early. That's what the battlefield's for, son. Prove you're worthy out there, as you four have been doing consistently, and you can consider yourselves in my good list."

Turning back to Team Theta, he noticed two of the three head mechanics conferring with each other.

"One moment, SPARTANs," he assured the four, making his way over to the two mechanics.

"Is something wrong with the Pelicans my troops will be boarding shortly?" he asked, trying to quell the fear that had now found reason to attack him once more. A lot of the vehicles aboard his frigate had sustained damage over the last few days, as he had provided orbital assistance over Ducreux (dih-crew), one of the several moons of Mariposa prior to ONI's distress call, forcing them to abandon their participation on Ducreux and begin their current trip to Atlas. He had been informed that these three Pelicans would be the most likely candidates for the mission, for they had taken the least damage.

"Oh, no, sir. We're just waiting on Don to confirm that the third one'll be ready for take off on time." Suddenly the mechanic yelled to Don, "How you doin' over there, Don? Will she fly?"

Don, who was on the other side of the Pelican, called back, "As soon as I replace this here vector pylon connector shaft and two of the pylon's thrusters, she should be good to go. You won't have a problem with this one unless one of them uglies decides to shoot at it." He pointed down to what was left of the Pelican's troop carrier bay door, which had mostly been burned away by anti-aircraft fire. "What about your picture of perfection, is she set?"

"Sure is, Don," Jesci answered. "I've got the Admiral beside me, he's worried about whether our birds'll be able to get down there or not."

With a clunk, Don climbed the stepladder beside him to peer over the top of the Pelican to see if Jesci was bluffing or not. When he saw Admiral Ferguson standing there, he grinned widely and gave an over-exaggerated salute before yelling over the whine of the Pelican's front right set of thrusters being tested, "Don't you worry about this one, boss, a minute or two longer and you can bet we'll have her off the ground without a worry."

The Admiral nodded with relief, before leaving the mechanics to what little remained of their work on the dropships. No doubt they would have more vehicles to sort out as well. As he made it back to the SPARTANs, he noticed they had all put their helmets on, effectively removing their identities as men, and reinstating their identities as machines of war. Although it did not give the Admiral a face to look at, he did not mind one bit. They would be of more use as SPARTANs than as men.

  • 08.17.2011 12:39 AM PDT