The parched sand sifted down the slight slope of the dune as the distant vibrations became louder and more pronounced. A sunning lizard licked its eyes and gazed out over the valley below. Without warning, the source of the vibration-a large UNSC troop carrier- exploded into view over the top of the cliff, sending the lizard scuttling for the supposed safety of whatever hole it called home. The carrier screamed past and dropped down into the valley, accelerating as it did so to an insane velocity.
Inside the troop carrier, several of the Marines strained against the Gs forced upon their frames; the normal low hum of the atom engines was a deafening screech, pushed beyond limits it was never supposed to achieve. Only one figure was not in a crash harness: SPARTAN 067. The huge bipedal figure stood at the rear of the cabin, holding on (barely, it seemed) to an overhead support. The bucking of the ship seemed to not affect the large warrior in the least. The pilot, a Latina Petty Officer by the name of Perez, steered the ship, her hands flying over the controls, adjusting the course constantly. Beyond her, the view out of the front port was horrific. Dead and dying lay scattered everywhere, human and covenant alike. Red, orange, and purple ichors pooled together, casting a grotesque brownish hue over the entire battlefield. In the distance, an immense crater had been literally vaporized out of the planet, as the covenant flagship overhead had unleashed its weapons array on friend and foe alike.
Steering the carrier to the far edge of the battlefield, the pilot began to run through the pre-landing modes. The landing legs of the craft came down and the carrier settled onto the ground with a teeth-rattling THUNK. The Marines in the hold groaned as one as their harnesses released, dumping most of them onto the hard metal floor panels. Only a few of the soldiers managed to stay upright. The SPARTAN, unfazed in the least, let go of the support, made its way quickly to the back of the cabin and punched the control for the hatch to open. As the hatch lowered, the harsh desert wind blew in, coating everything with a fine stratum of dust. The senior enlisted Marine, a crusty old Japanese Master Sergeant by the name of Cho, quickly began shouting at the troops, marshalling them outside and into a hasty 180-degree defense. Cho turned as the SPARTAN clunked down the landing ramp and onto the field of battle. The SPARTAN nodded at the Master Sergeant, and they began to make their way over to the improvised field command. The Covenant had all but wiped out the human army that day, until a UNSC ship had dropped into orbit and blasted the flagship into oblivion.
Cho shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense. The covenant must have detected our ship when it came out of slipspace, yet it never so much as launched a single Banshee. It just sat there and let itself be shot down!"
The SPARTAN shrugged its powerful shoulders; all it offered was a husky grunt.
The battle was over; the humans had won, but this massacre could in no way be termed a victory. Each new battle was simply taking far too much out of the faltering human forces; something new had to happen.