2552.10.22, DELTA HALO— What was left of our company set up camp for the night in a Forerunner station in the hills. 0 dark 30 local time were attacked by Covenant. Mostly grunts, a handful of elites or so & a pair of hunters. Hard to tell in the moonlight, but looked like spec ops armor. Maybe searching for Master Chief, maybe just survivors. We locked & barred the doors and managed to hold them off with only a few casualties. Stibbs got needled in the arm & Sgt Ibanjes suffered a plasma burn in the process but we patched them up w/ biofoam & it wasn't anything a few more days out here would really hurt.

Thank God for Forerunner technology! Whatever they made their buildings out of, it held up against the hunters right good. Didn't have much to do but wait it out, so the majority of us just sat in the main room of the structure and held our guns all night like they were security blankets. Couldn't help checking now & then to see if they were fully loaded, even though you already knew they were cos you'd checked them a hundred times already. Shared stories & jokes to keep ourselves alert. When no one said anything, you could hear the pounding at the doors & the little guys yapping & shooting off their plasma pistols like it would do any good. Made us all itching for action but at the same time no one really wanted to open the doors because of the hunters. It was that ungodly sound their fuel rod cannons made right before they discharged. Didn't have to worry about falling asleep cos that sound will keep you awake all night better than anything. Almost drive you mad.

Covies finally gave up trying to find a way in & moved on down the valley. Watched their progress by the light of the cannons above the fir trees, or whatever they are out here. Prayed for our men stationed down there, hoped they'd fare as well as we had. Could still smell the burnt ozone around our area. I composed this verse while we were like that.

An ominous sound—
Fuel rods charging in the night
Hunters storm the doors

Cpl Eversson capped it right there on the spot, counting the syllables off on his fingers. The other guys laughed cos as far as poetry goes it was really bad. But we all felt the same way he did.

Watching the green explosions
I want off this fucking ring

Excerpt from the journal of Pte. J.S. Hosokawa.