AUTHOR NOTE: Revised version that I'm finally OK with. Now I can finally continue with the story! Please let me know what you think, so review it. Or don't, but I'd prefer the former. Hopefully this story won't become lost in the thousands of other Halo fan-fics, so I'll just hope for the best. Please enjoy.

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PART_01 SECTION III

CHAPTER_01 ODST

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1432 HOURS, NOVEMBER 17, 2544 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \

ALDERAMIN SYSTEM, PLANET MIRIDEM \ CASSIO \ COMMERCIAL DISTRICT

A blinding light and the sound of thunder. And then oblivion.

Ethan Woods opened his eyes and for the briefest of moments saw a world that had once been. Skies of deep blue and clouds of pure white, a lake of shimmering diamonds. He could feel the grass beneath him, the sharp blades poking him through his clothes; could feel the sun's warm rays; could hear the gentle breath of a girl he had once known so long ago. A ghost of his past. But this place, a world that had once been, was nothing but a forgotten memory. The beauty of this world came crashing down, replaced by steel and concrete until no trace of the past remained, and Ethan was thrown back into the hell that is war.

Ethan had no idea as to how long he had been out or why that memory in particular replayed inside his head. It was a place he no longer thought about. Living in the past would go nowhere. He had to live in the here and now if he were to advance. If he were to survive to the end, whenever that may be.

Pain was the first feeling to return to Ethan: a dull ache that made him cringe at every move he made. Every breath and heartbeat. His ears rung and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He ran his tongue against his teeth and took some comfort in the fact that none were missing. Narcissistic, yes, but even soldiers could have a little vanity. Scars were a given, but he would always be the Helljumper with the best smile. Ignoring the pain, Ethan pushed himself up off the ground. The battle had moved on further down the street. Marines ushered civilians to safety while others engaged the enemy, the whole time Ethan had been assumed dead and left in the street. He took some offense to that, but knew that the heat of battle meant that a medic couldn't be on hand for every scrape and burn. Unless he was a VIP, if he looked dead and acted dead then he was dead. Several feet from where Ethan stood several more bodies lay motionless on the ground. Unlike himself, they were clearly dead, their charcoal armor having been seared to the point of the alloys fusing together. Whatever had hit him, they got the worse end of it. Ethan made a mental note to come back for their dog tags and then rushed off to where the battle raged.

The majority of the civilians were gone by the time Ethan reached the front lines. A few stragglers were limping along as soldiers laid down heavy fire on the enemy. One man, no older than twenty, fell as green fire erupted from his back. His companion came to his aid but was dragged away by a Marine. Nothing they could do. Nearing the point where he would most likely be shot at, Ethan reached for his sidearm – since his rifle was missing – and cursed when he found that his M6 was gone as well. Weaponless, he ducked under enemy fire as he made for a squad of black armored soldiers taking cover behind the burnt wreckage of a jeep. They would hopefully have a spare weapon. They were surprised to see him.

"Thought you were takin' a dirt nap," said Sergeant Whitfield as Ethan slid behind cover. The man pumped several slugs into his shotgun, a poor weapon choice at the moment considering the distance. Ethan had served with him before and knew that once the gap closed the enemy would have hell to pay. "One less funeral to attend at any rate."

"That's only if you survive to attend any," commented Corporal Harken. Not much Ethan could say about the man. This was their first time serving together.

"What the hell happened back there?" asked Ethan, not too sure himself.

"Fucking Wraith came outta no damn where, that's what happened," cursed Whitfield.

Harken handed Ethan his sidearm, a heavy M6 pistol. "Enemy tank caught us off guard. You, the captain, and some others were caught in the blast," he explained. Before Ethan could ask, though he already knew, Harken added, "Jamerson didn't make it. As next highest rank, that makes you our new commanding officer."

"Son of a bitch finally stayed down," lamented Whitfield. Many thought the Captain too tough to die, seeing as how he served since the beginning of the war and since then had suffered plasma burns, broken bones, and ruptured organs. Each time he climbed back up and each time the enemy had suffered for his injuries. He was a true soldier. A true ODST.

Harken gave Ethan a quick briefing on the situation. Forces were spread thin and the majority had fallen back to aid in the evacuating effort. What was left were several fireteams and themselves against, as Whitfield bluntly put it, a shitload of them. They, being two dozen Grunts and a handful of Jackals roughly, needed to be taken out before the soldiers could continue evacuating the commercial district. Ammo was low, support was nonexistent, and time was running out. The good news was that the tank had been disabled.

Ethan shook his head. "Never easy, is it?"

"No one ever said it would be easy," said Harken. "Would we be here if it was?"

"If it were easy we'd be out of a job," added Whitfield.

"True. So why not earn our pay." Harken loaded a fresh clip into his assault rifle. "Ready when you are, sir."

Ethan nodded and loaded a round into the pistol's chamber. "I'm thinking a frag or two should soften them up."

"On it." Whitfield ripped two grenades from his ammo belt, his fingers ready to pull the pins.

"What's the plan?" asked Harken.

Ethan's answer was, "Kill everything that moves."

Whitfield laughed. "Short. Sweet. To the point. Just like the captain."

"I learned from the best."

Ethan gave the signal and Whitfield pulled the pins, lobbing the explosives over their cover. One landed under a Genet being used by Grunts for protection; the other was caught almost by accident by a red armored Grunt. The first exploded, sending the car into the air as a fireball and scorching the Grunts behind it. The second was tossed aside in panic, landing even closer to the other trenched in Covenant before exploding. The Covenant in full panic, Ethan led the charge from their cover. He took aim and squeezed the trigger, the massive slug leaving the barrel of the M6 and plowing through the red Grunt's head. The soldiers moved up as the defensive line fell apart. Grunts were squealing for their lives and the Jackals abandoned their posts. A stray Grunt ran too close to the ODST and was shotgunned by Whitfield. Another was gunned down by Harken.

A fireteam of Marines took point, chasing down the remaining Covenant. Rounding the disabled Wraith they were gunned down by plasma fire. The ODST slid behind the charred remains of the Genet as violet plasma burned the air around them.

"T-42!" yelled Whitfield, ducking lower as the alloys reached superheated temperatures above his head.

The greened armored Grunt fired the turret continuously at the humans, strafing between the ODST and the other fireteams. Other Grunts that had previously fled the battle rallied at the turret, finding renewed chance for victory. A Marine attempted to fire at the plasma turret but was killed almost instantly by the quick firing Grunt.

"What do we do now!" asked Harken over the sound of plasma and machine gun fire.

Ethan racked his brain for any ideas. The few he could conceive all ended in burning death, and so he scrapped those ideas and tried again. It was then that he noticed the shattered glass of the storefront where the Genet had come to a rest in front of. Looking inside the ruined store he had a stroke of genius that surprised even himself. "Wait here," he ordered and sprinted into the store. Seconds later he returned with a large box emblazoned with the image of a red truck and a young child thoroughly enjoying the toy. Ethan ripped the package open and began loosening the toy from its wrappings. He flipped the switch and was delighted when the little LED headlights came to life.

"This isn't the time to be looting," said Harken dryly. "Especially children's toys. Go for a diamond watch or a flat screen if you feel like you can escape being gunned down by homicidal aliens." His humor was dry and said in such a way that Ethan wasn't entirely sure if he meant it or not.

Ignoring Harken's attempt to be an ass Ethan shoved the remote control into his hands. "We so much as peek at them and we get a face full of plasma, but a Grunt is still just a Grunt." Ethan tapped the side of his helmet. "Use your brains once in awhile. Distract it."

Having nothing to lose, Harken toyed with the controller until he was a professional at the children's toy. Laying so he could see what he was doing under the Genet, he shot the toy forward towards the Grunt. The Grunt, having no clue as to what whirred toward him, turned to open fire on the toy. Harken tapped the controls and sent the toy truck speeding pass under a far larger version of itself. The Grunt gunner followed, its plasma chewing the life sized truck apart. Next the toy sped under the legs of another Grunt, forcing it to dive for cover as its comrade continued to tail the toy with deadly plasma fire. The gunner completely distracted, Ethan rose up from their cover and with one shot sent a bullet through the Grunt's brain. Two more downed his comrades closest to him. By the time the others realized what was happening the Marines had joined the fight and the Covenant force was eliminated with ease.

"Can't believe that bloody worked," muttered Harken, tossing the toy remote aside.

Whitfield clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "And that's why you're the CO. I would have just chucked it at the ugly bastard."

The way clear, the soldiers pushed deeper into the commercial district, lead by Ethan and his ODST. Large scale battles were waging through the city, making their trek through the streets that much easier since the majority of Covenant forces were focused elsewhere. What little resistance they did come across was often the tattered remains of a larger force and were dealt with before moving on. Reaching their objective in record time the group arrived to see a convoy of heavy armor heading into battle. Ethan longed to join the Scorpions on the warpath but he had his orders. He hated the Covenant deeply, but he was still a soldier and would complete his assignments.

Having arrived at the bank, a Marine waved the survivors out of hiding. The building was a prominent one in Cassio, and the vault had the added advantage of protecting anyone from Covenant plasma if the worst were to happen. That had yet to happen, seeing as currently UNSC forces held the bank and had continued to hold it against enemy assaults, though just barely. Of course, if the UNSC lost the battle in orbit then the Covenant would glass the planet. The bank vault meant to save them would become an oversized oven if not a slag of burning metal. Glassing was a horrible way to die, at least to Ethan. Others might find it preferable than being captured by Covenant and tortured, though just barely.

"Let's move, people!" ordered the Marine as the civilians filed out of the bank. Ethan noticed that all of them were young: lively enough to run from their attackers. The old or physically disabled stood no chance due to the simple fact of not being fast enough. One could only hope that it had been quick. By now the battle had raged for over an hour and Covenant controlled a large part of the district. This would be the last group to be evacuated.

The ODST and Marine fireteams took flanking positions around the thirty or so survivors, as well as point men in front and back. The group moved in tight formation through the city streets, fast enough to cover ground at a good pace, but slow enough for the civilians to not fall behind. Ethan knew he could be to the evac zone and back again before they made it halfway, but they had not been through the rigorous training as he had. Hell, even the Marines had never been through training such as he had. What made Helljumpers what they were was not the fact that they dove feet first into hell but that they had to actually survive hell just to reach that point.

Fire erupted nearby. The soldiers were at the ready but they never ran into the enemy. The streets were the same ones that the ODST had cleared heading to the bank, and by the time they reached UNSC controlled districts the threat of attack was slim to none. The soldiers stayed alert, but the civilians began to relax. Some even cried in relief as they neared escape from certain doom.

And then the explosion.

Everyone dropped to the ground as glass windows shuddered under the thunderous sound. People screamed and clambered for cover all the while the soldiers took point, looking for the source. They were ready for an attack, but not for what happened next. A Pelican dropship soared low over the buildings, fire trailing in its wake. Losing control it slammed into the side of the building, sending chunks of debris and glass raining down on the group. Ethan leaped to safety, dragging a woman with him as a boulder of concrete crushed where he had just been. The Pelican, still airborne, spun violently through the air, its pilot fighting for control. The engines sputtered fire and the dropship lost altitude. It crashed several blocks away, the impact felt even at this distance. Seconds later a Covenant Phantom sailed overhead, in route to the Pelican crash site.

"That was too fucking close!" yelled Whitfield, picking himself off the ground. "First genocidal aliens and then Pelicans fall from the sky! I was nearly crushed! Next you gonna tell me the Covenant's already glassing the place!"

"We're alright," cracked Ethan, helping the hysterical woman off the ground. He ignored Whitfield's ramblings and looked over to the rising smoke in the distance. The Covenant dropship hovered briefly over the crash before descending out of sight behind the buildings.

Harken joined him to look over towards the crash. He asked, "Think anyone made it?"

Ethan shrugged. "Hard to tell."

"Should we go take a look?"

"I will. You make sure everyone gets back to the evac zone in one piece. Whitfield, let's go."

"What? I never signed on for no death mission!" argued Whitfield. "You may get blown up on a regular basis but that doesn't mean..."

"That's and order," interrupted Ethan. Whitfield was a great soldier, but he complained almost nonstop. His arguments often had valid points, but Ethan didn't have time for it now.

"Order? From who?"

"You're commanding officer."

"Damn. I knew you being in charge would bite me in the ass." He sighed. "Fine. Lead the way o' glorious leader."

The soldiers regrouped from their scare and continued onward to the evac zone, led by Harken. Ethan and Whitfield headed in the opposite direction, towards the Pelican crash site and awaiting Covenant dropship. If all had died in the crash then the two would join up with the others. If someone was still alive, well they would cross that bridge if they needed to. Of course, this all hinged on them not being seen. If an attentive alien caught sight of them and the numbers were in their favor, then the plan was to run like hell. So Ethan and Whitfield moved quietly up the deserted streets, sticking close to buildings when they could. ODST were trained to be efficient killing machines, but stealth also played an important part in their training. Why engage in a direct firefight when one could gather intel and fight from the shadows. It was efficient and with less risk of getting shot.

The Pelican had come down hard, clipping another building on its descent before crashing through an office building. Debris from the crash and anything caught in the way littered the plaza. The aft end of the dropship jutted from the building like a undetonated missile. A fire had come to life near the downed craft, fueled by leaking fuel and oil and threatening to become an inferno if left unattended. The alien dropship hovered low to the ground several meters away, its beetle like carapace shimmering in the light. Several Grunts worked to clear wreckage from the Pelican's blood bay – cargo bay to some – so that they could gain entrance, their diminutive forms lugging large slabs of debris with strained effort, though it would have been all but impossible for most humans – well, maybe not for a Spartan. Watching over the small group were three Elites, their massive forms dwarfing the laboring Grunts. These aliens were strong and could easily move the wreckage aside, but heavy labor was meant for the underlings of the Covenant Empire, so they stood as supervisors, clearly impatient with the slow progression of the task.

Ethan and Whitfield slid behind cover, making sure to stay out of sight. Grunts were nothing but cannon fodder: they were dangerous in groups but nothing an elite soldier such as an ODST couldn't handle. No, the real threat came from the larger Elites. The Covenant's commanders. One on one an ODST could take one, if he was lucky. Ethan was staring down at three: two low rankers (blue armored) and a major (red armor). Blues were young and often made mistakes. Reds were battle hardened and much more lethal. Of course other, higher ranks existed, but Ethan had had the pleasure of never meeting one face to face. If he was lucky, he never would.

A Grunt dragged away the last of the wreckage, allowing the Pelican's cargo bay doors to slide open with a hiss. Another stuck its head inside to peer around for survivors and almost immediately fell dead from a gunshot wound to the head. Two more shots rang out and another Grunt fell dead. A man, clearly injured, limped out of the wreckage, dropping his spent sidearm and taking hold of the dead Grunt's fallen Plasma Pistol. He fired at the observing Elites, the green bolts of energy doing little other than to enrage the fearsome aliens. A blue Elite was on the man before he could get off another shot, grabbing him and tossing him violently away from the wreckage. He landed hard and tried to take aim for another shot, but the Elite was upon him before he could, stomping its hoof like foot into his abdomen with enough force to break several ribs. Another kick sent the alien pistol skidding away from his hand, landing near where Ethan hid.

The red Elite barked an order. The blue armored alien lifted the hapless man with ease by the neck, holding him so that the two were nearly eye level and the man's feet dangled useless beneath him. He tried to pry the aliens tetradactyl hand from his throat, to little effect. The Elite held out its free arm, energy surging around its gauntlet before taking shape and ending in a deadly point. The alien pulled its arm back to drive the energy dagger through the man's skull, a target it would pierce with ease.

An overcharged ball of green plasma struck the Elite, short circuiting its armor and energy dagger before it could end the man's life. The alien roared in fury, turning to face the direction of the shot. The Plasma Pistol soared through the air, striking the Elite with enough force to stun it, causing it to drop the injured man. Ethan took aim, both hands on his sidearm, and fired. Two. Four. Seven shots delivered directly into the Elite's chest. Without its shields, the magnum rounds tore through the alien. It fell with a thud at the man's feet. The second blue Elite opened fire with its Plasma Rifle, blue bolts of energy burning towards Ethan. He dodged the deadly plasma and fell back behind his cover, another Genet. The Elite came after him, its rifle ready to fire. It was looming above the car when Ethan made a run for it. The Elite turned to fire but a shotgun blast from underneath the car struck its legs, ripping through its shields. It fell. Whitfield leaped over the car, pumping another shell into his shotgun. He fired point-blank into the Elite's chest, killing it instantly. Ethan loaded a fresh clip and turned to fire on the red Elite. The alien raised its weapon to fire just as Ethan squeezed the trigger. A lucky shot struck the alien rifle, knocking it from the Elite's hands. Several more shots impacted the alien, draining its shields before they ultimately failed. Defeated, the Elite major fell back, hopping aboard the Phantom dropship that immediately rose into the air and disappeared from sight.

"You better run!" shouted Whitfield even though the enemy was long gone. For no reason other than to gloat he fired another shell into the dead Elite, spraying violet blood across the asphalt.

Ethan, above gloating over a kill, went to the aid of the man. He was crawling away from the lumbering beast dead at his feet, clutching his side. He no doubt suffered from a broken rib or two. Blood flowed from a gash in his dark hair, staining his serviceman fatigues where they had not been torn from the crash. He was in bad shape, but he would live.

"Thank you," sputtered the man. He wiped blood from his mouth. "You saved my life."

"Just doing my job," answered Ethan, helping the man up. They had been deployed quickly and so his standard issue ODST armored rucksack was left aboard the ship along with other nonessential items. Because of this he had nothing to treat the man's wounds. He would have to tough it out until they regrouped with the others. "Did anyone else...?"

The man shook his head. "All dead." He coughed. "We knew the risk. Key assets were being evacuated off planet. We were decoys."

"And the package?"

The man smiled. His right canine was missing, most likely from the crash. "Made it off planet."

Ethan nodded once. "Let's get you out of here."

The injured man shook his head in agreement. "I'll make sure to repay you for this."