This is my first Halo fic. It's told from the points of view of several marine fire teams, as well as individual marines within in the Company.

Enjoy, and read and review!

The animated chatter of the mess hall flowed around the thickly-built marine standing in line, waiting patiently for his turn at the meal dispensers. It had only been half an hour or so since the Combat Alert had been cycled down to normal readiness and already the ship's marine contingent were carrying on the business of living. The three fire teams of First Platoon, One Company, were taking full advantage of their brief time in the mess hall and had taken up temporary residence at several tables in a far corner of the hall. After the wildness of the running battle between the Pillar of Autumn and Covenant battleships and the desperate, blind jump away from Reach, most marines were looking for something fill the void left after the adrenalin rush subsided. That something was, as usual, food. Food, guns, and women were the three most important things to a marine.

"Yo, Murdoch! We got a spot over here."

Geoff Murdoch grinned. "Och, laddie, there isna enough room for me. Some o' ye will have to shove long."

"Scoot, rookie!" Chris Phillips elbowed the newest marine off the bench. The men around the table laughed as Murdoch squeezed himself in between two other marines.

"Bit of excitement back there, eh?"

"Oh aye. Too bad them sailor-types got to have all the bloody fun!"

"Yerra, no shite. Combat stations me arse. All we did was stand about, lookin' pretty!" Flaherty commented.

Several men pelted him with bits of bread. "Shurrup, Dickey. Everyone knows that's what us marines is supposed to do!"

"'Sides, mate, marines are always pretty."

"Aye, maybe, but I'd rather be pretty and get to shoot things."

Murdoch grunted. "With as much shipboard drill as we done, it's a wonder that anyone wants to shoot anymore!"

"Righty-o lads. It's been fair luvvly chattin' wiv youse all, but I'm off to me rack for some much-needed shuteye. Don't be blowin' nuffin' up wivvout me." Tommy Bartlett said, rising from the table.

"Watch your snorin', bro. I'd like to sleep some too." His bunkmate called from the other end of the table. Bartlett smirked as he headed for the tray-drop, not bothering to reply. Murdoch tore his dinner roll in half and used each piece to soak up the remaining stew broth. Processed food had its advantages, sometimes, and the beef stew was the best on the menu. It tasted halfway real, at least. Something had to be real around here, after all. Talk turned to women, the marines' favourite topic, until the men finished their meals and drifted toward the barracks deck to catch up on sleep or went down to the muster bay for a smoke.

"C'mon, Murdoch. We're headin' back to the barracks for a game of cards."

"Hope ye got money to lose, lad, 'cause I'm gonna take it from ye!"

Sam Dawkins dropped his armoured chest plate onto the shelf, grinning at the clank of armour on metal. His bunkmate had already shimmied out of his armour and was passed out on his bunk. It never took long for Bartlett to get to sleep. Dawkins peeled off his grey shirt and tossed it carelessly on top of his armour. Relieved to be rid of the sweaty garment, he kicked off his boots and pulled off the kneepads and shin guards. Wearing armour around the ship was a pain but Captain Murphy had made it procedure. Barefoot and shirtless now, Dawkins swung up onto his bunk. Most of First Platoon was crashed on their bunks, worn out from maintaining constant combat stations for nearly thirty hours. Grinning happily to himself, he tugged the lumpy pillow under his head. Rack time was the best time of the day.

And then the alarms started up. Dawkins swore as the barracks deck came to life with marines tumbling from their bunks. Some had gone to sleep still wearing all their gear while others like Dawkins and Bartlett had to scramble to get their armour back on.

"Attention all combat personnel. Please report to your action stations. Fifth Platoon, secure airlocks on Deck Eleven. Fourteenth Platoon, rendezvous with Twenty-Second Tactical at Bulkhead Charlie Fourteen." A female voice announced over the loudspeaker.

Corporal Devereux of Baker Team stomped around the deck, barking at his marines to report to the muster bay now. Dawkins ignored the irritable corporal and swiftly laced his boots. His bunkmate, Bartlett, was trying to get his chest plate fastened in order to finish his preparations.

"Hold on, bro. You got it backwards."

"Thanks mate."

The loudspeaker screeched, "This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill."

Dawkins clapped him on the back as he grabbed his helmet and the two marines sprinted for the passage leading to One Company's armoury. The rest of Charlie Team were forming up to file through the armoury and pick out their weapons. Big Geoff Murdoch used his height to reach over several marines and grab an extra pistol and pawful of magazines. An assault rifle was slung over one shoulder, a pistol holstered at his hip, and there was a load of ammunition for both rattling around in the grenade bag that was hanging from his belt.

"Hey, Murdoch. You gettin' ready for war or something?"

"Just makin' sure me boys get enough to get 'em through."

"Get through what? It's just action stations." Dickey Flaherty asked.

The marines paused to listen when the loudspeaker went active again. "Attention all personnel. We are re-engaging the enemy. External and internal contacts imminent."

"Gettin' ready for that." Murdoch said with a grin and moved along with the line.

"Move it, move it, move it!" Sergeant Noyes bawled as his platoon hustled to form up in the spacious muster bay adjacent to the armoury. "C'mon, ladies, move like you got a purpose!" The sergeant drummed his fingers on the grip of his assault rifle, clearly eager to engage the enemy. "Listen up! Once again, the squids have made it our job to handle the mess they've gotten themselves into. The Covenant think they've got us dead in the water, but they haven't counted on running into this platoon! We are going to hit them, hit them hard, and keep right on hittin' until they run cryin' to their momma! These ugly sons-of-bitches picked the wrong ship to corner, and they'll be warmly welcomed by a rain of lead. When we engage, we'll tear 'em to pieces so bad that there won't be enough to shove into a box! We are going to blow the hell out of those dumb bugs until we don't have anything left to shoot 'em with! And then, we are going to strangle them with their own-living-guts!"

Marines hooted their agreement. Noyes cleared his throat. "Our hour is here, boys. We got a job to do. Ain't nobody goin' home if we don't show these Covenant bastards where to get off. You know the drill. Point, shoot, kill. Let's make sure our guests know just welcome they are! Whaddaya say, Marines?"

"Rough and ready, keep 'er steady, Sergeant!" The platoon roared back.

"That's the spirit! Action stations at the double! Move!"

"Fire teams: sensors show inbound Covenant boarding craft. Stand by to repel boarders."

Charlie Team formed up near the portside airlocks on Deck Five, tense with eager nervousness. The six men watched the Covenant boarding craft make their slow approach. Corporal Phillips' fingers drummed an impatient tattoo on the barrel of his rifle. Combat was frighteningly less nerve-wracking than waiting for the fight to start.

"You reckon this'll be our last scrap, Geoff?"

Murdoch looked down at Tommy Bartlett, a little worried at the use of his first name. "Isna for me to say, ye ken. Don't be talkin' foolish, neither. We're gonna make it through this just fine."

"I was on'y wonderin'. I got a girl back home, see?"

"Quit worryin', Barty. Ain't we marines?"

"Aye, marines. Walking cannon fodder."

Dawkins smacked his friend on the back of the helmet. "Shit can that bad attitude, you cow. Do your job and we'll get through this all right."

"Heads in the game, me boyos," Phillips called out. "Incoming our way."

Safeties clicked off and the marines fanned out to cover all airlocks. Bartlett swallowed his fears, determined not to let his mates down. Fear and hesitation got men killed. His buddy Dawkins flashed him a cocky smile as he brought his rifle up and Bartlett let the other man's confidence bolster his own. They'd get through this just fine.

"Safeties off!" Phillips barked.

"Off!" His marines answered.

"Here they come. Contact in thirty. Whaddaya say, lads?"

The ship shuddered under the impacts of hostile fire and boarding craft. Bartlett's mouth felt dry. He swallowed in an effort to get some moisture back.

"Rough and ready, keep 'er steady!"

One of the airlock doors blew open. Phillips lifted his left hand into the air, his fist clenched. The marines tensed. A cautious Grunt poked its head into the passage.

"Pop 'em!" Phillips shouted, pointing. Rifle fire erupted and the Grunt toppled back into the airlock, missing half its head. Screams and yelps of other frightened Grunts accompanied the angry roar of an Elite. Aliens poured into the passage, scattering between the six marines.

"Alert! All hands, boarding parties on port Decks Four, Seven, and Twelve. Baker Team move to engage."

"No fockin' kidding!" Flaherty exclaimed. "She think we're blind?"

"Cortana's gotta be confused. Baker Team's only on Four Deck!"

"It's probably those reserve teams, y'know, the sailors."

"Heads up!"

"Way to go, mate!" Bartlett said when the greenhorn Reeves smashed a Grunt with the butt of his rifle.

"C'mon, keep it up!"

"Woo-hoo!" Reeves whooped, caught up in the wild rush of adrenalin. Bullets and plasma zipped around the airlock bay, scorching walls, ceiling, and floor. Covenant bodies began to pile up around the marines, but there were more coming from a corridor leading to the next airlock.

"Pull back!" Phillips hollered over the noise of battle. "The mess hall, back to the mess hall!"

"Warning! Covenant intruders on Decks Three and Nine. Alpha Team, engage enemy boarders." The loudspeaker announced.

"We know, dammit! Shut your bloody mouth already!"

"Let's get outta here!"

The marines covered their retreat until they reached a bend in the corridor. Dawkins tossed a grenade around the corner after them and then they ran. It wasn't far to the mess hall, but there were already Covenant waiting there for them.

"Fuckin' hell!" Reeves burst out, diving for cover behind a table.

"Two Elites!"

"Doesn't get any better than that," Phillips muttered, peeking around a meal dispenser. "Firing!"

Yellow tracers zipped across the mess hall, digging holes in the walls and tables. Murdoch found it sadly ironic that only twenty minutes or so earlier, they'd all been in here, grabbing a quick meal before an equally quick nap. Now they were shooting the place up, trying to kill the Covenant intruders.

"God, it burns!" Reeves dropped his rifle, clutching his side.

"Not in my bloody mess hall!" The Scotsman yelled, changing magazines. "Get 'em, lads!"

"Look, it's him!" Bartlett cried. A towering figure in light green armour entered the mess from the bridge-side door. The assault rifle in his hands spat fire at the enemy. Charlie Team cheered when the Spartan charged the Covenant across the mess hall, his shields sparking yellow.

"That's the way to do it, yeah!" Dawkins said as the Spartan used his rifle like a club and quickly dispatched the startled and confused Covenant. Then, just as suddenly as he'd come in, he vanished through the door on the other side of the mess.

"There's a badass for ya, woo!" Flaherty cheered.

"Didja see that crazy bastard? He's got no bloody fear!"

Phillips knelt to check on Reeves. "You all right?"

"That was great. What now?"

The rest of the team spread out through the mess, checking every entrance. "Nothing on this side."

"Nothing over here."

"Clear on this end."

"Dig in, we're hanging out here for a bit." Phillips said.

"Combat teams on Decks Five through Nine, fall back to secondary defensive positions." The loudspeaker blared.

"Bloody hell, that's us," Flaherty muttered.

"I wonder how Zulu Team's doing. My brother's the team corporal." Dawkins commented, looking around at the Covenant bodies. "Should we try to retake the airlocks, Corp?"

"Not yet. We'll wait for the rookie to get back on his feet."

Bartlett rolled his eyes. "Great. Can I take a nap now?"

"Careful, they could be anywhere!"

The team moved quietly through the corridors, alert for enemy movement. Phillips was in the lead and praying that there weren't any nasty surprises being set for them. The Covenant weren't known to play by the rules.

"Hey, Corporal. What do we do if there's no more lifeboats left?" Reeves whispered.

"Stay aboard and kill things, Reeves. It's our job."

"Look, is that a Grunt?"

Phillips inched sideways to get a better view. "I got him."

The single rifle shot sent three Grunts running pell-mell around the corner, straight into the marines' line of fire.

"Let 'em have it!" Dawkins cried, sprinting past Phillips to get a better shot. His mates weren't far behind, lending him cover fire.

"Dawk, take cover!"

"Frag out!" Dickey Flaherty shouted, pulling the pin on a grenade. He flicked the pineapple-shaped device at the enemy as his mates hit the deck. The grenade's explosion shredded the decking and walls, kicking shards of metal into the Covenant fighters. Grunts shrieked in pain as they fell.

"Yeah mate!"

"You want a little?"

"Hey, it's Fox Team!"

Alejandro Gutierrez high-fived Tommy Bartlett. "Hola,Tomás! Kickin' Covenant ass too?"

"Wouldn't be doin' nuffin' else, for sure."

"Good thing you got here, Sarge. We were a bit pinned down." Phillips reported.

"Heads up, boys. More comin'!" Corporal Fraser called.

The two fire teams fell into defensive patterns as a second wave of Covenant broke through the door on the far end of the airlock. It was a stalemate; neither side seemed able to overcome the other.

"Ops personnel on Decks Nine through Twelve, report to evac stations now." The loudspeaker said.

"Good thing we're not on Deck fuckin' Twelve!" Reeves exclaimed.

"Stow that language, Marine!" Sergeant Noyes barked and Reeves blushed.

Phillips slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. "Hope you brought enough bullets for everyone, Murdoch. We're gonna need 'em!" He glanced at Noyes. "Ready to rock, Sarge."

"Up and over, everyone! We gotta secure this airlock!"

The twelve marines formed up for the charge, yelling wildly. It was semi-successful – the surprised Covenant retreated under the withering combined fire, but fought back once they found some cover in the passage leading deeper into the ship. Crewmen were appearing from behind the marines, running for whatever lifeboats were still empty. Plasma bolts sizzled through the air, forcing the sailors to duck or take cover.

"Come get some!"

"Get your own, I saw him first!" David Wilkins shouted as a Grunt toppled to the deck, dead. Dickey Flaherty grinned widely at the Aussie marine.

"There's plenty to go around. Pick one and kill it or I'll do it for ya!"

"All hands. This is the Captain. Prepare to abandon ship. Combat teams, repel boarders until Ops personnel are away. Good luck. Keyes out."

"Fire Team Charlie on Deck Five. Under heavy fire here." Phillips barked into his radio. "Ops crew on this deck are away. Falling back to secondary positions."

Fraser keyed his own radio. "Fire Team Fox on Deck Five. Covering Charlie Team."

The marines broke from the firefight to run for the relative safety of the passage behind them. To their surprise and relief, the Covenant did not follow. Their flight was a short one – the lifts connecting each deck were their secondary positions. Various non-vital members of the crew were dashing around, completely confused and terrified.

"Hey, people! Stop!" Noyes bellowed. The wild-eyed crewmen stared at him as if he was somehow going to magically whisk them off the ship. "Listen up! You know evac procedures. Y'all are sailors, act like it! I want single-file lines for each lift, now!"

As the frightened crewmen obeyed, Noyes rested his rifle on his shoulder and looked at the computer display embedded in the wall near the lift bank. He tapped a quick command code on the screen, and what he saw made him swear.

"What's up, Sarge?"

"The Covenant have taken Deck Four and working their way up and down. We're screwed if we don't find lifeboats." The sergeant answered. "Look, only a couple guys from Baker Team are still alive."

"Where are the nearest lifeboats?"

"Deck Four."

The radios in their helmets crackled. "All fire teams, this is Captain Murphy. Hold your positions until all other crew are away. Rendezvous planet-side with your platoons. Good luck and Godspeed, Marines."

"So which is it, Ops personnel or all crew?" Jacob Morse demanded.

"All crew." Fraser replied shortly. "Every leatherneck knows that the Captain of Marines doesn't take orders from some Navy ship captain."

The marines chuckled. Noyes looked at the display again. "All right, huddle up. Here's our game plan. Fraser, your team will – "

"Combat teams Alpha through November, pull out to nearest evac station."

Noyes looked annoyed. "Your team will take Lifts One and Two. We'll take Four and Five. Once we're out, shoot anything that moves. The airlock with the lifeboats is here, about a hundred meters from the lift bank. No matter what, we are getting to those lifeboats. Got it?"

"Got it." The marines chorused.

"Good. Fraser, you'll cover our flank. Charlie Team will take the point. If we come across any crew, we're getting them out too. Let's go."

Sasan the Grunt was bored. After storming aboard the infidel ship and killing the weak screamers, there was nothing to do. The big Elite in charge of their section was off somewhere, yelling at some poor Grunt for not doing his job. Hard to do a job when there was no job to do. One of the other Grunts assigned to protect the meaningless corridor yawned and tucked himself into a sleeping position. Sasan was tempted to follow suit but the thought of the bad-tempered Elite discovering them asleep on the job kept him awake.

"Bored!" Another Grunt complained.

Sasan hissed at him and he shut up. The sleeping Grunt blinked slowly.

"Stop hissing."

"Not me." Sasan said, listening. The wall was hissing. No, it stopped. Now it was opening up and armour-clad demons were pouring out into the corridor. Out of the very wall!

"Hit 'em, Charlie Team!" A demon yelled.

Sasan threw his hands into the air and ran. "Short ones first!"

Dickey Flaherty shot the Grunt trying to run away and used his rifle as a club to kill another that was running in circles, waving its arms in the air. The rest of Charlie Team quickly dispatched the rest of the enemy and moved out with Fox Team close behind.

"Look, marines!" Two crewmen appeared from behind a damaged bulkhead, pistols in hand. "Are we damn glad to see you!"

"Come on, we're getting outta here." Fraser said.

"There's some marines back this way. I think they're from Echo Team." One of the sailors said.

"Combat teams Sierra through Victor, prepare for evac." The loudspeaker blared.

"Let's get 'em, I'm not leavin' any marines behind." Noyes ordered. "Fox Team, hang back and keep this section secure."

"Yes sir."

Charlie Team advanced along the corridor, following the two crewmen. The four marines were concealed just inside a maintenance accessway. They snapped their weapons up when the thin doors slid open, but relaxed at the sight of their comrades. One of them set his rifle back down and covered a wound on his shoulder with his hand. His left arm was resting limply against the deck. The shoulder armour plating had melted away and the deep plasma burn was visible under the tattered shirt. Blood trickled steadily down the man's arm, staining the grey sleeve dark crimson. His team-mate had two less serious plasma burns, one on his leg and the other on his side. The chest armour was scorched and melted at the burn site but still largely intact. The other two marines had been tending them as best they could with the single medical bag lying on the deck.

"What team are you from?"

"Echo, sir. I'm Hoyt and that's Patterson. Don't know what happened to the rest of our team. We were trying to find 'em when we got ambushed."

"We're from Baker. We heard the shooting and came to help." Corporal Devereux reported. "I've only got Blackwood here left."

"Can either of you walk?" Noyes asked the two wounded marines.

Hoyt nodded. "I can, Sarge."

"I can try to, but I don't know if I can keep up." Patterson said.

"Bartlett, Flaherty, help him up. If he can't walk, we'll carry him."

The two marines slung their rifles and bent to help Patterson to his feet. He hissed sharply in pain when he tried to put weight on his injured leg. Geoff Murdoch stepped forward and knelt down, allowing the wounded man to clamber gratefully onto his wide back. The brawny Scotsman straightened without apparent strain and strode carefully back to the corridor. Hoyt followed, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. He clutched his rifle in his right hand, his white-knuckled grip shaking.

"Let's get 'em, Sarge."

Noyes was silent for a long moment as he studied the wounded marine's pain-pinched face and trembling body. "Corporal, give this man some painkillers. He's gonna pass out on us without 'em."

"Yes sir." Phillips replied, digging out his small medical pack. He inserted the needle into Hoyt's forearm and a moment later, the pale marine's features eased as the painkiller took effect.

"Thank you," Hoyt murmured, easing the fingers of his right hand open slightly.

An explosion rocked the ship. The marines were thrown off-balance and Murdoch almost went down. Noyes grabbed the pistol from one of the watching crewmen and swapped it for Hoyt's rifle.

"Just point and shoot, sailor. All right Marines, let's get the hell out of here."

"There's the airlock. Two Elites and a bunch of Grunts. Piece of cake." Dawkins reported, peeking around the corner.

Phillips waved his marines forward. "Grenades first, soften 'em up a bit."

"Catch this!" Reeves darted into the corridor and heaved a grenade. Three others sailed through the air toward the Covenant position. Screams and roars told the marines of their success and they charged. The few Grunts who weren't killed outright by the grenades were in no shape to fight and they were ignored. Sam Dawkins killed the one remaining Elite before it could summon help.

Geoff Murdoch and his wounded passenger were the first into the nearest lifeboat, closely followed by Hoyt. Fox Team fanned out to cover Charlie's marines as they crammed into the tiny lifeboat. Sergeant Noyes looked around uneasily at the mortally wounded Grunts bleeding on the deck.

"Hurry up, men, they'll be back soon."

"See you dirt-side, lads."

"Rough and ready, right?" Tommy Bartlett asked, exchanging a quick, complicated handshake with his buddy Gutierrez.

"Sí. Go, go, go!"

"Move it, Charlie Team, we ain't got all day!" Noyes snapped, waiting for Bartlett to get into the lifeboat. It was time to go.

"Hold on, it's gonna be rough!" The lifeboat pilot called back.

Geoff Murdoch tightened the straps of his quick-release harness and glanced at the badly wounded marine from Echo Team, strapped in across from him. "All right, there, laddie?"

"More or less," Hoyt replied through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you?"

"I got one." Dickey Flaherty said, shifting in his seat to reach his thigh pocket. "Hope you like regular, s'all I got."

Hoyt took the cigarette with his good hand. "Thanks, bro."

"Just as long as you light up with me when we're dirtside."

The wounded marine managed a tight chuckle but didn't respond. Murdoch watched the man for a moment longer, then looked down the narrow aisle toward the lifeboat's hatch. Only a few minutes before, the lifeboat carrying Fox Team had been in view. Now he saw nothing but empty sky. "Where'd Fox's boat go?"

Sergeant Noyes craned his neck to peer out the window. "Dammit! They must have dropped farther back.

"We're not gonna die, right?" One of the crewmen asked, his voice high-pitched with fear. Noyes scoffed.

"Stow that! You're with marines."

Murdoch wished he shared the sergeant's confidence. Beside him, Tommy Bartlett tried to whistle, but the sound came out broken between his dry lips. After a second, the Londoner gave up.

"Ain't no use tryin' to be cheerful wivvout that idiot Welshman about."

"You mean Dwyer? He's probably got the Covenant singing 'Peace on – '"

The lifeboat shuddered as the airbrakes engaged. "Hang tight back there, I'm bringing us down."

Hoyt's right hand was curled tightly around his safety harness, his knuckles white. The painkillers must be wearing off. Murdoch felt for the other man but admired his refusal to let the pain get the best of him.

Another, heavier shudder shook the tiny craft. "Brace!" The pilot shouted, and Murdoch saw the ground rushing up to meet them through the hatch window. He closed his eyes when the lifeboat hit dirt. Hoyt screamed. Then there was eerie silence.