Loss.
They all knew what loss was, everyone of them. They knew the pain associate with that one, four letter word. They watched their planets burn, their friends die, slaughted by an unstoppable force. They had bullets but what good were bullets against plasma.
Loss.
They had lost their entire squad, company, battallion, and fleet. They were alone. Four ODST Troopers. Alone on Reach. Surronded by thousands of Covenant troops.
Loss.
They lost ammo, weapons, fingers, toes, and somewhere out there on the battlefield, they lost their hearts and souls. They lost their hearts when a group of civillians were stabbed to death by an enraged Elite field marshall. They lost their souls when they left wounded comrades behind. They lost their minds when the fleet pulled back.
Loss.
Charlie-Foxtrot 1 lost his helmet when he threw it and screamed at the sight of the UNSC Fleet retreating. Charlie-Foxtrot 2 lost his hand when a fuel rod cannon shot blew it off. Charlie Foxtrot 3 lost an eye and half of his face when a needle round exploded in his visor. Charlie Foxtrot 4 lost his arm to an Elite wielding an energy sword. Charlie-Foxtrot 5 lost his life so the squad could survive.
Loss.
Loss was a pang in the chest at the memory of what used to be. The way the world once was, the way it ought to be. Wishing, Waiting, Wanting. What good was hope? There was no relief, no back up, no evac flight. A great man once said, "He who lives on hope, will die fasting." They were alone, all they could rely on was each other.
Loss.
The unit lost cohesion when its leader lost the abilty to speak. They lost their heavy weapons specilist when he lost his arm. They lost their sniper when he lost his hand. What more could they give?
Loss.
Life, Love, and Happiness. The noblest of pursuits. All gone, lost in the fires of destroyed worlds. Now only ashes. Ashes. What remains when fire lost air. Skeltons. What remains when the body loses flesh.
Loss.
They lost most of their ammo. Only a few rounds each. They lost the rally point, high command, and the last evacuation flight. All gone. The aliens were closing in. Weapons were checked. Magizines loaded, rifles cocked. And they charged, into the howling gates of hell, never to return.
Loss.
They lost Charlie-Foxtrot 3 first, to a plasma bolt to the face. Foxtrot 2 was stuck with a plasma gernade and hurled himself into an Elite. Foxtrot 4 dissapeared in the explosion of a Wraith motar tank. And Foxtrot one hurled his last gernade, fired his last round, drew his knife and jumped toward an Elite, only to be skewed by an energy sword.
Loss.
They lost each other, they lost their planet, they lost their lives. But one thing they never lost, was their fortitude, their bravery, and their courage.