A city, ruined by war. A city who's buildings once stood tall and proud, now collapsed and broken. Bodies littered the streets. While mostly human, it was not uncommon to find the ravaged corpses of their alien foes. The sky was gray as rain began to trickle onto the urban landscape, coating the streets with a thin layer of liquid. This once proud city was once a bustling shipyard filled with pure commerce. The imports were lavish, but the exports that left the city were even more valuable.
No more can that be. The city had been brought to it's knees by the Covenant war machine and their conquest to secure the great journey, while destroying humanity in the process. The streets that once bustled with cars and people now lay barren. The only marks left behind were the corpses of citizens and soldiers along with the crashed vehicles left behind by their owners. At one time this city was a trade empire, but it only takes one day for an empire to fall. This city was no exception.
It all happened at once. A Covenant Assault Carrier, two Battlecruisers, and five Destroyers broke through the UNSC's defensive fleet in orbit. The invasion was followed immediately after. Sangheili Generals led their ground forces into the northern hemisphere of the planet, laying waste to the unfortunate towns and cities caught in their tidal wave of war. This city was one of the first to fall. It's walls didn't last against the onslaught of aliens coming it's way. The Covenant had turned their cleansing beams on the the northern portion of the planet as their forces regrouped and redeployed to the south.
Many of the UNSC's brave men and women fought valiantly, but all efforts were obviously fruitless. Many souls now reside in the streets; in the buildings. At the base of one such building, a ceremony is taking place. The building was almost a pile of rubble. The presence of barely standing walls were the only sign that told it was once a place of residence within the once profitable city.
Eight Marines, one being an ODST, stood before this building. Six Marines stood in a line, facing a turned over car but leaving a ten-foot gap in between. The seventh Marine walked down this makeshift aisle carrying an Assault Rifle. The weapon had etches on it; the names of fallen Marines from their platoon. They were the only survivors from the whole company, the others having perished in the battle. The rifle represented those men and women, those who traveled into the howling dark and shall never return. Included was a small sketch in tribute to the other lost Marines or Army Troopers from other platoons or companys. Not a single man or woman would go unrecognized on this day.
The Marine stopped at the base of the building. His dirty face looked to the clouded heavens. The light rain tapped his flesh and scarred BDU. The Marine looked to the ground before him and plunged the barrel of the rifle into the ground, leaving it in an upright position. The Marine stared at it, all of them following his gaze. The names sketched on the rifle seemingly returned their gaze. The Marine stepped back and joined his brethren as the single ODST, all alone, came out from behind the broken car.
He carried a helmet. An ODST helmet. It, to, carried the names of the fallen etched in it's plating. The names belonged to the ODST's of his squad, all lost. The Marines watched him with pity as he approached the rifle jutting from the ground. He had a more personal relationship with his squad compared to the Marines and their platoon. They had partied together. He had met their wives as they had his. Hell, at least two had children! Now those children were fatherless; not like they were the only ones left that way due to the war.
The ODST stopped in front of the rifle, observing it through his visor. He took one last look at the helmet as his hands caressed it, running his fingers over the knife marks the names were made from. The helmet was lifted to his head, which he pressed against the helmet. The Marines couldn't tell due to his helmet, but tears streamed down his cheeks, but he wouldn't allow a single whimper to escape his mouth. Finally, he knelt down and gently placed the helmet over the butt of the rifle. The cracked and mucky visor stared outward into the streets.
The ODST backed up and joined the line of Marines as they formed a 'school circle' around the small but meaningful monument. All eight of them produced dog tags from their pockets and other compartments. Each man took a turn walking to the rifle and helmet, placing one of the two tags into a small box they had recovered from a house earlier that day. Once this was complete, the box was buried in the dirt and ash that lined the road. They had all settled on leaving it at least three feet deep. A couple scoops from one Marine's shovel did the job easily.
They all stood in before the mini monument once more, staring at it. Not a word was said or muttered, just complete and serene silence. One of the Marines had taken the initiative and saluted the memorial. The rest of the group followed in his footsteps, raising their right hands to their temples. There they stood for a full minute, saluting the fallen. Afterwards, their hands shot back down to their sides, but each one held their stare.
A sudden thud startled them, each one turning around only to find a shocking development. A fully armored super-soldier stood behind them: A Spartan-II. His Mark IV. armor was scarred and dirtied, almost to the point that the sage coloration was almost not visible. He carried a large combat knife in his hand, one side being serrated. He stepped forward and the group of Marines parted to grant him entry. His heavy steps ceased in front of the monument. He stared down at it in utter silence.
The Spartan lifted the knife up to observe it. A single name was etched in the hilt. The Marines were not the only ones to lose dear brothers and sisters in arms. The massive soldier suddenly drove the knife's blade into the ground next to the memorial. The movement had made three of the Marines recoil, but not much, they knew they were safe in his presence. It was, actually, quite an odd feeling. It felt as though a super hero from childhood comics and movies now stood before them.
The Spartan was standing at full height, staring down at the small contribution he had made. The eight in turn stared him, amazed by him. It was the first time anyone has ever really seen a Spartan-II show such emotion. No one dared move, except the ODST, who slowly approached the Spartan from behind. The Marines watched him curiously as he stepped behind the taller soldier. They were in somewhat of a shock at his boldness. The ODST raised his right hand and placed his it on the Spartan's left armored shoulder.
The Marines watched in awe as the Spartan slowly turned his head, looking at the hand contained by a fingerless-combat glove. The ODST gave him a small shake of assurance, still barely moving the stoic Spartan.
"I guess we aren't the only ones to loose people who are close to us."
He felt the slick armor, covered in mud and rain, but there was something he felt more than that. Something not physical. He felt the Spartan's intense gaze rest on him through their visors. The super-soldier returned his attention to the memorial. He spoke with a deep, hoarse voice.
"We are trained and prepared for sacrifice. Every one of us knew that we could die, but the campaigning and propaganda that stating we only go MIA has me quizzical. For some reason, I cannot fathom why this happened to him, though I know damn well that it was entirely possible."
The Spartan paused and the ODST could swear he heard him whisper "Rest in peace, Samuel." The ODST understood the general idea of loosing someone, more than most, but not to this degree. This Spartan trained with his lost brother since childhood, six years of age. He understood death could and would come to them, but with their capabilities as soldiers led the ODST to believe that the Spartan simply didn't understand what they did wrong to cause this tragedy. Now, the Spartan before him simply didn't know how to express himself. He was never 'taught' how.
The ODST removed his hand from the Spartan's shoulder and took two steps backward. The Spartan spoke up again. "I guess my ultimate question is...why did he have go?" The ODST stared in the Spartan's direction, observing his lack of movement. "Same reason why we are here, to save those he loves."
A sudden quake shook the ground beneath them. The Spartan turned around as a Covenant Battlecruiser soared over them. He watched it calmly. "Shit! Sir, what do we do!" A Marine yelled.
Several Covenant Banshees left the hangers and began to patrol the area for survivors. The Spartan turned to the Marines and ODST. He looked to them, then the memorial, then back to them. "No one else dies today. Come with me, I know how to get out of the city without those bastards catching us." He marched past the group of eight and they began to follow him. The Spartan led the way through the overturned cars and battered corpses. He had somehow felt attached to these Marines, specifically the ODST. Now, he felt it was his responsibility to get them out of the city. He would hope for them to return to their families, but nothing was guaranteed.
'One step at a time.' He told himself. He had lost his brother-in-arms, but these eight would not loss their lives. Even at the cost of his own.
War takes. But it leaves us with heroes and legends. It bands a people together to fight a common adversary. A hero is someone who is ready to lay down their life for the people around him, in war or everyday life. Countless Soldiers, Marines, Seamen, and Airmen spend their life (if not then at least a portion) defending our freedom (USA wise, but the same general idea applies to everyone around the globe). However, not everyone returns home. This is an ode to those who have lost their lives or have suffered life changing experiences. Not many people realize or appreciate what is done in the military, thus a lot of is taken for granted. I give my thanks to the men and women serving in US military (my respects go out to all service members of all nations, be they enemy or allied, it is in general the same cause.)
[I hope you guys enjoyed this short story/one-shot! I was inspired to write it after I went to my ROTC's Marine Corps ball and they spoke of those who don't come home. I'm very sentimental, so this simply had to be done. Anyways, please favorite and review and don't be afraid to check out any of my other works! Catch you all somewhere down the road.]