Just to get everything out of the way, all character ownership can be found at the profile "Reconstruction Franchise". Dedicated to my friends, but specifically Misterr B, Niata, and PrettyChief, who's characters make up the protagonists.

Chapter 1

"Gunnery Sergeant Jordan Curelski. You are one lucky son of a bitch. Fifty nine minutes into your golden hour before you got here."

Jordan sighed and shrugged. Of course, they should say luck. Not strength, not spirit, just luck that kept his heart beating after a Hunter ripped Big Daddy's shell open, and stabbed Jordan in the chest with what was left of its shield. Just dumb luck, nothing more that kept him alive. That pissed him off.

"Got a flock of Pelicans and managed to push the Covies back. Someone heard a man and found you. Carried you to safety. Braland or something. You should say 'thank you'."

"I'll get right on that," he said passively. "How goes the battle?"

"How do you think? Covies marched right into Barr. Razed the whole fucking city. We're in York now. Last refuge. Once they take this, it's over. All we can do is evac as much as we can and hope some ships get through. Not looking good though."

Jordan reached onto the side table and took the bottle of water. He drank it down in a few gulps.

"You can walk?"

Jordan looked at his chest. He was heavily bandaged, but bones had been set and filler used to close the wound.

"Put your boots on the line kid."

"Fine, where's the hanger? I can get Big Daddy moving within the hour."

"Big…Daddy?"

Jordan swung his legs to the side and off the bed. "My Cyclops. Where is he?"

"We don't have any of those outdated, high tech coffins. Armory is three buildings down. Get a rifle."

Jordan stared. "Where is Big Daddy?"

"We don't have a fucking Big Daddy or Tin Daddy or a Little Debby. Get to the fucking armory, put your boots on the line, and get ready to fight. Covies will probably wait till tomorrow. Regroup and smash us full force. I want you armed and armored by seventeen hundred." The doctor turned to tend to other wounded. Jordan groaned, putting his feet on the ground and wobbly standing up.

***

Exilius sighed, kneeling to one knee and setting his hammer down before him in a common show of respect. "Noble prophetess, I am proud to report the battle continues to move in our favor."

The Prophetess of Wrath sighed to herself. She did not enjoy seeing Exilius like this, groveling, but she was not the one forcing his actions. No, blame for this spectacle lay on the broad shoulders of Sangheili Field Master Crolunee, who stood to her left. He was the highest coordinator of the human's eradication on this planet, having taken the campaign over from Exilius some time ago. He had wanted Exilius removed completely from this planet's operations, but Wrath had convinced Crolunee to leave the chieftain as field commander. That way, they could hit the humans from multiple fronts. Exilius' position as Wrath's bodyguard was not a secret, but their friendship was. So, certain images had to be maintained. Exilius and Wrath could not talk as they would have liked. They maintained and image of servant and master for Crolunee's eyes.

Clearing his throat, Exilius continued. "We pushed the heretics far and have them corned in their last refuge. We will clear the way for the planet's bombardment tomorrow."

"Why did you not finish the humans off today? Give them the opportunity to regroup."

"My men were tired, hungry, and cold," Exilius said casually. "I deemed it a better choice to stave the human execution for the time being, regroup, and crush them easily at first light. It was my choice sir, and I will take the responsibility for any ill that rises from it."

The field master nodded. "Then see to it that your men are taken care of. Tomorrow we will end this battle."

Serving under the field master did have its benefits. For a moment, Exilius' eyes passed to the other side of the room. Clad in her black armor, stood Priya Kanlaee. Admittedly, he did have a problem distinguishing Priya from the other stealth Sangheili (the field master's personal guard), but he took note of the (lack of) height, as well as the unique metal blade carried on the back instead of the energy sword hilt on her thigh. He probably only imagined she gave him a tilt of her head, but he took comfort in the thought. With Wrath and Priya, this mission was certainly tolerable.

There were other positive aspects to this operation. Exilius rather enjoyed leading lances and battalions in grand wars, instead of smaller operations or serving as bodyguard. And one could not overlook the value of trophies.

As the humans tucked tail and fled like scalded Unggoy, one of his Kig-Yar lieutenants came threading and scurrying over the battlefield and to Exilius. It seemed that one of the Mgalekgolo was berserking, and had killed several Unggoy and Kig-Yar unfortunate enough to have fallen under his trampling feet. Exilius did not enjoy killing that Mgalekgolo, but after losing its bond brother, it wouldn't stop lashing out. Besides, from what little Exilius knew of Mgalekgolo, it was a mercy killing to aid the two in joining in the afterlife. He had an Unggoy deacon say a prayer.

Then he wandered across along the battlefield to survey his successful campaign. He came upon his new trophy only because he had been called to that area of the battlefield. Just by chance, his eyes stumbled upon a rather large shape against the otherwise barren and rocky landscape. There was a lump of armor, surrounded by strewn corpses, and a noticeable whiff of methane from several leaking Unggoy tanks. These…Exilius was not sure what to call them. Sort of like Mgalekgolo, only humans replaced the worms inside. Regardless of his lack of name for this thing, Exilius did remember it. This one in particular. Earlier in the war, they were very common, but by recent times they seemed to have mostly died away. Still, the drill on the hand marked this particular suit of armor as unique, and to Exilius familiar. He smiled, and ordered a dozen Unggoy to bring the armor's remains to his quarters, where it now resided, where he could enjoy it in peace.

***

Gunnery Sergeant Nick-047 was easily recognized for a variety of reason. Being a Spartan-II, his armor and impressive height lead to a long shadow and lasting impression. Further, he could be distinguished from other Spartans by his armor's appearance. The color, instead of the standard olive green; wore a dull and faded red. The trim was white, with occasional blue. The helmet was the designated CQB variant, having a rough "T" shaped visor with ample cheek guards, and reinforcements on the top.

Most of the soldiers backed to the walls of the hallways when he approached. Fear was a common expression for Nick to see, the other was disdain. Nick-047 saw a bit of both those emotions as he stood in front of the commander of this base.

"Gunnery sergeant," Commander Rejwan said. "I trust you are prepared for your next assignment?"

"Yes sir," Nick said simply.

"This planet is lost, gunny. This is the last base. Once this place is leveled, the Covies will have the freedom to do whatever it is they want to do. The most we can hope is salvage. Salvage anything. Fortunately, whatever god is still listening decided to give us this bit of intel. Seems there is some sort of Covie big shot overseeing this campaign. Your job is to capture it, and bring it back."

The commander slid a video file over the desk.

Nick-047 took it. "I understand sir."

"Whatever we have left is attacking the Covenant base an hour before dawn. Should give you the needed cover. You'll be going in with a squad of four –IIIs. Standard smash and grab. Well, as standard as it can be with aliens."

"Sir, any platoons that go against a Covenant base are going to be slaughtered."

"I do not recall asking for your input gunny. This is how the operation will go. We will bomb the base with what we have, and destroy their shields. Once they are down, you go in, get the prisoner, and it's all done."

"Every soldier that goes against the Covenant is going to die."

"I'm aware of that gunny, and if they stay here and wait, they are going to die. Perhaps you have some confusions about how the war is going, gunny. We're not fighting for land, we're fighting for time. And this is a big chance for us. This is a miracle, that we know about the big shot at all. Your squad is waiting in the barracks."

After saluting, Nick-047 left, entering the hallway. As usual, the humans scrunched to the side as he passed.

***

"Lieutenant Broeland, something wrong?"

Azula shook her head. "No doctor, I'm fine, thank you. That pilot though, the mech pilot, that I brought in. How is he doing? I think he must have been hit pretty hard. Whole time he was out, he wouldn't stop talking about how much he loved his Cyclops."

"Lieutenant…you haven't heard? He's gone."

Azula sighed. "Just another for the funeral pyre then, huh? Waste of time, evacing him."

"No…lieutenant. He's gone. I mean, he escaped."

"Escaped? To where?"

"We don't know. That's why he's gone. He was delusional, shouting about his father. We gave him a sedative. Apparently not a strong enough one however. He pulled out his IVs and, as near as we can figure…jumped out the window."

"But we're two stories up…" Azula held her head. "The soldiers are having last drinks instead of getting ready, there are monkeys with magic hammer leading the assualts, and now a sergeant with a machine fetish is AWOL. What is it about this planet, the water?"