Title: Diary Entries of Colonel Randall Aiken
MISSION: ONI and Sedra military joint operation. Deliver and detonate HAVOC to HALO Ring fragment.

First Entry:

Hell is an accurate description of this place. The red giant is slowly burning this HALO ring fragment to ash. I observe these ONI boys suffering in the heat. They bicker among themselves and whine about saving their own lives. In just a couple of hours, the unity of this highly trained team is disintegrating. What do they know of sacrifice, of a lifetime of killing and defending humanity? As I gaze into their panicked faces, I can smell the fear on them.

Their leader is an honorable man. At least he does a good job of making his team believe he is an honorable man. What do I believe? Well, he's brave I'll give him that. It is obvious to me, and I think, Private Macer as well, they are in over their heads. I wonder how they will react when death taps them on the shoulder. Death comes in many forms. I know this because I have witnessed most of them. As I told Locke, Valhalla does not accept ONI. It's not that I believe in Valhalla. However, it can be a comfort at times, especially to a dying soldier. I can admit, if only to myself, that if could see my Natalie again, I would do anything… believe anything… even die.

I must close for now; they are ready to move off. I find myself yearning for my old team of Spartans. I stand and take a deep breath of this filthy air. There was a day when I could crush those Hunter worms in my armored fist. A day when this assault rifle was an extension of not just my hand, but my mind and body. But I am no longer Randall-037, I am just a man who grieves for his dead child, his neighbors, and the small beautiful world we created on Sedra. The assault rifle seems too heavy in my arms today.

Second Entry:

We lost several of my team. Those Hunter worms are determined and deadly. If it hadn't been for the smuggler's warning, we'd all be dead. It makes me wonder about the Mjolnir armor. Certainly, the armor would attract the worms, but how long could we have withstood an attack? We. There I go again, comparing this expedition to my old Spartan unit. It's a bloody laugh. These ONIs are simpering, over-educated pretty boys compared to the Spartans. I don't think they like getting so dirty. Try spending a few months in Spartan armor, or waking up from Cryosleep in a pool of your own sweat.

If my equipment had been powered up, I'd have caught a pic of their faces when I explained lifeboat rules. Who hadn't flinched? My little Private Macer, that's who. She's a right good soldier, that one. Put her life in danger just to save Agent Locke's life. I'll get a commendation for her when we get back. Right after we discuss her decision to disobey my specific orders to hold her position. She's got the heart of a Spartan, my Private Macer.

We're moving out...

Third Entry:

Sunrise isn't far away, I can feel the heat building in the air. What little atmosphere there is boils away in the rising heat. It's fine. I'm ready. The behavior of these men is beyond my understanding. What was that Locke had said, 'that he would not go gentle into the good night' didn't take him for the Dylan Thomas type. You just never know.

Not a religious man, never have been, but I want to see my Natalie's smiling face again. At any rate, I cannot go back to that empty apartment. The sound of her running feet when she greets me at the door. The smell of her hair after a bath. The way she hugs my neck when she's worried about something or had a bad dream. The wise look in her eyes when she's trying to talk me into something I've already said no about. She puts her small hands on each side of my face... Now, Daddy, she says...

Stop! I have to stop thinking about her. It's all gone... she's gone. There's nothing left for me... Yet, I must stay focused on the mission. I am... I was… I am a Spartan.

The mission comes first. Always has. Therefore, I march on and watch, as these ONI boys kill each other off. An hour ago, the medic pushed the young petty officer off the edge of the cliff face, and then pretended the boy slipped. A Medic capable of murdering one of his own teammates? Another threw one of the civilians to his death. I cannot make sense of it. It's murder plain and simple.

We're stopping to take in oxygen before we make our final push to the bottom. A boulder supports my large frame better than I can myself. Macer tosses me the canister and I nod my thanks. She's a good girl and a good soldier. She has her whole life in front of her. She nods to me, and at that moment, I decide to live. If for nothing more than to get her out of here.

I know the oxygen will ease my aching muscles and fuzzy thoughts….

The murderer… I don't know his name… grabs my assault rifle. How can he be faster than I? But it's happened and now I'm unarmed.

Am I so old?

Fourth Entry:

We're down to it, so I expect this'll be my last entry. The other two have run off and taken the last smuggler with them. It won't be long before they take each other down. That's a given. Either way, it's thirty minutes to sunrise.

I can see the challenge in Locke's eyes. He'll want to be the one to stay behind. I can understand how he feels after watching his team, one by one, swallowed up by this hell.

Our luck holds because Macer, Locke, and I find the Condor first. The HAVOC is intact. And now it comes. Locke demands we draw straws before we get to the tug. My brave Macer steps up to take her turn. No, I'll not let her sacrifice herself this way. She's got her life to live. But she insists and I give in. She's a brave girl and a good soldier.

I'll use the beads from my daughter's necklace. Two white, one red and the rest I scatter to the deck. I watch them roll and bounce and think was it just this morning the two of us watched the sunrise together? I made her waffles for breakfast, with the last of the strawberries we'd bought at the Farmer's Market.

As I intended, Macer and Locke draw white beads. They don't ask to see the red bead in my hand. Perhaps they understand why there isn't one. Then Macer fires up the ship and now there's nothing left but for me to walk away.

The HAVOC is light in my arms as I begin to climb out of the canyon. I hoist it on my shoulder and climb toward the light. The updraft of the Pelican buffets my legs as it rises in the hot air and flies away. I'm easy knowing they'll make it to the tug and off this rock.

With each step, my contentment grows and a strange peace in my heart. For I am Randall-037 again, accomplishing what I was created for and the poison that lives in these black rocks will never again threaten humanity.

The summit is just a few yards away now. The red giant begins to cast her deadly rays across the landscape.

The HAVOC is counting down to detonation. Sixty seconds of my life left to live. I remember the horses we left behind. At least they won't starve now. I had a horse when I was a boy. A fine horse he was, black as the night and fast as the wind. No one could catch us as we raced up and down the coast. That same ocean wind blows in my face again, as I blink in the bright morning sun. A beautiful morning for a ride.

Thirty seconds.

I bet my Natalie would like a horse.

Ten seconds.

There in the distance, on a green patch of turf, my little girl waves to me. I take a deep breath of the cold sea air and the sharp tang of the green turf. She's riding a horse and leading another.

Three seconds.

Aye, it's a good morning for a ride. It'll be good to hear my Natalie laugh again…

One second.

I try to pull her out of the saddle and hold her close. But she's impatient to be off, so I settle for patting her leg. I mount my own horse. Before I can gather the reins properly, she's off, shouting and laughing.

"Catch me, Daddy!"

I turn my horse to chase her along the water's edge and through the golden morning.

-o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o-

Do not go gentle into that good night -Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."