The Black
2552, Sol System, Earth
The door was still glowing red as the marine kicked it. With a crash, the 4-inch titanium plate fell to the floor amidst the slag from the plasma cutter he had used to breach it. He activated his flashlight, and panned it around the interior of the Longsword. This fighter was in bad shape- plasma scoring along the entire left wing, the thruster gimbal looking like Swiss cheese. It and every other exo-asset in the fleet. In fact, while such recovery ops were usually performed after a battle had concluded, in the hopes of recovering bodies, this op in particular was, while not explicitly stated as such, obviously meant as a last ditch salvage run for potentially workable fighters.
To say nothing of the man-sized hole he had just cut in the sealed door.
As he entered, he fully expected to see the same thing he always saw- dead bodies. It was gruesome work he did. He still had not fully gotten used to the sight of corpses. He had only gotten out of basic 3 months ago, and had been attached to this cruiser ever since. CA-70, UNSC Canberra, was the flagship of the 5th Fleet, attached permanently to Earth's defense, along with 7 others of it's kind and numerous frigates, destroyers, and carriers. Most of those had been turned to slag drifting aimlessly in space within the past few days and he was now standing on one of the last workable ships in the fleet, on the far side of the planet from the opposing covenant fleet, which was in the process of landing troops and destroying ground opposition, prepping the planet to be glassed like so many others. Fleet Admiral Harper continued coordinating ops with Lord Hood, who recently had to abandon Cairo Station in favor of a frigate, UNSC Forward Unto Dawn, as Cairo and other orbital super MACs were overrun. The situation was looking more and more desperate, and while the fighting spirit was still high, rumors were spreading that the high command was soon to initiate contingency procedures, evacuating what people they could and hightailing it, either into deep space or to one of the remaining colonies. Even so, to what end? If the covenant got Earth, humanity was as good as extinct. After Reach, every major remaining military asset had been redeployed here. And now the majority of that was gone too. If Earth fell, all they could do is run.
He took a few cautious steps into the cabin of the Longsword. Just as he'd expected- two human corpses, their oxygen masks still attached to their faces. Crystalized blood covered the consoles and displays. One man had a large piece of shrapnel embedded in his torso. He cringed slightly, but stomached it and grabbed the men's dog tags. He noted that the cabin atmosphere had been vented manually and made for a computer terminal to pull the ship's black box.
The tell-tale sound of an M6 sidearm cocking snapped the marine out of his stupor. He looked up. A man, dressed in a tattered flight suit, was slumped over the pilot's controls. He shakily held the pistol, pointing it at the marine. The man drew a ragged breath, and spoke softly. "I thought you may have been one of those split-jaws, come to finish the job. Good to see you, Marine."
The marine hurried over, taking notice of the rank insignia on the man's uniform- Chief Petty Officer. He was Navy, which meant that the Marine did not technically report to him. All the same, he gave the wounded man every formality. The marine replied as he assessed the man's injuries. "No, sir, You're on the CA-70. We recovered your fighter from the debris field."
"What's the date, Marine?"
"October 23."
The man chuckled a bit. "Three days. Three days I've been out there." He suddenly began coughing, blood splattering onto his flight suit.
The marine hastily retrieved a canister of Biofoam from the wall mounted med-cabinet but the man waved him away.
"It's too late for me now anyway. That foam shit will just make it hurt worse."
"Sir…"
"I don't want to hear it, Marine. Earth, what happened?"
"Heavy fighting still occurring in orbit and elsewhere, sir. We're suffering heavy losses and have resorted to guerilla hit-and-run tactics. And most of the orbital grid on the other side of the planet is wasted. Only a temporary lull in the fighting let us retrieve your fighter."
The man grimaced. "And to think it could have all been for nothing."
Choking up blood, the man motioned the young Marine to come closer.
The marine glanced back out into the expansive hangar bay. A large row of derelict fighters and escape pods had to be checked still.
It could wait. This man was dying.
"Yes sir?"
The man pushed himself back up into the Pilot's chair.
"I have something to tell you. Maybe it's not important in the scheme of things, seeing as how those bastards have now pushed us to the brink. But maybe you can take some meaning from it. And seeing how i'm not gonna leave this cockpit alive, there's nothing better to do than tell you my story..."