A/N: The Battle of Yarmouk was fought between the Byzantine Empire, and the Arabian Islamic Rashidun Caliphate from August 15th, to the 20th, 636, near the Syrian Yarmouk river. The Arabs won, forcing the Bynantines out of the region and securing it for themselves. The Arab commander, Khalid Ibn Al-Walid, proved himself to be an exceptional tactician, and would go on to be one of the finest military leaders history has ever known.

August 14th, 2556.

UNSC Admiral Cole Orbital Naval Marshalling Yard, Earth orbit

" Attention ! Captain on deck ! "

The shouted alert cracked like a whip through the modestly sized, and previously quiet, bridge of the Halbred class destroyer UNSC ' Yarmouk '. Occupied by a dozen enlisted men and women, and a handfull of officers, and linded and packed with blinking, glimmering banks of equipment, a destroyer's bridge was still one of the more open areas aboard.

And one where the vessel's skipper was most likely to be.

Sailors wh o'd been previoulsy seated or standing dilligently at their posts, working at their tap-interface consoles and monitoring readouts, or even taking a brief moment to read corespondence from home, all at once leapt up from their deck chairs ( or at least within seconds of each other ) , and crashed to a good form of attention. Hands snapped up to the sides of heads in rigid salutes. Backs were straightened.

Such behavior wouldn't have happened if the Yarmouk had been in a combat zone, or in transit to one, but she was neither right now. The destroyer, her Titanium-AEW ( Augmented Engery Weapons ) plating still gleaming and spotless, untouched by Covenant plasma or Innsurectionist explosives, was fresh out of the SinoVet shipyards, and even fresher out of her shakedown and proving cruises. Her formal comissioning and commencement of serving in the UNSC Navy was still at the front of everyone's recent memory, and some of the them, only half jokingly, said the vessel " had that new- ship odor ".

That seemed to be about to change. Still within the confines of the naval defense perimeter, Yarmouk's crew had mustered aboard from their shore quarters, on rather short notice to boot. There were no specifics among the orders they'd been given, but as they crowded aboard, what was running through the mind's of just about everyone was:

They're sending us into action. They are ! Finally.

This is what we signed up for. We want to test that we've earned our place in the fleet.

Nobody was fearful, but they were all defintely tense and apprehensive, to varying degrees. These sailors were all well aware of the capacity of their enemies.

The Innsurectionists, for example, were known to exsercise near-fanatical levels of zeal in a fight, not unlikely to ram their vessels into a UNSC one, rather than be destoyed outright, or be captured. They would use the kind of tactics that the UNSC had used against the Covenant; detonating their own reactors to take an enemy vessel out with them, or even launching boarding parties against ( again ) smaller UNSC warships, seeking to place small charges on their reactors, or take control of their bridges. They were diehard extremists, or at least the ones who were persistently fighting the UNSC.

The, though, there was their other major enemy. The one that was much more dangerous.

The Covenant.

The alien juggernaut had done thier utmost to eraditcate the entire human race, by burning the surface of dozens of colonies using white hot plasma, slagging cities by the hundreds, killing millions and millions of hapless colonists. More of that plasma had been just as lethal when directed against targets in space, and when the Navy valiantly fought back against those Covenant death fleets procecuting their ' war ' ( though, really, it was a genocide as far as Humanity saw it, hardly a war as they considered ), hundreds of their vessels were melted through and destroyed.

Left as nothing but dust in space.

The bulk of those lost vessels had been the lighter ones.

Frigates. Corvettes.

Destroyers.

The workhorses of the Navy. Screening the bigger ships, scouting around where sensors and LADAR couldn't reach, and inadvertently ( mostly ) getting used as meatshields against the fearsome Covenant plasma torpedoes and cannon salvos, absorbing it to give the cruisers and battleships a better chance to land meaningfull shots. It didn't always buy victory, but it always bleed the enemy, which was often the best that could be done.

Many of those lost little ships were crewed by the same kind of sailors who were now aboard the Yarmouk.

Rookies.

They- the ship, and her crew, were all rookies. Disciplined and able, judging by their reaction to their captain's arrival, but rookies nonetheless. If they were to have any chance against their foes out on in the galaxy, they would need someone who wasn't. The crew of the Yarmouk wasn't eager to die, of course, but they were eager to be able to do what their precescesors had done: face down an enemy of the UNSC and Humanity. They wanted to do their bit, so to speak, as full fledged members of the Human armed forces.

To do that, though, they would need a commander who could lead them to not just survial, but victory. Which, as during the Covenant genocide, could be the same thing.

Said on deck captain, was exactly so.

" As you were ", he replied formally, with a slow, smooth nod, surveying the assembled crewmembers with a slight back and forth turn of his head.

Captain Yusuf Rustam had that way about him; 6ft of an Eypgtian, he believed to have decended directly from the Mamluk warriors of the 1200's. With dark hair cut down to a bristle length, a goatee, and a trimmed mustache that ran down to join it, he cut a dashing figure, espeically in his ash-shaded command unifrom, decorated with gold epulets on the shoulders, and the twin steel-shaded bars of his captain's rank affixed to his chest, shortly under his collar.

( On a private level, some of the female bridge crew harbored some attraction to him )

The crew had all seen him before; at the formal comissioning , when the Navy granted him command, he'd stood alongside the Admirals of the brass, with the Yarmouk's crew arrayed before them. Throughout most of it, though, he'd spoken little, aside from the Oath of command and leadership all UNSC shipmasters took prior to stepping onto their vessels for the first time as its active commander.

All the sailors of the Yarmouk, though, had still been impressed by who would be thier leader. He stood tall ( height wise, and otherwise ), had a composed, intelligent expression, and moved with vigor and purpose. He spoke with a strong voice, a Middle Eastern accent, and didn't talk without saying things, so to speak. As far they could tell, he wasn't just an officer.

He was a leader. Somehow, they had, for the large part, confidence that he would prove himself to be an able commander when battle came.

So, when he strode onto the bridge this day, when they were here because they'd been ordered to preapre to set sail, seemed to say that chance was imminent.

Jebura strode to the center of the bridge, deck shoes clacking , where his command chair was located. The bridge crew remained standing, aware their skipper was about to tell them something.

They were right. Jebura had a natural command presence, and it didn't fail them.

" Listen well, gentlemen. And ladies. What all of you suspect is true: We're headed into action, today. "

A ripple went through the room; the crew could psyically sense it.

They were right, all along. Jebura let that sink in for a moment, then continued, adressing all of them:

" We, and the rest of our fellow destroyers of Skirmish Flotilla 19, are to be sentries and pickets for a UNSC groud assault, well within the borders of the Outer Colonies. This is a region of our empire that was badly scarred by the Covenant, and was also a hotbed for the Innsurectionists. Before, during, and after the aliens sought to kill us all. Even now, remnants of both groups contine to operate there. "

Fanatical zealots. Basically, both the Innsurectionists and the Covenant could be classed as such. Some of the sailors nearly glanced at each other, to gauge each other's reaction, but didn't. The skipper was talking, so they'd wait.

Moreover, now it seemed clearer why he hadn't spoken much during the comissioning ceremony. He'd wanted to speak to them as thier leader, not as someone who was up in such a high profile scenario as the launch of a new warship. This wasn't so much a speech, really, but it was more of a briefing as well. He was hitting two quails with one stone.

" Destroyers have done this for centuries, even long before Humanity reached the stars. You will carry that on, and if what I've seen from you tells me anything, you will fulfill your obligations to the UNSC, and the Navy, to your utmost. I must do the same, let that be clear as day. "

He did have confidence in them, then. Afew mouths turned up in slight grins, but still, everyone waited for him to finish.

" Fair warning, however: This ship will be in harm's way, because it is a fighting ship. If that is not what you wanted, then you should've joined the Army. "

Chests puffed out at that, and more slight grins appeared. This is what they wanted. There was a special creed to the whole essence of being on a destroyer: You'd go to seek out the enemy, and take him on. Hard, rough, and close in. That's what a destroyer did.

That's what its crew did.

" Am I understood ? ", he queried, unclasping his hands, which had been behind his back, and resting them on the back of his command chair.

Every man and woman on the bridge at once responded, with the only thing they could say:

" Sir, yes sir ! "

It was loud, sharp, and in sync. Very good, and an encouraging sign for a new crew. Not a overly gung ho group, but with real enthusiasm for thier work, and a strong grasp on discipline.

They hailed from all backgrounds- ' rich kids ' from affluent Reach famlies, and more ' sweat of your brows ' clans from the agrarian worlds like Harvest. They were blondes, redheads, brunettes. Some of them were loud and boisterous by nature, others were solitary and reserved. They were a mosaic of personalities, and most had thier own person demons to deal with, and their own baggage.

But, all of them were united. They were UNSC Navy, as it should be: dedicated, well drilled, and fond of their careers. Last but not least, they had a commander they could respect, not just becasue they were obligated to.

All that remained, was for him to take them into action. If anyone did actually have doubts on that front, they didn't voice them.

Captain Rustam was quiet for second or two, absorbing their affirmation. The expression on his face, and the look in his eyes, was that of someone who reflected the mood of his audience, but also was different.

His own confidence was real. Not ravado, but confidence. If it was real, they'd notice, and that would do wonders.

" Very well. Then, let us be about it. All hands, to your posts ! Prepare for imminent slipspace travel, and may our Creator be with us all ".

" Hoo-yah! "

The age-old UNSC navy rallying cry was shouted from every one of their throats. Passionate, strong, and energized.

Like they were.

With quick, deliberate movements, the bridge crew sprang into action, retaking thier positions at thier posts, and delving into the routines of prepping the vessel to move out.

" Mr MacJacobs, bring us to Alert Status. Its time we mobilized "

His second in command was a like minded individual; bold, agressive in command, and confident and measued when it came to how he conducted himself. He did have a temper, but fortuentely, that seemed to be reserved for those who actually deserved it

And, he could use that to drive the crew on, backing up the skipper's commands, even though they didn't need them. It did not hurt, though.

" Aye aye, sir ! The lads and ladies have been waiting for that ! "

Rustam's Executive Officer, a redheaded, burly Scotsman with sideburns named Clifton MacJacobs, who'd been standing nearest him by his own officer's chair located adjesent to his own, issued the order to sound " Alert status ", shipwide. It was one step below ' General quarters ".

Bvvm. Bvvvm, Bvvvvmm !

Klaxons wailed throughout the Yarmouk, as Rustam took his seat at the command chair, gesturing for MacJacobs to do the same. The sublight engines rumbled, and vibrations coursed through the destroyer as she began to get underway.

The orbiatal beth was left behind them, as they eased out into more open space.

" Sir ! ", MacJacobs stated " The Gaugamela, the Varna, and the Thermopylae are formin' up now as we speak. Our wolfpack is ready to be let off the leash ! "

Rustam consulted his TacPad, and yes, its display showed the other destroyers were on the move, leaving thier orbital berths, and powering out, one by one. In minutes, they'd be ready to jump.

" Soon, Mr MacJacobs, soon. When we do, though, remember our heritage ".

Mounted over them, over the entrence to the bridge, was the ship's crest: An Arab- style turban and battle helmet, with a pair of curved bladed crossed in front of it, and a raised spear behind. Set against a green background, the circular crest was ringed by gold embroidery, which was actually Arabic caligraphy, spelling out:

' Munhak khaliquk alhayat waquat aleaql waljusda. Aistakhdamaha, bihikmat, wamaswuwlia '

' Your Creator has given you life, and strength of mind and body. Use them with wisdom, and responsibility '

And, beneath it, was the Latin phrase, the Yarmouk's motto:

' Actio Tantum audere '

' Only bold action '

Two different cultures, yet they were everything the Yarmouk was, everything she had her crew were.

She carried an old name. She was named for one of the great cultures of Earth, and one of its most dynamic battles. Her whole battle group was so named, becasue they were all warships, and thus, the should be named for what what from thier history.

Valorous warriors, and a legacy of rich heritage.

" I will at that. I am a Scot, and it was pleasing to find I'd be on a ship with a name like ours. We'll take her to do great things. "

The navigation officers called out that the Shaw-Fujikawa slipsapce drive was fully prepared.

" Captain ! FTl drive is spun up. We can jump anytime "

MacJacob's proclamtion, and the confidence of Rustam, and that of the whole crew, was about to be sent on a path that would test them all.

And they all hoped and prayed they would not fail each other.

' All wolfpack vessels. Jump now. Jump now "

" Cordinates, Ensgin. Take us there with all speed. "

" Received, sir ! Getting us on our way "

A swirling blue- black vortex opened off the bow, manifesting out of nowhere. The armor plating designed to protect the bridge slid down over the windows, as the low lights of slipspace transit glimmered throught he bridge, bathing it in soft blue light.

Everyone fell silent.

Seconds later, they were off, and away.