New Harmony, Base Camp Bravo
February 28, 2554
Alone. Walking the lonely road. Nothing to accompany him on the road back to base camp except his MA5C, his M6D, and his armor. His platoon of Marines had been deployed on New Harmony to protect the already dwindling population of civilians from a pack of Brutes.
"Hey man, listen up! You better watch out for your fellow greenies on this patrol 'cause I won't be there to rescue you newbies like last time," an old friend of the Private First Class had told him. "Now I ain't worried about you, 'cause I know you can hold your own, but you'll need to look after the other Privates. Brutes just love the taste of newbies."
It had been every rookie's dream patrol: a vehicle tour far beyond any reported area of Brute activity. The PFC never even bothered to learn the names of the other two Marines in the Warthog. He climbed on the turret while they took the driver and passenger positions and away they went.
The Warthog reached the farthest point in the patrol at about midnight (local time). The PFC had been falling asleep on the turret while the passenger was using his radio to listen to somebody at base camp explain the reasons why they shouldn't shoot any Sangheili they met on patrol. Even with the war over, tensions were still running high.
Just as the passenger was telling the man at base camp exactly where he can shove his reasons, a high-pitched click and beep was heard. A glowing, yellow, cog-looking object fell out of a tree in front of the Warthog. The Brute mine landed directly on the windshield. The driver managed to let out a "SHI-" before he and the passenger died instantly.
The resulting explosion caused the PFC to become temporarily deaf and threw the soldier off the wrecked turret. He hit the rocky dirt road on his back with enough force to drive the breath out of him.
As he lay there, gasping for air, he glanced up at the full moon. It looked so peaceful, so serene, as if it couldn't believe what had just happened. A silhouette appeared. The Marine blinked twice in the silence before the turret crashed down, rendering him unconscious.
Unbeknownst to him, that turret saved his life, for the Brutes that sprung the trap saw the unmoving bodies and left, assuming that all in the Warthog had died.
The Marine woke up soon after the Brutes left. Still laying on the ground, he observed his surroundings. New Harmony's sun had not risen yet, but he could still see the thick woods on both sides of the dirt road.
He did not expect to wake up. He pieced together what had happened while he was laying on his back. He thought about the family he no longer had, thanks to the war, and of the few friends he had at base camp that would be expecting his patrol to return rather soon. They would just have to settle for lateness.
The soldier carefully picked himself up and checked for injuries. Feeling none, he walked to the no-longer flaming wreckage of the Warthog. His knife was nowhere to be found, his pistol was still on his thigh, and he found his assault rifle under a wheel. Unfortunately, he did not have any extra clips for either weapons. Trying not to look at the charred remains, he retrieved the dog-tags of the driver and the passenger. Once the deed was done, the soldier turned around and started the long walk back to base.
Alone. Walking the lonely road. Nothing to accompany him on the road back to base camp except his MA5C, his M6D, and his armor.