William got up from his daily prayer, ready for the day. But, today was different. Today, his prayers were not just for the Lord Jesus to help him do right and face another day. Today he prayed a soldier's prayer. He was going out to battle the Covenant for his home world, Reach.

Jorge was pinned down. He had been separated from Noble Team and was with a squad of marines. They had been holding the Covenant back from an occupied apartment building, waiting for evac to pick up the civilians. They had been successful for the most part; only one civilian was killed during the evac. Now they had to get out of there so they could get picked up themselves at a safe LZ. They were about to move under cover when a huge plasma blast shattered the walls behind them, thus compromising the building's structure. The Covenant had called in a tank. Jorge heard a loud unnatural moan and look up to see the building swaying ever so slightly. His morale dropped to zero. There was no way they were getting out alive. They were stuck between a building about to collapse and a horde of bloodthirsty aliens.

Shooooo-BOOM!

That wasn't a Covenant weapon. Jorge peeked his head up from the cover and saw a smoldering heap that looked like it used to be a Covenant tank. Before he could wonder who had shot it, a group of Covenant went flying as the telltale sound of a grenade was heard. His morale suddenly received a boost. The Covenant's fire was directed to their right, toward an unseen entity. "Marines, on me!" he yelled, bolting to the left and out from the cover of the building. When he was confident they were a safe distance away, he turned around to see something that made him stop in his tracks. The Covenant were dropping like flies. Whoever was doing it, they were good. Very good. He motioned for the squad to take cover. He found an SUV and stood on the other side of its hood. He zoomed his sights in to the fray and saw something he had never seen before. The Spartan, the unmatched UNSC war machine, was awestruck.

He saw a battle suit walking amongst the dead and dying aliens. This would normally be a regular occurrence to him, seeing he was wearing one such suit himself. This one, however, took the cake and ate it too. It was olive green, about 8 feet tall. It had a double pod of some type on each shoulder that looked like they fired rockets. It had a shaft on each forearm; the one on the left was long and narrow, while the other was short and wider. The armor looked sleek, untouched even though plasma rounds were still hitting it. The dark green visor looked similar to an ODST's, only wider. It slightly wrapped around the sides of the helmet.

It raised its left arm and a sharp report barked out as another enemy fell. Two three round bursts took down a Sangheili Elite while one or two rounds finished the smaller ones. Jorge couldn't believe his eyes. This...whatever it was, was taking down Elites with little to no effort while the squad was barely hanging on a second ago, with a Spartan to boot. This thing was a one man army.

Once the last enemy was dead or incapacitated the suit brought its right hand to its helmet. "Any UNSC personnel in the vicinity, please respond," Jorge heard in his comms. The marines looked at him expectantly. The transmission had obviously come from that thing. Jorge responded nervously, "This is UNSC Spartan S-052. We read you."
"Roger 052, this is Hunter 001. What's your current location?"
Jorge paused. Should he let this...whatever it was know where they were? "001, please ID. We don't recognize your call sign."
"Roger 052. William Harding. Rank: Civilian. Occupation: Clerk. Military training: 4 years in cadet academy, 6 months UNSC marines. Call sign while in academy: Howthia 7."
"Roger 001. Describe your current location."
"I saw a large group of Covenant pinning down some friendlies in sector delta. Decided to lend a hand. All hostiles eliminated in immediate vicinity. I'm standing outside a large apartment building." At that moment the building groaned again and Jorge saw it visibly lean towards the man in the suit. "001 GET OUTTA THERE! BUILDING IS COMPROMISED! We are .5 clicks south of your lo..."

Jorge's voice was lost in the sound of crumbling concrete as the building came down swiftly. He saw 001 begin to run, but couldn't see if he made it out in time due to the large billowing of smoke that came up. Jorge prayed, "God, if you you're up there, let him live." he was kicking himself inwardly. He should have told him of the building already. The guy DID just rescue his entire squad, and he was too worried about him turning against them. After a few minutes he didn't see any movement. He turned around, slouched against the side if the SUV and put his helmet in his hands. He had just indirectly killed the man that saved their lives. One of the marines broke him from his trance. "Sir? We still need dustoff." He struggled to his feet and nodded solemnly. "Forward Unto Dawn, this is T237 requesting dustoff. We have 15 personnel requiring extraction." "Roger T237. We'll have a pelican on your location in 15," came the response.

40 minutes later they were stepping onto the hangar bay of the UNSC Grafton. His first objective was the bridge. The marines went to sick bay to be evaluated, while he walked briskly to his destination. A medic spoke, "Sir don't you thi..." the voice trailed off as he briskly made his way down the corridors. He didn't have time to go to sick bay. He needed to find Noble Team and find out more about this Harding fellow.

He approached the bridge a few minutes later. The marines guarding it stepped aside, allowing him passage. "Captain Mallarde," spoke the Spartan as he removed his helmet. The captain turned slowly to see who called his name. His face warmed and he responded, "Jorge. It's been awhile." His face soured slightly. "Jorge, where is the rest of Noble Team?"

"Actually, sir, that's what I came to ask of you."

The captain shook his head slowly and turned to the helm. "Find out where Noble Team is." "Aye, Captain," came the response. He turned back to Jorge. "You couldn't get them on Comms?"

Jorge shook his head. "Negative. They must have gone in the underground infrastructure or somewhere else the comms don't work, at least not body-worn. Also Captain…" he let his words hang.

He looked at the Spartan expectantly. Jorge continued, "We were rescued by…" he shook his head as he remembered, "something…some ONE. He…wore body armor I have never seen before. He ID's himself as William Harding. Have you ever heard of him, sir?"

The captain looked like he was in thought before he responded. "Jorge, do you remember a ballistics engineer that loved lobbying for having weapons in the hands of civilians, as well as militias?"

"Yes, Dr. Daniel Harding…" The realization dawned. "You don't mean-"

"He's his son."

Jorge reeled. It had been confirmed that Dr. Harding had nothing to do with the insurrections. However, the suspicion was always there. "But, how would a civilian-"

"By his own creation, Spartan. Dr. Harding constantly fiddled with things in his spare time. I can't say I blame him. The UNSC's strict regimen of keeping weapons away from civilians has always set ill with me, Jorge. You know that. It also did with the doctor. Now, his son has access to his cache and, thankfully, he's using it in our favor. Just as much as the Hardings hate politics, they hate injustice. Now," he turned back to the bridge, "was there anything else you needed, Jorge?"

"Yes sir. What do you know of Howthia 7?"

The Captain remained still. "Will Harding's call sign. If you haven't figured out by now, I was personal friends with the doctor and just as much with his son. He's like a nephew to me." Mallarde paused. "Jerryl, take the bridge. I have some things to attend to."

"Aye, captain!" The commander replied.

"And inform us when you find Noble Team."

"Aye captain!"

"Come Jorge," The captain said as he exited the bridge. "These things are better spoken of in private." Jorge nodded and followed him out. They arrived at the captain's quarters shortly thereafter. "Sir!" Saluted the marine at the entrance. "As you were," Mallarde replied. "Come, Jorge, let's go to my office." When they arrived, Jorge sat in the chair across from the desk. "Now," said Mallarde as he sat down himself. "Where were we? Oh yes, Howthia 7. The younger Harding was the LTCDR for Howthia squadron while in the academy. Under his and Howthia 6's guidance, they almost never lost a flag during training. He refused to accept commission, and barely accepted a 6 month enlistment. He currently has 7 confirmed kills under his belt, all insurrectionists. Those wolves will kill anyone and anything that gets in their way, to include civilians. Of course, both Hardings didn't take that very well. He has more kills that are unconfirmed, total estimate around 200. He loved being able to take out armor and enemy strongholds. The kid is a beast on the battlefield. Just like his father when he would be on a ship monitoring the ballistics. All business, no joking, will act like you don't exist if you dilly dally. He'll leave you to the enemy if you get in his way due to intentional ignorance, insubordination, etc."

Jorge took everything in as it came. "He had a huge suit of armor on, one that only rivaled 117's in height."

"Ah yes," said Mallarde. "The Striker. A very formidable weapon indeed. It's armor can withstand anything that the Covenant can deploy on land."

"Yes, I saw that."

Mallarde leaned in, smiling. "I figured you'd have met him. Otherwise you wouldn't know his cadet call sign. How is he?"

Jorge hung his head. "He…sacrificed himself to save our squad, sir."

Mallarde looked taken aback. "What!? How?" Jorge told him everything. Just then, Mallarde let out a low chuckle. "No, no no. He's not dead, my friend. That armor would have to take a little more than that to compromise." Jorge looked on in shock. What? He…may still be alive? Mallarde continued, "Do you have his radio signal?" Jorge nodded. "Let's call him, shall we?" Jorge pushed some buttons on his left wrist before nodding.

"It's done sir."

"Good. Hunter 001, come in. This is the CPT of the UNSC Grafton. Do you read? This is a private, secure line." Jorge cocked his head at that. Why would he be on a single-comm line?

Silence was heard for a few seconds, followed by the crackle of a radio, "Francis, how ya been?"

Mallarde chuckled. "Very good, my friend. Now, I have a favor to ask of you."