Andrew's teeth instinctively clenched as his Human Entry Vehicle shuddered through the transition between space and atmosphere. He could feel heat welling up at the base of the pod causing his feet to sweat. Andrew whispered a curse and popped his knuckles.

Andrew tried to push his fear to the back of his mind. It was a futile effort; this op was risky. First, they were dropping onto Jericho VII at night. Being shot out of a UNSC Frigate at 300 kilometers per hour in a thin titanium-A shell was suicidal enough; couple that with the fact that, on a night with clear open skies, they would light up and be visible for miles. 125 bright burning comets just begging to be picked off.

"Thirty seconds out." Lieutenant Morrison's voice crackled through the comm-bud in the side of Andrew's helmet. "Final check, marines."

Andrew moved, both from practice and experience. With a quick glance left he made sure his weapon, the BR-55 was locked in tight. Glancing right he made sure his comm-unit and grenades were secure. Andrew reached out with his left hand and touched a disc-shaped depression on the side of his impact-chair. There was a flutter of green static as the software suite inside his helmet interfaced with that of the HEV. A scrolling set of numbers appeared across his vision.

Seventy-two percent, Andrew thought, excellent. As long as the numbers stayed above sixty-three percent Andrew had a good chance of surviving the impact at the end of his HEV's journey.

The pod lurched again as the newly deployed aero-foils slowed the 300 meter-per-second plummet to just below 100 kph. Andrews gut knotted and he swallowed back bile. He hated that part.

Andrew counted the seconds down and waited for the proximity warning from his pod when another shudder shook vehicle. The ambient light in the pod shifted from neutral to red almost immediately. Something was wrong; and in a Titanium-A and Lead coffin moving as fast as a sports-car, that was a bad thing.

Andrew could feel, in his gut, the pod was picking up speed. It suddenly became clear, the aero-foils had disengaged prematurely. Had the been shot off? Surely he would have felt the impact of a plasma weapon. The chances of a shot just hitting his aero's was astronomical at best. A thousand questions resounded through Andrew's skull but only one thing was clear: he was in free-fall.

Andrew knew he had to get the air out of his lungs before he hit. He was in mid-breath when he touched down. Stars exploded across his vision and he tasted blood. His pod groaned to a halt, sparks issuing and metal rending, belly up.

Corporal Andrew Delving was still fighting off the last lingering bit of shock as the front of his pod exploded off, revealing the calm, faintly green sky of Jericho VII. One of the four silver moons floated languidly across the sky. Without thinking, Andrew sat up and stuck his black helmeted head over the side of the HEV.

There was less than a fraction of a second left as Andrew slammed his head back down. Blue-phosphorescent plasma splashed against the side of his pod and singed the edges of his jet-black armor.

Andrew cursed, what the hell was he thinking? The final strains of confusion evaporated and Andrew was in the zone. He knew he had to get out of the pod, the right side was already beginning to heat up as plasma thudded into the side. He pulled his battle rifle from it's housing and slapped home a clip of AP-ammunition. There was no time to look for the rest of the ammo that was housed below his seat, he had to move, one clip would have to do.

Corporal Delving leapt over the left side of his HEV and, in midair, snatched up both the comm-unit and the bandolier of grenades. The air sizzled around him and his shoulders blistered from the heat. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Andrew landed in a crouch. He wasted no time securing the comm to his back and tying the bandolier to his waist. Stilling his frayed nerves, Andrew plucked one of the grenades from his waist and primed it. He tossed it overhead and counted three pounding beats of his heart.

As the dull thump from the detonation reverberated through Andrew's feet, he took off on an all out sprint. The grenade worked as a smoke-screen and Andrew made the 75-yard sprint unscathed. Holding his BR-50 close, Andrew vaulted over the makeshift barrier that had been erected out of three HEV's.

Andrew landed solidly and shouldered his rifle. Although every Marine looked similar in their Jet-Black Entry Armor, Andrew easily recognized his best friend. Christophe gave him a casual wave.

"Good to see ya, mate! I thought you were DOI."

Dead on impact, Andrew shuddered. "How many?" He asked as he rested his back against the pods.

"No, bloody idea," Christophe replied. "Something's screwy with the communications system, only burst transmissions since we landed. Bravo was hit hard, no contact."

That made some sense at least, Bravo was the first group to drop out of the Euphrates. Andrew chanced a glance over the barrier. His helmet painted close to 70 different targets at extreme range, advancing warily. The dog-like Grunts with a few of the avian Jackals close behind. Somewhere out there, amidst the cannon-fodder, were the walking terrors. The hideous Elites. Andrew shuddered once more.

"What about the rest of Alpha?" Andrew nervously shifted on his heels.

"Just you, me , Andrea," Christophe nudged the woman at his feet. She sighed explosively and went back to cleaning her SRS99C-S2 AM. "And whoever was in this pod." Christophe rapped his knuckles against the pod on the far right side of the barricade. "Poor bastard never made it out."

Andrew looked at the two others from his Alpha squad; his gut knotting the whole time. "That's it?" He asked in a voice barely above a whisper; had it not been for the amplification software in his helmet, his voice would have been lost in the din of the battlefield. "Four down already."

Christophe's normally jovial tone darkened. "We're in it deep."

"Head's up." Andrea motioned once then went back to cleaning.

The broad-shouldered Lieutenant Morrison skidded to a halt up against the right pod. The large duffel he carried dropped at Andrew and Christophe's feet; its contents rattled. Inside his helmet, Andrew smiled.

"A peace offering," Morrison bent and unzipped the duffel revealing clips of ammunition, bandoliers of grenades, pistols, and a whole plethora of close-quarter weapons. "You think they'll take it?" The broad shouldered man asked.

"We'll see right to it, El-Tee." Christophe retrieved two long, slender clips for his M7/Caseless. As he stood, he tossed an extra clip of 9.5mm rounds to Andrew.

"Corporal Delving," The El-Tee turned to face Andrew. "Is your comm-unit working?"

Andrew shrugged, "no idea, Sir. I didn't really have time to do a systems check." Andrew unclipped the unit and crouched. "I'll go ahead and set it up."

No sooner had Andrew began to bring the unit online than his ear-bud crackled to life. There was a burst of static so loud that only one word rang through: "Banshees!" All four heads snapped up and scanned quickly around. On the horizon, in perfect flanking position, the deadly covenant fliers screamed towards them.

"Sergeant, where are Alpha Teams rockets?" Morrison dug through the bag until he found a clip of AP-ammo. The relatively small rounds wouldn't do much to the one man fliers, but they would get it's attention.

"Uh…" Christophe stuttered. "Corporal Henrik had the Jackhammer unit. No contact since our insertion."

Andrew scanned around their immediate position. When pods were launched into battle their trajectories were tweaked to ensure that they would land according to fire-teams. Sure enough, about forty yards away, Andrew spied a set of two pods. Thin rivulets of smoke curled from their craters. It was a long shot.

"Sarge." Andrew jerked his thumb towards the downed pods.

Christophe nodded in agreement. "Get it done, Corporal." Andrew and Christophe traded weapons, BR-55 for M7/Caseless Sub-machine Gun, Andrew slapped the side to make sure the clip was in tight. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

As he turned to go, Morrison's worried voice stopped him. "Wait, Corporal. What if that isn't Henrik's pod?"

"Then I'm glad I'll be over there." Andrew turned and ran for the pods. Behind him he heard the crack of Andrew's sniper-rifle and the rapid fire pops of Christophe and Morrison's battle-rifles.

Andrew slowed his gait as he neared the pods. There, picking through the remains, was a Jackal. It turned its bird-like heard towards Andrew just in time to see him level the SMG.

Corporal Delving gave the monster three quick bursts from the full-auto weapon. The rounds tore into its midsection and spilled its precious life-blood. The Jackal twitched towards its holstered weapon an instant before its body registered the impact, it then crumpled at Andrew's feet.

After scanning around the pods for additional contacts, Andrew exhaled; he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath.

Turning towards the pods, Andrew surveyed the damage. Fellow Corporal Henrik looked as if he had stepped in front of a moving Warthog. The front of his armor was cracked and bright red blood leaked from between the plates. The soldier had tried to get out of the HEV but only managed to slump over the side. Andrew reached past the body and retrieved the Jackhammer Missile Launcher. He checked the cartridge, it read: "Surface-To-Air." Perfect.

Andrew dropped the SMG and shouldered the bulky weapon. He quickly found the fliers that were rapidly bearing down on the rest of fire team Alpha. The targeting software inside his helmet automatically interfaced with the weapon and drew a rough targeting solution. Andrew adjusted accordingly and drew a calm breath.

Andrew's vision clouded from propellant as he pulled the firing pin. There was a whoosh as the rocket tore from the barrel of the launcher. It sped through the air and rendezvoused with the nose of the Banshee. Both flier and missile erupted in a cloud of back smoke. The concussion spun the other Banshee out of control and both ruined craft tumbled to the ground.

Andrew hooted through the comm and Christophe stuck his head over the barricade. "Good shot!" The comm responded.

Corporal Delving pumped his fist in the air in victory. Two "uglies" down, thousands to go. On the third pump, there was a blinding flash followed by a thunderclap. A thin wisp of light smoke drifted in front of Andrew's vision.

Christophe's head disappeared.

Andrew looked down to discover a burning hole in his chest.

There was no blood.

Andrew sank to his knees. There was no pain.

Darkness crowded the edges of his vision and Andrew wondered why there was no blood.

Andrew fell onto his side and reached out for the fallen launcher.

As he pulled it close he whispered to himself one last time. "I'm not gonna die."

Admiral Joseph Carl Delving switched off the viewer. Sighing, he sat back in the uncomfortable office chair. He raised the crystal glass to his lips only to find that it's aromatic contents had been drained. The same held for the bottle of Alt Burgundy resting on his stainless steel desk. No matter, Joe didn't need anymore to drink tonight.

This had been the third time he had watched it. Watched as his son lost his life. Well, almost.

Andrew had lived, if you could call it that. Encased in a Neural Buoyancy Gel-Tank, in a coma for the past ten years, could hardly be considered living.

The salt and pepper-haired Admiral rose and turned towards the view-port. Earth was beautiful tonight but it gave him no comfort. He would find no solace on the beautiful blue planet. No, he was here to do a job.

After all, he thought, who else is going to save my son?