Groundside
Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Enjoy.
Epsilon Eridani System, Planet Reach. Redbrick Plaza, New Alexandria. August 23rd, 2552.
The anti-air missiles traced into the sky, straight for the waiting Covenant Corvette. They impacted the dark violet hull of the alien ship, exploding immediately. The Corvette nosed over and began its descent towards Reach's distant ocean.
Lance Corporal Darren 'Dirty' Crane couldn't contain his joy as he lowered his assault rifle, hooting loudly into the air, "Wooo! Take that, you sumbitches! Can't mess with superior firepower, now can you?"
"Dirty, shut the hell up!" Staff Sergeant Bret Marshall hissed as he turned to the overexcited marine. "Incase you haven't realized yet, we still got a damn job to do."
Marshall couldn't afford to have the team, or what was left of it, be given away. They still had to save any civilians within their designated sector of the city, and get them to the last active evac position. Olympic Tower, ONI Headquarters. The tower itself was merely a dozen or so blocks from Redbrick Plaza, but with all the destruction, it appeared to be light-years away to the Staff Sergeant.
The fighting had been nonstop ever since the Covies broke orbital defenses. They sent advance teams of Brutes and Skirmishers, these were the so-called 'Death Squads,' as their mission was to kill, kill, and kill. Any human, whether it be marine, officer, or civilian, would be cut down with staggeringly brutality and efficiency.
And it was up to what was left of the 533rd Infantry Division, or the 'Wolf Pack' as they were referred to, to get anyone remaining within the plaza area out. Easier said then done. The Commanding Officer of the Wolf Pack, Lieutenant Colonel Gutierrez, was picked off by a sniper two weeks ago. The Executive officer, Major Wallace, was subsequently killed in a plasma bombardment three days later. After that, Command scattered the Wolf Pack allover New Alexandria.
Contact was lost with all of the other squads, as some were sent to soon-to-be glassed parts of the city. Marshall couldn't bear the screams he heard over the radio, marines begging to be picked up and taken away… only to get seared by pillars of plasma into nothingness a few moments later.
And with that, Staff Sergeant Marshall lifted his head above the overturned car that he took cover behind and hissed back to Dirty, "Now, move out soldier. Check out that warehouse, it looks like it's locked up. Possible civvies inside."
Dirty rolled his eyes as he sprinted towards the warehouse, with Jacoby close behind him.
Corporal Dave Jacoby was an ODST from a unit called the 'Bullfrogs' and he was separated from them after they ran into a huge squad of Brutes. He was found by Marshall and was folded up into the squad. Jacoby still donned the standard-issue ODST helmet and not once has he shown his face. But Marshall was glad to have him on board… the Sergeant needed all the men he could get. It was only him, Jacoby, Dirty, and Sam left. Everyone else was dead or gone. Either killed in the intense fighting, or separated.
Marshall secretly wished the former happened to most of his squad, but he wasn't that lucky. Too many men died in front of him.
Sergeant Sam Jenner was the designated marksman of the squad, as the only to carry a DMR. Sam's cool head had saved Marshall's ass twice in the past two weeks and he didn't even want a thank-you in return. He just wanted to get off Reach in one piece.
Sam wasn't born here though, not on Reach, not like Marshall or Dirty. He was an 'Earthy,' or Earth-born soldier. They both knew what they were fighting for, Sam didn't. They fought for their home, or what was left of it. What did Sam fight for? A paycheck? Earth was in the Covenant's sights, but not under the immediate threat of utter destruction.
Dirty rapped his knuckles against the metal door of the warehouse and yelled, "UNSC, open up! We're here to get you guys to the extraction zone!"
Sighing, Marshall leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. He pressed the back of his head against the metal building and looked up. Fires burned on the upper floors of some of the skyscrapers, with burning papers and ash streaming down from them like confetti. He never imagined that his home city would turn into this. Saying it was hard to take in was a major understatement.
The warehouse door slid open and out came at least a dozen civilians, covered in ash, blood, or dirt. Their eyes were tired, there bodies bloodied, but they looked like a strong group. Most carried military-grade weapons, ranging from shotguns to rifles to pistols, no doubt picked up from corpses of fallen marines. The Staff Sergeant noticed two small children within the group, giving frightened looks toward the group of soldiers at the door.
One civilian ignored Dirty and Jacoby and approached Marshall. He wore a dark green hoodie, blue jeans, and a black bandana on his head. A long, fresh scar traced across his left cheek. Several grenades were clipped to the belt around his jeans, and a DMR rested on his shoulder by a sling. "You the one in charge here?"
Marshall looked up and climbed to his feet and nodded, "Yeah. Staff Sergeant Marshall. And you are?"
"Derrik Varga." He replied back, his accent reverberated in his voice slightly. "You here to get us out?"
Marshall smiled. Right to the point. "Yeah. Final evacuation site is at Olympic Tower. We're here to get you guys out of here."
Derrik grinned, "Then what are we waiting for?"
New Alexandria. Olympic Tower, Arcadian Plaza. August 23rd, 2552.
That was six hours ago.
Since then, everything had gone to hell. Covenant patrols were attacking any and all vehicles that could fly. Falcons and Pelicans alike fell from the sky occasionally, fuel rod blasts had ripped through their hulls like paper. On their journey to the Tower, most of the direct routes had been blocked off by debris or collapsed buildings. This forced Marshall to take time-consuming, alternate streets and every so often, a Covenant sniper would take a cheap-shot at the group. Two civilians had been killed so far.
And worst still, it was raining. Hard.
Marshall peered out from the alley and scanned the area. It was a straight shot for Olympic Tower, no major debris in the way. He looked toward the top of the tower and he smiled when he saw Pelicans waiting in the many hangers near the top. Their lights flashed, meaning someone was inside the bird, ready to pilot it.
He turned back and nodded to Jacoby, Sam, and Dirty. They moved front as Marshall ordered, "Move it."
As the group of marines and civilians alike approached, Marshall noticed increased aerial activity. A lone Falcon flew by at skyscraper level, shooting at Banshees and AA turrets alike. A Banshee exploded overhead, what was left of it hurtled to the ground. Then another, then another. Covie AA fire quickly ceased thereafter.
Then a Pelican left one of the hangers, its thrusters burning white-hot as it lifted off. Marshall's jaw dropped as Sam uttered, "What the hell are they doing?"
Dirty answered him quickly, "What does it look like? They're leaving us behind!"
The final Pelican took off and flew away from the Tower at full speed as soon as the group got to the base of the building. Marshall halted and fell to his knees, out of breath.
"God damn it!" He hissed as he looked up into the rain. That was it. No way off now. This was the final evac station, the last resort. The only option left. And now they were left behind.
Derrik approached the Staff Sergeant, "What now, Sergeant?"
Marshall laughed an empty laugh. The marine removed his helmet and rubbed a hand through his black hair. "Nothing's next. That was it, Mr. Varga. Last Pelican in the entire area just took off."
Sam looked around the area grimly. Bodies littered the entrance to Olympic Tower, civilians and marines piled into one, gory mass. "Looks like they didn't want anyone else inside anyways. Front door's locked. Covies had a goddamned turkey shoot down here."
"Why would they lock the doors to the final evac point?" Jacoby uttered as he looked at the bodies and shuddered.
"Because, man!" Dirty yelled back, his voice shrill with fear and rage. "This is 'ONI Headquarters!' The only people getting out of here were top brass. We're the ones who are screwed, man! We're all screwed! Dead! We'll be gutted by the Brutes or burnt away with fire, man!"
One of the female civilians dropped her weapon and began to cry. Derrik turned to comfort her as Marshall stormed over and shoved Dirty to the ground hard. "Get a hold of yourself, Corporal! It's our job to keep these people safe, not scare them. What's wrong with you?"
Dirty wouldn't reply as he got back to his feet and retrieved his weapon.
Marshall was prepared to shove him back down again when Jacoby called out, "Sergeant Marshall? We got a long-range radio here!"
Stowing his anger, Marshall turned to the Shock Trooper and questioned, "A long-range radio? To what?"
Jacoby grinned behind his silver visor, "Fleet radio, sir. If there are any major vessels still left in Reach's orbit, maybe, just maybe we can get in contact with a Frigate. Hell, maybe even a Cruiser. 'Course, I'll take a goddamned Pelican at this point."
The ODST kicked a body onto its face to reveal a large radio system strapped to the dead soldier's back. Amazingly, it looked undamaged. Jacoby removed the radio and attempted to activate it, but nothing happened. The Bullfrog grumbled as he tried again, to no avail.
Sam turned to the group of civilians, "Anyone here work with radios? At all?"
One raised his hand, the woman who was crying not moments ago.
"I am." She replied as she approached him. "I worked with my father, repairing the various signal stations in the countryside. I know smaller radios like that as if they're the back of my hand."
Jacoby glanced at Marshall, who gave a nod of approval. He handed the radio to the woman as lightning flashed across the sky. She cleared her throat as she inspected the device and then kindly requested, "I need something to cover it from the rain. It looks like I'll have to open it up."
Dirty approached and removed his combat vest and handed it to the woman. "I'm sorry about before, Miss. I was being an ass. This ain't much, but I think it's waterproof."
The civilian smiled and nodded as she grabbed the vest from the marine and placed it over the radio. "Thank you. I can tell you're on edge, as we all are."
With that, she opened a panel on the radio and inspected the insides carefully. She reached one hand inside and rearranged several wires. Then, she shut the panel up and reached for the antenna, fully extending it. Tapping away at the controls for a moment, she pressed one final button and the radio hummed back to life. Smiling broadly, she lifted the radio into the air, "We're in business."
Marshall retrieved the radio and ordered Sam to start going through the frequencies as he listened. It felt like hours as they sifted through the static, repeating automated emergency messages, and false transmissions. He was beginning to lose any hope as more and more static filled the radio waves.
"This is Delta One-Nine! We are under heavy fire and need assistance! We got a large number of Brute Death Squads here! Heavy casualties, repeat. Heavy casualties!"
Sam glared at Marshall, who just shook his head and said to keep searching frequencies. There was nothing they could do for Delta.
"…is Foehammer. Does anyone…"
"Go back." Marshall ordered as he listened very carefully. The voice was too calm to be a distress signal, too cool and professional. It the first beacon of hope he had gotten in nearly half an hour of searching.
"…I repeat. This is Foehammer. To anyone remaining within New Alexandria, we are ready, willing, and able to pick up anyone still alive and receiving this transmission. Please respond, over." The voice was calm and female. It could've been the voice of God for all Marshall cared.
Marshall pressed down on the transmitter as soon as the voice stopped speaking. "Foehammer, I'm glad to hear a friendly voice out here."
The transmission switched from the voice of 'Foehammer' to another female. She sounded hostile and extremely strained, "Who is this? Respond. Now."
"Excuse me?" Marshall gaped before he could stop himself. No one spoke to him like that. "Who is this?"
The voice replied curtly. "This is Captain Harriet Dalton. Current commanding officer of the UNSC Cruiser Arcturus. Now, who is this?"
"Ma'am. Sorry about that. Staff Sergeant Marshall of the Wolf Pack." He replied nervously to the Captain. "Any reason why you're onboard a Pelican, ma'am? Shouldn't you be supporting what's left of the Fleet?"
A hoarse laugh came across the radio. "I wasn't going to sit and watch as people died on the ground. Nor as my planet died. When I couldn't get any more Pelicans from my own vessel, I had a good friend from the Pillar of Autumn donate a bird and her pilot, I decided to tag along."
The voice from before came back on. "Echo Four-Nineteen. But you can call me Foehammer."
Captain Dalton came back on, "We're already crammed full of civilians, but we won't leave people behind. Where are you right now?"
Marshall smiled as he replied, "We are just outside Olympic Tower."
"ONI HQ, huh?" Foehammer huffed. "Those final evac sites were bogus, huh?"
"You can say that again."
"Well you're in luck, Sergeant Marshall. We're close enough to come and get you. ETA five minutes."
Gunfire and explosions ripped through the air, only blocks away. Then growls from Brutes and cackles from Skirmishers could be heard. Covies were closing in.
"Well, ma'am. You better make it quick, cuz we got a whole ton of shit coming our way." Marshall ripped off the headset and grabbed his assault rifle and started yelling orders, "Sam, get to a good vantage point and get us some sort of sniper fire. Jacoby and Dirty, get all your explosives ready, I don't want these Brutes getting too close. Varga, get any of the unarmed civilians to safety, anyone who has a gun, get on line. You're fighting."
Everyone sprinted off as Marshall crouched down and pressed himself against a low concrete wall and checked the ammo indicator on his weapon. 32. Full magazine. He tapped his vest and checked what he had left. Three grenades, his combat knife, three assault mags left, and his pistol. He didn't have any ammo left for his sidearm; the Staff Sergeant would have to make those final eight rounds count. Finally, he looked up to the sky and said a silent prayer. Divine intervention was definitely needed.
"Sir, I'm in position." Sam called out over the comm. "I see Covies coming down the main road, directly north. We got four Brutes, ten Skirmishers, and about two dozen Grunts."
"Any Elites?"
"Negative, sir. None that I can see."
Elites were the biggest problem, not the Brutes. They were fast, strong, and extremely deadly. The Covenant's finest warriors carried swords and elaborate armor into battle. Marshall saw those swords firsthand several years back in the Outer Colonies, in a small town. The hot blade of plasma seared into his left arm badly, nearly severing it completely.
He shuddered when he thought about it.
"Sir, they're getting closer. What are your orders?"
Marshall huffed. "We got five minutes. Let's kill as many of the dumb sumbitches as we can."
Jacoby cackled when he heard that, "Hell yeah, sir. Hell yeah!"
Sam took aim for the first Brute and lined up his scope with the ape-like creature's cranium. He pulled the trigger, and the rifle came to life, kicking him back in the shoulder. The Brute's helmet was insufficient to protect it from the bullet. Crimson mist sprayed from the back of the alien's head as it fell to the ground.
The other aliens quickly took cover and reacted, taking cover and returning fire. Marshall ordered grenades to be thrown, with Dirty and Jacoby responded with glee. Explosions replaced the thunder from the storm, and alien bodies falling from the sky replaced the rain. Marshall fired upon a group of Grunts, who quickly scattered in fear. Two civilians gave chase, firing their pistols at the little runts.
Marshall screamed at them to get back, but bright pink beams of light struck each person in the head. Needle rounds. They fell to the ground limp, Marshall covering his eyes just before the rounds detonated.
"Damn it! Varga! Keep your people behind cover!" Marshall roared as he stood up again to fire at a Skirmisher running at him. The avian creature's chest-plate deflected the first few rounds, but one bullet finally penetrated flesh and it fell beak-first into the ground.
A shrill roar came from Marshall's side, and he turned to see another Skirmisher charging for him. It slammed into him before he could turn in time, and he hit the concrete beneath him hard, his rifle jarred from his grip. The alien roared, exposing rows of sharp, spine-like teeth.
Marshall raised his left arm to protect himself, and the Skirmisher suddenly clamped its jaw down his limb in response. The teeth dug into his skin like knives and the Sergeant screamed in pain. He then quickly reached for his knife and jammed the blade into the throat of the monster. The Skirmisher froze as the cold metal sliced through its windpipe.
Growling, Marshall shoved the beast off and sheathed his blade. Grabbing his rifle, he got back into a crouch and looked at his left arm. His blood dripped down from the multiple teeth marks as his whole limb shook. He would live.
Dirty chucked another grenade, and this time he hit his desired mark. Between the two feet of a waiting Brute. The explosion practically disintegrated the creature, with the ensuing shrapnel finishing the job. The marine just hooted as he switched back to his rifle and fired upon the remaining enemies. He then scaled over the concrete wall and walked into the open plaza, shooting at the running Grunts who retreated. A wounded Brute lay on the ground, bullets riddled its chest from a shotgun blast.
Dirty pressed his boot down on the alien's chest and sprayed four rounds into its forehead. "Stay off my planet, you freak."
"Look out!" A civilian cried to the Lance Corporal.
A Brute charged from nowhere and grabbed Dirty by the throat before sprinting again, taking the marine with it. The ape slammed Dirty against the black wall of ONI HQ as it raised its Spike Rifle and roared in the soldier's face. Dirty recoiled and gave a weak laugh as the Brute foul stench overcame him.
"Damn… All the stories were right…" He began. "You Brutes do smell bad."
Before the Brute could give a response, the loud clack of a shotgun being pumped resonated. Dirty could hear Jacoby hiss, "Drop him… or I drop you."
The alien turned its head and bared its teeth. Jacoby pulled the trigger and blasted the Brute, sending the ape and Dirty to the ground, red gore splattered everywhere. Dirty sputtered and coughed as he wiped away hot, red liquid from his face, "Was that really necessary, shithead?"
The ODST grinned under his helmet and lifted Dirty from the ground, "Very necessary."
The plaza became quiet; the only sounds were the patter of heavy rain and the low rumble of Covenant Cruisers in the distance, slowly getting louder.
Marshall slapped a new magazine into his weapon as Sam yelled over the radio, "Shit! We got new contacts. Two dozen Brutes, plus change! It's a whole 'nother company!"
Brutes, Grunts, Skirmishers, and now Jackals and Hunters poured into the plaza like a flood. Every Covenant in the area was thirsty for blood. And they were prepared to go and get it. Plasma flew from every direction, explosions from poorly-thrown plasma grenades rattled the ground. One civilian threw his gun to the ground and screamed in what sounded like Hungarian, wrapping his hands around his head and sprinting off. Marshall charged and yanked the man to the ground as he tried to get past him.
"What the hell are you doing?" The Staff Sergeant screamed as bursts of plasma whizzed over their heads. The man shouted something again and punched Marshall square in the jaw. With the marine disoriented, the civilian stood up and ran again. He was quickly met with lances of fiery blue plasma. Seared flesh perforated Marshall's nose as the man fell to his knees, the aliens still firing at him, before he finally hit the ground dead.
"Sergeant Marshall, this is Foehammer. We're coming in hot, keep your head down."
A Pelican soared in through the rain, flying dangerously close in-between buildings before it hovered over the plaza. Its nose-mounted rotary cannon began to spin with a mechanical whir. Derrik grabbed the two children and covered them with his body as best he could.
The rotary cannon aboard the Pelican unleashed, spraying hot lead across the plaza. Covenant dropped like flies, Jackal shields unable to protect the users from the hail of high-caliber rounds, Brute and Grunt armor insufficient as well. Any living aliens returned fire, but not quickly enough to do anything significant, as a line of bullets cut them down.
Bullet casings rained down from the aircraft like metallic rain as the rotary cannon ceased fire.
Dirty smiled at the destruction of the seemingly invincible enemies, falling one by one like flies. It seemed that finally after years of bloodbath, a few of the predators became the prey.
As the Pelican began to land in the body-filled plaza, Marshall approached Derrik, who was still nervously reloading his DMR, even after the battle. "Varga? We gotta sort out your people, but kids go first, no question about it. That craft is already full of civilians."
The two children looked up to the Staff Sergeant nervously, their hands wrapped around Derrik's sleeves. Surely the parents or parent would grab their kids by now. Derrik snapped out of his daze, "Yeah… I got it."
The Pelican's ramp lowered from the craft and Marshall just realized just how crowded the ship truly was. The ten seats normally used to house marines were stripped away to make as much room as possible. Over twenty-five noncombatants were crammed inside the transport, easy. Maybe more. Inside, a woman fiercely yelled for the civilians to clear the way so she could exit the bird.
A woman with red hair tied into a tight bun stepped down from the ramp and onto the plaza. She wore a standard-issue Fleet uniform, metallic gray with several medals, commendations, and ribbons to go along with it. Her ship's circular patch rested under upon her shoulder. Three stars lined in a triangle with a sword pointing upward underneath them. White letters crowned around the stars and sword, UNSC Arcturus.
The Captain approached Marshall, and the Staff Sergeant straightened up to attention and saluted the superior. Captain Dalton returned the salute quickly and looked over the group of civilians and sighed. "Come on, we need to move. A Covenant Cruiser is coming in, they're gonna glass Arcadian Plaza and the rest of the precinct within minutes."
Marshall nodded and yelled, "Sam! Dirty! Mr. Varga! Let's go! Civvies onboard now! We're getting out of here."
Derrik scooped up the two kids and ran for the Pelican.
Jacoby looked over the dead bodies of Covenant with gritted teeth. These bastards deserved it, every last one. They killed thousands of innocents for frankly no reason. The Bullfrog had no idea why the Covenant killed so many with feverish intent, but he was glad to have the favor returned. He kicked a dead Jackal in the teeth as he walked through the piles of corpses.
His eyes then caught something odd. A dead Elite. That was strange, considering no Elites were seen in the battle at all. He approached the corpse and whistled sharply with glee. The Elite's armor was a bright gold and very intricate, meaning this particular warrior was very, very highly-ranked. The Shock Trooper had seen the armor classifications in training manuals before, and there was no mistaking this Elite's rank. A Field Marshall.
Bullet holes riddled the alien's cracked breastplate. Jacoby could barely contain his joy as he turned his back to it and hollered towards Marshall and Dalton, "You guys need to see this! We got ourselves a Field Marshall here!"
Red mist exploded from Jacoby's chest, his gun fell from his hands. He looked down to see a white-hot blade of plasma ripped through his chest cavity. The Elite roared weakly as it rose from the ground, the plasma sword gripped tightly in its hand as it lifted the ODST off the ground. The beast clutched its now-bleeding chest with its free hand as it gave a war cry that would make most soldiers tremble in their boots. It swung its blade to the side, flinging Jacoby off the blade and to the ground hard. He rolled twice along the floor before stopping face-up, not moving.
Dalton froze at the sight as Marshall reached for his magnum. The Elite bucked its head as if daring the Sergeant to do something. He did.
Snapping off the safety to his sidearm, Marshall charged for the Elite at a full sprint. The Field Marshall clicked its four mandibles in what could be perceived as a grin as it readied itself to counter. As the human came in range, the alien swung its blade horizontally with all its might, hoping to sever the head of the marine. The Elite growled at its wounds and lost balance as he swung. Marshall ducked the hot sword easily as he slammed his shoulder into the gut of the monster.
The Elite wailed as it fell to its back, Marshall coming with it. That normally wouldn't have worked, but the Staff Sergeant figured it was weaker because of the injuries it sustained. Pushing forward with his momentum, Marshall straddled the Elite's chest and grabbed the sword-wielding wrist.
He yanked it into the air and slammed it back onto the concrete, jarring the weapon away. The plasma sword fizzled out as the handle fell from the Elite's hand. Marshall then jammed his pistol right into the 'mouth' of the Elite and roared, "GO TO HELL!"
He pulled the trigger, and the magnum responded by firing a slug right through the alien's cranium. Not stopping, the Staff Sergeant emptied the final seven rounds into the beast.
"Sergeant! Get over here!" A voice cried out, and with shaking hands, Marshall lifted himself off the dead Elite and turned to see Captain Dalton kneeling over Jacoby. He rushed over and kneeled over the ODST, to find he was still alive. Jacoby's chest rose and fell sharply, two uniform, scorched holes burnt through his armor displayed where the sword had pierced.
"…Hey there…Sergeant." Jacoby puffed out between labored breaths, in obvious pain. Even though Marshall couldn't see past the silver visor that hid the soldier's face, he knew it was twisted with agony.
"Come on, trooper. You're getting out of here." He nodded towards Captain Dalton, who grabbed his legs. The ground reverberated with shockwaves as the sky darkened, then it sounded like the sky itself was getting torn in two.
Dalton hissed as soon as the noise ceased, "Plasma bombardment! They're starting to glass what's left of the city!"
"Which direction did it come from?"
"From what I'm getting on the comms," Foehammer called out, "it looks like they just took out the hospital."
Dalton and Marshall carried the Bullfrog to the rear of the Pelican, but found it to be full of the civilians they just saved, with Dirty and Sam in the front. There was no way all of them could fit onboard, not even to get Jacoby on.
"We need room…" Marshall said out loud, panting.
Dirty immediately dropped off the Pelican and nodded, "You got room."
The Lance Corporal knew what he just did, but his wounded brother demanded immediate attention. Derrik Varga looked on as well, and knew there still wasn't enough room. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the two kids, a boy and a girl, and hugged both of them, and gave each a kiss on the temple. He whispered something in Hungarian to both of them and gave his black bandana to the boy, and his wristwatch to the girl. He kissed the woman who had worked on the radio with a desperate passion. The man then stepped away and jumped off the transport. The two children screamed for him, crying and thrashing, only to be held back by the woman he had kissed.
It dawned on Marshall as to what Derrik exactly was. He was a father, and those were his children, and the woman was his wife.
Dalton and Marshall lifted Jacoby, and with help from some of the civilians, he was set down on the metal floor of the Pelican with care. Marshall reached out one last time and gripped Jacoby's hand. "You've been given a second chance, kid. Use it."
With that, he let go and stepped away from the Pelican, no room for him, Dalton, Derrik, or Dirty. Sam looked back at them and attempted to step off. He wasn't going to leave his Wolf Pack behind, not like this. Marshall put a hand on his chest, keeping him onboard. "You know where you were born, Sergeant Jenner?"
Sam gulped. "Earth, Staff Sergeant. I was born on Earth."
"Then live for her. Fight for your home. Reach is ours, Earth is yours. We defended Reach with our lives, you do the same for Earth."
Moisture stung Sam's vision, but he nodded and got back further in the Pelican.
Foehammer called out on the radio, "Captain Dalton? I need you back aboard so we can dust off."
Dalton smiled, her tone somber as she replied, "Echo Four-Nineteen, I'm not coming back aboard. There's no room and I'm not forcing off innocents."
A Covenant Cruiser rumbled in the distance, the large ship approaching. The pilot called back to the superior officer with a panicked tone, "Ma'am I can't leave you on the ground! You have a ship in-"
"My ship is in very capable hands, that I assure you. Now take off. That's an order."
"Captain… I…"
"Do it, Foehammer. Get these people out of here."
"…It's… It's been an honor serving with you, even if it was brief."
Dalton looked like her emotions would get the best of her, but she kept them under control as she ordered, "Go. Now."
Immediately the Pelican's engines flared white-hot and the craft lifted from the ground, just as the Cruiser was making its way overhead. The transport soared off as the Cruiser's main gun began to hum, signifying that it was getting ready for a plasma bombardment.
Marshall looked all around him, at the bodies of human and Covenant alike, and up to Olympic Tower, which the Covenant Cruiser now hovered over. But most importantly, he looked to the soldiers around.
His squad mate, Lance Corporal Darren 'Dirty' Crane, stared up at the Cruiser with a stony expression. For a man so emotional in the heat of battle, he was surprisingly calm, facing the end.
The civilian, Derrik Varga, stared at a small picture in his hand, not paying attention to the world that would soon burn around him. He stared at the photo of his wife and two children with pure love. If anything, the fires of plasma wouldn't faze him, it would be not being there for his family.
The commanding officer, Captain Harriet Dalton. She looked at Marshall with a small grin before turning her attention toward the sky. She had every opportunity to go aboard the Pelican and leave Reach, back to her vessel waiting either in orbit somewhere or in space. The Captain would stay and perish with her planet, and to her, that was a bigger honor than any medal she could earn.
And finally, back to himself. The Staff Sergeant. Staff Sergeant Bret Marshall stared at the ground. A plasma grenade had destroyed the cement and exposed black dirt underneath. He kneeled over and grabbed a handful of it. To him, it symbolized all he had fought for in the years he had been in the UNSC. He removed his helmet and squeezed the dirt in his hand. He fought for this. He fought for everything this handful of earth had represented.
Home. Family. Brotherhood. Love. Life itself.
Reach meant this much, and even more, to the Staff Sergeant. And not even the word proud could describe what he felt.
He looked back up, and the Cruiser unleashed a fire like no other.
July 14th, 2589. Planet Reach.
She looked up at the statue that lay in front of her. It wasn't in the right place. But hell, she figured they wouldn't know the exact location. But she did. One hundred and twenty-six meters from this very spot, was where Arcadian Plaza was glassed thirty-seven years ago. But she gave them credit for putting it up so quickly
She chuckled again as she stared at the lone, bronze man standing tall, his rifle in hand, his helmet on head. As well as she could remember, this wasn't what he looked like, but they came pretty close, but his nose was slightly different, not as big as they portrayed.
Never, in her whole life, would she imagine going back to Reach. They said it was burnt to ashes and glass, never to be used again, but here she was. There was no inscription, at least not yet, but the fact that mankind remembered these people was amazing.
Elania Varga approached the statue and placed her hand along the bronze leg of the frozen soldier.
"Thank you…" She whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Thank you, Dad. And thank you… Sergeant Marshall. For giving us all a chance. For giving us a little hope."
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