The Mission

A Record by Starath

Chapter Three

"Wake up, Star!" whispered Donut.

I imagine he thought he was shaking me gently, but my brain rattling in my skull thought differently. I jerked, alert as I could be while my mind was still full of fuzz. My chin hurt too. I could see it reflected in Donut's faceplate, and the imprint his armor made in my skin. That looked wonderful.

"I'm up," I croaked. I blinked several times, urging the hamster living in my head to start running on its little wheel. There was more sunlight overhead. The tree canopy had thinned considerably and—

I gasped and clung to Donut. In front of us was a sheer drop of… What, one hundred feet? More? I couldn't tell because it was just too far down. At the bottom I could see Simmons and Grif waiting next to a thick black rope. The rope slipped into a smooth path up the rock face. A dried-up waterfall? Maybe, from where I was it looked like Simmons and Grif stood in an empty riverbed.

Grif continuously swept the area with his weapon while Simmons waved at us, the silent signal for "Come on down!"

Yeah right.

"How-?" I started to ask. Donut carefully released my legs and my boots touched the ground, I couldn't help gasping when my left foot jolted with pain. He crouched in front of me, perilously close to the edge of the drop.

"Hop on," he said in a hushed tone. "Sarge will help if you need it."

Sarge was a few feet away. His body language was tense, even with the armor and he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead. I bet he didn't like the cliff edge either, having once admitted he was 'allergic to heights.'

I examined Donut. Right, it would be just like getting a piggy-back ride… down a mountain… Thinking about it made it worse so I clambered onto Donut's back, biting my lip whenever my left ankle touched anything— including Donut's hand when he grabbed it.

"OW! Sonuvabitch!"

"Sorry!" he said.

I really, really wanted to cry. Instead I slapped the back of his helmet and made myself comfy. My arms went around his neck and crossed at his throat. Donut glanced back at me. "Hang on."

No, Really? I was going to let go as soon as he-

He stood up, grabbed the rope and slid down so fast my stomach tried crawling into my throat. We hit the ground with a thump that made my teeth snap together. I tasted blood. Donut backed away from the rope and let me slip down and off his back. I hobbled upright and tested the side of my cheek with my tongue. Raw flesh stung on contact and I spit out some blood.

"You alright?" asked Donut.

I spit again, this time to get the taste of puke out of my mouth. "Yeah."

Another heavy thump nearly made me fall, Sarge heaved a huge sigh and looked over his team, slapping his shotgun into his palm. Donut promptly scooped me up again. Simmons went ahead in front with Sarge and Grif guarded Donut and I. This time we moved slowly, deliberately, one tree at a time through the thinning forest. The ground continued to slope downward at a steep angle that didn't level out anytime soon. Loose sand and dead pine needles slid free whenever the Reds took a step. I marveled at their balance. The slope was deeper than the ones I routinely walked on back home, and those were treacherous. Donut hardly wavered at all.

Simmons halted and everybody stopped. He raised his hand, held it horizontally and made a sweeping motion. Only the trees moved in the wind and….

A small avalanche of sand and pine needles hissed down the hill, parallel to the path we'd been walking in. I didn't breathe until Sarge came forward. He gestured to his team, pointing at Simmons first, Grif second, then Donut, and himself, indicating a straight line down. Everyone moved into position and continued with great care. Now the avalanche we made was smaller and coming from only one place. Donut slipped once but Sarge's hand thumped onto his shoulder and kept him upright. I gulped and hugged Donut tighter, his fingers brushed my ribs and tapped twice for 'O-K.'

I loosened my grip just a little and smiled, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. I was surrounded by strong, capable friends who knew how to take care of themselves on the battlefield. I was safe with them. Soon enough we'd meet up with Doc somewhere safe, then I'd go with him and Donut to their extraction zone. They would succeed in their mission and we'll all go home, celebrate, and goof off.

Right?

The trees thinned out even more, and alien shrubbery started to take over the land. In the distance I could see the valley floor, covered in ferns and taller plant life. Wait. There was more than that. Plants didn't move, and they weren't made of orange, blue or purple either. Or maybe they were? I wasn't on Earth anymore. I squinted to make out the shapes clearly. On the fringes of the taller 'plants' something turned. it stood on clawed feet and had a head made of three prongs…

The familiar shape bothered me. My mind went sifting through similar shapes I knew of, trying to make a match. A bit of blue light shimmered above the thing's clawed feet. It turned again. My mind blipped through a list of possible matches, and flashed red when it found what I was seeing.

A Covenant Shade turret.

There were no plants behind it and closer to the ground, scurrying about in packs were Grunts. Standing above them were Elites. Here and there were the green shields worn by Jackals. Further out there was a battered structure I could barely identify. Hunched round figures guarded it on all sides. Hunters? And… I picked out massive blobs of pink-purple armor: Wraith tanks.

"Holy shit…"

Donut tapped me, breaking my gaze from the horrible sight. He gave the slightest shake of his head. I started to say something more but shut my mouth in mid-breath. Okay, fine. I knew I wasn't supposed to say anything, but what could he expect? I just saw a nice piece of hell. The same hell my friends were risking their lives to infiltrate. If I had the power I would have stopped them all. No. No way. No way were they going in there!

We were too far down the slope for me to see any more. What was the Covenant guarding? Was it something they built? Did they capture it? Were there humans inside? What did my friends need to do? Destroy it? Recapture it? Save anyone? What if they couldn't? What if something went wrong? All those enemy soldiers…. Counting Blue Team, they had to be outnumbered fifty-to-one, or maybe more! Did O'Malley know about this when he sent me through the teleporter? Did he want me to die here? Why? My stomach clenched up. My heart thudded against my chest like a jackhammer. Was I going to die here? Just why the fucking hell was I here?

I whimpered and didn't want to cry. I cried quietly anyway. Donut tapped me again twice: 'O-K?' I shook my head no, not okay. I wanted to hide my face in his neck. He adjusted his grip so we were chest-to-chest. I didn't care that his armor was hard and lumpy. I cried some more. Over his shoulder I saw Sarge pause in scanning our perimeter to look at me. He rapped a knuckle under his chin, something he always did when he told me, "Buck up, Missy."

I sucked air in and tried to stop crying. Crying did nothing, it wasn't going to get us out of this place or this task. Crying wasn't going to make all of those aliens go away. Crying wasn't—

The gentle whirr of an engine drifted overhead and the Reds froze. The whirr became louder and was accompanied by a low-pitched, extended cry like a screaming hawk. The Reds tilted their weapons skyward. I searched for it too: the Banshee. They slowly backed into the tree line where the shadows overlapped. Far to the left the Banshee came into view and turned in a lazy curve toward us. The Reds took defensive posture, each one tracking the Covenant craft with his weapon, and Donut tucked me closer to his body.

The Banshee passed by. Its engine noise hurt my ears until it gradually faded away. No one moved. I exhaled when I realized I was holding my breath. Lucky this time, but for how long? How were we going to rendezvous with Doc if the Covenant had flight patrols? Where were we going to meet him? Where was he? Did he have to maneuver through that mess of alien life forms in the valley? Poor Doc! He wasn't really a soldier, he was a self-proclaimed pacifist. Could he fight if he had to? Could he kill? Could he—

Grif suddenly moved to the side and waved with his battle rifle. Donut loosened his hold and crouched, setting me on soft sand and pine needles. I frowned. Why...?

Doc crouched beside me. I squeaked in alarm and threw a handful of sand at him, "Don't DO that!"

He brushed the dirt off his faceplate and bobbed his head like he was saying something.

"What?"

Something went click. "Sorry, had my external speakers off."

So they'd been talking to each other without letting me know about it. I set irritation aside, recognizing that they could be forgiven due to the current situation. It was hard to stay mad at Doc anyway. Since he and O'Malley parted ways his personality showed to be a quiet, genuinely kind man who looked after others before he cared about his own health. He was relatively mellow and preferred to avoid competition at all costs. Luckily he learned to drop that trait at the supper table— if you didn't get there first, there might not be anything left for you to eat.

"Blue-One sends his regards," Doc said, "And Blue-Three sends hugs."

I giggled, Blue-Three must be Caboose. "Do I want to know what Blue-Two sends?"

"Not really." He coughed. "Which ankle is injured?"

"The left."

He kneeled and sat back on his heels. "I want you to put your leg up here." He patted his thigh. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

I did as he instructed and averted my eyes. If I saw anything even remotely wrong with the human body, my stomach mutinied and gave up its last meal. The mere thought of what my ankle must look like did nearly the same thing. My boot came off and I felt my sock move. I sifted sand through my fingers, fighting the urge to cringe. I glanced around, Sarge, Grif and Simmons had established a perimeter around us and constantly swept the area with their weapons.

"Hmm… this isn't too bad." Doc manipulated my leg with such delicacy I could have forgotten he was wearing a hundred pounds of armor, "A light sprain, you should be fine within two weeks."

Provided I lived that long.

I heard something metal creak open. Doc dug around in a small box painted the same color as his armor. He pulled out a bundled strip of cloth and a can. He unraveled the cloth and tore off a piece as long as his arm. He shook the can and coated half of the cloth in yellow-green foam, rubbing it in until the foam disappeared into the material. "This is going to be cold," he said.

I looked away again and gasped at the shock of the ice-cold cloth touching my skin. I tried to jerk my foot away but he restrained it and my ankle protested. "OW!"

"Sorry Star, I'll be done in a second." He wrapped the cloth around firmly and knotted it in place. "The biofoam will help speed your recovery." He replaced the sock and boot. "Don't try to walk on that if at all possible. Ideally not for three days at least."

I seriously felt like saying something sarcastic, but bit my tongue. He was just doing his job as the medic. I pulled my foot back and gingerly let it rest in the sand. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." He noticed the plasma pistol I had tucked in my lap. "Ah, that reminds me." He snapped the lid to the metal box shut and slipped it onto a clip behind his hip. "Blue-Three also sends a present."

"Really?"

Doc unhooked something from his waist and handed it to me. It looked like a giant wristwatch. The band was stretchy and had bits of skin stuck to it on the inside. I picked it out, wrinkling my nose. "It's a Jackal personal shield generator. He thought you might need it."

I slipped the band onto my left arm, over my sweatshirt, and pushed it up as far as I could before the band would stay in place. The Jackal's wrist must have been as big as my left bicep. Not a comforting thought. Sarge approached us.

"Are things shipshape?"

Doc stood, helping me up at the same time. I grabbed my plasma pistol and moved my arm, examining the shield generator. There was a tiny button on the side.

"Yes Sir." said Doc.

I tested my ankle by putting a little weight on it. It still complained but at least it didn't swear profusely. Lifting my foot, I rested it against the back of my right leg and leaned on Doc. "I'm ready to rock, Sir."

He chuckled. "Glad to hear it. Now—" Sarge was cut off by a low hawk's-scream that broke out directly above us.

"Incooooming!" cried Simmons, pointing his rifle to the sky.

To be continued…