*Chapter Nine

EARTH TIME: 19th of October, 2553

SOEIV Drop Pod

Gethrii

Mission Clock: 1540

He dropped fast.

Scarily fast.

Horatio tried to control his breathing as he plummeted earthward in the pod. The sound of the SOEIV breaking through the atmosphere rose to a shrieking crescendo. He jerked from side to side as he hit air pockets. He checked the thruster tanks, full of saturated acid. No leaks, not yet. Good. He'd need the explosively reactive gas to avoid any large objects.

Yellow cloud billowed around him, and condensation fogged the windows. Amazed this place even has any moisture.

The temperature was climbing, as he began the worst part of the insertion. Fiery tendrils clawed at the skin of his pod, peeling away the hard layers. His fatigues were dark with sweat. The joysticks were scorching his finger pads. He closed his eyes, and slowly counted each second. After about a minute, he opened them.

The screens fizzled, but were still working. One displayed the target area-about a dozen other pods had made it to the ground so far. The other screen showed his pod's integrity data-still holding. Through the windows, he could see the rest of the battalion, innumerable dots on the horizon. Luckily, he had a nice open plain to land on-no reason to dodge objects. The blue-white jets of their engines were flaring against his vision. Feverishly, he scanned the readout on his own pod. Three thousand metres to go.

He made one last check of his weapons, ammo and other gear before settling in. His hand hovered over the chute release button. Wait.

The ground was rushing up to meet him. He counted to three, then hit the button.

With a ripping noise the bright yellow parasail rushed out of the top of his pod. His rapid descent noticeably slowed. His safety harness cut into his chest, driving the wind out of his chest. He prepared for the jarring, bone-shaking impact.

With a voomph, the pod drove itself into the ground. His teeth rattled in his skull. Everything became a blur. When it settled, he shook his head and hit the release button.

The door of his pod flew off, landing ten metres away. The leather straps on his harness came away as well, snapping like rotten string. Gasping, he fell forward.

He had no idea how long he lay there, but eventually he sat up, blinking in the sunlight. "Never….again, "he muttered. His mouth tasted like dirt. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have suffered any internal injuries. Shaking his head again, he stood and surveyed the situation.

It wasn't pretty. Steam scalded out of cracks in the charcoal-and-orange ground. Grim peaks, twisted around each other, lined the horizon. The sun had taken on a burning significance, as if it was the omnipresent lord of the planet it lit. It was a scene of utter desolation. And it's gonna get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

He reached into his pod, pulling away his rifle. He tucked his ammo bag into his belt, and nestled his helmet on his head. Targeting reticules and biometrics appeared on the screen. Everything was shaky, but green.

Before they dropped, they'd been given updated equipment. Horatio was glad for it, but worried the extra data would obscure his vision. Time would tell. He swept the terrain with his weapon. Nothing as of yet.

No pods were visible yet, but more pods were dropping down now. A pair of them landed not far from him, in a dry gulch. He keyed his radio. "This is Private Horatio of-" he squinted at his pod: NOVEMBER-"November Squad. Does anybody copy, over?"

Static fizzed and crackled, but he could hear a few voices as well. One of them might have been Terry's, but he couldn't tell. He scowled-if the COMMS went down, they'd be deep in the shit. He gingerly began walking towards the gulch.

There was a boom, and another pod landed next to him, the impact sending him tumbling. As soon as he'd shaken off the dust, he jogged over and, with an effort, prised the cover off. He peered inside.

A coughing Marine, face emblazoned with tattoos, pulled himself forward, wreathed by smoke. Horatio bent to assist, but the man waved him off. "Just gimme a sec."

Eventually the man stood up. He had a Canadian accent. "Gotta find my squad. Who're you?"

"Horatio, November Squad. You?"

"Dean, Oscar Squad." He had a look around the landscape. "We managed to keep formation until we popped our chutes. They should be nearby."

Horatio pointed to the gulch. "Saw some pods down there. Let's check it out." The pair headed slowly down the rocky slope, rifles drawn.

Suddenly, a voice sounded on their COMs. "Any UNSC personnel, respond! This is Private Cooper of Zulu Squad. I'm pinned down in a gulch with a wounded squadmate. Requesting immediate assistance, over!"

He could hear the chatter of rifle fire, and the whine of plasma. "Let's go!" he barked to Dean. He unlimbered his sniper rifle, jumping over a boulder.

The gulch was like an amphitheatre; it continually descended down in a natural series of tiers. Two pods were embedded in a crater. Their occupants were crouched behind them, firing back at unseen attackers. One had taken a plasma bolt to the shoulder, and was struggling to stay conscious. The uninjured marine tossed a grenade, and a hollow boom echoed up the gorge. But the enemy fire continued to pour in.

Horatio sighted through his scope, and picked out a conical helmet jutting over some rocks. "I see Grunts, "he reported tersely. "Must be a Brute with them as well. They're sending two around the other side. You head that way; I'll draw their fire and give Cooper a hand." Dean nodded in assent and hurried off.

He clicked his COM. "Private Cooper, this is Private Horatio from November. I'm about twenty metres above your head. See if you can't draw them forward-then I can take them out."

"Got it. Make it quick." The marine lobbed two more grenades up the slope, and fired aggressively. Twin blasts of shrapnel, and an angry howl was heard. It was working.

Stones clattered, and a blue-armored Brute made his way down the gorge. A lance of Grunts were right behind him. He had a strange plasma rifle in his hands-it was blood red. The plasma it was firing was the same colour. No matter-he'd faced plenty of Brutes before. He loosed the catch and rested the rifle on a rock. The alien's ugly face was right in his sights.

A powerful blow caught him on the side of the face, stunning him. He rolled, and faced his attacker-a Jackal sniper. Its bloodshot yellow eyes glared at him through its helmet. The birdlike alien had evidently wanted this spot for its own. It screeched a challenge and swung its carbine again.

He sidestepped, and smashed the butt of his own rifle into the alien's brittle ribcage, and was rewarded with a snap. The Jackal wailed in pain. Horatio dropped the rifle, drew his sidearm and shot the sneaky bastard through the head.

The fracas had not gone unnoticed-the Brute, sensing an ambush, sent the lance back up the slope and charged Cooper's position. He had no time to waste. He grabbed the rifle and fired.

One round buried itself in the Brute's arm, causing him to drop the weapon. Cooper, backing away, fired erratically. The Brute snarled, darted forward and struck with its massive fists. The marine was sent flying, landing with a crunch on the rocks. Grunting with satisfaction, it moved away, scooping up the plasma rifle.

A plasma grenade arced its way from the other side and stuck itself to the Brute's chest-roaring, it tore at the breast-plate, but it was too late. The alien vanished in a flash of light. The panicked squeals and barks of the Grunts could be heard.

Horatio moved down into the crater, making sure there were no more hostiles in the area. Moving over to Cooper, he saw that the man's spine was broken. Sighing, he moved over to the pods. The wounded man sat up, groaning. Horatio set a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. We'll patch you up." He rose his voice. "Dean!"

Dean jumped down from the other side, ambling over. "Grunts were no problem. Grabbed their plasma grenades-but I suspect you knew that already." He chuckled, then grew serious. "I'm a medic-let me have a look." He grabbed a medkit and inspected the shoulder.

Gunfire was heard, and the screams of Grunts. Horatio looked up the slope, as three ODSTs emerged and waved to them, rifles smoking. Horatio called, "Good to see you."

One Helljumper with white stripes on his helmet nodded. "Same here. Listen, we formed a rally point about two klicks away-about a hundred men and counting. Soon as you're ready we'll lead you there. You got wounded?"

Dean finished strapping a dressing onto the man's shoulder. "Not anymore."

"Good. Let's move out." Horatio, with his newfound allies, started clambering out of the gully. He wondered if any of his teammates would be at the rally point. Or were they dead, either killed on insertion or by the Brutes? He pushed the thought out of his mind.

Screw that. This is just one more crummy planet that we're fighting over. They're not gonna die here. Not after all this.

Mission Clock: 1600

Captain Hodgkins watched the view screens with a furrowed brow. Every moment they used diverting power to the engines made it more and more likely that the Covenant would come across them and take revenge. He ordered deceleration, and the carrier drifted above the red planet. "Boll, "he barked.

The ship's AI, an unshaven man dressed in crimson, materialized above the holo-pad. He was supposed to be a medieval-style mercenary, but privately Hodgkins thought he looked like a drunk. "Yes, Captain?"

He mulled over several data readouts, then said, "Hold off on all system diagnostics for another minute, then dump all excess power into the reactor. I don't care if it red-lines; just get us out of here. Eject all fused material into the deuterium tanks to compensate. What is the path of least resistance?"

"The definition reads as the physical or metaphorical pathway-"

Hodgkins groaned. "I mean the vector that will have the least pull on the ship, give me a break!"

"Oh." The AI's form shimmered slightly as a humility subroutine manifested. "That would be heading two zero eight five by nine three three four."

"Then carry out my orders, and take us there."

"Aye-aye." His form flared different colours as he went about his tasks. "Reactor is pushing the safety levels. Magnetisation to occur within four minutes. We have enough power to escape the gravity well-however, we will have little operational thrust until the reactor stabilises."

"Fine. Go."

Silver Lining shuddered as the engines blazed, sending them forward. The atmosphere clung to them, but reluctantly let them go. Hodgkins exhaled noisily. "Good. Give me a status update on Persepolis."

"Her reactor isn't stabilised yet, but their life-support is still functioning. They have minimum thrust. They're doing their best to evac to the far end of the system, out of the way."

"At least that's taken care of. Open a channel to the Elite's cruiser."

"Yessir." The screen fizzled, and the imposing figure of the Elite Shipmaster Orbo Daruf' appeared. He was clad in gold armour, befitting his position. The captain tried to recall what he had read of him from the exchange profile he had received. A fiery warrior, he had already requested several postings on the front lines. His hatred of the Brutes was intense. Behind him, a number of silver-armored Elites could be seen operating the ship's controls.

The alien nodded to Hodgkins. "Well met, Captain. We have burned a Jiralhanae ship at the northern pole. Its charred remains now spiral into the atmosphere."

"How about the other two ships?"

Orbo consulted a screen outside Hodgkins' vision. "They are fleeing towards a moon, three hundred units distant. Perhaps they think it will afford them better protection." He sniffed derisively. "They are wrong. Nonetheless, if they attempt an orbital burn they could return to the fight very quickly. We will be vigilant. Now, do you require assistance?"

Hodgkins nodded. "We're readying our airborne reinforcements. It would be appreciated if you would provide some cover in case the Brutes launch a possible sneak attack."

"Of course. We must needs deploy the Xonnel warriors-the battle rages below. Have you received trajectory reports from your insertion?"

Hodgkins scanned his screens. "No. That's odd. The satellites are all accounted for-no reason why they shouldn't be broadcasting. I suppose there's groundside interference."

The Elite grumbled. "Hmm. Perhaps our equipment will function better. In any case, we are making our approach." He turned to one of his officers. "Majordomo Ref, report on atmospheric conditions."

"Solar winds in the exosphere at one hundred demi-units per hour, "the Elite growled. "Thermal bloom covering the target site. Suggests heavy-duty plasma equipment. The Brutes wouldn't have had the chance to offload mortars or baseline projectors-most likely repurposed mining gear."

"Re-orient the targeting vectors-aim for co-ordinates 690 by 221. Pressurise flak shielding to maximum safety levels. Have Commander Hirf Kalok' and his lances deploy three units ahead of the rest of the legion-they have experience in this manner of situation."

"Aye, Shipmaster."

The cruiser was now in sight, moving up to rest alongside Silver Lining. It completely dwarfed the smaller vessel. The alien drop-pods were far better than the SOEIVs-they could be fired from deep into space and still reach their target. They lined the vessel's underside like barnacles on a rock. Onscreen, Orbo nodded to Hodgkins. "We are in place. Deploy when ready." The transmission disappeared.

He began issuing snap orders. "Lieutenant Patel, re-route all power from unnecessary systems to the mag-lines. We can drift-so minimal power to the engines. Everyone else, focus on getting those ships out of here. Tell squadrons alpha and charlie to provide escort-the others to conduct bombing and strafing runs where they see fit. I want constant updates-I don't care if the satellites are buggy, tell them to work the COM systems. I want at least three landing sites in the next half-hour."

Down in the hangar, warning lights flashed as the doors and airlocks began opening. Pelicans with Warthogs clutched beneath their bellies hummed as they moved along the mag-lines, towards the trapdoors. Their strobe-lights flared and their stubby wings rotated as pilots made systems checks. Squads of marines cheered and whooped as they piled onto the dropships. In a mater of minutes, a number of dropships and fighters were racing out of the carrier, heading for the battle site.

Mission Clock: 1610

"How is it?" Len asked.

The nameless marine stood with hands on hips. "Didn't see anything. But there are more hills thataway." She pointed east. The forbidding shape of a volcano loomed. The land around it was hunched and bumpy. "Could be anyone there."

Len grunted. "Fine. We'll rest here." He waved the other four marines forward. Wearily, they ascended the hilltop. Overburdened with their heavy weapons gear, the hike was turning into a strenuous task.

Len wondered, as his boots scuffed the red dust, what he had done to deserve being put in this situation. An unexpected collision with another pod had buffeted his engines, and sent him at least three miles off course. If he hadn't deployed his chutes at that critical moment, he'd have careered into that ridge. As it was, he'd suffered enough. His head still felt like it had been hammered with a rock.

Then there was that ambush by the Brute patrol. The bastards would have fried and filleted him if these other marines, with similar bad luck, hadn't saved him. Len was grateful, but they weren't exactly being friendly. He wasn't part of their company and they knew it. Luckily, he was the only corporal there-the rest of them were privates-so they had to obey him and show him some courtesy. Still, their body language was saying screw you as much as possible. The trove of heavy weapons made it almost worth being here. Almost, but not quite.

They'd been walking for some time now. He wiped sweat from his forehead, and turned to the nameless marine. "Any luck?"

"Not a bit, "she muttered, trying to tune the battered radio pack. "COM satellites can't punch through this gas cloud. Ground-based transceivers are playing up. We'll just have to wait."

"No, "Len said decisively. "Can't just sit here and wait to get shot. The rest of the battalion can't be far away-we weren't that far away. Besides, those hills will provide better cover. Five minutes, then we go." He walked off a distance.

"No."

Len whirled around. "Excuse me?"

The woman folded her arms and glared at him. "You ain't in our unit. So why should we have to take orders from you?"

Len stepped closer. "Because, Private, I'm the ranking marine here. And just so you know, I have no reservations about beating up a woman. Now, you gonna fall in line?"

The fire in her eyes dimmed. "Yeah, "she muttered sullenly. The nameless marine walked away, scuffing up dirt. Len sighed. Another dissident successfully defused.

He unslung his rifle and eyed it again. The general idea of their mission was to cause confusion amongst the enemy, before engaging in open combat. To that end, he'd discarded the standard-issue MA5C assault rifle and traded it for a ACF-33 rifle. A relatively new addition to the UNSC armory, it was all barrel, but had a 5x scope mounted on it. It fired heavy-caliber bullets, but these could be segmented into smaller cartridges for a quicker rate of fire, by use of a sophisticated interior system. Kyle preferred the battle rifle, but Len wanted more flexibility for this op. Testing the scope, he eyed the hills.

And saw a massive dust cloud. Without the scope, he may have mistaken it for a hill. Frowning, he turned back to his companions. "All of you, use your scopes and take a look at this."

Grumbling, the five marines roused themselves. But they were just as concerned as Len when they saw it. "Could it be some of ours?"

"Doubt it, "one remarked. "Too big for any light vehicles we might have brought-"

With a sonic roar, a pair of Shortswords rocketed over their heads. Len rounded on the nameless marine. "Quick! The radio!"

She immediately began twisting the dial this way and that, trying to find a signal. Eventually-

"-Torch Five, scout that mountain range east of your heading-

"-taking fire from AA cannons-set up-plain-"

"-just took out some Wraiths on the escarpment-"

Len grabbed the radio and barked into it, "This is Corporal Len of November Squad! Can anyone hear me, over?"

"This is Torch-One. I read you, Corporal. What's up?"

"We're located on a hill about 3 miles from the general insertion site. Sending you our co-ordinates now." He tapped a transponder unit on his helmet. "Can you provide extract, over?"

"Negative, Corporal. Can't land this bomber down there-not enough room. Pelicans are en route. I'll tell them you called."

"Torch-One, can you provide visual aid?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Make a fly-by over our location-we might have some enemy vehicles in the vicinity."

"Roger that."

A black dot appeared on the horizon, and quickly grew into the form of a Shortsword bomber. Even from this distance, Len could see its shiny underside, bristling with auto cannons and bombardment tubes. A fibre optic winked with red light as it scanned the surrounding area. It screamed over their heads, and disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Len tuned the radio. "Torch-One?"

"Corporal, I make four, repeat four, Brute crafts heading in your direction. Choppers. Drone estimates that they'll be at your location within half an hour. Sorry, soldier, but we can't help you. Think you can hold out?"

Len turned and looked at the pile of metal cases nearby. "Yes, I do."

He faced the marines. "Choppers on the way. Break out the heavy gear." As they turned away, he grabbed the radio again. "Torch-One? Maybe you can do one last thing for me."

When Len had finished with the pilot, he turned to the others. "Alright boys and girls. We don't have much time. Let's have a look around the neighbourhood…"

The four Brute vehicles tore up the hill. Bladed wheels spun and whirred. Exhaust pipes spat out tongues of orange and purple flames. Beak-shaped auto cannons targeted the lone figure standing on the hill.

The leader, clad in red armour, pulled the massive attack craft to a halt. He glanced at his companions. Why would one of the human dogs make a stand when so outnumbered? They were weak, yes, but not stupid. He buried his unease-it was unnatural. "There is only one. Urgaus, take him out."

"Aye." The Brute in question pulled the triggers on his control frame. White-hot jets of metal burst from his cannons. But the figure simply retreated a little, out of sight. The rounds drilled into the hillside. The leader gnashed his teeth. "Enough of this hide-and-seek. We will charge him. He has nowhere to go. Urgaus, take the lead."

Urgaus grinned bestially. "Thank you, pack-leader." He maneuvered his vehicle ahead of the others, and together they gunned their throttles. They quickly ascended the rest of the hill.

Standing on the dusty hilltop, Len watched the oncoming Choppers. He'd judged it right-giving in to their savage urges, they'd chosen to run him down rather than use their cannons. Good. They also hadn't noticed the tube he had over his shoulder. Tensing, he grasped the firing lever and sighted through the scope. The lead Chopper was bearing down on him. He just hoped the other marines would do their jobs.

Exhaling loudly, he pulled the lever.

A warhead, with a tail of fire, erupted from the tube, sending Len stumbling back. It powered towards Urgaus. He had been going too fast to dodge, and he howled as the rocket plowed into his front engine, blowing him and the vehicle apart. Metal sprayed everywhere, and the remnants of the wheel rolled away, eventually coming to a halt.

Len didn't stop to savor this victory. He fired the other rocket, kicking up a plume of dust and smoke. He dropped the empty launcher and pelted down the slope.

Spitting gravel, the leader crested the hilltop, his two companions behind him. He was furious at this attack by the human. Worse, he knew he had no-one to blame but himself. His eagerness to charge the human devil had brought Urgaus' death. He would not make the same mistake twice. He centred his auto cannons on the fleeing human.

A grenade bounced off his wheel and exploded. Bullets thudded into him, causing his shields to flicker. Growling, he pulled his Chopper around and faced this new threat.

More humans! Five of them, most carrying the same tube the other human had had. They were gathered some distance away. Gritting his teeth, he motioned to his two companions. "Take them!" I will deal with this runt." He pulled the handles back, and roared off towards the escaping human. The other two growled their assent and took off towards the other humans.

Len snapped his head around as he rounded the first corner in what the nameless marine had determined to be a twisting and arduous maze. The other marines were doing their bit. And the big bastard in charge was still after him. He reached down and grasped the handle of his new rifle for reassurance. Len hoped this plan would work.

A searing bolt of metal embedded itself in the rock wall to his right. Gulping, Len thundered off down the path.

Meanwhile, the nameless marine and her companions raced down a dry creek bed. Before the centuries-old volcanism it would have been a flowing river. Jagged rocks poked out of the dry ground. Even as they advanced, the temperature began to rise. One marine dashed a sheath of sweat from his forehead. "What the hell are we gonna do, steam them to death?"

"Shove it, "the nameless marine muttered. "Alright, we're nearly there. Cox, Davies, head up that way and take a launcher with you. You know what to do." Two soldiers grabbed a tube and hurried off.

She turned to the others. "Gregory, you remember where you placed the marker?"

The marine in question nodded. "'Bout half a klick onwards."

"Good." The screech of the Choppers engines was growing louder by the second. "Come on-we gotta go." The remaining three leathernecks scrambled over the rocks.

Cox and Davies were finding the going tough. Razor-sharp jags of igneous rock blocked their path, forcing them to go slower. Davies waved his hands fitfully in a vain effort to disperse the steam. "We there yet?"

Cox peered forward. "Yep."

Before them stretched a small valley, filled with black sand and white ash. Most noticeable of all, however, were the flaring columns of lava that erupted from the ground. The ground bulged and heaved as yet another half dozen spouts of incandescent liquid twisted into the air. Cox feverishly scanned the area, and found a patch of land that didn't have any dangerous magma spray around it. "Right there! Be careful!" The pair of marines cautiously navigated the treacherous landscape and huddled on a small island of flattened rock.

Just in time-the barbaric form of the Brute Chopper emerged from the creek bed. It's driver seemed bewildered by the fiery phenomena, but was determined to kill them nonetheless. Having seen the other Brute's death by rocket, the Brute had activated the vehicle's ballistic shielding. Ever since the humans advancements in heavy weapons (the Galilean Non-Linear Rifle being a prime example), the Brutes had taken steps. The shielding was strong enough to deflect small arms fire, grenades and (most of the time) rockets. Bad luck-they wouldn't be able to try it again.

Cox raised his rifle, and fired a shot to get the Brute's attention. He turned to Davies, who was holding the launcher. "You found a target yet?"

"You bet."

"Good." Cox exhaled loudly. "Now we wait."

They didn't have to wait long. The Brute uttered a guttural howl, and the Chopper jumped forward. Cannons targeted them.

"Now!" Cox shouted. Davies fired the rocket. But not at the Chopper.

The warhead hit the ground and caused a massive hole-reacting to this, a fountain of lava exploded from it, enveloping the Chopper. A snarl of outrage was heard, the shielding collapsed and lava ate into the vehicle's metal like acid. Cox laughed shakily. "Good work, Dav-"

An enormous shard of metal skewered Davies through the neck; he dropped to the ground without a sound. Staring in horror, Cox swung his gaze back to the Chopper.

It barely resembled a vehicle anymore; nonetheless, its cannons still functioned. The Brute hadn't fared well-a foul mess of bone and scorched flesh was all that remained off its right arm. An insane grin was pasted on its face. It readjusted the firing studs and fired at Cox.

He yelled in agony as a round burst on the rocks and sent tiny shards into his hip. A burning sting ran along his thigh. Blood stained his fatigues. Even as his mind was awash with pain, he was dimly aware of the Brute standing over him.

Drips of metal were sliding off the Brute's helmet and onto his leg, scalding him. The alien had lost its weapon, but now hefted an edge of rock. Its eyes were filled with bloodlust. As it raised the weapon, Cox closed his eyes.

A sprack! was heard, and Cox opened his eyes. The Brute was now missing its head. It slowly toppled to earth. Cox could hardly believe it.

Crunching noises-he turned, and swallowed. An Elite, tall and clad in shimmering black armor, strode over to him. Despite the onset of the alliance, he hadn't yet fought with the aliens. Nor did he want to. However, any objections he might have raised were stifled by the awe-inspiring sight of this Elite commando.

It held a carbine in one hand. Bending down, it's voice was firm. "Can you move your leg?"

Cox tried, and was rewarded with a blinding pain. "No, "he said between gritted teeth.

The alien extracted a roll of what appeared to be glowing green tape from a belt it carried. "Let me wrap your leg in this-it will immobilise it. Then you can move without fear of damaging it further."

Though Cox was unwilling to let the alien use his weird medical stuff on him, he acknowledged that he needed it. "Fine."

As he wrapped it, the Elite talked. "When I landed, there was nobody else in the vicinity. You are the first I have encountered. Do you have any companions?"

Cox nodded. "Four others. But they've got Brutes after them."

The Elite nodded gravely. "Then we must away. Can you move now?"

He gingerly put weight on the leg-and he felt nothing. He stood. "I'm ready."

"Good." The pair picked their way through the rocks. As they went, Cox said, "I'm Cox."

"Lazu."

The Chopper fired again. Ribbons of liquefied rock splattered the ground.

Backing even further down the path, the nameless marine and another soldier fired again, aggravating the Brute. The cluttered nature of the creek bed was working in their favour, and its frustrated shots kept hitting the rocks. But they were running out of room.

About fifty metres behind them was a small basin, filled to the brim with boiling lava. Occasionally a piece of rock would fall into it and become immediately incinerated. The heat radiating from it was infernal-the nameless marine felt like she was stepping into a furnace. A furnace would be a nitrogen bath compared to this.

She keyed her radio, which was slick with sweat. "Mandel, you in position?"

"Ready and waiting."

"Good." At least one thing was going right.

The Chopper edged forward a few more metres, cannons still firing and missing. The driver's bestial face was screwed up in a crude snarl. But when he caught sight of the lava pool, it lit up in a grin. Slowly, dramatically, it forced the vehicle forward, inch by inch.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before they had nowhere to go. The Brute believed he already had this fight cut and dried.

He'd taken the bait.

They kept backing away, keeping expressions of fear on their faces. They were now only a few metres away from the pool. She could feel the heat beginning to crisp the soles of her feet.

The nameless marine yelled into her radio, "Now! Do it now!"

From his concealed place in the rocks above their heads, Mandel fired the last rocket.

It sailed through the air, and detonated somewhere in the crags opposite. The Brute grinned, still thinking he had the upper hand. He didn't.

A muffled shriek was heard as a landslide of rocks tumbled over the Brute and his craft. The shielding failed and they both disappeared under an avalanche of basalt. When the terrible noise had subsided, there was nothing but a pile of black rocks, yellow dust slowly rising above it.

Breathing slowly, they made their way over. Mandel appeared, smoking launcher in his hand. He poked the rock pile with his foot. "Is it…dead?" he asked.

"Can't be much deader than that, "the nameless marine said harshly. "Get Cox and Davies on the horn. We gotta get back and see if the Corporal's made it."

"Doubt it, "Mandel remarked as they walked, the other marine cueing his radio. "Didn't seem that tough to me-for all his bossiness."

Privately, the nameless marine disagreed. Len was an idiot, but if what she'd heard was true, he was one hell of a soldier. And they were going to need it, if the day's events were anything to go by. Still, I hope he finds his own squad and goes back to where he belongs.

"I've got Cox, "the marine reported after a few minutes. Listening to the transmission, he made a face. "Davies bought it."

"Damnit."

"Oh, and he said he, uh, picked up some help."

"What kind of help?" Mandel interjected.

From the junction ahead, Cox and a massive Elite emerged. Mandel gulped. "Oh, "he stammered, "that kind of help."

The alien surveyed them all. What he saw obviously didn't impress him. "I only count three of you. Where is the other one?"

The nameless marine marshaled her courage. She wasn't about to be intimidated by this creep. "He went off by himself, to deal with another Chopper. Some dude named Len-"

The Elite's eyes widened. "Corporal Len? He is in my squad. We must find him." He set off, carbine cocked.

As they trudged behind him, Mandel sighed. "Great. We just happen to end up with that prototype squad. Those guys are like a suicide squad, the places they go. We're screwed."

Probably, the nameless marine thought glumly.

Len ducked as the streaks of plasma flew over his head. They impacted on a rock and sizzled, but he had no time to go around it. He pulled himself over it, ignoring the pain.

The Brute had left its vehicle behind-the path had become too rocky. It was now stranded between two stalagmites, wobbling precariously. But the Brute was no less vicious, hunting him ruthlessly.

A sharp turn-perfect. He rounded it, nestled between some rocks, and aimed his rifle.

He knew he wouldn't be able to kill it-that's what his plan was for. But there was no harm in slowing it down. He clicked off the safety, and waited.

As soon as the Brute's ugly face appeared, Len fired. The armourer hadn't lied-the bullets were heavy pigs. He felt the rifle kick against his shoulder, but squeezed off two more shots. The bullets struck the Brute on the face, causing it to howl and drop back, hands clutching its face. Len bolted.

As he ran down the defile, leaping over obstacles, he was aware of the Brute pursuing him. It had already recovered-that wasn't good. If this didn't work, Len had no idea what he'd do. He only hoped the others had survived.

He kept running-then found himself facing a sheer black wall. There was no way he'd be able to scale it-and even if could, the Brute would just pick him off. Breathing hard, he clicked on his COM. "Torch-One? Better hurry up. I'm running out of time."

"Don't mess yourself, Corporal, we're on our way. It's not easy changing co-ordinates at this altitude."

"Yeah, yeah. Just do it." He signed off, and faced forward.

It was eerily quiet. He could see nothing but the tumble of rocks in front of him. The Brute could be hidden anywhere. He fired a few rounds into the air, and the harsh snarl of the bullets echoed through the air. Then silence.

He couldn't stand this waiting. Brutes usually weren't this patient. Time to use some banter. "I hope you asked for shore leave, "he called out. "Because you're gonna be here for quite a while. What, you scared?"

The Brute probably didn't understand the words but inflection in Len's voice probably carried the message across. An animalistic howl rang through the air and the Brute charged from a crevice in the rocks, plasma weapon up and firing. Len dodged the poorly-placed shots and fired back. The bullets tore huge gaps in the alien's shielding and armour but it didn't stop. It kept coming.

With a snarl it crashed into Len, bringing them both down. Len grunted and tried to fire, but the Brute grabbed his hands and squeezed, cutting off the blood flow. The pain was immense-the alien's hands were like mechanical vices. Eventually he had to let go of the rifle, and it clattered to the ground.

With a satisfied growl the Brute threw Len aside, sending him along the ground and causing him to be splayed against a rock. He shook his head, stunned, and reached for his sidearm.

The Brute threw himself at him, roaring. Len pinned his knee between himself and the alien and grabbed its lapels, in an effort to keep its slavering, fang-filled mouth away from him. But it was too strong. His kneecap felt like it was about to shatter. He then spotted the Brute's broken helmet, dangling. Ah, what the hell.

He snapped his head forward, and the Brute's helmet rammed into its own forehead. It howled, and desperately tried to pull the shards of metal from its flesh. Taking advantage of this, Len rolled away and backed off, drawing his pistol. He didn't waste time; as soon as it cleared the holster he fired.

The Brute staggered as Len emptied the clip into the alien. Red holes blossomed all over its body. But when he ran dry, it was still standing. Len was unarmed, apart from a knife. Though aware of the fact it would be useless, he stood ready.

The Brute shook itself like a dog, and faced the marine. Seeing the knife, it grinned savagely. "You cannot best me human. I will take your head as a trophy."

Before he could reply, Len's helmet crackled. "I'm on the approach, Corporal! You say when."

Len smiled slowly, and activated the speaker function on his COM. "Torch-One, now would be a great time. Adjust for two hundred metres."

"I hear ya. Dropping in ten." A sonic roar filled the air, and the Shortsword appeared overhead. It was a tiny dot in the sky.

The Brute cocked his head. "What games do you play, human? If you assail this place with explosives, you shall perish too. Enough of this." It stepped forward, hands flexing.

Len snorted. "Who said anything about exploding?" He then pointed upwards. "Say hello."

The Brute looked up. Its eyes widened with shock, and it turned to run. But it was too slow.

Torch-One dropped a bomb-but not an active one. It descended through the sky, and scored a direct hit on the Brute. The weight of the explosive crushed its torso and drove its body through the stony ground. By the time the dust cleared, all that remained was a twisted mess of shattered limbs. Len whistled. Bloody hell, who needs explosives?

Torch-One's voice came over the COM. "Nailed him! Right, I gotta go, Corporal. But I've got dropships on my sensors. Just sit tight and drop a beacon. Good hunting. Torch-One out."

"Thanks for the assist. Corporal Len out." Rising wearily, he made his way back, his bones killing him.

Halfway back, he heard a clattering of rocks and raised his knife. "Come out, "he said sternly. Lazu emerged, a relieved expression on his face. "It gladdens me to see you, Len."

Len grinned and shook his hand. "Same here. You found the others?"

"Indeed I did." He glanced over his shoulders. "Dropships are landing not far away. We must return." He lumbered off.

As they walked, Len asked, "You heard from Kyle? Gerun? Anyone?"

Lazu shook his head. "You are the first I have met."

Len sighed, and kicked a pebble moodily. "Terrific. I just hope they made it."

"As do I."

Mission Clock: 1630

"Alright! Bring her down!"

The marines scrambled to mount the 'Hog as it dropped from the Pelican's clutches, the entire assembly clunking as it pounded the red dirt. Tyres spinning, the vehicle and its crew sped off, reconnoitering the area. Fellow soldiers cheered them on their way. In the makeshift rally point, they were still preparing for the assault. Roughly one thousand marines now mobbed the hill. Landing pads had been established, and dropships were arriving, disgorging new loads of troops.

Kyle watched all this with scarcely-concealed impatience. He wanted to move out and engage the enemy. Not due to any sort of bloodlust-but because the sooner they crushed the Brutes, the sooner they'd be off this world. Plus, they could begin the search for their missing teammates.

He knew it was irrational to automatically think that they'd been killed or captured. Horatio, Len, Lazu, Dasa and Gerun were perfectly capable of looking after themselves. They'd made it through worse scrapes before. Still, there was no way of knowing. In his time as a marine, he'd seen the concept of probability go out the window. The fact remained that some of his squad members were still here and accounted for. For now, he'd lock away the dark feelings in a corner of his mind.

Spitting on the ground, he turned to his soldiers. Ollie had torn a tendon during the drop, which the medics had fixed, but would limit his marksmanship. Yet another problem in this hilarious sideshow. The loss of the Elites hurt too-their shields and superior training and strength were invaluable. More would be arriving soon, but Kyle didn't care. The squad had lost their ace in the hole. And Len, annoying as he had been, had always been a capable right-hand man. Never gonna tell him that, though. Man's head is swelled enough as it is.

"You had any luck?" he demanded.

Ollie shook his head ruefully. "No chance. Satellites can't punch through the atmosphere. The sensors down here are no good either. I've talked with other techs-COM range is about two miles. We'll just have to make do."

The sergeant grunted. "Fine. How's our partner squad?"

"Over there." He jabbed a finger about twenty metres distant. "They've lost a few as well."

Sadly, that was the state of most of the battalion. Of the two hundred or so squads gathered here, only seventy weren't undermanned.

Before Kyle could ask another question, a voice could be heard on the battalion COM. "All squads, report to positions. Repeat, all squads to positions. Offensive commences in five. All Warthog crews, report to Lieutenant Burton."

"Alright, time to move, "Kyle announced. "Let's head over."

The meagre group shouldered their gear and threaded their way through a mass of green. Eventually they reached their partner squad, Kilo.

The sergeant there was a tired-looking man, roughly the same age as Kyle. Grey touched the shorn hair of his temples. His men didn't look much better, lying around on the ground. Reminds me of mine-just more miserable.

The man looked up, offered a weak smile. "Kyle? Heard a lot about you. Good to have you around for this little fete. Sergeant Evans." He offered his hand, and Kyle took it. Despite his appearance, Evans had a strong grip. Kyle revised his opinion of his fellow sergeant-there was a lot more to him than met the eye. "Likewise. I see you lost a few."

Evans sighed, and hung his head. "Yeah. Nothing to be done about that, though. I just hope-"

He broke off in a fit of coughing. Everyone watched with concern. Kyle touched his shoulder. "You alright?"

Evans waved him away. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just need some water." He unscrewed his flask and gulped some down. His hands shook.

Kyle frowned inwardly. With the end of the war, a great number of old soldiers had retired. Some veterans-mostly those to whom the UNSC was home-had stayed behind, himself included. His home, Eridanus II, had long since been destroyed. The only thing he knew was soldiering. Even so, this man should have been forcibly retired years ago. He only hoped the man's infirmity wouldn't jeopardise the mission.

Evans stood up, and dusted himself off. "Anyway. We got assigned to one of the outlying spots. Our job is to flank the enemy-take them out while they charge one of the central groups. You got your sniper?"

"No."

Evans scowled. "Damn. I've lost mine as well. Still, I managed to get some more sniper rifles-"

"Sarge!"

Kyle turned, to see a familiar figure rushing over. Benson, who had been unqualified for hot-dropping, had taken a dropship. He pulled off his helmet, to reveal a beetroot-red face filmed with sweat. He was obviously unused to the planet's fierce climate. Throwing a salute, he said, "Reporting for duty, sir."

Kyle nodded gruffly. "At ease. Get in the ranks. We're moving out." Benson nodded, and hurried to join the others.

Ollie looked up and nodded to him. "Kid. You like it hot?"

He resentfully brushed the sweat from his hair. "Hell no." The tech expert chuckled. "Well, get used to it."

The marines in Kilo squad sniggered. Benson rounded on them, determined not to be pushed around. "You guys got a problem?"

One of them, a stringy man with thick black hair, eyed him dismissively. "And what're you gonna do about it, rookie? Here's a tip-sling your ass back up in orbit. Leave this to the real men."

Benson gripped his rifle tightly. "I was part of the op that was on the Lima. If it wasn't for me, the entire squad would've died. How many of you assholes can say the same?"

"Listen, kid." There was no humour in the man's voice now. His eyes were full of contempt. "You might think you're some sort of hero, running around after that squad full of idiots. But you aren't. Now, stay out of the way or I'll keep you out." He turned away, readying his gear. His cohorts grinned in agreement. Terry, Ollie and Xavier scowled, but said nothing.

Benson stepped towards of them, about to brawl-but then a hand clamped him on the shoulder. It was Kyle. "Don't even think about it, rook. We're working with these guys, in case you didn't realise. Now, simmer down. Or I'll put you on point."

Benson tried to pull away, but Kyle pulled him back. The recruit winced, expecting a blistering rant. Instead, Kyle bent down to his ear. You want to beat them?" he whispered. "Prove them wrong."

Mission Clock: 1645

"I see them. Ten, fifteen. One of the craven wields a plasma turret."

Gerun grunted, and instinctively reached for where his needler pistol would rest. No such luck-it had been shaken to pieces during the drop. He still carried several explosive shards from the weapon, however-and his energy blade. For all the good they would do him at range.

They'd been walking for some time now.

He was no stranger to tough circumstances. He'd fought innumerable battles where they had been outmanned or outgunned, against humans and Covenant alike. But with no effective weaponry and only one warrior at his side, things were looking grim. The Elite raised his hand to his headset and tried to raise someone for the fifth time. Nothing.

Dasa slipped down off the rock he was perched upon and squinted at the approaching column of Brutes. "Well, leader?" he asked. "Do we fight or flee?" He patted his spike rifle, now a reddish colour from the dust. There was no doubt as to what he preferred.

Gerun shook his head. "They are too many. Finding our allies is the main priority. Besides, nothing we have would dispatch them quickly enough."

"They have not seen us yet, "Dasa argued. "What of the element of surprise?"

Gerun ground his mandibles. He'd faced this problem before. Perhaps it was his training in high-yield armaments, but Dasa disliked backing away from a fight. A "hothead", as the humans would say. Something all too likely to cause a calamity. He faced his surly companion. "What do you have in mind?"

He pointed to a jumble of rocks and scree at the base of the hill. "We still have time to make it down there and spring a trap. If we strike quickly enough, the Jiralhanae will never know what assailed them."

Gerun considered it. If they succeeded in taking down the Brute pack, they would have a much better chance of surviving. But attacking their enemies was dangerous in itself. It was a conundrum. He thought back to his lessons on war psychology on Sanghelios.

Dwell not in the realm of second-guessing, his old teacher had urged them. To be standing in danger and not knowing what to do is as dangerous as being surrounded by ten thousand foes. When you are unsure of what course of action to undertake-if both ways seem equally feasible-then there is but one solution. Choose one. Then do it!

He relented. "Very well. Let us be about it."

Dasa pulled out a timed plasma grenade. "In a moment. There is something I must do first."

The Brute leader, Kolbus, was nervous. He had only recently been given his "-us" suffix of manhood, and most of his pack were seasoned veterans. As such, they were derisive of him and his supposed status-which he had only come by due to his father's standing in the Alpha Tribes. He was determined to set an example.

Their scouts had seen a series of objects descending from the sky, just as they were about to join the attack on the human base. Having experience with the humans insertion pods, he and his subpack were sent. So far they'd seen nothing, but that was nothing new.

Kicking aside a rock, Kolbus noticed his ranging warriors dawdling back towards the centre of the pack. He raised his voice. "Pack brothers, stay on the flanks. They could be concealed in the rocks. Be vigilant."

One particularly outspoken individual, Wairdus, flipped his hairy hand dismissively. "We've been searching for hours-what chance do we have of finding them?"

"Do as I say, "Kolbus barked-or rather, tried to. The Brutes turned away, snickering to themselves. They didn't return to their positions.

Aware that he had lost that battle, Kolbus turned to his second in command, Gurvus. The strongest member of their subpack, he carried a portable plasma cannon. "Make them submit! I am leader here."

Gurvus sniffed. "I am not your lapdog, pup. Fight your own battles." He strode ahead.

Not too far, however. Kolbus, having had enough, ripped his prized spike rifle off his belt and fired. Gurvus cried out as the spikes seared his armour, broke through and penetrated his spine. He fell to the ground, limbs twitching. The plasma cannon thudded to the dirt. All the other Jiralhanae turned and looked at him apprehensively.

Adrenaline pheromones secreting through his glands, Kolbus glared at his warriors. "That fool defied orders. You will all suffer the same fate if you do not do as you are told! Now, move!" He rammed the weapon back into his belt.

Suddenly, a blue flash was seen on the hill ahead. Kolbus' eyes narrowed. "Did you see that? Three of you, seek ahead and see what you can find." No longer insolent, a few Brutes trudged towards the site of the flash. Kolbus stood back, arms folded smugly. Now things were going well. Respect was all very well, but he would take fear any day.

With a sharp whistling noise, two glowing pink shards embedded themselves in his calves and detonated, sending Kolbus onto his back, blood streaming from his legs. He yelled in agony, but a gnarled fist caught him on the chin, knocking him out cold.

The Brutes were slow in reacting, and they paid the price. More shards flew out from the rocks, catching one in the eye and exploding, sending gore everywhere. Two more Brutes doubled over, the needles lodged deep in their guts. Spikes hissed, and finished them off. One roared at his companions to throw grenades, and they did so. Club-like spike grenades soared end over end, and send showers of razor-sharp shrapnel everywhere. The smell of burnt hair filled the air. Several of the subpack entered the rock-strewn area, to see if their assailants had died. Boulders were stacked head-high, and several paths ran off in different directions. They stared about, bemused.

That was when Gerun stepped from the shadows and triggered his sword. The first one fell across the rock, his stomach spilling entrails onto the dusty ground. The others shouted and fired, but Dasa darted out and dealt them crushing blows with the butt of his fuel rod cannon. They groaned, and died. Gerun stared at the dripping corpses distastefully, and brandished his sword. "Vile beasts. How many are left?"

Dasa shrugged. "Enough. Are you ready?"

The golden Elite flared his mandibles, the equivalent of a wide grin. The thrill of the battle had infected him as well. "Indeed. Let us deal with this rabble."

One Brute bent down, and nudged the supine Kolbus. He snorted. "The pup is weak-let him slobber in the dirt. The others have not returned. What should we-"

Suddenly two Elites emerged from the rock pile, grim faced and walking straight at them. The aforementioned Brute pointed a plasma rifle at them. "Sangheili bastards!"

Without breaking stride, Gerun seized the last shard and hurled it into the Brute's skull, killing him instantly. Drawing his sword, he beckoned the seven remaining Brutes. "Come, then."

With a howl they ran straight at them. Gerun dodged a flurry of spikes, sidestepped and cut one Brute in half. Two more tackled him to the ground. Dasa grabbed his own rifle and swung the blades, but was soon corralled by several Brutes.

Gerun dug his hands into the Brute's shoulder and with an effort rolled left, just managing to take the surprised enemy with him. Bracing himself, he swung his head several times, shattering the Brute's cheekbones. He felt a hot gush of blood spray over him. The Brute groaned, and gurgled. He was out of the fight.

Dimly, he was aware of another Brute slashing at his back with a barbed blade. Roaring his fury, he sprung up and grabbed the blades with his bare hands. They cut through his shielding and gashed his hands, but he ignored the pain. Snarling, he grabbed his attacker's wrists, drove him up against a rock and set the blades against the Brute's neck. It screeched and crunched a knee, covered with a sharp spur, into Gerun's stomach. He gasped as the spike stabbed into skin, but didn't relent. After a few seconds, the Brute stared at him disbelievingly, and then, gurgling toppled to the ground, purple blood oozing from his neck. He stepped back, only to have another Brute clout him on the back of his head. Seeing stars, he slumped down.

Dasa was in trouble. He'd taken several cuts already, blood staining his black armour. He jumped back to give himself more room, just as a bayonet sang through the air, missing his neck. To the Brute's surprise, he bulled forward, gripped its arms and forced them over its head, and kept going. Until the Brute shrieked with pain and a jarring crack was heard. It fell down, its arms utterly broken. More Brutes came forward, pushing him backward. His fuel rod gun shook, and he had a sudden idea. Turning, he ran away as fast as he could. The Brutes could hardly believe it-an Elite actually fleeing. They jumped over their wounded comrade, and pursued him.

Dasa awkwardly pulled his cannon off his back, slid back a circuitry panel and started priming buttons. He would have only one shot at this. When he was ready, and an emerald light began flashing, he turned and faced his attackers. They opted to use their bayonets, thumping towards him. With a might heft, he tossed the cannon, just as a loud beep was heard.

The cannon blew apart with a thunderous bang, a green, spark-filled cloud expanding, enveloping the two Brutes. When it cleared, all that was left were two pairs of bootprints left in the dirt.

Dasa sighed, exhausted, but then a whirring was heard, and streaks of plasma began thudding into him. They'd began to use the turret. He grunted, trying to brace against the blasts, but eventually his shield failed, and he collapsed, the white-hot plasma charring away his armour. Just as the barrage stopped, he felt a heavy hand bash him on the side of the head, and he blacked out.

Gerun awoke to blinding pain, which only got worse as a muscled fist batted him across the face. Cursing groggily, he opened his eyes.

Three Brutes remained-they regarded him with murderous intent. All three had grievous wounds, but were still standing. He tried to move his limbs, but found them tied down with strips of cable taken from the Brutes armour. No surprises there. A cough made him look left, to see Dasa in a similar condition. He looked up, and saw one of his captors stand over him.

The Brute toyed with a spiker at his belt, breathing heavily. The last few minutes seemed to have pushed it over the edge. "You will both pay, "it whispered maniacally. "You will pay for the trouble you have caused us, heretic dogs."

Another Brute stumped over, this one with a bloodied face and chest. Spikes protruded from its armour. "I want to have some sport with them, before we kill them."

Gerun heard Dasa snort with pained laughter. "I won't give you the satisfaction, Jiralhanae. Step my way and you will regret your temerity."

The second Brute kicked him viciously. "Silence! Now, save your breath. You'll need it to scream." It raised a jagged spiker blade.

Suddenly a weight entered the air, a rumbling that grew in sound. Then, as if a bubble had been burst, a roar was heard and several turquoise pods thudded to earth. The Brutes stared at them disbelievingly. In the silence, Gerun chuckled. "My brothers have arrived. Now we can fight on even terms."

With a hiss the hatches of the pods flew off, revealing a pure white interior and their occupants-SpecOps Elites. One pulled a beam rifle off the wall of his pod, whipped it up and fired at the first Brute, sending a fountain of brains into the air. Plasma bursts from the other Elites followed, and the other Brutes dropped like rocks.

One Elite, with silver armour, walked over to them and sawed their bonds loose. Gerun gingerly stood up. "Well met, brother. I am Gerun Nefur', Third Lance, Kalkoro Legion."

The leader growled a greeting. "Well met. I am Hirf Kalok', Twelfth Lance, Xonnel Legion." Behind him, his warriors fanned out, scouting the immediate area.

It was only now that Gerun noticed the shining hand sigil on their chest-plates. Xonnel, after all, meant "fist of light" in the Sangheili tongue. Gerun had fought alongside these warriors before; they were renowned for plunging straight into the fray-something the Prophets had much appreciated. But now, Gerun thought, holding back a sudden surge of pride, they are far more tempered. Wiser. So we learn.

Hirf pointed south. "The Jiralhanae have a large encampment set up some units away. Intelligence suggests it is where they will co-ordinate most of their attacks. Our ships have detected the presence of high-output plasma equipment. Thus, we were sent ahead of the main group. Our objective is to wreak as much havoc as possible. Will you join us?"

Gerun watched as Dasa was freed, and shrugged. "I would rejoin my unit as quickly as possible. But there is safety in numbers. We are with you. But tell me, do you know where the humans have landed?"

Hirf grimaced. "Not as of yet. But we may pick up their radio traffic, or locate some of their transports. Also, I would be expecting our own reinforcements soon. It is only a matter of time."

A cry was heard, and an Elite was seen grasping a half-conscious Jiralhanae by the neck. "This worm is still alive. Your orders, Commander?"

Hirf stepped up to the struggling Brute. "Who are you, dog?"

The alien glared at him sullenly. "Kolbus. My father is an Alpha. He will not rest until you all lie dead!"

"Really?" Hirf asked sardonically. He turned to the Elite. "He can be useful. Bind his hands and let us be off."

Gerun watched with satisfaction. In the days of the Covenant, an Elite would have simply killed the Brute. Now, they were using less honour and more commonsense.

We learn, he thought proudly.

Mission Clock: 1700

Hodgkins watched with satisfaction as the last of the transports left the hangar. The assault was well under way now. Best of all, the satellites had started working again-some of them, anyway. He took a moment to survey the system.

The Brute destroyers had been dispatched, after a heated game of hide-and-seek with the Elite ships. They were now in complete control of Gethrii. He only hoped the ground assault would work as well. From the few and sketchy battle reports he had received so far, the base was struggling to keep the Brutes at bay. And the battalion was scattered. The transports would lend some bite, but if the Brutes came at them in force they'd have no hope. He sighed, and rubbed his face.

A loud beeping was heard from Ops. He frowned, and walked over. "What's happening, Lieutenant?"

The young naval officer tapped the screen. "There's some strange radiation thirty-five million kilometres distant. The database can't place it-I'm going to send a reading of this to the Elites. Maybe they'll be able to place it-"

An enormous flash of radiant light flared at the edge of the system. However, unlike the typical green or blue light that accompanied a Slipspace rupture, this one was blinding white. Hodgkins had to shield his eyes, as the incandescent flash filled the view screen.

A Brute ship nosed through the crack-but it was different. The normal snub head was a series of curved geometry, all curling towards a central point. The body of the ship was mostly purple, but here and there white-grey alloy was plated on. Finally, the flare of the ship's engines was the same colour as the rupture, which had rapidly closed. He stared at it. He'd never seen something like this before. What upgrades had this ship received?

He marshaled his courage and snapped out orders. "Push reactor strength to four-fifths power and remove boost inhibitors-we need to stay maneuverable. Prep a nuke and arm Archer pods A through F. Deplete magnetic coils for the moment-we'll need the power." As his ensigns hurried to carry out his orders, he watched the ship.

The Elite ships had returned from their sojourn near the moon and approached the Brute vessel without pause. Glowing orbs of plasma grew at their fores, and three streaks of superheated flame flew towards the enemy ship. He tensed, half knowing what was about to happen.

The Brute ship seemed to fire back-but it was not a blast. It was a golden stream, that encapsulated the attacking plasma, until it burned out, acrid haze drifting through the golden bubble, tainting it black. Soon, it disappeared. The Brute vessel stilled, and stopped.

"Pods online, sir."

Hodgkins snapped out of his reverie. "Right. Move at flank speed. We need to support the Elites."

Suddenly the Brute cruiser's engines fired, and another Slipspace rupture opened. But it seemed different. More of a tube, than a tear in the fabric of space. Hodgkins watched in fascination and fear. The ship jumped and disappeared.

And re-appeared in the midst of the Elites battle group.

Golden fingers of energy ripped through space, and struck the Elite ships. Their shields lasted for a few seconds, then vaporized. The two destroyers blurred white and faded.

Mercurial Resurgence, however, was still active. It backed off, and fired a volley of pulse lasers. They did little damage, but the Brute ship was unable to stave off the lasers.

"Get us right up close!" he barked. "Quickly, before it targets us."

"Sir, "ventured one of his officers, "Stallion and Persepolis are asking for orders-"

"Tell them to hang back. They might need to retreat."

"Aye aye."

Suddenly the face of Orbo Daruf' materialized on the screen. His bridge was full of blaring lights and purple smoke. "Captain!" he snapped. "Do not attack. Fall back. We will draw this amalgam ship away."

"But-"

"No!" The Elite was adamant. "You must remain, to help our warriors groundside. We will fight these animals. Please, you must leave."

Hodgkins remembered how much Orbo desired to fight the Brutes, and sighed regretfully. "As you'll have it, Shipmaster. Good luck, and give them hell."

The Elite grinned. "We shall." The picture winked off.

Onscreen, he saw the Elite cruiser fire more lasers, and flee towards the moon again, the Brute vessel in hot pursuit. More streaks of gold fire jetted forth, and impacted on its stern. It listed, but kept going.

Hodgkins watched this without blinking. Then said, "Back us off. Get us behind that planetoid."

"Sir? We're retreating?"

He didn't reply. But then he said, slowly, "Yes."

A new threat had come. And worse, they weren't in a condition to deal with it. Somehow, they'd have to get through this. He dropped his head into his hands, and prayed for his allies.

The carrier drifted in the shadow of the planetoid.