Chapter 11: Onward, Upward, and Downward

Outside the temporary Elite command structure a street battle raged. Five teams of Hunters were hunkered down, taking and repelling Brute and Jackal fire as squads of Grunts and Elites poured suppressing plasma upon their assailants. Whenever they got the chance, the armored Lekgolo fired green radioactive death into the approaching forces, destroying vehicles and buildings and roaring with laughter as they did it. To the walking worm colonies, the Covenant had always been nothing more than an amusement: they let the Elites think that they had "tamed" them, but their race would live on no matter what came, be it "salvation" or "damnation." This recent turn of events involving "betrayal" and "excommunication" hardly affected them psychologically and just gave them an excuse to exercise their true strength. Indeed, even before this outbreak of internal violence, the Hunters had cared little for the other Covenant clients, only regarding the Elites with any manner resembling respect. The only thing that mattered to a Lekgolo was his mate, his Bond Brother.

Field Commander Yarna 'Orgalmee watched the battle with an intense interest. It was a microcosm of the larger conflict, pockets of Elites, Grunts, and Hunters all over High Charity digging in and holding against the growing tides. Unfortunately, separated as they were they couldn't hope to last forever, so his duty was to get all still loyal to his kind into the Lower Districts and then out into space, where they could regroup. There was also a large-scale battle between Elite- and Brute-controlled ships in progress in the void over the sacred ring, but Yarna was certain it would end in their favor: Jiralhanae could not properly grasp the intricacies of space warfare.

In the meantime, he had to secure a route for the loyal forces to gather here, and that involved taking control of as many of the towers as he could. In the distance bright sapphire flashes roared and rumbled, the artillery from said towers raining down on his forces fighting in the streets.

"Damn," he muttered, and turned to consult the holographic map of High Charity hovering nearby with a few Elite Majors gathered around it. It was not a combat-oriented representation, meant instead for pilgrims, and was cluttered with religious markers and political trivia. Snorting, the Field Commander spared a thought on how close "trivia" came to "trivial." He had been raised to fight and to lead, and that was it. He worshipped the Forerunner by crushing the humans, but now doubt ate at the back of his mind. The Prophets had led his race but now turned against them; what faith was left?

One of the Majors growled. "This artillery will tear us apart! How can we stop it soon? We need to pull together the pockets of resistance still remaining and form a perimeter around the hangars."

"There are many Special Operations teams nearby," Yarna informed them, "though they are scattered. I'll give them assignments to take the towers while our forces begin to pull back." He nodded towards the door. "Go join your soldiers." The crimson-armored Elites bowed their heads and departed from the command center, leaving Yarna to his work. Glancing over the table, he looked for the Spec Ops teams; only Godly and Humble Units were still completely together. He quickly assigned them the first two tower sectors and moved on, reuniting and assigning each team as he found them.

"Warrior 'Zakamee," Yarna called over the radio as he located Blessed Unit, "this is Field Commander 'Orgalmee; respond."

"This is 'Zakamee. Go ahead, Excellency."

"I'm splitting your platoon," the Field Commander instructed, glancing over the map to find the rest of 'Zakamee's unit. "I'm redirecting most of them to our defense lines and up into the towers to fight the Brutes; you may take a pair of Hunters, four Elites, and a full clutch of Grunts to rendezvous with the rest of your squad. They are currently pinned down at intersection 7-Godly-15. Afterwards, contact me for your assignment."

"Affirmative, Excellency." So Blessed Unit would take tower twelve; that left Chaste Unit to take the thirteenth and Pious Unit to take the fourteenth and final tower. He glanced out the window at the battle and was surprised: nothing moved in the streets.

"Damn," he swore, pulling out his sword and activating it. He ran from the building and out into the road, glancing around. He couldn't see the Hunters, Grunts, or Elites that had been here only a moment before. In a window, however, he thought he saw movement. He took a step forward and inclined his head to get a better view, and as he did that two thin purple beams crossed right where his head had been, each barely missing his neck. Surprised, the Field Commander began running towards the buildings for cover; as he leaped through a window, however, he realized his mistake.

Now surrounding him were five Brutes, each growling menacingly. Scattered about were bodies, some of the soldiers that had previously been guarding the command post. It clicked in the Sangheili warrior's mind: sniper fire had probably killed the Hunters and forced the rest of them inside where Brutes were waiting. In such close quarters his troops had been slaughtered.

Underestimating your enemy is the quickest way to death.

Damn.

The Brutes brought up their plasma rifles and began firing. Yarna's shield absorbed a few shots while he decided his course of action: dropping low, he quickly stepped behind a counter. Drawing his own rifle he popped up and held down the trigger, blue plasma pouring from the generators. One of the Jiralhanae took the full brunt of the attack to his face and collapsed in a heap. Yarna leaped over the counter, seized the fallen Brute's plasma rifle and fired with both weapons. Another of the monsters was cut down, but the two weapons in the Sangheili's hand protested their use by way of overheating. He quickly dropped them and pulled out his sword once again, plasma splashing on his shield as he crossed the short distance between himself and his three remaining enemies. The sword made a wide arc as he cut through the stomach of one Brute and severed the arm of another. The latter clutched his stump and screamed, but the former ignored the intestines spilling out of him and rushed for the Elite's throat; the Field Commander was quicker, however, and twirled to slice wide again, decapitating the encroaching beast and ending his attack by burying the twin prongs of energy in the one-armed Brute's face.

His attack was too wide, and the final Brute took advantage of it. He threw himself at the gold-armored warrior, the sword slipping from his fingers and the two grappling on the floor. Both creatures strained with all their muscles, rolling about and knocking things over. Yarna became dimly aware that his radio was demanding attention, but he couldn't reach for it; instead he continued to fight against the Brute.

Here is the technique Oriné taught me, he thought to himself, and then let the Jiralhanae roll on top of him. Freeing one of his hands from the grapple, he swiped up and gouged out his attacker's eyes, then used the sockets as leverage. After achieving a good hold he flicked his wrist and the Brute's neck snapped like a twig. Unfortunately the dead weight of its body fell right on him and it took significant effort to move it. Finally freeing himself, the Field Commander stood up and wiped futilely at the black blood staining his armor. His radio was clamoring for attention.

Thank you, old friend. He picked up his radio. "Go ahead."

'Zakamee was on the other end of the line. "What are your orders?"

Before Yarna could reply, plasma fire poured in through one of the windows. The Elite dropped his radio and ducked, scrambling to find the Brutes' dropped weapons. He picked up two plasma rifles and immediately returned fire against the building across the street. The firefight was shorter than before as Yarna properly sighted his targets, melting faces with each burst and avoiding overheating by moderating his fire. Unfortunately, one Brute was only wounded, and might have access to a radio. Swearing the Field Commander picked up his radio and dashed out into the street towards the other building, weaving between sniper fire.

"Say again, Warrior," Yarna demanded.

"We need orders!"

"Secure tower twelve," the Field Master said. "Send the infantry to rendezvous with Commander 'Vadumee, they'll be needed on a mission to the surface of the ring." He reached the entrance to the other building and kicked down the door, the material cracking loudly under his boot. There was the Brute, dead from his wounds but with a radio in his hands. He might have had time to call in artillery. "I must leave. While in the towers, keep an eye out for Brute—" Before he could finish his sentence there was a thunderous roar next to his head. He fell to the ground, bits and pieces of his radio landing around him; he was too dazed to do more than just crawl further into the house.

There were more nearby explosions, but they were off-target; the Sangheili warrior rolled onto his back and stared out into the street. A small detachment of Brutes were firing into the building with primitive grenade launchers, weapons that the rest of the Covenant had referred to as "Brute Shots."

"Damn," he muttered, and struggled to reach some kind of cover as the beasts fired more rounds into the building. He was outnumbered and outgunned, but not outmaneuvered as he picked himself up and limped into the corridors. As far as he could tell, this building was some kind of office. The Brutes outside shouted something, most likely orders for infiltrating and neutralizing the Elite. Yarna began throwing things around, constructing crude barricades and traps for his enemies. Crouching behind a desk, he pulled out his plasma sword hilt and a grenade.

Once on Pearl I was in this situation, he reminisced as he listened to the approaching thumps and crashes, but Oriné came to save me. I guess I can't count on you anymore, my friend. This is goodbye, and hopefully I won't greet you in the Great Journey for a while longer.

Just outside the room the Brutes smashed a piece of furniture, and Yarna took it as the sign to prime the grenade. Blue light began fizzing out of it and quickly he hurled it from his hand, not wishing for it to bond to him instead of his target. As it sailed through the air, three Brutes came charging in; it adhered to one's helmet but the creature tossed the armor off before it exploded. The blast left them dazed long enough, however, for the Field Master to move in. He quickly slashed the closest Jiralhanae's arms off and snapped up its Brute Shot, firing the weapon from his hip. The kickback was intense but the Elite did his best to compensate; unfortunately his first two shots went wild, ricocheted off the walls and fragmenting several decorative potteries. The air filled with smoke as Yarna fired off another two grenades, these ones more on target. One struck the furthest Brute in the gut and the second in its face, knocking the beast down and out, but technically not dead yet. He shifted his aim and pulled the trigger, but only empty clicking met his ears; he had exhausted what was left inside the clip. The final Brute, seeing its opportunity, lunged forward with the blade beneath the Brute Shot, hoping to mortally wound its opponent. Yarna raised his own weapon's blade and countered, knocking the incoming steel to the side. He struck forward but was himself parried; instead of working against the weight, however, he swung with it, turning around in a full circle and bringing the bayonet right up against the Brute's neck. All he could do was grin maliciously before decapitating his opponent.

Shouting echoed from down the hallway and his head snapped up. He had held these Brutes off but he was quickly growing exhausted. Escape was his best option now. Glancing around he saw a small gravity lift going up; taking it would lead him to higher ground and perhaps an access point to a less Jiralhanae-infested structure. The gold-armored warrior leaped into the purple shaft of light and floated upwards, breaking into a sprint just as his hooves touched the ground. As he had suspected the Brutes hadn't bothered with securing other levels to the building, content with holding street-level. A couple levels higher and Yarna found an access bridge linking this building with one across the street.

Immediately after crossing, a plasma blade appeared out of nowhere and settled next to his neck. "Don't move," a voice hissed in his ear, "or I will present your head as a trophy to my future mate." The deepness and warbling quality immediately suggested Sangheili.

"I am Field Master 'Orgalmee," Yarna growled. "The Jiralhanae attacked me. Put down your weapon."

The blade shifted away from his throat. A blue-armored Elite stepped out of the shadows bowed low. "Forgive me, Excellency," he muttered, "I know not my place. I feared you were an agent of the Brutes."

"What are you doing here? Why are you not fighting, warrior?" The gold-armored Elite was willing to ignore the breach of conduct, as well as the fact that the Minor was wielding a weapon inappropriate for his station, given the circumstances.

The Elite Minor looked fresh out of Institution: unmarred armor, smooth face, wide eyes. He glanced out the window at the Brutes in the street. Four were riding a recently captured Spectre, sweeping the plasma turret through the bottom-floor windows and firing at anything suspicious. "We are waiting for them to grow complacent; once they let their guard down we will be able to strike from behind."

"We?"

Nodding, the blue-armored soldier barked an order into an adjacent room. Two other Elite Minors, a handful of Grunts of varying ranks and specialties, and a single Hunter emerged from hiding. "We are the only survivors after a Brute attack on our barracks. My entire unit was eliminated, as was theirs. I took command and led them here, to hide and wait for those bastards to drop their guards."

Yarna was taken aback. The barracks were a good distance away; for this group of soldiers to have moved through it, secured this floor, and hide themselves was quite a feat. In addition, the Hunter's Bond Brother was nowhere in sight: it should have been berserking by now or so overcome with grief as to not be able to function.

"Impressive, young one," the Field Master commented, turning his attention back to the defacto leader. "I'm afraid I must counteract your plans and order you to begin moving for the dropship bays, but nonetheless you have accomplished quite a feat. What is your name?"

The scrawny Sangheili brought himself up to full height (a good deal shorter than that of Yarna) and puffed out his chest. "I am Maka 'Fulsamee," he said proudly, "the youngest of my Lineage."

——

"Excellency, the gravity lifts into the tower are shut down."

"Damn! Are you sure you can't get them working again?"

"Not quickly enough. We need to take out that artillery before it can strike our retreating forces."

Balask 'Zakamee nodded. "Very well, Kasa. Return here; we will have to scale the towers under our own power." The Junior Officer sent an affirmative, and the Senior Officer pondered how to manage his next move. He, Sesep, and Nunot were crouched behind a row of supply crates close to the base of the tower. They had successfully sneaked into the Brute and Jackal fortifications and slaughtered them all; now they had to find a way up.

The Senior Officer looked up the sheer face of the towers, hardly acknowledging Kasa and Opom's return as they disengaged their active camouflage, and considered their options. With the gravity lifts offline, there was truly only one way up.

"Warriors, prepare your rappels," he said quietly, and all the Special Operations soldiers reached into storage units on their armor and withdrew what looked like scaled-down Needlers. Engaging their camouflage they moved from behind the crates and right up to the wall formed by the massive structure they needed to climb.

Operating with cloaking technology took specialized training: while it offered the advantage of one's opponent not being able to see him, it also meant that a soldier using it could not see himself or his teammates. All movement had to be meticulously pre-planned and memorized, and all equipment had to be placed in exactly the same spot. Elites in the infantry had such technology in their standard-issue armor, but it would turn off personal shields in order to power the cloaking cells, and vice-versa; Special Operations Elites could have both a shield and active camouflage active.

Aiming using their training and the slight distortion that represented their arms as their guides, the five warriors fired their piton guns in near-perfect unison. The small spikes latched into position ten feet above a walkway and began generating a gravity stream back to each individual origin. By then the Special Operations soldiers had attached their weapons to magnetic hold-points on their armor and allowed the pull to lift them up silently. Once they got near the gravity beam dissipated and they dropped to the walkway. The Brutes stationed there didn't shift at all but the Jackals cocked their heads; their sensitive ears had picked up the sounds of feet landing on the metal floor. As the Grunts silently moved into concealed locations and prepared their own assault, Kasa and Balask raised their Carbines and fired. Thin green streaks seemed to materialize out of nowhere and pierced the avian creatures' skulls before they had a chance to react. Crying out in surprise the Brutes fanned out and began sniffing at the air in an effort to find the two Sangheili who had just eliminated their flock of Kig-Yar. However the Grunts in the shadows ignited two plasma grenades each and threw them onto the pelts of the traitors. The resulting explosions, though considerably more audible than Special Operations generally permitted, were effective in eliminating all the enemies present.

Without missing a beat Kasa tossed aside his Carbine and withdrew his Beam Rifle, throwing himself on the edge of the walkway and aiming down the sights. They were in a good position to watch over the Jiralhanae artillery team and with the sights of the rifle pushed to their maximum the now-invisible soldier could watch the artillery battery cycle before it fired again.

Not another shot, he promised, settled the crosshairs on a Brute captain's skull, and fired. The purple beam streaked down and pierced through the back of the creature's head, splattering bits of bone and brain everywhere. As the body slumped to the ground, two Jackal snipers that had been posted whirled around with their rifles aimed and looked for him; but even with their superior eyes, at this distance not even they could see the faint distortions caused by the active camouflage. It was quickly becoming a waiting game, and one Jackal turned around to talk with a Brute lieutenant who had jumped behind a crate. The instant its eyes left his area Kasa readjusted his aim and fired again, this time bringing down its partner; the avian creature flopped lifelessly to the deck as the other Jackal turned, but Kasa was quick. Soon both of the Kig-Yar snipers were disposed of.

However, aside from the unfortunate Brute lieutenant who already had his head up, the young warrior couldn't claim any more targets; all the remaining Brutes had taken cover behind barriers and storage crates.

"Now is the time," he whispered, and at that signal Balask and the three Grunts once again readied their piton guns and fired, this time letting the spikes dig into the floor a few feet away from where the Brutes were hiding. Kasa stayed behind, watching their distortions be lifted up and gently carried over. He had to remain behind and cover them from afar.

Balask 'Zakamee, upon touching down on the floor, immediately moved forward while the Grunts took up defensive positions. Three Brutes, the Elite counted, had survived Kasa's initial assault and were cowering behind cover. He crept to the back where none of the Brutes were looking and withdrew his plasma sword, the weapon flashing to life in his hand. Because it contained so much energy that the active camouflage generators in his armor couldn't cloak it, the blade alone appeared in plain view. The nearest Jiralhanae soldier, startled by the sound, looked back and received two prongs of death to his face. The other two jumped up and began firing at where they believed him to be but the Senior Officer saw a slight blue glow behind them. They never knew what hit them as the plasma grenades exploded, tearing the two beasts apart.

After checking the platform, the team turned off their active camouflage and strode over to the artillery gun. It was still waiting to be fired again. He removed a special charge from his belt and fitted it to the control panel, stepping back out of the blast range. It quickly flared blue and melted the terminal, rendering the weapon inoperable.

"Mission accomplished," he muttered, waving at Kasa. He keyed his radio to the Junior Officer's frequency. "Remain there and keep an eye out for trouble. We will secure the rest of this tower from—" The Elite was cut off as a flash of silver erupted in the sky off in the distance. Blessed Unit as a whole watched as the Slipspace rift spat a human vessel out into the vast inner chamber of High Charity.

Impossible! Balask thought, his mouth hanging open in shock. Human technology is not so advanced as to navigate the eleventh dimension so precisely! Regardless the small human frigate began weaving through the towers and coming towards them. The Senior Officer quickly bellowed a warning and everyone dived to the ground as the ship, apparently heavily damaged from some battle, narrowly missed their tower. They watched in horror as it impacted the next one down the line, a massive fireball of blue and orange erupting and a wave of heat washing over the team. The fire quickly died down and the human craft jutted out of the smoldering hole, remaining in place.

They stared at it a while longer in silent awe. "Kasa," Balask finally managed, "what do you see?"

The younger Sangheili adjusted his aim to look at the crash site adjacent to them. "It's that ship that followed Regret's fleet here, Excellency," he commented, sweeping the crosshairs back and forth. "I do not believe any human could survive such a horrendous crash—wait..." Peculiar shapes were moving over the top of the ship, ones that moved with a strange loping stride. "Those aren't humans! They're Flood! The Parasite is here!"

——

Yarna could hardly believe it. He had just finished saying goodbye to his closest friend when said friend's younger brother entered his life. The 'Fulsam Lineage continued? The Field Master knew that Oriné had an older brother but had never met him; he also had a sister that he never heard much about. But a younger brother? A strange turn of events that the Forerunner have revealed, he mused.

He perched himself on the edge of the building, looking down into the streets below. It was a three-story drop, one they weren't likely to survive. Glancing back at the group of soldiers behind him, he was starting to realize that they weren't likely to survive anyway. As competent as Maka appeared to be, his companions seemed to be slightly below the bar of warriors: the two Minors were siblings and bickered almost constantly, the Grunts were about as cowardly as they came, and the lone Hunter never said or really did anything. He followed Yarna's orders to come up to the roof but displayed no personal initiative.

Perhaps I have set myself up to fail. Slowly the realization came to him that he was not concerned at all about these soldiers under his command, as he would not have associated himself with them under different circumstances, but instead it was to the young 'Fulsamee. I failed you, Oriné, when I accepted the position of Honor Guard. I failed you because I could not be with you and Rurut when your death came. Perhaps I will save myself by keeping your brother alive.

Below them the Brutes were shouting in the streets, directing a convoy of vehicles towards the weakening Elite lines. Their fur was shaggy and burnt in a few places, indicating that they had recently seen combat: their Captain was nursing a facial wound that wept blood down his face and stained his bandolier. Yarna noted with distaste that it carried a Brute Shot and knew that, as high up as they were, the grenade it fired would be devastating.

"Do you have plasma grenades?" the Field Commander asked over his shoulder. Maka and the two other Elite Minors withdrew satchels while the Grunts produced one or two apiece; the Hunter merely shook its head. "Come to the edge but remain silent! Prepare to throw on my command." They took up position and Yarna waved to the Hunter, instructing him to move to the edge as well and wait until after the grenades detonated before firing his Fuel Rod Cannon into the enemy.

After a moment, he bellowed his order to throw the grenades and the troops let fly hissing, burning devices of death. For a moment the Brutes thought it was raining fire until the raindrops adhered to their skin, burning and detonating. Fourteen Brutes, including their Captain, died in the initial bombardment; amidst the confusion, some of the Spectre pilots regained their senses enough to move and allow their gunners a clear shot of their attackers. The Hunter, seeing that the grenades detonated, raised his cannon and began firing.

Yarna watched in amazement as the armored behemoth fired his weapon with surgical precision, turning what had been regarded as a crude and explosive weapon into an oversized and overpowered sniper's weapon. The green radioactive waves poured from the barrel and struck the vehicles where it would do the most damage, often in the fusion cores or anti-gravity pods that kept them aloft. In a matter of minutes, an entire column composed of Ghosts, Spectres, Shadows, and Wraiths was reduced to rubble and brought to the mercy of the soldiers on the rooftop.

The chaos was glorious, and for a moment the golden-armored Sangheili warrior allowed himself to enjoy it. Their enemy was below them, in pieces and disadvantaged, ripe for being finished off. Under different circumstances he would have ordered his squad to move into the streets and finish off the survivors, but such action would not do: his job was to get as many loyal Covenant clients into space to regroup.

Suddenly there was a bright flash overhead and a loud bang; the squad instinctively ducked down, a shockwave rolling over them. Above them the human ship tore a hole through Slipspace and entered High Charity, soaring past and gradually out of sight. After the rumbling receded the group looked up, absolutely stunned. That the humans could have recovered enough to assault the greatest fortress known to the Covenant... A tremor eventually ran through the city, signaling the end of the frigate.

"Come, we're moving on," he ordered, and turned to start over an access bridge that led to another group of rooftops; a two-thumbed hand gripped his shoulder in an attempt to stop him. Furious, the Field Commander turned around.

"Why?!" Maka demanded, releasing Yarna's shoulder. "We are winning! Why do we not press the advantage? Are you a—" The sentence never reached completion as Yarna backhanded the Elite Minor as hard as he could, sending the youngster sprawling onto the ground. With a growl he reached down and seized the young 'Fulsamee by the armor and pulled him up, staring into his eyes; a bruise was forming and a small cut just beneath his cheek leaked a small trail of blood.

"You will listen to your commanding officer!" the Field Commander shouted, enraged at the soldier's insolence. Little brother of his lifelong friend or not, it was obvious that the young Sangheili did not know proper combat discipline. "You will not ask questions! You will obey my orders!" He threw the Elite to the ground again, barely restraining himself from kicking the prone form before him. "Do you understand?"

Maka coughed and nodded, too shocked to speak. He pulled himself to his feet, rubbing tenderly at the bruises. Yarna grunted and turned, continuing on the path he had already plotted out, the troops following wordlessly. They moved above the streets while they could and then through them once the access bridges stopped existing. Occasionally they met some resistance, and they plowed over the minor skirmishes and ran through the bigger ones. Three Grunts lost their lives in the process, leaving only four; the Elite Minors, though young, were able to keep up quite well; the Hunter just thundered silently along, firing when ordered to but otherwise not doing anything. Yarna fell to the rear, making sure that they all kept on the path towards the dropship hangars.

The closer they came to their destination the heavier the fighting became. The Field Commander noted with satisfaction the lack of artillery barrages that had previously been chewing up Elite lines. He had hoped that perhaps they could have turned the artillery machines against the Brutes, but the Special Operations teams had clearly done a number on the hardware.

Finally the Sangheili lines were visible, a combination of Grunts, Elites, and Hunters holding back the hordes of Brutes, Drones, and Jackals. Plasma flashed across the street, each lashing out for the opposing side, the lane between declared no-man's land. The haggard squad tossed the last of their grenades to open a path and then rushed through, reaching the relative safety of their cheering allies.

"Excellency!" A Special Operations Elite ran up, one whom Yarna identified as belonging to Humble Unit. "It is good that you have returned; Councilor 'Hayatasha has been waiting to contact you." The soldier held out a radio, and the Field Master snatched it quickly.

"Councilor," Yarna growled, "Is this important? I'm quite busy."

"Yes, it's important! Why do you think I've been trying to contact you for the last hour?!" The rage was evident in his voice. "The Prophets have begun massacring the Councilors! I know not the fate of the High Council as they were sent to the ring, but I can only assume the Jiralhanae plan to betray them as well if they haven't already.

"But there's another problem. We've confirmed the presence of a Demon in High Charity. Myself and two of my guards are going to try and kill it in the confusion and hopefully tip the scales in our favor."

"This is fascinating, Councilor," the golden-armored Sangheili said, "but so far this doesn't apply to me."

"I'm giving you an order, 'Orgalmee," 'Hayatasha replied, "You are to take troops down to the ring and save as many councilors as you can! That is all; go!" The transmission cut out, and Yarna was left staring in shock at the radio unit in his hand. Up until this point, he hadn't realized just how desperate things had become. Somehow he had thought everything could go back to normal. Now, he knew it for sure. Orders were orders, and he would pay heed to the words.

"Warrior," he said, handing the radio back to the black-clad Special Operations soldier, "find the rest of your unit and bring them to me. After we link up with the Drowned in Honor in space we will be dropping onto Halo and attempt to rescue and relieve our forces trapped down there."

As the warrior ran off to pass on the orders, Yarna looked up at the massive dome overhead. For eons, High Charity had been the holy city of the Covenant, a place of peace and festivity for all those who followed the Forerunners. Now weapons fire replaced the sound of pipes, artillery the tolling of bells, screams of Banshees the heavenly choirs of the temples. In hours, the centuries of progress and perserverance of the Holy Covenant had been undone. The Sangheili were truly cast out.

With a derisive snort he turned and prepared to give the orders to abandon High Charity. Good riddance.