CHAPTER 13: GOOD PROGRESS

BOSTOM MA, 2551, AUGUST 23, 0900 HOURS

Valexars men were working as a good pace, making good progress with the humans who were also intent of helping with the rebuilding of the covenant ship. Half of them knew though that this could just be a trap and when it was completed, they could just kill them on the spot, but they didn't have much of a choice. Either help and maybe be given a chance to live of a zombie free world, or just wait until there food supply ran out and starve to death. The labor force had rebuilt a little less than half in the mere days' time. If they kept this up, they could be off the planet in less than a week, and the covenant warship would burn the planet. That way, it wouldn't be able to also get a ship working and come attack any other worlds. The people couldn't wait to be able to restart on a new planet, just be able to have a sleep where they could not have to lie half-awake to listen if the town's alarm went off, signaling of the coming of yet more zombies.

Valexar worked with his first mate of the ship, Ovelar and were the overseers of the project and made any adjustments they saw fit if the ship was in need of a different design for a certain part of it. Just as Valexar was watching the men work, he thought he heard a light rumble in the distance, and when he turned, he saw a moving mass of about one million dead sprinting towards their location. "MY BROTHERS, PREPARE FOR BATTLE!" he yelled as he mounted the plasma turret behind him and began to spray at the massive hoard that seemed to go on forever. He had doubts about this fight.

"Get the wraiths and banshees ready. Get fulerod cannons. Someone get me a sandwich. Humans, run back to the city, we will try to hold them off, and cut off the crust on that sandwich. Go!" Valexar said as he dropped from his seat and began to shoot at the dead wall alongside his brethren. This was basically a compression to the story that he was told by one of the humans about how the ancient Spartans holding the pass against the entire Persian army, and he felt the same result would happen, death to all the resisters. As the wall got closer, and the elites kept shooting and the wraiths acting like artillery, the wall kept losing what seemed to be mere 10 of men. By the time they were 1,000 meters close, they had lost about one fourth of their mass, and that was when the elites, yelling in their alienatic tongue, charged with energy swords to meet this large opponent and the two great forces clashed. The elites were killing many, 50 zombies per elite, bur eventually, they would be overrun. Just as they began to lose all the remaining hope they had, the last ODST team played a defining sound from the speakers of the falcon that was off in the distance that seemed to attract the zombies away from the sight. Just as the zombies began to get close, they took off and dropped a small bomb on the hoard, and began to shoot their turrets and chain gun at the hoard. The elites did the same, and the banshees and wraiths went toward the hoard killing as many as they could as the zombies, now less than half in numbers, as they attempted to flee. This battle was won, but they could come at a random time, Valexar told himself as he watched the wall begin to shrink off in the distance. He and his men cheered and cheered until the ODST team landed in front of him, then the cheering stopped. Then the leader of the ODST climbed out of the cockpit and walked over many zombie bodies to him. When he finally got to Valxar, he put his hand out and Valexar hesitantly shook his hand and then everyone went back to the city to celebrate and see the total death count. The fighters were happy to be alive, and happy of the triumph they had performed, but they knew they had to stay prepared for whatever else that may happen. And that, they would be.