Hello everyone, I just want to take a moment to say thank you all for reading this story of mine and for continuing to read it. I know that I don't update regularly and that I have tendency to start writing new stories and abandon old ones but I thank you for all the support, criticism and reviews.
Now, on to something else- I'm not one to beg but the last chapter only seven people bothered to leave a comment. Less than half that of the previous chapters. Guys and girls? If you've got time to read the chapter, to favourite and follow the story, nine times out of ten you've got time to leave a little something in the review section. This entire website is about sharing our stories with the world, stories about the worlds we all love. No writer on this website can improve if no one is willing to spend a few moments telling the writer what you thought of the chapter or the story as a whole. It's really disheartening for me, and I'm sure for my fellow writers, when we spend hours of our spare time writing these for you, and we don't even get a 'good update, keep it going.'
For these stories to survive they need the readers to support them. Without that support, there's no real point in continuing to publish these stories.
Regardless, enjoy the chapter.
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex, 2560
By the time he woke up, David was in an ONI/Navy Medical station over Reach Military Complex, home of the UNSC Navy, Marine Corps, Army, Air Force and ONI. It was the most heavily defended system in the UNSC bar Sol and with the outbreak of war with the aliens, the Navy fleet had nearly trebled in size, old orbital defences, deactivated after the Colonial Civil War, were slowly being brought back online.
He couldn't see much from the bed he was in. The mattress was too soft, something he struggled to believe at first, he sunk into the bed, the side of it threatening to swallow him. There was an incessant beeping from the monitors and devices he was plugged into, a steady rhythm that, after a moment of concentration, followed his heartbeat. From his bed he could gaze out of the viewport and watch in fascination as countless stars twinkled delicately in space, like glimmering lights on a vast chandelier.
It was magnificent.
He could see the dark angular shapes of UNSC destroyers and frigates pass by in what he could only guess was a patrolling orbit that took them close, in terms of space, to the medical station. He could just about make out the running lights on distant vessels as they moved to and fro between Reach and other human colonies in the system or towards one of the designated interstellar shipping lanes that would allow them easy and permitted entry into Slipspace.
He was the sole occupier of the room, a curious thing considering the luxury of space on an orbital station like this. He looked around, the room was sparsely decorated, instead relying on the vista provided by the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall viewport and a solitary, dark green, potted plant that drooped over sadly in one corner, resting against the viewport. There was a small closet area adjacent to the door, opposite David's bed, that he presumed led into a toilet. The only other door led out into the hall of the station, deeper into its heart.
Less than half an hour after he woke up the door to the room slid open and a doctor, wearing a tidy white coat with blue stripes on the arms walked in, glancing down at a COM pad. Only once he'd taken a step inside the room did the doctor look up. He didn't seem surprised that David was awake, the station AI had probably informed the doctor as soon as he woke up, but he smiled. It wasn't friendly, merely the bedside smile doctors used while dealing with patients.
"It's good to see you awake, Corporal," the doctor said as he closed the gap between the door and the bed quickly. He pulled up a padded seat next to the bed and sat down. "You've been unconscious since marines evacuated you from Falkland. Fleet medical personnel kept you alive, just about." The doctor spoke calmly, as if he were talking about the weather, not David's life, and with an accent he couldn't quite place.
"You're alive though, that's what matters. Now, just I'm sure you've got some questions and I will do my best to answer them. But first I need to give you a quick look over, see if there's been anything we could have missed while you were out."
The doctor spent the next hour performing various non-evasive tests to check up on David, discovering several minor injuries that had been missed. It was exhausting, all the questions, the poking and the prodding, the constant lances of pain that echoed through every fibre of his body. Even sitting up had been difficult. One of the bullets that had nearly killed him, a high calibre round that had nearly torn his spine to shreds, had gone clean through his armour and exited his chest, leaving a fist sized whole that had been covered up using bio-foam and bandages until he'd gotten to a UNSC hospital ship that fixed him during the four day journey back to Reach using patches of skin and muscle grown using his own DNA.
"So, doctor," David said after the examination ended and the doctor typed away at his COM pad. He looked up for a brief second and smiled. David winced slightly as another lance of pain shot through him, too much weight had shifted through the still sensitive and sore chest wound. "What did you mean? Earlier when you said I just about survived? What happened?"
The doctor's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, but David saw it.
"The sniper bullet that nearly killed you tore apart some vital organs. Doctors aboard the Wishful had to perform two major surgeries to keep you alive. You… how do I say this?" he hesitated a moment, sighed then continued. "You flat lined on the operating table twice. And once before they even got you there."
"Oh" David managed to whisper, more to himself than the doctor.
So I did die? Three times, nearly permanently. Yet here I am, alive. Safe and sound aboard a UNSC medical station while how many people, good people, better people than me, died? What about Taylor? Allie? Miller and Hart? The Mister of Education? Rowkin? All the marines and troopers still there, fighting the aliens on Falkland? Why am I safe and alive, light years away, when, by all rights, I should be dead? It was a sobering train of thought. And not exactly one he wanted go down anytime soon. But the guilt was there. Nestled deeply in his gut, right next to all the artificially grown organs that had replaced his damaged ones.
"Can I ask you about Chris Taylor? I was serving with him back on Falkland." What about Miller and Hart, they saved your life. "And Sergeant Miller, he was an ODST, and Vanessa Hart? Also and ODST."
The doctor visibly grimaced and looked saddened.
"I'm afraid I can't answer that. I don't know. I can tell you someone more… qualified to answer those questions will visit you shortly. Naval Intelligence will want to talk to you when you're up for it."
The doctor left after that. David felt numb. Not from the slightly too cold temperature of the room. He had walked side by side with death, embraced him three times and still walked away. How many people had died on Falkland, military and civilian? He was left alone for the most part over the next few days. Only visited by nurses and the doctor looking over his recovery.
Over the next few days he sunk into a deep, guilt induced, depression. The guilt of leaving friends back on Falkland, not knowing if Taylor, Hart or Miller made it and Allie. That was the kicker. He had made that call. She should never been sent off by herself with the minister. They were both probably frozen corpses covered in snow on some nameless street or alley. He had killed them.
Five days after waking up David had managed to get semi-mobile, able to move about his small, enclosed room. He was sat in the small padded chair, facing the viewport, scrolling through the various news reports already breaking headlines throughout the UNSC and UEG. He was reading some of the released after action reports and speculations about what would be the UNSCs next course of action against the alien aggressors. Part way through a speech from President Warren he heard the door open with a hiss and a pair of crisp shoes snapping at the metal floor as the person entered.
"Lance Corporal Campbell?" It wasn't one of the nurses or the doctor. He'd already guessed that, the staff wore soft shoes that didn't make a sound as they walked. Whoever this was, they were very formal. He suddenly remembered the doctor had said ONI had wanted to speak to him when he was feeling better. He suddenly felt very sick.
David turned around to see an ONI Lieutenant clutching a COM pad close to his chest, looking immaculate in his pure black uniform. His face was blank, looking impassive but straight at David. His throat tightened.
"Yes?" his mouth was suddenly dry. He went to get up, out of respect for the officer but the lieutenant waved him off.
"No need for formalities here, corporal." The ONI officer said as he closed the gap between them, grabbing the stool, and placed it next to David before sitting down. "I'm Lieutenant Frasier. I've got a few questions about your experiences on Falkland, if you don't mind?"
Do I really have a choice?
"Of course, but I have some questions as well, hopefully you can answer them." David said. He had heard enough stories about ONI to be surprised when Frasier nodded in response.
"I'll do my best to find some answers for you." He said. "Now, corporal. Obviously the events at Falkland were traumatising and I can understand that you might not want to talk about them."
Was he patronising me? Or being genuinely concerned?
"It's fine. Honest."
"Okay, Corporal-"
"David, please. No need for formalities here, right?" David tried a small smile. Frasier didn't seem to see the humour but amended himself.
"David, some of my superiors are wondering about what happened exactly on Falkland. Your platoon were sent to retrieve several political VIPs from the parliament building, correct?" Frasier kept glancing down at his COM pad, as if reading a set of prepared questions or an after action report.
"Yes." David said, keeping his gaze steady.
"And you did secure them despite an ambush by alien infantry?"
"Yeah, we managed to get out of there in mostly one piece. One of the Foxhounds was hit by a shoulder fired rocket launcher and destroyed. One of my men, Lee Wilkins, had been hit by a sniper at the start of the firefight. He didn't make it. I tried my best to stabilise him but…" David trailed off.
"He bled out." Frasier finished. He nodded silently in response. It was a reminder of another death he was responsible. "And after you escaped the parliament? What happened?"
David looked out the viewport, looking at the vista of stars. His mind wondered back to the hectic chase through the streets. He recalled the alien gunship as it strafed them as they tried to make it back to Camp Moore. The crash and split from the rest of their platoon. How he, Taylor, Allie and the Minister had trekked into the heart of the city and then into the tunnels beneath to avoid being caught by the aliens.
"What happened then? Reports seem to indicate you split your team in half. You sent the youngest and most inexperienced trooper in your squad, in your platoon, to protect and deliver a VIP safely into UNSC hands while you and Private Taylor went to intercept a squad of alien infantry, shock troopers no less, twice in number, to prevent them from acquiring the cities AI? What made you that?"
The way Frasier phrased that question made it seem more like an accusation. Maybe it was one. One that was well deserved.
"I didn't want to. At first we were just going to leave them be. We had no intention of getting into a firefight with the aliens in the tunnels. We would have been slaughtered. But when the AI accessed my comms unit and requested help, I was torn. It was the minister that wanted us to go. She said the AI held the location of dozens of human colonies within its data banks. Including Reach and Earth. If the aliens had gotten that information, I don't want to think about what would have happened." David said, still gazing off into space. He pinned the ONI officer with a questioning glare.
"Did I do the right thing? I don't know. I did what was asked from me. I tried to complete my original objective and I failed. But when Taylor and I went to intercept those aliens, it wasn't about the people on Falkland anymore. How many people would have died when the aliens acted on the intelligence they would have gained and attacked Reach and Earth?"
Frasier narrowed his eyes and slowly lowered his COM pad.
"No one is questioning your loyalty here, Corporal. The fact that you managed to take down a full squad of alien shock troops, the same troops that were giving our ODSTs trouble, is remarkable."
"It was luck. They were cornered. Stuck in a small room with only one way in and out. It just took a grenade and suppressive fire. We were lucky to get the drop on them there. If they'd been ready for us, I probably would have been dead for weeks by the time someone found my body."
"Yes, that is lucky. For you. Although, you say there was four of them. The aliens. ODSTs securing the data centre only found three bodies. One of them survived, Corporal. In your rush to save Private Taylor you forgot to make sure they were all dead."
"Did it steal the data?"
"No, as far as we can tell. The AI says the alien was severely injured and left the facility."
"So why bring it up?"
"Because Corporal, you were willing to sacrifice two lives to secure the AI but when it came to Private Taylor you abandoned battlefield procedure and instead rushed him out of there. Why?"
"I- I don't know. I was tired, scared, injured. I wasn't thinking clearly, about the details. I just wanted to stop the aliens and get my team out of there alive. I did that in the best way I thought possible." David admitted. His voice seemed so small. At his full height he probably towered over the ONI officer. But now he had shrunk into himself.
Frasier didn't speak for a few minutes, instead deciding to type away at his COM pad. Eventually he spoke up. Thankfully he seemed to move on.
"You carried Private Taylor all the way up to street level where an ODST squad found you and moved you to a UNSC operating base?"
"Yes." Why was that important?
"Up six stories, while carrying him, your kit and his?" It took David a moment to answer. He hadn't realised at the time how much all that must have weighed.
"Yes." Frasier raised an eyebrow, the most expressive thing he'd done since they'd arrived.
"Impressive. And when you arrived at the UNSC operating base, what happened next." David glanced back out at the galaxy through the viewport, lost in explosion filled memories.
He recounted the next three days in every excruciating detail he could manage. Every human felled and alien killed. Every armoured vehicle that had attempted to blast its way through the defenders. Every step back. The blood soaked snow glistening in the light after the storm. Blue and red blood mixed, coating the street purple. Every close call that had nearly killed him, David told the story, as emotionally detached as he could muster.
"Thank you, Corporal." Frasier said some time after David had finished. He typed away at the COM pad, as if talking to someone before he looked back up. "I've just filed the report. Your dedication and perseverance in the face of overwhelming circumstances are truly inspiring. My superior had told me to inform you that you, Private Taylor and Sergeant Miller are to be awarded the UNSC Legion of Honour. Congratulations."
David looked at him. Suddenly angry. He was getting a damn medal? What about the countless other men and women who would have done the very same things? He deflated quickly when he realised what else Frasier had said.
"They're alive?" Frasier didn't look mournful when he replied.
"In the case of Sergeant Miller, it will be rewarded posthumously. And yes, Private Taylor is alive and well."
"What about the others? Allison Green and the ODST, Vanessa Hart?" Frasier looked puzzled for a moment before replying.
"Private Green is still MIA. As for Corporal Hart- she's alive. Thanks to you." The ONI officer hadn't even looked down at his COM pad to find the answers but he put that detail to one side. Allie was still missing, probably dead and Miller was dead. Just like a lot of others. Frasier got up to leave, once again offering his congratulations and condolences. As he was about to leave David stood up.
"Wait, Lieutenant?" he called out. Frasier stopped mid-stride. He twisted to face David. "Can you do me one favour, while I'm stuck in here? I know I can't really ask that of you but, please, at least hear me out."
Frasier narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "It depends on what it is."
"My, dad. Can you just- just let him know I'm still alive? I've tried to tell but I can't get through to him." David gestured with his own, borrowed COM pad, as he spoke.
Frasier seemed to mull it over. Eventually, either out of pity, or kindness, or respect, he agreed.
As the door to the room slide shut David was left alone with his thoughts again. With all that had happened. All that he'd just learnt. That was dangerous. He had survived the war with the aliens on Falkland. Now he had to fight a war with the demons that haunted his every thought. It was a war that could last a lifetime.
Alien Dreadnought, 105th ODST Battalion, 2560
Bullets rained down at them from every direction. They were pinned down at the door way, peaking out for just a brief moment to try and spot the aliens before they were forced back into cover. They'd been stuck there for too long. They had to move or risk being flanked by more aliens. Sergeant Groves looked around desperately for an answer to their problems.
"Heywood!" he called out to the heavy weapons specialist in his team. The kid was crouched opposite Groves, pinning his back to the side of the door. "You still got that Hydra?"
"Yeah, should we really use it here though, staff? We might need it to clear out the hanger later." Heywood replied. He'd pulled it off his back but made no motion to use it.
"If we don't get through here, we won't need it at the hanger!" Groves replied. "So pull your head out your ass and use it!"
Heywood did as he was told, sticking it around the corner, flinching as several bullets nearly struck him, waited for the lock on tone, and fired. Six rockets launched out, sweeping the room beyond with a hail of deadly explosions and shrapnel. In the chaos Groves, Casey and two others moved up, brandishing their M48s, tearing through the aliens shimmering energy barriers and ripping armour and flesh from the bone. The rest of his team followed them in, mowing down any stragglers.
There was a flash and thunderous crack of energy and a red mist spattered across the right side of his visor. Groves, reacting on over a decade of experience, spun right, crouched low and unloaded his weapon. An alien that had hidden behind a piece of deployed cover that jutted out of the floor, as if part of the floor, had fired off a point blank shotgun round into one of the ODSTs, Sal, and had taken off most of his head- scattering his skull and brain in a fine mist that covered everything around him. Groves sneered at the alien corpse as it lay there, sprawled out, almost torn in half, on the grated floor.
He led his men deeper into the alien ship, fighting nearly every step of the way through narrow passageways and corridors. The closer they got to what was believed to be the command centre the fiercer the fighting. In the halls outside the CIC they resorted to using what explosive ordinance they had to dislodge the steadfast defenders.
A breaching charge took care of the door between them and the CIC. The remains of his team, having lost three in the fighting to the resolute defenders, stormed in on the heels of the ball of fire as it blasted away from them. They had their weapons up, ready for anything. A half dozen aliens were wielding weapons and were dispatched with lethal efficiency. Groves' bull rushed the alien in the most decorated armour, a fine silver and gold series of metal plates that caved under the weight of the fully armoured ODST. Groves wrestled the side arm away from the alien commander after he quickly realised the alien wasn't trying to shoot him, but itself.
As he scuffled with the commander on the floor of the alien command centre his team fanned out, taking out any of the aliens that resisted capture, which was most of them. Faulkner did his job. Inserting the AI and gathering everything they could from the data banks on board.
Groves eventually managed to gain leverage over the alien and use it to place a powerful right hook, amplified by his armour, across its face with a sickening crunch of bone. It stopped moving. It was still alive though.
He stood up, sweating and breathing heavily. He resisted the urge to remove his helmet, instead opting to open the face plate to allow a better flow of breathable air.
"This is Groves," he said into his radio. "CIC secure. We have POWs, looks like command staff and commander as well as full access into the ships systems." It didn't take long for Captain McKenzie to reply.
"Copy that. Good work." As she spoke he heard gunfire in the background. "We've got UNSC POWs from the cell block and are moving towards the hanger. Can you get the AI to clear us a path?"
"I'll see what we can do, captain." Groves said. He walked over to Faulkner and the terminal he'd plugged the AI into.
"Lieutenant, the Captain needs our help clearing a path to the hanger. What can you do?"
It took the Lieutenant a moment to respond as he went about accessing the ships systems. The amount of data scrolling down the screen of the COM pad he'd hooked up was dizzying. It was the AI that responded over a radio link.
"I'm still accessing ships systems but once I've done that I should be able to lock them out completely and then I'll have full control over every system in this ship. Once I've done that I'll be able to lock all the sections with the aliens in and vent all the atmosphere from those compartments."
"How long will that take?" Groves' questioned.
"It's already happening." The AI replied. A second later, before Groves could manage a surprised mumble of approval, the AI spoke again. "And done. The path should be clear. We should get moving. If any of the aliens were in vacuum rated suits they won't be affected by the lack of atmosphere."
"Right," Groves said as his visor snapped closed again. They moved quickly, the subdued aliens bound and unconscious, barely weighed them down. In half the time it took them to get into the CIC they were arriving in the hanger, just minutes behind Captain McKenzie and her team. There was four missing from her team. The rescued prisoners were all UNSC Navy, looking tired and hungry but otherwise in good shape. Better shape than Groves was expecting.
A pelican dropship squeezed into the hanger bay, missing the blocky, angular alien counterparts by mere inches. The Vanguard was on its way back, to pick them up and finish off the remaining alien fleet elements.
It was a tight squeeze inside the pelican for all the ODSTs, their rescued servicemen and the alien captives but they managed, if only just. Groves let out a small sigh of relief as the thrusters kicked the pelican out of the hanger and back into space. The entire trip back to the Vanguard was done in silence, everyone all too aware that at any moment they could be blasted into dust.
They weren't and the pelican touched down in the Vanguard's hanger without incident and marines were ready to take the aliens to the brig while medical personnel took care of the recovered UNSC POWs.
Captain McKenzie intercepted him before he left the hanger. She looked worn out but in otherwise good shape.
"Good work in there, Sergeant. You and your team did a hell of a job. Those bastards are going to ONI headquarters on Reach for questioning. They'll probably never see the light of day again. It still wouldn't be enough of a punishment for them. For what they did."
"No, it won't," Groves said in agreement. "But we beat them here, we can beat them again elsewhere." She cracked a rough smile and slapped his armoured shoulder.
"You sound confident about that, Groves. This was just one battle. Don't get too cocky, Sergeant, who knows how long this fight will last." With those words she left him, exiting the hanger and heading towards the room where they'd all be debriefed and given their next assignments.