Chapter Fifty-Three: Old Intel is Bad Intel

0049 hours, November 22, 2564 (Military Calendar) \
Sigma Octanus IV, Sigma Octanus System

Covert Insertion HEV, en route from Elpis

Alex-G004's gaze did not waver. The slightest moment of distraction could prove fatal. Right now, he was in a long-range covert insertion HEV pod heading towards Sigma Octanus IV. The catch? Roughly one thousand Insurrectionist ships stood in his way.

Alex kept his hand on the controls for the HEV's maneuvering thrusters, praying that he would never have to use them. "Everything holding up in your neck of the woods?" Alex said over his private COM channel.

"Yeah, nothing special yet," the reply was from Sam, who was in her HEV somewhere near Alex's own.

Alex remained silent for a few minutes, staring at the Insurrectionist ships as they grew larger and larger in the viewport. The COM crackled to life suddenly and a fuzzy, distorted voice which Alex was only just able to recognize as that of Admiral Al-Hassin managed to issue through.

"Foxtrots One and Two," Al-Hassin said over the COM, using generic callsigns so that he did not broadcast Alex and Sam's names over the net, "Be advised that you will have inbound company soon; the Rebs are mounting another assault on my fleet."

"Acknowledged," Sam's response was.

The signal from the Blood and Iron cut out and faded away. Alex let out a sigh, interspersed with whispered expletives. Sure enough, a group of twelve or thirteen Insurrectionist ships were breaking off from the rest of their fleet and were heading towards The Seventh Fleet's position at Elpis. That took them right into Sam and Alex's pods.

The stealth pod's proximity alert began to beep, alerting Alex to incoming craft. Alex was able to spot the incoming squadrons of Insurrectionist starfighters with his HUD's motion trackers as well. "Shit…" the blue-eyed Spartan swore, tightening his safety restraints and gripping the thruster controls.

"Ace, I think we should go for a burn!" Sam said to her husband over the COM.

Alex craned his neck up to the viewport and was just able to spot his wife's transponder signal several hundred meters to his pod's left. "Let's get through these fighters first," Alex suggested, "If we do a burn right now we could end up crashing right into one of these starfighters and give away our position, if the impact doesn't kill us."

"Alright," Sam replied, killing the channel afterwards.

Alex kept a steady eye on the oncoming starfighters. They came within two hundred yards of his pod. The proximity alert began to go crazy, but Alex silenced it with a well-aimed fist. He calculated their range and speed, estimating the time of impact with his pod, silently counting to himself.

When he reached a certain number, he hit the thruster controls, propelling his pod to the left and just barely missing the lead Insurrectionist space fighter. He worked with the controls with a surgical precision, navigating his way through the formations of space fighters. Twice he nearly collided with them and once his pod actually scraped a nearby fighter. The impact was very slight, but it was enough to throw his stealth pod way off course.

Alex bared his teeth with frustration as he worked the thrusters, trying to get his pod pointed back at Sigma Octanus IV.

"Ace, what the hell's going on over there?!" Sam exclaimed over the COM. "Your pod is-"

"I nicked one of their fighters," Alex managed to reply, "Attempting to compensate…" Alex fired off the aft thrusters while hitting the port and starboard ones, giving the starboard thruster more juice than the left-side one. This brought his pod's out-of-control movements down to a minimum, until, with one last effort from the retro thrusters, he managed to stabilize his pod's course. He edged the pod back towards Sigma Octanus IV, taking care to make sure his reentry angle wouldn't be askew.

"Alright, I'm set," the blue-eyed Spartan said. "Ready to burn when you are."

"On my mark," Sam's response was.

Alex's thumb hovered over the main propulsion rockets set into the back of the pod, designed to send the pod forward if it ever found itself drifting. It could also serve as an accelerator, in this case, though that was not its original design.

Sam waited for a minute, making sure that the last of the Insurrectionist fighters were well past them. She then came onto the COM and said, "Mark!"

Alex's thumbs stabbed down, hitting the main propulsion rockets. The rockets blazed to life, shooting the stealth pod forward at a greatly increased velocity. This would render it slightly visible to ship's sensors, but ninety-nine times out of one hundred the individuals looking at the sensor data would dismiss the anomalies as...well, anomalies.

Alex was thrust back into his seat by the force of the acceleration. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the MJOLNIR he was wearing; g-force would be tearing at his face if not for the pressurized power armor.

Alex kept a close eye out through the viewport. A shadow was cast over his pod as an Insurrectionist cruiser came right into his path. Alex hit the maneuvering thrusters and sent his stealth HEV into a downward curve, diving right below the enemy cruiser. It took all of Alex's willpower to keep him from whooping like it was a rollercoaster.

The blue-eyed Spartan eased back on the maneuvering thrusters, only to have to throw his pod to the right to avoid another Insurrectionist frigate trailing in the cruiser's baffles. Although there was no friction or air resistance in space, there were still the forces of physics. Centrifugal force from the sudden course change would have thrown Alex against the left side of his pod had it not been for his restraints. Even so, the breath was knocked out of him. If he had not been wearing MJOLNIR he probably would have gotten bruised ribs.

"Shit, that was close…" Sam muttered over the COM. "Sigma Octanus IV's getting pretty big in the window, Ace; fix your reentry angle."

Luckily, Sam and Alex's evasions had put them on a reentry course which sent them under the majority of the Insurrectionist fleet. All that lay between them and Sigma Octanus IV were a few Insurrectionist destroyers and corvettes, none of which came into a collision course with either Sam or Alex's stealth HEVs.

It had been nearly half an hour since Sam and Alex's HEVs had been jettisoned from the Blood and Iron back at Elpis, but the constant pressure of keeping vigilant for every small thing which could compromise his safe journey made the whole 'trip' seem like a few short minutes to Alex.

The blue-eyed Spartan waited for another minute before deciding to hit the control for the main propulsion rockets again, ending his pod's controlled burn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam do the same as the nearly invisible blue flames jetting out the back of her pod vanished.

The final Insurrectionist corvette continued on its course around the planet, neatly and unknowingly moving aside for the two stealth HEVs.

Sigma Octanus IV continued to grow in the viewport, much faster now that it was so much closer. Gradually it filled up the entire window until Alex could only see the uppermost curve of Sigma Octanus IV taking up half the viewport, the rest filled with the inky darkness of space. A bluish haze which was the atmosphere hugged the edge of Sigma Octanus IV. It was not visible if you looked right at the planet; it was only visible at the very edges.

Alex's pod gave a slight tremor as it drew nearer to the planet. That was Sigma Octanus IV's gravity well; Alex's pod was now at its mercy.

The altitude readout to Alex's left winked to life, sensing a surface which the pod could descend towards. A rather large number appeared on the readout, rapidly decreasing as Sigma Octanus IV's gravity well pulled the stealth HEV down towards the surface.

Gradually, the star-sprinkled black of outer space was replaced by a deep navy blue as the stealth pods began to descend into the exosphere. The stealth pod began to tremor slightly as the atmosphere's friction began to rub up against the HEV's trajectory.

When Alex's pod hit the mesosphere, the fun really started to begin. The navy-blue hue outside the viewport would normally have lightened, edging towards the normal blue of a sky, but the stealth HEVs were dropping right into Côte d'Azur and it was nearly one in the morning at that location, so the sky was dark with nighttime to begin with.

The color of the sky really wouldn't have made too much difference anyhow; once Alex's pod hit the mesosphere, red and orange tongues of flame began to lick up around the viewport, obscuring his vision. He could just barely see Sam's pod nearby—another blazing star in the night. All he had to go from was the altitude readout, but that was all he really needed.

The pod really began to shake as it descended deeper into the atmosphere. Alex remembered spying a large front of dark gray clouds filled with flickering lightning which was visible even from space. From another quick glance when Sigma Octanus IV's gravity well had seized his pod, he was able to tell that their reentry trajectory—which would take them straight into Côte d'Azur—went right into that cloud bank. Côte d'Azur was having itself one hell of a storm right now, and Alex was dropping right into it.

The flames outside thickened, tearing away at the protective ceramic covering which coated the exterior of the stealth pod. The stealth ablative coating had been destroyed by the heat of reentry, but there was no longer any need for it; it had already gotten Sam and Alex in past the Insurrectionist fleet. Its task had been accomplished; now it was the ceramic coating's turn.

The heat in the interior of the HEV really started to rise. Alex's MJOLNIR compensated for the heat, but he was still able to feel it somewhat. He remembered well how the heat and pressure had felt when he had gone in feet-first into New Mombasa during the Battle of Earth at the end of the Great War. This was nothing compared to the Hell he had gone through then, but it was still no walk through the garden.

The altitude readout continued to descend, lowering into the hundred thousands, and then the ten thousands. Alex kept a close eye on the number, watching it grow smaller and smaller, soon going below ten thousand.

"Coming up on three thousand feet…" Alex murmured over the COM.

"Acknowledged," Sam replied.

The altimeter hit three thousand. When it did, Alex hit the drag chute release. The titanium-A drag chute was jettisoned from the top of the HEV, opening as it went. It opened up fully when it reached its furthest extent, spreading out and resisting the stealth pod's speed, bringing it down from terminal velocity.

Alex was thrown forward, giving a pained grunt as the restraints held him back. Again, he found himself thanking all heaven for his MJOLNIR; the last time he had gone in feet-first in a drop pod, without MJOLNIR, he had gotten bruised ribs from the rapid deceleration of the drag chute.

The drag chute, its task accomplished, detached, burning up in the atmosphere. The drop pod began to accelerate again, but not nearly as fast as it had been going previously.

The altitude readout hit three hundred feet after a few more seconds. Alex's finger stabbed down on the controls for the retro thrusters. The thrusters flared to life, rocking the drop pod one last time, bringing its descent down to a safe speed.

The flames obstructing the viewport had vanished, allowing Alex to see the buildings and streets of Côte d'Azur outside. The drop pod hit the ground five seconds later.

This jolt was not as bad as the drag chute's, but it was still enough to make a Spartan uncomfortable. Alex sat still for a minute, regaining his breath. He reached over and unstrapped himself before hitting the mini-charges set into the front of the drop pod. The charges detonated, blowing the pod's front out into the street.

Alex got to his feet and climbed out, grabbing his SRS99D-S2 AM sniper rifle and magnum sidearm as he went. He put the sniper rifle on the magnetic weapons strip on the back of his armor and slid his magnum onto the similar magnetic strip on his thigh. The blue-eyed Spartan took in his surroundings.

He was in the middle of a pockmarked, deserted street. It was raining, heavily. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed every few seconds, casting the streets of the now-dark city in a momentary light, reflecting off of the drenched asphalt. A good wind also blew through the city. The wind was not overly strong, just strong enough to turn the rain on an angle.

Alex made his way towards the hulking shape of his wife's HEV, which had landed several hundred meters down the road. There was a slight flash as Sam blew her pod's front off. The other Spartan climbed out of her pod, grabbing her sidearm and BR55 battle rifle.

"You in one piece?" Alex called over to his wife, making his way over to her through the rain.

"Yeah, last I checked," Sam nodded, brushing a speck of dust off of her armor. She straightened up and took a good look at her surroundings, squinting through the rain and taking in what she could from what the lightning illuminated. "Where the hell are all of the marines?" she murmured, thinking aloud for her husband to hear, "They're supposed to be all over this place."

"Yeah…" Alex agreed, "And this is southern Côte d'Azur to boot; marines should be swarming all over here. Maybe they're all-"

"What, asleep?" Sam interrupted, "All of them? At the same time?"

"I-"

"Shh!" Sam put a finger to her lips suddenly lowering down to the ground. "I hear something…"

Alex fell quiet and listened. Soon, he could pick out what his wife was hearing from the thunder and the constant pattering of the rain; a mechanical, clanking noise.

"Tanks?" Alex hissed, recognizing the noise.

"There!" Sam gestured down the street, where several dark shapes had slid out of the shadows, rumbling up the road towards the two Spartans. The silhouettes of foot soldiers were visible as well, walking between the tanks.

Alex took a step towards them, raising a hand in acknowledgment. He opened his mouth to call out to them, but bit his tongue when he found that he did not recognize the tanks lumbering towards them. They were not scorpions or dragons—they were bigger than either UNSC model, bigger and more blocky; UNSC tanks were angular and sloped, not like these machines.

Shouts rose from the throats of the infantry accompanying those tanks, challenges. Alex took another step towards them and frowned, noticing that their uniforms were the wrong color. They weren't the green-black battledress of UNSC marines; they were…gray.

"Oh, shit!" Alex swore, "Sam, move!"

As the blue-eyed Spartan shouted, one of the tanks opened fire, sending a heavy high-explosive shell over the Spartans' heads. It hit Sam's drop pod, utterly obliterating the titanium coffin. The Insurrectionist soldiers accompanying the tanks also began to open fire. Weaponsfire tore into the road all around the Ambroses. Sam and Alex's energy shields flared up as they absorbed several hits.

That was the Ambroses' cue. Sam and Alex took off, pounding down the nearest back alley as fast as they could, and not a moment too soon. Another tank opened fire as they ducked away. This time, the tank fired a canister round; a tank round containing pellets which—upon firing—spread out and tore up anything unlucky enough to get in its way. If God ever wanted a shotgun, he would take a 120 millimeter tank barrel which was firing canister shots.

The canister shot tore into the street, blowing several sizable chunks of debris past the alley entrance. The shot would have reduced Sam and Alex to bloody ribbons had they still been standing out in the street.

"Through here!" Alex slammed himself into a door on the right, crumpling it like tinfoil and staggering inside. It was a garage; the Ambroses had landed right in the middle of a residential sector full of closely-packed townhouses. "Get upstairs!" Alex exclaimed as the garage door became filled with sudden bullet-holes as the Insurrectionists began to indiscriminately open fire on the house.

There was a small hovercar in the garage, but Alex circumvented it and Sam slid across its hood, smoothly coming down on the other side and crossing straight over to the door. She tried the doorknob, but it was—not surprisingly—locked. She used her shoulder instead.

Alex stepped through the wreckage of the door after Sam, casting a quick glance throughout the small townhouse. It looked like it would have been a comfortable place to live, had it not been for the storm of lead tearing through its walls, trying to kill the Spartans inside.

Alex and Sam quickly climbed up the staircase to the third and uppermost floor in the townhouse, doing their best to avoid the Insurrectionists' weaponsfire as they went. There was a loud splintering sound downstairs which Alex could tell was the front door breaking down. "They're inside!" he warned.

Sam crossed over to the table sitting in the corner of one of the bedrooms and dragged it back out into the hallway, setting it right under the skylight set into the ceiling. She climbed on top of the table and shattered the skylight with a well-placed fist, allowing the rain to fall through. She then leaped up off of the table and managed to catch the edge of the opening, pulling herself up with a grunt of effort, and climbing up onto the roof. She turned around and knelt by the skylight, holding a hand down to her husband.

Alex climbed up onto the table and leaped up as well—the table collapsed from the effort of bearing the two Spartans right after each other—and grasped his wife's hand. Sam hauled him up through the skylight opening and onto the roof. Alex picked himself up and took off with his wife across the roof of the townhouse.

That was how the two Spartans went for the next twenty minutes; jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Even when the flashes of weaponsfire from the Insurrectionist soldiers faded into the distance, Alex and Sam kept right on running. They didn't stop until they reached an intersection of two main roads, too large a gap for them to leap over. It was of no consequence, though; the Insurrectionist pursuit force was long gone. All that was left in this area were a few odd patrols. Wherever the rest of the Insurrectionists were, they obviously weren't in this part of town.

As Alex climbed down the side of the townhouse, he voiced his doubts with his wife. "There are no marines within sight," the blue-eyed Spartan explained over the COM, "And no sounds of battle nearby, either. That means there are no marines anywhere nearby fighting the Magisterial forces."

"Well, Admiral Al-Hassin did say that his fleet lost contact with the leathernecks on the ground several days ago," Sam recalled. She and Alex dropped down to the street and, after waiting for a patrol of Magisterial guardsmen to round the corner, stole across the street. "A lot can happen in a few days…"

Sam and Alex remained silent, making their way east through the residential area which they had landed in. After nearly an hour of ducking, dodging, and evading, they found themselves in the docks; the eastern reaches of Côte d'Azur which bordered the Sinai Ocean. Wharfs and docks dominated this strip of the city, along with warehouses and storage facilities inland of the actual ports.

There were no Insurrectionists or marines here either. That wasn't surprising, though; the docks were probably the least important part of the city, certainly not worth defending or occupying. However, a good many of the buildings had been reduced to rubble and several fires still burned resiliently against the rain, which had lightened a bit since Alex and Sam made landfall. That meant that a battle had taken place here, despite everything.

"This whole place is quiet…" Sam murmured after another few minutes of silence. "Battlegrounds aren't supposed to be this quiet, even at nighttime. How far back have our lines been pushed?"

"We haven't even run into the Insurrectionist lines yet," Alex grunted, "So I'd say—shit!"

The sharp crack of a sniper rifle tore through the air suddenly, shattering the monotonous pattering of the rain for a brief moment. A chunk of asphalt flew past Alex's head and a fresh bullet hole appeared two meters in front of him. Even though he had almost been sniped, Alex couldn't help but feel a slight pang of annoyance at the obvious lack of skill the sniper possessed.

"Cover!" Sam shouted, diving into a barrel roll behind a dumpster set on the sidewalk. Alex was already a step ahead of her, hunkering down behind the corner of the nearest warehouse.

Another sniper shot rang out, taking a chunk out of the corner of the warehouse.

"Do you have a visual?!" Alex called over to his wife, unclipping his sniper rifle from the magnetic weapons strip on his back and flicking off the safety, edging up to the very edge of the wall which provided him with his cover.

"No!" Sam's reply was, "Hold a sec, I'll draw his fire! Get ready!"

Alex adjusted his grip on his rifle and made a few minute changes to the scope before he was satisfied to continue. "On your mark!" he shouted back.

Sam tensed, getting ready to spring. She spotted another good place where she could take cover; the blackened wreck of an automobile on the other side of the road where she was hunkered down. With that destination in mind, she broke cover, shouting, "Now!" and sprinting towards the wreck.

Alex whipped around the corner and took a knee, peering through his scope just in time to see three quick muzzle flashes from the roof of the warehouse just down the road. The cracks of the shots came a nanosecond later. Three rapidly-fired shots in quick succession; all of them misses, a quiet, logical voice in the depths of Alex's mind observed, he's jumpy and nervous.

Alex focused his crosshairs on the sniper and zoomed in, intending to get a quick, clean headshot and finish the job before it even started. The sniper obviously wasn't an experienced sharpshooter; he missed all of his shots, he was spooked, and—even worse for him—he did not relocate or even take cover after taking his shots.

He wouldn't live long to regret his mistakes.

Alex's finger curled around the trigger and he released the breath he had been holding in. He took one last look at the doomed man before firing…only to withdraw his finger from the trigger faster than the speed of light.

"Ace!" Sam shouted from her spot by the wreck, "What the hell's going on; why didn't you shoot the bastard?!"

"He's a marine, Sam!" Alex shouted back, "You want me to shoot a goddamn marine?!"

"Christ, what the hell is a marine doing all the way out here?!"

"How about we ask him when he stops trying to pop us!"

Sam paused for a minute to think, throwing around possible ideas. She looked back at her husband and shouted, "Keep him pinned down; I'll move up and get to know him in person!"

"You sure?!"

"No, I'm telling you a joke, now of all times!" Sam retorted, rolling her eyes. Alex could tell that she did thus even though her face was invisible behind the reflective golden faceplate of her helmet.

Alex did not bother wasting anymore time with words. He took a knee again and squeezed off a shot at the marine at the top of the warehouse, deliberately missing the man, but landing his shot close enough to galvanize him into ducking. Whenever the man tried to stick up his head, Alex discouraged him with a shot uncomfortable close to his head. As he aimed to take another shot, a second silhouette popped up next to the first, accompanied by another sniper shot. Alex was thrown back several feet by the force of the slug, his energy shields flaring as they absorbed the round.

Alex picked himself back up, swearing at himself. This new sniper knew what he was doing, unlike the other one. Just as the blue-eyed Spartan got back into his position, his COM crackled, negating the need to proceed any further.

"Alright, I'm in," Sam said over their private COM channel.

Alex ceased fire and hunkered back around the corner of his warehouse. The marines returned fire, taking several more chunks out of the corner of the building and the sidewalk. Alex did not retaliate; he simply waited for his wife to contact him.

The marines stopped firing as well. A minute ticked by, then another. Finally, Sam's voice came back over the COM, nearly making Alex jump. "Ace, I've got our mutual friends by the collars right now," his wife said over the COM, "Get up here."

Less than two minutes later, Alex was stepping out of the stairwell onto the uppermost floor of the warehouse, which was a smaller, now-empty storage flat. Sam was there, right near the roof-access stairwell, her rifle leaning against the wall. A thin, jumpy man with a thin, pale face and almost gangly limbs was next to her. Alex recognized him as the first marine with the sniper rifle. He was speaking in rapid-fire speech to Sam, who was just managing to comprehend the gist of what he was saying.

Another, older man with graying hair and icy-gray eyes sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall. His stripes identified him as a master sergeant. There was a bloody bandage tied around his thigh and his uniform was torn and sullied. He looked in far worse shape than the first man, but he was calmer and more indifferent. He was definitely a Great War veteran; vets from the war could be told apart from greenies usually with a simple glance. One glance told Alex that this older man had been through the mill.

"Alex, I'd like to introduce you to Private Stan Leopold, designated command car driver from 1st Division HQ staff," Sam gestured to the pale man, who nearly collapsed under the weight of his avalanche of apologies to the two Spartans.

Alex held up a hand, quelling the young driver. "No need to apologize; with your sniping skills we couldn't have been safer."

The pale man's face gained a little color as it flushed with embarrassment. "I picked that rifle up off of the street yesterday…I haven't been able to-"

"Oh, shut it, Stan," the older man wheezed from his spot on the ground, pausing to cough a few times. A speck of blood appeared on his lips, but he wiped it away. "Believe me," he said to the Spartans, "Once he starts rambling it takes him hours to shut up."

"I can't help it; I babble when I'm scared shitless!" the pale man—Private Leopold—was close to stuttering.

"And who are you?" Sam asked the older man who was sitting on the floor.

"Master Sergeant Harry Irons, yah-de-yah, you know the drill," the older man offered a weary, half-hearted salute.

"My name's Alex," the blue-eyed Spartan introduced himself as well, "and I believe that was you who nearly killed me back there; try to watch what you're shooting at next time."

Master Sergeant Irons's laughter surprised Alex; it was not the reaction he had been expecting. "I know you're a Spartan, and I respect that, but you can blow it out your ass. Son, me and the bag of nerves over there-" Leopold the driver gave a sheepish smile- "have been running and hiding from the Rebs. Every moving thing in this damned city has been trying to kill us for the past three days; our days of identifying our targets has come and long passed. If it stands on two feet and moves, we kill it."

Alex allowed himself a small laugh. This old veteran truly had no fear. "That's probably the first time anyone's ever said that to me," the blue-eyed Spartan chuckled.

"Well, had to break the ice somehow," Irons shrugged, his tone nonchalant.

"What unit are you from?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Gold Platoon, 13th Armored," the grizzled master sergeant replied.

"You're a tank commander?" Alex sounded somewhat surprised again. "What is a tank commander doing all the way out here in the docks? No—scratch that question—answer me this: where the hell is-"

"-everyone?" Irons finished Alex's question for him, already knowing what the blue-eyed Spartan was asking. "That's a very good question. To my knowledge, the entire expeditionary force has established a new defensive line in the Black Hills, north of the city."

"North of the city?" Sam echoed, the meaning of the words sinking in. "You mean our forces got completely driven out of the city?"

"Mm-hmm," Irons grunted. "Where have you been all week?"

"In slipspace, then in orbit around Elpis," Sam replied evenly. "We just dropped in from orbit over an hour ago."

"From orbit?" Leopold the driver repeated Sam's last statement, "The Navy's broken through again?"

"Not quite…" Alex quickly explained how they had been inserted via the long-range stealth HEVs and how the Seventh Fleet remained pinned down at Elpis- "…and they said that contact with you guys had been lost early on in the week."

"Which would explain why they would have no idea that we lost Côte d'Azur three whole days ago…" Irons shrugged again, giving a weary yawn. He tried to stand up, but he winced—pain clearly evident on his face—and sat back on the floor.

"What happened to your tank?" Sam asked, curious.

"My unit and a battalion of marines got cut off from the retreat and were driven into this district," Irons explained, "My armored contingent held the Rebs off while the marines escaped to the north. My dragon was hit in the process. The hit didn't blow us up, obviously, but it threw a track. The Rebs were right behind us, though, so we had no time to repair the damage. We had to bail. I was hit in the leg and back after I got out. I lost consciousness…my crew most likely thinks I'm dead."

"Is your tank still operational?" Alex asked next, an idea forming in his mind, piece by piece. "The only thing wrong with it is a thrown track?"

"Well, yes, but we can't fix the thing with just-" Irons broke off as he spoke. He was about to say that it would take more men to fix a thrown track, but he remembered that he was talking to Spartans. One would do, two would be more than enough. "Well, I suppose…if the Rebs haven't screwed with it since I bailed three days ago…if we could fix it without getting blown up in the process…you'll have to help me along, though; I can't walk, not with a bullet in my back. Hell, all that's keeping me together is bio-foam right now."

"What are you guys thinking?" Private Leopold asked, not following the conversation.

"Think: we are trapped in a city full of unfriendlies," Alex explained to the young driver, "Our forces are well to the north, outside of the city. Between us and them is a well-fortified and manned line of Insurrectionist troops which is trying to rout our friends to the north. You know what our lines have looked like when you all were fighting south and east of the city; the Insurrectionist lines are bound to be exactly like that, only stronger and much more heavily manned. Now, how would you be able to walk right through all that without getting torn apart?"

Leopold the driver was at a loss for a minute as he fell silent and tried to figure out the correct answer before finally shrugging and saying, "You wouldn't."

"Exactly," Alex nodded approvingly, "Hence the tank."

"When do we move out?"

"Less than a minute, if we can help it," Sam replied, "Grab yourself whatever you need for the trip right now."

"You fellas ever drive a tank before?" Irons asked as Alex helped him up to his feet.

Alex shrugged. The tank had been one of the few things during the Great War which he and his teammates had never had the chance to pilot. "Always willing to learn."