Chapter 30: The Battle of Jeannette 5, Pt. 3

Vivian couldn't wait for the UH-144 to touch down. Slowly, Vicario brought the Falcon in for a landing. Some of the more experienced infantrymen, apparently also eager to get out, jumped out. Nimbly, they landed a few feet below and darted away, keeping their hands on their helmets and staying crouched. Wounded soldiers didn't dare try and medics or those with combat lifesaver training stayed with them. When the VTOL finally landed, waiting medical teams came forward with litters. The wounded were promptly evacuated to the field hospital. Others gathered around, greeting friends with MREs and canteens. Very quickly, the atmosphere changed and troops began acting as if they hadn't almost lost their lives. While a few possessed the one-thousand yard stare others were more jovial, regaling others with their close encounters with the Covenant or remarking just how close it got.

Unable to wrest herself from the gunner's position, Vivian watched them for a time. She looked down at her gloved hands, wrapped around the controls of the weapon. She was still squeezing them tightly and she knew her knuckles were bone white underneath. After a few moments, she finally let go and found her hands to be trembling somewhat. Chills ran down her spin and she needed to wrap her arms around herself to warm up. Her training kicked in and she remembered the adrenaline rush she experienced was beginning to subside. It was a relieving feeling. But she did not feel the same like she did after the close combat earlier. There was more satisfaction but more of a cool, steeled sensation. Despite how close it was, it was now behind her and did not seem like an aberration of war. Instead, it just felt like business. Such a feeling sank in after her first engagements with the Covenant fleet. Space combat, just like ground warfare, was demanding, exciting, and terrifying. But after some time, the excitement subsided for the most part and it became another day at work. The same phenomena was occurring with the surface-level war and a lot faster than she expected. As new and enthralling as it was, she wondered if after the next firefight she would feel as though she was punching back in after a break in an office job.

"That was a hell of a thing, Captain."

Guo was standing in front of her. Vivian didn't know how long he'd been there but jumped to see him towering over her. He offered her a handsome smile and gave her a thumbs-up. "I'll fly with you any day, after that."

"If you don't mind my asking, ma'am," Vicario said as he loped up with her helmet under her arm, "just what are you doing down here anyways?"

She respected these Army Aviators for the warriors they were. But to offer them the truth would compromise her authority and was not their business anyways. What happened on the I'm Alone stayed aboard and was only for her and a select few. Everyone else would see nothing but the gray uniform and her commanding presence. She learned that lesson already.

"Doing my part," she said with a shrug and a coy smile. "And the situation in orbit is stable. A UNSC officer needs perspective."

Vicario smiled slightly. She was a tall woman with brown hair and rich shade of tan skin. Up along the left side of her neck and face were burns marks, no doubt from some plasma attack or crash landing earlier in her career. Guo fared little better; he had a lighter shade of skin that was pockmarked with scars large and small. His M52B body armor was especially battered, having taken so many different kinds of light Covenant projectiles throughout the mission.

"Well Captain," Vicario said, extending her hand. "You can fly with us as long as you want. I wouldn't mind going out with you again."

Vivian shook her hand and then Guo's. Before she could make any further comment, a crowd of Army infantrymen engulfed her. Everyone shook her hand, rattled her helmet, thumped her shoulder pauldron, and clapped her on the back. Like being carried by a receding ocean wave, she was drawn out of the Falcon. Despite the grime on their faces, they were happy and smiling, each one bombarding her with praise.

"You ain't a swabbie to me no more, Captain!"

"That was badass!"

"You must have balls made from titanium, Cap'!"

"You should have been an infantryman, ma'am!"

"Yeah, ditch the Navy and fight with us!"

"No, maybe we ought to join the Navy, or the Marines!"

"Shut it, you damned traitor!"

"Wouldn't you want to fight with her!?"

"I'd fight with you any day, ma'am!"

"Captain's motherfuckin' infantryman now, she's got the bite!"

Vivian smiled and laughed by turns, touching the shoulders and hands of each man and woman who came up to her. It was not the praise itself that was elevating her spirits. More and more flocked around her, some who hadn't even been manning the flight crews or had been ambushed in the convoy. Some merely heard the operation over the radio or from returning friends and were coming to their comrades, buoyed and bubbly. Despite the desperate effort, despite the terrible action of the earlier battle, they were in good spirits. Morale was rising, rising, rising, so high and tangibly that it restored vigor in Vivian's limbs and made her heart flutter as if she was setting eyes upon her first love. The more she saw the impact of the successful mission, the more determined and jovial she felt. Prospects of engaging the Covenant again did not seem as unromantic or undesirable as they had just a few moments ago. If these men and women believed if they could be victorious, then she did too.

"Hey, smile Captain!"

A photojournalist embedded with the infantry, wearing a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black vest with the words 'PRESS,' in bold on it, raised his camera. All the soldiers in front of Vivian spread out, creating two voluminous wings on either side of her. Others crouched, forming ranks three men deep in front of her. The ones in the very front began laying down on their sides. Everyone beamed at the cameraman as he snapped a few photos. "Thanks everybody!" he chimed and turned away. The whole lot whistled and cheered, claiming they were going to be heroes in the newspapers, at least for a few days anyways.

Many offered Vivian to come and sit with them while they waited for new orders. Cooking fires were being started, sentires posted, and MRE packets cut open. Already, Vivian could smell coffee brewing. Her stomach rumbled and she realized just how hungry she was. A great, deep pit, to the point of pain, formed in her stomach. Just as she was about to join them, some figures broke into the crowd. Their armor was a deeper olive drab armor and light MARPAT pattern fatigues instead of the Army infantry's green and brown armor and OCP-pattern ACUs. Frost emerged, his head low, his shoulders hunched, his poise strong and determined. He reminded her of a football player about to charge and tackle a member of the rival team.

"Captain Waters, you're needed at HQ," he said in a cool manner, standing barely a few inches from her face. The troopers jeered and voiced their disappointment. Vivian promised she would share a cup of coffee with them eventually. Frost didn't wait, looping his arm around her own and pulling her away. When they were finally out of the crowd, he let go and stormed towards the prefab HQ. Along the way, they passed other prefab buildings churning out materials for the troops, repairing vehicles, and processing supplies being airlifted in via Albatrosses, Pelicans, and primarily D82-EST Darters. Navy and Marine Corps HRUNTING Mark III Cyclops exoskeletons hefted huge crates of supplies or helped loaded munitions into Scorpions, Wolverines, and Cobras. Engineers and mechanics' tools sparked as they applied new plates to damaged vehicles. Scorched, battered Warthogs and Scorpions were retooled, rearmed, and re-armored within minutes and rolled away as if they had just come off the factory floor. Fresh crews manned the vehicles and the wounded were taken away. More reinforcements were arriving from orbit, marching out of Pelicans and Albatrosses. Marines, fresh from her battlegroup, were adding their weight to the defense. Army troops who had been in the fighting for so long received new armor, more munitions, and repaired weapons. Many of them waited in lines at the field armories or crowded around the supply caches, waiting to grab a new weapon. It seemed as though she had traveled back in time to a medieval siege camp; engineers built trebuchets, ballistas, and catapults; materials were provided by woodsmen chopping down the nearest wood or thicket. Men sharpened their blades on whetstones and grindstones, hammers fell repeatedly on curiasses, greaves, gauntlets, and helms. Grimy men, toothless, hollow-eyed, thin, took up their arms and watched the fusilade of projectiles smash against the great castle walls, waiting for the next attack. Professional soldiers, men-at-arms and sergeants, stood by their leaders proudly. Knights and nobles poured over maps and battle plans, their once-gleaming armor now slick with mud. All seemed unphased by the fire and smoke. The entire scene was both terrifying and beautiful.

Vivian noticed one pile in particular; at first, she was shocked by the sight of so many MA37s in what appeared to be a discarded pile. Upon closer inspection, however, she realized that all their barrels had melted or burned out, rendering them unable to fire. These Army infantrymen had been in the fight for so long, reloading from the ammunition crates, and firing full-auto, that they had completely destroyed the barrels. To her, it was a testament to their warrior spirits as well as a mark as to how just hard the Covenant attacked.

It was as she was gazing at this pile of weapons, looking over her shoulder, she felt a hand clamp down on the collar of her M52B chestplate. She was spun around, dragged between two prefab buildings and thrown against the wall. Frost's gray eyes were afire. He pushed her against the smooth titanium and held her there. "You done playing fucking cowgirl?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" Vivian said, shoving him off. "They needed a gunner and I was there, so I jumped. People were dying and they needed our help."

He grabbed her collar again and pulled her close. Their noses were almost touching. She felt her loose, blonde locks brushed against his stubble-coated cheeks.

"You never, ever, leave your squad," he said in the deepest, darkest voice she ever heard him speak in. "Your squad is your family. They are all you have out here. If you're alone, you're going to die alone."

He let go and began removing his chestplate. Dropping it on the ground, he looked strange wearing the ballistic padding and armor pauldrons on his arms and shoulders. Undoing the velcro of his BDU blouse, he pulled the tank top he wore underneath aside and pointed at a jagged, pale scar on his right pectoral muscle. "You see that? I got stabbed by an Innie on Skopje because I was out ahead of my squad. I had nobody to cover me." He grabbed another clump and moved it. His finger traced plasma burns up his right side. "I got riddled by an Elite because I ditched my squad to man a barricade by myself." He let go of the tank top. "Stupidity and heroism are a lot closer than you think, Vivian. Up there in the stars, you are the captain of the ship and I'll follow any order you give me. But down here? You belong to me and you will follow my orders, understand!?"

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant," Vivian replied coldly. Frost took a breath, closed his blouse, and picked his armor. After a few moments he seemed to have calmed down.

"Last thing I need is Jasmine on my ass for letting her best friend get herself killed on some rescue op either. I'll never live it down."

That made Vivian crack a smile. The pair stood in front of each other in awkward silence. Frost seemed unsure of what to say next that could mitigate his outburst. Vivian wasn't sure how to impart how she wasn't too taken aback or insulted. In the end, neither said anything and proceeded to the HQ side by side. When they entered, they pushed through the horde of staff and operations officers. Everybody was clad in piecemeal armor as they worked at their stations, monitored radio traffic, delegated tasks, communicated with units in the field, and contacted the ships in orbit. Everybody was frazzled but continued to work diligently. Vivian was familiar with the scene, being reminded of the I'm Alone's bridge. It was controlled chaos and she instantly felt at home. She took off her helmet, mimicking Frost, and held it under her arm. They proceeded through a series of rooms until they arrived at the TOC. Multiple screens and monitors lined the walls and there were rows of terminals, radios, and workstations. All were manned and everyone was monitoring their data diligently. Around the map projector in the center of the room was the command staff: General Amsterdam in battered ACUs, Colonel Hayes in a fresh set of BDUs, Major Holst in his mottled gray-green armor, and De Vos beside him. As well, Major Royce, Lieutenant Conroy, and the other Alpha Company platoon leaders were present.

Upon seeing her, General Amsterdam stood up, smiled, and shook Vivian's hand.

"I heard there was some psycho Navy officer pulling ops with Army Aviation."

"Couldn't tell you who that is, ma'am," Vivian replied confidently.

"We need every gun we can get down here," Amsterdam said, "and I'm more than happy to have your tactical input on this one, Captain." She led her and Frost over to the map. On it was a wide series of yellow shapes indicating their position. Scattered Covenant units were highlighted in red. The 3D space of the map was a light blue color. Amsterdam bent over and pointed at the red. "Covvies are pulling back through that wood fire that's spreading across the planet. I was hoping Vice Admiral Travers could move into support once the situation in orbit was stabilized. He had some drones keeping tabs on the Covvies' main base of operations. But his drones can see shit because the wind is coming from west to east, spreading the smoke over Covenant territory. The smoke has gotten so thick it's obscuring the enemy's base."

Amsterdam stood up, folded her arms across her chest, and shook her head. "Just when the opportunity to counterattack presents itself, we're stalled by the weather. Nature holds sway over all, ladies and gentlemen. The Covvies picked their spot well, the big forest puts a lot of tough ground between our positions. They've got the north locked down right now and they've got some badlands up there as natural barriers. Only real route is looping around the south of the wood where the fire isn't so bad, but I don't want to send my main element in blind. For all we know, they could be packing up, or reinforcing."

"General, couldn't we just carpet bomb the area, through the smoke?" Major Holst asked. "It's an uninhabited world, at least, it is now. We don't have to worry about collateral damage because there isn't anything out there and we don't have to worry about friendly fire either."

"It's crossed my mind. But what we were able to gather about the enemy base was that they had superb air defenses. I don't want to risk the frigates because they're such big targets; the Covvie guns will hit them despite the smoke. A massive air assault will get chewed up too. MAC rounds will do the job but Travers won't fire blindly." She chewed her bottom lip. "Covvies are marshaling at a secondary base in the north, but our air and orbital assets should manage that well enough. We need as much air here for defense and to repulse further counterattacks. I also believe the Covenant are going to make a real stand here and we need to preserve our resources. So no blind firing."

She pointed at Major Royce. "That's where you come in. I want your company to utilize the southern route, either by hugging the woods or penetrating right through it. Your objective is this ridge." She highlighted and tapped the feature near the woods. "Get up there, get eyes on the enemy, and call it in. You'll walk the MACs in."

"Understood, General," Royce replied in his robotic, deadpan voice. "What kind of support can we expect on this one."

"You'll have to go in quietly or else the Covvies will pounce on you. You won't be rolling out with vehicles, this is good old fashioned infantry maneuvers. I'll keep one of the Ranger companies as a QRF and spare some assets to provide CAS if necessary. The QRF will be airborne but if push comes to shove I'll have my reserve push out by convoy to get you." She tapped the edge of the table for emphasis. "Stealth is the key, so jump off is at eighteen hundred hours. I don't want them to catch wind of what we're up to. So I'll say it loud and clear for you, Major: don't, get, caught."

Night was swiftly approaching. Carris walked briskly, her armored boots thudding and thumping into the wet, grassy ground. Her M739 was across her back and the drum magazines filled the pouches wrapped around her waist. In each hand, she carried a canister of ammunition. She eventually reached the perimeter and crawled up into an OP. It was a simple sandbag emplacement in the shape of a squared U, with four short poles at each corner propping up loose, mesh camo netting covering the position. Crawling inside, she found Steele laying prone with the barrel of his sniper rifle support on the sandbags. His helmet was on the ground beside him and his tuft of blonde hair spilled in all directions. Crouching beside him, she found that he was beginning to grow a beard and his mustache was slightly thicker.

Out of the entire squad, Steele fussed over his appearance the most despite how openly he defied grooming standards. While the other Marines stylized themselves to look the part, that is, aggressive, tough, and not to be trifled with, he gussied himself up as if he was going on a date. But now, his stubble of facial hair was giving him a more rugged edge than he ever possessed before. Carris found this amusing and thought about prodding him with a mocking joke. After a few moments of regarding her through her visor, she decided not to and tapped him.

"Ammo," she said. Steele glanced at the canisters, then put down his rifle and rolled onto his side. He opened them and began loading up every available pocket and pouch with the four-round magazines.

"You know something, love," he said. "This right here is the sexiest weapon in the UNSC arsenal. But one day, I'm gonna find the bugger who made the damned thing and clock him over the jaw. What kind of asshole gives a modern, semi-automatic sniping rifle only four fucking rounds? Target rich environment, full field of fire, you'll spend more time reloading than shooting."

"Maybe you should write your local supply sergeant a letter of complaint and then he'll send it up the chain."

"Got a pen?"

Carris chuckled. She took off her helmet, breathing in the cool night air. As delicious as it was, she could taste a faint acrid smoke on it. Gazing out the firing port between the sandbags, she could see the smear-like orange haze of the distant forest fire. On the rise overlooking the entire UNSC position, the Kodiak artillery pieces were slamming away at the Covenant probing attacks on the northern perimeter. She couldn't see it from their position on the eastern perimeter but it sounded like the Covenant were taking a beating. The distant rumble of the guns and the fall of their rounds made it seem like there was a thunderstorm overhead.

She set her helmet down and pushed her plump, sweaty blacks locks behind her ears. Steele was smiling as he finished loading up his vest. There was a real change in his demeanor since he'd returned to the squad. In the medical bay and even in the barracks, he seemed sad. It was a simple thing to say, but she found no other way to characterize him. He was sad, lost, and alone. Night after night, going to sleep in her bunk on the I'm Alone, she felt heartbroken of an image in which he lay by himself in the cavernous infirmary bays with only the secondary medical shifts personnel to keep him company.

It was impossible not to recall it. The image flooded into another and she was reminded of the day she informed him he wouldn't be coming on the operation. That was the first time she ever truly witnessed Steele break. Not in combat, not under difficult circumstances, not from loss of friend or from a wound, but being told he couldn't go with his friends.

Unsure of how to broach the topic, she cleared her throat.

"Happy to be back out here?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hell yes, I am. Beats laying around all damned day getting bed sores. Not to mention the nurses didn't put out, so it was really boring."

Carris winced and Steele noticed. He blinked and his eyes, usually drawn in a sneering, overconfident, I'm-better-than-you squint, became wide. For a moment, he almost seemed childlike. "I'm just kidding love, I didn't try any of that while I was in there, honest."

"Yeah," Carris said, unable to find other words. She wasn't sure how it sounded but Steele seemed somewhat distressed.

"No, no, I mean it. Ever since you talked to me I...well, I just can't bring myself to do it." He shrugged. "I dunno why. Just...just can't really."

Carris blinked. As much as she wanted to speak about what she said that day, she knew she would feel selfish for bringing up her own feelings again. Steele was aware and there was not much more she could say anyways. Besides, they were in a war zone and would soon go on a mission. This was not the time and the place.

"About that day," she began, "you really do love these people, don't you? You can disguise it all you want behind the bravada and the 'I'm not some bloody gung ho Marine,' chatter." She said that in her best English accent and waved her hands for effect. Steele laughed amicably at her impression. Carris couldn't help but laugh herself, feeling rather silly. "You live and fight for these people. You'd die for them if it came to that. You're quite a selfless person, Louie."

It was dark and they only had a low-light lamp for illuminating in the OP. She could just make out the shy expression on his face and the slight pink hue to his cheeks. Carris leaning back against sandbags, being mindful of the pressure she applied as the weight of her armor could knock them over. "So why keep up the 'I don't care,' attitude? Is it that hard to let people know you actually care?"

"You got that right," Steele said immediately. "The people in this squad are all better at speaking over those things than me. Besides, you get in touch with that side of yourself and you're going to start losing the edge. You need to be a hard, mean fucking bastard in combat if you want to live. If I have to, you're right, I'll die for one of these blokes. Doesn't mean I want to. I'd like to make it out of this shit alive."

Carris thought for a while and then wrung her hands together.

"Frost and Dr. Jasmine are in love. I think if they survive the war they'll make a nice little life for themselves. Quiet, peaceful, happy. Despite all his faults," Carris tried not to sound bitter as she said the words. What Frost did at the Port still weighed on her mind even if her doubts on his combat prowess and leadership ability were somewhat put to rest. It wasn an altogether different conversation for a different time. "He is still fighting as hard as ever. I actually think he's fighting harder than before. Allowing himself to feel, allowing himself to love, that's not a weakness. That's making him stronger, because he has something...someone...to not only fight for, but live for."

Steele stared at her inquisitively. He didn't appear annoyed but his brow was drawn in studious concentration and his mouth was slightly open. His blue eyes shimmered in the warm yellow light. Some of the wind that managed to sweep through the firing port made thick locks of hair dance across his forehead. When Carris didn't say anything, he changed his posture, sitting cross-legged and holding his ankles with his hands.

"Well?" he said, leaning forward and nodding his head. "You gonna just leave it there? You seem like you were about to make a point."

Carris smirked a little.

"You know what I think?"

"No, what?"

"I don't think you want to know."

"Try me."

Her smirk increased to a grin.

"I think you're a chicken shit."

Steele blinked and his mouth opened a little bit. Carris felt her lips twitch in a large, obnoxious smile. She stifled a giggle at the sniper's ultimately baffled and confused expression he continued blinking, as if sand was just thrown in his eyes and he looked away slightly.

"What?"

"You heard me," Carris said, laughing a little. She leaned forward for a moment. "Chicken. Shit."

"First of all, miss, language. Second of all, what?'

"Chiiiiicken shiiit!" Carris replied and began laughing. Steele started to laugh too, but his chortles were nervous, confused, and staggered.

"What's gotten into you? You're acting silly."

"You're scared, you idiot. You're scared to feel your feelings." She stopped laughing and looking at him earnestly. "I get it. I know what it was like growing up for you as a kid. Seems like to me everything was manufactured to make you worried that people were only going to mislead you and mistreat you in life. I think anybody who went through that would have difficulty opening up not just to other people but to their own feelings. You didn't grow up like me or Frost or Grant or anybody else in the squad. But, Louis-Henry, how can you ever truly be yourself if you don't even indulge your own feelings?"

Carris sat back again, folding her hands on the stomach of her armor. "I still don't know everything there is to know about my own emotions or just what I should do with them. But if there's something I can pick out, it's fear in a fearless man."

She said this confidently, almost smugly. It was hard not to feel proud of herself. When she first began to ingratiate herself with this squad, she felt dwarfed by their emotional acumen. Laughing, joking, even just talking, was so easy for them. After she made her decision to stay, she promised she would try to be like one of them. Even if it was difficult, she was going to learn so that she could really be one of the team and see just what she had missed all these years. Nearly two years later, she was glad to finally have at least a grasp on it all.

Steele stared at her for a very long time. He betrayed no other emotion than surprise and confusion. It was as if she presented a difficult equation for him to solve the arithmetic seemed impossible to comprehend. For so long he regarded her she began to worry she may have hurt his feelings or perhaps alienated. Just as her expression began to lift and she leaned forward curiously, he took off his gloves suddenly.

"Alright," he said plainly. "Alright, if you want to play those games."

"Wait, Louis..." He began moving towards her. "...Louis?"

"I'm gonna give you a kiss."

"What!?"

"You heard me."

"Can you just hold on for a second?"

"I've already seen you naked and this is what's got you playing shy?"

"What if somebody shows up?"

"Then they'll probably be jealous."

"Of who, you or me!?"

"Does it matter?"

He was now beside her and began to lean over her armor. Carris reached over and planted both hands on his chest. Steele laughed. "Girl, you look like a deer in the fucking headlights. Who's the chicken shit now, missus-feel-your-feelings."

"But, I mean, I didn't think you, it's just...come on Lou, I was just..."

"Teasing? Oh, you weren't teasing."

Carris, her rich blue eyes wide, slowly took her hands off his chest. Steele leaned closer, smiling handsomely. Her heart thumping so hard she thought it would not only exit her chest but also her armor, Carris closed her eyes. She waited for the alien sensation to graze her lips. Instead, she felt it on her cheek and it was electric. Opening her eyes, she found Steele reclining somewhat, smiling confidently.

Steele opened his mouth to speak, but Carris's arms shot out, wrapped around him, and drew him into her. She embraced him tightly and warmly, one hand remaining on the back of his head and tucking his face against the side of her head. After a moment of shock, she felt his arms lace around her neck. For a time, the two stayed like that: Carris sitting, her back against the sandbags, Steele draped across her, his face buried into her neck, the pair hugging each other intensely.

"Guys?"

Carris, her face engulfed in Steele's messy blonde hair, tore herself away from him. Crouched in the mouth of the OP was Grant. He leaned in, both hands gripping the sides of the entrance. For a few moments, he blinked at them. Then he smiled. "Jump off is in ten, you guys. Six wants everybody gathered up right now, but I think I can get you another five mikes."

Before either she or Steele could respond, Grant disappeared. Steele, hanging partly off Carris, chuckled.

"What a good lad..."

"Yes," was all Carris managed to say. She wasn't looking at the entrance, she was looking at him.

Frost glanced at his wrist watch as he stood with the rest of his squad. Bishop and Maddox were finishing their cigarettes while Langley assisted Knight by loading the last of his rockets onto his back. Waters stood beside Frost, patting down her pouches and belt to make sure nothing rattled when they began the march. Major Royce was going over the route one more time with Lieutenant Conroy and the other platoon leaders.

It was already very dark and most of the Marines didn't have their flashlight attachments on. A few kept their helmet lamps turned on as they waited to set off. Frost watched the thin beams of white light illuminate their hands. Some Marines were checking their weapons, others were replacing a piece of equipment on their persons, others were looking at pictures of their families. These Marines were entirely still and their bodies rigid with focus as they drank in those pictures. Eventually, they reluctantly stuffed them in a pocket or pouch before turning their light off.

Again he glanced at his watch. When he looked up again he found Grant trudging up to him.

"I honestly can't find them."

"Did you check the OP yet?"

"Twice!"

Frost grimaced.

"They better get here most ricky-tick or I'm going to have them polishing our barracks deck with their blood when I'm through with them."

"I'll check again."

Frost reached out and caught his wrist. He pulled Grant closer.

"Hey, listen to me a sec would you?" Grant's shape in the darkness drew closer. Frost thought for a moment, chose his words, and then eased his tone. "I got something for you. Turn on your head lamp."

Grant did so a moment later and blinded Frost with the white light. Frost held his hand and squinted. "Look down, would you? Here, I wanted you to have this." He dug into his pocket and produced Moser's chain and cross, the one he had been wearing around his neck since they first showed up in boot camp. Grant didn't reach for it and he became very still as he regarded it. Again, Frost sighed. "I went to his body before we deployed from the I'm Alone. The head trauma nurse had prepared the body and allowed me to visit. Among his personal effects was the cross." He didn't mention how she told him it was difficult to wash the blood off of it. "He knew you weren't a part of his faith but he told me a long time ago that if anything happened to him, he wanted you to have this. He told me to tell you this is a warrior's token, it'll give you strength and courage on the battlefield."

Grant continued to stare silently. "I was going to wait until we got back onto the I'm Alone, but I think now's a good a time as any to hand it over. Moser cherished this and it symbolized everything he believed in. He's in this and if you carry it into battle, you'll be carrying Moser with us. I can't think of anyone better to do that."

Frost wasn't sure how much of his own speech he believed. The words came naturally but he knew they were a veil. Now wasn't the time for a man to man apology where he owned his actions both as a squad leader and a friend. It wasn't a peace offering either. Merely, it was the beginning of a long apology for his misguided, lethal anger that Grant was totally undeserving of. Even if there wasn't an operation about to commence, one in which contact with the Covenant was likely and rescue was a long way off, it would have been impossible for him to go through the entire apology now. He was still grappling with it, coming to terms with his own mistakes, and fighting with the guilt he felt over his few last words with Moser.

Grant's hand slowly entered the light and carefully picked up the cross. For a few moments, it seemed suspended in the light of his head lamp. Then it disappeared in the darkness towards the Marine grenadier.

"Thanks, Nate," Grant said, his voice even. "That means a lot."

Frost reached out and thumped him on top of his helmet.

"Let's give'em hell, Marine."

"Yeah, for Moser."

"For Moser." Frost heard a pair of feet, one light, one heavy, approaching on his left. He knew who they were. "Here come the fuckheads now. Hey, what took you?"

"Just getting our gear squared, Gunny-boy," Steele said in a mocking tone. "What do you make of this plan because I'll tell ya what this strikes me: keep the main troops here and send the fuck-ups and cunts on a suicide mission. How close am I?"

"Stow it, Steele, I need my assistant squad leader focused tonight."

"Bruv, I'm focused like a laser-fucking-guided missle."

"Carris, you good?"

"More than good, Gunny." Her tone seemed different but Frost wouldn't concern himself with that. He got the squad together. "We'll be on point with company headquarters, alright? Wedge formation, me on point, Carris, rear echelon with Steele. Keep your safeties on; one accidental discharge and the round I'll fire in the back of your skull won't be accidental, copy? Move fast, stay quiet, and no piggy back rides, Carris. Steele's got two perfectly good legs and he's going to use them."

"You seem on edge, bruv. I'll give you a massage when we get back to camp."

Their SQUADCOM crackled to life.

"All Alpha elements, this is Six. We're moving out."

Words: 6,058

Pages: 14

Font: Garamond

Font Size: 12

Line Spacing: 1.5

Author's Note: I hope that Carris and Steele scene doesn't feel too much like a tease because that wasn't the intention. That scene was more to cement Steele's growing feelings and that their feelings will continued to evolve over the course of this story and will culminate. It was very fun to write as was this entire chapter. I actually thought it would be a difficult one to write but it was a pretty smooth process.

Comment Responses:

TheCarlosInferno: No rib or bone cracking yet! Agreed, let's hope whatever happens between them doesn't involve bone fractures!

TheShadeOps: Spot on! Definitely a high decoration although that scene will occur in a few chapters, just so it doesn't disrupt the flow of the action/action lull.

Chase-A: When I was writing it, I was typing super fast because I was really having a good time and my own adrenaline was pumped up. It was one of those writing experiences where, as I'm writing, I'm going, 'Oooh this is going to be really good, people are gonna like this one!' You bring up an excellent word. The void is the best way to describe two aspects I'm trying to touch on, the void of war that Frost and Vivian speak about, but also the void of describing combat. We're often narrowed down to a character's POV, so we only ever see what's happening immediately around them. However, there is still a lot of other things going and not all of it can be described and that's something I try to incorporate, especially in larger, less intimate battle scenes.

MightBeGone: I had that scene cooking for months, to finally write it down and splash in a new method of warfare we haven't really touched in this or the previous story was very fun and refreshing. And Steele and Carris, to be honest, I never thought they would become so popular! Glad you and so many others are really into their individual stories as well as their interwoven stories.