Author's Note: Warning, this chapter contains tie-ins to my other story, Missing in Action, with the events occurring in this chapter intending to take place in the direct aftermath of chapter 2 of MIA. Reading of that story, however, is not necessary to understand this one.

Chapter 13: Send in the Marines

Heliopolis Station, High Orbit, Actium
May 6, 2545
1245

Spaatz

"You should have clarified with me first."

Instead of replying straight away, Spaatz took a moment to take a large swig out of the steaming cup of coffee he had in his hand, both as a stall tactic in order to allow himself to gather his thoughts, and also because he really needed that caffeine boost.

With both his attempts at disabling or destroying the Covenant capital ships having ended in failure, a sort of stalemate had emerged in space: while he had managed to force those cruisers out of position and away from the planet while simultaneously inflicting an untold amount of damage to the invading fleet, doing so had cost him quite a bit of casualties among his own forces. As both fleets withdrew to lick their wounds, the focus of the invasion had shifted to the surface of Actium, where Spaatz's ground forces were doing their best to contain the Covenant attack.

Of course, as a naval man, Spaatz would be the first to admit that in a ground war slugfest, the likes of which was currently unfolding nearly thirty thousand klicks on the surface below him, he would be completely out of his depth. Which is why he was here, in a holoconference call, with the supreme commander of all military forces on Actium, a certain three star general by the name of Jason Langley.

Lieutenant General Langley was an Army general who had loyally served with the UNSC armed forces for nearly half a century. Unlike most general officers in his position, Langley had begun his career as an enlisted artilleryman, who had been able to work his way up the ranks with his sharp wit and sheer tenacity. A combat veteran who had been baptized by fire in the opening days of the Insurrection, Langley had ended up making the switch to logistics when he had been commissioned as an officer, however he still processed a keen tactical mind. In comparison to some of his other staff officers, Spaatz found he rather enjoyed working with Langley, even if Langley was somewhat humorless at times, especially during crises such as this one.

Realizing Langley was still waiting for a response, Spaatz lowered his cup and sighed.

"General," he began, "you'll have to excuse me as it's been a rather long day so far, so I apologize if what I'm about to say next comes across as rather…" he paused to think of an appropriate word, "…terse, but I'm not quite comprehending your dilemma here. Correct me if I'm wrong but, you are the supreme commander of all ground forces here on Actium, are you not?"

"All UNSC forces," Langley corrected, a grim look on his face. "But yes, Admiral, I am."

"And at the moment, the Covenant are on Actium… are they not?"

"That they are."

"Okay. Then, as the supreme commander of all UNSC forces on Actium, you should be able to engage the Covenant now as they are… on Actium."

Spaatz's eyes flicked up to Langley's face, hoping to see a reaction, but his hologram must have froze as his face didn't so much as twitch. Biting back a sigh, Spaatz continued.

"Perhaps, General, this is the result of my naval background, but this seems pretty straight forward to me. So, allow me to be blunt: what exactly is your problem here?"

Langley pinched the bridge of his nose, allowing Spaatz to see just how frustrated he actually was, and Spaatz began to regret his choice of words. "My problem, sir, as you so succinctly put it, is the fact that the only reason why the Covenant are on the surface of Actium at moment is because you let them get there."

Spaatz did his best to avoid rearing back in offense at the comment, but he couldn't avoid the slight sting of betrayal he felt as he replied, "Need I remind you, General, that was a plan you also agreed upon."

"Yes, but only because I had been assured by both the Navy and the Air Force they would be able to control the amount of ground troops the Covenant would be depositing onto the planet's surface. I had not realized that the Navy and Air Force's definition of control meant allowing an entire Legion of Covenant warriors to land on the planet!"

Spaatz instantly bit the inside of his cheek to avoid reflexively responding with a bitter and sarcastic reply - which would have no doubted escalated their growing argument to inappropriate levels – and took another swig from his cup of coffee in an effort to force himself to think, not react.

"Alright, General," he finally said once he had brought himself under control. "Perhaps Sixth Fleet and Orbital Defense Command overestimated the amount of control they would have over the battle once the Covenant began landing troops en masse. That still doesn't change the fact that you vastly outnumber anything the Covenant were capable of fielding in the short time their cruisers were on station over the city. So, again I ask: what is the predicament here…"

Spaatz trailed off as Langley quickly raised his index finger.

"On paper, Admiral," he insisted. "On paper, my forces outnumber the Covenant something like fifty to one. Maybe even a hundred to one. Hell, according to these documents, I have enough combat and logistical units to field, I don't know, something like six or seven army groups, depending on how I allocate them."

"Okay…" Spaatz slowly began. "So that's what the documents say. But, given your reaction, I'm going to assume reality is a little bit different?"

"In reality, only about a twentieth of those forces are actually present on this planet."

Spaatz stared him. "Excuse me? How is that even possible?"

Langley grimaced. "Admiral, have you ever heard of the UNSC Army system POMCUS?"

"No, I have not."

"It is an acronym that stands for Prepositioning Of Material Configured in Unit Sets," Langley explained. "Essentially, because of the heavy nature of UNSC Army equipment, both in terms of weight and logistical consumption, it takes a lot of effort to move said equipment across systems, especially since most of the Army was stationed in the inner colonies, while most of the hot zones were occurring in the outer colonies. As humanity continued to expand across the galaxy, so too did the time it took for the Army to respond to incidents. In order to compensate, the Army took to designating a number of planets sitting on the border between the inner colonies and outer colonies as POMCUS sites: locations where they would preposition entire corps' worth of equipment and vehicles. The idea being, the time it took to deploy to hot zones would be cut in half as a unit's equipment would be already halfway there."

"And Actium is one of those sites, I presume?" Spaatz guessed.

"Yes. Which comes into the problem of my paper army: all this equipment still belongs to the unit in question, so each unit keeps a small detachment at each POMCUS location to maintain said equipment. Those detachments still show up as a part of their parent units, so while on paper it may appear entire armored corps are present here on Actium, in reality, all together they maybe consist of about a company's worth of soldiers."

Spaatz sighed.

"You think that would have been something you would have brought up when we were first discussing these plans," he couldn't help but grumble under his breath as he took another sip from his cup. More loudly, he said, "Okay. Talk to me then. What do you have on the ground?"

Langley gestured, and a map of Byzas and the surrounding area appeared. "Byzas falls within the AO of the UNSC Army's XIV Armored Corps, but of its three assigned divisions, only one is physically present on the surface: the 53rd Armored Division. The other two divisions are currently on deployment to hotspots elsewhere in the galaxy. At the moment, the situation on the ground is... chaotic, to say the least. The 53rd AD was in the middle of getting refitted after nearly being annihilated on Draco III and as a result, wasn't at full strength to begin with. Compounding the situation is the fact the Covenant landed right in the middle of the division, essentially cutting it in half."

"As soon as the Covenant touched down, I gave orders for all forces to begin an immediate counterattack, which promptly failed due to a lack of troops. One unit was however able to capture their objective, the town of Newington just south of the city, creating a hole in the Covenant's defensive line. Despite repeated attempts by the Covenant to dislodge them, they've managed to hold out though they're going to need reinforcements, and fast."

"To the north though, it's one giant mess. Soldiers weren't ready when the invasion began, units weren't in position, and most of my senior commanders are already dead or cut off. I ordered the 222nd Airborne Division in as soon as they arrived in system to try and take over the situation, but that failed. The only reason why we haven't been overrun just yet is because a city the size of Byzas is not an easy place to take control of. But unless we act now, well, it's only a matter of time."

Spaatz massaged his temples. "What do you need from me?"

"Troops. First, I need you to federalize all colonial and provincial militias so that they'll be under my command."

"I thought Governor Sargsyan already did that?"

"No, all she did was declare martial law, which simply meant the Colonial Militia was taking control over the entire colony. But they're still under their own chain of command. I need you to federalize them so that they'll be under UNSC control."

Spaatz nodded. "Done. What else?"

"Reinforcements. According to reports I've received from General Samatar, MCIA, forward elements of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Force has just arrived in system?"

Spaatz subtlety gestured at the camera for Kanin, who appeared just off screen and nodded in confirmation. "Yes, they have."

"Good. Drop them into the city."

"Byzas?"

"Yes."

"Why there and not in the south?"

"I've got an entire Colonial Militia rifle division moving up from the south that should arrive in the AO within the next few hours. Once they reinforce our positions in Newington, they should be able to hold out until the rest of the divisions from XXX Infantry Corps arrives, at which point, we'll have enough firepower to go on the offensive. I don't have any of that in the north. Furthermore, according to the reports I'm getting, the Covenant have suddenly shifted the weight of their attack north."

Spaatz looked at him, intrigued. "Really. Why?"

Langley shook his head. "Not sure, sir. Surveillance seems to suggest the Covenant have gone into a search pattern: they're looking for something, though what that something is, I'm not sure. INSCOM thinks they're looking for some sort of high value UNSC target that was lost about an hour ago, but I just checked with all my commands and no one has noticed anything. Not sure about FLEETCOM though..."

Langley trailed off with an expectant look on his face, but Spaatz shook his head. He couldn't think -

He paused. ONI's spec ops team.

Ever since they had destroyed the Covenant's battlecruiser from the inside, they had gone completely dark. At first he'd been concerned they had been destroyed by their own nuke. After all, the bomb had gone off far earlier than he had anticipated.

But now, in light of the information he had just received, he was beginning to wonder if the lack of communication was for a far pettier reason: they had been avoiding him.

Spaatz resisted the urge to snort. That would be so typical of ONI to withhold critical information like that.

"General Langley, I'm afraid I'm going to have to end this call," Spaatz finally said. "You'll get your troops; I guarantee it. In the meantime though, I'm afraid I'm going to need to consult with someone else."

Langley looked curious, but he evidently knew better than to ask. Bowing his head ever so slightly, his hologram disappeared, leaving Spaatz fumbling.

"Kanin," he said, and Kanin's anamorphic hare avatar abruptly appeared in front of him. "I'm guessing you were listening.

"Yes sir."

"Connect me to the Sonata."

Kanin disappeared. A few seconds later, his image was replaced by that of Major Volkov and Commander Luzader. As Spaatz expected it would.

"Gentlemen," he began, as he fought to keep a neutral tone to his voice. "I just received word that the Covenant have gone into a sort of search pattern directly over the city of Byzas, as if they were looking for something. Something big. Something absolutely crucial to the success of this war. Care to explain?"

"We lost our Spartan team," Volkov immediately said, causing Spaatz to blink in surprise. He didn't think they were going to outright admit to it.

"Come again?" Spaatz inquired. "What do you mean, you 'lost your Spartan team?'"

"Infiltration of the target battlecruiser went off without a hitch however during extraction, our bomb prematurely detonated for reasons currently unknown. As a result, Spartan team Argon was unable to extract in time and were ejected from the ship and landed somewhere in the middle of Byzas. At this point sir, we don't know where the Spartans are, what their status is, or if they're even alive at this juncture," Volkov quickly explained, and Spaatz could tell he was not happy about this turn of events. Of course, neither was Spaatz.

"Major," Spaatz began as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The Covenant cruiser was destroyed by your team nearly an hour ago. Why am I just hearing about this now!?"

"We were attempting to gather intelligence so that we would be able to present to you a definitive solution to this situation," Volkov began, sounding a bit defensive, but Spaatz quickly interrupted him.

"No gentlemen, this is unacceptable, completely unacceptable!" he snapped. "It's one thing not to inform me of your presence in the system; at least you can hide behind the classified nature of your unit. But it's a different matter entirely in a disaster such as this!"

Neither Volkov nor Luzader said anything and instead, shuffled around somewhat uncomfortably. Given the situation, Spaatz couldn't help but derive some satisfaction at that sight, however fleeting.

He sighed and took another sip from his cup.

"But that's neither here nor there," he announced. "What's done is done. Now we have to figure out some way to deal with it. Information and facts. I need both. What do we know?"

Volkov shook his head. "Not much sir. At approximately eleven forty hours local time, an Army self-propelled surface-to-air missile battery picked up three rapidly moving objects entering the atmosphere at the estimated time and location of where Argon Team would have entered the atmosphere after being ejected from target 1-Delta. Unfortunately the SPSAM wasn't pointed in the right direction, so we weren't able to track them, but the predicted trajectory places them as having landed somewhere in downtown Byzas. Approximately one hundred and thirty three seconds later, we picked up Argon Team's transponder, unfortunately it lasted all of fourteen point seven six two seconds before terminating. Not long enough for us to obtain an exact lock."

"So they made it to the surface intact," Spaatz noted.

"Not necessarily, sir," Luzader immediately interrupted, drawing Spaatz's attention. "Pardon the interruption sir, but we don't actually know if the team is intact or not."

Before Spaatz could ask for an elaboration, Volkov whirled around on Luzader.

"The very fact that we were able to pick up on their transponder would prove that they did Commander," he said, sounding surprisingly heated.

"Again, Major, we don't know that for certain!" Luzader immediately retorted. "Those transponders were hardly active for any significant amount of time. For all we know, that could have been an echo from something else or even a glitch in the system as it fell apart! You have to remember how far and fast they were falling when they hit the ground Major!"

"That signal was uniquely programed and coded for the Spartans. There is absolutely no way anyone else could have duplicated the signal; we would have known!" Volkov retorted. "Furthermore, it's impossible for it to have been a glitch as those transponders were built to the same specifications as those found on escape pods and drop pods; they're virtually indestructible!"

"'Virtually' does not mean impossible! Case in point: the mere fact those transponders ended up shutting down!"

"Commander, the thing you're missing is that if those transponders had been damaged or destroyed in any way during the transit to the surface, then they wouldn't have activated at all!"

"Then how do you explain them shutting down!?"

"Someone had to have turned them off!"

"Hang on a second," Spaatz quietly interrupted, yet somehow managing to grab the attention of both Volkov and Luzader. "Are you saying, Major, that there's a possibility your team is alive?"

"Yes," Volkov immediately said, while at the same time Luzader firmly and definitively announced, "No."

"Uh..." Spaatz slowly began as he looked at his subordinates. But before he could so much as get another word in, the two officers whirled around on each other.

"Oh, you cannot still be clinging to this fantasy of yours Major!" Luzader snapped. "I'm sorry Major, but your team is dead! Period!"

"Commander, you knew better than I the official story behind the Spartan Program. And I have no doubt you also know the rumors because, as you so smugly pointed out a couple hours ago, you're a part of ONI and gathering 'intel' is a part of your job," Volkov coldly retorted. "Considering all those factors, how can you not even consider the possibility that Argon Team is alive?"

"Because I can do the math, Major! And I don't care what the official or unofficial story behind the Spartan's background is, it is physically impossible for a human to survive that kind of fall!"

"Gentlemen," Spaatz quietly but firmly called out, trying to catch their attention as the conversation was beginning to get alarmingly heated, but unlike before, both officers completely ignored him.

"And yet," Volkov continued, "it has happened before! ODSTs and Army Rangers do it all the time! And in training no less!"

"That is under entirely different circumstances, and you know it!" Luzader snapped back. "Both units are utilizing specifically designed pods for that very purpose under controlled circumstances! And yet, soldiers still die all the time due to accidents!"

"And what would you call the prototype armor Argon Team was wearing then!? Those have been proven to survive that kind of treatment!"

"Not after they've been blown up by a fucking nuke they haven't!"

"Alright, that's ENOUGH!" Spaatz suddenly roared, causing both men to jump in surprise. He was beginning to see why it had taken them so long to report back to him. "This bickering is pointless, as there is obviously not enough information to draw a satisfactory conclusion. Therefore, we need to approach it from another angle. Let's approach it from a worst case scenario: Major Volkov's team is alive, but unable to defend themselves. How badly would we be compromised if those Spartans were captured alive?"

Both men looked startled, as if that very scenario had yet to occur to them. Spaatz patiently waited for an answer, but after a few seconds of them not meeting his eyes, Spaatz sighed.

"You don't know."

"The problem, sir," Volkov said with obvious reluctance, "is that a lot of what the Spartans would know, we," he gestured at himself and Luzader, "wouldn't, simply because we don't have the clearance to know. Things like: past mission details and objectives. A list of colonies and bases they've been deployed to. Even the general specifications of the prototype armor they are wearing is unknown to us."

"Plus, sir," Luzader added, "these Spartans are as human as you and I. There's no telling what sort of information they've managed to pick up over the course of their career. Some of it probably was classified."

"Furthermore sir," Volkov continued. "There's evidence to suggest the Spartans have garnered quite some notoriety amongst the Covenant Empire. If the Covenant were to capture a Spartan, not necessarily even a live one, it could prove to be a massive morale boost for them."

"So basically gentlemen, what you're telling me is that it doesn't even matter if your team is alive or not, it's in the UNSC's best interest to secure whatever is left?" Spaatz asked. "Alright then. Options?"

"MAC rounds, sir," Luzader promptly suggested. "Prior to contacting you sir, we were able to narrow our search area down to seven potential crash sites. A MAC round, even a low powered one, fired at each of those sites would ensure the complete and utter destruction of any potential remains."

"No, out of the question," Spaatz immediately replied. "No weapons of mass destruction. Even if I was inclined to risk blasting holes into my own MLR, the situation in orbit right now is too tenuous; if I were to divert even one ship or station to provide that kind of MAC support, it would weakened my fleet's defensive posture considerably and we would run the risk of being swept from our position at which point we'd lose everything."

"Then we use missiles and bombs instead sir. Surely your ships can fire a volley of Archer missiles without having to move from their positions?"

"Sir, I would like to object to the usage of indirect fire for this sort of mission," Volkov interjected before Spaatz could reply. "With so much at stake, we need to ensure that all trace of Argon Team and their equipment have been completely eliminated. In order to accomplish that with indirect, we'd need to score a direct hit on their crash site. But, given our current lack of intel, that would obviously be impossible."

"So what do you propose we do then Major?" Spaatz asked.

"We send in a ground detachment. A team of sappers, escorted by a squad of riflemen perhaps, go in with thermite and burn all traces of the Spartans. It's the only way to be a hundred percent sure Argon Team and their effects have been secured." Volkov paused. "I would like to lead the detachment."

Spaatz raised an eyebrow at that last request, but ignored it for the moment in lieu of focusing on the first part. "I thought most of your support elements had yet to arrive in system Major?"

"That is correct, sir, which is why I would need to requisition a detachment from troops already deployed in the city."

"I was under the impression that your team was still classified, need to know information."

"Yes, sir, it still is."

"And you think you'll be able to find enough soldiers already on the surface with the proper security clearance to know about said team?"

"Well, sir, I only need enough to fill one detachment. But with that being said, the detachment doesn't need to know what we're looking for, only that it's crucial to the survival of the UNSC and humanity as a whole. Admittedly though, that can only be accomplished if I'm leading the team."

Spaatz gave him an odd look. "You're only requesting one detachment?"

"Yes, sir."

"But Commander Luzader just said there were seven potential crash sites. Furthermore, reports from the ground seem to indicate the Covenant are also searching for your team. If you only have one detachment, how do you plan on reaching your team before the Covenant do?"

"By ensuring the Covenant are completely and utterly distracted by other matters. Sir, it is my understanding that elements of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Force has already arrived within the system. If you could insert them into the city itself, the influx of UNSC reinforcements will put the vast majority of the Covenant forces on the defensive, preventing them from effectively continuing their search and hopefully buying my detachment enough time to locate and secure Argon Team and their effects."

"'Hopefully,'" Spaatz echoed. "I'll be blunt, Major: that's not quite a word I was interested in hearing at the moment."

"I'll be the first to admit, sir, this is not a foolproof plan. However, it is the best option we have at the moment."

Spaatz mentally sighed. Well, he had been planning on inserting the 9th MEF into the city already. "I suppose you'll be requisitioningan ODST unit from the 9th MEF?"

"Uh, no sir, I wasn't planning on it. In fact, I was hoping to requisition a unit from the Army airborne division that was inserted about half an hour ago."

"Oh?" Spaatz asked, surprised. "And why is that?"

"Multiple reasons, sir, first and foremost: I've seen the reports regarding the situation on the ground, sir, and I know we're going to need all the Marines we've got just to hold the city, including all the ODSTs. The Airborne, on the other hand, we can afford to have allocated to other tasks."

Spaatz considered what Volkov had just told him. While his logic was sound, Spaatz couldn't help but think there were other reasons why Volkov was insisting on using Army troopers instead of Marines.

Still, he supposed it didn't matter. This mission needed to be accomplished. Who accomplished it was irrelevant.

"You have a name for this operation?" Spaatz finally asked.

"Yes, sir. Operation: WHITE KNUCKLE."

Spaatz almost snorted. White Knuckle. How apt.

"Very well, Major, you have a go. Coordinate with my aide-de-camp for whatever supplies and equipment you may need. Commander Luzader, keep me informed on the progress of the operation. That is all. You're both dismissed."

Both Volkov and Luzader immediately snapped to attention before their holograms disappeared, leaving Spaatz to stand there, mentally reviewing everything that had just been discussed.

"Kanin," he finally said, blinking as Kanin's avatar abruptly re-appeared. "Have you been informed about our situation?"

"Yes, Admiral. I'm currently discussing the finer details with Major Volkov at the moment, as we speak. He should be ready to execute the operation within the next half hour."

"Good. Inform me the moment he does. In the meantime though?"

"Sir?"

Spaatz cleared his throat. "Send in the Marines."

XXXXX

Byzas, Thracia Province, Actium
May 6, 2545
1421

Marcus

"MARCUS, LOOK OUT!"

Marcus glanced over his shoulder to see a stream of radioactive green fire headed his way.

And then everything went dark.

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged against the ground.

"FALL BACK, FALL BACK! ALL UNITS, FALL BACK!" someone was shouting in the background.

"Hang on Marcus! Just hang on!" someone else yelled. Was that Dresden's voice?

"Oh shit! On your left!"

He felt hot brass beginning to pelt his body, but for some reason, the roar of the gunfire seemed to be coming from far away. The world began to spin before his very eyes before everything went dark once more.

Marcus cracked open his eyes.

His head was swaying left to right, like he was on a boat, but he couldn't smell any water. It took his addled brain more than a few seconds to realize what was going on: he was being supported by two people on either side of him. And both people were running.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" someone was panting. Was that Orlović's voice? "Theo, this guy is slowing us down! We gotta dump him, otherwise, we're gonna get left behind!"

"Orlović, if this was you, you wouldn't want us to ditch you!" someone else snarled. "We're not leaving him!"

"Shit… fine, help me put him on my shoulders!"

"I can help carry– "

"Fuck you! With your fucking legs, it will be easier and faster if I carry him myself and you know it! Help me!"

"Alright, I – BEHIND YOU!"

Marcus suddenly felt himself falling before he abruptly hit the ground. Gunfire began ringing out above him, followed by the bone chilling roar of a Covenant Elite. He could hear the shuffling of feet, yelling, someone screaming in pain in the background, but he couldn't tell what was going on. It was all too -

Marcus abruptly woke up to the loud rumbling of thunder overhead. Grumbling to himself over his interrupted sleep, Marcus rolled over and tried to pull his blanket tighter against his body, only to hit something hard as he brought his hands to his chest. Cracking open his eyes in curiosity, he stared beady eyed at the full set of armor he was wearing.

What the…

His brain slowly making its way to full consciousness, Marcus blinked as a cloud of dust and plaster fell from the ceiling and, with a growing sense of dread, he abruptly realized that not only had the thunder not stopped rumbling, the building itself was actually shaking.

Was that… was that not thunder he was hearing?

Feeling more than slightly alarmed, Marcus rolled out of the stretcher he'd been lying in (stretcher? Where was his bed?) and stumbled to his feet. The room was dark, but even then, Marcus could clearly tell he wasn't in his bedroom at his parents' house, nor in the Army barracks back at BCT or AIT.

Where the heck was he?

Blindly reaching out, Marcus tried to find the door but he had barely managed to take three steps before his shins smacked against something hard. Reaching down and wildly groping the air, Marcus felt himself grab a hold of something soft, like a blanket, and he instinctively pulled on it. As he did, he felt his hand brush against someone's arm and he automatically froze.

The other person didn't move.

Without thinking, Marcus bent over until he was canted over where he thought the other person's head would be. He started to lean forward until he was almost face to face with the other person, and as he did, it suddenly occurred to him he hadn't heard the other person breath, not even once this entire time. Just as that thought struck him though, Marcus got close enough that even in the dim light, he could make out the other person's face, and he found himself staring straight into the cold, glazed over eyes of a dead man.

Or he would have been, if the other person wasn't missing half their face.

"OHMYGOD!" Marcus squealed, jerking back in alarm, half expecting the other man to suddenly come back to life and tear a chunk of flesh from his throat. As he back away though, his legs got tangled up in his stretcher and he tripped, flipping over the bed. He crashed into another stretcher, which promptly collapsed, depositing its occupant right on top of Marcus, who found himself face to face with yet another dead person, this time a woman.

Marcus screamed.

"GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF!" he wailed, wildly flailing. He managed to shove the body off of him, whereupon he drove the heel of his boot into the corpse's face before scrambling backwards on his hands and knees as fast as he could, trying to put as much distance between him and the bodies.

He didn't get far before he hit a wall and, using it for support, Marcus scrambled to his feet and looked around. At this point his eyes had gotten used to the dim light, so he was able to see that the two bodies he had run into had yet to move from where they were laying, but as he gazed across the room looking for a door, he realized those two bodies weren't the only corpses in the room: there were at least another three stretchers, all of which were occupied.

He nervously swallowed. He was screwed.

As Marcus stood there, doing his best not to make a noise, he abruptly became consciously aware of the fact that the building – as well as the rumbling he had originally mistaken for thunder but was now realizing was probably artillery – was no longer shaking. In fact, everything seemed to have quieted down and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But before he could figure it out, the wall right beside him abruptly opened up, causing light to come spilling into the room, before two people strolled inside. Marcus didn't think: he let out a loud shriek of alarm.

"What the fuck?!" the lead man yelped, clearly raising a rifle, but before he could point it in Marcus's direction, the other man grabbed the muzzle and shoved it down.

"WHOA! Orlović, hold your fire! That's Marcus!"

The other man's voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Marcus couldn't be bothered to try and figure out why as he was too busy trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.

"Marcus. Marcus! Are you alright?"

It took Marcus a few seconds to realize the man was talking to him, but all Marcus could do was shake his head. He could hear the two men talking.

"What the fuck is wrong with him this time? Is he pussying out again?"

"Orlović, go get the Doc."

"What? But what about these bodies, Sarge? It's not like we've got a lot of time to load them up – "

"PRIVATE! Go get Doc Westley, now."

"Fuck. Alright, I'm going!"

Marcus could hear Orlović scurrying off, leaving him alone with the other man.

"Marcus," he heard the man gently say. "Can you hear me? Can you look at me?"

Marcus took a moment to consider the question. Deciding there was no harm in the request, Marcus peeked over his arms, to see the man staring closely at him with a worried look on his face. At the sight of Marcus's face, the man immediately smiled.

"There you are," he gently said. "Marcus, do you remember who I am?"

Marcus immediately shook his head.

"Take your time. It'll come to you. Getting knocked unconscious sometimes affects your short term memory."

Marcus felt himself frowning. Clearly the man knew him, which meant he should recognize him, but for some reason, he just couldn't –

"Sergeant," Marcus suddenly remembered. "Sergeant Theo Dresden."

Dresden gave another warm smile and nodded. "Yep. That's me. You remember what happened?"

The pieces inside Marcus's brain started falling into place as the day's events began trickling back into his mind. Jets flying through the air, running civilians, the Covenant landings…

"There was a firefight!" he gasped.

He heard Dresden snort. "If that's what you want to call it. I think I've been on campaigns that had less shooting than that, but I guess that's one word for it."

"The Covenant landed," Marcus whispered to himself, barely paying attention to a word Dresden was saying. "They were attacking us and… and I…"

He reflexively cringed as he suddenly remembered what he had done, and he automatically glanced at Dresden in the hopes Dresden hadn't noticed.

"You ran," Dresden calmly finished, and even though there was no accusation or recrimination in his voice, Marcus still couldn't prevent himself from flinching as if he'd been physically struck.

"I…" Marcus started, though in truth, he had no idea what to say. He had been hoping no one had seen what he had done. It was bad enough that he was able to remember what had happened, but another thing entirely to know someone else had witness his cowardice. On one hand, Marcus refused to feel ashamed for what he had done. He was no soldier, and he had never claimed to be. On the other hand… didn't they shoot people for running away in battle?

"Hey," Dresden said as he slowly crouched down to Marcus's level and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, perhaps misinterpreting the look on Marcus's face. "These things happen."

Marcus stared at him, not quite comprehending.

"You and Orlović… saved me? Carried me away from danger?" he whispered, memory fragments of when he was unconscious floating through his mind.

"…yes?" Dresden expectantly replied, as if he wasn't sure what Marcus was getting at? Of course, truth be told, neither did Marcus.

"But… I ran…" Marcus said slowly, trying to piece his addled memories back together.

At that, Dresden's confusion seemed to deepen.

"We weren't going to leave you, Marcus," Dresden slowly told him, sounding puzzled yet reassuring at the same time. "Not if we could have avoided it."

At that, Marcus felt something twist inside of him, and he suddenly felt very ill. He immediately doubled over, causing Dresden to reflexively jerk back in alarm before producing a bucket from somewhere and placing it by Marcus as if he was going to be sick. However, it took Marcus a few second to realize the pain wasn't physical, but emotional, as if…

Marcus blinked as Dresden was abruptly replaced by a random woman he had never seen before. In the dim light it was hard to make out her features, but there was no missing the bright red hair that was spilling out from underneath her beanie, as well the caduceus symbol imprinted on the forehead of her helmet.

"So, you are alive," she commented as she rummaged through what Marcus belatedly recognized as a med kit. He blinked.

"What?" he asked, unable to keep the uncertainty from his voice.

"You're alive," the medic repeated. "When I got here, there were no other medics, so no one could tell me what your status was, or if you were even going to regain consciousness. I would have checked you out myself, but by that time we were under attack, and triage protocols dictated I had to deal with the less severely wounded first. Follow my light with your eyes, please."

Marcus had to fight the urge to blink as a white pen light was abruptly shined in his eyes. All sorts of questions were floating around in his brain, but he decided to save them all until after the medic was done with whatever she was doing, and just focused on doing exactly as he was told.

"Alright, good," the medic finally said as she put away the light.

"Sorry," Marcus finally asked as he watched her make a note on her wrist mounted TACPAD. "Who are you?"

"Ginevra Westley, currently attached to 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade, 222 Airborne Division," the medic distractedly rattled off. "How's your breathing? Any chest pains? Or pain just in general?"

It took a moment for Marcus to realize she was addressing him once more, and he considered the question. Now that he was fully awake, Marcus was finally aware of just how much his head was throbbing, and he said as much.

"Yeah, that's to be expected," Westley replied with a sigh. "Here, take these painkillers – should help."

"So, Doc, what's the verdict?" Dresden abruptly asked, causing Marcus to jump as he had completely forgotten Dresden was there.

"Mild concussion. Probably a result of overpressure from an explosion," Westley reported, and Marcus immediately called to mind dual streams of radioactive green headed in his direction.

"Does he need to be evacuated?"

"It doesn't matter: either way, that's not going to happen," Westley immediately replied. "Orders from the LT: unless he's got a sucking chest wound or about to drop dead in the next three seconds, all soldiers are to remain in the field. Guess we don't have enough troops?"

"Its not like Marcus will be able to help with that," Orlović abruptly commented from the back of the room where he was preparing the bodies to be evacuated to the rear, and Marcus gave a start at how snide his comment had been. He opened his mouth to ask, but Westley beat him to it.

"What's his problem?" she asked, jerking her head at Orlović's back.

"He needs a nap," Dresden deadpanned, but quickly gestured at Marcus before anyone could say anything. "So, is he good to go?"

"As long as doesn't get caught in any more explosions," Westley commented. "I mean, if this was a hospital, I would say he needs twenty-four hours of bedrest and observation, but with the Covenant just a couple blocks away, we both know that's not going to happen, Sergeant, so I've done just about all I can."

Dresden let out a sigh, sounding just as disappointed as Marcus did at the reply.

"Well, guess we should try and find you a helmet then, Marcus," Dresden replied and Marcus belatedly realized his helmet was missing, more than likely having disappeared in the time he'd been unconscious. "Doc, I don't suppose…?"

"I'm not exactly running a general store here, Sergeant, but… hang on. Private, you wear a medium?"

Before Marcus could reply, Westley abruptly hauled herself up to her feet and limped over to where Orlović was in the process of picking up one of the bodies. Marcus watched with morbid curiosity as Westley stopped him, before proceeding to calmly strip the corpse of his helmet.

"Here," she said, tossing the headgear over to Marcus who reflexively caught it, only to almost immediately drop it when he felt how sticky it was. Marcus stared at her in shock, feeling both horrified and disturbed by her casual disrespect of the dead, however she didn't seem to notice. Neither did Dresden, it seemed, as despite the grim look on his face, he didn't say a word.

"Come on, Marcus, let's go find the LT," he said instead, and Marcus was forced to run in order to catch up with him as they headed up a flight of stairs. As they ran, Marcus fumbled with the helmet in his hands, wearily eyeing it as he debated the merits of not wearing it.

Distracted as he was, Marcus nearly fell on his face as they reached the top, and he looked around, finding himself in some sort of lobby area of a building. The lobby was a mess, with shattered windows and rubble covering the marble floor, however the interior was nothing compared to the sheer devastation outside.

Having woken up alone in a dark room with no frame of reference, Marcus hadn't really had the chance to question just how long he'd been unconscious for. Looking outside though, made him wonder if he hadn't actually been knocked out for a few days.

The entire street – and, just based on what he was seeing alone – the entire neighborhood had been absolutely devastated. Bullet holes, craters, plasma scoring, and scorch marks were everywhere, covering the roads, the streets, even the people. Every single window in the area had been shattered, entire buildings had been leveled, and the street was covered with burnt out wrecks of vehicles; civilian, military, Covenant, and otherwise. Not only that, Marcus also remembered the entire area being blanketed with a thick layer of snow; no more. Most of the snow was gone or turned into puddles, presumably having melted from all the superheated plasma and explosions from the artillery shells, mortars, and bombs that no doubt had been flying around.

Then, of course, there were all the bodies. Men, women, alien; there were corpses of all different shapes and sizes lying in the rubble, their bodies twisted and contorted in grotesques ways – if they had even been lucky to survive intact – the expressions on their faces forever frozen in a mask of pain. A fair amount of them were wearing UNSC uniforms, but fortunately the vast majority of them seemed to be dressed in the brightly colored armor of the Covenant Army. Even better the sight of all the dead aliens were the fact that there were very few bodies of civilians, at least from where Marcus was standing. He hoped that meant most of the civilians in the area had been evacuated or fled before the fighting had hit.

"Sarge? How long was I out for?" Marcus found himself asking.

"About four, four and a half hours," Dresden distractedly replied and Marcus found himself gaping at that. It only took four hours to devastate this city? "Come on."

Dresden led him out onto the street where a large crowd of soldiers clad in a variety of uniforms were milling about. Marcus could see the white fatigues the local Actium garrison were wearing, the standard UNSC Army coyote brown BDUs some other unit was wearing - presumably the airborne unit Westley had mentioned being attached to – as well as a large amount of personnel wearing some sort of olive drab colored fatigue that looked very strange to Marcus, until he realized that was because they were UNSC Marines. The mixed unit was quickly making their way through the rubble, either busy recovering weapons and bodies, or working on assembling a roadblock, similar to the one Marcus remembered being forced to defend just before he was knocked out.

At that reminder, Marcus finally made up his mind in regards to his helmet and jammed it onto his head, doing his best not to let the disgust of where the helmet had been just a few minutes ago show up on his face. Not that it really mattered as Dresden wasn't paying attention, as he was determinedly walking further down the block towards where a small group of soldiers and Marines had gathered.

Brushing past a trio of Marines carrying a rocket launcher, Marcus cautiously studied the scene in front of him. Standing in the center of the group were three men: based on their IFF tags, Marcus could tell there was one Marine staff sergeant, one Marine 2nd lieutenant, and one Army 1st lieutenant. The two officers appeared to be in the middle of some sort of standoff as they were staring daggers at one another, whereas the Marine staff sergeant merely looked bewildered.

"Lieutenant Lancelot!" Dresden called out and the Army lieutenant tilted his head in acknowledgement without breaking eye contact with the other officer.

"What is it, Sergeant Dresden?"

Marcus could see Dresden warily eyeing both officers as if they were a pair of wild animals, but nevertheless continued his report. "Sir, the last of the wounded and KIA are getting loaded onto the 'Hogs for evacuation to the rear."

Lancelot slowly nodded in acknowledgment.

"Get your shit together, 2nd Lieutenant," he sneered, addressing his counterpart. "Before I do it for you."

With that, the standoff abruptly ended, and Lancelot began barking out orders like the other man wasn't there. "Staff Sergeant Reynolds?"

The Marine NCO immediately snapped his head up. "Sir?"

"Call up the combat engineers, Staff Sergeant. We've already wasted enough time: we got to move fast. Get your assaultmen over there to go toss a satchel charge into that building; might as well just take it down entirely, give us a clear field of fire."

"With all due respect sir, wouldn't it be better to wait for the Covies to attack? We could rig up a booby trap 'stead of a satchel, wait til Covies come by, then drop the building on top of them and take out some of them shă bī," Reynolds suggested, but Lancelot quickly shook his head.

"Unless things have changed since I left the Corps, they don't teach assaultmen how to rig up something that elaborate," Lancelot replied. "Plus, too many things could go wrong before we have a chance to set off the charge. No, our best bet is to just to blow the building now and move on."

"Aye, Lieutenant."

"Sergeant Restrepo!" Lancelot roared, and an Army sergeant wearing the white fatigues of one of the local garrisons stepped forward. "Push out forward elements and established a security perimeter to defend the Marines until they finish prepping that building for demo."

"Already done, sir," Restrepo immediately noted.

"Then pull back all heavy weapons and reestablish them on our new defensive line - we're pulling back one block."

"Sir."

"Sergeant Dresden!" Lancelot turned towards Dresden, but paused when he spotted Marcus. "Who the fuck are you?"

Marcus jumped when he realized Lancelot was addressing him, and he found himself immediately snapping to attention.

"Uh… me, sir? Uh, Private Marcus Olsen, reporting for duty, sir!"

He reflexively raised his hand to salute, but before he could complete the motion, Dresden grabbed his arm and forced it back down. Marcus glanced at him, curious, but Dresden didn't even look at him. Meanwhile, Lancelot was giving him an annoyed look, but didn't comment.

"This one of your men, Sergeant?" he demanded to know.

"Yes, sir," Dresden replied.

"Control him better," he insisted. "In the meantime, I want you and your men on ammo duty. There are a couple Marine Scorpions one block down getting ready to pull back. Go beg, borrow, and steal whatever ammo you can before they do; we're going to need it as we're going to be here for the long haul."

"We're not pulling back, sir?"

Two pairs of eyes turned to stare at Marcus, and he felt his face start to warm up in embarrassment as he realized he had accidentally said that last part out loud. He quickly scrambled to explain. "That is to say, sir… I just though… well, if the Marines…"

"The Marines aren't here in force, Private, so they're going to need our help. As long as Command doesn't steal anymore of my men," Lancelot muttered before fixing Marcus with a glare. "That going to be a problem for you, Private!?"

"No, sir!" Marcus automatically replied before realizing exactly what it was he was responding to. The thought of more fighting made Marcus shiver in fear.

"Good. See if you can't pick up a rifle off the ground, there should be plenty of them. Otherwise – "

Whatever Lancelot was about to say next was suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire just down the street, followed by the growing whine of Covenant anti-gravity engines.

"We got incoming!" Lancelot roared, removing his hand from his radio. "Defensive positions! Find some cover! MOVE!"

"Come on, Marcus!" Dresden urged and Marcus found himself scrambling in his wake. "We gotta go!"

They took off down the street as more and more gunfire began to ring out. All the while, all Marcus could do was pray.

Pray that somehow, some way, he would live to see the end of the day.

"INCOMING!"

General Notes:

POMCUS: this was a real U.S. Army system. As mentioned here, the idea behind the system was to preposition equipment at certain locations in order to speed up deployment time, only in the U.S. Army's case, it was prepositioned in Europe (specifically Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands,) and intended for use in the event the Soviet Union launched a conventional invasion of Europe. Obviously, with the end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union, the system was never needed, and eventually disassembled.

POMCUS was intended to be used in conjunction with Exercise Reforger (return of forces to Germany,) though I'm not going to get into that here.

9th Marine Expeditionary Force: the 9th MEF is actually a canon unit. It was mentioned in the official novel, Halo: Contact Harvest, where it was then-Sergeant Avery Johnson's parent unit. Technically, given how closely model the UNSC Marine Corps is to the United States Marine Corps, the unit name should probably be written out as "IX MEF" (using Roman numerals, as opposed to Arabic numerals,) but for whatever reason it wasn't.

Prototype Armor: to be clear, Volkov referring to the armor Argon Team was/is wearing as "prototype armor" is intended to be a character error. The armor the Spartan team was wearing is nothing more than the regular Mjolnir Mark IV power armor which was the last version not to incorporate energy shields. Volkov refers to it as a prototype because he doesn't know better.

Change Log:

Spaatz:

- This section is essentially the first part of chapter 22 of the original version of this story and is effectively unchanged.

Marcus:

- This section is essentially a rewritten copy of chapter 24 from the original version of this story, only with Marcus taking the place of now cut character, Marine Private First Class Adel Savaschi.

- Marcus's flashback and subsequent return to consciousness, however, was taken from the beginning of chapter 26 of the original version, with Marcus taking the place of now cut character, Byzas Police Department Officer Selene Riddle.

- As mentioned at the beginning, this chapter takes place in the immediately aftermath of chapter 2 of my other story, Missing in Action. Again, reading of that story though, is not necessary to understand this one.