Chapter 35: Battle of Port Battery, Pt. 2

Frost pushed through the bustling crowd of personnel in the I'm Alone's infirmary. Personnel from the planetary battles beneath were being evacuated to the ship and the already overcrowded areas were filled far beyond capacity. Even the halls lacked space. Instead of transporting casualties to the infirmary, Jasmine issued a ship-wide order to repurpose some of the vacant barracks facilities as emergency hospital wards. Many Marines and even some of the evacuated Army troops from Jeannette 5 gave up their rooms and were now bunking in the Armory. With issues to deploy to the surface, most had already left their sleeping bags.

Doing his best not to get in the way of the medical personnel, the Gunnery Sergeant moved out of the way multiple times to let a rolling litter pass by. Wounded men and women moaned in pain, cried, begged for more pain control medicine, or murmured incoherently. Nursing staff rushed around diligently, communicating via earpieces and the instant messaging feature on their data-pads. Some of the wounded corpsmen and Army medics from the last battle actually gave up their cots and began to assist the infirmary staff.

He eventually arrived at the long-term care ward. Frost didn't bother to check in, he immediately went over to Langley. She was still in bed with the oxygen mask over her mouth. Some of the tubing was removed from her chest but a great deal of medical wiring and metal were still visible. The squad leader did his best not to look at it for too long.

"Hey Nora," he said, pulling up and sitting down beside her. She turned her head slowly and smiled underneath the mask. He couldn't help but smile back. Clearing his throat rather nervously, he nodded his head to the door. "I don't have long. I just wanted to let you know we're heading down to the surface. There's a big push coming to rescue the Army troops and ODSTs at FOB Charlie. We're going to have a lot of ass and air on this one so it'll probably go fine."

He was saying that for himself as well. In the Marine Corps, troopers learned to never expect an easy fight. Even when they possessed overwhelming fire support and numerical superiority, the Covenant always managed to put up a very stiff fight. Sometimes, those advantages did not last for long or were completely mitigated by the technologic superiority of the aliens. But the amount of firepower and the combined arms nature of the attack gave Frost courage. And the thought of Langley being unable to come with them, stuck in the ward, and waiting for news bothered him. He would do anything to assuage her concern.

Clearing his throat again, he shrugged and looked down at his black boots. "You know me, I'm not much for praying or anything like that. I don't believe in that sort of thing. But seeing as how you do, I was thinking that...well, maybe...you could say a few words for the squad."

Langley blinked slowly and stared at him. Her smile faded. For a few moments, Frost thought he offended her. His mind began to race and he realized that was very likely. It seemed very much like a cop-out. Despite not being a believer himself, he had the gall to ask someone else who was to pray for help. The longer he sat beside her waiting for a response of any kind, the worse he felt about it.

Just as he was about to wave his hand, dismiss the topic, and depart for the hangar, Langley reached up and pulled her mask off. Frost's gray eyes bulged; he was so surprised he couldn't speak to protest. Instead, he reached for the mask but Langley raised her hand and caught his own. She squeezed it tightly and lowered it to the mattress.

"I've been saying prayers for a long time," she said in a raspy, tired voice. "Asking for our protection and the salvation of our souls. For a long time, I thought it was working. Even when Sanchez died I still believed. But Moser? That man was more devout than me, was more ardent in his faith and prayers, and he was just...such a good man..." her voice cracked here and tears welled in her eyes. "...and he died anyway."

Langley closed her eyes and winced. Frost could tell speaking was causing her great pain. When she opened her eyes, tears slid down her cheeks. "Why? Did we do something to warrant the rejection of our prayers? Or am I really praying to nothing and no one at all? Am I really being heard? Or did we do something that fucked our souls forever? What if we did something that made him take away our protection?"

Frost stared at her for a few minutes. His mouth went very dry; he covered his lips with his gloved hand and his gaze fell. But instead of looking at the silver titanium deck of the I'm Alone, he saw his boots standing in muddy snow. When he looked up, his MA5B was trained on the semicircle of prisoners. Guilty men on their knees, buffeted by the wind, gazed back at him. Instead of seeing their mixed emotions—resignation, fury, disgust, fear, hope—their faces were blank. Even their eyes lacked any kind of feeling. None seemed to care or even notice the Marine and his rifle. His breath shook and the wind bit his cheeks. Before he could even process where he was or what he was doing, the MA5 went off and the bright muzzle flash blinded him.

When he recovered, Frost found himself running between trees. It was still cold but the snow was gone. Someone screamed beside him. He turned, caught the wrist of a shadowy attacker, and drove his own knife into the assailant's stomach. As they keeled over, the Marine swiftly threw him onto the ground, drew his KA-BAR knife, and slit the attacker's throat. Blood leaked over his fingers and coated the knife. But the shadows fell away and he found himself looking at a young teenager, his eyes filled with absolute terror as he gurgled his last. Before he could react, Frost heard another shout. Someone threw their entire body into him and they went rolling down the mountainside.

Jumping to his feet, he found himself at the end of a long hallway. At the end was an old wooden door with a brass handle. Moonlight peering through the window caught the metal and it seemed to glimmer despite the unlit corridor. With his MA5B raised and his breath coming out quick, ragged, and scared, he approached the door. Kicking it open, he flicked the flashlight attachment on and bathed the first thing he saw in light: a teenage girl holding an M6 series sidearm. The fear was etched into her face, her eyes wide and bulging with it. When he tried to order her to drop the weapon his voice didn't come out. His lips moved but there was no sound. But it didn't matter, the girl began to level her weapon despite her huge eyes and clenched teeth. He squeezed the trigger, dropped her, ignored the blood on the wall, stormed into the room, and emptied his magazine at the other four girls. The continuous muzzle flash blinded him.

Blinking, Frost looked back up at Nora Langley. She was staring at him, waiting. He swallowed very hard but the lump in his throat didn't go away. He wanted to tell her very badly. It wasn't her specifically; just to tell someone, anyone, to avail himself of the secret. But he was so scared. Running his hand over his cheek and then his mouth, he shrugged.

"Maybe...maybe..." he began. "...it wasn't us. Maybe it was just one person that caused God to turn his back."

"A Jonah?" Langley asked, her lips spreading into an amused smirk. "I didn't think you knew about that one."

Frost smiled a little but couldn't bring himself to speak further. Langley squeezed his hand. "I'll say something but the only thing we can trust anymore is each other. Don't let them down."

She let go of her hand, made the sign of the cross in front of Frost, and then put her oxygen mask back on. Her heart rate monitor increased slightly and she closed her eyes. For a few moments, the Marine stared at his friend. It was not an expression of disbelief or confusion. Just a pure blankness.

Getting up, he put his helmet on, and proceeded to the hangar. He didn't so much walk as he did drift through the I'm Alone's long halls. People flowed by him and didn't seem to notice him. He didn't feel anything, not his body armor or the weight of his MA5B on his shoulder. The air of the ship and the people whisking by him was still and stale. The familiar scent of titanium or the sterile rubbing alcohol smell of the infirmary were both absent. One of the bright, white, overhead lights caught his eye and it briefly blinded him. In that instant, that brief moment of blindness, he repeated the scenes from before. All of them were sped up, like somebody was fast-forwarding a video. Again and again, he was forced to be a passenger in his own body as he committed each act and more. Every person he gutted, every human being he shot in the back of the head, each enemy fighter he killed in front of the family they tried to protect. KA-BAR blades flashed in dimly lit tunnels, muzzles flashed on snowy mountain sides. Again and again, terrified, agonized, pleading faces flashed through his mind.

"Nate?"

Frost stopped and turned around. Jasmine was standing there, having stopped mid-stride as she crossed the hall. Her eyes widened with concern. "Nate, you don't look so good. What's wrong?"

She came over to him and smiled as bravely as she could. Frost found his feet wobbling so he reached out and grasped her shoulders. It was not a quick, reactionary movement, just slow and gentle. Jasmine didn't understand and her smile widened. She reached up with her free hand, the other clutching her data-pad, and stroked his cheek. "I was afraid I wouldn't get to see you before you left. I'm glad you're here. This op is going to be just fine, okay?"

"Dr. Ebrahimi!" someone called.

"I'm coming!" Jasmine yelled back. "Nate, are you sure you're okay?"

"Jasmine, I—"

"Doctor, we need you!" The cry was more urgent this time. Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut briefly.

"Nate, I'm so sorry, I need to go." She bounced up on her feet and planted a kiss on his lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Frost murmured as she tore herself away and jogged through the door. For a few moments, he stood feebly in the hallway, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. All of his emotions flowed freely and yet were ultimately stunted. Every fiber of his being seemed to twitch and fall dead by turns. He didn't know where to go or what to say or what to do. But the noise around him, the whir of machinery, the steady hum of the I'm Alone's internal systems, the clunk of its machinery, the moaning of the wounded, the chatter of the infirmary staff becoming louder. It was unbearable. He wanted to cover his ears.

Rapidly, his feet carried him back towards the hangar but instead of going straight there, he veered off into one of the ship's heads. When the heavy door slid shut behind him, he locked it. Leaning against it, he keeled over and covered his face with both hands. He began to breathe so rapidly he began to gasp. As he began running his hands up and down his face, the movement became faster, faster, and faster. Eventually, he let out a pained shirek and slapped his hands over his face. When he finished, his ragged breathing sounded more like growling.

"Get a fucking grip, Marine," Frost said to himself. He reached up again, rubbing his temples and slapping himself in the face. "You're a Marine, you're a Marine. Get a hold of yourself."

Frost went over to the sink, ran the cold water, and splashed a handful on his face. He didn't bother to look at himself in the mirror; he feared what that might do to himself. After taking a few more breaths, this time in a much more controlled manner, he exited the bathroom.

He was regaining control of himself. The closer he got to the hangar, and the closer he got to deploying planetside, the more calm he felt. As he began to focus on the variables of the mission, the less he thought about the images in his head or the conversation with Langley. His training was beginning to kick in; he simply couldn't linger on those anymore. What he needed to do as a warrior began to take precedence and the recovery was accelerated. His trouble was still present but he merely didn't acknowledge. Deep down, he knew the moment he returned to the I'm Alone's quiet, safe, titanium interior, it would come back. Just what he would do about it then didn't matter; the Marines were going on a mission, his squad needed him to be a leader, and he needed to make it out alive so he could come back to Jasmine. Surviving the coming onslaught consumed his entire being.

By the time he entered Hangar 02, his mind was completely recalibrated. In front of him were hundreds of Marines and Army troopers boarding the Pelicans. Most of the Albatrosses were already gone, having brought their vehicles to the planet's surface. Now it was time for the infantry to depart.

He entered and pushed through the throngs of warriors to his squad. Port Battery was a desert planet so everyone was wearing different camouflage and armor patterns. Army Troopers wore arid OCP pattern fatigues and many rolled up their sleeves. Marines still wore olive drab M52B body armor, but their MARPAT pattern BDU's were arid. Others simply wore tan or khaki trousers instead of camouflage pants. Many of the Marines who didn't roll their sleeves up to the elbow or bicep were instead wearing solid color t-shirts with pocket sleeves. Others donned tank tops that were olive drab, pale blue, or khaki. The majority still wore their helmets but others were wearing boonie hats and bandannas. Some of the Army troops wore brown, green, or khaki baseball caps. The Ranger companies they rescued from Jeannette 5 were especially decked out in extra gear; many had two or even three separate attachments on their helmets ranging from UA pieces to comms modules. Almost everybody was wearing orange tinted goggles and heavy duty black sunglasses. Knowing that winds and sands were going to be an issue, many wore tactical scarves or balaclavas around their faces.

Standard weaponry was also repainted. Grips, rails, scopes, lasers, and buttstocks were either khaki or tan. Some of the Marines sporting BR55's and M7 submachine guns sported tech camo alpha patterns, which was a brownish color that was good for sandy or earthen environments. Army designated marksmen carried M392 DMRs that were painted entirely in desert camouflage.

The assortment of varied armor, uniform, and weapon patterns gave the huge crowds of warriors a strange appearance. Organization in the ranks was still present but they looked more like a warhost of mercenaries than a uniform military. So many of the troops were carrying personal equipment, clothing, and weapons that they looked like they just got off the training grounds. Attached to chest rigs and backpacks were tomahawks, hatchets, or just really big fighting knives. Everyone appeared as their own personal version of a warrior.

Frost found his squad waiting by Pelican Yanke Triple Seven. Even Carris was decked out in apparire camouflage. Her green armor was painted khaki tan from head to toe. Steele came up, his SRS99 balanced across his shoulders and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore a pair of clear goggles over his eyes.

"Squad's present," he reported in a lackadaisical manner. "We're understrength, so I pulled Borko as B-grenadier and Konstantin as B-gunner. That's all I could get."

Frost smirked at him. Steele blinked and then frowned. "What?"

"How competent." Frost gazed at the two new additions. Konstantin was packing an M739 SAW like Carris while the skinny Croation, Borko, was carrying an MA5C with a forty-millimeter grenade launcher underbarrel. Both grinned at him and the squad leader nodded in response.

"Got ammo, plenty of water, frags, smokes, skipped on the bangers," Steele went on. "Got some extra rockets for Knight and forty mike-mike for the grenadiers."

"It's going to be sunny down there."

"Thanks I forgot that deserts tend to be sunny. They're also hot, did you know that?"

"I mean are you sure you don't want something with sleeves? You're gonna get burned."

"You wanna do my fucking back?" Steele grumbled. "If there's a nude beach, get my ass too."

"Hey, we going to war or what?" Bishop asked, sitting on the lip of the Pelican's passenger compartment. "Bloody Corps, what's it coming to these days if we let in freaks like this ponce?" he asked aloud and jerked his thumb towards Steele.

"Man's right. C'mon, Devil Dogs, let's make the Covvies holler."

Frost and his squad piled into the Pelican and arrayed themselves on either side of the bloody tray. Isha made his inspection of the Pelican and then closed the rear hatch.

"Are there peanuts on this flight?" Grant asked as the crew chief walked by.

"We have courtesy toe kicks to the balls for dumb jokers," the crew chief replied as he ducked his head into the cockpit. "Good to go."

The cabin was pressurized, Jasper and Pajari went through the takeoff procedure, and the Pelican lifted off into space. The journey was smooth and quick. Everybody called off the time marks as they made last-minute inspections to their chest rigs and weapons. After the shuddering ride into the planet's atmosphere, the Pelican began to level out. Frost managed to look through the cockpit entrance and through the screen. Below, the sandy world loomed larger and then MOB Alpha came into view. Before he could see any of the other forces who already landed, Jasper banked the Pelican left into the desert.

As the dropships decelerated, the cabin depressurized and the rear hatch opened. Wind flowed into the Pelican and a cloud of sand billowed from underneath. Jasper activated the intercom and cleared through.

"It is currently thirteen hundred hours, the temperature is a balmy thirty-seven degrees Celsius, and the Covenant presence for the day can range anywhere from mild to holy shit. Have a pleasant day and thank you for flying with the UNSC Navy today."

"Shut up, Jasper," Pajari scowled and cut the feed. She turned in her seat, a lock of red hair peeking out from underneath her flight helmet. "Good luck, Marines!"

"Go, go, go!"

Frost and his squad dismounted. It was more leisurely than usual as they were deploying in a staging area rather than a combat zone. Everyone ran a few meters away from the dropship, formed a half-moon position, and shielded their faces as the Pelican took off. Sand buffeted them as it disappeared as it picked up speed and flew into the sky. As the dust settled, Frost stood up and surveyed the landscape.

The desert air was alive with the growl of rumbling engines. Along on both sides of the paved road which led from MOB Alpha to FOB Charlie were well over two hundred UNSC vehicles. Warthogs of all types, bearing M41 Vulcans, M68 cannons, and M79 rocket launchers were all lined up on the road and in the desert sand. A great many were M821 transport variants, lacking any kind of armaments. Fireteams of Army troopers and Marines filled the empty seats. These men and women equipped extra body armor pieces and carried heavier weapons.

On the left flank, forming multiple wedge formations in the sand, was a host of M808B and M808C Scorpion tanks. Some formations consisted of the paler Army green while others were painted with a deeper olive drab used by the Marine Corps. Troopers lined the sides while the gunners and drivers checked the weapons. Sprinkled among these heavy armored lines were M808B2 Sun Devils, an anti-personnel and anti-air iteration of the main battle tank. A pair of twin-linked forty millimeter autocannons were mounted on the turret instead of the typical ninety millimeter cannon.

Among the convoy of Warthogs were Army armored personnel carriers designated as Bisons. These were large, rugged vehicles with large tires, a slanted bow, a slim midsection, and then a bulky stern. Mounted on the top were the various configurations utilized by Warthogs. Most of these vehicles were running light. The infantry of the 205th Bison Brigade Combat Team were either joining the cavalry infantry of the 411th Armored BCT or riding with the Marines in their M12's and M808's. It was an incredible fleet of vehicles and the sight was very inspiring even to seasoned Marines like Frost and his squad.

"Comms are good," Maddox said after fiddling with his radio and checking the handset.

"Gunny!" a booming voice called. Frost turned around to see Captain McSorely approaching him. McSorely was Alpha Company's executive officer. With the death of Lieutenant Conroy, McSorely was taking personal command of Second Platoon until new infantry officers arrived. He was a stout man made of pure muscle and was almost as tall as Steele. Red haired and big-faced, his power-lifter appearance masked a deep warrior intellect that benefited the company for years. Astute, meticulous, hardworking, he excelled both in his administrative and tactical capacities as the company XO.

He marched over and salutes were briefly exchanged. "I need your killers in one of the transpo-Hogs. Change in mission; you're going to be hugging the Army Bisons very tightly because they need Marines to feel safe or some other shit. Stick close, deflect any kind of attacks. As much as it hurts to say, we need those Bisons if we're going to get the poor bastards out of FOB Charlie."

"Aye aye, sir."

They found their M831 at the head of the convoy. "Steele, you're driving."

"Can't we rock-paper-scissors that shit once and while?"

Before he could say anything more, Carris took his rifle, attached it to the magnetic connectors on the back of her armor, lifted the sniper up, and placed him into the driver's seat. Steele looked over at her and she pointed in his face.

"Orders beat rock, paper, and scissors, Corporal," she said in a stern but ultimately teasing tone. She went around the back and climbed in with the rest of the squad. Frost looked back at Steele who blinked at him in surprise.

"Did I just get put to bed without supper?"

"Something like that, pal," Frost chuckled. He looped around the front of the vehicle and slid into the passenger seat. Maddox conferred with him regarding the route plotted in his UGPS and after a slight adjustment, he readied his weapon. Steele turned on the engine and it came to life with a growl. All around them, the infantry finished mounting up and orders came through the comms to move out.

"Room for one more?"

Standing beside the M831 on the passenger side was Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing. He was wearing his sleeves up to his elbows, was wearing his soft cover, and clutched an MA5B in his hands. Slung over his shoulder was an M90 shotgun. Frost grinned and nodded. Swing swaggered up to the vehicle and climbed in without any aid from the occupants.

"All call signs, this is Sledgehammer Six," General Amsterdam said over GROUNDNET. "Commence operations."

At once, the hundreds of UNSC vehicles rolled forward. Steele and the rest of the Warthogs kept pace with the Bison APCs which moved fairly quick despite their size. While they were faster than Scorpions, they were not able to match the M12's for speed. Some of the drivers had to slow down as they were used to gunning their fast attack vehicles at full speed.

Overhead, several large V-formations of B-65 bombers swarmed over the task force. Frost smiled as the aircraft flew onwards. They became small in the distance but the ground around a kilometer ahead suddenly erupted in a wall of dust clouds and sandy columns. A few moments later, the report of an explosive crescendo washed over the Marines in their Warthog. All the B-65's banked in good order and flew back over the task force. As they did, Marines and Army troopers cheered. Shouts of, 'get some,' and 'fuck yeah,' filled the air.

Afterwards, nobody said anything. Everyone began flicking their safeties off and began balancing their weapons on the rails of the M831. Frost raised his MA5B and gazed down the ACOG scope. In the distance, all he could see was a wall of smoke. Then, he could see the burnt out hulks of collapsed Covenant structures and vehicles from the MAC blasts from earlier. Before long, they were driving through the field. It was like a scrap yard. Pieces of metal plating were everywhere. Huge craters in the earth were filled with ruined structures and bodies. Wraiths were split in half or turned upside down.

"About another three kilometers to FOB Charlie, one kilometer to the smoke belt," Maddox said and lifted his handset. "Halt, halt."

Steele hit the brakes. All the vehicles in the formation stopped. Frost looked over his shoulder, confused. "Amsterdam wants a tanks-lead formation when we go through the smoke barrier up ahead. We're going to get contact on the other side."

Most of the Scorpions were on the left flank. It took nearly fifteen minutes for all of them to get in front of the lighter vehicles and reform. Once they were in position, all the vehicles began rolling forward again. Closer and closer, the armada inched closer to the smoke wall. Frost felt very calm. This was something he understood. He controlled his breathing and remained still. Keeping his MA5B raised, he kept the scope in front of eye. Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder. Carris and Konstantin were standing at the front with their M739's braced on the divider between the rear and cab.

When he looked back, they were much closer to the smoke wall. Already, it was beginning to fade. The M808s formed lines and pressed through. On the other side, fire erupted. Cannons went off and plasma began to explode.

"Here we go!" Frost shouted.

Steele drove them through the smoke. A plasma mortar went off nearby, overturning an M12 and scattering the crew into the sand. Fuel rod blasts knocked out the lead Bison, bursting the bow and enveloping it fire. Crew members staggered out aflame. Frost began shooting at infantry targets that were swarming towards them. Hundreds upon hundreds of Grunts holding primed plasma grenades in both hands rushed the convoy. M41's made quick word and blue, crackling explosions billowed throughout the desert field. Main battle tanks fired, knocking out Wraiths and Revenants as quickly as they could.

The Covenant were very close. Ghosts weaved between the UNSC formations, peppering and barraging the vehicles with their plasma cannons. One charged right at their M831 but Knight stood up, cleared his back blast, and fired a single rocket. It hit the Ghost dead on and the engine detonated. The Grunt driving it was thrown straight up in the air, its methane tank popping. More Grunts stormed toward them, preparing to blow themselves up. Frost fired short controlled bursts. He snapped the MA5 between targets, riddled them with three to fire rounds, dropped them, and moved onto the next. His entire body was on autopilot and he cycled through magazine changes so quickly he barely registered them in his mind.

The comms were alive with shouting voices. Scorpions continued to lead the way, breaking through the first line of Covenant defenses. Rolling over and crushing barricades beneath their treads, it seemed like nothing could stop the UNSC advance. Covenant infantry scattered as the tanks broke through. Armored infantry dismounted and began clearing the Covenant perimeter. Grenades went off, machine guns rattled, and Hellfire troops filled Covenant pockets of resistance with napalm adherent. Dozens, if not hundreds of burning Covenant infantry stumbled around the desert.

But the Covenant counterattack. Their second line charged from their defenses. Wraiths and Scorpions engaged at point blank range. Some even rammed each other. M12 Warthogs broke formation, drove at full speed, and rammed Ghosts. The smaller, lightly armored vehicles were crushed, overturned, or bucked away. Blue and green plasma bolts filled the air, hammered the sides of the M381, and singed the armored plating of the Bison APCs. Infantry who stormed the first line charged forward, using the vehicles as cover. Frost and his squad's own Warthog was like a rolling pillbox. Everyone was shooting, wiping out enemy squads and fireteams as they crouched behind barricades or in shell craters.

More plasma artillery fell. Warthogs received direct hits, burning out or rolling over. Shrapnel flew in all directions from the exploding vehicles. One unfortunate Army squad advancing near an M12 was cut down when the engine block was blown up. Pieces of metal tore off arms, legs, and heads. Revenants held their positions in front of the Wraths, their smaller but lethal rapid-fire plasma mortar wreaking havoc on the front ranks of the UNSC advance. While M808s managed to take a few hits before being knocked out, the Warthogs were lucky if they could survive one. A Warthog with an M68 gauss cannon took the lead in front of their Warthog. The gunner brilliantly destroyed several Revenants before one of the red plasma blasts plummeted towards his vehicle. Along with the drive and passenger, he bailed out just in time. The Warthog was hit and exploded.

"We're getting chewed to pieces!" Steele shouted, hunching low as plasma smashed against the hood of the M831.

"Keep going! We're almost through the second line!" Frost shouted before firing at the enemy. When he reloaded, he looked over his shoulder. Behind them were dozens upon dozens of burning UNSC vehicles. Most of them were M12s and M808s, but the Bisons were taking casualties too. But an inspiring sight was approaching; a fleet of UH-144s were storming in their direction and were led by an AC-220. When they were overhead, the aircraft unleashed a fusillade of cannon fire that raked the rearguard action of the Covenant second line. A rocket barrage from the Vulture destroyed several Wraiths that were blocking the way. In response, Covenant Banshees arrived. Yellow cannon shells split the air along with blue rapid-fire plasma and green fuel rod cannon blasts. Before long, wreckage began plummeting from the sky. Hot shell casings from the UH-144s rained down and more than once Frost and his compatriots had to fish them out of their uniforms.

Flaming VTOLs and Banshees smashed into the ground. Halfway to the third line, a Banshee hit the ground and Steele served hard to the left. Before the smoke cleared, there was a hard lurch and Frost had to brace his hands against the dashboard. They were halfway down a crater. "Lou, get us out of here!" Frost ordered.

"It ain't moving, we're at too sharp of an angle!"

"We're a huge target we need to move!" Swing shouted.

Covenant vehicles were attacking again and were closing in. Other UNSC vehicles moved in to support but had to defend themselves as well. Frost raised his rifle and began firing. Suddenly, a tan flash flew by underneath him. Carris ran to the front of the Warthog, gripped the front with both hands, and began pushing. Steele hit the gas and the wheels began to grind in the sand. At first, it didn't seem like they were moving. But Carris pushed with all her might, marching up the slope even as the sand cascaded past her armored feet. With a mighty shove and a grunt of exertion, she got the Warthog back on level ground.

"Ghost incoming!"

"Carris!" Steele screamed.

Frost watched in horror as a Ghost accelerated towards her. Carris sidestepped, the edge of the Ghost's prow just missing her leg. In the same instant, she flung herself against it, kicked the Grunt off the seat, and jumped in. Turning it around, she began pursuing another Ghost and riddled it with the plasma cannons. Steele began laughing. "Bruv! Did you see that!?"

"Steele, drive!" Frost ordered, his eyes locked on an incoming Revenant plasma mortar.

"Ho-ly-shiiit!"

Steele planted his foot on the gas and made a hard swerve to the left. He managed to avoid the mortar but just barely. Continuing towards the third enemy line, they saw less friendly vehicles around them. Calls for MEDEVAC rang out on the comms. Frost couldn't look around but he could smell the burning fuel and metallic fires of countless, smoldering wrecks. Much of the smoke in the air was black and oily. Many Army troopers and Marines were on foot now, doing their best to keep pace with the vehicles.

The Covenant's third line of defense was their last perimeter before the UNSC drove into the rear of the assault on FOB Charlie. Frost knew they were going to give it everything they had. But instead of seeing Elites, Brutes loomed across the line. Roaring and thumping their chests, they began to march out of their lines. Brute Choppers tore up the ground as they counterattacked. Rockets, gauss cannons, and concentrated machine gun fire destroyed many of the aggressing vehicles. When one exploded, the tires and rims in front would go rolling in different directions. Other times the engine exploded, engulfing the driver and entire vehicle in orange-purple flames. Some broke through and began crashing into the M12s. McSorely's Warthog was gaining ground but when a Brute Chopper steered towards them, he bailed out with his men. The Chopper cut the vehicle in half and continued on, searching for another target.

"Chopper on our left!"
"Knight, hit it!"

"I'm reloading!"
"Grant, Borko, forty mike-mike!" Frost ordered. Just as the two grenadiers stood up to fire, Carris's Ghost steered back. Hitting the boost, she charged the approaching Chopper from the side. At the last moment, she leaped from the cockpit and snatched the Brute by its neck. Standing on its shoulders, she drew her combat knife and drove it into the alien's skull. Kicking it out, she assumed the driver's seat and steered the Chopper against the enemy. She destroyed several Brute Prowlers with the vehicle's cannons and then hit the boost to smash through a Ghost.

"She's fuckin' incredible, mate!" Steele cheered.

"Eyes front, Lou!"

Covenant infantry made a stand outside their barricades. Frost had no time to think about it. He trained his fire on the clusters of Grunts. After slaughtering a squad of them, he stopped to reload. Suddenly, green light obscured his vision and something incredibly hot and painful struck his right arm. Crying out, he looked down at his arm. An overcharged shot from a plasma pistol had hit him. The force rocked him but the burning sensation from the super-heated plasma made it seem like his flesh was on fire. Bright red all over, cracks appeared at his wrist, hand, and elbow. Blood began to seep out. Bits of skin were charred and turned black. It was as if it was cooking. Clenching his teeth, all he could do was kick his feet while he tried not to panic. But when he looked forward, more Brutes appeared. Firing their machine pistols, heated spikes began embedding themselves in the M381's armor plating. Everyone began shooting over his head but he could do nothing to help.

Something cooling and soothing began to spread on his right arm. He looked back. Maddox was leaning over the divider with a can of biofoam, spreading it out all over Frost's arm. It took the entire can to coat the majority of his arm. When he turned to motion for Grant to hand over his biofoam canister, a spike lodged itself in his shoulder. Maddox yelled and fell out of sight.

Spikes began thudding against the hood and the glass. One large Brute stepped forward with two of them, leveled the weapons, and unleashed a stream of spikes. Frost ducked down low to avoid them. Glass shattered and sprinkled over his head. Steele started screaming. The windshield shattered; the spikes missed him but the force shot the broken glass back into his face. He was covering his entire face with both hands and was thrashing back and forth in his seat, shrieking. Blood leaked between his fingers. The Warthog began to turn into an M808's lane and the tank swerved to the left before it ran over the M381.

Frost reached over, grabbed the steering wheel, and corrected their direction. "Hit the gas, Lou!"

Steele wiped his face. Shards of glass were stuck in his cheeks, eyebrows, forehead, and temple. One was embedded in his bottom lip. Gasping as if he had just come up for air, he clutched the steering wheel and drove them through the barricades. For a brief moment, Frost thought they were through. Now, they could smash into the unprotected rear of the remaining Covenant force. But a horde of Skirmishers appeared, jumping up from craters and hiding spots in the sand. They began swarming over the vehicles. Behind him, Frost heard the squawking creatures climb up the sides and the Marines began fighting them off. One jumped into the passenger seat with him and began pummeling him with its talons. He tore his M6C out of the holst, planted the barrel against the alien's belly, and fired several rounds. It fell out but another jumped on the hood and grasped his chest rig.

Frost was torn out of the seat and dragged onto the hood. Another Skirmisher jumped up and began smashing him with his fists. The first began scratching and gripping Frost's good hand, preventing him from shooting. In the fray, Frost looked back. Everyone was engaged in hand to hand combat, rolling, grappling, thrashing, and stabbing the dozen or so Skirmishers invading their Warthog. Even Steele was engaged; one was tugging at the arm he was using to hold the steering wheel while another jumped on the top of the seat like it was a bird's perch and tried to slice his face. Steele dodged the blow and without looking, raised his pistol and fired a single shot. The alien above him dropped dead. He leveled the weapon with the enemy on his left and killed it too. After taking careful aim, he fired one shot. The Skirmisher fighting for Frost's wrist dropped dead. Before the sniper could fire another shot, another of the nimble alien's jumped in with him.

Frost brought his weapon to bear and expended the rest of the magazine into the Skirmisher attacking him. The body slumped off the still moving Warthog. Knowing he couldn't reload on his own, he holstered his sidearm, drew his KA-BAR knife, crawled back towards the cab, and jammed the blade into the Skirmisher's back. It squawked then fell silent as Steele fired a bullet through its throat.

Just as he climbed back into the seat, Frost heard someone yell, "Incoooming!"

A massive green burst struck the front right tire. The Warthog lurched forward and came to a stop. Everyone fell over or out of the vehicle.

"Dismount!" Frost ordered, grabbing his MA5B with his left hand. FOB Charlie was in sight and they could keep pace with the Bison, which were pushing on with the remaining Warthogs. Some of the Scorpions remained nearby, mopping up the remaining Brutes and Skirmishers.

"Covvies, ten o'clock!"

Frost rounded the Warthog, moving to protect Steele who only had a pistol. Coming to a crouch, he painfully balanced the barrel on his wounded arm and began firing short bursts. Elites were approaching slowly with teams of Grunts. Blue and green plasma bolts smacked into the side of the Warthog. Although it hurt, Frost began to fire. The vibrating weapon hurt his wounded hand. Everyone else was bailing out to try and help. But everyone was getting hit; Grant caught several blue plasma bolts to his chestplate, knocking him on his back. Bishop was approaching the enemy, aggressive as ever, firing his shotgun. But a blast from a concussion rifle sent him sprawling too.

"Steele, reload for me!"

Frost tossed his weapon to the sniper who traded him his loaded pistol. Turning back, Frost picked off as many Grunts as he could. A Brute Prowler came streaming across the sand right for them. Just as the gunner opened up on them, Carris returned in her Chopper, accelerated, and smashed into the vehicle. The Chopper turned the center of the vehicle to scrap and with the wheels still turned, embedded itself.

Carris jumped on top of the Chopper and stood there for a moment like a conquer on a hill. Then, she lobbed a grenade into the wreckage and jumped off. When the grenade exploded, it blew up the engine of the Chopper and both vehicles detonated. Landing gracefully and rolling, Carris jumped up with Steele's sniper rifle. Quickly, she snapped the rifle at some of the Elites and killed four with headshots. When a fifth lunged at her, she swung the rifle like a bat and clobbered it to the ground. But as she recovered, a Brute fired at her with a Spiker. Four spikes hit her in the right side of the back, making a perfect vertical line.

The operative cried out and stumbled. Frost had never heard that before and it startled him even in the midst of combat. They needed to get out of the kill zone. Many UNSC forces were going past to fulfill the objective. Ahead, he could see them tearing through the Covenant forces attacking FOB Charlie. Even the Vulture had moved on, barraging the breaking enemy with rockets. But his squad and many others were entangled in the Covenant's third line, fighting to break out. Smoke swirled, sand sprayed, humans and aliens fought hand to hand on the wreckage of vehicles and barricades.

"Gun!" Steele shouted. Frost turned back around, traded weapons, and leveled his MA5B again. He covered Carris as she fell back towards them. But a Brute dropped its weapon, charged her, and tackled her to the ground. When the rolling stopped, she was on top. Tearing off her helmet, she brought it down on the Brute's skull until it went limp. As she got up, a spike flew by her face, tearing a bit of her cheek off with it. Lobbing another fragmentation grenade, she took up her M739 and sprayed the attacking aliens. When the drum was empty, she fell back.

When Frost turned to give his empty weapon back, he felt a sharp pain in his left arm and he was thrown back. A Spike went through his left bicep and he was now pinned to the side of the Warthog. The Brute charged at him, preparing to finish him off with the bayonet. But Borko charged him, loaded a shell into his grenade launcher, and fired. It made direct contact, blowing off the Brute's leg. Frost was peppered with shrapnel. Borko ran up, jumped onto the immobilized alien, and began beating it to death with the buttstock of his MA5C.

An Elite with a plasma rifle in one hand and an energy sword in the other jumped over the wreckage of the Brute vehicles. It fired a burst from its weapon and struck Borko. Crying out, the grenadier rolled over and began gripping his burned back. Then, it locked eyes with Frost. Dropping its rifle, it began charging with its sword.

"Lou, shoot it!" Frost shouted. Steele, with blood in his eyes, leaned out and began firing the rifle. Just as the final bullet left the barrel, the Elite's shields dropped. Steele drew his reloaded pistol but the Elite smacked it from his hand. Just as it was about to thrust with the sword, Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing dove into it. The impact from the large Marine knocked the Elite off its feet.

Growling, Swing jammed the barrel of his M90 into the Elite's maw and blew its head open. More Elite Majors with swords appeared. Swing killed one, then another, and then became entangled with a third. Letting go of the weapon, Swing stepped back and let the Elite stumble. Drawing his pistol and KA-BAR knife, he emptied the magazine into the alien's shields then thrust the knife into the side of its head. But a fourth Elite came up behind and ran Swing through the back with its energy sword so hard he was lifted off its feet.

Swing's eyes bulged and he screamed at the top of his lungs. Dropping the knife and in remarkable presence of mind, he took a grenade off his chest rig. Before he could pull the pin, another sword-wielding Elite came forward, rotated, and cut the Marine's head off. Swing's lifeless body was punted off the sword. Both turned to the surviving Marines. Carris, having reloaded and finished fighting a battle on the right flank, stormed around the front of the Warthog and unleashed the entire magazine of her machine gun on them. Grant was back on his feet and pressed forward too, firing his MA5 on full-auto. When the Elites' shields dropped, he loaded a shell into the launcher and fired. The explosion sent both of the monsters flying.

"Grant, Konstantin, cover!" Steele ordered. "Carris, get Frost off the hog. Maddox, call for MEDEVAC, we are combat ineffective!"

Words: 7,668

Pages: 17

Font: Garamond

Font Size: 12

Line Spacing: 1.5

Author's Note: Sometimes, the good guys don't get to see the mission through all the way to the end. This is the longest chapter in the story yet, far passing my 6,000-6,999 word limit. But I enjoyed it so much and loved the action that I didn't feel like splitting it. A longer chapter once in a while is always good. Alright guys and gals, stay tuned for the next chapter next week!