Chapter 36: The Battle of Port Battery, Pt. 3

"Somebody get Swing's dog tags."

"What about the body?"

"I'm not picking up his head, man."

"Shut up. We'll come back for him once we've won this thing."

"Yankee Triple Seven en route!" Maddox shouted, holding the handset with his one good hand. Steele just nodded and waved weakly. The glass shards all over his face were stinging terribly. He could feel little trails of blood trickling down his skin. Nobody could spare biofoam for him on account of the wounds Maddox, Carris, and Frost had. Although the spikerounds were lodged firmly in their flesh, they bled badly and a copious amount of the sealant was used for Maddox's shoulder. Carris was still in her armor but Grant laced the pictures with foam to keep blood from leaking out. Frost's arm was getting worse; the skin was black all over and the foam was not holding well. Almost everybody else received bad plasma burns mitigated only by their M52B body armor, which prevented the plasma from being killing blows.

Still sitting in the cab of the Warthog, Steele did his best to keep the BR55 somebody handed him raised. The Covenant was retreating but still fighting doggedly. In the distance, the UNSC task force reached FOB Charlie and were commencing the evacuation. When he looked through the scope, he could see how the remaining tanks and fast attack vehicles formed a defense ring around the base. All the Bison APCs were inside the base; ODSTs and Army troopers were filling up the vehicles. But the objective was only half complete. The task force would have to conduct one operation UNSC ground forces did their best to avoid; turn around and go back the way they came.

Everyone's head was on a swivel. Covenant ground forces were still retreating but the air battle persisted. UH-144's dueled with Banshees, trading cannon, machine gun, and grenade fire with plasma bolts and fuel rod cannon blasts. Although the Army Aviation forces were holding, the Banshees seemed relentless. They seemed endless.

"Got anything regarding Covenant air strength?" Steele asked Maddox, still looking up at the sky. The systems operator flipped channels and made some inquiries. After a few minutes, he lowered his handset.

"Covvie reinforcements in the system. Heavy casualties on both sides. Some of the enemy ships broke through and have deployed new bases out of range of our guns. Looks like most of the Covvie air power is coming from there."

"Can I'm Alone or any other ships hit it from orbit?"

"All UNSC orbital assets are currently engaged."

"Of course they fucking are," Steele moaned and wiped his face again. Bloody was continually running into his eyes. It was getting harder to turn his head. He began to think there were pieces of glass or micro-shrapnel in his neck as well. Keeping the rifle raised and scanning for the Covenant consumed his concentration. But he was vaguely aware of the squad's dispersion around the immobilized Warthog. A few were still standing guard in the rear, Carris was holding down the right side, and the remainder were along the left flank.

Again, Steele leaned forward and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. It was stained red and slick with blood. "Nate, is your arm still on?" Steele asked aloud.

"Fuck you," was the reply. The sniper laughed hoarsely.

"I think my face might fall off at this point."

"Shame, that's all you have going for you," Grant said. His tone was tight with pain.

"Steele, coming to you," Carris said. A moment later she appeared in front of him. Shouldering her weapon, she bent over, placed her hand under his chin, and raised it slightly. Her eyes darted back and forth, examining each puncture and shard of glass still in his face. Steele couldn't take his eyes off the three gray spikes still lodged in her back. From the angle he was in, he could only see the top one but it protruded very far out of her body. Brute spikes were superheated alloy rounds that cooled after impact. Not only did UNSC forces have to fear the rounds themselves entering their flesh but the searing, unbearable, burning pain that came with them. Like Frost, many Marines and other service members found themselves pinned to objects and surfaces. The only way to free them was to get a buzzsaw or amputate the pinned limb. Luckily, Carris was able to extract the round from the Warthog's hull without causing further damage to Frost's arm.

He knew her well enough to see she was in pain. Carris was continually gritting her teeth and her eyes remained partially squinted. Sweat clung to her brow and rolled down her cheeks. When she breathed, it came out in ragged pants. It showed but it didn't stop her. After her inspection, she leaned back slightly and nodded. "You'll be okay." An expression of anger clouded her face. "Maddox, where is the fucking Pelican?"

"One mike out."

Steele looked to the south, having to turn his entire body to do so. Breaking through the screen of Banshees and UH144's came the dropship. It was moving very fast and banking sharply to avoid bursts from plasma cannons. Many of the Army Aviation VTOLs quickly fell into formation and provided covering fire for the Pelican.

"Let's get ready to go," Steele said. Before he knew it, Carris scooped him up into her arms and began walking towards a clearing in the wreckage. Knight pulled the pin on a smoke grenade and tossed it into the center. After a spark and a puff, purple smoke began rising into the sky. Everyone else hobbled, staggered, and limped to the periphery of the clearing. "I can walk," Steele said to Carris.

"I know."

"You can put me down."

"I know."

"...put me down."

"No."

Steele shook his head and looked around. Frost was walking beside them. His entire right arm was coated in multiple layers of fastening biofoam. The spike was still lodged in his left arm but he carried an M6C in his hand anyways. Maddox was beside him, still bearing the spike in his right shoulder. He kept the handset tucked under his helmet and pressed against his ear. Everyone was filthy, sweaty, and wounded. Throughout the wreckage, other dropships were touching down. Stranded Marines and Army soldiers were awaiting evacuation for wounded teammates. Smoke rose from numerous burning vehicles. Some of the oily black columns mingled with the colored smoke used to mark landing zones. In the distance, the UNSC forces were prevailing against the other Covenant attack. Some vehicles were already beginning to retreat back to MOB Alpha. These were mostly Bison APCs and M12's making rapid escapes amid plasma mortars. Instead of falling into formation, they tore across the desert as quickly as they could. Dust clouds billowed out from their wheels.

Yankee Triple Seven swung around and began a slow descent. Everyone crouched and covered their faces. A cloud of sand flew out in all directions as the Pelican landed. Steele groaned as flecks of sand sprayed his skin, feeling like water shooting out from a high pressure hose. Even after the wheels squished into the sand, the engines were still running hot and the sand flew out. The squad hurried into the Pelican. Isha was at the rear hatch helping everyone in. Most of the squad got in before Steele. Carris handed him up and he was taken by Isha and Grant. They seated him near the hatch as comfortably as possible before the rest of the squad piled in.

"Clear, take us up," Isha said over the comms.

"Don't worry guys, I'll get you back up to the I'm Alone in a flash," Jasper said, his relaxed, chiding tone absent. A moment later, the Pelican lifted off and ascended. Steele was looking down at his boots, feeling the blood trickle down his cheeks. He saw some of it slide off his face and dropped onto the floor, leaving little puddles. Some of the blood was more congealed and hung off his face in strings. Somebody put their hand under his chin again and raised his face. Carris examined him again, her pale face barely an inch away from his. Beside her, Isha opened a first aid kit and produced a shock-absorbent pad. Carris took it and began pressing it against some of the worst wounds on Steele's face.

As she did, Isha briefly examined the supersoldier's wounds.

"Do you need anything Petty Officer?" he asked, awed.

"Distribute whatever available medical supplies you have among the squad," was all she said. Isha left Steele's view. More blood trickled in his eyes and he instinctively blinked. His vision grew red and then he couldn't see at all. An unfamiliar anxious feeling began to rise in his chest. It rose from his stomach, light, quivering, uncontrollable. He began to shake and he felt his breathing increase. The urge to vomit began to grow, as if the fear in his chest was not just a mere feeling but a physical object his body wished to rid itself of.

"I can't see."

"You're alright."

"Carris I can't see," he said, reaching out and grasping for her.

"You've got blood in your eyes."

"I can't fucking see."

"Nate."

Steele heard movement alongside him. A form sat on his right side and with great pain in his voice put an arm around him.

"Hey, I gotcha. You're alright, bro." Steele reached out tentatively and grasped some of Frost's webbing. "Carris is going to clean you up and you're going to be fine. Right?"

"That's right. I'm going to take care of you."

Steele nodded and did his best to control his breathing. He shuddered a little as Carris gently wiped down his eyes. Only when she commanded he opened his eyes did he attempt to blink. When he did, he could see more clearly than before but Carris continued wiping. When she finished, he could finally see clearly again. But he was still shaking and his breathing remained ragged and uneasy. Shuddering, he looked at Frost who was shaking just as badly. His eyes were very, very wide and startled. It did not look like his friend was really looking at him. Instead, he was looking past him but at nothing in particular. Steele recognized the expression; the shocked emptiness, the mind struggling to understand and wrap itself around the enormity of what just happened. Everything happened so fast and with such barbaric severity there was no time in those frightful moments to comprehend the scenes. Such carnage, such bloodshed, fire, explosions, plasma, thousands of dead bodies, screaming, and a brutality unmatched by anything one could have read in a book or watched in a film.

Even to Marines as seasoned as them, after fighting on countless planets, conducting numerous operations, having fought, killed, survived grevious wounds, and watched their friends die, even they could be dumbfounded and shocked into disbelief at the awful nature of war.

"Banshees on our six!"

In an instant, everyone became alert. Lowered heads were lifted. Those who could bear arms raised them. Isha hit the switch on the other side of the Pelican and lowered the M247 from the ceiling of the troop compartment. Looking past him, Steele saw three sleek purple-hulled Banshees approaching them. Isha hit the triggers and began firing long bursts at them. Red tracers flew through the air. Chips from the Banshees' hulls flew off. The lead rolled left and out of sight. The second wingman banked hard to the right. But the third stayed on them. Its plasma cannons flared and streams of blue bolts struck the Pelican.

The dropship shook with the impact. Grant stood up; he looked utterly fearless, his brow furrowed and his teeth bared. Marching up to the rear of the Pelican, he stood beside Isha and began firing with his MA5. When the magazine was empty, he even loaded a forty millimeter round into the underslung launcher and tried to hit the Banshee. Everyone began shouting but Steele couldn't make it out.

Eventually, Carris took Steele by the cheek.

"I have to help. Stay right here."

Before he could protest, she squeezed his shoulders, took her M739 off her back, and went to Isha's other side. The wind blasted her thick, black hair back as she began firing as well. With the trio standing in the rear hatch, Steele couldn't see what was happening. The screaming was getting louder. Everyone's faces were etched with fear. But Frost stood up and assumed a commanding posture.

"Everybody calm the fuck down!" he screamed. "You're Marines, act like it! We've all been in a dropship under before!"

Steele got on his feet and walked to the cockpit. Still holding the trauma pad against his face, he found Jasper and Pajari struggling with their controls. Ahead of them, UH144's dueled with Banshees. Aircraft were continually flaming out or blowing. Descending and spraying debris filled the air. Destroyed hulls plummeted towards the earth. Jasper and Pajari jerked on the controls, dodging the obstacle as they appeared whilst dodging plasma bolts hammering the hull.

"We need to gain altitude!" Pajari shouted as she hit a switch on the board. "These aren't orbital-rated Banshees! Pick up our speed and take us up!"

"I can't until the rear hatch is closed," Jasper grunted. His head suddenly perked up and Steele followed his gaze. A Banshee was coming straight at them using its boost. "Somebody wants to play chicken today. Pajari, hit'em!"

The Pelican shuddered as the chin-mounted cannon fired. Heavy rounds struck the Banshee dead on and the bow exploded. As purple fire engulfed the aircraft it veered off towards the ground. Jasper turned around and did a double-take towards Steele. "Hey, get them to close the rear hatch! We can't pressurize until they do!"

Steele whirled away and staggered towards the rear hatch. As he did, the dropship was hit again and it banked left hard. Everyone was thrown against the hull except Isha, who clung to the gun, and Carris, who locked her armor. Struggling over the tangled limbs, Steele grabbed Isha. When he first tried to speak, his voice was drowned out by the M247.

"Close the bloody hatch!"

"If we close it now we'll get shot down! We need the gun up!" Isha shouted. A burst of plasma bolts lanced towards them. "Get down!" he cried, pushing Steele onto the deck. Falling onto his back, he watched as several bolts hit Isha right in his chestplate. But the crew chief groaned and stayed on the gun. Roaring, he fired a long burst that struck the right engine of the Banshee. The machine exploded and the aircraft spiraled out of control.

But the last Banshee fired its fuel rod cannon. "Incoming, incoming!" There was a massive explosion and the tail of the Pelican disappeared in orange flame and green sparks. Steele was thrown around, hitting people and bulkheads. He reached out, trying to grab a holding of something, and eventually got one of the rungs underneath the bench. Hanging on his side, he saw everyone struggling to hang onto something. Carris was unable to lock her armor or grab a hold of something. She began to slip; when she reached out and snatched a rung, the weight of her armor caused it to snap off. So instead, she reared her arm and drove her fist through the deck. Driving her arm up to the elbow inside the Pelican, she managed to hold on.

Steele looked at the hatch. Grant was hanging on for dear life but was able to start climbing his way back inside. Isha was holding on by a handle just inside the hatch; most of his body was hanging out of the Pelican. Despite his injured arms, Frost was making his way to him. The squad leader reached out and tried to grasp Isha's hand. The crew chief reached out, their fingers grazed one another, and then Isha disappeared. Even from the angle he was at, Steele could see Frost's shocked expression to see the man fly from view.

"Somebody close the hatch!" a voice screamed. Steele saw a hand point to the panel on the right side, directly below the handle Isha was just holding onto. Frost reached for it but almost lost his grip on his other hand. Throwing himself against the benches, he was able to wrap himself around the rungs underneath the seats. When Steele saw his face, he could see the terror in his bulging, wide gray eyes.

More people began to tumble back towards the hatch. Everyone was screaming as the Pelican continued to spiral and shudder. Jasper and Pajari were fighting to regain control. Steele looked back at the control panel. His feet were dangling towards it. Closing his eyes for a moment, he said something even he couldn't hear, and let go. In a split second, he barreled towards the stern with his hand outstretched. As he smashed against the hull, he managed to hit the correct button on the panel. When his left hand made contact, he felt his wrist snap. Managing to grab a hold of the handle, he looked at the hatch. The door was closing but his legs were dangling out of the aircraft.

Closer and closer the doors came to shut on his legs. Steele pumped his legs up to his chest and succeeded in holding them there for a moment. But the force of the descent sucked his legs right back out. Steele judged for the right moment; the doors were a foot away from his legs, then half a foot, three inches...Steele pumped his legs against. As he brought them up to his chest, the doors shut and everyone fell down.

When Steele managed to lift his left hand, it hung limply.

"Bloody hell," was all he managed to say.

"This is Yankee Seven Seven Seven," Pajari yelled into the comms, "we are going down. Yankee Triple Seven going down, Triple Seven going down. Confirm you have a fix on our IFF."

"Hold on everybody, I'm going to try and bring this bitch down as softly as I can!" Jasper shouted out the cockpit.

Steele managed to hobble onto his feet. As he did, he latched onto Frost who also just got up. Clinging to one another, they looked up at the cockpit. Past the pilots' heads they saw the desert landscape rapidly approaching.

"Everyone hang on!" Frost cried. Jasper made his first move and everyone began flailing again. Steele and Frost both reached for the handle on the left side of the hatch but it was too late. Both were thrown against the ceiling of the aircraft, then back down on the deck, and then against the left side. Marines tore at the hull as they tried to hang on. Even those who did manage to grab something were ripped away and tossed around. Carris remained lodged in place. When Steele came flying by her, her free hand shot out, grabbed his collar, and pulled him against her. Tucking him underneath her, Carris held him down while everyone else fought for control.

After another minute, the Pelican leveled out. Steele could feel it decelerating. There was a terrific crash and a terrible metallic grinding noise. The Pelican shook ferociously for a short time and then came to a stop. With a collective groan, everyone came to a rest all over the dropship interior. Nobody spoke as they all caught their breath. Eventually, Knight managed to sit up. Taking off his helmet, he began rubbing the sides of his head.

"We picked the wrong day to leave the ship," he muttered.

"Sound off!" Frost shouted.

"Knight."

"Bishop."

"Graaaaant...ooowwww..."

"Konstantin, broken leg."

"Maddox."

"Borkoooo..."

"Steele."

"Carris," she said without opening her eyes.

"Jasper," coughed the pilot.

"Pajari."

Steele watched as Frost staggered to the rear of the Pelican and opened the rear hatch. Bright sunlight flooded the compartment. Averting his eyes, Steele turned his gaze back to Carris. She opened one blue eye, then the other, and finally sighed.

"I wish I could say this was the worst dropship crash I've ever been in," she murmured, "but I'd be lying."

Steele, Carris, and the rest of the squad began standing up. Jasper and Pajari came out of the cockpit, still wearing their flight helmets.

"Where's Isha?" the former asked. Standing on the threshold, Frost looked back. A tragic looked crossed his face; his eyes widening and glimmering, his facial features dropping, and his mouth opening slightly. After a split second he regained his composure.

"He fell just after we got hit. I'm sorry."

The shock on Jasper and Pajari's faces could not be described. Steele pursed his lips and looked away. He didn't want to see it. How many years had these three served on the same dropship? How many flight hours had they logged together? How many perilous missions did they undertake and manage to come out the other side? These were questions he pondered and could not answer. Only the two survivors knew and that knowledge was more painful than any kind of wound. Although he wasn't looking, Steele could feel their surprise shift to sadness and then to despair.

"He...he had his parachute on. I swear he had it on. We have ours. He might be out there. We have to find him."

"Hey, we're behind Covvie lines. They're going to be coming. Everybody needs to get off this bird and into cover. There's some rocks nearby, we need to move everybody there and hold position until air rescue gets here. Move it, people, gather weapons, ammo, and frags.
And like that, Steele was on his feet. With his good hand, he found his sniper rifle and carried out. Alongside him, the Marines ferried their firearms to the clump of boulders Frost indicated. The Pelican came to a stop near some sand dunes preceding some high rises in the desert landscape. These were more rocky and vegetative than the rest of the land around them. At the bottom of these foothills were the rocks. They were spread out in a jagged line that ran southward before sweeping to the west.

The squad spread out among the rocks, passing out ammunition, and setting up their few heavier weapons. Knight still had a rocket launcher and some ammunition for it. Steele had his sniper rifle, Konstantin still had his machine gun although he needed to be carried by Carris to a decent position. Carris still carried her M739 as well but opted to tear the M247 mount from the Pelican, loop the ammo belt around her torso, and lug it over to their position. By the time everyone was set up, they amassed enough firepower to sustain a moderate firefight.

Steele was able to get his rifle's bipod onto the flattest rock he could find, press the buttstock against his shoulder, and hold the grip with his right hand; his shooting hand. Slowly, he glanced down at his left, which still hung in an irregular way. His wrist hurt terribly. Both his bare arms were covered in scratches and smudges. Compared to his wrist, though, none of them hurt too badly. Carris, crouched at the rock beside his, looked well besides the spikes still sticking out of her back. Something had struck her face during the descent; a horizontal scratch about the length of her eye ran across her cheek below her right eye.

She turned and looked at him. Her pink lips tugged into a little smile. Steele smiled back. "Lou, I lost my binos, can you scan?"

"On it." Steele closed his left eye and peered through the scope. In the far distance, he could see the UNSC task force was now falling back entirely. FOB Charlie was completely abandoned. Covenant infantry covered the remnants of the base and seemed to be cheering. When the UNSC vehicles crossed the destroyed third line, a golden light flashed in the sky. A MAC round struck FOB Charlie and it disappeared in a mushroom cloud. Dozens of Banshees circling over the base were either engulfed by the smoke and sand or knocked out of the sky by the shockwave.

Steele lowered the scope slightly. "Take that ya fucker," he muttered to himself. He adjusted the range. Covenant survivors seemed to be in disarray. A large bulk behind FOB Charlie was falling back. Those who went beyond it continued to chase, harass, and engage the UNSC task force. But they were cut off from their main force and were quickly dispatched. In the air, the UH144's were regrouping to provide air support for the retreating UNSC forces. Again, the Covenant seemed to be in a frenzy. Some Banshees disengaged and returned to their base. Others kept up the attack and were dealt with.

"None seem to be detaching to engage us yet," Steele said. "What's the status on CSAR?"

"I sent the call out as we were going down. They have a fix on our Pelican's IFF," Pajari answered as she took off her helmet. When she dropped it in the sand, she undid her fiery red hair from its ponytail and then picked up her M7. "They know we're out here, they'll come for us."

"Mads, any more word on the fleet?"

"My radio's busted," Maddox complained. "But before we went down, it looked like even more Covenant ships were in orbit. Travers' ships are taking casualties. Something about a brief window of time was mentioned but that's when we got hit. After that, I was a little too busy trying to stay alive to pay attention to the radio."

"Don't get salty, boy," Bishop said.

"We just got shot down. I can be as fucking salty as I want."

"Shut up," Frost ordered. "Watch your sectors, can for targets, call them out."

For ten minutes, the survivors waited, waited, and waited. Nothing on the horizon changed course and moved against them. None of the Covenant vehicles or aircraft decided to try and attack them. Even the Covenant infantry seemed too preoccupied with their regrouping effort to try and pick off the exposed, detached party. At first, Steele and the others, watching silently, were thankful they seemingly went unnoticed. Although, it was not a particular pleasant feeling to be forgotten or ignored by their own forces. But not getting shot at was a luxury after such a hard battle. Yet as time dragged on everyone became antsy. Where was the CSAR team? Why hadn't the Covenant attacked yet? Even though no one spoke, such questions were asked.

Nobody relaxed their posture. Fingers remained above the trigger guard. Knuckles turned white as they clutched weapon grips. Steele began to wish somebody was shooting at them. It was better than waiting and worrying over all the how's and why's. No force attacked them. Steele, sitting with his legs crossed, trembled a little. It was not out of fear, that sensation having departed since he staggered out of the wreck. He caught his second wind and was bristling with energy. With his adrenaline pumping and surging, he no longer felt the pain in his wrist or the shards lodged in his face. At this point, a fight didn't seem so bad as long as he was able to expend this pent up energy and get the battle over with. Getting flown out of there would have been better, though.

"Does anyone have a working motion tracker?" Frost asked. "My HUD is down."

Steele instinctively reached for his own and found it was missing. He felt the slot where it was attached and felt the rough, broken edges. It probably snapped at some point in the crash. Luckily, Maddox was able to retain his. The systems operator flipped the blue piece over his eye. All of a sudden, he spun around.

"Behind us!"

Steele looked over his shoulder. A platoon of Skirmishers were walking down the hill as stealthily as possible. Everyone began shooting. Unable to pick up his rifle with just one hand, he drew his M6 and began firing. The aliens screeched and made their assault. Machine gun rounds splintered the first wave, splashing blood and flesh onto the sand while bodies tumbled down the slopes. Grunts and more Skirmishers came over the crest, firing as they charged. The firefight was sharp and momentous. The Covenant pushed against them in squad and platoon sized waves. In response, they were mowed down by machine gun and rifle fire. Frost could barely fire a pistol but was still in tactical command; he ordered the guns to talk, letting half of the squad fire while the others reserved their ammo until the first party finished shooting. Then, they would expend their current magazines, and allow the other group to take over. In each group there was one machine gunner that laid down the most fire. Giving one team a break allowed that gunner to reload. In that way, they were able to keep up a constant rate of fire.

Steele wasn't adding much to the firefight with just a pistol, so he began calling targets for Carris while she stood by his rock. Undeterred by her wounds, lack of cover, and the enemy's numbers, she fired all the ammunition she was able to drag out of the Pelican. When the M247 went dry, she simply dropped it, drew her M739, and began firing again.

None of the core Covenant infantry types showed up. Only a few Elites must have been present with this moderately sized infantry force, commanding it from the other side. Every so often, one of the brave aliens charged with its subordinates only to be cut down in a hail of gunfire. But the tide of basic infantry types did not let up. Steele knew ammo was beginning to run short.

"I'm out!" Carris shouted and picked up Steele's rifle. Rapidly, she fired all four rounds, snapping Skirmisher heads off and split Grunt skulls. In a flash, she cycled the weapon and fired another four. As their fire dwindled to conserve ammunition, the Covenant began closing in. Steele picked off smaller types when they came in range. Frost knelt beside him and did his best to fire his own sidearm.

"This is bullshit, we've been blown up and shot down all day long!" Steele shouted angrily.

"Keep shooting!"

Another wave appeared but a rocket barrage blew them away. Everyone turned to see two Pelicans flying towards them. One continued to provide fire support while the other turned. Ropes descended from the open hatch and a six-man team of Air Force Pararescuemen descended. Clad in high quality M52B body armor and bearing modded weapons, they added their firepower to the battle as they closed in. In a flash, Steele found himself being escorted to the Pelican. The entire squad was running, limping, or being carried back. The PJs formed a half-moon around their rear and covered them the entire run to the Pelican. Everyone piled in and soon they waved off. Through the closing hatch, Steele looked over the foothills; behind them was a horde of Covenant infantry. In another few minutes, they would have been overrun.

"Captain, all UNSC ground forces have been evacuated from the planet," Tsang said. Vivian didn't look away from the starboard side tactical display. All she did was nod and grunt. Red triangles and dots indicated Covenant ships all over the system. One wave was attacking the anchors where UNSC ships that were under repair moments ago were retreating. Most of the ships were able to escape. Others were caught and destroyed with the Anchors. The MAC platform was also reduced to a field of scorched, exploded metal. On the other side of the planet, a third wave of Covenant reinforcements were engaging Travers's section. His fleet was down to half strength. Vivian couldn't bring herself to gaze through the viewing class or forward cameras to look at the massive fields of destroyed starships all over the system.

With her hands folded behind her back, Vivian looked down at the deck. Koroma cleared her throat at the communications station. "Ma'am, Vice Admiral Travers reports that he is disengaging from his fight. He ordered a slipspace jump for all UNSC survivors to a set of coordinates within the Cole Protocol. I've forwarded it to your station."

"What's our final destination?" Vivian asked.

"Once we've disengaged from the pursuit, Travers has ordered all UNSC ships within our theater of operations back to Port Sanchez. Including the unengaged garrisons; he's declared their positions too tenuous. He wants all orbital and ground forces to regroup at Port Sanchez."

Vivian could feel the entire bridge staff looking at her. She was their commanding officer, they needed her to say something inspiring. Something that could uplift their spirits, tell them this battle was far from over, that it was just a brief setback before they could go on the offensive again. Already having suffered a near-defeat before and giving up on their own mission, to have the entire operation roll back to the place they started from would be disastrous for their morale. All she needed to do was speak the right words, let them know their commander was confident in success, and would lead them to another victory.

But she couldn't.

Lifting her head, Vivian closed her eyes.

"So that's the way it is," she murmured. "We talk a big talk, fight the big fight, and come up with nothing but thousands of dead and dozens of destroyed ships. I guess it was never whether or not this op would succeed or fail, but when it would fail."

"Ma'am? Did you say something?" Decatur asked, worriedly leaning off his AI pedestal.

"No. Sosa, get the I'm Alone ready to jump. We're abandoning this sector." She opened her eyes. "For good."

Words: 5,655

Pages: 14

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Author's Note: Apologies for the decreased word count, but considering last week I went over, I think it's appropriate I went under this time. I've been feeling pretty dry towards writing this week and it's been kinda shitty. Lacking motivation, in a few words. I don't know if I'll be able to get to my other commitments for this site and DA this week, but we'll see. This installment in the series is a few chapters away from being finished, so I may take the next couple weeks to focus on it. I'll have some more time next week to work but I may just take next week as a break. Lots of setbacks in my life are taking their toll. Anyways, you're not here to listen to me gripe.

Comment Responses:

Chase-A: That's what any writer loves to here. Thank you so much. I'm glad you like the battle scenes, they can sometimes be very easy or very difficult to write. Research is the key when it comes to describing a battle, not to mention immersing yourself in the source material. If you're ever thinking of busting into writing, one of the best ways to imagine a battle scene is by studying 19th Century art, preferably pieces from the 1850s on up. You can learn a lot by studying clashing battle lines. Of course, it's also important to understand tactics, familiarize yourself with terminology, have a basic understanding of those things. Listening to veterans' stories and accounts is a major benefit as well. So that's how I write battle scenes; studying art, listening to accounts, and just doing a ton of research. I think anyone acquainted with modern military history could see vestiges of the Battle of 73 Hastings in the previous chapter which I studied to try and incorporate the feel of a titanic armored force engaging another. Of course, this Halo version had a much different outcome. By the way, thanks for your comment on Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon. I don't do comment responses there but your comment was especially lovely and I really appreciate that.

MightBeGone: Glad you liked it. If that got you a little worried, I'm interested to know how this chapter affected you. I myself was particularly riveted by the crash scene in the Pelican and you know that's a good sign when the writer himself is actually pumped up and worried as he writes.