Took a little bit longer to write than I would have liked, so apologies for the longer than usual wait. I'll be branching off a bit more from the actual story now. Something I've wanted to do for a while but I never did. I'm hoping that by the end of this, I'll have less canon material and more of my own spin. Anyway, here's hoping the next chapter doesn't take as long to get out. Hope you guys enjoy!
Warthogs rolled through an abandoned tunnel, concrete scattered among the black asphalt in hunks and pieces that the drivers avoided. Utility vehicles and trailers full of multiple types of goods sat lifeless where their owners had either left them behind or had died at the wheel. Spikes from Brute weapons could be seen buried in windshields and hulls alike, with melted sections where plasma had splashed and weakened the material.
Six frowned, her fingers rubbing up and down the triggers to the M41 in sync as she stroked her nerves, waiting for the chittering of an alien or the red to light up her motion tracker. Looking down at the dashboard of the Warthog, she saw that Private Montoya had taken up the position of driver for her once more. Given his performance during the exodus from Crow's Nest, she was more than willing to let him continue. He couldn't be as bad as Kat had been.
At the thought of the woman, her frown deepened and she shook her head to clear it away. The tunnel cleared out, revealing an open plaza and parking lot filled with more abandoned vehicles and the gate that led forward was locked down tight. Keying her mic, she scanned the rooftops and the shadows. "Watch for movement and spread the vehicles out when you come out of the tunnel. I'll head inside first and get the gate open."
Behind her, the driver of one of the troop transports, a Sergeant Natalie Green responded. "I'll send a man up to take your place on the gun, we've got your back ma'am."
With a glance back, Six saw a Marine leap from the troop transport immediately behind her, running up to take her place. When he arrived, she grabbed his hand and pulled him up, before jumping off herself and pulling her shotgun from its position on her back.
Checking the ammo counter on her HUD, it read a reassuring full, and she nodded to herself. The controls for the door were right next to it, shining the universal locked color of a bright red. Moving up, the Warthog's engine purred as Montoya walked it forward behind her. Slapping it, the gate shuddered and creaked open, rolling up into the heavy metal wall that held it in place.
The Spartan moved around the corner and into the low light, a smoldering Warthog surrounded by Grunt corpses hidden in the corner where Marines had made their final stand. A few Brutes here and there had been riddled with holes, and despite the deaths of the men, she nodded to herself. They had done well, had gone down like Marines did in the face of impossible odds.
The servos of the M41 whined quietly as the Marine at the controls continued scanning the upper levels. Six made to go up the stairs. Red blips appeared at the far reaches of her motion tracker and she held her hand up, clicking her mic to get the Marine's attention.
The helmeted head snapped to her and watched the lone finger she held up, pointing to the upper level in the general direction. The finger became a closed fist, and she rocked it back and forth at the wrist. Hold until engaged
The Marine's mouth opened as he mouthed the words to himself, before giving a thumbs up and holding onto the gun. He would hold fire until he was fired upon. Montoya had seen it as well, cutting the Warthog's engine to prevent being heard. Given Brute's hearing abilities, even their sense of smell, they had probably already been found out, but he wouldn't risk giving the Commander's position away before she was ready if he could help it.
Six, satisfied, began to creep up the stairs. Her armor, together with her own weight, meant that the stairs were straining underneath half a ton of UNSC stamped death. Her shotgun was held up against her shoulder, and she continued to move up nearly sideways. Every movement was precise and calculated as Six fell back into her element.
The door that had been at the top of the stairs had been ripped asunder and thrown aside, laying in a crumpled heap in the hall that led over the road through the structure and into the interior of the dockyards. The control station for the interior gate was ahead, and the Covenant had taken up position inside for a reason. They would be trying to slow her down, but she wouldn't allow it.
The shotgun came down to her hip as she neared the corner, not wanting to poke the barrel out before she was ready, and she slid around as if she was on hinges, the crosshair in her visor following the barrel's trajectory.
A Brute Chieftain, two Captains, and several Grunts were milling about the area, the Chieftain growling at the Grunts as they patrolled, his Captains messing with some of the controls in the center in an attempt at keeping the area locked down.
Six took her hand from the pump on the shotgun, reaching slowly for the two grenades that hung on her belt and pulling them off with a soft click. The Chieftain flinched, his growling stopping as he turned to see the Spartan with two grenades in hand, golden visor not showing shock that she had been found out.
Acting on muscle memory, she sidearmed the grenades, pins on her fingers like militarized rings as the fuses in the grenades activated. One slammed into the Chieftain's chest, and he roared as it bounced away. The other bounced off of the control station and rolled underneath, one of the Captains stumbling as he tried to see what it was. Then everything went up.
The grenade under the control station blew, tearing the legs off of one Captain and dropping the shields of another. The second was kicked away by the Chieftain, right back at Six, and she dove into the hallway she had come through before it exploded. Shrapnel went everywhere, pinging loudly as it ricocheted through the hall and off of her armor. Her shields fell to half and she was up before the pinging had stopped.
A waist high slit in the hall overlooking the entrance, where the Warthog still sat quietly, Six vaulted through it and fell the 15 feet to the ground below, tucking into a roll and running the opposite direction of the Hog. The Chieftain appeared where she had come down and Montoya and the other Marine acted, the engine roaring to life as the gun opened up, spitting tracers into the thin metal of the hallway. The Chieftain's shields winked on brightly, failing under the heavy barrage, and he was torn apart as more and more holes were put in the sides of the construction. A Captain stepped out as well as his Chieftain fell, shields flaring before he ducked back.
Six was already moving up the opposite stairs, coming face to face with a fleeing Grunt. Her fist snaked out like a lunging cobra, caving the diminutive alien's face in before she advanced into the control room. The Brute missing its legs was still alive, a spiker in hand. A single pull of the shotgun's trigger put an end to the Brute's suffering and Six racked the slide to provide another shell. The second Captain had pulled back, meeting Six with a roar. Weakened shields went down as the shotgun barked again, and a third shell was put into the Brute's chest. Now, all that was left was the half dozen Grunts that had scattered.
They were a nonissue, with the sound of the M41's roar drowning out their screams, silence falling over the area once more. Cutting her mic, she spoke again. "Transports, move in. I'll open the second door. Briefing says the first lake bed and the Wraiths are just on the other side of it. If you have heavy ordinance, bring it up. Out."
More engines sounded outside, dropping to a purr as she went to hit the next switch. The Warthog, helmed by Mendoza, pulled up next to her. "You want a ride, ma'am?"
Six shook her head. "I'll continue on foot and clear out whatever I can while making my way to the Wraiths. Distract them, take them out if you can, but don't stop moving. They get a bead on you and you're done."
Slapping the door controls, it opened up and the Warthog was out in a flash, engine roaring as it took flight from the concrete ridge and landed in the lake bed. Off to the side, the area excavated by the Covenant ships left a steep drop to the artifact below, something she knew she wouldn't survive if she went over. The M41 opened up, chattering loudly as the shots pinged off of the heavy frontal armor on the Wraiths.
The troop transports came out next, most of the Marines dismounted save for a pair in each that had held onto rocket launchers and their ammunition. The gasp of a rocket firing and smoke filling the entryway sounded as one of the Marines opened fire, a second rocket following close behind. Six looked back at the rest of the Marines that remained, an explosion sounding as battle started up again. "Move quick, but don't get caught out. Cover me and I'll do the heavy lifting."
One of the Marines moved up to the other side of the door, peeking around the corner and taking single shots at the Grunts on the ridge. "Better you than me, ma'am. Lead the way."
Six didn't respond, moving past him and drawing one of the pistols she had strapped to her thigh armor. It would do the job well enough, lacking an actual rifle. She sighted in on Grunts, firing and dropping them with expert marksmanship that had been perfected over the years.
The slide racked back, empty, and she slid another magazine home before she continued to deal out death in generous amounts. A Brute started to charge her, but her shotgun wasn't quick enough on the draw. Instead, several Marine rifles opened up with a vicious song, ripping into the Brute and dropping him to the concrete without a sound. Six kept moving, confident the Marines had her back.
The rattle of the M41 bounced off of the dockyard walls and the parched Earth, water having been stolen away by the heat of the glassing beams. Another rocket launched and hit a Wraith dead on in the plasma mortar, blowing it to pieces without a second thought.
Her comm crackled, the radio waves being distorted by the heavy ionization in the air, and Six ducked into cover as more Brutes defending one of the anti-air Wraiths started to hurl fire her way.
"Kilo 23, this is Forward Unto Dawn, I need a sitrep, Commander." Lord Hood's voice faded in and out, overpowered by the static.
"Atmospheric disturbances increasing over the artifact, Admiral. Hurricane force winds picked up by one of our probes. Lasted all of ten seconds in the center of the storm before we lost it."
A silent curse, one Six didn't catch. "And Sierra 312?"
"Moving as fast as she can, sir. I know she'll get it done."
The chatter kept going but Six tuned it out, frowning as she popped around the barrier she had called her own. Her finger pulled the trigger as fast as it could, the heavy slug rounds leaving the pistol and making tight groupings on one of the Brutes fast enough to unbalance it from the force of the rounds. Its armor popped off and she put a final round into its head. More fire from the Marines behind her pushed its allies into their own cover and Six advanced, shotgun ready.
Her heavy boots thudded against the concrete, alerting the aliens to her presence. One whipped out of cover, only to catch a shotgun shell to the face at close range. The other, still in cover with his weapon ready, opened fire on her. Her shields fell rapidly, and she put another shotgun shell into the Brute, but her shields collapsed as she pulled the trigger. One final spike left the barrel of the spiker and glanced off of her heavy shoulder pauldrons.
Inside, Six frowned. She was getting careless and risky. She needed to rein in her impulse to get in the enemy's face, shotgun or not.
The Marines moving up behind her saw the heavy yellow arcs crossing over her armor, and passed by to cover her while her shields recharged. With support, she was able to take a breather, green eyes watching her motion tracker until the shield bar filled completely.
Taking the lead again, the Spartan watched as the remaining anti-air Wraith fired, sending a green barrage of fire up at a UNSC Hornet that had gotten caught out and overextended. The plasma hit it dead on, ripping it to pieces even as another rocket from the Warthogs impacted its frontal armor, and then another immediately after, finishing it off.
"Move up!" She called out her orders, long legs carrying her forward as the marines scurried along with her. The Warthog with the M41 on it jumped over a sloped piece of concrete buried in the ground, landing and sliding into a drift as it moved for the door. Montoya had gotten daring.
Picking up the pace, she hit the switch to the door, opening up into another area filled with alien infantry that the trooper on the M41 made short work of. Several Marines popped their heads out of an upper level, relieved that not only had someone saved their bacon, but a Spartan had come for them. She was rapidly being seen by troops on the ground as the Spartan. With the Chief no longer appearing in battles in the iconic olive armor worn by the Spartan IIs, the sight of Morgan in her sky blue, mismatched armor parts and a more utilitarian look had become the angel the Marines prayed for.
One of them, operating a console on the overlook they had taken cover in, opened the gate under them for the relief forces to pass. It was wide enough for the Warthogs to enter as well, one after the other. "Thought our goose was cooked, Commander. Thanks for the save."
Six looked up at him, giving a thumbs up signal as she walked the Warthogs forward, keeping them at a slow pace through the narrow halls. She slipped off to the side, Montoya dutifully feathering the throttle to keep her covered with the M41 on the back. Her pistol was back in hand again, the crosshair rock steady in practiced hands. "Montoya, light it up." The Marine fumbled with the dash for a moment, before the bright foglights on the front of the Hog lit up, casting the hall in bright white. At the other end, a pair of Ghosts sat unused, a troop of Jackals and Grunts caught out by the Warthog's lamps.
They had been advancing on the Marines rear, hoping to sandwich them against the now dead anti-air unit. The big gun opened up, spewing shells as it lit the area up with fire. Several of the Grunts were shredded outright, one of the Jackals managing to dive out of the way in the nick of time. He hid there as his allies were slaughtered, and Six moved up slowly. The Warthog ceased fire, but the gunner watched, waiting for their target to come back into the open.
A green glow filled the corner, and Six frowned. Her hand went out to have the Warthog stop, but she was too slow. A bright ball of plasma came shooting out of the dark corner, moving too fast for Montoya to react. The ball hit the Warthog dead center, melting the hood and part of the towing assembly. Worst of all, an overcharged plasma pistol acted as an EMP, and completely shorted out the Warthog's internals. Montoya cursed as he lost power, frantically trying to bring it back into working order.
A blue ball lit up, but Six's pistol was on target as the Jackal primed a grenade. Several slugs went down range, plowing into the Jackal. Four hits to the chest finished it off, and it fell to the ground, grenade clutched in its avian like claws. Then the grenade blew, casting a blue light across the tunnel for a moment before it died out. With the Warthog down, the tunnel was once more cast in darkness.
She moved into cover, watching for any more ambushes as her VISR covered the world in a sickly green filter, until the Warthog purred back to life again and lit the area up. "Got it!" Montoya called out to Six, and she moved forward again, slow and steady.
No more Covies were there to meet them, and Six sighed to herself as she opened another door into a second dried lake bed. A massive freighter sat broken in half, hanging partially over into the crevice the artifact sat in.
Several more anti-air Wraiths sat ready in the area, blasting into the sky as their radar analogues caught sight of UNSC air assets. Six ushered the Warthog forward onto the support ramp, leading down to the parched Earth, but one of the Wraiths went up in flames, a wispy trail of smoke coming from off to the left.
Marine forces had broken through, several clutching rocket launchers as another fired, and then a second. The twin rockets snaked through the air at high speed, impacting the remaining Wraith and blowing it to pieces.
Once again gesturing it forward, Six latched onto the side and slid into the passenger seat of the Warthog. "Go! Get us over there!"
The Warthog shot off, the remaining Marines running along the outskirts of the newly made canyon to stay level with the other forces. None of them wanted to be caught out down there in case more vehicles were dropped in.
Six held tight to her battle rifle, the Warthog bouncing over hills and bumps with as much grace as it could. It slid to a stop next to the Marine position, the gunner swiveling and searching the skies or other entrances for more targets.
The Spartan leaped from the seat as the vehicle slid into position. One of the nearest Marines gaped as she came out of the dust cloud the Warthog had kicked up, looking like a fish out of water in front of an angry god.
"Who's your commander?"
The Marine recovered his wits sooner than some would. "C-captain Rhodes, Ma'am. I can take you to him."
"Lead the way, Marine," she answered, and she felt a hint of a smile come to her face as the Marine nearly tripped over himself trying to get away, leading her back into the structure the Marines had come from. He was a replacement. Someone fresh from basic, possibly not even finished before Earth was thrown into the frying pan. Marine regulars, like Montoya and Green, had seen the worst of the war at this point. This poor soul didn't look a day over 18, and he lacked the fortune – or misfortune – to have gone through training as she had.
Her musing went up in smoke, and her smile followed as her boots came to a halt in front of a Marine bearing the double bars of a Captain. He looked up from a sea of tacpads, and she saw the gears working in his head before he spoke.
"Commander, Ma'am. Didn't think we'd run into you out here. Command said you'd be tearing around nearby but didn't give a vector." He straightened to his full height, forgoing a salute but straightening up a little more than he normally would.
Six merely shrugged. "I get around, Captain. You actually beat me to my objective by a few seconds."
The Captain, Rhodes, chuckled. In the low light of the building, having long lost power, Six was finally seeing some of his features. A scar trailed from his chin down until it disappeared into his body armor and fatigues. It was raised and still faintly pink. It had to chafe like hell, but she figured he had bigger things on his mind. "That'll make a fine inscription on my tomb stone, Commander."
Six let her smile grow wider, but it remained hidden from him, much like everyone else, behind the cold visor she wore. "Nothing better, Captain. What's your strength and mission?"
He chewed at his lip, lifting one of the tacpads into his hands and glancing over it. "We've been fighting since before Crow's Nest fell, half strength right now, and even then we're walking wounded. Nearly everybody has taken some hit or another, one of my boys even rolled his damned ankle just outside this door."
"Mission objective was to support Marine forces moving to reduce SPAAA presence, and we got the job done. Sergeant Major Johnson and Commander Keyes have been coordinating things from afar, just got told they're sending in Pelicans to cycle us out and get ready for-"
He was cut off as the radio in his helmet, as well as Six's, went up in static. Johnson's strong tones came through, warning in his voice. "Karma Actual, Noble Six, you've got something inbound. Something big. Dig in tight. Pelicans are waving off, they can't get closer."
Rhodes sounded confused, angry. "What the hell is keeping them away? We got rid of the Wraiths! My men are barely able to move, much less fight through another position!"
Six responded before Johnson could, her voice hard like iron. "A Scarab is inbound, isn't it?"
"Mmhm, one of those big bastards meant solely for fighting, the kind we normally see on the field. It's showing up on ground radar from the Dawn. It'll be right on top of you in a few more minutes."
"Copy, we'll handle it."
"Wha- Sergeant Major! We aren't gonna be able to fight a Scarab! We-"
Johnson's voice sounded from the other end, amusement in his tone despite the situation. "Stick with the Commander. She'll know what to do." The static grew again before cutting out entirely.
Rhodes, growing more and more frustrated, looked at the Spartan. "You have a plan then, Commander?"
Six looked back over her shoulder at him, nodding. "I'll handle it. Have your men get in cover and hold tight with those rockets, hide from the lake bed, and wait for my signal. We'll squash this bug."
She began walking away, Rhodes staring at her retreating back for a moment before issuing orders to those units he still had capable of fighting. Her heavy boots stomped out of the impromptu command center. Already, she could hear the sound of the Scarab's monstrous footfalls, the whine of its legs moving and propelling it on, and every so often, the anti-air plasma battery on its aft end lighting up.
Marines tucked into cover and the Warthog was ushered into hiding beneath the broken remains of a pier, barely able to fit inside. Captain Rhodes had come out of his command center, following the seemingly confident Spartan that had more of a plan than he did. She stopped just short of the marine line, watching up and down it as Marines loaded fresh rocket tubes into their launchers and did what they could for whatever wounds they had.
"Commander, all due respect-" Rhodes was cut off as the helmet twisted to look back at him, and though he couldn't see the emerald eyes behind it, his own reflection in the gold visor sent a chill down his spine. Swallowing, he tried again. "With all due respect, ma'am, we don't have the equipment to take on a Scarab. We need to pull out or what's left of my men will be killed in the fight."
Six turned fully to face him, and though the Captain was a tall man, the Spartan dwarfed him, and he understood what it was like to stand in the shadow of war itself. He would have sworn the air had dropped a few degrees, but the temperature gauge on his tacpad didn't budge. "If we pull out now, that gun stays up. If that gun stays up, we lose our only shot at taking down Truth and the rest of the Covenant. Watch my back, and I'll make sure yours doesn't get burned off."
Six turned away from him, and satisfied with the lines, began running back towards where she had come from with the rest of her small force, ducking back into the darkness that filled the tunnel they used for a path.
Rhodes, left to tend to his men, swore violently enough for several of the Marines to look over at him. He was beginning to hear the faintest sounds that indicated the Scarab baring down on their position, and with his final orders given, he took the time he could to make peace with God.
Marines ducking into cover behind barricades, broken concrete pillars, even a shattered Warthog, did likewise. Some clutched their weapons tightly, believing that they'd be able to do at least something to stave off sudden death. Others were exhausted to the point that they merely sat with backs against their cover, deciding that they'd end up dying anyway and there was no use fretting over it. Their rest would come soon enough. 28 years was a long time, and entire families had disappeared in the hellfire that came from Covenant battlegroups over the years. Some were all that was left of their family, and even more had lost everything, but all of them knew that the end was near. Either the war would end, or they would, and Humanity had long grown accustomed to that train of thought. There was nowhere else to run.
With the ground shaking beneath boots filled with defenders confident and tired alike, the Scarab reared its ugly head over the building that Rhodes had made his own, one of its massive legs punching through and filling the building with dust and debris. The main gun in the Scarab's head shined an angry green in the light of the setting sun, and Brutes covered in the blue power armor of Captains strode atop its back, manning plasma turrets and clutching heavy weapons, even the sight of a lone Chieftain standing out just below the aft mounted anti-air battery. Purple armor glistened as the light hit it, and it passed over the Marine position as if they weren't there.
Some Marines tucked even further into cover, flattening themselves against the dirty concrete in hopes that the Brutes could only see motion, and if they were still enough, things would be okay.
The Scarab pressed out past them, into the open area that the Wraith's still sat smoking in, and stopped. It looked around, ready to end the lot of them, and finally a Brute on its back saw what they had missed. The ape like alien roared, the Scarab drowning it out, and a meaty hand pointed at the Marines. The Scarab came about, the main gun glowing brighter as it powered up, even mid-turn.
Rhodes cursed, and almost keyed his mic to order a retreat, when he heard it.
"This is Noble Six, Karma Actual, fire all tubes at the Scarab's knee joints and displace out of the gun's angle."
Rhodes, hearing the order, gave it. "All rockets, fire, fire everything!"
Flames and smoke coated the area the instant after he gave the order, scorch marks covering the gray concrete as backblast from the rockets hit it, and then again as the second tubes blew. Two dozen rockets lanced out and impacted against the super heavy armor, most striking harmlessly against it, but some met their mark. Joint armor, thinner and more spread out, was blasted apart as the rockets hit home, and one of the joints was collapsed.
The anti-air battery on the aft end of the Scarab began to return fire, as did some of the Brutes on the defensive plasma turrets. Marines scattered like cockroaches and Rhodes was nearly taken out himself by a near miss. He felt the heat wash over him and his skin blistered along his left arm, but he grit his teeth and ran. Another Marine was hit directly by the massive red blast, and simply ceased to exist, not even the outline of his boots left in the melting concrete.
The Scarab went down, a loud alarm blaring repeatedly as it began to take emergency measures and regain its footing. Rhodes spared a glance to his left as another plasma blast missed him, and he saw it.
A single Ghost rocketed out of the tunnel network, a blue clad figure riding it for all it had. The Ghost jinked to the left and hit one of the concrete ramps that had been nothing more than a broken piece of the docks. The purple vehicle took to the air, despite the heavy Spartan riding it, and was discarded at the apex of the leap. The Spartan launched herself from the saddle and came into a roll on the Scarab's back, Brutes moving from the plasma turrets already to deal with her as Rhodes made it to more solid cover.
On the Scarab, things were heating up, and not only because of the anti-air battery's continued fire. A Brute Captain, wielding a plasma rifle, was the first to fall to the point blank fire of a shotgun blast as Noble Six came up from a roll. The weapon had been jammed into his midsection, and his wind was taken before his life was.
Six saw the rest of the Brutes, almost five of them, had moved to engage, with the Chieftain himself coming down as well. Six frowned, pursing her lips, and rather than move away, charged straight at the Brutes that had been guarding the Scarab.
They didn't falter either, and all moved to fire at her. Plasma splashed against her shields and alarms wailed in her ears as she fired again, one Brute taking the buckshot in its face. Its head snapped back as its shields broke, and it went limp before sliding off to the dusty ground below. Another took a second shot with similar results. Six's shields, however, had met their match.
Collapsing with a repeating tone that grated on her ears, two Brutes still stood in defiance of the unwanted visitor. Six felt another hit impact her right chest plate, where the shot on Delta Halo had melted the armor down. More alarms broke out and she felt the heat against her chest even through the heavy armor, but it hadn't completely compromised it yet. She could still fight.
Pumping the shotgun again, she aimed from the hip, but before she fired, a crack went through the air and the Brute went down with a new hole in its head to breathe through. Its compatriot saw the movement out of the corner of its eye, and glanced over to see what had happened, but the gears had only just started to turn when he suffered the same fate.
Six, with a glance back at the Marine position, could see where a trail of vapor through the air led back to a Marine with a sniper rifle, and she nodded in thanks, only for another round to come her way. It passed just over her left shoulder, and she heard a pained roar.
A curse. Her situational awareness had lapsed, even with her motion tracker. Behind her, the Brute Chieftain roared with a hole in its chest, and the wheeze that went through the air indicated it had lost a lung to the high velocity armor piercing round fired by the sniper rifle. It charged at Six, and she realized with a moment of clarity that her motion tracker didn't register it. No dots, not even her own, were on it anymore.
She ducked under the large swing and rolled across the Scarab's hull, coming up as it turned to face her again, and then keeled over, dead. Another crack hit her ears and she realized that the Marine sniper had finished the Brute off with his final round. Wounded or not, one of them was still a sharpshooter with great skill.
She didn't make the same mistake as before, moving quickly for the aft end where the anti-air battery was still blasting away at the Marines. She dropped down to the rear, where more heavy armor covered an open bay like area. Inside, hidden away behind the armor, was the massive orange core that powered the Scarab, composed of the same worms that made up Hunters. Pulling a grenade from her belt, she pulled the pin and held the cap on it, before shoving it into the worms with all her strength. Strong fingers left the grenade in a massive hole that had been punched through, and Six made tracks as she leapt from the back of the Scarab, rising even now as it righted itself.
The gun in the front opened up wide, venting excess plasma as it prepared to fire, and then the grenade blew. A louder warning alarm than before went up, bouncing off of buildings and rock faces alike, and Six ran for the Marines. Long legs and arms pumped furiously as she sprinted for the building, making motions even now back towards them as she ran up the concrete ramp and onto the level where the Marines were scrambling for heavy cover.
She had just barely gotten flat against the ground when she heard the explosion, the shockwave form the Scarab's demise passing over her like a massive hand had just attempted to swat her like a bug. Pieces of purple armor and globs of plasma came down from the sky, most of the survivors trying to not get smashed by whatever was in the air.
Debris was still scattered high in the sky, reaching the apex of their trajectories when Six stood back up, a somewhat incredulous looking Captain Rhodes coming towards her and nursing his left arm.
"You Spartans all like making flashy entrances?" He asked, sliding out of his body armor and pulling his fatigue jacket off to get to the blistered skin beneath.
"Only when we have spectators," she replied, shrugging. Spartans tried to move quickly, without trying to put unnecessary flare into their fights, but it seemed like Six was always in a position to show off. Admittedly, she liked the attention, she had come to realize.
Rhodes snorted, shaking his head as he tore open a package he had pulled from one of his body armor pouches, slathering an amber colored ooze along the blisters that coated his arm. It hardened quickly, cooling his skin and soothing the injury before he shrugged back into his gear. "You did some good work out there, but next time, give me an idea of what you'll be trying? That could have gone wrong on so many levels."
Six shrugged. "Wasn't enough time, and you would have said no."
He started to open his mouth, a protest making its way up his throat, but before the words came out, he knew she was right, and his jaw clicked shut again.
The Spartan tilted her helmet, as if saying 'I told you so', and looked back down the line. "One of your men, a sniper, did half the job for me. Kept me from getting overwhelmed when I overextended."
Rhodes followed her gaze, spotting the Marine in question. "Jones is one of our best. Eyes like a hawk and an arm long enough to touch whatever the hell he wants with that rifle."
Their conversation was cut short, more static sounding in her ear as the comms opened up again. Commander Keyes spoke through it, sounding relieved. "Saw that from here, Six. Nice work down there. I'm sending in a few Pelicans with fresh troopers to cycle out Karma. Keep moving into the next area and it'll be a straight shot to the AA gun. Keyes out."
Six pursed her lips. The Pelicans would be here soon enough, and she wasn't pushing along on her own just yet. Sliding into the factory area that had been turned to rubble by the heavy stomping of the Scarab, she hunkered down and removed her helmet, dust and smoke filling her nostrils as the filters in her helmet left her. She stole into one of her waist pouches, an olive colored package coming from it.
The wrapper was discarded and thrown into the darkness, leaving a chalky looking granola bar that was dense with calories and the nutrients a warfighter needed. As she brought it to her teeth, it snapped off with little force, and found itself being ground up by her teeth in short order. She grimaced at the feeling of the preservative residue sticking to her teeth, and the taste was so bland as to be nonexistent, but it was what she needed. Without proper food, she'd slowly lose fighting strength, and a Spartan could never afford that, but with the way things were going…
She broke her mind away from it, forcing herself through the rest of the bar before pulling a small tube that led into the collar armor and disappeared behind her neck into her mouth. Water, kept cold by the suit's climate control system, was sucked through the tube. It had been recycled more than once at this point, and it tasted stale and left another grimace, but the fact that it was cold was enough for her.
She heard the AA gun firing again in the distance, a rhythmic thump that sounded every few seconds, mingled with the chatter of Human weaponry and the whine of plasma weapons. Her mind, slowing down as her body rested, was drawn once again to what had happened. She frowned, her thoughts clouding with the darkness that surrounded all of Humanity these days.
Dust clung to her pale skin, settling on the raised ridges of a scar on her left cheek, long ago turned white. She ignored it. Prolonged deployments, being treated as more of a gun than a Human, being used to kill your own kind when a genocidal alien menace was burning worlds and billions of people at a time, it all added up to a cocktail of confusion. She didn't understand her emotions, her mental state. She didn't remember what it felt like to have fun, to be happy. She had all but forgotten anything that wasn't exhaustion and what she could only describe as being empty. She remembered a pit of warmth in her gut when she saw Kat on Reach, and then a quickly freezing lump that settled in its place as Noble went dark, and Reach with it.
A woman, beautiful by today's standards, had been ruined by war, by fate, by the urge for revenge. Skin that would have been tanned and black hair that had been made to shine in the sunlight had long ago been ignored, gone pale and flat as they were ignored by necessity or simply irrelevant. Emerald eyes that, in another life, would have twinkled with mirth, surrounded by laugh lines at the corners, were as sharp as steel, but the fire in them had been left a faint ember, worn down by time and loss. Long, toned arms and legs had been made over muscled by the augmentations, marred by scars from the week of surgeries and invasive procedures rather than smooth and lithe. Joints meant to last a life time would be ground down by the constant movement, the heavy weights, the urge to keep moving. By the time she was 40, her joints would be protesting, broken down and long past their prime.
Noble Six let her head rest back against the wall she had hunkered up against, and closed her eyes, if only for a moment. She wanted to sit there and let the war go on without her. She had lived long enough, done enough, why couldn't her fight be over? Hadn't she sacrificed enough of her life, her self, her very being?
With eyes cracking open once again, she knew the answer already. If she didn't carry on, then how could anybody else? Spartans were the best of the best. They would have been scientists, artists, doctors, leaders. With the war, those that were the bright spark of Humanity's core had become child soldiers, damaged and broken by the loss of their childhoods and their innocence. A generation lost to history in every aspect but war. What would happen when the Covenant was gone? Where was the use for damaged super soldiers that knew nothing but war? Would they be cast away, deep into the dark corners of society? A Spartan without a war was near useless.
Six shook her head, grunting as she felt a headache coming on. Outside, she could hear the whine of engines spooling down as Pelicans lowered themselves into courtyards. Shouts of Marines urging their brethren along reached her ears, and with a final sigh, Noble Six slipped her helmet back on, and sealed herself away from those thoughts.
Noble Six, her rest cut short, went back to war.