Author's Note: Time for another reading suggestion. I ended up moving between this chapter and the last, and got stuck without internet for a time. So of course I turned to reading more than writing (shame on me), and came across Thalius. They've written a lot of short material, quite a bit of Fred and Veta Lopis. One thing that stuck out to me with their writing was how well they wrote out Fred and the Spartan IIIs of Gamma Company, and the way their dialogue flows inspired me to better my own. Granted, I've not read any of the books they're involved in past Ghosts of Onyx, so my perception in them was without grounding. Regardless, if you've been looking for some new material in between my own updates, look no further than Thalius' collection of work. Also, bit of a short chapter, but I've got plenty planned for the assault on the Citadel, and I believe it would do better as its own chapter. That's it for now, and thanks for tuning in as always!

The lights set into the ceiling of the Dawn's corridors flashed by, a bright and dark checkerboard that blurred as the Spartan below them moved for the hangar, legs pumping and boots clanging against the steel decking.

Her breath was an easy pattern, despite her moving at what was a full on sprint for any other Human. The golden visor bobbed up and down, arms swinging as her body shifted, her armor amplifying every movement she made a dozen times over.

The black stock of her battle rifle peeked over her shoulder, the magazine in it full and the weapon's display reading a reassuring 36 on it, linking to her helmet's HUD and showing the same. The pistol strapped to her thigh was just as full, ready to send rounds down range at whatever time she deemed it necessary.

The hangar doors split open in front of her before she made it to them, and her stride didn't slow as she spotted the Pelican waiting for her, the crew chief in it standing at the rear gun that hung down from the roof the bay. The weapon looked menacing, three heavy barrels covered in a triangular shroud. It wasn't spinning yet, but it would when the triggers were pulled, and heads would roll when the chief put it to use.

His visor covered half of his face, his eyes hidden behind it as his nose poked from an opening at the bottom of the bulbous, darkened material. His mouth was set in a frown, but his lips parted when he saw the heavily armed and armored Spartan barreling for his craft.

Turning to the side, he opened up more room for the woman to step onboard, and the golden visor bobbed in acknowledgment as she pushed past and into the cockpit. Two pilots went through their checks, the female copilot on the raised rear seat looking over her while the pilot continued the takeoff procedure.

"We didn't expect a Spartan to join us, ma'am."

"It's a little bit of a last minute change, hope you don't mind." She held the bulkhead on either side, standing halfway through it and staring out the view port.

"Never, ma'am. VIP flights are our specialty. Please fasten your seatbelt and prepare for take off, Staff Sergeant Polk will be your flight attendant and will be making the rounds with whatever we fished out of the seats, some real gourmet stuff. We'll take care of you."

She felt a hint of a smile come to her face as the pilot finished his checks, his voice muffled as he contacted Flight Ops. "Dawn, this is Kilo Four One, ready to extract Cartographer forces. We've got a guest, one Lieutenant Commander..." He glanced back, his voice hanging as he looked up and down Morgan's armor with a raised eyebrow.

Flight Ops cut him off, and connected to the Pelican's intercomm, she heard the answer. "The Lieutenant Commander's callsign is still Noble, use it until notified otherwise. Deck is clear and the pattern is yours. Get out there and move quick. Flight Ops out."

With the channel cut, he looked back to the view port. "That's our cue. Lifting off and getting underway, You might wanna find your seat, or kick the Sarge off his gun."

Morgan didn't respond, but she did step back through the door and shut it behind her, the voice switching to the intercomm system. "Sugar, watch for radar pings, set for twenty miles."

The female copilot eased into it without any problems, her voice set in that calm tone that pilots alwasy seemed to have when getting ready for battle. "Rog, master arm on, countermeasures set for pattern two. Radar scanning two bars, surface to angels 10, 20 klicks. Your show for now, Spice."

Morgan tuned the two pilots out, the Pelican shifting beneath her as it lifted off of the deck and pushed out of the hangar. A gust of air coming off of the Dawn's hull buffeted it, but the pair didn't miss a beat. The crew chief, at the gun, glanced back over his shoulder as he absorbed the movements, his knees bending and straightening as he moved himself.

"You want the gun?" He called out, his microphone grabbing his voice as the open bay door was filled with gusting wind and the thruster wash the engines gave off.

Her helmet shook, and she held her hand up. "Negative, Staff. This is your ship, I'm just along for the ride. If you need me, I'll be here to protect you."

It was a half joke. She would take his place in an instant if they took fire that put him at harm's risk. He smiled at her from under the half visor, an upward jerk of his chin finishing the conversation as he turned back to watch over the barrel and the shrinking Forward Unto Dawn.

Morgan sat in one of the bench seats, green eyes taking in the red stains that covered the decking. Even with the blood being washed away after every trip the Pelican made, some of it made it through the other side, staining the metal over the craft's life. Some looked fresher than others.

She pulled her battle rifle from her shoulder, readying it as she cradled it in her arms. She would hit the ground running if she needed to.

The Pelican turned and banked, the thrusters whining as more power was fed into them. The back and forth of the two pilots increased in frequency. "Getting hits on the radar, and the LIDAR is painting… two ship formation, Phantoms. Times three Banshee escort. Viper missiles searching… locked on three. They're beaming."

"Copy all, Sugar. Fire at will."

"Fox, Fox, Fox." The sound of three ASM-200 Vipers igniting their engines and leaving the rocket pods slung under the Pelican's stubby wings sounded through the Pelican's hull. Morgan heard the hiss, able to detect each individual launch, despite the three of them going at the same time.

The Pelican rocked and banked, dropping altitude before it stabilized again, skimming the dusty ground before it nosed up along the structure the Cartographer strike team had gone through. "Splash three Banshees. Phantom signatures aren't on my screens anymore."

"Keep an eye out. I'll reach for Hocus."

There was a click as Spice switched frequencies, one that Morgan followed. "Hocus, you read me?"

The deep drawl of the pilot Morgan had run into multiple times now sounded loud and clear. "Affirm, Spice. They send you out for backup?"

"Someone's gotta watch your back and Sugar'd never let me live it down if you went and got splashed with us nearby. 'Sides, commander is sending plus one Sierra to break out Jolly Green."

The banter between the flight crews was easy going and filled with jokes and jabs, despite the situation they were all in. Far from home, stuck on an alien megastructure, the threat of galactic extinction looming, and they were cracking jokes?

Morgan shook her head ever so slightly, but she had a hint of a smile on her face. The Pelican shifted beneath her boots, the craft rolling and pitching as it changed its vector.

"Commander's already looking to get back into the thick of it?"

"Rog, Keyes sent her our way almost immediately after the armor loaded back up."

Hocus's chuckle filtered through, a hint of static overlaying her accent. "Sounds about right. I've got you on datalink, Spice. Take up loose right and follow me in. Those Phantoms can't have bugged out completely if they know what's going on. Chief's said they've got an entire pack of Brutes in there. Think they'll slow him down?"

"I don't think so Hocus, and before you ask, I've never been much of a betting man."

A tsking sound. "You've always been a buzzkill though."

The Pelican shifted again, angling to the right as it met up with Hocus in the other transport. The two craft picked up speed, the area outside of the rear bay swirling by faster and faster. Jet wash increased in volume as more power was fed from the powerplants and the wind outside was whipped into a frenzy around the air frame.

Morgan eased her grip on the rifle, lest she squeeze it to pieces, and her finger started drumming against the trigger guard as she waited.

Hocus' voice sounded in her helmet again, calm and serious. "Times two Phantoms, not far from the Chief's transponder. We've got this one, Spice."

Another voice, likely from Hocus' copilot. "Locked. Fox out."

The shriek of a pair of missiles firing from the launch tubes on the other bird filled the bay, two puffs of exhaust getting left behind, and there was no more sound until several seconds later, twin thunderclaps passed over the Pelican.

"Splash two Phantoms. Sky is clear for now. Go, go, go."

Hocus led the way into the drop zone, and within seconds the Pelican Morgan stood in rotated as if hovering, and slowed to a stop with the rear bay facing towards the Cartographer. She could see spiker rounds and plasma fire crisscrossing the distance between the Covenant position below and the Chief hunkered behind a steel berm. The rest of the Elite team he had gone in with were doing likewise, several armed with carbines and plasma rifles trading with the Brutes. Half a dozen Brute corpses already littered the area, and Morgan flashed her green status light as soon as she was in range.

Another winked on as the gun that hung from the bay's ceiling began to turn and spit flames, Polk holding down the trigger and adding to the mix. Another roar off to the left, where Hocus hovered, increased the din of fire. Staccato cracks, sharp coughs, and deep roars drowned out all sound against the whine of plasma rifles and the chattering of spikers.

Shouldering the rifle, Morgan took aim and started firing into the enemy line. Several Brutes in the blue of minors and the gold of captains shifted their sights to her, and she kept firing to keep their heads down. Several more Brutes joined the fray soon after, equipped with jump packs, and the fighting got even more chaotic.

It was time to join the fight properly. Stepping forward and without a word, she leaped from the Pelican, the craft shifting violently under so much force. She could hear Polk's confused questioning and the cursing of Spice trying to maintain control with such a sudden shift, but it wasn't important.

Directly below her, a Brute had just launched into the air, the twin thrusters on his pack still belching fire and dirty smoke, when the Spartan came down on him with enough force to stop his momentum and drive him back down into the ground. Landing, there was a sickly snap and the crackle of runaway electricity as the thrusters were damaged, shutting off immediately.

Standing from the downed Brute, she shouldered her rifle again and pulled the trigger, side stepping to the right to get into cover even as she kept up the fire. The suppression wasn't doing much, though, and she was still taking hits, her shields going from a low whine to a shrieking blare.

They popped, leaving her exposed the moment she got to cover and sank into the crevice. With her back against the low wall, she glanced back at the strike team, meeting the eyes of an Elite clad in red armor, four mandibles spread slightly as he saw another demon do what they did best.

To the left, the Master Chief's golden visor reflected her, and he had only spared her a glance when he saw the wild yellow arcs of electricity arc across her shield emitters, and seeing she hadn't been hit, his eyes went back to the fight at hand, assault rifle chattering in its nonstop conversation with the enemy.

Looking up, she saw the two Pelicans slowly shifting from side to side to prevent making their rear gunners too much of a target. Polk was hunkered down behind his gunshield, making himself as small as he could. On the other Pelican, she saw the familiar form of Sergeant Major Johnson, cigar clamped between shining white teeth, shuddering against the recoil of the heavy gun.

The cigar in Johnson's mouth dropped, disappearing into the sea of brass shell casings at his feet. "Look alive, chieftain inbound. Focus fire."

"On it, Sergeant Major." Polk's answering call was cool and to the point, and with her shielding recharged, Morgan poked over with the stock of her battle rifle resting against the cover she had taken as her own.

On the opposite side of the battleground, a chieftain in black and red armor sprinted out of the doorway that the strike team had likely taken, a gravity hammer held tightly in two massive hands. She felt a frown tug at her face, but that didn't slow her down.

She squeezed the trigger, again and again, and watched as the rounds bounced off of the chieftain's powerful shielding. More hits sparkled across the white barrier, the heavy shot from the twin machine guns on the Pelicans weren't doing much either, it seemed, and the chieftain was only growing faster as he covered the distance, ready to take the heads of Demons and the treacherous Sangheilli alike.

A luminescent blue plasma grenade flew through the air off to her left, catching her eye, and she watched as it sailed past, ready to stick to the massive Brute, when it did something she didn't expect.

The gravity hammer ignited in a flash of blue, coming down in a vicious swing that impacted the ground hard enough for the Spartan to feel it under her boots, and the force of the weapon's gravity manipulator was enough to send the grenade careening back to where it had come from.

It landed behind the cover where one of the Elites had hunkered down, and by then, it was too late for him to evade. In a flash of blue, the Elite disappeared and came out the other side as little more than burned chunks. One of the other Elites, clad in the dark black of a special operations trooper, roared in anger before unloading with his carbine, the rounds pinging off of the chieftain's shields.

This was getting out of hand fast, and they were running out of space between the chieftain and themselves, and with the majority of their fire focused on him, the other Brutes were following close behind and closing the distance.

"Hocus, we're gonna need something a little heavier, please." She called out, and almost immediately, she saw the Pelican swiveling about, Johnson disappearing as it turned far enough.

The woman on the other end didn't respond, but as the ship nosed around, the chin gun on the underside rotated and found an angle, locking onto the chieftain and shifting as the copilot got ready to tear him apart.

It sounded like a drum being beat by the hand of an angry god, the 70mm auto cannon spitting depleted uranium slugs at a high rate of fire, landing all around the Brute as the fire control system attempted to compensate for the weapon's power. One shell hit, eventually, hitting the Brute in the shoulder and spinning him around, taking him down to the ground as the shell skittered away and across the ground in a puff of dust.

That wasn't the end of it, however, and while Morgan shifted targets to keep the rest of the pack at a distance, she saw the Brute tuck and roll, coming up with a pained roar. His shields hadn't popped, but he had felt that.

Cursing, Morgan stood and began to fall back, turning completely to get all of her speed, and she felt several rounds hit her in the back, nearly stumbling her. Her shields whined loudly in her ear at the stress they were taking, but she made it to the line where the rest had hunkered down, only a dozen feet from the edge of the platform and a fall that would likely kill even a Spartan.

The chieftain had continued on, hit again, and again, but his shields flared a bright white, and held against even concentrated fire. He had slowed, jumping to the left and right to throw off the Pelican's fire, but he was still closing faster than she liked.

To her right, the Master Chief sat ready, rifle barking with each shot he took, calmly reloading and shifting targets when another Brute went down, as if he wasn't worried in the slightest. She kept up her own fire, putting a burst through a jump pack Brute's skull and sending it careening over the edge and into the waterfalls below.

"Hocus? He's still coming!" She called out, the hair on the back of her neck standing wherever it could as the Brute bared down even harder on them.

"He's a tough bastard. Spice, you wanna get in on this? No more air contacts to worry about. Dawn's datalink isn't showing anything."

"You got it. Sugar, prep AGMs."

"Yeah boss."

The other Pelican rotated on its axis, the 40mm chin gun it was equipped with spinning up and opening fire on the Brutes in the back, sounding like paper being ripped apart as clouds of dust began to kick up in their line. At least one Brute was torn in half by the withering barrage, but what stole the show was the sound of two Anvil missiles popping free of their launchers in a shriek and riding a cone of fire down to the ground.

Time slowed down as Morgan's eyes honed in on the pair of missiles. One of them missed, barely, and hit just behind the chieftain. It stumbled, and tucked into a roll again, ready to come up and continue pressing them, when the second missile struck home. It hit the chieftain almost directly, covering him in a flash of light and fire so quickly that even she didn't see his demise. When the smoke cleared and time sped back up, the chieftain was little more than a black streak on the ground, carbon scoring having wiped him from existence.

The rest of the Brutes, without their pack leader, roared and started to charge. Retreating would have them killed by their pack, and charging the Humans and their Sangheilli allies would ensure their own Great Journey was fulfilled, if not providing the death of one of the hated Demons.

It was wishful thinking at best, as the twin chin turrets on the Pelicans finished them all of with little fanfare, and the Cartographer finally fell silent as the last echoes of gunfire drifted into the void that surrounded them.

Morgan stood from where she had hidden behind her cover, battle rifle held at loose ready as the nearly spent magazine was ejected and another was slammed home, smoke wafting from the barrel and the open bolt before she snapped it forward and readied another round.

She let herself take a moment to come down from the combat high, the blood thundering in her ears slowly subsiding as she took a deep breath, before letting it out. To her right, the Master Chief stood, turning to her and making his way over.

She turned to face him, the comm link between them still active and strong. "Master Chief, what'd you find here?"

"Truth."

It was short and sweet, but not what she was looking for. "Explain."

"Truth has holed himself up in an area closer to the Ark's core, Spark says he set a barrier in place that we can't break. We'll have to capture sets of barrier control rooms to lower it."

Morgan pursed her lips, her mouth becoming little more than a dark line on pale skin. Things had gotten complicated, but they would figure it out. Nodding to the older Spartan, she opened a new channel. "Dawn Actual, this is Noble."

Keyes' voice crackled through the speaker. "This is Dawn Actual, go ahead."

"Cartographer has been found and scanned, and the Master Chief and his strike team will be boarding Pelicans to return to the Dawn. ETA no more than 15."

"Good work, Noble. Bring the Chief to the bridge when you've returned. Dawn out."

With the channel cut on the other end, she looked up towards the Pelicans, slowly lowering to the ground with their bays having turned back towards the ground forces. Staff Sergeant Polk could be seen muttering directions into his microphone, talking Spice down to the deck. In the other bird, Johnson was lighting another cigar, the lines in his face showing slight irritation, but he walked back into the bay and took a seat, sinking into the crash seats in a way that showed his age.

Hocus' bird was the first on the deck, and Morgan waved to the Chief before gesturing to it. The rest of the Elites split into two groups, with the Arbiter and half his force going to the other Pelican.

Stepping into the blood tray of Hocus Pocus, she made for the cockpit. "You get that, Hocus?"

The woman turned from the pilot's seat, fingers still manipulating the controls without looking. "Yes'm. Back to Dawn ricky tick and keep my ears open."

"You got it. Take us home." She shut the cockpit door, sliding into the seat closest to the bulkhead, and directly opposite from Johnson. The Master Chief stood at the open bay, hand latched onto one of the overhead handholds and visor watching as the ground fell away with Hocus feeding power into the engines.

The cherry of Johnson's cigar flared brightly for a moment before dropping back into hiding amongst the newly made ash. Smoke wafted out from around either side of the cigar, teeth clamped down on it to keep it in place. His dark eyes shifted up when he saw the golden visor staring straight at him, pulling the cigar from his teeth.

Smoke came out in puffs as he spoke. "See something you like?" Several of the Elites looked over, the smell of the smoke irritating their enhanced senses.

Morgan tilted her head ever so slightly, but she had become close enough to Johnson to be able to speak a little more candidly around him. Well, close being a relative term. "The fire stick makes pretty colors," she deadpanned.

He chuckled softly, holding it out to her, only to see her hand come up and shake in a negative manner. What he didn't see was her nose wrinkling. She had smelled them before, during her time with ONI, and she had grown to hate the smell of any type of burning tobacco, synthetic or otherwise.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself then."

"How you can stand the stench alone, I'll never know."

He raised an eyebrow, before glancing down at the cigar still held tightly in his fingers. Taking another drag, he held it for a moment before letting it out, snuffing the ember at the tip out and sticking it back into one of the pouches on his armor. "You get used to it."

A snort. "I don't think it would be worth it, Sergeant Major."

He gave her a smile, mangled and deformed as it tried to form around the cigar, but a hint of light in his dark eyes showed it was genuine. "It's not, but too late to quit now."

She shook her head ever so slightly. "Maybe."

The conversation padded off, and he pulled on it once more before crushing the end and hiding it away again. The smoke wafted in dark curls around the front of the bay, lazy circles floating around and dissipating moments later.

Another voice cut in, belonging to Hocus. "Contacts! All around us!"

The mechanical voice of 343 Guilty Spark was quick to stop her. "No! Please do not shoot! These units have a priority task!"

Morgan stood from her seat, pushing into the cockpit to get a visual. Hocus glanced back quickly, enough to register whoever had entered, before turning back to the canopy. A massive swarm of Sentinels had appeared, surrounding the two Pelicans. "Oh yeah? What in the hell would that be?"

"I can't be sure for certain, but if you could get me to a terminal, perhaps closer to the core-"

Morgan's words stopped him. They were too close, and things were on a razor thin edge. "No. We need to stop Truth, stop the firing of the rings. At any cost. Hocus, get us moving."

The other woman looked back again, her gaze staying on the Spartan for another moment before her exposed lips set into a grim line, one of determination. "Aye ma'am."

The Sentinels that had flooded the canopy drifted off to the right as the Pelican turned, engines pushing hard against gravity as the Pelican took to the skies and set out on a return path to the Forward Unto Dawn.

Commander Miranda Keyes crossed her arms, her weight put on her right leg as she leaned back and cocked her hip, a position that didn't exactly comfort her, but with everything going on, her restless energy needed an outlet.

"This is everything you managed to grab?" Her head turned, looking across the figures of Sergeant Major Johnson, Morgan-B312, and John-117, the green armored Spartan standing stock still as the other two followed her with their heads. Her eyes locked onto the ever moving form of 343 Guilty Spark, blue eye humming.

"Not everything, but the important parts. The method to take down the barriers the Meddler has erected and where to do it. The Citadel will likely be where he has taken shelter."

"What's stopping us from glassing the place then?"

The orb turned quickly, as if alarmed. "No! The shield has fully enclosed the Citadel, and even should you manage to penetrate the shielding after prolonged firing, low though the chances are, the defenses will activate, and even your strongest ship will be destroyed!"

Keyes frowned, sighing. "I guess that's out of the question. So we'll have to fight them on the ground?"

Spark bobbed, almost too giddy for the Commander's liking. "Yes!"

She wanted to roll her eyes, but stopped herself. Spark was undoubtedly useful, but that didn't mean she didn't like it. Something about the orb was… unsettling. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she had no doubt the others felt the same way, but she couldn't voice those concerns. Not yet at least.

"Put the data up on the holotable, specifically where we need to be. Overlay it with scans from one of the Sangheilli ships still in orbit, see if we can't get a plan set into place."

The monitor bobbed again, and the holotable came to life with full color details, showing a cliffside along a beach with several winding paths into the cliffs nearby, a massive blue shield that climbed several hundred feet into the air before disappearing, and three monolithic towers.

Keyes took a look at it, and after a few moments, an ensign called out that the orbital scans had come in. Several red markers popped into existence on the table, before forming into rough shapes. Several AA Wraiths and blobs indicating infantry forces settled into place, jumping every few seconds as the scans updated.

"These towers, those are what house the control units for the barrier?"

"Yes! They will be heavily defended by the Meddler, but I have seen no interior defenses by my makers. Strange… but ultimately it will facilitate our goal."

Nodding, Miranda pressed her fingers into the three towers she saw, turning them a hostile red. "Anything else?"

The sphere shook to the left and right. "No. This is a workable plan, but crude. We must move quickly, however, for I fear he may have means to activate the array."

Keyes frowned, but she couldn't do anything more than give her orders. Turning to the others, she spoke, voice filled with determination. "Chief, you'll be leading one Marine force to the easternmost tower. After deactivating the tower you'll move to the center and help deactivate it if it hasn't fallen, and it'll be a martialing point for the ground assault to the Citadel."

Looking at Johnson, he crossed his arms. "Johnson, you'll be leading the assault on the central tower and prepping the ground forces when they arrive. We'll shuttled them in via Pelican when you've dropped the towers. The Commander will be deploying with you, I need a Spartan on both teams. The Elites will be taking the western tower with the Arbiter and a full squad of their special operations forces leading the way."

The orders had been cut, given to their executors, and now Keyes' hands were tied. All that was left to do would be to carry it all out. One final push, and everything would be over. They only had one shot at this, and their time was running thin.

"Go, select your men, prep your gear, make sure you've got plenty of ammo. Our transit time is half an hour before we're in range of the Wraiths. You'll deploy then.

A chorus of affirmatives followed, and both Spartans turned on their heels and left. Johnson kept his eyes on her, the dark orbs looking into her own for a moment before he wordlessly pulled a cigar from his pouch and stuck it between his teeth. Then, he turned and followed the other two out.

Keyes felt uneasy already. That last look had held many words, all of them unspoken, but she couldn't ask about it now. There were more pressing matters, and she trusted those she had selected as ground commanders. They would get the job done. If they couldn't do it, then the war had already been lost.