"Masterlock, this is Spooky. We've found something. Messages to a 'Reclaimer', begging for… forgiveness… must be earned. Wait one. 'Atonement' is repeated again and again… it cut out. I think we've- no. It's warning us. Binary. Can we- Oh shit!" -Sound of several gunshots, screams, before signal cuts-
- ONI Recon Team Spooky, final broadcast, immediately prior to the fall of the Citadel's Shield, December 13th, 2552. Forward Unto Dawn comms logs [CLASSIFIED]
Morgan checked the shotgun in her hands again, racking the slide and working in the oil she had applied during its disassembly and stripping only a few moments before. Several ammunition pouches on her belt were filled with shotgun shells. Slugs, buckshot, flechettes, anything she could find to make the weapon last. Even the shell rack on her chest armor was filled to the brim with more buckshot.
Her battle rifle lay on the table, already completed and ready for battle. Several spare magazines filled an extra ammunition pouch that sat on her thighs, ready to feed into the rifle as soon as it ran dry. The scope was calibrated, the electronics were tested and working, and the rifle had been certified not only by her, but the Master Gunnery Sergeant himself.
He stood off to the side, prepping more weapons and ammo, but glanced over every now and again. All of the Marines had been sent more gear and whatever they would need, but he had been left to continue his work, never completely out of things to do. Watching a Spartan work, however, was something very few got to see without being in the middle of the battlefield.
The smell of gun oil filled the air, and while her helmet filters had kept it away, Master Guns had long ago learned to love it, the almost fruity smell of that particular brand hanging in his nostrils. When the shotgun slid across her backplate and attached with the click that came from the stock sticking to the titanium, he turned completely and leaned back against the table he had been working at.
She heard the brush of fabric from his uniform, the rustle of body armor sliding over it as he slid against the table, arms crossed. Her helmet turned, catching sight of him over the large shoulder plate she wore. Even while she grabbed the BR55 from where it lay, she held it up for a moment before pulling it against her chest. "Thanks for making sure it's ready."
He pursed his lips and held his hand up, shaking his head ever so slightly. "Don't worry about it. Keeps me busy. 'Sides, you need the best with what we're all going into. After you and the rest leave the ship, I won't be in here anyway. Ship's already prepping for general quarters."
She frowned. "They won't get on the ship. Not with the Intent close by."
Master Guns shrugged. "Can't be too careful. Stopped leaving things to chance a long time ago. We should have been safe on the Cairo, but..." another shrug, and Morgan knew what he was getting at.
"Point taken."
The conversation closed, and silence filled the air between them. Tension on the ship had grown stronger as the trip from the Cartographer had gone on, everybody busy readying for the next fight or making sure they were able to make it there. It could be cut with a knife.
Finally, Morgan nodded slowly, almost to herself, and her visor met him again. "You better be here when I get back. I'm gonna need someone to fix my armor."
A hint of a smile flickered across the gruff face, and he made a show of rolling his eyes. "You mess up my armor and you'll wish you hadn't come back." He held his hand out to her and she took it, shaking it as firmly as she could without hurting him. "Stay safe, Commander. Be awful quiet around here without you."
"Likewise, Guns. I'll keep you busy," she promised, her own lips forming into a shallow smile behind the polarized faceplate.
"Get outta here. I got more work to do, and so do you." He kept his arms crossed for a second, before standing and giving her a salute, one she returned without a moment's hesitation.
Then the war called, and she dropped her hand. She left without another word. The Master Gunnery Sergeant had been a familiar face, one she could get along with, trust even, and she dare not think of what it would be like if she returned to a damaged ship and he was gone.
You know it's never that simple. They got to us. What makes you think they won't get him?
The Slavic accent had once been one she welcomed, missed even, but the intrusions in her mind now were unwelcome. Morgan frowned deeply, her grip tightening on the pistol grip of the battle rifle. She didn't deign to answer.
Kat had always been a cynic, and even in death, it stung her. She wanted to remember the woman, and the rest of Noble, but with her sister's voice ringing in the confines of her mind, it felt like all they were trying to do was drag her down.
You don't like me anymore, Morgan?
Her name had an acidic tone to it, as if Kat's ghost was mocking her. A headache was coming on, one that pounded with every syllable from the dead woman's mouth. "Not now, Kat," she growled into the helmet.
Why not now? You don't have time for me? So much time apart and now we're together forever, just you, and me.
Kat's words unnerved her, and she shook her head, pushing on quicker. The hangar bay with the Pelicans and their constant noise would drown her sister out. Only a little while longer.
Ignoring me won't help you. It didn't before, and it won't now.
It would. Morgan would make sure of it. Her mind told her what it was. Her sister was dead, and so were the others. They couldn't do anything to her now. Kat couldn't hold her back or drag her down. Carter, wherever he was, needed to get a handle on his XO once again. But, even were Carter here to add his voice to hers, she knew that Kat would come out on top.
Jorge's words rang in her ears again. She's always had him dialed in.
Kat's voice had left an acrid taste in her mouth. Her sister was being tainted by her own emotional state, a shattered mind held together by the rush of the next mission, by the duty that drew her to it, and while she could, she wouldn't blame the dead for her own weakness. Nothing was ever that easy, and she wouldn't take the easy way out regardless.
Things had been easier when she was alone. The quiet, the lack of worrying about casualties friendly or otherwise, being able to move on her own-
With a start, she realized she had been falling back to the old ways, before meeting Noble. Was she really that damaged? That she was willing to throw away everything that had come from them in that month, as bad as it was? That she was willing to rid herself of her reunion with Kat? Of what had been formed with Jorge, Carter, Jun, even Emile?
A hand came up to her chest armor, resting over the place where her tags – as well as Jorge's and Emile's – lay secure against her chest, under the tech suit. No. She didn't want to. She had grown to love them all in her own way, even if she had never shown them more than a rare genuine smile or laugh under the dark clouds that had spread across Reach's surface.
The world came back to her with a flash of amber. The status light in her HUD that had belonged to the Master Chief was now lit up, and she whipped around to see he had been standing behind her. How long had he been there?
His visor reflected her, tinted gold in the bright white lights of the ship's corridors. A battle rifle hung from his right arm, and the stock of a massive Spartan laser peeked over his shoulder. The light had gone out, but it winked on again, for just a moment.
Are you alright?
Without thinking, she flashed the green status light, and was conflicted on it immediately. No. She wasn't alright, but there were no other options. What would come of making him think she was a liability on possibly the biggest operation of the war, the 'make it or break it'? Nothing but a Spartan being left behind when she was needed most.
The unyielding gaze of the older Spartan bore into her like hot plasma, and she felt the weight of his stare on her shoulders. He was the only other Spartan classified as 'hyper lethal', and likely one of the last remaining Spartan IIs, as far as she knew. Quite possibly the last of his kind. They were more alike than she would have thought. Both of them had lost nearly all of their brothers and sisters, the IIs lost to attrition over the last two and a half decades, and almost all of the Beta Company IIIs in a suicide mission that she had only learned about long after its completion.
She kept diving back into her thoughts, as if to escape from the world for just a moment, but Kat dwelled there, waiting for her to let her guard down and seep into her mind once again. She nearly shook her head, but stopped herself. "I'm fine."
The gravely voice that answered was one not entirely certain. "Something on your mind?"
She hesitated for a second. He understood this, how it felt to suffer through loss after loss and keep moving despite how shitty it felt. But the whole story was something for another time, when it wasn't so precious. "Jorge, the others." She would be lying if she told anyone that she had gotten over them.
His olive colored helmet tilted slightly, but he nodded after a moment. "He was something, wasn't he?" The Chief didn't know the rest, not like she had. But he knew Jorge. Jorge was his brother before she was even born, and the big man's original declaration as MIA had likely cut him deep, even if he had grown accustomed to it.
Morgan nodded, her mouth dry and her lips stuck together. She parted them, licking at them in an attempt to form words. "He was. He was always so confident, so sure of things." Her memory flashed back to his resolve being set in stone on that Covenant ship, already tearing his tags off and hoisting her into the air to send her on her way. He had been sure of it all, of his death, long before she had even known what he was doing. Jorge had been old, scarred and broken, and her thoughts used the word tired. Was this how he felt?
"He never changed." A low chuckle that she almost didn't catch. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"What do you mean?"
"He was on the friendlier side, always sympathetic to us when we needed it, but he was a mountain when he made his mind up. There was no budging him."
Don't deny me this.
A pang shot through her at some of his last words. "No… no there wasn't."
The Master Chief noticed the hesitation, but said nothing. Morgan frowned underneath her helmet. His hand came up, gesturing past her, towards the hangar bay. They had very little time left before launch, and they needed to be there early. She took the way out quickly, turning from him and stepping off, followed close behind by the bigger Spartan.
They walked in silence, the moment between them gone. The Master Chief wasn't a man of many words, and despite her tendency for chattiness, she could respect that. She was even thankful for it. It was all the benefits of being both alone and not alone at the same time with none of the cons.
But she was all too aware of the sound of their boots on the decking, of the scent of her armor and stale sweat, of her tempo in breathing. It irked her more than it ever did before, almost like it had faded away into the background for a time and now it was back, just like Kat was.
She blinked, clearing her head. Not again.
The doors to the hangar bay stood in front of them, barring their path, but it seemed to think better than to try and stop them, as it slid open with a hiss on their approach.
The hangar was alive with activity. Pelicans were spooled up with troopers finding their birds, deck crew carting ammunition and fuel around on hand trucks and larger movers, and pilots went through start up procedures and checklists for the dozenth time. Nerves were on edge and the air was charged as if a storm had broken out that none of them could see, but all of them could feel. Marines in their green armor loaded up, and ODSTs in their black followed suit, with the two Spartans only adding to it all. Eyes came up from their tasks in alternating sets, most still not used to seeing the fruits of the UNSC's darkest labors in the flesh.
They had stopped at the edge of the bay, and together they looked at each other, sharing glances, and the Master Chief dipped his head in a nod to her. She returned it, her green light winking on as she sent it his way. It was a reassurance, one that didn't require words. He sent one back, and his golden visor left hers, with nothing but his back to look at as he sought out a Pelican.
She frowned slightly, her eyes looking through the assortment of Pelicans that sat waiting, engines hissing and whining. She would be with Hocus again, a pilot she trusted to get her in and out of the field without having to bail out of a flaming wreck.
Hocus Pocus sat off to the left, and would be one of the first to deploy from the bay. It sat next to the bulky, mutated form of a Pelican Gunship, and she looked the gunship over as she passed it by and moved into the bay of her transport. The door to the cockpit was open, and inside she saw Hocus' back, the woman hunched over the control panel with her arms moving across it and prepping it.
Morgan's steps grew loud, deliberately trying to catch Hocus' attention, and the woman glanced up for a moment. "Commander," she greeted, voice low as she turned back to the controls.
Stepping through the door, the copilot came into view on the left, and looked over at the Spartan as well, giving the same greeting as Hocus did, before Morgan turned to the pilot.
"You good, Hocus?"
A snort. "Cold as ice, ma'am, just going through it all again. Sure don't wanna miss nothin'."
"No, no. It'll be hairy flying in with those Wraiths up. You gonna stay cold when the air gets hot?"
Hocus finished the section she was working on, turning back a bit more with what could have been a raised eyebrow. "You come for a pep talk?"
Morgan smiled slightly behind her helmet as the woman's accent fell across her ears more fully. "Maybe. If you get scared I can get us there."
A crooked grin crossed the pilot's face, but her eyes remained hidden behind the visor she wore on her helmet, always in the down position. "Not on your life. She's a tough bird to fly, and she'll claw at you if you don't treat her right."
"Let's hope you're in the generous mood then." Morgan's smile lowered, and she changed topics. "You look over the drop zone?"
Hocus' mouth did the same, little more than a line in her face. "Yeah, right on the edge of the water, 'bout a mile east and hidden behind the cliffside it's on. Supposed to be a path through the rock to get up to the platform on it. I'd get ya closer, but..." She shrugged. "It's a bit more open than tower three and the Wraiths are in some heavy fighting positions. Keyes' said there might be fixed wing support but given how heavy the defenses are, don't count on it."
Morgan frowned. "I'm not, much as I'd like to."
"Me neither, makes for a nice surprise when they do show up." Hocus' smile flashed back into place for a moment, but she gestured to the cockpit panel. "I'm gonna run through this again, and we should be ready for departure not long after."
The Spartan nodded, turning away and moving back into the bay where the crew chief had boarded, making sure the gun hanging from the ceiling was mounted properly and armed. He didn't look up from his work, and Morgan made her way to the rear of the bay, sinking into one of the seats directly adjacent to the ramp. The crew chief looked up then, but didn't spend much time, other than greeting her with another "ma'am."
She nodded to him, but didn't say anything. The next person to join her on the Pelican was Johnson, any hint of joking or merriment gone from how he had been when they had first met on the Cairo. He seemed to have aged a decade since then, and he looked tired. She understood that, she felt that. But she couldn't say that to him. Not now, not to anyone really. They had both seen too much, with what happened on Halo, and likely the encounters with the Flood. A tinge of gray was starting to creep in at the bottom of his sideburns, and a hint of shade had grown in around his cheeks and jaw. A set of bags hung below his eyes, and they didn't have the spark she'd learned to associate with him in them.
He looked over, noticing her visor pointed squarely at him, before it seemed to flare back to life. The spark was in his eyes again, and he saw a hint of a smile. It took some of the years off of him, almost, and despite not knowing he had, he had locked eyes with her, even through the visor. The brim of his patrol cap covered most of his face, but it was there. She felt something she couldn't describe, as if it was a breath of fresh air.
What was this? Johnson had always been friendly to her, despite the stigma that surrounded Spartans. Stacker, the Master Gunnery Sergeant, Hocus, all of them had given her the time of day without that aura of distrust or disgust. None of them saw her as a robot or anything other than simply Human. But Johnson had been one of the first non-Spartans to be as open with her as he had been. She hadn't seen his interactions with the Master Chief, but she had no doubt he was the same with the other Spartan.
She nodded to him, and he nodded back, his eyes disappearing behind the visor of his patrol cap before he broke off from the gaze they had shared. Whatever it was that had been there in the black man's eyes stayed there this time as he pulled the battle rifle on his back into his arms and crossed them around the pistol grip and the stock before sitting back and settling in.
But then the relative silence of their little moment was taken away by new entrants, Marines clad in green armor stepped up the ramp and found their seats, talking animatedly to themselves before they all noticed the Spartan, watching them quietly. One swallowed as he sat across from her in the second seat over. "Ma'am." The Australian accent was thick, noticeable even in the basics of the words his lips formed.
"Corporal," she returned, her voice neutral through the armor's speakers. The other three Marines that had filed on with him were silent, none of them looking in a way that met her eyes, but more like stealing glances. All of them were privates, save for the Australian, and Johnson sat watching on the opposite end of the bay from beneath his cap's visor.
Sharing a look with the Australian, Morgan eventually broke it and looked out the window again as the Marines began chattering quietly among themselves, not thinking she would hear them, but whatever she heard, she ignored.
In the distance, she saw the Master Chief in another Pelican, sitting just as she was but with his arms on his knees keeping him held up. Several ODSTs sat with him, but one had his helmet off, and she could see it was Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Stacker. He didn't look over at her, busy talking with the other troopers in his bird. She frowned slightly. Would he survive this fight like he had survived Earth, Halo, and all the rest? Johnson and Keyes had, but it wasn't like it mattered that just because they survived one thing, they would survive another, and this was the end of the war. This would be the hardest nut to crack, the final nail in the coffin. She had a feeling that it wouldn't just be the Covenant's coffin being nailed shut, but the coffins for more than a few of the men and women moving out to assault the Citadel.
But if there was anything stopping them from leaving the ship now, it was too late to stop. The lights in the hangar bay turned flashed, and warning alarms blared as sirens started filling the air with their wail. Keyes' voice came over the overhead speakers.
"This is it. This is the last push. All of you going out there today will be making history, finishing what our parents and grandparents started. We will be fighting with all of our friends and family at our backs, fighting for the loss of all of the Humans that were killed by the Covenant, and fighting to stop any more of us from dying. We will fire the last bullets, give the last orders, and we will be the last Humans to live under threat of the Covenant as we have for so many years. Pilots, contact flight ops, get your tasking, and get out there. Good luck, everyone, and may God be with you."
The Marines in the hangar bay began to cheer, screams and whistles going up as they all soaked in the motivational speech that had been given. It was all they had at this point. All of them were tired of the war, of the death it had brought, and if their leaders had anything left to give, it was motivation to keep pushing through, even if they were waist deep in the suck.
Morgan felt the engines gain power, and Hocus Pocus took off along with four other Pelicans, two of them carrying Warthogs and another being the monster gunship that had been waiting. Morgan stood and grabbed the hand hold at the top of the bay, watching out the back as the Forward Unto Dawn fell away and drifted off to the side.
Staring out from the bay, with nothing but the Ark's arms and the endless ocean ahead of her to keep her eyes occupied, she waited for what might be her last fight.
The surf had picked up, waves rising several feet high before collapsing on themselves, disturbed even further by the force of a flight of Pelicans and twin Phantom dropships passing just feet over the water. Morgan wanted nothing more than to take her helmet off, to feel the sea spray hit her face and wash away the tiredness. But she didn't dare to take her helmet off.
The comm in her ear squawked, and she could see the crew chief next to her hanging on to the gun, scanning even before targets had come in sight. "Closing on drop zone, break." Hocus' voice was calm and steady as she gave the order, and the two Pelicans moving for the first tower split off to the right, the Master Chief's monolithic form standing strong against the backdrop of the bay. The Phantoms on the other side broke left, drives pulsing and whining as their pilots switched course. That left just Hocus Pocus and another Pelican to hit the center, with the gunship hanging back to act as a quick response force.
The pilot she had rode with earlier, Spice, was next on the radio. "Moving for Tower Delta. Be advised, Delta Approach has active triple A."
In the distance, the explosions of the first salvo of anti aircraft fire could be seen popping in blots of green, the sound taking several seconds to reach the force of Pelicans moving for Tower Beta. Then she saw it.
One shot was close enough that it hit the rear Pelican, carrying the Warthog for the Delta strike group, knocking out the left rear thruster and sending it forward, impacting the rear of Spice's Pelican and nearly dragging both of them out of the sky.
"Mayday mayday mayday! Gamma Two One is hit! I can't control her!" It had already lost altitude, the nose flaring up at the series of impacts as it tried to go in for a somewhat safe landing, but it didn't matter. Morgan could see it from here as Spice called in that a Pelican had gone down. It landed hard, the left side of the craft digging into the ground and sending it into a roll as it caught fire, tearing itself apart and leaving it to smash into the side of the cliff.
She winced. Nothing could have survived that, and nobody would be able to respond quickly enough. The Wraith that had downed Two One was close, far too close to deal with properly, even for the gunship. The Master Chief had already touched down, and she saw him leap from the back of the craft and join the firefight before the whole area was hidden behind the cliff.
"Hocus, are we going to take any fire?" She asked, looking back at the sealed door to the cockpit.
"Negative, Commander. We should be safe. Triple A is concentrated closer to the tower and we're hidden in the rocks. We'll be touching down in 20 seconds, get ready."
Morgan turned her head, seeing the Marines had heard it, and were all readying themselves. Johnson had stood from his place on the bench, a battle rifle in his hands, and moved up to stand just behind her.
The Pelican dropped altitude, flared its nose, and settled into a hover just off the ground. "Hit it, Marines!"
The Spartan was the first off the bird, the airframe shuddering slightly before the rest were off and in a pattern, ready to engage whatever awaited them. The Pelican whined loudly, Hocus feeding power to the engines and forcing it into the air. "Kilo Two Three is out. Gunship is on station and ready for tasking, callsign Warlock. Good luck out there." The other Pelican, having discharged its men, did likewise.
Morgan shouldered her rifle and turned to look at the path that led through the cliffs. It was steep but clear of obstacles, and she moved for it, the rest in tow. "I read you, Hocus. Get scarce. I'll call when we need pickup."
The Marines followed closely, scanning different areas. Johnson was just behind her and to her right. The second squad was a dozen feet to the left, all of them mirroring the movements of the first. In the lead was Gunnery Sergeant Reynolds, who she hadn't seen since Voi, but now wasn't the time for a reunion.
They moved up the path quickly, almost all of their weapons focused front as she led the way. One of the Marines, the Australian she had rode with, muttered over the radio. "I don't like this."
Morgan looked back for only an instant, and he shut up. "None of us do, corporal, but jinxing us won't do us any favors. Stow the chatter."
He didn't respond, and she kept her weapon pointed up the slope until they crested it. She held her hand out to keep the rest back, Johnson being the only one to move up with binoculars in hand. Her visor magnified her view automatically, and Johnson looked through the binoculars, spotting the tower ahead. Three Wraiths were buried in the cliffside, all but the pilot's hatch and the gun assembly exposed. They would be difficult to dig out. Brutes, Grunts, and Jackal snipers sat waiting, watching for Humans to approach.
Morgan frowned. "Defenses aren't exactly light. All they're missing is a Hunter pair."
Johnson rapped against her shoulder with the back of his hand. "Didn't you just say not to jinx it?"
She looked over at him. "True. Let's get moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
A mile of rocky pathways and an unknown amount of possible contacts meant that it would take time to get to their objective, and time was running out. Morgan led the way, with Johnson right behind her the whole time.
It was nerve wracking for the Marines, but she wasn't immune to it. Her blood was pounding through her veins, sounding in her ears, and her adrenaline was running high, but she kept an outward appearance of icy calm. Her armor betrayed nothing, her face hidden behind steel and the golden visor. She was a figurehead behind which to stand against the storm that hadn't abated for 27 years.
The path carried on, going deeper inland and dropping deeper into the walls that rose up to cover them in sheltering rock, artificial or otherwise. Even now, Morgan could hear the sounds of banshees screaming overhead and the sound of Pelican and Broadsword engines mixing into it all, the roar of gunfire clashing against the whine of plasma.
Ahead, a weapons emplacement crewed by a Grunt and supported by a Brute, a Jackal sniper, and a gaggle of other Grunts stood waiting for them, and the flash of the monocular purple scope the Jackal wore glinted in the sun before its rifle fired, and Spartan-B312 was back in the fight.
A twenty minute fire fight had ensued, the first shot of the battle coring one of the Marines and ending him before he even knew what had happened. They had fought for every inch of ground, and reinforcements for the Covenant force were quick to respond, as if they had been waiting for contact. Now, down three Marines and hunkered behind a rock, Morgan called for support.
"Warlock, Sierra 312, requesting fire support on Tower Beta approach, troops in contact, three KIA. Danger close," she called, peering over the cover she had claimed and putting another group of shots into one of the Brutes that had gotten too close. The rounds popped his armor off and several Marines jumped up to finish the ape off.
"Warlock copies, inbound hot. Keep your head down, we'll clear 'em out. Stand by, ETA one mike."
The channel cut and Morgan bound out of cover to a new rock a dozen feet up the path. They had made it about a hundred feet, moving only when they could, person by person. Johnson had been her task master, working with Reynolds to get a move off when fire slacked off just enough while she spearheaded the way, drawing fire and attention in a way only a Spartan could.
The next minute slowed to a crawl for almost all of them. A minute in a heated fire fight was an eternity, and the sound of Warlock's engines overhead was like the chorus of an angel, come to bail them all out.
Morgan didn't hear the two pilots inside, but she didn't need to. In an instant, the 30mm rotary cannon opened up, dumping tungsten cored rounds into the pathway and the enemies in sight at a rate of 2,000 rounds per minute, faster than the speed of sound. Each round kicked up dust until a maelstrom of rock and bits had taken to the air. Morgan sat hunkered in cover, listening to the sound of the gun as it did its grisly work, and a ten second sustained burst came to a sudden halt. All incoming fire had disappeared, and she knew it was her chance.
"Warlock, Sierra 312 advancing, check fire, check fire."
"Copy 312, weapons safe. We'll watch your back until we're called away."
Pumping her arm in a waving motion towards the dust storm that still hung in the air, she slipped out of cover and reloaded her weapon, even as she sprinted ahead. Johnson and Reynolds barked their orders, cracking the whip and taking the lead as they struggled to keep up with the war machine that led the way. She was in the dust and had already transitioned to her VISR system before they were even halfway there, and her weapon started its dirty work again.
Brutes half dead and ripped apart by the massive cannon on the gunship lay holding weapons, and without a second glance at any of them she finished them off. Grunts and Jackals hadn't fared anywhere near as well as the Brutes, but it had been a blessing for them, gone in an instant. As she pushed even further, she saw that a Hunter pair had been caught moving up to the front, and even their heavy armor had failed against the withering barrage that Warlock had put out. Rivers of orange, purple, and blue ran down both sides of the pass, staining the rocks as Morgan came out the other side of the slowly thinning cloud, trails of smoke and dust swirling around her armor.
Half a mile away, the tower rose up, no longer hidden by the cliff at this point. Down a winding slope, several more emplacements sat waiting for them, likely with more squad support. They could advance on foot under cover of the foliage hanging down and providing shade, but it wasn't all that helpful. With Wraiths having a clear shot over the water, however, there would be no way for Warlock to offer any support at this junction. She cursed softly to herself. "Warlock, hang back. Wave off and shift to support Delta. Wraiths will tear you apart if you come over."
"Affirm. We'll be around if you need us. Be advised, Masterlock has confirmed fixed wing support is up and around Tower Delta, callsign Ranger. Call on them if you need them, they'll be a lot better at not getting popped than us. Warlock out."
With the gunship no longer effective, Morgan frowned deeply. She had the chance to call in Ranger, the squadron she had flown with when they had made planetfall, and while they would be harder to hit with their speed and maneuverability, she didn't want to risk throwing them into the killing field that the Wraiths could throw up together. It would be a meat grinder.
The whine of Warlock's engines grew quiet as the gunship fled, and she waved her men forward, her helmet speakers activating. "Warlock is out of the game. We're on our own from here on out. If it gets bad enough, we'll call for Ranger for close air support, but..." She gestured to the Wraiths. "Not a very good idea unless we want to fish them out of the drink when they get shot down."
Johnson grunted. "We'll make it work. We have to."
"We always do. Got any ideas?"
He looked over at her, and she tore her gaze from the path they needed to take. Pulling several grenades from his belt, he took one of the larger pouches from his vest and emptied several cigars from it, leading to the Spartan quirking her eyebrow. The cord that had tied the pouch in place came with it, and he looped the cord through the pins of the grenades before tying it off in a loop that held the pins but still gave several inches to hold. Holding it out for her to take, he looked to the rest, pointing at two in particular. "Jackson, Buntis, do the same. We'll blast our way through."
He looked back over to her as the Marines went about their work. She tilted her head slightly. "Are you always this innovative?"
He gave her a crooked grin. "When I wanna be. You have anything better, share with the class."
She held her hands up in defense. "No, no, no. Yours is fine. We'll move as soon as the other two have been made." She brought her hands back down and looked over the pouch. She would need to be careful, lest she risk pulling the cord early on a snag. Sliding it into the hard case that hung at the front of her waist, she slipped the cord in with it and snapped it shut.
Jackson and Buntis had finished, and following her lead, had secured the pouches to their armor, waiting for her to give the order to either throw them or hand them over.
She looked them all over, and satisfied, gave the order. "Let's move. Stick close to the right wall, try and stay out of sight of the guns while we can." Leading the way, she set off. The foliage thickened as they went on, mostly vines and chains of leaves hanging down in their path. She could make out bits and pieces of the first gun emplacement. They hadn't opened up yet, despite the assault they had already done, so at least they had that going for them.
The first emplacement was just ahead after a few moments of pushing. Pulling the pouch from her armor, she peeked around the corner, spotting a Grunt watching the top of the path. Either he had been looking elsewhere during their descent or had fallen asleep, but he would have ripped them to shreds if he had known.
With her rifle held in the crook of her right arm, she held the cord with her right hand, and yanked. The sound of several chinks was enough to catch the Grunt's attention, and all movement by the Brute squad that sat ready and waiting ceased. Time seemed to freeze and sound stopped as she reared back and launched the pouch.
It flew true, hitting the Grunt in the chest with enough force to make him cough into his mask and clutch at his chest. Now, sitting in his lap, the pouch was a time bomb with all of its time run out. Three, two, one. The grenades inside all detonated, ripping the unsuspecting Grunt to shreds and blowing the hovering turret into what looked like a bloomed metallic flower. It fell onto the tripod holding it and rolled off. Shrapnel pinged off of the rocks, sounding like bullets as puffs of dust just beside her foot kicked up.
"Now! Engage!" She called, stepping into the open with her rifle back in her hands. The Brutes had been stunned by the blast, their shields close to blowing if not completely gone, and two of them were dropped in short order with their armor off. Shrapnel continued its wild ride through the canyon, hitting her shields and bouncing off. One of the Brutes, still in his armor somehow, charged. He had to have known he was already dead, charging two full squads of Marines, but it didn't seem to matter. He made a bee line for one of the Marines, and the man panicked.
But the Brute never made it. Its charge was arrested only a half dozen feet from the man as a blue armored arm whipped out like a cobra and clotheslined the big alien. Morgan grunted against the strain that the Brute put on her, but stopped it before it could get its feet back and return the favor. A wrench of her arm and a louder grunt and she felt the Brute's neck snap.
Now, limp in her arm, she dropped it and went back to firing her rifle one handed as she pulled the pistol from her thigh and put a single bullet in the Brute's head to make sure it wouldn't get back up.
Spikes started coming in like hail, a wall of metal that would be more than enough to finish her shields off now that the enemy had gotten their wits about them. Another roared as a plasma grenade took to the air.
"Grenade!" She spun right, back behind the cliffside as she tried to take cover in the bend. Johnson and the rest ceased fire immediately, all of them backtracking to get distance from the grenade. Morgan watched as it came down next to the Brute she had executed, far too close for comfort, but she already heard a swarm of footsteps stampeding her way.
Not good.
She put one more burst out to try and stop the approaching enemies, but it wouldn't matter, and she turned her back on the grenade to get some distance herself, given where it landed, but she wasn't fast enough.
It blew and her shields began to wail as she was taken off of her feet. They had already been weakened, and now they had broken. She could feel the heat on her back, and the alarm in her ears was nearly deafening. Landing on her stomach, she rolled over quickly, the first Brute coming around the corner with a spiker raised and ready to fire. He got one shot off before his head snapped back, a red mist filling the air.
The spiker round nearly glanced off of her armor, but embedded itself in the shotgun shell rack on her chest. Her weapon was gone, laying on the ground somewhere behind her. She grimaced and glanced up at the next pair that came through.
"Suppressing!" Johnson's voice filled the air, hard and commanding. Battle rifles firing on full auto sent a rattle across the stone walls, and bullets filled the air. The 9.5mm rounds, some of the most modern in the UNSC, closed the distance in an instant, and dozens impacted the Brutes shields as the two were focused by the entire oversized squad of Marines in support of their downed Spartan. Both lost their shields, and then their armor, in the span of a few heartbeats, before being riddled with bullets.
They went down with barely a fight, and Reynolds crowed another order. Marines thundered past her, weapons ready and boots scraping against stone. They took up positions to cover her, and their weapons sang again in defiance of the Brutes that still survived. Johnson was on her next, battle rifle in hand as he set it against her chest in a way that let her grab it and get it ready. A short inspection showed nothing but scratches on the matte black finish, and she grunted as she forced herself to her feet.
"Thanks," she started, listening to her shields charge. "Saved my ass with that one."
"I'd say you owe me, but the list is long enough. Let's keep going, we're getting behind on the time table already."
He was right. If one team got behind, it left the others open to reprisal and slowing the whole operation down. The Spartan took up position behind the Marines and tapped the lead's shoulder. "I've got point."
He glanced back over his shoulder and nodded to her, letting her slip past him and falling in behind the big woman. Reynolds took up the rear, and Johnson was in the middle. The next emplacement was just ahead, where the ground rolled up in jagged ledges that broke up the smooth ascent before topping off and dumping into the next kill zone.
Grimacing, she held her hand out to Jackson, she flexed her fingers, looking back over her shoulder at him. Wordlessly, he passed her the next satchel of grenades, and she hooked it onto her armor like before.
She led the way up the next rise, hands on her weapon and her eyes open, ready to respond to anything.
Her comm crackled, and she frowned. "Tower Delta has been reached. Noble, status?" It was Keyes.
"Less than half a mile to Beta entrance, Masterlock. We're having trouble with emplacements set in kill boxes with infantry support."
"Understood, I'll see what I can spare. Wait one."
Morgan let the channel hang, still pushing ahead to peek over the slope at the summit of the rise. Her visor reflected the scene ahead. Two turrets had been set up, one likely moved closer to have better odds of repelling the UNSC force. A pair of Hunters and a whole squad of Brutes were waiting, all of them hunkered down behind a mobile barrier field. She grimaced as she looked it all over. She might have a chance, but the Marines would be ripped to shreds by such a force.
Cursing softly, she hunkered back down. "Masterlock, requesting support. Enemy dug in behind a barrier field with times one Hunter pair and Shade turrets. We're not getting through this with current forces."
Keyes' voice was slow to respond, but when it did, Morgan felt a little bit of relief. "I have something for you. Distance between you and the barrier field?"
Another peek back over. "130 meters to barrier field, almost exactly."
"Hang tight, deploying what we have left of Archer missiles to deal with triple A. After this, Ranger will be on station. Break." A beat passed. "Archers away. Impact in 30. Masterlock out."
Morgan bit her lip, looking back at her squad. "Masterlock is dealing with the anti-air, then we'll have fixed wing support, and likely Warlock again. Johnson, got smoke?"
Another grenade came from his belt, this one a canister that would send out a bank of blue smoke. "I got two blue, two red. Make 'em count"
The words he used had Jorge flashing in her memory, filling her vision and sending a chill down her spine that she clamped down on. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She fought the vision down, squeezing her eyes shut tightly before opening them again and taking the grenade, hoping he hadn't seen anything.
If he had, he didn't show it. She couldn't see over the wall where the tower lay, but she heard it. The shriek of Archer missiles passed by overhead, a series of sonic booms washing over the squad before a wave of explosions sounded.
"Noble, Masterlock. One Wraith remains. It's dug in tight, no way we're getting to it. You'll have to take it down on your own, but it should open up the air space enough to start sending Ranger in. Masterlock out."
Morgan didn't answer, looking down at the grenade as she switched gears. "Ranger, this is Beta Actual, Noble, requesting fire support, over."
The smooth voice of Ranger's lead, Caesar, sounded in her ears. "Ranger is orbiting Tower Delta, air to ground ordinance has been mostly expended, but guns are green. That do the job?"
Peeking over the slope again, Morgan saw the Covenant forces were still dug in hard, apparently not willing to risk breaking their defensive line on the chance of taking a Demon head on. "It should weaken them, or at least daze them. Popping blue smoke, Ranger. Keep fire north of the smoke. IFF broadcasting. Try not to mow us down, Caesar."
A low laugh. "Ranger copies all, Noble. Keep your head down if you don't want it shot off. Ranger One out."
Morgan dropped down to the ground, resting on her right hip to keep her silhouette low as she peeked over the hill again. The grenade in her hand lit up with a soft puff as she yanked the pin and blue smoke started to billow out of it. Waving the Marines back, she sat, and she waited.
In the distance, the sound of thunder rose in her ears, and she hoped it would be enough to break through.
The waiting was always the worst part, seconds stretching on until they were minutes or hours, and Spartan time only made it worse. Overhead, a pair of twin shadows came over her, covering her for only an instant, before the sound of the Broadsword's autocannons filled the air with a drum beat that rumbled off of the walls of the canyon. Morgan's eyes stayed locked on to the shielding as it withstood several rounds before failing completely, and everything beneath was left open to the withering barrage of 35mm high explosive shells. Brutes and Grunts were ripped apart completely by the impacts, or shredded by the shrapnel. The Shade emplacements were holed and tipped over, obscured by the geysers of dirt that were kicked up. Screams fought to be heard before going quiet forever. Even the Hunters, hunkered down behind their armor, could only last so long. She watched as one struggled to withstand the fire, the shield sparking and denting as it stood against the incoming fire.
But it wouldn't be enough. Eventually, a shell got through and the Hunter must have taken it in the midsection, being torn in half by a shell that exploded in its soft, exposed areas. The second Hunter went the same way as its kin, roaring in anger and pulling its shield up to try and rush up the canyon's path before it, too, was blown to the wind.
The whine of the Broadsword's engines increased in pitch, twin columns of flame spouting from the rear of both fighters as they waved off back towards Delta to escape from the Wraith that was attempting to get shots off on them, green tracers trying to find one and blow it apart before exploding harmlessly in the air.
With smoke and dust filling the air, and the groans of the nearly dead rising up out of the clouds that had been left, Morgan gave the order.
"Move up, slow. Some of them aren't dead yet, and we don't need a suicide bomber." her mind flashed back to the groups of Grunts that had charged her in New Alexandria, back on Reach. They had ignited plasma grenades in each hand and rushed her as fast as their stubby legs would carry them. Many even nearly made it to her as her pistol racked empty, her entire body wailing in protest after her less than stellar descent from orbit.
She pushed it out of her mind, her rifle up and tucked against her shoulder as Johnson and Reynolds shepherded the men forward. At least one Brute groaned, raising a spiker with a shaky arm that was leaking blood at an alarming rate, his lower half missing completely. The bark of a single shot from her rifle put him the rest of the way into the ground. Craters from the high explosive shells pitted the area, rivers of blood flowing through the stone as she moved with her weapon up.
There were a few stragglers, but none with enough strength to fight back, and they all went the way of their comrades, scattered to the winds.
Less than half a mile to the tower now, and the wall curved left, revealing an open plain. The left side led back towards the cliff and the beach below, the right pushing off for a short distance before another cliff face rose up to block it off. All that was left was to traverse the open ground to the tower and hope they weren't engaged by enemy air.
She turned to the others. "Lotta open ground. We'll need to cover it quick."
Johnson frowned, eyes narrowing as he gazed across the open terrain. "It ain't pretty no matter how you slice this. Not many options."
Morgan glanced back to him, before returning her eyes to the treeline at the far end, the tower rising up on the other side. She could see the front end from here, where a Phantom hovered, dropping off another squad of Brutes that disappeared into the structure. "Might have company soon too. Wait for the Phantom to bug off, then we move."
Johnson didn't argue. "You heard her, Marines! Get ready!"
Several of the Marines tightened their grips on their weapons, none of them wanting to be left behind in an all out sprint, especially not across open terrain. Snipers could be waiting in the treeline, and while Morgan didn't see the tell tale glint of a Jackal's optic, she wasn't writing them off.
She waited, tensed like a cobra, barely peeking around the edge while the marines waited behind her. When the Phantom slowly lifted into the air and started moving towards the tower assigned to the Elites, she sprung.
"Go!" A deep divot in the ground was kicked up as she stepped onto the soil that covered the plain, the Marines scattering to either side of her and pumping their arms and legs as fast as they could. She outpaced them easily, the first to make it to the other side, her weapon up and scanning for targets, but nothing stood out.
The rest of the unit was on her six several seconds later, Marines huffing and puffing at the sprint they had been forced into, and even Johnson seemed winded, but his weapon was up and his eyes sharp. The tower rose through the trees, erupting out of the ground ahead, and already she could see two more Shade turrets sitting at the ground entrance, a Brute and a squad of Grunts waiting around the opening and the surrounding area. She took aim with her weapon, speaking into the comm link. "Mark targets, wait for my go."
The scope of the battle rifle rested on the Grunt operator's head, and Johnson's mark sat on the other one. Marines picked their targets, Reynolds muttering in their ears about doubling up on the Brute.
Satisfied they were all ready, she pulled the trigger. "Execute".
An over strength squad of Marines firing battle rifles at the same time was like thunder, the rounds bleeding together into a cacophony that ensured everything went down quick. The Brute had just enough time to be surprised before his armor had popped off and his head was taken from his shoulders. Bullets riddled the hairy corpse, and smoke wafted up from some areas, but Morgan was already out of the treeline and moving to make sure nothing else manned the turrets if reinforcements came out, her rifle going to her back and the shotgun taking its place.
She racked the slide halfway, ensuring a shell was ready, and saw the shine of brass, before she tore her gaze away and aimed for the door. The door was clear, and Johnson and Reynolds barked their orders as they slid down the embankment.
"Stack up on the door, go, go!" Johnson's deep voice was louder and more authoritative, but Reynold's own was a crow that all of them heard loud and clear.
Morgan's left shoulder butted against the bulkhead, Johnson behind her and half the squad either ready to go or covering their rear, same for Reynolds and the other half. The door was shut, and she started to wonder if she'd need to force her way in, but she wouldn't need to, and the door slid open as time slowed down.
I'm ready! How 'bout you!?
Emile's last words rang in her ears, as if he had shouted them directly against her skull rather than alone on top of the MAC gun he had rode until the end. Her adrenaline spiked, her heart rate climbed through the roof, and she felt that pit in her stomach form as she slid around the door and directly into a Brute. The shotgun's barrel pushed up against his chest, and she pulled the trigger.
Anything behind the Brute was covered in bits and pieces of the big alien, and a squad of Grunts stood motionless, unable to respond to the rapid assault that had been thrust upon them.
Chick chack.
The shotgun racked, the smoking shell glinted in the overhead lights, a Grunt learned the meaning of pain for only an instant.
Chick chack.
Another shell went into the chamber, and another Grunt went down as Marines flooded in behind her, splitting off and clearing the left and right halls that fanned out from the doorway, and green eyes stared straight down the center corridor as a squad of Brutes sat open mouthed, spikers raising and getting ready to open fire.
Chick chack.
The shotgun's action was music to her ears, and she wished she had been able to keep Emile's own, or to have taken that long blade of his from his shoulder piece. Just as Emile had honored Jorge with it, she would have honored Emile. But this was the best she could do, and she hoped that he approved.
Kat didn't interfere this time, not even to give Morgan the benefit of Noble Four's approval. As the trigger came back again and spit buck shot out and into the first Brute from a range that was barely enough to do real damage, Morgan didn't know whether or not she should be relieved or upset.
It didn't matter in the end. She would get this barrier down one way or another, end all of this for the rest of Noble, the rest of Humanity. She would finish this war or die trying.
Battle rifle fire picked up on either side of her, the heavy shot doing more than enough with a dozen Marines firing on the Brute squad. Each Brute went down with few problems, but one of the Marines did the same, a spiker round hitting him in the throat and dropping him like a sack of rocks. Another slowed down to check on the Marine, but Reynolds called out, forced him to keep moving. "He's dead! Don't stop or you will be too!"
One, a Captain, judging by the horned helmet he wore, held a Brute shot. His enhanced armor protected him long enough to get the heavy weapon up, pulling the trigger twice before his shields broke and he fell like the rest of his compatriots. One shot flew off to the left, impacting the wall behind Morgan, the second one hitting too close to a Marine and knocking him off his feet.
The Marine landed face up, unmoving. It hadn't hit him directly, but already she could see blood pooling around the trooper, his eyes locked open and dark behind the tinted half visor he wore on his helmet. Reynolds was quick to move in and check his pulse, but shook his head and moved away quickly. None of them saw it outright, but the fragmentation from the Brute shot was more than enough to tear dozens of holes in the Marine's back, killing him before he even hit the ground.
Morgan didn't stop to look, ushering herself forward as much as the two sergeants did to the Marines. Ahead, a bridge composed of glass and the same metal that Forerunners seemed to favor in their architecture passed over an open area, closing the gap between two ramps that led to an upper area. A hole in the ceiling led upwards, towards the top of the tower, and she could hear the sound of an elevator coming down. The deep hum bothered her, something she could hear, just barely, that made her think it wasn't even there. She ignored it.
When the elevator came down, the entire squad had just moved into two groups, splitting up to go up either ramp, only to be met by another Hunter pair. These were armored in that same golden armor she had seen on Earth during the push to the anti-air battery.
One was already charging its arm cannon, the other hunkered down to protect its kin's exposed rear. She gave the order to scatter, but it was too late. On the right side, the green ball of heavy plasma hit the lead section of Reynold's half of the squad. Leading the way up, the Gunny hadn't even had time to react, being hit dead on and simply ceasing to exist as the shot engulfed him in green plasma and radiation, leaving nothing behind but carbon scoring on the ground where his boots had been. The Marine just behind him went the same way almost, but when the green light faded, half of his body was gone, and he fell to the ground without a sound.
Another Marine behind him began to scream, firing his rifle on fully automatic. The man behind him struggled to stop it, grabbing the new lead by the back of his armor and jerking him into cover, rounds pinging off the ceiling until the magazine ran dry, but the screams never stopped. The man, laying on the ground, was already suffering from the intense heat the shot had put off, his skin reddening and peeling off like a severe sunburn. Blisters could already be seen across his neck and face, even from this distance.
The Hunter, hidden behind the massive slab of steel it used for a shield, stood and readied its weapon as it switched roles with its kin. Morgan knew that if another round came in like that, the Marines would be decimated, and she made the only move she could in the split second she had.
She charged.
The Hunter didn't falter, and neither did she. The weapon continued to glow green, intensifying with every passing moment. Her hand came up against the pouch she had set on her waist, her shotgun being tossed behind her where it slid off the edge and to the floor below.
The Hunter fired, and she tucked down to the ground. Wherever the shot went, she didn't know, only that it didn't hit her. She came up out of her roll, the pouch in her armored fist as she punched forward with all the force she could muster, hand meeting resistance in the worm colony that made up the Hunter. The cord came out with her hand, and she jumped back, sliding across the bridge with her hand covered in orange muck already grabbing for the pistol on her thigh.
The pouch exploded deep within the Hunter, blowing it to pieces as its upper half sloughed off and slid over the edge to hit the ground below with an earth shaking thud. The remaining Hunter was exposed, and barely had time to react as she pulled the trigger as fast as the action would cycle. Her entire magazine was dumped into the Hunter as it turned, the high explosive slugs blowing chunks out of the alien as it charged her, roaring with its shield up.
The pistol clicked empty, and she waited for it to smash its shield down on her. But it wouldn't be happening. Not today, at least. With its shield up, both sides of it were exposed, and the remaining Marines filled it with lead, a weak groan coming from it as it collapsed forward. Morgan rolled out of the way just in time, feeling the impact of the Hunter's fall in her bones.
Slowly, she sat up, her heart racing in her chest as she tried to swallow with a dry mouth. The magazine in the pistol fell out and she reloaded it without thinking, slotting it back into place on her hip.
The sound of coughing filled her ears. "Sound off!" It was Johnson.
A Marine on the far side, one she didn't know, called out. "Two KIA, Gunny's gone! Another so fucked up he might as well be KIA!"
Johnson moved across the bridge to Morgan, his hand out to help her up as what remained of his own squad covered the rear and entrance. "You good?" He asked, and she stood, taking his hand as more of an acknowledgment than anything.
"I'm good. How many do we have left?"
Reynolds' men were barely the number they had started at, only three being left, including the Marine that had been nearly killed. Johnson's squad wasn't faring any better. The shot that had missed her had wounded or killed nearly everyone, save for Johnson himself, only one other being left alive.
She frowned as he looked around, shaking his head. "Four in any shape to fight, and then you."
"Understood. Let's go, we'll shut this tower down and-"
The radio crackled, Keyes' voice filtering in. "Tower Delta is down. Last report from the Elites says that… Tower Alpha is down. Beta, status?"
Morgan stopped herself, beckoning to Johnson. The rest would watch the entrance and hopefully keep an exit open for them. "Almost done. Making our way to the top now."
"Keep me posted. Masterlock, out."
Morgan stepped onto the elevator, Johnson following her on as she hit the button to ascend. When it stopped, she could see through the narrow corridor that made up the summit was empty for the most part, supporting arches on either side of the room acting as decoration or simply filling the Forerunner aesthetic. A massive window sat at the front of the room, looking down on the Citadel where Truth was waiting to light the rings.
Stepping off, the two split up, going around a glass partition that separated the elevator from the rest of the control center. This would be over soon enough, and she would be able to rest. The control panel ahead sat waiting, a single icon blinking on the display. She frowned at that, but kept moving forward, halfway to the panel.
But something stopped her. A scrape against the ground, a sound of alarm, a blip on her motion tracker that wasn't a friendly yellow, and she spun on her heel, pistol up in her hand. Time slowed down again, and she realized what was happening.
She had slipped up. Several Brute stalkers came into view, all of them holding spikers up and aimed at her, and then she saw what had happened to Johnson. He was being held by another stalker, struggling against the creature's arm as it kept him quiet. He continued to beat against its arm, but wasn't strong enough to do anything in his position, and the stalker held him with little effort. But then she saw something else, something that made her blood go cold. A massive Brute Chieftain faded into view, clutching a gravity hammer and wearing augmented armor, a cross between the armor the stalkers wore and that of a War Chieftain. It was missing an eye, and she realized what exactly about this Brute scared her, deep inside. It was the one from the anti-aircraft battery, the one that had gotten away from her.
Her pistol was held up, and she looked through the iron sights for once, rather than relying on the armor's targeting system. In her ear, the Marines left below suddenly called out.
"Commander! Reinforcements! Too many to-" The Marine that had called to her went silent, the sound of a spiker hitting him in the chest and killing him outright. Sporadic gunfire continued to sound below, until nothing was left.
Morgan eyeballed the Chieftain, slowly easing back to the control panel. It was still too far away. The Brutes would kill Johnson, would overwhelm even her if she wasn't careful. Her eyes shifted over Johnson, and back to the Chieftain. She would be killing him herself. She would have to live with that if she made it out of this alive.
But she knew what she had to do, no matter how much she hated it. "Masterlock, Brutes got the jump on us. Killed my men. They have Johnson. We might not make it. Going for the controls."
"Say again, Noble?"
"Send backup, now." She stopped listening and started acting. The pistol in her hands rocked back against her palms, the weapon shifting from target to target. The weak armor systems the stalkers wore to cut back on heat meant most of them were felled with a single shot, and she set her sights on the Chieftain, intent on taking him out as she backpedaled towards the control panel, but she wasn't fast enough, and the pistol slide racked back completely, out of ammo.
The Chieftain was on her in an instant, gravity hammer swinging up and hitting her in the chest with a glancing blow before it activated its kinetic pulse and launched her through the air, spinning end over end until her head slammed against the window and her vision nearly went black, shield system wailing in her ears as it collapsed. The Spartan, her movement arrested, fell down towards the floor, where the Chieftain roared a challenge.
She struggled against the call of unconsciousness, reaching for her battle rifle and pulling it over her shoulder as she slid down the window, firing as much as she could. The gravity hammer had other plans, however, and whatever it did to manipulate gravity gave it the ability to stop bullets.
Her rifle ran empty next, and she pulled her knives from their holsters on her hips, ready to bury them in the Chieftain's other eye.
She never made it, the hammer swinging up and hitting her in the chest, moving far quicker than a weapon its size should have been able to. It sandwiched her against the window, the glass cracking and spiderwebbing as she felt her ribs start to give way. The armor held, but a massive dent spread across the chest plate, the shotgun shell rack splitting in half and falling away despite the welding that had held it. The long range radio on her back was crushed as well, and the sound of Keyes' voice in her ear ceased.
The hammer pulled away, the Chieftain looking down at her with a dismissive huff. She slid to the floor, struggling to breathe, but pushed herself up again. The Cheftain snarled at her, one massive hand coming up to her head and grabbing her. Its hand swallowed her helmet, the palm covering her entire visor.
She tried to bring her arms up, to stab at him with the knives locked in her grasp, but she wasn't quick enough. The daze she had been knocked into grew worse as the Brute picked her up by her helmet and held her aloft, before slamming her against the window again, and again. Every impact blackened the edges of her vision further and further.
Johnson squirmed harder against the stalker's grip, but it would do nothing as he watched Noble Six be beaten with barely a fight. Every crack of her helmet against the window brought another muffled cry, another attempt to get free, but nothing worked.
Morgan, her wits leaving her, couldn't hold her arms up any longer, and any fight she had left in her slowly broke away. She had met her match, had been beaten. She would die here. Already, she heard bells chiming in her mind, those same damnable bells that seemed to plague her as much as Kat did.
The pain was fading away, and every sound but the bells but stopped. She could barely see anything anymore, and her HUD blared an alarm that would never reach her. Then it was all over. The Chieftain threw her across the room, where her heavy armor crumpled with her body, barking an order to the single remaining stalker that it was time to leave. Her armor translated, despite the damage and the fact that its occupant was approaching death. The stalker questioned killing the Spartan for good, but the Chieftain denied. There was no time to toy with the Demon when the path was yawning open in front of them.
Morgan watched from where she lay, a pinhole of vision showing the Brutes leaving with Johnson in tow, fighting the whole way, before it was ripped away from her. Somewhere, deep in her mind, those bells continued to increase in volume, until they were nearly deafening.
Before Morgan-B312 faded out, and the world around her ceased to exist, she felt a pull, and heard a voice, one thick with the accent of colonists on New Harmony.
It's time to rest, Morgan. Your fight is over. Sleep soundly, sister.