Chapter 6: Fire

Captain De Vos checked her dull, yellow heads-up-display. Armor integrity, defined by a long horizontal bar at the top of her VISR, was full. Above that bar was the compass, composed of a series of lines and icons. A long line would be followed by seven shorter ones, then a small rounded diamond, preceded by seven short lines, and punctuated by another long line. Turning her head saw the lines move until she could see letters, N, NW, and W. On the bottom left, was the explosives counter; she carried three standard issue M9 HE-DP fragmentation grenades on her rig. To the bottom right, were weapons and ammunition. Two images were shown; the top was an M7S SMG with, modified with a sound suppressor, flashlight and infrared laser rail attachments, and an SLS/V 5B scope smart-linked to her helmet. Just below the yellowed image were three horizontal lines of twenty bullets; the loaded sixty round magazine. Beside the M7S image was the number two-hundred forty, representing the spare magazines on her battle armor. Including the loaded magazine, she carried a total of five. Below the three lines of caseless ammunition was a picture of an M6C/SOCOM, complete with an integrated suppressor and muzzle brake, an extended magazine of twelve rounds, and an underbarrel rail attachment of a dual flashlight and laser sight. Unlike many other entries into the M6 series, the SOCOM relied on a smart-linked scope designated as VnSLS/V 6E. Most of the targeting apparatus was magnification software linked in her visor. Although the smaller, slightly faded image of the sidearm displayed no ammunition, she knew she carried a total of six magazined, including the loaded one.

But she did not need the visor HUD to describe the equipment she carried. De Vos rigged it all herself, right down to the webbing and pouches on the torso. In her backpack, she carried three more M7S and SOCOM magazines, a first aid kid, three MRE's, a hard copy map of the area of operations, a canteen, her tactical data pad, and sleeping kit. Tacked onto the left side of her chest plate was a scabbard sheathing her combat knife.

Depolarizing the VISR, she could see the environment of her drop pod more clearly. Right in front of her was a vertical column she could see through, with a pressure gauge on the right side and two windows to the upper left and right. Below each window was a squared screen; below those two screens were more panels and screens displaying targeting coordinates, vector, wind speed, velocity, drop speed, hull integrity, status of the chute, and an altimeter. Glowing buttons and other screens were also to the sides of the two video channels.

Sitting back into the seat of the drop pod, De Vos drew a long breath and slowly grasped the two handles on either side of her.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang on top of the body. She could hear gears turning and engines whining. Slowly, the pod was turned around one-hundred eighty degrees. In front of her was a massive, rounded titanium plate, with red warning lights and a checkered yellow-black warning bar to the right side. The giant plate slowly slid from her; across the open bay were more circular plates lifting up, like a series of shutters. Line after line of drop pods appeared, suspended in the long tubes the shutters revealed.

The screen to her left flickered to life. An ODST's helmet appeared and a line of green text and numbers appeared on the bottom. It read: Holst A.657178 (O-4).

His VISR depolarized. She could see him smiling.

"This is the time I'm most scared," he said, "and the time I'm most excited. Look down there, Captain."

De Vos obeyed and looked through the view column. Below, she could see the surface of a colony called Jamestown IV. Part of the green-brown continent below was burning. Massive orange blooms appeared, disappeared, and were replaced by great clouds of oily black smoke. Destroy Covenant and UNSC Navy ships were everywhere; burning, torn, and broken, some became caught in Jamestown IV's gravity well and plummeted to the surface.

She looked back up at the screen. He still wore a smile. "We're going down there to make a difference. This is the kind of battle that forges heroes and gets medals pinned on your chest."

"I'm just focused on the mission, Major," she said flatly. His brow furrowed with concern.

"It's your first combat jump and you want to do well. You're a good soldier with a stellar war record. If you were able to do what you did in the Pathfinders, you're up for this too."

"Thank you, sir," De Vos, genuinely grateful.

"You have good men and women under your command too. They've got a lot of experience and they're very brave. Give them the orders, and they will do it. I promise."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll see you down there. I guarantee you're gonna love it," he added, and his VISR polarized. She heard his comm channel change from secure to net. "Helljumpers of the 25th ODST Battalion, this is Major Holst. We're dropping into the fire. You know the mission:proceed to Phase Line Green and perform a rearguard action to allow the remaining UNSC forces on Jamestown IV to evacuate. There's not many people left; this is going to be a short, brutal fight, boys and girls. But we will hold at all costs. Until the last unit has left, we are staying on this planet. Prepare to drop. The DZ will be hot."

De Vos closed her eyes as the warning notification sounded.

Boop. Boop. Boop. Beep!

She heard the ignition, the release, and the drop pod smoothly fell away from the ship. Around her were the other officer pods, dropping before the enlisted personnel. But she looked up and saw puffs of blue-orange flame from the tops and saw the rest of the battalion deploy. It was like watching an asteroid shower. Orange flames emanated from the bottom of each pod, engulfing them. While it was quite noticeable on the other pods, she could only see brief, orange flickers outside her own. Knowing her pod was nearly a fireball, she thought it so strange she barely felt the heat.

It was practically silent within the pod. She felt utterly weightless inside it, even as momentum began to build. Looking out, seeing the cloud of drop pods, the great smoke from the burning planet, the explosions below, all silent. What she could hear most was her own breathing; long, slow breaths as her heart beat steadily, steadily.

The pod drew closer. De Vos felt colder. Her grip on the handles grew tighter. As it broke through the cloud barrier, it began to rattle and shudder. It was like riding in a Pelican when it traveled through a planet's atmosphere.

"All pods, stabilize as necessary," Major Holst said without emotion over the comms. De Vos obeyed, utilizing the controls on the handles, pumping the triggers and clicking the red descent buttons on the top. Soon, the shaking stopped. Holst started counting down. "Fifteen klicks...fourteen...thirteen...twelve...eleven...ten; deploy chutes."

De Vos hit one of the red buttons on the handle. There was a jerking, jarring sensation throughout the body which shook her bones. Monitoring the panels, she saw the speed decrease significantly. When it slowed to the appropriate descent speed, she hit the release and the chute disconnected. Again, there was a brief jerk but the pod stabilized quickly.

The altimeter began to sound and the number was beginning to decrease. On one panel projected the estimated time of arrival on the surface. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and waited.

There was a tremendous crash. De Vos shook in her seat. She hit the release buttons, there was a brief depressurization, and the front half of the pod shot off. Immediately, she rushed out, simultaneously raising her M7S. Everywhere, there was fire; fields of lush grass were walls of flame. In the bare patches of earth, there were charred human corpses, half-destroyed vehicles, retreating Marines and Army troopers running towards her, people flailing in the flames and screaming, and there was Covenant everywhere. An Elite Minor grabbed a trooper by the head and ripped it clean from his shoulders. Roaring, it held the head up; the eyes were rolled back and the mouth wide open. Skirmishers mobbed wounded men, beating them to death or cutting them apart with their talons. Grunts armed with needlers fired volleys of crystals; soldiers hit by too many were engulfed by pink explosions. They simply fell apart; their limbs tumbled to the sides, their stomachs burst, and their intestines fell out. Jackals skulked along, dragging helpless, shrieking wounded men away.

She saw everything in seconds. Immediately, she charged and fired. On her flanks, she could see other ODSTs pushing forward. Rapid fire rounds chewed through the light armor of Grunts and Jackals. Purple and blue blood splashed onto the ground, followed by alien corpses. Shocked by the counterattack, Grunts threw down their weapons, threw up their arms, and began retreating. Elites kicked and hit them, attempting to rally them. Intermingled between the Covenant bellowing were the cries of ODSTs.

"Frag out!"

"Tango down!"

"Two Covvies, eleven o'clock!"

"Drop'em!"

"Medic!"

"Jackal's got me!"

"Back-blast clear, fire!"

"I need another fucking frag!"

"Get the fuck up here!"

"Drop back, you're too exposed!"

"No, everyone push, push, push!"

She was running and shooting, shooting and running. As she cycled her weapon, she leaped over a corpse, then jumped again, this time over a man so charred he hardly looked human. The soldier was screaming so madly, she could not help but look over her shoulder. When she looked back, she ran right into a Jackal. They tumbled over each other and it came out on top of her. It screeched in her face and tried to bring its talons down on her helmet. De Vos caught its wrist with her left hand, yanked her SOCOM out, and fired the whole magazine into its torso. Blood splattered her. She threw it off, ejected the magazine, sat up, and reloaded. A Skirmisher darted towards her, but she shot it in the face. The bullet's impact was so forceful, bits of cheekbone came flying out, teeth shattered, its beak fractured, and the eyeball exploded. Life left its charging form and it came sliding to a stop right at her feet.

Something bolted into her from her right. A hand with talons was on the back of her helmet and forcing her into the dirt. The other hand clawed, trying to snatch the pistol from her hand. Elbowing blindly, she could not land a solid hit. Instead, she slid her pistol across the ashen soil, picked it up with her opposite hand, and pointed it over her shoulder. There was a squawk and she squeezed the trigger three times. Immediately, the weight came off her and she felt a form crumple to the side. Getting onto her knees, she expended the last of the magazine on a Grunt trying to aim a needler at her.

Remaining crouched, she dropped her sidearm and picked up her M7S. She raised it and began shooting at the Covenant right in front of her. An Elite came stomping towards her so she squeezed the trigger until its shield burst. De Vos grabbed her her pistol, reloaded, aimed for the head, saw the reticle turn red, and fired. The alien crumpled over. She slid the pistol back into her holster, picked up her M7S, and provided suppression fire as a squad of ODSTs moved up on her left flank.

De Vos ejected a mag and slid a fresh one in as a squad of Jackals formed a phalanx with their shield gauntlets. Bounding around, she slid to a knee, aimed, and began hosing them. Squawking and shrieking, they fell to the ground, wounded, bleeding, thrashing. Several troopers threw their combined weight against the survivor's shields, overpowered them, and began smashing their heads in with their weapons. When they advanced, more troopers came up and shot the Jackals they missed.

Streams of ODSTs weaved like the tendrils of a great beast in between the walls of fire. One Elite stood his ground, dual-wielding plasma rifles. One Helljumper was riddled with plasma bolts. But as he fell, three more ran up and mobbed the Elite. They latched on his arms, forcing his weapons down. One leveled his upper body and tackled the Elite. De Vos ran around, pulled out her combat knife, and jumped onto its back. It was a difficult leap as her armor was so heavy. But she grabbed onto its neck and jammed the blade into its throat. Gurgling, the beast collapsed to its knees.

Sheathing her knife, she turned to see ODSTs locked in a massed melee with Jackals. Some of the men had them pinned on the ground and were hitting them with their fists, pistols, or even their helmets. Likewise, Jackals were trying to strangle soldiers or pummel them with their shield. Grunts ran around, trying to retreat or kick wounded troops.

"Get into the fight!" De Vos shouted to the ODSTs with her. Raising a battle cry, they ran into the fray. Troopers dropped their weapons and let them hang by the straps as they tackled Covenant foes from their comrades. They crushed Grunt and Jackal faces with the heels of their boots, cut their throats with combat knives, and squashed their eyeballs with their thumbs. Other troopers ran around them, stabbing with knives or shooting with their weapons. Alien blood, purple and blue, splashed and coated their armor.

Running into it herself, she found herself on top of a Jackal. Taking out her knife, she slashed its throat. A Grunt jumped onto her, but she threw it off and kicked it so hard in the jaw its rebreather flew off. She raised her knife high and brought it down right on top of its skull. The Grunt went cross-eyed and went limp. Tearing the knife out, she whirled around and yelled as she cut a Skirmisher across the face.

De Vos sheathed it and kept running. "Keep going, keep going! Press the advantage!"

She could feel the momentum. ODSTs were storming over the Covenant dead. With the walls of flame on either side there was no way to create intervals between bodies. It was terrifying and exhilarating, bashing and shooting down Covenant. Grenades exploded, green fuel rod cannon bursts sizzled by. Soldiers were screaming and laughing, shooting and reloading. Wounded troopers dragged towards the rear by their comrades, even if there were no formed lines. There was no command post, no fall back position, and no objective; they were going to hit the Covenant, checking their advance. They were not just going to hold the line, they were going to push it back against the enemy, snuffing out their own momentum.

She was fighting, reloading, grabbing magazines from the cartridge belts and bandoliers from dead troopers. At times, there were so many shrieking, squawking, snarling Covenant around her, there was no time to reload. Dropping her weapon, she would pick up an assault rifle or shotgun from a fallen ODST, Marine, or Army trooper, and fire until the weapon went click. In that brief respite, among bullet-ridden aliens and dying humans, she would take up her M7S again, feverishly reload, and press onward.

Her eyes danced over her VISR heads-up-display. She'd squeeze the trigger and watch the rows of bullets deplete. When she lobbed a fragmentation grenade down the flame-bordered path, she would see the number decrease.

The fires grew more intense, growing higher and higher into the air. Wind fanned the flames and swirled smoke along the bare dirt path. ODSTs were side by side, shoulder to shoulder, so close they nearly stumbling over each other. They would charge into a mass of Covenant, losing a man or two, but wiping out the aliens. De Vos kept going, going, going.

Suddenly, she stopped. There were no enemies in front of her. De Vos looked over her shoulder; there were no ODSTs with her either. She could not hear anything that sound like a human or an alien. But there were bodies everywhere; soldiers blown to pieces, burned by plasma or the brush fire, and riddled with Covenant carbine slugs. Dead Covenant were all over the place too, blown up, scalded by the flames, and pockmarked by bullets. All she could hear was the roar of the fire. Almost all else was muted by her helmet.

"Shit."

Her first instinct was to shout and locate any nearby ODSTs. But that was too risky; enemies could be close by and would zero in on her location. Dropping to one knee, she put a finger to the earpiece and activated the SQUADCOM. She had dropped alongside A Company, call sign Assassin. "All Assassin call signs, this is Wardog Five, report your positions, over."

There was no response. "All Assassin call signs, this is Wardog Five, report your positions, over!" Again, there was nothing. She switched between multiple frequencies, including a net channel; there was static, some indistinguishable chatter, and an occasional scream. "Shit, shit, shit..." she muttered. Then, she tried calling the headquarters company of the battalion, call sign Wardog. "All Wardog call signs, this is Wardog Five, does anyone copy, over?"

The comm link suddenly stabilized.

"Wardog Five, this is Wardog Six, reading you loud and clear. Send traffic, over."

It was Major Holst. De Vos breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wardog Six, Wardog Five. It's good to hear you, sir. I've pushed ahead of forward elements and I can't raise anyone. Requesting SITREP and orders, over."

There was a brief pause. She could hear shooting.

"Five, Six here. We've stopped the Covenant cold but we've lost a lot of casualties. The last of the evac is taking place at Phase Line Red." De Vos recalled during the mission briefing Phase Line Red was the last location the UNSC could hold for an undetermined amount of time. Phase Line Green, indicated by a pulsating blue, diamond-shaped waypoint, was nearly one hundred meters to her front. If they were going to hold at Phase Line Red, it meant they lost too many troopers for continued offensive action. "We're going to be falling in right behind the last of the conventional troops. How copy?'

"Wardog Six, Wardog Five; solid copy, over."

"Get your ass back here, Wardog Five. I'm not going to lose you. Wardog Six, out."

De Vos's waypoint shifted on the compass. She looked over her shoulder and saw it was two hundred and fifty meters to her rear. Taking one last look to her front, she turned and began steadily working her way backwards.

It all happened so fast and with such savagery. It seemed like she had fought miles out from the drop zone. It was just a matter of meters, maybe fifty or sixty, perhaps a little more. She killed so many and so many of her fellow Helljumpers were slain too. Going back along the paths, she barely set foot on the ash-covered earth. The bodies lay so thick, they formed a blanket or a kind of flooring that carried up above the soil. The sheer amount of bodies was staggering. In some areas, it was not a matter of side-by-side bodies. Heaps, heaps of dead men and aliens, slumped over on another. Bloody piles of limbs and corpses, red blood mixing with that of blue and purple.

There was an ODST run through by energy swords; the bearer of the blade was on top of him, hand still on the handle, so the white-pink blasma continued to blaze. A dagger, held by the ODST's dead hand, was imbedded in its long neck.

Piles, piles, piles of Grunts who, ushered by their masters, sat in front of dead troopers armed with machine guns. The guns were fired for so long the barrels overheated and warped; the gunners sat dead behind it.

In between the bodies were hands, arms, legs, feet, and heads. Bits of flesh and bone were all over. Helmets, parts of battle armor, broken weapons, firearms with smoke still rising from the barrels, opened and discarded first aid kits, blood covered knives, and grenades with the pins still in. Women and men without helmets, soft-cover caps, or any face protection stared skyward. Their eyes were wide and blank, their faces frozen in terror, teeth bared and mouths wide open. Blood leaked from their eyeballs, noses, ears, and mouths. Skin was scorched and blistered, broken open and sliced. Some of the bodies even had spikes in them.

De Vos stopped and observed the corpses with spikes in them. She had not encountered any Brutes during the entire assault. No other Covenant infantry type ever utilized spikers other than the Brutes, at least not in her experience.

After examining the body, she stood up and looked around. She kept the stock of the M7S braced firmly against her shoulder, ready to aim. Wind was blowing harder than ever and throwing ash around like it was a blizzard.

"Wardog Six, Wardog Five, over."

"Wardog Five, Wardog Six, send traffic, over."

"Six, Five. Possible Bravo-Kilo presence, over."

"Fuck. Alright, I'm coming to you. Pick up your pace and keep falling back, out."

De Vos was about to turn when something hot and heavy slammed into her shoulder. At the same time, she heard something akin to an M90 shotgun going over and felt something strike her left side; it was like getting clipped by a car. The two impacts were nearly simultaneous and so forceful she was thrown onto her back. Gasping, she looked up to see two Brute Minors running at her; one carried a spiker and another a Type-52 pistol; it was their version of a shotgun. Their eyes bulged, saliva flowed from their open maws; the bloodlust was gripping them and they wanted to use their hands to finish her off.

Picking her M7S up, she squeezed the trigger. All sixty rounds struck the forward Brute, the one with the heavier weapon. The rounds chewed up its torso armor and pulverized its gut. Even as its clutched its belly and the intestines came out, it still stumbled on. Yanking her SOCOM pistol from the holster, she aimed and fired. The bullet hit it right in the head and it fell over.

The other one threw away its pistol, roared, and ran faster. Firing as fast as she could squeeze the trigger, she saw each bullet strike; three in the stomach, two in the chest, one in the left arm, two in the right arm, and three in the left leg. But its pace did not stagger and it grew angrier. None of the bullets seemed to have broken its momentum in the slightest.

Before she could slide a fresh magazine into the pistol, it was on her. In the brief thrashing, De Vos lost her grip on her pistol. Instead of crushing her, it grabbed her by the neck and held her up. Slowly, it squeezed. Struggling for air, De Vos took her blade from the scabbard and rammed it into the beast's forearm. But all it did was roar, shake her madly, and then tug the blade from its flesh without so much as an expression of pain. It dropped the blade onto the ground.

She kicked the Brute, punched its elbow, and tried to tear its fingers from her throat. Nothing worked. Her lungs were burning, she felt like her windpipe would collapse at any moment. As things began to turn black, she felt her legs start to go limp.

At that moment, she felt something hitting her feet. Her M7S strap was still slung on her shoulder and was hanging down by her face. With one, difficult effort, she pulled the strap up, fumbled the weapon around until she grabbed the trigger guard, reloaded it with her last magazine, and expended all sixty rounds. The bullets tore its face off and ruptured its throat. The Brute finally released its grasp and slowly fell over backwards, like a felled tree.

Falling onto her hands and knees, De Vos wheezed and coughed. But when she looked up, she saw another Brute coming at her. It was a Major, better armed and armored. Reloading with one of her last spare mags, she began firing. But the Brute fired its spiker, and two spikes penetrated her thigh. She fell onto her side, crying out, but raised her weapon to keep firing. The monster drew closer. Then, she heard a shotgun blast.

Looking to her left, Major Holst appeared with an M90. Advancing steadily and firing from the hip, he killed the Brute with several shells. After sweeping the area, he came over to her. Without speaking, he took out a fire aid kit, pulled out the biofoam canister, and positioned the nozzle in her wounded side. De Vos looked over and realized that the armor and all clothing underneath that section was shot away, and a chunk of her flesh was missing. It was a gnarled, bleeding mess. When he squeezed the canister trigger, yellow foam filled the wound and then sealed. She hissed and gritted her teeth, but the brief stinging pain was followed by a wave of relief.

Holst reloaded the shotgun, then pulled out a spare magazine for both her M7S and SOCOM. At the same instant, they both heard more Brutes roaring among the flames. He looked over her shoulder, depolarized his VISR, and looked at her. "Evac's wrapping up. I'm getting you out of here, Nina."

"I'm just going to slow you down. I'll cover you."

"Out of the question, Captain."

His VISR polarized, he handed her the shotgun and took out his pistol. "Let's go!"

Grabbing her by the strap of her backpack, he began dragging her back towards the landing zone. Just as they started, Brutes began coming out of the ashen fray. De Vos and Holst fired together; she broke their armor with the power of the M90 shotgun, while he finished them off with a well-placed pistol shot to the head. It was by the book, but effective. When she ran out of shells, he would drop another bandolier of slugs into her lap. If there wasn't time to reload, she would pepper the Brutes with SOCOM and M7S fire.

It was terrifying and hellish. Each time a Brute came close De Vos thought it was over. But they managed to bring it down every time.

She soon heard the wonderful clatter, rattle, and chatter of UNSC gunfire. Looking back, she could see a mixed squad of Army troopers, Marines, and Helljumpers defending the LZ. One of them was using a tripod mounted M247 General Purpose Machine Gun. Their motley position was made up of a few steel barricades and half-constructed sandbag walls. The blaze on either side consumed the rest of their defenses. Behind the thin line of soldiers was a hovering Pelican being loaded with remaining personnel.

Holst got her past the machine gun and to the Pelican. With the aid of a corpsman, they pushed her inside the Pelican. She took the seat on the right closest to the door.

"Sir, this is the last one!" the crew chief shouted, hanging onto a guard rail and firing his pistol at the encroaching Covenant.

"That's it then!" Holst shouted, running over to the machine gunner. He took over and began firing long bursts at the enemy. "Everybody get in, I'll cover you!"

Everyone collapsed back towards the Pelican. They clambered in, one after the other. De Vos fired with her M7S despite the pain from the spikes in her shoulder and thigh.

"Last man!" she shouted as the final soldier boarded. Holst, who was about to be overrun, tossed a frag grenade and ran as fast as he could. When he jumped towards the Pelican, it was De Vos's hand he grabbed. She hauled him in and he fell on the floor. The rear hatch closed and they ascended into the atmosphere.

De Vos took off her helmet and breathed in deeply. All she could smell was sweat, blood, and soot. Everyone was panting. Some covered their eyes or whole faces, or grasped the sides of their head. All were wild-eyed, trying to process what they just survived. Some began to weep.

Holst took off his own helmet and laid his head back on the edge of the seat between De Vos's legs. She was still holding his hand. His eyes were squeezed shut as he panted. When he opened them, he grinned. De Vos could not help but smile back.

It was not long before they were back in the ship. A voice over the broadcasting system indicated a slipspace jump was going to commence soon. De Vos was carefully carried out by Holst and several other men, and was placed on a stretcher. He was by her side the whole way, smiling at her and holding her hand.

Gazing up at him, she expected him to say something gallant or comedic. Instead, he nodded.

"I'm very proud of the way you handled yourself down there, Captain," he said. "Damned proud."

It was just a matter of words, words that she was accustomed to. It was not a matter of arrogance; many officers congratulated her performance before when she saw it merely as her duty. Each time she heard it made her heart swell with pride. But when he said it, she could have broken into tears.

She was about to say something, when Colonel Gu, from the division, approached. He was a wiry ODST, with bald head, square face, high sharp cheekbones, and menacing brown eyes. When he came over, the stretcher bearers paused and Holst snapped to attention.

"Sir!"

"At ease," Colonel Gu growled. "Major Holst, I saw your helmet feed. That was some damn fine soldiering."

He held out his hand. Holst blinked, glanced at De Vos, and took it. Gu grinned. "That's what being an ODST is all about, son. Bringing the fight to the enemy and accomplishing your mission."

"I didn't do it alone, sir," Holt said, motioning to De vos and towards the other surviving ODSTs shuffling by.

"I know. Thanks to you and your battalion, you were able to buy the evacuation precious time and to keep them from being overrun, at great risk to yourself as well. I'm putting you in for a medal; the Red Legion of Honor."

Holst raised his chin and he stood very tall.

"Thank you, sir," he said again, his voice thick. De Vos smiled as Holst and Colonel Gu shook hands again, but it soon faded. Looking past them, she could see other stretcher bearers; on their litters, the bodies were covered with blankets. Limp arms hung out from under them. Dozens upon dozens, hundreds after hundreds, of dead ODSTs. Alongside the procession of the dead, was a chain of the wounded. Men and women being carried and supported, all burned and bleeding. Some wounds were so severe they could hardly stand and many collapsed. Their screams echoed throughout the entire hangar bay.

De Vos found her gaze falling on the window of Carris's quarters. It was still dark outside and the rain was coming down steadily. When the wind swept through the compound, the rainfall intensified and drummed against the window. One could have mistaken it for distant machine gun fire.

"Major Holst and I have been fighting together a couple years shy of a decade," De Vos finally said. "I didn't grow up with him. I didn't train with him. As popular as he was, I had not even heard of him before a saw his name on my recommendation letter to the Orbital Drop Shock Trooper school. Might as well have picked my name out of a hat; I was in a pool of potential candidates made up of commissioned officers. I was in the Airborne, and later I served as a Pathfinder. ODSTs? Same principle; you fall from the sky and you fight. I accepted."

De Vos sat back in her chair and gazed at Carris. She was still on the edge of her cot, hands resting idly on her knees, shoulders hunched, head low. But her crystal blue eyes were up and burning into her own. Try as she might to keep her expression neutral, De Vos could see pent up frustration and anger in those eyes. Such feelings were present, even if one could not see them plainly.

Leaning forward, she smiled softly and pressed her hands together. "Soldiers find bonds between one another, whatever bonds those may be, in different ways. But ours was forged in the fire of our first battle. His awards were entirely earned; he came back for me while I was dying, and risked being left behind and killed so the others could get in first. Leaders like that are in short supply these days. Some officers are contented to be lap dogs for ONI, others defect to the Insurrection because they think they'll get a better deal, and others just run away. Holst, for all his flaws, leads from the front and fights with his troops. He doesn't stand behind them, or among them, he is out in front."

"Leadership is not just about fighting and giving orders," Carris said. "Some inspire their troops."

"I haven't met that many who can."

"I have." Carris smiled a little then. "He doesn't say much. He just...goes, and people follow him."

"If he's that impressive, I'd sure like to fight with him someday."

Again, Carris smirked.

"He doesn't fight with people; he fights for people." Carris sat up. "I haven't been with this outfit as long as you have. Major Holst is a decent soldier but I would not call him a respectable officer."

"He's a military man of an older school; the medals, badges, and accolades mean a lot more to him than they do for the likes of us. They really do mean something to him."

"Holst is the kind of man who wants to be a general one day, and he thinks a colorful ribbon rack and lines of medals will make that happen," Carris said. "On the ground, fine, but if he doesn't get his way he's nothing more than an upset peacock strutting and flashing his feathers."

"Yes, some of his behavior is questionable and not always metered with proper etiquette, but-"

"He's a glory-hound."

De Vos sat back, pursing her lips. She pointed at Carris.

"You know, I think that too sometimes. It's easy to, and it's even easier for people who don't know him. But you haven't served with him, and fought alongside him, like I have. You have not been there when he saved my life and the lives of others multiple times."

"How many ODSTs did you drop with?"

"Eight hundred."

"How many survived?"

"A little under three hundred," De Vos said after a moment's hesitation.

"So, you'd defy UNSC law because he saves lives?"

"I did not say that."

"Saving lives in the midst of the battle is one thing, ma'am. Yes, he saved you, and those other soldiers. But look how many he lost."

"Commanders have to complete missions; they have to send soldiers to die."

"Yes, that's war, it's an undeniable fact. But those kinds of casualties, even among ODSTs? How many did he lose saving a few? Saving lives isn't just about pulling someone out of the fire; it's about making sure the least amount of people get burned when you send them into it."

The words hung between them for some time. Carris's gaze hardened while De Vos looked back blankly. It was like having the wind knocked out of her; there was nothing she could say in response. It was not something new to her; it was a thought that occurred to her many times throughout her career. But it was always a painful reminder. The balance; how many do you sacrifice to complete the mission? How many lost lives merit the objective? When does the casualty count become unacceptable?

Finally, she swallowed hard.

"Major Holst is my commanding officer and my friend. He's saved my life. I feel indebted to him for that. But, I'm a soldier fighting on behalf of humanity. I'm not a member of his bodyguard and he is not a king. For humanity's sake, and as a soldier of the UNSC, I must obey its laws and regulations. So if the Major performed an act that violated it, I would be compelled to report him to the proper authorities."

"Regardless of respect? Regardless of friendship."

"Regardless of respect," De Vos answered, "regardless of friendship. Regardless of everything."

Carris stared at her silently for a long time. Eventually, her gaze softened and she looked back towards the window. Her blue eyes seemed to shimmer like ocean waves caught in a shining sun.

"You're lying," Carris said, her voice so tender it teetered towards fragility. "Get your data pad out."

Word Count: 6,212

Author's Note: I wanted to upload this earlier in the week, but at least it's not at the end. It'll give me three days to work on Marsh Silas before I have to return to this story and other work. This was an interesting chapter to write, and actually took some research; reading up on the wiki's and re-watching footage of Halo 3: ODST. It was fun and I wanted the combat to be fast yet gritty, something that happened in a matter of minutes that could represent the highly skilled behavior of ODSTs but also their high-risk mission capacities. Lots of acronyms on this one, but this was on purpose; it was supposed to set a military scene and show De Vos's aptitude as an operator.

Comment Responses:

MightBeGone: I appreciate that. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. And I'm sure you'll find out.

Commissar BS: Being lore/canon friendly is something I've done my best to respect in this story. There have been some instances in the previous story where elements of technological capacities and science have been pushed to rather unbelievable circumstances, and occasionally I've made a mistake or two on species representation. But, I've always done my research and located elements within the games that would support such actions so they don't seem too far-fetched, you know? I want to create a balance between lore/canon friendliness, but also provide an entertaining, engaging narrative.