Chapter 17: Jump-Off

The day finally arrived. The 1st CBG was shoving off to support Operation: Exalt. Swarms of Pelicans and Albatrosses streamed between the Port and the battlegroup waiting in orbit. Droves of Marines and Navy personnel lined the airfields with all their personal gear and belongings. Troopers clad in their M52B body armor smoked and joked. Ensigns in trim, gray tunics and seamen in, carried their flight bags and eagerly awaited to get back on the I'm Alone or respective ship. Scorpions and Warthogs lined the tarmac and were loaded into Albatrosses. Longswords and Shortswords, assigned to planetside duty for months, took off and disappeared in the sky, returning the hangar's of waiting ships. Stacks and stacks of supplies waited to be sent off.

As rivers of personnel flowed from the command post and the multitude of barracks, the Marine Raiders of Alpha Company were assembled in their training yard. Lined up in formation, they were clad in their armor and had their weapons slung over their shoulder. Each one was well-groomed; their olive drab armor gleamed in the sunlight and their black boots shone.

In lieu of a raised platform, Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing drove a Warthog in front of the company. Standing beside the rear-mounted turret, his hands were folded behind his back and his chest was puffed out. Unlike the troops, he was dressed in a pair of crisp, light green digital camouflage fatigues. In front of the Warthog, Vivian stood beside Major Royce. The latter was dressed to a similar degree to his men, albeit he wore a soft cover officer's cap instead of a helmet. Although she wanted to wear the armor and fatigues given to her by the Marines during the training exercises, she would be assuming command of the I'm Alone shortly so she was clad in her gray tunic.

Despite her rigid posture, she was smiling. She was happy, although not just because their operations were about to kick off. Already, the stir crazy, claustrophobic feeling she and many of her subordinates felt was wearing off. Getting back on her ship and thrusting back into the vast reaches of space, searching for juicy targets to destroy, was more than attractive. But she was proud of the Marines standing in front of her. They had truly made an achievement and were they in their dress uniform, their chests would have boasted their commendation and achievement medals for their service and dedication. No longer were they line Marines: they were Raiders, opening a new chapter for UNSC special warfare. They were only going to be an asset for the missions ahead.

Yet, there was pride in herself as well. She did her best to quash it lest it go to her head. But she could not help it in the end. Despite being a Navy captain and her last combat training exercise was back at Luna OCS, she managed to make it through Swing's Raider training. Left tanned, sinewy, and determined, she felt like she could do anything. Alongside Marines who were fighting since they were fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen, she felt as though she proved it to them she was not just a swabbie fit only for the bridge. To the Navy personnel present to witness their version of a graduation, she showed them she had the willpower and physical aptitude to overcome any arduous challenge.

Swing cleared his throat and gazed grimly at the troopers gathered before him.

"God help me," he grumbled, "today, you've become Marine Raiders. You're sorry, piss-poor excuses for Raiders and even worse for Marines. But you've got guts and you managed not to croak during this training. If you're able to survive me, then you probably have a shot of making it through your next firefight with the Covenant. Hell, you'll probably breeze through it! You think them Covvies are tougher than I am?"

"Sir, no, sir!" all the Marine Raiders shouted in unison.

"Damn right," Swing declared, then jumped from the back of the Warthog. "But I know you lot are so stupid you probably couldn't tell the difference between a rock and a hand grenade. Somebody's got to be there to hold your hand and change your diapers. So, with Captain Waters' permission and the approval of the powers that be, I will be coming with you."

If they were not at attention, Vivian knew they would have instantly started talking to one another. Despite the shock plastered on their grizzled faces, the Marines remained stock still. That brought a look of displeasure upon Swing's hardened face. Puffing out his chest and folding his hands behind his back, he surveyed the men with hot, glaring eyes. "Well, sorry if I disappointed ya. Thought you might I appreciate my handsome mug for a little longer. I said I'm coming with you! Does that make you happy!?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" everyone hollered.

"What's my Corps coming to!? Louder, Marines, louder!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" they screamed.

"That's what I thought!" Swing said in a haughty tone. "Now, are you ready to unveil our little present to Captain Waters?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Vivian blinked and looked over at Major Royce. The company commander did not meet her gaze, either because he did notice or he did not care. Still knowing very little about him, Vivian guessed it was the latter. Royce seemed aloof and uncaring, drifting among the company and barely engaging with any of the men under his command. Most of the Marine Raiders did not seem to notice him or even mind his lack of interaction. Perhaps they were just used to his ghostly demeanour. From her past experiences, Vivian was wary of him and viewed him more as Hayes' personal lapdog than a proper Marine officer. There was something off about the majority of staff officers under Hayes' command; like Royce, they were dark, reserved, detached, and extremely loyal to the colonel. It was not so much an expeditionary unit staff than it was a small mafia. While the Marines remained outgoing and colorful, they were removed. Despite the Marines' excellent combat record and their own legend built on the corpses they left at Skopje, she found Royce and his fellow officers far more intimidating.

Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing pointed at Frost. "Front and center, Gunnery Sergeant."

Attentively, Frost stepped out of line and approached the drill instructor. When he stood at attention again, he saluted. Swing returned it, then turned around and faced Vivian. "Captain, if you would," he said, gesturing for her to come over as well.

Vivian slowly approached, unable to feel at ease. Despite their rigid posture, she could see an expectant, amused expression on the face of every other Marine gathered. Was it going to be some kind of phony, special awards scheme they concocted where they humiliated her in the guise of honoring her? Maybe it was less complex and they were just going to play an honest but ultimately harmless joke. If that was the case, she did not mind and she was prepared; it was good for the officers to be at play with enlisted ranks from time to time. She enjoyed it, even; she could maintain her authority while still being among the men and women under her joint command.

Standing just a few paces in front of Frost, she waited. Swing turned to the Gunnery Sergeant. "Alright, hand it over."

Reaching behind him, he took something off his belt and held it forward. It was a scabbard with a knife sheathed within. With an earnest smile, Frost hand it to her with both hands.

Blinking in surprise, she took it gingerly from his outstretched hands. Keeping the flat of the scabbard in one palm, she carefully withdrew part of the blade, exposing the polished, silver metal of the blade.

"Seeing as you completed the training just as much as these sorry excuses for Marines," Swing said, "we thought it was fitting to give you a little something. Your very own KA-BAR knife with a little something extra."

Vivian took the knife all the way out of the scabbard. Instead of the olive drab or brown grip that most possessed, it was black like Frost's. The blade had a silver finish and imprinted on either side were the words 'Semper Fidelis.' Gripping it tightly, she found the weight to be agreeable.

Sliding it back into the scabbard, she smiled at Swing.

"Thank you, Master Guns," she said.

Swing reached over and patted Frost hard on the back.

"We all wanted to get you something, but it was the Gunny who decided what it was. Better than what PFC Grant said. He wanted to get you a rifle-"
"Sir, that's not what I meant, sir!" came a cry. Swing's eyes shone brightly and he turned sharply around, facing the bulk of the men.

"Don't you ever interrupt me you slimy little sack of shit!" he screamed. "We all have rifles and if the Captain needed one she could just go to the armory! Use your goddamn head!"

Smoothing out his tunic, Swing turned back to Vivian. "But that's a symbol, Captain, representing your training and your status among these ingrates. We're proud to count you as a Raider, Captain Waters."

"I'm proud to be counted among you," Vivian said. She turned to Frost. "Thank you."

A quick smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded. Instead, Frost clicked his heels together, raised his chin, and saluted smartly. Her own smile widening, she repeated the gesture. She felt honored and proud, and more so towards the Marines.

Every single one held themselves in a new way; taller, more alert, and with greater pride. Their faces were tanned and leathery, their frames lean and sinewy, having lost the body fat they built up from so many months garrisoned at the Port. They were retrained, well-armed, armored, and eager to get back into the fight. She could see it; when they were still, they were tense, trembling with energy. When they were in the field conducting exercises, they moved quickly and with precision, a combination of pure aggression and focus comparable to a wolf pack. She was eager to see them engage the Covenant.

"Anything you want to add before we jump off, Captain?" Swing asked.

Vivian was not prepared to deliver a speech nor did she think the Marine Raiders needed one. But to leave without offering a few words or making some gesture seemed wrong. So she took the knife out of its scabbard and held it as high as she could.

"Semper Fi!" she cried at the top of her lungs. Much to her surprise, all of the Marine Raiders drew their blades and lifted them skyward.

"Semper Fidelis!" they belted out, their combined voices roaring into the air. Three times, they raised their voices and then punctuated it with, "Waters! Waters! Waters!"

When it was over, they were ordered to break ranks, and they came forward. Everyone wanted to salute Vivian and shake her hand. More than once, she got a sturdy clap on the back. Each one stung worse than the last but Vivian was happy to be accepted by the Marines. She knew the rift between the Marine and Navy personnel was still present, but at the very least she could count on a section of the Marines to play ball. It was not through a nefarious trick or by promising gifts and rewards; it was by her own action and effort.

Before the company could disperse to rejoin the rest of the 89th MEU, the war correspondent, Katz, arrived. Wearing beige cargo pants and a heavy-duty button down top, with only his vest over it, he asked if he could snap a few photographs. The company gathered around into a large semicircle, with the first row crouching and a few laying down in front of them. Everyone held up their KA-BAR knives and flashed wide, toothy grins for the camera. After taking at least five, Katz thanked them and promised the photographs would definitely end up being run through the ringer by ONI Section Two again, but would eventually worm their way back to his magazine.

That made the troops happy, knowing their faces would be plastered across magazines, news footage, and social media. It fed into their egos and Vivian was perfectly alright with that aspect.

Vivian imparted some general praise for the men, made her farewells for the moment, and made her way to the airfield. Weaving through the crowds of manpower waiting their turn for the unit to find space on the airfield and the long convoys of vehicles waiting to be brought up to the fleet, she stopped briefly to speak to knots of officers and enlisted men. From ensigns to commissioned officers, she made sure every single one of her seamen had their gear, ranging from extra pairs of socks and toothpaste to their personal service sidearms.

When she got to the airfield proper, she was excited to see the I'm Alone medical staff lining up awaiting transportation on a Pelican. Compared to the colored jerseys of the hangar crews, the gray tunics of the officers, and the olive drab armor and camouflage uniforms of the Marines, their stark white lab coats shone brightly in the sunlight. Most were standing in line, waiting for their turn to board one of the dropships descending on the landing pads. Others were directing orderlies, technicians, and logistical personnel as they carted crates of supplies and equipment towards several Albatrosses.

Standing abreast of the column of medical staff, she searched them for one particular individual. It was not difficult to spot her, considering non-regulation thick, long, black hair tinged with golden locks. Before long, she spotted Lieutenant Commander Jasmine Ebrahimi. Jasmine looked excellent in a new, crisp gray officer uniform and a fresh white lab coat. Her hair was tied in a thick but ultimately neat ponytail and her glasses were pushed up tightly over her eyes. When Vivian approached her, she could see the chief medical officer pouring over a data pad. Switching between different tabs, running down checklists, and occasionally looked up, pointing at different personnel, and speaking to herself, she was utterly focused.

Halfway over to her friend, Vivian stopped. A soft, small smile formed. She enjoyed seeing her this way. Enraptured with her work, diligent in her behavior. Even out of the operating room and her office, she was totally in her element, engrossed, like a proper Navy doctor.

Finally walking over, she stood beside her just to see if she would notice. Jasmine did not for several minutes, looking up between her data pad and her staff. Eventually, when she looked back down her gaze shifted left slightly. She looked up at Vivian and then immediately looked right back down at her data pad. A split second she looked back, gasped, and covered her heart. Vivian laughed and tapped her on the shoulder.

Shaking her head, Jasmine laughed and caught her breathing.

"Is everything going smoothly?" Vivian asked her. Jasmine nodded, and then pointed to one of the ascending Pelicans.

"That one's carrying one of my OR teams. That Albatross there has crates of new medical equipment from syringe packets to patient gowns. It's a smooth operation for now, but there's just so many people and so much supplies, it's still going to take a while."

"It's a big task unit," Vivian said. She folded her arms across her chest and observed the medical staff. "I remember talking to a lot of the officers from Batavia after we pulled the 89th MEU off of Ambition."

"My goodness, that feels like a lifetime ago," Jasmine murmured.

"They said that Captain, what was his name, Howard? No, Harley."

"Hugh."

"Right. Said he mucked up the entire operation. All he had to do was ferry the Marines and their equipment planetside and he couldn't even manage that. I wonder how that fat slob stayed in the Navy, or how he managed to get a commission in the first place."

"Maybe the UNSC has started to sell officer commissions like those empires did way back when, when ocean ships had sails," Jasmine said, shaking her head. "But some people just manage to slip through the cracks and are able to fake it until they get somewhere comfortable."

She turned and gave Vivian a sly smile. "Not everyone can graduate near the top of their class at Luna OCS."

Vivian scoffed and shook her head. Arms akimbo, she watched the medical staff slowly shuffle as another group boarded a Pelican and headed into orbit.

"This is it, Jas," Vivian said wistfully, "we're going to turn the tide of the war here. We're going to take back the initiative and drive the Covenant back. Operation: EXALT is going to grow and grow, they're going to give us more ships and more men to take back more planets. If we can do our part, harass the Covenant flanks, take out their infrastructure, destroy their support facilities, and tie up their fleets, we can let Task Force 519 pierce deeper and deeper into their territory. Everything is going to change."

She reached over, took Jasmine's shoulder, and squeezed it. "I don't know about you, but I have goosebumps."

Jasmine laughed pleasantly for a moment.

"I can see you're feeling right at home already. It'll be good to be back on the I'm Alone. Now that we're about to embark, I'm just starting to realize how much I've missed her."

"Having our feet on the ground always feels nice," Vivian started, "but only for a little while. We're Navy officers; the only time we can feel truly at home is when we're encased in titanium exploring the furthest reaches of space. " She nodded her head to the side and grinned boastfully. "And blowing up a Covenant fleet or two. Maybe by the time we're done with this operation, there won't be any Covvies left to shoot."

Jasmine shook her head.

"That'll be the day," she said, unconvinced. Vivian hooked her arm around Jasmine's neck and playfully pulled her closer.

"C'mon, don't be that one person who has to be a debbie-downer. This is going to be one hell of an adventure."

Finally, the doctor smiled.

"Yeah, yeah it will."

Another Pelican descended and a notification tone sounded off Jasmine's data pad. Jasmine tapped a key on it then tucked it under her left arm. They turned and faced one another. "Well, I'll see you up there, Captain Waters," Jasmine said, then saluted with a smile. Vivian returned the gesture.

"See you on board, Lieutenant Commander Ebrahimi."

"That's Doctor to you, Viv," Jasmine said cheekily before grabbing her kit and jumping on board.

Dressed in her full BDU, Captain De Vos marched down the hallway with her helmet under her left arm and her M7S submachine gun strapped to her hip. Drifting through the barracks, she used her command override over every single barracks door on the ODST ward. When the keypad light flashed green and the door handle clicked, she opened it and ducked her head inside. All the cots and bunks were devoid of mattresses, sheets, and pillows. Personal items were gone and no gear was left behind. Most importantly, there were no stragglers. Door after door, room after room, she checked and checked, feeling more assured they were not leaving anything or anyone behind.

Eventually, she went up the stairwell and went down the commissioned officer quarters, consisting of single rooms. Overriding the security locks again, she checked them as well. Like the enlisted mens' quarters, these were empty too. De Vos even checked her own quarters, just to be sure. The last room on the left was Major Holst's and she opened it. She nearly jumped out of her boots to find him standing inside.

He was at the window, overlooking the main compound of the Port. His back was straight and his hands were folded behind his back. From the posture of his neck, she could tell his chin was raised slightly. Having served with him for the better part of a decade, she was quick to pick up on his mannerisms. Often, he liked to raise his head and look down his nose at places or people. Some may have found it rude, but De Vos was generally forgiving. She doubted he even realized he was doing it.

"Sir?" she asked. He did not respond, even by gesture. For a moment, she wondered if she did not hear him. "Sir?" she asked again, louder this time.

Holst was silent, but he did raise his hand and wave. De Vos walked in, closing the distance between them. "Sir, I thought you were still out with the men on the airfield. Why are you back here?"

"Nina, I'm worried about this op," he said with a labored sigh.

De Vos hesitated briefly, then walked up beside her commanding officer.

"I understand, sir. We're going deep into hostile territory, we won't have a lot of support, and until we're on the ground we'll be in the hands of the Navy." She smirked. "Personally, I feel much safer among a whole mess of Covvies than a blasted swabbie ship. If I'm going down, I'd rather have some say in it, rather than wait for the damned thing to get blown up."

She glanced at him and she was surprised by his unimpressed expression.

"Nina, c'mon," he said with a slight grin. "I'm not worried about the swabbies, I'm worried about Waters."

He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. "She's gotten close to the Raiders, those lazy excuses for SOF. We're the preeminent special operators the UNSC has to offer. Not the Rangers, not the Raiders, the Helljumpers. I'm not getting sidelined for a bunch of bearded jarheads who think because they did some ruck marches they're hot shit now."

"Sir, I don't think we'll be overshadowed. We'll be working together; the Raiders will be working with us. A force deployable by dropship working in tandem with shock troops like us will make us more effective as a task unit."

Holst shook his head again.

"We should have retaken this planet, not those leathernecks. I goddamn guarantee we would have been able to do it without losing a man. And it wouldn't have taken us as long as it took them. I'm not here to see my troopers get left behind a bunch of upjumped line Marines. We've barely gotten a piece of the action in months while those hounds get their chests lined with medals and ribbons."

Since the mobilization began, De Vos was worried it would come back to this. Holst was a superior officer and knew how to effectively lead his ODST's. To be a commissioned ODST officer was not a small feat. Personally brave with a firm understanding of tactics, an officer who led from the front, was rare to find even in the line units. Day by day, the officer corps efficacy was decreasing. For every decent combat leader coming out of OCS, there were two more who were not prepared for the Covenant. It was not their fault as much as it was a matter of cadets being rushed through the pipeline.

She was thankful to have him as a commanding officer, but the medals reminded her of every time he complained about glory, or rather the lack of it. Already boasting a colorful ribbon rack, he still yearned for more decorations. More and more, her concern that his lust for achievement and accolades was going to cloud his judgement continued to mount.

De Vos sighed quietly.

"Sir, we just need to focus on our men and the mission."

"I am focusing on our men," he answered defensively. "Some of them are discontented too, they want to get back into the action. You'd know that if you actually talked to them."

It cut deep. De Vos knew Holst was well-aware how often she was around the enlisted men. Each day, she ran with them during PT. She practiced at the firing range with them, led them through remedial training, and even broke fraternization regulations just so she could eat with them at the mess tables. Holst did the same, but she knew he was not as active as she was. It was more than aggravating, it was a personal blow. He was her friend and he was accosting her.

De Vos turned and faced them, her brow furrowed. She wanted to hit him.

"Sir, we both know that's not true."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"It's wrong. We shouldn't be treated like this, like second-rate soldiers."

"Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"You need to get your head out of your ass," De Vos said bluntly. Holst turned his head slightly and looked out of the corner of his eye. "There are bigger things than you and me at play here. It's not about medals. I shouldn't have to remind you of that. While we're sitting here yapping, there are Covenant ships burning entire worlds. This operation might be a chance to stop that. Even if it doesn't succeed, we'll be able to deal them a heavy blow they won't quickly recover from."

Holst opened his mouth to speak but De Vos held up her hand. She inhaled sharply and exhaled somewhat loudly. Opening her eyes back up, she maintained a steady, hardened glare at her superior officer. "If medals are what you're really concerned about, I'm sure we'll all have a lot of metal pinned to our chests when this is over, whether or not we're alive. So just do your job and lead these troopers, and you'll get what you want."

For a time, the two officers gazed at one another. Eventually, the senior of the two chuckled and shook his head.

"Damn, Nina," he breathed. "Now I remember why I made you my XO."

De Vos scoffed and looked out the window.

"I like to think it was for my good looks," she said sarcastically, "but I'm quite positive it was because of my CSV and my combat record."

"None of the above," Holst admitted, gripping the chest piece of his BDU with both hands. "I knew if I ever got crushed by the military machine, ever got low, or lost sight of things, you'd be the one to get me back on track."

He reached over and bumped her shoulder pauldron with his fist. "Thanks, Nina. Alright. Alright, alright, alright," he said, patting down his uniform to make sure he had everything. "Let's get outta here and kill some Covvies, huh?"

Grabbing his bag from the floor, he turned on his heel and tramped out of the room. De Vos watched him over her shoulder, a quizzical expression on her face.

That was too easy, she thought to herself.

"Come on, come on, come on! Load it up so I can get outta here!"

Carris hefted her rucksack and kit bag into the back of the M831 transport Warthog. Instead of passengers, the back of the Hog was filled with backpacks and standard-issue olive drab flight bags. The entire squad was dumping their gear into it. Many other Marine squads filled up Warthogs with their materials. Once a vehicle was full, it drove off to the airfield and delivered its cargo to the quartermasters. Those individuals who tag and organize the equipment before sending it up by Pelican or Albatross to await pickup. When the respective units would get up to the I'm Alone or other ship, they would collect their gear and return to their original quarters.

Earlier, men were boarding aircraft with their gear but the compartments were getting too packed. Due to weight limits, some units, even basic ones, could not be transported in waves as originally planned. To maximize the amount of personnel they could bring to the fleet, they were taking up equipment separately. Dedicated transports for men or equipment alone was making the process a little slower but far less confusing.

Clad in her armor, Carris briefly thought about putting her helmet on. Turning it around in her hands, she stared into the orange visor. She could see her reflection, widened and distorted.

Stepping up on the tire, she unzipped her rucksack, which was rather empty, and stuffed it inside. She was not ready to wear it just yet.

Frost, Grant, and Moser finished putting in their bagge, and the former banged the side of the Warthog.

"Take it away Borko, thanks for picking this up," Frost said loudly over the rumbling engine.

"See you up there, big man!" the combat engineer declared and drove off.

Frost checked his watch and smiled.

"We have a little time before our flight comes," he said to the squad, "let's go see Steele and say goodbye."

Everyone agreed and followed the squad leader towards the hospital. Carris lagged behind somewhat, walking a little slower than the others. She looked towards the airfield and saw streams of Pelicans flying skywards. Albatrosses descended towards the planet as well as Darter supply ships.

Goodbye. She was not ready to say it. To leave without him would be like leaving one's hand or arm behind. She was a Spartan, she could handle any enemy and any fight. So many times she faced odds that platoons, even reinforced companies of elite troops would struggle to fend off. Not once did she need a team to help her. But she was gelled with these Marines and their little radio operator. They relied on her, and she could count on them to cover her six. Being among them reminded her of what it was like to train on Reach; being with her team, engaging in competitions and training sessions with the other trainees. Sometimes they won, most of the time they fell just short. Other Spartans were faster, stronger, and luckier. To be among the Marines and hear them banter, chastise one another, and play against one another at chess, checkers, poker, or other games, was just as good. Better, even.

Without Steele, her Louie, it just wouldn't be the same. She was his point of contact, her little connection with whatever sense of normalcy life under the UNSC could offer. Whenever she became deterred or confused, he was there to help her. If someone wanted to jeer at her for her height and stature, he was the first one to defend her.

He felt like he was just for her. She didn't want to give him up, as selfish as it sounded. Carris broke from her thoughts and caught up.

They went into the lobby, got cleared by the clerks, and they were escorted by an Army doctor who was taking over for Jasmine. He led them to the spacious ward which was still mostly vacant. Steele was sitting in bed, this time a little more upright. He was wearing a blue patient's gown and still had an IV in his arm. Over the weeks, his blonde hair had grown longer and thicker, spilling over to the left side of his head. Loose standards were curly and their shade of blonde was so pale, the locks appeared almost white. His mustache was thicker than before and stubble coated his cheeks and chin, which was so dark it was nearly brown.

"Hi, Louie!" Frost greeted enthusiastically.

"They won't let me fucking smoke in here," the sniper complained loudly, "I need a smoke or I'm going to turn inside out."

"You smoke too much anyways, maybe this is a good way to take a break. When you get back into the field, you need to be able to bound. How're you going to bound if your lungs are black and shriveled up like Moser's soul?" Grant asked playfully. Moser frowned, reached over, and slapped the back of his friend's head.

"Shut up," he muttered. Steele snorted but ran his hands over his face.

"I'm so fucking bored. I'd rather walk and feel my ribs ache just to break up the monotony. I haven't laid around this much in years, years, it's a load of bollocks."

"You'll heal faster if you stop complaining," Langley said slyly.

"Yeah, it's been medically proven that complaining prolongs the healing process," Knight added.

Steele lowered his hands, pursed his lips, and stared blankly at his friend. Sweeping his gaze back and forth, he eventually sighed.

"I'm sorry I can't go with you," he said. "It's not right to let you go while I stay here, safe."

"No."

"No, man, it's not like that."

Steele shook his head and rested his hand on his side.

"It's not the same. It's not right. You need a sniper. None of you know what to do with that damn rifle. What're you going to do without me? You'll all get yourselves flanked by some Jackals or an Elite will get close enough to use his damned daggers."

He laughed uneasily. It broke Carris's heart. She could see very plainly he was forcing it. His eyes were glimmering and he would quickly run his hands over his face or rub his forehead in an effort to disguise them. Steele's posture became drooping and his expression was pale. The sadness he was feeling seemed to radiate off of him. Staying in the hospital was killing him. Already, she could see his skin tighter in a few places. Whereas the Marines were more sinewy and shed their garrison weight, whereas his was lost from laying around. A tray on the table beside him was covered with half-eaten, nibbled hospital food. The chicken cutlet looked dry and overcooked, the peas were deflated, and the mashed potatoes looked more like a pile of sand.

While the other Marines pushed in and carefully hugged him and uttered a few final words, she hung back. This was no way for a man like Steele to be. Laying in bed, injured, miserable, without his cheeky glance or cocksure smile. This was not the way for him to be. Even if he was going to recover in a few month's time, he would be alone. If he wasn't transferred to another unit, he would be stuck here in limbo. Waiting for news, worrying constantly that his friends were in contact with the enemy.

One by one, the other squad members began to pull away from him. Frost was the last one to approach him. Very carefully, the two embraced. The Gunnery Sergeant was careful to keep his arms above his friend's ribcage. When they parted, she could see the two of them were thick with emotion. Both of their eyes were red and wet.

"Take care, Lou," Frost said with a pitiful sniff.

"Yeah, see you around, Nate," Steele said back, his voice heavy. Frost stood up, turned around, and looked at Carris. He blinked, cleared his throat, and waved his hand.

"C'mon guys, let's give'em a minute." Frost ushered them out, then stepped beside Carris. "Take your time," he said to her, patted her shoulder, and left.

Carris watched him go. She still didn't trust him and her resentment was still as strong as ever. But she was thankful for that sentiment. A token of respect, from a Marine to a petty officer.

She turned and looked at Steele, who was staring at his lap. Carris took a breath, walked over, and crouched down. Steele slowly looked at her and smiled weakly. His eyes were watery.

"Hey C," he said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, but I don't think I can give you a-"

"No, that's okay. Don't worry," Carris assured him, although it still hurt to know he was not able to talk about it. But she would stay patient and would not push him. "I just came to say...to say..."

She didn't want to say it. Steele seemed to understand.

"Maybe we shouldn't drag this out," he sighed sadly. "I wish you weren't leaving."

"We'll be okay."

"No. Just you. Well, I mean, you especially." He shrugged. "I mean, you know, whatever."

Carris chuckled a little. She stared at him for a time, taking in his narrow face, unshaven face, curly hair, and lackadaisical but bright blue eyes. It was a face that was difficult to forget and she did not want to for that matter.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and lowered her head. When she looked back up, she returned Steele's puzzled expression with a grin.

"Do you want to stay here?"

He grinned.

"No."

###

Carris walked up to the Pelican, where the rest of the squad was already piling in. She carried a supply crate under her arm. Frost reached out to take it.

"Careful, it's heavy. You might need two people."

"I can handle it, whoa! Holy shit, what's in here Carris."

"One of the engineers asked if we could take some of his gear up with us. I figured it was just one crate so I didn't think it was a problem."

"I guess not," Frost said as he heaved the crate up. Carris pushed from the bottom. Moser and Grant took over once it was inside and slid it towards the cockpit. As the hatch closed and the compartment grew dark. The red light cast an eerie glow over the Marines as they waited stoically for the Pelican to lift off. Soon enough, there was a shudder. Soon enough, they heard the steady hum of the engines.

Frost, sitting at the final seat on the right side near the door, smiled at the squad. "We're going home."

Carris nodded and briefly looked at the crate. She smiled and leaned her head back.

The lid burst from the crate and Steele appeared. He gasped loudly and held his side.

"My fucking ribs!" he wheezed.

Everyone but Carris screamed.

Words: 6,314

Pages (Google Docs):

Original Font: PT Serif

Original Font Size: 11

Original Line Spacing: 1.5

Author's Note: Well, it turns out I died instead of uploading three chapters. I'm now more behind than I ever was before. So you know what, I'm done playing catch up. All I feel is crushed by all this work, and between my laborious job and a multitude of other things I have to do, I haven't had as much time to write. But, I've managed to be more productive this week off-site and this site, especially now that I've completed this chapter. I'm not going to try and catch up anymore; from here on in, I'm going to do my usual one chapter a week so I don't lose my mind. If I miss a week, I might try to double up, but generally if I miss one, I miss one. Sorry if you were expecting more folks.

I'd also like to take a moment to say thank you to all the returning and new readers. Not only have you taken the time out of you days, some of you for years now, but you've always been very supportive. I really appreciate the kind words, constructive criticism, and general feedback you all give. And something that really, really means a lot is when I miss a chapter or don't update for a while, I don't get barraged by, 'hurry up and post!' or 'when's the next chapter!' When I spiral into procrastination and self-doubt, you guys let me do it in peace, so thanks for that! Joking aside, it means a lot, because those kind of messages would really make me feel low and pressured, so I appreciate it a lot. I wish there was more I could.

So! With that, if any returning readers are interested, if you go to my DeviantArt profile (RadiationSoap) you can reread the original I'm Alone in its original prose format rather than this format. Thanks to Fail4Fun, I have the ability to upload PDF's that look like actual novel pages rather than...whatever this is. So if you want to, take a look, and why not show Fail4Fun some love, she's done a lot for me and this story.

Comment Responses:

MightBeGone: Well, you shan't be scared for long, because we're finally going to get back into some action...in a couple chapters I guess. Hopefully you'll get some relief soon. Thanks for sticking with me.

Ctrl-Dalt-Delete: Nope, no writer's block here. I've had a few questions like these before, and I'll say what I always say: it's not going to stray too far from canon. I've always done my best to be true to the lore and the canon, and insert this story into gaps or untouched areas of the wider story. However this story goes, the canon story will unfolded just as it did in the games. Much love to you, my friend, and please stay extra safe.

TheCarlosInferno: Not a bad idea, but I planned for this one. I wanted something less dramatic and without fanfare, as well as a means to explore Carris's growing...less strict side. Someone who is more open to socializing and breaking rules, willing to have fun and defy authority. That's part of Carris's trajectory as a character. Thanks for reading!

Edgeofdoom: Hey, if I'm going to name a ship, I'd like it to be be odd and off-the-beaten-path. I think of it more as a the UNSC Navy hitting the Covenant over the head with a frying pan! XD Thanks for reading and commenting!