"Five battle rifles, four sub-machine guns, a shotgun, a .50 caliber machine gun, ten concussion grenades, seven fragmentation grenades, nine plasma grenades, two plasma rifles, a needler, three magnums, six plasma pistols, five combat knives, as well as three portable energy shields we got from the jackals," Hudson said in a single breath.

The marines in the bravo company barracks all were huddled around the lounge, connected to the end of the bunk hall.

"About sixty rounds for each BR, and eighty for each SMG. Twenty shells for the shotgun, and around two hundred rounds for the fifty caliber," he added."

Hudson thought to himself about the situation they were in. Taking the bridge back is the top priority, that's certain. Not only do we need to stop the taking of this platforms gun, the bridge will give us access to the earth communication band.

"The layout of the bridge dictates the best strategy," Hudson said, observing the hologram that projected from his PDA. "There are two platforms on either side of the room, overlooking the main floor. If we take both platforms, we will have the advantage of elevation over the covies' below," the man said, pointing at the luminescent model rotating in front of him.

"Two teams then, alpha and bravo, seven men in each, too take over each platform," Sergeant Harris said, arms crossed. His recent anger towards Michael's previous provocation had vanished now that he had battle strategies to occupy his attention.

"Of course, sergeant," Hudson replied. "There is a single doorway to each platform, and two more on the main floor, as well as a gate on the southern end. Ferry B also runs its track through the bridge and connects at the west platform," Hudson continued.

Michael stood next to Sergeant Hudson, examining the floating hologram.

"Sir the covenant has the bridge locked down from every direction, if my assumption is correct," Michael stated. "Were going to need some breaching charges, to get in," he said. Michael never really like making assumptions, he only did so when proper deduction allowed.

"I'm aware of that corporal," Hudson stated. "Hopefully Barker and Tucker located something in the armory," he added.

Michael looked up at the marines around him, crowded around the table, littered with weapons. For hours he had been alone in the dark, corpse just feet from him. Now he was among live soldiers, the sound of their voices was such a contrast from the dark closet he had spent nearly three hours in. His sense of survival was waning slightly; he could feel it, since he was now in the presence of additional soldiers. There was no longer as great a need for scrutiny now that he had some eyes behind him.

It may sound like a bad way to think, but he couldn't help the feeling.

Michael's thoughts were interrupted though, as his last name was called out: "Corporal Grant," Hudson's voice echoed loudly in the confines of the lounge.

"Yes sir," he responded.

"Stop your day dreaming and focus. You will be in command of Bravo team," Hudson said.

"Privates Brown, Chrisano, Baker, Long, Sanchez, and Pham will be yours to command," he said sharply. "You will infiltrate from door 7AK, and onto the Western platform," the sergeant added.

"Yes sir!" He replied.

So he was in command of a squad. Just like that. Well it's not as if he wasn't prepared. At least now he was the one calling commands, and the sense of control helped to reassure him.

The appearance of motion down the hall causes the group to all turn their attention. The barracks door whooshed open, and in strides Barker and Tucker. Private Tucker had a small case cradled in his arms. The pair walked over to the table, and promptly set the box down amongst the various weapons.

"Status report Barker," Hudson said quickly, eyeing the box.

"Well sir, the armory was pretty near bone clean but we did manage to find this," she said slapping her hand on the plastic crate, the label of which was smeared with dried purple blood. "M145 Breaching charges, low yield, three of them," she said triumphantly.

"Good work," the 1st sergeant replied. "We know have a way to crack that bridge."

Michael glanced at the charges as Kiesha removed one from the crate, and then to the six men he would be commanding. Everyone one of them was focusing on table that was after all where all the planning was happening. Each one of their faces was pretty impassive, as they listened to Sergeant Hudson. The upcoming assault would be tough. Michael knew that not all of them were going to make it out alive. It would have to take some miracle for that.

He eyed each one of them. A chill went down Michael's spine as he thought of the cosmic forces at work here. Each of these marines was listening, thinking of the battle ahead. Many of the men before him were actually fresh recruits, privates and private first classes. He couldn't say for sure whether or not any of them had yet considered the possibility of death in this upcoming assault.

It was odd. A soldier knew that he had a grave chance of dying in his profession and yet, when he finally went into battle, and people were being killed all around him, he didn't once consider the possibility that he would be one of the ones killed.

Perhaps it's our nature of individuality. The thought that because you are "you" you cannot die in such a meaningless way. It was difficult for Michael to put his own thought into words, but it didn't really matter of course, unless he had to explain it to someone. Anyway, the chill remained. If one was so expectant that they will live through a battle, and yet end up being killed, the emotional distress that must be felt right before death must be inconceivable.

Aw crap, I'm rambling to myself again, Michael thought. He had to pay attention to the briefing. The six soldier's faces remained in front of him though. With a small bit of thought, Michael quickly picked which faces he thought would live through this fight, and which would die.

"Alright marine's, load up and prepare to move out. Take as much equipment as possible; we don't know how many enemies we'll be going up against," Hudson called.

David Brown was nervous. How else could he describe it, the action on this station marked his first experience in actual combat and he wasn't exactly feeling too brave about know. He wouldn't deny it. He was indeed a coward. He joined the marines because of the academic scholarships it provided. Soldiers were needed, but those soldiers needed equipment to do their jobs. David wanted to be the one to create that equipment.

His designated team leader was now walking over to his location. The man still puzzled David immensely. David knew that he himself would never have the courage to attempt to motivate a group of battle shocked marines. But this man had done it, with only a few words too.

"Marines," Michael said, addressing the six men before him. "If you don't already know, my name is Corporal Grant. Take what equipment you need. Sergeant Harris team will be taking the fifty cal with them, Brown, you have our breaching charge. David registered his name but seemed to drift out on the rest.

"Did you hear me marine," Michael snapped. Brown quickly analyzed the words Michael had previously stated and quickly replied: "Yes sir."

Brown proceeded to the weapons table and looked over it. A single battle rifle lay nearby. David's mind thought about taking the weapon. But as his hand was about to move, Michael gently lifted the rifle up and began looking over it. Ok, he thought to himself.

An M7 SMG sat nearby. That'll do, he thought. Kiesha promptly picked up the gun and loaded it. Damn it! David said to himself. He looked up at the marines around him. Each one was inspecting, loading, and storing various items. Sergeant Hudson cocked the lone shotgun. Sergeant Harris was fiddling with a battle rifle, a plasma rifle already strapped to his hip. The table was becoming bearer by the second as Tom Leonard hefted the fifty caliber machine gun onto his shoulder.

Quickly reaching out with his left hand, David snatched up a concussion grenade, followed quickly by an M6C. Quickly loading the handgun and holstering it. The marine shoved an extra magazine into one of his empty hip pockets. He still needed some kind of primary weapon though.

He let out a frustrated sigh as his eyes scanned the near empty table, until his eyes fell onto one of the last remaining pieces of hardware: the single covenant needler.

Just my luck, he thought as he hefted the strange weapon. The pink, glowing projectiles protruding from the top of the weapon gave the marine an uncomfortable feeling, like if he moved the thing in the wrong direction he would stab himself. He had been trained in use of the weapon but didn't particularly favor it. The cylindrical containers that stored the crystalline needles were not located anywhere on the table. So I have one magazine to boot… perfect, the soldier sighed.

Finally, David grabbed the squads breaching charge, and stuffed it in his pack.


Time for action, Kiesha thought to herself as she made her way down the hall, weapon rose in front of her, searching for targets. Her team traveled in a straight line down the hall, she was second in the formation. In front of her was Ryan Lopez, behind her was Tom Leonard, and behind him was Sergeant Harris.

The team rapidly moved down the hall and arrived at their destination. Without a word, Ryan removed the breaching charge from his backpack and moved toward the closed door.

The M145 was about the size of CD-ROM case and was designed to adhere to a set surface on command. Ryan placed the charge on the center of the door, right on the opening mechanism, and secured it in place. The squad had already taken a position behind the nearest bulkhead, only about fifteen feet away. Ryan, detonator in hand, took his place in front of Kiesha.

"Hey barker," Tom whispered to the young woman in front of him. "Yeah, what's up," Kiesha whispered back. "I just wanted to apologize for sticking that pistol in your face earlier," he said. "Don't worry about it-,"

"Hey, cut the chatter marines," Sergeant Harris slurred. The two promptly shut up.

Sergeant Hudson stood behind Sergeant Harris, a headset mic visible near his mouth. "Okay Bravo team, on my mark set off your charge and move in," he said in a low voice.

This is it, Kiesha thought to herself as she watched Ryan arm the detonator. She gripped her SMG tightly and prepared to move.

"Ready!" Hudson called out.

"Mark!" He shouted into the mic.

Ryan twisted the detonator and the silence in the air was shattered. BANG! The charge detonated in a flash of white and orange, small bits of black, twisted metal highlighted a thick plume of smoke that blossomed outward into the hall.

The white smoke raced towards the marines and surrounded them. Kiesha's vision blurred slightly as the warm smoke washed around the marines, the sound of the explosion echoing in her head. She could barely make out Hudson's voice as it sounded incredibly distant. Still, she understood the command to move and in seconds was rushing forward.

Ryan's outline was slightly visible in front of Kiesha as they made their way through the smoke and took a sharp left turn, right through the smoking doorway. The entire hatch had been ripped to pieces, leaving only a scorched outline on the door frame. Kiesha stepped through the door, heavy steam still awash all around her. She knew that she was in the control room now, and that the covenant was just feet away.

Dark patches of green and blue streaked through the fog around Kiesha. She ducked her head low as she felt a wet liquid slash against her shoulder. Then unexpectedly, an incredible weight seemed to topple directly onto her. She was pinned to the floor and began scrambling to get the mass off.

Plasma fire whined in her ears as the smoke cleared. She finally managed to wrench herself free from Ryan's lifeless corpse. Figures ran past her, as she tried to reorient herself. She felt a firm grasp on her left arm and realized that she was being pulled.

The sight of a railing directly in front of her allowed her bearings to return. She was on the eastern platform of the bridge; the solid railing in front of her was part of that platform.

Just as the grip on her arm was released, she threw herself down, against the railing. She then fumbled with her weapon as gunfire exploded around her. "Fire your weapon Barker!" someone next to her shouted. Without even looking at the figure crouched nearby, she rose up over the parapet and took in the scene below.

The covenant were scrambling like ants, only about twenty five feet below them. Grunts, jackals, elites, she caught sight of them all. They were all running for cover among the various control panels and raised objects. Some were already in place and firing back, some were still running, and some were simply on the floor panicking.

Kiesha shouldered her SMG and took aim at a grunts backside. The small alien was running in the opposite direction, its arms flailing in the air. Kiesha let fly and the grunt squealed as the 2mm rounds impacted against it. Blue streamed from the back of the red-clad alien as it was sent hurling forward from the force of the projectiles. Before the creature even landed on the floor, Kiesha sighted another target and opened up. She swept her weapon in a small arc from left to right. There were just so many targets.

Plasma washed against the top of the railing, sending Kiesha ducking back down.

"The fifty, get it up!" she shouted, to no one in particular. Tom suddenly came sprawling out in front of her, the heavy machine gun clanking to the floor in front of him. "I'm already on it," the private said to her, as he lifted the large weapon.

Needle thin fingers of green, knifed through the air above them, as Tom readied the weapon. He lifted with his knees and raised the machine gun onto the edge of the parapet. He glanced down at Kiesha as she looked up. She caught his eye. A round from a covenant carbine slashed through the air, struck his right shoulder and punched through both sides of his armor. A thin gout of blood spurted onto the railing as the marine fell backwards.

He slammed onto the deck, his head snapping forward. The machine gun clattered to the floor beneath his feet as more plasma splashed against the railing. Clenching his teeth, he grabbed the wound with his right hand. The radioactive round had pierced clean through and left him with an odd tingling sensation.

Kiesha was on all fours now, keeping her head down from the plasma lancing over top. She crawled over to the wounded soldier and shoved her ear up to his mouth. "The fifty, use it!" he managed to yell over the explosive noise of battle. Kiesha glanced at the weapon, on its side and waiting. She looked back at the soldier beneath her, his face coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and then at the marines lined up against the railing.

She could see Sergeant Harris yelling something in her direction but couldn't make it out amidst the gunfire. Her eyes went back to the heavy weapon. She had to move. Crawling over to the gun, she winced as a loud explosion shook the room. The thing was heavy, but she knew that she could manage. Lifting the large gun over the railing, nozzle first, she grasped the handle with one hand and the top of the stock with the other.

Plasma rang all around her from the floor below. She pivoted the weapon downward and opened fire. Without any sort of brace or mount the crew-serve weapon was incredibly difficult to control on the flat surface that the railing provided. Kiesha struggled with the rattling weapon, aiming the best she could at the targets below.

Sparks erupted and panels blew off in fiery explosions. A trio of grunts jerked in place as the high caliber rounds ripped into their bodies, shearing off pieces of their armor and flesh. A jackal raised its shield in defense as the fiery marine guided the stream at it. The defense held for a few seconds, but inevitably the jackal lost its footing under the sheer weight of the bullets. Pushed back and off balance, the projectiles tore at the creature's body, ripping its arm off in an explosive burst of purple. The alien crumpled to the floor, still squawking.

Sergeant Hudson called out to the soldiers around him: "Move up! Get onto the deck and box them in!" A double flight of stairs connected the upper platforms to the main deck. The marines quickly moved from the protection of the railing and marched, running and gunning, down the first flight of stairs. Sergeant Harris crouched on the landing and fired off the remainder of his magazine at an elite, sending it stumbling into a flaming power node.

Across the raging battle, Michael's team was fighting just as hard. Michael spotted Harris team moving in and understood the thought behind the maneuver. "C'mon marines, lets go!" he called out. David was the closest to the stairs and pretended not to hear the order. Instead he waited for several other marines to run past him and then followed up the rear. Private Chrisano charged down the stairs, in the lead.

Plasma lanced at the moving marines. Blue bolts slammed against Chrisano's side, striking all the way up his neck and head. The marine screamed and fell forward tumbling the rest of the way down the stairs, coming to a hard stop on the landing.

Not stopping, the team ran down past the writhing marine and down the second flight of stairs, now on the main deck. A solid divider lay directly in front of them, just as planned, allowing the surviving soldiers cover from the vicious plasma. Michael slammed hard against the divider, immediately pulling a frag grenade from his belt. "Grenades, marines!" He shouted.

David hit the floor, sprawled out on his stomach and fumbled for his concussion grenade.

The strategy was working. If the covenant wanted to fire on Alpha team, they had to turn their backs to Bravo, thus leaving them exposed, and vice-versa. There were a few elites, however who had managed to find cover between two objects, protecting themselves from both teams.

Michael pulled the pin from his grenade, as the soldiers around him did the same. Counting to three, the soldier estimated the distance from the aliens, and heaved the metal sphere up and over the divider. In quick succession, the marines all tossed their explosive devices into the alien horde.

A line of explosions erupted along the covenant ranks. One of the grenades struck a jackal directly in the skull, throwing the creature, stunned, to the floor. The sphere detonated a half second later, vaporizing the alien. Grunts flew through the air and over the divider, trailing smoke and landing on the floor behind the marines.

An elite spotted one of the devices strike the floor near him. Attempting to shift his body weight in the opposite direction, he began a jump just as the grenade went off. The force of the explosion propelled him through the air, his shields disintegrating.

The elite rolled behind a control panel and out of the marine's line of fire.

By now David had wrenched the pin from his grenade, and heaved the weapon into the fray.

Lolamee yed' crouched behind the control panel, his shields at a critical level, and slowly attempting to recharge. He was alive though, thanks to his cat like reflexes. Lolamee knew that the humans would never take him down; if he was the last elite alive they would never kill him. His skill after all was simply… Lolamee's self-confidence boost was interrupted however, as a round, spherical, globe of metal dropped into view…

A low guttural cry was drowned out by the bang of the concussion grenade as it went off.

Alright, it sounds like I got one, David thought as he crawled over to the divider.


Spent cartridges from the fifty caliber machine gun littered the floor around its operator's feet. There were only a few covenant, mainly elites, still alive, all of them huddled around the center of the control room. Kiesha let up on the trigger. She had to let the weapon cool before she could fire again or else the thing could actually start melting.

Suddenly, a white armored elite stepped out from behind one of the center control panels, his hand glowing blue. Kiesha took aim at the new target and realized exactly what the alien was holding. While her mind was still formulating the situation, the elite heaved the plasma grenade. It zipped up at her in a gentle arc and impacted against the nozzle of the heavy weapon. A glowing blue ball of plasma whining up in front of her, Kiesha's thoughts raced.

She couldn't drop the gun on her team below, so that left one choice. The marine dropped the gun onto the floor of the platform, the grenade glowing a ghastly white, grabbed the railing and heaved herself over the side. She was still in the air and falling when the loud, static filled explosion sounded overhead. A cloud of blue and white illuminated the platform as Kiesha made contact with the floor. She tucked her head forward and rolled, absorbing the impact as she had been taught.

Bits of metal zipped down and ricocheted on the floor around her, leaving small trails of smoke in their wake. Getting back to her feet, the feisty soldier ran to her team.

"There's only a few of them left," she overheard Hudson saying as she crouched down among the marines. "A captain elite is alive in there," Kiesha said quickly. For a split second, the sergeant showed a look of dismay. It vanished however, as he called an order into his mic for Bravo team to converge on the elites position. They were out of grenades and had to take that thing down by direct fire.

Michael turned to his team and spoke: "There's a Captain Elite hunkered down in that cluster of control stations over there," he said pointing. "He's the last thing that stands between us and winning this bridge!"

"So let's go get him!" He yelled in a motivating voice. The marines called back, vaulted over the divider and charged toward the center of the bridge, all except David of course. "What's wrong marine? Let's move," Michael said to the man still crouching on the floor.

Before the soldier could answer, Michael caught sight of Alpha team advancing on the elite's position from the other side. Forgetting about the soldier at his feet, Michael rushed off to help.

The marines closed in on the cluster of control panels that the elite was supposedly hiding in, but they saw no sign of him. Both teams stopped, about ten feet from the position.

The ambient noise of a few burning fires, licked at the marines ears as no one spoke a sound. Every eye was focused on the center of the room. A light haze of smoke hung in the air. Michael gripped his rifle tightly.

A loud snap sounded from the panels. The snap, Michael recognized, was of a covenant plasma sword. No sooner had this registered did the elite explode from the top of its hiding place. The creature propelled itself twenty feet into the air, armor glittering and sword radiating energy. The marines were still pivoting upward to track the elite, when it came thrusting back down.

In a loud, high pitched slash, sounding like a knife slicing through water, the elite landed on the floor, bringing its sword down, vertically upon the marine in front of him, bisecting the man. The elite dashed to the side, the marines shifted and tracked the agile monstrosity.

Its shields flared as the marines opened fire, bullets ricocheting at oblique angles. Sergeant Hudson ran forward, as the elite lunged at another target. His shotgun was almost touching the glowing, white shield of the creature, when the sergeant pulled the trigger. Fire erupted from the nozzle of the weapon; the loud metallic boom struck the elite. Pellets washed against the energy shield, but still, the elite did not fall.

The captain elite rotated his entire body rather then moving just his arm, sending his sword whipping around before Hudson could react. The weapon connected with his neck and Hudson went crashing to the floor, a wave of blood spurted from the elite's sword as the marine succumbed to the power of the energy weapon.

Michael fired the last round from his battle rifle and paused. Many of the marines had stopped firing for fear of hitting their own comrades, giving the elite the opportunity to lunge while they tried to think. The alien filled Michaels vision, the glowing plasma sword rushing at him. He wanted to get away, to keep the creature as far from himself as possible. He pitched backwards, not laying down, but simply throwing himself to the floor, not caring how hard his landing would be. Catching sight of the cumbersome disk still attached to his wrist, Michael let go of his rifle and threw his hand at the disk. He had one chance, if he missed the switch on the portable energy shield, he would not have time to try again.

The tip of his finger connected with the small button and the shield sprung to life. The device tugged at his arm as the orange shield solidified, just as the marine slammed onto the floor. Lying on his back, Michael immediately brought both of his legs up and pushed his feet against the inside of the shield, as the plasma sword came crashing down.

Tendrils of electricity slashed through the air as the two formations of energy collided. Sparks showered the floor around Michael's head as he pushed with every muscle in his body to keep the shield from crushing him. The elite's strength was insane, unlike anything he had ever felt before, a few more seconds of this pressure and he was sure that his arm was going to fold.

Shots rang through the air as Michael let out a yell of anger, the last ounces of his strength disappearing. The elite roared out as plasma and bullets slammed against his nearly depleted shield. Letting up his sword from the human beneath him, the elite turned in defiance at the marines around him. There were too many though. From all around him weapons flashed. He was vaguely aware that the shots were eating away at his body. So many pricks of pain from the searing plasma and red hot lead slamming against him, caused a sort of nirvana within his mind.

The elite's vision blurred and his hearing cut out. No longer able to feel his body, the alien leaned forward. The floor, covered in purple gore, came closer and closer to his face. Then the elite hit hard, dead, bleeding, and covered in dozens of bullet holes and plasma burns, bringing the frantic assault to an end.

The moment Michael felt the weight above him disappear, he let the energy shield drop to the floor. He sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold and then let it out as fast as he could. His muscles were numb and his body ached. I bet I pulled something during that one, Michael thought to him self.

He simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind blocking out the noise of shuffling marines around him. The bright overhead light glowed eerily overhead. He didn't like it. He felt that if he stared at it to long, he would never get up again.

Willing himself to move, the hardened marine bent forward and sat up. Pain shot through his right arm. Slowly, he pulled off the portable shield that had saved his life, and tossed it onto the dead elite's body. He looked around the room. Marines were running, the wounded being treated. He saw Kiesha hauling a marine on her shoulder; he forgot the man's name.

His eyes shifted to the left and he caught sight of Sergeant Hudson's body. He lay, lifeless on the floor, ringed in a pool of blood. His neck had not been cut through completely and thus he was not truly decapitated. It reminded Michael of a character from some really old fairy tale about Wizards. Michael didn't even question why he was thinking of such a memory in this place in time.

"Are you okay, sir?" A voice next to Michael said unexpectedly.

He looked up and saw Private Francis Pham. "Yeah, I'm fine soldier, he said."

"We accessed the Earth Communication Band and it sounds like the covenant is retreating, we actually won, earth still lives," he added.

"Good to hear," Michael said. "I guess the covenant AI just wasn't able to overcome the stations," Michael thought out loud.

Shakily, he got to his feet and surveyed the room again. Sergeant Harris was apparently on Fleet COM, conversing with the other orbital defense platforms, and spacecraft. Michael walked over to one of the bridges massive glass windows that covered an entire wall. The glass was pocked with bullet holes and had several large craters where it had been scorched by plasma. Fortunately the glass was about a foot thick.

He looked out upon the scene.

Orbital defense platforms stretched out in a line as far as the eye could see, gently bending to follow the earths curve. Ships of all sizes, destroyers, frigates, carriers, all of them could be scene in a large cluster away from the stations. Ships were already returning however, to be repaired and restocked. As per standard procedure, the most critically damaged ships would receive use of the premium docking space within the small number of service platforms.

Michael could see one of the platforms, a massive disk with a flat surface, being flocked by countless spacecraft. Pieces of debris littered the space around, chunks lazily floating by the station, to be burned up in the earth's atmosphere. It was a mixture of brown, and purple, both sides ships existed peacefully with each other only in death. Hundreds of thousands had undoubtedly been killed in the defense of the mother world.

The large hulks of UNSC ships and Covenant ships floated gently, dead in space, highlighted with dots of orange from a hundred different fires fueled by the ships leaking oxygen atmospheres. Salvage operations would begin immediately; any material that could be recycled should not be wasted after all.

So many were dead.

Why was he still alive? What gave him the right to live on anyway? Fate was the only answer, a case of being in the right place at the right time. It wasn't a matter of skill or being a good soldier, it was all just luck; the luck of being on a ship that didn't get hit by one of a million shots. Michael hated those kinds of outcomes.

Michael turned back to the surviving marines before him, and the dead. He thought about his earlier guess of who would and would not die.

He had missed completely.


I'm attempting to update this story every Friday from now on. So check back for updates around that time.