Yes, remarkable as it may seem, I am still alive and making stories off of other people's ideas, most notably the original creators of Star Wars, Halo, Aliens and Warhammer 40K with added plagiarism from Bombsquad's FFH storyline of which he is the original creator. At least I'm not making money from this, eh?

By the by, if anyone manages to correctly guess the origins of the Admiral… I shall be astounded.

Apologises for the crude dividers to mark the passage of time and scenes, but they are the only dividers I have…

TTTTTTT

Dozens of ships, broken and shattered, floated in the vacuum of space, the fires and electronics long burned out. Destroyers, battleships, cruisers, transports… all had been annihilated and left, like glass bottles in a park.

Admiral Farlander looked upon the wreckage from the Nebulon B Frigate Dissident. "Scan again please, Lieutenant." He returned to his vigil at the viewscreen as the scans were repeated. His small fleet had been pursuing the tell-tail signs of an enemy fleet, in the hopes of delaying or stopping them. The last thing he expected to come across was the fleet completely destroyed.

The ops officer shook his head slowly as the same information was relayed back to him. "There are no discernable ion trails or other form of propulsion residue from this point." He looked up from the screen. "This is the fleet."

"Was the fleet, surely." Sergeant Clay retorted, leaning against a bulkhead in an all too casual fashion. Farlander's face lengthened as he ignored the snide comment. As more friendly alien species came into contact with the Sentient Coalition, it was made common practise to include soldiers from other armies on ships in order to promote inter-species relationships. This was perfectly fine, Farlander admitted, right up until the point you realised that you drew the short straw. These Colonial Marines from one of the many Earths were crude, casual and looked after their own.

"Open a link with the A-wing scout formation." There was a brief crackle of static, then. "Yes Admiral?"

"Report."

Cadet Bryson looked around at the wreckage from the cockpit of his fighter. "Whatever happened here sir, I think we missed it. From what's left, I think this consisted of several Covenant vessels, a couple of Yevetha frigates and several miscellaneous troop transports." He avoided a large piece of rubble, and cycled energy sharing so that his shields were being recharged at a faster rate. "We picked up minor energy emissions from the largest vessel, possibly life support, we couldn't tell."

Farlander nodded slowly, then recalled the squadron. "I want this ship to approach the largest wreck and a scan to commence in order to determine what the energy emissions are. The rest of the fleet is to spread themselves out in an octahedral arrangement around us, two clicks away from the epicentre. Tell them to watch out for any unusual activity."

Clay perked up in slight surprise. "You think there might be something still salvageable in that wreck?"

Farlander sighed. "I do not know, sergeant. That is what I am trying to determine with these actions." He turned to the ops officer. "Report."

The Twi'lek turned. "The energy emissions are consistent with that of spartan life-support systems. There's still a breathable atmosphere on the more interior parts of the ship, and a gravity of 0.8 Gs. Enough to keep a strike force alive." The alien turned back to the screen. "No discernable life signs detected."

Farlander paused for several seconds, then clapped his hands together, causing the Kalidor Crescent medal around his neck to shake. "Sergeant Clay." The Marine saluted. "I want your men to prepare for an off-board sortie. I expect them to be ready in at least five minutes." The human saluted again, turned and sprinted down the corridor. The entire command crew sighed in relief.

"That'll get them off our backs for at least an hour…" Farlander muttered, "…as well as show us just how good they actually are. Get a shuttle ready to transport the Marines to the ship." Farlander smiled. "Tell them to take their time."

TTTTTTT

Clay looked at the ten-man squad in front of him, the 422nd Colonial Marine squad. They may not have all of these fancy-nancy blaster pistols and vibro-blades, he thought, but they are still soldiers. Right now, they were joking and holding bets about who was going to be shot first. Their body armour was of course daubed with cartoons, jokes and sayings.

"Sarge!" Private Kanal yelled. "What are we expecting to face here? Is this gonna be a bug hunt or some sorta rescue mission? Just to get the appropriate odds calculated!"

"Stow that shit, private." Clay replied. "This is a simple reconnaissance mission. The only risk we'll be getting is if you don't put these suits on." He pointed at the environmental suits. "And seeing as we are approximately five minutes from our destination, I suggest you get prepared." There was a general rush. "Keep calm, people, there's enough for all." He slipped on his helmet, and felt the rush of air as the seams joined together.

"Aw man!" Private Berry whined. "This helmet doesn't fit!"

"What do you want me to do, private, get a tailor in here?" Berry complained some more. "Listen, these are one size fits all suits. Of course it's gonna fit."

"Sure it's one size fits all, if they wanted people to look out the visor with their head parallel to the ceiling." He struggled with the helmet a bit more. "Aw, man! The seal ain't working!"

"Shut up, for Christ's sake." Corporal Piazza stomped over to the complaining soldier, his own suit fitted perfectly. "Look, you just put this chin bit down like so…"

"Aah! My throat! What are you trying to do, strangle me?"

"Of course not. I've got twenty running on Kanal to die first." He pushed the sealing buttons on the side of the helmet. "There. Now stop whining, you big baby." He slapped the helmet several times. "You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Berry muttered, pulling at the collar of his suit.

"Listen up, people!" Clay yelled. "We are approaching the air-lock of the enemy vessel and going to be entering a near-vacuum with zero-G! I want your radios to be activated now-" there was the crackle of static as the squad did so, "-and I want you to watch your fire. A single shot will send you flying if you're not careful. Now move out!" The squad filed into the air-lock. "Send a message to Farlander saying we are boarding the ship right now." The pilot nodded and activated the comms system. Clay followed his squad and shut the door behind them.

Red light illuminated the squad as they checked their weapons one last time. Because they were not a major tactical force, they had not been given any of the modernised weapons and grenades given to the front-line troops, and were instead equipped with the reliable pulse rifles and smartguns. Clay looked around at his squad one last time. "Remember. Watch your fire."

The air-lock door hissed open in font of them, and they all felt the slight change in weight brought about by the lack of gravity. Hess was the first to move out, propelling himself to the opposite wall, dragging his smartgun as if it was no more than a feather. Piazza and Berry followed, securing the area as well as they could. The rest of the squad followed them, the near-complete vacuum giving an eerie silence to the entire operation.

"Keep it cool, people." Clay muttered into the helmet mike. "We've only got a few corridors to move through before we can get settled back on our feet."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Berry muttered off-air, then continued crawling up the wall of the corridor, cursing the fact they had no magnetic boots. His pulse rifle wavered ridiculously. If he was an enemy waiting to attack, now would be the time. He pulled the pulse rifle closer towards his shoulder and waited for the rest of the squad to catch up.

Winters pointed at the bulkhead in front of them. "This is the one, sir." He pulled out a heavily modified portable terminal. "I'm running a by-pass through this terminal now." A panel in the wall was removed, wires stripped and attached to the device. "This thing's been modified to work with really complex computers. It should be opening soon…" A few seconds passed, then there was the noticeable chime of the door opening.

The squad as a group jumped back, floating away from the door as a corpse of a Race alien floated through. "Looks like it died when the pressure went." Hess muttered, peering at the body. "Death was probably instantaneous."

"Good for it." Piazza intoned, looking up at the next room. Bodies floated around the room like bizarre and grotesque puppets, limbs askew, expressions bulging in morbidly humorous expressions. Winters 'swam' over to the main platform. "As far as I can tell, sir, this is the engineering section of the ship, or its nearest equivalent." He gestured for Franco and Neilson to bring up the portable battery the squad was equipped with. "This handy device should make it possible for us to reactivate gravity and restore atmosphere, to this and other decks without life support, so keep hold of something." The battery was connected to a panel while Winters started pressing light-suspended buttons. Minutes passed.

"Alright, I think I've got it." Winters intoned. "Get into position." He activated the system.

Bodies rained from mid-air to the ground as the squad landed feet-first on the deck. Clay checked the atmosphere, then removed his helmet when it checked okay. The rest of the squad followed his example.

"Winters. I want you to get power to a hanger and instruct the shuttle to meet us there. In case we need to get out in a hurry. The rest of you, pull out trackers and get those guns ready." The steady beating sound of motion trackers filled the air, eerily loud. "Franco, Neilson, you stay with Winters and guard this area. The rest of you are with me."

Winters began to work on the panel while the seven soldiers walked deeper into the vessel.

TTTTTTT

Farlander was sitting in his bunk, looking over the gun cameras of the A-wings. He rubbed his forehead wearily. A long time ago, he would have been in such a squadron. Now, he was commanding an entire wing of fighters and capital ships. Things were simpler back then.

His door chimed, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Come in."

A human walked through, saluted, and reported about the state of the Marine squad. Farlander nodded without hearing, looking over the camera footage. He paused, and held up a hand to stop the crewman, while rewinding the footage with his other hand. He played it again. There! He paused the footage.

"Cadet, what's this?" Farlander pointed at a long, cylindrical object briefly revealed by spinning debris." The man shrugged.

"Give this footage to the bridge and tell them to look for it. That was not a Covenant ship whatever it was."

"What do you think it was sir?"

"Not what it was," The ops officer rebutted three minutes later, "but what it is. It looks like a gigantic piece of unexploded ordinance, possibly a torpedo. And if it is a torpedo, I don't want to know what fired it."

"How big is it?"

The officer consulted the screen in front of her. "Approximately one-thousand, two-hundred and fifty feet long with a warhead the size of- well, the size of a very big thing." She looked at the screen more closely. "It looks like there was a connection error between the detonator and the warhead. But it must go off with a really big bang. First the warhead, then the remaining fuel in the tank. And it would explain the decimation of the Covenant fleet."

"Send this information to our superiors." Farlander commanded. "Anything else?"

"Yeah…" The crewman peered at the screen. "Some weird inscription… looks like some type of iconography…"

"What of?"

The crewman turned around with a confused expression. "A double-headed eagle."

TTTTTTT

"Winters…Winters…"

Winters grabbed the comms. "Yes sir?"

"We've got evidence here of a fire-fight between the attackers and the Hegemony. We've got plasma fire and spent needler round residue as well as what appears to be light laser scarring, possibly from blasters."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah…" Clay looked at the corpse of an Elite with disgust. "Looks like these guys have no delicacy in hand-to-hand. We've got a few corpses that look like they met Leatherface on a bad night."

"How so?"

"Let's just say if they got taken home to their relatives, they'd be having an 'open jug' funeral instead of an open coffin."

A pause. Then "Yuck."

"Yuck is right." Clay looked up upon hearing Hess yelling his name. "What is it, Private?"

"Found this, sir." Hess threw him a hollow brass cylinder. "Looks like a shell casing."

Clay raised an eyebrow as he turned it over in his hands. "What type of a gun fires bullets this big?" He looked again. "And one with weird scratches?"

"A bloody huge one, sir." Berry called. "Looks like a blockade was arranged here from bits and bobs behind one door which had been welded shut. It didn't hold, as you may have guessed."

"Can we get through?" Clay asked walking towards Berry's position.

"Take a look for yourself, sir."

The door which had been sealed shut had a giant hole melted through it. Condensed metal droplets were spattered about the corridor in both directions. Through the door, a slaughter. There was no other word.

Aliens and pieces of aliens were strewn about liberally across the room. One Elite's neck was broken so severely that his head was facing the wrong way. Another had been broken in two. Giant explosion pock-marks decorated the walls and the bodies of Grunts, their diminutive forms literally blown to pieces. Other corpses gave an indication of a quick, but brutal death.

"What the fu-" Clay whispered, walking through the room, coagulating blood sticking to his boots.

"I've not seen something like this, sir." Piazza muttered, holding his pulse rifle ready. "Berry, anything on that tracker?"

Berry shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I'm glad I'm not picking anything up on this thing."

Clay looked at the casing again. "Well, I think we've got some sort of evidence as to what did this." The scratches caught his interest again. Regular horizontal and vertical lines were arranged in a way that looked... he rubbed his eyes… no, was writing. Very archaic writing, but writing nevertheless.

"Who writes on shell casings?" He asked out loud, stepping around an eviscerated Yevetha.

"An avid reader?" Suggested Berry, who was promptly told to shut up by Piazza.

"We'll need to get this thing analysed by the lab boys." Clay muttered, slipping the casing into a pocket. "Anything else to report? Hannibal Lecter popped round to say sorry for the mess?"

"Yeah." Winters voice crackled over the comms system. "Farlander's just given us a line. Says that we're to get prisoners if there are any alive. Shooting someone is not a possible option."

"Oh, come on, Sarge." McLeod called. "What are we supposed to do if we come across an armed enemy? Wait for it to die of boredom?" Berry looked down at the motion tracker.

"He says we're supposed to use any means necessary to obtain one." Winters continued. "Also, I managed to get the hanger bay re-pressurised. The shuttle's on its way. I'll tell you more as the story develops. Winters out."

Clay groaned inwardly. "Alright, people. Watch your fire, I don't want any unauthorised shootings. Piazza, you take McLeod, Jenners and Oblowski-"

"Um," Berry said.

"-get to the higher levels, make sure the areas you're about to enter have been pressurised, the last thing I want is any of you dying stupidly-"

"Sarge?"

"-so keep an eye as to where you are. Use trackers at all times, but keep your guns stowed. If you do encounter a bogey-"

"That's all very well-"

"-keep it down and try to incapacitate it. Radio in, and we'll rendezvous at the hanger. What, Private?"

"I've got movement"

Silence, broken only by the steady chirping of the motion tracker. Clay activated the comms.

"Winters. Are you still at your last position?"

A pause, then. "Affirmative, we've not budged from here."

"Get yourselves to the hanger, but keep an ear out for us." Clay said quickly, the remainder of the squad taking cover behind consoles and bodies. "Tell the pilot to keep those engines hot, we may need a fast exit. Berry, talk to me."

"One signal, small…" Berry shook the device. "About fifteen metres to our right… moving to a position behind us."

"Hess, get that smartgun up. Check your position, I don't want friendly fire. Berry, open the door, we'll cover you."

"Oh, gee, thanks." Berry muttered, as he walked towards the light panel. A change in the steady chirping of the motion tracker made him pause. He checked it. "Sarge! The contact's changed course… heading right towards us!"

"Get back, idiot! Take cover!" He checked the pulse rifle again. "Stay frosty everyone! Hess, McLeod, get behind the door! I want this son of a bitch under crossfire, y'hear?"

"Ten metres, sir."

The two soldiers rushed to their positions, sweat running down their face.

"Eight."

Jenners flicked the safety off her rifle.

"Six."

Oblowski peered around the bulkhead he was hiding behind.

"Four."

Berry wiped the sweat from his eyes. "It's right outside the door!" He hissed as loudly as he dared.

There was a light chime, and the doors opened.

A small, yellow-armoured Grunt hobbled through, panting in a high-pitched voice, a spent plasma pistol in its hands.

Clay rolled his eyes and rose from cover, pointing the pulse rifle at the alien. "We have you surrounded. Surrender now."

The Grunt squeaked in horror, his weapon making unsteady figures of eight in the air in front of him. "Stay back! Stay back! I've gotta get out! You can't stop them! I've gotta go!" It squeezed the trigger, emitting a few pathetic electronic sounds. Hess and McLeod pounced, grabbing the arms and legs and hoisting it off of the ground. It screeched to an uncomfortably high pitch, but couldn't get out of the hold.

"I didn't do it! They did! The giants! You can't stop them! They'll kill us all! Nothing can stop them!" The Grunt hollered as they quickly retreated back to the hanger.

TTTTTTT

"Report."

"The shuttle has returned with a prisoner for questioning, a Covenant alien." The ops officer reported. "They say the prisoner is mentally unstable, claiming something killed the crew, but not specifying what."

"Maybe it's something to do with that eagle-sketch." Farlander muttered, tapping the side of his chair listlessly. "When the shuttle's arrived, prepare to jump into hyperspace, we'd best not wait too long. We need to report this as-"

"Sir!" The comms officer shouted. "We've got an incoming transmission from the Coalition Naval Headquarters. Priority transmission!"

Farlander nodded, and the comms officer put the transmission through to the bridge. The weary tones of Anjek filled the room.

"All naval personnel. Retreat back to the nearest spaceport strongpoints. A massive Covenant strike force has been detected, heading towards multiple targets. This order overrides all others. We need to scramble our forces now. Good luck. Fight well."

Farlander swallowed. He may have been promoted because of his smarts in the cockpit, but he heard the underlying message all too clearly. The main assault had failed. "Prepare the fleet. Head back to the strike fleet as soon as possible. Leave that torpedo here, we don't have the time to bring it with us." Crewmen went to their posts, sobered by Farlander's monotone attitude. "I want us to travel as fast as we can without destroying our engines. Divert power from all non-essential systems." Farlander sat down and brooded while the entire fleet moved away from the debris field, desperation speeding their regular routines.

TTTTTTT

All seven craft moved out from real-space, moving into the faster-then-light hyperspace, disappearing quicker than the eye could follow. The debris field gently drifted in complete isolation.

In the Immaterial space, literally feet away from the debris field in real space, the Smite thine Enemy waited with reptilian patience.

Commander Mor looked at the telepath steadily. "Has the fleet moved off?"

The man opened watery eyes and nodded slowly.

"Send a message to all ships. Drop out of the Immaterium and await further orders." Mor turned to his command crew. "We were lucky to ambush that Covenant fleet, but it appears we have been detected by another force."

"Do you think they will be reporting us?" Lieutenant Kije asked, raising a plucked eyebrow.

"Intercepted communications hint at a massive withdrawal. Something big must be happening. We've still got some time to be incognito in this universe."

"Do you know where they were withdrawing to, sir?"

Mor paced the command deck, taking his field-cap off as he did so. "We are able to detect an energy residue from their method of faster-than-light transport. However…" And here, Mor raised a finger. "Their haste in leaving this sector has raised my suspicions. Despite how well we scoured the ships of our presence, there was bound to be something they would have noticed." He sat down on the command throne. "They aren't idiots, despite the fact that they are Xenos."

Kije scowled unknowingly as Mor continued. "A good commander would have stayed a bit longer, tried to have gotten more data. Their hasty departure indicates a withdrawal to a defence post. We don't want to throw away resources, we need to build up an effective attack force before we start a major offensive."

"Wiping out an entire Xenos battlefleet is not a major offensive?" Kije retorted. The other officers shifted their feet uneasily. Mor frowned at the jibe.

"I had no other choice. If they hadn't inspected the upper levels of the gas giant we were hiding in, I would have let them go. Our orders are to let our enemies wear each other out, then we are to attack." Here Mor walked up to Kije. "And, if you have any doubts about the effectiveness of my command, please, let me know."

Kije lowered his eyes submissively. "Yes, sir."

"And?" Mor pressed. "Do you?"

"No, sir."

"I thought not." Mor smirked indulgently and paced the deck again. "We've won a major morale victory here, men. We've managed to show our men that no matter where any alien comes from, we are able to beat them back. But such high spirits will lead to impatience from the soldiers." He paced again. "We need to consolidate on this victory."

"So what do you recommend we do, sir?" Captain Kresh queried.

Mor stared out the viewscreen as the major strike-force of the Crusade of Enlightenment moved back into real space. His hand rubbed his chin speculatively as he gazed at the demolished Covenant fleet. A small grin tugged at his lips. He turned to the telepath.

"Relay the following orders to every ship."

TTTTTTT

Ende…