The Great Journey

A/N: Sorry that this took SO LONG to get up; I had a whole load of schoolwork and other crap (and Xbox Live, gamertag wumonger) to deal with. I promise the next one will be up in at least ten days. Anyways…this chapter is a split between two points of view from the Earth battle because I want to divert some attention from the Master Chief, at least for now. Also, human ships will be referred to as "she" or "her," while Covenant ships will be referred to with "it" for differentiating reasons.

Reviews:

NuclearMage: Heh, yeah. That's all I have to say.

pzgr6: It wouldn't exactly pop out of nowhere, it would be introduced subtly. I mean, I couldn't stick it in from the beginning. Right now I can't reveal too much.

Ultra Sonic 007: You'd be surprised as to how many strange things I can mesh together. 'Hanarmee/Keyes, eh? Hmm…sounds like a plan…

Ha, just kidding.

NOS mercenary: This is a common misconception I've gotten from reviewers. If I do decide to include romance, that DOES NOT mean I'm getting rid of any action! They would be meshed together! And no, it wouldn't be too messed up either, not from my standpoint at least (unfortunately, it's not my standpoint at stake here).

YamiPaladinofChaos: No, it wouldn't include known characters. There aren't many Marines to go on. The new people wouldn't just appear suddenly, though; they will be introduced in a way that makes sense.

Dark Dragoon 22: Regarding action, see my reply to NOS mercenary. Also, the name of the author who offered to help I will not personally disclose without his discretion, but it wouldn't be too hard to find. Just search my reviews.

Blitz-Kun: Most of the other Spartans were KIA with Covenant forces on Reach when the Covenant attacked. I suck at explanations, so I recommend that you read Halo: First Strike. It, and, to a lesser extend, Halo: Fall of Reach give a lot of information regarding the Spartans.

Chopin: Don't we all want that? Haha, never mind.

dumass: Sorry, but I don't really want to try something like that. You're right though, it's a great original idea.

MIKI: Well, there's a lot more Covenant in the bay compared to the ten-man (+Johnson) squad of ODSTs. And, as for the dim lighting, if you've played the game, whenever you're inside a Covenant capital ship or the High Charity, the illumination always seems dim to me. That's how I see it, at least.

Ninjoc: Thanks for the ideas. Ha, if I showed it to Bungie, they'd probably hunt me down and take me out. I'll consider the John/Linda idea, but Spartans, while I want them emotional and more human-like, I don't think they'd go that far. Point taken, though.

Much thanks to everyone listed above!

Shout outs to everyone else who reviewed: HaloElite, Shadow Chaser, Batousai91, keystone (by the way, thanks for letting me use the term "Converts," I'll work it in somehow), Link Master500, Warp Ligia Obscura, Oni, nightdragon0, Unknown, I can't tell you, and Jounouchi Katsuya, thanks for the support, compliments, and reviews!

A Note
For some reason, the "54" on the end of my pen name doesn't show up anymore, and I can't change it back. If anyone has information as to why this might be happening, contact me. I mean, it's not that important, but I sign everything with "aznricechink54" and my personal URL on FFN, well, you know what would happen with that (hopefully).

Chapter 6: Suicide Run

0037 hours, February 22, 2553 (UNSC Military Calendar) ♦ UNSC Cairo Orbital MAC Defense Station, in geosynchronous orbit around Earth.

Fleet Admiral Sir Terrence Hood stood in the center of Cairo station's circular bridge, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the various displays mounted around him. One showed the status of the fleet's strength; others gave diagnostics of the station and views of the battle raging in space.

"Sir, the MAC gun is armed, loaded, and at 100 charge status. We have a firing solution on the nearest Covenant vessel. Permission to fire?" asked the Gunnery Officer, Lieutenant Brian Carter. He sat at the weapons console, which monitored the MAC gun's charge and load status, as well as the remaining ammunition and other weapons-related data figures.

"At will, Lieutenant Carter," murmured the Admiral distractedly, as if firing a four-thousand-ton shell that could obliterate nearly any Covenant capital ship was of no concern to him. The shell was a full thousand pounds heavier than the previous version, but the new Mark VI orbital MAC gun station could, with upgraded linear accelerator technology, propel the super-dense projectile at the same speed as the Mark V. Still, the Admiral seemed to brush it off.

However, seeing as there were nearly a thousand other hostile ships in the local Earth space, one could understand the Admiral's indifference. The station's lights dimmed and there was a rumble that reverberated through the whole station. The viewscreen linked to the camera that monitored the station's MAC gun showed the projectile speeding away, glowing an oddly beautiful white-hot as it neared its doomed target. There was a blue explosion in the distance as a Covenant ship ceased to exist.

Admiral Hood had his mind elsewhere. He sat down heavily in the command chair at the center of the bridge, stroking the stubble of his beard pensively. He watched Covenant ships being obliterated left and right. On the forward viewscreen, as he zoomed in one the Covenant lines, he saw the broken remnants of countless enemy vessels, ripped apart by the fury of the orbital MAC guns.

As he watched the screen, a Covenant ship floated across. Judging by its fairly small size, it was probably a frigate. Bulbous turrets mounted on its hull began to glow a piercing blue. Pulse lasers.

The ship fired. On the upper-right viewscreen, the Admiral could see the beams of light flicker across space. They splashed across defense station Rome, part of the battlecluster nearest to the Cairo. The station's eight-meter thick Titanium-A armor easily absorbed the energy weapon, though there was a gash in its armored hull that glowed red briefly.

Rome responded with its enormous MAC gun. The white-hot projectile streaked through the distance between Rome and the Covenant ship in less than five seconds, striking the enemy ship near its nose. The Covenant ship's shields turned solid silver, then failed under the MAC round's tremendous force. The shell's force ripped the entire frigate's hull apart, leaving nothing but fragments of the ship.

Absentmindedly, Hood pulled his M6C sidearm from its holster and began to spin it. Gun tricks had always been a hobby of his, though he favored using the ancient revolvers from the 1800s era. He could spin them in a blurring pattern that was graceful and captivating in an odd way. Normally, he wouldn't be armed, even with a M6C, but all the bridge officers had their pistols ready because of the recent Covenant incursion on board the Cairo.

He gave the M6C a final spin and holstered it, all in one smooth movement, turning his attention back to the battle for Earth just in time to see a UNSC frigate being ripped apart by four plasma torpedoes. They melted through the frigate's meter-thick armor as if it wasn't there, killed most of the crew, slagged vital components inside, and exited through the frigate's other side.

Hood sent a series of countdown timers for the fleet and MAC stations, coordinating all their fire into a single, destructive volley. The timer appeared in the upper-right corner of the main forward viewscreen, reading 00d:00m:30s. Acknowledgements streamed across a secondary viewscreen to the Admiral's right. Once all ships and stations had accepted the countdown, the timer started.

When the timer hit 00, all hell broke loose. Every ship and MAC station the Admiral could bring to bear fired at once, a huge wave of super-dense projectiles, missiles, and nukes. Covenant ships tried to steer out of the way, but since they were so packed, it was impossible to run. Explosions ranged along the whole length of the alien fleet.

Plasma and pulse lasers cut through the explosions and smoke, headed straight for a formation of UNSC frigates. The less powerful but faster pulse lasers hit first, searing through the frigates' light meter-thick armor. Several frigates spun out of formation as their carefully contained atmospheres explosively decompressed.

Seconds later, the plasma burned through the frigates, going through armor and decks like a knife through hot butter. Several frigates detonated when their reactors were breached by the powerful energy weapons. Others slowed and their engines dimmed as they lost power, and drifted lifelessly in space.

The Admiral gritted his teeth in anger but tried to look at it from an optimistic point of view. At least the Covenant hadn't reduced the more formidable MAC stations to floating junk heaps. He took a brief moment to wonder why, but was jolted out of his thoughts as the station shook from another MAC discharge.

In the periphery of the main camera, Hood saw several other stations and ships firing as well. More Covenant warships were obliterated on impact, but the enemy ships still were not making a charge that would simply overwhelm the human defenders, who could only bring about a hundred orbital MAC stations to bear on the enemy concentrated on one side of the Earth. Another hundred or so Covenant ships emerged from Slipspace just as five more of their vessels were destroyed by a series of nuclear missiles.

The suicidal strategy of the Covenant seemed oddly familiar. The Covenant were throwing themselves at the orbital guns and UNSC fleets, regardless of casualties. It was reminiscent of a report he had read about a Covenant attack just six months ago.

Reach.

The Admiral stood up so quickly it was like he had received an electric shock. Quickly, he rapped out orders, a plan quickly forming in his experienced military mind.

"Lieutenant Parsons," he shot at the Communications Officer. "Open up a channel. I want the whole fleet to hear this." Lieutenant Parsons quickly obeyed. In the lower-left corner of the forward viewscreen, a small window opened up, indicating that Public Fleet Communications Channel A was active.

Admiral Hood cleared his throat importantly. "Commanders and Captains of all UNSC vessels and defense stations: listen up! This is Admiral Hood speaking. We might have a serious problem on our hands.

"Now, most, if not all of you know the story of Reach. A Covenant fleet attacked on August 30, 2552, according to the UNSC Military Calendar. They outnumbered the UNSC fleet three-to-one, though we had the advantage of the twenty Mark V orbital guns. The Covenant threw themselves at us, not caring if their fleet survived or was destroyed. They lost more than two-thirds of their fleet due to this suicidal action. Still, it was all a distraction, so they could get their ground-based forces in place to disable our orbital guns. Or was that the real reason? They should have been able to take out the guns anyway.

"We think they were there for a different reason, and our suspicions were furthered by the return of Spartan-117 to Earth High Command, and the chilling report he gave. But that's not the reason I'm making you all listen to this speech, when you should be fighting. Take a good look around you. Especially you veterans of Reach-does it seem familiar?

"I think the Covenant are doing the exact same thing as they did on Reach. This slaughter-it's just another distraction. I don't know what it's for. But I do know this. We're not going to let the Covenant set foot on Earth again, not without a fight. Form a defensive perimeter around all orbital battleclusters. Be on the alert for the Covenant trying to rush Phantoms past. Destroy anything that tries to get into the atmosphere immediately. No questions asked."

There was a chorus of "Yes, sirs" as the leaders of the UNSC ships acknowledged the Admiral's orders. The Cairo's lights dimmed again and the massive station shook as the Gunnery Officer fired the MAC round again. The COM Officer closed the channel, and the window in the corner of the main viewscreen snapped off.

The Admiral sat down in the command chair again, punching commands into a datapad mounted in the chair's right armrest. A holographic TAC screen flickered to life, showing blue silhouettes of UNSC ships and orbital defense stations in geosynchronous orbit around Earth. The Covenant ships were also in miniature form on the TAC screen, swarming about and filling a large portion of the screen. Some of the sleek models of the alien warships would abruptly fade to gray, indicating that they had been destroyed.

The humans were taking casualties, too. Whenever the Covenant loosed off a salvo of plasma torpedoes, a repair and refit station would move to block the incoming plasma, but sometimes the unwieldy stations did not arrive in time, and the humans were running out of them. The Admiral glanced at the grayed-out models of the Athens and Malta, the two other stations that had been part of the Cairo battlecluster and shivered inwardly. The Cairo had nearly met the same fate as its two sister stations: internal destruction by a Covenant-made bomb. Only the heroics of the Master Chief saved the MAC station and its crew from a fiery doom.

The Admiral sighed, shaking his head, then studied the TAC screen again. A large group of Covenant vessels detached themselves from the rest of the fleet. Even their silhouettes were huge, dwarfing the alien destroyers, and they had many bulbous sections. The teardrop-shaped Seraph fighters, tiny specks on the TAC screen, swarmed around them as an escort. Carriers.

"Here they come," the Admiral muttered. "Carter! Get a firing solution on the lead carrier, and charge the MAC gun!"

"Aye, aye," said the Lieutenant, hastily typing in commands. Numbers and data figures scrolled across one side of Carter's screen. The other side was a bar showing the charge status of the MAC gun. The Admiral watched it fill.

"Firing solution online. MAC gun ready to fire, sir."

"Fire!"

The station rumbled yet again, a familiar and comforting feeling to the crew of Cairo station. The bridge officers watched as the magnetically accelerated shell flew towards the doomed Covenant carrier, glowing white against the darkness of space. The shot struck full force, puncturing the shield, traveling straight through the length of the carrier, and finally smashing into the shield of the carrier behind the first, knocking out the protective barrier.

The lead carrier came to a halt, apparently untouched except for the hole through it, when the carrier suddenly exploded, showering the nearby vessels with debris. Their shields flickered silver-gray but the carriers continued barreling on towards Earth.

One, two, three of the bulbous Covenant warships were blow away by orbital MAC shells, leaving only glittering fragments. Another two were brought down by ship-based MAC rounds and Archer missiles from a UNSC destroyer and frigate near Rome station. The Covenant weren't returning fire; apparently, they were diverting all power to their engines.

The Admiral looked calm outwardly, but inside he was slightly nervous. If the carriers made it past into Earth's atmosphere…who knew what havoc they could wreak. Admiral Hood shook himself, then stopped, struck by a sudden revelation.

Why were the Covenant charging blindly, stupidly, losing ships unnecessarily? With their advanced Slipspace technologies, they could make a pinpoint intrasystem jump, right past the orbital MAC stations and UNSC fleet. As the Admiral pondered this, another idea popped up in his mind-the Covenant didn't even need to do that. They could jump straight into the atmosphere of Earth.

What were the maniacs in charge of the Covenant thinking? What was their point in doing this? Were they mocking the humans? Or were they trying to prove something? Prove that the humans were so inferior that they couldn't stop a simple charge? Admiral Hood was absolutely perplexed as to why the Covenant would willingly commit suicide. Still, he was grateful for that the enemy fleet had not jumped straight into Earth's atmosphere, regardless of whether or not it was caused by stupidity or whatever other reason he could think up.

A carrier turned and fired its engines to stop its mad dash. Boarding craft, modified versions of the older U-shaped Covenant dropship, began pouring out of the carrier's bulbous launch bays. Pulse laser turrets on the carrier began to charge, their intense blue light filling the forward viewscreen as the Admiral zoomed in on it.

"Take that carrier down, it's launching boarders!" yelled Admiral Hood. "Carter, Get a firing solution, on the double!"

Lieutenant Carter nodded and scrambled to aim the MAC gun. The deck shifted slightly as he fired the station's maneuvering thrusters, putting it in alignment with the enemy carrier. The Covenant carrier fired pulse lasers, tearing through a lightly armored civilian ship whose crew members had volunteered to fight. The beams of light ripped through the half-meter of Titanium-A that the crew had welded on, detonated some outdated Sidewinder-IX missiles strapped to the ship's side, and set off the ammunition for the 155mm cannon that the civilians had mounted on the ventral side of the ship. The civilian yacht exploded in a large ball of orange flames, wreckage spewing out from the cataclysm.

Hood clenched his fists in anger. Those civilians could've easily taken shelter in one of the thousands of bunkers that had been set up planetside for civilian protection; but they had volunteered to fight and gotten themselves killed. The Covenant would pay; they would pay for all they had done.

"Firing, sir," reported the Gunnery Officer, jolting the Admiral out of his dark thoughts. Hood nodded, and Cairo shuddered as the MAC gun fired. Onscreen, the carrier's lateral lines began to glow red, indicating the charging of plasma torpedoes. The boarding craft were still arrayed around the Covenant ship, waiting for Seraph escorts to launch from the carrier.

The MAC shell streaked in to ruin the party. The shell punched a hole amidships and went on to destroy a group of Seraphs on the opposite side. The carrier's hull couldn't take the stress of such a powerful blow. It seemed to bend onscreen and suddenly exploded into tiny pieces of metal. The shockwave from the MAC shell also broke holes through the boarding crafts' hulls, causing the Covenant troops inside to suffocate and freeze as the atmosphere inside was sucked into the endless vacuum of space.

The remaining carriers did not halt, however, and continued towards Earth even as ships were shot out of position all around them by MAC shells, Archer missiles, Shiva nuclear missiles, and everything else the humans could throw at them. Despite this, ten carriers made it past the initial ring of defenses, including Cairo station. The Admiral watched as they whizzed past.

"Lieutenant Carter, rotate us around so we can have a shot at those carriers!" he ordered with urgency in his voice. The maneuvering thrusters came to life with a dull roar. Carter pushed the station around as fast as he could. The Admiral wasn't worried for nothing-if a single carrier made it past into Earth's atmosphere, the MAC guns wouldn't have a clear shot anymore because if they missed, the shell could wipe out a population center or cause massive tsunamis. If they didn't destroy the carriers, there were probably hundreds or even thousands of Covenant troops aboard them, plus the firepower of the ship itself.

Cairo shuddered as it fired again. The shell obliterated one of the bulky Covenant warships instantly. A ship that was lagging behind took four ship-based MAC shells. The carrier's shield blazed and faded out as the super-dense rounds smashed into the ship's hull. The enemy ship's hull literally broke apart into sections from the strain of so many high-velocity impacts on it at once. The carrier's reactor exploded suddenly, engulfing another Covenant ship and heavily damaging it.

Meanwhile, a Seraph wing swarmed about a small UNSC corvette that was on an intercept course, raking its hull with their miniature pulse lasers and small plasma torpedoes. The corvette retaliated with point-defense guns, sending thousands of rounds streaming at the enemy. All around Cairo station, other such small battles broke out between the Covenant fighters and UNSC ships and the human forces rushed to counter the carriers, and the Covenant rushed to counter the humans.

Admiral Hood mentally shut out the noise and chaos of the smaller engagements and focused on the main threat: the carriers. A Shiva nuclear missile streaked towards the carriers, exploding in a huge radioactive fireball that would've blinded Admiral Hood had the viewscreen not automatically filtered the intense light. The nuke was followed up by a heavy dose of MAC shells and Archers.

When the reactor detonations that followed cleared up, two carriers still remained, plummeting into Earth's atmosphere, their shields glowing as the heat of re-entry burned away at them.

"Damn!" Admiral Hood banged his fist down on a railing in a rare display of anger. "Alert General Strauss and all groundside commanders! They're going to have company, real soon!" The COM Officer's hands flew frantically over his keyboard to carry out the Admiral's orders.

Admiral Hood turned the main camera back to face the huge Covenant fleet. They were still massing around Mars, not charging or even firing weapons. The Admiral could only guess at what in hell the maniacs in command of the Covenant fleet were up to. He glanced at the strange, triangular ship that rested slightly behind the enemy fleet, and wondered how the Chief was doing on board it.

He mentally answered his own question, a slight smile touching his lips despite the group of Covenant ships filling the viewscreen.

Probably kicking some Covenant ass.

0037 hours, February 22, 2553 (UNSC Military Calendar) ♦ Unidentified Covenant-controlled Forerunner vessel, holding position behind Covenant staging point around Mars.

Had Admiral Hood been present on board the Covenant-controlled Forerunner vessel, he wouldn't have been surprised to see that his assumption was correct. The Chief, having just been attacked by a swarm of wandering Drones, contemptuously crushed the chest of one dead Drone in with his armored boot. Slapping a fresh clip into his Carbine, he turned to the Elites and Grunts who were emerging from their cover to assemble again, near the prison chamber's door.

"Well, human, now that the latest group of pests has been dealt with, shall we proceed to take the chamber?" asked 'Canarmee, who was gingerly holding his two Plasma Rifles after a recent overheat. The Master Chief nodded his silent approval, and 'Canarmee began to issue orders to his band of warriors.

"You four Grunts," he said, nodding towards the four Grunts hefting Fuel Rod Guns. "Take up positions around the door so you will have a clear field of fire into the prison chamber. That goes the same for you Hunters. All Elites-and you, Demon-"

"The name's not 'Demon.' It's 'Master Chief' or 'Chief' to you, 'Canarmee," interrupted the Chief, obviously more used to being called by his military title instead of "Demon," or the name that his parents had given him, for that matter-"John."

"Very well, Master Chief," repeated 'Canarmee with mock respect. "As I was saying, all Elites, the Master Chief, and the remaining Grunts will hold position behind the four Grunts with Fuel Rod Guns and the Hunters, but as soon as the return fire thickens, you have permission to move in. But let those in the front hit the Brutes and Jackals with some Fuel Rod shots first to, as you say, 'soften them up.' We should catch them by surprise, since some of them appeared to be sleeping."

The Elites growled throatily in approval and the Grunts began to chatter amongst themselves yet again. The Master Chief gave no sign of approval or disapproval, probably as retribution for the disrespect 'Canarmee showed him. He merely took up a position and dropped to one knee, ready to fire.

The Hunters stomped closer to the door. They leveled their Fuel Rod Guns at the door, but 'Canarmee waved a four-fingered hand at them.

"Stop! We need your Fuel Rod Guns at full charge when the door is blown open, not at minimal charge. These doors should be taken care of with a few plasma grenades." With that, he activated one of the explosive devices and threw it at the door. His Elites activated and threw their grenades as well. They went off, one by one, in explosions of brilliant neon light. The last grenade was enough to force the battered doors inwards and give the Hunters and Fuel Rod-wielding Grunts a clear shot into the room.

Dull green light filled the air as the Grunts and Hunters fired. The beams from the Hunters cut a swath of death and destruction through a file of five Brutes who had been lounging in a corner. The five Brutes slumped down, minus their heads and upper torsos which had been completely vaporized by the beams. The slower shots fired by the Grunts detonated in a group of Jackals, spraying the area with twisted chunks of metal that were once Plasma Pistols, bits of flesh and internal organs, but mostly blood, which didn't look out of place due to the amount of blood spilled by the executed POWs.

The Grunts and Hunters fired another few volleys. By now the Covenant forces were well aware of the threat and had either taken cover or dodged out of the way, firing their weapons blindly at the door. It did serve as a good distraction, however, as the ex-Covenant soldiers and the Master Chief stormed into the chamber, throwing plasma grenades and raking the area with fire to further cover their entrance.

As soon as the last grenade exploded, taking a Jackal with it, the Brutes quickly began a counterattack. An unfortunate member of the Spec Ops Grunts who carried a Fuel Rod Gun took three Brute Shot grenades to the face, which penetrated his silver-gray armor and killed the Grunt with shrapnel. 'Canarmee stepped over the body and hosed the Brute who fired the shot with both his Plasma Rifles, directing the bursts of plasma towards the simian creature's head. The Brute dropped with a charred and blackened remnant of a head.

The Chief hurriedly stowed his Carbine in his armor's primary weapons container on his back and scooped up the Fuel Rod Gun dropped by the dead Grunt. He pilfered a few of the five-rod ammunition clips from the Grunt's corpse and hefted the weapon up to his shoulder. It was comparable to a human Rocket Launcher in terms of weight and size, and though it lacked the rocket's speed, homing abilities, and had less power, the Fuel Rod Gun held more than double the shots that the human M19 could.

With that in mind, the Master Chief took aim at a Brute and squeezed the weapon's firing stud. The Covenant soldier saw the bolt of radioactive energy coming at him and hastily ducked behind a crate. The Fuel Rod shot hit the crate, shattering it and creating an impromptu fragmentation grenade as shrapnel thudded into everything in a three-meter-radius, including the Brute that had been hiding behind it.

Checking the indicator on his HUD, which was capable of interfacing with Covenant weapons, the Chief saw he had two shots left, quickly used them to dispose of some Jackals who were advancing under the cover of their shields, and hastily shoved a fresh clip in. Trying to ignore the row of mutilated Elites staring unseeingly at him to his left, the Spartan braced the Fuel Rod Gun against his shoulder, and sighted through its unfamiliar alien magnification system. He was just about to fire when the buzzing of Drones caused him to look up instinctively.

The Master Chief held the Fuel Rod Gun easily in one hand, dropping it to waist level and used his other hand to grab one Needler out of its side holster. He aimed in the general direction of one Drone and unleashed a stream of the faintly purple shards at the hapless Drone. The Chief quickly ducked behind a pillar as the Drone literally exploded in a column of purple flame, throwing its thick white blood all over the floor. He jumped out from his cover, raising the Fuel Rod Gun in his right hand. The Spartan pointed it at a Brute and squeezed its firing stud, which jolted his arm backwards painfully. Immediately, he dropped the weapon and swiftly drew out his other Needler.

Not even bothering to aim well, the Master Chief poured fire up at the Drones who clung to the ceiling, harassing the Elites and Grunts with plasma and Needler fire. The crystalline needles homed in on their targets, who attempted to fly away but instead screeched in pain as the needles punctured their skin and exploded.

Satisfied that the airborne threat had been dealt with, at least for the moment, the Spartan looked down to see the results of his final Fuel Rod shot. The Brute he had fired at seemed to have poor reflexes, because it was lying in two pieces on the floor, its chest utterly destroyed by the highly explosive radioactive shot.

Another Brute gave a roar typical of a very angry member of its species.

"Watch it, he's going to charge," said the Chief calmly over his helmet's external speakers as he drew out his Carbine and made ready to fire.

True to the Master Chief's words, the Brute ripped off his helmet and threw it away in a rage, charging at a distracted Elite who was busy turning Jackals into blackened bodies with his Plasma Rifles. The Chief shouted out a warning and raised his Carbine, but the Elite shifted to open fire on the Brute and blocked the Spartan's line of fire.

Cursing beneath his breath, the Chief strafed to his left, trying to get a shot in. But he was too late. The Brute slammed into the Elite, whose Plasma Rifles had just overheated. The Elite stumbled back, his shield flaring and dimming as the force of the Brute's charge nearly wiped it out. He whacked the Brute with a smoking Plasma Rifle, stunning the creature for a brief second.

The silver-armored Elite dropped his Plasma Rifles and went for his Carbine, grabbing it and firing five shots straight into the Brute's chest. The Brute, who was still carrying his Brute Shot, took the shots as if they were whispers in the wind, and simply whipped the weapon he was carrying out along the Elite's chest with bayonet edge out. Propelled by the Brute's massive strength, which exceeded that of an Elite or a Spartan, the razor-sharp blade on the Brute Shot cut through what remain of the Elite's shield and sliced a long gash through his foe's chestplate. The Elite stumbled back, dropping his Carbine and clutching his chest in pain.

The Master Chief, and 'Canarmee, who had seen his comrade in peril, both pulled the triggers of their Carbines simultaneously, firing the semi-automatic weapons as fast as they could. The green Carbine projectiles filled the air, puncturing the Brute's hide. Holes of ragged skin and fur appeared in the barbaric creature, but still it shrugged off the damage and readied for another charge. 'Canarmee primed and threw a plasma grenade, which flew straight and true to attach itself to the Brute's leg.

The Brute looked down, dumbly comprehending its fate, before the device exploded. Dark blue blood sprayed along the ground, staining the Master Chief's boots. He gave a mental shrug, reloaded his Carbine, and moved to cover the wounded Elite-wounded or dead, he couldn't tell. He sent ten rounds streaming into a Jackal's shield, overloading it and killing the Jackal. The overcharged Plasma Pistol in the vulture-like alien's hand discharged, decapitating a Grunt even as the Jackal's corpse tumbled backwards.

By now most of the Covenant forces had been killed or incapacitated; an Elite had pinned a struggling Jackal to the floor and was holding the Jackal down with one hand and firing his Needler with the other. The last Brute left standing took a volley of needles to the chest. They exploded and the Brute dropped like a sack of potatoes.

All around the room, bodies were draped on the floors, leaning against pillars or walls, or stacked on top of each other. Everywhere the Master Chief looked, there was carnage, whether it was a group of Brutes killed by Carbine shots to the head or a pile of tangled Elite corpses, executed by the Brutes.

He tore his gaze away from the dead aliens, his eyes coming to rest on 'Canarmee. The Spec Ops Elite was crouching down next to the Elite that had been slashed by a Brute Shot. 'Canarmee shook his head, which told the Chief that the Elite on the ground was dead.

In all, one Elite and six Grunts had died in the rescue mission. Another Elite, 'Nolsamee, had been badly wounded. A Jackal had hit him with an overcharged Plasma Pistol blast, taking out his shields, and a Brute fired a set of Carbine shots. They penetrated his left leg's armor plate before the Elite stuck a plasma grenade to the Brute's arm. Now, limping about, he was sure to be more of a liability than an asset in any major engagement. Still, on the upside, the advantage of the Hunters and the element of surprise had kept casualties reasonably low.

The surviving members of the rescue team went about freeing the Spec Ops troops being held prisoner. They numbered twenty-five in all, seven Elites and eighteen Grunts. The liberated prisoners picked up weapons from the various bodies lying around the room. The Master Chief watched as the former prisoners pried some equipment crates open, and found what appeared to be rations inside. Having been starved by their cruel guards for over a week, they leapt on the food, quickly devouring most of it within minutes.

As the remainder of the prisoners rested a while after their ordeal, 'Canarmee and the Spartan were holding a quiet conference in the corner.

"Not enough. Not nearly enough," said 'Canarmee in frustration, indicating that the amount of prisoners rescue wouldn't have a chance if they attempted to take the ship's bridge.

For once, the Master Chief's fertile mind had run out of ideas. "Then…what will we do? We have no other options."

'Canarmee grabbed an Energy Sword from a nearby rack and activated it. He held the elegant blade, capable of cutting through several feet of any known armor, close to his face.

"Then we shall attempt it anyway. We'll give them a battle that will be remembered for ages to come!" the Elite said, a glimmer of the Elites' old pride showing in his eyes.

"If there's anyone left to remember," replied the Chief grimly. "If we fail…" He left the sentence unfinished.

'Canarmee's shoulders drooped as he realized the truth of the human's words. The Elites had always considered dying to be an honor, but now that they were no longer part of the Covenant, their viewpoints on the matter had quickly changed. He deactivated his sword and hooked it onto his belt. "What shall we do, if we cannot attack?"

The Master Chief shrugged as best as he could in the armor. "That's what I asked you." He sighed, looking around at the Elites, Grunts, and Hunters scattered about the room. Then he saw it. A small grate, positioned a quarter of the way up the wall to the left of the door.

'Canarmee saw the Chief staring at the grate and came to the same conclusion that the Spartan had.

"If that grate is connected to a pipe network…" started the Chief.

"…then we could drop straight into the bridge and capture Truth," finished 'Canarmee.

They both glanced at each other, analyzing the possible consequences of what they considered a crazy, even suicidal plan. However, they reached a silent agreement to proceed with it. The two warriors had no other choice.

"There must be an easier way to get myself killed," muttered the Chief under his breath. "But it's all part of the job. 'Canarmee, you inform our troops of our…method of entering the bridge. I will remove the grate and rig up a series of cables for the Elites and Grunts to climb up. The Hunters will have to stay here."

'Canarmee nodded and was just about to complete his task when he hesitated. "Supposing the pipes don't lead to the ship's Control Room?"

The Spartan hesitated, too. "That's a chance we'll just have to take."

The Elite snorted, sighed, and went on to speak to his soldiers. The Chief ripped open Covenant crate after Covenant crate, looking for what he needed most. Finally, he found it-a container full of thick rope-like objects that glowed a faint green and had metal attachments on one end. These strange implements were the alien equivalent of grappling hooks. He slung five over his shoulder and strode quickly over to the section of wall that contained the grate.

Casting the first grappling hook accurately, he managed to get it caught on one of the bars of the grate. He gave it a yank, but the metal remained embedded in the sides of the hole that it blocked. The Chief gave another jerk, putting much more strength behind it this time. The grate clattered to the floor, and the string of the grappling hook dropped to the deck as well.

The Master Chief tossed the other four hooks into the opening he had created. They attached themselves firmly to the ancient stone-like walls that the Forerunners had built. The Chief tested one to make sure it would hold. Then, satisfied, he turned to face the assembled ranks of ten Elites and twenty-four Grunts, all veteran Spec Ops troops wearing heavy armor and trained with the best techniques that the aliens had to offer.

'Canarmee stepped forward to the line of four grappling hooks that hung down from the vent hole. "Shall we, Master Chief?" he said courteously, quite different from his initial disdain for the human after seeing the Spartan in combat. The Elite was gnawing on his lower mandibles in anticipation of a good fight and gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to activate it at the first sign of trouble.

A sudden humorous thought flashed unbidden into the Chief's mind, a popular joke among the Marines and ODSTS. Normally the Master Chief wasn't one for humor, but he decided it out for once. He smirked under his visor, and said, "Ladies first."

Final Note: Still undecided about the romance thing. It's pretty much half and half. Final decision will come later…though it'll be hard.