"Let Slip the Grunts of War"
A lone phantom streaked across the hills and plains of Delta Halo. Inside its hull sat fourteen of the Commanders strongest elites. Team Twelve had just returned from High Charity and were ordered back to base on a scouting run. The leader of this group was Rin Simyaldee, an older elite that had served under the commander for countless years and battles. Second only to the Commander, Simyaldee was a skilled warrior and his specialty was silent combat. He wore the black armor of the Spec Ops, but his armor was striped with a purple bar upon both his shoulders, and also upon his team.
Simyaldee turned in his co-pilot's chair and faced his comrades, as the pilot pointed out their target on the terrain map.
He glared toward his team, "Gear up. Dust off in five units. There is a battle raging in the base, and I have not received word from the commander if we are to engage and support, or return. Therefore, we will engage. These brutes will rue the day they crossed us."
The fourteen elites roared as they smirked and roughly elbowed each other in anticipation. The battle was calling to them, and they would not look away. Each warrior had two modified energy swords; nothing more. This was no ordinary Spec Ops squad, they were the Mirratord; an unseen and deadly group that utilized stealth in battle. The records of their battles have never been recorded and never will be. Their methods are to do whatever is necessary to win, and they crave the blood of whoever their enemies may be.
Many have argued throughout the covenant, that the Mirratord were just a myth. That these super skilled elites were the same elites that protected the Prophets, the Honor Guards, but nothing could be further from the truth. Their leader was the Spec Ops Commander and they were formed by the High Council to serve as the ultimate strike team. Despite their outstanding record on the battlefield, not even the Prophets were allowed to know over their existence. The High Council was well aware that the Prophets had other plans for the Covenant, and after hundreds of years of service to the Prophets the elite High Council decided that it was time to even the odds before the Prophets dealt their hand.
The Mirratord were the right hand of the High Council, being used only when the High Council deemed it necessary. When the Prophets betrayed the Covenant the High Council acted quickly, installing the Mirratord into the front lines of battle. Had it not been for the Commander quick thinking, the High Council would have surely been wiped out, but they successfully protected the elite councilors aboard High Charity and led them to a ship just before the flood arrived. After saving the councilors, Simyaldee and his team were ordered to search High Charity for any stragglers, and to assess the damage caused by the flood. The spec ops commander had no fear of for their safety, he knew that Simyaldee would lead his team with expert precision and ensure the safety of the Mirratord under his leadership. After all, this was not the first time the Mirratord were called into action to stop the flood, but Simyaldee saw that there was no way to stop the flood from spreading; High Charity was lost.
The fourteen soldiers, Simyaldee, and the Pilot sped toward the battle and stopped near a thicket of trees just southeast of the base. The gravity lift flared to life and fifteen cloaked warriors decended into the tree cover.
Simyaldee dropped to a knee, and with his excellent vision, glanced over the region. "We are clear. Rendezvous in ten minutes. We will secure the Landing Zone." And as quickly as they had arrived, the team vanished.
"Roger, good hunting." The pilot replied. He then turned the Phantom to the west and maintained a low altitude as he slowly crept clear of the area.
- - - - - - - -
Back at the base; Palab and his rider plowed through the line of brutes, catching them off guard, and ran over one of the massive beasts with his ghost. The other three ghosts fared just as well, scoring at least one kill. The brutes were startled by this new wave of attack and regrouped, but Palab used their retreat to his advantage.
"Fire!" Palab screamed to his team, and four green balls of explosive plasma seared towards the brutes as they attempted to gather. They didn't have time to scatter and were quickly consumed by the green explosion. The ghost drivers then fired into the few stragglers that remained. The plasma cannons on the ghosts cut through them quickly and effortlessly. The last brute stumbled backwards as pounds of plasma tore and burned its way across his chest, until he could no longer hold on to life. He rolled backwards as smoke rose from his melted corpse. Palab and his team held their positions, waiting for the brutes to make another move, but none came. It appeared that the grunts had been victorious. The last handful of brutes were easily wiped out by his sudden attack.
Only eighteen of the grunts survived the brute's attack, and they cheered the return of their leader. They all charged toward his ghost, barking excitedly in their native tongue. Palab hopped from the ghost and looked to the fallen body of Yammaeda; the lone elite warrior that fought beside his grunts.
"We did not think that you would return!" A grunt shouted in their native tongue. The older grunt patted Palab on the back happily and snorted as he joyfully gazed into the young Sergeant's eyes.
"I would not leave you all to fight alone, but I did not get here fast enough." Palab stated with a heavy sigh. He felt that if he had arrived sooner he could have helped, but because of his tardiness the only elite that had ever really shown his grunts respect was dead.
Another young grunt approached and spoke in the traditional covenant language, "he fight for us. He help grunts fight." The grunts words didn't ease Palab's feelings, but something was still lingering in the back of Palab's mind. It was almost too easy when he arrived. Palab crouched to all fours and walked clear of his cheering team and the surviving grunts. Something wasn't right. The other grunts watched as Palab slowly walked to a clearing and picked up a brute Plasma Rifle. He sniffed the air several times and seemed bothered by the stillness of the area. He turned his attention to the eastern hill where smoldering corpses lay, and the hulking metal of destroyed phantoms also burned, but what caught his attention was a simple as a gust of wind. Something was stirring the air near the wreckage and smoke was swirling about in all directions. This wasn't a natural act.
Palab turned quickly and addressed the small group of grunts. "Get weapons, take cover in ruins, they coming." Panic filled the grunts as they scampered about collecting guns and grenades, but Palab stayed focus on the eastern hill. The earlier battle had been to simple and the pieces where starting to fall in place. Palab scrambled to a nearby brute's dead body and quickly examined it. As he suspected, it was only a foot soldier. He quickly scanned more bodies and realized that his hunch was correct; all the bodies within view were foot soldiers.
The brutes were attacking in two waves. They had abandoned the Phantoms and encircled the base on foot. A clean up team was coming and they were usually consistent of the Brutes higher ranking soldiers.
One of Palab's teammates ran up to his side, "Palab, what doing? More bad guys?" The tiny grunt carried his fuel rod cannon and held it at the ready in case anything happened.
"More enemies come. Brutes not done yet, take ghost, get Etah and Phantoms. We need support."
"Yes Sir." He raced back to the ruins and passed off his fuel rod cannon to another grunt. "You take, kill Brutes. Follow Palab's orders and you live long." He then scampered off to a nearby ghost and sped off toward the west.
Once the ghost vanished over the hill things once again became quiet. But a soft rumble grabbed Palab's attention. He turned to his grunts and waved for them to stay down and not to come out. The brutes were coming, and Palab wanted surprise to be on his side; unaware that this was the same strategy Yammaeda had used earlier. But he had a slightly alternate strategy. Palab remained in the open so that he would be the first thing the brutes would see, knowing that they would not fear a lone grunt.
"No more grunts die today." Palab whispered to himself. "I fight, till Phantoms come." Determined to not see his grunts die in a winless battle, Palab stood his ground while the other grunts hid. He was willing to sacrifice himself so that perhaps one more grunt would leave Delta Halo alive. Palab wouldn't wait long as forty Brutes crossed the hill toward the base. In midst of this pack stood a lone specter loaded with four brutes. The driver was highly decorated and signaled for his soldiers to stop. His specter then sped ahead of the group and stopped a few feet ahead of Palab.
With three other brutes mounted an the specter's passenger seats, the driver stepped out and looked the area over, snarling at the sight of his fallen kin. He was massive in size and his fur was patched with white blotches. Palab was slightly confused at the Brutes appearance. The young brute looked as though he was an offspring of Tartarus, and that meant that he would become the brute's new chieftain if anything happened to Tartarus. Palab didn't know much about the brutes, only that they were mean an feril, but this brute peeked his natural curious nature.
The brute snarled, "Tell me grunt. Where are the elites that have slain my kin? The rest of my warriors hunger for their blood." As he had hoped, the brute was clueless to the situation.
Palab slammed his fists to the ground and glared up at the beast. "No elites, brute! Grunts guard base. Not fear you." The Brute lowered his posture quickly and roared in Palab's face, but Palab held his ground and did not cower.
The Brute grew annoyed at Palab's lack of fear, and began to beat his right fist upon his chest. "You do not cower, grunt? Then I will slay you and rip the meat from your bones with my teeth!" The mighty brute slammed his fist toward Palab, but the elusive grunt jumped clear using his arms and legs simultaneously, propelling him several feet away. Palab landed and rolled to his feet.
"Me kill you!" Palab snarled and raised his brute plasma rifle and fired in rapid succession; being cautious to not let the gun overheat. The mighty Brute groaned in pain as the plasma singed his fur, but he brushed aside the pain, broke down on all fours, and charged at the grunt. Determined to trample Palab, the Brute became unconscious of his surrounding and roared with every step he made toward the grunt.
The other grunts peeped from the cover of the ruin and wanted to race out and help their leader, but something strange was happening. Palab showed no fear, nor was he hesitating to fight against the mammoth Brute leader.
"We help, Palab!" A grunt shouted from the front, but one of Palab's teammates stood first and stopped them from going out.
"No. We watch, you see. Palab not lose. He not die. He won't die, not here." The battle raged on; the brute would swing furiously but the tiny grunt dodged with an explosive spring from his powerful arms and legs.
Grunts were slow, elites and brutes were all aware of this, but they were quick in short distances. A grunt had been known to spring itself more then ten feet using their arms and legs, giving them decent agility. Palab was using every trick in the book to create as much distance between himself and the massive muscle of the brute. Palab knew that his only chance was to stay away from the brute's reach, but the Brute was soon growing tired of being humiliated by Palab's explosive quickness, and the plasma shots were beginning to take its toll on him as well. He quickly reached for his shoulder harness and pulled forth his brute shot.
Palab was running out of options, he needed to find another way to fight the massive Brute. The plasma rifle was doing damage but not nearly enough to kill the brute, and that brute shot was going to be a serious problem; one direct hit would be lethal. Palab needed another option, and one would come to him in the form of his trusted grenade. He placed his hand inside his side satchel and fiddled with a grenade, thinking deeply on what had to do, but a brute shot grenade exploded beside him and he was tossed to the ground. Another explosion pushed him backwards and the pain echoed throughout his body. Luckily, the shots had missed, otherwise Palab would have been killed. The brute watched as Palab slowly rolled to his feet and grew confident at the sight of the wavering grunt; he lowered his gun to gloat.
"For a grunt, you were a worthy opponent. But that ends here." He reloaded his brute shot, took aim and fired several shots in succession, but Palab wasn't about to wait. He tossed the plasma rifle away, fought of the compression of the shockwaves created by the grenade explosions and galloped on all fours. His speed was incredible for a grunt, moving at almost an Elite's jog, but his maneuverability was where he was gaining the upper hand. Palab was able to pivot without hesitation, running in an almost dog like fashion. The brute couldn't get a clear shot off. With every shot, Palab would change direction instantly. Earlier in the fight he was quick when he was jumping away from the brute, but now he was simply fast.
The running felt almost natural to Palab, he had excellent control and speed. It was as if he had forgotten, but suddenly remembered that he could do it. He had grown so accustomed to walking on two legs, and carrying a weapon, that he had never thought of running on all fours. His short stumpy hind legs gave excellent balance to changing direction and he found that he could stride at least four feet per gallop. With his hands free, Palob found that he could gallop faster and further. He dug his front claws into the softer dirt, avoiding the stone pathways, and pulled himself faster. The exhilaration of speed washed over him, and for a moment he forgot about the brute. His arms provided the power to accelerate, and his legs gave him balance and stability. He could turn, hop, and roll fluidly.
The brute emptied his clip and began to reload another, but Palab didn't give him the chance. With a snarl Palab pounced onto the brutes head, grabbed him by the neck and kicked him the face. There was no longer anyway for him to defeat the brute at a distance, this fight would have to be settled face to face. The brute outweighed Palab by nearly four hundred pounds, but he had to risk it. The brute was unaffected by the kick and grabbed Palab, tossing him to the ground with little effort. He finally reloaded his brute shot but his ears began to buss with the sound of a familiar hiss.
"No, no, nooo!" The Brute clawed at the back of his head, reaching for the plasma grenade that Palab has jammed onto him. The grenade began to boil into his skin, fusing with the hair and muscle tissue as it began to build the charge that would cause it to explode. Frantic, the brute clawed at his own flesh as he roared in agony. Time seemed to slow but there was no escaping the inevitable. Charred portions of the Brute scattered into every direction. The other brutes watched in amazement. They never thought the chieftain's son could lose and this enraged them. Roars from the berserker brutes channeled throughout the battlefield as they charged down the hill toward Palab.
There was nothing that his group of grunts could do against this charging mass. Defeating one brute was hard enough, but forty would be too much. There was only twenty six of them left, and Palab wasn't about to let them die before him. He would fight them, he would fight them all. He remembered the specter and instantly turned his attention toward the other three brutes that were with Tartarus' son, but noticed that they were already dead. Upon closer inspection he could see that they're throats had been cut. Palab turned to face the on coming charge of the brutes and weighed his options, but something caught his attention. He could smell an elite nearby.
The deep voice echoed in his ear, "No need to fear. You are not alone." Palab looked up and could vaguely see the silhouette of an elite wearing active camouflage. As the brutes continued to race down the hill toward them, Palab looked to the elite and was curious as to how long he had been there.
"Where you come from?" Palab questioned.
"The commander sent us. I saw your fight. I've never seen a grunt move the way you do. Quite worthy of a grunt that has earned the title of Sergeant." Palab took a quick look toward the stampeding brutes and then back at the cloaked Elite, but he was gone. He had so many questions he wanted to ask how many of them were there, but now was not the time. He had to fight again; to protect his grunts. He heard grass and sand shifting behind him and quickly turned around and noticed that his team had joined him. Where there was once one grunt, now stood seven.
"We with you." One of his teammates stated. "Others stay back for support. We fight."
The seven grunts stood toe-to-toe as the wave of brutes plowed toward them.
Instinct began to consume them and they began to growl.
Their growl became louder and louder as their tone began to sync.
The thunder of the brutes stampede was dwarfed by the grunts combined roar.
The brutes slowed their aggression, as surprise filled them.
The roar of the seven grunts began to vibrate in the brutes ears.
Palab lead their roar, setting the pitch, the harmony and the aggression.
The brutes were mesmerized, shocked and struggling to block the sound.
The brutes stopped their charge and began to shield their ears.
The seven grunts pulled out grenades and followed Palab's earlier show of fighting; they stood on all fours.
The camouflaged elites listened and watched as the nearby Grunts growled. They were also stunned by the tiny creature's display of aggression. The sound was not focused at them, but the results were the same, they had to shield their ears. Even through their methane masks, the grunts were able to roar in such a way that the pitch was painful to their ears.
The roar stopped and the elites were shocked when they saw the seven grunts step toward the brutes, instead of away. In the sudden silence, Palab released a blood curling cry unlike anything the elites had ever heard and the Grunts sprinted toward the stunned brutes with grenades in hand. The elites were taken back as they watched two, four, and then eight Brutes explode from plasma grenades that were stuck to their bodies. The grunts were rebounding from side to side using their quickness and short height to their advantage. Moving on all fours, similar to Palab's style, the grunts were wrecking havoc on the brute's formation.
A cloaked elite came to Simyaldee's side. "Sir, will we engage?" Simyaldee stood perplexed. He had served many years with grunts at his side, and he had heard their battle cry before, but this was dreadfully different. Simyaldee snapped himself to attention, brushing off the chill he had received from the sound Palab made. His modified energy swords suddenly hissed to life in each hand; each sword bearing only one blade. The twin blades of the Mirratord; a two handed weapon only used by the most skilled of hunters. Designed for speed, not power, they were much lighter then the standard dual bladed energy swords of the elites. The single blade design made for swift strikes against unshielded opponents, and for a Mirratord warrior, all they needed was one strike. Soon more blades appeared from the ghost like shapes of the other elites.
"Spill the blood of our enemies, my brothers! Spare none of these beasts!" Simyaldee sprinted ahead of the cloaked elites at his side and assisted the snarling grunts in battle. Blood suddenly whipped across the air as the blades and explosions crisscrossed in the fray; staining the ground beneath their feet. Invisible warriors began stabbing and slashing into the brutes with the rage of years of built up hatred.
The Brutes never stood a chance.
- - - - - - - -
"Etah, hurry." One of the grunts stated as he lurched over Etah's back. Comically standing on Etah's shoulder.
"Me not fly. Me need to figure out controls." Etah replied with a quick snort.
"Ghost coming!" Another grunt stated from the bottom of the Phantom's gravity lift.
"Friend or enemy?" Etah asked as he yelled down the gravity lift.
"Me not know." The grunt armed his fuel rod cannon and hoped for a sign to shoot. He desperately wanted to kill a brute. But when he spotted the stubby arms of a grunt behind the controls he lowered his cannon. "It friend." The ghost sped toward him and he was forced to jumped clear, snorting in disapproval. "Hey! Not me!"
"Sorry." Came a quick reply. "Where Etah?"
"Inside." The guard stated. The Grunt on the ghost then jumped clear and hurled himself into the gravity lift. Once inside the Phantom he darted to the front, pushed the grunt on Etah's back out of the way, then he himself climbed onto Etah's back.
"Etah, hurry!" He quickly stated, as he pushed and pulled on Etah's armor. "Palab send me! Trouble at base! He need us!"
"You shut up! Me trying! Me need time to…" Etah hit a series of buttons and the Phantom's engines roared to life. The three grunts cheered in excitement. "Ok. Man turrets, me fly!" Another grunt jumped up from the weapons hold and passed out several needlers to everyone.
The guard outside the Phantom heard the engines whine to life and screamed, "Wait! No leave me!" The guard jumped into the gravity lift just as it powered down. Etah, and the four grunts with him, climbed into the sky and flew toward the base.
"It fly easy, like banshee." Etah stated as he peeped over the command council. "Stupid engines need commands, me know them now. Shoot other phantoms." The grunts controlling the phantom's plasma turrets quickly turned and began pulverizing the unguarded phantoms parked below. They exploded in unison, one after the other, each smoldering under the grunts constant arsenal.
The gunner all shouted in excitement, "Whoohoo!We go now."
Etah throttled the engines and headed for the base, but the battle there was already over.
- - - - - - - -
Palab exhaled and fell to his chest. He had never been so exhausted. His grunt team checked the dead bodies of the brutes, to make sure that they were dead. They had won their battle, but even if the elites had not joined them, his grunts would have won. The brutes were shocked and thrown so far into confusion that they hadn't realized the grunts were attacking them until after several of them were dead.
Palab was curious about many things. Why was he able to fight the way he had, and why hadn't other grunts learned what he had? Palab was able to outsmart and kill a brute on his own, something that normally took a pack of grunts to do. He struggled to his feet and scanned the area. The other grunts were climbing out of the ruins and running to his aid.
"Palab, you fast." One of Palab's teammates stated as he approached. "We do what you do, but how you do that?"
"Me feel it. It feel natural. Me remember how to do it." Palab sniffed the air and recognized the smell that had suddenly brushed his nose through his methane re-breather. His teammates smelled it as well. The elites were near.
Suddenly four elites appeared beside Palab and his team, and the other grunts stopped in their tracks; a few feet from where the group had gathered. The four Elites encircled the seven grunts and the grunts that hid in the ruin ran closer, but where cut off by the presence of four more elites that suddenly appeared before them.
"You will all wait here." Simyaldee stated to the approaching grunts. He turned and walked toward the team of grunts that had fought so ferociously with Palab. The three elites at Simyaldee's side watched over group of grunts and prevented them from getting close to Palab and his team.
Palab watched as the spec ops elite walked closer. Even though the group was surrounded by five elites, they showed no fear, and Palab was relieved of this. He had no fear of the elites, and he didn't want his team to be afraid either.
"Sergeant Palab, I am Rin Simyaldee, of team twelve, Special Operations Squad." Simyaldee spoke to Palab with respect and discipline. Palab was shocked and clueless as to how he should respond. "Report on the situation."
Palab stated confidently. "Sir! Yammaeda order me to take team and scout area. Base attacked by Brutes. We come back and kill brutes. Base now secure, but weapons and grunts depleted." Palab responded to the best of his knowledge.
Simyaldee looked the base over, taking a visual a record of all the bodies. "You did your best. The battle has now gone beyond Halo. The Commander and the Arbiter are pulling out. I will contact them and see what our future mission will be. Get the rest of your grunts in order, and salvage what supplies you can." Simyaldee then spotted the dead body of the lone elite that lead the grunt regiment, Doz Yammaeda. He knodded toward two cloaked elites and they appeared into view. They then ran over to Yammaeda fallen form.
Two Phantoms soon crossed the hill and Simyaldee quickly prepped for another battle. The Phantoms descended into the area and one of them lowered its gravity lift. A lone grunt ran out and was quickly intercepted by yet another camouflaged Elite. Palab was shocked that he had not smelled the elite earlier and began to wonder how many other elites were in hiding. Who were these elites?
Palab watched the elite approach the grunt at the base of the gravity lift and quickly spoke up, "Sir. He Etah. He part of team. He capture Phantom."
"Let him pass." Simyaldee stated to the elite that had appeared. The elite nodded and then activated his camouflage; vanishing from sight. Etah scurried to Palab's side and began to report formally, knowing that the elites were watching.
"We miss battle, Sir. Me sorry. But all phantoms destroyed. We keep one." Simyaldee listened in on the conversation and then contacted the pilot of his phantom; floating behind the phantom Etah was piloting.
"Report." Simyaldee mumbled into his com.
The phantom's pilot then replied, "The grunt is correct. I intercepted them after they had destroyed the phantoms. The sky is clear except for the battle overhead."
Simyaldee smirked to himself. "Impressive. Patch me through to the Commander. He will want to know about this." Simyaldee began to walk away from the group of grunts and made sure he was out of ear shot.
Palab happily elbowed his older brother. "Good job, Etah. Separate the grunt squads and begin salvaging supplies and weapons. Load phantoms with as much as we can carry. Leave space for us, we not leave any grunt behind."
"Yes, Sir." Etah scurried over to the on looking grunts and began barking orders and the grunts quickly began gathering materials and loading them on to the phantom. Palab then walked over to his team members and began to give instructions.
"Gather team, and patrol base. No leave anyone behind."
"Yes sir." The grunts stated as they quickly began to go from building to building, including the many methane tents throughout the base.
Simyaldee's com link activated, "Sir, I've reached the commander." The pilot reported.
"Patch me through."
"Simyaldee, I hope you have good news." The commander sighed from the com.
"Sir, nothing much is good news these days." Simyaldee paused and looked around. He watched as the two elites bundled Yammaeda's body into a body bag and then he returned to his report. "This cycle's inductee has fallen. Yammaeda fell in battle."
"That is a tragic loss, and on the eve of his induction into our ranks. The council will need to know of this, as will Balmaeda."
"Had we inducted him sooner, he would have had the gear to fend off this battle. I counted only seventy dead brutes."
"There was nothing we could do, Simyaldee. The loss of Yammaeda will be heavy upon the council. Belmaeda will need time to greave. Have you spoken to him?"
"No, I was awaiting a better time to tell him. Perhaps after I debrief the others."
The commander sighed heavily over the communicator. "Very good. Our time draws short. Is there anything else?"
"Yes, nearly two dozen of the grunts remain, including Sergeant Palab."
"Indeed. The council warned me to keep my eye on him. But I sense there is more you wish to tell me."
Simyaldee glared over his shoulder at Palab as he spoke into his com. "Yes, old friend. Do you remember our studies of the Grunt Rebellion?"
"Yes, I do. We found if fascinating that the grunts were able to amass such a force against our ancestors. And their leader… wait, you're not implying…"
"I've seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, commander. It would be wise to inform the Arbiter that another one has been born."
"Another King?" The commander contemplated silently for a moment. "It has been some time since a leader was born within the Grunt lineage. The prophets always eliminated these grunts for fear of him leading the grunts against the Covenant, but perhaps that is also a lie the prophets have passed down to us. What proof do you have?"
"Sergeant Palab killed Tartarus' eldest offspring." Simyaldee stated. "He killed him in one on one battle. And not only that, he killed three more brutes in the fallowing fray. He has also done the call."
A sensation of awe flowed across the commander's mind. "You heard it? Was it as chilling as the documents state?"
"Yes my friend." Simyaldee replied with soft chuckle. "Until this day, I never thought I would never fear a grunt."
There was pause as the commander spoke briefly with the Arbiter on the opposite end of the communication. "The Arbiter and I are doing what is necessary to track down Truth. But the High Council is still in need of protection. They may also have further use of you and your… 'team'. Take the grunts and rendezvous with the High Council. Keep this information about Sergeant Palab secret, but use it to your advantage."
"Good hunting old friend. The next we meet, it will be in celebration of our freedom, and the annihilation of all the cursed traitors."
"Same to you, old friend. For the Honor of the Mirratord."
"For the Honor of the Mirratord." Simyaldee clicked off his com and walked back to the group.
Palab quickly addressed Simyaldee, "Sir, supplies gathered. Both Phantoms ready to go."
"Excellent. Split your grunts into teams, you'll lead one group and I will lead the others. Seven elites per group." Suddenly the remaining camouflaged elites appeared, and Palab was beginning to understand that they were different then most elite squads. There were fifteen of them total, and they each had a purple strip on their shoulders.
"Yes sir, but me have question." Palab stated.
"Of course, Sergeant."
"Who are you?"
Simyaldee looked around, and made sure that only Palab could hear, "We are the Mirratord; the Right Hand of the elite High Council." Simyaldee pointed to other seven elites. They, in turn, jogged to the second phantom and boarded. Palab watched as his team began to board the same phantom, while the other grunts boarded Simyaldee's Phantom. "The High Council needs us, and the support of all your grunts. Will you lead them on the side of the Council?"
"Mirratord? You real?" Palab questioned as he thought hard, but knew it was an easy question to answer. But for the second time, the elites were asking for their support. "Grunts fight. Grunts fight so we can go home."
"Then let us depart. There is much to do." Simyaldee sprinted to the lead Phantom and Palab galloped to the second one. He jumped into the gravity lift and looked over the base one last time. As he was hauled up into the Phantom, he pondered the future of the grunts under his command. How many would die to protect the elite's High Council, how many would never live to see their real home? At that moment he decided that he would do everything within his power to lead his grunts to their real home planet. A planet that none of them had ever seen, but always dreamed of.
He landed in the heart of the phantom and looked over the grunts under his command. "We no die here."