++August 23rd, 1700 Hours++
Fatigue. I'm so impossibly tired. Dropping a Corvette from the sky forced a Covenant retreat and bought the UNSC time to begin evacuating the more "at risk" sections of the city, but it wasn't ever going to be enough. In New Alex alone there are over 300,000 people. In Palhaza? 500,000. Across all of Reach you're talking more than 700,000,000 people. With the majority of planet-side military preparing defenses the UNSC just didn't have the capability to organize a mass exodus. Evac shuttles had been running around the clock of course, but ferrying 5000 civilians at a time to bomb shelters outside city limits was like trying to save the Titanic with a bucket. Even if they'd put full focus on the evac, where were they going to go? The Navy was unable to break the enemy blockade; the only thing Command could really do is get the civilians out of harm's way, and that was, and continues to be, a rapidly shrinking target. Even now civilians are still spread out across shelters inside New Alex itself, and evacuations are ongoing.
After what we saw on the 16th and the subsequent Covenant retreat, the UNSC accelerated the timeline for defenses across all of New Alex. We were confident we could hold the entire city. After two days of regrouping their forces in high orbit the Covenant came back with more Cruisers, more Corvettes, and more landing craft than I could have imagined. The entire skyline was dominated by sleek, purple-blue hulled ships and the Battle for New Alexandria officially began on August 18th.
We lost the docks on the first day, the industrial district the next. Now on the 23rd, only five days later, fighting has devolved into an ugly, bloody, and desperate affair, with the UNSC predominantly on the back foot. Kilo-Five has been bouncing from FOB to FOB, and reinforcing failing lines across every district. It's a slow, arduous slog, and each day entire sectors fall to the enemy. Firebases are wiped off the map by endless artillery, and choke points are constantly being overwhelmed. The Covenant are everywhere, surrounding the city, landing on the outskirts with impunity, and all of this with the full support of their fleet. We no longer hold the sky, and we barely hold the ground.
Thanks to a series of interlocking AA batteries the UNSC still has control of the interior, including downtown, but supply lines have become a fractured nightmare. The cities' infrastructure is crumbling under the weight of prolonged conflict and the streets are crowded with wreckage. Debris from collapsed office buildings, housing blocks, parking structures and bombed roadways, mixed with thousands of abandoned vehicles, clog every street. The stink of decomposing bodies, both alien and human, coats everything like a nauseating miasma. I haven't slept in three days. Medical supplies, explosives, food, and most importantly bullets are all running low across the city. Soon we'll be fighting with rocks, sharp sticks, and harsh language.
"LEFT SIDE!" Chance roars, and breaks me from my haze.
I shift my rifle left, and brace the barrel against a bullet-riddled, concrete road barrier. A brute has managed to slip past Wink's view using a burnt out box truck. I didn't see him and now his barrel is leveled towards me. I see the flash of red from the spiker's blunted muzzle, and a hissing steak of red zips past my head. I return fire instinctively, and one of the yellow tracers darts into the beast's eye socket. His head snaps back, neck seemingly elastic as viscera paints the car behind him. The alien's muscular body crumples to the ground, and for a moment I watch its right leg twitch. Only then do I notice the forearm length, metal spike buried in the vehicle beside my head. Three inches away from death.
"Sorry." Wink murmurs over the radio. Her voice is raw from calling out contacts, but this isn't the first one she's missed. I can hear the exhaustion in her voice, just like I can hear it in mine.
"It's fine." I reply.
"Moving up." Naomi says calmly.
She isn't tired, or at least she doesn't sound or act like it. She marches forwards swiftly, kicking a grunt in the jaw and gunning down two more who were hiding behind a destroyed Warthog. She seems to flow over barriers, jumping onto cars in a single bound, and clearing gaps with ease. The more I've watched her the more I've come to realize Spartans don't fight, they dance.
"Move up." Chance says, and signals Viking into position.
He moves, and I follow alongside him. Chance is to our right, on the sidewalk of the avenue we've been tasked with clearing. He is taking cover in a series of overhanging archways, which form a small inlet that, in non-war times, serve as cover from the weather for strolling shoppers. Just behind him are the store fronts of several high end boutiques, now ruined, with their windows broken. Inside is darkness, the electricity having long gone out. Tattered clothes, overturned racks, and mannequins with bullet holes. Just like any urban environment, fighting in New Alex is a nightmare. Windows, alleys, alcoves, rooftops - generally, more angles than you can shake a stick at, and each one with the potential to be your death.
No sooner has the thought fluttered through my mind when Chance crosses one such alley, trying to catch up to Naomi's position. I see him come face to face with a Brute who had been waiting in ambush.
"Chance!" I whip my rifle to the side to try and aim, but Viking is in the way and my rifle clangs against his helmet. "Move!" I shout, and try to shove him aside.
"Shit!" Chance blurts with only enough time to fire two unaimed shots into the wall before the alien is on top of him.
In such close proximity to a human you really appreciate the size of the alien species colloquially tilted 'Brutes.' It's hairy, roughly ape-like, and stands somewhere between seven and eight feet with muscles like that of a professional strongman. The creature slams his weapon across Chance's helmet like a club, and I hear a crack even from my position. The Sergeant is forced to the ground and his rifle clatters away on the concrete. With a mighty roar the Brute plants an upwards kick into Chance's side, as though the man were a soccer ball. The force of the blow lifts him off the ground and propels him twenty feet forward, straight into the side of a panel van. The thin aluminum dents under the impact and Chance falls to the ground in shocked silence.
"Fuck!" Viking blurts.
He's desperately pressing himself against the car we're using as cover so that I can get an angle, but even so I can only just see the Brute. Most of his body is covered by the side of the building as he's still mostly in the alley. I fire before I have a clear sightline, hoping to high heaven to prevent a follow up execution. My shots hit the pillar just before the corner, as well as the building's side.
"Wink, I can't see it!" I announce over the comms, my voice straining with panic.
"No angle!" She replies with equal alarm.
I open fire again. More trigger pulls send chunks of rock and plaster flying from the building's face, and the barrel of my rifle starts to smoke - I'll chew my way through if I have to, but it won't be fast enough.
"Scratch!?" I roar into the comms, hoping the man has managed to flank around the side. Then I remember.
The spiker's barrel flashes orange and purple, and a stream of red hot barbs darts towards Chance. Five hit the van, another the road only a foot away from his boot, but several shots hit home. Just then golden shields flare into existence. Naomi has arrived just in time, and vaulted over a car directly into the path of the oncoming rounds. She grabs Chance by chestplate like a professional curling player, and skids him into cover behind an abandoned sedan. The Brute lets out another guttural challenge as his kill is stolen away, and he steps forward into the street. Immediately a shot from Wink's rifle removes his head and the alien remains standing a moment before it collapses.
"Clear." Naomi declares and stands up.
"Is he okay?!" Wink asks.
I turn away from the corner and abandon cover, my boots loudly crunching on the debris-covered road. Viking remains behind, covering my mad dash to Chance's position. I drop into a skid as I close the distance, and let the strap of my rifle hold the weapon while I use my hands to turn Chance onto his back. The Sergeant coughs, and clutches his side. He's breathing! I laugh with elation.
"You alright?" I ask, then examine him for any signs of blood loss. I find none. The only visible damage he seems to have sustained is a large gash on his helmet's visor. It's about four inches long, and half an inch wide. I can see one of the Sergeant's hazel brown eyes staring up at me.
He nods,and groans with pain. "My ribs… I think they're broken."
"He's good?!" Viking asks over the comms.
"He's good." I answer back. "Maybe a broken rib or two?"
"Or five…" Chance retorts between pained breaths.
"Walk it off, old man." Viking snorts. "Serves you right for giving us a fucking heart attack."
Chance struggles up onto his elbows, and rests some of his weight against the sedan we're hunkered behind. "Oh, I gave you a heart attack?"
Wink practically sprints up to our position, dodging past cars and through narrow gaps. She arrives out of breath.
Chance chuckles and feels the front of his helmet. "Visor's cracked."
"Cracked is an understatement." I add. The hole is large enough that I could probably fit my gloved thumb through it, and obviously the rebreather and filters inside the helmet are now pointless. We're fortunate the Covenant don't seem fond of chemical weapons - no gas to worry about.
"I guess you won't be able to go swimming in the bay." Viking jokes.
Wink offers Chance a hand, and he takes it. They embrace for a moment, before Chance nods and opens up a comms channel back to base. "Fifth Precinct, this is Kilo-Five do you copy?"
There is silence, before an exhausted voice replies. "Yeah, I read you." It's police Commander Tynam, who has been the unspoken authority in the area ever since the real chain broke the day prior. He's been handling it well for someone without formal military training.
"We've cleared the avenue. No sign of enemy armor."
"At least there's that. Head on back. Sun is setting and the Brutes have been hitting the perimeter. We're holding."
Viking sighs. "Another restless night."
Just then we hear the thunderous boom of heavy AA fire. I look back towards the police station and see the fat tracers streak upwards into the sky, accompanied by a flame-tailed missile. Somewhere out of sight there's an explosion, followed by the sound of crashing covenant metal.
"Another one bites the dust." I smile.
"And another one comes." Wink says spitefully. "They're just waiting for us to run out of ammo."
Chance nods, and moves past us both. "Let's walk and talk. Naomi-"
"I have point." She states flatly, and moves forward just ahead of us.
Chance takes only a moment to jog to his discarded rifle. It's banged up, with more scratches having rubbed off the matte-black paint, revealing the shine of gunmetal beneath, but it's functional.
We head West along the avenue, and pick our way past more abandoned vehicles and emergency barriers. I've learned from the locals this area is affectionately called the 'Meatpacking District.' When New Alex was actually new there was a large fishing industry in the bay and most of the canneries were here. Since that time the industry has spread out as more colonies expanded and the cities inevitably grew larger and more complex. This area, like many in rapidly expanding colonies, took a downward turn as a result, and was essentially an abandoned and vestigial economic corpse. It enjoyed new life though as a fashionable area to shop, with many now bullet-riddled boutiques and restaurants lining the streets.
I shouldn't be as relaxed as I am, after all we're still in a combat zone and little has changed from a minute ago when Chance was almost ghosted, but despite that I can't bring myself to walk with much purpose. I keep my rifle lowered, most of the weight held by the strap and my feet drag the ground in places. I'm just too damn tired to give a shit anymore and by the looks of it the others are as well.
We arrive back at the station just as the last remains of a Covenant assault are being mopped up. Police officers in riot gear fight alongside UNSC marines from the various broken squads who've found themselves here, cut off from orders and direction. A sea of Sergeants and Corporals with no Captains in sight. It's been three days since we had contact with command. The Covenant installed jammers pretty early on, but the network was able to be shielded against the attacks for a while. I'm not really sure I understand how, but it had something to do with canceling out the interfering signal by sending a second signal? At least that's how Naomi explained it. But once the Covies got enough jammers up and running, the number of permutations they could pump out just overwhelmed the network. For a while it was a game of telephone, with runners carrying encrypted hardcopies of orders to various FOBs across the city. Now though, even that's stopped.
The single shot of a battle rifle echoes in the street as the final Brute is put down by a black-eyed marine with a swollen cheek. I watch him spit at the corpse before making his way back behind a barrier. Above the buildings the last orange light of the sun is fading, and I expect the night raids will start a few hours after that.
"We need to check in with Tynam." Chance says, waving us forwards. Nobody replies, we simply fall in line and shuffle forwards like zombies.
The station itself is a strange building, at least as far as I'm concerned. I'm told it takes inspiration from an old Earth's style called 'art deco.' It's basically an upside-down pyramid, with the roof wider than the base. In front of the building is a series of intersecting, shallow stairways that form a courtyard up to the entrance. The courtyard itself is split up by waist-high walls, which border small sections of green space. These spaces have since been converted into sandbag bunkers for additional defensive hardpoints.
At the courtyard's peak is the wide, multi-door entrance, which is flanked by imposing square columns. On each column there are once-intricate, now wartorn, geometric designs on brass panels affixed to each face. Its resplendent, yet the smooth, featureless stone sides of the core building juxtaposed this lavishness with intimidation. There isn't a single window till the fifth floor, which extends out over the tops of the columns. Whether intentionally designed to be so, it's a devastatingly effective hardpoint, with excellent sightlines down every preceding avenue.
We signal ahead and walk up the courtyard steps then move inside the station into relative safety. Inside is a mess, and exactly what you'd expect from a desperate holdout. Everywhere you look are spent shell casings, discarded and broken magazines, old clothing, used bandages, sleeping pallets and sandbags. The entire lobby has been fortified, while also being used as a rapid deployment and organization area for defensive response. The reception desk has maps and lists with names and tally marks to keep track of each individual and make sure everyone has at least a minimal amount of sleep and food. Marines and police alike lay against anything they can, catching what little rest war will afford them. Dust, oil, and old blood stains are everywhere. The smell of sweat and burnt gunpowder is stifling, but I've gotten used to it by now.
At the center of the building is the stairwell, the elevators having been turned off, and we make our way to the second floor. It's mostly office space up here, some rooms smaller, some larger. One of the larger rooms which I believe was originally Tynam's office has been converted into a meeting room of sorts. When we enter the room, Tynam doesn't even notice us. There is a large oval table in the center of the room, with city planning maps spread out over it in abundance. Sketched drawings and hand written reports of enemy positions are tacked all around its edges, with various office supplies used to denote known enemy positions. There are a lot of them in almost every direction.
The Commander is a Reach native, something that has served as a bit of inspiration for the remaining police force still here. Each of these men and women have elected to stay behind and fight, forgoing the evacuation order which had included members of the PD. When Tynam looks up I see the fatigue on his face, but not in his gaze. The brilliant blue is piercing, and the whites of his eyes stand in stark contrast to his dark skin. He is slick with sweat, as are most of the people in the station.
"Good, you're back…" He straightens his posture and removes his hands from the table to rest them at his sides.
I'm the last to file into what is rapidly becoming a cramped meeting space. It isn't just us in the room; There are seven others here, two of whom I recognise as the Sergeants from the two UNSC squads stranded here. Their LT lost a fight with a Wraith the day the jammers went active. The rest are members of the PD, sporting riot armor despite the heat. They are presumably those who have been helping Tynam organize the defense of the station thus far. Kilo-Five has spent most of our time on scouting missions, recon, and target elimination, and away from the station. I haven't spent much time getting to know them, but I hope that changes soon.
Tynam continues. "We have a problem."
I feel like making a joke, but I'm too tired and just let the statement hang in the air until the Commander continues.
"We're almost out of ammunition."
One of the officers, a female with a messy bun of black hair, speaks up. "We can last through another assault. Maybe two if we're lucky. No grenades left, and we're out of SRS rounds. Bright side, we still have three Spankers with about ten rockets between 'em, so enemy armor we'll be able to hit hard, if it shows."
"What about AA?" Viking asks. "We saw it take down another transport on our way back in."
The girl frowns. "It's out of missiles but we still have a drum of ammo left. Not enough if they decide to really test the airspace."
"Right…" Tynam nods at her. "Point being, our fists aren't going to do the trick here. We need ammo. Before any of you ask - no, we haven't heard back from the 3rd or 4th Precincts, nor have we heard anything from HighCom. The jammers are still operational, and there's no way to pinpoint their location in order to take them out with the tech we have here at the station. We're blind." Tynam looks at each person gathered at the table, letting the statement sink in. "I believe we have to start evacuating."
"Now hold on a second…" It's one of the Marine Sergeants this time. "You're talkin' about abandoning the whole Southern section of the city. We're the last holdout down here as far as we know. The docks are gone already - if we aren't keeping those alien bastards from spearheading dropships into the heart of downtown, it's over for this entire district. You want us to just leave?"
Tynam frowns, deep creases appearing on his forehead. He sighs. "I understand your objection, Sergeant Stafford, but… there isn't really an alternative, is there? Without ammo, we can't hold anything."
The man rubs his unshaven face, staring down at the map intently. "Then that's our problem, right?" He looks around at those gathered. "Ammo. Let's solve that." He looks back at Tynam. "Right?"
The Commander chews the inside of his cheek for a moment and the circular outline in the chest pocket of his shirt tells me he's used to chewing tobacco. Tobacco that probably ran out ages ago. "Obviously I considered that problem before calling this meeting. I'm not suggesting we leave this position on a whim. There are no nearby stockpiles left, and I don't have to tell you that the supply convoy upon which this entire position relied, never arrived. Where do you suggest we get ammunition?"
Naomi steps forwards, just barely pushing past a silent Chance, and seizing the opportunity to direct the conversation. "The nearest UNSC rallypoint is FOB Viper, roughly twelve blocks away to the North in Martin Park. It is unlikely they have lost the position, and are merely cut off from this hardpoint. If I can reach them, I can direct a truck with ammunition and supplies to this station."
"Naomi -" I start before I've even processed the sentence my brain is formulating. "You haven't slept in days."
Tynam cuts me off. "Spartan, I don't mean to question your skills, but you're talking about walking into a deadzone. We don't know what's between here and there, or what enemy strength is. The FOB might not even exist anymore, and there's no way our position alone has stopped the entire Covenant army from pushing deeper into the city. The enemy will have a presence and it could be significant. Are you sure about this?"
Naomi nods without a moment of hesitation. "I would not have suggested the mission if I did not feel capable of completing it."
Tynam smirks. "Alright. Even if you fail to find anything useful, it will clear a path for us to push North." He chews his cheek once more and then eyes the table one last time. "Everyone - prepare for evac. I want the last of the ammo counted, checked, and distributed. Gather up whatever supplies we still have and get it packed. We prepare for the worst, hope for the best, got it?"
"Sir, yes, sir." The two Sergeants respond. The police officers gathered give various discordant affirmations before everyone starts shuffling out of the room. I fall in behind Wink and make my way downstairs with the rest of Kilo-Five.
When we arrived at the station days previous we'd set up shop in one of the first floor detective's offices. It was a good place to stockpile our gear, and allowed us some separation of our equipment from the general stockpile. It takes us less than ten minutes to get our gear together, not because we're moving fast, because we aren't, but because there isn't much left to get together in the first place. I'm down to two spare mags for my BR, and I'm stacking the third when Viking breaks the silence.
"You guys will be honest with me, right?"
I look up at the strange question, unsure how to respond. Wink takes the lead before I have a chance to figure it out.
"When are we not honest with you?" She says.
"Are we fucked?" There is an undeniable solemnity to his words. He doesn't sound frustrated, or angry, just… resigned.
Nobody says anything at first. Wink just bites her bottom lip and looks at the back of Viking's head. Chance raises his eyes from where he's seated, with his helmet in his lap and the cracked visor staring up at him. I think back to Harvest and the feeling of hopelessness we had fighting the Covenant there. That was one of their greatest strengths; The alien's ability to dominate any engagement to the point where even the concept of victory seems a distant memory. They feel like a force of nature; an endless torrent or biblical flood, something that cannot be stopped.
"I don't think so." I say, holding onto a glimmer of hope that's been rattling around in the back of my skull. "Ask yourself this; why are we still here?"
Viking turns from the rucksack of supplies he's been rummaging around through, presumably looking for every last bullet he can find. "What do you mean?"
"I mean – why aren't the Covenant trying to kill us yet?"
"I don't understand the question." Wink responds.
"Yeah. Recent events run contrary to that…" Viking sounds despondent and I regret my choice of words.
Wink sighs. "We're too tired, Ginger, stop trying to be clever."
"Sorry… I mean why haven't they just glassed the planet? When Harvest got to be too much they barely hesitated before bringing out the big guns. Here? They have an entire armada above our heads and yet they haven't really begun to bombard us. Not really - not like they could. They're waiting."
Viking pauses, thinking over my words. "For what?"
"No idea. I mean, really this is all a guess, but for whatever reason they want this planet intact. At least I think so."
"Chance?" Wink shifts her gaze towards him.
When we got to the office he picked a chair and sat down and he hasn't moved since. Now he just shrugs. "Sounds like he's got a point."
Wink rolls her eyes. "Or maybe the Navy is keeping them busy enough in orbit that they haven't been able to do it?"
I have a hard time believing we're winning above after everything we've seen so far, but I don't vocalize the doubts. I finish loading the magazine and pop it into my rifle, then stand. My knees pop with the effort. "Viking, what I said… I didn't mean it about Scratch. Sorry, that's my bad."
Viking's shoulders slump a little. "He hated this fucking planet." He sighs. "And now he ain't never gunna leave. What kinda fucked up shit is that?" He looks over his shoulder at me and I see the redness in his eyes. He's too exhausted to cry, but the pain is still there.
I put my arm around him in a hug. Our armor makes the gesture somewhat awkward, and for a moment neither one of us speaks.
"How am I going to tell his brother what happened?" Viking laments.
Wink answers before I have a chance, and puts a hand on Viking's other shoulder. "There's no easy way, but we've all done it before. We'll be there too."
Viking nods solemnly. "Yeah… But–" He frowns, and looks like he wants to say something but isn't sure how to say it. His brow furrows.
"Just spit it out." I say with a half smile, releasing him from the embrace.
"His brother s'an Innie. I don't think he'll uhh… be happy." Viking sighs.
"An Innie?" Wink repreats, the disbelief clear in her voice. "An Insurgent?"
Viking nods. "Yeah – That's why he left Reach in the first place. The Innies were recruiting and well… Political differences. That's why he never contacted home 'er anything."
Wink lets out a hum and shakes her head. "Damn. I had no idea."
"Hold on -" I interject. "How the hell did he join ODST with that kind of background? Wouldn't ONI have busted his ass soon as they found out?"
Viking just shrugs. "I can't really say, man, I just… know what he said. Maybe… Maybe they didn't know about the brother when he joined or somethin'?"
I frown. "Yeah, I guess."
Viking looks between Wink and I. "Well? Should we tell him?"
Wink gives him a conflicted expression. Her distaste for the Innies has always been the strongest in the group, at least outwardly. I rub the back of my neck as I think about it. "I don't really know." I admit. "I mean, I guess he deserves to know, right?"
"I guess." Viking admits with a half-hearted tone. "Kinda their fault he's dead though. We wouldn't be on this planet if it weren't for them."
It's Chance who breaks us from our moral quandary. "We tell 'em. He died well, and even if his brother doesn't appreciate the UNSC, Scratch died defending their home. Their people. His people. If he can't understand that? He isn't human."
Viking nods slowly. "Okay. Yeah.." He gives a small smile. "Now that a decision has been made I can focus on winning this war. Shouldn't be too hard."
I smile back, and start chuckling. He joins me, and beforelong we're both laughing. Laughing at the absurdity of the war, at the Covenant, at how all this has happened. When the imposing armored figure of Naomi arrives in the doorway she pauses, seemingly surprised by what she's found.
"I am going alone. You will remain here." She abuptly declares.
The laughing stops. I blink, unsure if my sleep-addled brain is properly processing what Naomi just said. "I'm sorry?"
"Yeah… not sure I follow either." Wink confesses, and moves back to the table in the center of the room where she had laid down her rifle previously.
"I will be completing the mission to FOB Viper alone while you remain here with Commander Tynam." She clarifies in a dry, matter-of-fact manner, as if she were reading inventory reports for an armory.
"No, I got that part just fine." I say sarcastically. "That's just dumb. Why?"
Naomi straightens her posture while looking at me. I think I might have irritated her, but that seems uncharistic. I stare at the blank silver of her visor as she speaks again. Her voice is level, but stern. "You are all in need of rest. Your performance will begin suffering."
I shake my head. "We're soldiers, Naomi, we're not going to let a lack of sleep stop us from doing our jobs."
The Spartan continues undeterred. "Getting rest is not avoiding your duties."
"It feels like it is." I respond, then raise my hands and gesture at the room. "You want us to sit here safe 'n sound while you're out fighting a war alone? Our duty is to be out there with you."
"I wouldn't exactly call the station safe…" Viking murmurs.
"Oh shut up." I hiss. "This is serious. Are you listening to her?"
"Ginger, you are being stubborn." Naomi folds her arms across her chestplate.
"No I'm not." I protest. "Why the hell would you want to go out there alone?"
"Because you're slowing me down."
The statement is delivered without malice, a flat declaration that has more truth to it than I'm willing to acknowledge. It hurts to hear. I scowl at her featureless helmet, and feel warmth spread out across my neck.
"Look at what happened to Chance," She continues, "If I hadn't been there he'd be dead. You're human. You need rest."
For a moment I want to hit her, to knock some sense into that thick metal helmet, but I don't. I shake my head and turn away in disbelief as to what I'm hearing. Chance is staring at his boots, unwilling to say anything in his own defense. I'm angry that his mistake is giving Naomi ammo, and that he almost cost our team another member. I also know that's unfair to Chance, but it doesn't change how I feel. The fact that what Naomi is saying might be true; That I might be a burden to her, fills me with dread.
"Maybe she's right…" Viking says diplomatically. "A little rest-"
"Shit happens." I respond defensively. "Mistakes happen. The corner wasn't clear, and he thought it was."
"But no one was in a position to cover him." Naomi presses.
"That's urban combat." I refute. "There's always angles you can't cover. Even when we're rested that doesn't change – and we don't have fancy shields to bail us out."
Wink's hand is suddenly in my face. She gently shoves me back, a nonverbal request to back off and keep my mouth shut. "What happens if you fail?" Wink interjects.
"I won't." Naomi responds.
"Good to know the war will be won on confidence alone." Wink quips. "Humor me. What if you do? No backup. No one to report back with what you find. The entire station would lose not only a Spartan, but their only chance at knowing what their next move should be."
Naomi doesn't respond and I seize the dead air. "What if you run into another Hunter? Or a Wraith for that matter? They're pushing further into the city with more ordinance every day. Without cover fire, even if we're just a distraction, your options are half of what they should be."
"My combat efficiency outstrips any threat currently deployed. I'll make it work." Naomi replies. To my surprise her voice sounds more emotional than it did only moments ago. She sounds vaguely upset, but not angry; sad.
"You're not immortal, Naomi!" I look at her with confusion, and wave my arms about like an angry Italian mother. "I mean, fuck… You're just as human as we are!" My statement hangs in the air and for a passing moment no one says anything.
Viking's voice cuts in. "Spartan, I know you're better than us. I know that – really, I do. If we were half the soldiers you were, maybe Scratch would still be here. But we're not. Even so – you're part of Kilo Five and you're our squadmate. You're a friend. I can't lose another to this place. Not just because I was sleepy."
"And what if you lose a friend because you didn't stay here and get some rest?" Naomi counters, taking a half step forward as if to emphasize her point. "I'm doing this to protect you all. I'll be back in the morning, with ammunition, and–"
"Even if there's a chance of it, we don't just… let one of us wander off and die alone in a hole." I feel a tightness in my chest as I speak. The memories of Scratch in the moments after the explosion; His still body and glossy eyes. It hurts to imagine Naomi laying still in some random pile of rubble that we'll never find. She's lying there; unrecovered, unknown. Forgotten.
"I'll be fine." She stares at me.
"But what if you're not?" Wink presses.
Viking nods and looks like he might say something, but Wink cuts in once more. "Look… Any other time I'd be on your side. If this were just a normal operation, you'd be the one ideally suited for recon. You're faster, stronger, and better equipped… But here? We won't have comms with you out there. You're going into the unknown and we'll be stranded here. You're putting yourself into a position where if you fail, a lot of other things go down with you and… I know you'll probably be fine, but just a little extra security couldn't hurt."
I wish I had more to say, but I can't think of anything meaningful to add. Everything that needs to be said, has been said, and it's Naomi's decision. It's not like we can force her to take us. Silence follows and it lasts several moments, till finally she speaks.
"Alright." She says. "Let's go."