++August 30th 0600 Hours++

We've continued to make our way through the ruins of New Alex. Five days. It's taken us five days to get to the outskirts of the city. It's no longer a battlefield; The Covenant holds everything. There are hourly patrols down every major street. Phantom gunships scour for survivors with large, piercing spotlights. They move slowly, silently, and the only warning they're there is the thrumming vibrations of their powerful antigravity engines. They hunt like a predator, eager to catch any would-be resistance out before gunning them to pieces with onboard plasma batteries. This is all in addition to the fleet that continues to glass previously held sections of the city. Planning our route has been like playing a game of chess without seeing your opponents pieces. We are forced to skirt around every checkpoint and every FOB for fear a Banshee might catch us during a flyby and call it in.

We slept twice during the evacuation, each time in the basement of whatever nearby building we happened to be around when our feet finally started to give out. We took turns on watch, rotating out every three hours to ensure each of us got as much rest as we could. I think even Naomi got some sleep, but I can't be sure. She hasn't spoken to me beyond giving orders since we left the insurgent stronghold. I don't know how to feel about it now, but the more I've thought about it the more frustrated I've become. It feels unfair that she could be so angry at me for something I did so long ago, and without the full knowledge of hindsight. I was young at the time, stupid and full of patriotic vigor. I genuinely believed I was saving humanity by providing resources for the next step. They assured us our work was absolutely vital, paramount to the survival of the UNSC, and were they wrong? If Naomi was the result, and she and those like her are undoubtedly the reason we're still standing against the Covenant as a whole, did they lie to me? At several points I've felt like bringing it up, apologizing while also attempting to justify my actions to her, but arguing about something so petty while we're running for our lives is a useless exercise.

Besides, while part of me is angry at her, another part of me knows this is still my fault. I had opportunities to tell her the truth, and I decided not to out of fear. I didn't know what she would think of me, and the shame kept me silent. I could lie and say it was the risk of ONI retaliation, that it was the non-disclosure agreement I signed, preventing me from speaking about anything I did, but at the end of the day it wasn't paperwork that stopped me from telling her: it was the fear of losing her. Even if I had told her though, I didn't know the true extent of our connection; That I had been the one to remove her from her family, and deliver her to the programme seems almost fantastical in its likelihood. I know there were over three hundred assets acquired. How could I end up paired with one of the six that I personally had involvement with? The reality is Halsey must have known. She saw my file, and I doubt it was blacked out to her. Maybe Naomi was right – was this all a test? And if it was, why? I'm not sure I'll ever really know the answers.

Now that we're out of the center of the city, the streets have opened up. The traffic has changed from a collection of sedans and sports cars to haulers and big rigs. The buildings have gone from office buildings that stretch to the sky, to shorter, squat factories and warehouses. We come to a stop at a corner, overlooking a wide avenue. This is one of the many shipping highways that were the life's blood of Reach. These massive thoroughfares spider web across every major settlement and city on the continent. They are, or more accurately were , used to bring the raw materials and goods from the many farming and mining communities into the big spaceports for export to refineries.

"Target ahead." Naomi whispers and signals us forwards.

I follow the line of her hand and get eyes on our objective ahead. It's a shipping warehouse, or at least it was before being converted into an evacuation point for the last humans in the city. We got a call on the general channel two days ago, when we were half way through the city, and shifted our path to rendouve here. It was a surprise, because radio interference has continued to prevent our contact with Colonel Holland, and the suspicion is the Covenant have placed new jammers across the city to prevent any attempted regrouping. Now that I see the pair of rapid-instal radio antennas placed on the roof it makes sense: they boosted the power of the signal enough that it broke through. One last shout into the abyss to try and gather anyone they could.

As we draw closer though, even at two hundred yards, I can tell something is wrong. Smoke is rising from the building. The downside of shouting, even in radio form, is that everyone can hear you.

"Eyes on the gate." Naomi alerts us.

We're across the street from the target and moving down the sidewalk next to the large six-lane street with a light-lined median. I shift into cover along the building beside us, and use the scope of my rifle to look at the gate of the evacuation site. It's been fortified with sandbags and a pillbox of sorts, but the entire area shows signs of heavy conflict. Plasma scoring is everywhere, and I can see the crumpled bodies of marines who died defending the last human position in the city, and the many Covenant they killed in the course of their mission. "They got hit hard." I tell the others.

Naomi waves us forwards and we move across the street. The shipping warehouse itself is surrounded by a roughly eight foot cinder block wall topped with rolls of barbed wire. It provides great cover as we move closer to the entrance. Now that we're closer I can see the pillbox is in fact a small outer building probably used to process outgoing and incoming shipments that the defenders barrel of a heavy machinegun turret protrudes from a narrow window-slit, armored with the engine bay cover of a Warthog.

We stack up near the edge of the bunker, and Naomi gives us the signal. We round the corner with weapons raised, ready to engage any Covenant that still remain. There is nothing here however, but the silent dead. Bodies, roughly a dozen, clutter the intake area. They are crouched behind sandbag emplacements, leaned up against bullet-riddled eighteen wheelers, purposefully moved into position as additional cover.

"It's a slaughter…" Viking growls.

"Just like the insurgents." I add.

Further into the compound the full picture of the destruction comes into view. There were at least three squads of marines here, maybe an entire battalion, and none of them are left. There are layers of defense, and it's clear the defenders fought in an ever-collapsing retreat to simply try and outlast the enemy. There are civilians here too who took up arms against their attackers, and died clutching their newly-acquired assault rifles. They were desperate, but in the end nothing could stop the alien's advance.

The first thing we see past the second defensive line is the burning wreckage of a downed Pelican. Its entire right wing has been destroyed by heavy plasma, probably from an enemy gunship. The back is empty of bodies though, showing that it went down either as it was trying to leave, or before it had a chance.

Wink puts words to what we're all thinking. "They cut them off from the air, then sent in the ground forces to clean it out."

"Well that's just fucking great." Viking growls. "So much for evac. Now what?"

"We need to locate the radio transmitter." Naomi points out. "Let's move inside."

With a nod and little time wasted, we each rush towards the still-open doors of the loading bay. Inside we see the true extent of the Covenant's hatred. The bodies here are by and large civilian, with only the occasional brown armor of a marine peaking through. There are so many, they are in almost every spot you look. Women, men and children alike: there must be over a hundred people here. The interior has rows upon rows of thirty, maybe forty-foot high racks that contain boxes upon boxes of whatever the warehouse was in charge of. The dead are there too – people who tried to climb them to find hiding places amongst the refuse.

"We must have just missed them… This couldn't have happened more than a day ago?" Viking shakes his head as we survey the small slice of Reach's greater genocide.

"It is likely the radio call we recieved is the very thing that attracted the Covenant to this position." Naomi replies. "Although – it is likely they would have found it anyway."

"Let's find the radio." Wink says abruptly, apparently unwilling to spend any more time around the grizzly sight than was absolutely necessary. I feel the same.

We all silently agree, and slowly make our way further into the building. I'm careful where I step, trying to avoid the dead wherever I can. As we push deeper this becomes even more challenging as the density of the corpses increases. When the marine's lines finally broke, and when the Covenant finally got into the warehouse most people simply turned and ran – only to be gunned down. A collection of bodies surround a small building, what must have been the manager or foreman's office. The door and windows have all been broken, and inside is the remains of the command post that was organizing the evacuation site.

An entire collection of radio equipment is strewn on almost every flat table and desk. Maps are everywhere, most of aerial traffic and contact reports. They were trying to plot safe passage further inland, but it's clear even from a glance that there was nowhere to really go. On each map there are other designated sites: evacuation points, strongholds and bunkers, and every time a large red X has been drawn over each. It doesn't take a genius to figure out their meaning.

Naomi doesn't waste any time walking up to the radio set. The power is still on, but as she flicks the approproeit switches and punches in Colonel Holland's channel she turns back and shakes her head. "The circuits might have been damaged. I'm not getting a transmission signal."

"The radio looks undamaged though." I point out.

"It's probably the transmitter on the roof. Might have got knocked out of alignment." Viking explains. "I'll go take a look." He turns and leaves the room without another word.

"Naomi, you think we're far enough out of Covenant control for ground transport?" Wink asks.

"I believe so, yes."

"I'll see if I can find something that will actually run. I doubt they'll bring a Pelican this close now."

With that it's just me and Naomi in the small room. I stare at the back of her helmet for a minute, wondering if I should say anything. Maybe I should apologize again? Would that even matter? I recall someone, at some point in my life, telling me it never hurts to apologize, but I don't think this was exactly the situation they had in mind.

"Just say it if you're going to say it," Naomi cuts across my thoughts, "or go help Wink."

"Are you mad?"

She sighs, and I see her helmet look up at the ceiling for a moment. "No." She finally says. Despite her statement, the weight doesn't leave my chest. It certainly feels like she's upset…

"Oh. Well – I'm sorry anyway. But… you know I wasn't trying to hurt you, right?"

The blue helmet slowly nods in the affirmative. "Yeah… I know."

"So… Why do I still feel like the bad guy?"

Naomi turns to face me, and for a moment I'm reminded how intimidating the Spartans actually are. Her broad frame and full head of height makes me feel incredibly small. "Because you are." She states flatley.

"I said I'm sorry! I meant it. I still do."

Her voice sounds irrefutably genuine, "I know."

"Then what is it?!"

"I don't trust you." I cringe unconsciously, recoiling as if she'd physically hit me. Somehow that statement hurts more than if she'd just told me she hated me. "You didn't just hide your involvement from anybody, you hid it from me, and we- I trusted you more than I've ever trusted anyone. I felt like you cared."

I swallow the pain, and force myself to speak. "I do care."

"But not enough to tell me, when you knew it was important?"

"I didn't know it was you , Naomi. I swear on everything that I am."

She gives me a half-laugh. "You don't get how that doesn't make it better?"

I frown. "I know. I just… want –"

"Nothing you could say will change how I feel." The statement is delivered with a foreboding sense of finality. There is weight to the declaration that affirms its truth. "I do believe you when you say you're sorry, but even then– I can't trust you, not like I did. Maybe in time I will, but I don't really know, and I won't make that promise."

I look at the floor, and I'm suddenly conscious of all the bodies just a few feet away. I should have gone to help Wink. "I shouldn't have brought this up." I confess, and take a deep breath to try and clear my head. "It was selfish. You don't owe me forgiveness – or anything. I don't want a promise." I force myself to look at her visor, and I imagine the gray-blue eyes behind it. "You might not ever trust me again, and that's… fine. But I swear I'll never let you down like that again."

Viking's voice cracks over the comms before Naomi has a chance to respond: If she was going to respond. "One of the dishes got banged up and unplugged itself. I've got it hooked back up, try transmitting."

Naomi turns back to the radio and flicks a switch. A green light illuminates under the 'ACTIVE' label. "It's up."

"Nice. I'm heading back down."

It takes Viking a few minutes to get back down to us, and Wink is right behind him. She says us she found a Warthog that runs, though she'll need help putting a new tire on. Naomi is confident that won't be a problem, but that we should get everything prepared before making the transmission.

"The wheel is nearby. They were halfway through changing it, I think." Wink explains.

"Good. Once we start transmitting I don't know how long we'll have. The Covenant will hear the signal without a doubt."

"Ringing the dinner bell." Viking scoffs.

"Then we'll be gone when they get here." Wink assures him.

"Are we ready?" Naomi looks between the ground and we all exchange a few speculative glances before giving affirmative nods. She turns around and depresses the transmit button. "This is Kilo-Five transmitting from evacuation site Victor-Twelve. Does anybody copy? Over."

A female voice answers. "Kilo-Five this is Command we're receiving your signal. We cannot assign any assets to your evacuation at this time. We're sorry."

"Transfer us to Colonel Holland. We're on special assignment and reporting mission success. Awaiting new orders."

There is a pause. I wonder if this woman believes us, or thinks we're just a random group of soldiers trying to pull a big name to secure evac. "One moment."

A minute passes though it feels like five. "You think they're just going to ignore us?" Viking questions.

On que the radio finally crackles back into life. "Kilo-Five this is Colonel Holland, come in."

Wink starts to chuckle and in the first moment of levity I've seen since Omega, punches Viking on the shoulder.

Naomi hunches over the microphone. "This is Kilo-Five, we read you Colonel. Asset has been secured, fully intact."

"That's damn incredible work, Kilo-Five, without you having pulled the AI out we'd have lost twice as many in the evacuation. Good job. Really, fantastic work. What's your status?"

"Status is diminished, but combat effective. Sergeant Chance was KIA to ensure mission completion. We've rearmed and are awaiting new orders."

There is a pause, and when Holland speaks again he sounds solemn and genuinely remorseful. "I'm sorry for your loss. Chance was a good soldier, and I wish I had the luxury of allowing you all time to grieve. Unfortunately we don't have that time. I'm just going to come out and say it: Reach is lost. Almost everyone that can be evacuated, has been evacuated. Less than an hour ago an additional Covenant fleet of over three hundred vessels arrived on the edge of the system. The Epsilon Eridani Fleet has been routed." I hear the Colonel take a deep breath into the microphone. He sounds exhausted. "The remaining fleet is holding above Reach as long as we can to buy time – Noble Team is in the process of completing a priority mission; they're evacuating a tier-one asset and bringing it to the last remaining UNSC ship on Reach. The Pillar of Autumn is located at Aszod shipyard. You will proceed there with all due haste. The Pillar is currently in dry dock, and the boosters need to be fueled from the Aszod grid. I've lost control of that section of the facility. We've already sent two ODST teams in there and they've gone dark. I have no other combat capable assets on the ground available for this."

"We can handle it, Sir." Naomi responds.

"I know. Your orders are to get to Aszod, secure the fueling controls, get those boosters online and then board the Pillar of Autumn along with Noble Team. Captain Keyes will be expecting you. But – Kilo-Five… Understand that Noble Team's asset is of the utmost importance. There can be no failure here, because failure might very well spell doom for all humanity. You must at any costs get those booster refueled, and ensure the Pillar of Autumn is able to leave the system. Is that understood?"

Naomi looks back at us. The likelihood is we won't come back from this, but it's a better chance than waiting for the Covenant to bombard us. It's our only chance off Reach. I nod back at her. She turns back to the microphone. "We'll get it done."

"Good. I'll see you all back on Earth. Colonel Holland out."

With that, the line goes dead and the sound of static fills the room. Naomi straightens her posture before turning abruptly to face us. "Where's the Warthog?"

Once we're outside and Wink has brought us to the vehicle, it takes Naomi only a handful of minutes to replace the Warthog's tire. Her superhuman strength enables her to lift the entire wheel as though she were picking up a gallon of milk. With Viking guiding her, and Wink on the jack, the process is entirely smooth and soon we're already speeding away on the highway towards Aszod.

"So where is this place exactly?" I ask.

"It's to the South," Naomi answers, "Across the Visegrad mountains."

"That far?" Viking questions from the passenger seat.

Naomi only nods. I settle into the back of the Warthog's stubby bed, getting as comfortable as I can. Wink does the same. I lay my rifle across my lap, the rifle for which I now have an abundance of ammo. A single gun is such a small thing, and it won't change the outcome of the war, but just being able to fight against the outcome, even if it might be inevitable, is a comfort. I turn my head to look ahead as we drive. There are burnt out trucks here and there, with evidence of Banshee fire, pit marking their war scarred chassis. Luckily though the highway is mostly clear of obstacles. The UNSC were smart to restrict civilian egress to the air. You had to get to one of the evacuation points and catch a shuttle inland if you had any chance of getting off world. I wonder how many lives that decision cost, and how many it saved. Without it the UNSC would never have been able to move as much ordinance in and out of the city as they had, and as fate would have it even that hadn't been enough.

I turn my thoughts away from the subject and try to think instead of where we're going. About the end. Based on my general knowledge of the Reach landscape it'll take eight or more hours to get to Azrod. Then once we're there we have to fight our way through an unknown facility, with an unknown number of entrenched enemy forces defending it. Somehow we have to break through. Somehow we have to hold the fueling station long enough for the boosters to charge. I look at Naomi in the driver seat, her armor now more gray than blue. No matter what happens, I've got to make sure she gets on that ship. She has to survive this.