The Rabbit and the Wolfe

Hello again and welcome back to the next installment in the RW series! When we last left off, our heroes had slipped through the blockade guarding Tribute and began causing havoc, all sneaky like. Well, friends, that is about to change! With the arrival of UNSC reinforcements this battle is going to really heat up! But what about Megan, Kevin and the rest of the civilians caught in the bloody crossfire? I guess you'll just have to read and find out for yourself. Enjoy and don't forget to favorite, follow and review!

14: Storm Surge

December 21, 2561

Sector 12, Humanity Mall, Tribute

Epsilon Eridani System

0800 hours

Deep blues and purples hung over the city like a blanket, casting shadows over towering skyscrapers and residences alike. Though they were dark, they lacked the oppressive and haunting feeling the black of night seemed to produce in its wake. As the minutes ticked by, the sun began to break over the Tribute's horizon, throwing soft oranges onto the canvas of the atmosphere. Like a paintbrush, the air currents swirled the clouds and colors together, culminating in a breathtaking, picturesque sunrise to remember. But if one pulled back the veil of beauty, they would see the rotting, pestilent corpse of a city torn apart by war. Gutted skyscrapers jutted unevenly out of the ground, their twisted spires forever scarring the beautiful skyline. Smoke rose from collapsed buildings, as these once magnificent architectural jewels were reduced to nothing more than broken concrete and shattered glass.

High up in her rooftop perch, Linda could see past the ruined city and into the heavens. The gentleness of the sunset sent a wave of nostalgia up her spine. It reminded her of her earliest days of training on Reach, long before it was glassed by the Covenant. Back then, it was just her and the other SPARTAN-II trainees against the world. Or at least the next objective Mendez threw their way. Though they were soldiers, Humanity had yet to stumble across the proud Sangheili and the vicious Jiralhanae, which would spark a conflict that would consume the next thirty years of their lives. Many of the SPARTAN-II's never saw the end of the war, willingly paying the ultimate sacrifice so that others could live. Out of the original thirty or so that survived augmentations, only a handful or two remained. Embroiled in their own assignments, the sniper had not seen many of them in years, decades even. Though it wasn't like they could just drop what they were doing to enjoy a reunion at a little coffee shop on Earth: they were spread out across the Milky Way, separated by hundreds, even thousands, of light years.

The redhead let out a frustrated growl as she watched another one of her precisely fabricated suppressor assemblies warp itself into a useless hunk of metal. Ignoring the rebel splayed out on the street with a fist-sized hole in his chest, she cast a glance towards her supplies. Dammit. Only one left. A small engineering marvel of her own making, the veteran was able to integrate a suppressor into the barrel of her SRS-99, reducing the harsh, recognizable, crack of the rifle to a decibel level much more suited for stealth operations. The problem was that this assembly generated significantly more heat at the barrel exit due to the altered distribution of the weapon's gases. She slid away from her vantage point, already removing the damaged components. The good news was that with the amount of ammunition she had stuffed into her pod, the sniper could hold this street for days. However, without the suppressors she would become a very loud, very obvious, target. She would have to go mobile soon.

It was the quiet she liked the least, for it allowed her time to think. For the harmony and focus she harnessed on the battlefield to waiver, to drift towards topics she was unable, or unwilling, to face. That simple fact alone shoved a spike of calm frustration through the sniper. Just mission stress, nothing more. She told herself. But why was this mission in particular so distressing? What made it different from the hundreds of other missions she had completed in the past? It was certainly not the most difficult, logistically or otherwise. During the war, Linda had undertaken numerous solo deployments behind enemy lines without breaking a sweat. was it perhaps because she was killing her fellow humans, some of which she may have even fought beside years prior? She shook her head, dismissing the thought entirely. No, they were the enemy and she had her orders. And the sniper always followed orders, that's what made her such an excellent Spartan. But like an itch that wouldn't go away, something tugged at the back of her mind, telling her this mission was different.

She shook her head vigorously, determined to push these unbidden thoughts completely from her mind. She could deal with them when she had the time to spare. Focus on the mission. Everything else is secondary. Slapping a fresh magazine into her rifle, she crawled back to her vantage point, dragging a nearby poncho over her armored frame to better hide her profile. Yes, she could have used her active camouflage, but didn't want to risk being spotted. Leveling her rifle down towards the street below, the red head spotted a dozen or so targets moving in a loose formation. She took them in at a glance: the mismatched armor, lack of any insignia and presence of heavy weapons only pointed to one possible conclusion- Front soldiers. Based upon the fact that they walked out in the open like they owned the place, they were either overconfident or green. Both of those were a guaranteed death sentence in the scope of an experienced sniper. And Linda was a master.

Zeroing in on the farthest soldier, Linda felt the familiar rifle rock rhythmically into her shoulder as the man's brains splattered on the street. Shifting her reticle to the next one in line, she pulled the trigger a second time, watching their body crumple into a lifeless heap as the 14.5x114mm round easily punched through the second trooper's skull. Two more met similar fates, one through lead-induced cardiac arrest and the fourth found a new hole in his throat to breathe through. Swiftly reloading and cycling the bolt to chamber the first round, Linda was able to down two more rebel troops before things went south. One of the lead soldiers glanced back, only to be met with the terrifying sight of half of his squad lying in pools of their own blood. The rest of them scattered to find cover, much to Linda's annoyance. She bided her time, her slow, even breaths and steady heartbeat kept her in a clear state of mind, much like Kelly's Zen 'no thought' practices. Just a little further…

Like a herald of Death, the muted crack of her rifle signaled the demise of another soul. The brass lance entered through the soldier's spine, throwing fragments of bone into their organs before blowing its way out through their chest, splashing his nearby compatriots in tissue and gore. He was dead before his before his body hit the pavement. Linda mechanically picked off the rest of the squad, every round finding their target and once more cementing her artistry with an SRS-99 S5 AM. The final corpse had not yet cooled when a tremendous explosion tore through the relative silence, rattling the windows of her perch. Rolling over onto her back, her helmet's visor automatically darkened to compensate for the intense light. Those must be the reinforcements, she mused. Smaller orange dots quickly saturated the atmosphere as fighter craft tore into each other with heavy rounds and missiles. With the arrival of UNSC reinforcements, they actually stood a chance of ripping Tribute away from the Front. With that sliver of good news lingering in the back of her mind, Linda rolled back over, nestling in behind her rifle. Help may be here, but this battle was a long way from being over. Time to get to work.

Sector 15, Humanity Mall, Tribute

0810 hours

Informally referred to as the Garden District, sector 15 roughly resembled an equilateral triangle, if said triangle was three kilometers long on each side and filled with hundreds of hostiles. Fauna and flowers of all species shot out from the center of the sector, blanketing over three million square meters in green and dozens of vibrant colors. All in all, Sandra thought the area was extraordinarily beautiful. Sergeant Mathers had tasked Blue team with clearing sectors one through fifteen, while her units would take sixteen through thirty. Not too bad, she initially thought. This was before the Spartans learned that there were over sixty sectors in the southwestern quadrant alone. She hadn't brought nearly enough ammo for this kind of engagement. A problem easily rectified by battlefield scavenging: the dead had no use for such things. The second story window gave her an excellent vantage point to their target across the cobblestone path. Thought the sight that greeted her was anything by friendly. A squad of rebels had taken civilians captive in an effort to draw out their foes.

Tapping into SQUADCOM, she broadcast her thoughts about the structure she was sent to scout out. "Lieutenant, you're going to want to see this." Fred joined her moments later, quiet as a mouse, despite the half ton of armor that encased him. "Look." She said, jerking her head towards the window.

"Spartan, you didn't need to call me up here for a simple…" The rest of his sentence died on his tongue as a ball of rage ignited in his heart. He spotted directional explosives in several doorways, only illuminated by his HUD. They were operating in a close-quarters urban environment. It was only a matter of time before the enemy began planting explosives in ambush. Honestly, he was surprised it took them this long to employ it. No, his anger came from something much more barbaric and cowardly. Adjoining the main maintenance building via a short stone path was a small groundskeeping cabin with large floor-to-ceiling windows, offering Fred an unobstructed view of the miniature vestibule. His visor highlighted multiple explosive signatures inside, right next to a handful of captured civilians. If they stormed that complex civilian casualties would be high. And that was unacceptable. The Front must really be desperate if they stooped to such actions. Unable to stomach the thought any longer, he looked away.

"I'm with you. One hundred and ten percent." Sandra reassured him calmly. Though largely unwarranted, the sentiment was appreciated. But they had orders. Giving her a quick nod, he led the way back to the rest of the squad holed up on the floor below. While they were no ODST's, the half dozen or so Tribute militia soldiers selected to accompany the pair of Spartans were fairly effective. They followed orders, could hold their own in a firefight and most importantly, had the respect and trust of the populace. Fred had to hand it to Mathers, the woman knew how to pick her people. All of them perked up when the two Spartans entered the room.

"Sir?" one of the troopers asked. A short, petite woman who looked to be in her late twenties, raven locks hidden beneath her helmet. Not a look typically associated with a soldier but Fred had long ago stopped making assumptions on looks alone. It had happened to the SPARTAN-II's more times than he could count during the early years of the Human-Covenant war. He knew what unappreciation could do to a unit, and he was not keen allowing anyone else to suffer a similar fate.

Fred quickly outlined the plan to his unit. It was risky, but if they pulled it off, not only could they safely evacuate the civilians, but strike another blow to the Front presence on this planet. A win-win in his book. "Any questions?" He asked, studying each soldier behind his visor. When none came, he unclamped the battle rifle from his back, allowing the weapon to settle familiarly in his grip. "Let's get those civvies out of there." Receiving a handful of nods and an acknowledgment light from Sandra, his team moved into position.


Sandra pressed herself against one of the few large oak trees that surrounded the cluster of buildings, her active camouflage in full swing. Taking a good look to make sure none of the rebels were looking in their direction, she motioned the two militia soldiers with her to move up. They sprinted to the small shed ahead of her, following her orders to stay low and move fast. If any of them were spotted, this op would go south. Like dig to China, South. Stowing their handheld thermal cameras in a pouch attached to their armor, one of them gave her a nod. Giving the main building one last glance, she darted across the pristine lawn, leaving numerous pulverized flowerbeds in her wake. She hit the wall harder than she meant to, a dull thud echoing out into the meadows beyond. She mentally cringed as one of the militia practically wilted in fear, the second one casting a nervous peek around the corner. Call it mercy, call it coincidence, hell, call it pure dumb luck; somehow her mistake went unnoticed by the soldiers in the neighboring building.

Her status light winked green once- signaling the others that they were in position and ready to begin. After a few seconds Fred's status light blinked rapidly, their greenlight to begin. Decloaking, she turned to the smaller of the two. "Let them know were here. Quietly." The woman gave her a firm nod and went about her task. The Spartan's ears perked up at a quiet rustling. Turning her head around, Sandra spotted the other militia member pulling C-12 from a satchel hanging from his armor. A four-inch cube of this stuff was enough to level a five-story building! Her HUD displayed his name: PRIVATE PLUNKIN, ABRAHAM. Tribute Defense Militia (TDM). Private Plunkin was obviously green as freshly mowed grass, this likely being his first assignment right after completing his training. And it took her all but two seconds to realize he did not know what he was doing, a lethal combination. The last thing she wanted was to be blown sky-high by some greenhorn haphazardly handling explosives.

"That doesn't look very stealthy to me, Private." She voiced aloud, thankfully drawing his attention away from the volatile composite.

"Put that back, you idiot! Are you trying to get us all killed!?" His comrade harshly whispered from her position on the other side of Sandra.

"This is cutting clay, right?" He was of course referring to the lower-yield explosive, made for breaching walls.

"No. That is C-12." Sandra couldn't squander the blip of satisfaction she felt as the color completely drained from Plunkin's face. Better he learns now than blow himself up by accident later. "At any rate, we can't risk a chain detonation." She continued, ignoring him as he fumbled to repack the explosives as frantically as he could.

"If we can't blow it open, what's our play? I doubt they will just let us walk around and unlock the front door." She said skeptically, wiping away some of the sweat from her eyes with the back of her glove. Well, if they couldn't take out the wall, and the front door was a wash, they would just have to make a new door. Patting her hilts a few times to reassure herself, she quickly glanced at the name on her HUD before she offered a response.

"We cut ourselves a new door, Private Hathora." Admittingly, her response was not well received, based upon the incredulous looks the two Tribute Militia troops gave her.

"What?"

"Ma'am?"

Rather than waste time explaining it to them, she motioned for them to give her some distance. They took up a new position behind a hedge a few feet away. Not the best cover if the bullets started flying, but they were a little pressed for time. The quicker they evacuated these civilians; the quicker Fred and the other militia troopers could engage. Moving to the spot that Hathora occupied moments ago, she spotted the small hole that had been cut into the glass. Keying her external speakers, she addressed the civilians.

"This is Spartan Wolfe, UNSC. Is everyone alright?"

"Where is the other woman?" A man demanded, suspicion clear in his voice.

"She's watching my back."

"Then have her speak with us."

"I'm afraid that not possible at this time." Sandra stated.

"Liar!" A woman yelled from somewhere within the cabin.

"How do we know you're not some terrorist ploy?" Another interjected.

"How can we trust you?" Sandra felt a spike of anger rise up her spine. She understood their hesitation, she would probably feel the same way if in a similar situation. Statistically speaking, the longer they remained out here, the greater chance of being discovered. Time was not on their side and Sandra was not about to push her luck.

"You'll just have to take my word for it." Hushed conversations broke out inside the shack, digesting her words. She couldn't believe it! They were literally sitting on a bomb and they wanted to talk about the potential legitimacy of a rescue attempt?! And like a bolt of lightning in a rain storm it came to her. She was going about this the wrong way. They didn't need to trust her. Fear was often a great motivator, a lesson she had learned well. Without waiting for a response, she began her lie. "What your standing on is a C-7 anti-personnel mine. The blast is not directed outward in a sphere, like in a normal bomb. Instead, when activated, it explodes horizontally. That means all the shrapnel and other nasty things the Innies put in there will rip the feet from your legs, rendering every single one of you immobile." There was silence in the cabin as they digested her words. Well, at least she had their attention.

"It-it couldn't hit all of us, right? Some of us would survive I-"

"Have you ever been next to a bomb when it went off?" She snapped, her irritation beginning to get the better of her. Memories of dodging volleys of plasma fire flashed through her mind, before she cast them aside with a shake of her head. Some memories were best left buried. "If you want to live through the rest of the day, move to the front door." There were a few moments of silence before the civilians shuffled closer to the door. Hoping the URF didn't see the movement and come to investigate, she took a step back, igniting her blades as she did. The shaped plasma crackled excitedly, as if sensing its wielder's intentions. With nary a twitch of her hands, she drove her blades deep into the polycrete. Though the stuff was extremely durable, its molecular structure made for poor protection, especially against explosives. The shaped plasma was like a hungry shark, eating through the wall like it was its last meal. In a few moments she had cut a jagged outline big enough for a Skirmisher to walk through. Good enough.

Keying into SQUADCOM, Sandra passed off a quick warning to the rest of the team. "Get ready. We may have visitors." Green lights winked inside her helmet as Fred and the others acknowledged her message. Extinguishing her blades, Sandra curled her hand into a tight fist and slammed it into the wall. Chips flew in all directions as a web of cracks cascaded outward from the point of impact. She raised a brow in surprise, fully expecting the material to crumble under the force of the blow. Evidently polycrete had come a long way. Throwing that thought in the proverbial trash bin, she slammed her fist into the wall once more. Cracks exploded across its surface as it took another MJOLNIR force-multiplying blow. But, miraculously, still held together. Growling under her breath, she launched a third strike at the damn thing. This time her fist disappeared in puff of dust and concrete shards. Using the freshly made handhold, Sandra began to pull the slab from the wall. It wasn't exactly as quiet as she hoped as she listened to the polycrete grind against itself with all the subtlety of a Brute who stubbed his toe. With all the noise she was making it was just a matter of time until the other shoe dropped. Sandra just hoped she could get these civilians out before the poo hit the fan.

"CONTACT!" She got her answer seconds later when Private Plunkin screamed over the coms before he let loose with his assault rifle, shredding whatever was beyond her vision with his MA37. Subtlety was clearly no longer an option. Ignoring the soldier's obvious lack of restraint, Sandra pulled on the wall has hard as she could as more weapons fire burst from the building where the rest of the team had been waiting. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the two militia soldiers scramble for better cover as hot brass turned the bushes into confetti. Readjusting her grip, Sandra pulled on the polycrete with all her might. Beads of perspiration collected on her skin as the barrier slowly gave way. With a final grunt of exertion, the wall finally gave way, allowing the Spartan to stick her head into the improvised door.

They openly gaped at her, a mixture of shock, fear and awe implanted on their visage. Sandra hazarded a guess that none of them had ever seen a Spartan outside of promotional vids. But, to her rising frustration, not one of them moved, even as the bullets continued to fly. The URF soldiers seemed to pick up on the civilians' hesitation, one firing almost a full clip across the windows trying to eliminate their prisoners before they could escape. A single shot rang out and the soldier crumpled to the ground in a heap. "Move!" She shouted at them, not willing to push her severely exhausted luck quota for the day. To their credit, the group didn't panic, instead making a quick but calm beeline for the exit. Doing a quick headcount, her HUD tagged seventeen civilians. With only a half dozen TDM fighters and two Spartans, it was going to be tough escorting double that in noncoms. But tough was a Spartan's specialty.

"Sir, making our way to the fallback point, civilians in tow." Sandra reported, firing as she went. A burst from her battle rifle hit one of them in the throat, ripping his windpipe apart and spraying the wall behind him in a deep red. Using her bulk as a shield, she let her weapon bark like a rabid dog, forcing the rebels to either keep their heads down or be ruthlessly perforated by her BR's 9.5 x 40mm rounds.

"Copy that." Came Fred's calm reply. "On route now." On cue, a gout of flame launched out from one of the second-story windows, momentarily hiding the deadly payload as it screamed through the sky. The enemy scrambled for cover, but the effort was fruitless: the buildings were so close there was simply no time to react. The warhead slammed into the side of the maintenance building, making the foundation tremble under the immense stress. Like a dragon's maw, the fire cascaded outward devouring everything in its path. Two unlucky souls were close enough to be consumed by the blast, their screams of agony reached the heavens as they burned alive. Sandra felt her stomach churn and bile rise in the back of her throat. What a horrible way to go, she thought. Sure, they were the enemy and they wanted her dead, but no one deserved to go out like that. A second rocket flew through the hole the first one made a detonated, throwing fire and debris into the air as the structure collapsed in upon itself.

She sighted a lone soldier limping away from the remains of the building. Blood oozed from a fresh gash above his eye, temporarily blinding him and discoloring his graying hair. Despite his injuries, however, Sandra could feel the hate and rage emanating from his one functional green eye as he stared her down. She swung her rifle to finish him off, only for her shields to flare intensely as her team was completely blindsided by a patrol. Plunkin went down instantly as multiple rounds chewed through his armor like wet tissue paper, splashing those nearest to him with blood and sinew. They were caught out in the open. If the civilians didn't find cover soon this firefight would become a bloodbath. Sandra was moving before his body even hit the ground.

"Go! Get behind those trees and stay low!" Using her height to her advantage, she rained down a lethal storm of white-hot lead over their heads. Shoving those nearest to her to the ground, she roughly made for the front of the group. They would have bruises but at least they would still be alive. Keeping an eye on her rapidly dwindling ammo count she keyed Fred in on the situation.

"Copy that. We're moving to assist. Draw their fire and protect those civilians." Fred ordered.

"Argh, damn it!" Hathora yelled as she tumbled to the dirt. Scrambling behind a chewed-up tree stump, she fired her rifle blindly in the general direction of the oncoming troopers. "They shot me in the ass! Who the fuck shoots someone in the ass?!" Sandra suppressed the urge to smile. They could joke and laugh about it later, when the bullets weren't flying and Death wasn't hovering on the fringes of the battlefield. Her rifle clicked empty as the last three bursts from her magazine caught two of them in the chest, their corpses tumbling to the ground and tainting the manicured grass red. Activating her thrusters, she sprinted in a shallow curve towards the separatists at the opposite end of the clearing. Not her brightest idea ever, as her suit alerted her that shield strength was below half and dropping fast. But what better way to get the enemies' attention than a charging Spartan?

Ejecting her spent clip, Sandra yanked a plasma grenade off her belt, armed it, and let it fly. The blue orb glowed an alluring shade of blue, like a siren who used its song to lure men to the ocean depths. The orb detonated with brilliant flash, vaporizing the soldier it had adhered to and throwing the rest clear of the blast. Not one to waste her advantage, Sandra slammed into the biggest one head-on. She could hear his unaugmented bones snap and splinter like twigs as he was tackled to the ground by the equivalent of a small car. Using her momentum, she rolled to her feet, delivering a savage uppercut to another trooper's jaw. The force was enough to lift her a foot into the air. She couldn't even scream- her bones had literally been turned to paste. A wet gurgling sound was all she could muster before the shock took her out of the fight. Sandra's M20 took care the final two, the armor-piercing rounds tearing bloody, jagged scars across their torsos. Standing to her full height, she turned to look at her charges: bruised and shaken but ultimately no worse for wear. Fred and the remaining militia members were corralling the living and tending to the dead. Fred jerked his head, a gesture to 'come here'. Sandra nodded at his unspoken command, taking the time to put a round into each soldier's skull for good measure before making her way back to the group.

Plunkin's death had been an atrocious waste. Sure, he couldn't tell the difference between C-12 and silly putty, but he was young and had so much left to live for. He would never have the chance to grow up, experience the trials and tribulations of the world. Maybe he had a significant other, maybe he didn't. She surmised it didn't really matter in the end. Time would go on. Days would turn to months. Those months would fade seamlessly into years. The universe would continue to grow, to flourish, just with one less spark of life. It was up to those who survived to carry on his memory. To wield it like a torch, let it guide other souls to a better life. Private Plunkin was the first man she had ever lost under her command and Sandra had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be the last. So wrapped up in her ruminations that the over pressurization wave from the bombs stashed in the groundskeeper's cabin tore her feet from the earth and threw all 900-plus pounds of her into the air like a ragdoll.

Sector 25, Humanity Mall, Tribute

0900 hours

Pumping another shell into Oathsworn, Kelly followed Chief through a gap in a row of market stalls. She frowned behind her polarized faceplate, scanning the numerous amounts of nooks and crannies, some of the shadows loomed large enough to conceal a Hunter. Her nerves had been on a hair trigger for hours now, in no small part due to the way this section had been laid out. If she ever found out who designed this section of the city, the veteran scout would quickly show them the error of their ways… with a bullet. Though most city planners don't take troop advancement during an invasion into account when they propose their ideas. Fair point, her mind quipped. She would just have to settle for breaking their legs.

They dashed across the street and ducked into an alleyway, crushing pebbles and polycrete into powder underfoot. From the darkness of the alley, the two veterans were able to get an unimpeded look down the street. Several overturned Warthogs lay scattered about the street, their smoldering husks partially melted and completely unusable. Almost every surface was riddled with bullet holes, like the rivets on an aircraft during World War II. But for every bullet hole, there seemed to be two corpses to fill the void, like some cruel bargain, where human lives were used as payment. Who they were was impossible to determine, however, because their bodies were burnt beyond all recognition. A dense miasma of ash and charred flesh hung in the air like a grotesque reminder of the pain that had been wrought. The scout was glad her armor's filtration systems were still operational. The mere thought of choking down lungfuls of that polluted oxygen made her stomach turn.

"Rally point Bravo is just ahead. Keep sharp." Chief said, motioning them forward with a short jerk of his head. The rally point was just a staging area, a designated point to rest, rearm and comb through any additional intelligence. From there, Blue Team would await UNSC reinforcements before pushing further into the city. It would no doubt turn into a bloody, prolonged engagement, one which the scout was prepared to win.

Kelly carefully stepped over a humanoid mass of charred flesh. She could see spears of bone sticking up through the blackened remains, like skeletal markers to identify those ready for Death's embrace. Even without any facial features or identifiers, the twisted positions of the sea of corpses told the story as clear as day. What an agonizing way to go, she thought sadly. The duo pushed warily onward, fingers hovering over their triggers. Suspiciously eying the rising line of scorch marks on the buildings that lined their path, she keyed her mike.

"Those burn marks are rising, Chief." Hopefully, he didn't notice the small uptick in octave. Knowing him though, there was no way he couldn't.

"I noticed it too. NA4's, most likely. Unaugmented personnel couldn't reach that height with a 57." He was, of course referring to the M7057, the UNSC's lighter and more portable flamethrower. In experienced hands, the portable defoliant projector could evict a group of heavily entrenched Hunters. But words like 'light' and 'portable' were highly subjective, as the bastard weighed almost a 130 pounds. Most troopers, even career ODST's, had extreme trouble hefting it around for extended periods of time. That is where the NA4 came into play. Only problem was walking around with a literal firebomb strapped to your back. Took a special type of crazy to tote those things into battle. A Hellbringer type of crazy.

The postmortem quiet of the morning was disturbed by the harsh whoosh of rushing flames, their glow tickling the polycrete around it. Though soft and inviting, it only set the scout's nerves on edge. Flames and metal didn't tend to mix well. With a quick nod to her squad leader, the two Spartans swiftly made their way up the street and into the remains of a burnt-out establishment. Only a stubborn lock stood in the veterans' way, but the strong frame crumpled like paper when John put his shoulder into it. Keeping low, they observed the patrol from a pair of shattered windows. Peeking over the sill, her HUD picked up seven signatures, three Hellbringers flanked by four other soldiers, all hostile. They seemed to be meandering around the open courtyard with no real objective, torching bodies at random. Their posture was relaxed, but alert. Kelly allowed herself a small smile. Bored. Perfect. She could easily take three before they reacted, possibly four.

"Bet I can take out more than you." Kelly goaded, mentally prioritizing her targets.

"Stay focused, Kelly." Chief responded, his voice coming in clear and deep over coms. Kelly rolled her eyes.

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"No." She heard him sigh. "What are the stakes?" A smile graced her face for an instant before it disappeared behind her stony façade just as quickly as it had come. John could never back down from a challenge.

"I win, you take my shift on the Infinity." A reasonable offer. That would give her a whole uninterrupted sixteen or more hours with her girls. "But if you win, I'll take yours."

"Deal. Conditions?" Chief answered after a quick pause.

"First target must be engaged before you open up." Instead of a verbal response, he gave her a nod. Sparing one last glance at the surrounding rooftops and motion tracker, she hoisted herself through the broken window and into the courtyard. Rising to her feet, she broke into a sprint, activating her thrusters for an extra boost. She might have looked like some ethereal creature, all decked in white, tendrils of blue snaking outward from her spine, but she was anything but. She was an angel of death, and these souls had been chosen. Pulling a plasma grenade from her belt, primed it, and threw it at the most distant soldier. She watched it sail through the air before adhering to the soldier's weapon. His cry of alarm as he chucked the assault rifle away drew the patrol's attention, giving her a few precious extra seconds.

Kelly dug her heels into the pavement, she felt a subtle rumble under her feet as the material crumbled and gave way under the immense weight of her armor. Reaching out with her free hand, she caught the nearest soldier's helmet. Letting inertia and gravity do most of the work, she yanked the poor woman off her feet, throwing her harshly to the ground. Kelly quickly brought her boot down on the trooper's neck, crushing her spine and killing her instantly. The rest of the patrol was just starting to figure out what was happening when Oathsworn evicted a man's organs, reducing his chest to a ragged, gore-soaked hole. The Hellbringers brought their weapons to bear and opened up. Like the fiery temperament of a dragon, the defoliants let loose streams of hellfire the seemed to set the very air around them alight. Survival instinct took over, sending her backpedaling as she fired into the oncoming flames. It was kind of funny, after centuries of war and advancements in technology, fire was still one of the most terrifying things on the battlefield. Though war may change, people's innate fears can never truly be suppressed. Plus, Kelly didn't want to boil alive inside her armor.

She could hear Chief open fire from his position with his battle rifle, the bark of the weapon catching the enemy completely by surprise. But she had bigger problems to deal with. The napalm had settled on her armor and began to lap at her shields like a dying man who found an oasis in the desert. Two more contacts dropped from her motion tracker as her shields fizzled under the intense heat. Sweat pooled under her skinsuit as the liquid accelerant gnawed through the last of her energy shielding. Her lips twitched downward, forming a frown for a split second, as her skin began to tingle. Soon, her raw skin would start to show symptoms. Symptoms that she would have to explain to Sandra. Not a conversation she was looking forward to. The blonde would no doubt chew her out for her brash and reckless behavior. As the flames died out and her vision cleared, the veteran could see the last two remaining soldiers slowly advancing on John's position, using the buildings as cover.

"Chief, I need a distraction." If she could get close, Kelly could end this without being barbequed.

"Copy. Suppressing."

She watched John roll from cover, coming up in a kneel and bringing his rifle to bear. The bursts were slow, methodical, like the beat of a warrior's heart before battle. Activating her thrusters once more, she counted down the remaining rounds in the magazine. 24…21…18…15… Having to alternate targets halved the time he was able to keep the hostile duo pinned and she was cutting it close. She vaulted into the soldiers' cover as the last burst tore polycrete from the wall, landing with a heavy thud. Not wanting another napalm bath, she pulled out Oathsworn and pumped a shell into his legs. While too far to do any significant damage, it was enough to yank the man's feet out from under him. On instinct she dove to her left, narrowly avoiding a stream of fire that scorched the earth she had been occupying moments before.

Exiting her dive, her palm landed on something long, thin and solid. Like an Olympian discus, she whipped the shard of polycrete at the Hellbringers visor as hard as she could. while the building material was by no means starship-grade titanium, it wasn't made of wet noodles either. It succeeded…somewhat, partially piercing the golden faceplate and eliciting a shriek of surprise. Rounding on the other flamethrower, Kelly launched at him like a coiled viper, driving a knee into his chest. In one fluid motion, she pulled her combat knife from its sheath and rammed it into his jugular, effectively pinning him to the wall as he choked on his own blood. Crimson tails escaped from the safety of the soldier's neck, tracing the weapon as it flowed across its curves, as if etching every detail of it into memory. Kelly was lost in the ebb and flow of crimson tides for just a second, a moment. But sometimes, that was all it took.

Unexpectedly, she was driven from her observances as an intense heat washed over her. Cursing herself for her momentary lapse in focus, she wrenched the blade from the corpse as her shields flared angrily. Ignoring her armor's warnings blaring in her ears, she launched herself at the sole remaining soldier. She only hoped that her armor could withstand the heat. If not, Sandra would resuscitate her, if only to kill her with her own bare hands for being so foolish. Like one of her brothers said many years ago: there was no testing ground like the battlefield.

"Burn, you UNSC dog! BURN!" A quiver shook itself through the last word. Clearly, her unorthodox tactics were getting to the man. Letting the flammable fuel wash over her like a warm shower, she pulled her magnum and unloaded into the Hellbringers chest. The last round struck him in the faceplate, staggering him and throwing off his aim. Throwing her empty handgun to the side, Kelly drove her palm into the shard lodged in the soldier's visor. The polycrete met little resistance as it entered his flesh, if his screams were anything to go by. Curling her fingers into a tight fist, she hammered his faceplate as many times as she could. One. The cracks expanded outward in chaotic, asymmetrical web, touching all it could. Two. Three. Four. The web had expanded to consume the entire polarized, golden plate. On the fifth blow, the entire framework collapsed, forcing shards of exotic composites into the wearer's face. His screams quickly morphed into quiet gurgles as the man choked on his own blood and bone.

The scout slowly stood to her full height, her fist slick with crimson. There were many reasons as to why she did it: to preserve her own life, to protect Sandra, Amber, and all her brothers and sisters, a skewed form of revenge for all those she lost before and during the war with the Covenant, or that she was ordered to do it. But no matter the justification, whatever excuse she used to place her actions in the right, Kelly never felt comfortable with killing her own species. But orders were orders. And she followed her orders, for she was a Spartan. It was her duty. And that pumped through her veins like the blood she spilled.

"Y-you th…think you're in the r-r…right here? Doing go-" A fit of wet, sloppy coughs broke up his words. She watched a drop of blood escaped his mouth, running down his chin. "You are all the same: tyrants." He paused, glaring at her with his one good eye. A challenge to answer, perhaps to justify her actions, perhaps not. Kelly remained silent, alert for any final attack the Front Hellbringer might make. Silence, apparently, was not the answer he was after as what remained of his jaw curled into in pained grimace. "I'll see you in hell, asshole."

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she leapt back on instinct. A good thing too, as the frag grenade under him went off, turning his body into a concussive firebomb. The veteran was thrown into one of the crumbling walls as napalm and shrapnel were propelled in all directions. Shaking her head to try to clear some of the dizziness, she found an olive arm outstretched to greet her. She took it and Master Chief pulled her quickly to her feet.

"Do you always toss aside your weapons when they're empty?" He joked over TEAMCOM, handing her the empty magnum. She swiftly reloaded it before clamping it back to her hip.

"Had to improvise."

He looked over the scorched, bloody devastation, before coming to some conclusion. Giving her a nod of approval, he began moving towards the waypoint that marked rally point Bravo, the scout close behind. "I hope your negotiation skills are as good as your ability to improvise." With that cryptic remark, he fell silent.

Negotiation skills? What is John on about? Is there a change in the mission? No, if there was, he would have told me. She ran through dozens of possibilities, each one seeming less plausible than the last. Frustrated, she rolled her shoulders, as she often did. Somehow, it helped with her thought process and releasing pent up tension. Or, at least, that was the plan. Pain swept across her back like wildfire as her burned, inflamed skin rubbed up against the titanium plating. She winced guiltily. Seems like the shielding didn't hold up well enough. Burying the rising fear of facing her lover's wrath, she glanced down at her armor. Her once pristine white armor now bore numerous scorch marks, thick and black. Kelly's Mjolnir armor was the personification of an ONI after-action report. That was not even mentioning the numerous fresh scars from shrapnel or the partially melted plates, some of which would have to be replaced eventually. Her back was probably worse. Yep, I'm going to get it big time.

"Shit." Her helmet speakers threw her words out for all to hear.

John's amused snort was not helpful.

Rally Point Bravo Sector 60, Humanity Mall, Tribute

1130 hours

Sandra sighed under her breath, making a minute adjustment to the SR-99 in her hands before easing back behind the scope. A large courtyard sprawled out almost twelve stories below, its crisscrossing footpaths acted like a prison, sectioning off each patch of pristine lawn to its own little square cell. It could have been a symbol of humanity's belief that they superior to Mother Nature. Or, it was simply the most practical method. Sandra didn't care enough to figure out which. Through her scope the Spartan observed another Pelican swoop in low, its nozzles spitting out a constant flow of cyan flame. It gently nestled itself between two warthogs, its jet wash hardly jostling the reconnaissance vehicles. When the gangplank touched dirt a surge of green flowed out of the bird like water from a faucet. But it wasn't just troopers; they carried with them extra ammunition, food, fuel and enough rations to last for a week.

"Status, Blue 5." Came Fred's confident voice.

"All clear here. Any updates on Linda or the Chief?"

"Chief's trying to get our marching orders. Linda is doing all she can to slow the Front down. Sandra frowned behind her visor. Not exactly the answer she was looking for, but it would have to do. She would have asked about Kelly but Fred would have told her if there was anything wrong. But that didn't mean she couldn't bug the guy a bit.

"Having fun down there, lieutenant?"

"The time of my life." He responded dryly. As TEAMCOM fell silent she idlily glanced about the room, not really focusing on any one thing. She should be acting as a lookout, but there were at least a dozen other snipers, most of them Spartans. A few minutes of looking around wouldn't kill her. The walls were a dull grey, devoid of any real color. It was almost as if whoever designed this office space intentionally made it as depressing as possible. Just looking at the walls for too long gave her the urge to eject herself out an airlock. Most of the furniture was either was coupled together for makeshift sniper nests or strewn about the large room. The remainder was shoved into a corner that looked more unsteady than a pyramid of squabbling grunts.

"It helps if you look out the window." Came a sudden voice from the doorway, startling her. Sandra could count her lucky stars her finger wasn't on the trigger.

"Fucking Christ, Kelly! Don't you ever knock?!"

"And miss the opportunity to get the drop on you? I think not." The veteran was so quiet, Sandra didn't even realize the woman had moved until she felt a hand land gently on her shoulder. "Status?" She knew that Kelly was really asking if she was alright, but their positions forced them to keep such language sequestered.

"Fine."

"You know what fine stand for, right?" There she goes, throwing my words right back in my face, Sandra thought.

"Very funny." Sandra fired back huffily. They descended into a comfortable silence, with her behind the scope and Kelly as her impromptu spotter. Though both knew the younger Spartan didn't need a spotter, the company was appreciated. The minutes slowly ticked by with only the hustle and bustle of supplies, troops and munitions being unloaded to fill the quiet. It was during one of these moments that Sandra noticed something odd about Kelly: her armor was black. At first she didn't think anything of it, but upon closer inspection an icy shiver ran down her spine. It was much worse than dirt or soot. "Kelly," she started warningly. "What happened?"

The brunette's shoulders tensed, turning her head towards the wall. After a few seconds she gave voice to her thoughts. "Hellbringers. Close quarters engagement." Guilty undertones seeped through the cracks, eroding her neutral façade. Sandra glared daggers at the back of her head. How could she be so stupid?!

"Just what are you trying to prove?! You don't have to get yourself kil-" Kelly rounded on her in an instant, jabbing a finger at her faceplate.

"I'm not trying to prove anything. This is war, Sandra. We don't always get to choose how our battles are fought."

Sandra smacked the finger out of her face, continuing her tirade. "I get that, I do. But if you were barbequed, I would be crushed!" A calming breath. "It's not just the UNSC you're fighting for anymore, Kelly. You're also fighting for Amber. For me." To prove her point, she slugged her love in her injured shoulder. The wince was extremely noticeable.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll think on your apology. Go see what the medic can do for your injuries." The older veteran's shoulders dipped minutely in defeat, but didn't immediately leave. Annoyed, Sandra returned her attention to the neglected sniper. Kelly was a big girl and could handle herself.

"Before I go, may I tell you a story?" Her blonde love gave no response. Her lips quirked downward, a frown marring her features for but a moment. Well, she didn't boot her ass out so she took it as a sign to continue. "It's about Amber. More precisely, about the woman who inspired it."

Her love was quiet, scanning the surrounding area with the rifle. Eventually though, she responded. "Fine. But only because it sounds interesting. I'm still mad at you." Sandra tried to sound angry, but her words carried no venom, only curiosity. Kelly rolled her eyes behind her helmet. The words 'of course' sat at the tip of her tongue, ready to tease her youngest teammate. But, in a split-second decision she bit them back. Her grave was already deep enough as is. No need to pour in some gas and give the blonde a match.

"This was many years ago, late 2530's I believe. The war…what year were you born? You never mentioned it." Sandra's head popped up from behind the scope and turned to face her.

"I didn't?" The tilt of her head was cute, even with all the armor on. With a shrug, she gave her answer. "2532."

So, she was just a baby. Damn, I am old. "It was my first command. Recon op behind enemy lines. I kept my focus, remained on mission. But Amber…Amber was different than the other soldiers. Though intimidated, she made an effort to try to connect. She was the first one outside the SPARTAN program to do so. Naturally, I shut down her attempts. But she- don't give me that look."

"What look?" The innocent comment did nothing to help her case. Kelly rolled her eyes, continuing her story. She knew Sandra's tells, even hidden behind 1000 pounds of titanium.

"That disapproving look. I can see it in your body language. It was a different time. I was not the Spartan I am today. You wouldn't have liked me back then."

"Maybe not…" The uptick in her voice was another tell for her blond love. One that meant a cheeky, most likely risqué, comment was coming. "But I still would have tried to sleep with you." The blush hit her like a brute with a gravity hammer, rendering her speechless for a few seconds. Kelly should have been used to these comments by now, they should have no effect on her. Why did they still blow her out of the water? Truly, her lover was in a league of her own when it came to pillow talk.

"Moving on." She growled out, giving the purple Spartan a glare while trying her best to flush the rosy color from her cheeks. "She was strong-willed, inquisitive, intelligent, could kick some serious ass and was stubborn as hell… these traits remind you of anyone, hmm?" Sandra flipped her off, drawing a snort from the veteran. "She had this idea of making peace with the Covenant, that we could coexist. That not all of them wanted to exterminate humanity. She told me all that the night before our op. I was tempted to tell her CO about her remarks, but I let it slide. The next day a grunt put enough needles into her back to send her back in a shoebox. She was the first one to die under my command, but she wasn't the last. In the end, I completed the op on my own. Perhaps if I had reported it like I should have, she'd still be alive today…" Kelly trailed off as the memories overtook her. The sight of a shallow cave chilled her bones, the smell of oil clogged her nostrils, the weapon in her hands felt like it weighed more than a Hunter. She looked down when a warm hand rested on her leg. Interlocking their fingers, she followed the armored plates up to the darkened gold visor that stared back at her.

"Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. Who knows what the future holds? All we can do is take things one step at a time, one day at a time. Anything more and we'll just end up tripping over our own feet. What matters is that she gave you something to think about, a new perspective. You can't view the world through a sniper scope, as much as Linda might deny it." She lightly shook the rifle for emphasis, Sandra's words drawing a chuckle out of both of them. "Sometimes you have to lift your head up to take in the world around you. And you wouldn't have known it then, but she was right. The alliance with the Sangheili is proof of that fact. My armor proves that our cultures can work together towards a common goal. Our daughter…she is undeniable proof that we can not only coexist, but flourish. I didn't know her, but I think she would be proud of what Humanity has become, what you've become."

Kelly dropped the opacity on her visor so Sandra could look into her ocean blue sapphires. Her love followed suit, much to her surprise. "Thank you." She quietly choked out, swallowing the lump that had slowly started to form in her throat. Sandra squeezed her hand and flashed a dazzling smile. It was at that moment, looking into those deep emerald forests that a question came to mind. "Should we…should we tell her when she's old enough?"

"If she wants to hear it, certainly." Sandra responded, her smile growing brighter, if that was even possible. "Just maybe leave out the needler part." Kelly gave a sharp nod, as if accepting an order. Who was she kidding? She would interpret the blonde's requests as orders until the day she died. And she wasn't ashamed to admit it. Just…not out loud. She would never hear the end of it then. As the moment passed, Sandra pointed a finger at the door. Kelly knew what Sandra wanted but her pride wouldn't let it go that easily.

"What?"

"That coy look might fool Fred or Chief, but not me. Medic. Go." Kelly opened her mouth to insist she was fine, but Sandra must have mind reading powers, because she didn't let the veteran get a word in edgewise. "Either you walk there with your own two feet or I carry you. Make your choice." Her pride might take a trip to a med bay, but being carried by Sandra would shatter it. The lesser of the two evils it was. But she wouldn't forget this. With a few quick hand gestures, Kelly left the tower, her heavy footsteps announcing her presence to every trooper she passed. Some saluted while others gave her a nod of respect. Many stared in awe or ignored her completely, having either never seen or seen too much of the Spartans. But their reactions went almost entirely unnoticed, as the veteran's mind was a thousand light years away. She wanted Sandra to carry her, to be cradled in her love's arms, Spartan mentality be damned. That, however, was for another time. Her shoulder was really starting to bother her and someone very high up had given her an order to see the doctor. Begrudgingly, she exited the towering skyscraper, headed for the nearest triage center. The battle for Tribute was far from over.

Come Back Next Time!

Sorry it took me so long for this update. Life threw many curveballs at me these past few months. It took me a while to get back into the swing of things but I hope you all enjoyed this most recent chapter of the Rabbit and the Wolfe! If all goes well, chapter 15 won't be so long of a wait. Maybe. Leave a review, telling me what you thought! And don't forget to favorite and follow so you can get updates when I post a new chapter! Till next time, peace out!