Chapter Six: Return of a Hero

Seattle streets, September 5, 2559, 5:00am,

"Ginger! We have sighting of Deland, or O'Malley, or whatever the hell he is," Lachlan said, as soon as he saw Ginger's call sign on his HUD. Grif swerved as he dodged another car, barreling straight at the hijacked taxi. Deland was ahead of them by several hundred yards, but a Warthog could catch up to that in no time at all.

"Aim for the tires! I think he might know about the cloning tower!" Ginger shouted over the comm. "He lead us in a circle around Seattle!"

"Hit the tires," Lachlan calmly ordered Tucker, who aimed his BR55 in front of them, looking for a good shot. Lachlan heard the triple fire of the weapon, and then the discharge of a Railgun. The next thing he knew, he was going ass over teakettle as the Warthog flipped over and burst into flames. All the occupants were sent in several different directions, with Lachlan landing on the open road.

"What the fuck happened?" Grif asked, as he crawled away from the buring vehicle. Sarge was out cold on the ground several feet away, blood leaking out from under his helmet. Lachlan crawled toward him, and loud crack echoed around the streets, and something hit his arm, breaking his shields, and tearing his arm to hell. Blood rushed out as he tried to crawl back to cover, but he knew there was a very little chance that he could make it.

As he used his un-injured hand to slowly evacuate the scene, he saw what was going on around them. SAW fire was heard almost constantly, along with the triple bursts of BR55s, and Assualt Rifles. It really was a war zone. His radio was filled with the chatter of several Spartan Fireteams, along with cries of pain and for help.

Looking up as he crawled, he saw Tucker reach out, and grab him by his good hand, and pull him behind the flaming remains of the Warthog. Grif and Church were also behind it, each with their own injuries. Grif appeared to be the only one bleeding, though.

"Ginger," Lachlan rasped, struggling to stay conscience after losing a lot of blood. "There's a sniper with some heavy weaponary, ambushed us. Take a different route."

"Copy. Are you okay? You sound terrible."

"Got shot in the arm. I'll be fine, but they took out the Warthog."

"How's Lasky?"

Lachlan looked around, but there was no sign of the former Captain. He might have been thrown out when the Warthog flipped, which means he could be dead on the road for all he knew. He decided to ignore the question for now. "Tucker, call for evac," he ordered, right before passing out from blood loss.

He woke only minutes later, to find the shell of the Warthog taking heavy SAW fire. The sky was lit up with explosions and bullets. Shots rang out from all over the city. Civilians were screaming, and some brav souls were recording the civil war that had broken out amongst the Spartans.

"Glad to see you're awake," Tucker said, peeking over the edge of the Warthog, and quickly withdrawing his head as a sniper round hit where it was a second ago. "We've been stuck down here, and pretty much screwed to die."

"What's new?" Lachlan muttered. Sarge was still laying face down on the pavement, blood staining the highway. A Pelican flew overhead, smoke billowing from the left engine. A rocket smashed into it, sending it down in one great big fire ball.

"Want me to patch up your arm?" Church asked, opening the crashed Warthog's medical supplies. At some point in time, he must have recovered the supplied without getting hit, since he seemed in one piece.

Lachlan nodded, and stripped off his shoulder and arm armor, and Church applied medical gel to prevent infection. Then he wrapped a bandage around his COs arm, making it as tight as possible.

"Keep it tight," Church said, as he began to pack up the supplies. They would most likely need them later, as they were apparently stranded behind enemy lines.

"Gotta love tight," Tucker interjected, getting a groan out of the rest of Fireteam Violet.

"What's our plan of escape?" Lachlan asked, picking up his shotgun. The gunfire around them hadn't stopped, and he could tell that several Spartan Fireteams were taking a beating.

Church let out a sigh. "I'll cover you while you get outta here. That sniper will be after the first person to run out of cover."

"Church, that's suicide," Lachlas said. As the CO, he wouldn't allow it.

"I've been through worse." And with that, Church ran out from behind the Warthog. Lachlan stood up and ran over to Sarge, picking him up and slinging him over his good shouder in one swift motion. Grif and Tucker ran ahead of Lachlan, as they sprinted in the opposite direction that Church had went.

A single, solitary sniper round echoed out, and to Lachlan, this one was louder than the others. Church's comm sign went offline.

"Shit," he muttered, adjusting Sarge over his good shoulder. They were running in the middle of the city, where several civilians were running around panicking, search for any source of cover. The fleeing Spartans rounded a corner, and right into the waiting barrels of enemy SAWs.

"Oh look," said a Spartan in white Tracker armor. She seemed to be the one in command of the four Spartan team. "If it isn't Lachlan S-6784. There's a bounty on your head."

She shoved Sarge off of Lachlan's shoulder, and shoved him into the wall of the adjacent building. The other Spartans did the same to Grif and Tucker. They removed their prisoner's helmets, to disable their shields.

"Any last requests?" Tracker asked, pulling the slide back on her pistol and taking aim at Lachlan's head.

"I want to fuck a girl one last time," Tucker replied.

"Request denied. Fatty, how about you?"

"I wish that your troops execute us with a 360 no-scope."

"Request denied."

"I wish for more time to think," Lachlan said.

"Request denied. Well then, this will be a simple execution. Several bullets to the face."

Someone cocked a shotgun behind Tracker. "Same for you," Sarge said, weakly holding up Lachlan's shotgun. "If any of you move, I'll blow her to hell!" he shouted to the enemy Spartans.

"Tucker, please don't comment," Lachlan interjected before the pervert could say anything.

Tracker spun around, kicking the weapon out of Sarge's weak hands. "Get over there and join them," she ordered coldly. Sarge's helmet was taken off and thrown to the ground. The enmey Spartans shoved the red against the wall with his comrades

"Now, waste no time and kill them!" The enemy Spartans raised their SAWs, aiming at the exposed faces. Tracker raised her pistol. "I'm going to get the bounty on S-6784."

A purple beam tore through her neck, her pistol fell from her hand, and clattered on the ground. The enemy Spartans turned and looked for the attacker, weapons raised. Another fell to the same fate, purple beam headshot.

"Kill the prisoners and ditch this party, man!" One shouted. He had kept his gun trained on the captives as the two members were killed, and was about to pull the trigger when he was lifted up into the air, clutching his chest and crying out in pain. The last remaining anti-Spartan turned around, SAW blazing, trying to kill the assailant. He was cut in half.

The figure deactivated its Active Camo, revealing it to be a Sangheili, dressed in golden armor, not the Zealot or General type, but a different type all together. It was used to indicate a heretic. Lachlan had heard of this Elite before.

It was the Arbiter.