You don't seem to understand, there are no civilians in this war, there are killers and killed and that is it. The Covenant has displayed such a policy time and time again. I've seen men throw themselves at an Elite's hooves, pleading for mercy, only to be ground to dust. We must not concern ourselves for the children of the enemy. The kitten of today is the lion of tomorrow. This is not an offensive that I propose with any ease, but something that must be done. So that our children may now a time of peace.

Chapter 3

"What can you do?" Lazar demanded. Orff wasn't sure what this Jiralhanae's position would be called. Bodyguard perhaps, he did make sure that the unsavory Cascus didn't murder him. But he also kept Orff from attacking any of the pack, always keeping himself between the two warring parties. The rest of the pack must have respect him, and Orff was afraid of him, so peace was maintained. He was almost friendly in explaining who was who, or where was what. This ship had been a Sangheili model, but the Jiralhanae had reworked it to better fit their culture, their likes. Almost friendly, since he routinely put a fist into Orff's gut for what seemed like no reason at all.

"What do you need of me?" Orff asked.

"We can't trust you in the kitchen, you would poison our meals. We can't trust you with the weapons, I doubt you could figure out how to use them. Not that we ever use the weapons. Its been ages since we've had an engagement."

"What exactly do you do?"

Lazar snarled. "Not much. You Sangeheili don't allow us many responsibilities. This whole ship is a hand me down, not fit for your use but we can struggle along in it. Occasionally we find an enemy ship or a colony, but not often enough."

To be specific, the Red of Nail was a decommissioned Covenant Light Cruiser. At some point, Orff would learn it had originally been a Sangeheili vessel, originally christened the Pure of Heart, Perhaps he had served on, he had bounced around a lot in the few years of his career. After it was in a brutal dog fight with human vessels, it was nearly destroyed, but could still fly, and so the Sangheili appeased the Jiralhanae petitions with it. "Threw us a bone," Lazar explained.

There were no Gravity Lifts, either they had been destroyed before the decommission or removed before the changing of hands. The Jiralhanae had instead installed crudely designed ladders to move from floor to floor, rudely crammed into the ship's very hull. Orff was nervous for several reasons as he watched the youth start his climb. One, he did not trust Jiralhanae engineering to craft a ladder that could support an Unggoy's weight, let alone something as vast as Lazar. He was sure at any moment they would break, and because he was underneath him, the end result wouldn't be pleasant. But the other thing was a weakness he was not eager to display before this rival. All Sangheili discovered something embarrassing when dealing with human structure, as they had an affinity for ladders too. Perhaps not a weakness, just a nuisance, but it tended to steal the thunder of the conquering soldiers. After they finished the humans off and had to scrounge for any useful pillage, they had the frustrating task of moving through their complexes.

Lazar climbed with no difficulty. Dexterous fingers took hold of the bars and hoisted himself up. Dexterous toes gripped and lifted with no trouble. He was half way up the ladder to the next floor before he looked over his shoulder at the Sangheili who stared at the steps dumbly. "Come up," he rumbled.

Lazar could have died those next moments. Any number of things could have gone wrong with the ship's engines, repairs were forbidden, maintenance was forbidden, so problems just piled on top of each other. There was a chance that the entire thing would simply explode in the deep recesses of space. Lazar could have died in those next moments, and he would have died happy.

In an attempt to climb the ladder, Orff reached as high as his arms could and took a firm grip of the bars. He hoisted himself up, and as was expected in such a situation, he put his foot onto the bottom rung. His foot slipped however, unable to get a grip. He was put off balance, and caught the bottom of his jaw on one of the rungs. Then he fell flat on his back, his nagging wounds aching. Lazar continue up, stopping and turning back every few steps so that he could again look upon the Sangheili. Once, in mocking fashion, he secured thick feet in the bars and leaned upside down so he could stare. Eventually, Orff managed, by relying on his muscular upper body, leaving his lower body to dangle pathetically.

A duo of Unggoy passed him as he finally reached the upper level, hoisting himself onto the floor then slowly rising. He gave a long snarl and caused them scurry away, down the hall, giving that signature whiny shriek. There were several Unggoy in fact, and he could just imagine them snickering lowly behind his back at his unceremonious climb. The greatest of the Covenant, the warriors that entire galaxies feared, could be foiled by a simple ladder.

The Jiralhanae were not completely unreasonable though. They offered Orff a private room, while it seemed everyone but the chieftain and his beta were paired together. He barely fit, it was more the size of a closet than a real living space, but at the very least it was someplace he could wait until his escape. He may be beaten, but he doubted the Jiralhanae would go as far as executing him. Not that they had any reservations for killing a comrade, but it would be bad politics. He still didn't have his armor, it had been removed when the surgery was performed, but he had been permitted to keep his under suit. Now he lowered it to his waste again to check the stitches on his stomach, tracing a finger of the soft, tender flesh. Whether this was the only form of treatment available on the ship, or if the chieftain had decided he was unworthy of anything better, Orff wasn't sure, either seemed completely plausible. Or perhaps Lazar knew no other form of treatment than this barbaric act.

The cot was meant for a human, taken during a pillage most likely. It was impossible for him to lay down on it, but by sitting down and pulling his knees to his chest, resting his chin, he was able to settle into a position that brought him sleep.

It was fitful at best. If it were any deeper, he probably wouldn't have heard his door open. Instinctually, he rolled to his side as a dozen spikes embedded themselves in the wall. The room was too small for him to maneuver properly, but the black furred Jiralhanae had more trouble, his cumbersome movements causing him to trip and smack the walls. Orff took the wrist that held the Spiker in both hands, struggling to wretch the weapon free. Bracing his hooves, he forced forward, out of the room and into the hallway, smashing the Jiralhanae into the wall. His hope was to harm the Jiralhanae to the point he would lose his grip, but his fingers stayed stiff. And worse, now they were in the open, where Cascus could easily swing his arms and hit Orff with full force. The fact that Orff was not only alive after such a blow, but conscious, was nothing short of a miracle.

The bladed tip of the Spiker pressed just hard enough in Orff's throat that if he attempted to exhale, his neck would inflate and his arteries would be cut.

"Sornelus wants to see you on the bridge," Cascus spat.

---

Chieftain Sornelus was accompanied by the nearly albino Thantus, as well as two others. He didn't know a name to connect to them, but they were fully grown and heavily armed, even now, out of a combat situation. Orff silently pondered if these were something of bodyguards. Not that Sornelus needed bodyguards. His size was not just aesthetic, his strength must have been greater than Orff first thought. Sornelus carried a gravity hammer like the physically frail Prophets did walking staves. But even the best of Sangheili traveled with a personal guard, not for their own protection, but just elite soldiers for an elite commander. He turned towards Orff.

Orff hated the thought of bowing to the chieftain. But the chieftain was larger and stronger, and this ship was filled with soldiers loyal to him. If the cost of life was a show of submission, if it was the cost of his future son, he could tolerate the bile in his throat.

"Your armor, major."

As ordered, a slew of Unggoy waddled forward, each carrying a piece of crimson shell. He wasn't sure what to do, but when replacing his forearm guard didn't earn him a beating, he went about putting on the other pieces, helmet last, as there would be a brief moment where his vision would be distorted.

"Thank you chieftain."

"If you will be taking part in the operation, I suppose you must be filled in. We have received word that the humans have established a colony on the moon of planet designation SRBE169. It is a small colony, they must have believed it would pass our notice."

"Yes chieftain."

"You will be the advance assault, tip of the spear."

He growled. "Yes chieftain."

"It's a great honor. You should thank me for such a privilege."

Orff swallowed. "Thank you…chieftain." As he was dismissed, and turned to leave the bridge, he found himself chuckling. It could have been worse. He could have been denied his armor.

The tip of the spear was a name given to the first into combat. The shock troopers. The first strike. Generally, the position was given to the Unggoy. Stupid little beasts were constantly breeding, it was not an act of malice, but of population control lest they spread over the entirety of High Charity. They were so plentiful, what other purpose could they serve?

So this had been the chieftain's plan all along. He wouldn't kill him, if such a crime were found out, the Council would fall upon this pack with all the wraith of war. Instead, how clever this Jiralhanae was, to give Orff a suicide operation, and the Jiralhanae would hang back and laugh. How he wished he could have felt a woman's warmth before his death, but such is the fate of a soldier.

He stopped a passing Unggoy, and the Unggoy shivered and lifted a shaking hand into a salute. "Where is the armory?" Orff asked.

"East wing, a floor down, third room from the ladder, the code is 1-2-3-4."

"Of course it is. Unggoy, I never asked, understood."

"Uh…yes sir."

Ships of this size usually boasted substantial armories, but Orff was still taken aback when he finally found the room, when the doors slide open to permit him inside. At first he wondered if the Jiralhanae had converted a spare personal quarters into a weapons holding. The sheer volume of ordnance was overwhelming. Countless Spikers, Maulers, their beloved Brute Shots, a beam rifle or two though he couldn't see Jiralhanae having the patience to serve as snipers, their version of the Plasma rifle, coated red just to be different in every aspect. And human weapons, salvaged from battles. Shotguns, Rocket Launchers. In that way he had to respect Jiralhanae, they would use anything and everything. Though Orff hoped to never soil his hands with such inferior weapons, if it furthered the Covenant's endeavors he supposed he would have to. For now, he was only armed with his sword, and he had no doubt that the chieftain wanted him to only use his sword in this mission. It was not impossible, depending on the human resistance. But he had instincts that told him to be prepared. He also doubted any of the crew would check if a Spiker disappeared, if a cache of grenades were gone. And none of the Jiralhanae paid enough attention to him to notice another weapon hanging from his hip.

He soon discovered that his cloaking device had been repaired. Assumingly, there were Huragok aboard, which was breaking the terms of the commission. For now he tested it, disappearing into a shimmer of bent light, reappearing a moment later.

The planet didn't have a name, too small and unimportant for such trivial things. Its moon was even more insignificant, so why were his instincts screaming? In a normal operation, Orff would have the privilege of asking his superior officer where the intelligence came from, what resistance they would be facing, and other crucial things. But he had no desire to speak with the chieftain or any other members of the pack. Normally, such a colony, lacking any relics or other important resource would be glassed, but Sornelus claimed they didn't have the weapons. Orff believed the Jiralhanae simply preferred a more intimate engagement. Orff, the entire Jiralhanae pack, and three squads of Unggoy piled into a DX-class Dropship, the humans had dubbed it a Spirit.

Orff kept his head down, until he caught the scent of fur and noticed the Jiralhanae foot that was waiting in front of him. The largest toe tapping the ground in a sign of annoyance. He didn't want to lift his head, but that would taken as insolence. He looked up to the chieftain. "You will go first, kill as many as you can, we will provide back up when the engagement is underway."

Why he didn't just say, "Go and kill yourself like a good little Sangheili," was beyond Orff. He settled for a low, "Yes chieftain."

He snarled, baring his teeth. "I wouldn't want you to soil your hands with one of our weapons," he said. Orff sighed again, clipping the Spiker off his belt and relinquishing it.