Key NOTES:
As of "GHOST OF ONYX", these rules apply to the Side Story Trilogy;
A) Spartan 087 (Kelly) and Doctor Halsey are not on ONYX (Though the Events of Onyx have occurred.
B) Time Difference is off by 5 days
 B-1) Time shifted due to Seed Ship Traveling in slip space. Time Paradox.
C) William (spartan 043) is not dead.
D) The Spartan III training program on ONYX is the result of what Ackerson's team discovered while testing on human subjects on Troy.
 D-1) Resulting in the creation of the Black Ops

More notes as thy become relative.

Level 2: 3 Faces of War

Camp Eden
Command Bunker #12 // Civilian Refugee Camp
Central Egypt
October 29, 2552 // 22:53 hours

Steam filled the private washroom of Major Elizabeth Rawlings; Head of Artifacts and Forerunner Technology Research. Although the figure in the shower was not of an elderly woman that had been highly decorated by the ONI brass, instead the figure was well toned and much younger. The woman turned off the water and stepped out of the shower; wrapping herself in a full sized towel embroidered with the logo of the UNSC. She stepped gingerly across the cold metal floor of the wash room and wiped the steam from the nearby mirror.

Roselyn Santos always knew she was an attractive woman, but it had been years since she had seen herself with a short haircut. It was the requirement of the military that female haircuts were no longer then necessary. It was a nice look, and helped add more definition to her facial features. She wanted to fight, she wanted to be in the war and do her part to protect her home. Rose had helped save Camp Eden from an invading group of Brute wraith patrols, a task that involved disobeying orders but it was something that needed to be done. However, now that she was in the heart of ONI Section III she didn't think that rejoining the fight could be possible.

"Rose." A male voice carried from the hallway. "I have you uniform."

"I'll be out in a sec." She casually replied. "Wesley, can you thank the Major again for me?"

"I'm not your errand boy, Rose."

She hung her head and sighed, but quickly stepped toward the wash room door. She flung it open wildly, glaring at the young Private that had been stuck to her side since she was first forced into active duty. "Do you think I want this? What part of this is my fault, Wesley?"

"Cut it out, Rose. You damn well know what this is about." Wesley turned his head, forcing himself not to stare down at Rose's partially naked form; her towel barely covering her full figure features.

"Frankly, Wesley, I don't. I thought we were past this." Rose quickly realized that her towel was loosely falling off of her. She grabbed her uniform from Wesley and quickly stepped back into the wash room. "You know how I feel about Eric. So why are you acting like this now?"

Wesley leaned against the wall, his thoughts racing back to the moment they watched Eric and the Black Ops leave Camp Eden's gate. "Trust me Rose, I wish it were that easy. Do you think I want to feel this, now? I don't. I asked to be reassigned to a different squad and Major Rawlings declined it."

"Then be angry with her, not me." Rose stepped out of the washroom, wearing the UNSC Naval Officers Uniform. The light gray and white jumpsuit was a tight fit. "Damn it, you'd think somebody in the military would design uniforms for mature women."

"There aren't many women in the Navy quite like you, Rose." Wesley grinned, almost blushing as he gazed at Rose. The uniform clung to her every curve. "Inside the suit, under your left and right armpits, there are adjustable lines. Give it some slack and it should give you more breathing room across the top."

Rose reached inside and adjusted the strap; sure enough it allowed her more room across the chest. "Thanks."

"It's funny seeing you in Navy Officers uniform. I was getting use to seeing you in ODST fatigues."

Rose quickly began to walk the short hall back to Major Rawlings office. "Believe me, I'd rather be in marine gear right now. I guess my service to ONI isn't complete."

"You would still be a civilian if you hadn't given the Covenant that Crystal." Wesley snorted.

"Thanks for reminding me of my treachery to humanity, Wesley. You're such a nice guy for doing that. Besides, I was never a real civilian. ONI owns me until they are officially done with the Mark VI project." Rose and Wesley turned the corner and glared into the cold stare of Major Elizabeth Rawlings.

She sat motionless at her desk while holding a data pad. "Be thankful he reminded you of your sins, Ms. Santos. As far as I'm concerned I don't want you to ever forget the error of your ways." She had overheard the conversation.

"Yes Ma'am." Rose stated softly.

Major Rawlings looked to Wesley. "Doctor Halsey told me that you handled yourself very well on the Elite's Seed Ship. Section III has more questions for you. Report to level 41."

"I already made my report, ma'am."

"Get out, Private." Rawlings berated. "Or do you want me to suddenly remember how you failed to protect my Crystal, from the hands of your Ex-lover?"

Wesley snapped to attention. "No, Ma'am!" He quickly turned and walked out of the room. Rose felt the coldness flowing off of Major Rawlings. She was a woman born to lead, and her countless years of service to ONI had made her one of the most feared and criticized women in office.

Rose had never met the Major before the crystal incident in New Mombasa, but during her work on the Mark VI project she had seen her name on several forms and data spreads. Rose suddenly recalled how the Major wanted to put her in front of a firing squad, and a cold lump formed in the back of her throat.

Major Rawlings stood from her seat, dropped her data pad on the desk, and approached Rose. "When I first met you in Mombasa, I thought for sure I was sending you to die. I charged you with an impossible mission, put you under the care of a man that I personally knew would fail, but not even I knew that Lieutenant Eric Raynord was the infamous Black Ops 19." Rawlings paced around the room, circling Rose as if she were a dieing lamb waiting to be slaughtered. "In my eyes, you, Eric and Wesley are traitors, and we should have executed you on the spot! However, not only did you survive your mission, you brought back half of the Elite population … to our aid. Admiral Hood wants to put a medal on your chest, if humanity survives that long. And even I have to be thankful for your actions yesterday in defending Camp Eden.

"Ms. Santos. I do not care about the whimpering moans of that love sick puppy that is stuck to your side. He's what, ten years younger than you? Private Wesley Williams was a top Section III agent until he crossed your bed. If you were a spy, I'd say well done, but your motives were simple and stupid."

Rose was foaming under her tight lips. "Permission to speak, ma'am?"

"You'll speak when I tell you too!" The major snapped. "Wesley was charged the task of making sure that you did not leak any secrets of the Mark V and VI project. He did his job, but sadly you wooed him enough to prevent him from killing you when he should have. And then there is Lieutenant Raynord; head of Security at the New Mombasa ONI facility where you and he reunited. You had his head spun so wildly in college that even after all of his years in the military, he still couldn't get over you."

Major Rawlings walked to a mounted picture hanging on her office wall. "Do you see what I'm getting at, Rose? Your father, Patrick Santos, was a major UEG political figure. Although there were rumors that he was also smuggling weapons to Rebel Factions."

Rose blankly stared at Major Rawlings. "What? This has nothing to do with my Father, or those false accusations that he…"

"False, Ms. Santos? No, I did my homework, and your Father was smuggling weapons to the Rebels. Although, in his defense he stated that he was doing it so that they could fight back against the Covenant. Are you aware that he agreed to those charges?"

Rose was taken back. "No… I hadn't heard anything about that. You're lying!"

"Do you know how we deal with traitors, Rose? We shoot them."

Rose caught her breath as she stared wide eyed at the Major, "Did … you…"

"Yes Rose, ONI Section III killed your father for the benefit of humanity. And now I am accusing you of following in his footsteps."

This was a bad dream, it had to be. Rose's vision began to blur, her eyes filling with tears of burning hatred. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as her heart raced out of control. Her father was everything to her and his death changed her life.

"Rose, there is no longer a need to deny your involvement. How long have you been cooperating with the Covenant? Or is it the Rebels that have put you under this ploy? Did you transmit Earth's coordinates to them upon discovering the Forerunner Crystal's location? Who else is involved with your plan of revenge?"

Rose crumbled to her knees, holding her sides as if she couldn't breathe. "I never… no. I didn't do anything."

"Tell me the truth, Rose. Tell me what you did. There is nothing to be afraid of now, I'll simply assign you to a front line platoon, and put a gun in your hand. You'll die in combat, but at least you will have done something positive for humanity."

Rose screamed. "I'm not a traitor!" She lifted her head, with a snarling stare.

Major Rawlings stood six-foot-five, and for a woman closely approaching her late sixties she was still an impressive sight. Rose was no where near her stature, but she was young, strong, and a natural athlete. Major Rawlings could sense the urge for her to attack.

"I know what your thinking, Rose. Do not let my age fool you. I am quite capable of defending myself."

"You killed my father…"

"I didn't kill anyone. The department did, I just happen to be a part of that department."

Rose sobbed, "I survived. So what? That doesn't make me a traitor. It's not my fault that I lived. I didn't do anything. Eric protected me, he wouldn't let me fight. He kept me in safe places whenever he could. I didn't do anything… nothing. I was useless."

Major Rawlings turned to the picture on the wall once again. "I understand my dear, you've been kept in a jar this whole time. I knew that, I read the mission debriefing."

"Then why are you accusing me of being a traitor?" Rose sobbed.

"Section III must know the limits of everyone. We must know what buttons to push when we need to know something. With you, it was your father, and you told me all I needed to know." Major Rawlings turned from the picture and helped Rose to her feet. "I wanted to push your buttons because if you are going to wear that uniform, you will need to learn restraint. ONI is not in the business of accepting middle aged women who can't keep their pants on. And you, my dear, have more emotional baggage then a class six star freighter. You are what I call 'a bad seed', but Section III needs you. And despite my aversion to you, they want you regardless."

"You mean you were joking?"

"I do not joke, Ms. Santos." Rawlings pulled a pin from her pocket and affixed it to Rose's left shoulder. "Everything I said was the truth. Section III was directly involved in the death of your Father, it was a statement to the Rebels. As for why I told you, it is because I want you to know that I control the fate of your life, and I will not allow you to make another mistake that could jeopardize the safety of the human race.

Major Rawlings stepped away from Rose and she stood at full attention. "Do not forget that you gave away the Crystal, the Key to the Ark. If I feel that you are once again questioning your loyalty to humanity, I will personally put my side arm to your temple and pull the trigger. Warrant officer Santos, this promotion is the only way that I can clearly grant you permission into the Box. You are officially ONI Section III. Come with me."

Silently Rose followed as Major Rawlings led her to an elevator. She had nothing to say to the Major, as she was well within her means to kill her. But Rose wondered why she needed her if she hated her so much? In the elevator stood three men, heavily armed with body armor Rose had never seen before. The soldiers stood silently and never flinched, even when she stared at their reflective masks. They were Major Rawlings personal bodyguards, and there were none like them on Earth. They were a special gift from Colonel Ackerson, something he had been working on for quiet some time, and proof that the Halsey's Spartans were not the only means to win this war. The elevator descended for several minutes until they reached the bottom.

Rose and Major Rawlings stepped off the elevator. "Guards, we are the last to descend. Lock down the elevator when you arrive at the top. Wait for my orders."

"Sir." The three guards saluted. The door closed and the Major led Rose down another series of paths. These halls were very empty, only a sparse number of ONI officers walked about.

"Gibson." Major Rawlings stated allowed.

A voice returned over the hallway intercom. "Go ahead Major."

"Add Warrant Officer Santos's ID tag and profile to your database. She'll be assigned to the Box until her duty is complete."

"Understood Major."

The hallway soon opened too reveal a small cave. Light fixtures outlined the cave walls as workers dug mindlessly about the room. Major Rawlings stopped and examined the area.

"Ma'am, what's going on?" Rose questioned.

"We need you Rose. That's what's going on. Four Hundred years ago, we discovered the cave which we now call Camp Eden; the cave that you saw when you first arrived. This smaller cave was discovered a few years later, we are directly beneath the center of the main cave above. ONI and The Egyptian Conservatory, studied this cave for nearly eighty years, but without any luck of uncovering what it is. This cave, you see, is not what you think it is. It contains fossil records of creatures never before discovered on Earth. For the sake of our own sanity, everything in this cave was considered top secret."

"Understandable. That would reshape human history as we know it." Rose stated as she examined a fossil outcropping on a nearby wall.

"What do you see?"

"Fossil remains … of …" Rose stepped back in shock. "An Elite?"

"Don't worry, it gets even more complicated." Major Rawlings descended deeper into the cave, passing several workers and approached a large black wall. "This is the Box. It is man made by the Egyptian Conservatory team that found it. They built this wall here to preserve what they found on the other side. This area was considered a shrine, until roughly a month ago." The wall was pitch black and smooth to the touch.

"Major, I'm an engineer not a Paleontologist. I'm no good to you down here."

Major Rawlings pushed open the door and they proceeded inside the Box. "Rose, you are the head of the MJOLNIR Mark VI program. You built the armor for the Spartans. Trust me, you are in the right place."

Rose followed. "Major, I built the armor based on ONI specs. I made a few changes but it is mostly the same design."

"Correct." Another voice stated as the inner door parted. Doctor Catherine Halsey held the door open as Rose and Major Rawlings approached. "The design was far more human then what was originally thought of. After several attempts to copy the technology we decided to take gradual steps to reaching the desired goals. The Mark I - III were more clumsy and impractical but they served their purpose. Besides, not until my Spartans came along did we have anyone that could wear them. The Mark IV came exceptionally close to what we needed, but when the Project MJOLNIR committee found you… they found something special."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Doctor." Rose smiled, thankful to finally see a familiar face.

"Like wise." Halsey returned.

Rose questioned. "You said you attempted to copy the technology. You mean the Mark V design was not created by ONI?"

Doctor Halsey reached into her jumpsuit pocket and pulled out her dusty and smeared glasses. "The specs we gave you to design the Mark V and then the Mark VI, were originally based on this." The group turned the corner and before them stood a tree, a large tree sprouting leaves that could not possibly grow in such an ungrateful environment; miles beneath the Earth's surface. Rose was stunned to see the tree, but something else caught her eyes, something far more related to her expertise.

"Are those?" She gasped.

"Yes Rose." Catherine Halsey smirked. "Nearly three hundred and twenty years ago, eighty years after the main cave was found, humanity found the Tree of Life. I've never been a follower of Religion, but I feel that the Biblical connection is a good reference. It is a bio-mechanical tree. The group that has been studying it reported that it 'activated' nearly thirty-eight days ago. And those two figures that have captured your eyes are the reasons why we decided to build the MJOLNIR."

Rose wasted no time, nearly running into the stone carved room. Intricate Forerunner designs were etched into the floor, symbols along the wall, and even the Bio-mechanical tree seemed to represent Forerunner technology. But Rose was not concerned for the tree, at least not yet, for now her attention was captured by the two human shaped figures kneeling at the base of the tree. They faced outward, away from the tree, kneeling on one knee, with their heads bowed in an honoring display. One was a male and one was a female. But the two figures were clad in battle armor; perfectly preserved battle armor.

"Can I touch them?" Rose questioned in a child like awe.

"Yes, but be careful." Doctor Halsey questioned. "A crew is studying their connection to the Tree."

She ran her fingers along the edges of the suits, examining every inch of them. "The suits are air tight, the joints are genius. The design is inspiring!" She looked to the back of the female's suit. "This power unit is closer to my Mark VI design, but it's odd. It is almost as if they don't have internal power. What do we know about them?"

"We know that they are nearly one hundred thousand years old." Halsey stated.

"But that's not older then caveman fossils." Rose pondered.

Doctor Halsey grinned. "Correct, however, this technology should not have existed on Earth at that time."

"Right, I see your point." Rose examined the suits more. "Have they been opened?"

"These particular suits have not." Rawlings added. "We found our study sources from elsewhere."

Catherine Halsey calmly added. "The Ark I presume?"

Stunned, Major Rawlings glared at the women at her side. "Yes Doctor Halsey. It would seem you are well versed in the Forerunner lore. The suit we've been studying was found in the Ark, though it was badly damaged do to excessive use. We wanted to keep these two suits in tact, but we feel that is no longer a requirement. Rose, you have our permission to do what you must in order to understand how these suits work and implement what you can into the existing Mark VI Spartan armor."

"Litran and Bitran." Doctor Halsey said.

"What's that?" Rose questioned in return.

"Their names. From what I understand of the writings on the wall, they were called … Reclaimers; the last Generals of the Forerunner Empire."

Rose turned to Major Rawlings, "Any chance that my gauntlets were recovered from the New Mombasa facility?"

"Yes, Spartans 104 and 43 have already received the updated gauntlets. We were able to salvage several of them before the Covenant invasion. Spartans 087, 058 and 117, have yet to receive the updates because of their current mission.

"I'll need a full tech setup, three data pads, various power uplinks, and someone who knows how to handle high radiation material. If I had the right supplies, I could fabricate parts. Just by looking at these suits, I see where I went wrong on a few designs. The power flow of the arms and legs is directly correlated to the suits abdominal servos. I can boost leg and hand power by … ten percent maybe. I know what to do, I just don't have the tools to build them here."

"My my, you do know your stuff." Catherine smirked as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

Major Rawlings turned away from the group. "I had Songnim transfer all their resources to Camp Eden when the second wave of Covenant ships arrived on Earth. You'll have the full cooperation of their staff at your disposal. Also, there have been some weapons upgrades in the past few days, be sure to update the database accordingly, Rose. Doctor Halsey, you can stay as long as you need, but the Flood data is needed on Level 41." The major opened the door to the Box and watched as Rose happily examined the two Reclaimer's armors. Doctor Halsey sat hovered over her shoulder, both of them as excited as two children that had been given new toys. Yet Major Rawlings did not agree to their enthusiasm.

"All my life I have protected this shrine." She thought to herself. "Forgive me for allowing them to dishonor your holly resting place, but for us to survive we must Reclaim what we have lost." Major Rawlings walked out of the Box with a heavy weight upon her heart.

"I can do this." Rose happily cheered to herself. "I can do something useful." She was happy beyond compare. She wished that the ONI security nuts had let her see the suits before the war had started, she was sure that things would have been different, and the Mark V and VI could have been one man armies. But she couldn't bark over facts she couldn't changed. She thoroughly examined the suit and was assisted by Doctor Halsey for nearly an hour, but soon Catherine had to leave. Several tech officers arrived with a massive load of material for her to use and she began to work. "Eric." Rose thought to herself. "I'm doing it… I'm being useful."

- - - - - - - -

Black Ops Crash Site
Central Africa
October 29, 2552

Eric tasted blood, but he wasn't sure if that was the reason why he was waking up, it could have also been the intense pain rolling throughout his head. Face down in a puddle, Eric slowly pulled in his arm, testing to see if anything was broken. Arms were okay, neck felt intact, legs were hurting but moveable, and with that he rolled over and opened his eyes, blood stained his mask; a large amount of blood.

He reached up and unlatched the seal to his helmet, only to find that it had completely split open. Cold water dripped onto his neck and sent a chill down his back; whatever the damage was it appeared mostly external as his senses and nerves were still in one piece. He pulled the helmet off to get a better look at the damage to it, and as he examined it he realized that it was a miracle he was still alive. His helmet must have taken the majority of the impact.

"How long was I out?" He questioned aloud. He dropped the helmet, let the cool water of the small pond wash over the back of his head and gazed into the twilight sky. Was it morning or late afternoon? Eric had no idea of time. He motioned to sit up, but his blood pressure was too low, he became increasingly dizzy as he rose, and was forced to lie back down. "Lost too much blood." He softly whispered.

Eric sat motionless, fighting the urge to lose consciousness again. He had to stay awake. He had to live. He didn't want to die like this, alone and separated from his team. Avoiding death was what he had done for so long, so many times he was on the edge of battle and yet walked out with only a few scratches and bruises, but this was not a firefight. He was not going to let his last enemy, a plane crash, be his end. But no matter how hard he fought it, he couldn't overcome his body's need to reserve energy. In mid thought, his body went numb, his heart slowed, and he slipped into darkness.

"Eric?" Kim's voice radiated in his ears. Kim sat in front of him, as beautiful as the day he had first met her. She held a sniper rifle in her hand, with the barrel pointing upward, and the stock resting on the floor. She was cleaning the weapon, though she was covered in sweat and out of uniform. He remembered this moment. It was the Tylon campaign, the first mission the Black Ops had been assigned. Tylon was a hot desert world, primarily a mining colony and was at one time filled with colonists, but like so many worlds, it was one of the first worlds to be erased by the Covenant. Kim was wearing a large white shirt, stained in sweat, with her black fatigues unbuttoned to her waistline. The rest of the squad was on patrol with Melanie 05, leaving Kim and Eric alone. It was a welcome break, and one of the very few times that they had to spend together; as they struggled to keep their relationship a secret.

"You look like you haven't been doing to well." Kim continued. She stood up, and placed the gun to the side. Her face was dirty, smudged with grease and sweat. "Is the heat getting to you? We should probably get you out of those clothes then, eh?" Kim smiled, looking at him seductively. Eric wanted to talk, but the words wouldn't escape his lips. Kim reached out and grabbed the base of his shirt, and began to slide it upward over his head. He felt at peace in this moment, happy to see Kim again, before her untimely death. This was a good time, even in the midst of the war, he was happy. He pulled the shirt from his head, and looked at the woman before him.

Kim was gone, replaced by the woman that had always captured his fantasy. "Will you teach me how to fight, Eric?" Rose questioned. Roselyn Santos was taller then Kim, but their build was almost identical. Rose's Spanish complexion was strikingly alarming, as well as her fully endowed features. Yet something wasn't right, Rose was not with the Black Ops on Tylon, she was busy working on the Mark V program while on Earth. No, something wasn't right at all. His dreams were being jumbled, but was this a dream?

Rose leaned in toward him, kissing him softly on the forehead. "Don't let me stay in this war without knowing how to fight." She pulled away and lifted a gun, a small pistol, and placed it into Eric's hand. She slowly came closer to Eric again, this time with her eyes closed and lips puckered as if to receive a kiss. Eric slowly obliged, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against hers. The embrace was filled with passion and he pulled back, thankfully for the sudden sign of affection, but once again the woman had changed.

Melanie smiled happily back toward him. "This is life, and Kim would want you to move on. She knows how I feel about you."

Eric awoke to the thump of metal meeting metal. He rolled his head to the side and noticed that he was no longer lying in a puddle of water, but he was bandaged and resting inside the twisted hull of a Pelican. Someone had found him. He was alive, and his dream was most likely the result of him blacking out. The banging was coming from outside and he watched as two figures walked past.

It was night out, and a soft rain was falling in the area. Eric sat up slowly, but again became too dizzy to rise. A hand cradled his head and eased him back to his metal resting place.

Melanie glanced into his eyes. "You lost a lot of blood, but we were able to stabilize you. You need to rest. We don't know when we'll get picked up, and I wasn't able to find another med kit. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah." Eric grumbled. He was happy to see her, though he struggled hard to push the dream out of his mind. "Where are we?"

"Unknown. The Pelican is fried; zero communications uplink. We barely have short range signals. 08 is out gathering supplies and looking for more med kits. The Marines are working on trying to figure out our position, and the ODST is digging a trench in case the wrong search team finds us."

"What about you?"

"Fit as a fiddle." She smirked. "I blacked out on impact, but nothing a good slap to the face didn't solve."

"No really. How are you doing, Mel? It's me, Eric, not 19. Right now I'm not your CO, and we aren't Black Ops. I'm your friend."

Melanie smiled as she looked down at Eric. "You should know better then to ask a girl a question like that. Thank God I'm a tomboy. If it wasn't for that I'd be crying my eyes out right now." She chuckled softly. She noticed that she was toying with Eric's bandages; girlishly fidgeting. She clinched her fist to shake of the childish behavior.

"And why would you be crying your eyes out?"

Melanie looked away. "I lost my sister not too long ago, Eric. I don't think I can handle losing you in the same year." She quickly looked back down at Eric. "But that would only bother me if I wasn't so much of a tomboy." She quickly stood. "Orders, 19?"

Orders, she asked. They were once collegiate friends and Eric had dated her older sister. But on top of all of this were the unspoken words that existed between them. It was not as complex as flirting, nor was it as simple as a familial bond. Melanie and Eric had experienced many sensations together; happiness, loss, heartbreak, and pain. For them, nothing could be as simple as giving in to their emotions, but for them there was no option in doing this. Eric understood that there was no way Melanie would ever step over Kim's grave.

Eric looked up at Melanie from the corner of his eyes. "We camp here tonight. Tomorrow, we make our way to a marker and try to find our position." Eric coughed. "Until I'm a hundred percent, tell 08 to take control of things."

"08?" Melanie questioned. "But I …" She paused and gathered herself. "Yes sir. I'll let him know."

Melanie turned to walk outside but Eric had one last statement. "It's not that I don't think you can handle it, 05. I just don't know where your head is right now. And if I need to be left behind, I don't want you wasting time trying to figure out a way to bring me along." Melanie exited the Pelican and remained silent.

The next morning, Mathew 08 shouldered his rifle. With only a half clip of rounds and three spare side arm clips, he gathered his small team. Melanie would have to be his point man for everything; she was Black Ops and the fastest of them all. The ODST would be level headed, even if he lost his edge. The two marines were debatable; they would keep pace, but lacked any firefight experience. The pilot would be essentially non-com. He could hold a weapon, but Mathew had serious doubts if he could hit anything with it.

"Private John and Jackson, you two are to watch over the Sergeant during transport. 08, you have point." He turned to the ODST and the Pilot. "Corporal, you'll pull up the rear with our flyboy. We're headed east toward that mountain range." Mathew pointed off to the distant small range of mountains. "While I was falling yesterday, I spotted a city just over the first peak, should be about ten clicks or less. Get the gurney, check your water supply and let's move out."

The ODST replied back, "Chief, are you sure it's good idea moving him? If we leave the Pilot here with him, they'll have plenty of water, and we can move twice as fast."

"I considered that, Corporal Hall. But I also know that Black Ops never leave a man behind, especially when he's still breathing." He looked over the unbalanced squad and waved them forward. "Move out." If the situation was different, Corporal Hall would have been right. ODSTs understood squad loyalty, but in a pinch they would leave a man behind if it meant jeopardizing the squad. But ODST were use to be dropped behind enemy lines, under weapons fire, and usually being pursued; this wasn't the case.

Hours passed, yet the distance traveled seemed to only grow by a few inches. It took the group twice as long as they had thought to reach the foothills of the mountains. They had not crossed any roads, or found any trails. The jungle plains were spruce with vegetation, but the humidity was taxing them. They pushed on, each of them knowing that Sergeant Raynord needed medical treatment. They finally arrived at the base of the cliff side.

"05, I need you to recon ahead and get to the peak, we'll set up camp here tonight. See if you can get a clear view to the other side or receive any short wave transmissions."

"I'm on it." Melanie downed a quick shot of water and bagged her container. She turned and double timed it to the base of the small rocky outcropping. Nighttime was quickly concealing the area in darkness, but she didn't let that slow her down. She pulled on her helmet, switched to night vision and climbed feverishly fast. Even though she could have taken her time, Eric's condition wasn't improving and she didn't want to waste any time. The more she could do, and the faster she could do it, the better Eric's chances were. She hustled up the steep incline, a rough one-hundred foot climb, and settled at the top. The peek was more of a plateau, and directly in front of her was a row of weathered buildings; an abandoned observatory surrounded by a worn metal fence.

She powered up her short range communicator. "05, this is Recon. Area seems clear, no hostiles sighted. I found an abandoned complex, looks like an old space observatory."

"Be careful up there, 05." Mathew returned on the line. "Scope the area out, see if you can find any med kits or a clue to our location, and get back down here. ASAP."

"Roger that." Melanie pulled up her side arm, thumbed the safety off and primed a round in the chamber. She duck walked forward, through bushes and the aging fence. Her active motion tracker showed no signs of movement; friendly or hostile. She neared the outer wall of the first building, the walls were covered in foliage, and most of the windows were smashed out. She motioned around a corner and neared the door. She pried it open but it was hard to open. With her augmented strength she gave it a good tug, and it crumbled away from the hinge, falling to the grassy patch at her feet. The sound echoed throughout the building and caught the attention of something inside; her tracker pinged with motion. She quickly slipped inside and into the dark cover of the hallway.

"Shit." She cursed, stealing a line from Eric. She got low, dropping to a knee and keeping her eyes peeled on the area. She pulled a frag-grenade and held it tightly in her left hand… just in case. She felt better with the dangerously volatile high explosive charge in her hand. There was something soothing about it that she never quite understood.

Her nearly all black modified ODST armor vanished in the dark corner of the first room. She kept her gun level, making sure to not let anything slip by her vision. Trusting in the motion trackers was never acceptable, because if an enemy stood still they would be invisible to the tracker. The Black Ops learned long ago not to put all of their faith in their technology. She crept forward, scanning each room with her gun. The building was only a shell of its former self, as Melanie could clearly see that the each room once served some very important purpose. She found an old booklet full of paper, it was weathered and torn. On the hinge were the words, "Mukutan Observatory Grid station: 2319 Febuary. Mukutan?" She pondered the name, as it sounded very familiar to her. "That would put us in… Kenya. But where in Kenya are we?" She pocketed the book and continued to scan the rooms.

Melanie noticed that the object on her tracker was beginning to move toward her, perhaps along the main corridor, and she ducked into an open door, and cautiously closed it behind her; leaving only a crack open. She paused in the darkness as the object came closer. It was moving at a casual pace, but she had to remain cautious. She targeted the opening and waited for it to pass by.

There were heavy footsteps, almost muffled along the stone floor. She listened closely, letting the repeating steps echo in her ear. She wasn't sure what it was. "Wildlife? A big cat? No, it's more like boots. Military grade, or civilian?" No, she knew the sounds of human footsteps and this was not human or animal.

Her eyes widened as the thick brown fur of a Brute paused at the door. He was heavily armored, with a massive hammer strapped to his back. This Brute was packing some very serious armament. Unlike the Brutes she had fought against during the Camp Eden defensive, this brute wore battle armor, this was undocumented and odd. These fierce warriors that attacked Earth were now completely new.

The massive beast stuck his nose into the air, sniffing strongly. Melanie knew that this was a bad sign.

The Brute roared. "Wake the others. I smell … flesh. Call the front lines and get my warriors back here."

Another blip appeared on Melanie motion tracker, and a voice echoed in the background. "Yes, Chieftain." Her helmet audio language decoder couldn't have made such a mistake, but she was sure he couldn't have meant 'Chieftain'. Melanie thought for sure that the Arbiter reported that the Brute Chieftain, Tartarus, was dead.

Melanie gazed through the door as the Brute angled his head toward the door. He pushed it open and snarled at the human that sat before him.

"How you doing, ugly?" Melanie whipped. She pocketed her sidearm, it was useless against a Brute, and pulled down her Battle Riffle.

"Die human worm!" The Brute snarled. He gripped the handle of his hammer and readied himself.

Melanie turned her back to the Brute, lunged toward the wall, and prayed that it was as weak as the rest of the building. She crumbled through the degrading wall and rolled to a knee. She was outside, on the western side of the building. She looked back and watched as the Brute stepped into the hole after her.

"Gotcha." The grenade she had once held in her hand exploded under the Brutes feet, severing his leg as he fell backwards. The Brute's blood splattered over the walls as he screamed in agony. She aimed her rifle and easily put three rounds through his chin. The BR-55 rounds exited the top of his skull. He was dead, but clearly he had alarmed the rest of the camp. Melanie looked to the opposite side of the building and watched as several vehicles powered up. Her exit and explosion had put her in plain sight of a Brute camp. Jackals squawked in the distance, ghosts hummed to life, and stampeding Brutes raced toward her.

She looked at her rifle ammo count, Twenty-five rounds. She only had one clip. She turned and ran, but not toward her squad, instead she ran parallel to the cliff. She couldn't lead them back to Eric. She put her full speed to the ground and beat-feet as fast as she could. She checked her tracker; it was glowing brightly for a moment but then stopped. She maintained her forward progress but looked over her shoulder and saw that she wasn't being chased. A few Jackals appeared, but without the Brutes, and the Jackals were not going to give chase without their superiors. Melanie dropped a knee and slid along the ground until she was perfectly on her belly. She looked back and zoomed in with her helmet binoculars.

"They're fighting over his armor?" She was stunned at this. The Brutes didn't care about her at all, and were fighting over who would be the next in command. Each of the Brutes were snarling at each other as they each attempted to pick up the hammer. A Jackal was glaring at her from the side of the building; they always had the best vision of the Covenant forces. Melanie leveled her rifle, put down the lone Jackal, and sprinted to the side of the plateau so that she could send a clear signal to the squad.

"08, this is Recon, you copy?"

"Crystal clear, 05. Status?"

"Brute base camp at the top of the plateau. Their… Cheiftain, is down. But, they are not pursuing me."

"Chieftain? Repeat that, 05?"

"I'll explain later. I am taking an alternate route away from our camp in case they send a team after me. I will rendezvous at the southern pass around the mountain at twelve hundred hours tomorrow."

"Not an option 05. You get back here now, we'll fight it out together if they do give chase."

"Negative. I can not jeopardize the safety of the squad. I will meet you all on the southern side of the cliff tomorrow at noon. Confirmed we are in Mukutan, Kenya. Recon out!"

"Melanie?" Mathew shouted into his com, but there was no answer. She had moved out of range of the short wave com. "Damn it!"

Eric lifted his head and looked at Mathew. "Status?"

"Recon has gone solo. Possible Brute pursuit. She didn't want to lead them back here. I'm going to go assist." Mathew gripped his rifle and adjusted the straps on his gear.

"Negative, 08. She made the right choice. If she felt that the odds were against us, then she made the right call."

"But Sergeant?"

Eric held his head to ease the constant thumping. "I don't like it anymore then you do, 08, but it was the right call. She's faster then the Brutes, and in the dark she'll become practically invisible if she decides to play hide and seek. This is Melanie we're talking about. She's Black Ops. She trained in stealth just like we did. You go after her and you'll only be attracting more attention."

Mathew stood motionless and lowered his head. The other men in the squad watched in silence, until the ODST intervened.

"Sirs, hate to bring this up, but if the Brutes are spooked, we should probably get moving. They may search the area." Corporal Hall gazed upward to the top of the cliff side, thumbing his BR-55 nervously.

"You're right Corporal." Mathew sulked. "Johns, Jackson, grab the Sergeant and lets move south. 05 is on her own for now."

- - - - - - - -

Troop Supply Territory
Camp Eden Civilian Defense Net
Abu Simbel, Egypt
October 30, 2552

Three Phantoms hovered over the battle field and rained plasma over the area. Flood combat forms melted under their constant barrage, but the parasitic creatures did not fold so easily. Rocket Propelled Grenades puffed into the air, leaving the shoulder mounted grips of the fleshy tentacles of the Flood. One Phantom was struck dead center, but easily shook off the impact. The other Phantoms dodged the incoming RPGs and turned their turrets toward them.

The Flood had found Earth, but this was not the result of Gravemind's influence. These Flood forms found Earth by taking over Brute ships that escaped Delta Halo when the Prophet of Truth fled to Earth. The Flood followed Truth and the Brutes, but for what it was worth, the Human and Covenant Forces easily eradicated the threat, and these were the last reported Flood forces in Africa.

Less then a mile away, at the Abu Simbel airport, several Elite Field Masters continued to discuss the current situation.

"We have been successful in keeping the Flood threat out of the area, but this is only buying more time until the inevitable." The red armored Field Master stated to those that were gathered. "I have sent my scout teams to patrol the areas west and south of my stronghold, none returned. Keeping the flood out of this quadrant is futile." Several of the Field Masters agreed.

Another spoke up. "I too have lost countless warriors. Even the human aids that reported from the north were cut down before they could arrive. If the parasite pushes harder, they will easily take down this supply depot. Does not matter if their numbers are thinning, they can easily regain numbers if we loose warriors."

A silver armored elite stepped forward. "Warriors, we are not here to complain. We are here to find a more strategic option to defending this supply post. If we lose ground here, the humans will lose all means of mass supply transportations."

"The humans!" A Field Master roared. "Why should we bother to aid them? They are not warriors. We should be more concerned with our own. We have a ship in orbit carrying the last of our civilians. Our home is gone, we should be thinking of them not these lowly humans who have never proven themselves in our eyes."

The door to the room opened and in walked the black armor clad warriors of the Spec Ops. Amongst them was a warrior wearing the helmet decorations of a Lieutenant. "If you are all done with your complaining, perhaps we can now get back to the task at hand."

"Lieutenant Simyaldee, we meant no disrespect, but the other Field Masters and I agree, the humans are not worth defending. We should begin evacuation of all our forces to the Seed Ship."

Simyaldee raised his eyes and looked to the decorated Field Master before him. He then returned his eyes to the display map on the table in the center of the room. "The western pass has been the most active in the past few hours. Shift units from post eighteen and nineteen to assist in covering it. Also, move a formation of wraiths along the river, there have been sightings of Flood activity along the southern banks. Notify the humans patrolling the roads to Camp Eden to tighten their patrols, as we will be forced to move more of our regiments closer to the area's defensive."

Simyaldee sat up and looked to the group of Field Masters. "I will not tolerate any further discussion of fleeing the combat zone. I will not have any more insubordination amongst my ranks. The humans are our allies just a much as we are theirs. That is all you need to understand. You have your orders."

The group of Field Masters nodded sharply and quickly exited the room to return to their posts. Simyaldee turned to the silver armor of the councilor amongst them, "Elder, forgive them."

"No, Lieutenant. Forgive me. I should have been the one to silence their pointless debate. It would appear that the news of Dorenth's destruction is affecting my warriors far worse then I could have predicted." The elder leaned over the holographic map of the region. "Your strategy is fool proof; you easily covered the one hole in our defensive. But will it be enough?"

"Time will tell, elder. The Arbiter and the Commander, against my recommendation, are off to secure the Flood crash site. We believe a brain form is within one of those ships. Killing that creature should prove to greatly affect the Flood within the region. Their numbers are decreasing, but for every warrior of ours they kill, they infect them and multiply. If the Arbiter is unsuccessful, I estimate the Flood will take this Region within the week. We can stall them if the humans provide support from the North, but that will only slow them down. The Flood will spread with every fallen soldier."

The elder smiled as he listened to Simyaldee's words. "The Commander was right in selecting you as the Mirratord Second. You are a brilliant warrior even in command situations."

"Sir, I recommend we move all transport vehicles to this point." Simyaldee ignored the Elder's praise and focused on resituating the troops. "We need to be ready to evacuate what troops and supplies we can if a new threat shows it head."

A series of beeps emitted from a local terminal, catching Simyaldee and the Elder's attention. Simyaldee quickly walked over the station and powered on the Communications unit. An image of Lord Hood appeared on the visual display.

"Admiral Hood." Simyaldee stated.

"Where's the Arbiter." Lord Hood quickly questioned.

"He took it upon himself to lead the assault against the downed Flood cruisers."

"Very well. I need assistance. Our mission to infiltrate the Forerunner vessel ended in travesty. We lost more men then I would care to think about."

Simyaldee was aware that the honorable human, Eric Raynord, was one of the soldiers involved with this mission, as well as the Demon and his … Spartans. "The Demon, and the Black Ops?"

"If you mean the Master Chief, he survived, but as of right now we are not sure where the Black Ops are located… if they made it. But to the point, we tracked the debris of the Rogue Fantasy, and it crashed several kilometers from the Supply post. I'm uploading the coordinates to you now. Two of our most powerful AI's are inside that debris. We need them back."

Simyaldee turned to the Elder, who gave him a solid nod of approval. "Admiral, I will personally lead a team to recover the Constructs."

"Thank you. Once you retrieve them, deliver them to Camp Eden. I'll send word to expect your arrival. My men will take over from there. Good luck." The transmission ended.

Simyaldee turned to the holographic terrain map and input the coordinates that Lord Hood had transmitted. The image shifted several miles south of the Supply Territory.

Simyaldee exhaled deeply. "Several Jiralhanae scout teams went missing in that sector yesterday. We were tracking them, thinking they were trying to flank our position, but they never returned."

"We have yet to see any Jiralhanae combat forms, so we must assume that they cleared the area." The Elder thought aloud. "You must understand that I can not allow you to take too many of our warriors on this mission."

"I fully understand, Elder. I will only take two soldiers with me."

"Two?" The elder questioned in shock. "That would be suicide, even for a Mirratord warrior such as you. Take a half platoon, we can spare that much."

"Do not fret, Elder. I will be taking two of my Mirratord brethren with me."

"I see. Then you will in fact be taking a full platoon." The Elder councilor laughed.

Simyaldee nodded to the Elder and walked from the building. "We shall return by morning." He quickly descended the stairs of the tower that overlooked the airfield. As he reached the base of the tower he turned to his two Mirratord Guards. "Remain here and protect the Elder with your lives.

"Sir." The two Mirratord Guards replied. They positioned themselves at the door as Simyaldee walked toward the Southern post. He watched as human heavy transport ships continuously landed along the airstrip. Human civilian workers filled the vehicles with weapons, food, water, and various all-terrain vehicles. The Abu Simbel supply territory provided troops with supplies from all around the world. Supplies weren't sent in and distributed to front line forces defending Camp Eden and the Ark, but the battle to control the Ark excavation sight was quickly being won by the Covenant.

Simyaldee turned his attention back to the task at hand, but a human raced up to his side. "Simyaldee!"

"What is it?" He questioned the non-warrior human.

"Sir, our supply shipment from New York was intercepted by a Brute Seraph Squadron. We lost communications with them ten minutes ago."

Simyaldee sighed at the news. "This is the third shipment today. Very well, tell your superiors that the New… York supply route is no longer safe. The humans of New… York should find another route here."

"They didn't tell you, did they sir? We lost communication with New York last night. This was the last transport to escape before the Brutes took over the region." The human hung his head. "We're all going to die."

Simyaldee understood the human's sadness, but he was not going to let the human forget his purpose. "You must not give up. You still have a job to do, and that is to protect this base and make sure that the supplies continue to run. If we lost New…York, then we must make sure that the rest of the Supply territories are made aware. Contact all supply ports and tell them to be on guard. The Jiralhanae are attempting to cut off our supplies." Simyaldee walked away as the human raced back to his post.

Simyaldee pressed his com and opened a channel, "Lieutenant Gridolee, meet me at southern post two."

On the southern point of the territory, four hundred grunts and less then twenty elites, held a line of impeding Flood forms. Plasma grenades floated from the grunts hands, sailing close to a hundred yards into the heart of the flood charge. A wave of detonations swelled throughout the Flood numbers.

The sun slowly began to peep over the distant horizon as the grunts held their own. The Elites, scattered about the group, kept their eyes sharp as stationary turrets, wraith tanks, and needler rounds crisscrossed the field. Several Grunts watched as numerous combat forms raced into the area carrying heavy weapons, immediately demanding their full attention.

"Enemy rockets! Need help!" Shouted a frantic Grunt, and with good reason, as one accurate RPG could drastically change the battle formation to the Flood's advantage. From the rear of the Grunts formation walked a black armored Grunt, with the marks of a Sergeant crested upon his shoulder. However, the rank of Sergeant was not the only mark to grace him, as he was also proudly wearing the purple strips of the Mirratord.

The grunt eagle eyed the Floods frantic charge. "Target enemy's with the large weapons!" He shouted in the rough language of the Grunts. "Stationary guns, focus on incoming units."

The Grunt Sergeant then turned to the Elites at his side, and spoke in broken Covenant tongue. "Sangheili, form up on me. We get in close!"

For two days the Grunt Sergeant had been leading the defensive just south of the airfield, and for two days he had done his job without debate from any of the Elites under his command. This was not the role that most Elites were accustomed to, following the orders of a Grunt, but he was not a Grunt to be questioned. He was ferocious in battle and had earned the respect of the Elites, and his Grunt kin recognized him as their King; a Messiah.

The RPGs streaked into their formation, the Flood had begun another push. Try as they might, the front line of Grunts buckled and eventually broke under the Floods endeavor. The Grunts began to tremble, slowly feeling the urge to flee, but a lone Grunt charged into the attacking mass.

In Covenant tongue, "Engage enemy! Wraith units cover flank!" Palab, the King of the Grunts, roared as he sprinted on all fours into the mass of combat forms. Closely following him were several Elites. "Focus on Flood with rockets!"

An Elite racing behind Palab roared. "You heard the Sergeant! Advance!"

The line of Grunts that were at one time trembling, found a new layer of courage. They lifted their plasma pistols, needlers, and fuel rod cannons, and followed their leader into the battle.

The Flood, sensing the tidal change, froze in position. Their attack was now a defense as hundreds of Grunts cascaded into them with the unchallenged aggression of a rabid pack of wolves. The Flood fought back, killing two or three Grunts with their powerful tentacles. Yet when one Grunt fell to his death, three more instantly took his place. The powerful claws of the Grunts ripped the flesh off of the Flood mass; popping the frail infection forms inside. The Grunts gave the massive carrier forms more clearance, letting them pop on their own, and then swarmed in to kill the defenseless infections forms that spewed from the mass of decayed flesh.

Grunts screamed, Flood forms tumbled, and Elites roared in war like ecstasy. And in the heart of it all, the Grunt king flailed his retractable elbow spikes in rhythmic poetry. He dropped his plasma rifle long ago, after taxing out its initial charge. He pounced with controlled passion, cutting into the Flood combat forms chests and gutting the tiny infections forms. He did not want to fight the Flood hand to hand, strategically it was suicide because one flood tentacle would be enough to seriously injure or kill him, but Palab had to rely on his quickness and agility because he was out of ammo.

An unlucky Grunt at Palab's side was slashed across the back, sending him lifelessly to the ground. His plasma grenades tumbled from his satchel and rolled onto the ground. Palab was unaware that he had fallen, and continued to cut into a nearby combat form. Several feet away, a Grunt discharged his needler's full clip causing a flood form to explode. The insinuating event caused a chain reaction in the plasma grenades nearby. Palab turned just as the first grenade ignited. With his battle sharpened focus he spun away, dug into the ground with his hands and pulled himself away from the exploding grenades. He planted his feet and kicked out; pushing himself away even faster. The concussion of the blast was still too fast, and quickly engulfed Palab in its blue haze. The four plasma grenades sent Grunts, Flood, and two Elites, screaming into the air.

Palab rolled to a stop, dazed and confused as dust settled around him. He gathered his barring, shacking off the shock that had just swept over him. His breathing became rapid, and he clawed at his methane mask. Something wasn't right, and it was painfully obvious that his mixture of methane was malfunctioning. He was becoming increasingly lightheaded, that was the first sign; a bad sign. He checked his armor as he rolled onto his belly, and as he had feared his mixture was running low. His tank had ruptured and was leaking; luckily it hadn't exploded in the plasma flame. He quickly took in a deep breath, shut off his main valve, and switched to his reserve tank; he could breathe easily for two minutes.

He breathed in the warm methane and he let it fill his lungs. He quickly stood and inspected the battlefield. Everything within several yards was leveled, but the fight was still being waged in the distance; at least one area was secure. But there was no time to be thankful. Palab quickly raced to a deceased grunt nearby, checked his tank, and quickly removed his methane supply.

"Forgive me. Me must continue fight." Palab thought aloud in the patterned Covenant language. He dropped the new tank into his armor and powered on the main tank. He then began to gather weapons and grenades. Once his ammo was full he turned and sprinted toward the remaining Flood battle, as the Grunts cheered his return.

In the distance, Simyaldee was the lone passenger aboard his Specter all terrain vehicle, and he sped toward the smoldering battlefield which was Sergeant Palab's defensive station; Southern Post 2.

Explosions were igniting the early morning sky as he approached, but the battle clearly ended as he arrived in the area. Placement shields sparked off and on from power overloads. Grunts sat silently, numb to anything around them. Elites patrolled the chaotic battlefield, policing the dead Flood forms and torching them with human flamethrowers. Some Grunts were scanning the bodies of their fallen kin, looking for survivors where they were sure not to find any. It was a hellish sight of scorched earth, piles of decaying corpses and war torn warriors.

Simyaldee powered down the Specter and sprang to the dusty road. He cautiously scanned the area, looking for Palab or any of his Mirratord units. Sure enough, he spotted the unmistakable size of the Grunt King, and several of his disciples. Palab was a full head taller then his Grunt kin, his size masking his strength and intelligence. Simyaldee even began to think that Palab had grown more in size since they had landed on Earth.

"Sergeant." Simyaldee stated as he approached the group. Palab held up the palm of his hand toward Simyaldee, halting him from saying anything else. Simyaldee hadn't noticed, but Palab and the other Mirratord Grunts were quietly sitting near a pile of dead Grunts. After a moment, the group stood and continued on as if nothing had happened.

Palab spoke to his kin in their language. "Seek out the others and offer up thanks to their sacrifice. I must speak with the Lieutenant. Mittab, you are in charge until I return."

Mittab, Palab's first disciple, eagerly nodded his approval and led the other Mirratord Grunts toward the numerous other piles of the dead. In many ways, Mittab had become a good substitute for Etah; Palab's older pack brother that had fallen in battle on the Elite's home planet. But the connection was not the same. While Etah was the older of the Pack, Mittab was young, and inexperienced in combat. Mittab had not survived the Brutes and the Flood of Delta Halo, but he did survive the battle on Dorenth. He had learned a lot from the Grunt King, and was a happy addition to his young pack, but he could never replace Etah.

Palab sniffed toward Simyaldee, "Me sorry, Sir. Me Grunts needed to … rest, for a moment."

'Rest', Palab had called it. Simyaldee huffed at the words, but he respected the Grunt's religious heritage. "You have no need to apologize for honoring the dead. I shall always respect the secrets of the Unggoy."

"You understand, but many not." Palab stated as he watched several Elites push past a pack of 'resting' Grunts. "When we rest, we dream of kin; deam of them as they play on our home world. This way, we not forget them."

Simyaldee also watched as the Elites ignored the resting grunts. "I wish there was more we could do, but for now we have a mission."

"You lead, me follow." Palab charged. He pressed his com, "Mittab, me go on mission with Second. Continue area sweep and refortify. Me be back soon."

Simyaldee also turned on his com wondering wear Gridolee had gotten to. "Lieutenant Gridolee, report to the southern post immediately." Within several minutes the massive warrior jogged to Simyaldee's side. Standing nearly six inches taller then the average Elite, and covered in dense muscles, Gridolee was an Elite unlike any other.

"Sir." Gridolee stated. "Forgive my delay. There was a commotion on the Eastern bank."

"Understood." Simyaldee looked to his two Mirratord brothers. "This will be a stealth mission. Check your camouflage status and ammo. The three of us are going south. I will debrief you as we go."

"Sir!" Palab and Gridolee stated sharply. They quickly boarded the Specter, checked their gear, and the trio sped off into the wasteland.

To be continued.