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Halo: Shadows of Hope

Chapter 17: Exodus

Chi Mu System, unidentified alien relic (exterior)

Planet Hope

"I know what's...troubling you. And I'll tell you this. If you don't...believe...in yourself...in what you fight for...then you're indeed a tool. A weapon. A means to an end. But you're not. We're not. No-one...is... I did what I believed was right. I believe in myself. Can you say the same?"

Fine words, and not just because they were Kirk's last ones bar the pleading for his life to be ended. Words that meant nothing in the greater scheme of things as far as Isaac-039 was concerned. Keancros, the Covenant...what good were mere words in light of such power and deceit? He'd defeated SK-018, set the MFDD, and was no free to spend his last hours as he wanted to before the Covenant descended en masse and vaporized every homo sapien on this planet. Which basically meant he'd spend his last few hours making that task as difficult as possible for them.

Few people could choose the manner of their departure. Since he wouldn't have chosen any differently from what fate had provided, Isaac counted himself as lucky...almost.

Gazing up at the night sky, staring at constellations that made no sense to him this far from Reach, Isaac subconsciously dealt with the hiccup in his plan. All he had was a single pistol, and only so much ammunition for it. Added to which was the fact that the MFDD was set to detonate in thirty minutes. Not an issue in itself. Indeed, he wondered why he set it so high bar a nihilistic desire to slay as many aliens personally rather than let the power of the atom do it for him. Still, it was something to keep in mind...

Whoosh!

As were the pair of Banshees flying around. A pair of Banshees that let out a barrage of fuel rods at his position.

The Spartan didn't think. He just acted. Diving aside as a faint green glow briefly illuminated the ground outside the relic, it was action that paid off...for the short term. Rising to his feet as the flyers flew around for another pass, he wondered why he even bothered. He was totally exposed out here and there was no way a mere M6D was going to be able to down a pair of Covenant flyers. Retreating into the relic was an option, but that was just delaying the inevitable.

So what's there left to do but face it?

Would Kirk agree with such despondence? Well, that was irrelevant either way, as the petty officer reminded himself. He didn't care what that traitor thought, or what remained of his sense of self preservation was telling him. Right now, as he waited for the Banshees to make their next and final pass, he didn't care about anything.

The Banshees screamed...then one of them roared.

One second, a pair of type-26 ground support aircraft were closing in on a lone Spartan. The next, one of those vehicles had been reduced to a burning heap and the other was being peppered by gunfire. Looking up into the gloom and seeing the silhouette of a familiar vehicle, Isaac understood why.

"You took your time in there," came the voice of Vinh, ringing clear even as the second Banshee went down in flames from the firepower of her Hornet. "I was beginning to worry."

Isaac remained silent. Green 4 had saved him, but only delayed the inevitable. Right now, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to be saved. Hope would fall. It was only a matter of time before both the planet and emotion were snuffed out of existence. Heck, as far as the petty officer was concerned, the emotion already had been.

Maybe his fellow Spartan could sense that. Maybe that was why she landed the Hornet instead of communicating over the radio. Certainly such a thing was possible, the stream of energy with the relic having ceased.

"You came back quickly..." Isaac murmured, watching as Vinh stepped out of the AV-14. "I thought you were looking for Anton."

"I was, but..." Vinh looked as uneasy as someone wearing a tonne of power armour with a reflective visor could. "I couldn't find him and...Isaac, are you alright?"

"It's done. The bastard's dead."

"That's not the answer to my question."

"That's your problem. Not mine."

"We're squad members Isaac. Of course it's my problem."

Green 5 snorted, pushing aside his fellow NCO to rest his head against the glass of the craft's cockpit. He half expected Vinh to press the issue, but maybe she could see what he saw. The mission was over. They were as good as dead. All that was left to-...

"Anyway...we should get back to Thunderville."

Scratch that. They weren't seeing the same thing at all.

"Thunderville..." Isaac murmured, still staring through the cockpit's glass, its control panel providing the only source of illumination. "Is that place still standing?"

"Last I heard, yes," his fellow NCO murmured, walking around to the other side of the Hornet. "Either way, it's the only way we're getting off this rock."

Isaac snorted. Clearly Kirk wasn't the only crazy super soldier in this star system.

"Off this rock?" the Spartan murmured. "You think the Haven or Wild Endeavour are going to survive against a whole Covenant fleet? You think that-..."

Vinh slammed her fist against the VTOL. In an instant, some poor sod of an engineer had his work cut out for him. In another instant, Isaac was brought to attention.

"Isaac, it doesn't matter what I think. What does matter, is that I've been in touch with the garrison ever since the relic shut down and the radio interference ceased. There's a UNSC fleet up there in orbit and it's going to get every one of us off this planet or die trying. The least we can do is make the job easier for them."

It was a mystery, there and then, why Vinh wasn't in charge of Green Team. Maybe it was because she shoved a SMG into her comrade's arms, her way of telling him "you're flying on my wing, so shut up." Certainly actions spoke louder than words. Or, as Isaac reflected, the lack of them in his case.

"So I need your head in the game," Vinh continued, opening the Hornet's cockpit. "Because those Banshees came from the main force attacking Thunderville and from what I heard, it has many more of those screamers to spare."

"...wouldn't have it any other way."

Vinh raised a pair of fingers to her visor. Nodding, Isaac boarded the AV-14's right skid.

Maybe they would make it out of here alive after all.

Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

Evacuation zone

The barricade consisted of everything but the kitchen sink...as far as she could tell. And if there was a kitchen sink somewhere in the pile of debris, Grace supposed she wouldn't be that surprised. Right now, in the midst of everything that had occurred over the past few days, the Spartan supposed nothing would surprise her.

Which was good. Being surprised was the penultimate step to being defeated in many battles.

There was only the sound of gunfire as Green 3 rested her M7/caseless submachine gun on the barricade, the force of pressing down against the metal offsetting its recoil. That, and the cover such intimacy with the barricade provided. The Covenant had reached the final line of defence, the last ring to the transports evacuating Hope's residents and defenders. Cooped up in such narrow quarters, it was effectively a fifty metre wide killzone, Grunts, Jackals and even Elites scrambling for cover, bereft of direct support from Wraiths or Ghosts in such narrow spaces. They still had the advantage of numbers and firepower, but in the belly of the beast, found it harder to bear.

"Get some! Come and get some!"

Apparently the remaining marines realized that too.

"Papa-1 is away," the Spartan heard Joshua murmur over the radio, an Albatross taking off into the night sky in accordance. "Keep them covered people."

Steadying her aim and downing a Grunt trying to flee the battlefield, Grace silently thanked any higher power that might exist that Green Team's leader was still in the fight. She hadn't seen him do that much fighting over the last ten to fifteen minutes, but all in all, the situation had gone beyond that. Striding up and down the line, providing the moral support that only the UNSC's finest could provide...she wasn't in need of it herself, but the same couldn't be said for every man, woman and child still on this world. If the Covenant was a maw closing in on Hope's defenders, Joshua was the bone keeping it from closing.

"Sierra-093, come in, over."

And, the explosives expert reflected, so was Major Howard. At least in the tactical sense.

"This is Sierra-093, acknowledging hail, over," Grace answered, ducking down beside the barricade and hoping that the Covenant forces were still reluctant to "wort wort wort," as their field commanders put it.

"This is Major Howard. Papa-1 is away, all that's left are the remaining Pelicans. You and the rest of your men are to fall back to the evacuation zone. The remaining birds will pick you up."

"...negative, sir."

"Come again ninety-three?"

"I can't do that sir," Grace murmured, feeling sick to the core to argue with a superior officer. "The rest of Green Team...they're still out there. We have to wait for them. We don't know if-..."

"Sierra-030 has informed me of their mission success. But we can't wait for them."

"We're just leaving them?"

"A necessary sacrifice petty officer. You should understand that."

Grace did understand. She'd understood since the age of fourteen, after the augmentation mission. There was also the fact that if anything, Howard understood even more than her. He'd been making sacrifices ever since the Covenant arrived in this star system. But to pull out now, to sacrifice three lives for less time on the frontline? Pain spread through Grace, similar but different to the one that still lingered in her fractured arm. This...wasn't right.

"Sir, I have to respectfully request that...that..."

Grace trailed off. Not from lack of conviction, not from seeing a marine a few feet away disappear in a cloud of green mist, but from what was up above. Plasma mortars, sailing through the night sky, eclipsing the light of the stars above. Plasma mortars that had been fired simultaneously, and given their cohesion, must have been directed to a single target. A target that as Grace followed their trajectory, was the most important one on this battlefield.

The command centre.

Had the Covenant targeted it for its anti-air capabilities, or did they appreciate that a great deal of human fighting force relied on coordination? Maybe someday, ONI could have the answer to that. But if such answers were ever reached, Major Howard, and everyone still in the structure, would never hear them. Not unless they could survive being reduced to a molten wreck as the structure was saturated in plasma.

"Christ...the command centre!"

"The major...he was in there..."

"Mike foxtrots! Get some!"

Grace turned away. There was nothing left to see. Sight was overrated in this gloom anyway. Hearing, as the crackle over her radio indicated, was much more important.

"Grace? Are you there?"

"...acknowledged, Green Leader."

"Grace, Howard's gone. I'm taking command and-..."

"He wanted us to pull back."

"...say again, over."

The Spartan sighed, turning away as the soldier next to her hit the gray soil, a needle rifle having reduced his face to a bloody pulp. Howard was dead, but his last order had to be conveyed. Even if Joshua didn't agree with it. He was critical to morale, but they were still NCOs. The chain of command had to be respected, if not agreed with.

"Howard ordered us to pull back to the landing zone. Board the remaining Pelicans."

"And the rest of Green Team? Are we going to leave them?"

"That's your call squad leader."

It took a long time for the Spartan to answer, which suited Grace just fine. More time to fight her own war. More time to mow down every split-lip, gas sucker and turkey bird she could. First with her SMG and after the last clip was ejected, a scavenged M392 DMR. Single shots, and a kill with each one. Satisfaction however, was more fleeting. Only seeing her friends return alive would give the petty officer any joy right now. But would Joshua allow it?

"...withdraw, Green Three."

Grace closed her eyes. It was the right call...but not the one she was hoping for.

"Acknowledge, Green Three."

"...acknowledged, squad leader."

"Lead your fire teams to the landing zone, fall back in cohesion. I'll meet you at the blood tray."

"Roger wilco. Green Three, out."

Popping off a Jackal, Grace gazed northwards, wondering if Isaac, Anton and Vinh were fighting the same fight she was. Yet another question that would never be answered. Maybe they would forgive their allies for leaving them here to die. Maybe they wouldn't. Grace supposed she'd never know. Either way, she knew her main battle right now was to forgive herself...and to ensure her guilt didn't extend to those under her command.

Scanning the line and forming a retreat strategy in her mind, the Spartan prepared for her next battle.

AV-14 Attack VTOL "Hornet"

Destination: Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

In normal circumstances, there might have been cursing. In normal circumstances, there might have been shouts and screams. Still, Vinh had learnt to accept that she and the other children of the Spartan-II Program were well beyond the range of normal. A range that might have involved the Hornet being shot down in the first wave of fuel rods that came her way.

"Hostiles, nine and three!" Isaac yelled, opening fire at the Banshee on the former bearing.

Vinh remained silent, spinning the Hornet around to meet the Banshee now approaching a five bearing. The type-26s had come at her directly, presumably re-routed from the Thunderville battlezone, but the combination of low visibility and the attack crafts' raw speed gave her little time to react and an even shorter amount of time to evade.

As plasma peppered the Hornet's hull, it seemed that the evasion time had expired.

Screaming like the creature of its namesake, the Banshee flew under the Hornet before the Spartan could adjust her bearings. Isaac was doing his part, but M443 rounds were only slightly more effective against the flyers than SAP-HE ones…in other words, only slightly less useless. This, under normal conditions, was where panic might translate into terror. In the realm of beyond normal…well, there was concern, but that could be just as deadly to the NCO's psyche. Almost as much as the pair of missiles Vinh send towards one of her attackers. To send the screamer back to its mounds of folklore.

"Evade! Say again, evade!"

Or not.

As sophisticated as the class-2 guided munition launch system was, it couldn't compete with a barrel roll that defied the laws of aerodynamics. The result was that the missiles went hurtling off into the night sky and a surge of green headed towards the Hornet instead. It had taken a second for Vinh to lock the VTOL in place for target lock, but that delay was all that was needed for her to be a sitting duck for the Banshee's return fire. And as maneuverable as the AV-14 was, that didn't stop it from losing its right wing.

Normal…that went out the airlock long ago.

Both of the Spartans remained silent as the craft descended towards the surface of Hope in a tail-spin, twirling like the outer rim of a black hole. For all intents and purposes, they might as well have been headed straight for one. With the sickening crash that always came with a crash landing (and after nearly ten years of fighting the Covenant, Vinh had experienced plenty of them), they might as well have fallen into one of the galaxy's invisible menaces. Blacking out…only a second, but what felt like ten times that number of time measurement.

"Vinh? Speak to me soldier!"

Flashing back into reality, ignoring the taste of blood and evaluating the flashing instrument panel of the Hornet, Vinh was unable to speak, let alone move. Luckily, Isaac handled both for her, smashing the cracked cockpit glass and pulling his fellow Spartan out of the pilot seat.

"Always knew women couldn't drive…"

Was that his attempt at humor? Well, better that than the despondence that had gripped her friend ever since this mission began, if not earlier.

The Hornet was wrecked, but could still provide cover. Still, unlike the marines that had run afoul of the type-26 ground support aircraft yesterday, that was probably a moot point. The Covenant wouldn't play with demons, even if they did have an advantage that couldn't be offset. Glancing at the flyers fly to the south in formation, Vinh suspected that all it would take would be too passes. One to remove the Hornet wreck, the next to eradicate its former occupants.

"Think we can hold out?" Isaac asked, gazing at the flyers as they moved around for another pass. "Think Thunderville still remembers us?"

"They've got…their own problems," Vinh rasped, trying her best to stay conscious as she drew out her own SMG alongside Isaac, wondering if concentrated fire might cause at least one of the flyers to veer off on its attack run. "They're not going to run the gauntlet just to get us."

Green 5 remained silent. There were some things that didn't need to be said. Or couldn't be. Besides, actions spoke louder than words, whether it be sustained gunfire or flyers that…weren't shooting at them at all.

…what the?

Vinh knew she wasn't completely cognitive, but that didn't change what she'd seen. The Banshees had been bearing down on them one second, but their arcs of plasma and radioactive fire were going all over them. Almost as if they were firing at something else. Something that might be related to the familiar sound of a LRV motor…

"Get in. Now."

Anton?

Either it was him, or some other member of Green Team had taken to riding around in a Warthog, evading poorly focused Banshee fire and drawing up beside the Hornet. Oh, and there was the fact that Vinh's HUD was indeed identifying Anton as Green 2. People lied, but technology didn't.

"Where've you been?" Vinh yelled, making her way to the passenger seat. "You were-…"

"MAC hit, radio contact became impossible. I've been following your craft since you started heading south. Sit-rep?"

"SNAFU," Isaac answered simply, manning the LAAG. "Now move."

Great, so Sierra-039 is monosyllabic too.

As Anton gunned the engine, as Isaac unleashed Vulcan's fury, as the Banshees screamed like the devils of Hell itself, Vinh had to admit that that was the least of her problems.

Maybe they would be incinerated. Maybe they would be abandoned. Maybe the Covenant would win.

Well, as the Warthog's stored Jackhammer missile launcher would show, that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for them.

UNSC Haven

Status: Critical

Justin Sattler didn't feel like Lancelot. He didn't even know why Harwood had called him that. Granted, most of what little he knew about Arthurian mythology, or mythology of any kind mostly seemed to stem from Ulysses, but he was pretty sure a medieval knight wasn't responsible for the lives of hundreds of people on a starship, or even knew what a starship was. The Covenant was far more evil than Mordred or Morgana could ever be. And he really doubted the Knights of the Round Table would conceptualize research station detonations as part of their plan of attack. Oh, and there was-…

I'm overanalyzing.

Analysis…that wasn't his job. Not anymore at any rate.

Still, the metaphor remained. Maybe imminent death had that effect on the human psyche. Maybe it was because the arrival of the Spartans reminded him of the Green Knight somewhat. Either way, with Stanforth's mug appearing on the view screen, he saw the proverbial Arthur either way.

"Captain Sattler…" the admiral began, exuding the kind of calm that Sattler wouldn't have thought possible given the current circumstances. "I see you're playing the shield rather than the sword."

Speak literally!

Crap, it was bad enough that everyone on his ship was either dead or dying, that the bridge was the only place that still had oxygen left and it was his job to act as a shield for the Aeros. Stanforth going poetical on him just wasn't helping.

"Sattler?"

"Yes sir, I'm the shield. I lost my last deck gun a few minutes ago."

"I noticed. And I'm afraid I can't give you a sword."

So now Stanforth was speaking literally. The literal truth was that his fleet was barely holding its own against a now cohesive Covenant armada. Sattler wasn't sure of the numbers that both forces had been reduced to. Somehow, he didn't want to know. Or maybe that as another explosion rocked the deck, the captain banging his forehead against a burnt out console, such information would be too much.

"I don't have much time," Stanforth continued, the shouts, sirens and sparks on his end reinforcing that point. "Nor do you. But just know that-…"

Sattler shut him off. He could enjoy the salutations in the process of mock funerals and a wasted coffin. It didn't suit either of them to get sentimental, especially since-…

"Justin?"

…scratch that.

Even in the midst of the sirens, the rumbling, the mesmerizing glow of plasma torpedoes tearing his ship apart as the Covenant warships crowded around him, Sattler still heard Harwood's voice. Like a siren, but steering him away from the rocks rather than to them. Granted it was her idea to head to them, but at least he didn't need any wax in his ears.

"What do you want?" Sattler asked, glancing at the viewscreen as he typed on one of the few remaining consoles, keeping the ship's reactors going even with the threat of overload. "I'm busy."

"Well I'm not. The reactors have gone critical. You've delivered the Aeros to the enemy's heart."

"Don't talk tactics with me."

"I'm not. I'm taking facts."

Sattler sighed. It was because of what Harwood said, but from one of her earlier sentences. He'd done it. The Haven had drawn the Covenant's fire, had brought everything from corvettes to cruisers on its port, bow and starboard. They'd chosen to ignore the Aeros all this time. A wise decision, if not for the recipe for disaster that was brewing within it.

And there was something else that made the CO go sedate. When he'd talked with…Mina, earlier, he'd said things that…well, he wasn't sure what they were. Here he was, a dead man, free to say whatever he wanted, yet couldn't. Back when he had a small chance of surviving, he was speaking like something out of Under the Stars of New Jerusalem. Apparently 25th century romance could be carried on into the 26th. Unfortunately.

"Justin? You there?"

"Yeah…I'm here."

Something smelt funny, and it wasn't ozone. Either way, Sattler met Harwood's gaze, and hers alone. Like him, she on the bridge, looking as worn and haggard as both of their ships were. Alone on the station…heck, maybe they'd always been alone. For three years, under the light of faded sun and distant star.

"I just want to know…if there's anything else that needs to be said."

Rocking the boat…it wasn't just the Covenant doing it.

"We said what he had to say…" answered the captain slowly. "We also did what he had to do."

"But do actions speak louder than words?"

"…not always."

Some might have disagreed. But there was no sound in space. Only light and darkness.

And as the captain and scientist met their gazes for the last time, as the Aeros detonated with the light of a thousand suns, Creation suddenly seemed a lot less dark.

Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

"Nearly there private."

"Funny…usually that's what…I say…"

"Because you're a medic?"

Chambers didn't answer that question. Indeed, the fact that she'd spoken at all came as a great surprise to Jefferson, and he'd seen quite a lot over the last nine years. Well, whatever. All he saw now was a bunch of green outlines, courtesy of his HUD's VISR software. Specifically one outline of a D77-TC Pelican, two unusually tall humanoid outlines, and a small group of human sized outlines running towards the last transport off this rock. There were red outlines, but…well, he'd have to turn around to see them. And that wasn't too appealing right now.

"Come on people, move like you got a purpose!"

Jefferson rolled his eyes. Not only had he seen a lot in the past nine years, but he'd heard a lot too. And that moronic phrase never seemed to lose any of its idiocy. For starters, why would having a purpose make you move any faster? And if you did have a purpose, it seemed like a moot point when plasma was coming your way left right and centre.

"Charlie foxtrot! Incoming!"

Instinctively, Jefferson hit the dirt. Simultaneously, an unfortunate group of marines and civilians went the other way, disappearing in a cloud of blue mist. Like a blue star in a way…short lived, but incredibly deadly. Even more so than the swarm of aliens, on foot and on vehicles, heading their way.

Facing the horde, Jefferson hoped that the disadvantage of being on his backside wouldn't hinder his aim too much. The BR-55 was an accurate weapon…accurate enough so that even a faux soldier like himself could, after resting the stock against his shoulder, could thin the horde.

Bam bam bam…

Three bams, one Grunt dead. Added to which was another roar of gunfire and a whole lot of other aliens ate the dirt. Unfortunately, none of those aliens included those in the type-46 infantry support vehicle…heading straight for them.

Shit shit shit!

Jefferson struggled to his feet. So did Chambers. It was useless, it was...

"Run away!"

Jefferson shook his head, wondering if his suit's translation software had a glitch. Maybe it was from the red beam of light that had shot out from the landing zone. Either way, the Spectre was destroyed, so he wasn't complaining.

Nor was the Spartan-II wielding it, striding through the diminished crowd as if they were beneath him. Heck, considering he'd just totaled a Covenant LAV, maybe he was entitled to.

Gritting his teeth, Jefferson continued his half run, half stumble, Chambers weighing a lot more than he thought she would. She could still move, but no-one was going to get up and walk away after taking a plasma pistol round to the back. All that was left was to fly away. And that involved reaching the Pelican's blood tray. A blood tray that the sergeant realized had lived up to its namesake literally over the course of the battle.

"Sierra-093 calling Leviathan Actual! Zulu-902 is almost ready for departure! Prepare to receive momentarily."

"Acknowledged Sierra-093. We'll lay out the welcome mat."

Radio feed…it was such a wonderful thing. What was even more wonderful however, was stepping past the blood tray and into the overcrowded dropship. Still, even through the sea of humanity, Jefferson managed to get Chambers to a corner.

"And they say sergeants don't look out for the enlisted…" the ODST murmured, his only question now being when the hell this bird would begin to fly. "Well, no-one said-…"

"Where's Jack?"

Jefferson blinked, and not only because blood splattered across his visor as a still active medic tended to the bloody pulp that was a noncom's leg. He knew who "Jack" was. He also knew why Chambers would ask. What he didn't know was how to answer, or even if he should.

"I wouldn't worry about it," said the ODST softly, rubbing a glove over his visor, glad that nothing but the substance was red to distract him from the green. "He'll be-…"

"Where…is Jack?"

Jefferson sighed. Chambers had taken a heavy hit, but she was beginning to recover enough to meet his polarized gaze and stare at him in a manner that reminded him of…of…

It's repeated history.

That was what did it. Chambers felt the same way he had when…when…

"I don't know," answered the NCO, talking to himself as much as the medic. "He…might be on a ship. He might be out there. I…just don't know."

Nature abhorred a vacuum. So did the human psyche.

Sighing, Jefferson turned his eyes back to the two Spartans, covering the last refugees as they made their way into the Pelican. There was no way of telling whether Hawkins was alive or not. He would have fought to cover the retreat and should have theoretically left after non-combatants, but as this Pelican showed, the withdrawal had become a mixed bag. And, as the last marine entered the dropship, a full one. All that was left was for the two remaining super soldiers to enter, tie the knot of the bag and hope it wasn't thrown into a grave.

"Alright, we're clear!" one of the two petty officers called out, this one wielding a modest M274H as opposed to the other's Galilean nonlinear rifle. "Let's…move…"

The Spartan trailed off. Curious, Jefferson shoved his way to the blood tray. Those two had held the line where others had failed, yet now, at the end of all things, something had caught their attention. And as he came to stand by them, he understood why.

Something was approaching Thunderville from the north.

And his VISR had it outlined in green…

M12 LRV "Warthog"

Destination: Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

"Heads up. We're going in."

Ironic that it was Anton being the talkative one right now. Not Isaac, currently blazing away at the Banshees on their six. Not Vinh, currently in the process of shoveling the last HE rockets into the Jackhammer. No, it was Anton. Silent Anton. Scout Anton. Anton currently driving the LRV out of the frying pan and into the fire. Or perhaps more accurately, into the gauntlet.

"We got a plan?" Isaac yelled, keeping his grip on the LAAG as the vehicle swerved to avoid a fuel rod. "Straight through? Or loop around?"

"Straight through. We reach the transports and evacuate."

"If there's any there…"

Pessimism wasn't that useful, especially as one of the Banshees went down in flames courtesy of the Jackhammer. Still, better than being a backseat driver. Because now, at the end of all things…Isaac trusted his teammates.

As he swiveled the turret around as the Warthog 'jumped' down the slope that led to the smoldering settlement, a faint beacon in a world eclipsed in night, Isaac hoped that trust could extend to Anton's driving skills.

"Ghosts, twelve 0' clock," Anton murmured, a pair of hovercraft zipping out of the streets to meet them. Prepare to-…"

Whoosh

Vinh fired her last rocket, but still got two for the price of one. Tossing the rocket launcher aside and resting a SMG on the top of the Warthog's windscreen, it was clear she was looking for other bargains as well.

"Grunts, three o'clock!"

Isaac opened fire, the arthropods realizing their error and retreating back to-…"

"Jackals, ten o'clock!"

Vinh opened fire. Not enough to down the critters, but enough time for Isaac to spin round the LAAG at-…"

"Wraith, twelve o'…hang on!"

Isaac did hang on. As Anton swerved down a side street, it was the only thing that was preventing him from the pool of melted soil that formed in his wake.

"Elites! Take them-…"

Green 5 fired. So did the Elites. Or at least they did after getting into cover.

"We're on side-streets," Anton murmured, running over the wreckage of a few Ghosts and the bodies still in them. "Green Four, on nav."

"This place hasn't been mapped."

"What?"

"I said Thunderville hasn't been mapped, there's no nav system for it!" the Spartan yelled, reloading another clip for the SMG and opening fire at the crew of an approaching Spectre. "You want your destination? Follow the gunfire!"

Gunfire…even as Isaac swiveled around from another Ghost and opened fire at the typ-46, he could still here it. The gunfire…the last bastion of humanity on this planet. The-…"

"Wraith!"

Isaac glanced at their twelve, seeing yet another type-26 facing them down. A type 26 that-…"

"Hang on!"

Another side street, another missed opportunity for the Covenant, another…Elite that was splattered. Or rather an Elite pinned to the bumper, roaring and cursing in its alien tongue. And as Vinh smashed the windscreen and unloaded a barrage of caseless rounds into it, a dead Elite.

"Ghosts! Two o'-…"

Isaac fired. The Grunts screamed.

"Banshees! Seven on'-…"

Isaac swiveled round. It was a fast motion, but not fast enough to draw the flyers into a firing line before they opened fire in turn. A pair of fuel rods coursed through the air, ready to-…

"Right!"

Green 2 swerved…he may not have understood Isaac's exclamation, but at least he'd followed it. He had to keep his eyes on the game ahead. But that didn't mean he couldn't react to what was-…"

"Left!"

The Warthog swerved. Again.

It was like this for about half a minute. Isaac didn't know what was ahead, but he could assume that his fellow NCOs could handle it, given that the Warthog was still going and the sound of Green 4's gunfire could still be heard. It might have continued for longer, if not for-…

"Isaac, get down!"

"What?"

"I said get down!" Anton yelled.

Spartan-039 glanced forward to see why…and understood. A Shadow. A transport that was blocking the end of this street. A transport whose arc like form would allow the Warthog to drive under it…maybe…

"I said get down!"

Green 5 obliged. The LAAG didn't. And as the turret was torn right off, it paid the price.

"Alright, take a left!" Vinh yelled, still firing at everything left, right and centre of the LRV. "Evacuation zone should be just ahead!"

Holding on for dear life, Isaac glanced around. They were indeed on the last run, assuming that the evac zone was still in the settlement's centre. And assuming that plasma being fired from every angle wouldn't stop them. The final run would have been a killzone for the Covenant. Now they were making the run themselves, and-…

"Gah!"

Isaac winced as a series of blue bolts tore into Vinh, causing her to keel over. Her armor had stopped them mostly, but even MJOLNIR Mk. IV wasn't perfect. Only Covenant shields would provide complete protection, and that was a long way off.

Assuming we live to see it…

Which, as another flight of Banshees formed on their tail, was an assumption that might not be validated.

Green 5 took out his SMG, wondering what good it would do. He'd been able to direct Anton earlier, but with plasma fire already streaming at the vehicle from all sides, along with Vinh being unable to return fire, it was doubtful whether Spartan-044 could react. And besides, back when he'd been giving directions, Isaac had been able to return fire of his own, forcing the Banshee pilots to strike a balance between evasion and return fire. Now no such balance had to be struck. Once they fired, it would all be-…

Boom!

…over?

Isaac didn't blink, his visor protecting his eyes from the fire of one of the type-26s going out in a blaze of glory. Yet he was still surprised. What had caused it?

Boom!

…well, given the red stream of energy that had shot out from the LZ, he'd have to guess it was a Spartan Laser.

"Green Five, Green Four, Green Two!" came the voice of the squad's leader over their radio. "Are you receiving?"

"Acknowledged, Green Leader," Anton responded, ducking down to take the message and evade a barrage of needler rounds. "We're approaching the LZ. Do we still have evac?"

"One last bird, and it doesn't like having its wings clipped. But it'll fly once you're onboard."

"Affirmative. We'll see you on the flight line."

It was incredible how calm Anton could be. Maybe even astonishing, considering that a) the Covenant were still firing, b) Vinh and Isaac were unable to effectively fire back and c), the proverbial nest was being blocked off by a barricade. A barricade of everything but the kitchen sink that the Warthog couldn't bypass. A barricade that Anton was driving straight towards.

"Um, Green Two?" Vinh asked softly. "What are you-…"

"Jumping like a pig."

There was no light. But Isaac still blinked.

Warthogs were widespread…so widespread that one had even formed part of the barricade, its undercarriage reflecting the light of both alien and stellar plasma. Coupled with its tires, its ramp like position…oh hell…

One pig's going to jump over the other.

Kneeling down, both to minimize his exposure and to keep his grip, Isaac waited to see whether Anton would send them flying to the bird, or see them dropping like a bat.

The Warthog jumped…the Warthog flew…the Warthog fell…

Things seemed to slow down as Isaac realized that Anton's plan had worked in form, if not in spirit. Yes, he'd somehow 'bounced' off the destroyed LRV, using the momentum to sail through the air. Unfortunately, the angle wasn't perfect. The Warthog was tipping to the side, and would likely land in the same way that the earlier 'pig' had. And there was a lot of plasma around to turn it into bacon…

"Out! Now!"

Green Five didn't give either of his comrades a chance to respond. Grabbing them on the shoulders and rolling out of the airborne vehicle just before it crash landed, there wasn't enough time.

Isaac was the first to regain his bearings, swiveling his SMG around to gauge the immediate threat. As the Covenant poured over the barricade, yelling and screaming, seemingly more intent on tearing the Spartans apart in close combat, he understood why.

Well that's great…the petty officer thought to himself. But where are the Covenant on this side of the barricade?

"Green Team, heads down!"

…oh. That's where.

The absence of aliens could have been explained by them being diverted out of the LZ to deal with the rogue Warthog. Or maybe the presence of Grace and Joshua could account for it. A presence that involved the former wielding a M274H and providing the covering fire their squad leader had warned them about.

Wait, wasn't her arm broken?

It was a legitimate question, and Isaac could only guess at the pain the machine gun's recoil was causing Green 3. Still, maybe the Covenant being in a lot more pain made up for it.

"Come on Green Team!" Joshua yelled, helping Anton sling Grace over his back. "Double time!"

Rising to his feet as Grace discarded the machine gun, Isaac didn't see any reason not to obey. Five Spartans, four of them running, immediately set off for the Olympics of life and death. The competitors were angry, and only the waiting Pelican had the medals they needed to get off this rock.

"Zulu-902, begin liftoff!" Joshua yelled into his radio. "We're oscar mike, we'll join you on the flight line."

I hope…Isaac reflected to himself, not possessing the urge to say it out loud. It wouldn't do the team any good and right now, his team was all that mattered. He…believed in them. He believed in-…

"Gah!"

The Spartan keeled down, tripping into the soil. Something was burning and as he glanced back, he realized it was the back of his right leg. Well, it was burning, but the plasma and armor had done their job. The result was that while the fire was out, the embers remained. And they weren't going to make movement easy.

If you don't...believe...in yourself...in what you fight for...then you're indeed a tool. A weapon.

Gritting his teeth, Isaac rose to his feet, waving Josh and the others forward as they glanced back at them. The Covenant were getting closer, his teammates were getting further, but he wasn't going to change that. Still, in the case of the latter, a grenade might...

The Spartan didn't glance to see how much damage the fragmentation grenade did as he tossed it over his shoulder. It was important to keep one's eyes on the ball, or in this case, the Pelican. A dropship that his team had boarded and was already lifting off.

"Come on Spartan, double time! Now!"

"Come on Isaac, move!"

Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain, overcoming the urge to face those bearing down on him from behind, Isaac ran. Forward, not backwards. To what lay ahead. To those who mattered. He didn't have to fight his battles alone...maybe. He'd done it with Kirk after all. But maybe that was the whole point. Kirk had fought alone and lost. While as for himself...

A means to an end. But you're not. We're not. No-one...is...

A leap of faith...Green 5 made it. A leap to the blood tray as the dropship took to the air...he grabbed it.

It was a tenacious hold, and it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later the ramp would close to protect its occupants from the void. Sooner or later, the Pelican would reach escape velocity, sending the Spartan tumbling down to oblivion. Sooner or later...salvation would come. And as Joshua stretched out his hand, as Isaac grasped it...it was taken.

And with its last passenger onboard, as the walkway to the material closed, the dropship ascended into the heavens.

Forerunner relic (interior)

The foundation had been entered. Ascension was nigh.

Devotion had been terrified at first when the sound of an impact rocked the valley, one that seemed to emanate from the relic itself. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but given the use of a shield to protect itself, the san 'shyuum could make a good guess. In their usual petty vindictiveness, the humans had tried to destroy a vassal of the gods, to ruin that which they could not create nor claim ownership to. The structure still stood, unblemished in its glory, but still, it irked him. The sheer audacity, the arrogance of the savages...as unwelcome as the Fleet of Purity's arrival was, it at least provided the Prophet with the solace that noble combat in the vacuum of space could provide. Filth couldn't contaminate such an environment after all.

And now, the moment of truth had come. Alongside the faithful, he had waited and watched. Sensors indicated the lowering of the shield, the stream of light to the Beyond had ceased...the relic was ready and waiting. For him. For the vassal of the gods to make his mark on history, to make space and time itself echo with his name. And with that, the san 'shyuum and jiralhanae bodyguards had entered.

It's...just like I expected.

The relic was just that...a relic. Far removed from the grandeur of other artefacts the Covenant knew of, whether they be on Sanghelios or even the world humanity called Harvest. To an outsider, it would have seemed strange that the Prophet would have found this comforting. But they didn't know what he did. A lone servant of the hierarchs on a solitary ship assigned to look for the sacred rings? Bah. There were far more real sources of power in this universe, sources that the gods had wisely sought to bury. But Devotion knew what to look for, knew what such a place might hold. The power of godhood...for him alone. The reason why he didn't want any external forces interfering with his plans. Plans that had been accelerated, but still intact.

Those who came before had squabbled...but they were many. They were equals, and like all great races, sought to increase their strength. But Devotion would be alone. He would be the first, and last san 'shyuum to rule the Covenant alone. Truth, Mercy, Regret...three of his kind that had swindled power nine years ago, leading the Covenant out of the Twenty-Third Age of Doubt to the Ninth Age of Reclamation. They had no idea what awaited them, no idea how short this new age would be...

And it would end once he reached the relic's heart.

The jiralhanae didn't appear to have any reservations about this task, as potentially hazardous as it was. Something had taken out the sangheili he'd sent in earlier, their bodies lying alongside the human soldiers in testament to this. Still, the pack was unfazed, kicking aside any body that was in their way and even kicking a few that weren't. Their disdain for both species was crystal clear...as clear as Devotion's divinity would be once he seized godhood. That was the beauty of an empire based around faith. People would accept anything without question. Well, most people...but as 'Tikawomee's demise had demonstrated, asking questions was neither wanted or needed.

Devotion smiled...he wouldn't miss the shipmaster. Even if he would have made a good sacrifice...

"My lord..." Aratus began, his words drawing the san 'shyuum out of his dreaming along with his smell. "We have reached the relic's heart."

Devotion nodded, gesturing to the jiralhanae to let him through. The control room was enormous...as was to be expected. Still bearing the signs of age, even a few signs of a scuffle, but it was here. His destiny. His moment of glory. His...wait a minute...

"Aratus..." Devotion began slowly. "What is that...thing?"

Following the Prophet's narrow finger, the jiralhanae closed in on the "thing." A cylindrical thing, resting on the walkway that connected the control room's core to the rest of the installation. A thing that was certainly not of Covenant origin and hardly befitting of the Forerunners either.

"A human device..." the pack leader began, sniffing the metal as the Prophet drew closer. "Its purpose however..."

Devotion stared at the device, noticing what he'd missed before...a display. A series of strange red symbols, changing in sequence...

00:00:06

00:00:05

00:00:04

"Aratus?" Devotion asked softly, feeling uneasy in light of his lack of knowledge and the humility of having to ask a jiralhanae for it. "What do you make of this?"

"I do not know, my lord. However, it seems to be some kind of count-..."

00:00:00

"Zulu-902 is aboard. Prepare for slipspace exit."

Throughout Chi Mu, bursts of light formed.

Brief candles, illuminating, memorializing the fall of its fourth planet, a fiery candle briefly forming on its surface as well. Each from an ark, bearing its passengers across uncertain waters to uncertain shores. All arks fleeing the Covenant. Hope was gone. Lost. A statistic.

And then the lights dimmed, leaving only the victors.

In time, all things fade.

In time, all things are forgotten.

Some things, like vessels of power best never created, are best left forgotten.

Other things in this universe...are not.

A/N

I'll admit to watching/listening to the end run sections for Combat Evolved and Halo 3 to get in the 'mood' for this chapter when I wrote it. Gave me the idea of blowing the planet up for the sake of it as a side effect, but luckily I was able to resist the siren song of the Rule of Cool. Or, in this case, an idea I'm glad I didn't follow through on. 0_0

Update (08/05/2011): Corrected grammar error.