HALO: HELLJUMPER

By M. Cartwright

A/N: This chapter was a little longer than I had expected it to be. It took me awhile to write it and I had considered rewriting it and cutting it down in length, but I decided against it. The total word count for the chapter was at, I believe, four thousand seven hundred some odd words. I've always been told anything above four thousands pushin' it, but I'll leave you to be the judge.

On the bright side, I'm happy to say I'm starting to get my groove back for writing out the combat scenes. I haven't perfected the craft, yet, but I'm getting there. Anyway, enjoy the chapter and please gimme your feed back.

CHAPTER III: HARD SLOG

2736 Hours Local Time, July 5th, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \
Apartment 21-B, Brighton Apartments, Residential District A, Pearl City,
Planet Crystal

Staff Sergeant Jonathan Ward stood frozen in place as he was held up against a wall at gun point. He instinctively raised his hands in the air which only succeeded in causing his aggressor to strengthen the grip he had upon his shoulder. Jonathan wondered if the man realized there were weapons pointed at him. Or did he even care? Regardless, it was obvious he wasn't lowering his weapon. In fact, he had pressed against his visor now. If he pulled the trigger, Ward would surely be a goner.

And, needless to say, he was hoping that wouldn't be what happened.

"Who're you?!" the man barked with a gruff tone.

"Staff Sergeant Ward," he answered, keeping his voice calm and level. "Helljumper."

"They've come to kill us!" came the voice of another man, sounding much younger.

The man holding the gun seemed inclined to believe it. He somehow managed to tighten his grip even further. "Is that why you're here, fascist?!"

Fascist? Oh, no.

They were dealing with a bunch of Innies.

"No," Ward replied, continuing to speak calmly. "We were told there were civilians holed up in this apartment. We've been ordered to escort you to a convoy waiting at the freeway to evacuate you out of here."

Jon caught movement out of his peripheral to his left. He could just barely see the IFF tag of one of his men. Thomas. "Why don't you lower your weapon, sir," he said. It was an order disguised as a question. The Innie's eyes looked away from him for a moment while he contemplated what the Staff Sergeant had told him. A second later, he asked, "If I let you go… you won't kill us?"

Ward shook his head.

"Okay then." The man lowered his weapon and released the Staff Sergeant. Ward stretched and popped his shoulder before turning his attention deeper into the apartment. There were four people in total excluding the man with the handgun. Two women, a small, lanky man, and a boy who looked no older than fourteen with long greasy black hair. To Ward's surprise all of them except the kid were armed; two wielding pistols like the lovely fellow he had just met and the other with a shotgun. Innies or not, he had to give them credit. They were fairly well armed by civilian standards.

"So, who're all of you?" Jon asked to break the lingering tension.

The man who had shoved him against the wall spoke up. "I'm Matthew. The blonde woman with the shotgun is my wife Lucile, the other girl is our friend Madison, and the other two are Ronan and his son Xavier."

Ward nodded at him curtly. Matthew stood at about five foot eight. He was stocky; not exactly overweight but he wasn't built either. He had a scruffy looking beard, thick eyebrows, and a matte of dull red hair. And judging by what he'd managed to do early, he was fairly strong. His wife, on the flipside, was slim and rather attractive. She had short blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes. She wore a low cut shirt exposing pale cleavage and a dark pair of skintight jeans.

Madison, on the other hand, was more heavyset and had shoulder length curly brown hair that was up in a pony tail. She had on a black t-shirt and a pair of matching slacks with pistol magazines stuffed in the pockets. A crucifix hung from her neck over her shirt and her arms were covered in body art. She stood beside Ronan, leaning up against him.

Xavier, the kid, had short cropped black hair and emerald green eyes. He was small and lanky. It didn't look like he could hold the pistol in his hand that well. Like Madison, he had pistol clips stuffed down in his pockets and the first thing Ward noticed was that his pistol was set to safe. He doesn't even know how to use a weapon, he concluded with a sigh. He'll have to learn quick.

The Staff Sergeant keyed the comms, raising the Charlie Company Command Post. "CP, this is Charlie Six. Be advised: we've found the civvies and we're oscar mike to the pick-up zone. Over."

"Roger, Charlie Six, carry on. Out."

Ward cast a look at Matthew. "Before we move out I have a question," he said. "Are you guys' rebels?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, but we have no love for the UNSC. We support what the Insurrection stands for."

"Innie sympathizers, greeeaaat," commented Thom.

Matthew whipped around to face Thomas in the blink of an eye. "At least the Innies are trying to win independence instead of kowtowing to a government that has declared martial law!"

Jon could see where this was going. If he didn't put an end to it now then it was going to get ugly. Real ugly. "Enough," he growled, stepping between Matthew and the ODSTs. "We don't have time to argue over politics and who's in the wrong. We need to get you guys out of here."

"How do we know we won't be arrested when we get to where we're going?" Xavier asked with a hint of malice in his tone.

The Staff Sergeant sighed. "Right now the UNSC has bigger things to worry about than a bunch of Innie sympathizers. Now, you can stay here and take your chances with the Covenant, or, you can come with us and have a fighting chance of living to see another day."

Matthew leaned against the wall and appeared to be pondering over something. Likely trying to make a decision; weighing the pluses and the minuses of either option. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Matthew pushed himself from off the wall and nodded. "We'll follow you."

"Good choice," Ward muttered, and then turned to face his men. "Mac, take point and get us out of here. Matthew, you and your group stick close to us. Owen, you've got rear security. Now let's move out!"

With that, the ODSTs of Charlie Six, with the civilians in tow, made their way out of the room and into the corridor beyond. They maneuvered cautiously down the deserted, dimly lit hallway in silence, weapons at the ready in case anything was to pop out at them. As they rounded the corner and neared the entrance to the stairwell, Jon thought he heard decidedly alien voices echoing from it. He habitually tightened his grip on his assault rifle and moved a tad bit more cautiously. It was apparent the others were hearing it as well, as an air of tenseness settled about the group.

As they came within a few inches of the door, Ward motioned for his men to halt. He carefully stepped out of formation and approached the door, gesturing for MacDoyle to follow closely behind. As the door slid away to admit them into the stairwell, the pair flowed into the tight quarters and glanced over the railing to the floor below. There wasn't any sign of life that either of them could see, but the voices were less distorted now, and decidedly belonged to a couple of Grunts and an Elite. Likely the latter barking orders to the former in an attempt to force them to exercise noise discipline.

Though, it didn't matter. They'd already heard them.

Slowly, step-by-step, Ward descended the stairwell to the first floor and positioned himself by the door. He felt the weight of Mac's hand on his shoulder as the two prepared to breach the door into the lounge that came before the lobby. Surprisingly, the door hadn't opened to their presence, giving them the element of surprise. Jon groped for one of his grenades and yanked it from the bandolier, setting his rifle down beside the hatch. "One, Two, and Five, head down the stairs and prepare to engage hostiles. Three, stay with the civvies." Acknowledgment lights blinked and Ward's eyes picked up the faint footfalls of Thomas, Cooper, and Owen making their way down to them.

The Staff Sergeant waved his hand in front of the door, causing the sensor situated above it to pick up the movement, and it receded into the wall. Immediately silence fell upon the lounge as the Covenant inside stared at the door cautiously and with interest. He heard the uneven footfalls of a Grunt heading towards the open hatch. Its penguin-like gait would ultimately be its undoing. You simply couldn't be stealthy with a walk like that. Before the dog-like midget could make it through the threshold of the door, Jon slammed his thumb on the primer and chucked the grenade towards the center of the room on the other side.

Startled cries followed by the roar of an explosion filled his ears, dulled by his helmet's audio dampeners, and he stepped through the doorframe and kicked the frightened alien away from the hatch—a two-round burst to the face to end its troubles. Reacting quickly before the rest of the Covenant troops in the room could regain their composure; he laid down withering fire and ducked behind a couch. The four other members of the assault team darted into the room and sought protection from the enemy's weapons as well.

And the firefight began.

The Elite in charge was the first to recover, his shields having sustained the brunt of the shrapnel that had ricocheted through the room. It opened up with its plasma rifle, its shots going wide as it retreated into the lobby. The three remaining Grunts added their fire into the mix and effectively had the team pinned behind what little cover they could find. Ward patiently waited until the Grunts had shifted their fire towards the others, then leaned out and sprayed the lead one with lead. It collapsed in a bloody heat, causing its companions to shriek in fear and retreat into the lobby with their commander.

As the others began to move up to the door to the lobby, Ward flitted his eyes to the map icon and brought up the building schematics. According to it, there was a secondary stairwell on the opposite side of the structure that could be reached via the second floor. An idea quickly forming in his head, he hit the 'talk' button on his radio. "Keep up the pressure gents," he said sternly, standing up and starting for the door to the stairs. "I'm gonna flank 'em!"

Bolting through the threshold and pounding up the stairs, Ward re-entered the second floor hallway and rushed past the civilians guarded Wilson without so much as acknowledging their existence. He rounded the corner and continued on his way. When he reached the stairwell, he stormed down the steps and found himself walking into a rec room for the complex's employees. He swiftly made his way to the door and peered into the lobby.

He found that he was a few feet behind the Elite Minor heading the lance, which was crouched down awkwardly behind the front desk. Its subordinates were behind whatever sparse hard points they could find and were keeping a steady stream of fire on the door to the lounge. Jon exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, then stepped into the doorframe and quietly moved closer to the Elite, being careful not to make any kind of noise that would give him away.

Despite his effort to remain undetected, however, he quickly learned it had been in vain. With a guttural growl of uncontrolled rage, the Elite whipped around and sucker punched him in the side of the helmet. Jon fell back, crashing into the wall behind him, and he realized that the blow had partially cracked his visor. The eight-foot tall closed the gap between them and threw another punch. The Staff Sergeant ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and aimed a swift punch to the alien's gut.

It had little effect. It chuckled maniacally and elbowed him in the side of the head. The force of the blow was enough to knock him onto the ground, face first. He rolled over just in time to avoid the heavily armored hoof belonging to the Elite bearing down on him. Tearing his M6S from its place at his side, he flipped the safety off and rapidly squeezed the trigger. Its shield flared, deflecting the bullets, and the armored behemoth stepped towards him defiantly. He felt its fingers wrap around his neck, and with a tight squeeze, lifted him off his feet.

He lost his grip of the pistol. It fell to the floor with a metallic thud and he slapped at the alien's arms, trying to free himself from its vice grip as he struggled to breath. The alien laughed in amusement at him.

That did it. He could tolerate a lot of things from an alien. Being shot, beaten and thrown around like a ragdoll—hell, he could even tolerate having the life squeezed out of him—but the one thing he could not, no, would not tolerate, was being mocked and laughed at.

With a newfound motivation, Ward tucked his legs against his chest and dealt a devastating kick to the alien's chest. It released him, allowing him to the fall to the floor and recovered his sidearm, as the alien recoiled from the blow and heaved in an attempt to catch its breath. Jon zeroed in on the Elite's helmeted head and repeatedly pulled the trigger. The weapon bucked from the recoil as it spat out 12.7x40mm M228 Semi-Armored-Piercing High-Penetration magnum rounds. The Elite's shields blocked the first couple of shots before it failed, leaving it exposed to remaining swarm of bullets. The first bullet severed one of its mandibles and exploded out of the back of its skull, sending a spray of gore onto the wall behind it. The rest of the rounds smashed into different parts of the alien's face, reducing it to a bloody pulp, and the once mighty Elite slumped against the wall lifelessly.

The Staff Sergeant picked himself up off the floor and approached the corpse with his still-smoking sidearm at his side. He gave its body a swift kicked and remarked, "Try laughing now, asshole."

Ward turned cast a look towards the other half of the room and realized the three Grunts were now bullet ridden corpses gushing florescent blood. Corporal Thomas and the rest of the assault team flooded into the room and instantly spotted the Elite on grotesque display against the wall. Though he couldn't see it behind his polarized visor, he was sure there was a flicker of a smirk on Thomas's face. "All clear, Staff Sergeant," he announced with an air of finality.

The team leader nodded and ordered Wilson to bring the civvies down. A minute later the team was fully assembled in the lobby with the civilians standing off to the side. Ward momentarily checked the map to get his bearings on how long of a journey they had to their destination. According to it, they were in for a hard slog. Especially if the streets were crawling with Covenant.

Gesturing for the others to follow, he made his way out of the building and onto the road beyond. After checking for any signs of Covenant troops in the area, he hung a right and started down the road towards the NAV marker.

Most of the journey was made in silence. The six ODSTs and five non-combatants marched in the envelope of the shadows along the edge of the streets. They took several detours through alleyways and side streets as the distance to the NAV maker ticked away. So far they had been lucky enough to avoid confrontation. Though, a handful of times they had come dangerously close to it. Covenant troops patrolled many of the main roads unhindered and some had hidden away inside buildings for reasons unknown. And in one instance they had to duck into someone's garden as a patrol backed up by light reconnaissance vehicles, Ghosts, passed them by.

With only another block to cross and then a two hundred meter home stretch to the PZ, the team came out onto a narrow side road and carefully moved forward. The Staff Sergeant was just beginning to get the sense that they were being watched when his suspicions were confirmed. Lethally.

A purple streak of light zipped mere inches by his head. There was a loud, resounding thud that echoed across the empty street, and he immediately sought cover behind a burned out truck. "Sniper!" he exclaimed as he started to scan the horizon for the shot's source.

"Lucile!" Matthew exclaimed frantically.

Ward didn't have time to look and see what had happened. He spotted the sniper, a Jackal standing on the roof of a two-story house, and craned his head towards Wilson. "Three, counter-snipe that bastard! He's to our two o'clock, rooftop of the blue-and-white two-story."

There was a brief pause before the COMM cracked in his ear. "Rule number one," Wilson began as he aligned his shot. There was the deafening report of an S2AM Sniper Rifle and Ward watched as the Jackal's head exploded. Its body sprawled to the ground, becoming some old lady's yard ornament, he imagined. "Never snipe someone from an obvious position if you intend on living to see another day."

After a brief scan of the surrounding buildings for any additional sharpshooters, Ward turned around to see what all the commotion had been about. He immediately wished he hadn't and grimaced. Lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood was Lucile, the shotgun she had been wielding tucked underneath her body, with a penny-sized hole oozing scarlet liquid on the center of her back. The round had torn straight through her.

Kneeling beside her was Matthew. Tears were welled up in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks like a waterfall. He knew it wouldn't be necessary, but he motioned for Cooper to check on her anyway. The corpsman hauled himself over to her and checked her pulse. "She's gone," he muttered grimly. Jon's shoulders slumped and he couldn't help but curse under his breath. Though he knew it wasn't his fault, he felt partially responsible Lucile's death. He glanced over at his men.

They were all looking towards him, unsure of what to do or how to react. He could tell by their body language. Cooper crouched by Matthew's side and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. The Staff Sergeant decided if he was going to feel responsible for it, he needed to comfort the man too. He slowly made his way over to him, confidence no longer in his step, and he knelt down on the side Coop wasn't on. He placed his hand on the grieving adult's shoulder too and gave it a tight squeeze. "I'm… I'm sorry, Matthew."

Matthew sobbed harder and brought his hands to his face, shielding it from view. Ward sighed heavily in exasperation and undid the seals on his helmet. Gently, he lifted his helmet off his head and set it to the side away from the puddle of accumulating blood, running his free hand through his short cropped hair. If Matthew were to look up at him, he would be met with a face that looked older than it should have been. Ward's eyes were sunk in with rings around them from lack of sleep. His expression was soft and of sympathy. He had dark brown eyes and hair, cut into the traditional regulation high-and-tight style. Facial hair was unsurprisingly absent and he had a single narrow scar from his right ear to the bridge of his nose. A gift from an Innie that had been skilled in the use of a blade.

"Why?" Matthew finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that Ward hadn't realized had come about. He stared at the sobbing man for a long moment. What was there to say? How could he explain what had just happened? Was he to say that the shot was meant for him and the Jackal simply missed? That it had shitty aim and that's why his wife was lying in a pool of her own body fluid?

What could he possibly say?

He wasn't sure. But he knew he had to say something.

"I don't know," he whispered solemnly. It was the truth. He didn't have a fucking clue why all of this had just happened. "But I do know that your wife loved you. And while I know she wouldn't have wanted things to end this way, I know that she would have wanted you to carry on and live if it did. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. Because it won't. Not for a single goddamned second. But, you have to keep going."

"I… I don't want to leave her."

Jon sighed. "I know. But you have to-"

"I'm not fucking leaving her, okay?! Do you understand that, Jarhead?!"

Ward let that last remark slide. Matthew was distraught right now and while he was sure the man had little love for him and his men, he also knew that they were his only ticket to getting out of this mess alive. Jonathan turned his attention to Cooper. "Doc, do you have a foldable stretcher?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant."

"Get it out and put Lucile on it," Ward ordered, and then turned returned his gaze to Matthew. "We'll take her with us. After this is all over you can arrange for her burial. I'll see to it that the UNSC pays for it all." Technically he had no authority to do such a thing. But, it was a small lie that would hopefully motivate the man to keep going until they got out of this. And who knows, maybe he'd actually talk to some people about actually doing it. "However, your wife would want you to survive. Her death'll be in vain if you die too. Cooper and Owen'll carry your wife's body. Okay?"

Matthew slowly nodded his head. Jon smiled weakly at him and motioned for Cooper and Owen to load his wife's body up on a stretcher. The corpsman retrieved the device from his rucksack and folded it out. Owen sprinted over and helped the Australian medic lift her corpse up and onto the stretcher, then aided him in carrying it. Just as Ward was about to stand up and continue on, he froze. He heard the whoosh of something soaring through the air just feet from his head and then heard a dull thud followed by something sizzling.

"Grenade!"

Without thinking, reacting completely on impulse, the Staff Sergeant shoved Matthew onto the ground and jumped on top of him—shielding him with his own body—and covered his head with his hands.

The sizzling became louder.

And louder.

BOOM!

He felt the heat of the blast wash over him. He felt like his entire back was being pressure cooked inside of his armor. Jon gritted his teeth and rolled over as the heat faded away, the pain still there, however, and brought his weapon to bear. Marching down the road were two lances of Covenant troops backed up by Ghosts, marching down the road from the way they'd come from. The mechanized patrol, he concluded as he started to rise to his feet.

Bolts of plasma exploded against the concrete around them. He turned and pulled Matthew to his feet and then ushered him into cover on the opposite side of the car he'd been behind earlier. "Take cover! Return fire!"

The ODSTs obeyed, letting loose with their own weapons. Tracers and streaks of plasma were traded between the two sides. To an observer it would almost be awe-inspiring. Had he not known the deadly intent behind the scene, he would've agreed. Jon snapped his rifle onto the nearest target, firing controlled burst after controlled burst into the crowd of hostiles. He downed a few of them while others sought protection. The report of Wilson's sniper rifle echoed over all the noise—a trail of white followed the bullet to its target—and the upper body of the Grunt operating one of the Ghosts detached itself from the rest of its body.

Ward shifted to his next target: a silver armored Elite wielding a plasma turret. It took six bursts to drop its shields and it snarled in disdain at him, dropping the turret in favor of the energy sword on its belt. It bellowed a mighty battle cry and it charged directly towards him. "Shit!" he exclaimed and fired his rifle some more. But the shots went wide and the Elite kept coming.

Bang! The Elite fell forward with a new orifice in its neck, rolled a couple of times, and then ceased to move anymore. Jon's eyes fell on the still-smoking barrel of Matthew's pistol. He'd taken the shot. He glanced at Ward, his breathing erratic and heavy, and smiled weakly at him.

"Thanks." Was all the Staff Sergeant could think to say. With that, he stared down the sights of his rifle and took aim on another target: a group of Jackals trying to form a phalanx and advance upon them. He held the trigger down and sprayed them with lead. The majority of them fell while one other ducked down behind a bulky metal mailbox, clutching its frail, bleeding arm.

One of his men tossed a grenade at the enemy and it landed in the midst of a group of Grunts led by a Grunt Major. The small aliens didn't even have time to scream. The grenade detonated and send shrapnel, body parts, and blood flying. A chain of secondary explosions occurred as the methane tanks on their backs went up in flames too.

By now all that was left were a handful of aliens and one last Ghost. The Ghost shifted towards Mac and Owen and let loose with its plasma cannons. The two PFCs abandoned their position and scrambled out of the way as the superheated balls of plasma demolished the wooden picket fence they had been behind only moments ago. Wilson's rifle sounded again and the bullet struck one of the gravity stabilizers. The Ghost titled to the left with enough force to throw the Grunt operating clean off—and Ward put it down with a trio of rounds to the chest.

Moments later, the skirmish was over. All went eerily quiet as the everyone held their fire. Ward sighed in relief and reloaded his rifle; ejecting the spent magazine to replace it with a fresh one. Then he ordered everyone to get a move on. The group complied, with Corporal Thomas heading up front.

It took them maybe three minutes to reach the convoy. Sixteen vehicles in row were halted at the edge of the on-ramp onto the freeway. Ward waved his hand and watched as a Marine in full battle rattle with an NCO cover made his way over to them.

"You Charlie Six?"

Ward mumbled something in the way of an affirmative.

"Good," the man said. "I'm First Sergeant Mullen. Have the civvies load up in our Troop 'Hogs. Once they're aboard, if you ain't comin' with, we'll be oscar mike."

The Staff Sergeant nodded. "Aye, First Sergeant." He gestured for the civilians to do as the First Sergeant said and watched as they headed for the vehicles. Matthew stopped for just a moment to shake his hand one last time and thank him, then turned and caught up with the others. Ward smiled and then opened up a channel to the CP. "CP, this is Charlie Six, be advised: mission accomplished. Four civilians and a body are mounted up… we lost one of the civvies to a sniper. How copy?"

He waited for what felt like eternity before the response came.

"Charlie Six, solid copy. Good work," Top Childers responded. "Be advised: Charlie Four and Five believe they've discovered an enemy CP in the Business District on Patterson Avenue. They're currently engaged with the enemy and need assistance. This tasking comes straight from Charlie Actual, son. Get it done."

The Staff Sergeant groaned and shook his head. They had a long way to walk to get back to the Business District. "Charlie Six copies all. Will raise you when we've linked up with Four and Five. Out."

Ward informed First Sergeant Mullen that his team wasn't coming with them and then turned around. He gathered his team, relayed the CO's orders, and they started on the long hump to their objective.

And he prayed that things wouldn't get worse.