Chapter Nineteen: A Hard Road Ahead

1416 Hours, February 19, 2558. Qamar Island Ruins, Planet Khan. "The Deep End," Outer Colonies. Day One of the Dawn of the Prometheans

Some of the worst parts of the fighting so far wasn't the actual combat itself. It was having to keep a sharp eye on what was going on above us, too, to make sure we didn't have huge alien and human vessels alike dropping in on top of us in the middle of the fray. From the looks of things both sides were getting hit hard, with Banshees and Phantoms being blown out of the sky just as often as our Pelicans were. Through it all, though, I worried endlessly about Willis, but I knew that if I were to keep my head in the game - and I had to, for the sake of my Marines - I needed to trust that he wouldn't put himself in any compromising positions. He was a seasoned pilot and was well aware of what he had to do. I had my part to play as well and that was that.

"Keep at it, Marines!" I shouted over the COM then, pausing in the center of the chaos to rally my battalions. "Hit 'em with everything you've got and we'll beat 'em back!"

With all that was going on at the moment, that seemed more like wishful thinking than anything else. Making sure morale didn't plummet in the midst of a full-scale invasion was important, though. We couldn't afford to lose faith in our ability to win this thing - or at least get out of it - or we'd be toast.

Coming up beside me then, Staff Sergeant Porter let off a long rattle from his SAW before ducking down against a hastily set-up barricade - a large chunk of a downed Banshee, still smoking - to reload.

"Colonel, it's not looking too good right now!" he shouted above the din. "That Mantis has been a big help, ma'am, but until our air support gets free of those Storm bastards upstairs, we're too vulnerable on the ground!"

"Roger that, Staff! What about our heavy ordnance? The Scorpions?"

"Same thing across the lines, ma'am! We're holding our own for now, but there's a lot more enemy troops to burn through!"

I snorted, looking through the sight on my scope. "Yeah. No kidding."

Before Porter had a chance to reply I caught a wounded Elite in my crosshairs. His right shoulder was bleeding profusely, spewing violet blood as he limped forward, attempting to charge a group of Warfield's Marines further up ahead. I made the stubborn bastard think twice by drilling him in the chest with three rapid bursts from my DMR. After that, one more shot from the Marines closer to him did him in and he dropped to his knees, clutching his bloody middle before falling dead in the dirt.

For some reason the alien's display of courage even in the face of sure death made me think of Atalom 'Kuatee, the Elite I'd fought with near the end of the Human-Covenant War, who'd somehow taught me a lot about my enemy even while teaching me a lot about myself. The tall Remnant warrior I'd just helped kill reminded me of his kin that I'd formed an uneasy truce with, and later a grudging mutual respect for. It was the first time in a long while that I remembered that the sect of ex-Covies we were fighting now were different from those we'd fought before. And yet, many similarities remained.

That son of a bitch wasn't brave like 'Kuatee, though, I chided myself. Just blinded by his own religious doctrine, and too caught up in whatever dogma they believe in to view death as something to be avoided. They could've just left us alone like the rest and this mission to Khan would've been wrapped up by now.

Wrapped up before the Prometheans had suddenly appeared, that was. Christ, I hope they don't get woken up by all this, too.

When I'd finally burned through the last of my ammo, I pressed my back tight against the hunk of Banshee and rummaged quickly in my pockets for a fresh magazine. I came up with one out of my remaining three. I was going to need to gear up again very soon - and fast.

"Porter!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Get me the nearest location of a supply crate tagged on the map and sent to my HUD! I'm almost out!"

"On it, Colonel!"

"And get ready - I'm going to need an escort!"

"Acknowledged!"

Not that I wanted one for myself, but I knew if I dropped dead now that that would only make the dire circumstances worse. We'd already lost our most formidable asset in orbit, the Suave Affair, and our new arrival had pretty much disappeared. No doubt the Excalibur was waiting for things to calm down before attempting a return.

And judging by what was going on right now, I didn't blame them. But one more serious toll on the command structure of the unit, and things would be looking very bleak.

"Josh, what's my ETA?"

"Ten minutes out, ma'am! Location is now tagged to your HUD, as ordered. Ready to go when you are."

I burst out of cover then, gripping my rifle tight against my shoulder, and let loose a series of rounds. "All right. Let's go!"

Together we hauled ass to the point where the marker was set in our helmet's electronics, all the while praying that something wasn't going to come barreling out of nowhere to pick us off. By the end of the run-and-gun, my left arm - where a rebel bullet had grazed me when I'd gone to visit Mayor Javier Laraza on the mainland - was burning, pain spiking through the still-healing wound. I did what I always did and ignored it, continuing on.

When we finally reached the marker I took just a split-second to admire the fact that we were both still alive and unscathed, then set to work cracking open the box.

"What do we have here, Staff?" I asked him while I delved inside.

"An assortment of ammunition and some grenades, ma'am. I checked the listings on my datapad first to confirm this crate had what you needed."

"Very prudent, Porter. Thanks."

"No problem, Colonel."

The staff sergeant stood by with his SAW aimed outward while I fished for the equipment I'd come for. I found what I needed rather quickly and stuffed the extra ammo into my pockets, glancing up only when I noticed a new figure approaching out of the corner of my eye. Porter lowered his weapon a bit, and I saw that it was Major Shawn Harris, my former battalion XO, now in charge of the 8th Engineers himself.

I grinned in relief that he was okay. "Hey, Harris. How're you holding up?"

The dark-skinned major shook his head. "Same as everyone else I guess, ma'am. You?"

"Oh, you know. Can't complain. Just came to grab more bullets to sink into those bastards."

Despite the utter chaos around us, Harris chuckled. "Right."

"What about the rest of your battalion, Shawn? The scientists?"

"I gave orders to the squads guarding them to give me continuous updates. As of two minutes ago the scientists are still free from the engagement and out of harm's way." His eyes clouded for a moment. "Wish I could say the same for the Eighth, but we're putting up a good fight, Colonel."

"So are Warfield's boys." I let out a heavy sigh. "I hate to say it, but I think the best we can hope for right now is staying even."

"Yes, ma'am."

Surprising both of us, Staff Sergeant Porter chimed in then. "I bet that's going to help."

"What?" I asked.

"The Phantoms, ma'am. Look. They're heading back."

Glancing up at the sky, I turned to see that Porter was right. All the Storm's Phantoms - those still functioning at least, damaged or not - were suddenly boosting back into the atmosphere, away from the fight on the ground.

"No shit," Harris breathed. "So that means either they lost a lot more of those things than they wanted to..."

"Or they're done disembarking troops and are going back up for more." I laid my newly-reloaded rifle on top of the crate. Hard. "Fuck."

"Ma'am, if I may, I don't know if that's possible," my aide cut in. "An ex-Covie ship that size can't account for much more than what's already been added to the fight. I think those Phantoms are just cutting their losses and heading back for good."

The major frowned. "You think the Mantis spooked them, Staff?"

"I think we all did, sir."

I snorted a second time. "I sure hope you're right, Josh. To be honest, we could really use a break in their attack. Give our flyboys up there a fighting chance, maybe even have a few sneak off to go get our battalion in the wings."

"Yes, ma'am. Orders, Colonel?" Major Harris asked.

"Same as before, Shawn. Keep the bastards as far away from the ruins as you can, and keep whittling them down." Pressing both hands against my DMR on the crate, I braced myself and added, "Only change I want now is to keep a better eye on what's going on upstairs. Let's hope the Phantoms veering off is a good thing, and not an omen of more bad things to come."

The battle for Qamar continued to rage as before, but with the Phantoms now gone, our biggest nightmare here on the ground was over. Banshees had much thinner armor and were much easier to hit - despite being fairly nimble and maneuverable in the air, they were a lot more vulnerable to ground fire than their heavy troop carrier counterparts. I felt grateful that at least one thing was going our way at the moment, and hopefully what my aide had predicted would be true as well. We had our hands beyond full dealing with all the Remnant forces that had already landed since the invasion had begun. We definitely didn't need a fresh batch dropping in after them, too.

Through it all I tried my best to coordinate the various ground elements involved in the counterassault - the battalions' two attached Scorpions, the Mantis, our three remaining Warthogs, and both units of Marines. One thing I hadn't heard from in a while was the upstairs division; I had no idea what Willis's squadrons were up to at the moment, nor what their status was. I knew I needed to get an update on that soon, but since the Phantoms didn't seem to be reappearing yet, I figured things were pretty stable. I had to trust I'd be kept in the loop as far as any issues went, and focused instead on forging ahead with a new battle plan until I could get back into contact with my husband.

Since I'd already spoken with Major Harris over the COM about it, I laid out some of the details for Major Cole Warfield now, in his presence. We were able to link up after we'd both moved away from the center of the conflict so we could get to what Marines of our ranks were truly there for - strategizing. From the looks of things I disliked this part of the job every bit as much as Warfield did, but we both knew it was our duty, even more so than actively fighting on the frontlines as we preferred.

With a Marine escort surrounding us and a higher-than-usual concentration of palm trees forming a concealed canopy above, the impromptu meeting got underway.

"I've already issued new orders to Major Harris about this, Cole, but you and your Marines need to be informed as well," I said. I pulled out my datapad and let a holo-image of the island display above it. "Barring any complications - another attack from the Prometheans, for instance - I want to see our units start to form a tighter perimeter around the Storm landings. We want to keep them as far from the ruins as possible, since we know that's what they're really after - and we want to contain them so they're easier to eliminate."

In front of me, Major Warfield crossed his arms over his chest. "And how do you propose we do that, ma'am?"

I ignored his inflection on the last word and continued. "By working together, Major. I want you and Harris to do a better job of teaming up now that most of the Eighth is in the midst of the combat as well. We'll keep our heaviest armament on the fringes, forcing the Storm to stay within the perimeter we've created or end up alien paste on the ridge. From there we use the fallen debris and broken junk from the battle as cover, and continue pressing forward." Pulling off my helmet now, I held it close to my side with one hand and used the other to scratch the side of my head - something I hadn't been able to do for hours now. "Beyond that, we keep doing what we're doing - hitting 'em hard with all we have."

"And the Banshees, ma'am? The Phantoms may have taken an extended leave of absence, but you can bet those screaming purple things are going to bring any plan of consolidating our forces to a screeching halt."

"Fair enough, Warfield. But I've got faith that our squadrons in the air will take care of it."

The major openly scoffed this time. "Like they have been, you mean?"

That did it. Insulting me was one thing; insulting Willis and his pilots was quite another. "Are you implying that our Marines in the air aren't doing their jobs, Major?"

"I'm not implying anything, Colonel. Just stating fact. We've had all kinds of shit being thrown at us down here from the start. A better air support unit - "

"A better air support unit doesn't exist. I should know. They're the ones that saved my damn company when we were about to become Flood food in fucking Voi five years ago."

Warfield chuckled humorlessly. "I can think of a few reasons why they had a vested interest in your safety, ma'am."

"My husband had little to do with it, actually. His squadron came in at the tail end to pick us up, but we were rescued by the group that flew in ahead of his. Others from his unit."

"Whatever. I'm - "

Suddenly, Staff Sergeant Joshua Porter came bursting into the inner circle we'd formed, trying to deal with our plans privately while still being protected by the Marines surrounding us. For a moment he just stood there giving me a dull look, like he didn't know what to say.

"Staff Sergeant? What's going on? Spit it out," Major Warfield prompted.

"Yes, sir."

I watched as Porter swallowed...then returned his focus on me.

"Ma'am, I thought you should be informed. One of the Pelicans that just went down was Major Hawk's."