For Harginger of Doom

"I have squashed you like the little bug you are!" Mikhail, a monster even for a Spartan II, measuring in at 7'10'' and weighing 490 pounds, bellowed as he squashed another man-sized Drone under his boot. His voice was heavily accented with Russian, and his personality reflected his heritage on the battlefield. His LAAG, personalized by himself, tore through the enemy ranks of Grunts and Elites.

Neither him nor Jorge had even any need to aim any longer, the wide spray of their twin LAAGs hitting always an enemy, and Drones fell from the sky like rain. Good thing we're here alone, without any clumsy Marines for us to trip over. Mikhail thought, but he kept the thought to himself.

For many, the Covenant force that surrounded them would have been overwhelming, but the Spartan IIs remained calm and destroyed the enemy at a surprising rate. An Elite, its squad of Grunts dead or gravely injured, charged at Mikhail, roaring in anger. As they often are, the Elite was blinded by rage and hatred, a fearsome combination for such a powerful creature.

Mikhail turned to face it, grinning under his helmet. Not an ounce of him had fear for the Covenant, but not an ounce contained pity, either. A dangerous combination for the Covenant. "Let us wrestle, little man." Mikhail growled, setting his LAAG on the ground and stooping into a battle stance. The Elite charged, and he easily deflected the punch the Covvie aimed at his head with a side swipe. Mikhail feinted an attack at the Elite's stomach with his knee, then landed a blow to his skull with his right fist.

Picking up his LAAG again, he aimed at the air, roaring along with the deafening sound of his gun as Drones tumbled to the ground, bleeding or too injured to fly. "Jorge, my friend, I do believe we are winning."

Jorge grunted in reply, finishing off the last of a small group of Drones on his side of the meadow. Previously, the meadow had been a haven where you might expect to see Bambi. Now it was littered with corpses—all Covenant.

Swinging his LAAG by his side as if it were a picnics basket, Mikhail strode over to Jorge, whom he towered over. "Are we done here?" When not in the heat of battle, he was a calm man, and he sobered up right away.

"I suppose so, for the night. Although we will never be through until the Covenant cease to exist." Jorge replied, his face lined with fatigue. He and Mikhail should've been the same age, and technically, they were. But Mikhail had spent more than seven years in cryosleep, and his face was lees scarred than most Spartan IIs by then.

"Set up camp, then?" Mikhail wandered to the edge of the trees. He sat down and leaned against a huge oak tree, setting his LAAG within reach. Jorge sat next to another tree, facing him.

"So we spend another night out here, eh?" Mikhail growled. "How boring. The could at least get us some different food." He lifted up an MRE and glowered at it.

Jorge chuckled softly. "We're Spartan IIs, and we're not exactly that high up in rank. The top brass thinks of us as pawns more than people. Valuable pawns, more so than marines, but pawns all the same." Jorge ripped an MRE packet in half, picking the contents out and eating them. "At least we get to sit down for a meal instead of popping pills."

They passed the rest of the meal in silence, more or less, their ears strained for any sound—enemy or ally, they would know if someone was coming. They buried the MRE wrappers in the ground and recovered the areas so they would not be seen.

"I'll take first guard." Jorge offered.

"Forget it, comrade. I can't sleep with the thought of little Covvie babies lurking in the cold, dark woods." Suddenly bushes somewhere behind them, deeper in the forest, rustled. The two Spartans froze, remaining utterly silent. The grumblings and guttural noises of Grunts bickering with each other drifted to their superhuman ears, muffled by the forest. Jorge and Mikhail stood, not a twig cracking under their feet, even though they weighed hundreds of pounds.

The Grunts' grumbling neared them, the Covvies sounded like a marching band tramoing, lost, through the forest. Mikhail grinned, not picking up his LAAG, but crouching down, ready to take on the Grunts silently, with his deadly fists.

Jorge followed suit, crouching behind a tree. But even though he was attack ready, he knew Mikhail would take care of the enemy before they knew whether he was a Spartan or a freak storm.

A Grunt pushed through a clump of bushed, and sounded like he was cursing, tearing cobwebs and sticks off him. Another followed, a little taller than the previous, then two more. Still they didn't see the Spartans in the shadows, and a feeling of joy erupted in Mikhail's chest.

Mikhail burst out from behind his tree, exclaiming at the Grunts, "You are so small! Ees funny to me!" Jorge sighed, thinking Might as well have used the LAAG if he was going to holler that. . .Mikhail grabbed a Grunt by his neck, and cracked it to the side, killing it instantly.

The other Grunts squealed in fear and turned to run back into the woods, and Mikhail cried, "Like little pigs, you are! Pathetic!" He kicked another Grunt's gas tank, denting it in and puncturing it. The Grunt ran around in circles, suffocating, grabbing onto anything moving as if to beg for help. Unfortunately for it, the Grunt grabbed Mikhail's leg, and briefly its head fell to the ground, separate from its body.

"Come here, little piggies." Mikhail growled lowly. The other two Grunts had gotten away—or thought they had, as already they were making as much noise as before. Mikhail turned right, and there they were, cowering together behind a boulder. No weapons, nothing—Mikhail didn't think much of it, just swiftly ended their lives simultaneously with a swift blow to the head for each.

"Are you ready? I think we've given away our position by now." Jorge spoke softly.

Mikhail turned to look at his smaller comrade. "Yes. I suppose we have."

The two Spartans disappeared into the forest, into the shadows, silent, and lethal.