As always thanks to Sniper Fodder for proof-reading this chapter.

Chapter LXXVIII: Two Things on My List

September 12, 2542 (UNSC Calendar)/

New Barbados Marshlands, New Barbados, Emerald Cove, Caribe System

"I think we've got this sector clear," I repeated for the eleventh time.

"It pays off to be cautious Sarge," Angel replied sarcastically.

"Fuck off," the pilot replied.

"You're pretty ballsy when you're the one piloting the craft," Konstantinov complained. "I'd like to hear you say that on the ground."

"Once again," the pilot replied. "fuck off."

"Guys, ease up on her," I said boringly. "She's cool."

"What? You fucking her too?"

"Ok, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I yelled at Angel.

"I'm sorry. Fuck. I've been here for over nine hours looking at nothing but water, corpses, and reeds. Endless oceans of reeds," he said. "Fuck!"

"Talking about going easy on," the pilot said, "How's the leg doing Sarge?"

"Alright," I replied with a shrug. "I never did ask why you were piloting a falcon instead of a hunter."

"I'm qualified for both, and some ONI bitch insisted your squad had marine aviators. I was one of the lucky chosen ones." The tone in her voice made it evident that she didn't think she was lucky. Not in the least.

I simply chuckled in reply as I stretched my legs on the floor of the UH-144 Falcon gunship. The woman piloting the craft in question wasn't really any pilot. She was in fact Pilot. Would you believe that I still didn't know her damned name? Well I didn't and I think I was past the stage where I could ask her without managing to feel awkward as hell and insult her.

"So, what's your name?" Caboose asked nicely, probably trying to ease up the tension that Angel had created.

Fuck yeah!

"Emily Hardwick," she replied with a serious business tone.

"So, Second Lieutenant," Caboose went on, "how do you know our sergeant here?"

"Oh, I don't kiss and tell," Emily (for that was her name) replied sultrily.

"Just tell 'em," I said. "Don't want them to misinterpret things."

"Why Sarge? You've got someone special?" she asked with a teasing tone.

I shrugged even though she couldn't see me. "I'm tempted to say that it's none of your business, but I owe you one. So yes, I do have someone special." The last two words were said in a mocking tone imitating Hardwick's voice.

"Huh, must be one hell of a gal," Hardwick replied.

"Yes," I said. "She is."

"Aw, come on Francisco, we both know she's nothing but a rebound and a glorified fuck buddy," Schitzo said. "I give you two months. Tops."

Fuck. You.

The really disturbing part about having a figment of my imagination popping up occasionally as an alter ego was that every little thing that he said had at least some grain of truth to it. The disturbing part to this last comment was that it had a whole lot more than a grain of truth to it.

Yup.

"Anyways," Caboose insisted, "care to answer my question?"

There was no answer from the cockpit.

"Go ahead," I said.

"All right then," Emily started, "it was back in Aztlan, 'bout six months ago…"

I dozed off as Hardwick recalled that story about how I had a rod go through my thigh (not my ass) and out the other side, how her craft was shot down, how Pavel pulled her out of the burning craft and how we were faced with overwhelming odds. As she told the story I couldn't help but notice that there was an almost unhealthy amount of admiration directed towards both Pavel and myself. I know that I am an asshole for it, but I was actually smug about being talked so highly about in front of my new subordinates.

"Ok, ok," Angel interrupted in his characteristic Italian accent. "My butt's getting cramped, Sarge, it's your turn at the gun." He interrupted just as Emily was getting to the part where I shot the banshee's thruster.

"Must I remind you I'm the one who gives orders?"

"Sarge?" he begged.

"A Ok," I said.

I stood up from the small seat and grabbed onto a bar on the ceiling of the craft. I had to keep my head down if I wanted to fit. Arcangelo let go of the Falcon's M247H and shuffled backwards on that cramped ass of his before I helped him up. The man all but dropped to the seat I had been keeping warm for the last hour before I grabbed the machine gun's handles and shuffled my own ass to get a comfortable position.

"How much longer?" Grigori asked Hardwick.

"I thought I was telling a great story," she complained. I could almost see her pouting.

"No, I mean for the patrol."

"About two more hours, gotta make sure there's no covvies left alive on this place. Besides, it's either this or evacuation police, so don't complain."

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. The whole freaking planet was being evacuated. In fact, the whole goddamned system was being evacuated. A little covvie fleet pops up and we evacuate over five million people, crowding yet another inner colony. It didn't really hurt to be cautious though, especially when the Covenant were involved. Unless being cautious involved sitting on a hard metal floor for hours upon hours staring at absolutely nothing of interest.

"As I was saying…" Hardwick continued.

She then went on to go into extreme detail of how I made an incredibly shot and managed to buy us even more time as the banshee circled once again. I couldn't help but smile at the memory of that last stand in particular. I seemed to keep having lots of those lately. Actually, I seem to have a lot of those, period.

"Oi, sarge, do you see that?" Bumblebee said from one of the other two other Falcons in the patrol. My helmet radio carried his voice perfectly, even giving the impression that he was talking to me from a distance and not directly into my ears.

"It would be helpful if you pointed out the direction of 'that'," I suggested.

"Right," the Scott said. "Your eleven."

"My eleven?" I asked. "Or my ship's eleven."

"I did say your eleven," he replied.

"Don't get wise with me Agnarsson," I replied even as I started scanning that area in particular. "I don't see nothing," I concluded after a few seconds of observation.

"Exactly, even the reeds are thinned out."

"Hmm," I hummed. "Pavel, go for a closer look," I told the other craft.

"Not for me to choose Frank, but I'll gladly give your message to the pilot," my friend replied from across the ship.

"Yes, be quick about it."

A second later the Falcon that my friend was on banked hard to the left and the Falcon started heading towards the area that Robert had pointed out even as my own ship and the other one started going farther up to provide better cover if needed be. Right now we were flying about a hundred meters or less above ground so that we could easily spot any covvies trying to hide in the vast marshes. Either they were gone or terribly good at hiding.

"Frank. Jack-fucking-pot."

"I assume you are talking about grunts," I said with malice in my voice. The thought of tearing apart the little dog-like aliens couldn't have been taken for a sign of good psychological condition by any self-respecting shrink. I think. My train of thought was interrupted by the roar of two M247H machine guns and the Falcon's autocannon. I might've been imagining things (it's been known to happen), but I think I could hear the screams of grunts all the way over here.

"Hardwick!"

"On it, Staff Sergeant," she replied with what could only be joy in her voice.

As soon as the Falcon was in position and range I started firing at whatever creature that happened to be moving on the ground. There were a lot of moving creatures on the ground. I killed about fifteen grunts and jackals before I snapped back and started looking for any grunt heavy carrying a grenade launcher or a fuel rod. Those things were nasty. In fact, I think I've told you how nasty they are several times in the past, so I won't waste my time now.

"Hey Sarge, I think my butt's uncramped. Can I have the gun?" Angel asked.

"Fuck that!" I replied, giddy as a guy right before his first time. "I'm fucking loving this!"

The grunts and jackals were falling like flies. There wasn't a single elite to be seen in the entire group of Covenant soldiers, so I figured that these hundred or so survivors from the Marine decapitating strike and the following Army curb-stomp battle were deserters who had the presence of mind to run away as fast as their little stumpy legs allowed them to.

A whole lot of good it did them.

I heard Sutton faking a manic laugh as he fired his own machine gun from another craft and Caboose chuckling as he popped heads open like watermelons. Pavel was doing a hell of a job in crippling the covvies and leaving them splashing in the waist-high water before coming back for another, more deadly, pass. His rounds now hit everything that Pavel could land them on. Mostly they made sickly thuds when they impacted against grunt light armor and jackal flesh, but some of them hit the water, producing thin eruptions that reached out a few feet towards the sky.

It was a truly beautiful spectacle.

The onslaught (for once we were the ones causing it) took about one more minute before everything on the ground stopped moving completely.

"Whose turn is it this time?" Scarecrow asked from another Falcon. He knew perfectly well whose turn it was.

"Ours," I replied needlessly. "Hardwick, pull us around and hover ten feet above water."

"Yes, sir. Boss Staff Sergeant."

The Falcon spun around while the other two gunships took positions and hovered one on each side of the battlefield as Hardwick slowly allowed her Falcon to drop lower and lower. After the bottom of the UH-144 pushed down on some reeds our pilot was forced to stop. She didn't want the ship's rotors making contact with anything that wasn't a covvie. I glanced over my shoulder and nodded at Caboose. I let go of the machine gun and pulled my battle rifle from my back, cocking it.

"Dropping."

For some reason, this little jump made me feel almost as nervous as a drop from orbit. My feet made contact with water and soon after they hit the mud below it. I bent my knees until the water reached my chest so that I absorbed all the force from the impact. As I started straightening up I heard a splash behind me. Angel had dropped as soon as me and Konstantinov landed.

"Status?" I asked lamely.

"Aight," the Italian said.

"Green," Caboose replied.

"Quick or safe?" I asked for the third time this day.

"Quick," the two men replied unanimously.

"Aight," I said. "I'll take north to southwest, Angel gets southwest to southeast, and Caboose gets southeast to north. Mercedez-Benz formation people."

"Oorah!"

"Pavel, Scarecrow, you're our eyes in the sky, watch out for any sneaky bastards trying to backstab us. Hardwick, don't be shy with your autocannon." "Yeah, yeah," Pavel replied boringly. "We know the drill." He added, "We've done it a million fucking times in the past few days…"

"Oi sarge!" Agnarsson said, helping me remember about the music that he'd downloaded into my helmet. I hadn't really gotten around to listening to it yet, but he swore it was at least ten times better than modern shit.

Not fucking likely.

"I got it," I replied, stifling a curse.

I commanded my helmet to start playing Bumblebee's music. He called it Epic Mix. Supposedly it played music that would make my heart beat faster and my head wander about into infinite adventure. His words, not mine. I would never come up with such a lame and corny phrase. Not even for a crappy book.

Guitar notes started playing on my helmet while violins made their characteristic sad noises in the background. Occasionally what sounded like an electric guitar would make a sudden noise and then the violins would start playing dramatic notes. I placed my knife on the bayonet lug of my battle rifle just as some woman started chanting on the song. The violins got even louder and suddenly I was feeling like I could take on the entire Covenant army all by myself.

I bayoneted a gurgling jackal that was bleeding through a dozen holes in its legs and belly through the throat just as the first song stopped playing. The second song started immediately and was just as impressive and epic as the first one, with the addition of a whole orchestra to the music. A grunt with half its limbs missing met its end just as the song reached a crescendo and another covvie of the same race received cold steel in the back of its head as drums boomed loudly. The music was, for some reason, getting me hyped up. It seemed to go so well with what I was doing.

"Yo, Konst, take a picture of me!" Angel called out.

"You're posing again?" the Russian asked, annoyed.

"Yeah, just got a great idea."

I ignored the two of them and rolled my eyes as Caboose's ID dot moved towards Angel's.

"Ok, now one like this," the Italian said.

"No, one's enough."
"Come on!"

"All right, all right!"

"Angel, you're ike a girl," Scarecrow said from his craft.

"Of course he is," Snark helped out. "He has a girl's call sign."

"Burn," Grass said.

"Shut up," the man replied. "I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"Angel," I said. "Get back to work. Now."

"Aight sarge," he said disappointed.

"Whatever the hell you want Angel?" Konstantinov asked.

"Shut up."

I killed three other jackals and two more grunts that were struggling to stay afloat or holding on to some reeds for dear life in waist-high water to the tune of two different songs. They weren't as good as the first two, but they certainly lifted my spirits up. Man, that music could make me feel like I was doing something epic even if I was taking a huge dump. I'm still not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

"Ok, we're done here," I said once I had triple checked every dead body and stabbed repeatedly the ones that even so much as moved a little bit. There was something strangely therapeutic about it.

"Good," Lamberti said. "I was getting sick of this."

"Hardwick!" I called out even though the radio would transmit the message just fine. "Bring her around," I ordered while spinning my right hand around.

"Aye, aye!" she said with a faux enthusiastic tone.

The strength of the Falcon's rotors usually lifted up dust or sent loose leaves flying around, but this time it made a mini-storm with all the water from the marshes, it made it somewhat difficult to climb on top of the gunship, but it was achievable. Can you believe that my problems went from staying alive under a wall of enemy plasma fire to getting on board an airship without breaking a nail? Fucking war is weird.

"All on board?" Hardwick asked more out of habit than of necessity.

"All aboard," Konstantinov said.

The Falcon started going higher and higher and then settled at an altitude just as high as the other two. I closed my eyes a little as the sun hit my visor head on but then opened them comfortably as the helmet's surface adjusted to the light. Regulars and Army had to wear sunglasses if their helmets didn't have any visors. Can you believe that? It's like they were living in the Stone Age. I have to admit though, a pair of old-fashioned pilots were good-looking. Marina had a pair that she liked to wear.

"How much land do we have to cover?"

"Just one more sector," I told Grass. "One more and we'll be done."

"That's what you said last time," Snark pointed out.

"Well last time I lied." That shut him up.

The three falcons circled around and around the marshes, looking in vain for another group of Covenant soldiers. It would've been a lot easier if the cruiser hadn't knocked out four dozen satellites and destroyed pretty much every single one of our drones. Still, sometimes it does pay to make sure everyone you hate is absolutely and completely dead. It's fun if you do it with extreme prejudice and impaling too.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm not locked up in a psychiatric hospital…

As soon as the sun started setting the three gunships turned around heading back to base. Caribe was as beautiful as its namesake back on Earth, this sun in particular had a lovely reddish hue to it. It was some sort of odd class star that didn't usually have planets capable of supporting life, but there's always an exception to the rule, or so my momma used to say.

Well, at least I think that's what she used to say. The only thing I can remember about her is how she used to tell me that I'd fine a decent Mexican girl and marry her if I had any wits.

Sorry to disappoint you ma.

The sun was shining behind the three gunships as we saw the base over the horizon. There was a large Marina base housing two battalions and Echo Company in it. We had been staying there for the past week, going out occasionally on 'clean-up' missions. As far as life in the front got, this wasn't so bad after all. In fact, the only reason an ODST team was out on patrol is because the rest of the regulars were busy helping in the evacuation. It was really a waste of good manpower.

"Listen up," Hardwick called out through the general communications channel. "We're touching down on landing pad eight, just giving you a heads up."

Since this was a fully functional forward operating base, the landing pads were actually metal elevators that went below ground once they were occupied by aircraft. Since the Falcons were considerably small aircraft, all three could fit in if placed correctly.

"I…" Snark said, elongating the word. "I think I'm going to drop and let you work this out by yourselves," he told the pilots.

"I'm with the little one on this one," Scarecrow agreed loudly. "Wouldn't want to intrude on the landing."

"Why don't you let me get down too then?" Grass asked. "You know, I don't want to stay alone on the gunship."

"All right," I said, annoyed. "Everybody down. If you're afraid of landing so close to another ship you can jump off."

"Thanks Sarge!" my team said unanimously with an enthusiasm that was uncharacteristic for them.

Geez, they can jump from low orbit in a metal coffin but they can't stay in a Falcon while it lands.

"Hey," Pavel complained. "I wouldn't mind it if they were Hornets instead!"

"Did I say that out loud?" I asked. "It's been a while since that happened."

"Shit Frankie," Pavel replied. "I don't want you to start being brutally honest to everyone you see again."
"What are you-" Konstantinov started.

"Shut up!" Bumblebee interrupted. "Your call sign is Caboose."

Everybody laughed as they walked away from the landing pad.

"What are you laughing at?" Grass asked Lamberti. "Your call sign is more girly than mine."

Angel had taken off his helmet, so I could clearly see how he blushed at the comment. ODSTs may be the best, but below our badass armor we're nothing more than regular people trying to survive. Unless you were injected with drugs that made you have an unfair advantage in combat. Not really something to complain about, though. Not in the slightest.

I stayed as my squad headed to their quarters to watch the spectacle. The three Falcons maneuvered themselves into position at different heights and started descending slowly. I really didn't blame my team for not wanting to be a part of this landing. The gunships' rotors were so close to each other that it wouldn't be surprising if they scratched the neighboring craft. Finally, after a few seconds of frantic maneuvering, the three UH-144 Falcon gunships landed neatly right next to each other, their rotors inches away from touching.

Hardwick hopped off from her craft and took off her helmet even as she shook her head. I smiled at her because she had a pretty face, and I pretty much had it hardwired into my brain to smile at girls with pretty faces. Unless, of course, Marina was nearby, she would kick my ass if I even so much as glanced at another woman. For some reason I think she did just to piss me off and not because it made her feel insecure.

"Nice landing," I complimented the pilot.

"Thank you," she said, smiling back at me and doing a curtsy while holding the points of an imaginary dress.

I chuckled and ruffled my hair slightly, just getting used to having my helmet off. "Why don't you simply land two on one pad and one on another?" I asked as we started walking towards the barracks.

"Lost a bet," Emily replied while unzipping her flight suit and tying the top half around her waist. "It sure is hot in here," she complained.

"Aye," I agreed. "Lost a bet? What kind of bet?"

She told me.

"That's a stupid bet," I noted.

"Thanks. Sherlock."

"Elementary my dear Watson," I replied in a mock British accent. "Elementary."

Emily laughed a little bit before she stopped. "This is where we part," she informed me. "I'll see you around."
I gave her a goodbye wave in the form of a salute and started walking towards my own barracks. I made sure to ignore the glances that I got from the marines in the base. I could tell which man and woman were from Echo because they didn't spare me a second glance, but the rest of the marines looked at me with looks that went all the way from admiration to hatred. The Helljumpers were quite controversial amongst the rest of the armed forces. Mostly because we were such big assholes.

I finally reached my designated barracks I found my team changing from their armor back to their regular clothes. Grass was standing behind an improvised curtain so that we couldn't see her change.

Good for her, otherwise the rest of the team would be forced to face the torture of avoiding looking at her incredible body.

"The glares we get are really starting to get annoying," I announced.

"Yeah," Konstantinov agreed, "but there's not much that you can do about it."

"You're right Caboose," Scarecrow said. He added his call sign just to piss him off. "You're oh so very right."
"Piss off mudak," the Russian replied angrily.

"Well, back to the conversation," Angel said. "I do believe we get more weird looks than even a SPARTAN would!"

"Are you for real?" Pavel asked in a deadpan tone.

"Sure I am," the Italian said with a coky smile as he did his belt. "We're the best of the UNSC."

"No," I said. "The SPARTANs are the best of the UNSC, we're the best of humanity. They might do an excellent job in killing aliens, but they're nothing more than freaks."

"Oorah!" everyone in my team save for Pavel and Konstantinov replied. My friend just shook his head in disappointment, but he has a soft spot for SPARTANs. Konstantinov just gave me an indecipherable look and then stared at me for a second with a look on his face that could only be described as an ironic one.

"Francisco," Schitzo decided to join in. "The IIs are assholes, but the IIIs aren't as bad. Besides, they were just kids back then."

Aight, IIIs are all right, but the rest are just monsters.

"Props," my hallucination said while putting up his fist for me to bump it.

My hand was already clenched and starting to go up before I realized what I was doing and I stopped myself. Schitzo was an asshole. The worst part about it is that he is me. Seems like he just got all of my ad qualities and nothing to compensate for them. His weird sense of humor only made it worse.

"Excuse me Sarge," Sutton said as he reached in my direction for his shirt. I sidestepped and the huge man went right through Schitzo as if he wasn't even there. Which he wasn't. As soon as Scarecrow stepped back my alter ego was gone. I repressed a sigh of relief and started undoing the straps for my armor.

"What's taking you so long?" Grass asked as she peeked out of the curtain.

Everyone made high-pitched screams and pushed bed sheets and shirts to cover their chests as our only female squad mate looked at them. I refrained from doing so only because the squad needed some sort of semblance of maturity, but I couldn't help but laughing out loud.

"Jeez, how immature," Camilla complained as she walked out of her improvised changing room, revealing that she was actually fully dressed. "I'll go grab some chow."

"Pavel," I said, "go with her."
"Sure."

"Why?" she asked.

"They'll eat you alive out there, even if there's those four letters in your..." I considered my next word for a second, "chest."

"Whatever," Grass replied in a valley girl voice that could've only been natural. She blushed a little before she walked out of the barracks.

"Oi Sarge," I'll be grabbing some food too," Agnarsoon said.

"Sure Bee," I replied.

The man smiled at his call sign and trotted out of the room, trying to catch up to Pavel and Grass. It wasn't long before Scarecrow walked outside alongside Snark. The two made for a weird pair, but they got along pretty well. I was left alone with Konstantinov.

"So, tell me Grigori," I said. "What's your opinion on Naval intelligence?"

The man seemed thrown off by my question. "I guess they're nosy and annoying, but they do their job."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," the corporal replied.

"You're the first Marine that I've talked to that hasn't made the ONI out to be the devil."

"Umm, I don't-"

"Oh, don't worry," I said. "ONI does have its good uses, as I am sure you already know."

"That they do," he admitted in a reluctant voice.

"But then again," I continued, "we also have our uses."

"Yes, sir."

"Who do you think is more useful to this war?" I asked. "Us or them." The tone in which I said it made it very clear what my feelings for the Office of Naval Intelligence were.

"I… ah…" Konstantinov stumbled over his words.

"I see," I said, stopping him. "Just be sure to remember who are the ones watching your back," I told him. "And be sure to remember who are your friends."
"Staff Sergeant?"

"Hey," I said, changing the tone in my voice suddenly. "Why don't you go grab some chow too?"

Corporal Grigor "Caboose" Konstantinov was halfway to the door by the time I finished my sentence. "I'll be catching some Zs, be sure to tell them not to wake me up."

The man was long gone by the time I said that, so I got no answer.

So that takes care of that, I thought as I snuggled into my bed.