Chapter 10 – Filia

June 4th, 2545 (16:25 Hours – Military Calendar)

Prozyion System, Kroedis II

AMG Storage Facility, 5 Kilometers South of New Palermo

:********:

Duncan swiveled about to face the two at his back.

On the other side of his MA5 a woman and a little girl stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. The older quickly held up her hands.

He spotted the resemblance right away. Both had blonde hair, the woman's at shoulder length while the girl's was longer. Coffee brown pupils widened by desperation, lightly freckled faces dirtied, clothes worn and torn, it was clear mother and daughter had had a rough time at life in the last few weeks.

He lowered his rifle as the mom stepped out in front of her child, maybe only 9 or 10 years old. "P-, p-, please don't shoot...don't-, please..."

She was trying to keep her voice down. He glimpsed back at where Grimes was further towards the exit before replying in a whisper. "Who are you?"

"I-, I'm-...my name is Christina, okay? And this..." She pointed to the little girl clinging to her clothes. "This is my daughter, Christa."

"What I mean is what are you doing here? You personally. You're facility staff?"

"Oh no, I-, ugh...we're actually-" Perhaps at seeing the understanding dawning on Duncan's face as he realized what was actually going on followed by him glaring worriedly at her daughter, Christina held up her hands again. "Look, sir, please hear us out."

"...Alright."

"We're not militia. We came here a few days ago looking for a way out of here. It's...crazy back there. But there's a guard here that's just as crazy so we had to stay out by the gate. When we saw your group come in, we were hoping, well, that..." She trailed off in search of the right phrasing. Duncan found it for her.

"You want us to give you a ride?"

She looked startled at first that he'd struck up the answer in bold-faced fashion, then nodded in cautious agreement.

"Listen, I don't know if we can-"

"Wait-wait-wait, it doesn't have to be we. Your friends don't have to know. You don't have to tell us what you're doing here or whatever. We really, really don't care. We just want help, your help."

Duncan felt that knot in his gut. The feeling rose from his stomach to his throat, threatening to choke off the unavoidable reply. "I don't know if I can help you, not that-"

"Wait, please," Christina pointed to the trailer behind him, her voice wavering. "I saw you guys putting stuff in there. You can hide us in there. No one has to know until we're already to the starport. You're going to the starport, aren't you?

"That's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because we're placing radioactive materials inside. Even though they're covered, there's still a chance that might affect you. That isn't to mention we're not going to the starport. We've got our own ship waiting in orbit and we've been ordered not to assist in any civilian evacuations period. If they find you when they open that trailer...I don't know what they'll do to you."

Christina took a step closer, pushing Christa behind her so that she couldn't hear her as she spoke in a lowered whisper. "Isn't it better than staying here to die anyway?"

"...I can't take you." Then an idea arose that made him second guess himself. It filled him with some slight hope before the realities of it registered. "At least, I can't take both of you."

He saw that hope briefly reflected in her gaze only to dim. "What?"

Duncan swallowed the rock forming in his throat as he looked to make sure no one else was around. He grabbed the trailer's doors and slowly pulled them open to show the several fusion cores inside. Their bright orange glows were greatly diminished by the thick fabric of the body bags, making it difficult for anyone to notice the difference if they'd been tampered with.

"These devices have a release mechanism that allows you to remove the inside. It'll fit someone like Christa without them noticing. Only Christa...you'd be too big." His gaze fell somberly away from hers. "I'm sorry. I can't see any other way I can help."

Christa peered inside, shivered and clung even tighter to her mother who looked to be contemplating the true horror of their predicament. In the end a mask of resolve settled in that allowed her to take her daughter by the hand and hold her out in front of her.

"It's okay, sweetie. I'll be in the one right behind you, alright?"

Christa, teary-eyed, shook her head and buried it into her mother's chest. "No, you won't."

She started crying. Christina swiftly put a hand to her mouth. Duncan peered around to the facility. Thankfully no one seemed to have heard it.

With a defeated sigh, Christina pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. The crying faded off as Christa heard her mom's rising sobs. "I'm sorry," She whispered. "I'm so sorry Chris, but you can't stay here anymore. I need you to be tough for me, alright?" She brushed her hair back to get a better view of her daughter, her tear-stained cheeks and glazed eyes that begged for another way, and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll need you to look out for yourself. Can you promise me that?"

Christa bit her lip, shook her head again and hugged her mother tighter.

Duncan saw that Christina was fighting back tears. He took another look around. They needed to hurry before Gypsy got back. The memory of Stewards and the security guard replayed endlessly in his mind. What would the captain do if he found out he was disobeying his order, and more importantly, what would he do if he caught the one trying to escape? Nevertheless, Duncan couldn't bring himself to break up what would probably be the last time Christa would ever see her mom.

At length, Christina picked her up. She turned to Duncan and nodded. He took another look around before stepping into the trailer. He took hold of one of the cores, zipped open the bag and spotted the in-built release handle at the top of the device. His fingers slipped inside then pulled up, eliciting a muted clamor of disengaging locks. He grabbed the handle two-handed and pulled again. The inner core slipped out with a hiss from the rest of the exterior bracing. He cradled the glowing cylinder of plasma energy and its three disc-shaped containment locks. A few careful steps took him down onto the road and he headed into the nearest office that the militia had been so kind as to break down the front door for him. He slipped the luminous inner core behind a work cubicle and headed back to the trailer.

Christa looked like a deer caught in the headlights once he'd settled the empty fusion core shell in front of her. Her mom, however, was resolved. She kissed Christa on the cheek one last time before prying her daughter's arms off of her. She settled her bare-feet down inside. All the while Duncan noticed that the little girl's crying was muffled. He saw a piece of cloth hanging out of her mouth. Christina had gagged her. It wasn't the best way to say goodbye, but it would ensure she wasn't heard by anyone on the trip.

The core was lighter now despite the human-weight. Duncan lifted it one handed into a body bag which he pulled up over the top. Christa peeked out despairingly at her mom, a look that was returned in earnest.

"Stay quiet, okay?" Christina asked, sniffling. "Do whatever this man tells you to once he lets you out. You'll be okay, alright honey?"

Christa shook her head again and reached out. Christina took hold of her hand and pressed it against her cheek as she did the same to her child. Both were on the verge of tears once more.

Christina at last shut her eyes against the final act that needed to be done as she pulled away. "I love-"

Approaching footsteps and disgruntled murmurings turned their attention east. The first members of Gypsy platoon were walking out past the offices carrying cores.

They were out of time.

Christina grabbed the zipper and sealed away her startled daughter. Duncan waved for her to go. She ran in the opposite direction and disappeared behind one of the offices to the west. Duncan took Christa's core into the trailer. He slid her down to a space with as much room between it and the other cores as possible. He came back out in time to make it seem as if he were opening the doors for Gypsy.

"Hey, boyo." O'Reilly called as he reached the back of the trailer. "You mind?"

"Sure." Duncan was relieved his voice didn't betray his nerves. His heart beating fast, he took the heavy fusion core from O'Reilly and settled it down among the others. He gave silent thanks that O'Reilly, at seeing that one of the cores was set apart from the rest, didn't so much as bat an eye. He looked too tired to care.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"I'd recommend you stay right there though." O'Reilly said. "A few more are comin' and no one's really feeling up to the whole 'climbing into the trailer with the heavy bomb-thingy', yah?"

"No problem."

"Alright, I'll leave you to it."

O'Reilly rotated his sore shoulder blades as he joined those returning to the storage building. Al came next and handed him his core. While he was settling it beside the others, Al noticed the one out of place. "Hey, why's that one seperate?"

"To give them some space. The cores could collide against each other during the ride. Since they're temperamental, we've got to keep some apart."

"Aahhh...okay." Al settled for the idea much faster than Duncan expected him to. He watched him join the others.

He wasn't necessarily lying. He just didn't give the whole truth. However, it made him realize something. If the cores did go off, not only would the chain reaction cause them to lose another trailer, but Christa as well. He snuck a glance at her core then at where Christina had gone, but she was nowhere to be seen. He took in a deep breath, let it out and helped Quinn with his core.

:********:

Ten minutes of work yielded 30 fusion cores, 10 for each trailer unit. With their objectives in hand, the platoon resettled into the convoy.

"Let's move out." Stewards ordered and led the way out of the facility. Duncan was back on the M41. As they headed to the cavern's northern exit, he peered back at the trailer being carried by Quinn's Hog. The doors were locked shut. It would stay that way until they were back on the Mayweather. He would have to figure things out from there.

After a minute they were back outside. New Palermo's smoke-filled skyline loomed in the distance. They drove 100 meters east across the plains to a patch of the shrubby desert framed by a small maze of boulders. They settled around a central clearing large enough for an LZ.

On the comms, Stewards called in. "Hermes-4-1, we're in place, over?"

"This is Hermes-4-1, I'm inbound from your northeast, 2 klicks out. Incoming in 30 seconds. Should be visible...now."

The platoon turned northeast. There, rising over the top of New Palermo's plateau wall was a Pelican. Langley, having refitted with the Mayweather, had circumvented the plateau formation to avoid the dangers of the city's skyline. Once clear of the wall, she pulled down in a hard nose-dive before angling back up 100 meters above the desert.

"Thank God." Quinn sighed. "It' not even been an hour and I already hate this place."

As the Pelican drew closer, Duncan considered where on the Mayweather he could hide Christa or what he could do to make sure her core wasn't scrutinized too closely during the ride out. But out the corner of his eye, he saw O'Reilly flinch.

"Hey." He said. "...Hey-hey, incoming!"

Duncan looked to see the Pelican twisting and banking hard right. A pair of SPNKR rockets were locked on and slithering up towards it, one from behind and another from directly below. Langley's maneuver caused the first to whisp mere centimeters above the dropship while the second shot up freely into the sky.

"Hang on, Gypsy!" Langley shouted. "I've got rocket teams down below! Taking evasive!"

But as she righted herself to speed away, a new trio of the fiery missiles THUMPED into the air after her.

"Gunners!" Stewards called. "Target those rockets!"

The remaining M41s quickly rattled off a curtain of ballistics behind the dropship that cut down one rocket at 50 meters to her tail, the next at 25. The last slipped within range just as Langley pulled up, letting it whisper below the craft's belly only for it to slam into the back of her turret. The explosion blew out laterally in rooster-tails of fire and debris as the blast bucked the prow upwards, knocking her off course. The platoon stopped firing, caught in the momentary shock of the damage.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!" Langley shouted. "Smokes in the cabin! Falling back, need cover-"

Another duo of rockets flew up from hidden positions around the desert. One struck from below, gutting the craft's underbelly in a flowery explosion while its successor hit her directly in the tail. Both detonations used her sideways list against her, forcing her on a sharp starboard turn towards the nearby plateau. She managed to wrestle her way back to port. Enveloped in smoke, her dropship trailed forward towards the platoon like a comet.

For a brief moment Duncan thought she might make it.

Then a final rocket flew up with deathly silence straight into the nose of the dropship. The fiery uppercut struck with such force that it erased the cockpit in an arcing eruption, allowing the beheaded craft to list hard to port into a slow but unrecoverable spiral. It groaned as its fusion drives kicked out and it glided forward on its own inertia.

Even without its pilot, Hermes-4-1 kept coming.

"Pull out!" Stewards ordered. "Gypsy, pull out now! Move!"

The Hogs all reversed away a few seconds before the Pelican came crashing down into the clearing. Striking its underbelly against the boulders, Hermes-4-1 bucked forward into the ground. The rending and twisting of metal filled the air with an ensemble of ear-splitting noise as the remains spiraled headlong across the ground. It flung larger and larger pieces of itself away with each twist as the entire thing came apart.

Then it was done. The remains of the tail came crashing down, separated from its impact crater by a 20-meter scar of earth and burning debris.

Gypsy looked on in silence. The remains of the craft lay aflame before them. There was no sign of Langley, nor did they expect to find any.

Duncan clenched his jaw in frustrated anger at their situation. The militia hadn't simply stopped pursuing them after Trapani. They'd followed them to the facility and laid a trap. Gage had made it abundantly clear that the militia owned New Palermo. That of course included the outskirts.

Slowly, the platoon looked off to the hilly areas of the west plains. In the distance rose the few buildings of AMG's private starport tall enough to be seen over the hills. The reality of their circumstances became hauntingly clear. He saw it in everyone else's slack jawed expressions as they looked between the city and the distant starport.

Stewards left the Hog to look out silently over the remains of what a few seconds ago had been their exfil.

Seeing what was coming, Duncan decided to risk saying what he'd thought since they left Colisseum-1. "Maybe we can still use the plains, sir."

"...Maybe." He replied in a low voice. The fires of Hermes-4-1 glittered across his dilating eyes which drifted to the far off starport. "Either way, it's not the fastest route."

"Respectfully sir, we can't just go back in there." Palakiko said. "Now they know we've got nowhere else to go. They're probably waiting with even bigger numbers than last time."

"...Maybe. One thing's certain. If they weren't waiting to ambush us in those plains before then they certainly are now. With no good roads out here, we lose the advantage of speed and maneuverability. I'd hate to see what those rockets can really do in that scenario."

Duncan hated that he had a point. If anything struck those trailers with enough force, they could easily light up the entire convoy.

"I really don't want to go back in there, sir." Al replied with that same directness that gave Duncan a gauge for what everyone else was thinking. "Seriously, cap, can't we just call in Hermes-4-2?"

"And lose another bird in the process? No. Right now, we've got three options. One, we stay here and eventually get overrun by the militia. Two, we use the chasm to try and find a way out on the other side, most likely to never be heard from again."

So either they died fast or they died slow then, Duncan thought.

"Third option?" Quinn asked.

"We take our chances." Stewards said, nodding at the city.

There was a heavy silence.

"We have until 1720 to get to the starport. That gives us 40 minutes before the last transport leaves. Once it's gone, its gone."

"And we'll be 'gone' too." Al noted in defeat. "Right. Well, I've lived a good life, haven't I?"

He looked to Quinn who slowly shook his head at him.

Al was going for a rebuttal when the thunderous scream of massive engines killed the conversation. Seconds passed as the sound grew closer until an impossibly large shadow fell over them from the direction of the plateau at their backs, darkening the shadows of the towering walls and extending them well beyond their natural length.

The platoon turned skyward.

Staring back down at them from within a silky film of clouds was a construction with glimmering blue lights and ornate patterns etched across a partly segmented surface. Slowly, the silhouette descended through the clouds. The move exposed more of the carapace-like design with its double hourglass shape surrounding a bulbous mid-section and a purple sheen that Duncan, upon recognizing it, instantly knew was a sign. A sign that his earlier preconception that things couldn't possibly get any worse had suddenly been shattered into a million pieces, then a billion more.

They watched as the Covenant CCS Battlecruiser flew in a few kilometers overhead, coming up from the south. It gradually eased off its approach and slowed into a stationary hold over the southwestern outskirts of the city. Duncan stared at the energy projectors on its forward and mid sections. They weren't heating up. By perhaps some act of what he could only describe as divine intervention, the CCS was making no immediate moves against the city. It stayed hovering there, motionless.

It had to be a scout probing the city's defenses. Having undoubtedly arrived with a larger fleet, they were probably confused at finding an inhabited human world with no real defenders to challenge them. Perhaps they weren't engaging yet in order to see whether it was a trap on the part of the UNSC.

Whoever their leader was they were probably being reasonably cautious. They couldn't have known that the United Nations Space Command had completely withdrawn from the system, and Duncan didn't want to be around when they ultimately found out.

"Option three." Stewards declared with a hint of apprehension as he turned to face the platoon. "Any objections?"

:********:

Captain Gonzo lined up his SRS-99's targeting reticle with the chest of the taxi driver careening down the highway and pulled the trigger. The characteristic CRACK was accompanied by the sight of the man's chest exploding as a high-caliber round punched through his windshield. The taxi swerved right and crashed headlong into the doors of a food store. Upon impact, the explosives in the hood detonated, consuming the car along with the entire building in a burst of thundering flames.

"That's six." Gonzo said to his spotter lying beside him on the rooftop of the apartment building.

"Marking it." He replied and zoomed in with his binoculars to check for more targets.

Gonzo scoped down the length of Interstate-294. It was the same highway Gator had used to reach their positions just a kilometer east of the starport. The route itself led southeast from Coliseum-1 to Calabria, a suburb northeast of Ancona. Halfway through the burb, it reoriented westward, cutting across Ancona's outer limits to another named Matera. There the route turned southwest just before Selumbria, straight to the outer plains and the walls of AMG's private starport.

Gator and its police escort had broken up into their respective postings along the zigzagging route. The NPPD, under Lieutenant Rodriguez, handled the two overwatch positions at the more easterly edges of the highway leading in from Ancona. Gator was saddled with the comparatively easier northwest overwatches within Matera. He got the distinct sense from Rodriguez that the man thought he could defend the highway all by himself and so chose the more dangerous postings. He detected that pride so accustomed to local law enforcement; that need to keep outside agencies where they wouldn't cause trouble as the police patrolled the neighborhoods they knew better than anyone. That was fine up to a point. However, the non-proverbial line was being crossed every other minute.

Earlier, he'd assigned Squads Komodo and Monitor to man the position closest to the starport. As for Squad Gecko and his own Squad Dragon, he'd placed either group on the rooftop of one of the two model gray apartment complexes a kilometer to the northwest of Komodo and Monitor. The buildings' 'X' shaped setup allowed for their sniper teams to post on the two ends. One end overlooked the highway while the other acutely perpendicular to it provided a view of the neighboring streets. One group handled threats coming at the sides while the other dispatched those coming up the highway from the southeast, all at the 400-meter range he'd wanted.

However, the NPPD were making life a lot harder for him. It was as if they weren't trying to stop intruders at all each time he saw an unidentified vehicle roaring up the leftward curve in the highway just 200 meters to his front. They always came from directions where the police should have been able to stop them.

Whatever the reason, it was making his job more troublesome than it needed to be. It was specifically 'his' because the only other AMADDS on Kroedis had gone off on one of Kirkley's errands.

As much as he disliked but respected his long-time associate, knowing from day one that he was the Major's indisputable favorite, Gonzo thought that Stewards would've been more apprehensive about the whole thing. The reason for Gypsy's current mission was a complex web of intrigue and concerns that lay mostly at the feet of none other than Dr. Schonberg. Thanks to his negligence in blowing up a bunch of heat emission plates in Grid-19 they needed new fusion cores to power the replacements from Tribute. It just so happened that Kirkley, in a secret deal that he only disclosed to the two captains in their personal briefs, was worried that the cores coming from Governor Wagner might contain tracking devices from Jackal pirates. Needless to say, he didn't want to chance immediately relying on such a shipment before it was fully checked out by Athena. Hence why he'd ordered them to acquire some of AMG's fusion core supply on this assignment, by extortion if necessary. Gonzo was grateful that Kirkley's favorite was also obligated to take on his dirty work. Even so, he couldn't help feeling like he was pulling Stewards' weight for him in exchange.

Looking through his scope reminded him that the rifle he was using wasn't even his. Rather than giving him the shooters he'd asked for, Stewards used semantics to weasel out of their deal in that condescendingly amused way he did that made anyone disagreeing with him feel like a child. He gave him a pair of actual 'shooters', SRS-99s, instead of Carseago and Beazley like he'd asked then hopped into his Hog before Gonzo could complain.

"He's a piece of work, alright." He thought aloud.

By that point, the neighborhood around him was transformed into a ragged landscape of fuming gas stations, shattered convenience stores and a few collapsed apartments. It was the handiwork of some 14 failed attempts by car bombers to lay an ambush for AMG's convoys. For every group of 20 Hogs, tractor trailers and flatbeds that came up the highway there was at least one or two vehicles that came racing at or from behind them. They would try to get close enough to detonate their bombs in order to slow them down. Dragon and Gecko never let any get that close. Their 14 failed attempts were made so by an equal number of 14.5-millimeter rounds tearing through windows and drivers. The cars would swerve into nearby buildings and blow up or gunmen inside would jump out to run to their targets. The stragglers were left for the squads' riflemen to mop up. The militia even made a brief play at counter sniping which ended just about as well as one would expect for the guy that thought Gonzo was a good target.

The convoys came in 5-minute intervals in order to keep them separate, thereby limiting any damage sustained to one group. He watched the most recent convoy push down the highway. Looking back to follow them, he saw a trio of freighters taking off from behind the walls of the distant starport. The boxy Laden-class freighters and their cousins the parabolas with their spherical midsections were leaving in similar shifts. Every 5 minutes at least a pair would lift off for outer space. The departure intervals allowed the convoys getting there to come aboard before shipping out.

It was smooth and efficient, just the way he liked his missions to go.

Then all at once that smooth efficiency of the past hour and a half came to a grinding halt as the next wave of vehicles came screeching onto the highway. The second he saw them he knew something was wrong, a feeling that amplified as the convoy kept coming, seeming almost infinitely supplied by trucks and Hogs that streamed around the bend. Dozens turned to nearly a hundred and then twice that. This wasn't just an individual group. What hammered it home was seeing the half-dozen Hogs herding them from the rear like shepherds to a flock. Those shepherds were the NPPD crew. He set his reticle on the driver of the lead vehicle and found himself staring into the helmetless and frantic expression of the young Lieutenant Rodriguez, his goateed face contorted along a toothy frown.

Gonzo switched on his comms. "Mind telling me what's going on, Roderick?"

Not so much as registering the nickname, Rodriguez replied quickly. "That's everybody! We're pulling out!"

"I can see that. Mind telling me why the rush?"

"Look south!"

Not sure what was going on, Gonzo swiveled his rifle rightward to face south. He didn't see anything at first except for New Palermo's smoke-filled skyline. But then he saw something beyond the smoke, a small purple point of contrast to the blue afternoon skies and the dark smog.

He didn't need to zoom in to know exactly what he was looking at. He felt his mouth go dry at seeing that the thing was settled right above the southwestern plains. It was simply hovering there, its bow oriented towards New Palermo. Just seeing it there gave him that feeling of paralyzed doom a fish could relate to when staring at the outlying silhouette of a shark.

By its positioning it could snipe Gypsy platoon coming out of that facility to the south if it saw them. A single pulse laser was all it would take. The same could be said for their plasma torpedoes which could lock onto the fleeing freighters with little effort. However, it did neither, appearing uninterested in the human ships leaving the surface. Maybe its crew were being too cautious or too stupid to try, or had an order not to engage yet.

Whatever the reason, Gonzo got the message that it was time to go.

"You better be alive out there, Gypsy." He said under his breath before giving the order for Gator platoon to mount back up on their Hogs and to make a run for the starport.

:********:

While most could say that any situation could go from bad to worse, few ever found themselves in positions where things had gone from worse to horrifying. Yet that was exactly where Gypsy found themselves as they raced full speed out of Trapani into the beginnings of the downtown area.

There was no longer any way to use the plains, not in the open with bad roads, waiting ambushes and a Covenant battlecruiser hanging overhead. It would be a recipe for indisputable suicide. So they chose the less disputable method of near-guaranteed suicide by trading the desert roads for the speedy access of Interstate-292. In exchange for the possibility of pulse lasers frying them with pinpoint accuracy, they were besieged on every side and at every second by an unrelenting bullet-storm.

I-292 brought them onto a sector of downtown that skimmed its northwestern boundary with Selumbria. The goal was to reach an intersection with I-294 which they could then follow to the starport. Hopefully a freighter would still be there to let them hitch a ride. Duncan would have personally taken any other option. There weren't any. Instead, he sufficed with taking down one trigger-happy militiaman after another.

The opposition was stiffer now. Myriads of street-side ambushes synchronized with one another to create a maze of death. As they rounded a long bend, they spotted an upcoming trio of overhead pedestrian bridges. Getting closer, Duncan spotted multiple machine gun crews on them who were hoisting single barreled M247s onto tripods protected by sandbag walls.

"Cap!?" Thurston called.

"I see them! Drivers, speed up! Gunners, hit those nests!"

Finishing off an earlier burst, Duncan brought his LAAG to bear against the first of the crews. He peppered the closest position setting up near the center of the bridge, stitching ragged holes through the chest of the gunner and two of his crew before they could get off a shot. He swung left to catch the trio on that end. His overwhelming salvo added to by the rest of Gypsy blew through their sandbags to plow them down. The last crew on the far-right put a few dents in the hood of Ambers' Hog before she personally put them out of commission.

The shadow of the first bridge passed quickly and the next gun nests came into sight. Already in place, they opened up. Bullets sketched long trails along the sides of the convoy though few actually hit their mark. The civilians simply weren't trained enough to put a monster like the sleek M247 to good use.

'Militia', he corrected. The militia weren't trained enough. On the other hand, he was and he showed it by spraying the crew furthest to the right with chest level fire as a reward for their growing accuracy. He scythed down two crewmates while the third wounded man tumbled over the sandbags, over the railing and fell 20 meters to the asphalt.

Al, Palakiko and the others ripped into the remaining guns who'd grown accurate enough to blow out some of their windshields. O'Reilly along with those riding shotgun leaned out to add to the effort.

They zoomed underneath the second bridge leaving most of its occupants dead or wounded.

Positions on the third bridge met them with a vengeful display of crisscrossing fire. Duncan grunted at the searing pain of a bullet piercing his leggings and scraping his skin. The afterburn made him want to scream. He held it in as he pressed hard on the central M247. The weapon along with its crew were both well shielded behind a wall of ballistically absorbent sandbags. He changed tact to compensate and fired on the bridge's encompassing metalwork itself. His shots pinged and ricocheted off the steel in every direction. The gun kept firing as did the two positions to its right and left. So did he and so did the other gunners. Then the tact paid off as he saw blood spatter out from behind the sandbags of the central gun. It fell silent a second later, followed succinctly by the left gun. The last one was silenced as they drove out from the shadow of the final bridge.

The bend they were on gently smoothed out onto a straight path. The city block that lay ahead was darkened by the massive smoke clouds hanging over it like giant mushrooms. Standing in stark contrast was the orange glow of a gathering of office buildings almost uniformly set afire. From ground level, the fires stretched up but thinned out to the very top levels, a sign they'd been burning for some time. Combined with the darkness of the smog, it created a long, dark corridor guarded on either side by flame and shadow.

They sped down into the alley of fire, checking the structures for prospective threats. Their temporary reprieve was ended less than a third of the way into the block. Hundreds of militiamen hidden behind cars in passing lots, dumpsters and bus transit stations stepped out to initiate a deafening drum of fire.

"Ambush!" Duncan shouted.

"Nothing new!" Stewards said. "Put'em down!"

Easier said than done. Duncan was nearly thrown off his turret by an accurate AR burst that ripped through the gear on his back yet failed to hit him. He regripped his gun while leaning back to minimize his profile then proceeded to target only those straight ahead. He spotted a team of militia firing non-stop from within a bus parked on his upcoming right. A quick sweep across its length yielded a row of blown open windows and guttural cries of agony. He turned on a far-off sedan where he spotted a rocket team lying in wait behind it. He poured a heavy stream into the side of the vehicle. By the time the team saw the flames and knew to run he had delivered a final spray that turned the sedan into an improvised grenade. The blast cut the fleeing duo down along with a handful of others standing too close. Mid-fall, the rocketeer squeezed the trigger on reflex, sending a rocket up into the sky. Duncan tracked its spiraling ascent. It ultimately shot past the roof of a corporate headquarters at an impossibly close proximity. What he saw there set the bonfire of nerves in his stomach alight.

Atop one of the glassy skyscrapers to their incoming left were three pairs of rocketeers all wielding launchers. They kneeled down on the edge of the roof. As one, they fired, though not at the convoy.

Duncan and everyone behind him watched as 6 SPNKR rockets flew down at a sharp angle followed by a secondary barrage. They struck at the bottom floors of another enflamed corporate office to the highway's right that marked the end of the shadowy domain. The explosive rumblings pierced through the glass to shatter much of the infrastructure inside.

The building groaned.

Days of stress from a burning superstructure added onto by the sudden explosions compromised the entire foundation. It started when the lower floors gave a final cry before giving in to the pressure. Then the building began its descent, collapsing in on each consequent floor like an accordion, forcing an alarmingly large debris cloud out over the highway.

"Gypsy, turn left!" Stewards ordered. He pulled them left down the closest exit. The convoy turned out of the way of the oncoming cloud just in time. They came down onto a lower area where the regular roads were clogged by abandoned vehicles, some of which allowed hidden militia to fire from behind them. The platoon returned their treatment in earnest as they rocketed down onto a mostly empty avenue.

Duncan knew by now not to expect it to stay that way. A passing sign told them they were now on 'Rescenzo Avenue'.

"Alright, we're partly in Selumbria right now so here's the plan!" Stewards said. "We'll use this road till we can find an exit that'll take us back onto I-292, then we make for the intersection!"

"Copy!" Ambers and Quinn replied in turn.

The unwelcomed rumble of multiple engines drew their focus to the scores of civilian vehicles driving in from roads to their left and right. Gunmen peeked through the windows to let them have it.

Duncan utilized select bursts to tear through the side of a black minivan getting much too close. Even as the dead van trailed off, he was redirecting his volleys at two cars that had used the distraction to get out in front of them. Their rear windows were down so that the men inside unleashed AR fire at Gypsy's front.

Duncan handled the one on the left while O'Reilly took the right. The turret's wrath cut through its targets with ease then punched unclean holes through the seats to the driver. The first car swerved leftward out of the way. O'Reilly's work was comparatively neater since his MA5 required only two 3-round bursts, one for the gunman and one for the driver. The second car stalled. Stewards slammed into it at an angle, using the Hog's toughened hide to push it several meters until it skidded and barreled out of the way.

Right then Duncan heard the loud THWAP of a bullet ripping through armor and flesh accompanied by a pained grunt. Still gunning down his newest target, he turned to see Kiko a few Hogs back. He was clutching at his bloodied chest while trying to keep his gun going at a persistent jeep.

Thurston shouted back to him from the driver's seat. "Hey, you good!?"

Palakiko forced both hands back onto the triggers. He returned a steady rate of fire on the jeep. He gritted his teeth in a seething range as if to hold back the blood draining past his lips. "Just keep going!"

Duncan finished off the riders of a blue coupe and turned his triple barrels towards the jeep. Their coordinated efforts forced the riddled vehicle to veer away, only for a pair of heavy-duty trucks to quickly take its place. They both struggled to correct their aim but a gunman in one of the vehicles' trunks fired first.

He didn't miss.

Duncan saw Palakiko's head snap back as the round passed clean through. The motion threw him clear off the back of the Hog into the way of the trailer. Duncan flinched at the loud series of crunches as he saw him get sucked under the trailer's wheels before tumbling freely onto the highway.

"KIKO!" Thurston shouted after him.

Duncan stopped firing as he looked on. He felt his Hog screech to a halt as did the rest.

"Pick him up!" Stewards ordered. "Everyone else lay down covering fire!"

The platoon, or what remained of it, drove into a defensive diamond formation around where Kiko had landed. They traded fire preemptively with the last enemy vehicles trying to reorient themselves for another attack run. Duncan particularly hammered into the side of the truck loaded with several gunmen, one of whom had killed Kiko. Not sure which had made the lucky shot, he watched his rounds tear into all of them before they could put up a fight.

Thurston dashed out from his Hog, teeth gritted in anguish as he slid down to Palakiko's side. Kiko lay face down in a growing pool of his own blood. Though his eyes were shut, an eyeball-sized hole of angry-red flesh stared up at his comrade where the bullet had exited the back of his head. Thurston took his arms and pulled him over his shoulders.

"Come on buddy, let's get you home." He said in a quivering voice as he carried the limp body of his squadmate back to their Hog. He lay him inside the passenger's seat then hopped behind the wheel. "We're good to go!"

"Alright, Gypsy, let's move!"

At Stewards' behest they pulled off down Rescenzo Avenue at full speed, ignoring their pursuers who fell behind overtime. Soon they found the exit they were looking for and got back onto I-292.

The route was once again quiet. Duncan knew what to expect.

But their surroundings surprisingly defied his expectations for kilometers on end. No one came out to challenge them. Those they saw kept their distance in that way that let him know they were civilians. The residents of New Palermo's downtown were running into their apartments or staring fearfully out their windows at the far-off Covenant ship. Duncan took the chance to get a good look at it for himself. The thing was watching the city like a wolf lying in wait. He felt the moment he took his eyes off of it that it would finally make a move. Whenever it did, if they were still here...

That instant of primal fear blocked out the moment a loud THUMP was heard by the rest of Gypsy. It only registered when out the corner of his vision he saw Quinn swerve hard right, causing his Hog and the attached trailer to tilt precariously just as a rocket slammed into where they would have been. But the blast force tilted the latter even more.

Duncan felt a chill go up his spin at watching the trailer, the one Christa was in with all those highly fragile fusion cores, snap free of its carrier and land hard on its side. The locks on the doors broke on impact and they flew open. He watched all 10 of the fusion cores inside tumble out into the streets.

He held his breath as they skidded about in the wake of the sliding trailer which ultimately crashed against a sidewalk. The Hogs coming behind swerved out of their way before the convoy came to a stop.

That was when they witnessed the first true miracle of the day. None of the cores detonated despite the hard landing. There was at least one Duncan needed to see though to make sure it, or rather she wasn't hurt.

The militia chose that second to emerge. Dozens appeared on the rooftops of the small skyscrapers to their right and on the balconies of the houses to their left where Selumbria began. Where Gypsy was, there was nothing except snaking bends in the highway set upon the crest of a small incline, one that sloped down into the houses of the area they were trying so hard to avoid. Both sides responded to the other's presence the same way they had for what felt like countless millennia.

"Sir, do we recover them!?" Quinn asked as he prepared to hop out his seat, the steaming casings spent from Al's M41 landing all around him.

Stewards looked at the scattered cores and the overturned trailer. He turned back the way they were going to see a slew of enemy vehicles setting up a quick blockade, to the distant Covenant ship then back to the gunmen hastily setting up the roadblock. Duncan heard him say under his breath; "What's even the point anymore." Whether he was talking about the odds they managed to lift the trailer and collect the cores without taking more casualties, the sense it made for the militia to still be trying for their Hogs or the overhanging possibility of Covenant intervention, Duncan couldn't tell.

"No time!" Stewards declared. "Keep moving! We'll-"

Duncan hadn't planned to do what he did. Some hidden instinct took over. He found himself leaping down from the turret and running straight down the line of Hogs towards the cores. He felt the bewildered stares of the others centered on him who were just as confused as he was. But then his mind cleared so that he knew why he was running, and that he couldn't stop now.

He heard them call after him, though only O'Reilly's voice reached him. "Duncan, what're you doing!?"

"Saving one of the cores!" He said, looking back to meet the bewildered gaze of his platoonmates. "We didn't do all this for nothing! Don't wait up for me!"

He saw the understanding dawn on Stewards' stunned face as a flash of almost genuine amazement. He nodded resolutely to him and floored the accelerator. "Let's go!"

The convoy continued on as Duncan ran in the opposite direction. He scanned the highway for the core of greatest priority while the bulk of the gunfire was still centered on the fleeing platoon. It didn't take long for him to see one with rhythmic bulges in its body bag and heard a faint, muffled voice crying out. He ran for it.

Halfway there he saw two vehicles, a silvery sports car and a red pick-up, barreling down a perpendicular exit road straight towards him. He pumped his legs to go faster and reached the core first. As he quickly pulled it over his shoulder, he whipped out his MA5B using his freehand to aim at the oncoming threats. It was clear the truck would reach him well ahead of the car. Running on pure instincts fueled by adrenaline, he thought up a plan partly inspired by Arthur's antics then put it into action in the same second. He took a running start at a core lying between him and the rapidly approaching threat, reeled back his foot and delivered a powerful, suicidal kick to the top of the device. It slid forward over the asphalt like a soccer ball, settling right into the truck's path whose relentless acceleration suggested the driver wanted to run him over.

He waited for him to get in range then emptied a quarter of the MA5's clip into the core just as the truck passed over it. The timely explosion launched the entire thing off its hind wheels, its momentum sending it into a forward flight across the highway.

He quickly pivoted out of its way to let the truck fly mere centimeters past. As it tumbled off behind him, he swiveled down into a crouch, utilizing his knee to level his rifle with the oncoming car. The driver tried to pull a pistol out the window. Duncan fired off a short burst that stopped him cold.

At the edge of his periphery, he saw the last Hog in the convoy disappear around the bend. That meant he wouldn't have long till he was the center of attention. He sprinted over to the gradually slowing car. Once it slid to a stop, he yanked the door open, pulled the dead driver out and hopped in. He carefully lay Christa's core into the passenger seat. Thinking better of it, he opened the zipper and heard her take a deep breath. He was worried she couldn't breathe well in there. Though his worries were proven right, they immediately redirected to the anticipated bullet-rain coming down from above.

His time was up. He slammed his door shut. The key was still in the ignition and the car was still in drive. He looked in the direction the convoy had gone and saw the broken blockade of vehicles that Gypsy had left behind. Many of the militia there were taking off after them. Far too many had seen him though. Those set were driving down towards him in a small squadron.

His instincts pointed him to his closest escape: an exit route leading off the highway into Selumbria. Without much of a choice, he shifted gears to reverse, pulled off a quick three-point turn and bulleted down the exit.

"Hang on, kid!" He said, securing her core on the floor. "We're getting out of here!"

:********:

AMG's starport was like a small town unto itself. The outpost was surrounded and framed by the rectangular setup of a 5-meter tall, paneled steel wall. Ships were currently lifting off from the extensive apron at the location's center. On the outside, which was what Stewards could see the most of, there was a familiar spectacle.

It was similar to the scene outside Coliseum-1; thousands of anxious civilians washing against the exterior walls, begging or praying to higher powers to be let inside. At the moment, those higher powers were the 50 NPPD officers decked out in riot gear. They stood as a buffeting wall between the roaring swells and the unexpectedly fragile-looking fencing of the main gate. They used their riot shields to batter down any attempt to get past them.

Reaching the gate wasn't a problem for Gypsy. Once the masses heard the beeping of horns at their backs, they would turn to find triple-barreled M41s now staring them down. Appearance alone made the crowd separate before then reseal behind them. The convoy reached the gate less than a minute after getting to the end of I-294.

One of the riot police stepped out to raise a hand. "Stop, who're you guys!?"

"Aegis Material Acquisition and Defensive Delivery Services." Stewards answered then added rather impatiently, "Friends of your boss, Mr. Henderson. We need a ride."

The officer looked to him then over at the intimidating M41 and to the determined eyes of O'Reilly standing behind it. The officer's adamancy shattered. He turned to his men. "Clear a path! We're letting these guys through! Clear a path!"

The officers formed a small route for them to pass through as a squad pulled back the gated fencing. Gypsy drove freely into the starport. Once they were in, the officers sealed the way behind them.

The interior of the starport was comparatively more impressive than the burnished wall outside. There were a set of terminal buildings on the south side and maintenance hangers on the north. The central apron was an hourglass shaped affair of black tarmac striped over by three individual runways. A quartet of flight control towers were stationed each at one corner of the apron. The control crews inside were struggling to organize the remaining flights set out in front of them. Stewards counted close to 20 freighters still lying out on the tarmac's waiting areas. All the while, their hanger bays lay open to permit the convoys from Colisseum-1 to drive inside.

Gypsy drove into an expansive parking lot just before the apron. Dozens of flatbeds, tractor trailers and Warthogs were waiting for their turn in the cue to escape Kroedis II.

A couple of the Hogs were set aside from the rest. Stewards spotted familiar faces among them, including that of Gonzo watching their arrival. Stewards pulled in right beside him. "What's the situation here, Gon?"

"I figured you could tell." Gonzo said drily. He gestured over at the starships. "Most of AMG's assets have been shipped out. These are just the dregs. Just called Hermes-4-2 for extraction but I wanted to make sure you guys made it back before we left."

"I see. Well, we're back."

Gonzo looked to the rest of Gypsy. "You're mostly back." He corrected solemnly. "I heard about what happened to Langley from Hermes-4-2 on the way here. Looks like you guys need an exfil."

"Thanks for the concern but we can't bring the cores and that many extra people on one bird. I'm planning on using one of AMG's ships to persuade them to dock with the Mayweather in a neighboring system. Right now, I'm waiting for my last guy to show up."

"Last? You left someone back there that you expect to come back?"

"He told us not to wait up for him. That said, he's not the captain. He's got a few minutes."

Gonzo looked apprehensively to the uncannily motionless Covenant ship. "That thing's really giving me the creeps. You really think this guy's resourceful enough to survive that?"

"I think he's resourceful enough to get here before that becomes a factor."

"...If you say so."

Stewards peered back at O'Reilly. The Irishman was looking worriedly over his own shoulder towards the gate, searching the faces of the crowds.

"He'll make it." Stewards assured.

"How can you be sure?" O'Reilly asked, not taking his eyes off the gate.

"He strikes me as the type that's survived too much to die in a place like this."

"...I hope you're right, sir."

"I know I'm right."

Their conversation was abruptly ended by the rhythmic blaring of an alarm throughout the entire starport. A male voice spoke through the local PA system. "All personnel, be advised, armed intruders are currently entering over the western wall. Please keep you distance while security handles the situation."

The message repeated. Everyone turned west. Even the commotion at the gate subsided while people tried to see what was going on.

Stewards didn't have to squint. His naturally acute vision honed in on the wall at the western end of the starport and what appeared to be ziplines passing over it. They led back from a point in the interior to the hills just on the other side. There he discerned two groups, both wearing the NPPD's SWAT armor. He could see a few armed with line launchers that they anchored into the ground. Then the rogue SWAT teams hooked handles around the lines and proceeded to zipline down into the starport's northwestern and southwestern corners.

They'd stopped Gypsy earlier, making it seem as though they needed their Hogs in order to get in here. Now they were desperate enough to try their luck at a forced entry.

"Any security on its way?" Stewards asked.

Gonzo shook his head. "The only real security left around here is currently holding down that gate."

"You know what that means?"

"It means we're not getting paid enough for this." Without another word Gonzo started his Hog. Stewards followed his example.

"Gypsy, we're finishing this. Eliminate all threats to AMG's shipping. Is that clear?"

The platoon responded in kind, "Yessir!"

He nodded to Gonzo. The two pulled off, leading their respective platoons up access roadways running along the sides of the apron. They headed to the corners of the starport. In the northwest, Gypsy came upon a dozen rogue SWAT members regrouping at a small maze of luggage trucks, crates and forgotten baggage. They drove in at an angle so that the officers couldn't see them until they were coming out from in front of a nearby hanger. It gave them a 3-second window to whittle down a third of their number right away. The rest quickly threw themselves behind the aisles of luggage.

Bullets tore apart suitcases and burst through crates while the AMADDS circled their positions. They gave them no room to withdraw or advance, only to be gunned down by vehement turrets mixed with rifle fire to form a lethal cocktail. The SWAT teams fired back. The opportunities they gave them for good shots were kept to a minimum. Still, their constant circling wreaked one one-sided casualty after the next.

Some 20 seconds in, only 5 SWAT remained hiding in an area protected by a trio of trucks. Stewards stopped his Hog with a single goal in mind: to find the one person of greatest interest here.

Stewards felt O'Reilly watching his progress as he leveled his battle rifle before him. He stepped noiselessly past bulleted suitcases while keeping his speed. He reached the center, braced himself against the side of one of the trucks then stepped in.

The world slowed to that slug's pace that it always did at times like these. His slowed perception allowed him to perceive the figures standing in the clearing between the trucks. Two were taking cover on his left, two on his right. The fifth, the furthest, sported the familiar skull mask of the man responsible for the Chief of Police's death and that of several members of Gypsy. Randy's eyes widened in slow motion at seeing him in their flank.

Stewards aimed first on the two to his left, moving unencumbered by the slowness of everything else. A three-round burst caught the first in the head then the other in the neck. His perception sped up enough for the other two to turn just in time to receive a similar fate. While the men were yet falling, Randy tried raising his MA37. Stewards proved faster and a burst blew off three of the fingers on Randy's trigger hand. He dropped his rifle, screaming as he gripped at his missing digits.

Stewards cast away his BR and walked forward.

Randy caught himself. His good hand pulled out a combat knife and he charged. Stewards backed out, ducked beneath and to the side of each arcing swipe with cheating ease. After the fifth swing he noticed the attacks became wild, unguided, off-balance.

He saw his chance in Randy's visceral rage that culminated in an overhead stab. Stewards' lightning-fast grip caught the wrist of that hand, guided and plunged it down right into the man's thigh. Randy screamed at a much louder tenor. He threw an uncoordinated side-jab that Stewards easily caught with his left hand and proceeded to snap the wrist. Randy was about to howl anew when the captain's right hand caught him by his masked mouth. His grip secured, he drove the officer's back into the truck behind him then bashed his head straight into the passenger seat window, shattering it on impact. He pulled him away from the bloodied shards and hurled him down to the ground.

Randy coughed with ragged breaths as he tried to get up. He saw Stewards coming over. His elbows pulled him backwards in a bid to escape. The captain planted a boot on the knife in his thigh, stopping him dead as he cried out.

"How are you, Randy? Or should I call you Lieutenant? Or is Mr. Gage more respectful?" He pressed down harder, causing him to gasp in pain. "Geeze, how much of a bad job did your dad do in raising you that you ended up having him killed, huh?"

Randy's haggard, half-conscious reply was muffled.

"Your guys also killed a good few of mine. Mind explaining why you shot at us in the first place? I mean, I guess you only wanted the Hogs. But you didn't know who we were or even seem to care. You just wanted to start a fight you knew you couldn't win, right?"

Again, a slurred reply.

He pressed down on the knife. "Can't hear you. Speak up."

"So what!?" Randy finally managed, hiding the quivering pain in his voice. "You're just trying to take AMG's stuff and leave behind everyone that matters, just like that thing I once called a father! You're both heartless! That's why I killed him! That's why I'm glad we killed a few of the scum like you!"

Stewards thought it over. At length, he sighed. "Carseago. Altman. Haskin. Langley. Palakiko. Those were their names."

"Do I look like I care!? No one wants to know the names of monsters like you!"

Stewards looked down at him with pity. "There are no monsters here, Mr. Gage, only human beings. Some of us are simply better at being human than others."

Randy spat fresh blood on the captain's boot. "I'm the only human here, the only one trying to get a ship for these people, and I don't regret killing a single one of you. No, not one."

Stewards considered it. He nodded at the summation as he reached down for Randy's discarded MA37. "Alright then, so I guess I'll be your monster for the next 20 seconds." He stepped closer so that his shadow enveloped him. "And hey, maybe I won't regret it either."

Panicking, Randy tried to crawl away. Stewards pinned his stomach beneath his knee. He raised the rifle butt-first and brought it down hard and fast on the man's panicked face. Randy's cries for help rang out. Slowly, they grew fainter as the sound of hard impacts and yielding bones rose higher.

Stewards spoke to him with each successive stroke of his rifle. "Your father-...didn't deserve you-...putting a bullet-...in his brain-...Neither did-….Carseago-...or Haskin or-...Altman-...Langley-...or Kiko-…deserve what-...they got-...So try to be-...a little humble-…'cause it's-...your planet but-...it's our job-...and you decided-...to kill us for-...doing it-…So hopefully this-...little lesson here-...changes your-...mind."

But when he was done there was no mind left to change. Randy's cranial viscera was splattered all over his face, blood, brain matter and all. Randy himself was in no position to respond after having fallen utterly still halfway through the rant. That, and he longer had a mouth to respond with or eyes or a nose. His face had caved in from beneath the eyebrows to just beneath the lips, leaving behind a ragged hole with less than savory sights.

Stewards saw that tears had run down the officer's cheeks. Maybe his words had gotten through after all.

The voice from before spoke over the PA. "Flight control to all personnel, be advised, the security threat has been neutralized. However, the eastern gate is soon to be breached. Please retreat to an available shelter until security can sort out the issue."

"It's just one thing after another." Stewards thought aloud. He picked up his BR and strapped it onto his back then took Randy's MA37 along with an extra clip from his vest. "I guess we'll need to earn that ride out of here."

He didn't bother looking back at Randy as he returned to the convoy. The silent watchfulness of everyone in Gypsy assured him that no other SWAT officers had emerged. They'd probably overheard everything. No one said a word in protest.

"Gator-Actual, you done?" He asked over comms.

"Yup, just finished mopping up the last of them. On my way back to the gate now."

"Copy, race you there."

It really was a race. Reaching the gate, they found the riot officers being pushed back nearly into the interior by the crowds. The platoons setup a semicircular perimeter around the outermost area of the entrance just as the line of officers broke. Civilians spewed through holes in the defenses that forced the police to fall back, yielding more ground to the crowds.

"Ugh, how do we deal with this?" Al asked.

"Not all the ships have left." O'Reilly noted. "Maybe we could still let some of them-" He stopped as he saw the captain stepping out of the Hog, his newly acquired MA37 drawn.

Despite the wave of officers that fled past, Stewards strode confidently against the outflow until he was standing there alone, facing down hundreds of civilians stampeding freely through the gate. He aimed his rifle and opened fire.

His shots were methodical. He aimed high so that he only struck the adults, using bursts rather than sprays so that he only hit who he intended to. Screams went out.

"AAGGGGHHH!"

"He's got a gun! Get back!"

"Run! Get away, run! Move!"

Stewards didn't hesitate to shoot down the outer dregs of those that had gotten the closest to him, taking out handfuls of men and women in each subsequent burst. It took several seconds of continuous fire for the riotousness of the crowds to turn headlong back to the gate. He stopped once they ran. In their receding he saw his handiwork. Over a dozen people lay dead or dying in growing, dark red pools.

He saw the hundreds of civilians forming the beginning of the breach had now huddled on the threshold. They watched him let the empty clip fall from his rifle and slap in the fresh one.

"Let me make my instructions as clear as possible!" He said. "You will turn around! You will step back 20 meters past the threshold! You will leave a way open from the highway to the gate, and you will allow the officers to return to their positions! You've got 10 seconds!"

The backwards progression commenced at a slow pace of hesitance joined by fear. The crowds marched back out. As they left, the riot officers returned. Many stared shocked at Stewards, even horrified. It didn't matter. The job was done. He watched them restore their defensive line past the gate, a move met by no opposition.

Yet once they'd cleared out, he saw that two of those he'd shot were being tended to. Not by medics but by a pair of boys. One visibly a shaggy-haired teenager, the other a kid, they were both on their hands and knees at the sides of a man and woman lying on the ground, wounded but alive.

"Grimes." Stewards pointed them out.

The medic jogged in after him as he strolled to the two boys.

Stewards looked them over. "Your parents?"

"Why do you care?" The teenager hissed. "You just gunned them down right in front of us."

"I did. I might do it again if you don't leave." He saw the teenager's brow twitch. He noticed that his hand was right beneath his father's hip and made the connection too late.

The teenager snapped out the M6 pistol in his father's pocket, aimed it at the captain's stomach and fired. He got off two good shots before Stewards deftly grabbed the weapon out of his hands. Still, the damage was done. He looked over himself at the two holes punched through his vest. He could feel the heat of the bullets buried there as the area around the punctured material turned red.

"Sir!" Grimes took aim at the teenager.

Stewards held up a hand. "Hold on."

Grimes dithered at the sight of the two terrified boys on the end of his rifle. "Sir?"

Stewards eyed the reddening holes in his stomach. The searing pain of the 12.7-millimeter rounds would have been intense for anyone else. For him, it was no more painful than a bee sting, just annoying. That annoyance was then drowned out by a heated sense of amused awe. He stared down at the now terrified teenager, saw the fear in his eyes but also the hatred boiling in them, hatred aimed at him. It filled him with an excited anticipation he didn't get to experience too often. "Did you just try to kill me?"

The teenager looked ready to deny the obvious at seeing that the man he'd shot twice didn't so much as stagger. Changing his mind at the last second, he stood out in front of his little brother. "You're a freak! Ju-, just get away from us! Get away!"

Stewards could feel the smile of satisfaction being born on his face that served to unnerve the two boys even more. "Grimes, hand me the biofoam."

"...Sir?"

Stewards gave him a sidelong look that made him comply. The captain walked over to the dad who was faintly clinging to life and foisted him over his shoulder. "Grimes, get the mom."

The teenager was at a loss as to what he was doing. His mother's pained moans snapped him back to reality. "Wh-, what're you-"

"Come on." Stewards said and headed for the gate, his dad in hand. Grimes, just as bewildered as them, moved to the woman's side and gently picked her up. He carried her off. The two boys looked uncertainly at each other. At length they tagged along after them.

Stewards led them past the gate. The police and civilians all gave the group a wide berth. They came out to the right of the gate where he propped the father down against the wall. Grimes did the same with the mother and watched as the captain took the biofoam injector in hand. With it, he proceeded to apply the tissue regenerative polymer to their wounds, temporarily sealing away the damage. The pained groans of the parents subsided.

"They'll live." He said to the teenager and his kid brother who looked on apprehensively from the side. "At least until that ship gets here. In the meantime, I'd recommend you spend what time you have left by their side. Hopefully, you'll make it meaningful."

Stewards gave the awed teenager a respectful nod then left. Grimes trailed after him. He peered back to see the parents coming into consciousness. The two boys ran to their side. Their mom and dad, exhausted, brought them each into their embrace. His smile of satisfaction widened, then dropped away as the scream of repulsor engines pulled everyone's gaze to the southwest skies. There, the Covenant battlecruiser had started flying inward, leaving the outskirts on a course for New Palermo.

:********:

Duncan's main concern was no longer the closely packed, decrepit two-story housing units comprising most of the Selumbria he'd gotten to see. Nor was it the militiamen driving after him down the streets. Christa, for all her crying, was an afterthought at that moment.

What had fully arrested his attention was the sight of the Covenant battlecruiser soaring towards Selumbria. He knew exactly what it was coming to do and forced his accelerator to the breaking point. He zipped down the bend, navigated last second turns, barely brushed past abandoned cars and pushed to 90 kilometers per hour.

He soon lost sight of his pursuers completely. His bullet riddled ride zoomed out onto a street that rounded a large elementary school, one encased by a lush green yard. The campus was covered in recently constructed watch towers, barbed wire, sandbag walls and countless machine gun nests. There were hundreds if not thousands of militia standing around the yard. Instead of using the overwhelming firepower of what seemed to be their base of operations to erase the passing intruder, they were too busy trying to run from the one flying in above. The sight of the school cut away to more dilapidated buildings and abandoned housing.

The ship soared less than a kilometer directly overhead. It momentarily shut out the sun and kicked up an artificial windstorm in its wake. Cars were flipped over. Windows were blown out. Streetlights and civilians were thrown down into the roads. Duncan banked hard against the wailing winds. He swerved to avoid hitting those in his way. Once the wind died down, he beelined to the exit ahead, one leading onto a highway going northwest.

Relieved to find the way mostly clear, he shot up its length. The slums of Selumbria, as intimidating as they might have been beforehand, were made less so by the presence of the CCS. He watched it through his rearview. The ship was headed deeper into the area with no one to stop it. At the edge of his periphery, he saw that he wasn't alone. Along the highway that an overhead sign told him was 'I-292', he made out the hundreds of individual silhouettes of militia standing guard on the rooftops. They could have obliterated him right then had they been paying attention. They weren't. Instead, the contingents that would've made Selumbria a hellish combat zone were all staring in raptured terror, watching the battlecruiser as it slowed to a stop over the heart of the suburb.

Duncan floored it up to the end of I-292. He slipped along a curve to the expected intersection with I-294 and righted west on the path.

Soon he was shooting out of Selumbria and up the gradual incline of the outer plains. Before he knew it, he was in a hilly area that slowly yielded to the walls of AMG's starport. The freighters, possibly part of the last batch, were rising into the sky.

He checked on Christa. She was peeking out a little from the bag. The tears in her eyes showed she'd gotten a glimpse of the ship.

"Christa, I'll need you to stay quiet, okay? You'll need to be quiet until I can get you out of there. Can you do that for me?"

Christa swallowed but nodded. He still wasn't quite sure how he was going to pull this off. Some things, he decided, would have to come later. Right now, their sole priority had to be escape.

"Alright, I'll zip you up for now but I'll keep a hole open." He kept the wheel steady as he rezipped her bag, leaving just enough room for her to breathe better.

A static-filled voice comm'd him. "Duncan, can you hear me?" It was Stewards.

"It's me, sir."

"Good. We're all aboard the last freighter on the west end of the apron. Come straight in. And be quick about it, the ship's captain is on my case about closing his bay door."

"Understood, sir, on my way."

The walls of the starport came up fast. He saw the masses at the entrance and held down his horn to get their attention. Seeing him coming at such high speeds, they scrambled away. It wasn't that difficult since it appeared they'd left a path to the gate.

He barreled straight through the entrance. The impact sent the tall fence tumbling away and he entered into a mostly abandoned starport. There was only one ship, a boxy Laden-class on the western end of the apron. He saw the open, rectangular hanger bay on its portside and hit the throttle.

In no time he'd gunned it across the tarmac. He could see the faces of Gypsy looking on from the safety of the hanger's sides. He speedily covered the distance to race up the entry ramp. He pulled down his break at the last second as he hooked right. The scar skidded a few meters into the bay. It would have nearly tipped over had it not crashed into a sturdy crate that forced it back down onto its wheels.

Drawing deep breaths, he looked out the window to see O'Reilly, Al, Thurston, Quinn and Ambers all staring wide-eyed at him. O'Reilly grinned. "Cuttin' it a bit close there, huh boyo?"

Duncan was still out of breath. He wanted to say 'you have no idea' but only managed to give him a thumbs-up. Stewards walked beside the door, checked him and the 'fusion core' and smiled with a hint of respect. He tapped the comm-piece in his ear. "Captain, that's everyone. We're good to go."

Instantly the ramp was raised to seal the bay shut, immediately followed by the rumble of the fusion drives. They felt as the ship lifted off and began its ascent.

Duncan gathered the strength to step out of the car. He stopped warily above one of the observational windows built into the bay's floor. The starport was rapidly minimizing as they soared away from the surface. He saw the throngs of people storming onto the apron from the gateway, looking up pleadingly to the ascending ship. Then they were little more than specs within a diminishing rectangle.

He soon saw more of the city's fullness along with the cruiser hovering over Selumbria. A harsh, crimson light was gathering around the bottom of its forward section. It wasn't until they were well into the stratosphere that he saw several more battlecruisers and destroyers emerge from the clouds above the city. Several turned to a dozen. They all assembled like sharks around a dying whale, surrounding it on all sides. A similarly harsh radiance gathered on the bottom of their forward sections. Their combined glow changed the world's evening light to a hellish crimson.

Then the clouds sealed away the view of New Palermo, though they couldn't completely hide the burst of angry red illumination that shined through the haze.

But even that disappeared as the clouds gradually faded off, replaced by the blueish essence of the upper atmosphere, the starry darkness of local space and the image of scores of faraway Covenant ships headed down to the planet. Then that too vanished away under the dark veil of slipspace.

Filia – Daughter