Chapter 1 – Hiems
July 26th, 2552 - (10:00 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, In orbit over Reach
Aboard UNSC Frigate Salvatore
:********:
Duncan had spent the last several hours waiting for his turn at the comm displays. The Salvatore's communications compartment was packed with fellow ODSTs, Marines and other shipborne personnel who were just as eager to have one last family call before they left the system. The queue line was dozens long, leading from the entrance to wrap around several corridors before stopping at the doors of the mess hall.
Duncan began his patient sojourn from the very back. He worked his way forward one step at a time until he was right on the threshold of the compartment. He could already see inside to the comm cubicles. There were only a handful, nowhere near the amount at the Dante building and with twice the amount of people waiting to get inside. Those who were seated looked too engrossed in their conversations to be ready to give others a chance. He leaned against the wall and stood by, occasionally listening in to some of what was said. There were questions about each other's welfare, what they hoped to do once they got back, if they came back, and finally long goodbyes.
The whole scenario unnerved him though he didn't show it. He knew he might be listening to the last conversations some of them would ever have, the last time families might see them or have a concrete idea of what was happening to them. It was troubling. How many times had he done the same with his own? How many more times did he have left?
Reaching 1st Platoon's designated flight for the frigate took hours. Escaping its cluttered hangar took even longer. The platoon spent much of the first day and part of the second organizing their belongings on the ship's E-deck with the rest of Bravo. They wanted to be settled in with their gear before they did anything else. Duncan was the first to get squared away. The second he was free he hopped onto the current line that was making him consider banging his head against the wall.
He felt as the ship took off from Falchion and heard the announcement of their departure from its captain. They were currently parked in the upper atmosphere with the rest of their battlegroup. They were waiting in-system to give the remaining elements of the QRF a chance to catch up.
During the wait, he overhead whispers and rumors from others on the queue line. What he gathered from their hushed stories was unsettling. If they were true then Reach had a serious problem on its hands.
As the story went, the Covenant entered Cygnus two days before the news reached Epsilon Eridani. Their invasion just so happened to coincide with the exact same day that Reach's interstellar communications flatlined. If the synchronicity of the situation was worrying, the realities in Cygnus were cause for fear. The forces on New Jerusalem were in urgent need of reinforcements and the closest system able to lend a hand had its ears clogged. A ship had to be dispatched from the Cygnus Defense Fleet on the same day as the Covenant's arrival in order to relay the news directly. It arrived at Reach the next day and contacted FLEETCOM HQ. Since then, the UNSC chain of command was in turmoil. The logistical struggle to get ships and soldiers in place had been a nightmare, especially after dispatching a sizable QRF days earlier.
The recent action in Sigma Octanus had everyone on edge. Rumors abounded there too. Duncan heard some say the UNSC was lying and that the planet had already fallen. And still there were those of an optimistic persuasion thinking maybe the UNSC could actually win again. Ballast was a great way to start the year. Sure, the rest of it was going to hell in a handbasket but victory was still possible, wasn't it? Waypoint certainly thought so when they announced the recent win on the planet at a morning broadcast. Sigma Octanus was saved, or so they said.
Regardless of outcomes, Reach was sacrificing an arm and a leg to reinforce two different systems within the span of a week.
The war was getting closer.
It was too close for his liking. In years past he was fine with his family living on Reach since there were so many planets left. But a different idea was gaining traction with every glassed world. The Covenant were creeping through the inner colonies. How long was it before they found Reach? Fumirole was right up the road, Sigma Octanus IV was three houses down and New Jerusalem was practically next door.
Worrying about it wasn't going to do him any good though. Action would. He needed to bring it up. They needed to figure something out sooner or later, and if he had a say in it, it would be sooner.
Someone stepped halfway out the door in front of him. It was a communications officer. As a Marine left the room, he waved Duncan inside.
He bolted to the comm cubicle that the officer directed him to and settled down. He added Erica's contacts and called her number. To his surprise, the call went straight through as Erica appeared on the screen. She was dressed for work and sitting at a desk in her personal office. He barely needed to hear her tone to perceive her worry. It was written all over her face.
"Honey, what's up? What's going on? I've been trying to contact you for a while now but for some reason nothing's gotten through. Are you alright?"
"I know, I know, you have a lot of questions. Sad to say I don't have that many answers. Let's slow down for a sec. How've you been?"
Erica eyed him suspiciously. "Fine, if not being able to talk to my husband despite all my best attempts can be considered 'fine'."
"And Noah?"
"He's okay. I think he's planning on finally inviting Emma to a play date."
"Oh...wait, Emma? You found out about that?"
"Of course I did. I'm his mother. I notice these things too, you know. Seems like he's really taking that advice you gave him to heart. If I'm being honest, the whole thing kind of reminds me of us way back when." She cracked a smile. "Is that what you were going for, reliving your childhood vicariously through your little boy?"
Duncan blushed. "No-no, nothing like that. I only wanted to help out. Glad to hear he's handling himself. Switching topics here, have you noticed anything strange in the city?"
"Like?"
"Communications. Are you having trouble talking to folks off-world, people in different systems, stuff like that?"
She bit her lip, worried. "Well, now that you mention it, yes. Most of the hotel's clientele are people from out of system. We haven't been able to connect with any of those with impending reservations. It's really backing up our system. Thankfully, Schaefer hasn't gotten on my case about it. I haven't even been able to talk to dad either. I've gotten around a bit and from what I can gather, the problem's persisting across the whole of New Alexandria. For some reason we don't see it mentioned on the news, not local or Waypoint. Everyone's tight-lipped. Does it have something to do with the war?"
Duncan quickly shook his head, mostly for his own sake than hers. "We have the same issue at Falchion. We're wagering on it being a planet-wide problem, probably something to do with Reach's relays. A random glitch maybe."
He hoped the explanation would put a damper on her concern. To his relief, she looked satisfied with the answer.
"Makes sense. However-…"
"What?"
"I never would have thought the UNSC would let anything like this happen on Reach of all places. That's really out of character for them, especially since its lasted this long."
"Yeah, it's strange. Keep your eyes and ears open though. Who knows when this will get resolved." He paused, calculating his next point one word and one sentence after another. "Which is why I think you should go see you dad for a while, you and Noe."
Erica's earlier relief dissipated. Duncan saw the questions forming as she cocked her head quizzically. He moved to preempt them. However, she spoke first, ignoring what he'd said, as if seeing through it.
"Where are you right now? Are you on a ship?"
"...And if I was?"
"You're being deployed?" She crossed her arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged. "I am now, aren't I?"
"I meant sooner."
"The same reason you can't contact your clientele. That and the mission kind of fell into the battalion's lap yesterday morning. It's been hectic. This was the first chance I had to talk. Don't worry, we're still over Reach. We still have time."
She stared at him with tired resignation. "When do you leave?"
"Sometime today."
She rubbed her temples. "Yeah, you're definitely missing Noah's take-your-parents-to-school day. He's still in class right now. You want me to break the news to him afterwards, right?"
"...If it's not a problem."
"Oh, it's a problem alright," She sighed. "But it's one we've learned to leave with by now. I'm sure he'll be okay with me doing it this year. I'll tell you how it went when you get back."
Duncan felt a little piece of himself die inside. He suddenly wanted to talk about something else, anything else. The situation with New Jerusalem, Sigma Octanus, he needed to get that across to her without making it obvious.
"Where are you going if I might ask?"
He struggled not to react. As it turned out, her detective side was prodding him in the exact place he was trying to keep under wraps.
"I don't think you can ask." He replied, laughing it off. "It's secret, remember?"
A doubtful version of her original smile returned. "Are you really pulling the 'classified' card on me? You know I can just ask dad to pull a few strings and find out, right?"
"You can't contact him, remember?"
The realization struck her and she chuckled. "Come on, just tell me already."
"I didn't hear a please?"
Her smile fell to an unamused frown.
"Alright, alright. I'll tell you. Promise not to overreact?"
"Promise."
He hesitated. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled: "Cygnus."
There was a slight crack in her poker face, unnoticeable to most but not to him. He knew her too well to miss it. She blinked a few times, incredulous. "What'd you say?"
"Cygnus."
She leaned back in her chair as if the intangible itself was pushing her. She looked around her office like she was seeing it for the first time, as if she had never realized where she was before.
"Eri?"
"Ugh...yeah, I-, yeah. Cygnus, right? I thought that's what you said..."
"Eri?"
She zoned back in again and shook her head. "Sorry."
"Take it easy with this, okay? I know it might be a bit much to handle all at once."
She gawked at him. "Might be?" She eased her tightening grip on her arm rests and ran her hands through her air, composing herself. "That's why you said you want me and Noe to visit dad, isn't it?"
He nodded. "At least until this blows over."
"And when will that be?"
"When we restabilize the region. If we resolidify this sector, this should all go back to normal."
"...And when will that be?"
Duncan sobered up to what she was actually asking him. "I can't give you more than that, Eri. Sorry to lay it on you like this."
"No, it's-, it's okay. I'm the one who asked."
She pinched her forehead in thought and said in a detached voice, "You know, it can be so calm here. I drop Noah off to school. I go to work. I leave and take him with me. We do his homework, we go to bed and do it all over again. It's always routine like that, normal. It almost makes you forget there's a war out there." She laughed at that. "Hard to believe whenever I thought of it, I could only think of you, Sofi and the rest of Epsilon. I never think of myself in the same context. Not me, not Noah, not Reach." She sighed and whispered to herself. "No... never..."
The comm officer came to the door of Duncan's cubicle. "Hey buddy, I'll need you to wrap it up. We've got more guys that want to get in here too."
"Just a minute."
As the officer walked off, Duncan returned to the screen. "You know I love you, right?"
"I know."
"Noe knows I love him too, right?"
"He does."
"Then he'll understand. I hope you will too."
"I hope so." She said wistfully. "I'll see what I can do. I'll keep my eyes and ears open like you said. And one more thing." She wore the embers of a defiant grin. "I'll be sure to tell you how the take-your-parent-to-school day went."
He smirked at her. "You're still holding onto that hope, are you?"
"Why not? You've been doing it this whole time. I'd say it's worked out pretty okay since I still have you."
"I'd say so too."
"...I love you."
"I know." He pressed his fingers to his lips and put them against the screen in a sign of a kiss. "See you when I get back."
Erica did the same. "See you when you get back."
Duncan willed his shaking hand to reach for the button that would end the call, purposefully keeping it out of her view. It never made it there.
An alarm sounded, going off in wailing tones so loud that he had to cover his ears. The room lights changed to a baleful red, glowing and fading in tandem with the alarm. His ears slowly adjusted and he peered outside the cubicle. Others were doing the same in a clamor of irritated groans. The comm officer was on the other side of the room looking no less confused than they were.
"Honey, what's going on!?" Erica shouted but her voice was lost to an announcement coming over the PA. It was the ship's captain.
"All personnel, heed and stand to. Prepare for an immediate reentry. I repeat, prepare for an immediate reentry."
As he spoke, the Salvatore's fusion drives made a corresponding reply. Their activation rumbled through the decks of the ship. Duncan felt the frigate begin to maneuver. He put a hand to the nearby bulkhead to steady himself. He looked out at the neighboring space through a portside viewing window. The ship was making a starboard turn. The maneuver brought the rest of the QRF within sight, a reaction force of two dozen frigates and a handful of destroyers. They were all arranged in a basic stationary formation in the exosphere above Reach's northern pole, all facing away from the planet towards the upcoming slipspace jump. This also changed. He spotted a third of the ships making a similar maneuver to the Salvatore, reorienting themselves away from the darkness of open space and back towards the brightness of the planet.
Without warning, though as if by an unspoken consensus, the other two thirds of the QRF fired their slipspace drives. An ethereal maelstrom opened wide in front of each of the departing vessels as they slipped into the alternate space, each disappearing into their own tunnel of light in a manner of seconds. The remaining ships, the Salvatore among them, fired their fusion drives and soared in the opposite direction...back towards Reach.
There were confused shouts from others in the room mixed with a general demand for answers. The comm officer ignored them while he listened to his earpiece. Whatever was said, it made his eyes bulge and he rounded on the room. "Everyone, return to your stations! End your calls and get back to wherever you're supposed to be! Do it now!"
He started ushering personnel out of the cubicles, beginning a general exodus to the outside corridor.
Duncan looked to his screen.
Erica was gone.
In her place was left a deceptively simple notification: 'No signal'.
He would have tried calling her again were it not for the comm officer who banged on the walls of his cubicle. "Hey, time's up! Get moving!"
Duncan reluctantly did as he was told and ran out. He was nearly to the door, the last to leave, when the Staff appeared. He too was in a rush and skidded to a stop in the exit. Duncan did the same to avoid crashing into him. Nova came next as well as Zack. They looked relieved to see him, relieved but not happy. Their faces were pale.
"What's going on?" Duncan asked.
"We came to get you." Nova said.
"We thought we might have to drag you from the screen so they made me tag along." Zack added, none of the usual jokiness in his tone.
"Get to E-Deck and gear up." The Staff ordered in a ragged voice. "They need us ready asap."
"They? Wait, who's they?"
"Command, trooper, who else? Now let's get-"
"Hold on, does someone want to tell me why part of the reaction force just ditched the rest, including the ship we're on right now? What's happening?"
The Staff glanced between Nova and Zack. Neither of them looked ready to hit the nail on the head. Then and there, Duncan became aware that they knew something he didn't. At last, the Staff turned to him in dead seriousness.
"We're returning to Reach."
There was a smidge of relief at the news, confusion as well. The second proved stronger than the first. "Why aren't we going on our deployment?"
"We are." The Staff affirmed uneasily. "We're just being redeployed."
Duncan stared at him, dumbfounded. "Redeployed?"
"That's right."
"But you said we're heading back to..."
The Staff stared at him for several long, silent seconds, enough time for Duncan to make the horrifying connection. His jaw slackened, his legs lost their strength and he felt gravity ready to pull him to the floor, through the floor even, back down to Reach.
Reach.
Without another word, the Staff turned and jogged off down the corridor. Nova and Zack followed, ushering on their fourth member.
Duncan didn't go with them.
His body did. However, both the mind and soul of the man that was Duncan Iris remained standing at the door to the communications compartment. There, a part of him was paralyzed by a sinking feeling like that of quicksand. It gnawed away at his inner being as he suddenly felt a shadow looming over him. It was massive, ravenous and worst of all, close, threatening to devour everything he was and everything he loved in one fell swoop.
And why wouldn't it?
What was stopping it?
He had seen it do so many times before. That gnawing feeling whispered in the deepest recesses of his thoughts, telling him that he was about to see it happen again.
:********:
Colonel Garrison's day was not going the way he expected. On his way to Sword Base's outer courtyard and his personal Falcon parked at its landing zone, he mulled over the recent happenings.
First was the unlooked-for wake-up call. Bisenti and Gonzalez knocked on his door, informing him that his meeting was canceled and that he was being ordered to leave Sword Base. The explanation for exactly why was scanty.
The base was currently under lockdown. Stringent security measures were being enacted and all unnecessary personnel were being asked to evacuate or shelter in place immediately. His morning meeting with Reach's UNICOM brass was suspended indefinitely. When he asked Bisenti why they were locking down, he was told they were under orders to keep him in his room until his Falcon arrived then to do nothing more than escort him to it. Answers could wait. Meanwhile, Gonzalez emphasized the urgency in their evacuation order and got him moving once Badger-4-1 was on-site.
The inside of the barracks was a ghost town. There wasn't a single MP from the day before. Garrison was surprised he hadn't heard them leave. More surprising was the way he found them outside.
Both sides of the courtyard were transformed into a battlefield. It looked nothing like it did the day before. It was transformed by a combination of metal and concrete barricades, far more than he remembered, mutually supporting firing positions and scattered ammunition crates. MPs and Army personnel from the starport were unloading equipment from those crates in the outer yard while new ones were ferried in by a cargo transporter. More forces were already on patrol in the inner yard, their defenses spanning around the rock wall at the base's northeastern corner. Garrison instinctively looked in the same direction as everyone else: up.
The skies were clear. Gray and slightly overcast but clear, at least of anything abnormal.
As Bisenti and Gonzalez guided him down the stairs to the outer yard, he spotted Badger-4-1 parked on the landing zone. The aircraft was fully fueled and ready to leave. He glanced at the main building off to his right, pondering what the people inside were doing if the outside looked so busy. The whole situation reminded him he was unarmed. He had a sudden urge to find a weapon, any weapon. Better yet, maybe he could get a solid reason as to why he was being evicted.
"Bisenti, Gonzalez, you can keep your voices down if you need to. Just tell me what's going on."
"You're being evacuated, sir." Bisenti replied. "We're under orders to leave it at that."
"Was there a bomb scare? Is it Innies? Come on, give me something."
"We can't, sir." Gonzalez said. "We really are under orders here."
"It makes no sense that a remote location like this would be up in arms for no reason. Tell me this much, do you two at least know what's going on?"
Bisenti and Gonzalez said nothing. Whether it was because of their orders or because they genuinely didn't know, he couldn't tell. Nevertheless, the manner in which they wielded their rifles was a clue. Rather than carrying them across their chests like they usually did when at rest, they held the barrels out in front of them, pointed down and ready for shouldering at a moment's notice. He recognized a similar pattern in the rest of the Army personnel and MPs as they crossed the courtyard. They were on edge. They certainly wouldn't act this way for a threat that had already passed. He kept one eye on the sky and another on the men even as he sat down in the rear passenger seat.
The Falcon's rotors commenced their loudening rotation. He shouted over the noise. "You boys take care of yourselves, alright!?"
"Will do, sir!" Bisenti replied and the two gave a quick salute.
The Falcon ascended. Garrison watched the two diminish then disappear while the aircraft turned to the south. Badger-4-1 flew out from the base then continued on an eastward flight path across the surrounding plateau. They passed between Sword's nearby outposts and the neighboring starport. Garrison decided to take an eyeful of the latter. Like what was happening at the base, it too was on high alert.
The M71 Scythes were active, their rotary cannons twitching from one cloud to the next. The tarmac of the apron was brimming with barricades, sandbag positions and the men and women of the army contingent that arrived earlier in the year. Their activity, their patrols, their distribution of gear and materials reminded him of a kicked ant's nest. The question still stood as to who or what had kicked it.
The culprit was obvious. It was so obvious and yet so impossible to believe that Garrison considered whether he was still asleep. Perhaps it was a bad bout of lucid dreaming brought on by the last cup of coffee he had before turning in for the night. He needed to be sure.
"Hey Badge," he called on his comm-unit. "Are you real?"
"No, sir." The pilot replied. "I'm just a figment of your imagination."
Garrison caught the joke and laughed it off. Except he genuinely did wish Badger-4-1 was telling the truth. He really wished he was dreaming because what he was seeing worried him beyond belief.
"What do you think's going on?"
"Maybe an exercise, sir."
"A drill?"
"Honestly, sir, whatever it is happening down there, it's making me not want to be up here. The faster we get to Csaba, the better."
"Agreed."
A rush of wind suddenly blew through the troop bay. It was harsher than the airflow from the rotors and far stronger, drawing tears from his eyes. "Hey, where's that coming from?"
"Don't know. The wind here usually flows west. This one's blowing east. Might be a rogue gale."
That didn't sound right. Garrison grabbed onto his seat and leaned out to see. The wind's intensity increased. He shielded his eyes with his arm and peeked at the sky again.
It was just as overcast as the last time, gray too, except for one spot.
He noticed it in the cloud cover to the southwest of Sword Base: It was darker than the rest of the clouds. As he squinted at it, he realized it wasn't staying the same size. The spot was slowly getting bigger. It was moving. Something above it was getting closer and closer until...
The hair on the back of Garrison's neck bristled. He felt his skin crawl as he saw that it was a massive silhouette, one he recognized.
The dark spot of clouds was torn asunder by an oblong shape that pierced through to the world beneath. The rest of its inverted hourglass figure quickly followed, revealing its full visage: a long nose of a forward section, a smaller midsection and a structural brace that surrounded it. The sunlight that reached it reflected off the violet sheen of its metal surface, causing the hexagonal patterns on its hull to glitter and glisten like a shark leaping out of water.
Garrison watched with grim fascination as the Covenant corvette glided forward, its rear repulsor drives heating the air in its wake. It passed a few kilometers shy of his aircraft. A hot wind struck the troop bay, triggering the alarm as the rotors groaned in protest. The corvette slowed itself down. It soon came to a stop in the air directly above the starport, a mere stone's throw away from Sword Base. There it hovered in place as if it were an ordinary transport, an expected arrival.
The world stood still for several beats of Garrison's heart which drowned out every other sound.
Then each of the plasma bombardment mortars on the ship's underside began to glow. They emitted a low hum while plasma energy coursed through the veiny channels of their conduits, coalescing and finally discharging. Half a dozen bright-blue comets streaked down towards the starport. The barrage struck the walls, blasted into the base of the flight tower and bombarded the tarmac. Ground forces on the apron scattered for cover as the M71s returned fire with ten-round bursts, their anti-aircraft rounds flickering across the ship's shields. In response, the mortars returned a second salvo which was followed immediately by a third and a fourth, turning into a continuous onslaught that peppered the ground.
One M71 fell silent as a mortar tore through its powerbase, a second flying apart like fiery confetti from a direct hit. With the anti-air resistance whittled down, both sides of the corvette's hangar bay opened and the energy barriers dropped, unleashing a flurry of Banshees, Seraphs, Spirits and Phantoms.
A host of Seraphs strafed positions on the starport, shattering barricades with their cannons before dropping plasma charges. The pinpoints of light traced long scars across the sky then burst into curtains of blue fire that rolled across the apron like small tsunamis. They engulfed scores of personnel desperately trying to escape their path, disappearing into the flames in a wave of screams that washed over the starport. The remaining M71s struggled to keep pace, pounding their stubborn shields, breaking them and reducing some of the craft to tumbling fireballs that crashed into the tarmac. Then a single plasma charge lanced directly into a munitions depot. The building vanished in a burst of light, a crack of thunder and a blast wave that shattered the glass in the flight tower and briefly overwhelmed the ravenous flames spreading across the facility.
At no point did the corvette cease its bombardment, adding many more pillars of smoke to the largest one rising from the cratered remains of the depot.
The swarm of smaller craft were fanning out across the airspace. Squadrons of Seraphs and Spirits soared towards the plateau. They zipped far above the Falcon, startling the colonel back into reality.
"Badger!"
"On it!"
The pilot accelerated forward, shooting the Falcon out of a near collision with a Seraph. Its passage left another powerful rush of wind that whipped Garrison into his seat and pushed the craft into a short tailspin. Badger-4-1 managed to restabilize them, narrowly escaping another collision with the rock wall of the plateau. They pulled off to the east in a bid to avoid the incoming air assault.
Shadows continued to rush over them. Garrison grasped his seat belt tight. He was going to tell the pilot what he already knew to do, to get them out of there, when a thought crossed his mind. Several really. The chances of them escaping safely from this were next to zero. A fighter or two were sure to notice them. With no turrets or launchers, they were the perfect target. Moreover, he didn't know if the UNICOM personnel had evacuated yet. It would be smart to move them first. However, from the look of things, no one saw the current situation happening exactly as it did or as soon. There would certainly be more friendly aircover if they had. So there was a chance some very important VIPs were still in the building. Finally, he hadn't noticed many officers among the forces at Sword, mostly just NCOs and regular rank and file. They had plenty of troops but not much leadership, possibly another sign of how the Covenant managed to catch them off guard. Their efforts would be too disorganized to accomplish anything if no one straightened them out.
He considered the unthinkable. Despite his rational mind telling him to do otherwise, the ODST in him spoke up. "Hold on, take us back to base!"
"What!?"
"I said take us back!"
"Sir, I don't think that's a good-"
"I didn't ask if it's a good idea, Badger! It's an order, now do it!"
Badger-4-1 grumbled under his breath. All the same, he did as he was told. Garrison braced himself as the Falcon banked away from the nearby cliff face, swirling back around towards the base. They made a gradual descent, getting so close to the ocean that they disturbed the surface of the water a mere meter below.
"You have a plan, sir!?"
"Yeah, drop me off outside then book it to the north! Doesn't seem to be too many of them over there yet so use that route to escape, you got that!?"
"I think so! What about you!? How're you getting out of here without a ride!?"
"I'll figure something out! Just get me back there!"
"Copy! Good luck, sir!"
"Likewise!"
The Falcon reached within 200 meters of the walls of Sword Base. From that distance, Garrison could see the streams of fire, bullets and plasma, shooting both into and out of the grounds. Phantoms were making passes over the courtyard. They stopped to let squads of Grunts, Jackals and Elites hop out of their bays to the yard below. Garrison gritted his teeth. At the speed they were going he might be too late.
The warble of propulsion drives grew loud behind them. He peered out past the Falcon's rear and saw a trio of Banshees tailing them. They zoomed towards the Falcon, accelerating down on an attack vector. Their plasma cannons fired synchronously and bathed the fuselage. Garrison reeled back to cover himself as plasma whipped into the troop bay, scoring the other two seats. Smoke wafted from the glowing wounds and rushed into his lungs. He coughed as he covered his eyes and mouth.
"Hold on, colonel!" The pilot warned. He took them into a sudden ascent, simultaneously steering left then right in a serpentine maneuver. Garrison heard the launch of fuel rods. The first of the projectiles struck the water on their left in a sizzling spray of emerald illumination. The second did the same, tossing scalding hot water onto his fatigues. He ignored the pain and hung on whilst the Falcon weaved through the steam. A rainfall from the plasma cannons battered them from above. A concentrated burst caused flames to flicker into being over the portside rotor blade. The Falcon dipped and turned as the starboard rotor struggled to compensate.
"Hang on!" The pilot strained against his controls. Garrison stared out at the damaged rotor and tried to get a gauge on how long it would last. Doing so gave him a front row seat to the newest threat zooming in from their portside.
"Banshee coming on your left!"
The Banshee let off a stream of plasma that cooked the side of the Falcon, causing more flames to erupt. It launched a fuel rod and banked away. The ball of roiling energy raced towards them. The Falcon recovered from its portside lean and swung hard to starboard. The projectile whooshed past and crashed into the plateau beside them, hurling crackling energy and fiery debris over the aircraft. Yet the maneuver had swung the starboard rotor too close to the rock wall. The blades whipped into the surface in a flurry of grinding metal and torn rocks that pelted the fuselage. The rotor finally snagged on the crags and leveraged the Falcon like a baseball bat, sending the entire craft nose-first into the face of the cliffs.
Garrison shut his eyes at the impact, heard the explosive groan of metal on metal and knew Badger-4-1 was gone.
The Falcon continued to spiral out of control. The inertia pinned him in his seat as what remained of the rotors sputtered and died. The world span around him in a blur of cliff, ocean, cliff, ocean and finally a silvery wall. The Falcon made a bone-jarring crash that killed its momentum and nearly killed him as his head knocked against the interior, putting stars in his vision. The aircraft changed course from a wild side-to-side spin to an end-over-end spiral as it barreled down the wall. Despite bracing himself, the final landing threw his head against the back of his seat with enough force to black out.
:********:
The crackling of flames, the groaning of metal, Garrison listened to them both as he slowly came to. The crackle was growing into a roar. He opened his eyes to sparking wires and broken conduits. His vision cleared in the same instant that he understood where he was.
Somehow, he was facing upwards with the sky overhead. He was lying on his back. Fires were licking at the clouds as they slowly consumed the outside of the troop bay. He tried to reach out for the exit and felt two things. The first was the sharp pain in his left shoulder when he reached out his hand. There was an injury, a bad bruise, possibly a rotary cuff tear, bad news if he was going to get out. The second was his seat which had broken off from the rear wall, leaving him pinned to what he realized was dirt. Dirt was good. It meant he was groundside.
"Badger!"
There was no answer, not that he expected one. He clawed off the last restraints, keeping himself away from the walls as he pulled himself to a crouch. He saw that the Falcon had landed on its side. The flames were spreading further across the exterior of the fuselage and creeping into the interior. He spotted a way out via the two frontmost seats which were still in place. He dodged burning debris swept in by the wind as he clambered up their frames like a ladder, except it wasn't the wind.
A shadow passed over him. He stopped short of coming outside upon spotting the Phantom slowing down above him. The heavy plasma cannon on its underside rotated to investigate. He pulled his head down before it could spot him. He listened closely to the dropship's twin impulse drives as they warbled, loudened then accelerated. The shadow disappeared as the Phantom moved on.
Giving it a few more seconds, he finished pulling himself out. The fires had almost completely engulfed the Falcon. He leapt to the ground and ran around to the front.
The cockpit was crumpled in on itself like tinfoil. The tangled mess of metal was so horribly bent that it formed a kind of cage around Badger-4-1. Garrison saw him through the shattered window. He could've mistaken the man for being alive were it not for the impossible angle at which his neck was bent. He didn't see movement nor a way to pull him out. An explosion of sparks made him step back. The cockpit quickly caught alight and vanished within the flames.
Garrison forced himself away from the scene to observe his surroundings. To his surprise, they were at the bottom of the base's perimeter wall. The Falcon had slammed against it with sufficient force to leave a myriad of debris, rotor blade and fuselage fragments embedded in its surface. They had landed on the western side of the plateau, what little ground was left unclaimed outside the walls. It was a miracle they hadn't tumbled over the cliff just a few meters shy of the wreckage. It was a miracle he was still alive to think about it as well.
The corvette was still bombarding the starport. Some relief had arrived, however. Across the clouds, he saw several squadrons of Falcons storming in from the north, south, east and west. They swooped in to encompass the airspace above the base and dispersed for Covenant elements around the area. A host of flyers were quick to turn from their siege of Sword to address the new arrivals. Turrets fired and plasma cannons discharged; Falcons maneuvered away from fuel rods that tracked them like flaming tadpoles as Banshees rolled through hails of machinegun fire. Dozens of individual dogfights ended in pluming wrecks that blew apart or spiraled to the ground in blazing corkscrews, landing and detonating as their destruction echoed across the mountains. Still more came and more fights emerged as winners of one engagement were blown out of existence in another.
Now that the cavalry was here, Garrison hoped the situation at Sword would be more tenable. He was looking at a 15-meter climb to the top of the wall, a challenge given his shoulder. He mapped out a path along the pieces of debris lodged in the surface. From it he glimpsed some fortune out of his pilot's misfortune. The debris as well as the architectural grooves in the wall itself gave him a decent path to the top.
He heard the gunshots and plasma from the firefight on the other side. They reminded him once again that he was unarmed. Going at this the wrong way would mean he could end up being a bigger liability than an aid. With the Falcon turned into a pyre, there was no chance of scavenging from it. He turned his attention to the rocks at his feet. He found one the size of his fist and pocketed it. He ran to the wall, grabbed the first handhold he could find and began to climb.
His ascent turned into a fiasco of leaps, grabs, scratches and grunts. Most of the debris he grabbed onto was jagged and cut his fingers if he wasn't careful. The blood made it difficult to grasp onto the concrete grooves and shimmy to the next vantage point. Wiping it on his pants was out of the question so he had to contend with an increasingly arduous climb.
He eventually reached the point where the wall protruded out into the upper, metal ramparts. He grabbed a piece of stable-looking debris and tensed for the jump to another groove. As he was about to leap, part of the debris crumbled and sent him falling. At the last second his fingers caught a hold of a piece of rotor blade, cutting his palms but saving his life. He took a breath, tensing again, strengthening his grip, wincing at the surge of pain from his palms as he leapt up, using the wall's slight slant to run up its surface. He got in two steps, felt himself falling back, forced a third then kicked off.
His fingers gained purchase on another groove. For a moment he was left dangling 10 meters off the ground. He quietly wished he was younger while he waited for his body to stop swaying. When he was still enough, he pulled himself up by finger strength alone, making one handhold after another in the groove, ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulder. He was soon able to plant his boots on the lowest part of the rampart. He used this new traction to climb the rest of the way, finally throwing his upper body and then his legs over the top.
He didn't have the luxury of waiting to catch his breath however. He got to his feet and dashed over to the other edge. A similar climb down was facing him but not the same conditions.
The courtyard was a warzone.
A score of Grunts, Jackals and Elites were fighting squads of Army troopers in the outer yard. The troopers had taken defensive positions on the far end closer to the bridgeway, crouching behind crates and barricades. The Covenant were on the other side, fighting from the crates and cargo trailers there. Plasma bolts and tracers crisscrossed the air between them. Some of the troopers spotted him on the wall, registered the shock of seeing him there then quickly refocused on the superheated energy splashing against their cover.
Already there were casualties. Despite several dead Grunts and a Jackal, Garrison saw just as many downed soldiers. Beyond the bridgeway, a larger fight was unfolding between the defenders there and the next assault group jumping in from the twin bays of a Spirit dropship.
Garrison searched for a way down. He found one: a short jump to the rooftop of a shed that extended around the wall. Then a bit of a fall. He bounded down to the rooftop, landed, grabbed its edge and lowered his legs. He endured the next short fall to the ground and rolled off the impact.
His first move was to dash for a large cargo crate on the left side of the yard. He peered out from behind it and sighted a small Covenant squad moving up. It was a trio, a Grunt taking point along with two shield-bearing Jackals keeping pace. He was right behind them.
Garrison pulled out his rock and waited for an opening. He found it once one of the Jackals turned away to let DMR-rounds bounce off its shield. He charged its partner.
His footsteps betrayed him and the second Jackal whirled around. He made a toss before it could draw its pistol and the rock crunched into its jaws, whipping its head back. He reached it in time to grab a hold of its hands, securing both its gun and shield arm. He heard the shriek of surprise from the Grunt as well as the squawk from the other Jackal. He used his grip to yank his hostage like a puppet, wheeling it around so that its body faced the Grunt while its shield caught the plasma burst from its partner. The Grunt growled as it failed to find a good angle. Garrison's hostage recovered enough to try to pull away, screeching in protest. But his grip was too strong and he twisted the wrist of its gun arm in one quick motion. The Jackal screamed into his face and tried to bite at him. With one of its hands useless, it freed his own to punch it in the throat, choking out its cries. Stunned, it was ready to fall over but he got under it so that it landed on his shoulder like a fur coat. He held its shield-arm up to keep taking the bolts from its aggravated partner. All the while, he relieved it of its plasma pistol.
The Grunt was still trying to find an angle when Garrison found his own, squeezing off a trio of plasma bolts at its head. The third blew its gas mask out of its mouth, scorched its face and bowled it over.
He refocused on the other Jackal. He went low, shooting out its foot from under it and forcing it to a knee then scoring a direct hit on its exposed head. It toppled back with a steaming crater for an eye.
He pressed the pistol to the head of his new coat and pulled the trigger twice. At such close range the heat was unbearable. Regardless, he was satisfied to see the two glowing holes burned into its cranium. The alien fell limp. He tossed it to the ground and pulled it behind a nearby crate. There he stripped it of its defense gauntlet and slipped it onto his arm. The crimson barrier reactivated at his touch. He took the plasma pistol and charged back out.
He moved along the far left side of the yard with the goal of avoiding contact until he was in a better position. Almost halfway, he heard the familiar and dreadful beep-beep from the pistol. Rapid blinks from the indicator lights along the weapon's frame conveyed two important pieces of information, both troublesome: the weapon had a dead-man switch and it was about to go off.
As if his luck wasn't bad enough, a burst of blue plasma fire zipped over his shoulder. He pivoted to see a blue-armored Elite racing after him. He swung his shield around, grunting at the steady bursts from its plasma rifle. He didn't have a chance of escape since it was gunning after him but if he let it get any closer, he was sure to get his head kicked off. The increasing pace of the self-destruct warning wasn't helping either, or was it?
An idea popped into his head a heartbeat before he put into action. He counter-charged the Elite. Simultaneously, he held down the pistol's trigger. It hummed and vibrated with a vengeance as an orb of deadly green energy gathered at the barrel. He held it behind him to keep it out of sight.
The Elite roared as it got in close and lashed out with its plasma rifle, knocking his shield-arm upward to expose his torso. But the strike's momentum had also twisted the colonel about, bringing his overloaded plasma pistol to bear just as he'd planned. He fired the bolt right into its chest.
The sizzling blast knocked the Elite back like a punch to the gut that burned away its shields. It also sent a stinging rush of heat washing over Garrison. He groaned against the pain and heard the dead-man switch reach a critical frequency. He reeled back, tossed the gun and brought his shield up.
The pistol spiraled through the air and detonated above the Elite. The explosion scythed down the alien and tossed its corpse against a crate. There it stayed. Garrison ran towards it and freed its dead fingers of the plasma rifle. He helped himself to the pair of plasma grenades on its belt and went on his way.
The fighting was moving closer to the defenders' side of the yard. Army troopers and military police alike were slowly withdrawing to the two stairs and the defenses between the bridgeway. Garrison picked up the pace. If he took too long, there was a chance the other side of the yard would fold and the holdouts would be sandwiched between the two points of the assault. He needed to stop it before then.
His first task was to free up the attention of one MP and trooper after another. He headed for a crate near the middle of the yard and peeked out at the fight. Amidst the back and forth of pink needlers and yellow tracers he spotted two more Elites, a minor and a major, near the base of the left stairs. They leapt from cover to cover as they baptized the two MPs at the top of the stairs with plasma. He recognized those unfortunate two as Bisenti and Gonzalez, both of whom fired sporadically in reply.
He switched on his comm-unit. "Bisenti, Gonzalez, this is the colonel. Can you hear me?"
The duo's return fire briefly caseated as Bisenti replied in a confused voice, "Colonel!? What're you doing here!?"
Gonzalez took another pot-shot and ducked before his reward of another plasma burst could blow his head off. "I thought we sent you back to Falchion, sir!?"
"Negative. Covenant airpower took out my Falcon. Reinforcements are taking care of things upstairs so I'll help you down here."
Gonzalez grunted at another close call. "Well, we could sure use an extra hand!"
"I noticed. Now listen, I can flank these two dance partners down here. I'll toss a sticky, break them up then cut them down. Prioritize the major. Once its down, that's their leadership gone. We'll fold the rest of this side and regroup with friendlies to do the same in the inner yard, you got that?"
"I think so, sir!" Bisenti said hesitantly.
Garrison thumbed the activation switch on one of his plasma grenades and watched it light up like a blue fireball in his hand. "Alright, draw their fire for me. On three. One...two..."
Bisenti and Gonzalez stood out and poured a fully-automatic spray on the Elites. The aliens swiftly reemerged from their cover to meet them head on, letting bullets bounce off their personal shields as they shot back in an act of pure, Elite bravado. Their bravado was also their undoing by making them come closer together.
Garrison stepped out from the crate and hurled the grenade. It arced straight towards them, landing between them so that they didn't sense its presence until it finished its high-pitched whine. The explosion of light and electrified ions burst their energy shields and knocked them off their feet.
Garrison targeted the major, sending a torrent to pepper and pockmark armor and flesh alike. Bisenti and Gonzalez joined in and hosed down the fallen pair. Both of their targets attempted to stand and fight. They met the same end result of bullets penetrating through armor, tearing through skin and breaking bones until they ricocheted off the ground. In a matter of seconds, the Elites were reduced to broken cadavers and puddles of blue.
Garrison winced at the intense exhaust that came hissing out of his rifle's heating vents. It almost steamed his hands. He suffered through it while the release sequence finished, cooling the gun and recycling the plasma within. He reminded himself not to overdo it unless he wanted to cook himself right along with the enemy.
"Give me some cover, boys. I'm moving in."
"Yessir." Bisenti replied, sounding relieved.
Garrison stayed low and sprinted to the bodies, scavenging another plasma pistol and a grenade. "Okay, let's give the others a hand."
He moved across the yard. Bisenti and Gonzalez followed his example and crossed over to the middle of the bridgeway, granting them a solid view of the area. Garrison made for the crew of a dozen Grunts and Jackals raising hell for a squad of army troopers. The latter used their shields to cover the former coming in behind, tossing plasma grenades over their heads. He witnessed a trooper stand out from a barrier to lob a frag and received several needlers to the chest for his trouble. The grenade bounced and spewed fragmentation across the phalanx, momentarily slowing their advance but accomplishing little else. The same couldn't be said for the needlers which glowed and detonated, tearing a ragged hole into the trooper and tossing him back with a scream. Garrison took note and settled on handling the more vulnerable part of the group.
He got in at the rear and focused on the handful of Grunts tossing grenades. He took one of his own, primed it, waited for the Grunts to prepare another round of grenades then made the toss. His landed on the methane tank of the closest. The creature heard the growing whine at its back and reached around in a panic. In trying to grab for the explosive it incidentally stumbled towards its comrades. The grenade, then much of the Grunts themselves, briefly vanished in the initial explosion that immediately set off a chain reaction of dropped grenades, eruptions of methane and squeals of terror. Some were sent airborne by busted gas tanks or rocketed into the ground like dying wasps. They soared into the backs of the Jackals, knocking a few over and breaking their phalanx, spinning about then suffering a final gaseous explosion.
With the Grunts annihilated and their defense in tatters, the troopers took the initiative and poured steady fire into the broken formation, picking off the Jackals one by one. A few tried to rally together. Garrison was stopped from doing something about it by a lone Jackal that had noticed him. He ducked away from a burst of needlers, leaning in close to a concrete barrier to let them smash harmlessly against the other side. He relied on his plasma pistol and cooked an overcharged bolt. When it was ready, he let the Jackal have it. The green comet swallowed up a second burst of needlers and struck the alien in its shield. The circle of energy dissipated as the plasma sizzled its arm. Squawking in pain, the Jackal covered its head with its arms and attempted to flee. Garrison switched to his plasma rifle and gunned it down.
He resumed his attack on the last stragglers that were trying for a final defense. They finished off the Jackals in a combined assault, the troopers breaking their shields with overwhelming firepower from the front while Garrison hemmed them in at their flank, barring any retreat. Soon the last Jackal fell to its knees from a shot to the foot. A second shot blew its brains out even as a plasma bolt slapped into the back of its head, flooring it for good.
"We're clear!" Bisenti shouted.
Garrison jogged across the carpet of alien corpses to the troopers gathered beneath the bridgeway. Those who remained alive gave him a respectful nod or a quick salute.
"Welcome back, sir. Thanks for the save."
"Good to have you with us."
There was no time to dwell on the victory, not once he saw the firefight on the inner yard. Twice as many Covenant forces were pushing in from the road that led to the main gate. They were bolstering those who were dropped off and pinned down at the center of the yard. A squad of MPs had stationed themselves on the bordering catwalk while another squad of Army troopers were positioned close to the bridgeway, altogether acting as the only barrier between the enemy and the doors to Sword Base. So far, they had held. Thanks to the incoming reinforcements, Garrison wasn't sure how long that would last.
He crouched in order to avoid stray bolts and rounded on the team of Army personnel at his back. "Troopers, on your feet!" He pointed to the two nearest platforms to their right and left. "Split into your fireteams and take those positions! Move!"
They took to their orders swiftly and split into two, three of them going to the stairs on their left and the other three to the right. Garrison was quietly grateful and regretful that they didn't have wounded to move. The other handful of their squad were reduced to burnt and eviscerated corpses strewn behind the line of barriers. Their mission was over. Garrison rushed onwards into the one before him.
He went right, firing into the mass of Elites, Grunts and Jackals as he maneuvered behind one of the base's lampposts. The troopers behind him dashed up the stairs, firing simultaneously. The additional support melded with those of the two other squads to create a platoon-sized bulletstorm. Their efforts put a substantial dent in the reinforced Covenant, cutting down Grunts, wounding Jackals and ricocheting off Elite shields.
In turn, the invaders moved to tighten their hold on their side of the yard. The Elites tossed out portable energy shields to cover their front, several in all. The Jackals ran in to merge their own shields together, sealing the last holes in their defensive perimeter. Having secured their front, the invaders sent a wave of returns into the squad on the catwalk which crashed into them like a scythe to wheat. One man was struck in the face by an overloaded plasma bolt while another tumbled back with a needler embedded in his eye. A third hurled himself over the railings before the plasma grenade that landed on his breastplate detonated, saving his squadmates but reducing him to an electrified mist of bloody vapor.
Garrison growled at the loss and zoned in on the Jackals. Being the weakest part of the perimeter, their defense gauntlets overheated at concentrated bursts from his plasma rifle far faster than they did from bullets. He tried it out on one and neutralized its shield, prompting a rainfall of DMR and assault rifle fire to tear into it as well as anything nearby. The first breach. He tried again and punched a small hole in their ranks that the troopers and MPs quickly exploited, cutting down several Grunts. A second breach.
However, each hole they made in their lines was swiftly plugged up by new portable shields. The Elites weren't keen on taking on two fronts at the same time. Garrison intended to change that once he spotted a nearby weapon's crate. He saw the 'M41 SPNKR' written on the side and pounced on the opportunity, running out towards it.
"Bisenti, give me a hand with these rockets!"
He skidded behind the crate and popped the side latches. Despite the spray of bolts passing close overhead, Bisenti was able to sprint down the stairs and slid in beside the colonel. Together, they pulled out the foam encasement within the crate and took out the pair of SPNKR rocket launchers housed inside. They checked their firing chambers and found them loaded.
"Troopers, MPs, listen up!" Garrison comm'd. "We've got rockets! Focus on those portable shields and clear us a path!"
The firing from the survivors ebbed then resurged in a far more concerted barrage, no longer aiming for those behind the shields but the shields themselves. The sudden intensity was too much for them. Several of the emplacements blew out like lightbulbs, opening a wide window of attack.
"Bisenti, now!" Garrison ordered. The two of them stood up behind the crate to level their launchers. They squeezed the triggers and the pair of twin-barrels each spat out a single rocket, rotated and spat a second. The explosive quartet whistled across the yard and slammed unimpeded into the Covenant ranks, devouring them from sight in thunderous plumes of fire and smoke.
The curtain of fumes steadily cleared and revealed the aftermath. Smoking craters, several dead Elites, half a dozen Jackals and twice as many Grunts, each in a different state of mangled destruction. The few that remained ran for cover behind the newly reformed energy shields. The troopers on the left side platform leapt to the task and maneuvered over to the catwalk, giving them sidelong views from which to counter. The surviving Covenant were hacked down by rifle fire and a few frag grenades were thrown in for good measure.
Soon Sword Base's courtyard was again quiet save for the crackle of smoldering corpses and the sounds of battle echoing from the clouds. There were no shouts of victory. There was, however, a feeling that permeated the air itself. Garrison sensed it too after the adrenaline wore off.
Dread, raw and palpable, made him take account of his surroundings. The sights of the dead, the burnt odors and the sizzling sounds they made were all things he was used to experiencing on other planets.
Not Reach.
Never Reach.
But he could smell them and hear them. He could see them too. He bent his head back and saw clear as day the growing number of Falcons and Banshees duking it out overhead. He could hardly miss the corvette which continued its bombardment of the starport with a ruthless determination, the kind that made him question if anything was truly achieved by holding the courtyard. The assault force came close to overrunning the defenders. They likely would have done so if he hadn't stepped in. Yet they were probably a small fraction of the total forces inside that corvette or of those currently swooping down on the rest of the region. More were sure to come, then even more after that.
He sensed something else, a cold, sinking feeling.
A trooper, a radioman, ran to him and interrupted his thoughts with the undistilled fear in his tone. "Sir, bad news, lots of it. Friendlies at the main gate have basically been wiped out. The Covies are storming the southeast. Farragut Station is being overrun and Airview Base says they can't hold for much longer. Their security teams are getting torn apart as we speak."
"Farragut and Airview?" Garrison remarked.
"They're going after the AA battery and the comms array." Bisenti whispered, shocked.
Gonzalez came rushing down the stairs. "They're what?"
"The M71, they're trying to knock it out. Same goes for our communications. That's the only reason they'd go there."
Garrison put the pieces together. "Eliminate hostile AA, regain air supremacy, tape our mouths shut so we can't call for help and then take Sword. That's their plan."
"Sh-, should we go out there, sir?" Gonzalez asked. The courtyard was so quiet that the question gained them the attention of the rest of the survivors.
Garrison examined them, from their battered and scarred BDUs to their bruised and exhausted faces, most of which were covered in blood that in all likelihood wasn't theirs. From their wary expressions he got his answer.
"No."
"No?" Gonzalez swallowed. "But, colonel, we can't leave those guys out there. If we do, they'll wind up-"
"Didn't you hear me?" Garrison replied with dead calm. "I said no. It's not a suggestion. We're in no condition to help those soldiers out nor do we have the numbers to do so. Most of you will need to stay here. Recover your dead and get the enemy fallen out of the way if you get the chance. You'll need the room."
There was a spark of shock in Gonzalez's eyes. It dimmed once Bisenti put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, cooling into mutual understanding. Garrison saw the same thing in the faces of the other troopers and MPs that stood or sat around the courtyard. There was guilty relief there as well. None of them looked happy about leaving their comrades on their own. All the same, none seemed entirely upset about staying put.
"If I heard you correctly, colonel, you said 'most of you will stay here'." Bisenti noted. "I don't think you included yourself in that. What'll you do, sir?"
Garrison looked to the main building. "I have to secure the UNICOM personnel, or at least confirm that they're already somewhere safe. I'll come back out to help you guys if I can but we can't afford to lose them to this attack. If Reach really is under assault right now, and that's looking like a definite yes, we'll need all the leadership we can get." He turned to them. "And all the grunts like us who can do the shooting."
Gonzalez smirked weakly. "You're a grunt, sir?"
Garrison returned the expression. "Everyone is at some point, some longer than others, some because they want to be."
"But you're an officer."
"It's a lifestyle, Gonz, not just an occupation. For a true soldier, rank doesn't change that."
"Not even if you're a colonel and we're all just...dead men?"
"Dead men, huh?" Garrison laughed, surprising the gathering with his tenor. He espied the distant enemy ship out the corner of his eye and his mirth diminished. "...Aren't we all?"
Gonzalez fell silent. However, the genuine respect rising behind his smirk said everything for him.
Garrison tossed away the spent launcher. He thought about trading his plasma rifle in for one of the troopers' more familiar weapons but reconsidered. With what he'd seen it do to both humans and Covenant, he was content to keep his newly acquired contraband. He turned again to the main building and started for the stairs. "Bisenti, Gonzalez, on me."
Bisenti followed without question. Gonzalez hesitated. After a pleading look from his friend, he came in behind them.
"And what about us?" Another trooper asked. "What do we do? There's got to be more than just recovering our losses, sir."
Garrison stopped at the top of the stairs and locked eyes with him. "Prepare."
"Prepare?"
"Yes," If words alone could provide strength, he spoke them with as much of it as he could, nodding at the corvette: "For round two."
Hiems - Winter
