The first shot almost had Tremonious. An ephemeral particle beam struck him dead-center in the forehead-the armored crest protecting it, that is. Though he'd deactivated his shields on the premature belief that the area was clear, the beam still failed to penetrate or even inflict so much as a stagger on him, the helmet's masterfully forged steel alloy having absorbed many headshots before with little more than dents to show for past foes' accuracy.

No incredulous pause followed the failed killshot, hundreds of plasma bolts already filling the air around him and sizzling into his troops, a few tumbling over silently from similarly well-aimed shots.

But if the enemy thought their ambush had succeeded, they didn't know Warlord Tremonious.

Already he'd enabled his shields with just a thought thanks to his crude Banished-installed neural interface, absorbing a follow-up beam rifle shot and plasma fire from many sources, all no doubt hoping to share the prestige of killing the Jiralhanae Warlord. They would be crestfallen, every shot dissipating against a bone-white shield that flashed brightly at each impact. Though he lacked any HUD to monitor his shield's strength, he was well-versed in how much fire it could absorb (and had the scars to prove it). With more than adequate protection, Tremonious took a momentary pause to assess the situation.

He and his troops stood upon a flat stretch of well-trodden ground littered with the detritus and waste of war. A few shattered pieces of armor hinted at the former presence of humans, but many more fresh corpses were there as well: Unggoy, Kig-yar, and Sangheili, all in the anachronistic combat harnesses used by atavistic warbands like Merg Vol's fleet.

The same archaic troops were currently firing at his warband from a loose semicircle of hills and rocks typical of this planet, the terrain affording the attackers a meager height advantage. Tremonious bared his fangs. Not nearly high enough.

Another thought activated his jump pack and sent him rising into the air with a haste onlookers would've been shocked by-all part of the appeal. Though smaller than the bulky versions once issued by the Covenant, it could lift a well-armored Jiralhanae like him for a far greater period of time, and immediately he was free of the nuisance of enemy fire. Now the enemy was struck well and truly with incredulity, Volist troops gawking at the sight of Tremonious in full view below him and falling one by one to his troops' shots thanks to their foolishness. What little return fire that belatedly rose to meet him passed well below his wake and around him, the Jiralhanae from his personal Warhost needing no orders to join their Chieftain in taking to the sky in an orchestra of roaring jump jets. Turning in mid-air before he reached the zenith of his jump, Tremonious had a commanding view of his true objective: a human military base. Smaller structures lay in shambles or piles of ash, surrounding a stubbornly intact main headquarters connected to much of the compound both above ground and below.

Banished air superiority gained through surprise had left the remnant forces tasked with holding the base isolated. A breakout might've been possible while his advance columns were the only ones in the field, but Tremonious dismissively suspected that the local Sangheili Commander had been given the usual Covenant order in the face of such a situation: stand your ground to the last warrior. He was happy to oblige.

"The pack will feast on you!" The Jiralhanae warlord bellowed, speakers in his suit projecting the threat over the roar of his jump pack and onto the terrified enemy troops directly below. Spikes and grenade rounds were already raining on their lines, but though many Unggoy fell or vanished in bursts of volatile methane, the Kig-yar weathered the assault more effectively beneath their shield gauntlets, while Sangheili commanders attempted to coordinate a response.

As he began his descent, Tremonious leveled his own weapon and fired. The human-made "Hydra" unleashed a flurry of 6 rockets in rapid succession that detonated in mid-flight right over the heads of the holdout line. The result was a spectacular series of cataclysmic explosions, an entire line of two dozen Unngoy consumed by pierced methane tanks, Kig-yar carved to pieces by airburst shrapnel, and Sangheili perforated by both after their shields fell. Tremonious roared triumphantly at the sight, other warriors joining the battle cry. With a single salvo, he had torn a hole in the fanatics' defenses. A good thing too, because the human weapon's ammunition counter now flashed an upset red. That was the true problem with the Hydra, Tremonious mused, it should've been twice as large.

Before he slammed into the rocky surface of Algolis, Tremonious slung the missile launcher onto his jump pack's maglock and drew his backup gun with his free hand. It was another human weapon, a shotgun pilfered from a private arsenal that fired as quickly as one could pull the trigger. A dazed Sangheili survivor of his missile barrage was the first victim, the "12-gauge" slugs knocking him over with 3 holes in his cracked armor. Long strides let the Jiralhanae Chieftain close with a more intact section of the enemy line, firing as he moved and leaving 10 more fallen Unngoy in his wake. Tremonious emptied the remaining 7 rounds into a blue-armored Sangheili who was foolishly going for a plasma grenade. 3 shots overloaded his weak shields through sheer blunt force, the rest tearing through armor and bone. The armed grenade flew from his hand under the barrage, and the hand along with it, both falling backwards to land among another lance of Unggoy. Cowering close together as they were, Tremonious didn't need to spare a glance at the results, grabbing another cylindrical magazine and pausing a safe distance from the explosion of plasma and ruptured methane tanks. Another jump pack-equipped Brute reached his side by then, and the pair charged around the next rock to seek more targets.

The next line of Parg Vol's troops were fleeing from the battlefield, a sensible choice made far too late. A few dozen Unggoy and even two Sangheili in blue armor scrambled over rocks and hills without looking back. Numerous Banished troops had crested the hills of their original position and were starting to cut down the retreating enemies when they saw their Warlord rush into view, holding their fire in deference to him. Tremonious simply gestured flippantly towards their targets and bared his fangs. He only had so many human 12-gauge rounds, and no interest in mere target practice besides. Instead, he climbed back up a boulder and faced the opposite direction, looking over the abandoned human camp. Excluding the final volleys that echoed behind him, the battle of the base was over. Banished troops secured the weapons of what few friendly dead there were or strolled calmly towards the hills to take their fill of the enemy. He scanned the surrounding landscape nearby. There were no hints of any living stragglers, only a few corpses located further away than the rest. Beyond that he could see what used to be the central human city of this world, the sight of so many fallen Jiralhanae and founding tales of the Banished, now little more than a collection of hardened slag heaps thanks to the Covenant glassing. But that was in the past. Today, Tremonious had forged a new tale of Banished glory. His next triumphant words rang out all across Banished comms.

"Search the human base, eliminate any fanatics that remain and take its treasures for yourselves!"

—

"My Warlord, we have completed our reconnoitering of the base." Kalcuno announced with clear trepidation in his voice. One of Tremonious' trusted assistants, he was a short, bulky Jiralhanae dressed in dark red Covenant-era armor, including the horned helmet of a Captain. An added black visor obscured his eyes. Tremonious growled in acknowledgement, continuing to observe the construction of a new Banished outpost just outside the human base. Many of the Banished troops partaking in the effort were festooned with human gear, from grenades to rocket launchers. As he swept his gaze over the work, he even saw a human scorpion tank covered with Unggoy speed haphazardly into view. It was a testament to the shortcomings of Merg Vol's forces that they didn't even bother to destroy abandoned human vehicles like that one.

"We've found many dead from the true believers," Kalcuno went on, using the mocking term common among the Banished for Covenant holdouts like Vol's fleet. "But few human corpses. Automated gun turrets are everywhere. A few remained active and were destroyed. There's also evidence that some human buildings were destroyed by internal blasts."

"It was a massive trap," Tremonious finished for the warrior.

"Yes Commander."

"That explains why we were ambushed outside the base," the Warlord decided. Since the human compound was fraught with danger, Vol's forces had surely been mortified by previous losses and chosen to take their chances on Algolis' surface. This did pose an important question, though. "If this was but a trap, what of the main human warhost?"

"Tremonious!" Escharum's voice cut in over Banished comms, and the urgent enthusiasm it held told him that he would soon have an answer.

"I await your orders, War Chief," Tremonious answered with practiced reverence that was far less hesitant than Kalcuno's.

"You have taken the human base?"

"The fanatics lie dead at our feet."

"Good, then you may rename it in your honor. But do not grow complacent. I have just personally uncovered the fate of Hectarius' outpost. It was raided by human forces."

"So, the humans fled in good order, then? We uncovered so little of their dead that the possibility seemed a strong one," Tremonious noted.

"Indeed, they are stubborn. But they struck without knowing who their target was. Now, we are compelled to respond mercilessly. Our recon flights show that the base is no longer occupied by them, though they cannot advance much further before dropping out of contact. Something is destroying them with great ease. It's of little concern to me. Where would the fun be in bombing the humans to ash?"

"Fleeting," Tremonious grinned.

"Yes, and that is why I need you to assemble a warhost to track these humans. But do not weaken your forces too greatly. Merg Vol and the rest of his delusional followers deserve most of our attention, and our wrath. I merely wish to avoid any human distractions behind our lines."

"If that is your command, then I know just who should comprise the backbone of this warhost. We'll send the Unggoy fodder!"

—

Arthoc had just pulled the bayonet of his Ravager from the back of a Kig-Yar straggler when Tremonious' voice growled over the comm.

"Arthoc! I have a special mission for you and your clan!"

"The Brothers of Unending Ire stand ready for any task," Arthoc replied proudly, signaling his second-in-command to rejoin him and await new orders.

"Good. Escharum has asked me to deal with a little human problem that just emerged."

"Humans? They're still alive?" Arthoc couldn't contain the disappointment in his voice. His sole purpose for being on this rock had been to win glory by smiting the would-be covenant successors who'd struck first. However many humans had weathered that assault, he was certain they would be nothing but tired remnants with little renown to be squeezed from their diminutive bodies.

"Alive, and ferociously so. They struck at Hectarius' outpost, butchered everyone there, and fled back into the mountains."

"And now I must hunt them down," Arthoc growled.

"They're not Unggoy, so your men should not find it a challenge." Tremonious cackled in reply, and Arthoc had to suppress a curse. Ever since the death of their old Chieftain Koth the Wrender at the hands of a local Unggoy defense force during a raid, the Brothers of Unending Ire had turned into the Brothers of Unending Shame. Forced suddenly into command, Arthoc had been unable to wrangle the increasingly vocal pro-Banished contingent within the warband, until he finally yielded and contacted the nearest Banished outpost to discuss the possibility of an alliance. In a few weeks, he had been kneeling before Atriox himself taking a pledge of loyalty. Athoc had no particular dislike of the Banished, indeed, he seemed to have thrown his lot in with them at a perfect time if their current forays were any indication. What did concern him was the overwhelming gravity with which Atriox possessed relative to the rest of the organization. A small assortment of Packs like the Brothers of Unending Ire could survive the loss of their leader, no matter how humiliating. But if Atriox fell, which of his potential successors had the same pull about them? War Chief Escharum boasted a considerable following, bolstered by not-quite discouraged rumors that he had mentored Atriox. The problem was that Escharum was currently in a losing struggle with his greatest foe yet: time. Escharum was indeed older than Atriox, old enough to be a full-blooded warrior in the years before the Prophets' subjugation. Rumors already abounded as Arthoc was integrating his command into the Banished that the War Chief no longer stood so straight or moved so deliberately anymore. Should the unthinkable occur, and the Banished lose first Atriox then Escharum to something as inglorious as the stress of command, Arthoc doubted he would be serving them for much longer.

"Be aware that Escharum himself promised retaliation to the humans," Tremonious added, "He informed me that you may request all manner of support from our forces to ensure that you succeed."

Heavy footfalls approached from behind Arthoc, and the Chieftain turned to see another Jiralhanae striding coldly up to him, dressed in the flame-patterned orange color scheme worn by the Brothers of Unending Ire. He was old, not ancient like Escharum, but his white fur flowed raggedly from under his orange Stalker helmet and down his chin.

"We are to hunt humans? I feel 40 years younger already." It was Targalian, Arthoc's right-hand man. The warrior's tale had started decade's before Arthoc's, and he'd passed on his wisdom to the younger Jiralhanae while they'd fought in the same pack. The Chieftain suspected Escharum and Atriox's friendship had started on a similar path. When Koth died, Targalian had boldly stepped forward to assist Arthoc with the trials of command, to the annoyance of several more prestigious warriors. Arthoc hadn't forgotten Targalian's guidance, though, and gladly accepted.

"Rally the packs and inform them of our new mission," Arthoc ordered. Targalian acknowledged and jogged back the way he'd come.

"And for my reinforcements…" the Chieftain began, Tremonious remaining silent while he deliberated.

"If we are to advance into the mountains, I will need scouts. As much of the Yyilikoi Farguard as can be spared, especially Tragathal's warhost. Loft Captain Gethmald's warriors too, I'll need jump pack troopers to circumvent the human's defenses. And a Bloodstar detachment for the frontal assaults. Is Gorian available?"

"Bloodstars? An ambitious request."

"Escharum has granted me whatever I want, yes? If I can't have the best troops available on the attack, this will be a short hunt. The best weapons, as well. I want firebombs! Enough for every warrior to have at least 4."

"I shall see what can be arranged," Tremonious grunted. "Remember this: Escharum himself wants success, and if you crush the humans you will be honored accordingly. But if, for all these gifts, you fail…"

"I will make them wish Vol's thugs were after them."

—

Tremonious had just finished delegating responsibility for the transfer of troops and weapons to Arthoc's warhost when Kalcuno approached unsteadily towards him.

"Let me guess, another human strike?"

"No, my Warlord. It's Warhost Talon, they haven't responded to our inquiries for several hours now."

"Not even a courier ghost? An exhausted coward who fled the field?"

"Nothing at all," fear crept into Kalcuno's voice.

Tremonious himself grew uneasy. Warhost Talon was tasked with setting up a network of forward outposts on a stretch of hills that overlooked the Volists' main line of defense beyond the glassed human city. It simply wasn't possible for Vol's troops to mount an assault on the outposts without ample advance warning due to their disadvantageous position. Knowing the terrain, this apparent success in catching the Warhost off-guard was extremely concerning. After all, in many ways Merg Vol and his Fieldmaster brother were said to have been stuck in 2552. They knew how they preferred to wage war, and they didn't care that their enemies had also figured them out. For that reason, Tremonious knew he had to take this setback seriously, small though it was. Either Vol had just learned about subterfuge, or he had outside help. Neither possibility was good.

"Warhost Talon numbered…" Tremonious left off.

"Just over 300 warriors," Kalcuno answered swiftly.

"Then I'll deploy 3000! Those hills must be contested while we move the legions into position to establish our own front line. The human base and city ruins have been well purged. Now we must make ready to send the rest of those fanatics on a proper Banished 'great journey'." As the Warlord began relaying orders to the appropriate Chieftains, he also recalled another key point.

"There will be no more flights in the vicinity of the human holdouts! We cannot keep feeding Banshees to whatever human weapon continues to shoot them down. Arthoc will have to make do with jump pack troopers for his air support."

—

An almost nostalgically cold breeze sifted past Matei, bringing with it the murmur of a commotion from surrounding marines turned to shades by D Company's strict blackout rules. Ghostly hands gestured upwards ahead of him, and Matei glanced upwards to be rewarded with the sight of a pale orb bleeding violet light against the oppressive backdrop of Algolis' second moon looming close in the night sky.

"That's no shooting star," Sergeant Barr noted to his left. A few moments later, the wobbling light dipped out of view beneath the left-hand peak of the shallow canyon the marines were resting in.

"True," was all Matei cared to say. It was the first sign of any hostile air they'd seen in a long time, and a hint that their new enemy hadn't taken kindly to their raid on the outpost that afternoon.

"Question is, who shot it down?"

"We don't have any Wolverines available," Barr noted, already lying back down.

"Maybe it was one of Vol's jets trying to probe Banished airspace." Matei wondered. Barr mumbled his approval and turned away in his sleeping bag.

Matei had to remind himself that they had two different enemies gunning for their heads now, each with their own respective combat doctrines. They didn't know much about the Banished, but he could make some educated guesses from what he'd seen. Firstly, they were led by Brutes rather than elites. He recalled seeing the occasional dead elite while exploring their outpost, but couldn't pin their exact numbers on that isolated instance. More importantly, they seemed to have distanced themselves from the Covenant on an aesthetic level. Everything from the design philosophy of their buildings to the shape of their body armor was the polar opposite of what he remembered about the Covenant and what Merg Vol's troops stubbornly clung to. There were no candy colors or rounded edges, excluding a myriad of hand-me-downs like what the Brute he'd killed was carrying. Even their weapons were different, Matei noted, eyeing the oversized bayonet on his newly-acquired Banished gun that lay next to him. He'd test fired the weapon just once, knowing how untrustworthy the battery life of covenant plasma weapons could be. A light press on the trigger had sent a red ball of plasma sizzling through the air with a noticeable arc before exploding in a shower of glowing red jelly that melted rocks in an imposing radius. The results weren't disappointing, and not in a good way. While other marines had jeered and applauded, he wondered what the effect of a dozen such weapons raining plasma on a marine trench would look like.

The answer would have to wait, he reminded himself. D Company had been given an extra two hours of rest time to compensate for the stress of going into battle at the Banished Outpost, and he was obligated to make the most of it as a squad leader. Giving his new gun a satisfied pat, he let his breaths come naturally and was soon drifting into a deep sleep without a care for the enemies around him.

—

1024 hours, August 1st, 2526 (military calendar)

UNSC Troopship Over There

In orbit over Harvest

Jeers and taunts seemed to follow Private Matei Caragiu out of the cryo bay and into the cramped hallway of the troopship. He wasn't the subject of any derision but was certain the unfortunate marines had been resting in cryotubes directly adjacent to him. There were any number of ways he could've taken their place: stare for a second too long, bump into someone while getting dressed too hastily, spitting that bronchial crud onto another person by accident. Basic training on New Harmony had included a cryo briefing vid, but he was sure sporting a stupid grin like the actors in that video would've been asking to get hazed, let alone asking if someone else was having trouble.

Matei examined the surrounding room, finding it to be wholly unwelcoming. Grimy slat floor panels rattled beneath his footsteps, giving a clear view of the pipes below that criss-crossed over each other and extended up behind equally hollow walls. Dry heat assailed him, a marked difference from the lingering chill of the cryotube that indicated a disregard for air conditioning. The lack of amenities did make sense, given that anyone in this part of the ship was either sleeping in cryo or moving out of it.

The laughter reached a crescendo behind him, followed by muffled footfalls that caught Matei's ear. He turned to see a shoeless marine jogging out of the cryo tube towards him, blue eyes drifting aimlessly towards the ceiling as if it was the only safe spot to observe.

"Hey," Matei shouted when the other man looked like he wasn't going to slow down before it was too late. The man jerked to a halt and stared uneasily at him, brushing strands of brown hair that were in no danger of getting in his eyes aside.

"I had to get out of there, man, I didn't do anything but I had to, it was like a cult in there," he stammered in an attempt to explain. "And then some of the newbies started joining in too, pure cannibalism!"

"Careful, they'll just tease you for running out too fast," Matei intoned. The blue-eyed man watched him out of one eye, examining his shoes with the other.

"I…remembered you from our squad before we shipped out. Not sure why they spread us all over the ship with those veterans. I'm Wilm Rakken. William. Just call me Wilm." He stumbled over his name.

"3rd Squad, yup, I know. I'm Matei Caragiu." He avoided extending a hand given how Wilm's were full with both his shoes and his rucksack.

"Let's get breakfast, wait for the rest of the squad." Without waiting for a reply, Matei turned and strolled down the hall to join the increasingly tight flow of freshly-defrosted marines all moving towards the same destination. Everyone wore solid OD-green service uniforms in various states of dishevelment, though Matei noted a correlation between poor dress and moving unsteadily. The more presentable marines were few in number, but they easily brushed past their inexperienced counterparts on the way to the mess hall. Bickering and excitement began to fill the air around Matei. Between an isolated bootcamp and a long voyage to the doldrums of human space, nothing about the war had filtered in for newcomers like Matei in the past 5 months, and the veterans didn't have it much better. Being on the verge of contact with the new enemy was enough to provoke gossip, though, an imaginary green light finally glowing brightly after much delay and patience. Most of what he heard mentioned was out of date even before their jaunt in cryo-

"We left Bliss on vacation a day before it went dark-"

"-still no word on Calinipaxa."

"- had nowhere left to go but the marines-"

"-cousin's friend had a friend on the Lance Held High who hasn't-"

"Killing aliens sounded fun?"

All the while, the occasional pained yelp rang out behind him, indicating that Wilm had chosen to stick with him rather than risk getting trampled while putting on his shoes.

Unsatisfied by the gossip, Matei instead embraced the sudden chill that filled the now wide hallway and marveled at the familiar polished mint-green tile facade that lined the walls of the Over There. It was an inspired choice that only a troopship could get away with. Marines fanned out into the newfound space all around him, including Wilm Rakken, who managed to reach his left side. The pair listened as the ship's PA system sprung to life.

"This is Harvest Fleet Report, the official voice of Battlegroup Revenge, with a special broadcast dedicated to our new friends in the 19th Marine Division…"

"I can't listen to propaganda on an empty stomach," an older marine sighed, several others voicing their agreement. Nevertheless, the zesty female voice continued to address the marines.

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watch?v=Sq-5RA7rpgs

"We have a special firsthand account of the heroic struggle and spirit that our sailors displayed two weeks ago in their perpetual effort to keep the space over your heads safe. The engagement on July 17th was the latest in a series of desperate attempts by the enemy to disrupt the rising tide of men and materiel that is currently drowning him on the surface below. It was disgraceful even by their simpleminded standards, a blind charge towards our patrol trusting in their beloved energy shields to keep them safe. But never forget, our courage is stronger than any shield, and our MAC rounds soar unerringly towards any target-"

The broadcast ceased in a flash of red light down the entire length of the hallway, followed by an urgent male voice filling the PA.

"RED ALERT. ENEMY SHIPS MOVING TO ENGAGE THE TRANSPORTS. ALL MARINES REPORT TO THE ARMORY THEN TRANSFER TO THE HANGAR BAY FOR EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT, ENEMY SHIPS-"

"They can't do anything smarter than straight-on charges but they're right on top of us?" Rakken started before another marine pushed him aside shouting "Out of the way, rookie!" That was enough to set off a collective sprint through the hallway, Matei temporarily forgetting about his squadmate to avoid getting bowled over by the taller marines around him. The assorted marines jogged unceremoniously down various exits and intersections, exact destinations forgotten in the excitement. Navy NCOs futilely attempted to corral the marines down the proper routes, but they often lacked anything resembling authority in their demeanors. A few even fumbled with their magnums as though they were expecting boarders. That really intrigued Matei. He wondered if the sailors were privy to any important details about these aliens that he wasn't.

Matei turned past another sputtering Navy guy and away from most of the other marines.

"I think the armory's that way," Wilm gasped next to him, in a cautious tone that indicated he was certain of it but didn't want to annoy his not-quite friend.

"Armory can wait, I want to see the battle," Matei responded a little too loudly, hearing several footfalls join in behind him.

The impromptu gang of marines quickly passed through several more bulkheads and hallways, driven by the prospect of observing a real fight, however distant it might be. Another Navy crewman attempted to wave them off before one of the taller marines split off and approached until he was uncomfortably close.

"Do we still get breakfast?" Matei heard the marine asking behind him, the Navy man's confused stuttering fading quickly beneath his footsteps.

Soon enough, Matei led them to a spacious room dominated on the right side by several sets of windows about ten feet high. Yet again, this was one of the frivolous design choices only a troopship could partake in. Outside, the stars were shifting from right to left, hinting at the maneuvers the ungainly transport was taking while artificial gravity kept them blissfully unaware.

"Where are they?" One marine asked right after coming to a stop centimeters from the windows.

"They have to be close," said another. "Why else is the ship trying to boogie like this?"

"How, though?" Matei asked.

"Cloaking device," replied the first marine.

"What if they came out of slipspace right on top of us?" Wilm added.

"Nonsense," hissed the second.

"You'd be surprised what some of the Navy guys are saying," a third marine cut in.

"We thought energy shields were nonsense too," Matei noted, before a flash of light cutting up through space caught his eye. "There!"

"Where?" two marines replied. Another spear of light followed a good distance from the first, a flicker of light that vanished in a moment.

"Mac rounds," Wilm declared, tracing the trajectories with both hands. "They ARE above us."

"No, that's too quick to be a mac," the third marine snapped back. Wilm was finally taking the opportunity to put his shoes on, doing nothing in reply but visibly roll his eyes.

"You watch too many war holofilms," said the second marine. Fortunately, the Over There straightened out shortly after the Mac rounds had passed, giving the marines an extended opportunity to watch the light show.

The ship shuddered briefly under their feet.

"Did we get hit?" asked the first marine.

"No, but someone else did, and that was their death rattle," Explained the second.

"Ooh, look at that," the Third marine interrupted and tapped on the glass. Sure enough, two more mac rounds winked into existence in unison, followed right after by one of the sources. Matei couldn't recall the exact type of ship that passed into view, though it was close enough for him to make out 4 distinct sections that grew progressively larger and formed a basic rectangular outline. Barely visible across its hull were the words "C-703 DAWN UNDER HEAVEN" in oversized peacetime lettering. The ship's left side rippled with light from dozens of Archer missiles escaping their pods to chase an unseen target.

"Do it, do it, do it," The first marine chanted at the sight. Just then the enemy's response came spiraling lazily into view.

"What the-" Matei started. At first, he was more concerned with the violet rope that hung in its wake before he noticed the object itself, a comet that flared with unstable energy on an equally confusing course towards its target.

"It's a missile," The third marine gasped.

"Only one?" Asked the first. Tracers filled the space around the Dawn Under Heaven from at least a half-dozen Rampart gun turrets. At the last moment the ship tilted hard to the right, only for the projectile to swerve between tracer trails and punch through its lower left side. Titanium-A armor was peeled away in a wave of superheated metal, then a portion of the ship's hull brightened, bulged, and finally exploded when the alien projectile detonated deep within the Dawn Under Heaven. Chunks of titanium armor and superstructure spilled from a massive gash that extended from the ship's left side to its ventral section near the stern.

Matei watched in horror as the ship dipped slowly off course, now far enough up for him to see its fusion engines sputtering. An identical ship charged into view further away, Mac shot winking by its damaged counterpart.

"Done for…" The second marine sighed.

"I don't think so, it's a Halcyon-class. Their superstructure is built like a bunch of chain link fences." Wilm protested, standing back up and leaning back and forth in his new shoes.

"It's a Marathon, idiot," the third marine snapped.

"My Uncle on the Texas would disagree. Just look at the hull, the Marathon has a more uneven shape. Halcyons have a flat outline except for that big stern," Wilm traced the two silhouettes with his fingers.

"As long as they're taking hits and not us," Matei reminded them. He watched the two Halcyons engage the enemy for a few more seconds, the damaged Dawn Under Heaven firing more Archer missiles despite gradually slowing even more until the other cruiser had passed out of view. Then both ships were lost when the Over There turned once again to port.

Matei was turning back the way he came to finally head to the armory when a newcomer rounded the corner. A terrified mood immediately filled the room when the marines recognized the dual bars of a captain on his service uniform. He was young, unremarkable in build, and his light brown eyes watched the gaggle of enlisted men intensely.

"Anything to report?" His voice carried with it no apparent disdain for the marines who'd disregarded orders to go observe a dangerous combat situation play out in front of them. It was, in fact, genuinely curious.

The Marine who thought a Halcyon was a Marathon was the first to react by snapping awkwardly to attention, which was followed hastily by Matei and the others.

"At ease." The captain glared derisively at the display. There was an awkward silence before someone finally mentioned that they'd seen one ship get knocked out.

"Quite interesting. I happened to overhear that two of our escorts were destroyed while I was in the officer's mess." The marines grew unnerved at the news. Eight Mako-class corvettes had been assigned to escort the convoy alongside 4 Gladius types. Knowing that only a few minutes had passed since the Red Alert was declared, Matei grew concerned at the idea of an enemy that could destroy at least two of the agile escort ships so quickly.

Meanwhile, the Marine Captain produced a datapad and looked over the out-of-place enlisted in front of him. "I'd say all of you can be dismissed, except…" he pointed towards Matei, Wilm, and one more marine. "You three." The lucky marines sprinted past, most forgetting to salute, leaving the trio to face the Captain on unsteady footing.

"I'm Captain Lealand of Alpha Company in the 4th Battalion. You all report to me. I would've liked to get acquainted with you guys before we were shipped out so quickly, but that's war. Speaking of…" he looked out the window, and the others followed just in time to see a Corvette speed past trailing plasma vapor from its opposite side. "...Whatever you saw in space out there, you should expect them to employ similar equivalents on the ground. How does that possibility make you feel, if you don't mind me asking?"

"After what I saw getting out of that cryotube, I'd rather face the aliens," Wilm's voice cracked with forced enthusiasm.

"That's the spirit! We're going to have a splendid time on Harvest if you keep that attitude going."

"What do mean splendid," Matei asked, noting the emphasis Lealand had put on that particular word.

The young Captain looked back at him with a beaming smile that seemed completely out of place for a military man.

"Let's put it this way: I'm Teddy Roosevelt, you guys are the Rough Riders, and once we get down there I'm going to need your help finding a nice hill."

—

"Shitfkrghtr-"

Matei's hands flailed blindly for the Banished gun, gloved hands nearly taking hold of the huge bayonet before his dream stupor ended. The stale yet pleasantly chill recycled air of the UNSC ship was a distant memory, replaced by the dry heat of an Algolis morning. Several other marines were stirring in their makeshift bedding around him, making Matei feel hopelessly self-conscious as he reflected on his strangely panicked reaction to the dream.

"Sir?"

Sergeant Barr was already crouched by his side, M6H drawn and ready.

"It's nothing, at ease, at ease, I had my…my first 'War' dream."

"Your 'war' dream?" Barr holstered the gun and watched the squad leader with a blatantly confused look.

"I don't relive things that happened in the war at all, not since I got out of cryo. Maybe going under for so long…decompressed my subconscious? I don't know. But I do know something was off about tonight."

"We're in a very stressful situation, sir." Barr let the statement hang, turning back to retrieve an MRE from his pack.

"Yes, but for me…" Matei paused and pointed at Barr while he was still facing away. "Sergeant, did you by any chance dream of something odd last night? I won't order you to answer…"

"Say My Name."

"What?'

"It was a ship. A Cruiser that went down somewhere over Medford on Earth."

Matei knew he'd just stumbled into a very dark chapter in Barr's story. The story went that the man had taken up arms against the covenant when he was just 16 during the battle for Earth. As the saying on the base went: "Barr didn't join the marines, they politely asked if they could hire him." Not that Matei could verify this, because as was always the case with tales like that, they somehow emerged despite a strong taboo against asking the man responsible anything even slightly related to them.

Seeing his superior's obvious befuddlement, the Sergeant continued. "I just saw it going down in flames one day, not a covie in sight mind you. I was sitting pretty on junk food that time, if I'm being honest. Very…strange dream to have."

Now Matei was very interested. Both of them had dreamt about days that were fairly tame on a personal level, except…

He outlined his own memory as best he could, taking care to specify his brief view of the battle. At first Barr seemed more amused at his recollection of Captain Lealand than anything else, even breaking out into laughter. Matei saw several marines around them gawking in amazement at the sound.

"Sounds like 2526 to me!" Barr caught himself and raised a finger. "Wait!"

"What?"

"Let's think about this for a second. You saw a fight happen in space…"

"And?" Matei urged the other man on.

"Sound doesn't travel in space."

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Damned if I know, maybe it was just someone unlucky."

"Sergeant," Matei looked around, noting that the entire squad was now observing the discussion. "We've come this far, we've both established that we dreamt about something strange last night. There's no point in stopping now."

Ernest eyed his supposedly elder superior with a predatory gleam in his emerald eyes. He looked over the rest of the squad, who seemed much less unbowed than Matei in the face of that ominous expression. Finally, the Sergeant spoke.

"All I can say is, when that ship passed over my head, right when it went past, I could hear something else out there."

"Which was…?" Decorum of rank forgotten, Matei cupped his hands pleadingly before the sergeant.

"I want to say it was just the engines, but…for a few seconds there, it sounded like a woman screaming."