Halo: Feet First

by MikeDice

Halo: Feet First covers the story of a team of UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers of the 7th Battalion, 105th Shock Troops Division. The main character, Duncan Iris, faces the full horror of the covenant war effort against humanity as well as the brave retaliation of outnumbered and outgunned UNSC forces. However, he also witnesses the turning of the tides as the war progresses.

157. Battle of Reach - Chapter 30 (Tauri)

Chapter 30 – Tauri Ranae

August 19th, 2552 - (14:45 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, Eposz

New Alexandria

:********:

The M99 Stanchion had seen better days, not that it was broken but that Mackley had a hard time finding a good place to set it down. The bipod simply wasn't an option anymore. He had to maneuver it under his own power. Doing so had taught him just how heavy it could be when fully assembled. Weight-wise, it was no better than wielding a six-year-old like a weapon, all 44-pounds worth of them. Even a SPNKR was only half that. Complaints aside, he had to make due for the platoon. Their latest delivery of civilian passengers was at stake.

Their tram had been repaired, refitted and refueled as best as could be managed. The surviving Marine Engineers had gotten their hands on a few slabs of metal sheeting. These they welded into place on those parts of the transport that suffered the greatest damage, the majority of which were used on the third coach. Daz's section was barely functional by the time the fighting had stopped. Those inside who had survived to give their thanks were still ill at ease. The sheets wouldn't protect them from much more than the high velocity wind shear of the tram's movement. Plasma damage was completely out of the question. Hence why no civilians were allowed inside.

They departed from NA Central carrying their newest consignment of passengers. Over 300 civilians were piled in. There was a universal air of apprehension among them. Parents weren't too happy about having to sit their toddlers down on blood-soaked seats. Others fidgeted uncomfortably in their chairs, eventually having to reach under themselves to pull bullet casings out of the way. Some stumbled over spent rocket tubes or slipped on things left behind by the previous passengers such as personal belongings, plastics and liquids. The latter was often blood but there were some unpleasant exceptions.

Little did they know that their apprehension was shared with their guardians although for far more worrisome reasons. Of the platoon as well as their Marine and Army comrades, no one was eager to come back aboard. Not after witnessing their neighbors going off like a hand grenade. Plasma damage to one of their magnetic accelerator coils had gone undetected, that is until the whole thing went off at the last and worst possible moment. Over a dozen of those inside had been roasted so severely that they were put out of action, several of them for good. Aside from that, there had been little opportunity for repairs and even less so for a proper cleanup. The second the thrust of the Covenant's last assault wave had diluted across the city, UNSC Command ordered the trams back on schedule. Time was of the essence if they were to stay on track for the counteroffensive.

Mackley wasn't envious of the civilians. Sure, he and the others had to face the brunt of the fire but at least their helmet filters would keep the smell on the downlow. He on the other hand had the advantage of open air on his side. He stood partly outside the hatch of the cockpit's rooftop. He was posted to lookout duty once again. This time it was shaping up to be far more vital.

The city's infamous low cloud cover had settled in again. The tram was currently tunneling through the misted air, tearing a path through its depths as they forged onward. Visibility for everyone else was reduced to 50-meters at best, 20 at worst. They could only see the silhouettes of the buildings that they passed, rising as towering shadows that flitted by on either side.

The low visuals had forced the tram to rely on two of its senses. The first was their newest conductor, Yohan, and his command of the transport's GPS systems. The second was Mackley and the thermal sights of the Stanchion rifle. Yohan was responsible for keeping them on track, both figuratively and literally. It fell to Mackley to keep an eye out for anything flying in the area.

He was on guard. At any moment he expected to see a Banshee squadron closing in on them from the north, just off to their right, or maybe a pair of Seraphs from the south on their left. Nothing serious ever came up. Nothing close enough to worry about at least. A lot of his job revolved around turning to see if anything was coming from behind. Having to risk exposing his back to an attack from the front, he did quick scans of the skies to their rear before sweeping quickly to the fore. He could make out the reddish orange figures of the rooftop gunners on each of the coaches. Their emplacements shifted about within the haze. They were no less wary than he was, if not more so.

After making certain that their flanks were secure, he finished his rounds and continued to aim straight ahead.

The tram was moving along a curving path in the magrail when the Staff broke the silence on their communications.

"Just got some good news from 4-Actual. Turns out 4th Platoon just captured the last two target buildings on Bravo's priority list. The company's free to move out. Alpha, Charlie and Delta are already starting into other parts of the city, 4-Actual says he's taking Bravo downtown. According to Neptune, that's where most of the trouble in the south is going to be from here on out. After this next run, we'll be handing over tram-duty to an Army platoon and linking back up with the rest of the company."

"One stop is still too long." Yuri replied. "How about we bring civvies along, maybe babysit them while we move with rest of Bravo?"

"Yeah, no." Nova said. "You have good ideas sometimes, Ep-5, but that's not one of them."

"I'm as ready to tear the Covenant a new one as the next guy upstairs but I'd rather do it with both hands," Duncan chimed. "Not with one tied behind my back."

Mito was quick on the uptake. "Hey, one-handed isn't as bad as you might think, not if you know what you're doing. I'm sure these guys are on the same wavelength. Give them a rifle and they'd jump off this thing faster than we could hit the brakes."

"I don't think that's because they're ready to fight." Renni sighed. "This tram is a dump. I'm just about ready to jump off myself."

"At least we finally get to move on to more important stuff." Zack added.

"And what exactly is more important than what we're doing right now?" The Staff asked.

"Pushing the Covenant out of the city, sir, maybe kicking a few hundred Split-jaws to the curb while we're at it."

"These people are the whole reason the enemy's here, Ep-7. We'll just be cleaning up the neighborhood for them once they're gone. Remember that."

"...Roger that, sir."

Mackley knew Epsilon's radioman well enough for him not to be as much of an enigma as Mito, the Staff or even the fabled corporal. He was one of the easier members of his sister squad to understand, like Yuri and Rico. But Mackley couldn't help noticing how spaced out he'd been, especially since that little incident at the Galactic Cup Building. Then again, he felt it wasn't really his place to bring it up. He left it to the more seasoned members of the platoon to sort things out if anything came of it.

He maneuvered the Stanchion to the south, checking the skyline through his scope before righting himself back towards the west.

"See anything, Whiskey-3?" The Staff asked.

"Negative. There's nothing on my-, hold on a sec."

Sighting further along the rails, he spotted something that made his heart skip a beat. There was an orange-red spot in the cold metalwork up ahead. A gaping hole had been blown into the rails half a kilometer away. The gap was more than wide enough to send them on a one-way trip to the streets below.

"What's going on, Whiskey?" The Staff called.

"I'm looking at a 20-meter gap in the rails about half a klick west of us, sir." He struggled to restrict the worry from his voice. "Better tell Yohan to slow down, we're closing the distance pretty quick."

"Copy." As the Staff passed on the warning to the conductor, Mackley continued monitoring their speed. He was grateful to hear the screeching whistle of the tram's brakes. The transport began slowing down. Still, it was hurtling towards the hole at an impressive pace. By 100 meters it was ambling. By 50, it was crawling.

The next two seconds brought him so close that he no longer needed the Stanchion to see the gap. The magrail had not only been split in two but was scorched, ripped and peeled back, reminding him of a torn cable with all the copper filaments exposed. Some of the components still buzzed with gasps of sparking energy.

They came to a complete stop with less than 5-meters to go, giving Mackley the best view of the damage that he could have never asked for.

"Can you see anything, Whiskey-3?" Dalton inquired.

Mackley could barely make out the street beneath them and the aisles of traffic left frozen in time. "Yeah, straight down."

"No, I mean hostile air. Whoever did this might still be hanging around."

He did a quick check of the skies. "Negative, we're clear."

He ran his scope over the breach and took exception to the warm colors in the metal. It still hadn't cooled. "This looks really recent, sir."

"Figured." Dalton replied, putting his LAU on a scrupulous rotation.

"Isn't the rail system supposed to report damages to any trams in the area? How come Yohan didn't see it before me?"

Almost as if the name itself was a gift of luck, he felt the slight tug of gravity on his back. The tram was slowly reversing.

"Just finished talking to him." The Staff reported. "He says other conductors are having the same problem. Apparently, the whole thing's on the fritz. The guideway took more damage from that assault wave than their guidance system is used to handling. Some of the warnings are getting through. Others aren't, it's causing a few blind spots."

"So, we're in one of those now?" The sergeant questioned as their reversal picked up speed.

"That's about right, and it might not be the last one along our route either."

Mackley stared off at the gaping hole, watching it recede into the haze. "I don't like the sound of that."

"What?" Yuri prodded. "Afraid of a little flying?"

"That's not flying. That's falling and burning."

"No different from what we do in pods, no? If it makes you feel better, think of it like devil's rollercoaster and you get front seat. Lucky you."

"...You actually suck."

"Hey, I'm not one who decided to bring big gun with thermals. Good job Mr. Overachiever. Now if you want to keep your guts in then keep an eye out, khorosho?"

Mackley peered over his shoulder to where Yuri would be down below. "What does that even-"

"Ignore him." The Staff ordered. "Focus."

"Yessir." He tuned out the wider conversation to set his mind on where they were going next.

The tram backed up another 300 meters before slowing down at an exit rail on their left. Speeding back up, they left their original route and exchanged it for one that curved further to the southwest. They would have to take a slight detour. What that meant in terms of time delays or serious obstacles was yet to be seen, but with all things considered, Mackley heeded the Ruskey's advice.

They glided into an area where the buildings drew farther away from the rails.

Nearly a minute in, his quiet vigil was interrupted by a glimmer of movement. He immediately twisted leftward and scoped in on a blur of red, orange and yellow that disappeared just as quickly as he'd noticed it.

"Saw something." He reported. "Airborne."

"Friendly?" The Staff asked.

"Couldn't tell."

A few seconds later he could.

Off in the distant south, an aircraft soared through the cloudy foliage of the city's skyline. The manta ray-like shape glided above and around buildings with a patient dexterity. His thermals were swift to identify the twin flares of impulse drives and the humpbacked frame of a Phantom. At the same time, it was unlike any he had ever seen.

Near the rear, a kind of bridged spine made a shallow arc from one side of it over to the other, much like a giant headset. It was fastened to the rest of the craft by supports that gave the whole thing a set of wide shoulders. It was bigger, better armed too. A pair of pitchfork-like prods extended from the walls on either side of its troop bay as undersized pincers on an oversized crab. All four pulse lasers moved synchronously to the direction of the lead cannon at the nose of the craft.

It was far ahead of them but it was moving in the same direction.

"Whiskey-3?"

The voice of his sergeant broke him out of his stupor. "Phantom, 320-meters to our south. I-, I've never seen a type like that before. Looks armored, a lot more than usual."

"Armored?" The Staff asked.

Mackley shook his head at the flying monstrosity. "If there's such a thing as a tank on wings, sir, that's it right over there and it's minding its own business. My personal opinion, we're better off leaving it that way."

He briefly scoped out from the new threat merely to spot another one off to their right. His broadened view drew his attention to a yellowish-orange spot in the skies to the north. He zoomed in on it. Moving in a similar manner at a roughly equal distance was a second Phantom. It was a mirror image of the first: same size, same armaments, same direction.

"Scratch that," Mackley said, his voice wavering. "Make that two. The second one's out to our north, about 310-meters. They've got the same vector, sir. I'm not liking what I'm seeing."

"They must be after the same target then, maybe something further up." The Staff concluded. "Platoon, we've got a pair of possible Gunboats sighted up ahead. We're looking at heavy armor and potential long-range weapons. They're on a parallel course to our own so stay on alert in case they decide to make a pass."

Mackley braced himself against the side of the maintenance shaft. It was like his own personal gofer hole. A little voice in the back of his head told him that it could be his grave too if he wasn't careful. Even that might not be entirely up to him, a realization that hadn't stopped hitting him in the face since his first combat drop.

The air at the front of the tram had proved so tense that he almost fell over at the sound of thunder from behind. He whirled about, facing the Stanchion to the rear.

Flashes of pink light exploded along the walls of the fourth coach. From the haze came the bright thermal specters of two Phantoms that swooped in on either side. He hadn't even heard them coming. Their heavy plasma cannons swept down the length of the transport, pummeling the sides of the tram with raking fire.

Nova and Daz were the first to respond. The sergeant and the Staff joined in as did the machine-gunners below. None were able to get in as many licks as the dropships whose speedy passage and sudden barrage created a wind tunnel of roiling air.

Mackley ducked down into the hatch as flaming wind surged overhead. The heat prickled his skin like a million tiny needles. Steeling himself against the pain, he heard the Phantoms speed by. He rose out of the hatch to get his bearings.

The damage wasn't as bad as he had expected. A handful of fires polka-dotted the roof. The Staff and the others were still standing, their guns peppering the rear of the dropships as they rocketed away, heading westward. A pack of missiles stalked after one of them. Like wolves at a deer's heel, they bit down into its tail in rapid succession, tearing out a comet trail of burning coolant.

Then they were gone. Slipping back into the mist they disappeared from sight though not from thermals. Mackley tracked their heat signatures while they bolted further down the guideway. He spared a second to check on the conductor, kicking at the wall between him and the cockpit.

"Hey Yohan, you good!?"

A muffled voice reached him. "No but I'm alive!"

"Good enough!"

He zoomed in over the widening distance between them and the dropships. The one issuing flames from its flank was the easiest to spot. Both were performing serpentine maneuvers to shake off the last missiles that snapped at their hulls. Not wanting to waste his already rare ammo on a risky kill-shot, he held his fire.

"Whiskey-4, maintain visual on those Phantoms!" The Staff ordered.

"Copy!"

Just as he said it, he watched his quarry break off from their flight path. One flew right, the other left. Both vanished into the clouded depths of the city, their signatures merging with those of NA's burning skyscrapers.

"Hold on, I just lost-" A breath of cold air made him tense. He turned and looked ahead, searching the skies to their immediate northwest. There was nothing. His stomach boiling, he checked the skies to their southwest. There was nothing there either.

"Look like they're coming back for another pass, Whiskey!?" The Staff asked.

"They broke off, sir, but we got another problem! Remember those armored ones!? They're gone! I'm not picking them up anywhere!"

A pensive pause passed before the Staff's answer came. His words were quickly silenced by the warbling hum of impulse drives that had drawn impossibly close.

Two shadows appeared high above on their left and right. Mackley snapped the Stanchion in their direction. Only then did he understand that he was too late.

Pink flashes lit up the haze. What he recognized as concussion rounds cascaded down on the tram from both sides. The man-sized droplets of fire hosed into the middlemost coaches. The entire transport trembled from the successive impacts that sparked off its hide. And in a blink, it was over.

Mackley was hardly on his feet afterward. His head hurt. His guts felt all wrong. Still in a daze, he hoisted himself back up towards the top of the hatch, leading with his rifle. Through his scope he saw their armored assailants ascending back into the mist. Screams rang out from somewhere close. It was the passengers. He whirled about to find multiple impact sites dotting the walls of both the second and third coaches, each glowing a bright orange. Parts of the metal had burnt open and flames were blowing inside. Fire extinguishers shot out in answer as personnel fought to contain them. The tram's velocity was gradually overwhelming the fires but was also forcing them inward, working both for and against them.

The platoon was thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire once two more Phantoms took the place of the last two. They swung in from either side to fly above them. One neared the rear of the tram while another got ahead of them. Mackley recognized the former from the tail of fire that trailed behind it. The dropships were close enough now for everyone else to see them as well, a fact they made known by pummeling them with return fire. Neither of the Phantoms' heavy plasma cannons offered a reply. They remained silent while the dropships rotated to expose their troop bays. The doors folded away to expose a frightening sight, one that leapt out to meet them.

"Brute Jumpers!" The Staff warned. "Keep them back, don't let them get aboard!"

Mackley wasn't sure he could. In the blur of motion that ensued, he made out the frames of a dozen Brutes already on the move. Their cobalt blue armor was sparse like those that had attacked NA Central but was also somewhat different. Thick, black pajama-like clothing hung above segmented shin guards and around beefy shoulders. Hefty chest armor connected to an open helmet, the brim of which hemmed in glowering red eyes and a snarling mouth. As they thudded out of the bay, they jumped off the edge in pairs. The powerful thrust of their jump-pack units arrested them from their fall. They each rode through the air on twin-cones of sapphire propulsion. The devices flickered as their users made micro-adjustments to bob and weave through the torrent of bullets and missiles.

The full situation dawned on Mackley in a moment. The tram was going at about half speed. The Phantoms hadn't simply been trying to soften them up. Whatever they had hit had also slowed them down, making them that much easier to board.

The heavy plasma cannon of the lead Phantom turned to cover their approach. Mackley wasn't about to let that happen. He sighted past the flurry of threats towards the gun. A squeeze of the trigger unleashed a hypersonic blast. The cannon and a snip of the dropship's nose disintegrated before his brain could even register it.

Right then a shape vaulted from the shadow of the troop bay. The figure soared towards the tram on pure momentum. The weight of its black armor crashed down on top of the cockpit like a boulder, cracking the window with its boots even before it raised its hammer.

Mackley preempted its swing with another round from the Stanchion. The shot was too wide yet the rushing overpressure caught the chieftain in the gut and whipped its legs out from under it. It crashed face first into the glass as it careened towards the edge. At the last second a clawed hand stabbed into the hull and stopped its tumble. It shot Mackley a look of utter rage and clambered towards him, hand over hammer.

He heard Yohan screaming for help down below. He was quietly panicking himself at the chieftain's approach which changed all too quickly from a crawl to a sprint. The angles of the cockpit stopped him from getting a good shot until it had started running. He tried again but the chieftain jumped aside in advance, getting itself clear. It barreled through the onrushing wind and charged him.

He dared to wait. The way the Brute bounded from side to side made a direct hit with something like the Stanchion all but impossible. He felt his soul preparing to leave his body as the sight of the wrathful behemoth came within four meters. At three, the hammer was lifted high. At two, he ducked into the hatch, using its edge to point the barrel at its chest. At one, his world detonated.

Like always, he didn't see the shot. What he did see was the aftermath of an earring-sized slug accelerating through armor and flesh at a fraction of the speed of light. The baptism of gore and splintered metal reached him before the sound did. What felt like the punch of a giant fist crashed down on top of him. The gravity hammer had landed short of the hatch, yet the power of its swing had combined with the overpressure from his rifle to create the mother of all shockwaves.

He felt a loud POP from his shoulder.

His other hand had been holding onto the ladder when the shockwave yanked him clear. He fell straight to the floor, colliding with the Stanchion on the way down. The impact left him stunned if only for a moment. Slowly at first then all at once, the worst pain he had ever felt in his life coursed through his shoulder to the rest of his body.

He didn't scream so much as he emptied his lungs of all the sound they could make.

It grew so bad that he couldn't think. The idea crossed his frantic mind to take his combat knife and cut his arm off, the source of the pain. The notion was interrupted by the more worrying sound of plasma fire above. Shadows hovered outside the hatch.

Strength that he didn't know he had made him swallow his cries. Paying no heed to either Yohan's or the rest of the platoon's calls, he used his right arm to push himself up until he could sit against the wall. He couldn't even move the left one. His legs worked just fine though. He ran towards the ladder. Nearly slipping over the fallen Stanchion, he hoisted himself up towards the hatchway one-handed.

He reached out for the door of the hatch itself, shoving away the pair of ownerless legs that the chieftain had left behind. Doing so revealed his presence to the pair of Brutes that landed on either end of the cockpit. They spotted him in the opening and leveled their plasma rifles. He grasped the door's lock-wheel and jumped off the ladder. His weight helped to pull it the rest of the way, shutting it with a thump.

Plasma hissed above while he regained his footing and wound the lock tight. Heavy fists pounded against the other side but to no avail. He dropped back to the floor and shuffled over to his rifle. He slumped against the opposing wall and braced the Stanchion with his good arm. He foisted the barrel onto his knee and used it to aim at the hatch, ready to take on anything that might break in. The pain shooting through his body remained a constant distraction all the while, making him bite down on his own teeth to get whatever relief he could.

:********:

As one of the rear gunners, Duncan's top priority was the Phantom's heavy plasma cannon. Upon coming into view, a swath of machinegun fire flitted into its frame. A full auto assault was aimed at knocking it out before it could fully face him. Sparks flickered out of the device as it made a turn, one it would complete in a gasp of fire and electricity. Having neutered the dropship, he maneuvered the M247 towards the rest of the craft.

In that time several of the Brute Jumpers aboard had already taken to the air. Spike and plasma rifles let loose on the fourth coach. The walls hissed and clinked around him while he bore down on his next target: the troop bay's plasma cannon. The Grunt behind it was giving him a run for his money. A thick spray of bolts was hammering his position and becoming more accurate by the second. The sway of the dropship made tracking his target that much harder. After having plasma slash through the doorway, he gauged the Phantom's momentum and used it to lead his quarry by a few inches. The result was an arching burst that found its mark. The Grunt reeled off the gun and rolled lifelessly from the bay, merely for something else to come stomping after it.

At five-meters, he hadn't realized how close the dropship actually was, not until the armored bulk of a chieftain came powering out of the bay. It jumped off the ramp and sailed towards him, hammer at the ready.

He froze at the sight but was quickly thawed out by the rays of a green sun. One of the Jumpers had put a fuel rod cannon to good use. The rod reached him ahead of the chieftain. Tossing himself from the machinegun, he was still within range once it arrived. The rod torpedoed into the observation platform outside and consumed it in a blast that chucked him off his feet. He crashed against a wall and hit the floor hard.

Stars flew into his vision. His head swam, rendering him able to think about little more than the metallic taste in his mouth.

Loud thuds emanated from somewhere above. These weren't as close as an echoing impact from outside, the sound of boots landing on metal.

Lifting his head was a task. Practically drunk, he struggled to keep his eyes open. His machinegun lay just out of arm's reach. Its mangled tripod had broken free of the wall.

A shadow came into the doorway and blocked out the light. The lumbering figure of the chieftain strode inside and immediately became the largest thing in the coach. Still huddled in their seats, everyone else acted accordingly.

A chorus of screams rang out from adults and children alike. The chieftain seemed to take it as a challenge and unleashed a throaty bellow, eliciting an even stronger reaction from over a hundred horrified faces.

A pair of Marines were the first to react. Rising from their seats, they wheeled into the middle lane and fired their DMRs. They were no better than mosquito bites against the crackling shields of the chieftain, though it was sufficient to earn its ire. It ignored Duncan and rushed straight towards them. Its advance created a stampede as the passengers trampled over one another in a desperate bid to escape. The sea of screams quickly parted before the motive fury that pounded after its foes.

Two Army troopers added their fire to that of their comrades from further down the coach. However, their efforts were abruptly pulled elsewhere as Brute Jumpers landed on a set of nearby windows. Grabbing ahold of the exterior, they shattered the glass with plasma and spikes. Several civilians keeled over from bolts to the back or the gut. A mother grabbed her son close and was turned into a pincushion for her trouble. An elderly man stumbled back into his wife's arms with a steaming mess of a face.

More soldiers moved to cover them and fired back, leaving the two Marines to their fate.

The closest of the Marines ran back while firing one-handed. A swing from the gravity hammer swatted the rifle out of his grasp before a twist of the chieftain's wrist saw him swatted to the ground. A wave of ruptured gravity rippled through the whole coach, knocking dozens off their feet and fracturing windows.

Duncan felt his brain rattling in his head. He fought down the urge to puke as he grappled with the seriousness of the situation. The Staff's voice in his helmet pulled him out of his malaise.

"Troopers, they're starting to get aboard! If you're down below, focus on securing your areas! We'll handle the dropships from up here! Get to it!"

The last three words gave Duncan the clarity he needed. Hand over hand, he started crawling towards the fallen machinegun.

With a huff, the chieftain pulled its gravity hammer from the pulped remains of its first kill. Its glare met the horrified stare of the other Marine. She glanced at the floor, at the bloodied crater of sparking wires and fatigue-strewn viscera that was once her teammate. Her gun, already raised, shook in her grasp. She appeared transfixed by the murderous goliath that now raced towards her. Then she began to fire. The bark of her rifle and the defiance of her screams was countered by the growling menace that swallowed her in its shadow. Its hammer rose for an overhead swing that stopped midway.

A roar of fully-automatic fire doused its back with enough force to knock it off balance. It staggered forward, giving the Marine the chance to mount a fighting retreat. Being shot at on two sides, the Brute whipped around towards the heaviest resistance.

Duncan stared right back. So did the barrel of his M247H, its eye blinking rapidly from a steady stream of muzzle flashes.

Screwing off what remained of the tripod was the easy part. Actually holding up the gun's full weight had turned out to be a two-handed affair. He just wished he had two more. Its bulk added onto the constant kickback which forced him to square his own weight with a wide stance. With that, he held nothing back.

Neither did the chieftain.

It roared and rushed him. Its hammer trembled with each step, its shields glowing so bright that its armor seemed electrified. The same went for its demeanor which only grew in fury as it faced his assault head-on.

Having so many civilians around, Duncan was wary about firing from the hip. His entire resolve was set into either hand, his right clamping down the trigger, his left steering the barrel so that no shot ever strayed from the lane. Every bullet streamed straight into his target. Likewise, every bullet seemed to be brushed off with ease.

"Stay back!" He shouted at the others. He started aiming low and high, raking it from head to toe yet risking more ricochets in the process. If it made any difference, the chieftain didn't care to show it. It continued undaunted until only a few stretches remained between them.

At that point Duncan measured his life in seconds. He took full advantage of each moment to weaken the enemy as much as possible. But the sole metric he had for it was its straining energy shields. Even then, its sheer bulk would buy it extra time, time he didn't have.

Then, without wanting or meaning to, he saw himself beneath the canopy of a forest. He saw that he stood at the edge of a tall escarpment. He saw himself draining his assault rifle into a wounded Brute that charged at him with nothing more than bare hands. He saw it brushing off the gunfire. He saw it focusing on him even as its jaws were clamped around Deaks' shoulder, dragging the limp corporal across the underbrush like a rabbit caught in the fangs of a wolf. He saw how helpless he was, how helpless they were.

He was about to die.

He wasn't sure if he was ready yet.

Then the howl of the Brute as Deaks came alive, driving the blade of Silver Buddha deep into its jaws, reminded him that he wasn't.

The chieftain's shields burst like a bubble even as his machinegun hissed from the effort. By then he was within striking distance. The gravity hammer flew over the nearest seats in a wide arc, one it would never finish as the back of its owner's head exploded. He ducked beneath the weapon which boomeranged cleanly out a window. The chieftain still came with its full momentum. He couldn't even dodge as the corpse rammed into him.

He was on the ground in an instant. He quickly found out that the weight of the M247 wasn't so much as in the same league as the Brute. It was so heavy that it was suffocating. He needed air.

He pushed against the crush of fur and armor. "Help!"

Fast footsteps sounded from nearby. A hand grabbed at the chieftain's shoulder. It pulled hard but it wasn't enough. More footsteps followed and more hands came to his rescue. He pushed in tandem. Together, they heaved the slack-jawed cadaver off of him.

Duncan sucked in breath after breath. Mito stood over him. He helped him back up and he steadily regained his balance.

"When'd you get down here?" He asked.

"Just now. Looks like you could use the help."

"Then who took the shot?"

The Marine he'd seen earlier, the one he'd saved, kicked her assailant in the mouth. She flashed him a grin. "Just returning the favor."

Still shaken, he barely got out a "thanks" before a pair of windows were shattered near the middle of the coach. Two Brute Jumpers kicked and smashed their way inside. More passengers screamed and bolted from their seats. They flowed past the stairs and under the frantic guidance of a trooper squad who shouted for them to head for the third coach. They in turn threw themselves between the Brutes and those they were after. Maneuvering between the seats for cover, they turned the rows of chairs into alleyways of fire. Both sides bashed one another and the cushioned padding of their newfound protection with hot lead and spiked tungsten.

The Marine ran to join the fight. So did Mito.

Duncan straggled behind after not feeling his AR on his back. He looked around and spotted it right as Mito came across it. He picked it up and tossed it over. Duncan caught it out of the air. Giving a silent thanks for the weapon's light weight, he recalled the flashback he'd had to that moment on Ballast, harnessing that rage as he rushed into the fight.

:********:

Nova wasn't having it. The second the Jumpers flew towards her roof, her cannon switched from pummeling the Phantom to tracing their individual flight paths. She scoped in on the biggest threat, a Brute wielding a fuel rod cannon. It launched a rod down at the back of the coach. Her sights lined up and stopped it from getting off another. The Brute was blown clear out of the air like a lightning bolt from heaven, hurling its shattered remains out of sight.

Spikes pinged off the sides of her defenses. Several of the Jumpers flew past her and blitzed her position from left to right. Wincing at a close call that nearly cost her a hand, she turned against the closest. Her attackers proved faster however and flew on towards the rest of the tram. Two more took on the task of taking her out, jetting down to either end of the coach.

Twin volleys of spikes and plasma sparked and shattered against her defensive barriers. Tucking her head down to avoid the incoming, she found that she couldn't turn in either direction. They'd cornered her. She could hear the practiced thrust of their jetpacks as they closed in against the push of the wind.

Seeing no other choice, she took a chance and rotated as fast as she could towards the frontmost Brute. Her first round speared the air a meter shy of it. The second caught it in the neck and obliterated everything from the waist up. She kept turning even as the Brute behind her let out a vengeful howl. Her constant motion saved her from a plasma burst to the flank, her defenses circling back into place.

Her attacker was unphased and out the corner of her eye she saw a blue light flicker in its hand. The Brute made the toss faster than she could face it, though not so fast as to catch her off guard. The grenade crackled towards her like a bolt. She flung herself out through the barriers just in time, watching it stick onto the cannon. She tried to roll aside but the blast helped her more than she could have ever asked for.

She barreled towards the edge. Amidst her uncontrolled tumble she clawed around for a handhold. The rooftop's gradual slope worked against her, as did its smooth surface. Her legs flew over the edge just as her fingers found purchase on a small ledge. The weight of the rest of her immediately put a strain on her hands. The onrushing wind made it that much worse.

Her muscles shook from the tension as she dangled over an unseen height. She saw her DMR tumble off the edge and twirl into the clouds. The Gauss cannon came next. Its smoldering, twisted wreck rolled end over end across the roof. She hardly reacted fast enough to let go with one of her hands. She swung to the side, adding to her strain yet clearing a path for the cannon. It battered its way over the ledge and somersaulted through the fog in a ballet of spiraling debris. Its passage tore a small hole in the clouds and she saw the streets below. Far, far below.

Teeth gritted, she grasped the ledge with both hands again and swung her legs towards the nearest window. Her boots caught onto the sill. No longer dangling, she used it to get a firmer hold on the ledge and pulled herself back onto the roof.

The Brute was flying past the bombed out remains of her gun. It was making its way towards the other end, towards the third coach. Daz was there unleashing the full fury of her missile pods against one of the Phantoms that had come alongside them. She was too busy dealing with suppression fire from its last plasma cannon to notice the new threat.

Having only gotten her chest back on the rooftop, Nova reached for her sidearm. One arm kept her from slipping back over the edge while the other took aim, slipping three rounds into its jump pack as it made a beeline for Daz.

Something in the device bloomed like a solar flare. An electrical epilepsy seized the pack and caused its propulsion to fail. The diminishing thrust brought the Brute back down and it crashed onto the roof.

She dragged herself up the rest of the way and dashed towards her old position. The bent and bruised shapes of her defense barriers could still be put to some use. She eased herself around them and spotted the Brute near the front of the coach. It had gotten back onto its feet and was looking for whoever had shot it. She whirled into view and spent the rest of her magazine into its chest. The armor faltered and cracked. The Brute didn't take too kindly to it and sent a heavy-handed burst down range.

She took note of a key detail before retreating, a single plasma grenade left on its belt. She reloaded and slipped over to the other side of the barriers. She waited for the plasma to cease then aimed out again.

The Brute sighted her but she was faster. Its rifle twitched in her direction, too late to stop the bullet that caught the grenade. Nothing could have saved it from the azure detonation that raptured it into oblivion. The explosion cast pieces of Brute into the air and left a red mist behind, one quickly blown away by the wind.

Nova took the chance to take a deep breath. It felt like her first in years. The brief respite proved to be just that, smashed to pieces by the ear-piercing scream of dying engines. A second explosion went off as one of the Phantoms finally succumbed to the onslaught of missile pods.

Daz and Dalton had brought it down, the former cheering as its fiery skeleton fell through the clouds.

Nova remembered there had been a second dropship but she couldn't spot it. She couldn't find the two armored ones either. The latter pair, Phantom Gunboats, were by far the more worrisome. The faster they took those out, if they even could, the better.

She heard gunfire and screams echoing from down below. "Ep-4, what's going on down there!?"

"The downstairs crew just took out a chieftain!" Hector replied. "Good thing too 'cause that could've gone a lot of worse! Second floor's clear!"

The news came with a jolt of fear. She remembered the way the last Phantom had come in from behind and how close it had gotten. If a chieftain had made it aboard...

"How's Ep-8!? What's his condition!?"

"He's alright! That thing almost got him but-, hold on, got more of them coming aboard! If you're not too busy we could really use you down here!"

"On my way!"

She managed a single step towards the entry hatch before she sensed it, movement at the edge of her periphery. Then she peered up to where the sun would be. The light of Epsilon Eridani shone faintly through the cloud cover. A large shadow raced in to eclipse it, yet it wasn't one of Reach's moons. The shape was too angular, too small and too close. It kept pace with the tram while it closed in from their right.

It didn't need to get within sight to get within range. A downpour of concussive bolts ripped through the fog and struck the tram. Nova held onto the barriers for dear life as the tremors threatened to knock her off her feet. Each bolt was precise. The Gunboat wasn't strafing them. Rather, it had chosen its target specifically: the umbilical that connected the fourth coach to the third.

The accordion-like passageway quaked under the power that hammered against it. Several succinct explosions garnered a roar of rupturing metal. The umbilical tore open like a wound before breaking away in a shower of sparks. The jagged remains of its other half were pried into the light, leaving the doors of the sundered hallway exposed. The third coach and the rest of the tram carried on like normal. It sped away, not seeming to notice the quarter of itself that was slowly falling behind.

Nova's stomach churned at the growing gap. She saw Daz staring back at her from the other side, equally stunned.

"Ep-2 to 1, that Gunboat just ripped us off from the rest of the transport! Coach four is falling behind! I repeat, we are falling behind, over!"

Far ahead, she saw the Staff whirling around in her direction. She could practically feel the alarm in his voice.

"Ep-2, keep everyone together and hunker down! I'll reroute you some backup! We'll find a way to link up! Until then, sit tight!"

"I don't think we have any other options, sir!"

As soon as she said it, the rest of the tram vanished into the clouds. She wished they could have stopped for them. But that only would have been feasible if it was just UNSC personnel aboard. Doing it now would have made everyone sitting ducks, something the Gunboats would have readily taken advantage of. It didn't help either that there was no way to reconnect them in the first place. The enemy would simply have to settle for one duck instead of all four.

She checked her surroundings. There was no sign of the Phantoms. The coach was gradually slowing down. Not planning to be caught out in the open when it stopped, she ran for the hatch.

:********:

Duncan moved from seat to seat, stopping only to shoot between them or around them. Mito was at his side, covering him while he negotiated his way across the more exposed walkways. The two of them maneuvered into one of these and laid down fire through the lane, catching one of the Brutes as it stepped into the open. Its armor crackled against the merging fire. Duncan was happy to see it didn't have energy shields. Regardless, it put up a fight. Spikes spattered back in reply. He shifted back behind a seat as it shook under the impact. A single spike pierced so far that it jutted out in front of him.

He slipped further back until he could sight the Brute between the seats. He peeked his rifle through the gap and joined his fire to Mito's.

The constant pummeling caused its armor to belch ionized vapors and electricity. It was cracking, flaking off before breaking altogether like a shattered vase, exposing the undersuit beneath. From there they were tearing through fabric and flesh.

The Brute growled in pain. In a rage it released a flurry of plasma. The thick spray forced the two of them back behind cover, freeing the beast to make a run for it. It broke from the fight and bounded towards the other end of the tram. That was no good, Duncan knew, remembering that most of the passengers had fled in that direction. At least half of them hadn't made it to the third coach and were still stuck aboard, huddled just beyond the staircase.

An Army trooper was the first to respond by giving it a three-round burst to the leg. The Brute stumbled forward and pitched into the floor. Unrelenting, it twisted around to fire back but the three of them tripled down on its fallen frame. It trembled under the hailstorm yet refused to yield. Then a shot rang through the back of its skull. It stiffened and fell over.

From the stairs ahead, Hector descended the steps with rifle trained on the corpse. "That's the last of them, right?"

Duncan looked around. The other Brute that had gotten in now lay a few rows away. Its bullet-strewn body sat beneath the boots of a pair of glowering soldiers who scavenged its gear for anything useful.

"Looks like it." Mito said.

Nova came striding down the stairs next. "Good because we're slowing down." She stopped to survey the space and got a good look at everyone. "Listen up, I need every gun on defense. Man those turrets and secure the civilians along the center. We're holding out here."

Duncan figured as much. Looking outside, he could tell that the city was passing by at a crawl. The last of their momentum was disappearing.

"What if those Gunboats come back?" Hector asked.

"You mean when." Nova replied as she came down the rest of the way. "Safe to say when they do, we better be ready. Chances are they did this on purpose, makes us easier to hit. They'll probably swing by with more Jumpers too. Any launchers left?"

A Marine nudged a rocket ammunition crate into view. "Got plenty of ammo here. I think we had three launchers in storage on the other side."

"Good. Ep-4, bring those in and hand them out. Make sure to get one too. When 6 isn't around, you're the next best bet with that sort of stuff. Anybody else with a launcher, follow him upstairs. Ep-8, 9, get your hands on that spare machinegun in the closet, we'll need it to cover that hole they just tore in the front. And somebody get another one from upstairs, we'll set it up in the back."

In an instant the coach was busy again. The rocket crate was popped open as Hector went to find the trio of launchers in the front. Duncan weaved past a pair of troopers bound for the second floor and shadowed his teammate. Rounding the stairs, they came across the several dozen civilians that still remained on the first floor. A few of them were injured. At least five lay on stretchers in the middlemost walkway where an Army medic was dividing his attention between them. Several others were gathered off to the side, dead. Most of the survivors that sat or stood about were wide-eyed or crying, some trying their best to comfort people who might have been complete strangers to them mere minutes ago. A few Duncan was sure had been separated from loved ones that had either made it to the other coach or had found their way to a stretcher, or worse. He glanced at a little boy bawling his eyes out over a woman who'd been laid on the floor. The handful of spikes in her back seemed to whistle as they cooled down. The kid looked at him as he passed but he didn't dare meet his gaze.

He got around to the other end of the tram, nearly slipping in a puddle of blood along the way. There he saw the damage firsthand.

Beyond the glass paneling of the exit door was a yawning maw of ripped metal and dismembered conduits. The wiring had been shorn free and hung about like bundles of dead nerves, still twitching with pulses of electricity.

Hector reached for the maintenance closet beside it and swung the door open. Duncan was surprised to see how undisturbed it was compared to what was left of the umbilical. The extra machinegun was still nestled between the shelves of cleaning supplies just as they had left it. So was the trio of rocket launchers they had stored next to it.

Hector went for the machinegun first. He got a good grip before lifting with his knees and ambled back out to hand it over. Mito arrived just in time to help Duncan with the weight. They shared it as evenly as they could then shuffled off towards the umbilical.

"I don't think that gap in the rails we saw earlier was there on accident." Mito pointed out. "Looks like they were hunting us even back then. God only knows what they're planning this far in."

"At this point they wouldn't need to." Duncan said. "We're right where they want us. Sure wish we had Ep-7 on this side. At least then we'd be able to get some air support, shake things up a little."

"Tired of getting shot at from above, are we?"

"I'm tired of us having to shoot back on our own. What about those Falcons we were promised?"

"Kilo?" Mito shrugged. "No clue."

They reached the door and Duncan shouldered it open. There was a small bit of walkway left before its features gained, as he imagined it, the inner perspective of a half-bitten sandwich. It was stable enough that they were able to open the tripod and set down the turret.

"I'll handle this one." Mito said, saddling himself behind it. "You go have fun in the back."

Duncan dared to look down at his feet where, just a few inches away, the floor gave out and the clouds crept in. He nodded. "Fine by me. Enjoy."

Duncan suspected he would do just that as he went back inside. A short jog brought him to the rear of the coach where Nova was guiding two Marines in setting up a new turret. She herself was dragging away the old one that had been tossed aside.

Spotting him, she gestured to the dead chieftain lying in the doorway. "Mind lending a hand."

He got behind it and grabbed it by a shoulder. Nova took the other. The Marines ditched their heavy charge for an even heavier one, the legs. At the end of a countdown, they heaved the chieftain into the air and made for the outside. The metal of the exterior platform was warped so that the whole thing was bent down like a broken slide. That just so happened to make it perfect as a trash chute. They disposed of their unwanted guest by swinging it out the door. Duncan took some satisfaction in seeing it roll down the platform and over the edge.

Brushing off his hands, he watched the Marines set down his new replacement at the threshold.

Nova patted the barrel like a pet. "All yours."

"Thanks."

"I'm trying to get in contact with any backup in the area. In the meantime, if you see anything, you know what to do."

He nodded and she took her leave with the Marines, pointing them to their new positions.

He took a deep breath and set himself behind the gun. He kept a close watch on the skies. The city's low cloud cover was beginning to thin out. He could see buildings here and there. Soon he made out enough to gauge the distance between them. He suspected that they must have stopped over a spacious area, perhaps a boulevard or a main highway. A quick check on his TACMAP gave him a few answers. They were indeed on a boulevard but they were much further south than he expected. They had come to a point where the southwestern curve of Delta Company's latest push would have met up with the northwestern curve of the 22nd Battalion's Echo Company. They had essentially drifted into the pincer, the general area where the innermost flanks of the two battalions had finally sandwiched together to complete the two-day long encirclement.

He was about to point out his findings to Nova when Zack's voice broke in over their communications.

"Ep-7 here, I got good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?"

"Whichever one is easier to explain." Nova said.

"Alright, bad news first. We lost track of the Gunboats. Those Jumpers disengaged. We think they're doubling back to you guys."

"All of them?" Hector groaned. "Well, that's nice to know. And?"

"Good news is we got you some backup from the 22nd's Echo. An NCO said you're close enough to a route he's taking. They're making their way to you now."

"Let's hope he's packing some serious firepower." Mito said.

"Let's hope, because we got bonus news."

"Good?" Nova asked. "...I shouldn't have asked that, should I?"

"You know our luck doesn't work that way. Between that backup and those Gunboats, we're honestly not sure which one's going to reach you first."

Nova was silent.

"Got any advice on that front?" Mito prodded.

"Yeah, start praying. It's about time those ancestors of yours started earning their keep."

"Roger that, prayers away in five."

"We'll stay in touch." Nova said, a smidge of grimness worming into her tone. "You guys at the drop-off yet?"

"No but we're working off a ten-minute ETA. We drifted a bit more than we thought we did when we took that exit. I don't think Yohan was paying attention. The Staff's busy right now trying to work out our route with him. Anyway, I'll let you know when we're there. You be sure to do the same. And guys?"

"Yeah?" Nova said.

"...Watch yourselves out there. Ep-7 out."

Duncan didn't like the sound of that.

He didn't want to think that someone as unserious as Zack was seriously worried about them. The one thing he didn't want was for anyone to imagine them not making it out of their situation. They'd been cornered before. Gunboat or not, Jumpers or not, they'd always made it out one way or another. Mostly anyway.

"Hey, Ep-9?" Hector called. "Watch yourself out there."

"What're you, my mother?"

The two shared a muted laugh.

Nova didn't laugh.

Neither did Duncan.

Before long, the coach was silent. It allowed him to more keenly pick up on the sounds that had become the city's default ambiance: the clamor of gunfire, the echo of explosions.

Soon the clouds dissipated and he could see everything fully. The boulevard they were in was a wide one whose lanes were divided by grassy medians. These culminated in a garden-like center somewhere below them. There were surprisingly few cars left about. Skyscrapers towered above them on every side and cast a few shadows over the area. If he had to guess, they were at the edge of one of the commercial districts.

A few minutes passed and he heard an expected addition to Alexandria's ensemble, the ghostly hum of impulse drives.

"Everybody hear that?" He asked.

"Hear it? I can see it." Mito huffed. "Anybody order two Gunboats 'cause I sure didn't."

"Which side?" Nova queried.

"Three o'clock, 300 meters to our west, closing fast."

"I see'em." Hector said. "Got a third Phantom trailing behind. Must've brought the Jumpers with them."

Duncan peered back inside. The civilians had been gathered on his side of the coach and were sitting on the floor in the middle lane, keeping their heads down. He bent his knees to get a better look through the windows. To their right, three shapes were moving in the local airspace. The daunting visage of the two Phantom Gunboats were in the lead. Like a parenting pair of sharks, they moved ahead of their pup, the dropship. The three of them glided towards them with a predatory menace.

"Hold your fire." Nova ordered. "Wait until they're close."

Duncan fidgeted behind his machinegun. "How close?"

"If they were going to destroy us, they would've done it already instead of cutting us off. I have a feeling Ep-9's hunch is right. If they are hunting us, they'll try to take this thing first."

"They're after the civilians." Hector realized.

"Not happening." Mito declared calmly, reverting to his accustomed state of Zen.

"Exactly." Nova agreed. "Wait for a few of them to get aboard. Then we'll smoke them and take one or two prisoner. They're crazy but I'm sure even they don't like firing on their own, not if they can help it. It'll at least buy us some time."

"You ever took a Brute prisoner?" Hector asked.

"Didn't know you could." Mito remarked.

"Let's find out." Nova replied, her voice growing quiet. "There's a first for everything, right?"

The loudening hum of the Gunboats' approach brought an end to the conversation.

The Phantoms passed over the boulevard. The two Gunboats separated from one another. They rose high over the area and began to circle it, taking on an aerial overwatch.

The dropship came straight for them. Duncan stared at its heavy plasma cannon or rather where the cannon should have been. There was instead a deep gash that had been sliced across the spot. He recognized Mackley's handiwork and made a note to give him his thanks the next time he saw him.

The dropship slowed beside them and banked to port. The plasma cannon on its starboard side got a good look at them. The Brute behind it showed a lot more restraint than Duncan was used to. It didn't shoot. He quickly reminded himself of the dread reason why.

He was kneeling now. As far as he could see, so was everyone else, soldiers, Marines and civilians alike. They were so low that the Brutes must not have been able to tell if anyone was still aboard. That was exactly what they wanted them to think.

The dropship made a slow loop around the back. Duncan crouched away from the gun and hid until it passed. It continued on to the other side. There it stopped to hover for a moment before the walls of its troop bay folded open, revealing its charge of five more Brutes. The surviving band of Jumpers looked like they were itching to go.

"Ep-2?" Hector whispered.

"Not yet."

Duncan prepared for one of them to jump in front of him. Once it did, it would be in for a nasty surprise.

Three of the Jumpers flared their packs and took off towards the tram. Two stayed behind. Just as the former hovered towards the guideway, a loud whoosh stole their attention. The dropship shuddered as a series of thunderclaps exploded against its portside. The pilot turned about to face whatever was shooting at it.

To the east, a group of Warthogs had spiraled up a ramp road that fed into the boulevard. Four of them revved into the area, wheeling across the asphalt, over the medians and around abandoned cars. Their gunners wasted no time utilizing their M79 rocket systems and M41 LAAGs to score the Phantom's hull. Unlike its armored allies the dropship lacked their energy shielding and it quickly showed. Bullets riddled its metal skin while rocket blasts chewed away at its underbelly.

An unfamiliar voice, a man's, sounded over their comm-units.

"This is Tempo-1 to UNSC personnel on the coach. Be advised, we're about to light these Phantoms up. Hold tight."

Duncan didn't know what to think of that, not until a heartbeat later when flocks of rockets whistled out the windows of three of the skyscrapers. They migrated through the air on trails of smoke that ended in fiery plumes against the hulls of the Phantoms. All three were hit. The synchronous bombardment pushed the shields of the luckiest Gunboat to breaking point. It was only saved from complete failure as some were deflected in random directions. Its partner was struck amidships and saw its shields burst altogether. The least lucky of the three by far was the dropship. The rockets came from above and tore apart the meager armor of its topside. Gas vented from its wounds, turning the aircraft into a mirage of fire and metal that slowly eased off from the coach.

"How'd they-" Hector's question was overwhelmed by the searing hum of plasma.

The Gunboats were in a frenzy now. Turning this way and that, their pulse lasers engaged. Purple beams of energy sliced across the face of the nearest skyscrapers, carving and boiling through whole floors like scalpels over skin. In seconds, several floors erupted in flames and small explosions. The reply was immediate. More rockets flocked out of other levels yet untouched and struck back with spiteful blows.

"Let's give them a hand!" Nova ordered. "Open fire!"

Duncan didn't need to be told twice. Neither did any other turret or rifle aboard. Everything went off all at once. On both floors of the coach, every gun opened up. The entire structure dazzled as a storm of outgoing fire lent itself to the fight. The dropship found itself under assault from three sides, below, above and now from behind. Its impulse drives groaned from the growing pressure on their systems.

Duncan added his own firepower to the incoming that rained against the luckiest Gunboat. He poured into the shields on its belly while rockets pounded them in the middle. Another barrage soared against it head-on. In answer, its invisible barrier flared once more as it deflected most, redirecting them across the area on random vectors. Duncan picked up on how the shielding appeared stronger at the front yet weaker at the back. He focused more on its tail. Another fissile assault took a stab at its midsection, pushing the shielding to the edge as cracks began to appear. Duncan hammered the area around its gravity lift. That did the trick. Like a final grain of sand on a heap, the barrier ruptured.

A new fusillade from a neighboring building jabbed into its ribs. Successive impacts drilled into its side with such a shock that it swayed from its flight path. Still trembling, partly burning, the Gunboat suddenly rose higher into the air and accelerated away. It was escaping. So was its partner which ascended while it pelted the Warthogs below. The rain of concussive bolts cratered the boulevard even as the perpetrator was making a break for it. The pair flew off towards the west and were swiftly out of range.

The dropship was left for dead.

It was not far off from it either. So many rockets had reduced it to a flying pyre. Its drives were scarcely keeping it airborne.

The last two Brutes aboard leapt out of the bay and thrusted themselves towards the coach. The decision saved them as the last few rockets struck it from below. The Phantom immediately disappeared in a blast of bright destruction.

Duncan spotted the two escapees flying towards the coach. The sound of heavy footfalls somewhere above told him where the others had gone.

"Ep-2, gonna need some help." Hector said. "Got at least three squatters camping out on top of me."

Instead of Nova, the voice from before replied. "Tempo-1 to coach personnel, watch your fire! We're coming in!"

A host of noises came from all around. They were like the roars of lions with all the resonance of a pride but without the deep base. They sounded familiar to Duncan though it took him a while to recognize them.

Both soldiers and Marines looked out the windows. Duncan didn't need to. He could see them just fine from the back.

From several of the nearest buildings, ODSTs hopped over the railings of balconies, cannoned through the glass of office windows or emerged from the shadows of alleyways. Over two dozen of them appeared all at once. What should have been suicidal falls were cut short as each of them arrested their descent with thrusts from their jetpacks. Despite not having used one in years himself, the Series 8 Single Operator Lift Apparatuses were always a wonder to behold, especially when in action. Now was no exception.

Short, precise bursts launched them up through the air. Gravity pulled them back down only for them to shoot skyward again like horses on a carousel.

The force of ODSTs closed in across the boulevard like a flying net, encircling the coach. The Brutes had nowhere to run.

Duncan grinned victoriously at their arrival. "Are those..."

Nova's answer came with a tinge of relief. "Bullfrogs."

The Brutes greeted their arrival with an angrier reception. Howling a challenge, they took to the air. One of them hung back on the roof and fired off a grenade launcher.

Several small battles ensued where each Brute earned unto itself a team of Bullfrogs. Either group zoomed by, hovering past the other as they engaged their adversarial opposites in mid-air. Bullfrogs flew to the side or dropped down on perilous falls as bursts of plasma and spikes zipped overhead. By contrast, the Brutes had little room to maneuver. Everywhere they turned there was a muzzle flash waiting for them. The airborne troopers took precautions to avoid a crossfire. Those closest to their quarry tended to fire from above while those farthest away fired from below, creating floating cages that followed their targets wherever they went. At such close range every bullet found its mark, turning the Brutes into disco balls as direct hits and ricochets glimmered off their armor.

The first to fall out of the sky did so with a flash. A gout of fire spewed from what remained of its jetpack. Its broken body shot towards the ground in an unrelenting twirl, grinding it into the asphalt like chalk across a board. The next fell out of the sky after being reduced to little better than Swiss cheese. It crashed onto the hood of a car, the alarms blaring its death knell.

One of the last two in the air withdrew towards the coach. The other did the opposite and rocketed towards a Bullfrog that had gotten too close. It seized the ODST by the throat. The curved blades of its spike rifle drove deep into his stomach. A point-blank burst of spikes killed his struggles outright.

The Brute retreated and landed on the guideway, holding up the fallen Frog like a shield. Its pursuers hesitated. Mito didn't. His target hadn't noticed that it had landed with its back to his machinegun. The hailstorm gouged its armor and caused its jetpack to sputter. The Brute keeled over, dropping the body. The moment it did, the others tore into it with a vengeance. In little time it slumped onto the rails.

Duncan turned back to his side in time to witness a perfect opportunity. Another Jumper came to hover over the rails right in front of him. A simple bending of the knees brought it into his targeting reticle. He chased it across the air and riddled it from top to bottom. A combination of his turret and a squad of Bullfrogs chipped away the last of its armor. Now fully exposed, the Brute set its sights on him. A raging bellow heralded a volley of plasma. He braced himself through the fire, buying the alien enough time to boost itself against the squad. Plasma bolts struck one of the Frogs in the shoulder. The trooper staggered back and nearly fell out of the air. The Brute mistook it for an escape route and flew for it, not noticing until too late that it was just a faint. The ODST suddenly shot forward and slammed into it at full-speed, driving it back. The act was so fast that whatever chance the Brute had to react was shattered alongside the back of its head. The Bullfrog shouldered it straight into the guideway, cracking its skull against the edge with the power of a sledgehammer. The corpse spiraled down towards the boulevard. As if to make sure, another Frog whipped out a grenade launcher and gave it a parting gift.

The last Brute was stubbornly holding out on the rooftop. Its own grenade launcher belched with the fury of an anti-aircraft gun. At least it was before a heightening cacophony of a dozen assault rifles brought an end to it.

The footsteps on the roof became lighter and more plentiful.

"Clear!" Someone shouted.

The Bullfrogs began fanning out, taking up positions along the guideway or flying down to patrol the street. The handful of Warthogs in the boulevard were joined by a stream of several times as many. An entourage of Scorpion tanks followed close behind.

Duncan understood from size alone that it wasn't a rescue force. Not exactly anyway. They just happened to be in the area, and he was happy for it too.

"Hey Ep-2," Mito called. "I've got Tempo-1 on my side. Says he wants to talk."

"Let him in." Nova replied.

With the Bullfrogs present as well as a force he estimated somewhere around 100 strong, Duncan allowed himself to let go of his machinegun. He navigated around the stairs to the other side of the coach.

Nova and Hector were already there. Mito walked over with two Bullfrogs coming right behind. One of them held his helmet against his waist. Duncan figured he was the leader judging by his bearing. There were a few giveaways: the strong jaw, graying hair buzzed to UNSC standard and the dark circles under his eyes that looked as if they had seen more than they would ever tell.

He seemed to scrutinize them with the same curiosity. "Ep-2?"

Nova stepped forward. "Sir."

He held out a hand. "Sergeant Major Gantz at your service."

She took it and shook gladly. "Thanks for the save, sir."

"Thanks for giving us something to do," He said, cracking a smile. "My men were getting bored out there."

"Not enough to go around?"

He shook his head. "Plenty. Everything just keeps running away from us."

"I'd bet."

The sergeant major looked around, examining the haggard-looking civilians behind them as well as the equally haggard walls of the coach. "Heard you guys got separated from the rest of your team. Guess the Brutes were after bigger game today."

"Bit off more than they could chew, sir." Mito said.

"I hear that, trooper. I think we broke their teeth today. Didn't kill them though, not all of them. Those Gunboats are still out there. On the bright side, looks like you made it through in one piece, if I could call it that."

He paused as his helmeted subordinate leaned in to whisper into his ear and nodded to whatever it was he had to say.

"Okay, listen. I know you're on a tight schedule right now but so are we. Our colonel sent us to spearhead a breakthrough to Traxus Tower back north. You see those guys from the 77th and 145th down there? They're waiting for us. We don't have much time so here's the plan. We'll lift everyone here down to the street. I sent a recon team to reconnoiter a transport hub just east of us. They're on their way now with some shuttles. You can use those to get these civvies to safety. We can spare you some extra wheels for defense but after that you'll be on your own again. Sounds good?"

Nova considered it for a moment then briskly agreed. "Sounds better than waiting for those Gunboats to come back."

"I'd say so."

"Is everyone on the move now, sir?" Duncan asked. "I know the 7th is but is the 22nd getting some too?"

Gantz looked him over. "That's right, the whole battalion. Both of us have secured a green zone for evacuations in the south, means we're clear to start handing out invitations. Hopefully they'll let you guys off the leash so you can get some ground action after this."

"Hope so." Hector groaned. "I'm tired of trams."

"Then let's get you out of here, Helljumper."

On cue, a number of Bullfrogs flew in and landed at the ruined umbilical.

What followed was what could have been an hour-long rescue mission executed in under 10 minutes. The civilians were first. Though some needed more prodding than others, they each grabbed ahold of a Bullfrog and were flown down to the boulevard one group at a time. A system was immediately in place. At any given moment, four frogs were fastening civilians to themselves while four more were coming in to do the same. Another four were flying down with their passengers while the next four were flying up for more. The first eight minutes saw just under a hundred men, women and children carried down without issue. The next two witnessed their custodians being ferried down in a similar manner. Mito and Nova didn't have any problems, unlike Hector who had to be hooked up to someone closer to his size. His descent was the roughest but they managed it nonetheless. When it was Duncan's turn, he was strapped into place and flown down like a space shuttle on a rocket. He was the last to go, paying the coach his final respects before he left.

Three long shuttle buses were parked right alongside the convoy. A quartet of troop carriers and Turret Hogs had been added to their order. With more than enough room for everyone, they loaded their charges aboard. Soldiers took the wheel. Once the Hogs were occupied, Nova took her place in the lead vehicle's passenger seat while Hector grabbed the reins.

She found the sergeant major waiting on the sidewalk and nodded gratefully. "Thanks for the help, sir. We owe you one."

"If you really want to pay us back, get in trouble again so we can have something to do. I'm getting bored already."

"Easier done than said, sir. Give'em hell for us."

"Easier said than done. Good luck." Gantz waved them off and Hector got them moving from under the shadow of the magrail.

Duncan pulled off after them, signaling the shuttles to join in with the rest of their convoy. They passed onto a westbound highway. It didn't take them long to slip into a steady rhythm of maneuvering around dead traffic.

"Ep-6 is going to be pissed when he hears about this." Hector jived, allowing himself the liberty of a laugh.

Duncan heard Mito turning the turret here and there behind him.

"Wouldn't be surprised." Mito said. "He's wanted to see them in action for years now, right?"

"That's right."

"Well, I wouldn't call it in just yet. If things keep going the way they are, chances are pretty high this won't be our last time running into them."

"That reminds me," Nova said. "Ep-8, don't forget..."

Duncan knew what she meant. He didn't forget. He never could. The feel of the datapad in one of his pockets was a constant reminder of that. But that in turn reminded him of something else.

"Hey Ep-4, did you hear back from your folks?"

"Yeah," Hector said as he guided them around the girth of a sanitation truck. He said nothing more.

"And?" Nova pressed.

"...Tribute got hit."

An air of alarm crashed into the conversation.

"What?" Nova gasped. "Wh-, when?"

"About five days ago, around the same time that new fleet showed up over Reach." Hector shrugged. "Guess it wasn't just that one. As far as they know that's when the authorities officially announced it anyway. Who knows what could've been going on behind the scenes."

No one said anything for a while. Duncan could pick up on what wasn't being said as well. Through the nonchalance Hector was keeping a lot back, probably for their sakes. Little news ever trickled in about the wider goings on in Epsilon Eridani. Duncan supposed the higher-ups wanted everyone on Reach focused on just that, Reach. Still, it was a gut punch to get a bigger perspective on things. Even though it made sense, it didn't make it any better to find out that they were a few steps shy of losing the whole system. Perhaps that was the exact kind of thinking the higher-ups were hoping to avoid.

"Did they make it out?" He asked.

"They did." Hector replied, his solemness lost on none. "They managed to get on one of the first transports out of there but...Tribute isn't doing so-...anyway." He looked into his rearview mirror and caught Duncan's gaze. "Let's hope we're all so lucky, am I right?"

:********:

The Staff was tired. Specifically, he was tired of trams. After the last day or so he doubted that he would ever want to ride one again. At least he wouldn't go out of his way to. That was a promise he made to himself upon reaching the platoon's destination.

The Kombájn Building was huge, rightfully so given its purpose. As an off-site storage facility for assets of SinoViet Heavy Machinery, its size was to be expected. At over 60-stories tall, the skyscraper had the smooth, sloping dimensions of a diamond. It looked like one too. It started narrow at the top before gradually widening out. Architectural braces ribbed the many elevators that lined its heights like spinal columns. Artificial plateaus descended from its tallest point like steps, descending from the smallest at its roof to the largest at its base. Terraces and decorative pools occupied the plateaus which flowed down into one another in a continuous exchange of running water, giving the building's outer sides the appearance of flooding staircases. The afternoon glare of Epsilon Eridani shone into a myriad of windows whose glass seemed to glitter and shift like a culture of microorganisms.

An elevated tram stop lay against its southern side. Here 1st Platoon, what was left of it, had come to rest.

They unloaded the civilians without much in the way of problems. The CO of the Army company assigned to garrison the landing pads here had made things as smooth as possible. After finding out they were part of the 7th Battalion, that same CO had even gone out of his way to resupply them. He had apparently wanted to pass on his thanks after a platoon from Echo Company had helped his men break their deadlock with the resident Covenant.

The ODSTs were free to disembark after that. A platoon of Army troopers was sent in to replace them. The Staff gave them his blessing, wishing them luck as he watched them try to refit the transport. Meanwhile he had settled everyone on the boarding platform. They could all use the break. He knew he could too. However, unlike everyone else that had hunkered down beneath the shaded spots of the tram stop or tried to steal a few minutes of sleep on its benches, he was on his feet. He paced about, searching in every direction for his missing troopers and those civilians that were left behind.

The Bullfrogs' Sergeant Major Gantz had informed him that they were safe. They were inbound as well. Nova had confirmed as much through Zack.

He wanted to see them for himself though. Only then would his worries call it a day.

As he paced about, he noticed Mackley sitting off to the side on one of the benches. Lang and Daz stood on his right. Renni sat on his left. His helmet was off. Much of the armor on his left arm had also been removed in order for Epsilon's medic to get a good look at it. Her synopsis was that Mackley's run-in with the chieftain had cost his left shoulder a posterior dislocation. He was in a great deal of agony for much of the trip thereafter. The only reason he wasn't now was because of the measured amounts of pain stims she had jabbed into him. Even though his face was red, he was sober enough to size up their Army replacements, a pair of whom walked by carrying a new turret.

"Don't scratch the paint." He snickered.

"Why don't you focus on something more important?" Renni asked as she took a quick measurement of his shoulder.

"Like what?"

"Like the amount of pain you're about to be in." Daz sneered.

"Screw you."

"You first."

"Alright," Renni said. "Ready?"

Mackley swallowed hard. "I-, I ugh-"

"He's ready." Daz said as she forced his back against the bench and held him there. "Let's get this over with."

Lang took his right arm. "Good to go."

"Hey-hey-hey, hold on a sec."

"Count to thirty in your head." Renni said as she took the wrist and elbow of his left arm. "Hold your breath and try not to look. Makes things go faster."

"Does it really?" Mackley asked.

Renni looked at him. Without another word, she slowly began raising his upper arm over his elbow. His eyes quickly clamped shut. She gradually worked his hand towards the right side of his chest, abducting his bicep before giving the arm a sluggish rotation. Even from where he stood the Staff could hear the click-clack of bones slipping into place. Mackley winced. He let out a few groans but otherwise put up no resistance. Renni raised his elbow and rotated a bit more until a muted pop sounded from the arm.

Mackley's eyes shot open. "Woah."

She eased the limb back to his side and let him sit up. "How does that feel?"

"Better." He grinned, sounding giddy. "Way better."

She patted him gently on the shoulder. "Don't recommend you use that for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Whiskey-4, don't let him play around with that Stanchion. If you need to in the immediate future, its best if he spots and you shoot, understood?"

Lang nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Not a chance, you guys need me on that thing." Mackley insisted.

Renni shook her head.

He looked pleadingly to Epsilon's leader.

The Staff mirrored his medic. "Doctor's orders."

Mackley's natural fire dimmed and he sunk back into the bench, soundly defeated.

A dull thrum reverberated from the skies and the Staff looked up.

High above, the clouds to the south of the city were being pierced by an armada of dark shapes. He upped his visor's magnification. With a great deal of reassurance, he saw that they were all friendly. The 83rd Auxiliary Wing had finally sent in their next wave of evacuation craft. The fleet of dropships, Falcons and other conscripted aircraft were being escorted in by squadrons of Longsword fighters. The airways were much clearer than they had been just a little earlier in the day. They filtered into the city's southern edge and began descending onto more and more of the captured landing zones. He noticed their numbers were at least twice as many as those that had come the day before, a reflection of the greater numbers of NA's residents that needed to be moved.

He monitored the first of those trickling into their sector. As a squadron of Pelicans closed in on the storage building, Zack strode up beside him.

"Just got word from Ep-2. They're less than two minutes away."

"Happy to hear it." The Staff replied with his usual even tone, one that didn't show how truly sincere he was.

"Wait a sec." Zack said.

"What is it?"

"Someone's calling. It's-… its Neptune-Actual, sir."

The Staff straightened up. A mild curiosity took hold. He wondered what Garrison needed of him now that the evacuation was coming to a head.

"Patch him through."

He listened closely as the colonel's voice filled his helmet. "Neptune-Actual to Ep-1, come in."

"Right here, sir."

"Good to hear from you, Helljumper. How's things on your side?"

"Could be better." He said, again restraining his honesty. "We're just coming off our last tram run. It's been rough. I think my troopers are just about ready to have their feet on the ground."

"Them and everyone else in the battalion." Garrison admitted. "It's about that time. We're moving out. I suspect you'll be a part of that soon enough."

That got the Staff's attention. "Sir?"

"They wanted me to break the news to you, Ep-1. You can't link up with the rest of Bravo just yet."

It was far from what the Staff wanted to hear. "What's next on our list, sir?"

"I've got a new job for you. This one comes straight from the top, an HVI extraction."

The Staff hadn't wanted another excursion. He would much rather have returned to the company. His spirits faltered but raised back up again as he looked out from the tram stop. Some ten stories below, a Warthog turned a corner and came onto a street that ran past the building. Another came after it as did two more. Guarded between them were three civilian shuttles. That was enough to let him know exactly who they were. A twinge of relief battled against his quiet disappointment and gave him the strength to ask his next question.

"What's the specs?"

Tauri Ranae - Bullfrogs