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.

159. Battle of Reach - Chapter 32 (Adventus)

Chapter 32 – Adventus

August 19th, 2552 - (15:52 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, Eposz

New Alexandria, Csillagos éj Hotel

:********:

Instinct faded.

Recognition kicked in.

It was slow at first before it hit him all at once.

He felt himself lowering his rifle even before he made the decision to. His helmet lights remained fixed to the barrel of the gun aiming right at him, and the face that stared back from the other side.

He knew that face.

He knew the hair.

He knew the eyes.

And yet a part of him didn't recognize them. Something was different about them. They were strained, confused, terrified beyond words. He had only ever seen that look on her one other time. A time when he wasn't there for her, not there for them until the last possible second. It seemed some things never changed.

But he was here now.

So was she.

That was enough. It had to be.

She was alive, breathing, moving and, if he had to guess, fighting. One of his own reasons for leaving her was because of his own promises he'd made to himself, to keep the war as far away from her as possible. And yet here she was in the middle of it.

In the split-second that it took those thoughts to run through Duncan's mind, the face in front of him became the one he wanted to see the most and the one he most feared.

Erica was squinting at him in the sharp illumination. By then he realized that she didn't know who she was looking at. She must have figured out he was human since she hadn't put a bullet through his brain yet. Nevertheless, he acted fast to keep her from having any second thoughts.

"Are you alone?" He asked.

In the endless torment of uncertainty that he'd called the last few weeks, it was far from the first words he wanted to say to her. His voice almost cracked as he did. He already knew the answer, but he wanted desperately to break the silence.

He dimmed his lights so she could see.

Erica blinked to clear her sight. In so doing, she lowered her weapon and looked back behind her. "No, there's-…"

She suddenly shot back to him.

It seemed then that she had finally seen him.

She'd heard his voice.

Duncan saw the realization strike her like a bolt from the blue. Her expression melted from worried and terrified to something else: a slackened jaw, a slight quiver in her lip, a glint in her glazing eyes.

It took everything he had in that moment to keep himself standing. Behind his visor he knew he looked the same, and more than ever he became aware of his helmet. He wanted to be rid of the distractions of ammo-counts and directional coordinates. He wanted to be rid of the polarized glass that hid him from her. He wanted to see her for himself, to be seen by her as she'd always known him, without the armor. He wanted her to know without a shadow of a doubt that it was him, that he was here.

Footsteps sounded. The barrel of an assault rifle emerged from the darkness at her back and cut their moment short.

An Army trooper stepped forward. Duncan sighted the insignia of a corporal on his BDU.

The soldier quickly registered that he was human and lowered his weapon.

"ODSTs?" He said with exasperated surprise.

Having wheeled in beside Duncan, Nova nodded, though scarcely without taking a glance at her friend. "Are you the HVI's escort team?"

"You're our extract?" He asked back, sounding ever more hopeful. "We have the rep with us now. We also have a few others."

Duncan brightened up even more at that, especially since he didn't see Noah. What he did see was the way Erica stiffened at hearing Nova's voice, something that made her eyes widen even more as they shifted back to him.

"We're here to give everybody a lift." Nova promised. "Come on out."

The corporal waved back to someone out of sight. "Our back-up's here, let's move!"

Duncan and Nova stepped aside ahead of the silhouettes that came dashing out of the corridor. Three Army troopers came out after the corporal, guiding the way for a man in a suit and, as far as he could tell, a ragtag duo of teenagers, a boy and a girl. He wagered the man in the suit to be their HVI.

Erica also walked out and with her came the smallest of their number.

His heart both rose and sank at seeing Erica again, but he nearly lost it when he saw Noah. His little boy looked haggard and tired. Parts of his pants were ripped. His face, like his mother's, was scratched and bruised. But all of that paled in comparison to the simple fact that he was alive. They were both alive.

In that moment, though he'd never said one, Duncan felt that his prayers had been answered.

He couldn't take it anymore.

As the group dispersed across the safety of the room, as Nova strode forward to fill-in the corporal and the representative, Duncan made a beeline for his family.

It took everything he had not to shake, shout, run or worse. He walked towards them with a quietness that caused them to miss his approach until he was just a short stretch away. He switched on his rifle's safety and placed it atop a passing desk. Then he reached up and grasped his helmet seal.

The slight hiss as he thumbed the release was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

He pulled off his helmet and laid it aside as well.

With his visor gone, he saw the last bits of uncertainty dissolve from Erica and Noah, shifting from nervous anticipation to absolute shock.

Then, once he flashed them his first smile, the first real one he'd had in ages, everything changed.

Noah was the first to react.

He didn't say a word. His expression said it all. Starry-eyed with tears, he left his mom's side and bolted towards him.

Duncan stopped.

He remembered the first time he saw his little boy stumbling towards him as a toddler. Up until that point, they'd been complete strangers. Even then, Noah didn't seem to care. He was still little but not as much as he used to be. He was happy then as he ran to him with a wide grin, but now he closed in with a joy tempered by sadness.

Noah jumped and Duncan caught him out of the air, wrapping him in the warmest hug his armor would allow.

Noah buried his head into his breastplate. A noise came out like a moan before it evolved into a throaty cry. He was weeping, shuddering each time he made a sound.

Of everything Duncan had been through, it was that noise that made his legs buckle. He fell to his knees, still trying to embrace him as much as he could, still trying to assure him that he was here, that everything would be okay. But he couldn't get the words out. They were trapped somewhere in the back of his mind. What found its way to the fore was a cry of its own.

Footsteps drew his attention upward to see Erica standing over him. She was hardly any better than Noah. Each breath made her shake as she crouched down in front of him. Trembling hands reached out until they cupped his face, touching, confirming.

Even though she was smiling, he could tell she was on the brink. He mirrored her hopeful smile back to her with one of pained reassurance, nodding in answer to a question she didn't even have to ask. Yet the touch alone cost him more of his restraint and he tottered forward.

Now she was the one to catch him, holding him in a bear hug that he could feel through his armor. He could feel the warmth of her head as she rested it on the cold metal of his shoulder. He still had enough of his wits left to free an arm and pull her into an embrace of his own.

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that.

He lost track of time. They clung to each other and refused to let go, as if they would slip away forever if any one of them did. He sensed some of the others watching. Nothing, however, could pull him from that moment.

"...Hey dad." Noah sniffled.

Duncan grinned. "...Hey Noe."

"Where've you-, where've you been?

The question cut deep.

He struggled for an answer.

Erica shook her head at their son. "Noe-"

"It's okay." Duncan insisted. "...I've been gone for a bit..." As he trailed off, a deep grimace settled in, one that twitched with a smidge of relief. "But I'm back. I'm here now."

A hand reached out and, shaking, cupped Noah's cheek.

"See?" Duncan stared into his eyes and saw in them the same watery mirage of his own. "I'm here."

It was Noah's turn to reach out. Slowly, he grasped the hand on his face, curling his fingers around them as if to test that they were real. The second he did, Duncan's smile deepened, a hammer that finally came crashing down on a look of exhaustion. The disbelieving mask shattered to pieces and Noah along with it.

All at once, Duncan saw him unravel until what remained stunned him into silence, an old man with his little boy's face. Suddenly he saw the price of his absence. Eyes that had seen far more than they ever should have now shut tight, squeezing out a cascade of tears that ran past gritted teeth, teeth that parted in pain.

Duncan saw it clear as day.

He'd failed.

Now he knew how badly.

He pulled Noah into his shoulder before he could get a noise out. It was more a shout than a cry, long and drawn out, vibrating through his chest and shaking up what he restrained on the inside.

He struggled to keep it all in while Noah let everything out.

Without meaning to, his thoughts stumbled across something old. A memory, a piece of a whole. A starry-eyed kid struggled to hand over a duffel bag to his dad before watching him walk away. It was the same piece that wondered if this was what it might have been like, what it might have felt like, had things been different.

He held Noah tighter, securing him in an embrace that he couldn't have known was meant to reassure father more than son. After all, the latter could never have suspected that he wasn't the only little boy in the room.

A hand stopped Duncan from losing himself.

The warmth of a palm on his cheek radiated into the rest of his being, pushing aside what could have been for what was.

He opened his eyes and saw Erica.

Once again, she was frozen in a combination of shock and hesitation. For her, his presence still hadn't settled in. He saw it in her face, a silent anguish crying out for more proof.

Despite a newfound sense of fatigue, despite a tautness in his jaw, he managed to pull through with a ghost of a smile.

"Sorry for the wait."

It was enough, enough to convince her that he wasn't a ghost.

She cracked up slowly at first then all at once. Her face contorted into a collage of grief and relief. She threw her arms around him again, not trying to hold it in either. It surged out in a flood of shivering breaths and haggard cries.

The sound alone brought Duncan to the edge of his rope. His eyes were burning, welling up and hazing over. He finally let go, hooking an arm around her again, drawing her in so that her forehead found solace against his own. The voices that had gnawed at his every waking thought were now silenced. Like a bubble, several weeks' worth of worry and despair suddenly burst, spilling out over his family.

And yet for all his tears, he was smiling.

:********:

Noah was happy, so much so that he was beginning to doubt if he had ever been happy before. The question was a moot one, however. What really mattered was that he was here. His dad was here.

He wasn't about to let him go either.

Tommy.

Daniel.

He could see their faces. He could see one vanishing in a pink flash while the other sat down for the last time.

What about them, he thought? Didn't they have parents waiting for them?

What if they didn't anymore?

The questions were back with a vengeance.

He felt invisible hands squeezing at his throat, reminding him of what he'd done. He hadn't told anyone yet that it was his fault. Not Mr. Walker or Mr. Mitchell. Not Sára or even his mom.

Could he tell his dad?

No.

He could barely get a breath in with all the crying he was doing. Hearing his dad doing the same wasn't helping. Because of everything else, his guilt had little room to show itself. He decided against it. He would tell them later if he got the chance. Right then, he just wanted to hold onto what he had left.

When he looked up, he happened to glimpse what the others were up to.

His aunts and uncles were keeping an eye out for them. Through the clear glass of their helmets, despite what they were doing, they looked on with relief and even excitement. Their faces said it all. They were happier than ever to see him. The feeling was more than mutual.

But then he saw something different.

As Aunty Nova spoke with Mr. Azimoth and Mr. McPherson, as the soldiers searched about for extra weapons, he looked past all of them to the two who weren't doing anything at all.

Christa and Gray were standing afar off.

Both appeared as if they'd seen a ghost or two. They were tense and wide-eyed, watching, staring hard in his direction.

At first, he thought they were staring at him. However, it didn't take long for him to realize, to his confusion, that they weren't.

:********:

Duncan wanted to do so much more, to say so much more than he already had. It was put on hold faster than he expected. The words ready to come out of his mouth were preemptively silenced by a voice from his comms.

"Whiskey-4 to Epsilon," Lang said. "Sorry for the interruption, but you've got an even bigger one on the way. Those two Phantoms are making a run for the hotel. Must've figured out where the action is. Would advise immediate extraction with those civilians, over?"

The Staff broke in. "Whiskey-4, we need time to extract. Can you engage?"

"Not exactly, sir." Mackley cut in. "Those dropships are approaching from the west. Their thermals are already starting to mix up with the fires from the building. Not only are they in our blind spot, but they're also going to be able to take a pounding. Our best bet is those Banshees before they can take up a pursuit."

"Looks like they're closing their net around the hotel, lone patrols, easy pickings." Lang agreed.

"And exactly where on the hotel are those Phantoms headed?" The Staff asked.

A short pause brought an inexact answer from Lang. "Looks like anywhere between Floors 70 to 85."

The platoon's leader let out a long sigh. "Ep-2?"

"Still on '75, sir." Nova admitted. "Civvies included."

"...Where're the closest landing pads to your locale?"

"From what I can see here, it's back the way we came." Zack said as he eyed the hotel's schematics still hovering nearby. "It's '70 or bust."

"Roger that. Whiskey-1?"

"Just got off the phone with Devilraid and Kilo." Dalton replied. "They say they're good to go."

"Then so are we. Whiskey-3, 4, deal with those Banshees. We don't need anything tailing us out of here. Whiskey-1, tell Kilo to swing in from the north and south, give us some cover from those dropships. Devilraid's approach will be the pad furthest to the east side of the building. Ep-2, my team's already making our way down off '86 so we'll get there a little after you do. Your package takes priority. If hostiles start landing before we get there, you exfil without us."

"And what'll you do?" Nova questioned worriedly.

"Don't worry about us. We'll link up with Kilo, pick up our snipers and call it a day. Now get your team moving. At this rate, we'll get there before you do."

"Honestly almost thought you forgot about us for a sec." Mackley kidded.

"Solid copy." Nova turned to those not privy to their comms. "Everyone, get up and get ready. We're leaving."

"Already?" Azimoth prodded nervously.

"That's right, sir. Your chariot's waiting."

McPherson waved to his squad and got them to reassemble by his side. "Where to?"

She pointed to the schematic. "Floor 70. Keep in mind, Covie reinforcements are starting to roll in so we're going to have to make this fast."

The corporal nodded with a tinge of fear and anticipation. "Got it." He turned to his men. "Get the civvies on their feet."

"About time." One of them said as the three of them broke up once again. One trailed behind Yuri and Renni towards the doors they came through. Another went for the young woman that had tagged along with the group. The last one took the two teens. The pair looked as if they weren't ready to leave. As their custodian guided them by the shoulders, leading them towards the doors, they dragged their feet. They stopped sporadically to glance back at the Iris family.

Duncan couldn't blame them. The three of them back together again must have been a sight, one he was loathed to break up. But he had to.

Nova strolled over carrying his rifle and helmet. Despite the remorse written on her face, she gave him the look that said it was time to go.

For Duncan, removing his hands from the two of them felt like pulling two magnets apart. He looked them both in the eyes.

"It's time."

The words were delivered with more finality than even he had expected.

The change was near instant. He saw their expressions melt away from comfort to a renewed sense of fear. He grabbed either one by the shoulder and offered a heartening squeeze. Erica got the picture and let him go, stifling her last sniffles as she did. She nodded. She was ready.

Noah wasn't.

He clung onto him even more than before, groaning as he did. "No."

"Noah." Erica took a step.

He reflexively tightened his grip. "No."

Duncan could tell by his tone that he was on the verge of more tears. "Noah-"

"I don't want to go back out there!" He cried, burying his head into his breastplate. "They already took everyone else! I don't-, I don't-…"

Duncan steeled himself, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes at the boy, closing the floodgate before it was too late.

"Noe, look at me."

He didn't.

"Okay then," Without further delay, Duncan swept an arm under him and hefted him up to his face, sparing neither of them from the glazed, bloodshot gaze of the other. "That's better. Now listen, I'm getting you out of here. You're going somewhere safe, both of you."

An uncertain scowl crossed Noah's lips. "But-, bu-"

"No buts, kiddo. You're leaving."

"But what about you? You're coming with us...right?"

Against the seriousness in Duncan's voice and in his countenance, the two cracked and crumbled into a hearty laugh. It was one of the best he'd had in years, laughing right in his son's face while Nova handed him his gear.

"Coming with?" Duncan jeered as he slipped on his helmet, screwing it into place with one hand. Hefting his rifle against his shoulder, he depolarized his visor so that Noah could see his beaming grin. "Who do you think's taking you there?"

For Noah, the shock lasted only a moment. He flinched as he suddenly seemed to notice the ODST standing where his father had been. And just like his father, he slowly drew his own smile, like someone whose hero had finally arrived. It was so contagious that even Erica couldn't help herself. Despite everything Duncan had seen, in those pools of glistening green he found all the hope he could've needed. Now more than ever he felt the need to protect it.

"Come on." Again, he tried to put Noah down.

Again, Noah refused, shaking his head vehemently.

"Alright." In one deft motion he swung the little boy around, shifting him so that he could cling to the ruck on his back. He supported him with one arm while the other brandished his rifle. He turned to Nova. "Ready."

She shot him a questioning look. Even Erica gave off a troubled air.

"Don't worry," Duncan said. He peered over his shoulder to where his son hung onto him, almost reminding him of a koala. "If we run into trouble, I'll pass him off to his mom. Sounds good?"

Regardless of the giddiness that reddened his cheeks, Noah nodded stoically.

Duncan glanced at the others making their way up one of the stairs. "I don't think we have any more time for negotiations." He met their apprehension with an arched brow. "Unless you want to try prying him off too."

The two women shared a look with each other. Erica incidentally searched past her, spotting where the body of the hotel's head of security lay, still seated against his tattered station. A forlornness fell over her like a pall, one she quickly had to pull aside to get herself moving.

"He better not get a scratch." She warned while she pulled on ahead. "Not one."

"What she said." Nova echoed as she followed suit.

"He won't." Duncan assured with enough confidence to carry him and Noah up the stairs. In spite of the extra weight, he somehow felt lighter. Putting an extra spryness in his steps, he bounded after the rest of the group as they filed towards the exit.

:********:

The newly forged team of ODSTs and Army troopers were careful to mind their charges as they navigated one empty hallway after the next. Nova had her fireteam spearheading the move, turning corners and securing passageways before signaling the others to follow. Corporal McPherson and his troopers served as their rearguard, always lingering a few steps behind to create a small buffer between them and their flank.

Everyone else moved cautiously between the two. Duncan was at the front of them with Noah on his back. Erica and the young woman came behind him, holding their sidearms at the ready. Azimoth and the two teens hung back, the latter sticking close together.

Duncan was careful to maintain a balance between moving forward and keeping Noah upright. One eye scanned the way ahead while the other maintained a closer watch. The occasional body always brought with it a measure of discomfort. He usually didn't pay Covenant dead more attention than he needed in order to confirm they weren't a threat. With civilians, it was the opposite. But now things felt different. The new load on his back was a constant reminder of that. It made him far more aware of the scenes they passed, the kind that he normally wouldn't have given a second thought to. It gave rise to something much more uncomfortable, that things weren't so clearly separated anymore.

Noah, Erica, they were in his world now.

There would be no more coming home from a deployment and leaving the war behind. This time, it had followed him home.

Worse yet was knowing that not only could he no longer shield them from it, but they had also almost been lost to it. Scores of deceased hotel workers lay scattered across the corridors. Some were propped against corners where they had sat their burnt bodies down to die. Others lay at the end of long blood trails; parallel boot prints large and small showing how far they had gotten before they were finished off.

As much as it frightened him to admit, it was a miracle that his family was still alive. Either that or the well-connectedness of Erica's position as the hotel manager, giving her the best chance out of anyone here to have accessed the safe room. Perhaps it was both. Nevertheless, it was one thing to have known about the room and another to have actually gotten there.

He snuck a glimpse of Erica with her pistol drawn. A morbid curiosity took hold and he wondered how much she had had to use it.

Even then, he found himself thinking about what kind of soldier, Marine or ODST she would have made. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about that either. Far from it. Rather, it was the first time he'd thought about it seriously. Had they never met, if she had never said yes when he showed her the ring, he had no doubts whatsoever that she would have wound up in the service.

The closest stairwell came up faster than he expected. Yuri held the door while everyone else filed inside. They navigated the steps in a fluid descent, moving like a caterpillar with guns for legs.

Soon they arrived at the door to the 70th floor. Nova grasped the handle. Yuri lined up beside her. They all halted on the steps, listening for movement. Nothing stirred on the other side. At the end of a three-fingered countdown, she pulled it open, and Yuri led the charge.

The afternoon light played off the smooth granite so that the entirety of the floor seemed to sparkle with embers of fire. The effect had doubled with the lull in the cloud cover so that everything stuck out in greater detail.

Aside from everything he'd seen before, the first thing Duncan noticed was a flash of silver light.

Beyond the outer balconies to the east, a shadow flipped and twirled about. Two more of them followed in a shadow puppetry of the local airspace. The shrill scream of propulsion drives echoed into the hotel. So did the sound of whining plasma fire from the east, only matched in tenor by a withering ensemble of machine-gun fire.

"Guess we beat Ep-1." Zack noted. "Sounds like Kilo has their hands full out there.

Another flash of light beamed past the building.

"They're not the only ones." Nova waved them forward. "Come on."

The team moved from the stairs, allowing the rest of the group to spill out after them. They cleared a path through the granite columns, broken tables and broken bodies. Only then did the thought come to Duncan's attention that Noah probably had his eyes open. In his rush, he had forgotten that he could see everything. He was too handicapped to cover them for him. He thought of telling him to shut them, but a voice in the darker corners of his mind told him that it no longer mattered.

They were moving back towards the eastward side of the floor, to the same landing pad they had inserted from. The closer they came the more he saw of the situation.

Outside, a trio of Banshees flew about on ever-changing vectors. They were erratic, diving on sharp descents before spiraling back up, twisting ribbons of bright exhaust in their wake. They banked aside, weaving back onto their earlier course only to perform rolls that launched them higher into the skyline. It was obvious, however, that all three were moving away from the hotel and trending more towards the east. No sooner did he reach that conclusion than he became aware of a shaft of light that lanced at one of the flyers. It had already faded before he perceived it a half-second later, but the effect remained the same. A tongue of fire licked across one of the Banshees' wing canards. The aircraft still had enough power to perform another roll, hurling it behind the shadow of a neighboring building. The other two did the same as a follow-up from the Stanchion grazed another's hull. They dove down and careened away into cover.

Nova held up a fist and the group stopped a few meters short of the pad. It was empty. There was no sign of the Pelican. She pointed to several nearby columns. The team reacted quickly and broke up. They set an example, one the soldiers and their charges wordlessly mirrored.

Duncan took a knee behind the closest support to the pad. He heard someone rush in beside him and peered over his shoulder, glad to see that it was Erica. She looked out around the other side of the column, gun drawn.

She had his back. It was almost strange to think about.

Noah was tense. Duncan could tell from how much he was clinging on.

"Why're we hiding?" He asked concernedly. "Where-, where's the-"

"Noe," Duncan said firmly. "Remember what I told you back there?"

"Wha-"

"Eri?"

"I got him." Erica said as she holstered her M6. She shot her hands under both of Noah's shoulders. It was fast enough to pry his arms free of the ruck.

"Don't drop him." Duncan said.

"Not a chance." She held him close just as it dawned on him that he had been traded.

His demeanor soured with panic. "Wait, no, no, don't go! Don't leave u-"

A hand covered his mouth, silencing him. Duncan used the other to take up his weapon. "No one's leaving anyone, Noe. I need you to calm down, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Instead of what he expected, Duncan watched his son's eyes widen in horror, as if someone had asked him that before. Then a shadow of acceptance passed over him, letting Duncan know he could let go.

He wanted to say something encouraging to him, but nothing came.

"Stay with your mom."

That was it.

With a nod from Erica, he dashed off towards the column where Nova was and slid in beside her. Not getting a chance to ask what was going on, he started keying into the wider chaos unfolding over comms.

"Sorry but they're not making it easy for us." Lang griped. "They split up after we took out those first two. We really kicked the hornet's nest on this one, sir."

"I don't need you to kick it, trooper, I need you to burn it." The Staff replied.

"Would've been a little easier if we hadn't kicked it first."

"Devilraid can't come in until you clear the air. Just get it done, Whiskey. We're counting on you."

"...Roger."

Duncan overheard the high-pitched shriek of other impulse drives. He looked to their right and left. To the north and south of the hotel, pods of Banshees were performing maneuvers. He couldn't see them directly, but he watched their reflections move in the windows of adjacent buildings. He counted three to their north and four to their south. All were gravitating away from the hotel.

"We're looking at 10 Banshees by my count." He said. "Think they can handle all that?"

Nova shrugged. "If they can't clear that approach..."

Zack checked in from a nearby column. "So, what do we do now?"

"Stay put, wait for Ep-1. They should be showing up any second-…"

Duncan noticed it right after she did. The world around them was quiet. The machine-gun fire from Kilo had stopped.

Turbojets growled past. Using the far-off reflections, Duncan spotted Kilo-9-2 and Kilo-9-4 flying low to either side of the hotel. They arose in the east at an elevation where everyone could see them. Both were trailing smoke from their frames. Kilo-9-4 was even bleeding flames from its starboard rotor which flickered with each rotation like a fiery tornado.

"Heads up, ODSTs." Kilo-9-2 said, his voice strained. "Those Phantoms are giving us a beating. We're backing off but we're not bugging out. We'll try to lure out these Banshees, clear an exfil corridor for you, but you're going to have to find a way around those dropships on your own. At least for now."

As the two Falcons split off to chase after the flyers, a new commotion filled the void. The throatier groan of impulse drives crept closer at their backs.

Duncan and the others whipped around. What they found made the ODSTs immediately break position, rushing past their charges in order to man the columns behind them.

Past the railed balconies on the other end of the floor, two silhouettes came into view.

"Corporal, get your troopers into position." Nova ordered and switched to her helmet speaker. "Azimoth, Erica, you guys hang back. Keep yourselves covered."

The corporal's reaction was timely. A swift hand motion got his soldiers moving. While they flowed over to positions on either of the team's flanks, the others ran in the opposite direction. Duncan saw Erica hustle around the other side of her column with Noah still in her arms. The teens found their own cover nearby as did the young woman and Azimoth.

Erica locked eyes with him for a long moment before slipping out of view. He pulled himself back to the situation, raising his weapon at the incoming threat. Seeing what was in front of him and knowing what was behind him, for the first time he felt jealous of Mackley and Lang. His grasp hardened around his assault rifle as if a combination of pressure and sheer will could grant it the power of the Stanchion.

As the two bulky silhouettes entered the shadow of the hotel, they resolved into the shapes of Phantom dropships. One of them was engulfed in flames. Like something fresh out of hell, it seemed unaffected by the fires that wafted from its every dimension. At least it appeared so until it came to hover just above one of the western pads. The second its shadow crossed over it, a cry rang out from the fuselage. The sound rose sharply in pitch before reaching an explosive climax that spewed out of its port drive like a blown nose. All at once its propulsion died and it came down like a rock, crushing a shallow crater into the landing pad as it settled to one side.

"Guess Kilo gave as good as they got." Yuri remarked.

Duncan wasn't so sure.

Just a few heartbeats later, the bullet riddled doors of the Phantom's carcass began to open. They did not do so under their own power. That much became clear once the rhythmic THUMP of metal on metal reached his ears. The doors were being struck, bulging out bit by bit. Fractures tore into the metal before huge chunks of the hull were knocked free, clattering to the floor.

Several Grunts jumped out from either side. Four Brutes came next. The group would be easy work with the numbers they had on hand. At least he thought so. His sense of relief was interrupted by grinding metal. He soon recognized it for what it was: footfalls.

A living boulder jumped out of the high side of the hangar, its boots crunching deep divots into the pad. Another charged out from the low side, breaking through the last of its iron fetters with the gentleness of a cannonball. Shields raised, spines rattling, the Hunter pair moved to join their allies at the head of the advance.

The second Phantom arrived in short order. It was much more intact than its cohort. Coming to float above a neighboring pad, its hangar doors rolled open of their own volition. A similar contingent of Grunts and Brutes hopped a short distance to the ground. A matching pair of Hunters also leapt out and landed with the grace of mortar shells. They quickly came to the fore and brought their shields to bare.

In a matter of seconds, the team found themselves facing down two individual phalanxes, both of which took little time to descend from the outer balconies to the inner floor.

"How far is Ep-1 again?" Zack whispered.

"Ep-2 to 1, it's turning into a full house down here. How close are you?"

"Hang on, we ran into another cave-in. We're four floors up, trying to find another way down. ETA, two minutes."

Nova and Duncan shared a look.

"Copy, sir." Nova answered. "We'll hold them off."

"Roger that. Prepare for a hot exfil."

Hot exfil.

The words caused Duncan to steal another glimpse of where his family was. Somehow everything he loved was far too close for his liking, and everything he hated far too close for comfort.

He turned back and readied himself.

There were kill zones.

Only several of them were useful.

Primary among them was the atrium. An artificial pond surrounded the opening in Floor 70's center like a concentric ring. The water, the shrubs, even the dead could bog down any who dared the deceiving shortcut. Next were two of the decorative fountains, one on either side of the floor, which provided yet another set of artificial clearings. Lastly was one of the booth areas from the destroyed café which a plasma grenade had done away with. It was just a few meters out in front of them, providing a final line of delay and defense.

The new arrivals moved at a cautious trot. Though the Hunters remained in their tight knit pairs, the Brutes and Grunts began to break off. As they spread out into small patrols across the other side, the Hunters forged straight ahead. They were heading right for the atrium. They didn't seem to be aware of the difficulties they were soon to step into. Duncan hoped to God it stayed that way.

None of them noticed the band of ODSTs and Army troopers camped just 30 meters away. They hung close to their cover, gluing themselves against the columns so that their darker armor took advantage of the shadows.

"Anyone got flashbangs?" Nova asked from a nearby column.

The half of Epsilon sounded off with an affirmative.

"Corporal?"

From behind his own cover on the wings of their right flank, McPherson spared a nod. "One, and it's just me."

"Copy." She paused to watch the Covenant slowly dispersing across the space. "Alright, here's how this is going to play out. We'll work our way up the food chain. Those Hunters are too close for their own good. We want to reduce the amount of plasma they can throw at us as quickly as possible so we'll flash both pairs then pick on the Grunts. Another flash on the Hunters then we'll focus on the Brutes. Once they're out of the way, we'll spread out and push up, put the pressure on the big guys from all sides. Chances are high they'll bunch up and give us a chance to serve some frags. Ep-5, 10, you're up first with the stuns. Ep-7, 8, you throw second." She put a pensive hand to the flashbang on her belt. "If those Hunters start getting antsy, me and the corporal will pull out the last stops for good measure."

"Zvuchit zdorovo." Yuri replied. "Ready when you are."

"I got a good angle on those Hunters from here." Renni added.

"Hey, do us all a favor and don't miss." McPherson replied.

Yuri looked at him sideways. "This is your first time working with ODSTs, isn't it corporal? That's not something we do, not at this range anyway."

"...I'll take your word for it."

The group trailed off into radio silence as a force four times their size began trickling into their ambush points. The kill zones were filling up as the heels of the juggernaut quartet waded through the waters of the pond, caring more for caution than speed. Brutes and Grunts alike used the more open spaces of the fountains to get around faster. Duncan focused on a duo of the latter that had found their way to the atrium pond, picking over the surviving plants like a pair of curious gardeners.

"Now!"

The order, barked from one, was executed by two.

In synch, Yuri and Renni emerged from cover and hurled their flashbangs. As their safety pins pinged off the floor, the devices sailed through the air. Their paths diverged as they arced into two different sides of the pond, splashing down between the four Hunters.

Duncan shut his eyes.

Through closed lids he could still see the flash, still hear the BANG and the howls of the Hunters.

He opened them again and opened fire.

Even as a whole the group operated synchronously. Suddenly the enemy across the way found themselves drenched in raking fire as death's hand sifted through their weakest.

Bursts of assault rifle fire afflicted Grunts with a ballistic epilepsy. Others dropped like felled trees or were knocked clear off their feet by semi-automatic precision.

Duncan spent a quarter of a magazine on his first target, riddling it from head to toe. As it fell, its partner whirled about, drawing its pistol in the wrong direction. Half a magazine later and it was rocketing into one of the Hunters on a trail of greenish methane, the gas tank detonating against the creature's chest like a missile. The giant staggered back into its comrade as both their wormy colonies struggled to see. Without meaning to, the other giant lashed out with its shield, striking its brother's head with enough force to bowl it into the pond.

Duncan shifted left and spotted a group of Grunts making headway by one of the fountains. One of them dropped to a solid burst from Zack who stepped back to cover before the others could spot him. Duncan joined his fire to Renni's to hit the survivors from the side. Two more Grunts crumpled to the floor in a bright blue spray. The last one halted mid-step and tried to turn aside. The two soldiers at the farthest end made sure it didn't get far and shot it into bloody submission.

By then the element of surprise was gone.

The Brutes were breaking out of the initial shock and beginning to return fire. Yellow-hot spikes crisscrossed the space, mirroring the tracers that trafficked in the opposite direction. In moments the entire floor was transformed into a two-way shooting range. However, the brightness of the evening light and the shadows of the columns kept the Brutes from zeroing in on their position.

Off to the right, Yuri, Nova and McPherson used it to their advantage by making short work of another Grunt patrol. With three new corpses already added to the collection, the last two broke and ran. The corporal slowed one with his DMR, a round to the leg heralding another to the head. Meanwhile his closest aide blew out the stomach of the last so that the walking corpse toppled to the ground.

There were more. Duncan sighted at least three Grunts that had had enough luck and brains to hop behind cover. Their numbers were a fraction of what they came in with but a threat all the same. Not that they were anything of note compared to the stirring of the four giants. The Hunters were shaking off the last of their blindness. Duncan wasn't sure what kind of sensory organs the worms used. What he did know was that they needed to break them again.

"Ep-7, 8, you're up!" Nova ordered.

Duncan was already moving. So was Zack. Together, they wheeled out and tossed their stuns along preplanned arcs. The Hunters had reflexively raised their shields the first time and had hardly moved since. That made it less difficult to gauge the toss which once again landed flashbangs between them.

Another flash, another BANG and a choir of many-voiced groans.

Duncan stepped from cover with two targets in mind. The Brutes still couldn't tell their exact position, but their spikes were getting closer. So was the occasional explosive. The team countered with a first strike of their own.

The earlier fire made a strong resurgence. Eight guns concentrated on the three closest and most obvious hostiles. Two Brutes had pushed up past the southward end of the atrium and were charging straight for them, firing as they went. Another had moved into a wider space near the north side, searching for an opening with its grenade launcher.

The hailstorm that met their advance skewed overwhelmingly towards the charging pair on the left. They had no shields. Their sole protection came from scant armor and abundant bulk, armor which shattered as it was picked apart and bulk which trembled with each shot. The two were rewarded for their bravado by being transformed into bullet magnets, sparkling from head to foot in metal fragments, ricochets and purple viscera. The first fell to a knee as what remained of a kneecap splattered onto the floor. It raised its spike rifle for another shot but a volley of automatic death stopped it short. Still spewing spikes, the rifle clattered away, severed fingers holding down the trigger even as their owner slumped to the ground.

Its packmate carried on unphased but not for long. The exposed parts of its body had turned into bloody hives where bullets had burrowed inside like parasites. Nevertheless, it kept firing until a burst from Yuri pinged off its helmet, knocking the protection off its head. Duncan joined in and put three in its face. The alien shrugged off the newly made hole in its forehead with furious abandon. It ditched any attempt to fire and sprinted at him. It ran full force into an invisible fist that punched its head back. Its momentum twisted it onto its spine, crashing hard with a golf ball sized hole where an eye should've been.

Duncan didn't have time to thank Nova for the save as they pivoted to the next threat. McPherson and one of his troopers were putting a lot of work into pinning down the Brute to their right. The grenade launcher was a problem they kept at bay by hosing the column where its wielder hid. The corporal even pulled out a few extra stops. When the Brute tried to wheel around for a shot, it found a grenade bouncing into its face. The blast ripped its helmet off its head and flesh off its chest. Still, it held onto its launcher and pressed itself back into cover. It emerged from the other side and made a run for it.

Duncan saw the move for what it was. It was trying to get around them, to flank them from the side. If it did then there was a good chance it would get a line of sight on everyone in the rear. His rifle was the first to lock onto it, his trigger finger heavier than most.

The sheer concentration of lead buzzed the Brute's hide like a swarm of angry bees. At the same time, it used the opportunity to launch its own miniature broadside. Fist-sized projectiles whistled past their positions or slammed into their cover in blasts of fire and smoke. The returns forced most of them back behind their columns. Duncan wasn't one of them. He disregarded the grenade that smashed into his column, ignoring the spit of granite dust that blew into his visor. He shot through the haze, spitting his own full-auto assault at the Brute until its leg slackened under it. It slowed and started to limp. It had almost flanked their right side. He broke from cover, yanking out his spent magazine as he rushed to intercept.

It rounded the column that one of McPherson's men hid behind, engulfing the horrified soldier in its shadow. The nose of its launcher nudged in his direction before twitching away, its owner spotting a threat whose weapon was already raised: Duncan.

Click.

He didn't stop to consider that he hadn't reloaded yet, only heeding the fact that a grenade launcher was turning his way. There was no time for his sidearm. With his spent magazine still in hand, he reeled back and hurled it at the alien with all the emphasis of a grenade. As it bounced forward, the Brute staggered back, shielding its face with an arm. The empty article slid to its feet and stopped. It registered the ruse far too late.

By then Duncan had already slapped in a new magazine and was spending its contents wholeheartedly. The others had also joined in, turning the Brute into a living lightshow. Barely able to move amidst the storm of tracers, it made a desperate bid to raise its launcher. It tried for it just as its teeth came shooting out the back of its head, throwing off its aim. Two grenades whistled into the ceiling. One gouged out a gasp of vaporized granite. Another smashed into a chandelier which came apart like a shell, unleashing a shrapnel wave of glass that spattered off Duncan's armor. The rest came crumbling down. He saw it coming and rolled aside, the ruined ornament crashing in a spray of shards behind him.

"Playing it real close, Ep-8!" Nova warned. "Get back to cover!"

She didn't have to tell him twice. He made extra haste as a wave of suppressive spikes crashed into the team like a tide of tungsten. The other five Brutes had seized on the distraction that their packmates had afforded them. They were closing in, moving to within 20 meters of them from left to right, just a dozen strides worth of distance for the larger beasts.

One of them singled out Duncan in particular. It made a concerted push one column at a time, closing in on the kill zone of the café booth while firing off spikes at him.

He timed its approach, waiting for it to start firing again. Once it did, he emerged from a different side of his column than it had anticipated. He aimed high and caught it in the hand. A solid burst blew off a few fingers. It howled, too distracted by pain to notice that he wasn't finished. Another burst pocked the gas tank of a Grunt that had trailed after it. The tank sparked off and ignited. A gout of pressurized methane came spouting out, pinning the Grunt to the floor as it spiraled like a spinner. Its torment terminated in a sudden ascent that detonated the last of the gas in front of the Brute, punching it into a column.

Dizziness quickly gave way to rage. The Brute disregarded the tracers flashing by as it seized the dead Grunt by the throat. Despite the wider clamor, Duncan could hear the snap of bones. He poured into the creature's center of mass with renewed vigor as it made its move. The Brute ripped the plasma pistol from the corpse. It howled at him before chucking the Grunt with the ease of a baseball. He almost didn't withdraw in time, the body slamming into his shoulder and knocking him off balance. He pulled himself back into position and returned to his enemy. Only the Brute was gone now, replaced by a green sun.

He threw himself back behind the column just as the overloaded bolt soared into the other side. Regardless of the miss, he could feel the heat cooking the air and warming his armor.

Swapping out another empty magazine for a full one, he made the troubling realization that he only had three more of the latter. He moved to make the next one count. He wheeled out again. Zack joined him in suppressing the closest of their problems. The Brute fired back unashamedly through the fire, dodging nothing, shooting at everything.

Zack wasn't the only one to help.

From further back came the uneven bark of an M6. Duncan saw the rounds ping off the Brute's helmet. He snuck a glimpse at the rear.

It was Erica.

Leaning halfway out of her cover, she squinted as she squeezed off a few rounds. He was both terrified and bewildered, wondering why she had chosen to start fighting now of all times, at least until he saw the teeth-gritted fury in her face. Her murderous scowl seemed to match the snarling rage of her target. She must have seen that it was giving him trouble, she was trying to help.

The Brute let out another howl. Its freehand reached down and reclaimed the fallen spike rifle. With two less fingers than before, it unleashed a surge of spikes and plasma. The deadly flurry flew past Duncan to shatter and splash against the other column. Though Erica had already retreated, the sight of where she was, where Noah was, scorched and impaled with dimming spikes kindled something in Duncan.

He wasn't sure what happened after that.

It was as if he'd been sleepwalking. He woke up to find himself suddenly out in the open, running straight towards the Brute. He was shouting at the top of his lungs. So was the pistol he held in one hand and the rifle he held in the other. Both hammered into it. His MA37 aimed low so that it riddled the creature's thigh until blood and bone erupted. He led with his M6 which seemed to fire of its own accord, slipping one round after the next into a maw twisted by pain. The Brute's howl became a gargled cry. A round to the jaw spun it about and whirled it onto its stomach.

Its last good hand reached out to crawl away.

Duncan shot it.

It raised its head to cry out.

Duncan shot it.

It slumped to the floor, unmoving.

Duncan kept shooting.

He peppered its back with his assault rifle. Even when that clicked dry, he was already unloading his sidearm into the back of its skull, caving it in more and more with each round.

Only when his pistol had emptied did he become aware of how bright the world was, how green. He spotted the sun which shone a deep emerald, much larger than the first one. Someone shouted his name, but they sounded too far off to tell who it was. Rapid footsteps rushed at him. Hands grabbed him from behind and yanked him to the floor just as a wave of heat washed over him.

A blast of pulverized granite hit him from behind as a fuel rod struck the column at his back. He looked and saw the electrified smoke clear away. The piece of architecture had a crater torn into it, exposing the innards of sizzling cement and bent rebars.

He was on the ground. Someone was pulling him. He saw Nova wrestling him along, dragging him behind the broken remains of one of the café booths. She let him go once he was cognizant enough to move on his own.

He peered out past the top of the booth.

The Hunters were back in action. Though the effects of the flashbangs had long since faded, they had held off. They had shown surprising restraint in doing so. From what he could tell, they had stayed quiet until they were clear of the pond, not wanting to risk another flashbang. Now they were spread apart and formed a loose semicircle around the atrium. With their newfound mobility, the Hunters executed their first barrage.

They fired one after the other like the cannons of a ship. A fusillade of plasma strafed individual positions, exploding across them in thunderous succession.

Nearby, McPherson saw the closest of his men sent flying as a fuel rod struck the column at his back, blowing uncleanly through it. The trooper soared several meters before crashing and tumbling across the ground.

"LAHEY!" The corporal called.

To everyone's surprise, the trooper immediately stumbled back to his feet. Though coughing up blood, he managed to run with a limp, getting himself behind another column just as a second barrage arrived.

Yet another rod struck somewhere it shouldn't have, blasting a huge chunk out of Yuri's column. The shockwave of debris spared Epsilon's pilot but not its radioman as the latter went up in flames, his radio gear exploding on his back.

He fell to hands and knees, but he didn't scream.

That was the only fact Duncan took solace in as he rushed to his side, braving the newest efforts of the Brutes and Grunts that whizzed and sizzled past.

He slid beside him and found him moving with calm precision, reaching for the connection points on his gear.

"Mind lending a hand!?" Zack shouted.

Duncan jumped in, helping him pull away tethers, unlock clasps and undo the last restraints. The boxy radio fell free and continued to burn on its own, letting out sparks from where chunks of hand-sized granite had lodged into its back. Zack was hardly better off. Tongues of fire still licked at his armor. They both worked furiously to pat them out.

"You good!?" Duncan asked.

"This isn't my first rodeo, Ep-8!" Zack said matter-of-factly. "I'll live!"

"We'll see about that!" Renni chimed in as she slid in next to them. Pulling out her canteen, she unscrewed the cap and doused him from top to bottom. Duncan caught on and did the same with his. They baptized Zack in drinking water, giving them an easier time patting away the last of the flames.

"Ep-10, how is he!?" Nova asked.

"A little medium rare!" Renni replied. "He's still kicking though!"

Amidst the fireworks playing out overhead, Duncan glanced at the radio equipment whose fires were spreading further over its frame. The pieces of pseudo-shrapnel jutting out of it gave him a deep sense of unease. "Good thing you had that on you when you did, am I right!?"

Zack cocked his head. "You kidding!?"

More sparks went off, creating a surge of electrical fire that turned the piece of equipment into a flickering candle.

Zack reeled in his foot and kicked it with all his might, sending it sliding as far away as possible. "That thing almost killed me!"

A third barrage reminded them of more pressing worries. While they gritted themselves against the bone-shaking power of the impacts, another lucky shot struck the ceiling, sending a deluge of debris raining down onto Nova. She pulled herself away in time and got behind the closest column she could find.

The living, walking, thinking artillery pieces that they were, the Hunters switched tact. One pair unleashed long torrents of plasma instead of single cannonades. The other pair continued as before but now in perfect unison.

ODSTs and soldiers alike pinned themselves against what remained of their cover as geysers of green flame flowed between them, cooking them in their armor without even having to touch them. They couldn't move. To their horror, a column close to them was completely obliterated by the concentrated fury of two fuel rods.

Floor 70 quaked.

Duncan heard shouts from behind. In terror he watched Erica run out from where she was hiding with Noah in her arms. Loosened debris rained down at her back. Noah clung to her, screaming as they hunkered down behind a new spot.

Rage seized him again. He tried looking for an opening. The constant influx of emerald flames offered none.

"Ep-2 to 1, we need that backup and we need it now!"

The Staff didn't answer.

A deep dread settled in Duncan's gut. Something must have gone wrong. The Staff had said they would only take two minutes. But that felt like an eternity ago. A list of scenarios played out in his head, none of them good. He wagered on one, the possibility that they had been ambushed while enroute.

The sudden sound of gunfire proved that he had it the wrong way around.

He peeked out above the inferno and saw them. The Staff, Hector, Rico and Mito rushed out of a stairwell entrance on the southern wing of the floor. They wasted no time letting loose while they fanned out, using the nearest supports for protection.

The last two Grunts were quickly spotted. They had been the closest to them and were thus the unluckiest. They were the first to be turned into bloodied ballerinas, twirling and twisting to the stochastic tune of their own demise.

The Brutes reacted to their new opposition straight away. Three of them rounded about to face them and mounted a countercharge.

Rico reacted to them in turn. The two nearest Brutes quickly came within range. He anticipated their course and fired off his launcher. The grenade bounced once, twice before skipping into the shin of one of them. The detonation consumed it in a flash of smoke before vomiting out its broken body and hurling its packmate aside. The wounded alien rolled away with one less leg. It clambered back after its lost spike rifle while its comrade howled forward.

The Staff had splintered off from Hector and Mito, the three of them charging to either side of their quarry.

The running Brute was blindsided by gunfire that lashed at it from its flank. It tried and failed to get after Hector and Mito, the two keeping back behind their columns. Rico made it harder for it by switching to his rifle and draining into it with steady bursts. Facing an assault from three directions was too much. The Brute fired wildly until its brain became aware of just how many bullets had ripped through it. It seized up and collapsed into a twitching heap.

Its wounded friend was still itching for a fight. Having reacquired its weapon, it propped itself against another of the floor's supports. An unsteady spray of spikes forced Hector and Mito to hold off from it. Or rather to wait for the barrel that quietly pressed into the Brute's temple.

The Staff fired.

Bits of brain and skull splattered the floor. What remained of its head was something like a drawing half erased. The alien teetered over and slumped to the side.

The Staff and his team shifted their attention to its next of kin. The loner had taken a position behind one of the fountains. Hector and Mito pushed forward to descend on its hideout. The Staff meanwhile swung around towards the rear. It spotted the two decoys first and stood up to pepper them in spikes. With fluid precision, the pair split themselves up and vanished behind a set of café booths. Blinded by rage, the Brute kept firing, hardly noticing the steps rushing at its back until it was too late.

The Staff skidded to within arm's reach of the creature so that it came within full reach of his shotgun. He pumped a shell into the back of its leg. The Brute cried out as its knee buckled and brought it down. It roared and swung its bladed rifle behind it, slashing away at nothing but air. The Staff shot upward, jabbing the barrel of his shotgun into its mouth, bucking its head back. Now they were eye to eye. It tried to bite down. A blast of buckshot bit back through its skull. The sheer force caused his target to stand up on its own two feet where it wavered for a moment, swaying like a scalped puppet. He gave it a proper send-off by kicking it square in the stomach, causing the shattered leftovers to fold and collapse.

Duncan observed their progress. He watched them maneuver towards positions closer to their own. They were being careful not to alert the Hunters yet. The quartet of behemoths were acting more single-mindedly than the Brutes. Their focus on the first team remained unbroken.

Duncan checked in on those they'd come to save. He was grateful not to see any of them standing or moving about. At least that meant they were staying down near the landing pad.

A spectacle drew his sight beyond the pad, however.

In the distance, Kilo-9-2 reemerged from behind a neighboring skyscraper. Both of its gunners were firing at something in its wake that subsequently zoomed into view. Three Banshees boosted after the smoking transport. One of the flyers was already wreathed in azure flames and yet refused to die. It added its plasma fire to the torrents that rained after 9-2.

The Falcon was headed towards the building where he knew their sniper team to be. On cue, a beam of light flickered from the rooftop and through one of the Banshees. It truly was a flicker as it was so fast that the flyer didn't seem to realize it had been struck, not until it erupted a split-second later. Before long, the Stanchion struck again and another Banshee blinked out of existence. With that, Kilo-9-2 was free to turn and face its last pursuer. The collective vengeance of its autocannon and machine gunners morphed the wounded Banshee into a descending fireball.

Over the comms, Duncan heard a cheer from Lang and Mackley.

"That's seven!" Lang said. "Three more and Devilraid's clear."

"No time!" The Staff said, flinching at a blast of electrifying green that hurtled into his column.

His team were engaging their newest objective. It moved between the atrium and Floor 70's innermost infrastructure, maneuvering with twice the strength and thrice the malevolence of its broken pack. Their chieftain was the last survivor. It let the team know how unhappy it was about that by slipping out from a nearby stairwell to have at them from mid-range. Range, however, hardly mattered when it came to fuel rods. The shoulder mounted cannon lobbed the same kind of condensed lethality as the Hunters.

"We've kept you guys waiting long enough!" The Staff said. "Ep-2, get those civvies ready to move! We'll hold these Hunters here! Whiskey-1, I need Devilraid inbound now!"

"Roger that, we're moving!" Dalton replied.

"Hold on!" Nova said. "Ep-1, you can't deal with four Hunters at once! Plus, that chieftain's giving you trouble! We should stay together!"

"Negative! At this rate that whole side of the floor's at risk of caving in on top of you! We need you and that HVI out of here!"

"What about you guys!?" Zack pointed out.

"I already told you, we-"

The Staff stopped as a dark shadow descended outside. An unexpected deluge of plasma bolts surged in from the balconies to crisscross the entire floor. It washed in over the Staff's team who immediately threw themselves down to the ground, keeping clear of the ionized storm that flashed just overhead. What came next was magnitudes worse. A salvo of pinkish-purple ordnance slammed into the world around them, punching holes out of floor, ceiling and furniture with a suddenness that caked the southern wing in smoke.

The visage of the last Phantom came within sight. It was hovering close to the outer balcony, flying on a slow pass that gave both its heavy and light plasma cannons a golden opportunity.

"Ep-1!" Nova shrieked.

"Still here!" The Staff growled. "Ep-6, target the heavy! Ep-4, 9, knock out that gunner!"

Rico hopped to it, crouching just beneath the flood of plasma to align his launcher with the dropship's heavy weapon. Hector and Mito did the same with the Grunt behind the plasma cannon and opened `fire. The Staff all the while kept the chieftain busy by whipping out his sidearm. The rounds did little more than spark off its energy shields like mosquito bites. Still, the fact that he was trying to pop them earned him the Brute's undivided attention. More fuel rods struck his cover. He continued peeping out with the persistence of a gofer, keeping it from focusing on the others.

Duncan felt a deep foreboding at the situation. They were taking fire from two sides. Nova's team was hardly in any position to assist. The Hunters made sure of that as they blasted through one column after the next, methodically clearing away the forest of supports between them and their quarry.

That concern made him wonder back to his family. He didn't see them amidst the twilight between the green glow of plasma and the bright yellow of afternoon. Even so, he knew they were there. They were hiding.

He was hiding too.

Again, his eyes drifted to the Brute that had tried to flank them. Its grenade launcher lay draped over its chest along with a bandolier of ammunition.

He was about to make a run for it, to try something, anything. Then the rhythmic hum of rotors beating at the air made him look outside.

The slightly burning yet sturdy sight of Kilo-9-4 reappeared. Rising from a lower part of the city to the east, it performed a speedy ascent that curved around to the hotel's south wing. Duncan saw what came next through the same window reflections he'd used before.

Kilo-9-4 came face to face with the passing Phantom. It was a meeting only one of them was ready for. As it arced over the enemy, both autocannon and machineguns worked in tandem to strafe the dropship from nose to tail, stitching long bullet trails across its hull. The Phantom responded by abandoning its gun-run on the Csillagos. It rose and turned to meet its opponent, its heavy cannon already burning but swiveling into position. Yet the Falcon refused it the easy kill by rising even higher and matching its turn with one of its own. The two continued rising after the other in an upward spiral. Plasma cannons lobbed fountains of fire at the higher aircraft. The latter rained down pain upon the dropship in return. The Falcon's own integrity suffered far more and a few unfortunate blows caused its other rotor to start sparking. Regardless, it stubbornly clung to life.

Then without warning, Kilo-9-4 ceased its ascent and backed closer to the hotel. As the dropship approached its altitude, Duncan saw why it had stopped.

From further south, Kilo-9-2 emerged from behind the rooftop of a skyscraper. The Phantom had its back to it.

Kilo-9-4 made a break for it and rushed southward. His fellow pilot mirrored the move by rocketing northward. Faster than the Phantom could respond, it began taking fire from two different directions. Its assailants circled around it, 9-2 staying high, 9-4 hanging low so that their crossfire brought no damage to them and all matter of hell to their foe.

New fires were born from wounds in the dropship's hull. They spring up along its nose, in its side, on its underbelly, anywhere that the two Falcons saw fit to concentrate. Coolant leaked out of breaches in the armor and caused jets of flame to link together like fiery constellations. The two plasma cannons fell silent, their dead gunners tumbling out of their hangars to hurtle to the streets below. The heavy plasma cannon followed suit, blowing out of its mount in a gout of flame that scorched the nose of the craft.

And yet the dropship remained in the air.

Now, however, it could do nothing but become the center of a hurricane of lead. Then, almost predictably, it righted itself towards the east. Its drives hummed and it flew off from the deadly cordon.

It didn't realize that it had chosen the wrong direction until it was impaled by a shaft of light. For less than a blink, it appeared as a bird skewered on a spear. Its escape slowed. Fumes poured out of the gaping hole in its starboard side. Still, it pressed on, its determination instantaneously rewarded by a second shaft of light.

This time it stopped moving.

A heartbeat passed before the Stanchion delivered its third strike, stabbing clear through its nose. The area of the cockpit exploded. A secondary detonation flowered out of its starboard hangar. The power of the blast changed its momentum so that it leaned to port. Its ruined wreck fell lazily out of the sky. Its drives remained somewhat operational, carrying it towards the hotel. Kilo-9-2 and 9-4 gave chase. From up above, they showered it with fire until a final detonation obliterated it outright.

The shockwave shook the Csillagos.

Relieved that at least one thing had gone right, Duncan turned away just in time to witness another.

Across the way, the chieftain's shields were strained to breaking point by its renewed audience. Then the fire unexpectedly abated. The Brute stiffened as several frag grenades bounced into its midst. The resulting eruptions overlapped into a single, deafening roar. The Brute, armor scorched and broken, careened through the air. It splashed face down into the blood-soaked pond, adding a tinge of purple to the reddened waters.

"Chieftain's down!" Rico yelled.

"Alright, get ready for some decoy action!" The Staff said. "Focus on those Hunters! Ep-2, I can see Devilraid from here! Get ready!"

Duncan checked in. Sure enough, he spotted the Pelican's silhouette moving in from the skies to the east. It was getting larger, growing closer by the second.

The world at his back lit up again. He turned to see the Staff's team dashing from their position towards a new one, one closer to the lineup of Hunters. They fired as they went. Each picked out one of the giants for themselves by targeting their backs, painting the floor a viscous orange. Though insufficient to kill, the onslaught distracted the Hunters from their own. The constant barrage on Nova's team ceased as the juggernauts turned to address them.

The Staff's team reached cover at the last second.

An inferno ensued around them. The wrath of four fuel rod cannons were brought to bear in a half-second. More columns were battered, more furniture destroyed. Nevertheless, the team remained standing through the incineration. Their cover held fast. They poured in a steady stream of returns which the Hunters countered with a persistent bombardment.

The Pelican soared closer, coming within seconds of the landing pad.

"Go!" The Staff ordered.

Nova's team ran for it. They made a beeline for where the others were hiding on the way to the pad.

Something else was far faster. A single fuel rod flew over their heads. The Pelican stopped just meters shy of the pad and banked hard to starboard. The fiery comet passed it by a hair's breadth. The Pelican banked again in the opposite direction, narrowly dodging a second. Duncan peered behind him to where the Hunters were. Two of their number had turned their guns back towards them. They fired again. The Pelican kept up its momentum so that it could turn away and flew off from the building, evading a third and fourth rod.

Duncan skidded to a halt and immediately ran back for his old spot. The rest of Nova's team and McPherson's squad did the same in a mad dash for protection. They threw themselves back into position ahead of a secondary bombardment.

"It's no good, sir!" Dalton said. "We can't get close!"

Nova looked to where the Staff was holding out. "Sir, the Hunters!"

Epsilon's leader was silent.

Duncan could see him hunkering down, but he was stubbornly quiet.

The concerned voice of Kilo-9-2 on their communications added further fuel to the fire. "ODSTs, be advised, me and 9-4 are detecting a lot of movement stirring up above you. Looks like Covenant reinforcements are making their way down to your location. Recommend you clear out asap, over?"

Lang joined in. "Can confirm, multiple heat sigs moving from floors both above and below your position, too many to count. They must've felt everything going on at '70."

This time the news earned the Staff's steely reply. "...Roger that!"

He stopped to think for a second. "Whiskey-4, we need some time! See what you can do about those contacts!"

"Copy."

The straightforward reply was shadowed by an answer from the Stanchion. Another hypersonic round lanced into the building somewhere above them. A second struck elsewhere in the upper floors and a third landed below, ripping plumes of smoke out of the Csillagos' walls.

The Staff peered out from cover and looked to the rest of his squad. "Alright, who's still got ammo!?"

Everyone sounded off, calling out who still had what.

"You got a plan, sir!?" Nova asked.

"Yeah! On three, we're going to dump our pockets on these guys! Either we end this here or we stay here!"

The instruction brought an uncertain pause in the squad which the buffeting blasts of fuel rods swiftly ended. Post haste, everyone, soldiers included, began stuffing fresh magazines into their weapons.

Duncan prepared himself with the explosives he had left. Incidentally, his fingers brushed against the smooth metal of the plasma grenade on his belt. Like a reminder, it made him drift back to the Brute Shot lying a short distance away.

"Ep-1 to Kilo, we're going to need some close air support! Give me a wide rotation around the hotel, put your gunners to work!"

"On it." Kilo-9-2 said.

"Ep-2, go ahead and use the last of your stuns! We need'em blind!"

"Copy!" Nova replied. She gestured to McPherson. The two of them pulled the pins on the last flashbangs. They stepped from cover, hurled them as far as they could then stepped back. Duncan saw them land among the Hunters who were once again too slow to raise their shields. He shut his eyes.

Flash.

BANG.

He opened them and spotted the towering quartet. They had returned to a state of stunned paralysis.

The move bought the two Falcons the time they needed to reappear. As both arrived on opposite sides of the hotel, they leveled themselves with the 70th floor and commenced a clockwise rotation. Their gunners got to work as well. Two streams of fire surged into the space. The Hunters groaned at the unlooked-for assault that cut into armor and exposed flesh alike. The fire swept across the area as the Falcons moved, abating only as they passed friendly positions. Their precision kept the behemoths pinned behind their shields, unable to do more than stand and wait for their vision to return.

"Troopers, on three!" The Staff said.

Duncan stiffened.

"One!"

Again, his mind drifted to the launcher.

"Two!"

He took a deep breath.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Duncan followed the order though in a way unlike anyone else. While everyone emerged with weapons raised or grenades ready, he was sprinting. He ran past his team before they could figure out what he was up to. He reached McPherson's position and dashed beyond the corporal towards one of the many devastated columns.

The launcher and its last owner lay right beside it.

He slapped his rifle to his back harness, freeing his hands to grasp at the bandolier on the dead Brute. He loaded the fresh belt of grenades into the weapon and made to pick it up. It was heavy, insanely so. That couldn't stop his adrenaline from kicking into overdrive with the ear-splitting gunfire that went off around him. He got a good grip on the forward handle and hefted the entire thing up to his waist. It felt vaguely like what he imagined lifting a Spartan would be like. The way the ground trembled under his feet made him immune to it. He brought his new gun to bear. His optic changed from a circular reticle to a rectangular crosshair that flashed a deep red as he sighted his target.

He couldn't actually see the Hunters themselves as they were enveloped in the smoke and fire of a small Armageddon.

Grenades bounced both around and into their ranks. Some detonated far short of their mark and cast bits of fragmentation against hardened shields. Others came closer and wreaked greater damage, breaking off armor and exposing weak points. Yet more rolled perfectly past metallic legs, going off into unarmored backs whose individual muscles shivered and shrieked in pain. Orange blood spewed from shredded joints. Even then, all four Hunters held fast. The mixture of explosions and machine-gun fire had surrounded them on all sides. It pressed them closer and closer together until they were almost back-to-back, forging a phalanx with meter-wide gaps. Those could have been more easily exploited if someone got in close. But something like that was tact of the absolute last resort when it came to something like a Hunter.

The ODSTs and their Army comrades resolved to grenade them from a distance. Once one's supply was spent, they drilled the enemy's ranks with their primary weapon, making way for another to dump their supply.

A particularly vicious cascade of grenades broke one of the Hunters' defenses. Its shield dropped as it staggered under the bullying pressure waves that crashed and ripped into it from every side. Rifles and machine-guns singled it out and tore away at its exposed dimensions. Dead worms fell free of its form like satisfied leeches.

Soon it was fully overwhelmed. It sagged to the floor with a loud THUMP.

"One down!" The Staff said. "Keep it up!"

They upped the pressure. By then the three survivors had shirked off the last of their blindness. One of them spotted its fallen brother and released a vengeful groan. Spines rattling, it abandoned its allies and charged Nova's team.

The hail of bullets that came to meet it simply ricocheted off armor and shield alike. It came within 10 meters before a series of explosive punches stopped it in its tracks.

The grenade launcher bucked with each shot. Each subsequent kickback threatened to yank Duncan's arm out of its socket. Not wanting to end up like Mackley, he braced himself against the remains of a column and kept firing.

Thunder and flames crashed against the Hunter's shield. Spines buzzing in irritation, it raised its cannon and prepared a volley. Duncan anticipated it and fired a shot at its armored boot. The blast knocked it off balance and dimmed the weapon's glow. He fired two more shots at the ground between its feet, allowing each blast to scythe into its midsection. The second shot caused it to stumble back. The move exposed its weak points to more exploitation by the team, something they pounced on.

Duncan squeezed the launcher's strange trigger for all he was worth. He got two more out before the weapon fell silent. To his luck, the last one gouged a hole into what remained of its stomach. With a groan like that of its brother, it crumpled and died.

Duncan cast the spent launcher aside. He pulled out his rifle and withdrew to the others.

Looking over at the Staff's team, he saw the man himself doing the exact opposite.

The Staff was making a run for the dead chieftain. The Hunters were too busy holding back the torment of gunfire to see his strategy, but if they had pieced it together as fast as Duncan did, they might have paid more attention.

The Staff trudged over to the corpse. He switched out his shotgun and pulled the fallen fuel rod cannon from the water. He crouched, waiting for an opening.

One of the Hunters turned its shield aside to meet the incoming rounds from Kilo-9-4. He found his opening and took it. The cannon's kickback looked almost as fierce as the Brute Shot's. Yet the Staff held his own and squeezed three fuel rods at the enemy. The destructive trio plunged into its back, cracking it open like a walnut. Orange blood spewed out. Worms screamed. The Hunter let out an ululating wail that only ended once its head struck the floor.

The last Hunter whirled towards its brother's killer. An enraged growl escaped its inner colony. It tried to raise its cannon only to discover how alone it truly was. In being alone, it received the fullness of their ferocity. The undivided punishment of a dozen guns and two whole Falcons stopped it from exacting retribution. It struggled to know where to raise its shield, losing blood no matter where it turned. It fired wildly, not aiming at any particular spot as it raged against the end.

Duncan understood then that they were all out of grenades. Everyone except him.

With so little left to stop him, he came out fully into the open. He pulled the pin on his only frag and gave it a toss. The device rolled behind the lone Hunter and unleashed a flash of fragmentation into it. That was enough to make the goliath turn to him, slow and wounded. Duncan didn't care. He took steps forward while he reached for his last resort, the plasma grenade on his belt. He pressed the primer and heard the device whine to life. He felt it warm until it glowed with the brightness of a small star.

The Hunter spotted him, though it did so with nothing more than the strength and time it needed to recognize him as its executioner.

He reeled his arm back. With the contempt of a man shewing a stray dog, he pitched the grenade.

Its arc curved beneath the ceiling and it sailed straight onto the tip of the Hunter's shield. It brightened to a luminous hue that warped into a blast of heat and energy.

In its wake was left the stumbling figure of the Hunter itself. Head half-chewed, half-boiled, it fell limp. Its body slammed down onto the floor with the resonance of a gavel.

The gunfire ceased.

An unnerving silence fell over Floor 70.

Then the hurried voice of the Staff broke it. "Ep-1 to Whiskey-1, you're clear for now. Get Devilraid back here before that changes."

"Roger, on our way."

The sound of fusion drives grew louder. Duncan saw the Pelican once again as it soared in from the east. He didn't need to hear the Staff's next order to follow it.

"Let's go."

:********:

Erica waited for everything to be over. The shouts, the gunshots, the explosions, the last two days, she wanted it all to be over. Then without warning all of it came to a head in an ear-splitting crescendo.

She was holding Noah close, guarding him so that anything that came flying their way would at least hit her instead. She would much rather that than the alternative. Not far off, Sára, Christa, Gray and Azimoth were huddled behind what little safety remained to them. The ceiling had crumbled and fallen in places. Stray plasma bolts occasionally whizzed past. Too much was going on for anyone to completely escape it, however.

She never stopped thinking about Duncan. He had been fighting for years, but to see him at work for herself, to see the dangers his duty entailed firsthand was almost too much for her. To see him be shot at by monsters that she had already witnessed tearing others apart, all while she could do nothing more than watch, it was torture.

And he'd been doing this for years now.

She understood that fact better than she ever had before, better than she had ever wanted to. It left her queasy, more than she already was thanks to the tightness in her stomach, a tension that worsened with each rumbling explosion.

She wished she could do more for him than the few potshots she took earlier. The best she could do so far was to keep everyone safe until they could leave.

Was that really it? She hoped it wasn't.

Then the gunshots ceased.

The rumblings abated and everything went quiet.

Footsteps raced towards her. She clutched Noah closer and got her sidearm ready.

The sight of black armor stayed her hand. Several ODSTs ran in from behind the columns where she and the others were hiding. There was a flurry of movement and calls for everyone to get up. She was on her feet and moving faster than she could take it all in. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but she knew that the Helljumper guiding her by the hand was the same one that had taken it all those years ago.

Duncan rushed her along. He had Noah in his other arm though she wasn't sure when he'd gotten there, freeing her to keep pace.

Everyone was gunning it in the same direction: one of the landing pads. Up ahead, she watched the Pelican dropship swoop back into view. Silhouetted against the afternoon light, it slowed and descended with all the grace of an angel. It might as well have been one given the fresh hell that arrived at their backs.

Nearly to the pad, she heard a commotion behind them and dared look over her shoulder.

The armored behemoths were dead. So were the Brutes, the ape-like creatures that were bigger and more savage than she could have imagined. But they were simply the tip of an iceberg that began to rise. The door to a stairwell was blasted open. Another was kicked, another bowled through by a running start.

Several Elites poured out. Several became a dozen, their numbers further augmented by twice as many Grunts and Jackals that shot in like water from burst pipes. Ocean waves of blue, orange and white armor surged across the floor. In a moment they discovered the dead and rapidly began orienting themselves towards the perpetrators. A sea spray of blue and green plasma ensued.

A shadow fell over Erica. She turned back to see herself bounding up the ramp of the Pelican's cargo bay. Three ODSTs ran past her, heading in the opposite direction. They leapt out to take up positions alongside the rest of their platoon who were quickly forming a semicircle around the landing pad.

She wasn't sure when Duncan had let go of her hand. She didn't see him in the cargo bay and she couldn't tell which one of those outside was him. Corporal McPherson was securing her into a seat. Noah was next to her, already belted into place. Beside him, the wounded soldier, Lahey was coughing up more blood as he was likewise secured. Christa and Gray were across from her and Azimoth sat in the closest seat to the cockpit.

They didn't wait for everyone to be secured.

They couldn't.

Epsilon, Whiskey, they were both holding their own outside, furiously putting up a wall of return fire against waves of deadly energy.

She recognized the Staff by the shotgun on his back as he waved them off. "Go! Take off! Go!"

Fear clutched her heart and squeezed it once the ramp began to lift.

Were they leaving them behind?

She wanted to call out for Duncan one more time. Her chest was too tight for her to get in a word. It came out more like a desperate wheeze than a name.

She watched them disappear. She watched the hotel; her home being sealed away. She took her last glimpses of it before the sight was gone for good. She shook in her seat as the Pelican fired up its drives and rose into the air.

:********:

Duncan dumped his last magazine into an Elite Ultra, joining his fire to that of Rico, Nova and Mito. It had made itself the most pressing threat by sprinting towards them head-on. It wasn't coming to shoot them but to make use of the energy sword that trailed behind it, carving a long line of sparks and molten metal in its wake. Luckily its energy shields flared from the strain and burst open. The rounds pierced its armor and killed its advance. The Elite let out a groan as it dropped dead just several meters shy of the pad.

He heard two things at once, the growing scream of the Pelican's fusion drives as it rose behind them and the starved click of his rifle. He secured it on his harness and drew his pistol. He put two rounds in a suicide Grunt, granting it two extra eyes and knocking the plasma grenades out of its hands. The double-explosion consumed two more Grunts and sent a Jackal hurtling past the railing.

It was not enough.

The platoon's bombardiers were working in tandem. Rico and Reznik took turns, one launching a grenade as the other reloaded. Their explosive crowd control tore holes into the fore of the enemy's ranks, bursting gas tanks, breaking beaks and ripping new jaws into split jaws.

It still wasn't enough.

They were dampening the waves, not stopping them.

"Ep-1 to Kilo, we need that extract and we need it yesterday, over!?"

Like devils spoken of, the two Falcons rounded the northern and southern wings of the hotel just as Devilraid got clear.

They descended speedily towards the pad. Their autocannons and machineguns chewed into the oncoming force. Devilraid turned about and added its own autocannon to the mix. The deadly downpour raked across the newcomers with the power of a monsoon, sweeping away those too stubborn to scramble for cover.

The Falcons closed in on the pad but not to land. Instead, they hovered just over the edge.

"Exfil's here!" The Staff barked. "Move!"

The withdrawal was immediate and organized, as much as it could be under fire. Two would break from the formation to run for the Falcons while everyone else covered them. Then two more. Nova's team threw themselves onto Kilo-9-2 with Dalton and Daz. Across the way, the Staff's team took Kilo-9-4. Soon it was just Duncan, Zack, Rico and Reznik. All four split at the same time and made a run for it. Duncan and Zack hopped onto 9-2 and turned to resume their fire. Across the way, Rico lent Reznik a hand, pulling him onto Kilo-9-4 even as it pulled away from the pad.

"We're aboard, go!" The Staff said.

Kilo-9-2 and 9-4 made a sharp ascent, freeing them from the aggressive spray of returns. Devilraid followed suit. The three of them wheeled around and flew off back towards the east.

Slowly, the hotel shrunk behind them.

"We're away." Kilo-9-2 declared.

"Negative." Lang hissed, alarm dripping off his voice. "Banshees to your three and nine o'clock. Looks like the last of them."

Duncan's gaze shot to the outside. He struggled to hold onto the overhead handles, peering to their left and right. Both directions held the promise of a threat in the form of three Banshees. Two appeared from behind the buildings to their north, a third to their south. The machine gunners locked on and opened up. Even Epsilon and Whiskey chipped in with the dregs of their ammunition.

They hardly needed to.

The Banshee south of them went up in a flash. The Stanchion made quick work of it and left it spiraling to the ground minus pilot and cockpit.

One of the flyers to the north was the next to go, vanishing into a puff of fiery powder.

The last one, however, was luckier and dove at the last second, sparing it a blast from above. It rapidly descended towards its target in an ever-narrowing corkscrew.

Duncan understood in an instant. The three had been waiting for this moment, waiting for whoever they had come to save to get in the air.

His heart sunk as the Banshee launched its payload, evaporating a few seconds later into a comet of burning wreckage as Lang scored the kill. But it was too late, and the green glow of a fuel rod streaked straight towards the Pelican.

"NO!"

The word itself seemed to carry its own power as the Pelican immediately fell into a sharp dive. The fuel rod chased after it, curving towards it like a fiendish tadpole. Yet the ever-deepening descent of its prey ultimately won out. The rod briefly illuminated the Pelican as it flashed over the fuselage before zooming away towards the street.

Devilraid pulled up and eventually leveled out. It reascended so that its Falcon escorts were once again at its side.

Duncan's legs turned to jelly. He let go of his handle and dropped to his knees. A wave of nausea washed over him. He wanted to throw up, but the heavy drumming of his heart had clogged up his throat. He started dry heaving instead.

Barely able to breathe, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. This time it wasn't to throw him out of the way of a fuel rod but to keep him from falling out of the Falcon. Nova held onto him with as firm a grasp as she could manage. Still heaving, he found the strength to grasp her hand back. He squeezed an unspoken thanks.

Devilraid's pilot was good. So was Lang, though the latter had cut things too close for his liking. Much too close. Even so, he made a note to give each of them a nice big bear hug the first chance he got.

They made a quick stop at the domino-shaped apartment complex a short ride from the hotel. The Pelican floated down to the edge of the roof and lowered its ramp. Mackley and Lang came running in, carrying their equipment with them. Once the ramp shut behind them, their makeshift squadron returned to heading east.

Duncan eventually got his breathing back under control. The rhythmic beat of the rotors and the whine of the turbojets provided a surprisingly calming ambiance. Everything was quieting down. Somehow, he could feel the coolness of the air flowing across his armor and even through it. He didn't think he'd ever noticed that before and how good it felt. He didn't think he'd ever noticed the quietness in his own head. It was no longer a swirl of thoughts. The storm was gone. What was left in its place was something like peace of mind, or the next best thing to it.

He turned to the Pelican flying off to his left.

He'd done it. They'd done it.

Noah, Erica, they were saving them. They had saved them.

Not yet, he reminded himself, denying the overwhelming satisfaction that he sensed within. They weren't safe yet. Not until they were out of Alexandria, out of Reach, out of Epsilon Eridani. Anything before that was simply too close to call.

He steeled himself to finish the job. He got back up and took hold of the ceiling handle.

Nova gave him a look. He nodded in answer.

He was fine. He just needed to make sure-

"What...is that?"

It came from one of the gunners, the one manning the starboard side.

Duncan saw that the man was no longer looking around at the city or even below. Now, he was looking up.

Curious, the others edged closer, leaning out to see for themselves.

Far above, the evening cloud cover had grown thick and feathery, a climactic blanket that enclosed the city in a patchwork of white.

In the north, something moved.

Though not as bright as Epsilon Eridani, it was luminous like a torch moving behind a curtain.

Steadily, Duncan became aware of a noise. What sounded closer to the howl of a distant wolf grew rapidly into a deep, vacillating wail.

The light soared high above, growing brighter and louder until it finally punched clear through the clouds.

It was a giant ball of roiling light. Like a falling star, it flew in a linear course several kilometers above the city. Its passage was marked by a long tail of smoke and fumes that was gradually cleaving the sky in two.

It was heading in their direction, heading south. Duncan's nerves kept him alert to those details he could understand. First, he could tell by its high altitude and the shallow angle of its descent that it wasn't going to hit them. It wasn't even going to hit the city.

He gauged its velocity and deduced its identity. It was an experimental warhead of some sort, the largest he'd ever seen in his life. It could only be one at that speed. Nothing else could've moved that fast, or so he thought.

Parts of the illumination flickered under the sheer wind pressure, revealing its source to be the reddish orange glow of flames. As it passed directly over them, briefly casting their surroundings in its glow, Duncan saw the truth.

Peeking out from the wreath of flames was the white-hot bow of a UNSC frigate. That was all he could tell. Everything behind the front of the vessel was submerged in a blazing dress of smoke and fire. Smaller explosions bloomed and rippled through what little remained of the hull.

With its passing, the groaning wail of stressed metal reached fever pitch. What followed on its heels was a wave of solidified sound. It crashed through their surroundings with the reverberation of a giant hammer upon a titanic anvil, causing the whole of Alexandria to shake. Sirens blared and emergency lights winked on aboard the two Falcons. The pilots fought to steady their steeds as they rode through the trembling air.

The tremor ended as soon as it came.

The frigate had breached the sound barrier. A cone of over-pressurized air hemmed it like an extra garment. The inferno was consuming the last of it into a hypersonic bullet that passed beyond the outskirts. Its descent pulled it even beyond the ice-capped mountains south of the city. Eventually it dipped out of view. Several seconds passed before there was a silent flash of light that illuminated the horizon from end to end. It replaced, if only briefly, the afternoon rays of Eridani. A mushroom cloud bloomed in the distance. Several more seconds later and the shockwave arrived. The higher elevation of the mountains took the brunt of the kinetic force like a natural shield, soaking up the overpressure. Little more reached the city limits than a gust of wind and a muffled, resonating THUMP.

The ground shook again though not as violently as before.

Then all was silent.

No one said a word for a while.

"Was that-…" Zack tried to ask but the question died in his throat. Not even he had the strength to ask it.

Duncan turned to the others for answers. They seemed just as shocked as he was, but not everyone was paying attention. His eyes darted to the same machine gunner. To his confusion, the man wasn't watching the distant mushroom cloud at all. He was looking up again, an expression of horror etched into every muscle on his face. It inspired an equivocal dread in Duncan as once again he followed his line of sight.

What unnerved him the most was how quiet they were.

The high-speed beating of the Falcon's rotors and the thrum of its turbojets were louder in comparison, so much so that he would've otherwise never even have known to look up.

Four shadows dotted the clouds.

They grew larger by the second, their shapes becoming more distinct.

At last, they breached the veil. In the light of Epsilon Eridani their metallic frames shone a dark purple. Exterior selvage rims girdled interior platforms, each like the body of a wristwatch. Their bulk seemed to resist the light, to defy it even, causing the rays to darken as they passed over oblong hulls.

SDV-class heavy corvettes, four of them, cast their shadows across whole swaths of Alexandria.

Duncan's mind raced.

He wanted to say something.

He couldn't.

He wanted to hear someone say something, a question, an order, anything at all.

They didn't.

The air howled around them; its natural tenor slowly replaced by the hollow hum of impulse drives.

:********:

Colonel Garrison saw it all from the ground.

Everything had been running smoothly until then.

His Alpha Company was focused on their newest objective, capturing a key junction in the battalion's push towards the coast.

Alpha was moving northwest to capture a bridge that passed over one of the city's major riverways, the Hornád. Taking it would have finally secured a bridgehead between the 109th Infantry Division's strong position at the starport and the 145th Infantry's comparatively tentative hold at Traxus Tower. The two hubs of UNSC control could then mutually reinforce one another. All the while, armored support could flow to them both from the 77th Armored Division's hardened position at NA Central. The latter's newly established green zone could further support them by offering more space for civilian evacuations, something that the two divisions were sorely struggling with. By connecting the northwest, northeast and south, the goal was to create a triangular support network. From it, the UNSC could launch a wider counteroffensive to retake the whole city.

That was the plan.

Garrison and his Alpha Company had been in the process of taking a large courtyard. It was something of a public square. A semicircle of several commercial buildings surrounded it on one side and on the other stood a tall skyscraper. The latter, a 50-storied structure carried with it the two-storied branding of 'Hornád Shopping Center'. Sure enough, it lay on the edge of a paved promenade that lined the eastern banks of its namesake. A large archway passed through its lower floors where bridges and escalators webbed the building's various stores and venues together. It was through here that the river's own bridge descended, passing under the nexus of walkways and escalators before leveling off into a conventional highway.

A Covenant force had figured out the importance of the area and had settled down in it. In terms of size, they were one to one with his company...which meant they were as good as dead.

He monitored the course of the fight from his newest command post, one of the elevated patios of an opposing building. He stood at the railing with his binoculars as he watched his plan unfold.

Two platoons swept in across the large parking lot to the left of the courtyard. Another two swept in from the continuation of the highway on the right. A fifth went straight up the middle. All five were supported by armored elements of the 77th with some additional backup from the 145th. The Covenant were quickly chomped away in the maw of the advance, withdrawing from position to position as the next proved just as untenable as the last. The snipers posted on the neighboring rooftops saw to that. In little time the enemy was reduced to a few dozen that had managed to scurry their way into the mall.

He sent in his 5th Platoon to clear them out while the rest of the force formed a perimeter outside.

It was around that time that the burning frigate slipped by overhead.

Alarmed and confused, he was sure it had been among the battlegroup entrusted to Alexandria. The very same one for which Command still hadn't given him a solid explanation regarding their withdrawal.

A new sight took its place shortly thereafter.

The skies darkened beneath the visages of a quartet of heavy corvettes. They descended to within two kilometers of the city.

The northernmost corvette was the closest to them.

Several uncertain seconds passed before its intentions became clear. The heavy plasma cannons on its portside glowed with an azure luminescence. They angled down and fired.

Three fingers of light streaked into the base of the mall with lightning precision. The skyscraper shook as corresponding plumes of destruction billowed up around it. Another salvo quickly followed and struck it with thundering power. The skyscraper let out a moan of creaking metal, one that gave way to a bellow as the building itself gave way.

Garrison could do nothing but watch as the mall began to fold in upon itself. A voracious cloud of debris travelled along its height. It rapidly grew in size and speed, swallowing its way down the building's frame, taking everything with it in a race to the bottom.

The colonel scowled and proceeded to growl into the 7th's freq. "This is Neptune-Actual to all battalion forces, withdraw from the open! I say again, withdraw from the open! Get to cover now!"

He repeated the message, watching over the courtyard as he witnessed over a hundred men and women breaking and running, fleeing for their lives. Some hopped onto passing Warthogs that sped them away. Others abandoned Scorpion tanks whose treads were too slow to save them. Others still tried to drive the bulkier vehicles out of harm's way. No warning however would save his 5th Platoon whom he had given the fateful task of pushing inside.

He watched as the full weight of the mall came crashing down on top of them. A cloud exploded out from the epicenter in a wave of dust and glass that washed across the area like a tsunami. Any tanks or personnel too slow to escape were engulfed in it, their shadows disappearing into the tumbling haze.

The dust eventually crossed the street and flowed up and over Garrison's position. He ignored it. He ignored the dirt that crawled over him. He ignored the cries of his support team for him to get to safety. He glared up through the tendrils of dusty air towards the four corvettes.

If looks could kill, the ships would have been destroyed.

But they couldn't, and so they weren't.

He inwardly cursed them for the opportunity they had stolen, the victory they had postponed and the lives they had taken. He glowered at them, knowing full well that they would take far more of each as all four ships began raining down fire upon New Alexandria.

Adventus - Arrival