Chapter 49 – Fracti

August 23rd, 2552 - (17:04 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, New Alexandria

:********:

The Scarab ignited with the force of a small sun. The blast of light plumed outward in a blue flash, the resulting airburst whipping across the neighboring buildings, shattering hundreds of windows in an instantaneous squall of glittering shards.

Duncan threw himself to the street as one of its giant legs corkscrewed overhead, missing him by a few meters before slicing deep into the face of another building, spewing a pressurized cloud of glass and cement over the road.

Dazed and out of breath, he peered behind him.

The curtain of light quickly dimmed to unveil a pile of jutting angles and crackling conduits. The remaining legs fell back onto the burnt-out carapace, crumpling the charred metal in puffs of cerulean flames.

There was no scream, no warning.

One second, he was running for his life with everyone else as the Scarab prepared another salvo. The next, he was on the ground, stomach to street, ogling the wreck of the thing that had almost killed him.

"Ep-8, get up!"

He heard the Staff's voice as a hand grabbed him by the arm. He let his squad leader pull him to his feet and started running the second he was able.

The rest of the platoon was scattered across the general mayhem of screeching tires and sprinting boots. There was no order to the madness that had been the withdrawal from the container port. A disorderly retreat of Scorpions, Warthogs and men of three different companies moved together on the all-or-nothing run to the promenade.

"What was that!?" Renni yelled, running somewhere ahead of them. "Who took it out!?"

"No one here!" Hector replied. "That thing's off switch is in the back, isn't it!?"

"Supposed to be!" Yuri said.

Duncan balled his hands around his rifle and abruptly realized that he no longer had one. He'd dropped it when he fell. Not daring to stop and look for it, he kept running.

The promenade was less than a 50-meter jog away, plenty of ground to cover given that they didn't know what else might come after them. But then he slowed just enough to get a glimpse of the scene at their backs and saw just how unlikely that was.

Where their road reached the three-way that led directly to the port, the wreck of the Scarab had crumpled and crashed. It had done so without leaving so much as a gap for anyone or anything that might come behind it. It had essentially clogged up the street, rendering it entirely inaccessible.

Duncan felt a smidge of relief. Whoever or whatever had killed it, they couldn't have done so at a more opportune time.

1st Platoon, the survivors of Lima Company, Tango Company, Golf Company, anyone that still had the wherewithal to move their legs continued to do so, creating a spectacle of dozens upon dozens of fleeing troops that dashed alongside speeding Warthogs and rumbling Scorpions. Duncan spotted Captain Thompson ahead of him. The Tango Company commander was standing atop one of the seats of the last Scorpion in their group. He was looking back in the direction of the destroyed walker with a long, lost-looking stare.

"What do we do now!?" Hector asked. "Just keep on running to the starport or-"

Duncan watched him trip over a corpse, pitching forward into a soft landing of flies and old Jackal guts. He could hear the squelch of innards and the buzz of the flies as they swarmed his squadmate.

Yuri came up beside him to help. "Not having a good day, are we!?"

Hector staggered back up; chest plate covered in rotten gore. He got running again, dripping days old blood with every step. "A good day!? Never heard of it!"

Duncan's eye lingered on the dead Jackal as he passed by. He remembered seeing it on the way to help Lima Company, it as well as the many Covenant corpses that dotted the street around them. It suddenly struck him like a maglev at full speed: they were withdrawing from the last of the 109th's buffer zone. The ground the division had taken from the enemy days before was now almost completely gone.

Both the eastward end of the road and the promenade just beyond it were coming up quickly. The activity on the former was nothing compared to that on the latter.

On the promenade, at least the part of it that he could see, the collection of more sandbag walls, defensive barricades and machinegun nests played host to a frenzy of movement. Additional squads and platoons of troopers from what he guessed were the 109th's 1st and 2nd Battalions were sprinting into positions along the line, filling the remaining gaps left in their defenses. Crouched or standing, rifles rested atop sandbags as launchers peeked through the U-shaped gunports of heavy barriers.

Duncan wasn't sure if it would be enough, especially given what he'd seen at the container port. The Scarabs could easily punch through them. The best thing they could do from hereon would be to limit the points of ingress for the walkers before they even got close.

The incoming arrivals from the port initially came in as a trickle of soldiers and then as a bursting river of men and vehicles. The troops already present watched them spill into the open, waiting for them to get clear. They gushed down an adjoining accessway which led onto the north-south highway that divided the promenade. The accompanying Warthogs and the pair of Scorpions turned in amongst a small herd of others that already had their guns aimed back the way they'd come. Personnel from nearby medical tents rushed out to meet them even as those who'd made the journey hopped onto the tanks to lift their loaded stretchers. Ranging from barely conscious to screaming in pain from the jostling movement, their stretcher-bound comrades were brought down onto level ground and carried to the nearest tents under the pointing fingers and direct orders of the battalion medics.

1st Platoon were among those who weren't needed as stretcher bearers. While the soldiers of Lima, Tango and Golf Company dispersed across the promenade, the platoon clustered together beside the tanks.

"What's the game plan, sir?" Mito asked.

The Staff looked at him. He said nothing for a moment, eyeing the rocket launcher that he'd harnessed on his back before finally pointing at it. "That's our plan right there."

He glanced at everyone else, gesturing in the direction of the road. "This isn't the only way to the promenade. Not even close. Whiskey-3 sighted a high number of Covenant armor coming on the heels of those walkers, and we've still got three more of those to deal with. Chances are they won't stop there. Any minute now, they're going to come and try to strongarm us with those Scarabs. We'll let the 109th handle the ground troops as they come in. Wraiths, Revenants, Ghosts, those are ours. I saw another resupply point not too far from here. Stock up on explosives, rocket launchers, M319s, hell, even demolition charges. Anything that goes boom, get your hands on it." He pointed eastward across the green hills to the starport on the other side. "They won't be ready to move until those missile batteries over on Caracalla are back online, and until they are, our job is to make this position last. Come hell or high water or both, we need to hold here. Is that clear?"

"What about us, sir?" Mackley asked, nodding to Lang and himself.

The Staff looked around again, settling on nothing in particular. "Sorry boys, looks like we're out of vantage points. You'll just have to tag along with us for this one."

"Time to get your hands dirty." Daz jibed, earning a resentful glare from the two snipers.

"Roger." Mackley replied.

The Staff held up three fingers. "Our best option is to operate in teams of three with at least one team of five to handle the main road. One of you carries a rocket launcher; the others carry extra ammo for them with M319s for personal use. The first guy takes on any armor while everyone else spots or paralyzes. Two stun while the other gives the knockout punch, copy?"

"Copy." The platoon replied.

"Good. Ep-4, 9 and Whiskey-5, you've got rocket-duty. Everyone else, you know what to do. Supply point's this way."

They followed the Staff into a brisk jog along the side of the highway. They headed north towards a vehicle depot that had been established on the promenade. The way there was anything other than direct. The area was getting busier by the second. More than once, they were forced to turn left or right to get around columns of busy stretcher bearers or trooper squads ferrying crates of ammunition from sector to sector.

Up ahead, the sandbagged perimeter of 1st Battalion's command post came within sight. Passing along the aisle of Scorpions lining the edge of the motor pool, many of the tanks rumbled to life as their drivers hopped behind their controls, cockpits sliding over them as gunners jumped down behind their turrets.

The resupply point lay just beyond, a lineup of several military grade tents whose prefab walls flapped and rippled in the evening breeze. Their open doors provided glimpses of the additional ammo crates and weapon racks housed within. The platoon filed into the nearest one. The resident supply sergeant, already preoccupied with the soldiers roving about the aisles, looked surprised to see ODSTs filtering into his tent as well as the way in which they seemed to ignore most of his goods. They headed straight for the explosive ordnance section at the very back of the tent. Hector and Reznik grabbed ahold of two of the rocket launchers, one of them shouldering their new item with ease as the other pulled it up with a grunt. Everyone else found their way into a cluster of ammo crates. Save for Mackley and Lang who were already married to the Stanchion, they each pried out cases of M19 surface-to-air missiles that they slapped onto their back harnesses. The nearby rack of M319 grenade launchers went next as well as the accompanying boxes of 40-millimeter grenades shelved beside them.

Duncan took note of a bundle of bandoliers that had been hung up on the nearby wall. The sight of them called to mind the last time he'd seen a certain member of Noble Team, the scary, skull-faced one they called Emile. The Spartan had worn something similar in order to carry a load of grenade launcher ammunition. Duncan decided it would be a good example to follow. He grabbed two from the bundle, clipping one end to his collar and another to the hardpoints on the bottom of his chest plate.

"Nice overalls, old man." Lang said, ambling by with a launcher of his own. "Finally dressing our age, are we?"

"Ever heard of the phrase, 'beware of an old man in a young man's game'?" Duncan grabbed a third bandolier and fastened it around his waist like a belt. "Recommend you get with the times before you run out of time, kid."

Lang's retort was stifled by Dalton's arrival as he reached between the two of them to grab a few bandoliers for himself. "He's right. Get some before they're all out."

Duncan flashed a grin at the humbled sniper before beginning the arduous process of slotting his new ammunition into the belts, filling each in turn. He thumbed the last one into the breech of his launcher and snapped the weapon shut with a reassuring clack. The same sound echoed from nearby where the rest of the platoon finished gearing up, most of them having found bandoliers for themselves that Lang was now struggling to get his hands on.

Duncan made sure to walk past him, grenade launcher saddled over his shoulder. "Run out of time, have we?"

Lang struggled with the single belt he had managed to find for himself and secured it around his waist. "Shut up, gramps."

Duncan moved on with a chuckle, one that died in his throat when he laid eyes on his squad leader, or rather what he was carrying. Zack and Yuri had likewise stopped to stare.

"What's that? Ugh-, wait, it's a-..." Zack snapped his fingers as he tried to land on the right name, eventually finding it with a satisfied click. "The Splaser...right?"

Yuri shook his head with an enraptured slowness. "Dumb name for cool gun."

"That's not the name." The Staff said as he hefted its long stock over his shoulder. "At least not the one I'd use."

Duncan stopped to ogle the thing. It had the long body of a launcher but the pincer-like head of a lobster claw and the dull green burnish of a special weapon system.

Hector whistled. "Where'd you find that?"

"Under the Christmas tree."

"I always knew old Saint Nick had favorites." Renni said, sizing it up.

"Haven't seen you with one of those in a while." Duncan added.

The Staff nodded as he inspected the weapon from end to end. "Not since Ballast."

He cocked it to one side, eyeing the nozzle between the 'claws' that looked an awful lot like a flashlight. "Four shots. Well, if it's good enough for a Spartan then it's good enough for me. Everyone ready?"

The platoon sounded off.

The Staff jabbed a thumb at the door, and they were on the move. They filed back out into the open and broke into another jog.

They steered towards the last major road that led directly from the container port to the promenade. A tank platoon of four Scorpions, possibly some of the same ones from the motor pool, were rolling down the highway towards the mouth of the road where several frantic trooper squads sprinted past from the direction of the port.

There was a loud blast from somewhere down the road, still out of sight. Slowing down on their approach, Duncan and the Staff were the first to edge around the corner.

Further down the street, a cloud of smoke rushed out from the blazing ground floor of an apartment building, rolling over the abandoned cars outside like a tidal wave. Seconds later and a deep rumble overtook the crackling of flames. Gradually then all at once, the structure began to sink into the street as if its very foundations had been pulled out from under it like a rug. An even greater tsunami of debris clouds channeled out from it, flooding down the street in either direction. As the last of the building vanished beneath the curtain of dirt, the resulting flow of debris obscured the burning container port beyond as well as the mass of the approaching Scarab.

"That sounded like 168s." Reznik noted.

"They've sealed off the road." The Staff replied. "Passage to the port is secured. 1st Platoon-...hold on..."

Duncan could feel them too, the pounding footsteps of the Scarab.

They weren't stopping.

Both of them peered around the corner again.

Within the dust, a massive silhouette phased into view. It was growing larger and more refined by the second, jolting left and right as each step brought its crustaceous shape into clarity. Soon its march brought it to the ruins of the apartment, at least three stories of rubble that was now locked in a frozen landslide.

A rising leg broke through the smoke and stabbed into it.

Another followed close behind, the joints raising the limb far higher than the first and jabbing it into the peak of the pile. With a heave of machinery, the head of the carapace appeared over the rubble. It continued stomping, drawing the rest of itself towards the top of the pile.

"Well, that didn't work." Nova said, shaking her head. "Ep-1, what do we-"

A blinding flash and a blast of wind cut her short.

The three of them leaned back around the corner.

Smoke now billowed out in a rising collar from the neck of the skyscraper just across from the ruined apartment. In little time, the same rumbling from before rose into a roaring avalanche as concrete cracked and crumbled, sending the skyscraper plunging into the ground at high speed. Its floor-by-floor descent caused it to lean forward more and more until it engulfed the passing Scarab in its shadow. The structure fell like an axe as 20-stories worth of building smashed down onto the walker. The ground-shattering impact spouted a sapphire firestorm through the devastation, mingling with the debris cloud thrown up in the skyscraper's wake.

The footsteps ceased altogether beneath the grumbling reverberations of disintegrating architecture.

Duncan watched the incoming wall of smoke for a while longer, just to make sure nothing walked out of it. When nothing did, he did the same as the Staff and Nova in ducking back behind cover. The semi-vaporous landslide slowed upon reaching the edge of the promenade, the smoke washing over the frontmost positions before settling in place like a morning mist.

Zack let out a long breath. "I love it when we have a Plan B."

"We're going to need a Plan C, D and E before this is over." The Saff said.

"That's at least one less road to watch." Dalton pointed out. "And one less Scarab to keep track of. At this rate, those other ones are going to have to take a hike before they find another route big enough to fit. What next, sir?"

The Staff peered into the artificial mist in a direction that Duncan had to rely on his HUD to identify as north.

"Platoon, we're moving to 1st Battalion's CP. We'll babysit their street and set up a choke point in front of the command post. Let's move."

They were underway again, jogging across the debris strewn street while ankle deep in the death gasp of the skyscraper. Off to their right, Duncan could just make out the silhouettes of the dozens of soldiers manning the nearby sandbag walls and combat barriers. They watched the newcomers pass beneath the observation of their rifles.

Clearing the haze, the platoon sprinted towards the pseudo fortification that was 1st Battalion's command post. They were still some way off when Duncan became aware of how busy their surroundings actually were.

Across the entire arcing length of the promenade there were scores of soldiers and vehicles leaking out from the urban hedgerow of New Alexandria's west side. It was the exact opposite of what he'd seen when they first arrived from the starport. The 'osmosis' of men and material was going in the wrong direction from before. Platoons running on foot emerged from the streets as entire companies or what remained of them began abandoning whole blocks of the west side. Soon the entire promenade was abuzz with the clamor of boots, the burble of Warthog engines and the whir of tank treads. While on the move, Duncan couldn't get a good idea of the numbers filtering in from either end of the area, but a cursory glance and a quick guess set them at around 1,200. They along with dozens of Warthogs and Scorpions were joining with the 500 or so reserve troops and other motorized assets already stationed here.

It was a little over a battalion and a half at most in an area of operations where there were, or perhaps had been three full battalions. If so many men and so much firepower could be on the retreat, Duncan didn't want to imagine what was heading their way.

"That's it then." Nova said. "The third line's been folded."

"Guess this is it." Mito huffed. "The starport's right there."

It hit Duncan all at once that he could see the starport clearly. Past the defensive positions, past the barriers and tents, past the hills, he saw the starport. He saw the tarmac and the handful of starships parked around it. His gaze shifted across the bay to Caracalla Park and immediately his stomach churned and tensed.

Tracers of both human and Covenant ordnance flickered and flashed amidst the elevated patios and surrounding trees. Most of the action seemed to concentrate around the strip of green beach that wound around the rocky cliffs on the southeast side of the park. His helmet magnification wasn't able to give him much more detail than that, but it was more than enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

They were losing.

The offensive operation that Nova had told them about was in the middle of being pushed back. He somewhat remembered Sergeant Major Duvall during their initial advance from NA Central. He didn't doubt what the man could do. He'd seen it himself, but he'd also seen how they had to team up with 4th Platoon in order to save him.

More than ever, he wished they could trade places.

Unless they got reinforcements soon, he couldn't see them holding out for much longer.

1st Battalion's command post was coming up. With increasing frequency, the platoon was forced to maneuver around passing vehicles and jogging formations of equal size, navigating through the mess of 1st, 2nd and 5th Battalion elements that were now too mingled together to tell any of them apart. Not that it mattered anymore.

Upon reaching their destination, they found the battalion headquarters at the center of a hodgepodge of activity. Every machinegun was manned and every Rocket Hog parked in place. The 'fort' was turning out to be just that. An apt concentration of soldiers had been gathered to its defense. They were hunkered down, monitoring the sole street in front of them from the safety of the western sandbag walls.

The battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Evans was himself at one of the walls with rifle in hand, flanked on every side by more of his men. The Staff gave him a nod as they passed.

"Where're you going, Helljumpers?" Evans called.

"Interception." The Staff explained without breaking stride. "They'll probably send in their armor first. We'll soften them up before they can make their way here."

The lieutenant colonel offered no further questions, not that the Staff or the rest of 1st Platoon stuck around to hear them. They pushed down the street, sticking left on one of the less congested lanes.

A major intersection lay ahead of them. There was no sign of the enemy on the other end of it, but the sounds of engines thrusting and whirring echoed up from every direction.

The Staff took the lead. "Ep-4, 7 and 8, swing left. Ep-9, 5 and 10, you take the right. Ep-2, Whiskey-1, 2 and 5, with me up the center. Whiskey-3 and 4, hang back in the four-way to provide fire support where needed. Get into positions, let's go."

Upon reaching the intersection, the platoon fanned out into their fireteams. Mito went with Yuri and Renni to the rightward road. The Staff, Nova, Dalton, Daz and Reznik went straight on to where the main action would be. Mackley and Lang set their weapons atop a pair of cars that had collided into one another at the heart of the intersection. As they did, Duncan ran past, heading to the road on the right. Hector and Zack were with him.

Just a few steps brought the three of them into a neighborhood of tall apartment buildings that sat on either side of a wide road. The nearest buildings had long overhangs on their ground floors that provided shade to their accompanying verandas.

Their support columns would make good cover. The three of them came to the same conclusion as they split up. Zack and Hector went together to the left side. Duncan went to the right, vaulting over the railing that girded the closest veranda. He waded through a collection of toppled tables and broken chairs that had once been a part of a small patio before reaching one of the support columns. He braced his back against it. Its polycrete build was more than wide enough for four men to hide behind, leaving him plenty of room to maneuver. He raised his grenade launcher and edged back around towards the road.

Zack and Hector had hunkered behind the columns of the veranda on the other side, the former a few supports ahead of the latter. The three of them shared a nod and took aim down the passage.

Facing south again, Duncan saw where their street fed into a small cul-de-sac 60-meters away. The neighborhood buildings formed a tight cluster around the circumference of the dead end. Just before the cul-de-sac was an accessway that latched onto the right side of their street from which it ran back out of sight to the west. The enemy would most likely come from there. If they did, they wouldn't be able to do anything outside of retreating the way they'd come or advancing straight into their line of fire.

The sounds of impulse drives were still distant. The sounds of explosions were suddenly very close, however, causing Duncan to peer back towards the intersection. There, Mackley and Lang were tensing up after spotting something on the main road.

"Wraiths up front!" The Staff comm'd. "Engage!"

Duncan listened in more, hearing the resulting THWUMP of grenade launchers, the hiss of outbound rockets and the mechanical gasp of plasma mortars.

"Guess they got busy first." Hector noted.

"Revenants pulling in!" Mito chimed. "Ep-5, get a round on'em! Ep-10, make the follow-up!"

Duncan looked again and could just about see the sparkling projectiles sailing through the air where Mito's fireteam was stationed. "Them too."

"Heads up, we got Ghosts!" Zack shouted.

Duncan whirled back around to see a Ghost already boosting out of the accessway with a second one jetting after it. The two swiveled onto the street but promptly pivoted towards the cul-de-sac, exposing their backs.

"Wrong way, stupid!" Zack jeered before firing off his first grenade. It whistled off down the street at a wide angle. One of the Ghosts was turning about when it blew up overhead, knocking out both their drives and dumping them on the road as the EMP effect surged over their hulls.

Hector followed up, firing twice. The two fireballs struck the drivers' seats one after the other, turning the Ghosts into small stars. Even as the Grunts flew flaming contrails through the air, Duncan tracked the large shadow slowly crossing over the accessway.

The crimson, hammerhead hull of a Revenant passed into view one moment and wheeled fully onto their road the next. Not making the same mistake as the flaming wrecks behind it, it turned fully in their direction, lining up perfectly with Duncan's inbound grenade. He released the trigger and watched it explode over the mortar, causing the weapon to fold up on itself as the Revenant's thrusters kicked out.

Across the way, Hector was just taking a knee to pop open his launcher. "Reloading!"

Duncan flicked his M319 open and reached for one of his bandoliers. "Hey Ep-7!"

"On it!" Zack slapped his weapon shut, raised it and fired, sending another grenade arcing towards the target. With a whine of resurging conduits, the Revenant came back online. It rose off the ground, made a quick turn and lobbed a wad of plasma before Zack's round detonated above it. The blast sliced away the main weapon and ejected the Brute in the passenger seat, hurling it to the street with a half-chewed torso.

Duncan pivoted back behind the column before the mortar thundered against the other side, coughing a familiar mixture of cement and searing wind all around him. He snapped his launcher shut and wheeled out again. His optics flashed red over the paralyzed vehicle. Aiming high, he used his reticle to regauge his elevation before squeezing off his next shot. Its small shadow zoomed over the tops of the cars before it exploded over the Revenant. Flames burst from its hull alongside the bright tendrils of the electrical discharge, keeping it pinned in place.

Right then, Hector rose up and let loose.

This time both rockets had the same destination. Both landed at the same time, sending their combined fury shooting through the carriage and out the driver's seat. The miniature solar flare split vehicle and driver into two ragged halves, killing the Brute instantly.

"Nice work!" Zack said.

"Ep-7, I'm out!" Hector yelled over.

Glancing back, Zack pulled the M19 ammo case off his harness and set it on the ground. Reeling his foot, he gave it a solid kick that sent it sliding down the veranda. Hector caught it and flicked it open to grasp at the pair of rockets inside.

Duncan heard the Wraith a second before he saw it. The screech of thrusting boosters heralded a crash of metal on metal as the tank pushed out of the accessway and ploughed straight through the burning remains of the Revenant. Pieces of sleek wreckage bounced and clattered aside in sparking somersaults while the newest threat began a swift rotation towards them.

It wasn't fully oriented before it let off its first mortar. The larger ball of energy wailed towards Hector and Zack who braced themselves behind their columns for a shot that proved far too wide. It dove into one of the apartment's floors above them, exploding a room's worth of glass and furniture out over the street.

The driver had been too hasty, unlike Duncan who was finished lining up his next shot. Plasma bolts stabbed into his cover, bringing him up short. He pressed back behind the column as the Wraith's plasma gunner showered him with trained bursts.

"Hey, they've got me dialed in!"

Instead of a response from Hector or Zack he heard the unlooked-for hum of more impulse drives. It grew so close so fast that he almost wasn't quick enough to escape from the shape that blurred past him and the storm of plasma that ensued. He ducked beneath a wave of bolts that sliced just over his head, missing him by inches. He threw himself around to the other side of the column, catching the barest glimpse of the newly arriving Ghost that now fired on him from the side.

He suddenly found himself pinned against his cover, facing the shattered glass doors of the apartment's lobby as streaks of deadly blue light zipped all around him, coming from both the Wraith and the Ghost. Moving forward risked a bolt to the back or to the side. Moving backward wasn't an option either. He held his launcher close to his chest like a child with a blanket, dust and steam kicking up around him as the two-sided assault sizzled away at his cover.

"Need some help over here!"

As soon as he said it, he heard the gasping launch of another energy mortar.

"Moving!" Zack shouted.

Seconds later the ground shook beneath the rattling impact. Another second later, Duncan saw a new reflection in the ground floor windows in front of him, a ball of light being chased by another. The destructive duo wisped towards the tank. One struck the Grunt gunner head-on, the other soared into the mortar itself. Both targets flew apart in an expulsion of guts and metal fragments.

The plasma fire lessened.

There was a loud THWUMP from a launcher, a bounce, an explosion and a high-pitched squeal. Through the reflections he watched the blast rip the Grunt out of its ride. It flipped forward head over heels before hitting the ground in front of him, leaving a blue blood trail in its wake.

There was no time to say thanks. Not yet.

No longer pinned, he swiveled out again, locking onto the disarmed Wraith before thinking better of it and aiming at the upturned truck just behind it. He pulled the trigger and sent the grenade on its way. He kept a close eye on it, watching its rise and descent. At the last second, it ricocheted off the truck's undercarriage, bounced off the ground and straight into his target's flank. He released the trigger, detonating it mid-flight. The blast was minor, the wave of electrical energies greater as they washed over the Wraith, but still nothing compared to the bright crescendo that came bursting through every seam and crevice. The explosive kickback flashed from front to back, taking the tank apart like a disassembled toy.

Duncan grinned. He'd caught it right in the exhaust port.

"Thanks for the layup!"

"No problem!" Hector replied. "Except one problem! I need another reload! Mind running yours over!?"

"Roger!"

Duncan thumbed another grenade into his launcher before setting out, hurdling the railing and landing at a run. He sprinted towards the other side of the road. He saw Hector and Zack; the latter having posted himself behind a different column after his old one had been reduced to a half-molten edifice.

Movement, not his own or the others.

He saw it out the corner of his eye before he registered what it was. By then, the Wraith peeking out of the accessway had already opened fire.

A rush of fear lit a fire in his gut at the sight of the car-sized ordnance flying towards him. The afternoon sun was bright and lit up the air above him in such a way that he lost track of the mortar. He could only hear its wails drawing nearer by the second. He shifted the tint on his visor to see better and saw more than he bargained for as the mortar came into horrifying clarity just a few meters overhead.

He used his last step to kick off and away, diving to the ground and rolling towards the shelter of a car.

The mortar came down on the other side of a nearby van, the shockwave knocking him aside and dousing him in pieces of windshield.

He'd misjudged its trajectory and panicked at the last second. It was a near miss, not the first one of the day either.

He picked himself up and got back to running. "Cover me!"

The answer to his request wasn't the lobbing of another grenade but the hypersonic shriek of a round from the Stanchion. He didn't look in time to see the shot, but he did get an eyeful of its results. The Wraith's main weapon had been transformed into a mist of fine silicon that sprinkled out from a burning stump. The Stanchion's next shot silenced the plasma gunner before it could even contribute to the fight. The Brute's disemboweled corpse slumped back in its post, its eyes rolling into the back of its head once it seemed to realize its own death.

He peered in the other direction towards the intersection. Mackley stood with the M99 braced over the roof of another car, giving him the thumbs-up. Lang was behind him, firing his SRS-99 at something in Mito's area of operations.

"Ep-4, mind doing the honors!?" Mackley asked.

"In a sec!" Hector waved Duncan over. By that point he was already within arm's reach. A drizzle of small fragments rained down over his BDU from where the mortar had blown a gaping hole into the side of the apartment, exposing the gnarled metal, burning furniture and scorched walls of several studio rooms.

He pulled the ammo case off his harness, handed it over and pressed himself behind the nearest column. He could see that the Wraith was still active. It wasn't withdrawing but it wasn't advancing either. It appeared conflicted as to whether to press the attack.

Hector cast the spent case aside and shut the firing chamber on his launcher. He angled its twin-barrels out past his cover and took aim.

Duncan couldn't agree more with the decision. A disarmed Wraith was still a battering ram so long as its drives were left alive.

He watched while Hector unloaded on it. The luminous spheres hissed away, crossing over the street and slamming into the Wraith's center of mass in quick succession, reducing it to a fiery whirlwind that hurled pieces of hull plating skyward. The wreck came to rest atop the threshold of the street, blocking up the accessway for any other vehicles coming behind it.

"The last Wraith's down on our end!" Hector comm'd. "And we're all out of rockets!"

"Just in time!" The Staff said. "We've sealed off the road on our side! Ep-9!?"

Another rumbling explosion sounded from beyond Mito's side of the intersection. "Same here!"

"Good! Start pulling back to the four-way! Covie infantry won't be far behind!"

The typical whizz of plasma bolts fizzled through the Staff's comms.

"Speak of the devil! 1st Platoon, pull back!"

Almost on cue, loud footfalls resonated from the blocked off accessway. Duncan saw the armored mass of a Hunter barge its way through a gap in the wreckage. Another did the same, smashing aside a piece of stabilizer fin with its shield to create another gap for the troops running behind it.

"We're checking out!" Hector said. "Ep-7, 8, let's do a two by one!"

"You got it!" Zack started them off, firing a grenade across the street towards the Grunts and Jackals pushing out from the accessway.

Duncan and Hector ran for it, speeding down the veranda before slipping behind a set of supports closer to the intersection.

The Hunter pair slipped behind their own shields at the sight of the thing that skipped into their midst like a rock over water. The explosion catapulted several of their smaller entourage into the air, sending the others scrambling for whatever cover was available.

"Ep-7, move!" Duncan took aim, lobbing his next shot over a supply truck. It bounced off the top of the storage unit just as planned and flew higher up before falling behind the two juggernauts. He blew it mid-descent, shucking a burst of pressurized flames into their flanks that ripped into their backs and knocked them off balance.

Even as they were catching themselves, more Covenant troops continued to surge around them.

Zack ran past. Sliding behind the last column of the veranda, he shouted up to them. "You're clear!"

Duncan and Hector got moving again. This time they didn't stop. They passed Zack while he fired off his last shot and kept on running. They heard the distant blast and subsequent screams as well as Zack's footsteps taking off after them. They were sufficiently out of range of the mob gathering at their backs to risk a direct dash to the intersection.

The two snipers had switched places. Mackley was shooting off at targets in Mito's vicinity. All the while, Lang used his rifle to pick off those Covenant that were pursuing them.

Duncan winced as a round whizzed over his shoulder. "Hey, watch it!"

"I think the words you're looking for are 'thank' and 'you'!" Lang fired again, earning the pained squawk of a Jackal.

Plasma fire was beginning to dart past them by the time they reached the intersection. On the other side, Mito, Yuri and Renni were running in as well. The six of them moved into positions within the array of dead cars.

More Covenant troops were advancing towards them from either direction. Their approach was interrupted and broken up by the incidental barricades of automobiles lying in their path.

The eight of them tried to use that to their advantage by singling out the most persistent of their attackers. Grenades were launched, creating a stochastic bombardment around the four-way that blew through Grunts and Jackals by the handfuls, tossing some skyward, pummeling others to the ground and smashing even more into the surrounding traffic.

Duncan flicked his weapon shut and fired it in the same motion. He waited for his shot to sail past the back of a van before setting it off, launching the Brute that had been hiding there out into the open. It landed hard on its stomach. Teeth gnashing with pain, it tried to push itself off the ground, getting up just in time to see the second grenade bouncing into its face.

Duncan released the trigger and blew its head clear off its shoulders, forcing the rest of the body to barrel away from the blow.

"We're coming in!" The Staff said.

On the edge of his periphery, he saw the Staff and the others sprinting along the last stretch to the intersection. Further behind them, the billowing remains of two Wraiths blocked the westbound road, one of them having tried to maneuver around the wreck of the other when it was killed. Their pursuers found enough gaps to spill past stabilizer fins and sparking machinery, running over the clusters of decimated comrades that lay splattered around them.

As soon as the platoon was reunited, they fell into a fighting retreat from the four-way. Two or three would linger behind to launch grenades and rockets that bounced and flew into the forces now pouring into the intersection. The reoccurring fireworks cracked asphalt and armor, blowing some off their feet and forcing those trailing after them to fall back.

They kept the area suppressed until they cleared enough room for the soldiers of the command post to take over for them. The platoon passed to either side of the wave of outgoing fire and jogged back onto the relative safety of the promenade.

Something similar was happening across the board. In almost every direction he looked, Duncan saw scores of smaller engagements unfolding between elements of the 109th and hostile forces that were just out of view. Individual platoons fired down opposing streets or into the windows of nearby buildings at targets that proved just as numerous if not more so. Warthogs maneuvered around curbsides to help their turrets mow down whatever was in front of them as Scorpions sat stubbornly at the end of streets, cannons belching at enemy tanks whose mortars pounded the ground around them. The sheer tradeoff of inbound and outbound fire turned the entire kilometer-long arc of the promenade into a glittering constellation of opposing tracers, flashes of green, explosions of blue and periodic bursts of red from soldiers falling to all sorts of weaponry. Some collapsed with spikes to the chest, others toppling over with crystals to the throat. Some screamed as they grasped at smoldering chest plates and burnt skin, others transforming from solid to liquid to gas as mortars and fuel rods landed in their midst.

The long line of men and material was a collage of positions and battalion command posts that varied widely in the density of their defenses, the closest of which seemed the most well off. The 1st Battalion CP had become a rallying point for at least two platoons that hadn't been there a few minutes prior. Their presence forged the post into a steadfast redoubt. Among the dozens-strong lineup of rifles peeking over the walls upon walls of sandbags there wasn't a single one that wasn't firing.

Duncan could hardly hear himself think, yet alone hear the Staff's orders beyond the lone word "regroup".

The platoon had split around the firing line and filtered through the breaches in the walls. The scene on the other side of them was a flurry of motion. Warthogs raced along the shielded section of the highway in groups of two or three. A few piloted off the beaten path and slotted themselves into gaps in the walls, their gunners already firing heavy-handed bursts overhead. The bevy of medical tents sprinkled among those of the command echelon had their doors torn out of the way to clear a path for the departing masses. Squad-sized bands of soldiers, heads and legs bound in reddened dressings, were being ushered out by medics who handed rifles to their former patients as they ran, limped or shuffled towards the action.

Duncan eyed a trio of soldiers that rushed past him who were wearing more medical dressings than BDUs. Two of them were carrying the third man between them who had to hang onto their shoulders thanks to the bandaged stumps where his lower legs used to be. He shouted to them over the commotion, ordering them around with the haste of a sergeant and none of the ability to keep up on his own. He watched them take him up to an unmanned spot on the closest wall and set him down on a crate. It gave him all the support he needed to man the turret there which he maneuvered with all the strength and vigor of a man with two legs.

Duncan felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. If they were using their wounded to fight then things were getting far worse than he'd thought. And even worse than that, if all else failed, if they were pushed back anyway, these troopers would have no chance. It was for that very same reason that he understood why they were taking up arms. Unlike every other able-bodied man and woman in the line, they truly had nowhere else left to go.

The last of his jog petered out near the highway where the rest of the platoon had rendezvoused beside one of the med-tents.

The Staff hefted his Spartan Laser onto his harness, freeing his hand to point to another of the tents further along the highway. "Ep-4, 9 and Whiskey-5, there's some more ammo for your launchers over there! Rearm and meet us at the line! Everyone else, find yourself a spot! We're switching to crowd control! Follow me!"

He took off towards the front with the rest of them while Hector, Mito and Reznik ran together to the supply depot.

As they fanned out across the line, Duncan set his sights on an empty spot between a soldier with scorched armor and a soldier with barely any at all. His first view was one that confirmed his suspicions.

The width of the road in front of him was awash with Covenant troops. Shield Jackals moved in no particular order besides that of a general push forward from the intersection. Their long-jawed comrades fell around them as glancing shots blew away fingers and joints, hurling their shields aside or collapsing them entirely, exposing their chests to the bullet storm. While they crumpled down here and there, it was nothing compared to the scores of Grunts that were running headlong into the fire. They died in droves, some flipping forward or swinging back in elaborate displays of momentum. Others simply dropped, steaming plasma pistols clattering to the ground. The comparatively fewer Brutes were better off but not by much. Their thicker hides and stronger armor made them less susceptible to the tempest of death that zipped and flashed all around them. They had the best chance of firing back, not that it spared some of them from the sudden concentrations of fire that slugged them in the stomach, knocking the air out of their lungs and the blood out of their mouths.

There was no armored support. No Wraiths, no Revenants, no Ghosts.

Their area of operations stood in stark contrast to those around them where a constant display of landing energy mortars appeared to match the outgoing cannonades from the Scorpions and the withering ensemble of Warthog turrets. That same ferocity was severely lacking on their side of things thanks in no small part to the Staff's foresight.

Duncan was grateful for it too. He'd rather take being shot at than being both shot at and bombed simultaneously. He showed his gratitude by taking aim at a group of three Engineers that were hovering into range above the intersection. He set his reticle just above them. Tracking their movement, he panned slightly ahead of them and popped out a grenade. He traced its flight over the deadly exchange that dominated the street. The group of three arrived exactly where he needed them. None noticed the sparkling projectile falling towards them until it went off over their heads. One of them erupted right away while another fell into a corkscrewing descent that crashed it through one of the glass balconies of an apartment. The third escaped the worst of the damage and retreated back the way it came. Its departure quickly became noticed by the throngs of Covenant coming from the same direction once the purple luminescence around them suddenly vanished, leaving them exposed.

"Target those Hunters!" The Staff said. "Don't let them push!"

Lowering his sights back to street level granted Duncan a front row seat to the spectacle playing out at the center of it. A Hunter pair were quickly becoming the focal point of a massive light show that pelted their shields in a gale of ricocheting rounds, chipping away at them in a hundred places per second. They stuck together, pushing forward through the maelstrom one step at a time. Several Brutes were sheltering behind them and were likewise pushing forward. Duncan spotted the Brute Shots two of them were carrying as well as the fuel rod cannon on another. He wasn't about to chance them getting close with that kind of weaponry. He raised his own over their heads and sent a grenade on its way, letting it join the others shooting away from the rest of the platoon. The clutch of explosives arced down onto the group like a batch of shrunken artillery that never hit the ground, each going off like a percussive drumbeat as the shockwaves pummeled everything below. The airbursts shredded through armor, worms and muscle alike. Orange ichor spewed out from the Hunters before one of them finally keeled over onto its side. The last one standing struggled to raise its shield in a vain effort to protect the wounded Brutes at its back. But two of its charges didn't seem to care.

The pair hurled themselves out from behind the juggernaut and ran full force towards the line. It was clear from the fury in their gnashing fangs, the viscera on their armor and the lack of restraint in their stride that they were in the middle of a blood rage.

Attention immediately shifted to the two berserkers barreling down the street. What little chest armor they had left was drilled into by the combined focus of multiple guns. Still, they persisted.

Duncan reached for his next round and came up empty handed. He saw then that one of his bandoliers was out of ammo. He reached into the other, plugged the shot into the M319 and shut the breech. He followed the path of one of the berserkers before firing slightly ahead of it. The 40-millimeter matched its stride so that it bounced into its knee, yanking the Brute from sight in a puff of smoke that just as quickly vomited it out into the open. It rolled to the ground minus a leg. It had hardly landed when the stuttering focus of a turret finished it off. Its partner charged on, too absorbed in its wrath to notice what had happened to its packmate or the numerous bullet holes dotting its own skin. It likewise failed to notice the rocket jetting towards it. Its wide, bounding stride prevented it from evading the direct hit that devoured it entirely, only spitting out ruined limbs and severed appendages.

A second rocket wisped past the carnage of the first and sailed into the ground at the Hunter's feet. The blast briefly lifted it off the ground as well as those behind it, throwing the three of them onto their backs. Though the Hunter stayed down, the Brutes tried to get back up. One of them failed and was swiftly submerged beneath a tide of tracers that burrowed into its chest until it stopped moving. The other succeeded and was rewarded with a sniper round through the skull for its trouble.

"That one's for our boys!" Lang shouted somewhere down the line.

The ground shook and Duncan heard something explode behind him. He whipped around.

What remained of one of the medical tents was now on fire. Most of the canvas was gone, blown open to expose the crumbling albeit empty quarters within, all while what little remained of it was being swallowed up by ravenous, blue flames.

A distant shout reached his ears. "Mortars!"

He peered upward.

The sky above was being split by azure talons that carved a path through the afternoon air, heating it up to create vaporous arches that bent over the roofs of the surrounding buildings, sloping after the descent vectors of the newest bombardment. The rest of the first strike landed around the line in a series of tremoring impacts, a lucky hit catching an unlucky Warthog even as another pounded the wall, flinging several broken soldiers about in a burst of hot sand.

None of that concerned Duncan as much as where the last mortar was headed.

He could do little more than watch as it hurtled into the battalion's supply depot. The explosion was blinding in its intensity. He winced and looked away while his visor fought to automatically adjust itself. A shockwave of air punched him in the back, nearly throwing him off his feet as it shoved many along the line into the sandbag wall. Stunned and shaken up, the collection of soldiers and ODSTs pulled themselves back into their positions amidst the thunderous landings of the next bombardment.

Duncan checked on the depot again and saw only the roiling mushroom cloud that had taken its place. Leaning skyward from the originating inferno that was still cooking off at its base, it rose up to the height of a small building.

CRACK.

Duncan heard the sound as well as the gasp that followed. He ducked as a pink tracer flashed overhead. The body of the man on his left hit the ground beside him. A hole of similar hue had tunneled through his bandaged head and out the back of his neck: an elevated shot.

CRACK.

Another gasp.

His gaze shifted up to the roof of the building immediately in front of him. It didn't take him long to lock onto the two avian silhouettes standing at its edge.

With shrill squawks, he heard the Skirmishers coordinate their fire alongside three more that stood atop the apartment building on the other side of the street. The rooftops glittered with pink muzzle flashes as a rainfall of crystals lanced into the line from above. A trooper spiraled from a shot to the eye as crystals pierced the helmets of two more before a flock of the projectiles stuck into the chest plate of a fourth. Duncan saw the shocked horror dawning on his face at seeing his comrades dash away from him before the resulting blast smashed him off the walls in a spray of entrails.

"Twelve o'clock high!" Zack called out, but Duncan's next grenade was already on its way.

He sent it at an extremely high angle so that it whistled skyward at a slight slant. It climbed past his targets before reaching its terminus, curving forward and falling behind the two Skirmishers. The release of the trigger blew the pair clear off the roof. Bloodied and bruised, they both tumbled through the air.

Halfway to the ground, their kin on the other side of the street found a 40-millimeter rising into their faces before it blew up. The blast tore skin and fingers in a blow that stopped their next attack. A sniper round speared through the temple of the first. The body went slack and toppled off the side of the building. The fall spared it the fury of the fireball that raced past its corpse and into its partners. Both were consumed in a blink alongside a chunk of the roof. The mix of organic and inorganic debris showered onto the promenade below.

Finally, Duncan watched his kill smack into the ground with a satisfying crunch. His satisfaction died the moment more plasma lashed past his visor, forcing him to stay low once again.

He peeked over his sandbags.

Movement had returned to the intersection in great abundance. A new host of Covenant troops had gathered there and were unleashing a deluge of plasma and spikes towards the line. The response was immediate. However, their answer to the enemy wasn't as concentrated as he would've hoped. The Covenant weren't in the intersection so much as hugging the edges of it. Grunts leaned out from behind the buildings to take pot shots at the command post. Jackals fired on them from the safety of their shields. Even then, they barely eased out into the open to do so. He would've expected that kind of behavior from them, but not the Brutes. The larger variety of their opponents were also sticking to the cover provided by the buildings while firing back at them.

The realization came to him like a disturbing chill.

They weren't advancing.

They were holding their position.

They were waiting for something.

At first, he was sure it was the mortars. They had to be waiting for them to soften up their defenses. But the ordnance was hardly in enough abundance to have so many waiting on standby, and so close at that.

No, that couldn't be it.

As experience had taught him to do over the last few hours, his eyes shifted upwards.

His intuition hadn't been wrong, even if what he saw made him wish it was.

It didn't take long for the others to also see what was coming. In a matter of seconds, despite the steaming crackle of spikes and bolts puncturing sandbags and piercing metal, most of the return fire from the command post fell silent.

In New Alexandria's western skyline there was now a new spectacle, one Duncan hadn't seen since the death run to the Lima Company CP. Even from this distance, the ethereal hum of impulse drives came like instruments whose notes blended harmoniously together, a choir of engines propelling themselves at the same speed.

Banshees.

The fighter craft were stretched out in two long lines that flew one over the other. They were little more than dots, but there were easily over a hundred of them. They were shooting past the tallest buildings on a speedy descent towards the promenade.

Duncan heard the soldier beside him turn and run.

Nova called out and he could hear the strain in her voice. "Ep-1!?"

Further along the wall, the Staff looked on for a moment longer. "GET TO COVER!"

The line quickly dissolved into a rush of motion and panicked shouts.

Duncan wasn't the only one to vault over the sandbag wall. He sprinted into the shadow of the building on the left side of the street along with some of the platoon and a batch of troopers. A matching group dashed into the cover of the building on the right. Far more, however, ran back, heading deeper into the command post.

Duncan did the same as everyone else around him and braced himself against the wall, hoping it was strong enough to avoid what was coming, or better yet that they wouldn't be targeted at all.

Each passing second brought with it its own dread. The hum of the drives grew louder and more distinguishable from the rest of the fighting which itself was beginning to pause. To either side of them, to either end of the promenade, troopers of the 109th were breaking from their defenses in a flash flood of armor that saw many of them running for cover behind vehicles and defense barriers. Others kept on running in an attempt to escape to the hills.

Duncan was the closest to the curb. He leaned around the corner and flinched.

The Banshees had broken up into smaller squadrons. One of them was now gliding down the road, coming straight for them. He immediately backed away and not a moment too soon.

He heard the loud belch of their secondary weapons and fell into a protective crouch.

A fuel rod flew out from the street and three more followed it. Three quickly became seven.

Like a meteor shower, the balls of green energy hurtled into the command post. Emerald explosions bloomed across the position in destructive synchronicity, striking structures and people alike and snatching both away beneath a veil of fire and smoke. The same scene unfolded around them as the surrounding area became a picture of Sodom and Gomorrah. Across the rest of the promenade, a hellish downpour of fuel rods cannoned into the divisional defenses, blowing up tents, exploding sandbag walls and shattering combat barriers. Instantaneous cook-offs engulfed whole tanks. Soldiers ran for their lives as the burning wrecks of their own Warthogs spiraled and tumbled after them, crushing those unlucky enough or slow enough. Other troopers came crashing back to the ground after a close impact gave them and the rest of their squad a brief stint in the air, bashing bare heads and steaming bodies into the hard marble of the promenade.

The Banshees themselves flew in from the streets. Seemingly at will, their twin-mounted energy cannons were set loose across a half kilometer expanse of smoking tents and burning walls. The new downpour raked across the area in a flurry of blue hail, splashing into the backs of fleeing men and the untouched canvas of surviving tents. None were more viciously targeted than those Warthogs and Scorpions that hadn't been reduced to metallic pyres like the wrecks that they drove past. Some were overwhelmed and transformed into bright spheres of momentary light. A few of the Banshees dove down in twirling maneuvers before launching fuel rods at crowds of escaping troopers. Others in their number barreled aside or up and away from the barrage of bullets and rockets that rose to meet them.

Those soldiers that stood their ground did so with everything they had, using launchers, machineguns, rifles and even sidearms. They crouched behind ruined walls, broken crates and half-molten combat barriers aglow with heat as they returned fire on the fighters flashing overhead. Those vehicles that remained standing screeched or rumbled into whatever positions they could find within the mire of roasted bodies and burning canvas. Turrets spooled, causing the hulls of passing Banshees to bleed azure flames that tailed after them like rippling capes. Every now and again a flyer was skewered by a 105-millimeter shell that reduced it to a burst of cascading luminescence.

Save for a dozen others whose wrecks either twirled or rained towards the promenade, the fleet of Banshees collectively broke from their strafing runs. They banked around or performed sharp rolls that pulled them away from the storm of lead now giving chase. They rocketed back into the city at high speed, taking extra precautions by flying over the roofs of buildings to spare them the increasing wrath coming from below.

Not all the retreating craft got away.

Duncan saw a Banshee briefly impaled on a shaft of crimson light that reduced it to a flare of showering debris.

On the other side of the street, the Staff lowered his laser as Reznik raised his launcher, lobbing a grenade at its straggling wingman. The fighter was going too fast for its own good and was caught in the paralyzing blast that struck it in the canopy. Its drives instantly shut down and its orientation pulled it into a death spiral. It barreled down the road and out of sight. Duncan listened closely for several seconds until he heard a loud touchdown and the simmering explosion that followed.

The immediate skies were clear again, although any certainty he had of how long that would last was shaky at best.

Sounds came to his ear from two different directions. From behind him came the desperate shouts of surviving soldiers, the pleading screams of the wounded and the groaning moans of the dying. From the street came the high-pitched taunts of Grunts, the gargling, throaty squawks of Jackals and the bloodcurdling, mocking laughter of Brutes.

More than anything he found himself both enraged and horrified, enraged at the enemy's laughter and horrified that they were right to do so.

He was helpless. Without serious air support of their own, they were all helpless.

Despite their minor casualties, there was little stopping the Banshees from making another pass. The enemy on the ground knew that just as well as they did, which was why that very same ground began to shake once again with the plentiful footfalls of another advance. Dread inducing as it was, it was added onto by the altogether unwelcomed sound of huffing impulse drives.

Loud discharges heralded the appearance of two red energy mortars that arced towards the remains of the command post. Both blasted into the sturdiest sections of the sandbag walls, spewing sand from newly made breaches.

The hum of drives turned to an accelerating roar.

"Hold your fire!" The Staff ordered. "Let them pass, hit'em in the flank!"

Duncan nodded, and beside him so did Zack and Mito. The others across the way waited as well along with the soldiers that had broken from the daze of the last few seconds.

A moment later, two Revenants sped out from the street. They unknowingly raced past those hiding behind the nearby buildings as they rammed into the breaches in the walls, ploughing deep and casting bags of sand aside, widening the openings.

They didn't know they were dead yet.

Duncan saw the red targeting laser marking a flickering line of sight on the other Revenant even while he launched a grenade at the second. Everyone else did the same, bullets stabbing into their hulls as rockets and grenades flew after them. Before the heavier ordnance could land, the furthest Revenant bucked forward at the laser that pierced it instantaneously. The subsequent explosion outdid the others that slammed into its frame, unlike its friend that quickly flew apart beneath a flood of munitions.

Neither of the two lived to turn on their killers, but the breach they had made was still there.

Duncan was forced to throw the two vehicle kills out of his mind at the resounding battle cry of the advancing infantry.

The Staff's next order came in a timely fashion. "Platoon, get some grenades in there then withdraw!"

Duncan reloaded his launcher while Zack fired over his head. He swiveled around the corner to fire next, letting his shot skip beneath a car and into the unguarded legs of a group of Grunts. He released the connection and watched those same legs fly away in bloody spirals. He slipped back behind the curb to let Zack fire off again. Across from them, Hector unloaded two rockets down the street, one consuming an overeager Brute wholesale, the other sailing on to shatter the desperate phalanx of a group of Jackals.

"Alright, let's move!"

The Staff's last order was followed with haste. Together, both ODSTs and soldiers broke from their cover and ran to the sides of the command post's remaining fortifications. They drained through gaps in the walls and into the interior which was now more of an open graveyard than a battalion headquarters. Dozens of dead soldiers and a handful of burned-out Warthogs dotted the spaces between the tents and the highway. Most of the command and medical housings had collapsed or were in the process of becoming house-sized torches. Embers seesawed through the air from the scorched ruins nearby before landing on the canvas of those that had survived the assault, spreading the flames across their surfaces like a leprous disease.

The group jogged through the mass of bodies and flaming materials like water over rock, but not everything around them was dead. A few were still alive across the landscape of scorch marks and craters, albeit barely. Several medics were scattered about, kneeling over those that hadn't been bloodied and burned beyond saving.

The number of dead, as terrible as it was, offered Duncan an opportunity to find a replacement for his lost assault rifle. He didn't want to do it but the towering shade of the mushroom cloud that had once been the supply depot reminded him that he no longer had a choice. Not knowing when he would get another chance, he slowed down from the others and looked over the bodies. The closest of them was lying face down on an MA37. For the sake of time, he dashed towards the corpse. Crouching beside it, he grabbed the shoulder pauldron and used it to pull the body up off the gun. He reached down for it and hesitated.

Despite the exposed muscle of the jaws and the charred orbit of a missing eye, there was enough left behind for a cold familiarity to stab him in the gut.

It was PFC Sizemore, the kid he'd pulled into the Warthog during the ride from Szimpla Station. The BDU on his chest was blackened just as badly as the frayed flesh beneath, damage indicative of a fuel rod impact. In spite of that, his remaining eye was glazed and half closed, as if he was trying to doze off after a hard day's work.

Duncan stared for a few more seconds than he could afford to give. He snapped himself out of it and grabbed the assault rifle, slapping his grenade launcher on his harness. His freehand rummaged through the undamaged ammo pouches on the private's BDU and pulled out the last three magazines, sliding each into his own.

"Ep-8, get a move on!"

He looked back and saw the Staff on the other side of the highway, waving him over. Hector was a few steps away, an Army medic helping him to load the wounded figure of Lieutenant Colonel Evans over his shoulder.

Duncan cast one last look at the body. A thought struck his heart, driving that cold feeling from before even deeper into his chest. If he left him like this, the kid would be nothing more than another in a long line of troopers whose loved ones would never know what happened to them, not for certain. Reaching a hand down to his neck, he decided he could at least give his family some closure. He pulled at his dog tags until the chain snapped. He pocketed the articles then turned and ran, his final thanks for the new rifle.

He crossed the highway and trailed the Staff and Hector through the other half of the command post.

At the end of the cluster of tents, past the ruined boundaries of the battalion headquarters, he saw where everyone else had gathered. The scores of survivors had made a holdout for themselves from empty ammo crates, dented pallets, cylindrical water barrels and weapon cabinets that had been pulled into place. It wasn't the only one of its kind, but one of many that together formed a disparate archipelago of makeshift defenses across the full length of the promenade, defenses which several hundred of the last troopers in the area were now sheltering behind.

Duncan jogged into a spot behind a crate, hedging his bets on it being able to at least stop a bolt or a spike. Even crouched, he still couldn't fully cover his head.

It was almost pitiful.

He thought of where they'd started out, of Lima Company's barricade and the many positions that had fallen since then like a line of dominos. He didn't see this one lasting very long either.

He turned his head and looked to the starport.

The starships were still there on the tarmac.

The hills in between them at least had some defenses of their own. The positions he'd passed during Noble Team's operation were all there. The hilltops were still crowned with teams of Rocket Hogs and tanks. Their slopes as well as the encompassing fields were decorated in manned fox holes, dugouts and trenches.

Could they fight there as well?

An icy sensation chilled him to the core at the realization that it no longer mattered.

Once the promenade fell, the starport would be within range of the Wraiths.

Erica, Noah, Christa, Arthur, Rico, all of them would be at risk.

He could already hear the rumble of footsteps approaching from the west. The Covenant troops were charging through the battalion command post. As they were doing all across the promenade, they shouted taunts and jeers before they could even be seen, serenading those waiting to fight them with the inevitability of what was to come.

His gaze settled on the wide staircase behind them that ran down towards the grassy fields far below in a series of landings and descents. It was one of half a dozen that had been built along the promenade. They were a much safer bet than the dead escalators and elevators.

They'd chosen their position, and by extension their escape route well.

"Ep-1, you know we can't hold here, right?" Nova asked.

"Not yet." The Staff replied.

Duncan understood his meaning despite none being offered. They would see what good they could still do before they withdrew. Around them, what remained of the entire line held stubbornly in place, as if no one wanted to be the first to break, as if no one wanted to be the first to admit they had already lost here.

On the other side of the labyrinth of burning tents, within the clamor of the approaching footsteps, there was a sound that distinguished itself from the rest with a startling suddenness. Footfalls more powerful than any other caused everything around them to tremble.

He glanced to the north. His eyes landed on the mouth of a wide boulevard that was two roads down from the one they had defended. Whereas Covenant troops were streaming out of everywhere else, a giant shadow rose from the passage.

The iron mandibles of the giant ambled into view with the rest of its 'head' following close behind. Its first leg arched high before jabbing down into the burning frame of an abandoned tank. The Scorpion crumpled and exploded beneath the sheer tonnage of the limb.

The Scarab used the momentum to draw its forward half out onto the promenade. On an adjacent boulevard, a second Scarab did the same, stomping into visual range of the starport with all the grace of a disgruntled titan.

The nearest of the walkers turned its head towards its closest target: them.

"MOVE!" The Staff shouted as its mandibles parted. "DOWN THE STAIRS, GO!"

Duncan pivoted and did what he had done one too many times in the same day. He ran from his cover and joined the waterfall of persons sprinting, leaping and jumping down the stairs.

The scream wasn't far behind.

The emerald torrent lashed into their old position. This time it struck nothing aside from the crates and barrels they had left, throwing them into the air so that they crashed and clattered down the stairs alongside them.

There was another scream from the other Scarab, another droning blast and an ensuing chorus of distant screams.

Through quick peeks over his shoulders, Duncan saw the moment the final defense of the promenade disintegrated. Hundreds of troopers of the 109th retreated under a ferocious wave of fire from their advancing foes. Many drained down the stairs with hasty steps guiding their descent. A few fell over the edge of the promenade after a bolt to the back ended their escape, sending them tumbling, rolling and screaming down the slopes of the metal plateau

1st Platoon ran.

For all they worth, they ran.

They flowed over the stairs and ran across the landings. Crystals and plasma bolts started to rain down around them. Every other second one of them would stop to return the favor to whatever was shooting at them from above.

Soon the hills, fox holes and trenches sparkled with muzzle flashes from the many guns, turrets and cannons of 4th Battalion. The hard impacts of tungsten shells thundered by while machinegun fire and rockets trafficked above them in high quantities.

Duncan narrowed his vision and looked away for fear of dropping into a seizure, keeping his eyes on every hurried step that brought him down the staircase.

Zack was the first to reach the ground, not that the rest of them were far behind. Duncan was close to the bottom when a soldier beside him turned around to fire back at the promenade. He got off a short burst before a crystal pierced his helmet. He fell limp and started rolling down the stairs, sweeping Duncan's legs out from under him and sending him into a tumble of his own.

The short fall ended in a hard landing on the grass. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder at the same time as he started running so that he took off with the speed of a sprinter and the balance of a drunkard. His 'racetrack' was anything other than a straight line. The fields before him rose up into the hills, hills they would have to navigate, every square inch of which seemed to be either giving or receiving fire. He shed more of the grass and dirt that caked his breastplate with each stride, finding himself back at the center of the group. He cast sidelong glances to his left and right and gained a larger sense of the situation.

The fields at the base of the plateau were covered in a moving carpet of UNSC personnel. The disorganized mass of hundreds of Army troopers, tank drivers and even other ODSTs were running for the hills in a life-or-death marathon.

They were utterly exposed.

There was no cover anywhere for the next 60-meters.

The sparse clusters of trees that dotted the landscape were meaningless in the face of the forces at their flank. Even now, outgoing munitions broke through the blockade of covering fire being laid down by the troopers of 4th Battalion. With increasing regularity, those making their retreat would cry out or simply drop, falling from a bolt to the head or a spike to the spine. They fell alone or in bunches, causing the less wary among their more fortunate comrades to trip over them before they scrambled back to their feet in a bid to catch up.

Almost halfway to the hills, two platoons' worth of stragglers had already been singled out and cut down. Their killers began focusing more on the survivors, picking them off one by one with needle rifles or consuming whole groups with fuel rod cannons.

A cry went up from the throng that was as loud as it was unwelcome. "MORTARS!"

Several of the first set of blue fireballs landed behind them, cratering the grass and pulverizing corpses. Despite the short rounds, the rest of the salvo groaned towards those below, falling along trajectories that were noticed far too late to be avoided. A dozen mortars landed around and within the manmade migration, creating geysers of percussive force and falling bodies. Men kept running beneath a precipitation of dust even as fellow soldiers crashed down around them.

The bombardment refused to relent; another barrage was already soaring through the sky.

The last 20-meters brought them among the first layer of the trench network that defended the foot of the hills. Some of those running beside them took the chance to jump down among those in the entrenchments, reducing their number further.

The platoon kept running. There was no safety to be found here. That became abundantly clear when one of the Scarabs screamed.

Duncan's world became radically brighter before a column of plasma hurtled over him and plunged into the end of a trench, launching a nearby Dalton into a sideways spiral. He collided with Hector, knocking them both to the ground along with the lieutenant colonel.

Duncan pivoted away from the tunneling conflagration as it carved across the length of the trench, cutting the screams of the resident squad short.

He ran to where the other three had landed. Daz and Renni beat him there. Hector picked himself up without any help and reshouldered his wounded charge. Dalton meanwhile was on hands and knees as he struggled to get back on his feet, tails of steam wafting from every nook and cranny on his armor.

Daz slid beside him. "You good, sir!?"

"It feels like an oven in this thing!" Dalton growled, brushing off her hand. "Don't worry about me! Keeping going!"

Renni came and hooked an arm around his. Daz got the same idea. They heaved him up together like two daughters lifting an ailing father and helped to get him running again. By then they had fallen a few paces behind the rest of the group.

Duncan was surprised he hadn't been shot in the back yet, that is until he heard the gunshots. Pumping his legs, he risked taking a peek. A squad of ODSTs were behind them. Each was taking their turn to stop and fire at targets on the lip of the promenade. They weren't part of the platoon, and he wasn't sure which battalion they were from, but he was thankful for the backup.

He sped up. Regardless of how fast he moved, however, the hills never seemed to get close enough fast enough. The last few seconds drew themselves out like minutes. It became harder to run up the growing incline that was getting steeper by the moment.

When he finally realized he was heading up a hill he was already halfway to the top. The thunderclaps of 105-millimeter cannons whipped him with bursts of pressurized air. He spotted the pair of Scorpions sitting on either side of a dirt trail that the platoon was now following. One picked up the slack while another reloaded so that every two seconds was interrupted by the bark of their weapons.

The armored duo offered the incoming survivors safe passage between them. They passed on by into the middle of a ring of Warthogs that encompassed the hilltop. The rhythmic din of turrets and the hiss of outbound rockets was nearly deafening. More of their entourage chose to stop here and plugged themselves into whatever gaps needed to be filled.

The platoon continued on.

The starport loomed ahead of them, lying at the end of a web of dirt trails that ran down the slope and through a small valley between another set of hills. The descent was easier on them this time around given the sudden lack of fire they were taking from the promenade. The hill at their backs proved to be an excellent shield, one they were keen to stay behind while traversing the path to the starport. There were still soldiers with them. Those sheltering within the passing dugouts and reserve positions called out to them, asking about the situation on the other side of the hills or about certain comrades. The answers, if they received any, almost universally discouraged them from asking any more.

The ground leveled out again and they emerged into an open area. The highway running in front of the starport was the last thing between them and their destination. They vaulted over the guide rails and filtered through the clogged lanes to the other side. More of those they'd seen escape the promenade came back into view as well, but they were more of a disorganized trickle than the flood they had once been. It wasn't immediately obvious how many of them had found cover elsewhere and how many had died along the way. Regardless, the result remained the same; only half of them were here.

1st Platoon's dash came to an end beneath the refuge of the starport's front veranda where a modest layer of machinegun crews stood watch from the shade of the support pillars. The rest of those who'd endured the journey beside them began to disperse across the space. Troopers made for the medical tents near the entrances or diffused across the defenses, sitting and resting themselves against the walls. Hector was among the former. He carried the half-conscious Lieutenant Colonel Evans towards the encamped medics.

Duncan wondered how many of the men around them were from Lima Company or Tango or Golf, or even the promenade. At that point he wasn't sure if the first two still existed anymore.

He drifted over to the rest of the platoon, listening to the Staff's latest order.

"I saw other ODSTs on the rooftop. We'll pick a spot and hold out there."

"What does 'holding out' even look like, sir?" Zack asked, a hint of defeat creeping into his voice.

The Staff fixed him with a stare. "It looks like you emptying that rifle and popping the pin on your last frag. Hell, you'll use your combat knives if you have to, all of you. We don't have a choice. We're out of options here, people. Until more of them make themselves available, this is what we've got. If the Covenant reach-,"

The scream of a Scarab echoed over from the hills along with the matching rumble of an explosion.

"When they reach these doors, our job is to be that last obstacle. Even if we only buy a couple more minutes for those troops across the bay, that could be all they need. Is that understood?"

There were nods and mumbled agreements.

"And after that?" Hector asked as he came jogging back into the gathering.

The Staff fixed him with a look as well, but this time he didn't answer, the silence between them punctuated by the destructive ambiance that wafted from beyond the hills.

The Staff craned his head up to the ceiling of the veranda and the dust that drizzled down with the artificial quakes of the battle.

Duncan saw a Nav point appear above them.

"Move out."

They were all in lockstep after that. They headed for the southward end of the veranda. In doing so, Duncan became fully aware of just how exhausted everyone was, how exhausted he was. He saw it all around him in the survivors of the promenade that propped themselves against the walls and columns, holding on weakly to their rifles. He saw it in their faces. He could feel it in his own. He could feel how the muscles had locked themselves up into an hours-old grimace that had slowly become his default expression.

He kept his legs moving despite how heavy they were becoming.

The only thing keeping him going anymore was the knowledge that his family was on one side of him and the Covenant were on the other. That was far too close for his liking. He wasn't about to endure another Csillagos éj or anything like it again.

The Staff was right, he decided.

There were no other options, no cards left to play except the one that had been shoved into their hands.

This was it, do or die.

They took a left around the corner at the edge of the veranda and turned into a fenced off area that caged the emergency exits of the south wing. A service ladder ran up the full height of the wall from ground to roof. They took to the climb one at a time, pulling themselves up the rungs as fast as possible.

Duncan went third to last. He was nearly to the top but stopped short of the last several rungs at hearing an enormous crashing sound. Hanging on, he turned to search for the source.

He didn't have to look very far.

One of the Scarabs had reached the northern end of the promenade and had thrown its forelegs over the edge, crunching down into the artificial pass left between one plateau and another. The impact threw up a rush of dust around it. It pulled itself forward, allowing its hind legs to smash into the forest of trees, finally evening it out. It turned itself towards the east. Without a care for the intensifying shower of tungsten shells and fissile munitions that plastered its hull, it commenced its march towards the hills. Behind it came the other Scarab which implored the same maneuver, dropping its forelegs into the pass in a fountaining of roiled earth and crushed trees.

"Ep-8, get going." Nova said from below.

His polarized visor didn't betray the widening of his eyes as he resumed the climb. Passing the last rung, he pulled himself over the ledge and got his first glimpse of their last defense.

As the Staff had said, the rooftop above the atrium was already occupied. Amidst the metal landscape of cycling ventilation units and atmospheric telemetry probes were somewhere in the realm of two full platoons of ODSTs. They had assembled themselves at the parapets lining the westward end of the roof, granting them an advantageous perspective on the wider battle. SPNKRs, grenade launchers and sniper rifles were in abundance. They even had a handful of turrets scattered along the line, most of which were currently being put to good use.

The platoon ran along the lengthy rim of the atrium's skylight. Duncan peered down on the way over. Through the glass panes, he got a clear visual of the atrium itself. It was empty or at least nearly so. Its only denizens were groups of soldiers that appeared to be running back and forth, ferrying weapons and ammunition crates to the entrance.

His attention drifted off to the left. He eyed the three starships parked on the tarmac below. The C-shaped alcove of Terminal A offered them a degree of protection against a direct assault. However, unless he was mistaken, the rainfall of energy mortars seemed to be creeping further into the hills. It wouldn't be long before they were firing over the terminal and into the apron itself.

To either side of the atrium, the high-pitched shriek of the starships' warming engines continued to compete with the sounds of the fighting.

He wondered how many people were aboard each one. If the starport was empty, which it seemed to be, then there had to be thousands sitting inside those ships, waiting to be evacuated. The sight of the sandbag positions and machineguns that had been erected around each of them was simultaneously reassuring and disheartening.

He wondered which of them his family was on, the one at the far southern end of the apron maybe, or perhaps one of the two facing westward into the sleeve of Terminal A.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Ep-1."

As they reached the parapets, one of the ODSTs paid them an appreciative nod. After so much time spent running into each other Duncan could recognize the voice of Captain Barrett almost anywhere. The same went for the bearing of his platoon. The others sprinkled among them were unknowns. However, none of them had made it this far to start a meet and greet.

The Staff returned the gesture. "Same to you, 5-Actual. Alright 1st Platoon, let's settle in."

They fanned out without another word and slotted themselves into whatever spaces were available.

Duncan found room for himself between Hector and one of Barrett's men. He took a knee and switched out his assault rifle for the M319 on his harness. In terms of ammo, he had a bandolier and a half left to him. He would have to make each shot count.

He snuck a glance at the fighting going on back across the bay. Caracalla Park was unnervingly quiet. The action, and by extension Sergeant Major Duvall's men, had been pushed back entirely to the strip of beach on the southeast side of the park. He could actually see a handful of troopers there. They were trading shots with Grunts and Jackals from the safety of boulders and combat barriers.

The sight of it was almost soul shattering.

Their manpower had been reduced to a squad, if not a fireteam.

And they were supposed to retake Caracalla? By themselves?

A deep dread nipped and clawed at the fraying edges of his focus.

Focus.

He had to focus.

He turned himself back to the fight with a force of will that was almost insufficient against the despair simmering in his stomach. He felt queasy. He fought down the heat rising in his chest and settled on doing what had been asked of him.

The battlefield was a messy menagerie of death and destruction. The hills glittered with muzzle flashes. A multicolored exchange of tracers flashed between the trenches and fox holes of 4th Battalion and the hordes of Covenant that were flowing down the staircases of the promenade. The enemy were surging onto the field, charging the line by the hundreds in a display of red and blue shield gauntlets, overloaded plasma pistols and gnashing fangs. Turrets raked their ranks with criss-crossing fields of fire even while fellow machinegun crews in different dugouts were blown to pieces by landing mortars.

A far heavier exchange played out above the first.

Dozens upon dozens of exhaust trails elongated alongside previous trails of fumes that were already beginning to dissipate, creating tendrils of smoke that slithered towards the marching Scarabs. The walkers were leading the charge to the center of the hills and were paying for it with barrage after barrage of rockets, each one bombarding them from front to back. The pair of assault platforms powered through the explosive hailstorm, shrugging off the combined salvos of the Scorpions that periodically struck them in the legs. They in turn unleashed their focus and ultra heavy plasma cannons across the battlefield. Entire trenches vanished beneath beams of concentrated energy, silencing those within and leaving steaming furrows behind. Bursts of oversized plasma bolts peppered the wheel-bound artillery batteries on the hills, occasionally killing a Warthog or tank in a rupture of flames.

Duncan found that the others around him were contributing where they could. Well-placed sniper rounds, carefully aimed rockets and arcs of machinegun fire disappeared completely into the carnage. There was so much going on that it was impossible to tell what they were hitting.

"Ep-1!"

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted where Mackley was crouched a few people down on his left. He had the M99 set on the parapet with one hand. The other held up one of the weapon's long magazines.

"Last one!?" The Staff asked.

Mackley tipped his head grimly.

"...Copy!"

Duncan's grimace hardened. It was another unsettling reality in a sea of bleak conditions.

He decided it was time to make himself useful. He raised his grenade launcher to prepare for a long shot at the closest batch of Covenant just beyond the hills. His finger froze on the trigger.

The humming choir of impulse drives had returned, and with it came another unwelcome sight.

The skyline was once again dotted with unfriendly shapes.

The Banshees were back.

Perhaps no less than 20 shy of their 100-strong compliment, there were still plenty of them bobbing and weaving over the city's west side. They accelerated over the promenade and spread out from there. Flyers fell into spiraling dives to strafe troopers below while their wingmen swooped over the slopes of the hills to bombard them with fuel rods. As gunfire studded their canopies, they would climb out of sharp nosedives or wheel around for another pass. They boosted away from tailing rockets and strafed whatever their neighbors had left behind. They gunned down the length of trenches to kill everything within or lunged down to hurl more fuel rods at defiant positions, turning fox holes into spouts of explosive energy, casting dismembered bodies and ownerless limbs across the hillsides. Even as some fighters succumbed to the overlapping attentions of turrets, bled flames from rocket strikes or were simply disintegrated by eagle-eyed Scorpions, more of them would whirl about to exact revenge on their killers, mobbing them like sharks in the middle of a frenzy. The presence of so many aircraft created an intricate nexus of azure contrails across the sky which was handily complemented by the squall of plasma bolts raining over the landscape below.

Duncan felt a pang of guilt at being relieved to be up here on the starport and not down there in the exploding, burning hell that was the western hills.

Guilt turned to fear when several squadrons of Banshees suddenly broke from the main attack and started for the starport. Their numbers put them easily at two dozen strong.

"Here they come!" Barrett said.

Duncan readied his launcher as the entire rooftop braced for the assault.

Once the flyers soared over the hills, the machinegun crews stationed beneath the veranda opened up en masse. An inundation of bullets swept over the enemy from below...and from above.

Duncan didn't hear the roar of the twin jet engines until the Falcon had already flown overhead. Its screaming rotors beat the air as its autocannon snarled a five-round burst into the closest flyer, dappling its hull so that it coughed up fumes. The two side-mounted machineguns fired in tandem with the aircraft's main weapon, lighting up two more. Flames burst from their fuselages as they tried to barrel away, all while the gunners gave chase.

Without warning, a blizzard of lead smashed into the flyers in stuttering waves. In seconds, several of them were turned into flickering eruptions or blazed towards the ground, shedding wing canards and metal fragments on their way down before bombarding both the fields and the highway with their wreckage. The rest of the oncoming Banshees broke from the assault and banked off in every direction.

Duncan looked up at just the right time to watch the cavalry arrive.

A squadron of nine other Falcons descended over the area in tight knit groups of three. They rode in from the direction of the bay, their shadows passing over the ODSTs as the downdraft from their rotors washed across the roof like a refreshing breeze. A collective cheer rang out from the entire line as well as the men below.

"About time!" Hector laughed.

Yuri whooped at the passing aircraft. "Get'em, Flyboys!"

The Falcons tore into the confused mass of Banshees like a pack of wolves among deer. Autocannons barked and machineguns rattled, cutting down several more flyers within the first few seconds of the engagement. A few of the surviving Banshees boosted away to safety. However most either barreled out of the incoming fire or aileron rolled above the approaching opposition in desperate attempts to outmaneuver them. In short order, the Falcons split up to take them on, ascending or descending into two-on-one and even three-on-one dogfights. They dove beneath pursuing fuel rods and swiveled about to line up their sights with the closest threats, tracking them with their autocannons as they soared past. Five-round salvos of 20-millimeters crunched into hulls, punctured fuselages and destroyed wing canards in precision strikes, causing more of the competing airpower to hurtle groundward. Plasma bolts strafed them in their sides where diving fighters tried to take a swing at them, merely to be immediately answered with unrelenting barrages from the gunners.

Duncan watched the running air battle that raged above and around the starport. He felt pain in his face where the grimace he'd worn for the last several hours began to relax, showing him just how tense he had been. It was a welcomed pain, as was the second wind that was now flowing into his bones.

It was obvious that the Falcons wouldn't be enough if the flyers attacking the rest of the hills turned their full attention on them. However, despite being bombed and burned on nearly every front, the troopers of 4th Battalion were holding up remarkably well. Previously silenced emplacements came back to life as soldiers pulled their smoldering squadmates from behind the controls. Burning Scorpions and pockmarked Warthogs ignored the damage done to them while they maintained their resistance, shooting more Banshees out of the sky and more Covenant troops on the ground.

One of the Falcons, the first one Duncan saw come in, held a stable position over the top of the atrium. Its weapon systems were all alight while it hovered in place, raining hot brass over the roof.

The comms crackled and an encouraging voice spoke into it. "Kilo-9-2 to ODSTs, we got your back."

"You're a guardian angel if I ever saw one, Kilo!" The Staff said, his tone strengthened with a renewed assurance.

"Can't thank you enough for this one, 9-2!" Barrett replied.

"Don't thank me yet, not 'till we've got these civies out of here. Listen up, Helljumpers, we just secured Traxus. I repeat, Traxus is under new management. The 145th had some help from a Spartan on the east side of NA. Once he's done clearing out the pad over there, we're going to swing him around here to help get those missile batteries back online. Think you can hold until then?"

A Spartan?

The platoon perked up at the mention.

It was more welcome news. Duncan hadn't heard anything more about Noble Team since Kat had left them on the tarmac. If they'd sent over one of their own to help, then...

He sneaked another quick eyeful of Caracalla.

Rather than discourage him, however, it gave him the strength he needed to load another grenade into his launcher.

"Roger that!" Barrett replied. "We'll buy that Spartan the time he needs!"

"You heard'em, troopers!" The Staff shouted. "Hold!"

Fracti - Broken