Halo: Feet First

by MikeDice

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

181. Battle of Reach - Chapter 54 (Debitum)

Chapter 54 – Debitum

August 26th, 2552 - (17:15 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, On Approach to Lochaber Air Force Base

:********:

Lochaber was a lot busier than Duncan remembered.

It was amazing what kind of difference a week like the one they'd had could make on an air force base the size of a city.

Lochaber's airspace was an angry beehive of cohesive and chaotic traffic. The orange gleam of Epsilon Eridani's evening light shimmered off a countless display of portholes, smooth wings, long fuselages and angular bows. Dozens of ships and hundreds of smaller transports dotted the skies both near and far. Each one was caught in the rays of the sun which was now descending towards the western horizon. Its shine incidentally cast every last one of them in a halo of illumination, setting them aglow no matter their speed or lack thereof.

They almost looked like little angels to him, a piece of heaven about to leave Reach because of the hell gaining on its heels.

It was a cornucopia of atmospheric and extraplanetary aviation.

Dozens of squadrons of Pelicans, Falcons and Albatrosses flew across the region in different directions and at varying altitudes. They shared the air with nearly ten times as many civilian aircraft of seemingly every make and model, both great and small. They ranged from sleek and aerodynamically inclined star liners to bulky, more rotund cargo freighters. The commercial craft were more disorganized than their UNSC counterparts. Whereas the former appeared as a coordinated albeit fragmentary migration, the latter were a discordant dispersion of tilting wings, roaring engines and outstretched landing struts. For the most part the civilian transports appeared to fly at lower altitudes in order to give the military elements overhead an easier time at maneuvering. All the better for them to keep from crashing into their own protectors. It wasn't a hard rule, however, as a dust storm of glinting shapes flowed in over the mountain ranges that surrounded Lochaber. More and more public transports and cargo lifters were pouring in by the minute. Duncan could tell despite the distance that they were a collection of every type of airborne mechanism under the sun. The polished private jets of the rich and powerful flew right alongside the massive yet compact forms of sky haulers. With dozens arriving every minute, they swooped in over the mountains and scattered haphazardly across the air lanes. More than once, Duncan saw a freighter swerve out of the path of a patrol of Pelicans or a Falcon dip beneath an oncoming jet that refused to slow down, forcing the pilot to strain against the leftover turbulence.

They were all coming to Lochaber.

If he had to guess, he was looking at refugees from across the length and breadth of the Viery Territory, or at the very least from its southern reaches.

He couldn't help but think of the next logical consideration. Just how much of the upside-down hammer that was Viery still belonged in UNSC hands?

Lochaber was still here.

That had to count for something, but it was almost nothing in the face of thousands of square kilometers that he couldn't possibly account for. The presence of so many refugees alone was enough evidence for the time being to support his theory, one that hinted at the UNSC owning far less of this side of Reach than they had a few days prior.

Then there were the ships.

Over half a dozen Paris-class heavy frigates lingered about at various elevations around Lochaber's upper airspace. Their rifle-shaped silhouettes hung like dark clouds in a cloudless sky. They were all stationary, holding in place above the greater storm of activity. UNSC aircraft flew in and out of their open bays in the same way that they did those of the smaller civilian starships hovering around them. They were like pit stops along a network of airborne highways that wound about the base on unpredictable trajectories. He didn't need to see it to know that payload after payload of civilians, personnel and important equipment were being offloaded onto the space-capable craft. He'd witnessed it before on Pearl Base, and at New Alexandria, and more times over the years than he cared to count.

Same story, different chapter and the last thing he wanted to do was turn the page.

At the center of everything stood the Markoláb space elevator. The towering orbital tether remained exactly where it was the day they left aboard the Fool Me Twice. The evening bathed every facet of its spinal orientation in a metallic shimmer. It consequently cast a massive shadow over the many concentric rings of facilities and roadways that comprised Lochaber, dividing the base along its eastern radius like the shade of an impossibly large sundial.

Somehow, the fact that it was still standing came as an unexpected relief to Duncan. New Alexandria, he realized, had almost made him used to seeing such large structures on fire.

He caught glimpses of multiple cargo containers, maintenance cars and welcome wagons, bus-sized transportation units that held anything from vehicles to people. They were in the middle of traversing up and down tens of thousands of kilometers worth of cabling in a vertical ant trail that seemed to go both ways. The flare of rocket propulsion units carried outbound cars and wagons further into the clouds along ascents that only accelerated with time. All the while, returning units came down more slowly to allow for more closely controlled descents. Further up along the Jacob's Ladder of human engineering, where its heights began to fade from view, the faint silhouettes of more UNSC and civilian ships milled about like black stars in a bright yellow firmament. As to what they were up to in the upper atmosphere, it didn't take much guesswork for him to understand that it was the same above as it was below.

Their Pelican passed over the last ridge of a snowcapped mountain range that stood between them and Lochaber's outer limits.

"This is Vulture-5-2 to Lochaber Control, requesting permission to land at Airfield X-Ray, over." Yuri said over the communications.

A moment later, a man's voice replied through the cockpit's speaker system. "This is Lochaber Control to Vulture-5-2, negative on your last. Airfield X-Ray is too crowded. Move to Airfield November, over?"

"Ugh, Control, which one is November?"

"One moment, sending coordinates."

Something glimmered on the main screen of Yuri's station. He looked at it, and whatever he saw lit a sudden frustration in his eyes.

"Vulture-5-2 to Control, that is almost on other side of Lochaber. Isn't there anything closer?"

"Negative. Sorry to say Vulture, but we're almost at capacity here. Every other airfield except for Victor is hosting too much in and out air traffic for you to land safely, and in case you're curious, Victor is about two kilometers further west than November."

Yuri mumbled a line of Russian to himself that sounded about as friendly as a howl in the woods.

"Flying in from NA, right?" The air controller asked. "You made it this far. You can fly a little further. Either that or you can stay in rotation until something opens up."

"And when might that be?"

"With how the situation is on the ground, half an hour at the earliest."

"We don't have that kind of fuel." Yuri hissed. "I'm already cutting into my reserves up here."

"Then November is your only option, Helljumper. I'd advise you take it before you drop out of the sky. We've had enough accidents today as it is."

Duncan had no clue how the air controller had picked up on that, the fact that they were ODSTs. Yuri's temperament might have given it away. Whatever the case, he was mildly impressed.

"Alright." Yuri sighed explosively. "Fine...we'll take November."

"Not that you had much of a choice. I suggest you lower down to 100-meters. You'll run into less cargo lifters that way."

"...Copy."

Duncan heard heavy footsteps coming from behind him. He looked back in time to see Commander Carter walking through the bay door and into the cockpit. He naturally stepped aside to let him pass. As the Spartan went by, Duncan eyed the low-lit confines of the cargo bay. The others, ODSTs and Spartans alike, were either sitting where they could find room or standing up while holding onto the ceiling handles. They had endured the last three hours of their flight in a similar manner. It had been a quiet trip. He could only speak for the rest of the platoon when he suspected how tired some of them were from staying on their feet for so long, fighting to keep their balance. The Spartans of course were in a league all their own when it came to stamina. He didn't sense so much as a hint of fatigue in their stance.

Against his will, his eyes landed on the dark form lying prone at the center of the bay.

He looked away just as quickly, turning back to observe the commander as he came to a stop beside the pilot's seat. The cold mountain wind continued to wail through the hole in the cockpit window, but it didn't seem to affect the Spartan at all as he patched into Yuri's comms.

"This is Sierra-259 of Spartan Noble Team to Lochaber Control, requesting a reinforced casualty collection unit to be brought to our LZ at Airfield November. We have one KIA. Do you copy?"

The air controller didn't respond. When no reply seemed forthcoming, he repeated himself.

Once again, there was no answer.

Carter shot a questioning look over his shoulder at Yuri.

He shrugged back. "The line was working fine a second ago. Maybe-"

"Noble-1, Noble-1 respond, over." A new voice said through the speakers. It was a different person from before, an older man with a more authoritative tone. "This is General Montague. Glad to see you're still with us. I'm sending a Falcon to pick you up from November. Once you land, report immediately to the administration and logistics center for debriefing."

Carter was quiet for a second. "...And the collection unit?"

"It'll be there, commander. Just come on in."

He nodded. "Will do, sir."

"Copy. Good to have you back, Spartans."

Carter signed off and looked again to Yuri. "What's our ETA?"

"About five minutes give or take."

The Spartan peered back at the body in the bay. "And our fuel?"

"About one more minute than that."

"Think you can make that time, trooper?"

Yuri straightened up at the question and a pilot's pride swelled in his chest. "I could make it in fifth of that time, sir, if you want."

"He could." The Staff agreed, leaning in through the door. "Whether we make it there in one piece or not is another story."

Carter silently considered it, and Duncan thought he sensed a shadow of a smile behind the faceless helmet.

"Five minutes is fine." Carter said, nodding off to Yuri before walking out of the cockpit.

"Slow and steady wins race I guess." Yuri mumbled, carefully pushing forward on his controls.

Duncan grabbed the same emergency handhold that had saved him during the escape from the ROTC.

Yuri slowly lowered them into a descending course while they continued their flight towards the west side of Lochaber.

Second by second, meter by meter, Duncan got a better look at what was happening on the ground.

Within the interlocking labyrinths of installations and facilities, the streets below were clogged, not with vehicles but with people. He couldn't get a concrete idea of their numbers by virtue of their sheer quantity. From street to street, they were like an omnipresent sea of moving shapes. It was a close reminder of the scene he'd come across when he first arrived at Lochaber, only multiplied several times over. Those vehicles he could see, from Warthogs to Scorpions, were nearly drowned in the human tides that either swept around them like water over rock or hemmed them in like frozen rivers.

Lochaber itself had become a giant refugee camp.

That much was clear.

What wasn't clear was the wider situation on the planet.

He turned to the left and to the right, but no matter where he looked, he found the same thing:

Tents.

Within his moving periphery, he saw them lining the sidewalks and curbs by the hundreds. There were so many, and with so many more people gathered around them or travelling in and out of them, they were more akin to dozens of small settlements scattered across an even larger cityscape. He peered out to the farthest horizons of the militarized metropolis and saw only more of the same. The streets, avenues and highways had been invaded by swaths of impromptu canvas housing. The windows of tall storage facilities, communication centers and personnel barracks overlooked ad hoc neighborhoods of shelters whose walls were left to ripple in the winds blowing down from the mountains. At the speed that Yuri was going, Duncan glimpsed new encampments with each second and each street that passed him by. They were growing both in scale and density the further west they went.

After two minutes, the living sprawl suddenly thickened.

On their right, the deep, metal trench of a drydock came into view within an imposing clearing near the very center of the base. It was empty, as were the other five that appeared beside it in a slanting row. The large mechanical pincers of their hull clamps were pointed skyward towards the floating shapes of their former patrons. The manmade chasms of each of the installations were surrounded on all sides by an idle, ambling ocean of people. The unmoving tides had swamped the area, barely receding at the outer edges of the drydocks. Tens of thousands of men and women were packed together to such a degree that for hundreds of meters at a time Duncan couldn't see the ground itself. It was submerged somewhere beneath a stagnant flood of heads, backpacks and suitcases.

Seconds later, the bottom of the Markoláb itself came into view. The massive concrete support platform that acted as the base for its towering frame was encompassed roundabout by thousands more pedestrians. All were slowly shuffling forward, waiting to join the condensed rivers of people who had gotten close enough to start streaming up the handful of staircases leading to the top of the platform. Others waited for their turn at the heavy-duty elevators constantly ascending to the same location.

Sprinkled among the multitude were entire companies of Army troopers whose various positions around the Markoláb's base created manmade breakwaters. Footbound squads patrolled the length of assembled medians meant to keep one crowd separated from another, turning what might have otherwise been an unending horde, one that could easily overwhelm the elevator, into manageable batches of passengers. There were also designated paths that channeled those same crowds through armed checkpoints. There, pairs of Warthogs sat stationary beside security booths that stopped random passerby for identification checks. The former's turrets were almost never perusing the people, however. Instead, they watched everything else going on overhead, perhaps searching for signs of the true threat.

While the outnumbered soldiers kept the peace below, more of them managed those civilians that had reached their destination. Embarkation terminals hived the very bottom of the Markoláb's main tower which acted as a socket to the rest of the elevator. There, armed personnel directed the eager new arrivals around polycrete anchors, supports as large as buildings whose strength lent further stability to the tower. Passing under the shadows of the structures, they brought them through the warehouse sized glass doors which shielded the hangars of the Markoláb's transportation units. Even now, newly loaded welcome wagons full of seated civilians were closing shut and rising out of view, reappearing as they emerged into the open, shooting up one of the many tethers. All the while, more units were descending, slowing and opening their doors to expose their emptied innards, welcoming the next wave of Reach's refugees.

"That's not just NA down there, is it?" Duncan whispered, half to himself and half to the only other person that could hear him.

Seated in the pilot's chair, Renni likewise was peering down into the masses. "Not likely. The set from NA that came here would've been mostly shipped out by now. Logistics-wise at least, Lochaber wouldn't be this backed up if it was just them."

"So then, that's-..."

She nodded solemnly. "The rest of Viery...a lot of it anyway. I'd imagine this is barely a snapshot of what things have been looking like here since we left."

To Duncan, that thought alone was equally as stunning as it was disconcerting.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wrap his head around those kinds of numbers, and even less so around the level of threat that could make so many people flee to the same place.

The elevator eventually passed from view, and after a few more seconds so did the rest of the masses.

The encampments never went anywhere.

They simply took on new configurations within the depths of Lochaber's maze. They were so plenteous that he couldn't help thinking they had always been there. It was almost too much to think they had all sprung up over the course of a week. The further west they traveled, the more people he saw, the more tents he found, until the Pelican soared into the western expanse of Lochaber.

By the five-minute mark, Yuri was slowing down, and Duncan was able to lay eyes on where they would land.

Airfield November was a microcosm of everything else that was going on throughout Lochaber. More civilian transports, jet-like atmospheric transit craft and potbellied freighters ascended from and descended to the rectangular plot of grass fit for a large stadium. On its western edge was another one of those buildings that vaguely reminded Duncan of a germinating seed. Passenger boarding bridges branched out across the field from the oval build of Starport November. Before its walls, throngs of people and on-base personnel were moving about with no particular organization. They walked or ran down the sparse rows of UNSC aircraft left in reserve. Most of the space had been cleared out to permit a steady inflow of more aircraft to land and open their bays, unleashing their human consignments en masse. Waiting soldiers ushered the torrents of men and women along guided corridors that fed them towards the open doors of the starport. As soon as one airliner or freighter rose up, another would come to take its place in a musical chair-like arrangement of landings and liftoffs.

Yuri killed the last of their momentum as they passed over the outer fence before commencing their descent. "Prepare for landing."

Duncan put both hands on the emergency handle to keep himself anchored while the dropship lowered itself down. Shadows zipped overhead even then, brief flickers of air traffic somewhere above that regularly darkened the light coming into the cockpit.

The fuselage rumbled as the drives gave their last exertion and the landing struts extended out to their full length.

The ground grew closer, revealing where parts of the grass had been pocked with depressions left by the landing gear of others.

Duncan turned to the bay and found the others either facing the door or watching Carter.

The commander had kneeled to Kat's side. He reached one arm behind her back and another below her legs. Then he stood, raising her up with him.

Beside them, Six leaned down and picked up her helmet. At first, he offered it over to Jun.

The sniper shook his head.

"You were the last one with her. It's only right that you should be the one."

"Him too." Emile butted in. "That's two of'em now. World's getting a whole lot smaller, hey commander?"

There was no jest in his voice, but the words betrayed a hardened matter-of-factness, a quiet wrath restrained by a simmering cynicism.

Carter gave no reply, not that one seemed needed or even desired.

Duncan wasn't sure who else Emile was referring to, but as Six held the helmet against his hip, he noticed something. One of the ammo pouches on the Spartan's belt had the beaded chain of a dog tag peeking out of the flap.

He was reasonably sure that Carter still had Kat's. He quickly pieced together that it was another story he would rather not hear the end of.

The touchdown was so smooth that he almost missed it. Once they stopped moving, a series of quick thumps and clicks resonated through the floor. Duncan winced at the yellow radiance that washed into the bay as the door creaked open. More light poured in by the second, and his visor, already accustomed to the dark, readjusted itself accordingly.

The sunlight brightened the lieutenant commander's pale face. A mild breeze wafted in. He caught the moment that it whistled through her hair. It even rustled her eyelashes and, if for a moment, made him think she was about to open her eyes.

Carter was the first to step forward. The others had already moved aside to make room for him. Jun, Emile and Six followed him down the ramp. Some of the platoon stayed behind to help their civilian passengers out of their harnesses while the others walked out after Noble.

Duncan waited for Renni to slip out from the pilot's chair and for Yuri to hop down from the co-pilot's seat before walking out with them.

The sunlight was a much-appreciated change. It was natural, originating from a real star above rather than a glassed crater below. He switched off the auto-filter on his visor and let the illumination sting his eyes. It was a good kind of pain, the kind that reminded him he could still feel.

He blinked away the stars from his vision and took in the scenery.

The first thing he noticed were the crates.

A slew of them lay scattered in all directions. They stood as constants in a location that was constantly shifting. The foot traffic on the ground was worse than what he'd seen from the air. A never-ending back and forth of patrolling soldiers, striding pilots and bewildered looking men, women and children traversed the field, moving along paths that converged and diverged at random. They flowed around heaps of bags and suitcases that grew with each person that chucked their possessions into the piles, doing so at the behest of military police officers that stood watch around the mounds.

He figured it out relatively quickly that they were being made to get rid of any personal items that could take up much needed space on a starship.

The air controller was right, Lochaber was at capacity. Not that he hadn't seen that for himself as they passed the Markoláb, but there was something uniquely unnerving about seeing small pyramids of abandoned luggage simply left out to sit on the field.

The Spartans had stopped on the edge of a gathering of crates left strewn about behind a row of Pelicans. With each passing second, more and more people were slowing down or stopping altogether to stare wide-eyed at the armored titans.

Ahead of them, the distracted crowds were swiftly parting before the crawling approach of a Warthog. It passed between a pair of parked dropships. As it drew closer, its advance revealed the thing attached to it: a wheel bound metal frame that appeared to be some kind of reinforced chassis. Secured on top of it was a cylindrical storage container with octagonal dimensions. Behind it came another Warthog, both vehicles being manned in totality by a team of six military police.

Their leader was behind the wheel of the front Hog. He pulled to a stop beside the group and hopped out onto the grass. Two of his men did the same. They jogged over to the container as their superior walked towards Carter.

The latter stopped in front of the Spartan to salute, eyeing the body in his arms all the while. "Commander, sir, your casualty collection unit, as ordered. General Montague says you can leave her with us for the handoff to naval intelligence."

They all watched as one of the MPs typed into a keypad on the side of the container. Two succinct beeps preceded a wheeze of unlocking mechanisms. A door slid open to expose an inner space comprised of a steel table.

A metal sarcophagus, Duncan thought.

It was more than large enough and looked more than stable enough to hold a Spartan.

Carter stared at the interior of the unit. Then his gaze fell to the pale face resting against his shoulder, as if he were about to ask it a question. He didn't, at least not one Duncan could hear.

At length, the commander turned back to the collection unit and stepped towards it. He leaned forward and carefully placed Kat on the table, securing her arms at her side.

Six came up behind him. Carter gestured for him to do the honors as he let him pass. Six brought up her helmet and laid it gently beside her head.

Jun and Emile had also come up behind them.

For a while, the four of them stood around the table, watching, taking what everyone knew would be their last glimpse of their teammate.

Duncan did the same, as did the platoon. The entire thing reminded him far too much of the viewing he'd held for his own mother a few days before her funeral.

Jun grabbed her arm and squeezed. "Rest easy, Kat. You've earned it."

"Tell the big man we said hi." Emile said, the cynicism from before suddenly gone, replaced by a tone that bordered on solemnity. "Doubt he'd be happy to know what we've been up to, but I know he'd appreciate the company."

Six said nothing.

Neither did Carter who stared on for a while longer before finally turning away, nodding to the leader of the MPs.

The officer walked over to the keypad on the side of the container and typed in the security code. There were another two beeps followed by a low hiss as the door began to slide back into place. It moved past her legs, then her chest, then her face.

Her helmet, punctured and fractured as it was, was the last thing to disappear behind the wall of steel which clicked into place, sealing shut.

The officer snapped off another salute to Carter and jogged off towards his Warthog. He jumped behind the wheel and the vehicle rumbled into readiness. The other two MPs returned to their posts as well. The lead vehicle started them on their journey back through the crowd, driving at a speed that the second could easily match. Together, the small convoy rolled off with the collection unit. The surrounding masses parted for them once again. They got further and further away until the sea of people closed in their wake, stealing them from sight.

"Commander, I've got eyes on our ride." Jun pointed skyward.

Duncan followed his finger to a point less than 30-meters in the air where a Falcon hovered into view. It was descending towards an open clearing not far from where their own Pelican had landed.

"Alright Noble, let's move." Carter rounded on the platoon, none of whom were far behind. "Troopers, I don't think we can ever pay you back for that rescue, but you have my thanks."

"Give'em hell, sir." The Staff knowingly replied. "That's thanks enough."

Carter dipped his head in a show of respect then moved into a steady jog towards the landing zone. Emile and Jun went with him.

Six was the last to head off.

Duncan watched him go, or at least he did until he realized what he was doing, or rather not doing.

It was now or never.

He ran after him.

"Hey, wait up!"

He was almost out of earshot. Their inherent speed made it so that a jog to them was a full-on sprint for him. They had crossed into the clearing when he called again.

"Six!"

The Spartan's stride faltered and ceased. The rest of Noble carried on towards the spot of wind-whipped grass where the Falcon was beginning to land.

As Duncan came to a halt, Six turned part of the way, almost facing him.

He caught his breath with a huff of air. As he met his gaze, the Spartan didn't immediately say anything, something he'd come to expect. He was probably confused.

"I don't think we have that much time, so I'll keep this short for the both of us."

Duncan popped the seal on the back of his helmet and pulled it off. Fixing his helm in the crux of his arm, he savored the feel of the evening air on his face. It was pure, non-radiated mountain air and it made his grin that much wider.

"You saved my family, Spartan. And not just them, but us too. Everyone on that Pelican is here because of what you pulled at that starport. I can't say thanks enough, especially knowing it's you."

Six was quiet for a long while, observant, save for a slight relaxation of his shoulders. "...Drill Instructor Iris?"

Duncan felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him that was more refreshing than the wind.

His smile brightened.

So, he hadn't been forgotten.

Six's posture changed and he turned to regard him fully. "If that's you..."

"We had a pretty hard landing in the jungle that day. I don't think you've forgotten it."

"...I haven't." The Spartan appeared to take the mention in and of itself as confirmation. His stance took on a subtle ease. "...You said I saved someone back in Alexandria?"

"All of us."

"If that's the case then all I did was return the favor."

Duncan understood the sentiment but was no less shocked by its meaning. Six had remembered that day of the accident in detail. To think that he felt he still owed him for it was something that caught him so off guard that he wasn't sure how to respond.

Six looked past him to where the others were. "So then...that's-..."

"Most of us." Duncan replied, feeling his own smile beginning to dim. "Not all."

"...I understand." Six refocused on him. "I didn't think you guys were still kicking around out here, sir. It's good to know, really."

Duncan tried to hide his surprise. Aside from the strait-laced honesty, he wasn't sure how to take being called 'sir' by someone who probably outranked him. He wasn't surprised by the former, however. He was well aware that for ODSTs, Epsilon had lived well beyond the typical life expectancy.

"Not for lack of trying." He replied. "It almost wasn't enough this time."

He stared past the Spartan, observing the commander, Jun and Emile as they boarded the Falcon. It made him think about the fifth member of their team who should have still been there to come aboard with them.

"I know the feeling." Six said.

Duncan's eyes flicked back to him. "...She told us about Beta Company."

Six's demeanor slightly, almost imperceptibly tensed.

Duncan forged on, offering only his honest thoughts. "I'm sorry we weren't there to help you through that."

"...No need to apologize, sir. If you did, I'd have to do the same. We weren't there either...neither of us."

Duncan felt some manner of peace in knowing that. He was already aware of Kat's situation but not Six's. Now he had at least some of the certainty he'd been hoping for.

Then the memory of several young faces disturbed that relief and begged a new question.

"I know I'm not authorized for it. You don't have to tell me a thing, but I'm going to ask anyway." He looked the Spartan straight on. "What about the rest of Team Zeta? Jonah, Roland, Harris, know anything about them?"

Six pondered the question. "Sorry to tell you this, sir, but those are names I haven't heard in years."

It wasn't a definitive answer, but it was still a punch in the gut, a sliver of peace that he didn't have, and now likely never would.

"You know you don't have to keep calling me 'sir', right? I'm pretty sure you're at least an officer. It might've been a few years, but I haven't gotten that far ahead." His back straightened and he became aware that the Spartan's last answer had left him quiet. "So, don't take what I'm about to say next as an order. It's not, but it is a request, two of them if you don't mind."

"I don't, sir." Six replied. "Shoot."

The respectful stubbornness put some more life in Duncan's expression, though it remained tempered by a sobering stare. "Stick around for as long as you can. I mean it. Before this war ends, I get the feeling we're going to need you and the rest of Noble more than we ever did. I don't know what it would take-..." He trailed off, holding back a warmth rising behind his eyes. "But there's only so many of you left. Who knows, you might even be the last one from those days. Make that count for something. You did that at NA, and we're probably going to need you to do it again before this is over, all of us."

Six was silent again, now for a few seconds longer than before. Then he gestured past him. "I don't think we'll be the only ones that'll be needed."

Duncan peered back over his shoulder, finding both Epsilon and Whiskey sitting down or standing around the collection of offloaded crates that had been left near their Pelican. Most if not all of them were watching the two of them.

He turned to Six with an appreciative look.

"And the second thing?"

Duncan fixed his attention on the gold visor and the face behind it that he had never seen. "Take care of yourself."

"...That sounds like the same request."

Duncan slowly shook his head, now with only a ghost of a smile left to him. "It's not."

Six went quiet, remaining so for another long while.

"Cut the convo short, lieutenant." Carter called from his seat on the Falcon. "It's time to go."

"Lieutenant." Duncan seemed to examine the word, letting the information sink in. "Sounds about right."

He slowly raised two fingers to his temple and snapped off a quick salute. "Be seeing you, LT."

"Likewise, trooper." Six turned to leave and stopped himself, back already turned. "Good luck."

Then he was off, running towards the Falcon.

Duncan was glad he had turned his back on him so that he didn't see the moment his smile finally faltered.

"Same to you, Spartan..."

He watched him hop aboard. No sooner did he settle into his seat than the Falcon lifted off with haste, kicking up a small windstorm across the area. A portside rotation turned it from the airfield. Then it accelerated away into the east, taking what remained of Noble Team with it.

:********:

Duncan settled down in his hospital bed. He made himself comfortable for what he guessed was about to be a long night, or two, or three, or however long it took for the doctors to make sure he wasn't about to fall apart at the genetic level.

He set his back against the pillow and laid his head on the wall. He closed his eyes, savoring the first real feel of a soft bed that he'd had in days. He sunk as deep into the fabric as he could manage before the foam stopped him from going any further.

He breathed in and let it out slowly. He was ready to doze off.

Almost, but not quite.

He opened his eyes again and took in the sight of himself. He was dressed in a fresh hospital gown. The doctors had made him swap out his BDU for it in order to get him situated. He wasn't the only one either.

He looked around, examining the relative peacefulness of his surroundings. There was no real sense of urgency in the hospital's radiology center. Over thirty occupied beds were arranged in three long rows around a space that could have housed twice as many. Between each row of beds was a corresponding row of cylindrical metal tubes that looked like portals to nowhere. The MRI machines were in abundance. So were a plethora of bedside monitors and other imaging equipment that created hedges of bleeping, hissing devices around the room.

A general clamor of whispers and mumblings came up from both bedridden patients and the handfuls of doctors and nurses that roved among them.

Being in the middle of his own row, Duncan could turn and see either end. On his far right a team of attending nurses rolled a patient towards one of the MRI machines that had recently become available. He recognized both the one on the bed that was being rolled in as well as the one being rolled out. Zack lay on the first, fully awake and trying to chat up one of the nurses that had caught his eye. Mito was on the second, one eye closed as the other struggled to stay open, fighting back the exhaustion.

Duncan glanced at the bed on his left. Unlike the last time, however, instead of seeing a soldier with a skinless grin on his face, he saw the Staff observing everything around him with a red-eyed intensity. He was fighting sleep more than anyone else, and he had more reason than anyone else in the room to do so.

The platoon had been on base for what was going on four hours now. In the minutes after leaving Airfield November, they had travelled to the nearest military police station to ask a few questions.

But they didn't get any answers.

None of the severely overworked personnel there had any to give.

The platoon then went elsewhere, running through crowded streets from one MP station to the next.

But the result was always the same.

Their questions went unanswered because those they asked knew nothing about them.

Worse yet, no matter where they looked, no matter how many barracks or armories or temporary living quarters that they were allowed to search or barged into of their own accord, they found nothing.

There was no trace of those they were looking for, and it made no sense.

This was where they were supposed to meet them.

They were supposed to have been here for three days already.

But they weren't.

The 7th Shock Troops Battalion, their battalion, was missing in its entirety.

At first there was no small amount of alarm when the realization settled over the whole platoon that something was horribly wrong. There was a pressing need to know what had happened to them. Some like Yuri wondered if they hadn't been caught wholesale in the glassing just like them. Others like Nova pointed out that their evacuation orders should have given them enough time to escape, only to then be reminded of what those who were on the roof of the ROTC had seen that night. Bravo Company's general location had been the epicenter of the opening salvo. Duncan didn't know what Bravo's odds were of having survived that, but no amount of desperate optimism could convince him they were high.

Still, a part of him wanted to believe that there was a chance.

It was slim, but it was there.

It had to be.

Then there was the rest of the battalion.

There was a gap of time between the first salvo and everything else that followed. It was more than enough for them to have gotten away from New Alexandria. So, what had happened? Why weren't hundreds of ODSTs here at Lochaber like they were supposed to be, as Colonel Garrison had ordered?

The platoon's search for the truth finally came to some kind of conclusion when they reached the doors of one of Lochaber's western air traffic control centers. The commanding officer, perhaps fearing that a bunch of haggard looking shock troopers were about to storm his personal quarters, was able to meet them in the lobby.

There he gave them an explanation, a logical framework for the where and why of their battalion's situation.

It was only minutes after the beginning of the bombardment that the 7th's evacuation was completed, sped up understandably by the presence of the first cruiser. They had made it to the air and even out of the city. But that was only the beginning of their problems.

The first battlecruiser on the scene was merely the vanguard of a much larger battlegroup. According to satellite intelligence, at least eight more cruisers were still on their way to level New Alexandria. Most were coming from the south, cutting off any safe escape routes between the city and Lochaber. It was an intentional move. The Covenant had long been aware of the base's importance to Alexandria's survival. Days upon days of evacuation efforts by air had cemented that impression. Reports quickly came in of UNSC transports being blown out of the sky by pulse lasers and pursued across the airways by dogged plasma torpedoes. The cruisers had created a crescent-shaped net around the surrounding region, catching any escaping craft that failed to notice their silhouettes in the clouds above. Many of the last soldiers that were trying to flee, men and women from the 109th and 145 Infantry Divisions and even the 75th Armored Division, wound up not getting very far. While thousands had gotten away by sheer chance or luck of the draw, hundreds more were dead. They lay buried in the burning wreckage of their own exfiltration craft which had been shot down, crashing headlong into mountains, careening into ridges, skidding paths of ruin across dense forests or splashing down into large lakes.

Then like a fleet of fishing trawlers, the cruisers pushed towards the city in a partially enveloping pincer. All the while three of their number sought to close the trap by flying in from the north.

The battalion's transports were forced to act. Their pilots changed course, redirecting towards the northwest and northeast in a bid to escape the encirclement. The haphazard maneuver displaced many of them along the coasts of upper Viery and over the waters of the open ocean. And still they were forced to flee further away as the Covenant battlegroup unleashed a deluge of Seraph fighters to chase after the survivors, a final touch to their acts of mercilessness before they laid waste to New Alexandria.

Beyond that, there was no news.

There were rumors, however, that elements of the battalion had reached different military installations and cities across the continent of Eposz. There was even speculation that some had gone as far afield as the city of Casimir. Whatever the case, one thing was certain.

The whole of the 7th had been scattered throughout Reach.

Like many other units that had escaped New Alexandria, they existed in isolated pockets that were struggling to get in communication with one another, lost within the logistical bedlam that was slowly consuming the planet.

Colonel Taylors' 22nd Battalion was spared that fate. Like Captain Barrett's 5th Platoon, they had withdrawn from the siege quite some time before 7th Battalion. That move alone had saved them. Because of that, they were the only ODST battalion from the siege currently present on Lochaber.

Knowing that their cousins in the 22nd had escaped in their entirety, however, was small comfort to the rest of the platoon.

There was little solace to be had in finding out how their sister battalion had fared better than their own.

The situation, as it turned out, was so chaotic, so disorganized that they couldn't even tell them where Colonel Garrison was. They didn't know, and they couldn't point them to anyone who did either.

As far as anyone could tell, 1st Platoon was on its own.

They were alone.

Now they weren't sure what to do.

The Staff was the one to give them some sense of direction again. He ordered them to head to the closest hospital. Renni's advice to them in the bunker to find medical attention as soon as possible quickly took priority. It was something, and in the void which the platoon had suddenly found itself, something was far better than nothing.

But for how long?

Duncan guessed that to be the latest question on the Staff's mind as he watched him stare out across the room. Whatever was there, it was a heavy, troublesome thing. He didn't dare ask him about it for fear of growing that same hardened expression.

He turned from his squad leader towards the windows that lined the walls behind them.

They were on the ground floor of the hospital which allowed him to take a good look at what was happening outside. The sun had already set and most of the illumination was coming from the base's streetlights. On the other side of the glass, hundreds of civilians crowded a highway that ran adjacent to the building. They were moving in divergent lines that travelled in different directions, individual currents in a free-flowing waterway of humanity. Mothers led sleepy eyed children by the hand. Fathers carried talkative kids on their shoulders, giving them a chance to view the world above the quagmire.

Duncan took special exception to that last one.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd carried Noah on his shoulders.

He was nearly sure that he had done it during their last visit to Falchion Base.

It seemed like ages ago when it had just been the two of them skipping rocks over a lake, chatting about his school crush as they watched a flock of Moa go about their business.

Without thinking, he held up a hand, reeling it just past his head before pretending to fling a rock across the room. He swore he could see it bouncing over the floor, slipping between a pair of conversing doctors on its way to the other side.

"Finally losing it are we?"

Duncan came out of the daydream and peered over to his right.

There, in the bed next to his, Hector was sitting back against his pillow. He was taking a bite out of a chocolate bar. Its half-unraveled wrapping made it look like it was wearing a dress. All the while, he observed him with a narrow-eyed suspicion as he chewed away at another mouthful.

Duncan glanced at him, then at the chocolate, then back at him. "What's that?"

Hector kept chewing. "What do you think?"

"Where'd you get it?"

"It's got nuts too."

"I said where'd you get it."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Actually, I would."

Hector swallowed. "Unlike him, I actually know how to talk to people."

He pointed the bar over at Zack who was still trying to chat with one of the female nurses even as he was being fed into the MRI machine.

Hector offered it over.

Duncan took it, broke off a piece and handed it back, flashing him a smirk. "I'm sure your ex would be proud."

"You know what, I change my mind. I want that back."

Duncan bit off a smaller piece, enjoying once again the rich flavor of chocolate and almonds on his tongue, only this time without the added bonus of waiting to be shot at. "Too late."

"What if I told you I licked that before I gave it to you?"

He looked over what he had left and shrugged. "It's just extra flavor."

"You're gross."

"I'm not gross." Duncan slipped the last piece into his mouth and chewed into it. "I'm desperate, there's a difference."

"If you say so..." Hector trailed off as he took another look at what remained of his chocolate bar, almost seeming to search for some imperfection that Duncan hadn't noticed. "You know, that ex..."

"What about her?"

"She was a nurse too." Hector's face slowly soured. At length, he shoved the last of the chocolate over at Duncan. "Take it, I don't want it anymore."

"You sure about that?"

"Just take it."

"Alright," Duncan reached out for it.

"Excuse me, Mr. Iris?"

He stopped and turned to the new voice.

It was one of the nurses, the same one that Zack had tried to hold a conversation with. "We're ready for you."

Duncan looked at the bar again. "Save that for me, will you?"

Hector grunted and pocketed it, earning a grateful smile from the nurse as she and two others grabbed ahold of his bed and started wheeling him out towards the nearest MRI machine.

"I guess before we do this, I should probably tell you guys I've got a neural implant."

The lead nurse shot him an amused glare. "No worries, ODST, everyone here has one. They're designed to not be affected by the magnets in the machine." She patted him on the arm. "You'll be fine."

"Just making sure. I almost died a couple of times in the last few days, and if it's all the same with you guys, I'd really like to finish that chocolate."

"You'll get to." She said as they lined him up alongside the patient table. He got up under his own power and slipped onto the table itself, easing his back onto the cold metal and allowing them to hoist his legs up for him.

"Since you asked, are there any other implants we should be made aware of before we start?" The nurse asked. "Anything ocular, otologic, nasal?"

He shook his head. "No ma'am, just the coin the Corps slotted in the back of my skull. I'm clean otherwise."

"Then you're good to go."

Duncan kept his arms at his side and brought his legs together. There was a low hum that signaled the beginning of the examination. The nurses turned to the screens on the outside of the machine as the patient table started to slide through the tubular chamber.

It had been a long day and an even longer week.

He really wanted that chocolate bar.

It was the only thing he had left to look forward to with any concrete sense that it would still be there once he was done.

He thought about what the results of the scan might be and decided to hope for the best. He needed them to be clean, if not for his sake, then for Erica and Noah's, for the platoon's.

It made him realize with some small amount of shock that it had been a long time since he'd truly hoped for anything.

Debitum - Debt