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.

164. Battle of Reach - Chapter 37 (Furtim)

Chapter 37 – Furtim

August 20th, 2552 - (01:58 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, New Alexandria

NA Starport

:********:

It didn't feel like morning. The frosty touch of the pre-dawn air had combined with a lack of any stars in the sky. What was created was a blanket of darkness that covered the world outside the starport from end to end.

But that was to be expected.

It didn't feel like night either. Within the sea of blackness were small islands of light that formed archipelagos on the ground and constellations in the skyline. Many of them were constant, although some flickered in and out in various places, thundering in others or strobing through the air in bursts of yellow and blue.

But that was also to be expected.

Above everything, the distant figures of the four corvettes shone with a subtle, purple glow. They were partly obscured by the urban forest of the city. They dominated the skies to the southwest, spread out from one another by a few kilometers each. The distance, though considerable, wasn't so much so as to create a problem for the teams.

The area just outside of the starport's Gate A was also left in darkness, something done on purpose. Over a dozen automated doors that made up the front entrance remained shut. An equal number of sandbagged machinegun nests lay beyond them, spaced out among the leaning support pillars of the front veranda. Their gunners and support crews observed the hills that stretched to the west of the building, triple-barreled guns shifting cautiously over UNSC positions.

Back behind the doors of Gate A, nearly a full company of ODSTs sat in the dark of the interior. The eight teams, platoons in their own right, had assembled in their entirety. Some were taking a knee, others standing at the ready, and others still leaning against the walls. They were gathered together in their assigned groups. All remained patiently prepared for their team leaders who themselves stood closest to the entrance.

The four Spartans had gotten here earlier than everyone else, each standing ready at a different set of doors. On that note, Duncan wasn't sure if they had even gotten any sleep. Perhaps they didn't need it as much as the rest of them.

It was quiet.

No one had said a word or even moved for the past five minutes.

They had become a collection of black armored sculptures, aisles of shadowy effigies that blended seamlessly with the dark, pulled into flickering existence only briefly by the light of distant explosions.

Save for the accustomed sounds of fighting somewhere far off, the silence was complete, so much so that Duncan feared what would happen if he broke it. He didn't cough. He didn't sneeze. His full attention was given to breathing and waiting.

Every now and again he checked in on the mission timer in the upper right corner of his HUD. His most recent glance spotted the countdown at '0:43'. Another 40 seconds and they would be on their way.

Without moving his head, he peeked out his visor at the others. From where he was crouched near the head of their lineup, most of them were out of view. The position slated for him in the two-man-wide stack had put most of the platoon at his back. Nova was on his left, the Staff and Sergeant Dalton at the fore. Unlike him, they were standing as well. They were equally statuesque, weapons held against breastplates or thigh bracers, ready to snap into place at a moment's notice.

They had been here for almost an hour, the Spartans probably even longer. It was one of those times that he was reminded of Dalton's early morning reveilles back at Ravenport. Once upon a time, the old Head DI loved to kick his class out of bed whole hours ahead of their morning assemblies. They were gifted the chance to gather outside in the cold winds that the mountains of Cumbria's Southern Fells were so good at channeling, turning them into icy gales that blew recruits this way and that. It was always a struggle to stay in formation. That all while under the observant eyes of instructors who hunted around them like wolves among sheep, ready to punish anyone who fell out of line.

He used to hate those days.

Now he missed them.

Where the names and faces had changed, however, the basic principle remained the same.

Hurry up and wait, he thought.

He had woken up ahead of the time that they were meant to join with Noble. Without making a sound, he'd pulled himself out of the thermal blanket and laid Erica's head on the seat. He watched her and Noah sleep for a moment, questioning if he really needed to leave, if it was really okay to go without saying a word. He suspected she wouldn't like it. However, he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye. Something about it felt wrong, painful even. He took one last look at them before heading off, leaving them as they were.

"I'll be back."

He'd promised them that, not that they were awake to hear it.

All the same, he would deliver.

At present, he had decided to settle on his haunches rather than staying upright. One reason was to conserve his energy, though at the very real risk of the pins and needles that now stabbed at his calves. The other was to get a better look outside. He had long since switched on his helmet's VISR mode, pulling out the obscure hills ahead into a yellow luminosity.

The mounds of green grass and rocky crags had a few clusters of scattered oaks and maple trees but were mostly sparse otherwise. Here and there among the clearings and at the base of the crags were small UNSC positions. Defense barriers, ammo crates, sandbags and foxholes had been forged into minor observation posts that dotted the hillsides. Rather than being diffused, they were concentrated close to one another at strategic locations. They maintained watch within the clearings of the hilltops or along the ravines that led through the crags. His VISR highlighted the scores of Army personnel that manned them. Usually, he could only see their heads or the tops of the machineguns and rocket launchers that they maneuvered about, almost all pointing skyward. So many of them together made the whole hillside seem like it was under occupation by a colony of armed gophers.

He could see the path that they were most likely to take. He traced it upwards from the base of a hill. The path snaked along its southern face like a serpent before fading out of view near the summit of the mound. It ultimately reappeared over the stretches of open ground, stopping at the raised foundations of the nearest city block. The foundations themselves were merged seamlessly together, creating a manmade plateau so large that it almost seemed natural. The plateau ran in front of the starport like a giant, contiguous wall, one that stretched from north to south. Even that was also watched by patrolling squads of soldiers. With no immediate threat in the vicinity, they were free to keep an eye on both the upper part of the city and the open grasslands below.

The quiet, however, was deceiving. It could be shattered in a moment. All it took was the scream of incoming impulse drives to send everyone scrambling.

Until then, their window of opportunity remained open.

Duncan returned to his timer just as it reached the last ten seconds.

His racing heartbeat helped to finish the countdown.

At '0',Commander Carter looked over his shoulder at them.

He raised his DMR, pointed two fingers forward and pushed ahead, causing the auto-sensors of the nearest door to open the way for him.

The silence was over in a blink, replaced by the muted clatter of boots dashing from ceramic tiles to concrete pavement.

The Spartans were out first. The teams rushed after them, maintaining their two-man wide formations even while on the move, searching overhead for the first sign of trouble.

They passed the machinegun nests. They crossed through aisles of frozen cars, passed under the illumination of streetlights before being quickly resubmerged in the darkness on the other side. The ground beneath their feet changed into gravel roads that networked into the hills.

The incline picked up swiftly, as did their speed. The Spartans were setting the pace, not too fast but fast enough to keep everyone on their toes.

For 1st Platoon, Kat was leading the charge. Her entourage of ODSTs managed to stay on her heels. Next to the 1st were their friends from the 22nd's Delta Company, 5th Platoon. They had quickly integrated into a formation of two swift moving columns, jogging alongside each other as they went after their blue armored leader.

To their right, a matching force led by Warrant Officer Jun, Noble's sniper, was pushing slightly ahead on a more even trail. Closest to their left were the teams under Commander Carter. They were spearheading the advance, sticking close behind Noble's leader as they trafficked down a ravine that passed through the largest hills. On the far-left flank were the teams operating under Warrant Officer Emile who were just about to crest the face of their first obstacle.

At Army positions all along their route, soldiers briefly broke from their vigil to watch them pass. They peeked out from impromptu redoubts, foxholes and hastily dug trenches. Most were watchful of the Spartans, stealing curious and sometimes even jealous glances at the ODSTs. For all their intrigue, however, none of them dared speak or make even the smallest noise.

He spotted the top of their hill coming quickly into view. The incline was doing a number on his heels. By contrast, Kat didn't seem affected at all. If anything, he was sure that she and the rest of Noble were slowing themselves down on purpose so as not to leave everyone else behind.

She was a Spartan. Higher speed and endurance were a given. Nevertheless, it still made him feel like an old man being led by the hand by someone younger. He thought about asking everyone else if they were feeling the same. For the sake of tunnel-visioning on the mission, he didn't.

They reached the top of the hill where a small outpost had been established. Earthen walls surrounded a pseudo artillery battery of six Warthogs, three forming a semicircle on either side of the trail. The assemblage of turrets, Gauss cannons and M79 rocket systems would be a solid deterrent to anything coming at them from above or below. A few meters further on, two scorpion tanks also sat stationary on either side of the trail. Their smooth bore cannons stared straight ahead into the west. Their silent treads and unmoving frames appeared more like the walls of a mechanized gateway.

The city itself came into fuller view just beyond. The hills sloped down and leveled out for a while before rising again, stopping at the base of renewed civilization. The same architectural plateau he'd seen from afar almost completely encompassed the area. Long lines of cobalt blue windows peered out from the structure. Above it, the urban treeline of New Alexandria's skyscrapers began anew, standing atop the plateau like flowers in a concrete garden. There was a small gap in the northwest between where the massive barrier ended and another began. The artificial pass that lay in between was being guarded by a cluster of orange maples and several vigilant tanks.

They wouldn't be using it, however.

Passing over the top of the hill, the group became aware of the service crew within the small support battery. Squads of soldiers turned from cannons, turrets and binoculars to watch them go by. At the sight of them, a few even redoubled their efforts to check the skies above. Being on the move would make them good targets for anything paying close enough attention.

They went through the small gateway between the two tanks. As they did, Duncan saw the faint tails of smoke rising from the rightmost Scorpion, wafting from scorch marks where plasma fire had blackened the armor. Remembering everything that had happened over the past few days, he moved a bit faster, only slowing once he had cleared the possible blast radius. Much to his gratitude, the storage magazine didn't go off. He hoped it stayed that way for the sake of those inside.

The position was just one of over half a dozen small, mobile batteries that crowned the hills or that had been dug into their sides. Each one was keeping a steady eye on every direction, ready to provide anti-aircraft or anti-personnel fire. However, the lion's share of their attention went towards the west, towards the corvettes.

Kat took them back down the hill's gentle descent and into the more level area. They came across more trenches, more foxholes and more ogling troopers. They cleared a number of defensive layers before they began jogging up the next ascent.

In short order, the UNSC positions petered out and they fell under the shadow of the plateau. Duncan finally saw the way up. Staircases, escalators and even elevators had been built into the slanting face of the rise. He had no doubts about which of those were still viable options.

Carter's team was the first to begin climbing the plateau, using the closest stairs no less. The others were gaining on their own sides. It was another endurance test, twelve-floor's worth of stairs to be surmounted. No one batted an eye or muttered a word.

Kat went on at the head of their climb. It was a grueling task given the weight of their new equipment. Even so, they made every effort to keep up. Across from them, the other teams hauled after the Spartans with a will, a task that became progressively more difficult with each new floor.

Duncan felt his heart beating into his throat. The temptation to stop for a breath on the landings grew to a fever pitch. He barely even noticed when they'd reached the top. Still on the move, he took a look around.

If what he had seen before was the treeline of the city's western half, what he found himself in now was the undergrowth.

The host of buildings both large and small created a dense neighborhood below. Between the beginnings of New Alexandria's west side and the railings of the plateau was a marble promenade. Though divided down its middle by a long highway, the promenade followed perfectly along the zigzagging boundaries of the plateau before running out of sight to the north and south. Decorative patterns and interpretative shapes had been carved and painted into the marble, capturing visages of large Spadehorns, winged Moa and even the ferocious Gúta. Almost none of it could be seen, however, beneath the UNSC presence that had come to occupy the area.

Miniature mangroves of field tents, supply crates and med-stations stretched out along its length from one end to the next. Small convoys of Warthogs zipped down the highway, ferrying platoons of troopers to new positions. Groups of Scorpion tanks rolled by in their own haste, headed to where they were needed most. Soldiers without transport moved on foot, jogging here and there in formations similar to that of the new arrivals.

They had reached the rear echelon, Duncan realized.

Kat had brought them to a spot where the promenade's highway joined with a westbound road. Out the corner of his eye, he saw passersby stopping or slowing down, regardless of whether they had been carrying munitions or occupied stretchers. None seemed to miss their chance to get an eyeful of the Spartan. The same went for the small convoys that hit the brakes to let them cross the highway.

Further away on either side, he saw the other strike teams pushing down different roads. One by one they disappeared into the depths of the city, their Spartan leaders showing no sign of tiring.

Maintaining his discipline from earlier, he wished them all a silent farewell before his own group did the same.

:********:

They spent the next 10 minutes navigating along the intricate spiderweb of asphalt that was New Alexandria's streets. All around them was an inconsistent snowfall of refuse. Papers, plastics and other debris were strewn across the ground from trash cans that had either been knocked over or blown apart. The trash itself was often picked up to glide or sail on the occasional burst of wind. Airborne garbage passed under the illumination of streetlights like dancing specters before scattering about, sometimes settling into small piles on the sidewalks or plastering against darkened windows.

Infrastructural debris was another problem. Pieces of building had fallen from on high. Scorched and broken, gravity had turned them into mortar shells that had smashed into the ground below with explosive force. Shallow craters of pulverized asphalt and cement were left in the streets, causing some sections to resemble a well-trodden minefield.

Other obstructions lay in their path. Lanes of vacant cars, fallen street signs and broken lampposts appeared sporadically, forcing them to weave through, cross over or duck under them. Decorative ferns had exploded from their garden plots to cake parts of their path in soil and greenery. Transplanted pine trees had fallen from where they once stood on critical junctions, creating wooden barricades that turned whole intersections into three ways.

More than once, they had to divert and reroute. More than once, they came across new scenes of carnage, of battles from the first day that had long since concluded. The end result was left strewn over the sidewalk or lying face down against the dashboard of burnt-out cars. Covenant dead were in abundance. Scores of Grunts and Jackals from the first wave were dispersed across the streetways. So were the Army personnel that they had encountered. The same applied threefold for those civilians who were caught in the middle. Everything culminated together into an art gallery of death. Each street was a mosaic of vibrant blues and concentrated reds that could put the likes of Van Gogh to shame. Even that was merely the background to an disturbing collage of torn shirts, burnt BDUs and pierced armor.

It eerily reminded Duncan of something he'd seen before. The scenes resembled millennia old paintings from humanity's classical era. Depictions of a smoking hell became real, of smoldering fires, of expressive poses of those frozen in snapshots of their last moments, reaching for a salvation or relief that they would never grasp. Mouths and mandibles were hinged open in silent screams. He could sometimes feel their eyes following him, eyes so wide that they could very well belong to some abominable species of fish. There was no shortage of blood and gore, of horrific injuries and grievous wounds so plenteous that it bordered on heinous. In perfect Dantean fashion, it only got worse the further on they went.

So too did the smell.

For all the madness that had befallen this part of the city, intact light sources were their main concern. The same applied for the indicator lights that ran along the roadways, marking them out from the pitch blackness. Light sources posed a high risk of exposing them to anything more untoward. Anything could pose an operational hazard, from the eye-piercing graphics of multi-colored signs, advertisements and billboards to flickering streetlights and public access terminals. The static-filled screens of ATMs, communication portals and even emergency aid stations presented a danger. Buildings belonging to more critical institutions such as banks, clinics, schools and private offices were especially problematic. Their internal generators kept their lights on, turning them into glowing islands within a sea of gloom.

The teams stuck to the shadows. More often than not, they were passing under the shade of quiet verandas that belonged to smaller establishments. Bars, restaurants, clubs and apartment complexes were often their best bet. Their reliance on the city's overall power grid had turned to the mission's advantage.

Looking up at the towering silhouettes of skyscrapers, Duncan felt like a bug slinking and skittering around the trunk of a giant tree, one of many in a jungle of urban development. He couldn't always tell where he was. Not even checking in on his TACMAP helped. He seldom ever came to this side of Alexandria. Everything he witnessed was new to him and yet somewhat old at the same time. Parts of the city he had never seen before were mixed with a level of destruction that was all but ubiquitous to the war.

Not all was dead and silent, however.

To the gratitude of the teams, they regularly came across fixed UNSC positions. They were like rest stops along a forest trail, spaced out every few hundred meters from one to the next. Entire companies of the 109th Infantry Division had turned the headquarters of starship insurance corporations, theatrical venues and municipal department buildings into full blown forts. Balconies were the haunt of Army sniper teams from which spotters and marksmen observed their progress. The elevated, outdoor seating areas of five-star dining establishments hosted crews of machineguns, their barrels peering over glass railings to monitor every approach. Support teams equipped with rocket and grenade launchers were never far away, hunkering down behind whatever cover was available. They looked ready to pop up at any second to conduct both crowd and air control on an advancing enemy.

None of them fired on the teams, however. They were well aware of them and had even been expecting their passage.

They often crossed into the openings between buildings only to find themselves already in the line of sight of personnel waiting on the other side. Duncan thought it comforting to say the least. Not only was it a welcomed reprieve from the monotony of death, it also reassured them that an area was secure. The evidence itself was as clear as day even if the day itself hadn't started yet. Dozens of dead Covenant were always nearby. Their corpses were left scattered in long trails by the 109th's multi-pronged advance or in concentrated patches around recaptured positions.

Almost no one spoke to the teams as they passed. An acknowledging nod or wave was all they would get. That was for the best. No one wanted to draw too much attention to them. Others acknowledged the risk of their presence by retraining their weapons on the streets, on the skyline or on neighboring rooftops.

Soon they came to a stretch of buildings where there was no UNSC presence at all. There were no functioning streetlights either. However, a few burning cars here and there ensured that they wouldn't have the darkness completely to themselves. The flames wafted and wavered in the whispering wind, casting a ballerina show of dancing shadows against their surroundings. Nevertheless, they were able to walk down the street in undisturbed silence.

Duncan took the briefest moment to look up. A particularly wide skyscraper shaped like a shark's fin lay up ahead to their left, keeping him from getting an eyeful of the corvettes.

Then a rumbling caught his ear. He quickly ruled out the low roar of the burning vehicles. It wasn't coming from below but from above.

He realized then why he couldn't see any stars. The skies over the city were completely overcast. A pall of grayish purple clouds hung over it, blocking out anything and everything above the troposphere. The world over their heads was rumbling with the sounds of a distant thunder that, for once, was actually thunder.

It was going to rain.

The earthy smell drifting into his helmet filters proved as much.

No one said it.

No one needed to for him to know that it was at the forefront of their thoughts.

He was happy about it. The city could use some rain. Moreover, depending on how heavy it was, they might even be fortunate enough to have a whiteout. It might leave them a little damp, but the tradeoff would be worth it. It could serve to handicap any Covenant forces on the prowl and perhaps even blind the long-range sensors of the corvettes. The weather seemed promising on that front.

They had gone nearly a full kilometer west when the halfway point came into view.

The frontlines weren't what Duncan had been expecting. As the street they were on came to an end, it widened out into a westbound boulevard. An elevated expressway passed over it. It ran from north to south so that its support columns crossed the mouth of the boulevard like a colonnade. Beneath the shadow of the expressway lay a solid wall of vehicles. Over a dozen civilian transports, long flatbeds and girthy buses had been assembled into a makeshift barricade. Multiple Warthogs and Mongooses were placed in key parts of the roadblock. Their positioning afforded those manning their turrets or hefting rocket launchers an advantageous field of fire on whatever lay beyond. The whole thing reminded Duncan of parapets on the walls of a besieged castle.

Multiple fires blazed bright on the other side, sporting tails of smoke that trailed above the expressway. The glow of the furnace ahead illuminated the wall's defenders and cast long shadows behind them.

As the teams closed in, the situation became clearer.

Several platoons of the 109th's 1st Battalion, Charlie Company had been saddled with this sector of the front.

Their defenses stretched under the full 100-meter curve of the expressway, at least the section of it that could be seen. Aside from the turrets of parked Hogs, a trio of tanks were also spaced out within the roadblock. One was stationed at the center and two at the ends to create an encompassing killzone. Their cannons regularly twitched from point to point, waiting for any target to present itself.

Those not on the big guns were divided into four camps. The first were those who took up positions of their own along the wall. Rifles in hand, they kept watch over the front hoods, back trunks and even beneath the undercarriages of the cars they used. Windows were rolled down or shattered so that guns could peek through.

The second group roved about in cautious patrols that monitored the rear. Packed in between them were the third and fourth group, the wounded and those who looked after them. A dozen injured troopers were laid out on stretchers along the sidewalk. Medics moved about amidst pained groans and sighs, making good use of the tools of their trade. Low sobs rose to hisses as they applied their skills to tending to their comrades-turned-patients.

Some of those same medics heard the footsteps of the incoming teams. They looked up just in time to witness their arrival, the light of the fires peeling each of them from the shadows.

A few of the other personnel turned around to see them as well or snuck glimpses of them as the group slowed to a halt.

One of those on guard stepped away to approach them. Duncan gave him a once over and sighted the rank insignia on his shoulder.

The baby-faced lieutenant came to greet them. His face proved deceptive compared to the red, blue and black stains that had nearly repainted his armor. He stopped to salute the lieutenant commander.

Right then, Kat spoke the first words that he had heard since the mission began. "How's the situation here, lieutenant?"

The officer stood at attention. "Stable, for now at least. We've got eyes watching our position from further west." He jabbed a thumb behind him. "Recommend you take a left down Bartók then foot it down the M0 for as far as you can take it. My forward observers tell me that way hasn't seen any action yet. After that, well..."

"Don't worry." Kat replied. "We already have that part figured out."

"Think you'll need anything else ma'am?"

"No worries, we're good to go."

He nodded. "Good luck, Spartan." He moved to leave but stopped mid-step, hesitant. "One more thing, ma'am. If you run into my 1st Platoon, can you point them back this way? We lost touch with them yesterday evening. They went out to recover some civilians that got left behind. We stopped hearing from them after that."

Duncan already didn't like the sound of that. For an entire platoon to go missing for so long, and beyond the point of friendly support? If they did find them, it would only be what was left of them.

The lieutenant commander had to have known that as well.

She still nodded. "We'll do what we can, lieutenant."

"Thank you."

It was an open-ended promise, Duncan thought. One that simultaneously promised nothing. A smart move.

The lieutenant waved a hand and a Hog that had been stationary reversed out of the way. The move opened up a path to the rest of the intersection that divided their street from the boulevard.

Kat didn't say a word. Her actions were the order. She got back to jogging and the teams followed.

They turned left and started south down Bartók Street. Doing so brought the corvettes back into view. They were much closer and larger now, uncomfortably so. The closest loomed in the southwest. It wasn't their target. The team being led by Noble's sniper was heading for that one. Theirs would be the second. It was further to the southwest within the enemy's staggered formation. Though the travelling distance for the teams was estimated at an average of 2-kilometers, the reality on the ground made it so that each corvette was progressively further away. Duncan gauged that their target lay off at roughly half a kilometer more than the briefing had suggested.

Going down Bartók, they were able to get a good look at the scene beyond Charlie Company's area of operations. On the other side of the expressway lay a picturesque massacre. It was the best kind, reason being that there were only Covenant casualties to be seen. Several dozen meters further down the boulevard were five Wraith tanks, each occupying a different lane. Some had gotten closer than others. Broken stabilizer fins, burning plasma mortars and gouged out chassis showed how each had met their end. Two broken Revenants sat ahead of them. They had gotten even closer. That didn't spare them from the high-powered wrath of the Scorpions that had ripped one apart and left a pair of cannonball sized wounds in the other. A diverse arrangement of some 100 Covenant corpses were also scattered about the ground. A few were so horribly mangled by rockets and tank shells that it was almost impossible to tell where one body ended and another began.

Duncan noticed Brutes and Elites among the dead. He remembered the last time he'd seen something like it on the way to Császári. He was sure this time, however, that they were indeed dead and by the UNSC's hands no less. He was also sure that the two species didn't mix unless they were coming to blows. That much let him know that Charlie Company had been holding out here for some time, having beaten back at least two different assaults. With the casualties they had sustained in exchange, it left him feeling a bit more confident about the rest of the frontlines.

The teams, or rather Kat, had more than earned a few interested looks from the soldiers manning the roadblock by the time they reached the southern end of Bartók. It terminated at the beginning of the M0, one of the city's largest highways.

They rounded the curb and entered onto two of the half a dozen lanes that made up the highway. Passing a small checkpoint provided by a single squad of troopers and a solitary tank, they left the frontlines behind. From then on, they were in enemy territory.

Like the expressway that passed overhead, the M0's dual carriageway went on at a curve, moving with a gentle arc towards the southwest of the city. Much like every other road they had come across so far, the arterial route was clogged by a heart attack of paralyzed traffic.

The teams split apart with either one taking a side of the highway. They kept their weapons trained on the path ahead, on the rooftops above and the potential threats that could come from behind. Kat stayed with 1st Platoon as their point man, careful to sweep each nook and cranny for anything out of place.

They moved up the curve of the M0 for another 100-meters before sighting yet another obstacle. The highway had been carved in half by a raging inferno. The wall of blue fire writhed and wriggled in the wind but refused to die out. The ashened, skeletal remains of several vans and sedans served as metallic kindling, although the conflagration might have persisted regardless.

It was the active aftermath of a plasma charge, one that Duncan guessed had been dropped on the northern edges of the city during the Covenant's initial bombing run. Three days later and the azure napalm was just as strong as it had been when it first erupted, if not more so. Through the vacillating flames, he could just make out several handfuls of silhouettes lying down within the blaze. The smell of burnt bodies hung thick in the air. He wasn't horrified so much as confused as to how the superheated munition had left anything at all.

Still a short distance from the firestorm, Kat held up a fist that halted both teams. "There's an exit on our right. We'll take that frontage road west until we find another accessway."

She planted the Nav point.

Again, the collective reply was one of action. Kat sprinted across the dual carriageway, vaulting over the railed median and moving back towards Team 2. 1st Platoon was on her heels, bathing in the unstable light of the plasma charge as they crossed in front of it.

Team 2 was the closest to the exit and was the first off the highway. The others caught up with them, leaving for a frontage road that ran at an acute angle from the M0. They passed back into the city and followed it westward.

In little time, they came to a new street that proved just as ghostly as any other. UNSC issue heavy barriers stood at defensible points along the sidewalks, on vacant corners and empty intersections. There were no dead servicemen behind them, their users having long since evacuated. The wrecks of two burnt Warthogs as well as three eviscerated Ghosts lay where they'd been slain. The fiery deaths of the former had left scorch marks around their ashened remains. If Duncan had to guess, whatever force was here before had been flanked by enemy armor. The way the Hogs seemed torn to pieces rather than worn down was evidence enough of a Wraith or two.

Almost as soon as he'd thought it, he heard something that sent a chill up his spine, the humming whir of propulsion drives.

Multiple.

By the time he'd noticed it, however, Kat's fist was already up.

The teams paused to crouch low in the shadows of the streetside, weapons aimed in every possible direction. They remained so utterly quiet that the only sound that could still be heard was the one that had caught their attention.

It took a second longer for it to sink in that it was coming from up ahead.

The street they were on continued for a short distance before arching over a lower part of the city and continuing on to the other side. Duncan made out an underpass running just beneath it. Bright blue lights lit up its interior. The source of it was just out of sight, moving slowly northward.

Kat raised two fingers and pointed forward. The teams started off again, this time at a cautious trot.

They marked the ruin of a decapitated Banshee that had crashed in the middle of the street as their halfway point. Passing it, they closed in on their destination, going slower as they did so. They stopped short of slipping out into the open.

Just ahead of them was a walkway that ridged the underpass on either side. Being so close, the whir of propulsion drives were loud and clear now. There were several, distinguishable from each other by their varying volumes and velocities. That meant multiple vehicles, a convoy.

Kat took the risk for them and stepped out into the open first, her silenced assault rifle shifting left and right. She scanned down the length of the walkway in a moment. Another two fingered gesture assured them they were in the clear. The teams moved forward, filing down both sides of the path before quietly maneuvering towards the railing.

1st Platoon laid claim to the left side. Out of all of them, Duncan had a hard time getting close to it. He had a dead Jackal in his way to blame for that. He could only tell it was a Jackal because of its legs. They were all that was left jutting out from under the boulder-sized chunk of building that had landed on top of it. He made do by slinking around the debris, rubbing shoulders with Renni as he finally got to peek over the railing.

No more than 10 meters below was the street that both led up to and away from the underpass. It curved off in both directions so that it seemed less like the work of civil engineers and more like that of a giant earthworm. The same bright glow he'd seen before was stronger, bathing the anti-UNSC slogans graffitied on the walls with a blue radiance. The source was immediately obvious.

A convoy of four Wraith tanks were slugging along the route, two of them still travelling through the underpass. They were not alone. Three times as many Brutes were escorting them. The loping beasts moved at the same pace as the vehicles they protected, searching everything around them through the optics of spike rifles and grenade launchers. Nothing was too insignificant for their scrutiny, whether it was civilians who had been entombed within their cars or soldiers slumped against battered Warthogs.

The Brutes were evenly spaced out on the flanks of the convoy, granting Duncan a good idea of their numbers. The ranks of the patrol easily marked it out as a full-sized pack. By a process of visual elimination, he singled out their chieftain.

The horn-helmed Brute didn't seem to care that it lacked a long-ranged weapon. It was content to hold its gravity hammer at the ready as it led the advance. Both weapon and armor, Duncan judged, would be more than a match for anyone stupid enough or unlucky enough to be trapped down there with it.

Once again, a coincidence played out before his eyes as he saw the chieftain turn into a man-shaped lightning storm, its shields flaring as shots rang out.

Immediately the other Brutes whirled about, drawing their weapons on anything they could find. Above them, the Grunts manning the plasma cannons turned them about as the Wraiths ground to a stop. But before they could issue a reply, the chieftain let out a howl that stayed their hands.

"Whose shooting?" The Staff hissed, his first words since the mission began.

The teams were already looking amongst themselves for the shooter.

Beside the Staff, Kat shook her head.

"Not us."

The others turned to where she was looking. Duncan looked as well, tracing her line of sight to a spot just ahead of the convoy.

Amidst the aisles of dead traffic, there was a small clearing where the vehicles had been smashed aside. The perpetrator lay at the end of a long skid trail where the asphalt had been crushed and broken. The downed Falcon leaned against the pulverized remains of its starboard wing like an old man on a cane. Its cockpit had come to rest at the center of the street. From behind its cracked window came a renewed round of muzzle flashes that shattered the silence. The bullets sparked uselessly off the chieftain's shields.

Duncan shut his eyes for a moment. It was just an M6.

The shooting stopped again. He could hear the pilot struggling, fumbling around for his next magazine.

The chieftain took its hammer and placed it on its back. Scoping in on its face, Duncan could've sworn that he saw a grin.

The Brute strode forward. Like a hunter closing in on a wounded animal, it moved at a leisurely pace, one that somehow made it even more intimidating.

As it neared the Falcon, bullets started flying again. It didn't even pay attention to the rounds pattering off its shields, not until the aircraft was within reach. The instant that it was, it raised two fists into the air before hammering down on the hull, causing a blowback of shattered glass to erupt from the cockpit. The gunshots ceased as the last shards of the window glittered through the air, exposing the man inside.

The pilot looked dazed, fighting to stay conscious. The chieftain grabbed the top frame of the cockpit. A powerful heave saw it ripped free from the rest of the craft. The Brute cast it aside to let the metal skid across the street like a pebble over water. It wheeled back around for its quarry only to find an unpinned grenade in its face.

In the split second between one action and the next, Duncan realized what the pilot had been trying to do.

A single swipe of the chieftain's arm slapped the grenade out of his hand. The detonation came a heartbeat later, the proximity of the blast flaring its shields. It still wasn't enough to break them. Not even close.

The pilot understood what that meant better than anyone else, the recognition registering on his face as it drained of color. His pistol snapped back up. He fired into it at point blank range, letting out a shout of defiance and desperation.

The chieftain ignored it.

It didn't move for the gun or even try to protect itself, instead reaching into the cockpit. The pilot's scream died as a giant hand grasped his entire head. With the ease of a man lifting a doll, it pulled him from the cockpit and held him up high like a human trophy. The pilot's scream returned, muffled. He kept firing but his shots were now too wild to do him any good.

Then the chieftain began to squeeze.

What was a muffled scream became a stifled shriek as even from above, Duncan heard the cracking of his helmet. The pistol fell from his hand. The chieftain gave a hearty laugh. It squeezed harder, the pilot shrieked louder and his assailant laughed even heartier.

Back near the convoy, some of the other Brutes raised their own weapons as they let out a victorious howl.

Then without ceremony, the leader of their pack tossed him. The man ragdolled through the air before crashing to the street, tumbling and rolling to a stop.

Duncan got a good look at him.

It was clear to him then that the pilot had a broken leg. The right one was bent at an unnerving angle. Around his knee he thought he saw a bit of bone sticking out. Regardless, he watched the man put one trembling hand in front of the next. With a bit of strain, he started dragging himself along the road. He was moving towards the rest of the pack. It didn't seem to bother him as much as the threat that was now walking up behind him. The closer it drew, the more frantic his movements became. It was the moment he fell under its shadow that snapped Duncan back to reality.

"Can't we do something?" He whispered over comms. "Isn't there something we can do? Anything?"

Further down the line, Kat looked at him. Before she could answer, Zack voiced his agreement.

"I'm with Ep-8 on this. We can't just leave him like that."

The Staff turned to her as well. "What're our options?"

Kat looked at them all and slowly shook her head. "If we save him, we compromise everyone else."

"B-, but-" Duncan stammered.

"They'll notice if an entire convoy goes missing. Not to mention that we don't have anything for all those Wraiths."

Down below, the pilot raised his head, exposing the fresh blood streaming down his cheek. It was the hopelessness in his eyes that stung more than anything else.

The chieftain was standing over him again. Against any of Duncan's expectations, it didn't reach for him. Instead, it held something out and let it drop. He saw the pilot's eyes widen as his pistol clattered to the asphalt. Duncan wasn't even sure when the creature had picked it up.

The pilot looked like a cornered animal as he peered back at his attacker. The chieftain made neither move nor sound. It simply stood and watched. The pilot hesitated, glancing between the two for a moment before settling on the weapon. He suddenly sprung to life, dragging himself far enough and fast enough to grab the gun, only to hear the snap of bone as an armored boot came crashing down onto his hand.

Something like a retching noise heralded a piercing scream.

It was quickly drowned out by another round of howls and laughs from the pack.

The chieftain let his prey writhe and wail for a second before lifting its boot. The pilot couldn't move his pulped palm. Still, he tried, grasping it with his good hand to pull it close. He screamed again, emptying his lungs with enough force to split his own cords.

This seemed to earn another laugh from the chieftain. But when the noise outlasted its own mirth, the Brute snarled.

Duncan saw the blow coming. It didn't make it any easier to watch.

The scream was cut short as a fist the size of a bowling ball cannoned into the man's stomach. His whole body stiffened under the impact, his mouth bursting open in a fountain of blood. With eyes squeezed impossibly tight, he cradled himself in his own arms, coughing, wheezing, retching between breaths too ragged to draw air.

Duncan couldn't take it. He looked to Kat.

"There has to be some-"

But she was already looking at him, or rather at something near him. He again followed her line of sight to the chunk of building that sat beside him, and the Jackal buried underneath.

"Ep-1?" She called.

The Staff turned to her although she never broke away from the rubble.

"What would you do...if it was up to you?"

Despite everything he'd seen and heard so far, it was the icy calmness in her voice that set Duncan on edge.

The Staff looked at her but said nothing for a while. "...I'd find a way to do both."

She finally looked him straight on. "And?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Noble-2."

She stared at him for a moment longer before a new wave of screams made her nod. Her voice came back again, this time on a freq that everyone could hear.

"Team 1 and 2, get ready to move. Withdraw south along this walkway on my mark."

A Nav point appeared that directed them to a spot on their left, roughly 40 meters further down the walkway. The ODSTs of 1st Platoon and even their friends across the way tensed at the new order, watching and waiting.

"Ep-8, hand me that needle rifle."

Duncan was utterly clueless until he looked where she was pointing. One of the Jackal's arms had been spared from the crush of the rubble. Its hand still clung to the long, beak-shaped frame of a needle rifle. The handful of crystals inside of it had retained a faint pink glow, sticking out from the gun like whiskers. It was still loaded.

He reached for it. It took some prying, but he eventually wrestled it free from the cold fingers of its owner. He kept his head down while he hustled over to her side, handing her the gun.

She put her assault rifle on her back while she scanned down the length of the weapon. Satisfied, she held up the iron fist of her right hand. Three fingers lifted up. One went down after the other. As the hand became a fist, the teams got moving. They left at intervals of one or two at a time so that their footfalls wouldn't travel. Team 2 pulled out first since they were the furthest away. Then it was Team 1's turn. The platoon trickled off with whisper quiet footsteps, leaving the Spartan behind.

They regrouped with Team 2 at a point where another street arched its way west over the underpass. The platoons remained crouched, checking every shadow of every nearby building for more Covenant.

Duncan meanwhile edged back towards the railing. Further down the way they'd come, he saw the lieutenant commander turning the corner and moving swiftly onto the road they had just left. She was impossibly quiet for someone in that much armor. He watched her settle at a middling position just above the underpass.

Below her, the screams had reached an unbearable pitch. Despite the added distance, it was just as ear piercing as it was when he'd been closer.

The pilot wasn't merely screaming anymore. He was crying, begging with everything he had as the chieftain picked him up by both arms. It held him out in front of it like a toy, laughing with greater and greater amusement. The roars of the others rose to that of a baying mob as their chieftain began to pull.

"NO! STOP! OH GOD, STOP! PLEASE, PLEEAASE!" Even as the words echoed through the streets, they fell on deaf ears. "I'M SORRY! I'M SOR-"

Cohesive thoughts seemed to leave him, his legs kicking uselessly in the air as the chieftain pulled harder. Muffled snapping sounds resonated through the underpass as bones began giving way. But the chieftain still wasn't stopping. By then, the man couldn't get a word out. What came instead was a strangled plea, a thing that was more a whimper than a scream. His eyes rolled into the back of his head from the pain, a sight that made the chieftain bellow with glee as it raised its captive high, ready to finish the deed.

There was a pink flash.

The echo of a single shot reached Duncan's ears.

The cries stopped.

The chieftain realized its mistake all too late as its victim went limp. His head slumped to one side, a third eye smoking in his forehead.

Duncan stood stunned. He hardly registered what had happened when the beast stiffened up. It held the body by one arm, as if inspecting it, checking if he really was dead. Then, with a snort, it unleashed a howl of pure rage. It cast the cadaver aside with such force that it crashed through the windshield of a car.

Up above, the gagging chortle of a Jackal sounded off. It was the only sound the pack would've heard as Kat sprinted off the street with a noiseless stealth. She turned the corner and bolted back down the walkway, casting her needle rifle aside.

Duncan could tell that the Jackal noise was automated only because he knew its source. The Brutes couldn't know that. That was the trick. Though they let out dissatisfied howls of their own, searching here and there for signs of movement, they weren't holding their guns at the ready or posturing themselves for a defense. Neither were the Wraiths or their gunners. Even the chieftain remained where it was, growling and bellowing in a seething rancor, making no move to find the one who'd cheated it of its prize.

They'd taken the bait.

Kat reached the group. She slowed down but didn't stop moving, their signal to follow. The teams reformed into their original stacks and shadowed her on a run down the walkway. No one said a word. This time the silence seemed to speak for itself.

While they went, Duncan noticed the Staff jogging just ahead of him. He was quiet, and yet his silence was one that seemed to match the most with the lieutenant commander's.

It had been a smart move on the Spartan's part to make the pack think an ally had stolen their kill, he thought. It meant they probably wouldn't fret about coming after them. That didn't change the split that suddenly formed in his soul.

He understood why she had asked him for the needle rifle with a guilt-ridden completeness. It was an order he sorely wished he hadn't followed.

But he remembered the look on the man's face, the sound of his bones breaking. He figured that she was waiting for the monster to raise him higher so that she could get a clear shot. All the same, he wished that she had found a better way, that he had found a better way. And even then, he wished that she had shot him sooner.

:********:

With one last rumble, the clouds finally gave in. The rain came down lightly at first. As time went on, it gradually worsened. Worse was good. The harder it got, the less likely their scent was to be picked up by another Brute patrol.

Duncan listened to the downpour as it pattered off his armor. The rapid-fire sound of water dinging off metal was surprisingly relieving, especially whenever the teams stopped to observe their surroundings. He would take those moments of peace to think. The deluge of rain washed old blood stains and ash off his gear as well as any trash that had clung to his boots. He watched small rivers trickle down the sides of the streets that they passed. Soaked bundles of refuse and small pieces of wreckage sailed alongside them, disappearing into small whirlpools that fed into sewer drains. It still wasn't enough to clear away the bodies that lay in the roads or his conscience of what had just happened.

It was for the best.

Somehow that rationalization only made him feel worse.

He was no stranger to fighting his fellow man, however rare it had become as of late. Fighting his fellow serviceman, however, was something else entirely. Sure, Zack had almost dragged the whole platoon into a slug fest earlier but that was different. They hadn't actually opened fire. It had ended up being little more than a pissing contest with the worst possible timing.

And still, he thought of the pilot with no small bit of frustration. What could they have even done differently to begin with?

They didn't know where he'd come from or how he'd wound up crashing in the worst place imaginable. They hadn't even known he was down there until it was too late.

No matter how many times Duncan tried to think it over, he couldn't think of any way that things could have turned out other than they had. No matter how many times he reached that same conclusion, he kept trying. Trying and failing.

He put himself in the pilot's shoes.

If he were in that same position, if he had to choose between biting a bullet and getting his arms ripped off, he couldn't see himself not hoping for option one. That didn't mean he wouldn't prefer it if someone could save his life. But they couldn't save him, not without a cost to everyone else.

Had they sacrificed him for that? Hadn't Kat told them just a few hours ago that her team didn't stick to ONI's modus operandi, of lives for time?

She had, and he suddenly realized that she meant it.

There had to be a difference between sending people to their deaths for a mission and sparing them from something even worse.

In a way, she had saved that pilot.

In a way, it made Duncan hate Brutes even more than he already did. And after everything, after Ballast, after the Csillagos, that in and of itself was an achievement.

By then, they'd left the underpass and were back on a street running just a block north of the M0 Highway. They were still moving southwest, sticking to their mission timer as the first half an hour ticked by.

For reasons lost to Duncan, the area was slowly becoming more familiar. Crimson banners of the '2552 Reach Galactic Cup' rippled around from their mountings on the walls of passing buildings. A few were even pulled away by random gales, joining a collection of those that were already submerged on the pavement. Streetlights flickered overhead as the group passed through the slanting drizzle.

They began picking up speed as the way took on a gradual descent. The rainwater streamed down the sidewalks, sloshing and splashing beneath their boots as gravity accelerated the streams into small rivers.

The water was gradually collecting into an artificial basin, a point ahead of them where their street connected with several others. A concourse lay at the center of it, a spot where the city became more level before two more roads descended away from it, one heading further southwest, the other southeast. The locale sat under the shadow of a large skyscraper with features that Duncan recognized.

'Club Aurora' was emblazoned on the front of the building in red and purple neon lights. Though it wasn't as well-known as Club Errera, it still held its own in the heart of the city's nightlife. More neon lights lined the long strip windows that ran the height of the club and even formed patterns of their own. There were clinking margaritas, overflowing beer mugs and other displays, all engulfed in a radius of pinkish purple light that rippled towards the name in rhythmic pulses.

He remembered the few times he'd taken Erica here whenever they could smuggle in a date night. It was a nice place to be sure, not on the same level as Errera but nothing to scoff at either.

The sound of gunshots and plasma fire brought the group to a crouching halt. They dispersed behind cars and public terminals, peering out from them to scope out the situation.

Across the small commercial square that lay before the doors of Club Aurora was a Covenant patrol. There, four Brutes as well as twice as many Grunts and Jackals had found their own cover. They stood behind or maneuvered around decorative walls, boulders and exhibitions of looping modern art. Sitting in a gap in the middle of the square was a single Wraith tank. Its positioning gave it a commanding view from which to lob one energy mortar after the next. The sapphire comets wailed as they sailed into the club's upper floors, blowing out windows and tossing plumes of dust into the rain. Others landed short, pounding hissing craters into the semi-submerged ground. Spike rifles and plasma pistols filled the air with a spray of green plasma and yellow spikes. Alien ordnance burned and burst against the columns of the veranda on the club's ground floor. From the other side of the supports, muzzle flashes flickered back in reply.

Duncan upped the magnification on his visor. Behind the support columns that trembled under the impact of mortar fire, several soldiers were returning the favor. It was minor in comparison to what was coming at them, but they made up for it by lobbing grenades out into the open. Their frags bounced far enough and detonated hard enough to convince their attackers to fight from a distance, holding fast as their cover was baptized in water and fragmentation. In exchange, the Wraith's turret poured into them with endless streams of plasma bolts that twitched from column to column, trying to catch anyone willing to brave another grenade.

"Noble-2?" The Staff said.

Duncan glanced over at the Spartan. She was the furthest ahead, watching everything unfold from behind an eviscerated van. After several seconds, he saw her posture straighten.

Her calm voice cut through the comms with a satisfying reassurance. "We're taking this one."

With a renewed sense of peace, Duncan immediately set about choosing his targets. Instinct made him search for the weakest link even as she explained further.

"They won't take too much notice if they lose one Wraith, especially if it's against someone they already know to be there. Here's the plan. Teams 1 and 2, take positions on those two elevated walkways. It'll give you a good line of sight on their flanks. I'll handle the Wraith. Hold your fire until it's out of commission."

Two Nav points appeared on Duncan's HUD. He traced them down to the end of their street. There, two staircases rose up from the threshold of the square, leveling out into elevated walkways that ran down the length of a few restaurants. He knew from experience what they could see from up there and couldn't agree more.

The ODSTs collectively tensed up. They leaned out from their cover, ready to move out at her call.

At their head, Kat edged towards the side of the van, taking one last look at their route and the fight beyond. "Let's keep this nice and clean."

With that, she slipped out from the shadow of the vehicle and slinked away into the dark.

The teams mirrored her example and columned down the sides of the street. They melded with the shadows of neighboring buildings, sprinting from shade to shade. It wasn't an easy task. The water made everything slippery. Duncan had to fight to keep his balance. The last thing he wanted was to take a water slide down to the enemy.

With what traction there was, they made their way down towards their objectives. Ahead of them, the blue blur of their leader was barely discernible through the gloom. Even with the friendly highlights of his VISR mode, Duncan could hardly pin her down for more than a fraction of a second. Soon he lost track of her entirely.

Upon reaching the staircases, 1st Platoon went left, 5th Platoon taking the right, both bounding up the stairs with the deftness of human mice. Arriving at the top, both teams fanned out across the two walkways and crouched towards the railings. The overlook they found provided the perfect view of the square below.

The soldiers were still fighting. The Wraith was still battering the building.

There was no sign of Kat. Duncan didn't wait to find her either. Knowing Spartans, he betted on her acting faster than he could react. He started homing in on the targets he'd chosen from afar. His sights ultimately fell on a Jackal that was taking potshots from behind a piece of modern art. The added protection of its own personal shield was a bit overkill in his summation. A Grunt was next to it. It peered over the exhibit's looping knots of smooth bronze which, upon closer inspection, resembled something like a metal amoeba.

He ignored the Brutes altogether, at least for now.

In the first second of a straight fight, Grunts and Jackals tended to have a slightly faster reaction time than their bulky superiors. They were always the most likely to be killed first. Being the most vulnerable also made them the most volatile when it came to those opening shots. To keep it from turning into a straight fight, he would work his way up the food chain. He practiced shifting between them, watching his four-sided reticle flit from red to blue and back to red. Sure that he could catch the opportunity when it came, he stood still and waited. Everyone else waited right alongside him, their weapons trained on targets of their own.

The enemy patrol below them continued its assault. The darkness kept them blind to the many silhouettes that stood vigil over them. Their own shouts and bursts of fire, combined with the unending beat of the rain, kept them deaf. Even if they had heard the strange sound, they wouldn't have recognized it for what it was, the hollow din of water pattering off the metal of over two dozen guns.

When Kat finally reappeared, he didn't realize it was her. Like a shadow in the corner of his eye, the second he spotted her, she was gone. She had sprung from behind a burnt-out vehicle just behind the Wraith. Neither he nor the Brute she passed by was able to process it before she leapt onto the rear of the tank. By the time they had, she was already leaping off, ripping out her metal hand from the exhaust port. The Brute roared as it took aim. She leapt aside, rolling behind a nearby sedan as a burst of spikes thudded into its hood.

An explosion blew out from the front of the Wraith. As it slammed down to the ground, its propulsion gone, a split-second eruption tore out its back, cracking it in half and spewing the gunner into the air.

The upper walkways lit up.

Duncan put a light-fingered burst through the skull of his first target before switching to a heavy hand with the second. He saw the Jackal crumple to the ground even as the Grunt next to it shuddered under his assault. The combined focus of at least two other guns made it shrivel under the weight of so many bullets. It collapsed in a shared pool of blood, doing so almost in tandem with the others of its kind. The square quickly became a shooting gallery. Across the board, the Grunts and Jackals collapsed in death spasms within the first two seconds. Three more seconds and two of the Brutes were stumbling, struggling to see who was shooting them. The thick mixtures of rain and their own blood seeped into their eyes, stopping any kind of cohesive response. They fired wildly and in every direction.

Duncan and a few others flinched as a trio of rocket propelled grenades smashed into the building above. Despite a minor deluge of dust, he rose back up to single out the shooter. He found the Brute firing blindly around the square, keeping its back to the fiery wreck of the Wraith. He unloaded the last half of his magazine into its chest. Nova and Mito arose beside him to join their fire to his. With so few targets left, it wasn't long before the Brute's frame glittered with fully automatic fire. Its body shivered under the bullet storm and finally fell against the side of the tank.

Another Brute crossed around the other side of the wreck. Having cleared the blood from its eyes, it let off a burst of spikes at anything it could see. It didn't get to do much before its eye was blown out the back of its head. It toppled to the ground while its two remaining comrades tried to keep up the fight.

The third was silenced by the cacophonous roar of a grenade that one of the soldiers had hurled behind it. Even as it was sent sprawling through the air, the last survivor bellowed a challenge to all of them. It raised its grenade launcher back towards the club. It got off a single grenade that whistled and smashed against a column, its attention quickly pulled elsewhere by a hail of fire. It started whirling around towards the ODSTs. Right then, Kat rose up from the sedan with her pistol. Two shots caught it in the leg. It fell to a knee but still willed the launcher towards her. A combined wave of automatic fire stopped it short. The barrage of some three dozen guns riddled it from head to toe so that blood spurted out in every direction. It cracked its jaws open for one last howl of pain. The sound turned into a gurgled gasp as Kat silenced it with a round to the throat.

It fell to both knees, teetering on the verge of a fall. From the sidelines, Duncan and everyone else ceased fire as they searched around for signs of another patrol. At the edge of his periphery, he got to watch as the Spartan walked up to the last Brute, calmly reloading her sidearm along the way. She stopped in front of it. After a bit of thought, she planted the barrel of the gun into its forehead. She didn't pull the trigger. Instead, she used it to nudge its head so that the whole corpse crashed onto its back.

"Ep-1?" She called.

Two others down from Duncan, the Staff finished sizing up their surroundings. "Area clear."

"Copy. Team 1, 2, keep a few of your shooters posted on the walkways. Everyone else, on me."

"Roger that." The Staff pointed over to Mackley and Lang. "You two keep watch."

"Can we use the Gauss?" Mackley asked cheekily.

He gave him a sideways look that broke Mackley back down into an awkward silence.

"You can count on me, sir." Lang said.

"On us you mean." Mackley corrected.

Lang shot him a look of his own. "Who's us?"

Across the way, the leader of 5th Platoon, Captain Barrett nodded off to the Staff. The two platoon leaders led the way back down the stairs, each leaving two of their own on the walkways.

They jogged towards the center of the square. Kat was already there, standing out in front of what remained of the Wraith. The soldiers who had been hunkered down at the club now came trotting out from under the shadow of the veranda. There were only five of them.

The soldiers stopped in front of Kat, looking with more and more relief between her and the ODSTs.

One of them stepped forward. Duncan noticed that he moved with a limp. He had features that once upon a time could've been considered Polynesian. But his tanned skin was left blackened by soot and dried blood which the rain had turned into a muddy mask. He stood at attention before the lieutenant commander and the gathering troopers.

"Thanks for the save, Spartan." He said. "Sergeant Kalani, 109th Infantry."

Kat cocked her head. "Would that be 1st Battalion, Charlie Company?"

The sergeant straightened. "That'd be us, ma'am."

She shared a look with the Staff before meeting Kalani's gaze again. "You have a lieutenant who's very worried about you, sergeant. He wanted us to point you back home in case we found you."

Kalani perked up. "The Lt? So then...the line-...it's still..."

She nodded. "It's holding."

The other soldiers looked among themselves with a smidge of hope in their grime-covered faces.

"Glad to hear it." Kalani sighed.

Kat looked around. "Are there any more of you?"

"Yeah, there's-"

A commotion from behind turned everyone's eyes back towards the club. One of its front doors wheeled open. Three more soldiers emerged. Behind them came a shuffling, stumbling collection of over two dozen civilians. Men and women, young and old, they all appeared just as haggard as their guardians. Duncan sensed an undertone of shock and trauma among many of them. The same hopeful glint came into their expressions upon spotting the teams, ogling the tallest of the gathering with keen interest.

"Well, that's about everyone." Kalani said. "My platoon came this way to pick up a few of them that had gotten trapped back here on the first day. Then we ended up getting pinned."

'Platoon'.

Duncan tried not to make a show of it, but eight men did not equate to a platoon.

Still, eight was better than zero.

"Glad you showed up when you did." The sergeant continued. "I don't think we would've held on much longer."

"So, you're getting us out of here, right?" Another soldier asked, almost begging.

There was a note of empathy in her voice as Kat shook her head. "Negative. Me and these troopers here are on another mission. We won't be able to assist you beyond this. At the bare minimum, we can give you the directions you need to get back to your company without running into another one of these." She nodded to a dead Brute nearby.

The hopeful atmosphere died almost immediately. Duncan could see it in their faces. He felt sorry for them. That didn't mean they could step away from the mission.

"Oh." Kalani said, defeat dripping from his tone.

"Or you can stay here." Kat added. "And hold out until the rest of your battalion comes to recapture this sector."

The soldiers and those civilians who could overhear them grew visibly uneasy at the suggestion. More than a few eyes turned towards the smoke billowing from the many blast craters that dotted Club Aurora.

The sergeant gave a nervous laugh. "No thanks. I think I'll walk. You killed these guys here, but they were just the most recent ones to take a crack at us. I don't want to know what else they'll throw our way if they find out what you did."

"That's fair." Kat replied. "I'll give you what you need to get where you're going. Not everywhere between us and the front is occupied. There's plenty of gaps for you to exploit. You'll just need to keep everyone quiet."

The statement drew everyone's attention towards the civilians. It seemed to rekindle a realization in the sergeant which he was swift to pounce on.

"Actually, there's something I need to tell you about that."

"Go ahead."

"Well, not everyone here...was here when we arrived, let's say. Some of them trickled in on back roads from further south..."

Kalani bit his lip, briefly lost in thought. Whatever it was, it was a horrible memory. Duncan could read it on his face.

The sergeant sucked in a deep breath. "They're hunting people here, Spartan. The Brutes, they're...hunting...people. Us."

Kat stared at him, prompting him to clarify.

"Some of these guys have been through a lot. We managed to get a few details out of some of them. Apparently, the Brutes have started capturing people who've been left behind. They're gathering them in these-, well, it's something like camps. From what we can tell, there's more of them in the direction of those corvettes over there. They're catching and releasing people so they can hunt them for sport." He pointed back to his own charge. "About a third of these guys managed to get away from all that. They were just the ones who made it. Some of them, Spartan-, some of them have seen things that-...I..."

The sergeant shut his mouth as his jaw began to shake. He forced out his words in a voice that could barely hide a tremble.

"It's bad, Spartan. It's-…."

Kat looked off at the civilians for a long while, then even longer in the direction of the corvettes, before returning to the sergeant.

"We'll do what we can, soldier. You in the meantime should get back to Charlie. We'll cover your retreat at least this far."

For what it was worth, Kalani's demeanor brightened somewhat.

"I don't know if a thank you is enough for this." He said, his voice raspy.

"Thank us by getting back safely. We've lost enough blood on our part. I'd like to start turning the tables on that streak of ours the first chance we get."

The sergeant nodded gratefully yet bitterly. Duncan had no illusion as to who that last one was for.

As Kalani went about directing his men, as Kat ordered the teams to form a defensive perimeter around the square, Duncan spent the time looking at the civilians. He could still see the trauma there as they shuffled quietly through the rain towards salvation. Some were hollower eyed than others. He guessed that they were the ones who had escaped the Brutes.

He imagined the situation they had encountered with the pilot but on a much larger scale.

He imagined it in the city that his family had been living in for years.

He wasn't sure where it came from. Whether it was from his own conclusions or something higher, the feeling was still the same. He could feel a fire burning in his gut. Grunts, Jackals, Elites, even Hunters, they could all come later. For now, he quietly chomped at the bit to kill as many Brutes as time, circumstance and sheer firepower would allow.

:********:

The corvettes were much closer now. The closest of them in the southwest was slowly coming up on their right. Only half a kilometer lay between them and its shadow.

After parting with Sergeant Kalani's group, they had found their way back towards the M0 Highway. They didn't travel on it, however. Not directly. With the rising risk of running into hostile snipers, they instead stuck to a service road that ran parallel to it. The one-building thick neighborhood of apartment complexes that was sandwiched in between the two paths provided the perfect cover.

The sidewalks had once again become their own personal expressway. The teams moved down both ends of the road, simultaneously watching the rooftops and windows above their fellow team for signs of movement. The neighborhood was lightless and silent for the most part. Even though the smell of death hung in the air, the grizzly scenes that accompanied it were no longer coming as a shock. They moved around the remains of days old firefights like water over rock.

At one point they were slowed to a halt by the presence of a police barricade. The hasty assembly of metal barriers hadn't been used to cordon off a crime scene but to protect those inside. Several NAPD officers had attempted a last stand at an intersection in the middle of the neighborhood. Within an encircling quartet of police sedans, they had made an effort to buy time for those civilians trying to get away. How many had actually escaped, none could tell. What they could see for themselves were the few that lay dead about the area with plasma burns on their backs. Almost all the sedans were reduced to blackened skeletons of twisted metal. The small squad who had taken cover behind them had hardly fared any better.

Reaching the intersection, they stopped on either side of the street to gauge the area.

It was time.

Duncan took the chance to check his gear. Seeing '336' on his HUD's ammo counter gave him some level of reassurance. He hadn't used up too much ammo at the square. He checked the holster on his thigh. The handle of his M6C sidearm poked out from it, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. He didn't use them often, but the infamous Automag with its integrated suppressor made for a harmonious marriage with his M7. Though the former had a longer, sleeker frame than others in the M6 brotherhood, both of them could be whipped out at a moment's notice and operate with a reduced noise profile. That would come more in handy as they approached their objectives.

Finishing his checks, he returned to his vigil of the intersection. At the head of 1st Platoon's stack, the lieutenant commander looked to Team 2 just across from them.

She shared a nod with Captain Barrett. "Try not to get caught, 5-Actual."

"Try not to kill everything before we get there." Barret replied. "Would hate to pull in and our corvette's already gone."

"That'd be the best-case scenario, no?"

"Best-case scenario is us getting a front row seat to that thing getting torn a new one, but we can agree to disagree."

"Agreed. Good luck, captain."

"Same to you, Spartan." Barrett signaled to the others behind him. At his behest, they got up from the sidewalk and crossed into the intersection. A quick turn to the left saw them disappear around the curb, heading towards their own objective in the east.

Now it was just 1st Platoon.

Kat stood up. Looking this way and that, she waved them forward and crossed to the other side. They followed her over the intersection and headed down the rest of the service road.

There were no shouts anymore. The sounds of fighting had all but disappeared save those that echoed up from further away. It was getting too quiet for Duncan's liking. He kept a steady eye on passing rooftops. In front of him, the Staff and Kat maintained a wary lookout on the path ahead, a path which took on a shallow descent the further they went.

Roaring engines shattered the quiet of the predawn as three Seraphs shot overhead, rocketing away in the same direction.

"It's about to get a lot busier around here." Zack groaned.

"Looking forward to it?" Yuri chided.

"Oh yeah. Forward, backward, sideways, all that."

"Keleti Concourse in the next 40 meters." Kat cut in. "Let's take it."

Keleti.

The name was too familiar for Duncan to ignore. He was beginning to remember more and more of the area. He was also starting to remember why he had tried to forget it.

The concourse came up at the end of their street, a point where it merged into a nexus of two highways that bisected one another. One was the M0 which slanted away towards the southwest as it had before. The other was the very origin point of the M1 which would take them further south. Once again, they came to a stop, crouching within the shadow of a fully laden flatbed. It had been caught waiting for the traffic light when the attack came. The driver had probably been one of those persons who thought they could shelter in place. He was still in place, albeit leaning out the driver's side door with a shattered windshield and a missing head.

Kat took a quick look at what lay in front of them. While she did, Duncan tried getting a better view for himself. He accidentally brushed against the dangling hand of the old trucker in the process. He suppressed a slight shiver as he shrugged the cold fingers aside.

The traffic lights on all four sides of Keleti were either out or buzzing with random shocks of electricity. Despite the failing power grid, there was still light in this part of the city and plenty of it. The sources of it were where the troubling part came into play.

Banshees.

Scores of enemy flyers floated about the local airspace like a flock of bioluminescent jellyfish. His VISR allowed him to pick each of them out in red highlights. They moved in small groups of two or three that glided over streets and around buildings. Three of them were much too close for his liking, hovering so near to them that their shadows passed over the concourse. The ghostly hum of their drives, ebbing with each pause and flowing with each thrust, made him feel extremely exposed.

Beyond the Banshees, to their right, just half a kilometer to the west was one of the corvettes. The one they had seen from a distance was now somewhere further off to their right, almost behind them, hidden from sight by the iron foliage of the city.

Their real target was anything but hidden. It loomed in the skies to the southwest like an oceanic predator, waiting for the denizens of the coral labyrinth below to show themselves. Even the world beneath it was awash with a silvery purple radiance that left an unearthly shimmer on the surrounding skyscrapers. A menagerie of smaller illuminations, aircraft, moved between the ship and the location of the landing zone. Fast moving Seraph fighters, nonchalant Phantom dropships and unpredictable Banshee flyers floated and fluttered about as bugs over freshly mown grass.

Duncan returned his rising worries to his most pressing concern: the three Banshees.

The platoon would be completely outmaneuvered in a straight fight. They wouldn't even be able to cross the concourse if they were compromised.

Luck was on their side at least. The trio wavered about for a minute like sharks sniffing the waters for signs of prey. The lights of their wing canards moved like fins in the way they illuminated the car wrecks below. Then, perhaps dissatisfied, one boosted away after the other, the last following suit after an uncertain second.

"Low altitude reconnaissance." Kat noted. "We're getting close."

She waited a moment longer to make sure they were in the clear. Then two fingers on her robotic hand rose up and pointed forward.

They got moving again. It was a swift dash from the cover of the flatbed to the other side of the concourse. Reaching safety, they put their backs against the base of the building that resided on the acute elbow between the two highways. Kat edged towards the M0 on their left.

She peeked around the curbside for a spell then pulled her head back in. "Another tank patrol coming up from the southwest. Looks a lot bigger than the last one."

"Friendly?" Zack asked.

Kat just stared at him.

"Ignore him." The Staff sighed.

She heeded his advice and peered past them. "Ep-4, how's the other side?"

Hector was at the other end of the curb, scanning down the length of the neighboring highway. "I'm not picking up on anything. Looks clear."

"Alright, we'll take the M1. There's a spot over there I want to check out. Might give us a good vantage point."

"We're going sightseeing, LC?" Mito asked.

"Tactically speaking, yes." She replied as she strode past. "Come on, the clock's ticking."

Duncan didn't like it. Everything in him really didn't want to go that way, but orders were orders.

The platoon circumvented the building in whose shade they had taken refuge, turning right onto the fringes of the M1 Highway. They were back to going straight south. The highway continued evenly for another 50 meters before making a shallow descent. They followed it down to another even section that was like the landing on a giant staircase. The reason why was the sharp dip in their path, one that went down towards a lower part of the city at an almost obtuse angle. It was another battle to keep from sliding down the descent. More than once, Duncan had to reach out for a nearby car just to keep his boots from slipping out from under him.

The way slowly became more level before widening out into a damp expanse. The water gathered into shallow shoals at their feet. The rain stopped, at least briefly. Around them rose the tall support columns of several crisscrossing overpasses as well as a magrail. These helped to bridge the gaps between the upper parts of Alexandria. The magrail was the key. Duncan knew it well before Kat ordered them to make a right turn off the highway.

The rail just so happened to be leading in the same direction, straight west. They clomped across the last stretch of the mire, trying not to splash about as they went. An exit ramp led back up from the lower area towards a spot much closer to sea level. The climb back up put an extra strain on the platoon. They routinely grabbed whatever they could hold onto to pull themselves along. Even Kat had to find a few handholds though she hardly betrayed a hint of exhaustion.

Duncan quietly blamed the civil engineers for their trouble. Rather than filling in some of the region's ancient meteor craters, they had chosen to integrate them into the city's transportational framework. But he corrected himself quickly. The silent misery of the cold rain seeping through his armor reminded him that it didn't matter. His gripe wasn't with the bones of some long dead engineers from 200 years ago. It was with the Brutes he'd fought 20 minutes ago, the beasts that had left so many bodies behind that the streets ran red. It was with them as well as any others that might try to get in their way.

They arrived at the top of the incline with weapons raised. The rail above them carried on for another 30 meters before curving left through a fen of apartment buildings, veering back towards the south. Not that they needed to follow it anymore. Duncan had a sneaking feeling that their destination was on the right.

Sure enough, that was where Kat took them. They moved for a while down the exit route before turning off onto a northbound avenue.

Semmelweis Avenue to be exact.

He knew it well, perhaps better than he would've liked.

The trip down memory lane took them into congested lanes of dead traffic. It was nothing special. Neither were the skyscrapers that lined the sides like many-eyed statues. It was an old intuition that made him single one of them out in particular.

Coming up on their left, where the broad road joined onto another street, stood the last building on Semmelweis Avenue. It wasn't the tallest. It wasn't the most visually awe inspiring either. In fact, it was virtually standard compared to the rest of the neighborhood. What it lacked in aesthetics, however, it more than made up for with experience.

His experience.

The Havadi Goodwan Coffee Shop was still in business. At least it looked so. Within the two bottom-most levels that it occupied, everything else above that stretching up into housing units, the shop itself was mildly lit. It's canvassed overhangs still flittered in the rippling wind with shades of caramel, cinnamon and pecan. The windows below them glowed with the faint light of the interior. Even in the rain he could catch the scent of old coffee grounds in the air.

A new Nav point appeared on the elevated space of the shop's front patio.

"Coffee shop on our left." Kat said. "We'll secure it and hide out for a minute."

The reason why she wanted it wasn't lost on Duncan at all. Nostalgia couldn't keep him from recognizing the tactical value involved. She had wanted a vantage point and she'd found one.

The shop had a pair of curved staircases that ascended up to its front patio from the raised foundation of the building. The reason why it was raised was because of the small drop towards the street that lay just behind the structure itself. That small decline made a huge difference. So too did the angle of the building. Further out to the west, the light of the distant corvette and the landing zone shone even brighter, much easier to discern. They were close now. Less than half a kilometer lay between them and the job they came to do.

That didn't make him any less hesitant to follow the platoon up the nearest stairs. Nevertheless, he did it, putting boot to step until he strode out onto the front patio. The patio itself stretched around the full circumference of the building like a squarish collar. Most of the open area was occupied by oval-shaped wooden tables and chairs. Many of them were toppled over from where the last patrons had fled. Small plates, platters and desserts were left smashed on the ground. Mugs were shattered, their contents splattered. Pastries and sandwiches were stomped down into the pattern of desperate shoeprints.

The platoon stacked up on either side of the front door. Kat pushed in first and they flowed inside. They swept across the interior of the first floor, sifting through the small scatter of tables and chairs. The ceiling lights were on. So were the lights of the menu board which shone behind the service counters on the opposite side of the building.

Duncan stopped halfway through once the others finished their searches.

He ambled towards the front counters almost subconsciously. He looked up at the menu. For one reason or another, his eyes shot to the desserts, landing on the yellow and white features of a slice of lemon cake.

The menus had been chalkboards before. The items remained the same, however. All these years, he thought, and the food had hardly changed at all.

He turned away once he realized what he was doing.

"Whiskey, check the second floor." Kat ordered. "Someone find the switch."

"Got it." Hector said and pulled several sliding dimmers behind one of the counters.

The floor's ceiling lights dimmed even more, darkening the entire space.

Behind Hector, Squad Whiskey was carefully marching up the stairs to the second floor, the mahogany wood quietly squeaking under their boots.

Duncan walked over to where Hector was. He slipped out a credit chip from a pouch, tapping it against his helmet like a magazine. "Alright, Heck, it's been a long day. I need a shot of espresso and I need it asap."

Hector depolarized his visor to flash a reluctant smile. "Oh, you're going to get a shot alright."

The two of them got a laugh out of it.

"Whiskey-1 to Noble-2, second floor secured." Dalton declared.

"Good." Kat replied. "Let's focus on the first. Ep-1, have some of Epsilon setup overwatch outside. The north, south and east are all yours. I'll take the western approach. Everyone else remain on standby. We're going to be here for a minute."

"Roger that." The Staff said. "Ep-4, 5 and 6, take first watch."

Kat made for the exit with Rico and Yuri coming right behind.

Hector went after them, exposing the shiny metal of the fridge-like machine behind the counter.

Duncan instantly noticed the interface on the front. A glimmering list of coffee varieties shone intermittently on the screen, at the bottom of which was a small dispenser.

He spotted stacks of plastic cups and coffee mugs on a pair of nearby shelves. He peered over his shoulder at the others. Those who hadn't been called on for observation duty were already settling down in the chairs, setting their feet on the table in Zack's case.

Off to his right, all of Whiskey was coming back down the stairs.

He saw his opening and took it.

He grabbed one of the mugs and made for the coffee machine. He flicked through the options until he reached 'espresso'. With a quick press came a green flicker of light from his selection. He pressed another option, adding a few shots of cream for good measure. A moment later he watched the blackish brown liquid steam down into his mug. Once it was finished, he pulled off his helmet and took a whiff. The sharp aroma dampened the exhaustion in his bones.

He secured his helmet on his belt and headed over towards the stairs.

"Ep-8?" The Staff called.

He stopped, his foot on the first step. He turned to see his squad leader eyeing him curiously from a seat near the door.

"Just wanted to hold down the fort upstairs, sir." Duncan explained, earning even more attention.

"Where'd you get the coffee?" Zack asked, jabbing a finger at the mug.

Duncan nodded back to the machine.

"Wait...so it's free?"

"I don't see anyone trying to make us pay for it." Renni said as she got up. "How about it, sir? Want a cap or a frap?"

"He's always struck me as a strong brew kind of guy." Nova added.

The Staff relented with a cautioning look. "If you see something, say something. Copy?"

"Copy." Duncan turned about and started up the stairs.

"That's a ristretto for me." The Staff instructed.

Nova's voice was practically dripping with satisfaction. "What'd I tell you?"

Duncan reached the top of the steps to find the upper floor empty. Walking into the throng of lonely tables and chairs, he picked up on a sound that wasn't the rain.

The coffee shop's PA system was still active. The music was almost too low to notice. However, he could just make out the melancholy melodies on the stereo. The sad, slow moan of a trumpet and the rhythmic beat of a cymbal worked together in a soothing symphony. All the while a string of twinkling notes from a piano added a soulful mood in the background.

The constant patter of the rain hitting the outside made him feel surprisingly relaxed, something he never thought he would feel behind enemy lines.

Through a set of glass doors on the far side he could see the balcony seats.

He came up to the door only to stop at the threshold.

The last thing he wanted was for an observant Jackal sniper to catch him sipping coffee out in the open.

He decided to make things work with another seat, one that still had a window view of the world to the west.

As he sat down, he set his mugs on the table.

That was when he realized it, that much to his confusion, he had made two mugs of espresso instead of one.

Unsure of when he'd even done it, he grabbed one, leaving the other to waft a trail of steam into the air.

He took small sips as he looked out towards the west, savoring the bitter nuttiness for all it was worth.

He still couldn't see much. The distance as well as the downpour were working against him. The corvette was clear to see by itself. However, the landing zone was obscured in the deluge. That as well as by the illumination that emanated from the site like a pinkish purple aurora. The result was that the whole location appeared submerged in a flood of radiant fog.

He didn't like what little he could see. Then again, that was to be expected.

He tried to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted. Once it was gone, there would be no getting it back.

He tried to enjoy the jazz, to enjoy the rain. He tried to imagine New Alexandria without the Covenant. It was hard but he shut his eyes and was just able to manage it.

It didn't last.

A voice he knew too well to ignore echoed from some distant recess of his mind.

"You're going to live to regret it." It said, its Irish accent as clear as if its owner were sitting beside him. "I swear, Duncan, you'll live to regret that you didn't take the chance to get Erica and Noah somewhere safe when you could have."

His grip on the mug tightened. He tried to move it, to bring it to his lips again, but found the desire gone.

His imagination ran wild, and he started thinking of what it might have been like had he said 'yes' to that deal.

No, that wasn't quite right.

He wondered what it might've been like had he said 'yes' and meant it.

Then, like a thought unlooked for, he saw Arthur trying to strangle him on the floor of the starport, the pure hatred in his eyes reminding him that he hadn't meant it.

He slowly set the mug back on the table. It was all he could do to keep from throwing it.

He slouched forward in his chair. Clasping his hands as if to pray, he leaned his chin on his thumbs so to keep his mouth hidden in the tangle of fingers. He looked on at the landing zone and wondered.

Once again, he was reminded exactly why he hadn't wanted to come here.

Footsteps came from behind. "Hey, Ep-1 sent me to see what you were up t-"

The voice broke him from the turmoil.

He looked up into Mackley's helmetless face. He wore an inquisitive look that was quickly deepened by what was on the table.

"Who's that for?"

Duncan looked at the other mug.

It was a good question.

Who was it for?

"You can have it." He said. "Thought I could use the extra shot, but...you take it if you think you need to."

Mackley brightened up. "Thanks man." He took it in hand and sipped away, exhaling with delight after he'd downed half of it. "Hey, this stuff's pretty good."

"Nothing to it. Just press a button, watch and wait."

Mackley sized up the espresso inside. "Kinda like the Stanchion."

"You still going on about that? Listen, Renni said your arm's-"

"Busted, I know." He replied, daring to roll his once dislocated shoulder. "Trust me, I know."

"No, she said it's recovering. She already did all that work on you. If anything, stick to that SMG of yours and call it a day."

"Hey-hey, not so loud." Mackley said, grasping at the weapon case on his back as if it were a safety blanket. "We're tagging along with a Spartan, remember? I hear they've got super crazy hearing or something and I'd rather the LC didn't know about that."

"What, worried she won't let you play with the Stanchion?"

Just by the way that the marksman scowled, Duncan knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

"Figured."

"Hey, how would you feel if someone put you in some Covenant database and told you not to try anything, huh?"

Duncan leaned back in his chair, fixing him with an honest look. "Relieved. I think if I did, I'd end up setting something off. What you don't know can hurt you, Mack. Just take it easy for now and-"

"What about the things you do know?" Mackley replied as he sipped down the last of his mug, setting it back on the table with a clatter. "I know that my arm's not hurt anywhere near bad enough to affect my aim. I know that even if it was, I can always use my other arm. Just one injury, just one bad call and I get ruled out, right? That's all it takes?"

Duncan paused. He'd obviously stepped on a nerve. He chose his next words more carefully.

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it, D? I'm all ears."

"You made a tradeoff, Mack, and in my opinion, it was the right one."

"Yeah? How?"

"Option one was you not taking the shot and getting your head caved in." Duncan looked straight up at him. "You chose option two. You're alive because of it. You can fix an arm, but once you're gone...you're gone..."

Duncan trailed off, lost in his own thoughts for a second. "And there's no coming back from that. Not for any of us."

He looked out in the direction of the landing zone but slowly found himself being drawn to a familiar pair of seats on the balcony. "You made a decision that made sure you get to make more of them, Mack. That's a blessing in and of itself. Even if all of them after that are nothing but trouble, sometimes having nothing but trouble to choose from is a hell of a lot better than no choice at all."

He faded off for a while. Before long, he noticed that Mackley had followed his gaze to the same set of chairs.

"Hey, hey old man, you still with me?"

"Don't call me old." Duncan growled.

"Well, you're sure acting like it, rambling on about stuff and forgetting that I'm even here. That's some serious senior citizen energy right there, Ep-8."

"Shut up."

"Noble-2 to Whiskey-3 and 4, come out to my position." Kat interrupted over comms. "Whiskey-1 tells me you have a Stanchion with you. Bring it down here. I need to get eyes on something."

"On our way." Mackley chimed, suddenly full of energy. "You stay up here and have fun with your-, well, whatever it is you're doing up here, Ep-8. I'm heading outside to make myself useful."

"You could learn a lot from your elders, kid."

Mackley waved goodbye without looking back. "You said it, old man. Not me."

"Hmph."

Duncan let him go. He took his mug and pulled another swig.

Then he noticed it, that the desire to drink had come back.

The conversation had done him some good at least, even if it was only to get something off his chest. Hearing it out loud made him realize how much he disagreed with himself.

The worst place he could end up in was having no choice at all? Did he really believe that?

He'd chosen to be here. He'd chosen the UNSC. He'd chosen Reach.

It was no longer a matter of making new choices but following through on the ones he had already made.

He knew.

From the day of his mother's funeral and the ride back with his uncle, he'd known

He knew exactly how it might end. He'd said so himself.

A new voice echoed in the confines of his head. It was older and raspier than the first as he remembered the day he made his choice.

"People don't need another hero like Cole, they need more grunts like you and me who are willing to grab a rifle and hold the line even if we know that we can't do it forever. And I know your dad would have thought the same way."

It wasn't often that he thought back to those times.

Whenever he did, however, it always served as a reminder.

He wouldn't run. There was no room for that anymore. And even if there was, he wouldn't have taken it. There was too much work to do, too many lives to save, too many lives to take.

But the first voice came back again, now far more adamant. "You're going to live to regret it."

After all he'd seen, after what Erica had told him, he didn't dare listen.

"You'll regret it."

Against the pull that it had on him; he gritted his teeth in a rough smile of defiance.

"Only one of us regretted it in the end, Riley." He replied. "And it wasn't me."

Furtim - Stealthily