Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

by **United Islands of Polis** » Fri Jan 28, 2022 9:10 pm

Lance Corporal Maksim Ruslan Chukov
~~88th Armored Battalion, 3rd Company, Second Platoon, 1st Squad~~ Kilo 45
New Alexandria, Olympic Tower// August 23rd, 2552

"I'm alive!" Someone from behind the table said, popping out looking at the dead Grunt. Maksim was relieved that it wasn't some poor civilian or non-combatant that had been stuck here the whole time. But better question was why she was separated from the main group. But just as fast as he thought of that he also remembered that the person in front of him must've been one of the people who were unlucky enough to be on top of the catwalk when the plasma turret cut right through it.

"It's Chukov, right? We need to find the Prowler and this computer might tell us where it's parked."

"Yeah that's me. Private Rier right? Hopefully one of us can get these consoles to sing." Maksim said as he turned his direction towards a nearby console, causing it to wake up and display information.

He was adept with using most forms of devices available in the larger UEG, however this was a facility that supposedly doesn't exist and he would not know how to get to the locations of the Prowler, let alone get to files he probably shouldn't see or is above his pay grade. He tried anyway, but to no avail. Giving up he left the console and grabbed his BR55H from his back, now keeping guard, aiming it at the door. Sometimes the sound of gunfire would be too loud for something supposedly distant, it sent shivers up his spine sometimes. But the precautions would change once again, and for the better... initially.

The jamming attempts of one of the members of Kilo 45 had worked perhaps too flawlessly that the looming Covenant frigate nearby was now making its way to the complex, not to investigate, but to bury the damn place. Looking out the window instead, Maksim did not have a beat on the frigate, now only dependent on the change of hue of the near pitch black sky; if it were suddenly to change to an orange cheddar shade, he knew it would be time to run. However, it seemed that fate would now have a more devious plan for all of them, including the Covenant.

"This is 4 Delta 15 to Kilo 45, I'm reading the radiation spike and coming in for the strike. Don't look at the Frigate, I repeat, avert your eyes from the flash. You have less than three minutes to get out of there! I can't cancel this strike. 4 Delta 15 out!"

A nuclear strike, and they were well within the indirect blast zone.

Back during his days in elementary school in St. Petersburg, Maksim had covered the Cold War briefly during a lecture on safety during calamities and the steps that needed to be done by citizens in the event of a nuclear strike did happen. They didn't even have respirators, nor a single non-woven mask. Picking up the smaller soldier's discarded helmet, he shoved it into her arms, and grabbed her, running out the door. "Nam nuzhno idti, seychas zhe! Oni nanesli yadernyy udar!" (We need to go, now! We're being nuked!)

Throwing her out the door a bit, Maksim slammed the heavy door of the room closed and pointed down the hall in a panic, still speaking in Russian on instinct. "Begat'! Begite glubzhe v ob"yekt! Idti! " (Run! Run deeper into the facility! Go!)

At this point a secure and airtight location would be preferable, but for the time being, they needed to put as many materials between them and the incoming radiation. They had no map of sorts and didn't exactly know where to go next. For most of the time, the only noise they heard was the sound of their boots hitting the floor. At this point, Maksim had his BR55H slung behind him so he could run faster. If there were any Covenant forces left, they'd best run too and forego any hostilities if they wanted to survive. Otherwise, the sidearm on his hip, or his right foot would have to do as a deterrent.

"This 4 Delta 15, missiles away, missiles away!" At least they were now deeper in the facility at this point, but three minutes escaped them now, they were out of time and can only hope they made it deep enough to protect them from the brunt of the shockwave and radiation.

"Get down! Don't look at the flash!" Maksim pushed both of them down carefully, but quickly. There were no windows so to speak, it was said more out of instinct as well. Putting his arm over Private Rier's head, he wanted to grit his teeth, but kept his mouth a bit open instead in case there was going to be a sudden change in pressure from the explosion.

The shockwave finally hit the facility, and the shockwave reverberating throughout the facility threw both of them towards the opposite wall. While it was not a complete throw against the wall, it was still enough to knock the air out of Maksim. A few coughs later, he got up to a crouch, checking for his companion and going to her.

"Are you alright?" Maksim tapped her while pulling up the lower part of his balaclava, wetting it to stop a bit more dust from being inhaled. "Do you have any cloth to cover your mouth and nose with?"

by **Hastur** » Fri Jan 28, 2022 10:02 pm

Staff Sergeant Alison Longacre
Kilo-45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach // August 23rd, 2552

Longacre, breathing heavily, couldn’t help but discern as she raced for the secondary position that the hostile ship which commanded the horizon was listing. Her eyes swelled, mouth settling ajar as a twinkle from the centre of the craft warmed up. She recognised the omen. Longacre knew she would be dead in the next few minutes if she didn’t act fast. She paused for a moment, fear at the vanguard of her mind. Scanning around desperately, the flatlands offered no cover. In the direction she came, she realized with a pit in her gut forming that she wouldn’t be able to get below ground. The ropes were too far.

“This is 4 Delta 15 to Kilo 45. I’m reading the radiation spike and coming in for the strike. Don’t look at the Frigate, I repeat, avert your eyes from the flash. You have less than three minutes to get out of there! I can’t cancel this strike. 4 Delta 15 out!”

Her eyes went skyward, mind racing as she tried her best to figure out a way out, mind drawing blanks as her legs suddenly began moving, reluctantly turned back, bursting into a frenzied sprint back to the ropes. In the sky, a blip scrambled towards the glow, its shape indicative of a longsword. Longacre cursed to herself, somehow unable to fathom how her luck constantly seemed to get worse.

Three minutes wasn’t enough, nowhere close. The realization of impending doom was becoming more and more realized with each panicked step. The harnesses of the heavy weapons cut into her shoulder, the rocket tube clanging against her back and legs. The extra weight was slowing her down. Longacre didn’t hesitate, thrusting the rocket launcher from its sling violently, the weapon system hurtling against the rocks as she continued her attempted escape. She gasped deeply as her lungs rapidly drew in oxygen that caused her lungs to burn.

Below, the others clambered inside, having the opulence of being able to move inside the hardened bunker for safety. The red twinkle was a cruel silver glare now, the hot plasma ready to burn the lands below as the ship was virtually on target, and she was only halfway to the way down.

“This 4 Delta 15, missiles away, missiles away!”

Longacre’s eyes tracked the ship as it broke into an impressive, almost choreographed dive. Missiles ripped forward, contour lines trailing behind as it maintained course. Her blood froze, body coming to a standstill as she felt like she was about to erupt.

Gray had killed her.

In the situation's hopelessness, one option came to mind. The water below. Having dismissed it beforehand, she gaped over the side. It was over a hundred-meter drop. Five seconds of freefall. Virtually certain death, but what other choice did she have? Chance it with the water or get cooked topside. She felt like an animal snared in a trap.

Her feet crept closer to the edge, body shuddering intensely as her hands stiffened her rifle’s sling, weapon hugging her back more snuggly as she attempted to get control of her unsteady, panicked breathing. The beam above shorted out with a whimper, her armor’s Geiger counter jolting off abruptly.

It was now or never.

Sink or swim.

She took a step back, and with unceremonious leap, her feet left the edge, her heart erupting vehemently as a sense of complete terror took over. Immediately Longacre's mind filled with an intense sense of regret. Bones turned to jelly as she felt the sped-up perception of motion as she fell rapidly. Adrenaline crashed through her. Her mouth opened in a hushed scream, battling to control the plunge, arms and legs thrashing in a panic.

She wanted to take her actions back, wishing that she'd found another way.

For a moment, mental clarity kicked in, fighting against the tide of terror as she attempted to get into an appropriate position. Each movement she took to correct herself was counteracted; the burden of her rifle functioned as a counterbalance as she fought to remain upright in complete desperation. Her stomach clenched as she realized the mistake falling in a near sitting position at nearly 100 miles per hour.

She wasn't getting off Reach. She hoped her parents would understand.

Everything followed in a flash as she sank below the depths. Agony castigated through her shattered body, an uncontrolled anguished shriek scrambled from her lips as the foamy water churned around her fiercely. A glare from above illuminated the dreary water as it coiled, dragged in multiple directions as the freshly formed artificial torrent whipped her.

Longacre struggled to swim, thrashing her arms as she tried to get to the surface, her legs and hip engulfed with sheer suffering as her instincts told her to kick, her actions fruitless as she battled against the violent water bruising against her. Her vision darkened, slipping in and out of consciousness as the river tore her around. Eventually, the vivid light above vanished, darkness eclipsing the water as she remained stuck below, the torrent dying out.

A moment of consciousness prompted a moment of madness brought about a second wind. With what minimal energy she had left, her arms strove against the water, drawing herself skyward toward the light, erupting through the surface of the unsteady river. The sky above was pitch black, natural light absent from the recent explosion, the enormous titan that was the mushroom cloud intercepting the sun.

The dusky shape of the bank is barely distinguishable in the scarcity of light as she floated onto it. Motion through her agonized legs attempted to draw her back in, Longacre’s fingers forced their way into the mud to keep herself steady, she clutched into the soil as she painstakingly hauled herself onto solid ground through distressed cries. Rolling onto her back, her body felt icy, clammy hands shivering frantically as her chest flared. A violent stabbing pain pulverizing into her lungs, a wet copper taste palpable as she sputtered between stifled sobs of suffering. Her she couldn’t breathe. On autopilot, her hands, battered and bruised, disengaged her helmet, abandoning it off to the side.

The copper taste was strengthened, the antiseptic smell overwhelming in the air as the removal of her helmet barely helped with her shallow, bloody breathing. Her dilated eyes stared skyward, her mind in a state of delirium as she wept on the shore.

by **Parcia** » Fri Jan 28, 2022 11:12 pm

_{Warrant Officer Grimsdottir, Olivia}
_{ONI Section 1 "Jester's Hand" Data Analytics Team Kilo 4-5}
_{ONI Yard 2218, Near Soporon Reach.}
_{Office of Naval Intelligence Section 1}
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2600 NST}

Pain.

Pain was what first greeted Olivia as she awoke in a haze. Her eyes wouldn't focus and she could make out short, wheezing gasps filling her ears along side a set of internal alarms as her helmet read out something in bright red her eyes refused to read. For more then a few moments she laid there, floating on the edge of perceived time and space a bit before it occurred to her that sputtering and gasping noise was coming from her lips.

This led to panic. This inturn led to a shot of adrenaline and the instinctual deep breath that was cut short by an unholy level of pain across her chest. I can't breath I can't breath I can't breath I can't breath... rang out through her mind as she willed her heavy arms and sluggish fingers to paw at her chest, feeling out her chest rig and finding it seemingly warped and compacted out of shape. Get it off Get it off Get it off Get it off was her mantra as she grasped at the quick release tabs and yanked at them, letting out a gasping, pain groaned as it became apparent to her at least a few of her right digits and possibly her entire wrist was a mass of wriggling, writhing pain as she curled their broken bits around the tabs and yanked them free.

Her plate promptly let free and slid down to her side. Attempting to take another deep breath she heard a slickening pop and a stabbing pain under her right breast. Yep, broken rib, likely more then a few and the migraine and dizziness is a concussion. Doing her best to keep from slipping further in to shock she opened her mouth to call out for a corpsmen and found her words leaving her mouth barely above a whisper and accompanied with even more pain.

She didn't dare more or try to get up, and only shift her self to let her legs lay out flat and relax. Not being able to speak, even over radio, she weakly reached up and fumbled for the external button for her helmet radio. After some effort she located the small nub and started pressing it repeatedly. Three fast clicks, fallowed by a pause, then three slow clicks, then a pause, and lastly three more fast clicks.

She would do this for as long as she needed to, not being able to really see or hear any one else from 3rd squad and silently preying some one else was alive.

by **Kassaran** » Sat Jan 29, 2022 1:02 am

_{CPL Amir, Benjamin}
_{Reach Colonial Militia, Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218 - SITE CONTROL, Near Soporon, Reach}
_UNSC
_232608SAUG52

The blast had been severe. From what Amir had seen just before all external sensors went offline, the Frigate had jumped into Slipspace seconds before the Nuke caught it. That was the good news. The bad news was the resulting slipspace jump had set off an implosion that quickly reversed into a full explosion. There was a bright white that filled the external-view CCTVs before clearing in the half-second before the explosion wiped each one out. Benjamin had already taken up a bracing position under one of the desks, assuming a position not unlike an earthquake drill after having yelled for Callilis to do the same. His mouth slightly ajar and eyes closed, he felt the facility rumble and shake as his ears popped and a dull roar turned into a whistling shriek from the partially open doors. Stray debris and rubble were thrown about the room and a few panels blew out as the electromagnetic pulse slammed into exposed facility sensors and travelled down their lines.

Then it was over, and Amir's eyes opened and he looked around, cautiously assessing the status of the room, which had dropped from its original lighting into a deep crimson hue with emergency generators having powered on. His eyes scanned the consoles and panels, picking out the ruined from the functional, with only a few looking somewhere in-between. He heard his squad leader call for a sign off and quickly answered back, waiting for the rest of the squad to call back in and mentally crossing off each as he listened to the net. His CNM wasn't entirely fuzzed, thankfully preserved from his depth inside the subterranean annexes of the facility. It didn't help that it had little use outside of pairing with remote systems elsewhere, and with the amount of fuzz on the net, he was going to be hard-pressed to get any communications across. An idea came to mind as he rushed towards the panels and began to work at pairing his datapad to the surviving networks and computer systems.

"One, this is six. Main power is out, we're on backups but not sure for how long. External eyes and ears are out, but internals should be up mo-men-tar-i-got it. I've got three's transponder still broad- oh shit. Three's up! Bottom of the canyon, tagging her location now."

Amir was working like someone's life depended on it, because it did. He felt in part guilty for not having guessed why the Prowler had been detected before, but not knowing the capabilities of the secret stealth vessel prior, he wasn't going to beat himself up over it. He had problems that needed solutions and as of right now, getting Longacre recovered was the first in line. Comms with the pelican crew had gone out when the shockwaves hit, but the background fuzz from the nuclear ionizing radiation had begun to bleed off finally and as it was doing so he'd managed to take stock of what systems were remaining. As he'd hoped, the CCTV servers had been entirely overloaded, but that was in the server buffers and not the hardlines themselves. Additionally, the hangar inter-communications network wasn't entirely down, just inaccessible from the exposed stations. Fortunately for him and the rest of Kilo 45, he wasn't in one of those exposed stations. Redirecting power from some of the systems drawing excess power, he ran a quick power calculation before pushing through the script and engaging the internal comms.

"This is 2-6 to Kilo 45, comms coming back online. Net is green, for now. Tin Man, you good over there?"

Keying off the net as he turned towards Callilis, he waved him over.

"I need you to run out to the hangar we came in from and look for any heavy-lift or crane equipment we can turn on and control. Pelican team hasn't checked in yet, so we need to be ready to recover Three in case they're out of commission."

by **Thai Sweet Billy** » Sat Jan 29, 2022 5:32 pm

Sergeant JaMarcus Hayden
_{3rd Platoon, Echo Company, 1st Battalion, 4th Marines Kilo-45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552}

Hayden metaphorically shit his pants as word of an inbound nuclear warhead reached his ears. Everything until then had been essentially a blur to him—pulling security, moving, or occasionally laying down suppressive fire for his team. What was about to happen to him now was the equivalent of being blindsided by a truck moving at 80 miles per hour.

"Aw, fuuuuuuck—" he frantically dove for something to hide behind in the hangar, ducking and covered his head as per usual protocol. Of course, Hayden was doubtful that a hardened hangar would even be able to last against a nuke, so hiding himself behind a sizable metal crate and covering his head was more of a customary act of accepting death than anything. As the time passed by, he held his breath, praying silently to himself that he'd at least come out of things unscathed.

A deathly roar filled the bunker as the lights flickered heavily, the entire structure shaking and vibrating, threatening to collapse onto the Marine's back at any moment. Hayden's body shook as the blast buffeted above ground and passed over, filling his ears with a hellish noise that seemed to suggest the entire world was coming down around him. He felt his body move on his own volition as he hit something hard, but the rattling ceased to fill his ears as he covered his head with his hands.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. Hayden lifted his head up, grabbing his MG and checking himself, as if to make sure his delirious ass was fine. He staggered onto his feet, very nearly losing his footing as he braced himself against the wall, as someone called for a sound off.

"I'm up!" JaMarcus shouted out loud as best as he could, shifting over to move to the others while grabbing his GPMG from the ground. As usual, his comms were busted, and the usual HUD that accompanied his amber polarized helmet goggles was gone, simply putting the world around him into an orange tinge. He shifted around the area aimlessly. His balance was off somewhat, and a metallic taste filled his mouth, confirming the worst.

"Shit... I just got fuckin' nuked..." the realization hit him as he stepped around, dazed. His ears rang and his equilibrium was still fucked up, but he could hear Lieutenant Gray clear as day hopping on comms to try and get a location on Kilroy, Blackburn, and Longrace.

The last name hit him hardest as he turned to the Lieutenant, then to the blast doors that had bore the brunt of the blast. Hayden's eyes narrowed as he turned to Gray.

"Oh, mother FUCKER! They were OUT THERE! They're dead!" Hayden snapped. "Oh, shit. Aw, fuck... what the fuck, man.."

He just stood there after that, hands on his helmet out of stress, unsure what to do. So many people probably were dead right now, and he was powerless to even help them.

by **Empire of Donner land** » Sat Jan 29, 2022 6:00 pm

Lieutenant Santo Schirmer / 4 Delta 15
17th Tactical Strike Group, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
ONI Yard 2218, Near Soporon, Reach // August 23rd, 2552

In a literal flash Schirmer was pressed into his seat as the ground, sky and false sun came in and out of the sight of the cockpit window. Shrill beeping filled his hearing, light and sound overwhelming his senses. Loudly a woman was calmly speaking into his ear, "Stall. Stall. Stall." The light of the false sun faded as the world was then bleached with the color blue and specks of blue light filled the spaces. He spurred into action as he lurched his hands back onto their controls, "shit, shit!" he yelled, his voice cracking as he felt again primal fear.

A finger pressed down with strength as if trying to arm wrestle a Marine, the woman's calm voice was interrupted from telling him the obvious, "Stall- manual reaction control systems enabled. Stall. Stall." Thrusters across the craft, meant for precision docking or fine-tuning maneuvers, instead fired to save the craft from falling to Reach. He punched the thrust forward, the vectored thrusters pointing up to cancel the rotational energy of the spinning Longsword, meanwhile, white jets of gas shot out the other way. Altitude was still plummeting, but the spin was being corrected. Soon the woman began speaking another word. "Altitude. Altitude. Altitude," over and over it spoke. As the spin canceled, Schirmer pulled up, an eye kept on the altitude.

He breathed with a sigh of relief as it went back up, his heart pumping. He tuned into the radio as he climbed out of and above the canyon, his voice haggard and strained, "This is 4 Delta 15... anyone out there?... Hello?! Jesus Christ."

by **Bolslania** » Sat Jan 29, 2022 7:14 pm

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey}
_{Ad-Hoc Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552.}

"Oh, mother FUCKER! They were OUT THERE! They're dead!" Hayden snapped. "Oh, shit. Aw, fuck... what the fuck, man.."

Grey depolarized his visor as Hayden lost his cool. The man needed to see a face, not an opaque wall. His usually steely eyes softened a bit as he watched the Sergeant clutch his helmet in stress. He sighed as he looked at anything else. He knew that Longacre was probably dead and that it was his fault, but hearing somebody else say it made the sting of shame bite just a little harder. He clenched one fist and rested it on the desk, getting his emotions back in check. He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. But he couldn't have such an outburst in front of his men. That would need to wait until he was alone. He gritted his teeth as the static in his radio set suddenly stopped. Comms were dead.

"One, this is six. Main power is out, we're on backups but not sure for how long. External eyes and ears are out, but internals should be up mo-men-tar-i-got it. I've got three's transponder still broad- oh shit. Three's up! Bottom of the canyon, tagging her location now."

"Holy shit..." Grey muttered as his mind processed this bombshell.

How was she still alive? Why was she at the bottom of the.... Oh my god. He straightened up as the realization hit him. The crazy son of a bitch jumped. Then he realized that a 100+ meter drop would have beaten hell out of her. According to the tag Amir had put on her she was 30 meters below them.

"Shit. Alright, somebody find me a damn winch. There should be at least one in here." He ordered to his squad. Depressing the radio transmitter he spoke.

"2-1 to 2-6, standby to find a crane or winch or something to recover 2-3, over."

"2-1 to 1-1, requesting permission to open up the hangar doors to recover Longacre, over."

by **Anowa** » Tue Feb 01, 2022 1:04 am

_{WO-2 Sierra-045}
_{NOBLE Team}
_{New Alexandria}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2604 NST}

Six was dead, lifeless, and cold. No one wanted to take his helmet off, both in respect for the one person on their team they didn't actually have a face outside of his visor for, and... well. The entry wound had dribbles of blood and caked on gore around it, but there was no exit wound. Clean through the top left of his skull and in to his cranium, where the needle promptly detonated. Truth be told, there was likely nothing left to gaze upon.

Emile had kept to himself, but the way he moved wasn't unlike a shark waiting to rip some unwitting swimmer in to chunks. Some poor Covie bastard was gonna have a bad time once those bunker doors opened. Jun was still his contemplative self, but this time he was quiet. Out of all of them he had spent the most time almost blankly staring at Six's corpse. Likely playing through God knows how many scenarios he could manifest to see if he could have done anything. Rosenda on the outside seemed fine, almost detached, but she kept pacing. That was a common tell for the woman, she was anxious, likely thinking about how it could have been her, just as easily.

Kat and Carter hadn't said a word about it, but Anya knew it was tearing both of them up inside. Carter at the very least was keeping some measure of control, keeping the various troopers and civilian contractors left in the bunker under lock and key, calm, orderly. When NOBLE lost a member he always receded in to his training, almost becoming robotic.

Kat had cut her external audio, locking herself in to her thoughts with no one to hear her. Given the slight tremble in her shoulders that would rumble up every so often, she was trying to save face. The second time this year that Noble Six had been killed, and arguably because of her. Kat's psych report indicated a poor sense of situational awareness, Anya could attest to that. It was the sole reason Six was on the ground and not her, Six had seen a threat and reacted, that reaction just so happened to be a shove, that ended up getting him killed.

Dead Spartans wasn't a foreign concept to Anya, but Spartans went out on their own terms or had events happen outside of their control, always. Sam had a mushroom cloud send off, Kurt had a thruster malfunction, Randall was abandoned by the Navy after a demo op he didn't need to do, Sheila has shredded a battalion of Covenant so Halsey could escape, Solomon took a risk to save Halsey, Arthur gave his to draw hostiles away from his team, Cal died protecting her team, as did Daisy. Every S-II that had died in this war had done so with calculated risk.

But was Six's calculated? Did he know that his action would kill him, or was he expecting to knock both himself and Kat out of the line of fire? The more Anya thought about it, the more her mind drifted to every other Spartan she had known who had died. Which of them actually knew the risk?

Anya shook the thoughts away. The last few hours had been less than comfortable, even for a Spartan, especially given her wounds. Her legs still ached, and the biofoam on her abdominal wounds had started to break down, becoming a red sludge that occasionally would drip on to the floor. She'd need to seal that, but not before dealing with the underlying wounds.

Kat was another issue. No one on NOBLE gave pep talks, not since Christopher had died, but it was also the first time Kat had, for lack of a better term, broken like this. The last time Anya had seen a Spartan break down like this was when Carris killed Sgt. Walcroft, none since, Maybe Kelly after Sam died from what Anya had heard. But in both cases, Doctor Halsey had been the one to talk to them about what had happened.

Anya would be the first to admit that she was neither socially, nor emotionally equipped to handle that sort of thing. Neither was the rest of NOBLE for that matter. Weighing the option in her head, the S-II figured it would be best for Kat to mull it over a while longer before trying to talk sense to her.

The bunker being what it was, it only had two or three rooms, one had the more industrial parts, like a water tank breakers, generator, etc. Another was a supply room, and the third, main room was a bunch of cots. For the entire 6 or so hours they'd been stuck in here, their ears were being almost constantly assailed by a muffled droning that was most definitely the Covenant excavation beams turning Reach's opal into what amounted to obsidian and non radioactive corium.

With a mild limp, the tallest woman present sought her way to the supply room and grabbed one of the navy Medkits from a pallet, and made her way back out and moved towards the industrial room.

Anya figured that she'd gotten good at hiding any hidden injuries, considering the small look of surprise Jun gave her as she closed the door behind her, medkit in hand.

Due to the undersuit's nature as a one piece suit, getting to her ripped open Ankle would mean having to remove all of her armor, unless she felt like cutting open the legging, something Anya wasn't going to do given the damage it would cause to the nigh irreplaceable suit. In critical situations, they'd tear open the undersuit to treat a critical wound, but replacement parts for a suit of Mjolnir, let alone Anya's prototype platform, would be next to impossible.

Under normal circumstances, Mjolnir could be donned with aid of a technical team in about 45 minutes if they ran through all the lists, 10 if they didn't. Removing it took anywhere from 2 to 15 minutes depending on damage such as warping or cold welding. A Spartan could match that time on their own, ever since Sam died, Spartans never left anything just to the technicians, most of the manuals they requisitioned ended up being annotated with a plethora of either corrections or addendums indicating that in many cases the Spartans knew their equipment better than the designers.

Looking at her reflection in her helmet, the bags under her eyes served no other purpose than to remind her that she hadn't slept in over 10 days. Copious amounts of adrenaline and stimulants had made sure she didn't suffer from mass hallucinations and paranoia, but the feeling of irritability (as irritable as a Spartan could even get) and general sluggishness (as sluggish as a Spartan could be) was still something she felt. Though her wounds came first, then she could find a chunk of floor to sleep on.

Over the next dozen minutes, over a thousand pounds of titanium, composites, and classified non-metals were removed and somewhat unceremoniously left on the floor. Leaving them on the room's toolbench would end up breaking it. Mjolnir wasn't meant to be worn with any sort of clothing underneath, the waste management and recycling system would find itself somewhat overtaxed by a sheet of polyester blocking the way, the gel layer would have a great time inflicting cross stitch pattern bruises in to people's skin, and the moisture wicking temperature regulation just outright wouldn't work. Anya felt naked even when wearing her dress uniform, but now it was a lot more literal... and a lot more freezing.

Sitting on the work bench, she brought her burnt leg up to view as she opened the med kit. The tanned beige the now cracked and brittle skin was colored was a contrast to the almost elmer's glue esque shade the rest of her skin had... that most Spartans had. She frowned as she took in not the burn, but the result of her tearing it back in the Starport food court. It was almost a full circumference laceration down to muscle and tendon, which were starting to fray against the air and ruined skin, and now exposed to open air was starting to sting something horrifically.

Anya simply shoved a non uniform mass of medigel in to it for the time being, letting it effective soak as she took care of her second critical wound, also dealt with via a liberal application of medigel. Her bruised bones from her orbital fall were dealt with by a dose of bone knitting polymer, and the various blisters, both ruptured and intact were left for the moment. As she waited for the various medications to take effect, her gaze wandered to a puckered and mangled mess of scars across both her forearms.

_{Trainee Sierra-045}
_{SPARTAN II Training Program}
_{Military Wilderness Training Preserve, Highland Mountains, Reach}
_UNSC
_{November 27th, 2521 - 0306 NST}

Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. Right now, Anya was on the last portion of that quartet of subjects.

Almost a week ago, maybe two now, the trainees were dumped in the Highland Mountains and told to keep busy for 4 days. No supplies came with them other than their winter clothes and a single tent with no pegs. They made due, then they started being fired upon and had to move, and those snowballed until most of the Spartans had been captured. From what Anya could discern, Linda, Fhajad, Billy and Kelly had been the only ones who didn't end up getting captured.

Anya had spent an indiscernible amount of time under the careful eye of Tango Company. They didn't mean to kill her, obviously, but they sure weren't pulling their punches. Anya could've spent her life not knowing what it felt like to be electrocuted, for starters. But it meant little considering she was stuck in a room that was two feet by two feet by 4 feet, forced to stand without being able to stand, eventually she'd pass out from a lack of sleep and wake up sore and covered in pressure bruises. The plus side was that her captors had a pretty lackluster view in to the cell.

The paperclip she had jammed in to her shirt's cuff was useless against the rope binding her hands, but for the past few days she's been using the flat iron connectors of the cell door to effectively grind through the nylon. It wasn't a fast process, but it was a process. She finished sawing through the rope sometime after day 12 or 13 by her count, and with the paperclip, picked the lock of the deprecated cell door. What came after was an almost trivial escape attempt, enough so that Anya figured the ease with which she was able to skirt patrols -simply due to a lack of them- was one of Mendez's twists.

An unlabeled fire exit promptly woke everyone in the building as the 10 year old beat feet in to the snow covered forest of Reach. It wasn't too dark thanks to the snow, but it was still a starry night.

The Alarms behind her soon faded, and were replaced with distant voices, which also soon faded. She kept under trees that shielded the ground from snow to cover her tracks. She eventually lost track of time as the sun's rays fully set below the horizon, and the chill of Reach's winter started biting at her hands and feet. She didn't stop however, even when voices faded, and the sounds of dogs barking became a background din among the forest. It was maybe an hour before Anya realised she didn't actually know where she was going. She had no map, no waypoint, and only a vague idea of where the rally point was. A small clearing next to a river bend, from there, John said, each Spartan could find their way back to the CENTCOM complex.

Looking up, Anya knew CENTCOM was vaguely east, taking track of the stars and constellations on Reach, she found herself... well, nowhere. She still needed a point of reference. A crunch of snow immediately shattered the silence as Anya whipped around, coinciding with the rapid approach of something large and furry.

The 100+ pound missile slammed in to Anya who had managed to get an arm up in time, resulting in the feeling of a brutal tearing and the feeling of something directly grinding against the bone's in her left forearm.

Identifying the wolf, her mind raced with the various lessons she'd been given by Deja in terms of surviving animal attacks. The first and foremost rule was to not get grounded. As Anya felt a root digging in to her back, she mentally swore at that rule already being shattered.

Her hand went up and she started punching the Wolf's skull under it's ear, about where the jaw met the skull. It was about as difficult as you'd expect, considering the mass amount of thrashing which was now exposing bone on her left arm. After a few strikes it released her left arm, and the second part of the lesson resounded in her mind as she locked eyes with the wolf: protect your throat. She could barely feel her left arm, which meant her right would become the sacrificial lamb. Barely managing to wedge it in to the Wolf's maw before it clamped down on her windpipe, she jerked her arm upwards and in to the Wolf's gullet. As her arm was being chewed on and thrashed about elbow deep in the Wolf's throat, she wrapped her leg's around it's neck and held on for dear life. Locking her foot in to the crook of her knee, she started putting pressure on the Wolf's neck.

Anya, ultimately, didn't know how long she stayed in the position, seconds, minutes, likely not an hour, considering how much she was bleeding. But she sat there until the Wolf stopped moving, and until it got cold... and then she started getting cold.

_{WO-2 Sierra-045}
_{NOBLE Team}
_{New Alexandria}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2604 NST}

Apparently, it was Linda and Kelly that found her, wrapped around the head of a wolf, bleeding from both arms... but alive.

Eyes glanced down at the wound on her leg, the milky white protein structures of a reconstituting dermal system now evident, as was the now almost freely bleeding torso wound, which also received a non-descript lump of medigel, all she had left. From there, a duo of simple patches on her suit. Redonning her suit was only interrupted by a dose of dermacortic steroids, where no doubt would be a bitch to deal with in a few days.

Exiting the industrial room, she took a seat beside Kat, she by this point had removed her helmet for the second time that day. An uncharacteristic look of hollow sadness had washed over her as the blue armoured young woman's eye's were locked to Six's corpse. Anya simply knocked her elbow in to Kat's, it was the best Anya could do with the presence of civilians. The gesture was enough as the officer's eyes averted, staring in to the window of Anya's own Mark VI for a moment, before looking away as Kat put her helmet back on.

With audio sealed, Anya opened up a private channel with Kat, "Do you want me to give the same spiel I did back with Thom, or would you prefer something original?" No response, "Curling up in to your own mind isn't gonna help, you know that right?"

"How many?"

"None. None of them have been your fault Kat. Nothing you say is gonna change that. Christopher died because hew knew if he didn't hold that line the flank would collapse and we'd all be dead. Not because you didn't forsee such a thing happening. Norman died because we needed that gun offline and he was closest and he knew getting overrun was an option. The shit directions he got weren't your fault, they were ONI's. Thom didn't have the time to fuck around with a thermonuclear warhead ticking do-."

Kat interrupted, "If I hadn't-"

"Gotten hit by the singular banshee that had broken out AA and fighter picket, plucked out you out of hundreds if not thousands of other soldiers on that front, and elected to fire a fuel rod and not a burst of plasma, he wouldn't have needed to." Anya finished, "Thom's death wasn't your fault, we've been over this, it wasn't Carter's either. It was the Covenant shitheel who forced his hand... and took yours." a pause, "Six didn't move without purpose, he saw something coming that you didn't, and he elected to put his life on the line and not yours. He just paid more than he likely bargained, but it's something he knew was a risk."

"I'm not that valuable, you are. The rest of us, not so much. At least not as much as Six was."

"Now you're just lying to yourself." a pause as Anya searched for any words to get out to counter, but she found nothing, "Get some sleep, we're gonna be in here for a while."

by **Shyluz** » Wed Feb 02, 2022 4:00 pm

1LT. Jack Foster
442nd Naval Air Transport Squadron, UNSC Trafalgar, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
ONI Yard 2218, Near Sopron, // August 23rd, 2552

Foster was struck from his melancholy in an instant. Schirmer's Longsword swept overhead, roaring as it went in for a suicidal attack run. He could hear Raskov still retching, and the world slowed down. He could hear someone shouting, but he couldn't understand. For a moment he thought his helmet's audio was fried, but then he realized he wasn't wearing it.

He launched himself from the blood bay, ice shooting up through his veins. One hand kept himself upright as he sprinted, the other slotted the helmet over his head. Step after step, he came closer to Raskov. He only realized he was shouting when he felt his throat go raw. He shoved past the Army chopper jock, his eyes locked onto the kneeling form of his crew chief. Finally he reached her, and plucked her from the ground by the arm, pulling her into a run. "Move!" He screamed, again and again.

He practically threw the woman into the blood bay, and he didn't bother to check if she stuck the landing. "Corti! NBC the boat!" Jackie hollered breathlessly as he peeled himself from the deck and clumsily snatched the bay controls. He spared only a glance back outdoors, and found that there was no-one to be seen. There were a few faces missing. With one final gasp, he slammed his thumb into the button and the bird's hydraulics hissed shut. It was painfully slow, but it was fast enough. Hurriedly, Foster ditched the door controls and grasped for a handhold. He felt the shudder of exterior atmosphere vents shutting, the hushed hiss of Spellcaster switching to canned air.

There was a moment of hushed silence.

And then the world outside the armored hull of the D77-TC exploded. He felt the Pelican rise, jerkily, from Reach's topsoil and achieve a glide. He felt the hull paneling try to shake itself apart, the electronics hardened as they were frizzled and sparked before dying for just a moment. Then the Pelican came back down with a harsh thud, further rattling the inhabitants. The electronics sprung back to life, quickly rebooting and diagnosing any issues. The crew and passengers of November Nine-Oh-Nine were safe, and secure if woozy.

Jackie stumbled his way towards the cockpit, giving a half-hearted thumbs-up towards the Army jock. "You alright..." Jackie glanced at the other man's nametag. "...O'Duggan? Barf bags are in that compartment there." He pointed, though it appeared more as a tired flailing of his arm. "Once you shake off the blast, see if you can find our missing heads." Foster slapped the sitting man on the shoulder, nodded, and continued towards the cockpit.

The hatch slid open, and Jackie flopped down into his seat. Corti spoke first. "Chiao got bounced off the canopy, but it's still airtight. Dunno if he's alive. Rads spiked once, but not a lot of residual. Not really the standard nuke profile. I think the bastard jumped out when he saw that Air Force fencer come at him."

Foster rolled his neck, as if it would somehow relieve his body of tension. It didn't. "In atmo? Crazy fucking aliens. Let's see who all's still alive."

The comms sung static a few moments longer, and then the warbling voices of wartime communications began to fade in. Standard fare. Foster eyed the desolation beyond his flying metal carapace a few moments more. He sighed, and clicked transmit.

"4 Delta 15, Spellcaster. We're missing a couple, Blackburn included. Good shooting. Standby, I've got two officers breathing down my neck. I'll get back to you. Out." He swapped frequencies from the air asset channel over to the more general battlenet.

He grimaced. Some ell-tee and an ONI captain were basically shouting over each other for status reports. They were patchy, as expected. Being in a bunker and y'know, radiation tended to have that effect. Nevertheless, one of the myriad benefits of having a spacecraft was that your bird was rigged for spacecraft ranges. Long-range, high-power comms hardened for exo radiation. This was nothing.

"Kilo 45, Spellcaster. Be advised, I can only answer one question at a time. We're missing a couple, Blackburn, the cook and the MP. The rest have got bumps and bruises at the worst. I'll radio again if he's alive." He scanned the horizon, now visible considering every tree for a good couple of klicks was now horizontal. "Any word on that hydrogen? I've got enough for one hop, maybe two, but I'm sure as hell not making orbit on fumes. Out."

by **Beiarusia** » Tue Feb 15, 2022 5:24 pm

Private Maple Rier
Kilo-45 – Squad 3
ONI Yard 2218 near Sopron, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552

She was too enthralled in locating the Prowler via the computer terminal to have noticed the ominous red glow of the Covenant Frigate's excavation beam as it slowly came online, nor did she hear the radio broadcast of Delta 15 as her helmet was laying discard nearby and was, currently, not atop her head. Only the urgency of the Lance Corporal — and the notable panic in his voice — keyed her in to the fact that something was very much wrong, more-so as he pulled her away from the terminal and deeper into the ONI facility. Closing the door behind them, Chukov motioned for her to keep running. Fight-or-flight had kicked in and Maple, despite not speaking a word of Russian, was now running full speed on her own volition.

The next thing she remembered was a ringing in her ears and the soreness of having been thrown violently. Fortunately her helmet was now back where it should be, so aside from a few bruises Maple was more-or-less okay. Something big had hit the facility, that much was certain, and Chukov had very likely just saved her again. The man in question was already on his feet and helping her up to her own. "Are you alright?" he asked, to which she nodded. "Do you have any cloth to cover your mouth and nose with?"

"Uh... no," she answered, still a bit disoriented from the tumble. They were deeper now in the ONI facility, so had been spared the worse of whatever had just occurred outside. It took a few moments for her brain to conclude that the Covenant Frigate had either A) glassed the exterior or B) had been attacked. Her familiarity with Longswords was minimal but she could assume that nuclear ordnance had been deployed if the latter option indeed transpired. Currently she had no way of knowing that she was only partially correct as she hadn't witnessed what had actually transpired. "I'll find something," she reassured the Lance Corporal, and would indeed manage to create a makeshift bandana from some spare rags that had been forgotten in her pack. "We should regroup. Do you... uh... think everyone is okay?"

by **Anowa** » Thu Feb 24, 2022 4:56 pm

_{PFC Chips Dubbo}
_{Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2609 NST}

Dubbo was among the first back up, despite being closest to the door. There were drills for surviving overpressure, under normal circumstances it was simply to make sure you had as little surface area in contact with the air around you, and had your mouth open. It sure as fuck didn't help to much with the sound, or actually sliding across the ground like a fucked up bowling pin.

It took a few seconds to regain his bearings, but looking at the door, he felt miraculously lucky.

The blast door had been bowed inwards, had they been outside they would've all been turned in to blood and guts, but as it was, the blast door had taken enough of the impact that people were just tossed around like pinballs... and it still managed to warp the 20 ton steel slab a goof 2 feet of it's frame. It wasn't going anywhere at least.

"Oi! I'm gonna check the situation outside, if I'm not back in five, assume the radiation turned me in to goo!"

dumping his pack and crawling under the blast door and through it's locking teeth, he came face to face with the aftermath as he looked around. The solid construction that previously made up the landing platforms was gone, or at least so warped any attempt to land would be risky at best or tantamount to suicide.

Kassaran wrote:"One, this is six. Main power is out, we're on backups but not sure for how long. External eyes and ears are out, but internals should be up mo-men-tar-i-got it. I've got three's transponder still broad- oh shit. Three's up! Bottom of the canyon, tagging her location now."

Dubbo's posture changed as he began looking around, before moving to the edge of the platform and starting to look around. Disguised between ruined wrecks of metal framework, concrete shards from the pads, and the naturally darker rocks, he could make out the comparatively ghost white sheet of her face.

"Longacre!" he called out, looking for any response, getting on his radio he called out, "I see her! If anyone's got a rope, you better get your ass out here!" looking around for any sort of cord, he only found more debris, and none of it usable for a safe descent. He heard a wet tap on his helmet, looking up, the monolithic form of a mushroom cloud was obscuring any form of light, and starting to dissipate in to blackened clouds. a Few more wet taps spattered across his face plate, giving off a notable trail of smoke, enough to signify it's status as acidic, but not enough to do any lasting damage to anything but... flesh...

"It's starting to fucking rain, don't come out unless your suit is sealed!" Looking back over the edge at Longacre almost 40 meters below, Dubbo shook his head, as he unslung his rifle, "Fuck me."

The man jumped, trying to keep himself oriented feet first, an instant before striking the water, a trio of gunshots ripped through the still howling winds, surface tension broken, the man simply felt the strain on his knees, hips and ankles as they were forcibly folded against the water pressure. He lost his rifle somewhere, but it wasn't his primary concern. Wading through water with what felt like a rolled ankle, he eventually broke as he rushedly strode over to Longacre, spotting her helmet on the ground not too far away. grabbing it he all but jogged over, "Longacre!"

Even with the harder plating of the ODST armor keeping most of her bones in place, Dubbo could still see damage, ankles were twisted out of place, knees looked fine in shape but were inflamed to the point that the knee joint in her suit no longer had wrinkles, and no doubt her hips were fucked, and her spine may be compressed. Who knows how fucked the actual bones were. The man took a knee and immediately slipped the helmet back on to the woman, depolarizing his visor as he double tapped hers for it to do the same.

Reaching down to his IFAK, he pulled one of the two full autoinjectors, of Poly-Sue from it and stuck it in to the port on Longacre's armor near her collarbone. He wasn't supposed to have them, no one besides medics were, but his experiences on Meridian, and the desire to not have to deep throat a gun if it came down to it meant he had grifted two of the auto-injectors from places he wasn't supposed to be. "You're gonna be alright mate."

Behind and above, Stuart was already working on getting the rope he had stuffed in to his ruck out.

Empire of Donner land wrote: "This is 4 Delta 15... anyone out there?... Hello?! Jesus Christ."

"4 Delta 15, this is KKT 6017-55 "Kauket". The ground forces at the site are largely going to be okay. As of now you need to return to your ship of deployment before you attract any tangible attention to this AO. The supply situation on the ground as I understand it will be dire and they may need to remain here for a number of days."

On another net, the same AI spoke, both to the ground team on site and the pelican team, "I am fine Corporal Amir. Acid rain outside is currently composed mostly of nitric acid, non-lethal but inadvisable to travel through, it will likely die down within the hour. Radiation outside is at safe levels. Fuel bunker, Hangar Beta 4, Hangar Beta 5, Hangar Alpha 5 are destroyed, as are Pads 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 9. Pad 3 and Pad 11 remain the only pads structurally stable enough to sustain the weight of a pelican. All non-shielded systems are currently electron loaded from the electromagnetic pulse. Several walls and roofs on the eastern side of the facility are at risk of failing, I would suggest reclaiming as many medical supplies from the barrakcs infiormary as you can. Current estimates of fuel indicate the remaining stored reaction mass on base is not enough for neither the Pelican nor Prowler to make it to Aszod, let alone orbit."

"As it stands, you are stranded in the greater Sopron area for the time being. Good news is that biomedical scans indicate all members of your unit are alive, if beaten and bruised. Further bad news is that we have now learned that Covenant ships can initiate a slipspace jump in atmosphere, and can likely exit one in atmosphere as well. Given the lack of acknowledgement of this occurrence on both Covenant and UNSC battlenets, getting this information to UNSC high command is now a Priority One directive."

Back at the Pelican, Blackburn was limping towards the rear door of the pelican, his rifle gone as pellets of acid rain pelted down on to the ground, "I guess that explains how they constantly skirt our orbital defences."

"It does, which is why it is vital we inform highcom."

Black burn groaned as he crawled in to the back of the Pelican and strapped in, "I'm not saying it isn't, but if they can jump this close to the ground, why don't they do it more often?"

"I don't know."

Blackburn sighed, "Yeah that's the track record for most of what they do."

by **Bolslania** » Mon Feb 28, 2022 6:58 am

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey}
_{Ad-Hoc Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552.}

"Kilo 45, Spellcaster. Be advised, I can only answer one question at a time. We're missing a couple, Blackburn, the cook and the MP. The rest have got bumps and bruises at the worst. I'll radio again if he's alive."

"Spellcaster, Grey, copy that. Longacre is wounded at the bottom of the canyon, I'm gonna need you to go down and get her when and if possible. Over." He replied to the pelican's transmission.

Shit, I hope Blackburn's alright. He thought as he poked around the hangar. Unfortunately there was nothing of use to him in here. It appeared as if the only method of rescuing Longacre was in the form of the pelican sitting a few clicks out.

"I see her! If anyone's got a rope, you better get your ass out here!" Dubbo's distinct accent blared out over the radio. Grey fired a reply to him.

"Understood Dubbo, I've put in for Spellcaster to pick her up, standby for updates."

_{1st Lieutenant Seamus O'Duggan}
_{Ad-Hoc Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552.}

Seamus sighed in relief as the pelican pilot shot him a thumbs up. He unclipped his seat straps as... Foster asked if he was alright, pointing out barf bags.

"I'm alright, this isn't my first ride." Seamus chuckled as he stood up, grabbing on to the storage compartment above his seat as his knees wobbled underneath him. Taking a moment to collect himself. He opened up the bay door of the bird, just as Blackburn was making his way towards the pelican, talking with a new voice that had appeared on the radio net. He helped the battered ODST into a seat, dropping out of the Pelican to search for Steele and Chiao.

He damn near walked over Chiao, who'd been flung against the front of the Pelican, bouncing off the canopy and flying a few more feet past it. He knelt down beside the battered cook, sheltering Chiao's body from the acidic rain with his sealed flight suit.

"Come on mate, let's get you inside."

by **Vacif** » Thu Mar 24, 2022 7:12 pm

_{LCpl Akakios Callilis}
_{12th Marine Regiment, 4th Infantry Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

The world was a hellish red for the brief amount of time they were still outside. The electric trolley buzzed as Amir gunned the yellow cargo transport. Akakios didn’t need to look up. It would probably just burn his retinas. He’d seen glassings before, hell he saw a glassing just a few hours ago. But never one directly over his position. If they got the air defense online fast enough, he was sure that the Longsword was already within weapons range. But that came with the issue of literally getting nuked.

A pit sat in Callilis’ stomach as he sat behind his turret. This was a situation where he just had to accept his position. There was nothing he could do outside of sitting and waiting. A headache began to form. Stress, fear, or maybe something else was the cause.

"Callilis, get ready to go ahead and open the doors!" yelled Amir.

It wasn’t much but it was something to do that could at least make him feel better. Though Hangar Bay 2’s door was already open. The cart zigged and zagged across the ruined hangar. Callilis paid little mind to the devastation inside the hangar. The squad dismounted without a word and made for the command centre, their boots echoed up the stairwell as they made their ascent. Callilis approached the first station to his right and pushed the chair aside. The touch screen didn’t say fire control but it did say Door Control. Callilis wasn’t a tech guy like Amir but even he could push a button. His gloved fingers slid across the screen smoothly, hangar bay doors closing.

Soon after, he could hear the AA network rumbling to life as they cleared the airspace for 4 Delta to deliver its package. The external cameras showed the excavation beam stop forming in the bowels of the frigate but that relief was soon turned to something else when a slip space portal began to form. Callilis always wondered why atmospheric jumps were so uncommon. He was about to see why as the force of the portal opening up shook the earth around it and kicked up waves of dust. And then the cameras went blank as the nuclear warhead made contact and dust began raining from the ceiling, shaking his entire being but otherwise being fine. Hangar Bay 2 had been completely sealed and by extension command and control.

"I need you to run out to the hangar we came in from and look for any heavy-lift or crane equipment we can turn on and control. Pelican team hasn't checked in yet, so we need to be ready to recover Three in case they're out of commission." That was the Corporal again. Callilis nodded and hurriedly made his way downstairs towards hangar 2.

Place was a mess. Lit up by blood red emergency lights. Half filled fuel containers, trolleys, crates, pallets, toolboxes and scaffolding. No cranes and to be honest he didn’t think there would be one here. The hangar to the right was rubble now, his guess was because of its proximity to the fuel bunker. That didn’t bode well for whatever was in the barracks. Which now that he thought about it, probably wasn’t a very smart place to put the barracks. It was like putting an ammo depot within five hundred meters of the barracks. He ran left to the remaining hangars, but it was all the same there. Any heavy lift or crane gear he could find was either half-taken apart for scrap by scavengers or non-operational.

They were going to either need the Pelican, or a lot of rope. Or maybe push one of the heavy lifters outside and manually lower the hoist. He keyed the radio. “Callilis here. I’ve got some unpowered heavy lifters in Hangar 1. I’d recommend waiting on the Pelican though. I’m going to head over to the barracks and salvage what I can before it caves in on itself.”

_{LCpl Oliver Chiao}
_{8th Armoured Regiment, 3rd Support Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

Back at Olympic he had had the brief chance to actually cook something up, even if it was just repurposing a variety of halal, vegetarian and standard MREs. Add in a dash of spices he borrowed from Cuisine World, and there came the best meal anyone had had in at least three days. For a brief moment, a respite from the fighting, a return to normality just for twenty minutes. The flight in from Olympic Tower was smooth as could be. Chiao had slept standing on the way in, missing the philosophical thoughts that came with watching the planet you were on get turned to glass. He drew the long straw in his opinion. It was a boring but safe assignment, posting security for Spellcaster. He wasn’t keen on going into the facility with the others. He hoped the others were doing well. Oliver felt a pang of sadness come over his heart briefly as his only friend from the Battalion was assigned for the raid. They needed bodies but he wasn’t so sure Maple was ready for what they were about to do. But Maple put on a strong face (He thought at least) and followed orders.

Oliver marched with Kilroy around the perimeter the security team had set up. It was a few minutes since the team had gotten in when the gunfire started. Then explosions. A bit of mixed channel communications, a flare up here and there but no one had been reported dead yet so that was good. Up above, the sky was clear as black ice, he could see the cosmos and whatever battles raged in the sky when the inky blackness was replaced with crimson red. A cigarette hung in his mouth as he stared at the source in the distance. “H-hey, is that a glassing beam?” ’A little overkill don’t you think?’ he thought to himself. “Is that normal Covenant doctrine?” Concern and fear began to well up in his throat.

Killroy was scanning the area around them when Oliver drew his Attention to the source of the red light changing the color of everything around them. "Aye, it's normal doctrine for the covvies if there's a high value target nearby they want to take care of. The Others must have been spotted."

A burst of comms chatter began again as the squads respectively began scrambling for the control room. A moment more and bright yellow tracers filled the night sky. Seeing the Longsword's IFF in the far distance, hearing it before he saw it, a single bright light streaked towards the frigate. Oliver clicked his tongue. "Should uh... we start running?"

About the time Oliver asked if they should run, Killroy had already decided they needed to get back to the Pelican ASAP. "Yes, and we need to get back there before we get toasty or rad sickness, now move!" He shoved the man back in the direction of the Pelican, and took off running towards the pelican, and tried not to overtake the cook

The MP wasted no time as he said this, half-pushing-half-hauling the unprepared Cook for what was about to happen. Oliver barely had time to register the response and gain his footing when it happened. A corona of lights bellowed behind them. Blinding white light combined with the wash of blue from a slip space portal slammed into them.

As they entered visual range of the Pelican, the force of the slip space rupture threw Oliver off his feat and towards the Pelican. Except not at the altitude he'd wanted as the dust cloud lifted both the soldiers and their ride into the air. Oliver no longer felt Kilroy's iron grip on him as he hurdled towards the Pelican, arms flailing, vainly trying to gain purchase on anything to stop his trajectory.

Instead he caught the Pelican as the exo-atmospheric vehicle attained lift. He bounced (rather painfully) off one of the rear thrusters but was able to prevent an uncontrollable tumble from forming. What he got was a more embarrassing face plant as his head slammed against the cockpit, face dragging across the windshield before being thrown off again.

Killroy saw the flash of white and blow and was about to yell at Oliver to brace and go to the ground, when something hit Killroy in the back with enough force to not only drive the breath from his longs, but also lifted him off his feet. He quickly tried to find something to grab ahold of to slow him down, but before he could he slammed into a thick tree branch with a resounding smack if you could hear anything but rushing winds. Luckily for Killroy his armor turned the worst of the impact and shrapnel, the bad news was now Killroy didn't have any control as he tumbled end over end, before impacting the ground and going into a uncontrolled roll, before impacting and coming to a stop on a boulder.

Meanwhile Oliver was sore all over, maybe a few bone bruises but otherwise his bio readings were fine. He groaned, dazed as he tried to pick himself up from the ground. He could hear soft footsteps approaching. Wheezing, he looked to his right, a semi-familiar man in a flight suit approached.

"Come on mate, let's get you inside."

Oliver groaned as he accepted the hand up and the shoulder to lean on. He could see clouds beginning to form in the distance. His mouth tasted like chlorine and iron. “Yeah let’s get the hell out of here. You seen Kilroy?”

by **Kyraina** » Thu Mar 24, 2022 11:54 pm

_{MSGT Joseph "Bear" Bridges}
_{Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

Bear had engaged the enemy covvie forces and when those were done, he had followed Dubbo to the door panel, and that's when things went to hell. An AI started talking, Outside went Red, and then everyone started to scramble as the Longsword came in to deliver a nuke at the covvie ship overhead. Bear barely had time to get behind something solid enough for cover, and covered his eyes. Despite the cover, Bear was knocked off his feet by the shock wave and the wind, and went sliding across the ground, but manage to get himself stopped as he grabbed a hold of a pipe sticking out of the ground.

Bear got to his feet, with little damage to himself surprisingly. He looked around and saw the spook not really moving, and despite the static on the comms and the talking going over it, he heard three radio clicks that were fast, and then 3 slow clicks. something everyone is trained to do if they are not able to talk. He sprinted back up the the cat walk, and got to Grim's side.

"Hey, Grim, right? Look at me. Just listen and look at me, and I'll get you stabilized."

He keyed his mic: "I need a medic up on the cat walk asap." After letting off the mic, Bear drew in a big breath and started to check for exterior wounds or bleeding.

_{LCPL William Killroy}
_{Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

Killroy slowly opened his eyes, and groaned, as he ached all over from his short time as a human kite. His head was swimming and hurt like a mother fucker, his head vision was swimming, and his ears were ringing, but he shook his head, and felt a wave of nausea go over him, but he forced himself to breath deeply, and to slowly stand up, using the boulder beside him to do so. His vision slowly stopped spinning, the ringing in his ears slowly faded, and the Nausea slowly stopped, though the aches in his body remained. He looked around, and saw his LMG nearby, so he half walked, half stumbled to it, and picked it up, and cleared the weapon. He then heard his name being called, but wasn't sure if that was true.

He looked around for a second and saw the pelican, and half walked/Half stumbled towards it, and then spotted Oliver and someone in a flight suit, but manage to avoid dropping his LMG and kept the barrel out of the dirt.

"Oliver, I'm right here man, I hurt but other wise I am fine, what about you? We need to get on the pelican, and get to the others, so let's go."

Killroy, started to stumble/walk his way to the pelican.

by **Shyluz** » Sat Mar 26, 2022 9:04 pm

1LT. Jack Foster
442nd Naval Air Transport Squadron, UNSC Trafalgar, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
ONI Yard 2218, Near Sopron, // August 23rd, 2552

<< "Spellcaster, Grey, copy that. Longacre is wounded at the bottom of the canyon, I'm gonna need you to go down and get her when and if possible. Over." >>

Jackie Foster's brow furrowed. Longacre was one of the ODSTs if he recalled. One of the best of the best. How could she have been so stupid to fall down a goddamn cliff? It didn't add up.

"Roger, ell-tee. We'll uh, rig for rescue, over." He felt the Pelican shift beneath him, the comforting whine of the turbines spinning up as Spellcaster threw off her chains. He shot a glance at Corti, who gave a nod as Jackie flicked off transmit.

"I got the stick if you wanna help Raz with the extract," Corti stated with glee. Foster flipped him the bird as he unbuckled and moved to the Blood Tray. The cockpit hissed shut and closed behind him. He scanned side-to-side as he clomped his way aft, checking on the battered security detail and the couple who hadn't made it inside for the blast. Eventually he stopped at the cook--the one who'd been bounced off the windshield.

Jackie looked him up and down. "Chiao, right? Try not to scratch my windshield again, yeah?" He gave a cheerful grin that lacked cheer and a patted the man's soldier. "Chin up, we'll get 'em next time. If there's, y'know, a next time." Jackie gave a hasty nod and moved farther towards the bay door. He'd accounted for everyone, and other than this mysterious and possibly incompetent 'Longacre,' it sounded like everything had gone off without a casualty. Which was good.

But they were still on Reach. Which was bad.

Raz grimaced as he approached. "Hey boss. Thanks for the tackle, back there. Pretty sure you spared me eight ribs for the price of one," He let out a dry, humorless chuckle, "So what's our play, Jackie? Any big plans while we wait for the hinge-heads up top to notice their missing boat?"

Jackie stood at the lip of the bay as Spellcaster gently defied gravity. He sighed. "No clue, Raz. Thought maybe I'd take up smoking again. Try fishing in the lake if this 'Longacre' didn't scare all the fish in the canyon away."

"Don't think we've got the hours left for fishing, boss." Raz replied, sitting across from him, "Shit, even if we did, they'd be all irradiated now. Who's Longacre?"

"Some ODST who fell off a cliff or something, we gotta do a water extract so they can make sure she doesn't die before we get turned into our component atoms, I guess." As Raz pretended to gag, he tapped the intercom. "Corti, tell the ground teams that the detail's all accounted for. No serious injuries."

Raskov smiled--he couldn't see it of course, she was still wearing her helmet. But he could tell.

"They even put fish on Reach?"

"Not a fuckin' clue, Raz."

by **Ubaria** » Wed Mar 30, 2022 10:23 am

Captain Vera Patkós
ONI Section 1, Special Activities Center Reach - Reassigned to Multi-Branch Unit 'Kilo-45'
ONI Shipyard 2218, near Sopron, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552

With the grip of adrenaline slowly subsiding in her veins, Vera found her extremities beginning to ache and pulsate with pain with every twitch of the muscle, and something in her chest sent a bolt of white hot agony through her entire abdomen when she breathed in too sharply, most likely a dislodged or broken rib. For the most part she was fine, though less could be said about Longacre, though alive, she had somehow wound up at the bottom of the scar-like canyon that parted the ONI facility into it's two constituent halves, a fall that would have had dubious effects to her immediate wellbeing. Vera's expression darkened beneath her helmet at the mention that Dubbo and several of the others were venturing outside to drag what remained of the soldier up from the bottom of the canyon. Half the facility had been ripped asunder, the other half that remained threatened to collapse itself ontop of their very heads, the last thing they had time for was to waste more time, resources and men for one soldier. Vera opened her mouth to say something but found her words caught on her tongue like a bitter taste, as bitter as the blood seeping into her lips.

"Get Longacre out but don't be long about it. Second Squad, Rendezvous on my position and we'll make our way to the Prowler, it'll likely have the facilities we need for triage and sustainment for the time being. Amir, see what you can do about getting a line up to Highcom as soon as possible."

Whatever was left of the ONI facilities' long range communications had been wiped away by the blast wave, it was possible that there was an overland communications bundle that tracked all the way to Aszod that had survived the blast if they found the communications hub, though again any interface had likely been vaporized or fried by the intense electromagnetic forces following the slipspace rupture and subsequent nuclear detonation. That left the Prowler, it most likely had the facilities they needed to beam a short, coded message, encrypted at that, to HIGHCOM and also to alert them of their situation.

by **Hastur** » Thu Apr 14, 2022 8:23 pm

Staff Sergeant Alison Longacre
Kilo-45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach // August 23rd, 2552

Laying defeated on the riverbed, shifting in and out of consciousness, a dusty blob materialized from the water in the muddied fringe of her vision, encroaching on her position. Longacre’s hand wafted to her side as she struggled to concentrate on it, her fingers merely finding no such weapon as the shape now stood over her.

It leaned downward, grappling with her head as it tugged it upwards, attempting to put something on. Fear took over as Longacre clashed against it with whatever strength remained. Her arms darted upwards towards the shape, weakly clasping and tearing at whatever she could grasp before a claustrophobic feeling ousted the growing numb sensation on her face. The intimate radiance of her helmets VISRs UI mollified her, the invading contour clearing up into that of an ODST.

Longacre sputtered in respite. Someone had found her.

An unexpected warmth washed over her as the associate jabbed something into her collar, the unbearable torment dulling. Longacre’s eyes flashed up and down at the figure, continuing to grasp at the man’s uniform, the feeling of familiarity providing a sense of comfort as confusion occupying her widened pupils. Her thoughts struggled to draw a name to the shape through the deep fog that had her mind lost. All routes seemed to lead to the same spot. The same place. Only one person came to mind.

“Wiz.” Longacre flinched, eyes finally still as she stared at the ODST, the taste of blood dominant on her tongue as blood pooled from her mouth. “I… I can’t move, Wiz.” Longacre released the grip from the ODST, Longacre wasn’t going anywhere, she had to find her weapon.

her hands started frantically feeling around in the dirt for the tool of her trade, realising that it was still slung to her back. Her eyes latched onto the shape anew, things becoming sharper in the distinct moment of silence.

“Get my rifle.... my rifle, Wiz.” She wept, desperately plucking at her sling, pursuing to slide it out from under her back with little to no success. She could barely even move. Fear peaking as droplets of blood spattered against her visor. “Go to the tun.. tunnel...” As the words chattered her mouth, a flash of clarity pierced the mask as something felt acutely wrong. Her eyes attracted towards to the rocky tan walls that flanked her. The surroundings were different.

She was in a chasm.

Just like that, the perplexing mist descended further. A fashion of betrayal dragged across her face as she peered back at her partner, the sudden stability she had just gained falling apart. Fear grew in her eyes, tears beginning to flow.

”Wiz..” Longacre repeated it, punctuated it, desperation growing in her weak, broken voice, all of the sense of comfort falling to the side as she suddenly felt very alone.

by **Parcia** » Fri Apr 15, 2022 6:14 pm

_{Warrant Officer Grimsdottir, Olivia}
_{ONI Section 1 "Jester's Hand" Data Analytics Team Kilo 4-5}
_{ONI Yard 2218, Near Soporon Reach.}
_{Office of Naval Intelligence Section 1}
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2600 NST}

She barely noticed the vibrating of the cat walk as Bear ran up and over to her, only letting her hand fall from the button. She let out a hacking cough, bile and a not insignificant amount of blood coating the inside of her visor as the Master Sergeant begin to administer first aid. With shaky hands she reached up and removed her helmet, letting it drop to the side. Her eyes wouldn't focus, her ears rang and she tasted copper on her tongue. She tried again to take a deep breath and gasped at the pain in her chest.

I'm going to die here, aren't I.

Something snapped in her mind, the pain and confusion gave way to panic, panic to dread, dread to a strange, cold calm. She knew she was fucked up bad internally, the blood, bile, the pain in her chest. The Cold, quiet annalist in the back of her mind pointed out she might not even be stable enough to move.

"C-can't breath. Felt s-something pop. Blast might have pulped me, chest piece took most of it." she got the words out in-between quiet, labored breaths for air and a few more coppery coughs. The calm begin to creep further in to her mind, slowing the tempest of thought that raged in her mind, the emotions that had broken what little training she had.

All but the fear.

"Bear...I'm scared. I'm scared for my mother, and my sister. I don't w-wan't to leave them here...I Don't want to meet my gods here, in this hell." The ability to tell if she was even making sense was lost to her, and likely to Bear as he worked, as he did so though she began to mutter under her breath. The words were mumbled, but were in english.

It was a prayer, a death prayer, asking the Old Gods judge her fairly for her deeds.

by **Anowa** » Fri Apr 22, 2022 8:38 pm

_{1SGT. David Blackburn}
_{Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 30th, 2552 - 0722 NST}

It had been a long fucking week.

Twice daily foot patrols, no heat, no electricity, not a whole lot of food or water. Most of that was reserved for the wounded. Miraculously, only two of them were more banged up than bruises and cuts.

Longacre had been touch and go, shattered legs, compartment syndrome, a partially compressed spine, fractured pelvis, and massive hematomas that risked kidney failure. She'd been on a diet of IV fluid and painkillers for five days, and had only managed to stay conscious for long enough to have a full conversation the day before. Hell, they had to take a dremel to her leg armor, cutting open massive holes to ensure everything healed properly without killing her with compartment syndrome. But even with a majority of the recovered medical supplies, they couldn't do anything about the torqued and mangled ligaments without slicing her open, which meant she'd need to get to a proper medical bay.

Grimsdottir was a less severe afair, one of those big needles in to her chest and some BKP and she was good to go inside of an hour. Blackburn had a few choice words with Ackly and Veil regarding their triage, or lack thereof. And had barely restrained himself from tearing a strip off of everyone but Stuart for forgetting rope.

Right now, things were at their tipping point. Over the past week, the team had been syphoning piecemeal amounts of hydrogen from surrounding farms, settlements, and even a bombed out service station to try and get enough reaction mass for the pelican to break orbit. This was quickly seen as futile, so the plan changed. The pelican would keep what it had, while the rest would go in to the Prowler. The Welwyn's Vengeance of course had a reactor, so an equal amount of fuel put in to the pelican would last much longer, but even then it wasn't enough to break orbit, they'd burn too much fuel hitting escape velocity and then they'd be stuck in vacuum with a pelican that was running on fumes, even without the extra fuel usage of exothrust.

For the past few days, instead of wasting that precious fuel on scanning the countryside for an evac point, Amir had been cobbling together a radio from spare parts that hadn't been completely baked by the EMP.

As everyone else switched watch shifts or sucked down an MRE, Blackburn was sat next to Amir as he tuned the ghetto radio for what seemed like the thousandth time, though this time, the static broke.

"ALCON ALCON ALCON! Coordinated ground operations on Reach will cease on August 30th at 2000 hours! The only remaining evac points on the ground are Konpeki Suburb in Ezstergom and the Azsod shipbreaking yards near Manassas! We are cutting our losses and pulling out! Anybody outside of these zones is now on his own, I say again, if you weren't already, you are now fucked!"

Blackburn dropped his coffee as he stood, a chill going up his spine as he felt bile gurgle in his stomach, his lungs reacted first, "MOUNT UP! MOUNT UP!"

_{1SGT. David Blackburn}
_{Kilo 45}
_{UNSC Welwyn's Vengeance-November 909, near Aszod Shipbreaking Yards, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 30th, 2552 - 01612 NST}

Below them, they could see tracers, plasma bolts, and scorched earth until the horizon as they snaked over canyons and rivers. The AI in control of the Prowler, most of the ordinance directed at them missed, not that there was a shortage anyways. A lot of people wouldn't be going home. Point defence lasers were doing enough against any curious flyers, but even then they were cutting it close.

The sky was on fire again. Red light started to seep through the viewports, once again assaulting the retinas of the team once again. This time, it was from a cruiser, hanging over their escape plan: The Pillar of Autumn.

The AI spoke up, "We have docking permission, I'm bringing us in."

Dubbo was about to say something, before an arc of blue zoomed across the sky and slammed in to the glowing red hole on the cruiser, rocking the massive bulbous craft with explosion after explosion.

"Hold on, this may get rough."

The ship's radio picked up a local transmission, "Good guns, Spartan. All stations: brace for cast-off."

The Prowler surged ahead as the blue engines on the Autumn began to glow with the fury of a dying star, the booster rockets strapped to it's belly flaring as it started taking off.

The Prowler's HUD highlighted a small opening on the Pillar's side, set for what seemed to be a collision course. The prowler didn't slow, even as it seemed evident the aircraft wouldn't fit. Then there's was a godawful crash, and everyons started getting thrown around. A meter on the lower cowling had been ripped off, and the roof and sides of the aircraft were sending hails of sparks across the hangar designed for some pelicans and a Longsword, not a whole other ship.

Coming to a halt, the prowler settled and lowered it's gear, and cargo ramp.

Looking out the rear of the closing hangar airlock as the ship pulled away, distant tracers could still be seen.

_{WO-2 Sierra-045}
_{NOBLE Team}
_{Pillar of Autumn, Mess Hall}
_UNSC
_{August 31st, 2552 - 0702 NST}

The mess hall was surprisingly barren, not like the other ships that 045 had served on. And even then, she'd never seen any Army personnel on said ships, just navy, Marines, and the occasional ONI. Few senior enlisted, and even fewer officers.

The Autumn also seemed to have supply shortages for everything but Spartans. The ODSTs were largely forced to make do with some older pieces of Marine kit, and the Marines were outright lumped with it. Though the mass number of combat refugees offset the general feeling of poor supply, a lot of things had been brought on board, including Falcons which were unceremoniously ditched or scrapped considering their uselessness in vacuum. A number of civilian or law enforcement pelicans were being cannibalised for ammo and parts as well. And some mad as hell Helmsman had managed to ram a Prowler where it shouldn't have fit.

Her armor was currently being repaired so she was in a set of barely fitting and unmarked cross branch BDUs, and while she wasn't supposed to be on her feet considering the burns and punctures she had dotting her body, she had given her bed up to an ODST with mangled legs, figured they'd need it more. Emile was somewhere, probably the armoury, and Kat was likely on the Bridge, they'd been given some empty bunks off in the ass end of the ship, bunks with names on them... names that 045 recognized.

Swallowing, 045 came to the consensus that the food was still the same Navy gruel as it always had been. It was saying something that the wafers of salt and burnt flower Mendez called crackers were marginally more appealing than what could only be described as nutrient paste. It was supposedly powdered eggs, powdered potatoes, and some sort of poorly held together and twice reheated meat, but 045 had mixed it all together in to some unholy shepherd's pie. It worked in a way that gave it the texture that didn't feel like eating sand, and some margin of flavour.

Sighing, the woman took another spoonful in to her mouth as he mind went effectively blank.

by **Empire of Donner land** » Sat Apr 23, 2022 1:01 am

Lieutenant Santo Schirmer / 4 Delta 15
17th Tactical Strike Group, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
Pillar of Autumn, Hangar Bay// August 31st, 2552

Titanium-A battle plate is the material used in nearly all of the protective armor in UNSC stock, from everything to body armor to the pieces of a ship's hull, including his own Longsword. But it wasn't invulnerable, far from it, Schirmer's Longsword was a long long way from what it looked like coming out of the factory. It was scarred, scabbed, burnt, the ablative coating which dissipated heat was flash-boiled by the nuclear explosion. As if a layer of skin had been simply vaporized into gas and plasma. Only the thin coating which stayed in the shadow of the flash remained, and even then, it was pockmarked, lettering and numbers broken apart randomly by the destruction of a split atom, or a stream of hot plasma.

Touching the wing of the longsword, felt like touching the skin of Reach.

Schirmer was not undamaged either, and he knew it, he had gotten lucky not once, but twice, in the same instance. The first time even being able to land the hit on the Covie Frigate, the second time just happening to be faster than the consequences afterward. He had been running close air support non-stop since, but without the convenience of sending his problems to the atomic cloud of a Shiva class nuclear missile. Gun runs, they brought him uncomfortably close to not just the action, but the reality of Reach, he had heard it on the radio. He had seen through his cockpit the reality of the ground just by being a few kilometers closer.

Massive plasma explosions, platoons being evaporated, all concealed by the literal fog of war that was the glass of Reach blowing towards them with the ominous red glow of what will happen. He had become an ace, multiple times over, but what did it matter? Swatting banshees, banishing spirits, exorcising Phantoms, it was day by day, not like he'd get a medal- because all the medals on Reach were already burnt to ash, who was left alive who would give him one anyway? Those medals, they belong to Reach.

He knew they were losing, he knew they probably wouldn't win, he was prepared for that. But it was a gut wound, for days this was happening, as if the Covenant were twisting the knife to savor the taste of the UNSC's defeat, he wished it would just be over already. It hurt to pull out of Reach, but it hurt, even more, to throw so many lives away just to leave. Maybe this is why he joined the UNSC Air Force in the first place? Not enough stomach to see it in person, much more palatable be at a distance. To keep an arm's length away from the reality of extinction.

Schirmer breathed in, then out, and decided to leave his Longsword to rest, climbing from his seat and out the back ramp as he took off his flight helmet, a whispering hiss, as the pressure released. He mag-locked the helmet to his hip and set course to leave the hangar. He passed by officers, enlisted, all types and all branches, all crammed on a ship they probably shouldn't have been on in the first place. They were tired, they were afraid, and their faces were a reflection of the very planet they were on. Schirmer's though, was empty, apathetic, as if the war outside the windows of this very ship he tried to ignore were of no concern.

Then as if a break in his resolve, he stopped at a window, slowly approaching it, and leaning against the sill, looking out to the warzone that the Pillar of Autumn sat behind. The distant tracer fire, the glow of plasma mortars, flashes of artillery fire, shadowed by the glow of Reach's own death throes. He couldn't feel it, but he could imagine the thump, thump, thump, of pressure waves hitting him, punching him into submission. What he had seen close to the ground doing gun runs returned to him, combined with the calls for fire, the screaming, radio transmissions cut short. He hadn't had time to think about it then, but now, he had too much, yet not enough to break it into small pieces.

As his eyes covered the horizon of Azod, he resolved on one thing.

He needed his boots on the ground.

Just once.

by **Beiarusia** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 3:05 pm

Private Maple Rier
Kilo-45 – Squad 3
Mess Hall, UNSC Pillar of Autumn, Slipspace // August 31st, 2552

The young woman sighed contentedly as the door slid open with a hiss, the air cool against still-damp skin as she left the showers, revitalized by the warmth, and having washed away the stress of the previous week alongside the dirt, grime, and blood. Maple was dressed simply in clean, khaki pants and a grey tank-top with the EGB logo on the breast. A donation from the crew as they struggled to accommodate the sudden influx of survivors.

Kilo-45, surviving the nuclear detonation, had been stranded, scrounging what they could from the ruined ONI facility and the nearby, abandoned settlements — fuel and medical supplies being the top priority — and had only just made it to Azsod in time for the last evacuation. The cruiser Pillar of Autumn had shuttled them away from Reach and into slipspace soon thereafter. Their destination? Maple wasn't sure nor did she care. She was alive and, surprisingly, in one piece, and she was optimistic that she'd reconnect with her uncle's family once they returned to friendly territory. They were probably halfway to Earth by now or wherever the next stop was for refugees. There was no doubt in Maple's mind that Praha had been evacuated. It couldn't have been as bad as New Alexandria.

She refused to consider such an alternative.

Uncertain as to when she'd be pressed back into work, Maple hurried off to the Mess Hall, starving and eager to eat something that wasn't an MRE. It took some time to locate the cafeteria. (She was unaccustomed to starships, much less something as massive as the Pillar of Autumn.) The room was surprisingly barren. A handful of crewmen, a few soldier-types, and a very tall woman that she did not recognize who was eating alone. No familiar faces but that was fine. Anyone she knew was likely elsewhere or had escaped onto another ship.

Grabbing a plate, and using her charm to nab a few extras, she found a table, an easy endeavor considering the current lack of people in the cafeteria. She briefly considered sitting next to the very tall woman but the woman's demeanor made it seem that she wanted to be alone so Maple wordlessly obliged. Not that she was too far off should she want the company. For now, though, Maple was more concerned on whether or not she could get seconds.

Lieutenant Ren Nakajima
Operations Officer - UNSC Pillar of Autumn
Corridors, UNSC Pillar of Autumn, Slipspace // August 31st, 2552

Reach. Tribute. Circumstance.

The colonies of Epsilon Eridani were gone, eradicated by the largest Covenant fleet ever encountered, and soon nothing would remain but glass and echoes. Humanity had lost its final bastion. Earth was all that remained, in regards to absolute importance, and the UNSC fleet would be scrambling to prepare for a final desperate defensive. As far as the UNSC was aware, the Covenant had not yet located Earth, but if they had found Reach then Earth was soon to be next. 10 lightyears. That was all that stood between the Covenant and the homeworld. Uninspiring odds.

Lieutenant Nakajima pushed the errant thought from her mind. She had more pressing concerns, chiefly to see to the sudden influx of passengers that had been boarded during the evacuation. Most were UNSC personnel, but a handful of civilians had made it onto the cruiser as well, and all would need accommodations, food, medical attention, clothing, etc. The list went on for a good bit. To make matters all the worse, the ship was experiencing a critical shortage of most everything. From what little that she knew, and she knew very little of the ship's planned excursion, the Pillar of Autumn was undergoing a final retrofit for... something, an operation of some sort, so had not been fully stocked as there had simply been no need at the time, but now that there was a need, and a substantial one at that, it was up to her to make it work. Fortunately she enjoyed a good challenge, but if she were to continue she'd need more coffee. An unholy combination of caffeine and adrenaline was all that was keeping her mobile, and the latter was quickly waning now that the threat of imminent death was no longer an immediate cause for worry.

There were few people inside the cafeteria. Not unexpected. A lot had transpired and most would need time to process the loss. Grabbing herself a coffee, and another for the captain, she meandered on back towards the bridge, allowing the caffeine to stave off the sleep deprivation for a few hours more. She could have sent one of the lower ranks to run the errand but she needed the break and to stretch her legs before diving back into the mess they were facing. If she was lucky she'd actually get to sleep once everything had settled. But, for now, she focused on the task at hand.

She'd worry about whatever else later.

by **Ubaria** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 6:19 pm

Captain Vera Patkós
ONI Section 1, Special Activities Center Reach - Reassigned to Multi-Branch Unit 'Kilo-45'
ONI Shipyard 2218, near Sopron, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 30th, 2552

Each night that came and went brought with it a steadily growing unease that the likelihood of survival was becoming that much tenuous thinner as their supplies dwindled. In the first couple of days, scouting parties had been sent out to each corner of the facility to scour the place for essential items, they had found a few boxes of MREs, a small cache of arms and ammo, and a small collection of medical items. Much of the facility had been closed off to them; tunnels had been filled with earth and concrete, walkways had been wrenched free of their mountings when the blastwave had hit and doors had been warped shut beyond repair.

Fuel had been hard to come by too. Many of the caches and fuel bunkers had detonated their stores when the bomb went off, the flammable Hydrogen had burnt for a day or so until the heavy rains quenched the burning gas. When they had drained what little was left in the base, excursions had been sent out into the heat-scoured hills nearby to see what could be dug up there, farms and homesteads yielded little as those too had been hit hard by the shockwave of the nuclear detonation though teams carried home what they could in the still operational Pelican.

Everything that they had gathered was hauled aboard the Welwyn's Vengeance, their ad-hoc command post, where it was inventoried and distributed as needed to the survivors. Vera had commandeered it as it was mostly unmolested by the electromagnetic interference that had fried the rest of the base; though it’s communications module was currently in a state of disrepair as was a lot of the auxiliary systems, however it sufficed for the time being as a roof over their heads that didn’t threaten to collapse. It was also furnished with a medical bay where they had hauled Longacre in; halfway to death’s door after they had fished her out from the waterlogged ravines below the base.

That had been around a week ago, whilst patrols and scout teams continued to bring in a meagre trickle of supplies, it was becoming evident that what they had scraped together wasn’t going to last that much longer. Food had to be rationed more stringently, drinking water was fast becoming scarce. What fuel they had was being fed into the Prowler’s reactor core to keep it online, what remained would afford them a short trip a few hundred kilometres at the very most, enough to escape immediate danger but without any concrete idea on what was happening in the outside world, any destination could prove them stranded in a worse situation.

Amir had managed to cobble together a long-range radio out of parts that hadn’t been permanently damaged by the electromagnetic pulse, however over it’s limited selection of military and civilian channels, it currently only picked up dead air, and they daren’t broadcast a message from their position lest it brought down the enemy upon them, the most they could do for now was wait as the clock ticked down.

Vera slowly paced the length of the Welwyn’s bridge. She had only ever been on a UNSC starship once and whilst the details of it were hazy, she was sure it had been at least twice as big as this one, perhaps more. This felt much more like her office back home, which in itself offered a strange sort of comfort, though a mere drop in the ocean of discontent she was currently experiencing. Vera had slept very little during the week and even when she did managed to steal a couple of hours rest; her dreams were plagued with nightmares of aliens, dead men and a burning sky which never failed to wrench her back to the realm of the living in a jolt of adrenaline and a film of sticky cold sweat. She much preferred to stay awake, her hours were not spent patrolling like the others, she remained on the Welwyn's Vengeance, co-ordinating the group’s operations and learning to operate the ship’s fundamental systems with the begrudging assistance of the onboard AI, Kauket. The AI was unconventional to say the very least; the first time it had manifested itself as a hologram aboard the bridge, Vera almost thought that it was experiencing some sort of malfunction or corruption. Kauket’s avatar was that of a woman, her lithe frame was bathed a shade of pale yellow, yet from the neck upwards she sported the head like that of a snake, an Egyptian cobra to be more precise, a constantly twisting cluster of regular serpents danced around her legs when she moved, like swaying flames from a hellish bonfire and her reptilian eyes seemed to never blink, constantly watching.

Kauket spoke with a curt tone, not too unlike a schoolteacher Vera once had; impassive yet with a tangible hint of derisiveness and humorously, her forked tongue flickered even when she was not speaking. Vera never questioned the AI on her manner of appearance, though she did try to question about the ship’s previous purpose and capabilities, though Kauket had been as steadfast as a mountain on that approach; being ONI property the AI was not privy to divulge classified information no matter how much Vera badgered or tried to flaunt her newfound authority in it’s face, either the AI didn’t care or did not yet know about her newfound position. Or, thirdly, it was still above her paygrade.

Vera had eventually relented. Kauket was stubborn but proved useful in briefing her about the Welwyn’s operational procedures and just enough information to operate the ship without blowing it up or damaging it. For all Vera cared, the AI was welcome to keep it’s secrets, as long as the ship continued to function she wasn’t about to complain, the ship was a means to an end. Not that she wasn’t curious about what was hiding under all those layers of black tape; after all, inquisiveness was in her nature.

Morning stole upon them quickly; placid light of the rising Reach sun scattered shades of pink and red across the cloudless skies, a flock of migratory birds could even be seen flitting through the air in the far distance. Here there was no war at all, only waiting and watching. Patkos realised she had been up for far too long as she stole a glance at herself in the reflection of a dimmed screen nearby. Black lines hung from her eyes, her face had sunken and become paler, her hair was a nest of brown strands and her BDU was crumpled and still stained with oil, dirt and blood.

She yawned and began to stretch when her breath suddenly caught, a shiver of pain surged through her lower rib cage and up into her chest. The broken rib she had sustained from slamming into the Condor had been set back into place, though it still gave her pain to move too quickly and the area was still very much tender. Vera clutched at her side and slowly slid backwards into the helmsman’s seat.

“I’m detecting you are in discomfort. Should i send for medical attention?” Kauket’s yellow glow filled the dingy space of the bridge. Vera shook her head, forgetting for a moment that the AI perhaps lacked the understanding of nuances relating to human body language. “No, i’m fine. Thanks” She grunted, shifting her body weight uneasily in the chair.

“As you will. I should also note that as of 3:43am this morning, you have enough material supplies to sustain you for another two days, four hours and sixteen minutes at your current rate of consumption. Unless circumstances change … also ambient air temperature around the facility has increased by almost four point eight nine degrees celsius over the last day. I can only take this as a side effect of altered climate effects caused by increased plasma bombardment efforts by the Covenant.” Kauket’s gaze remained unbroken on Vera who tried her best to avoid staring into those beady, slitted pupils.

“Any other great news?” Vera replied, slowly standing with the aid of the nearest control console.

“Staff Sergeant Longacre’s condition has improved remarkably in the last twenty four hours. Blood oxygen levels have stabilised, as have white blood cell counts, and nerve activity around her extremities is also slowly being restored to normal function. It will be a while before she can resume to active duty, but it’s a start.”

‘Some good at least, she’ll get better only to die here of starvation or dehydration, that or perhaps the Covenant would be merciful enough to come here and turn us all to glass first’ Vera thought morbidly to herself as she shuffled towards the bridge doors.

“I’m going out for some fresh air. Hopefully i won’t get heatstroke.” Vera barely made it two paces out of the door before the AI was chirping into her earpiece.

“Captain. Corporal Amir’s … radio has picked up UNSC traffic. Patching it through now.”

"ALCON ALCON ALCON! Coordinated ground operations on Reach will cease on August 30th at 2000 hours! The only remaining evac points on the ground are Konpeki Suburb in Ezstergom and the Azsod shipbreaking yards near Manassas! We are cutting our losses and pulling out! Anybody outside of these zones is now on his own, I say again, if you weren't already, you are now fucked!"

Vera froze for a moment, her ears registering the hazy message blasting through a veil of static and distortion. Once it had finished she spun around on one foot, ignoring the pain shooting down her hips and dashed back towards the bridge.

“Anything else?”

“No, the message just repeats on a loop every two minutes. No other traffic on the channel.”

“Recall everyone back to the ship. Plug in a course for Azsod, can we make it?”

“By my calculations, yes. But it’ll be close.”

“Close is good enough.”

Aboard the UNSC Welwyn's Vengeance - En-route to Aszod Shipbreaking Yards, Reach // August 30th, 2552

Vera’s knuckles were white, gripping onto the supple leather of the captain’s seat as the forces of the Prowler jostling around pulled her this way and that, through the external viewports the horizon bowed and rose, dipped and turned. One moment it was sky, the next cold hard ground and then a few times, it almost flipped completely.

Vera had never liked flying; she had thought aboard a large ship it would have been less of an issue but that had proved itself false, it was a wonder how she hadn’t bought up her meagre breakfast of porridge oats and yoghurt all over her control dashboard.

“Forty-two kilometres and closing. It seems the Pillar of Autumn is already a vector for atmospheric escape.” Kauket’s voice was ice cool, as if she was reading off the day's weather forcast.

“And the Covenant ship?”

“A CSS Battlecruiser. Energy readoffs indicate it’s priming it’s glassing beam. Weapons haven’t acquired us yet.”

“Do we have contact with the Autumn yet?”

“Negative. Not radio anyway. I have pinged their shipboard systems that we are en-route to intercept but they do not seem to be slowing down. We will also not have the facilities to transfer personnel via Pelican once she reaches altitude.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have no way to dock with the Autumn. We may be able to ride her slipspace wake but that does not guarantee we will end up with her on the other side, or the other side at all.”

Vera grimaced; had they come this far only to fail now?

“What if … what if we didn’t need to dock?”

“The Pillar of Autumn lacks the sufficient facilities to support this craft.”

“It has hangars though.”

“None wide enough to safely support the Welwyn's Vengeance.”

“Safely … “ Vera hung on the word, hoping that the AI would get her meaning. It took a few glaring seconds, for all the processing power that Kauket had.

“You mean permanently damage this ship and potentially damage the Autumn?”

“That’s exactly what i mean. Can it be done?”

“Theoretically. The width of this craft is fifty two point nine four metres from wingtips and twenty two point nine zero in height. This surpasses the safety restrictions of the Autumn’s port tertiary craft hangar of forty nine point five one metres width and twenty point zero two metres height. It’ll be a tight fit.”

“Do it.”

Kauket’s dorsal scales vibrated with what could have been interpreted as mild disapproval, yet the AI simply clasped her hands behind her back and the Welwyn's Vengeance sped up, her course changing so slightly to directly intercept the Autumn’s port side. Out of the windows, the sky began turning that ominous shade of red that had become all too familiar for all the wrong reasons. Vera didn’t need to be told that the Cruiser was powering up for the final stage of it’s glassing beam, yet Kauket did all the same.

Through that red appeared the Autumn, at first small but quickly grew in size by several magnitudes until it dominated the viewports. It’s hulking grey form filled Vera’s vision and closer still they drew until the small rectangular opening of the hangar bay appeared. For a moment Vera was overcome with fear, it seemed they would simply smash into the side of the ship and be scattered all over Reach in tiny pieces, but the AI had calculated the approach with surgical-like precision. In one swift manoeuvre the Prowler danced to the right and swept a curving path towards the opening, eventually everything lined up and the Prowler made the final thrust forwards.

“Impact in ten … “

Ten seconds felt like ten minutes. Vera simply had closed her eyes by this point, the helpless feeling of not being in control was too terrible to bare with full vision. As stiff as a tree, she was almost thrown from her chair when the Prowler finally made the connection, her restraints were the only thing stopping her from skittering across the room like a tossed doll. Hellish screams of metal on metal filled her ears and there was a vibrating so intense it felt as if her bones were being ground to dust. From above a screen fell clean free of it’s mounting and clattered across the decking, a roof plate clanged to the floor not a foot from Vera’s feet and a conduit of viscous liquid burst, spraying black liquid in a whirling arc around the room.

Eventually the Prowler came to a rest at the end of the Hangar. Vera could see through the front viewports the faces of petrified deckhands peering out from behind crates of equipment, it was hard to tell who had been the more scared, them or her. Slowly she unbuckled her restraints and slowly wobbled to her feet.

“Any casualties?”

“Negative. Besides the Welwyn's Vengeance of course.” Kauket’s tone was almost bitter, the most vitriol she had shown thus far.

“She sacrificed herself to save many. On that you have my gratitude. I’d shake your hand but … “

“And I suppose you have mine. It was either this or be disassembled at the hands of the Covenant.”
Vera managed to nod and smile towards the AI who seemed to be about to smile back, yet was interrupted by the bridge doors opening from behind. The noisy clatter of boots on metal filled the space and as Vera turned around, she was met with the sight of several weapon barrels pointed loosely in her face. Many seemed rather agitated, but a voice buzzing in their soon gave them pause. A couple exchanged confused looks and lowered their rifles.

“Captain Patkos … Welcome aboard the Pillar of Autumn. Captain Keyes requests your presence in his office. We’ll escort you.”

Vera sighed and peered down at her sweat and grime soaked rags of a BDU, a mess of hair interrupting her vision as she looked downwards.

“Can i at least change first?”

by **United Islands of Polis** » Sun Apr 24, 2022 9:12 pm

Lance Corporal Maksim Ruslan Chukov
Kilo 45 - Squad 3
Hangar Deck, UNSC Pillar of Autumn, Mid-Slipspace Transit// August 31st, 2552

It had been a week since the nuclear fireball that sent the entirety of Kilo 45 into a self-imposed lockdown while radiation levels attempted to dissipate to be safe enough for everyone else not in a hard suit or a HAZMAT suit to traverse the outside. For the most part it had been a very hard time of trying to avoid areas of radiation where the Geiger counters were doing cartwheels. Initially after having rescued those of Kilo 45 who found themselves outside the facility during the nuclear blast and the attempted glassing, they had to stay clear of them for a few days up until a way to wash off any radioactive dust or material that had found its way onto sticking to their armor. However, even then the clock was still ticking, there was no doubt that Reach was going to be abandoned at some point, but when?

In that time, Maksim and a few others had started looking for any signs of any vehicles, unknown to them of what their real exit strategy would be. They found multiple vehicles they could have used, armored trucks, box trucks, and a few civilian vehicles, but the problem was with their reliance on electronic equipment that wasn't exactly hardened to withstand an EM pulse meant they were all dead in the water, no matter what kind of tricks they could pull off to try and give them life, the electronics were done for and thus would never start again without anything short of buying or acquiring a new piece or vehicle model.

But it was still a miracle they got out via the prowler they were supposed to destroy. In hindsight their landing inside the Autumn was a rough one and meant that the prowler was now damaged and had questionable abilities to fly itself in both vacuum and in atmosphere, but it was still relatively intact. Maksim however also learned a day after getting off of Reach via the light cruiser was that the Pillar of Autumn was among, if not, the last wave of transports to get off of Reach, and they were damn lucky that they were able to get in on the last possible moment, he overheard that the prowler or the Pelican they had didn't have enough fuel to reach exit velocity. To put into perspective they might have been mere meters away from not having been able to make it and be trapped forever on Reach.

Since then he had helped the medical staff after having been rinsed down in chemicals to remove any radiation ridden debris on them, much like the rest of Kilo 45. His primary task was brining patients in and out and assisting the medics and doctors on-board by getting them the needed supplies. He was never let in the operating theater of course, or whatever counted as one in this circumstance. But now he was helping bring equipment and cannibalized parts from Pelicans and other vehicles from one hangar to another. He never did that kind of job since Maksim was part of the army and not the navy, but he knew his way around. The layout of a light cruiser like the Autumn which was part of the Halcyon Class, was not too different in contrast to a Marathon Class Heavy Cruiser, like the UNSC Gatekeeper, which served as the 88th Armored Battalion's ride getting to and off of Sigma Octanus IV. Last he heard about his unit's mobile home was that it sunk into the Black Sea of Reach during the orbital fighting. "A shame really." Maksim had thought.

"Alright, it's on!" A voice yelled, snapping Maksim back to reality.

Looking back he saw a whole chaingun from a badly damaged Pelican already secured onto the cargo bed of the cart trailer, and behind it was another cart trailer, this time with different ammunition types tied down to it. adjusting the yellow hardhat he looked at the crew chief for this pod of workers and grabbed the paper, which was pulled back as he hopped into the cart as well.

"I'm coming with this time, I need to take a shit so I'll hold onto this for you for now. The ammo in the back is going to Hangar 2A and C2, the chaingun is going to Hangar 1D, alright let's go." The crew chief said.

Maksim looked at how the man was sat haphazardly beside him in the cart, practically crouching and holding onto dear life. "Are you sure that's safe?"

The crew chief waived him off in a relatively friendly manner. "Fastest way of traveling especially with the call of nature knocking the door down, anyway. We've done this one a hundred times."

Maksim shrugged and lurched the cart forward slowly so that the man didn't fall off. He adjusted the white undershirt that was lent to him and smoothened it mid ride. Unfortunately for the owner it was now grease marked. Not as bad as the others trying to cannibalize or repair the vehicles but it was a noticeable amount of grease stains. If Maksim got it washed somehow by tonight however he'd be able to get most or all of them off.

"You're gonna have to come back to that hangar after you make the drop offs by the way, we got more things to give to other birds that can still fly." The crew chief mentioned as he looked at his clipboard while hanging onto the nearby railing.

Maksim looked to his right slightly and asked. "And we have to keep doing this until?"

"Until we get back to friendly lines and then it's the ground engineer's problems by then." The crew chief responded back.

That was the thing, how long will these friendly lines be there? Reach was supposed to be a fortress and it fell in a month. The Covenant was breathing down on them hard and what for? Because they offend them by merely existing? Or was it for something far more nefarious? A gambit to keep those in power in power because something humanity has or knows can shift the balance of power within this Covenant? He didn't know, but he knew that they at least had to win the battles that need to be won, and that was possible, at a very steep price.

by **Bolslania** » Mon Apr 25, 2022 2:27 pm

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey}
_{Ad-Hoc Kilo 45}
_{ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552.}

It had been a very long week for 2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey. Hell, he hadn't slept in so long he'd almost lost his sense of time. He had adopted responsibility for scavenging whatever food and medical supplies that the ONI shipyard had to offer, putting whatever meds he found in the hands of the Corpsmen, who were working hard to keep Longacre and Grimsdottir alive. Whatever time he wasn't spending scavenging was spent helping the others with task they were working on.

When food started to get tight Grey was the first who began to cut his own caloric consumption to keep his subordinates fed. Those who saw him with his helmet off could notice that his hair around the temples was beginning to go grey, the lack of sleep was probably not helping anything. He had maybe slept a total of 2 hours in the past 6 days, and even despite his ODST training, it was beginning to take its toll on the man. His eyes sank into his skull, deep purple bags forming under his eyes.

He was on the bridge, listening in on the Shipboard AI, Kauket, and Captain Patkos, talking. Patkos didn't look much better than Grey, but Kauket had stopped asking him if he needed medical attention after the 5th "No, stop asking." His attention was gained when the AI patched in a broadcast from UNSC command.

"ALCON ALCON ALCON! Coordinated ground operations on Reach will cease on August 30th at 2000 hours! The only remaining evac points on the ground are Konpeki Suburb in Ezstergom and the Azsod shipbreaking yards near Manassas! We are cutting our losses and pulling out! Anybody outside of these zones is now on his own, I say again, if you weren't already, you are now fucked!"

Grey launched into action, the possibility of making it off this rock giving strength to the man's fatigued body.

The ride to the Pillar of Autumn had been interesting, to say the least. All hope looked lost as Grey watched another Covvie ship preparing to glass his immediate area. However a well-placed railgun shot brought down the battlecruiser, allowing the Kilo-45 laden Prowler to ram its way into the hangar of the PoA. They were safe.

For the time being.

Grey stumbled off the Prowler and into the bustling hangar, stripping his helmet off as he did so. He departed the hangar, staggering towards parts of the ship where cots had been laid out for the influx of refugees. It brought a sense of amusement to Grey that even in these times military traditions were upheld. In this specific scenario, officers were still separated from enlisted. He found himself a cot, barely managing to strip off his armor before he collapsed, drifting into a sleep that was not haunted by the echoes of battles long since fought.

He awoke several hours later. Or at least he hoped several hours later. Being inside a giant titanium tube made telling time rather difficult. He pushed himself off of his cot, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. An accented voice spoke from his right.

"You alright there Grey? You were out for a while." Looking up Grey saw that it was the Army falcon pilot who'd come crashing through the wall of the starport a week earlier. Seamus, Grey thought his name was.

"Yeah, I needed the sleep." Grey chuckled.

"How's your gunner?" He asked. Seamus sighed, his brow furrowing.

"I don't know, I haven't been able to find him on the ship." Back at the ONI yard Grey had seen Seamus mostly helping out anywhere he could, given that he didn't have any skills that applied outside of a falcon cockpit Grey could hardly blame the man. Grey sighed.

"That's unfortunate. You seen our other wounded?" Seamus nodded.

"Yeah they're both alive, if a little battered." Grey sighed in relief.

"Good. That's good." Grey grabbed his stomach as the hunger hit him like a knife.

"Now excuse me while I try and find something to eat." He said, getting up from his cot. He noted that someone had thrown his gear into a duffel bag, and also left a change of clothes in the form of cargo pants and a UNSCMC PT shirt. He grabbed up the fresh clothes and found a head, where he got changed. Freshly dressed and having some water splashed on his face he made his way to the wardroom. He found himself a plate, food, and a seat. At that moment, it was all Grey needed.

by **Tayner** » Wed Apr 27, 2022 6:52 am

Lance Corporal Lana Sorokina
Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo-45
UNSC Pillar of Autumn, Slipspace // August 31st, 2552

Sorokina sat aboard the Pillar of Autumn on the observation deck, looking into the dark blue and black abyss of slipspace. She had slept little during the past night, despite having a warm bed and a full stomach. Her home was gone, she knew nothing of the whereabouts of her family, or her friends, or anyone from her old unit. She had been fighting for a long time, but never had she found herself in this situation. Her chest swelled with guilt and pain, why was she here, some miraculous last minute call giving them the ability to escape the glassings when so many were left behind?

She pushed the thoughts out of her head as best she could, keeping herself together just long enough to find a latrine and lock the door behind her. She turned the handle, the water flowing smoothly from the faucet of the sink as she took the cool water and washed her face. Images of her home bolted through her mind, the small town of Dara, nothing but a few banks, schools, and farmland. When she was a kid she’d look up at the sky and watch the Navy’s jets and ships pass over, wanting to be a part of that. The thought hurt her mother, who eventually watched all her kids march off to join the military.

Lana thought that she was tough, going around the galaxy to kick ass, but she never understood the pain her mother would’ve felt watching her kids leave. When Lana heard of her brother’s death, she cried, but she was able to convince herself that they all knew what they were signing up for. But her mother, she wasn’t in the military, just like her father. It was her mother that was always tough, and now she was lost, probably dead. She stopped the water before looking up at the ceiling, seeing the smoke detector covered up by a plastic bag and taped up, likely by another Marine on board earlier.

She lit a cigarette, if she ever needed one now was the time. She watched the smoke rise in wispy strands before finishing her smoke and running water over her face again. She wasn’t okay, but she pulled herself together enough to be presentable. She departed the latrine and found her way to the mess hall, grabbing a tray of food and looking around. She saw a few familiar faces, before her eyes settled on Maple. Lana didn’t know much about her besides her name, the past week they’d spent together didn’t leave much time for conversation.

“Mind if I join you?” Lana asked as she set down her tray, the question almost rhetorical as she had already sat down before Maple could reply. Lana picked at her food for what felt almost like an eternity, but was probably only a minute tops, before sighing. Maple had already nearly cleaned her tray, apparently not losing her appetite just yet. Lana slid her own tray across the table, giving a small smile before speaking up again. “I’m glad someone’s hungry. How you holding up kid?”

Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

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