Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

[Thai Sweet Billy]

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

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_{August 23rd, 2552}

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Things were already looking bad for the unit that Hayden had managed to smuggle his way into. Kilo-45 was due for immediate retasking for a mission on an ONI shipyard, likely to do something which the spooks couldn't handle themselves. He didn't really protest the decision, though—it wasn't his position to do such a thing, nor was he particularly wired at the current moment to argue in favor of just hitching a ride on an evac ship and getting the hell out of there.

They had a job to do, and any job, as menial as it was, needed to be done. When the Pelican arrived, JaMarcus made his way inside the cramped aircraft, stuffing himself into a seat and barely managing to fit his GPMG in between his legs. Their dust off was uneventful, so much so, that Hayden barely even managed to pick up that they had lost New Alexandria over a stray radio broadcast.

He was tired. Too tired to think, and he just wanted to rest... but it was hard.

---

Their insertion into the AO, similarly, was smooth. They had fast roped down next to the fuel bunker, and cleared out said bunker with relative ease. The only problem now was that they had no way into the barracks, and instead had to take the long route around to get to their destination. To make matters worse, a Phantom landed on one of the pads near their position, dropping off a fresh batch of covenant troops, right in their way.

JaMarcus almost groaned, were it not for the fact that he had to stay absolutely quiet. It then dawned upon him that the Covenant were taking computers out and were loading them onto their ship, something that they definitely needed to stop post haste.

"Hayden, get your MG set up and on those grunts," Grey whispered to him. JaMarcus replied with almost robotic assurance: "Rah." Then braced the GPMG against a piece of cover and aligned his sights on the grunts hobbling in front of him. He had to curse the M247 for being so ungodly unwieldy sometimes, but JaMarcus was used to manhandling such a machine well enough. After only a few incremental adjustments to his angle and posture, he relaxed, setting his finger on the trigger of his weapon as he waited for the go to fire.

The signal came in the form of a SPNKr firing behind him. An explosion flowered out from the side of the hovering aircraft, causing it to lurch to the side, before a second rocket slammed into another one of its engines, forcing thick black smoke to belch out into the air.

JaMarcus's machine gun roared out as soon as this happened. The grunts standing on the landing pad, a few of them carrying some computers as they hobbled along, suddenly froze as a steady stream of 7.62 was flung at the aliens. With each burst, JaMarcus knew he was blasting a few chunks into a few grunts, and panning the weapon left revealed similar results. However, he could only do so much as one gunner—there were still two whole elites to deal with and a handful of more grunts, and Hayden wasn't in the mood to test his luck and see if he could go for a spree.

[Anowa]

He sighed to himself and leaned over the railing of the catwalk. "Evocatus 'Tralcamai, lend me your ears: I, Crusader Kith Ven, come alone, on behalf of the Prophet of Truth."

"There's no need for violence, I have only come to discuss your mission, Shipmaster."

---

_{Evocatus Delgatus Rtusze 'Tralcamai
Fleet of Blinding Redemption
Quezon
Covenant Empire}

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_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1544 NST}

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Tralcamai's gaze was settled on the Champion. They had met a few times prior, an altercation on a ringworld known as The Rubble, and on an infested Shield World. The agents of the Hierarchs were known to each other, if not personally, than through reputation. No one else in the room but the Champion and the Ultra had an inkling of exactly what had just evolved by the Champion coming aboard.

The involvement of Truth complicated things a bit, while yes, the vessel and it's mission was under the graces of Regret, Tralcamai being considered a trusted subordinate of the prophet, the three hierarchs had a very complicated relationship with each other. To those three, attaining power was simply a great game of politicking and outplaying the others through minor altercations such as this. A series of moves not unlike a board game that the greater public was too blind to see or too disinterested to care.

The Ultra finally spoke after a solid 30 seconds, in a remarkably disinterested deadpan, "If you were any more theatrical, I'd have confused you with one of the theatre actors on High Charity and had you killed for the treachery of stowing away on my ship."

He looked to the rest of his crew in the hangar, "Return to your duties."

To the side and rear of Kith, the flow of air changed, something he hadn't noticed until now. As if something large that had been blocking the flow of air, no doubt the two Hunters that followed the Shipmaster everywhere. The quality of the active camo they wore was as good as the generator found on the original set of armor worn by the Arbiter, lost during the battle for Etran Harbourage.

As the hangar was rendered almost barren, the hum of the two Phantoms held in their docks was the only sound heard.

"So, Truth sent you to make sure I was doing what I'm supposed to be then." a pause, "Unfortunately, I can't allow you to vacate this ship."

[Ormata]

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_{CTT1 Vykopal, Marián B.
Second Squad
Former ONI Section 1 "Totem Pole" SIGINT Analytics Team
IVO ONI Yard 2218
Sopron, Reach}

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_{August 23rd, 2552}

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<<Third Squad to 4 Delta 15, stand by, we're about to pop the cork.>>

Breathe deep, he told himself, just breathe in nice and slow, nice and slow, measured all right. There wasn’t all that much sleep to be had on the Pelican ride over, the man had found, and every fifteen or so minutes he’d wake up just enough to break the sleep up. Nevertheless, though, the mic he was wearing buzzed with talk here and there, his hands nice and dry, and the M45 he held waiting for a chance. They’d fast-roped down onto the landing platform, something Vykopal hadn’t done in a long, long time, and the only route given was one across a handful of open-air catwalks. It seemed like the perfect sort of scenario for a sniper to start picking people off, and though he hoped it wasn’t the case the man’s eyes were glued to rooftops and the like, crests of ridges, anywhere a Jackal might set up for a night of hunting.

A Phantom, then, and Elites…two of them overseeing a bunch of squat little shapes hauling computers here and there…black boxes, maybe navigational equipment, definitely the sort of stuff the man had seen mounted in aircraft. Perfect. It was just the sort of thing to mess things up, should they run-through the information present, though he was unsure how much of an edge it’d give the Covenant…then again, the yard had a Prowler, might have other things of a more sensitive nature, and a part of Vykopal hoped that every single bit of information had actually been wiped from the computers. Apparently the same conclusion had been found by Gray, the 2nd Lieutenant they’d assigned to the squad.

"Shit."

"Hayden. Get your MG set up and on those grunts. Callilis, Amir, get yourself an unloaded trolley, mount the AGS on the back and bring it out here. Amir, if you have time, try and flood the covvie battlenet with noise to slow down a QRF response. Everyone else take out those elites."

"Alright, when I fire everyone follow suit."


"2nd Squad to Kilo 45 Actual, we're about to engage hostile combatants. Over."

Who in the fuck is Amir, was the brief wonderance in the middle of the orders, and why the hell would we flood the nets?. Flooding Covenant battlenets with noise? Broadcasting on those sorts of frequencies with enough power to punch through whatever equipment the Covenant were using…that’d require a hell of a lot of power and would be noticeable. It also would be the sort of thing that, if done wrong, gets them the prize of being targeted by artillery. Vykopal’s eyes flickered over to Amir, who for his part looked like an unassuming grunt in Army kit. What would’ve gotten him noticed enough for…that? The name was familiar though. Something to be looked into later, if there was one.

Then the shooting, as missiles snaked out to remove the Phantom from the skies and machinegun fire filled every square inch of air. He paused, aiming over the short wall; watching a handful of shotgun shells flare up one Elite’s shields, destroy the weapon held in his hands, and rifle fire began to whittle him down. Hell, he thought, pumping two slugs out to watch them smack the beast upper center-mass before shooting off another, better aimed slug further up the frenzied alien. It didn’t hit the damn thing in the head where he wanted it to, but it was close enough at the nape of the neck, splashing out tinted blood. Plasma rifle fire splashed about every which way in the meanwhile, the Grunts clearly having some better training and equipment than the regular ones. Oh fun.

[Kassaran]

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_{CPL Amir, Benjamin
Reach Colonial Militia, Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, Near Soporon, Reach
UNSC}

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_232600SAUG52

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The tower had been a welcome reprieve from the horrors of the siege. Amir had slumped tiredly onto the floor of the bay after having boarded and in the few minutes of flight to Olympic, had fallen asleep. His minor concussion had been easily treated and upon waking up to the crew chief ordering him out of the pelican, he had begun to regain his wits. Some looks were cast his way, his fatigues and load-bearing vest being the only pieces of equipment that had survived the fighting to this point.

"Trooper, mind pointing me towards a Quartermaster?"

The private he'd approached had quickly appraised his appearance and pointed him towards a series of offices that had been sequestered by on-site Army personnel. The following conversation had gone relatively quickly and easily, with the tired, but ever-curious Benjamin helping with basic CNM and HUL installations and self-diagnostics.

By the time he'd managed to fall in with the remaining members of Kilo 4-5, the previously rough-shod appearance of the Corporal had been properly fitted with standard issue Army equipment. The ECH he'd also managed to secure had come with a CNM he quickly had set to work jailbreaking for his own purposes.

The module typically was built for tapping into the UNSC BattleNet, but with roughly every level of communications security breached as he'd learned in a conversation, they were stuck to cycling preset fills. Isolating the module from the now largely compromised BattleNet, Amir had managed to get the CNM to accept Remote Uplink capabilities. Not that it'd receive any commands, but if he could get wireless connection to a system, it was possible he could access other functions and send commands of his own.

It'd not taken long for him to fall asleep by that point, an hour already squandered in tech, it was all he could do to focus as he drifted off-

-He was nudged awake by some of the other troopers, quickly stirring as he realized the team was on the move again. Practically a full armory had been loaded onto a Pelican and now he was being told to pile on. He gave a grimace, but complied as he slapped an M7 onto his right thigh. He had a Tactical trauma kit on his left thigh, wanting the supplies ready and on hand for the Corpsman.

His curiosity as to their mission was soon satiated as he listened to a brass brief on a Prowler. He smirked, the very existence of prowlers was closely guarded, not as much as the SPARTANs, but still of interest to ONI. If it was still there and not breached, it meant perhaps some other technology or state of the art defense system was in play.

His eyes were aglow as he settled down into his seat, the over-shoulder harness coming down into place as he withdrew his tactical datapad from the admin pouch on his chest and began to build a Remote Access Tool. It only made sense for his modified CNM to have a means of operating, there was also the task of trying to build a few basic communications jamming protocols.

As the personnel on the Pelican began to prepare for the mission in the final moments of the flight, Amir woke up with a start. He'd fallen asleep about an hour into his task. The RAT had been simple and he'd honestly been working on it for a week already in whatever lulls in the fighting he'd had. The jamming protocols though, had been something a little less sophisticated. It'd not likely stand up to countermeasures, but it would be confusing enough to try and deal with for ground troops of the Covenant.

Initial insertion into the facility had been quick, if not a little uncomfortable for the technician. His place had been towards the middle of the formation, his datapad out and his eyes desperately searching the available maintenance panels. His searching was rewarded as they'd begin to make their way out of the facility. They were going to have to brave the catwalks to the various landing pads in order to access site Control. A small workstation that had served as a fuel-flow control terminal was still on, though idling and obvious evidence of the system having been compromised previously.

"Sir, I think-"

He was cut short by the telltale whine of a Covenant Phantom arriving outside, directly in the path they needed to take. Amir knew the facility had been invaded, but he didn't know how bad it was until he recognized the sight of computers and sensitive equipment being hauled out by grunts. Two elites supervised and their towering frames made Amir draw a short, quick breath between his teeth. Dropping into cover, he looked around and saw the terminal once again. He didn't need to wait to be told what to do as the firefight erupted across the facility and the Greek gunner was assigned to him for the purposes of weaponizing one of the many fuel trollies hanging around. The order to additionally start flooding the Covenant BattleNet was a welcome one.

Fingers flew across his datapad as he withdrew back into the facility. There wasn't any guarantee the terminal would allow for an interface with the primary communications system, but most admin systems he'd cracked were networked to decrease maintenance costs and increase efficiency. Looking around the fuel bunker as he waited for his CNM to finish it's wireless connection to the terminal, he clicked his tongue as his datapad gave him a simple message.

WIRELESS CONNECTION FAILED. SECURE NETWORK UNAVAILABLE FOR THIS DEVICE.

Well, that meant he was going to be needing to properly acquire a secure connection via a terminal. Looking over his shoulder towards Callilis, he gave a general wave of his free hand towards the various available trolleys.

"Set up on whichever one you can trooper. I need a few seconds to get patched in!"

His eyes and hands were a rush of practiced motions as he extended the hardline from his datapad and fed it into one of the dataports on the edge of the computer. Less than twenty seconds later, he'd managed to brute-force the lock using a preset stash of codes he'd ripped from UNSCDF in the weeks prior. They'd all been from previously compromised systems and he'd doubted there'd be any legitimate carry over, but bureaucratic organizations were prone to oversight and credentials from a now deceased UEG fuel specialist unlocked the system.

There was a brief moment where the slumbering security system put up a query as to why the specialist was present, it actively engaging it's communications relay to try and contact any nearby servers before predatory scripts enacted by the Cole Protocol smothered it. The main attennae was now live and broadcasting a repeating loop of noise across various BattleNet channels.

While noise could be easily envisioned as sound, for the purposes of the attack he now was launching on the local Covenant forces, it was broad spectrum and built to fuzz most forms of data transfer. With enough power poured into their local communications, they could likely cut through the jamming in certain points, but that'd require a similar approach and emitter array. The only one available was currently in use and Amir locked it down with a hostile line of hash which snarled angrily across cyberspace. He cued on his throat mic and called back to his OIC.

"Jam is hot. They'll have to hit the main if they want to shut it down."

Looking towards Callilis, he nodded at his choice and ran towards him, slipping his datapad back into his admin pouch. It'd been a while since he'd driven a vehicle like this, but he could remember the basics and the labels were all fortunately in English with only some Hungarian on peripherals.

[Thai Sweet Billy]

---

Champion Kith Ven
_{Covenant Crusaders
Pious Crusader
Covenant Empire}

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_{August 23rd, 2552 / Ninth Age of Reclamation}

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"Halt, Crusader." He said as the T'vaoan slowly approached 'Tralcamai. Turning his head slightly in the direction of the Shipmaster, keeping his eyes and rifle fixed on Kith he spoke.

Kith did as he was told as the swordsman Saso 'Vasamai approached, his Type-25 stretched towards the T'vaoan's center of mass. Kith's palms still faced the Sangheili as he kept both hands raised up, patiently waiting for what came next.

It seems I have quite a reputation. Kith snorted, watching his fellow T'vaoans around him lower their guard steadily. A few of them glared at the strange sigil inscribed upon his Combat Harness's chestplate, murmuring things to themselves as 'Tralcamai's aides made themselves visible. To the humans, the marking was little more than, well, a marking. It was perhaps a coincidence that they only knew two other Covenant soldiers that bore the same mark: the Ranger Kyto 'Zacamee, and the Unggoy Ultra Dabdab.

"Easy now, 'Vasamai.." Kith murmured. "There is no need for violence, like I said."

Tralcamai's gaze was settled on the Champion. They had met a few times prior, an altercation on a ringworld known as The Rubble, and on an infested Shield World. The agents of the Hierarchs were known to each other, if not personally, than through reputation. No one else in the room but the Champion and the Ultra had an inkling of exactly what had just evolved by the Champion coming aboard.

He felt another pair of eyes burning into him and turned—or, rather, looked up—to the gargantuan Sangheili before him. The glowing eye slits of Tralcamai met with Kith's own eyes, a seemingly silent greeting between the duo. They had met many times before, including a stint on the Rubble that—to borrow a human term—was little more than a clusterfuck of the Prophets' conflicting interests. They had also met on the infested Shield World, another occasion which Kith was better off not remembering in detail.

The pair seemed to share a silent exchange, as if understanding the implications of what was going on simply by Kith being aboard the ship.

'Tralcamai's responsibilities were with Regret, a younger and more charismatic prophet who constantly drew ire of Truth, Kith's direct superior. Kith knew how the Prophets operated and the truth (no pun intended) behind his superior; the death of the Prophet of Wisdom and the turnover to Truth's command was an almost obvious giveaway as to what was going on behind the scenes. Kith knew the hierarchs often bickered and engaged in intrigue and political warfare with each other... and what was happening now was no exception.

To the Covenant, Kith's mission was irrelevant, and they were better off not asking why a Covenant Crusader was here. But to them, it was probably a bad sign of things to come between the Prophets.

"If you were any more theatrical, I'd have confused you with one of the theatre actors on High Charity and had you killed for the treachery of stowing away on my ship. // Return to your duties."

'Tralcamai's spoke in his usual, deadpan tone, but Kith couldn't help but chuckle as he gave a dramatic bow (much to the other T'vaoan's chagrin) perhaps playing into the Shipmaster's joke. Immediately dropping the royal 'we' and dramatic dialect, he stood back up. "Well, how else should I have made an entrance, popping in next to you and risking getting bisected by your sword?"

Kith's dark humor drew a few chuckles from another one of the Champions, but they quickly shut up as 'Tralcamai ordered the others to leave. As they egressed from the area, though, Kith felt the air shift, and heard light, almost indistinguishable thumping next to him.

He was trained to be able to spot other individuals wearing active camouflage, as many of the Crusaders' stealth missions often involved staying cloaked for hours on end. However, despite this, Kith never really expected for the Shipmaster's Hunter pair to pass so close to him, blocking a previously-obstructed air vent. Their forms were almost invisible, almost, but the T'vaoan's well-trained eyes still could track them fairly easily.

The only sound he heard from then on was the hum of the Phantoms' engines, and the ambient drone of the ship. After what felt like an eternity, 'Tralcamai finally spoke up.

"So, Truth sent you to make sure I was doing what I'm supposed to be then." a pause, "Unfortunately, I can't allow you to vacate this ship."

Eh?

Kith tilted his head to the side as he processed what the Sangheili had said. Why couldn't he leave? Kith effectively had a landline to the Pyre of Faith, The CCS-class battlecruiser he had resided on as part of his mission from the Prophet of Truth. If he so pleased, he could call a Phantom to get him back there and onto a ship away from combat... though, for the sake of the situation, he was effectively at the mercy of Tralcamai. His ship, his rules. Given the Sangheili's unexpected behavior, leaving was probably something that was easier said than done.

"What do you mean, 'Tralcamai?" Kith pondered aloud. "You're doing your mission, and if you require confidentiality," He gestured to himself, then shook his head. "I have no microphones on my person. Are we about to depart...?"

[Vacif]

---

_{LCpl Akakios Callilis
12th Marine Regiment, 4th Infantry Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach
UNSC}

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_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

---

They were in luck, their insertion wasn't detected by any would-be Covenant sentries. As far as he could see, the Covenant hadn't dedicated any assets to guarding the landing pads. Strange, but this was also a secret ONI facility in a ravine. It itched in the back of his mind why the ship hadn't self destructed when their cover was blown. Did the crew think they could salvage the situation? Or had the Covenant assault just been that fierce? Regardless their heavy hitters had probably already left for other fronts. Given how smooth the insertion was, they might be in luck, dealing with rear-echelon units handling salvage.

Callilis took point into the bunker, as expected, the fuel storage wasn't of any interest to the Covenant. Clearing the bunker, it was indeed still a fuel bunker full of hydrogen fuel. As far as he could tell, there hadn't been any modifications to the structure. No sleeping grunts in the fuel storage either. No buggers on the ceiling. It was as they were making their exit that something went wrong. The telltale sound of a Phantom's hum greeted their ears as they left. It looked to be making a pick up, twenty some odd grunts in slick looking armour with two elites to watch over them waddled in unison carrying boxes. He couldn't tell what was in the boxes but given the circumstances of them being in a secure ONI facility, it wasn't anything good.

"Hayden. Get your MG set up and on those grunts. Callilis, Amir, get yourself an unloaded trolley, mount the M460 AGL on the back and bring it out here. Amir, if you have time, try and flood the covvie battlenet with noise to slow down a QRF response. Everyone else take out those elites." called his new squad leader. Amir pointed out the trolleys while he got onto some mischief.

"Set up on whichever one you can trooper. I need a few seconds to get patched in!"

The M460 took less than thirty seconds to set up on the trolley. This wasn't his first time mounting the AGL to something that wasn't meant to carry it. They had that much time at least, as second squad absolutely devastated the Covenant force in the opening volley. Callilis aimed at the smoking Phantom, its concussion turret was still operational but its gunner seemed a bit dazed.

Ploomp, PloompPloompPloompPloomp, five 40mm HEDP rounds slammed into the nose of the Phantom. The first ranging round went high, blackening the purple hull, bull the followup four rounds impacted dead on target. The concussion turret went up in black smoke and an energetic blue flash. This wasn't his first tango with a Phantom. Without the EMP setting, Callilis was free to pull the trigger as fast as the cyclic rate would allow. It was kind of weird to him why they couldn’t make the thing fully automatic, but he would make do.

"Jam is hot. They'll have to hit the main if they want to shut it down."

Callilis looked over to the Corporal and gave him a thumbs up. The Militiaman nodded in response and rushed over to his side and began pushing buttons. The cart began to hum. They weren't as well trained or equipped as the Marines, but they were here and it was what mattered. Be it skill or luck. And right now, they could all use some luck. He really hoped they were lucky today. Turning his attention back to the battle, most of the grunts were mush but the elites watching over them were hitting awfully close to the rest of the team. He dialed in the electronic sight, the computer zeroed the target in a fraction of a heartbeat and Callilis had his target.

PloompPloompPloompPloompPloomp

The first three rounds impacted his rightmost Elite in fancy armour. The Elite tanked the force initially, but the laws of physics and two extra rounds quickly juggled him over the edge of the platform. Friendly fire support kept the other Elite preoccupied enough for him to bring the AGL around to saturate the area. The Elite's shields had already been barraged, withered by untold rounds of slugs and heavy cartridges. Grenade rounds tore his weapon from his hands, sending them sprawling across the platform, followup rounds tearing flesh from flesh and striking down the remaining grunts who had returned fire with... plasma rifles? "Wait, what the fuck?"

[Empire of Donner land]

Lieutenant Santo Schirmer / 4 Delta 15
17th Tactical Strike Group, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
Hangar Bay 6, Pillar of Autumn, Reach // August 23rd, 2552 - 1547 NST

---

---

"I'm only one Longsword, Sir. I-I don't even have the rest of the crew I'm supposed to have. I'm less than skeleton here. Where are my replacements anyway? It's just me." He pleaded to the Lieutenant Commander, who was busied with signing and documenting the required bureaucracy on an electronic tablet as they stood on a catwalk in Hangar Bay 6, in front of a landed air force longsword, on a naval vessel. The irony wasn't lost on him, and he hated every second of it. The Lieutenant Commander was seemingly unsympathetic, and how could Schirmer fault him, it was war and they were losing. Yet Schirmer tried.

"Everyone on this vessel is required at their posts, Lieutenant, Captain Keys won't be able to spare any men even if I asked him to." He typed on the tablet his final words, if Schirmer had to guess, it was probably a report on the ordinance they were currently wheeling out and attaching to his longsword. He tapped a final button on the touch screen and then extended his hand holding it towards Schirmer. "I don't envy your position, Lieutenant, it sucks," an empathic shrug, "now please sign here."

"Real piece of work..." he sighed, taking the tablet and putting in his name, rank, and serial number. "Couldn't be any other pilot?" Schirmer asked tiredly, looking up from the tablet as he handed it over, the blue-white glow no longer stinging his eyes. Why's the bastard have it on full brightness, he thought. He turned away towards his longsword, looking on as any number of crewmembers quickly drove around small carts pulling ordinance carriages, all of them cruise missiles, all large enough to lay out a Covie frigate. But there was a single carriage larger than the others, carrying upon it the UNSC markers of nuclear ordinance. His training immediately told him what it was. Shiva Class, Thermonuclear.

"Couldn't be," the Lieutenant Commander politely took the tablet back, a sarcastic grin on their face. "Anyone else might get it wrong, flyboy." they gave a small laugh at Schirmer's expense, putting their tablet in a pocket. "Look on the bright side, get this done? Get to paint a pretty little frigate on your longsword." they turned around leaving, barking orders as they did at the various crew on deck. Schirmer looked down at his pilot helmet hanging at his waist, thankful for its fully enclosed nature and excellent awareness. He took it off his maglock and, with a sigh, placed it on his head, securing it with a hiss.

Schirmer looked away from the longsword, away from the Autumn, towards Reach. It was smoking, once a perfect crystal ball, his home, bright dots of flame poked through the black clouds, just by looking, he could smell the burning fumes of wildfires and destroyed buildings, bodies. What's left? he wondered. Another voice answered, distant, sad.

Not much.

But there was enough, enough to fight for. If only in memory. Maybe there were some of his unit left, fighting from other cruisers, or Adhoc bases, but he didn't hold his breath. Hopefully, The Man In The Arena, would ignore the call to Reach. Schirmer laughed silently, nervously, to himself, he breathed in, then out. "Yeah... I guess it did have to be me," he whispered.

[Hastur]

Staff Sergeant Alison Longacre
Kilo-45
November 909, On route to ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach // August 23rd, 2552

---

---

Longacre allegedly drew the “short straw” when getting aboard the pelican.

With no seats left, she had belted herself in with a thick segment of crew chief’s cord, relaxing perilously on the rim of the blood bay. Her legs dangled as the pelican soared high above the temperate, highland scenery, the craft gliding to their next aim. Her helmet was fastened to her rig, no longer cushioning her cranium as she blankly stared out towards the terrain below. The fresh air was a bonus.

There was a spirit of forlorn among most of the crew. The news broke that New Alexandria had been glassed not too long after they’d got their mission, which would send them to the opposite end of Reach. An area far aside from the few enduring evacuation sites still operating in the deteriorating war. She, like many others, knew what that meant. As one of the last pieces on the field, they were marching into a vital contest on their own, and if matters went askew, they wouldn’t be leaving the planet.

The situation familiar to her, relics of Paris IV echoed away. Days spent in the cramped Baillieu Mountain tunnels under the gloomy distinction of the VISR, the creeping escalation of heat, and that god-awful sulfuric stench. The hair on her neck rose. The miserable feeling conflicted with a bizarre shade of bitter sweetness as her eyes became attracted to dynamic multi-colour streaks in the night sky as they shivered serenely.

Auroras. That’s what Longacre had heard them called. She had no clue what caused them, but she had watched them plenty of times during many silent nights on Reach. The unique phenomenon being something which made Reach special in a way. Tonight, in particular, they stood out.

They had a crimson tinge.

The edge of her mouth curved into a terse smile as the chilly evening air washing over her cheeks, loose lines of her auburn hair drifted idly. It was an alluring picturesque image that bloomed through the night sky, star formations blinking behind them. It was something she’d never properly appreciated until now. Like the winding beaches on Paris IV, and that impressive billionaire castle on Skopje.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” The young Army Trooper was seated just behind, strapped in with her helmet resting idly in her lap. She’d been asleep for much of their journey from New Alexandria, exhaustion having finally caught up to her, but now she, too, was peering out the open hatch and up towards the glimmering aurora. “I don’t remember them back home. But… I’ve always liked them.” She offered a kind smile, eyes still trained skyward. “I like the night sky in general. Hard to imagine that I came from one of those stars.”

“Yeah, it’s something.” Longacre shouted, tilting her head backward. “Never had anything like back home, all it was smoke stacks and smog.”

Captain Patkos arched forward in her seat located just adjacent from the Pelican’s open drop ramp, she had her attention drawn towards two of her newly assigned compatriots, wistfully captivated by the natural lightshow, a cosmic dance of candescence that lit up the heavens. The Captain folded her hands over her knees and allowed herself a moment of appreciation, it wasn’t that often that one could get such a perfect view of the atmospheric phenomena.

Of course, to a native of Reach, the aurora was taken for granted, though it was never made any less extraordinary.

“It’s gasses, being ionized in the upper exosphere. Methane, trace amounts of Xenon, Argon…” She spoke matter-of-factly. “My mother … when i was a child. She’d tell me that the lights were angels. Watching over us. Protecting us.” Patkos smiled flatly, exerting an amused huff, they sure needed a guardian angel right now. For a moment, her eyes peeled from the green and red hues of the night sky and glanced down towards Longacre and Rier, before fixing forwards again.

“But i’ve never seen them this red before” The smile slowly faded from her lips. “A sign of the times.” She sighed, Vera supposed that if there ever was some prenatural indication of the end times, something like this was surely it.

They all were quiet for a long moment. What felt like hours, but in actuality was only a handful of seconds as the tenderness of the conversation was dampened by the sudden, unintentional reminder of just how grave the situation had become. But Maple was not one to give in to such a depressing atmosphere. "It's still pretty though," she said with as much reassurance as her small frame could possibly muster. "It's the end of the world, but we get to see something that few ever will. I guess it's a reminder that no matter how bad things get there's still something beautiful if you just peel away the worst of it."

Her confidence faltered somewhat as she looked to the Reach native.

"Or something like that." She returned her gaze back towards the stars above. "It's my first time. The Covenant found my home but it wasn't glassed, so this is a lot to take in, but we're still alive so we should appreciate what we can I think."

Longacre glanced over for a second, tilting backward.“It’s my fifth.” She stated, her hand waved outward, extending all her fingers on her right hand. Her tone was very nonchalant, her short smile uninterrupted as she continued to enjoy the moment of serenity. “Doesn’t get any easier, but Flea has a point.” Keeping a positive mind was important, it was the only thing that would keep her, and likely everyone else sane in the long run. She felt bad for the officer, this was likely her home that was being torched, which could very well be happening to hers. “It’s the little things that keep you going.” Longacre stated, her stare fully locked fully forward. “Hell, when I get some R&R, the first thing I’m doing is hitting the beach. I don’t care where it is, I don't care how cold it is. Nothing is stopping me.”

Maple nodded in agreement. “A beach sounds wonderful I think. Hopefully we all get some time off soon. Somewhere nice, and with a beach.”

The ONI officer turned her gaze to the floor, focusing on a point on the ground between her boots. She couldn’t say that a trip to the beach or any such outing was the first thing on her list after all was said and done, if there was an after. A sense of foreboding welled up in her stomach; a fiery twist in her gut that crept up her abdomen. She hadn’t felt that feeling in years, yet now on the precipice of oblivion, dread had returned.

“Sara loves the beach” She murmured softly, barely audible above the rushing wind and whine of turbines. Her mind turned over fresh memories of the salty, crispy sea air, the cawing of gulls and gentle swishing of the waves against the fiery Reach sun. Her daughter had been on one of the first transports away when word of the invasion had first hit; though word of her escape hadn’t arrived directly, confirmation of the successful evacuation of most of the initial ONI personnel installed her with hope she sorely needed.

Vera tilted her head towards Longacre. “Let’s win this war first, eh?”

Longacre nodded, responding with a thumbs up, smirk still locked on. “I’m in it until we win it, Aurora.”

Maple offered a small grin. “I’m in it now so might as well.”

---

---

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

---

---

Longacre slouched through the flatland, manoeuvring carefully and with purpose around the thick rocks as she got closer to the overwatch position. The SPNKr sling, along with the spare ammunition, cut into her shoulder. The near hundred pounds of firearms alone was collecting its levy. Longacre cursed under her breath; a protracted pout locked onto her face. Sure, she’d been an AT specialist when she was in the marines, but forcing her to carry the second launcher on top of being alone at the overwatch position? Longacre wasn’t altogether a happy camper. A reoccurring them with her with officers. Orders were orders. She just hoped it wouldn’t get her ticket punched tonight.

Close to the rim of the gorge, Longacre went prone, dragging herself forward in a low crawl, dragging her rifle via the sling precisely. Once at the mouth, she expanded the bipod, setting her rifle up at the tip, cautious to avoid having the barrel poke over the edge. The area that she’d picked was one of the stronger options. the dense rocks afforded a modicum of cover for any threats skyward, but silhouetting was still a risk. If the opposition looked hard enough, she would be spotted.

“2-3’s in position.” Longacre announced, her eyes locked onto the distant flickering dots on her VISR as they sank into the basin, plunging down onto the platform below via fast rope.

From the zoomed abstraction of the ORACLE scope, the layout of the shipyard was clear. The secret military installation of large platforms and interceding walkways, which drove into massive underground bunkers build into the canyon. The extensive compound was deserted. Tools and equipment had been left idly abandoned; it being clear that they took off in haste. Anyone that had worked here was now long gone. There was a dearth of hostile sentries. Something that would bode well for them, or at least Longacre hoped so.

A prolonged firefight wasn’t something they’d survive. Support would collapse on them expeditiously. They were, in all effect, deep behind enemy lines.

The team exited her narrow field of view as they ducked deeper into the base, wandering inside of the open fuel bunker. She took a breath and continued to scan, her rifle pivoting as she hunted for movement, seeing nothing but trash fluttering in the wind. Amongst the whistling breeze, a familiar wobble lingered in the air. She threw her eyes skyward. A purple blip grew closer, bearing north.

A Phantom.

“Give me a fuckin’ break!" Longacre spat, pinching her head down toward the dirt, hiding her profile as the air vehicle glided in. The concussion rifle would tear her and the squad to pieces with ease if not dealt with. “Phantom bearing down on us!” she beckoned over the radio as the vehicle hovered above, lowering itself into the crag close to platform 8. Tilting her head back upwards, it became clear what it was doing. A sequence of grunts, coordinated by two elites, had exited the bunker, carrying a series of computers.

A violation of Cole protocol.

Before she could shift into a better position for engagement, Grey barked orders over the comm unit, eventually reaching Longacre.

“Longacre, I need your spanker on that phantom. I’ll take the left engines, you’ll take the right. Over.”

Longacre blinked, a flash of exasperation fluttering through as she wriggled backward to gain clearance. “Yeah, sure. Let’s make sure everyone knows where the sole sniper is by having them sling rockets from the high ground!” She snapped sarcastically to nobody but herself, shoving the rifle aside as she unslung the rocket launcher. “Wouldn’t be a fair fight otherwise!”

She pulled herself into a crouch, perched several inches away from the edge, hefting the heavy weapon on her shoulder. Despite the having not properly used the system in a long time, her fingers cruised through the controls with fluency. Years of discipline and training paying off as she primed the rockets without a second thought. The motion of the missiles twisting into position jolted, the harsh automatic twirl whirled in her ear as the weapon became ready to fire.

The optic became visible on her VISR as aimed groundward, barrel positioned towards the lip. She couldn’t see the ship, but once she stood up, she’d have a perfect visual, only giving away her position at the last second. A loud gasp cried from below, accompanied by an explosive roar.

The signal to open fire.

The air became saturated with the untuned crackle of gunfire as she jolted upward, her legs rapidly drifting into the stable firing position with a nimble, fluid flow. As the sight moved onto the warmth of the engines, a raucous screech screamed over her helmet’s headset.

Her finger twitched, and the rocket ripped forward, Longacre briefly illuminated by a blinding flash, the tube turning masked by the scream of the propellent. She watched momentarily as the rocket struck home, the white glare of the gravity engine being engrossed in an intense, orange flash. Without a second thought, she fired the second rocket as the ship listed eastward, slamming true into the target, the white light of the engine dying out suddenly as it lost power. The gun being slapped by a flurry of 40mm grenade launcher rounds from the robotic armed marine.

Ducking back down into a crouch, her position was now jeopardized. Popping the latch, she disposed of the exhausted cylinder with a violent flick, the empty clattering against the floor. Another voice came over the radio, as she punched the rockets in, the mechanical whirl locking them into place. The other commanding officer began yelling orders, demanding that she and two others get left in position to provide overwatch.

Longacre angrily scoffed as she slung the SPNKr, grabbing her rifle from the deck as she scanned her surroundings, checking to make sure her route to the next position was clear. “Yeah mate. Bit late for that, ever heard of too many cooks in the kitchen. Twat!” she muttered silently, pulling her rifle upward to her chest as she broke into a sprint, heading east to the secondary overwatch position. “This is 2-3, I’m moving to point 2 now!”

[Futrellia]

Corporal Dariga Şäkirova
97th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, 4th Battalion, "W" Company, Fourth Platoon, 2nd Squad Kilo-45
ONI Yard 2218, Reach // August 23rd, 2552

---

<<All Squads, fire at will.>>

The order caused air to flow violently into her nasal passages, the words piercing through her like daggers, shocking her. Despite the fact that she knew the order was coming, the short build up of silence and gnawing anticipation forced her body to react somewhat unprofessionally, the adrenaline seeming to build up just for this moment as her hands began to spas for the moment before her eyes re-adjusted to the three targets below her, moving her weapon's gaze to the Kig-Yar, one deemed a higher threat to the others than the Unggoy. Her finger re-positioned to the trigger, the tip touching gently to it. She pressed inward, releasing a burst of rounds. The five rounds impacted the Jackal's chest cavity, while three others had been given another target induced by the reaction of the rifle's jolting, the barrel pulling upwards to the Jackal's neck. As the Jackal fell to the ground quickly, her eyes darted to the other Grunts, reacting to chaos and violence in their usual methods: panic. She moved to neutralize those two quickly, firing away seventeen rounds, eleven of those hitting their targets, killing them both.

The next order given by the commanding officer of her squad slightly puzzled her in regards to the numbers used to describe them. She didn't give herself much time to analyze the comments.

She was given no time to process the feeling of taking down three aliens that had the potential of killing one or more of her new squad. She followed the others, moving close to the soldier in front of her, keeping her rifle's barrel pointing down towards the Condor, where some surviving Covenant forces had managed to take cover, shielding them from Kilo-45's First and Third Squads from effectively securing the hangar. While moving down the stairs, Dariga had made a mistake, keeping her eyes trained on the enemy before ensuring she had solid footing. Her left foot had overreached, missing the step directly next in line and instead moving to the next, causing her to slightly panic and grab the railing, saving herself from both embarrassment and injury on her or others that might have been hurt from the Corporal taking a tumble down the stairwell. She cursed slightly under her breath. As she regained her composure and moved off of the stairs, she followed Lieutenant Vince, taking cover behind a smaller piece of scrap adjacent to the LT's. She pulled up to lay suppressive fire down upon one of the shattered remnants of the Condor, releasing the last five rounds of her spent magazine, forcing her to prematurely duck back down after finally realizing what her round count was through the chaos and adrenaline running through her movements. "Reloading!" She shouted as she pressed down the weapon's mag release, watching the empty mag slide out from the MA37 and clatter onto the ground. Concurrently, she snatched out one of the magazines carried upon her chest's armored harness and quickly filling the weapon with thirty-two fresh rounds. As she went to rise again to identify and target any additional hostiles in the area, she was distracted by the sound of what was happening right next to her. Her eyes darted to and from Lieutenant Vince to an ODST that was giving him an earful. Reluctant to include anything into it, she turned and continued focusing on providing fire support. She was quickly pulled back down by the fire coming in from additional Covenant targets on the catwalk and around.

[United Islands of Polis]

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

Broken Covenant lances had been going in and out, but never truly breaking through the defenses of the ONI installation. The highlight of the recent events of the day was not only seeing a Spartan up close, but to see more army troopers and marines make it back. However their plights on the planet would not end there. Soon they were at least given a half hour's rest, and it was worth it at least. Switching between concealed covered windows and holes in walls was tiresome especially under constant paranoia of the possibility of being stealthily invaded by invisible Squidheads only added more stress, always checking your back, shivering and jumping at every shadow, sometimes at least.

In this half hour break, Maksim had been able to raid the contents of a vending machine, passing out sodas and less than ideal for health snacks with a bit of a smile to raise spirits, if he could. He did keep a surprising amount of them in some empty pouches for whatever reasons. But then the hypothetical bell rang and everyone was loaded into a Pelican. Kilo 45 was their new unit, ad-hoc too. It should have been obvious to him since none of the pauldrons of the new people bore the markings of the 88th. But just how long would they be on Reach? It was clear they were losing this rock, were reinforcements being sent?

The eight hour flight time duration wasn't announced, being seated in the middle gave no bonuses or trade-offs, maybe the panoramic view that were obscured by other people, but he never got to enjoy it properly since he fell asleep early onto the trip, leaning over someone from time to time and waking up half dazed to give an apology before properly adjusting himself into the safety harness to keep him from moving.

Lance Corporal Maksim Ruslan Chukov
88th Armored Battalion, 3rd Company, Second Platoon, 1st Squad Kilo 45
Near Sopron// August 23rd, 2552

The Pelican touched down soon enough after having a wake up call only a few dozen minutes before landing. Maksim first pulled every strap on his armor as tight as he could. From as much as he garnered from the briefing, it seemed that they were gonna be going in quietly at first. Sleep was still in his eyes however; Drinking some water, a splash on his face, and a coffee flavored snack seemed to have solved that temporarily. As soon as they landed they were given their orders and paths. primarily they had to find some ATC room or tower to find this prowler. If this was a normal civilian or military installation the best bet would be the tallest structure, but it was an ONI shipyard and everything from the architecture to purpose was covert, so there were probably no tall towers.

Instead they took their positions on top of a catwalk, slowly taking steps, the rattle of the metal keeping everyone on their toes as they could be detected. And on a catwalk with questionably cover against plasma, they really needed to take the initiative. Soon enough they did stop, to see about a dozen Grunts and Jackals bickering over scrap. They were a weird and curious race in all honesty, who fights over scrap?

Flicking the fire selector switch on his BR-55 HB to semi-auto, he lined up his sights to a Jackal on the furthest side. Jackals not only had shields which were hell to deal with, but didn't run away as much as Grunts did, and with no Elite or Brute CO in sight, the death of enough Jackals could in theory send the Grunts into disarray.

<<Third Squad to 4 Delta 15, stand by, we're about to pop the cork.>>

What they meant by that was a thumping sound, followed by a missile streaking through the dusk sky, slamming itself into a Phantom that was obscured awhile ago, only seeing the thing get hit and spinning relatively out of control. The gaggle of Covenant below them looked towards the craft, and just as quickly re-trained the scope back onto the Jackal, waiting for the next inevitable order.

<<All Squads, fire at will.>>

With the time Maksim already used to more or less perfect his aim, he squeezed the trigger and hit the Jackal in the head. shields flared blue and Grunts went for cover, but one was too slow as Maksim sent two rounds into its body before switching to burst fire and putting another set into it, ending its life. After that initial fight he went for targets of opportunity instead to try and conserve ammo, but when the order was to remove all Covenant forces before more could show up, he started going after anything that appeared on his scope, even shooting at their cover, hoping the bigger rounds of his rifle could get through, which some did, the problem was he could not confirm if they did kill or not.

"Reloading!" Maksim shouted as he pulled the empty magazine and put it in a dump pouch, before pulling another magazine from his belt and slamming it home, the munitions counter going from 0 to 36 again and then racking the bolt. This time he went after targets further away, trying to hit them in case they were running to get help, or going to a better position. They needed to get out of here and find better cover in his opinion. A catwalk is simply too exposed, but for the meantime it was the best position they have which also gave them a height advantage.

[Anowa]

"What do you mean, 'Tralcamai?" Kith pondered aloud. "You're doing your mission, and if you require confidentiality," He gestured to himself, then shook his head. "I have no microphones on my person. Are we about to depart...?"

---

_{Evocatus Delgatus Rtusze 'Tralcamai
Fleet of Blinding Redemption
Quezon
Covenant Empire}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1544 NST}

---

Tralcamai didn't hesitate with a response as he had before, "Your arrival here isn't to simply let Truth know that I'm doing my job. When you report back to him, it will give him enough knowledge of what I'm doing to craft an excuse to kill me with no quarrel from any of the council or the other hierarchs, after which he will orchestrate your death so you don't speak of our meeting. Best case scenario is we end up on the run for the rest of our lives, worst case is that our death is publicly displayed." a pause, "If I kill you, the tracker that is no doubt on your suit condemns me to death. If I let you go, and you tell Truth, we both die. If I let you go and you don't Tell truth, we both die, but you die before me."

"By boarding, you have unwittingly signed both of us on to a ship with no helm, aimed at the birghtest of stars. You have single handedly complicated things, meaning that instead of doing my job passively, I will have to be increasingly more aggressive in finding what I seek, which means I will no doubt begin to step on toes from the other Ministries. The only option for both of us is for you to remain aboard this ship, it will grant us both time, not a lot of time mind, but perhaps enough to give insurance. I know Truth seeks to kill me because that is his way, somewhat ironically. He lies and schemes quite a bit to ensure he dominant over the other two Hierarchs; Regret, and I can say from personal experience, does not feel his namesake for anything; and Mercy is anything but."

The giant began walking towards the hangar's exit, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to inform the bridge crew of a course update. Leave, or don't, it is ultimately up to you."

[Thai Sweet Billy]

---

Champion Kith Ven
_{Covenant Crusaders
Pious Crusader
Covenant Empire}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552 / Ninth Age of Reclamation}

---

Tralcamai didn't hesitate with a response as he had before...

Kith Ven listened to the gigantic Sangheili speak as the pieces of the metaphorical puzzle began to assemble in his head. Yes, his mission wasn't simply to just let Truth know what 'Tralcamai was up to; the hierarch surely could act on any detailed report Ven gave, as he had done before in the past with other individuals Kith was assigned to observe.

But the more he thought about it, the more it really was a screwed-up situation to begin with: give Truth enough leverage to get rid of 'Tralcamai without the Council getting uppity, and then remove a certain T'vaoan Champion from the picture to clean the slate. Kith knew that Truth was aware of his distrust for the hierarchs, and that distrust was even more readily apparent after the raid against the Banished on Tempest. All he needed was an alibi—like the former adjutant of the Crusaders going rogue to help a heretic—and he'd be done for.

Once the tracker that was most likely within his suit was removed, Kith was done for. It was a gamble, but he had taken many gambles before, and there was an infinitesimal chance he could negotiate for his survival and win, but gambles were gambles. By boarding his ship, he had sealed their fate—Truth knew this from the beginning, and now, they both knew it.

"By boarding, you have unwittingly signed both of us on to a ship with no helm, aimed at the brightest of stars."

"If I had known—" Kith shut up as the giant Sangheili continued his monologue. In spite of all this, Kith still found it hard to swallow his new fate. Although Truth had stuck out for him many times before, even reallocating resources and debating in the council to ensure Kith was extracted intact, it was perhaps the mission on Tempest that was the last straw. Figuring out what to do next was the next plan of action... but it was hard.

"The giant began walking towards the hangar's exit, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to inform the bridge crew of a course update. Leave, or don't, it is ultimately up to you."

Kith watched 'Tralcamai walk towards the hangar's exit, nervously tapping a finger against his hip mag holster as he thought to himself. Regardless of if he left or not, he was dead for sure, and 'Tralcamai's fate wasn't too dissimilar from his own. He was right: his only option was to stay. It'd grant him enough time to craft a solid enough excuse to explain to Truth why he was taking so long, giving both of them time to figure out what to do next.

Still... he was in a tough spot, and it pained him to be in such a predicament to begin with. Kith cursed to himself and knelt down to pick up his weapons, stowing them against his armor as he followed the Sangheili out.

"Fine, I shall stay," He muttered. "It'll give us more time to maneuver, perhaps even for me to make a case to have more time for my mission... but I take it radio silence from here on out is the best option for us both."

It wasn't like they had much time at all, anyways. They had to choose their actions wisely.

[Beiarusia]

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

---

---

Bolts of superheated plasma tore into the catwalk, scorching the air in a dazzling display of flickering blue and green light that, in the brief instance of life, cast twisting shadows of those moving quickly across the growingly unstable platform. The gunfight was intense. A brutal exchange of ballistics and energy, a chattering din that reverberated throughout the hangar, and although Kilo 45 had led the engagement the Grunts and Jackals had not faltered. The Covenant held firm and were quick to consolidate a stalwart defense.

Maple, ducking low and into nonexistent cover, wished that she had been left back at the Pelican.

They all had been evacuated from the starport after the last of the civilian transports had departed, but instead of being spirited away off-world the surviving soldiers had been consolidated into a new unit, Kilo 45, and deployed to an ONI facility in Sopron to enforce Cole Protocol. New Alexandria was gone, and the situation was quickly becoming untenable.

The catwalks that encircled the hangar offered no protection, so those above were quick to push ahead with many descending down to floor level to seek cover – a destroyed gunship dominated the space alongside a myriad of crates and machinery – but Maple hesitated, frozen as stray bolts of plasma peppered the ceiling of the hangar. When she finally willed herself to move she had fallen behind. Plasma again tore into the catwalk. Maple tried to dip low, stumbled, but steadied herself and continued on, bypassing the small accessway in her panic. Realizing the error, but already committed to her frantic dash, she made for the next further down, maybe a dozen meters or so, her efforts made all the easier as the Covenant were forced to contend with those down below. However, as she neared the accessway, she noticed the Plasma Cannon as it tore into the gunship, and so, too, did the gunner spy her unintended approach. Maple tried to halt her momentum, falling backwards as the Plasma Cannon tore indiscriminately in her direction. Scrambling back on her hands and knees, the hanging supports of the catwalk failed, melted away, causing the section of platform to list and then snap free. Maple tried to stand, to grab onto the section of catwalk that was still secured to its foundation, but the floor gave out from beneath her feet and she was sent tumbling to the floor below. The Plasma Cannon continued to fire for a few seconds more but was quickly wheeled around to suppress those using the gunship for cover.

Maple, in a brief moment of freefall, felt the impact as the corner of the platform struck an inconveniently parked forklift, and then another as she was unceremoniously thrown off to the side. She rolled – once, twice, three times – as the shattered section of catwalk crashed down all around her. Miraculously she was not crushed.

Head ringing, she reached up to check for blood and found that her helmet had been knocked loose. It lay nearby in shattered glass. To her right was the forklift and the metal platform that had collapsed; to her left a wall, a doorway marked CONTROL-1, and a window leading to an interior room. The glass was broken, most likely from the Plasma Cannon. Somewhere nearby but just out of direct view came the shouts of soldiers. “We’re in the shit lads!” came one distinctive accent that Maple recognized immediately.

Nothing felt broken, and the ringing had subsided a tad bit, but as she stood there came a swift pain in her right ankle. “Ugh….” A sprain but it wasn’t crippling. Ignoring the discomfort, she grabbed her shotgun and made to grab her helmet.

That was when the Grunt waddled from around cover and very nearly bumped into her.

The stocky creature was clad in dark, almost iridescent armor and was hefting a Plasma Rifle. Most likely it was trying to flank those using the gunship for protection, but looked genuinely surprised to see Maple who, for her part, looked equally as surprised. A moment ticked by as one looked to the other as if having stumbled into an occupied stall.

“Uh… hello,” Maple said with a nervous smile.

The Grunt raised its Plasma Rifle.

Thinking fast, Maple threw her helmet, striking the alien square in the face with a satisfying thunk as the dense polymers bounced off its skull. It squealed in alarm, taking an involuntary step back and giving the young human just enough time to make for safety, that being the nearby shattered window as the Grunt, recovering quickly with an angry almost indignant pip, blocked her way.

Blue bolts of superheated plasma flickered to life all around her as she rolled into the adjacent room, cutting herself on jagged fragments of glass and landing atop a wide desk. She fell to the floor and quickly pressed herself into the desk. The darkened room was suddenly illuminated by a flurry of plasma-fire as the Grunt loosed a long, erratic burst in pursuit of its quarry. A computer display exploded into a shower of sparks and smoke; a cabinet was burned into as the laminate bubbled; an office chair was clipped and spun wildly. Maple, keeping low, crawled away from the window and hid underneath a desk just as the plasma ceased and the room was again thrown into darkness with the only light being the few pinpricks of LEDs that remained functioning and the sparking terminal.

The Grunt peered into the room as its weapon vented the excess heat. “You dead?” it asked in its high-pitched voice. Comical if not for the bloodlust in its tone. The Grunt cleared away the glass fragments still stuck in the window frame with its forearm and then crawled into the room, landing with a small thud as it again raised the weapon, sweeping the room. “If not dead then come out so I make you dead.”

Maple clutched her shotgun as she hid behind the desk a bit off to the side. She could hear the footsteps as the alien searched the room, could hear the mechanical whirring of its breathing apparatus. Unlike the cowardly Grunts that she’d seen in the holovids, this one was confident, sure of itself as it tore apart the room. It was getting closer.

“Found you!” it yelled as it threw aside a nearby desk. It groaned in disappointment when it discovered nothing. Maple, close enough that she could touch the Grunt if only she reached out, covered her mouth, afraid that her breathless panting would betray her hiding place. Not that the ongoing firefight would make hearing such a thing easy. The Grunt continued to search the room. “Where are you? Come out!”

It wandered away, towards the window and still-closed doorway, kicking the still spinning office chair in frustration. Maple tentatively peered out from behind the desk. She could see its dark silhouette and the glow of its weapon. It was again blocking her way, and the only other path was a door leading deeper into the facility. It was ajar, prevented from closing from an upturned cabinet that possibly was used to barricade the corridor. Not that it had helped in the end. Maple considered her options. She could probably make it to the doorway, perhaps without being detected, but that would take her somewhere she didn’t know. Or she could use her shotgun and shoot the Grunt, but if she missed it would be game over. There was also another door leading to the hangar but it was further and she’d definitely be spotted. No option seemed particularly appealing. Maybe it would just leave if she waited long enough?

She did, however, take notice of a display that was still functioning across the room. It was hard to see from her position but it seemed to be a layout of the facility, or maybe a catalog. Whatever it was it seemed important considering they had yet to find the Prowler.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, “that seems important. Fuck. Alright, I can do this. Shotgun versus Grunt, shotgun wins.” She gripped the weapon tightly. “On three. One… two….”

Maple had seen it in all the holovids, the action hero swinging out from cover with guns blazing and taking down a room full of baddies. She only had one Grunt. Easy. But as she channeled her inner summer blockbuster, the somewhat unwieldy shotgun knocked against the corner of the desk and sent a bobblehead clattering to the floor. Instantly the Grunt had whirled around and a hail of plasma forced her back into cover as the wood slowly burned away around her.

The fatal flaw in her plan was thus: she was not an action hero.

[Empire of Donner land]

Lieutenant Santo Schirmer / 4 Delta 15
17th Tactical Strike Group, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
Low Reach Orbit // August 23rd, 2552

---

---

"Good luck, 4 Delta 15." was the Autumn's last words to Schirmer. He'd taken off towards the ONI Shipyard, weaving past the covenant wreckage that the Autumn had decided to nestle itself in for safety, safety from the war being lost around it. It made him think, as he soared over what was left of reach, the firestorms, and the thundering clouds, what exactly they were doing there. The fight over Reach could use a cruiser like them, but instead, they hid away from the fight, donating but one nuclear warhead now nestled in his bird. He wasn't getting the full picture, it screamed "take a closer look", and what that Lieutenant Commander he met said, about everyone aboard being needed. Needed for what? Maybe Schirmer was getting a bit paranoid, but the whole situation reeked of either a Naval Captain trying to save their skin, or something involved with the Office of Naval Intelligence.

As the Longsword set in for a journey there, he racked his head thinking. He'd looked into places he wasn't supposed to look using credentials that weren't his, and remembering conversations he overheard from his parents and others that were over to visit them. None of it, however, sounded related to the navy at least, or maybe it was bigger than that. Orion, Red Flag, big codewords of some kind thrown around, numbers and letters, something to do with Spartans, but not enough dots to connect to verify anything. Reach, the planet that was being burned down right below him was mentioned multiple times, as a location. Were they using reach? Did they know this was going to happen soon? He didn't have enough information to say, all he knew was something was being cooked up beneath all of their noses.

He didn't know whether it was comforting that they have a plan, or horrifying that they might've purposefully consigned a planet to glass to get it done. But he didn't have enough time to think about his crackpot conspiracies, or connect dots with the illegally obtained information he did have. All he had time for was focusing on knocking a frigate out of the skies of his planet, and he had the ordinance to do it, the longsword punched far above its weight, nuke or no nuke. Thankfully he remembered a trick that was shared with the Air Force on Reach that those in the Navy figured out relatively quickly. If he could break the shield open just enough to slip the nuclear weapon through before it sealed, the blast would reverberate off the shield, doubling its effective power and frying the ship's systems. If it wasn't destroyed outright, the thing would be mission killed at the very least, which was good enough for their sake he hoped.

The only issue was the Frigate trying to intercept the missiles, if the Nuke hit the shield or didn't even make it, it'd be wasted. A full volley all at once would do it, too many missiles to knock out, and they just might not be able to tell the difference between a regular cruise missile and the nuclear warhead. Before he forgot, he set the nuke to detonate with radar proximity to the target, giving it enough distance to blow up within the shielding, but also enough to atomize the frigate. It was a textbook takedown of a covenant naval vessel, though usually there was a full flight of Longswords doing a plan like this... and air support conducting combat air patrols... not to mention they'd usually have superiority... or the fact that Schirmer was flying a Longsword all by himself at less than a skeleton crew.

But it was time to ignore those small details, he was sure he could do this...

What was he kidding himself for, this is an awful plan... he'd do it anyway of course, because orders were orders. Schirmer was veritably terrified, and not even the calm collected plan he formed in his head could get him to revert from that. He was in a space-plane on the losing side of the battle, he could, at any time, just turn around and fuck off somewhere else, leave. So why couldn't he just grip the controls and do so? Did he want to "bag a frigate" and proudly display it on the side of his Longsword? Be recognized and rewarded for some kind of brave, yet stupid, daring act?

No, neither of those was it.

It was his job, and no one else was there to do it. If they had people they would be on his wing right now, but they were dead or missing. If it wasn't going to be him? Who would it be? Nobody. A lone sigh from beneath the helmet marked his absolution, as the beeping that atmospheric descent was beginning awoke him from his thoughts, and he took control.

Painting the frigate on would be pretty cool though.

[Bolslania]

---

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey
Ad-Hoc Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach
UNSC}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552.}

---

Grey watched as 2nd squad quickly and cleanly dispatched the unprepared covenant forces on Pad 8. They didn't have much time to run across the pads so they'd have to do this quick. His initial plan had been to load some people up on the trolley and use it to transport 2nd squad, however as he took stock of the new situation, he realized they didn't have time to dilly-dally. As the critically damaged Phantom came down on the backside of Pad 8, effectively blocking off Hangar Bay 4, Grey began to shout orders.

"Amir, take the trolley and move in front of the rest of us. Callilis if any banshees get close you light 'em the fuck up as best you can." He said in to his radio to the two men he'd dispatched to collect a trolley. Turning to the rest of his squad he began to move.

"Everyone else on me! Keep your spacing!" He shouted to them. He began to sprint down the causeway to Pad 8, hopefully Amir's jamming of the Covvie battlenet had worked and would delay a covenant response to 2nd squad's movement. Furthermore Grey could hear the distinct sounds of gunshots and plasma weapons coming from the other side of the shipyard, so there would be confusion a-plenty for the covenant forces on the ground to try and sort out.

A large concern was the banshees circling over head. They'd almost certainly seen the commotion on the ground, and Grey would bet money that they were going to come down and start strafing them. Luckily he'd left a SPNKr with Longacre, who'd hopefully be able to down a banshee with the homing missiles she had with her.

[United Islands of Polis]

Lance Corporal Maksim Ruslan Chukov
88th Armored Battalion, 3rd Company, Second Platoon, 1st Squad Kilo 45 - Squad 3
Near Sopron// August 23rd, 2552

Maksim had seen that almost everyone was now at ground level, and followed suit too. However a stationary plasma cannon had made itself known. While Maksim instinctively took cover, he also noticed it wasn't being aimed at him, but instead someone else. He used the distraction to look for the alien bastard using it, and he did. It wasn't all too hard to find it since he had to follow the stream of blue light, and the fact that it wasn't directed at him. But just as he got his aim refined, that's when he heard it.

The creaking of metal and the catwalk supports giving away. He let go of his rifle to grab onto the railings now turned rungs; if not for the sling he had for his rifle, he'd have lost it by now. His grip held firm, but gravity began to take him more and more. It really didn't help that he had always worn the full set of armor. Seeing however that there were no obstacles in the way, Maksim with a free arm threw the rifle to his front, and slid down the catwalk. On the way down he crossed his arms for whatever reason, and bent his knees; which would prove to be a good idea as his feet hit the side of a forklift. Two thuds could be heard, if not for the guns firing and catwalk steel readjusting itself to its new position. The first thud were his boots connecting to the forklift, the second one was Maksim landing on his back.

He knew he didn't have a moment to lose since anything could be crawling there, and so got up and walked towards the rest of the team, for a few good moments having a bit of a limp, trying to twist out the slight pain of his back. The sound of a Plasma Rifle firing broke his attempts to stretch while moving, only Sangheli used those, and maybe some Brutes.

"What's an elite doing back here?" Maksim asked himself.

The only few reason an Elite would be back here would be a team of Sangheli ready to drop the hammer on the rest of the unit, or there was an Elite or two back here who were the commanding officers of the gaggle of Grunts and Jackals they were currently fighting. Checking the ammo counter, 36 rounds. It was enough to take down two Elites, if he were a Spartan, but Maksim knew he didn't have that kind of accuracy even as a marksman. Volume of fire and surprise would hopefully do the trick. he thumbed the fire select switch and set it to full-auto, and moved in.

“Where are you? Come out!”

Turning towards the sound, he also heard the crashing of furniture as it were being moved violently. It was the pitch of a Grunt, which could be problematic. The theory now was that there was an Elite with a few cannon fodder or more. This would have been an impossible fight. His hand instantly went to a grenade he had on his belt. If he were right, the explosive ball on his utility belt would make the difference. If he were to die, it should at least be by doing something to save lives or further the mission. The further he went, the more carnage of a fight he saw, whether they were recent or not he didn't know. But on the wall and arrow pointed towards a direction, with words above it reading CONTROL-1. Was this where they were supposed to get the details they needed? The ATC center they needed to get to?

Walking in as quietly as he could, he heard another thunk, something akin to a heavy object hitting a table, and then another burst of Plasma Rifle fire, only this time he saw the light of the weapon firing. Moving quickly, but as quietly as he could, he bore witness to a Grunt in a grey and black setup holding the Plasma Rifle. He didn't think however, instead he put the Battle Rifle to bear and pulled the trigger. In all honesty the sound it made was strange, as he ever only fired the rifle in a three round burst. However, the Grunt having been caught unaware took the rounds, staggering. The blue hues of the Grunt's rebreather eyeslits looked at him for a split second as it turned its head. Maksim must've got him in shock, but wasted no time putting another several rounds into it, some missing but most hitting. It fell on the floor, most likely dead, but it was definitely tougher, it was alone, and fighting instead of panicking at the sight of him, along with the Plasma Rifle.

"Is anyone here? It is safe now." Maksim said in a hushed manner, walking in slowly again.

[Beiarusia]

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

---

---

The wood veneer was vaporized as plasma tore into the desk. Maple was trapped, hunkered down and making herself as small a target as possible with her head held protectively in-between her knees, regretting now the loss of her helmet. Not that the added protection would amount to much when she was inevitably atomized. The Grunt was slowly advancing, sustaining a long and accurate burst from the Plasma Rifle as it whittled away the wooden desk. A nearby computer terminal exploded into a shower of sparks as a stray bolt of superheated plasma burned through; a potted ficus simply caught fire from a near-miss. Maple could feel the air starting to burn. She needed to make a move, to flee or to engage, but the Grunt was well trained and it wasn't about to let her the opportunity.

And then the rhythmic staccato of the Plasma Rifle faltered and then stopped entirely with an accompanying thud. Suddenly the Control Room was silent, or as silent as could be considering a gunfight was happening in the adjacent hangar, then came a voice asking, "Is anyone here? It is safe now."

Maple poked her head up from behind the now crumbling remains of the desk and saw Lance Corporal Chukov, an Army Trooper that had been rolled into Kilo 45 alongside a few other stragglers that had survived the invasion. She didn't know the man from any previous posting but he seemed nice enough. At the very least he'd come to drag her out from the fire so he was alright as far as she was concerned.

"I'm alive!" she announced, looking over to the dead Grunt, the brightly-colored blood pooling underneath it as its methane tank leaked slowly from the perforations. "Thanks. Was starting to get a little too toasty for my liking." Grabbing her shotgun she scurried out from behind the desk and towards the still active terminal on the other side of the room. "It's Chukov, right? We need to find the Prowler and this computer might tell us where it's parked." She tapped the screen to wake it. "Hopefully. How's everything going outside?" The screams of battle answered the question. "Right. Well, I'm no computer expert but it shouldn't be too hard. Just gotta open the right thing."

[Anowa]

In the recesses of Hangar B3, pressed against the roof and held in place by clamps as lower panels and a slipspace drive sat on the floor, was a prowler, it's photoreactive panels and built in EW suite being the only thing shielding it from detection. Within that prowler sat an AI, and a heavily wounded technician.

The technician was unconscious, but the AI's mind was still moving at a million miles an hour. In the time it took for Kilo 45 to do what they had done, the AI had managed to survey each of them, plot a startlingly accurate plan of attack based on nothing more but equipment and their present actions, and had pulled up service records on every single soldier, sailor, airman, or marine in view of the dozens of CCTVs.

Runtimes were continually digging info from those dockets, as another series kept the prowler concealed. The last few batches of runtime were analyzing covenant battle net, and almost immediately found cause for concern.

One of the troopers, facial recognition tagging him as Corporal Benjamin Amir, had just set the facility's comms to act as a jamming array. It was inspired, but also only proved that the man had the foresight of a brick. While the Prowler was drawing power from the facility it's EW suite wasn't tied to it in any way, and it's own EM shielding meant the prowler wouldn't be affected at all. If the Covenant were paying attention, which they likely were now that a firefight had broken out, they wouldn't find a signal from the prowler, but rather a lack of one. Where they had previously only seen an empty hangar with some useless scrap, they would now know something special laid in wait for them.

---

---

_{PFC Chips Dubbo
Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach
UNSC}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

---

the radio net for a moment became very fuzzy, and another moment later, it became clear, and a notably artificial voice cut through on everyone's comm unit, "Your jamming has revealed mine, and the Prowler's location. Hangar B3."

Dubbo paused, "Fuck sake."

Reaching to his belt, he primed the grenade, gave it a solid wack on the cover he was using, arming it, he then counted to two, and tossed it. A second later it detonated above the jackal shield wall with multiple squeals of agony.

The remaining members of the team could mop up and cover him as Dubbo strode across the room to the hangar door controls. A few button presses and they began widening.

---

At the opposite end of the canyon, a whine started getting higher pitched as the Phantom began to glow, before detonating in to an almost white fireball. Debris scattered across the canyon, glowing white chunks of nanolaminate began melting holes in the catwalks, landing pads, and rock. Whatever was left alive below the wreckage when it detonated was now ash, and the plating of the pad itself was now largely glowing a deep red. Enough to be a heat hazard, but not bad enough to warp the structure.

Things now however were quiet... too much so. There was no activity on the ground, and the Banshees were now actually waving off. Above them, the Frigatte was now listing, revealing the underbelly of the craft. And the glowing blob at the center was starting to grow brighter, and redder.

They needed to get the AA online now, or everyone in that canyon was going to die.

[Kassaran]

---

_{CPL Amir, Benjamin
Reach Colonial Militia, Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, Near Soporon, Reach
UNSC}

---

_232601SAUG52

---

"Well aint that a fucking piece of- hold on!"

Amir opened up the throttle on the little cart as fast as it could go as the last rounds from the AGL fired out. The Prowler's location was revealed, but as the cart left the recesses of the bay, the crackling smell of ozone and the distinct taste of burning electronics filled Benjamin's mouth. He didn't look up. He couldn't afford to. He knew what was coming, if only because he'd seen the video documentation of a Covenant glassing, and his focus narrowed onto the thin catwalk between the pads. He would have to hold the wheel full left to ensure they made the turn and slowing only briefly, he honked its pitifully small horn to warn the rest of his intentions. They had only moments before the ship above the canyon began to spill hot fire upon the dirt and he needed to ensure it didn't. The lives of not only him, but everyone around him and that had been on the Pelican with him, were at stake.

"Go! Go! Go! Get to the Site Control Amir!"

He'd been planning to stop to pick up whoever he could, but the shouting of the officer he was with pushed him on and spurred him to action. The red-hot metal grating of the landing pad was intense as flashes of heat swept across the open area. His focus entirely upon getting the cart across, he ignored the steep drop to his side as he drove the cart along the cooler edges of the platform, even then he felt the traction of the cart increase drastically. He counter-steered, feeling the solid wheels begin to stick as they spun, melting to the metal as he progressed and made his way down the catwalk on the other side. He was faintly aware of the raising of the hairs along the back of his neck and arms and he could see ahead of him the open entrance to the site control beyond.

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

Steering with one hand as they came off the catwalk and onto the landing pad outside the hangar labelled HB2, they sped into the shadowed chamber, narrowly missing debris and parts strewn across the open areas, spying the bodies of deceased aircrew and mechanics as they closed in on the door. The cart had become noticeably harder to steer, and having to almost fully crank the wheel left every few seconds to keep the cart on track, he released the accelerator and the electric braking kicked in immediately. The lurch in his stomach ceasing as Amir jumped out of the cart and sprinted towards the first blast door. The auspicious hall beyond was flickering with broken lights along its way, the scene of a firefight beyond having peppered the walls with plasma burns and bullet holes. He ignored the bodies as he pressed deeper inside, slipping between the cracked bulwarks and barriers, retrieving his datapad from his admin pouch as he went. The CNM had already picked up telltales from several devices still on, but in standby.

"I got the left! Get every single panel you can find. Look for Fire Control!"

Hooking left as he entered the Site Control Center, his eyes caught sight of several shining panels at the far end of the room and cursed loudly.

"Ahead! Ahead! Security and Defense control station!"

Nearly falling into the panel, Amir's hands flew across the terminal, checking for any authorization or passcode access, but finding none. The first true stroke of luck he'd had that day and he grinned as he flipped the activation switch and heard the panel chirp. On a large screen above, the previously dark panels lit up, one by one, each showing the view of a different auto-turret coming online. Warnings, cautions, and alerts regarding Winter Contingency flashed on the screen, but were pushed aside by the limited targeting AI who screamed out in fury and anger towards their quarry. Hands flying across his tablet, moving between the auto-defense mainframe and his datapad, he moved to the next terminal and flicked on the secondary line of defenses. The guns were still warming up and the missiles finishing their acquisition cycle as he found automated controls for various pieces of machinery left discarded and abandoned around the complex.

"System online! Target locked!"

Amir's voice was brief and curt over the comms as he focused on swapping over to the auxiliary optics bundle and tapped into it, quickly isolating the backup surveillance server and noting a live access attempt from the other end of the complex. He wasn't sure who it was but given that the Covenant hadn't attempted to access the computers here, it was likely that it was the other team. Checking the CCTV as he flipped through various feeds, one of the monitors settled on the opaque silhouette of the Prowler in Hangar 3, and another reflected the ongoing fighting between the troopers and the remaining Covenant forces. Realizing that there was another tap on the line, he looked towards a nearby CCTV and spoke, making sure his helmet mic was off, but enunciating his words clearly and using precise motions of his lips to allow the AI to read his words if it was the other presence.

"Demo plan for the facility, do you have one? The sooner I get to work, the faster we get out of here."

[Empire of Donner land]

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

---

---

"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!" Schirmer took his finger off the transmission button at the side of his helmet, he was starting to sweat. It was bad enough that the ground team was within dangerous distance of the nuke, it was an entirely different set of bad karma that the Frigate was preparing the glass them and changed his plans. But the signatures of fighters in the air gave him a gleam of hope, they were retreating back to the Frigate.

So things changed, not the first time since the war started that they did. As the Longsword started its fiery re-entry into Reach's atmosphere along the planned attack trajectory, he started to replan the angle on the Frigate. It wouldn't just be a standard stand-off cruise missile attack and a return into orbit for drinks and medals. Purple-Red flames licked along the titanium alloy surface of the Longsword just below the cockpit window as he descended further and further into the night sky, blowing past the alarmingly red aurora as the dim burning aura of the planet's horizon rose out of sight. His helmet's visor automatically adjusted the brightness as the darkness grew, and a dim green silhouette of the edges around him appeared.

He unconsciously reached for his brow to wipe away the sweat only to be reminded he was wearing a helmet. In the far distance, a target was highlighted as they cleared the clouds, Frigate class, and a bright red light was coming from the belly of the beast. He knew, he was trained, that when covie ships use the glassing beams, their shields have to make way. That was almost good, the extra cruise missiles didn't have to punch a hole for the nuke first. But how he could get it there was the added challenge. He looked to the surface of Reach as the Longsword leveled out towards the Frigate glowing in the sky.

Just as quickly the Longsword rolled over and dived down, pulling up as it flew against the nape of Reach, following the contours towards its target. Schirmer was annoyed that things just had to get more difficult, but with how this war was going, it would get a lot worse before it got better, so he sucked it up. It became an expectation. He looked down to a computer screen, tapping upon it with his fingers as if automatically. He targetted the Frigate with all weapons, without it even being on sensors, using the Bee-Net data link.

As the Longsword banked around a hill, the Frigate was in the line of sight as it cruised towards the ONI yards down the canyon. Schirmer punched the engines into full burn as he followed the Canyon in as if to chase after it, through its wide and narrow bends, the red light of the excavation beam charging up cresting over the ledge of the walls. A final turn saw him behind the Frigate and in the same part of the canyon, the speed of the Longsword still climbing slowly. The missiles, nuke and all, now had chimed in his helmet with deep beeping to warn him he now had launch authorization.

Schirmer only did one thing more, he pulled up on the stick, pressing himself into his seat as the gee-forces closed in on top of him. The Frigate that was ahead of him was now above him as he climbed straight towards it at an angle, towards the charging and surging red glow. He almost hesitated, spurned by its brightness as his HUD attempted to darken now as if it was brighter and brighter daylight. Another deep and loud beep, a call from his ordinance screaming to be released. His finger pulled shut onto the trigger of the stick in a death grip, and at once, all the missiles dropped from the belly of the Longsword, their own propulsion igniting and flying past him towards the artificial sun.

Schirmer pulled hard on the stick again, pulling away from the Frigate while upside down, and dived. Trying desperately to get away from the Frigate as fast as possible before either of two possibilities happened which screamed at him from his brain. Either get melted in a nuclear explosion or get melted in a magnetically propelled stream of white-hot plasma. He keyed into the radio, "This 4 Delta 15, missiles away, missiles away!"

[Bolslania]

---

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey
Ad-Hoc Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach
UNSC}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552.}

---

"Oh fuck" Grey muttered as the sky turned a deep crimson. The frigate hanging above them was gleaming a bright red as it prepared to glass the ONI facility, and everyone in it. Grey had two options, either run back in to the fuel bunker and hope that the building could take the glassing beam, or run across towards Hangar Bay 4 and hope that structure could withstand it. He didn't have much time so he made a decision.

"2nd squad move your asses to Hangar Bay 4! Run!" He shouted. He took off at the sprint, his armored feet pounding against the metal bridge. Shouting to Amir, who was just pulling out from the Fuel Bunker

"Go! Go! Go! Get to the Site Control Amir!" He moved to the side of the bridge as Amir went skidding around the corner, speeding down to the Site Control room.

"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!" Came the voice of their Longsword pilot. That didn't give them a whole hell of a lot of time.

Shit, Longacre His sniper had been left stuck up on the side of the canyon, and didn't have time to come down to where they were. Grey swore as he realized Longacre's fate was now out of his hands. Hopefully she could find some place to hole up without getting cooked.

He lead 2nd squad towards the Hangar Bay, which was dug in to the side of the canyon face and should provide enough protection to keep the team alive. He ran towards the console that controlled the hangar doors, waiting until the last members of second squad got in before shutting the hangar doors, he flicked on the lights as the door enclosed second squad into the side of the canyon. He waited, his nervousness not being shown through his polarized visor as he hoped for the safety of the other members of Kilo 45.

"Santo don't you fucking miss." He muttered as he heard the roar of the Longsword's engines reverberate through the stone surrounding him.

[Shyluz]

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

---

---

Jackie ear's rung. They'd been ringing for hours now. Most everyone he'd known was dead now. Gone in a split second of magnetic failure, turned into a star. The Trafalgar was dead. Not even dust was left of one of the UNSC's largest, most powerful starship to ever fly. He knew Punic-classes could die, of course. He'd run the simulations of emergency evac scrambles. He knew they could die because they'd died before. But Trafalgar was supposed to be different. Invincible.

So much for that.

The 442nd Naval Air Transport Squadron was now a squadron of three personnel and one Pelican nearly out of reaction mass. Everyone else was probably dead. Not that they all died on the Trafalgar. NATS-442 had been taking a beating since the invasion began. Sundance, Red Queen, Greyhound and Zippo went down in the initial counteroffensive over Szurdok Ridge. Gremlin, Huckleberry, Hussar, Scrooge and Tooth Fairy went down over New Alexandria, last he'd heard. That left six craft unaccounted for, not including Spellcaster.

It was all fucked up. Jackie couldn't think, hell he could barely fly. Corti took care of that, and they flew in shifts. Not that there was anything interesting--just making sure that the autopilot didn't nosedive them into the ocean. Foster wasn't even sure Raskov knew that Trafalgar was gone. He couldn't stomach the thought of telling her. The two teams were deployed, the plan set in motion. Critically low on reaction mass, Jackie set Spellcaster down well enough away from where the fighting would be.

The only people left in the aircraft were himself, his crew, and the handful of wounded and miscellaneous soldiers. They sat, mostly, in tired silence. The only sound was that of Raskov retching outside, after Corti broke the news to her.

Jackie moved to the back of the tray, and sat down on the ramp's edge. He'd quit smoking what felt like a lifetime ago, but right about now he really wished he hadn't. We're never gonna get off Reach.

[Anowa]

"Demo plan for the facility, do you have one? The sooner I get to work, the faster we get out of here."

Amir's radio squuelched, "A lot of C-12. The Frigate's excavation will begin firing in 20 seconds as well. For future reference, I am on your radio net."

---

Schirmer pulled hard on the stick again, pulling away from the Frigate while upside down, and dived. Trying desperately to get away from the Frigate as fast as possible before either of two possibilities happened which screamed at him from his brain. Either get melted in a nuclear explosion or get melted in a magnetically propelled stream of white-hot plasma.

---

_{Evocatus Delgatus Rtusze 'Tralcamai
Fleet of Blinding Redemption
Quezon
Covenant Empire}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552 - 2607 NST}

---

The unexpected arrival of the humans wasn't something he had fully foreseen. While yes, the humans were lethally protective of such locations, rarely were they ever actually known, their so called "Office of Naval Intelligence" was rather bad at making their secrets known to their allies. It was much like the many ministries the Covenant had. Regardless, he had to keep up appearances, even now, electronics recovered from the site were being scanned and then bricked for location data. His new arrivals had no part, the regulars had been given their own quarters and effectively confined to it, Kith was on the bridge with him.

The excavation beam was simply to make short work of the humans that were down there, and much to his surprise the whole ship that had been hiding right under them for the past several hours. Destroy the ship to keep up appearances, in actuality, to make sure no other Covenant vessel, shipmaster, or peon could capture it. As violent and irreverent towards the humans he was supposed to be, he knew the truth, this was an unjust war, and he had to start peeling away the layers of injustice to the Covenant slowly, and he couldn't do that if the last humans had been killed.

As he watched several monitors arrayed around his awful chair, he spotted fighters, and the few phantoms being bombarded by anti air fire. A number were returning to the Frigate damaged, others were wrecked entirely and left to bake their crews as they fell burning.

But one seemingly insignificant speck had caught his attention as it approached, he recognised it's silhouette, and in an instant, his mind raced with the plans the humans had made.

There had been many times in Rtuzse's life that he had been outplayed, but by the grace of whatever creator was true, none had killed him. But this, was perhaps an end to him. Time seemed to slow as he tracked the lone Longsword, as puffs of smoke washed off it's belly, and multiple of it's arrows were loosed. Many of them were the standard chaff that wouldn't do much but cripple the excavation beam, having now bored a hole in the shields. But the large one, he knew. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't worry, the shields of his vessel could take such a blow. But the aforementioned shortcut had doomed them. By the time the excavation beam cooled and the shielding recharged, the atomic weapon would have already detonated.

He had only one chance to save his crew, something no sane shipmaster would order, no allow to happen.

The massive being stood to his full height in an instant, and in a thundering voice reaching almost a roar, he yelled out above any possible sound on the bridge in that moment, "SPIRIT! Slipspace NOW!"

---

The trail of several missiles towards the ship were visible, as they got closer and closer to the ship. But something was visibly wrong, as the shielding shimmered and broke before the missiles arrived, and the Excavation beam, for lack of a better term, shorted out without any missiles impacting. Geiger counters for but an instant began to drop in count, before immediately spiking to the max and giving out a noise reminiscent of ancient fax machines.

A massive ball of blue-white rimmed void ripped open in to the atmosphere, for an instant it was calm, but immediately, the air, loose dirt, scraps, and a few of the airborne vehicles were sucked in to the unending maw to oblivion, as a sudden violent decompression of a planet started. The frigate was taken with and the blue maw collapsed, though rebounding in to a collossal shockwave of compressed air and latent plasma. It struck the incoming warhead, which too detonated, the fireball and shockwave adding on to the destructive wall heading towards the facility. Any electronics that weren't shielded, and weren't already bricked, would now certainly be. The vacuum of the nuclear fireball once again drew in air, soil, and some smaller scrap in the instant of it's detonation. In this instant, in combination with the jump that occured a moment earlier, the river below began to flow backwards, and indeed upwards for a non marginal period of time.

And then the shockwave struck the facility.

Anyone outside without something between them and the blast was assuredly dead. Anyone not in a sealed structure or with something to block or hinder the shockwave would have been knocked unconscious, if not tossed to the floor so violently as to pulverise bone and rupture organs. Dubbo had not closed the doors fast enough, first a third squad, while alive would not be feeling well for some time. The control room windows exploded inwards, it's control panels bursting from the increase of air pressure. Outside the various platforms were violently torqued, a few fell, many just turned in to mangled scraps. A barely audible explosion as the fuel bunker detonated, blowing more metal, rocks, and soil in to the air to be carried away.

Schirmer's craft would stall, being tossed in to a backflipping motion ass over tea kettle, alarms blared, and the sky and ground could be seen rapidly changing places through the glass in front of him.

Spellcaster's Pelican would no longer have cover as the foliage on the trees was ripped off, and for a scant few seconds, the pelican had enough lift to hover a few inches off the floor. At that range, anyone outside would be haphazardly carried by the shockwave a few dozen meters. Some distance away, the remains of a Albatross slammed in to the ground and detonated.

For seconds, an ungodly scream of wind echoed across everything, deafening any other noise that one couldn't hear through physical contact, the facility rumbled dangerously, as parts of the roof began falling.

As the equilibrium in air pressure came back, it all came rushing back in to the veritable void that had been created. For many of them, their armor had saved their lives from the usually fatal level of air pressure variation, but the effects of being tossed around like a ragdoll wasn't something they could fully protect themselves from.

It was maybe 45 seconds before anyone heard any proper noise, whether from tinnitus, simple mental and physical catch up, or electronic fuckery. From over the radio net, full of white noise and static, Stuart's voice rang through weak, in pain, and notably less gung-ho than prior, "Everyone, sound off."

[Ubaria]

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

---

---

Clinging heavy to the warming air was the bitter stench of spent gunpowder and the cloying unpleasantness of freshly made alien cadavers, a miasma of gunsmoke and smouldering metal had manifested inside the cavernous interior of the hangar’s space, the halogen lights fixed to the ceiling cast down beams of pallid light that picked out the smoky drifts as they swirled and surged with the shockwaves of bullets and explosions. Vera did her best not to squint and fought back a slaver of spittle forming at the corner of her mouth, she huddled close to the greenish-grey hull of the broken Condor, narrowly avoiding a cluster of plasma projectiles as they splashed off the hull’s surface, the metal popping and hissing under the extreme heat.

On Vera’s left was the Condor she was using as cover, it provided ample protection - for the time being - though to her right was the expanse of the hangar bay and nothing but open ground and heavy weapons exchange from either side fighting for control of the space. Her best bet was to hunker down and hope the rest of the team could manoeuvre to execute the threat whilst she attempted to harass the enemy with periodic bursts of rifle fire, though every time she darted from cover to aim, the Covenant dampened her attempts with a flurry of suppressive attacks.

Vera winced as a grenade thudded off nearby, the pinging of shrapnel was closely followed by the pained gurgling of alien screams. A Grunt stumbled out from a wound in the Condor’s side, a manner of contusions marking it’s gnarled torso, for a moment it spied Vera and made half an attempt to escape but was put down by a well placed shot to the neck, falling into a bloody heap on the floor. She could hardly pity the creature and turned her attention back to her comrades who had began advancing towards the hangar’s control console. Vera inched forward, checking to see if the coast was clear before darting from her cover and over towards the Condor’s disconnected engine nacelle, from there she didn’t stop but bounded over towards a collection of jumbled metal parts and skidded to a halt, pausing to catch her breath.

From between her ragged breaths, a voice crackled over her helmet's internal communications.

"Your jamming has revealed mine, and the Prowler's location. Hangar B3."

Vera frowned, knocking her helmet with the heel of her hand. The voice was punched with bursts of static and sounded peculiar, artificial even, though not monotone in it's articulation. She only supposed that the voice was that of the AI, the one from the Prowler. Revealing it's position over their channels was a risky move, if the Covenant were listening in and could translate, they would be pouncing in a flash. Or, the Covenant had already found it, and it's call was one of urgency.

"All Squads. We have the Prowlers twenty. Second Squad, we still need those air defences online yesterday."

Outside, through the tinted windows that allowed an exterior view to the hangar they were currently in, the skies seemed to have grown from dark to an eerie red pallor, Vera felt a barely perceptible prickle creep up the hairs on the back of her neck. The Covenant frigate was moving to turn the place into a slag heap, time was running thin. A moment or two later, that time became but a sliver.

"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!"

The hangars were most likely rated to survive a nuclear airburst; most ONI facilities were, though it wasn't rated to hold out against a stream of superheated plasma enough to turn the rocks around them to glass.

“Disregard that second squad. If you haven’t got those air defences online it won’t matter. Get yourselves into a hardened structure and bunker down! Anyone still on the surface in three mikes is going to get crisped.”

Vera swung her head around, absorbing the situation and taking stock of their current standing. She cast a gaze upon the fallen Covenant, those that had not yet been killed had most certainly routed out of this block of the facility. Dubbo was on the far side of the room, fingers hammering away at a control console next to the large reinforced doors that opened up to the outside world, or the maw of hell it had become. From behind her, Bridges and Vincent withdrew from their cover, though Reir and Chukov were nowhere to be seen.

“B three” She mumbled to herself, glancing up at the large white bolded characters imprinted on the far wall of the hangar. ‘A1’ they read. The Prowler was nowhere near their location and they didn’t have enough time to make it there, as she recalled, Hangar B3 was on the opposite side of the canyon, three minutes was not enough to make it.

“Private. Close those fucking doors.” Vera called over to the Marine, the door had only just finished opening, a breeze of warm air swirling in a manner of debris from the outside pad.

“Relax sheila. Already on it” He replied with a nonchalant tone, seeming rather unconcerned about the implications of having those doors still open come detonation. Vera scowled his way but said nothing in return, instead she raised a communication to second squad.

“Grey, get your men to a hardened structure. Don’t come out until i’ve given the all clear.” The officer wiped a fleck of scorched metal from the front of her visor.

From behind, the doors were shutting painfully slowly, the great blocks of reinforced titanium and steel made a mocking groan as the rollers that propelled them along their guides seemed to strain under the might of their weight, the wedge of pink pallid light from the charging plasma beam outside slowly shrunk with the gradual closing of the doors.

It wasn’t fast enough.

"This 4 Delta 15, missiles away, missiles away!"

No. Not now. Vera cursed all manner of curses under her breath, those three minutes had quickly gotten away from them.

“Get behind something!”

Vera spun on the spot and made for the gutted wreck of the Condor, it wasn’t ideal but it would provide better cover than nothing. And then it moved. Vera had no time to be confused and barely had enough distance to throw herself aside, her whole body seemed to become lighter as some unforeseen force began tugging her back.

She felt the heat before anything else. An intense wash at her back that overwhelmed most of her other senses. Before Vera had any time to feel anything else, it seemed like the floor below her had purposely fallen away and it took her a moment to realise that she had actually been thrown forward by the shockwave. That moment was quickly ended as an ear-splitting boom shook through her skull, coupled with the impact of metal tools slamming against the hardened carapace of her helmet. Without it, she would have surely been killed.
A good twenty or so feet later she landed in a crumpled heap and rolled unceremoniously several times along the ground, only stopping when something cold and hard impeded her path. All wind was driven away from her lungs and her head spun around so violently she was surely to vomit, nothing but the ringing of her eardrums and the rushing of blood around the inside of her head could be heard, a barely perceptible roar of wind below it all.

It wasn’t for another minute or so that her senses began to return. Touch first, she felt the ache of compressed bone and battered muscle tearing through her body as she moved. Secondly was sight, blurry as it was, the light from outside was bright enough to mimic the height of day on the equator, all around the tossed metal and detritus were the crumpled heaps of the other soldiers shifting, all barely coming to.

Thirdly was smell and taste, it smelled as if the very air around them had been scorched away, the way the air smelled when food had been left on a stovetop for too long, or burnt hair, the smell was coupled with an acidic undertone that couldn't be placed. Vera spat as she tasted the coppery tang of her own blood seeping into her mouth from a wound on her brow. Finally was that of sound, she could still barely hear but managed to pick out a voice over her helmet comms.

“Ye…yeah. I’m alive.” She groaned, the words seem to cause her physical pain to produce, moving was worse still. Managing to wriggle her toes and fingers confirmed that no obvious nervous or muscular damage had occurred, not immediately anyway. Vera figured she may have cracked a rib or two in the fall, as well as suffering from an obvious laceration to the skull when she had been pelted with flying mechanical tools.

“Corpsman. If you’re alive, see to anyone who isn’t responding. The rest of you reconvene on the Condor, or what’s left of it.” She turned to see the overturned carcass had shifted several feet backwards from it’s last position, looking like even less of an aircraft now than before.

“Second Squad. Are you receiving? Grey. Blackburn. Anyone?”

[Bolslania]

---

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey
Ad-Hoc Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach
UNSC}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552.}

---

Grey had been in many hairy situations in his career, but nothing quite matched hunkering down in a bunker praying that it could withstand the blast from a 2 ton nuclear warhead. His radio crackled with Patkos' voice.


“Disregard that second squad. If you haven’t got those air defences online it won’t matter. Get yourselves into a hardened structure and bunker down! Anyone still on the surface in three mikes is going to get crisped.”

"AA defenses are online and 2nd Squad is in cover ma'am." He replied calmly. He was sitting at the control panel, his elbows resting on his anxiously bouncing knees. Assuming Amir and Callilis stayed inside the Site Control complex they should be fine, but Longacre had been stranded up on the canyon face. Hopefully she could find someway to protect herself from the incoming shockwave, but Grey wasn't hopeful. It wouldn't be the first time his decisions had gotten somebody killed. It was always that one thing that went wrong, or that one thing that you didn't see coming, that led to the deaths of one of your subordinates. This time there probably wouldn't even be a body to recover. He leaned his head back against the wall and waited.

Then it hit. Even through the stone and metal lining of the hangar he was all but deafened by the maelstrom going on outside. Grey's body was vibrated by the sheer force of the explosion shaking the canyon walls. He closed his eyes as seconds turned in to hours. After what felt like an eternity it was over. A deafening silence descended over the facility as Greys' ears rang. He shook his head to clear the grogginess as Stuart's voice called for a sound-off, quickly followed by Patkos'.

"This is Grey. All of second squad is here save one, Sergeant Longacre is un-accounted for at this time." He said, his voice shifting right back to its usual professional tone. He stood up and began pacing as his helmet was filled with static from his CNM. He quickly shut it off for the time being. As he paced the adrenaline wore off and he clutched the side of his body as every breath brought a sharp stabbing pain.

"Goddammit" He muttered as he braced one hand on the wall and the other pressed against his broken ribs. He had been walking it off earlier, and during the shitshow that was the last few minutes adrenaline had been suppressing it for him. But now it felt as if a knife was being driven through his side with every movement or breath. He took a few moments to collect himself, breathing shallowly through gritted teeth. He straightened up.

"Killroy, Blackburn, Longacre, check in. Over." He said in to his radio. Given how patchy Stuart and Patkos' voice had been through the radio's there was a good chance the pelican team wouldn't even hear him, assuming that any of them were still alive.

---

_{1st Lieutenant Seamus O' Duggan
Ad-Hoc Kilo 45
ONI Yard 2218, near Sopron, Reach
UNSC}

---

_{August 23rd, 2552.}

---

Seamus sat numbly in one of the seats of the Pelican. He had picked up a MA37 at the tower, which was currently resting between his knees. His mind was filled with the memory of what he had endured earlier in the day. Mike screaming before he exploded, Lewis screaming as his twisted and contorted body lay burning in a pool of aviation gas. He sighed as he got to his feet. The pelican pilot was sitting on the ramp, looking worse for the wear. Then again, no one was looking good anymore. The ODST, Blackburn, had biofoam smeared across his chest. He himself was sore in all parts of his body. He had stopped bleeding well before he lost a serious amount of blood, but there were still dark stains on his flight suit.

He stepped off the ramp onto the hard dirt as he took a deep breath of the air. His helmet had been laying on the seat next to him, so his face was free to enjoy the breeze running across it. He opened his eyes as the sky turned a deep shade of red.

"What the fuck?" He muttered as he heard the engines of the Longsword rip through the air.

"Shit!" He shouted, sprinting for the blood bay of the Pelican. He flung on his helmet and strapped himself in to his seat just as the blast wave hit. The Pelican was lifted off the ground a few inches as Seamus was tossed around in his seat. As soon as it started it was over. He undid his seat-strap and looked around the Pelican.

"Is everyone alright?" He asked.