Alright, scratch the PDF file. I've absolutely no idea how to make it. Here's the chapter, anyhoo.

*Chapter Eleven

EARTH TIME: 19^th of October, 2553

Brute Muster

Gethrii

Mission Clock: 1800

With a grunt, Gerun gripped the rope with both hands and began hauling himself upwards, muscular forearms bulging. Dasa and the sappers weren’t far behind. All about him, the walls were trembling and groaning. Something had been set off, apparently.

As soon as they’d reached the top, Gerun stopped the others just before the entrance. Poking his head through the trapdoor, he scanned for targets. Nothing.

They emerged from the darkness and into the weak sunlight. The air still sweltered. The plate’s reflective surface crackled under their feet. Gethrii’s sun had long since reached its zenith and had begun the gradual descent. In a few hours night would spread its cloak over the land. A protracted ground war with the Jiralhanae at night? The stuff of nightmares, indeed.

The entrance was still guarded by Brutes, but they had their backs turned. For now, they were safe. Still, he was taking no chances. The group dashed to the safety of the pipe maze. Crouching behind a conduit, they convened a quick council of war.

Gerun rounded on one of the sappers. “How much time is left?”

“Eleven minutes, twelve seconds, “the Elite reported.

“Right.” He looked about. “We have to get to the rally point. But we shall never make it on foot. Ideas?”

“Secure a vehicle, “Dasa offered.

Gerun nodded. “The Jiralhanae will be guarding them, however. And it must accommodate all of us.”

Dasa snapped his fingers. “The Prowler! We can take it and flee!”

One of the sappers looked around. “But where is it? The Brute technicians parked it here, but I no longer see it-”

Gerun ground his teeth. “Stay here. I will go to investigate.” He slipped away, heading back towards the plate.

Minutes passed, and the Elites shifted nervously. No-one wanted to be here when the reactor blew. Dasa expected nothing less than a steaming crater when it did. And Hirf would be here at that time. Forerunners guard you, brother.

Eventually Gerun came back, face grim. “I have found it. But it lies in a vehicle compound past the gates, surrounded by Brutes. We’ll have to walk straight into the midst of them.”

Silence.

Gerun shrugged. “We have to try. There is no other course of action.”

Dasa scratched his chin. “Think. We are deep inside their territory-they do not expect a concerted attack. The last thing they would suspect would be Sangheili stealing their craft.”

At this, a slow smile crept across Gerun’s features.

*************************************************

The Brute guard, Balk, had been on duty for over nine units now, and his initial air of vigilance had gone. All he wished was to rest. At first, he had relished the responsibility, but soon realised that his pack-leaders had palmed off a thoroughly lousy task on him. Wearily, he reached down to free his bottle of thralva juice. Tugging away the stopper, he drank deeply.

Quietly, twin prongs of plasma entered his back. Eyes widening, his nerveless fingers trembled, and the bottle slipped from his grasp. He tried to make a noise, but failed. The heat of the blade was all-consuming. There wasn’t even any pain.

After what seemed an eternity, it slid from his back. He dropped to his knees, only half-aware of what was happening. Around him, he heard footsteps in the dirt. Gigantic figures stood above him. Sangheili. In the camp. I have to warn the others. The others.

But once again, he couldn’t speak. Balk died, that last thought repeating itself in his head.

Gerun glanced right, and saw Dasa dealing with the other guards. They flopped to the ground, throats slit. Making sure none remained, he waved them forward. Emerging from the safety of the reactor compound, they entered the main camp.

So far, no-one had noticed them yet. There were few shanties and camps close to the reactor. That would not last. One Brute passing by looked up, and started. “Halt! What are you-”

Without blinking, Gerun stabbed the alien through the chest, killing him instantly. The Elites continued their march across the hardpan, coming ever closer to the collection of Brute vehicles. One on side, the Prowler sat. Opposite, five Choppers stood in a row. A twine fence, tied to stakes, encompassed the area.

Only a few Brutes guarded the haphazard clutch of craft, and these were nodding off in the unrelenting blaze of Gethrii’s sun. One raised its head, spotted the approaching Sangheili and barely had a chance to stand up before its head disappeared in a spray. One of the sappers reloaded his carbine. A flurry of fire dropped the other three where they stood.

“Dasa, “Gerun barked. “Secure the Prowler. Sappers, guard him.” Dasa hurried over to the ungainly support vehicle, settled into the driver’s seat and touched the activation panel. Nothing happened. “It will not start!”

Gerun looked around-Brutes had been attracted by the gunfire and were coming to investigate. “Dasa, check the engine!” He ducked behind a Chopper for cover, needler drawn.

Dasa flipped open the cowling of the engine and made a face. “The engine is fried. Plasma scoring on both propulsion generators. These Brute fools could not manage an infant’s sled!”

“Never mind that!” Gerun snapped. “Can you fix it?” The growls of the Brutes were growing ever closer.

Dasa nodded. “I have been cross-trained on Brute vehicles. But I shall need your sword!”

“What for?” Gerun inquired, tossing the hilt to Dasa. It became apparent as Dasa activated the blade, went to the nearest chopper, sawed its engine hatch open and began removing parts. Seeing the Brutes upon them, he beckoned the sappers to him.

Five Brutes had entered the enclosure. Sniffing about, they gripped their spike rifles warily. One ambled in a small lane between two Choppers.

With a rending screech, one of the Choppers was pushed inward. The unfortunate Brute tried to hold it back, but to no avail. It was crushed between the two metal hulks.

Gerun stepped out from behind the last Chopper. “Seeking retribution, Jiralhanae dogs? Come and get it.” He opened fire.

With a howl the four remaining Brutes charged at him. Gerun killed one with a flurry of needles, but the three continued unscathed. Gerun stood his ground-

Out of one of the small lanes, two plasma grenades pitched forth, and scored direct hits on the Brutes armor. Battle rage turned to panic. “Get it off!” one managed to scream, before being consumed by a sapphire blast.

Dasa emerged from behind the Prowler and set to work, holding a clutch of engine parts cannibalized from the Chopper. Lowering himself into the engine space, he began attaching them. Sparks fizzled.

Gerun kept his eye fixed on the area beyond the enclosure. No doubt about it-the Brutes were closing in, like sharks around a swimmer. Even now, Brutes were streaming out from tents, buckling on their weapons and armour. The time for secrecy was over. Gerun grabbed a spike rifle and grenades from one of the dead Jiralhanae, and opened fire. The sappers, crouched in the shades of the Choppers, did the same.

Two Brutes fell down, dead. The others kept pressing, returning fire. Gerun winced as a stray spike shattered against the Chopper’s engine, sending red-hot powder everywhere. He fired with both weapons, and killed two more Brutes. But they couldn’t keep this up much longer. He saw a pair of Grunt tenders bringing up a plasma turret. If that was brought online they were doomed. The blast from a grenade knocked him back, and he banged his head onto the Chopper’s seat. Staring dazed at the driving panel, he got an idea.

Most of the Brutes had formed a tight semicircle around the vehicle depot. So far, none had bothered to flank the beleaguered Sangheili warriors. Spikes chattered, and grenades were thrown with complete disregard to their vehicles. A few Brutes howled their battle fury, eager to rend Elite flesh. By now, return fire had slackened off.

So it came as a complete surprise when one of the Choppers came alive and rocketed forward with a roar.

Brutes screamed as the massive attack vehicle plowed through their ranks, sending dismembered limbs through the air. The Grunt pair with the plasma cannon barely had time to squeak as they were consumed by its whirring blades. It continued its mad rampage until it crashed to a halt against a boulder. The ground was littered with groaning, wounded Brutes.

Gerun silently cackled. It had been a simple matter to jam the handles forward and activate the engines. He looked over his shoulder. “Dasa! Have you completed the repairs?”

The heavy weapons specialist was covered in soot, and was straining at something inside the Prowler. “Almost, “he grunted.

“Well, hurry up!” Gerun’s normal urbanity was wearing thin. He drilled a spike into the chest of one Brute trying to crawl away, and looked for more targets.

Suddenly the Chopper next to him was shunted towards him. With a yelp, Gerun grabbed the massive wheel, trying to hold it back. He could feel the vehicle’s barbs pressing into his chest. If he stayed here much longer he’d be crushed. Whoever was pushing the vehicle possessed enormous strength, to be doing this.

Underneath the Chopper, he could see a pair of hairy feet, encased in metal sandals, planted solidly against the ground. With a tremendous effort, he reached down with one hand, grabbed his needler and fired.

There was a yell of pain, and the pressure slackened. Gerun used this to drop down, and crawl out from between the two vehicles. Standing up, he faced his attacker.

A truly massive Brute-one of the biggest he’d ever seen-stood facing him. It wore strange armour-completely black, with a visor that completely obscured its face. Glaring red eyes gleamed through tiny slits. A jagged blade made of black iron was clenched in a fist. A spiked cuirass-made of the same material-covered its muscular torso. It looked nothing less than a human knight-or what he’d been told of them by his human companions.

The sole exception to this was held in the Brute’s other hand. A Brute firearm that he’d never seen. A tubular barrel-shaped like a log-had a pair of bent blades attached to the end, like a scarab beetle’s pincers. Sparks of blue plasma flickered between the two extended spikes, and at the end of the barrel, there was a hole. Inside it, whirring gears and others machinery was seen, bathed in a fiery orange light.

The apparition loosed a throaty roar, muffled by its helmet. It raised the weapon and fired.

Gerun flew backwards, the blast sending him tumbling into the dirt. Raising his head, he saw several metal points sticking out of his chest. A few seconds later, they sprang apart, like claws. Flesh tore, and he roared in pain. He felt as though his ribs had exploded through his chest. He tried to stand up, and barely managed it.

The sappers were alerted, and opened fire on the lone Brute. Shields shimmered, and it was driven back a step. But a burst of fire from the strange new weapon forced them to duck for cover. It charged forward with surprising speed. “I am Furius!” it bellowed.

Gerun ducked as the black blade whistled over his head, and launched a punch at the Brute’s neck, where it was more exposed. His hand hit solid bone, and vibrations raced up his hand. A return strike from his opponent sent his sprawling. He tried to focus, and saw the Jiralhanae’s gargantuan form appear above him. An iron-shod foot was raised to descend upon his face.

Suddenly the Brute staggered backwards, as jets of blue plasma thudded into it. Gerun looked around, to see Dasa seated in the Prowler’s turret, pouring heavy fire onto the Brute attacker. Its shielding was still holding, but not for much longer. Amazingly, it pointed its gun at Dasa and fired, sending a spray of the metal points thudding into the vehicle. Dasa grimaced but kept firing. Eventually, its shields collapsed, and it was forced to retreat. “Get on board!” he snapped. He swiveled, and raked the new Brute attackers that were now appearing.

Gerun got up, and settled into the driver’s seat, touching various holo-panels. The seat lifted off the ground, and a thrumming noise could be heard. The controls glowed purple-red. “Mount up, warriors!” he called. “Time grows short.” He checked his time-only 5:38 remaining.

The two sappers fired a last volley, and hustled aboard the Prowler, taking up positions on either side. Gerun gunned the throttle. “Hold on.” The vehicle jumped forward.

And came to a crashing halt. Gerun smacked his head on the console painfully. He looked at what was ahead of them.

Furius had grasped the Prowler’s front ram, and was stubbornly pushing it in the other direction. Digging its feet in, sweat ran from holes in its armour. But it did not falter. “I am as a mountain. You will not defeat Furius!” Clearly this Brute was some sort of champion. Albeit a single-minded one.

Gerun increased the acceleration, but to no avail. “Shoot him!”

One of the sappers acted-but not with a weapon. Reaching into his pack, he removed a compressed pack of the webbing they had used in the reactor. Languidly, he tossed it at the Brute’s face.

It howled as the constricting, rubbery webs enveloped its helmet, eliminating what little breathing space it had. The Brute might have been a titanic figure, but it was as mortal as any other. Its breaths grew ragged, gasping. Its grip slackened, and Gerun seized his chance. He powered forward.

With an unpleasant crunch, Furius disappeared under the Prowler, and they bumped over him. Gerun glanced behind him, and saw the Brute getting up, clawing the lattice from its face. Spirits below, how can that beast withstand such punishment? Fervently, he hoped to never face it again.

Furius spat out the last fragments of web, his mind filled with bloodlust-his normal state, in other words. None were permitted to do such things and live! Casting his eyes about, they came to rest on the row of Choppers. Lumbering over, he mounted up, engaged the throttle and began his pursuit. He gave no regard to the unfortunates that got in his way-only to his slighted ego.

Back to Gerun. There was at least another two hundred metres before they were free of the Brute encampment. Ahead was a medley of tents, machinery and above all, Covenant. Gerun did his best to aim away, it was impossible. There were just too many objects in the way.

Tents, power cells and numerous other things flew through the air as the Prowler blazed a path. Brutes dived for cover, but some fired on them. A grenade whistled dangerously close to his head. They jinked from side to side, the debris beneath them proving greatly impeding.

Eventually, they passed through the storm of mayhem and were on their way out. But not far behind were innumerable Choppers and other Prowlers, thrown together in a hasty pursuit. They needed to head that off. What lay ahead gave him an idea.

One of the big laser drills rose before them, still pulsing with blue energy. It cast a massive shadow over the camp. A complex twisting support structure of metal beams lay underneath it, still fresh from welding. “Dasa!” Gerun yelled over the thunderous noise of the engine. “Target the supports!”

The Elite opened up-pulses of plasma scored hits against the dark metal, and flakes of it fluttered away. But nothing happened. Soon they would be past it. “Keep firing!” The sappers joined in-pouring small arms fire at the beams.

Dasa sent a concentrated stream of bolts at the supports-and was rewarded with a snap and a groaning noise that rose in crescendo. Beams snapped, and the entire edifice began to fall. Back in the direction of the oncoming Brute vehicles. Covenant shrieked and attempted to run for safety as the laser drill toppled towards their camps. It would not save them.

Though Gerun did not see the construction die-see it crumple, crushing countless enemy soldiers beneath its bulk-he felt it. A shockwave rippled through the tightly packed ground underneath them, and its rumbling shook them. When it subsided, a choking cloud of orange dust rose to replace it. Even at this distance, Gerun heard the Covenant screaming in pain and shock. But they were free.

Gerun laughed gaily as he eased the Prowler into a steady speed. As they climbed out of the basin, he saw a vista of hills and valleys ahead of them. It stretched to the horizon. Thankfully, they did not need to traverse all of it. “Dasa, transfer the rendezvous point’s co-ordinates to the Prowler’s navigational device, “he commanded. “We can ill afford to become lost in these hills-”

A jarring bolt of metal streaked past them, carving a rock in half. Gerun snapped a look behind them.

Five Choppers-snorting oily flames and creating plumes of dust-were chasing them. Evidently they had outran the laser drill’s collapse. Their afterburners roared as the Brute pilots desperately tried to catch up with the fleeing Sangheili warriors. Dasa turned in his seat and fired back. Gerun swore-would there be no end to this? The rules had changed.

Forsaking what he had said before, he spotted a low canyon, and entered it. With any luck, he would be able to throw off his pursuers. Failing that, they could always fight, despite the odds that were against them. But when were the odds last in our favour? Ah, victory is no easy thing nowadays.

The Brutes, powering forward on their assault craft, followed Gerun and entered the canyon.

Meanwhile, back in the basin, things were beginning to heat up…

 

**************************************************

Mission Clock: 1806

Hirf Kalok’ fired on the fleeing Jackal with his plasma rifle, its charge nearly depleted. It shrieked and fell, smouldering, to the floor. Other corpses-a mix of Covenant races-lay scattered around it.

He had suffered wounds-plenty of them. Third-degree burns covered his right thigh, which had only exacerbated his rib injury. A Brute’s flailing fists had fractured his right hand, making it hard to hold his sword. To cap it off, a raging pain burned behind his eyes. All in all, it was a miracle he was still standing.

Gasping, he eyed the charges on the reactor. Every second that passed by was agonisingly slow. Hirf had accepted his death. But waiting for it was quite something else. They now read 4:34.

As was the habit with exhausted warriors, his mind wandered. Back to Sangheilios, his beloved home. To the Kalok’ estates, where the silver-capped mountains watched over the placid lakes, where terraced farmlands stretched to the horizon. The smell of the lonna crops in spring-now there was something he had not smelt in some time-

A bolt of plasma narrowly missed his head and splattered on the wall beside him. An Unggoy-a cowardly thing-poked its head out of the shadows, bulbous eyes gleaming. Hirf vanquished that gleam for ever by planting a few shots between its eyes.

He continued to reminisce. Being the only one of his brothers to learn the craft of war, the others fading into obscurity. All ties to his parents and immediate family cut, his only home the academy, with its fighting pits and sparring arenas. Meeting his mentor, still only a youth-a stern man, yes, not one to be crossed; when he was sent flying by a blow after a muttered derision.

But he’d worked hard at it. He’d suffered the harsh words, the blows, all the things that accompanied the life of a Sangheili fighter. Learning every lesson, facing every challenge and wrangling with it until he was victorious. Becoming more, in and of himself.

A Brute roared its fury, darting out of the shadows. Once again, Hirf snapped out of it. He tried to track its movements, but it was too fast, and he was too weak. His arms felt like lumps of clay. His eyes grew leaden. He so very wanted to sleep.

It came out of nowhere-bulling him to the floor, hands tearing at his flesh. All of a sudden, he remembered the sword in his hand. Even in his weakened state, it did its work. The alien sagged, dying slowly from a head injury. Hirf grunted his satisfaction, and tried to stand up. He felt like he was carrying an iceberg on his shoulders. Memories flooded through him again.

-sparring with his closest friend, Vrik, in the courtyards of Kalok’-

-skipping stones across a pond-

-laughter-

He couldn’t stand under his own volition any more. He rested his back against the cool metal of the reactor column. All around him, the noises and lights were intensifying. But they were as nothing to the storm of memories.

-meeting Laruma, the love of his life-his heart stolen by those soft brown eyes-

-taking her as his mate; the ceremony taking place on the shores of Tal’buy Lake. Happiness shuddering through him-

The luminous numbers of the charges glowed bright: 2:12.

-his training culminating in Virtue’s Advent-that day where new Sangheili recruits received their official weapons and armour-

-waving his sword exultantly in the air-

1:37

-his sword-

0:21

-sword-

Clarity arrived, at the end. With a sudden surge of energy, he lifted his sword into the air triumphantly.

So it ends. To my ancestors paradise, I now go.

Detonation.

It began with a tremendous rumbling. It filled the air and the ground. Dozens of miniature bangs echoed through the dirt. All eyes turned to the reactor, first with curiosity, then concern. They didn’t have time to get to panic.

There was a thunderous explosion. Whole hillsides collapsed, and the metallic plating of the reactor Penitence Company had been assigned to groaned and buckled. Metal bolts snapped and pinged. The piping was shaking itself apart. Engineering teams were immediately dispatched, but by then it was too late.

The reactor broke apart, consumed by a violet sphere of energy that increased in size and width, consuming everything in its path. As soon as it reached the next reactor, it doubled in size and continued to expand. The noise was terrible. The Covenant troops were helpless before this onslaught. Standing slack-jawed at their impending doom, they were incinerated in moments. Those that tried to run fared no better. Banshees and dropships failed to out-distance it, swallowed up. Flesh, metal, wood-all of it was devoured by the apocalyptic sphere of furious energy. The plasma batteries and digging equipment only fueled the flames.

It took all of three minutes. By that time, the basin had become an ashy wasteland. Steam rose from the piles of charred and twisted bone and metal that had marked concentrations of Covenant troops. The muster had been obliterated. Tendrils of plasma still sparked fitfully at the very edges of the basin.

Hirf’s spirit rose over the scene, his heart filled with gladness. A mighty blow had been struck against the enemy. He only hoped that his brothers would continue to succeed in such a manner.

He turned, and saw his ancestors roaring their welcome.

**********************************************

Mission Clock: 1811

Gerun was privy to the explosion as well, distant though he was. The sky became a blinding white, and static electricity washed across his armour. A muffled boom was heard. The holographic controls flickered. Behind him, the Choppers shuddered as their ballistic shielding failed completely.

But, caught up in the frantic chase, he paid it little heed.

Try as he might, Gerun could not shake his pursuers. The Jiralhanae followed him with dogged determination, no doubt wanting to exact a vicious revenge. The nature of their surroundings prevented Dasa from getting a clear shot. The same could not be said for the Choppers. Built to handle jagged terrain, the vehicles toothed wheels ate up the ground at a frightening pace.

Yet another spike rattled past, blowing a large divot in the ground. One Chopper had pulled ahead of the rest, and was harassing them relentlessly. It was only a matter of time before the driver got lucky. He racked his brains trying to think of a solution. He scanned the terrain.

The walls of the canyon had risen somewhat, but ahead there was a ragged gap on the left. It descended deep, and ended in what used to be a rock pool. Above it was a drop-off. Anyone who fell would be smashed on the rocks below. It was a long shot, but it would get this nagging Brute off their tail. “Hold on, brothers!”

Before they could ask what he was doing, Gerun halved their speed and turned sharply to the right. And kept going. The Prowler began to rotate on the spot. Metal screeched and the world became a blur.

The Chopper’s pilot was completely taken by surprise, and didn’t have time to adjust its speed. Roaring past, the Brute fought desperately to save himself, but it was too late. He tumbled down the slope with a howl. Three seconds later, a crunch was heard. Smoke drifted.

Gerun powered up the engines and they continued their flight. Dasa swiveled to face him and laughed shakily. “By the Arbiter’s blade, Gerun, but you can be singularly insane sometimes.” Gerun grunted vaguely.

This maneuver had given the other four Choppers time to catch up, and they rained fire upon the lone Prowler. A spike embedded itself in one of the sleds, narrowly missing one of the sappers. More filaments of shrapnel cascaded down, making every surface dangerous. Cursing, Gerun turned the corner that lay ahead. The resulting canyon was much wider, but began to slope up at the end. It lay far ahead, however. Massive boulders-shaped like termite nests-dotted the landscape.

These proved to be lethal. Dasa blasted at one Chopper pulling ahead on the left, forcing the driver to move out of the plasma cannon’s range. Seeing a rock ahead, the Brute attempted to plow through it. The rock, having weathered countless decades of sun and wind, held firm. The driver flew out of his seat and smacked into the boulder with a nasty sprack.

Their attackers then tried a new tack. Racing ahead with their boosters, they came alongside the Prowler and closed in on both sides. The sound of their engines was deafening. The sappers tried firing on them-at point-blank range it was impossible not to-but their shots did little damage. The drivers were out of their range.

Gerun was mystified. What was the purpose of this? He looked ahead, and his mouth turned dry. A truly massive rock was directly in front of them, and they were headed straight for it. He tried to pull left, but the bulkier Chopper boxed him in. Gerun could see the driver’s malicious grin, anticipating what was to come. Dasa sent a stream of plasma bolts into the hull of one Chopper, but the vehicle was sturdy, and held firm. Soon, it wouldn’t have to worry about the damage. They would be held in this position until they met the rock.

“Gerun!”

He looked up, and saw his comrade standing up in the turret cavity, preparing to step out of it. “What folly is this?” he demanded. The heat of this planet has inflamed Dasa. He will see a healer by the end of this, if I have to force him at sword point.

“Just hold the Prowler steady!” Dasa tensed, and removed his last leg from the cavity. He now stood perched on the bonnet. Taking a deep breath, he leapt.

Onto the left Chopper’s hull.

Gerun would later describe it to his fellows, but what he saw was nothing like what Dasa felt. Time seemed to slow, and the pair of vehicles moved in perfect unison. The boom of the various engines reduced to a drone. With catlike grace and confidence, Dasa alighted between the Chopper’s grinding wheels.

Perched above the driver’s head, Dasa gripped the metal sides tightly. Below him, the gears spun mercilessly. Best not to think of what one could lose down there. Putting one hand to his belt, he drew his spiker. The driver swerved in an attempt to dislodge Dasa, but the Elite was quicker. An entire clip pummeled him in the face, and the driver sagged off his seat. Before the vehicle could slow, Dasa leapt again and flawlessly landed on the Prowler. It had all happened in the space of ten seconds.

Dumbstruck, Gerun watched him re-man the turret. This would surely be the defining moment of Dasa’s battle poem. Perhaps it would even merit him a position in the communal tapestry Deeds Awake, which presided over a large museum detailing the history of Sangheilios. The Virot’ family was not a prolific one, but it was not without its heroes. Pride and admiration surged through him for his friend.

Then the Chopper on the right struck him, and he refocused. Enraged by the foiling of the plan, the second Brute sought vengeance. A projectile grazed Dasa’s shoulder, spilling purple blood all over his back. He could no longer operate the turret properly. Like an aggressive carnivore, it dogged them without quarter. Gerun could feel the heat coming off its engine, it was that close. Something had to be done.

He had a flash of inspiration. He addressed one of the sappers, “Warrior! Do you still have some of that webbing?”

“I do, “affirmed the puzzled Elite. “But why-”

“Give it to me, and be quick about it!” The Chopper was bearing down on them like a gorgon from the Seven Hells. Hurriedly, the Elite tossed a square grey package to Gerun. It landed on his lap. Taking one hand off the controls, he gripped it in one hand, and pressed the flat, yellow button in the centre of it. Just as an ominous beeping began, he threw it over his shoulder

The flanges of white webbing erupted from the package, just as it became firmly lodged inside the Chopper’s gears. Clogging its constant movement, the ceaseless whirr of the Chopper became a snark. Massive spiked wheels flew out from the inner casing, and the vehicle slowly fell apart.

There was but one Chopper now, and it had learned from the fates of its fellows. It followed cautiously, too far to be struck by turret or anything else. Gerun snatched a look behind him, and saw the driver’s massive form hunched behind the controls, encased in familiar-looking black armour. The blade over its shoulder confirmed it. Not this animal again!

They begun to ascend the slope. At its crest, a natural arch stretched between two hilltops. Gerun dismissed this minor detail and focused on climbing the slope. It was quite steep. Just then, a wavering drone filled the air, and a Phantom-coated with green alloy-glided above their heads, going west. It belonged to their comrades!

But Gerun had grown careless, and Furius took advantage of this. He unleashed a fusillade of orange spikes. One cracked his seating and jabbed into his back, and three more drilled into the Prowler’s carapace. The craft groaned, and began to slow. “No!” Gerun yelled, slamming a hand on the controls. They couldn’t fall! Not after all this!

Furius had seen the results, and turned his Chopper around, getting ready for another pass. He howled triumphantly, the noise bouncing off the canyon walls.

Just as they reached the top of the slope, the engine cut out and the Prowler shut down. It was now no more useful than a piece of bark. Seething, Gerun dismounted and bade the others to do the same. “Keep an eye on him, “he ordered, and went to see what lay ahead.

There was another slope-traveling down, obviously. At its bottom was another relic of times past-a perished waterfall. The cliff from whence it came was around thirty meta-units high. Where once water had collected, there was a dry gulch, quite deep.

His eyes returned to the arch. With its pitted and cracked surface, it was not very strong. Perhaps it would prove useful after all. But no, that would be lunacy…

This entire day has been nothing but lunacy, fool. Gerun went back to the others. “Sappers to me, “he commanded. “Dasa, remain on guard.” His subordinate stood watching the Chopper, weapon out. As he did so, Gerun quietly explained his plan to the other Elites. After a time, they nodded and reached into their packs, pulling out strands of rope, webbing and explosives. The pair headed for the canyon walls.

Dasa was curious. “What do you plan, brother?”

Gerun smiled grimly. “That Brute could defeat any number of our fighters with strength alone. No, to kill this champion, we must use overwhelming force. That is what I plan.” He drew his needler, the long violet quills glistening in the sunlight. “Dasa, you will draw his attention. Bring him ever closer to the summit. The sappers are preparing the final phase of the plan.” Behind him, the commandos scaled the canyon’s walls, heading for the arch. However, that was not all they would do.

“But what of you?” Dasa inquired, worry creeping into his voice.

Gerun leapt atop the Prowler, his stance defiant. “I will be the bait.”

*************************************************

Furius, champion of the Semk clan and the mailed fist of the Alpha Packs, pulled his Chopper to a halt, coming to rest facing the slope. The slippery Sangheili had evaded his brothers and killed them with outlandish tricks, but not him. Not Furius. He’d tear them limb from limb. The Brute salivated at the thought.

Even Furius has to admit, they were exceptionally cunning, even by Sangheili standards. Somehow, they had obliterated the entire muster. No matter. The fates of his brothers concerned him little-just his own personal glory. A single-minded view, perhaps, but one that kept him focused.

Their Prowler had been sufficiently damaged, and they had no heavy weapons-there was no reason to wait and allow them more time. Grinning in anticipation, he gunned the throttle and rocketed up the hill. As he did so, things came into view.

Slightly ahead, there was a lone Sangheili, crouched behind rocks. He opened fire with a plasma rifle. Furius laughed-did the feeble thing think to wound him with such toys?

His laughter died when a plasma grenade followed the barrage. It went off and sent his Chopper tumbling down the slope, though not wrecked. Shudders of static danced through his armour, and his smugness was replaced by frothing rage. The audacity! Furius would make that one bleed slowly for such an insult.

As he righted his vehicle, he saw the Elite running back up the slope. Strange-usually these infidels were fanatic about honour and glory. Furius dismissed it out of hand and went at it again, this time unmolested. Nothing would stop him now.

There was the hilltop, and sitting in full view was the Prowler-with an Elite perched on top. He squinted-this was the same one he had tried to kill at the muster! The worm had evaded him before, but now it was time to finish the deed. He patted the sword on his back.

The other Elite he would deal with later. For now, a target standing in full view was too good an opportunity to pass up. He would not fire-instead he would ram it. It was more violent, and Furius revelled in violence. His vehicle closed the distance.

Gerun, meanwhile, stood impassively, watching Furius come closer. He would have to wait until the last second for this to work. If it did not work…

He stood firm, and roared a Sangheili war-cry. One that his ancestors would have bellowed, in their unification wars. Primal strength flowed through him. He raised his needler and fired. Though it was like attacking a whale with a knife, he kept doing it.

The Brute was not far now. He clicked his COM. “Sappers, are the charges ready?”

“Ready and waiting, Gerun.”

“Excellent.” Eventually he sheathed the firearm and stood ready, hands held out to the sides. He would have to be quick.

The Chopper prepared to ram him, its boosters charging-

Gerun dived off the Prowler. Furius’ momentum was too great, and he plowed through the Prowler like it was butter. A nanosecond before he did, one of the sappers pressed a button, and several things happened.

The camouflaged mines attached to the Prowler went off, blowing the support vehicle into smithereens. Gerun was thrown by the blast, and thudded somewhere down the slope. Dasa wanted to rush to his side, but couldn’t. Not yet. As the bewildered Brute raced down the slope, he roared, “Set off the charges now!”

The last of the explosives-spread all over the cracked arch-detonated. Though the blast itself was mighty, it was as nothing compared to the cascade of rubble and shale that followed. It flooded down the narrow slope like water, sending up a massive dust cloud. Furius was trapped at the bottom of the gulch. When the rumbling had finally stopped, Dasa cautiously investigated.

A tomb’s worth of rock was now sitting where the gulch had been. Even if Furius had survived, he wouldn’t be escaping any time soon. Satisfied, he turned back.

The sappers were supporting Gerun, who was wounded-badly. His features were pale. Dasa saw evidence of internal bleeding, broken limbs and worse. As his leader coughed violently, one of the sappers informed Dasa, “He has a punctured lung. That will need to be treated.”

Dasa nodded. “Begin broadcasting on your COMs. There are dropships nearby-we must signal them. Be about it.” They left Gerun propped up on a rock. Dasa knelt beside his brother and handed the energy sword back to him. “Your plan worked perfectly. The beast is no more. You are to be congratulated.”

Gerun spat blood. “Then why do I feel so terrible?”

It was not long before they were finally found and rescued. A Phantom hovered over them, engaging its gravity lift. Two Elites floated to the ground, dressed in burnished red armour. They regarded the battered foursome with interest. “Well met. I am Majordomo Elbu. Come aboard, warriors-you need rest. We will prepare medical treatment for you, brother.” This last comment was to Gerun, who nodded thanks.

“We have also found other members of the Xonnel Legion, “the Elite continued. “They claim to be under the command of Hirf Kalok’. Is he present?”

They looked at each other and sighed. “No, “Gerun finally said. “He fell. But before doing so, he struck a great blow against the enemy. His memory should be honored.”

“Then so it shall.”

The Phantom climbed into the sky, and flew north, where more troubles awaited.

******************************************

As the surrounding plains grew darker, and the sun slowly sank towards the horizon, a hand burst through the pile of rubble that lay in a gulch. It flexed, and began moving away more rocks.

When the task was finished, a very dirty and vengeful Brute arose from the tomb, its armour dented all over. The blade it was carrying had snapped in two. Its firearm-known by the Jiralhanae as a Mangler-was still functioning. It snorted, and removed its helmet to get some fresh air.

The Sangheili would pay dearly for this. Presuming him dead had been their first mistake. He did not know when he would find them, or where, but he would.

Furius straightened up, and began walking north, where he knew more of his kind were located.

******************************************

One hour earlier

Horatio finished resealing the scope on his sniper rifle and clamped it onto the barrel. He peered through it, and found it was back to normal. A piece of rock had scratched the insides, and he’d needed to make repairs. Perched on a rocky precipice, he gazed downward, looking at a sulphur-filled canyon. He couldn’t see anything, so he returned his attention to the surrounding forest of thin grey trees.

The scattered marines and ODSTs in the area had rallied here, cut off from the majority of the human forces. Though a few fighter craft had passed overhead, they had not noticed them. So here they were, around one hundred and fifty men, with few resources and no support. Someone up there doesn’t like me, that’s for sure.

Scouts had been sent out, to get a sense of the surrounding terrain. They would be back soon. Horatio looked behind him, taking a look at his-for the time being-squad. Dean was there, and the marine they’d rescued, whose name turned out to be Chad. Two others, whom he had yet to meet, waited as well. A sea of olive green and black, gathered in this clearing.

Sudden shouts-the scouts had returned, and all eyes turned in their direction. Squad sergeants called for silence as a swarthy-looking man of about fifty years stepped onto a rock, using it as a podium. “Alright, listen up marines, “he called. Silence fell-this man was clearly important. Horatio strained to listen.

“For those of you who don’t know, I’m Master Sergeant Massad, and I pretty much pass for rank around here. I won’t mince words-here’s how we stand. There are no other marine groups within three miles, so it seems we’re on our own. Our COMs are no good and we have no air support or armour. So, we’ll have to improvise.”

“In fact, we have an opportunity to do some serious damage. I’ve just received intel from our scouts that there is a Covenant dig site not far from here. Our thermal scanners have confirmed the presence of plasma drills. Not only that-they’ve got something worse.” He paused dramatically. “A Scarab.”

A hush of fear went through the huddle of marines, and in the silence a few muttered expletives were heard. They’d seen what the assault platforms, hulking and unstoppable, tear their way through the strongest armour and turn formations to sighing ghosts on the wind. As for the stories, told by those who hadn’t encountered one, they weren’t so far from the reality.

Sensing fear, Massad held up his hands. “Calm down, ladies. They’re not invincible. Now, any of you who have to change your pants, do so.” A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. “Anyway, it’s not quite finished. They’ve yet to install the leg motors, which means it won’t be hunting us down anytime soon. Too busy digging around for God knows what. Only a light garrison, too. Meaning I’ve seen fit to send a strike team.”

The marines looked amongst themselves. Massad continued. “It’ll be around thirty, forty men. I’ll handpick it myself. Rest of us will stay here and await further developments. Alright, line up in squads and let’s do this.” The company scrambled into a loose chain. Massad began walking down it slowly, picking out soldiers. Most of them seemed quite peeved about it.

Eventually, he got to Horatio’s squad. The master sergeant’s dark eyes appraised his squad. “State your name, soldier.”

Horatio saluted. “Private Horatio Zerba, sir!”

Massad nodded. “Zerba. This your squad?”

“For the time being, sir. I was separated. I’m part of Sergeant Kyle’s squad.”

Massad grinned unexpectedly, pleased. “Kyle! The old ***’s still going strong then, eh?”

Horatio was surprised. “You know him?”

Massad waved a hand. “Back on New Constantinople, years ago. Anyway. You a marksman? I’m coming up short and I could use a man watching my back.”

“Affirmative, sir. But I haven’t been one for-”

Massad clapped him on the shoulder. “Great! You’re in!” Before Horatio could protest, the man moved on to question other soldiers. He had no choice but to steam quietly. He’d been there, in New Mombassa, and the constant fighting retreat against the Scarab stood out in his mind. Fatalistically, he concluded that this time wouldn’t be much better.

When the team had been assembled, Horatio saw that Dean had been selected as well. Nodding ruefully, he said, “Well, this trip is a bust. What’d you do to get in?”

Dean scowled. “No particular reason. Just wants a lot of people around to do the dying, I suspect.” He spat in the dirt.

The group gathered around Massad, who carried an MA5K carbine in his brawny hands. “OK, xaskares, “he said, using the Arabic word for soldier. “We’ve got about two klicks to cover. Move out, and be quick about it.” The soldiers-a mix of infantry, marksman, combat engineers and other leathernecks-moved quietly through the grey forest. The trees loomed like silent sentinels. Ash and sand pattered underfoot. Their olive and grey armour let them blend into the terrain with ease. The sounds of the marines they’d left behind faded away.

The journey passed without incident. Spread out in a rough line, the marines got closer and closer to the dig site. After a time, they began to hear a roaring sound, punctuated with repetitive thumping. They must be close. There was a muffled cough, and everyone cocked their guns.

The radio crackled. “All personnel, this is Squad Three, “a calm voice murmured. “Found some Jackal sentries, but they’re taken care of.”

“Some over here, too, “a marine reported. “Neutralised.”

Horatio stumbled over a protruding rock, and fell down. Just as he was about to get up, he saw light reflect off his dog tags. Grateful for the helmet, he looked right-with his eyes. A Grunt sentry was hidden in a small hollow behind a rock slab, curled into a tight ball. Apart from the light glancing off his cone tip, he was doing an extremely good job of lying in wait. If they passed by, he would sound the alarm.

Dean bent down to give him a hand, and Horatio made some quick hand signals. Three o’clock-don’t look directly.

His fellow marine passed a casual look over the hiding spot, and returned, Kill him?

No, Horatio signed back. Just follow my lead. He walked to a spot near the Grunt, and unscrewed his canteen. He closed his eyes and let the water trickle down his throat with a sigh of pleasure. Seeing he was alone, the Grunt’s hands went to its plasma pistol, and it raised the weapon.

Suddenly a hand reached out and dragged it forward. Dean stepped out from behind the tree and held the squirming alien at arm’s length. “Gotcha, ya little runt, “he said. Pressing a knife to the alien’s throat, he pushed it forward into a walk.

Massad had been informed, and he surveyed their prisoner with disgust. A circle of marines watched. “A Grunt, huh? The little *** will crack in five seconds flat, just watch.” He bent down and jabbed it with its pistol. “Right then. You’re gonna answer my questions to the letter. Any attitude, and I’ll put a bullet through your ugly face. Clear?”

The Grunt, terrified, nodded jerkily. Massad grinned with satisfaction. “Good. First, what are you and your friends digging for?”

The Grunt’s speech in English was halting. “Brute masters order it so. They say they need materials for war. They deep underground. Must use drills.”

Massad looked at him suspiciously. “Is that all you’re doing? Speak!”

The Grunt’s eyes became frantic. He was evidently torn between self-preservation and the danger of divulging any information. Massad pulled the slide on his pistol, and e stammered out, “Brutes think relics may be in planet. But they deep also. They keep it secret. Only top warriors and leaders know-”

Horatio snorted, unable to contain himself. “Then how is it a scrub like you knows about it?”

The diminutive alien shrugged. “Words pass through. We Unggoy hear. Not as stupid as they think. But still, secret.”

Massad scratched his bristly black beard. “Do the Brutes have any idea of what could be on the planet?”

The Grunt shook his head. “That we not know. We know the Brute masters have found one, maybe two nodes. But they silent. Nothing comes from them, they find nothing. But they think maybe they have better chance if-”

It promptly shut up. Massad narrowed his eyes ferociously. “If? Don’t give me the silent treatment, you little lakeet. Keep talking, or you’ll know what will happen.” He dug the barrel into the Grunt’s forehead.

“They think better chance if…” The alien quailed, foul-smelling sweat soaking it. “If….”

“If what!?”

“If…they eat you.”

Massad blinked in consternation. It was obviously not what he had been expecting. “If they eat us? What the hell does that mean?”

But his surprise had caused him to loosen his grip, and the Grunt took its chance. Bounding forward, it seized the pistol and pointed it at its head, eyes filled with madness. A shot rang out, and the Grunt dropped like a rock. Massad swore, and kicked it in frustration. “***! Didn’t think he had it in him. Logan, pull him out of the way and cover him up. Wouldn’t do to have him discovered.” He dusted himself off, and the marines kept going.

Dean nudged Horatio. “These Covenant are getting more crazy by the day. Eat us? That’ll be the day.” He laughed scornfully.

Horatio wished he could share Dean’s optimism. He had a foreboding feeling that things had become much more sinister than before.

*******************************************************

“Take a look at that.”

Massad, lying on a rock ledge, jabbed a finger at the Covenant dig site. The rest of the group did the same, except for those still in the trees. The place was situated in a depression, which, judging by the blackened scorches, was not natural. It extended around fifteen metres into the ground. Off to one side, there was a haphazard collection of dwellings-methane pits and the muddy-brown cloth tents of the Brutes. A fence surrounded it. This was only lightly guarded, however. Large smelting pools were tended to by Engineers, their gas-bladders keeping them aloft. Large iron barrels containing molten elements were shipped to squat, brick-like structures, for various purposes. Parked next to these places were portable drills on hover-crafts. Bands of Grunts and Jackals roved here and there, attended by the odd Brute. Two or three Choppers zoomed around, patrolling.

But this was all dwarfed by the Scarab assault platform, its back to the cliff wall. Even from here, it was astonishingly huge, like a purple juggernaught. The main cannon glinted green, like a snake’s eye. Horatio swallowed audibly. They couldn’t go near that thing without being roasted.

It wasn’t quite finished, though. Its front legs had yet to be plated with purple alloy, and were just metal struts. Scaffolding surrounded these. The anti-air turret was just a plasma core with wires sprouting underneath it. A small dot-an Engineer-floated over to it and began attaching something.

Massad exhaled noisily. “Well, see it for yourself boys. They’ve got around seventy, eighty men, and a few vehicles too. And of course, the Scarab. Given our numbers, it’s gonna be a tough nut to crack. But don’t worry your dopey heads about it-I’ve got a plan.”

Massad gesticulated as he spoke. “We’ll divide into two teams-Red and Blue. Red Team will be responsible for keeping those on the ground busy. Blue Team will push through and board the Scarab.”

“What?” a marine asked in disbelief. “I thought we were gonna blow it up or something-”

Massad glared at him. “I’m allowed to change my mind, private. Now get back in line and listen.” As the chagrined marine stepped backwards, Massad continued.

“Now, I can’t imagine that any of you know how to pilot a Scarab. Until we can figure that out, we’ll just use the main gun.” He chuckled viciously. “We’ll light those Covenant suckers up like a bonfire.” A few of the marines cheered.

“I’ll lead Blue Team. Sergeant Caputo, you’ll have command of Red Team.” A stocky woman with cropped red hair nodded slightly. “Any and all marines who’ve had experience with Scarabs will be in my team. Now, split up.” With a sigh of resignation, Horatio pushed himself off a rock and went to stand with Massad. Some others did as well, Dean among them. Soon, two groups of around twenty men stood apart.

Massad nodded with satisfaction. “Good, good. Caputo, take your lot around to the Covenant camp and start there. Let’s go, men.”

“Hoo-rah!” they said as one. While Red Team moved off, using the forest for cover, Blue Team started down the slope, keeping low.

***************************************************

Rocks clattered as Blue Team moved slowly down the slope. Jagged rocks poked out of the hard ground, providing ideal cover. There was no way of telling if the Covenant had placed remote sensors, but Horatio doubted they were as dumb as that.

They had gone maybe thirty metres when Massad called a halt, hand raised with thumb pressed against the palm. Nestled behind rocks, they were now fairly close to what passed for the picket lines. A purple barricade, with Shade turrets to either side. The Covenant had been foiled by the obvious-there was too much ground to cover and they’d had to make do with a minimal solution. Easy pickings.

“OK, marines, steady now, “Massad’s voice whispered over the COM. “We wait for Red Team to initiate the attack, then we move up. Snipers, put everything you have on the turrets. Rocket jockeys, wait until we get closer-those Choppers move fast.”

Horatio breathed deeply, and pressed the butt of his sniper rifle against his shoulder. Peeking out from a space between two rocks, he sighted the Grunt atop one turret and steadied. He waited for the signal.

It was moments like this he hated-from basic training, all the way to here. The attack didn’t seem so bad, in comparison to the wait. The mind wandered-got distracted. Something one couldn’t afford in combat. The anticipation was palpable, a force filling the air. Some marines were equally discomfited. Others grinned, fingers waiting to squeeze triggers. We’ve got all types in a war, don’t we just-

There was an explosion, and Horatio saw bodies flying through the air in the Covenant camp. The staccato crack of rifle fire reached his ears. “Commence attack! I repeat, commence attack!”

Horatio fired, the sound magnified by the canyon walls. Several more shots followed from fellow snipers, and the Grunt fell, riddled with bullets. The other swiveled and fired, but a grenade thrown by Massad blew him to hell. “Forward, marines!” he barked. Together, they charged the barricade, leaping over it.

Horatio’s suspicions were confirmed-once they passed the barricade, an alarm began to sound. Plasma emitters began to flash rapidly. Groups of Covenant began to mass, one headed in their direction. Horatio shouldered the rifle and fired, sending a Jackal spinning. More marines opened fire, and their enemies bit the dirt.

One Brute made it through, and fired a volley of spikes, dropping two marines where they stood. Massad fired a concerted burst, and the Brute flopped down dead. They were about to celebrate this victory when a Chopper roared past, guns firing. One marine didn’t jump out of the way and was mulched. Horatio winced at the sight.

“Orville! Take him out!” Massad yelled. A burly marine pulled the M41 SSR MAV/AW launcher off his back, and settled it on his shoulder. Just as the attack vehicle pulled about for another pass, the warhead streaked past and blew it in half. “Hell yeah!” a marine cried. “Way to shoot!”

From what they could see, Red Team were pressing hard. A tent went up in a crackling sheet of flame, and screaming Grunts ran for their lives. Engineers, scared by the gunfire and mayhem, cowered behind rocks. The few Brutes tried to marshal their subordinates, but concerted sniper fire took them down before they could organise resistance. I don’t like this…it seems way too easy. He was reloading his rifle, when a shadow passed overhead.

His heart sank as once again, his suspicions were confirmed. Two Phantom dropships hovered above the scene, sending the marines scattering with bursts from their plasma cannons. The side doors opened, and Brute troopers bailed out. Massad cursed. “Take cover, damnit! Take cover!”

Blue Team hunkered down behind rocks as best they could, while the newly arrived Brutes formed a phalanx, pouring fire onto them. Despite their best efforts, they were trapped. Horatio swore as a round missed his face by inches and fired again. Once again, things had gone to ***.

***********************************************

Sergeant Caputo had served thirteen years in the Corps, and had handled a variety of missions. Throughout she had developed a no-nonsense attitude that worked well in combat situations. This attack was no different from the others, and she intended to handle it the same way.

The camp was largely occupied by Grunts and Jackals, the Brute overseers at work elsewhere. Most were sleeping, catching whatever rest they could. The Brutes wouldn’t be, though. Caputo found one of her rocket jockeys, and had him target one of the tents. She signaled for the others to move in on her command.

As soon as the rocket detonated, spraying the material with dark blood, Red Team moved in. The ODSTs in her group were the most methodical, tossing grenades into the pits and into the tents before opening fire. The unwitting Grunts had only a few seconds before they went up in the blast. The Brutes blundered out of their tents, and got pummeled by bullets. The marines exchanged high-fives as their enemy wilted before them. “Burn what’s left!” Caputo ordered. “Don’t leave anything for them to salvage.” Leading by example, she reached down, tugged an incendiary grenade off a Brute’s corpse, and tossed it at a tent, setting it to light.

Mayhem reigned in the camp. Security groups of Grunts and Jackals tried to force their way in to provide assistance, but the ODSTs trained extensively for counter intrusion tactics. Six were sent to secure the main gate, and a reaction force of five was standing by in case of emergency. Marines roamed the camp unopposed, searching for survivors. Evidently they hadn’t been suspecting an attack. Shows what those ugly bastards know, hey?

She was about to pull her helmet off when she heard a thrumming noise, and looked up with dread, to see a Phantom closing in. “Dropship! Get down, get your heads down!”

The marines in the camp scrabbled to find cover as the blue-purple craft loomed over them, discharging plasma from its fore cannon. Grunts manned the side turrets, tracking any movement. Another floated further off, dropping Brutes to the ground. Blue Team was in some serious trouble, but they had their own problems. She braced herself, waiting for the rain of alien soldiers to begin.

But nothing came. After one last barrage, the Phantom’s engines flared, and it raced off into the sky. Its counterpart did the same. Caputo was nonplussed. Had the Covenant decided to ignore them? Surely not. Cowardice or no, they never just left them to their own devices. I’ve got a bad feeling about this… She heard a rasp behind her, and turned. Nothing but ash and cloth flapping in the breeze.

She started stripping plasma grenades off a dead Grunt, listening to two marines talk. “Man, these Covenant pussies can’t take a hint. This took, what, five minutes? I’m telling you, things aren’t what they used to be-”

Caputo raised her head. “You mean back when you got shot in the ass, Hanson? Don’t think I don’t remember. Let’s see, 2547, on Miridem…”

The marine turned red, and his friend shoved him, chortling. “Shot in the ass, Hanson? I think you neglected to tell us that. Wait until the guys hear this-”

Without warning, a serrated blade burst through the leatherneck’s chest, twisting cruelly and splitting bone. Hanson shouted in horror and backed away. His mouth gaped, trying to form words to express his agony, but before he could, the blade disappeared and he toppled to the ground, blood spreading out from under him.

From behind him, a Brute clad in reactive camoflage armour stepped forward. It held a barbed blade in one meaty hand. The optical red light glinted dully against its triangular helmet. It barked an evil laugh, and raised the blade again.

Caputo snapped out of her shock, and opened fire on the alien. Grimacing, it backed off, activated its camoflage and hurried off. Hanson gasped, the situation finally sinking in. “***!”

Sudden clarity arrived in Caputo’s mind. The entire Brute squad had been camouflaged when they left the Phantom. That was why they hadn’t been seen. Now, who knew how many of them were infiltrating the camp. Not far off, she heard another shocked scream and scattered gunfire. A guttural roar echoed through the camp.

Swearing, Caputo grabbed Hanson by the arm. “Fall back! Goddamnit, we need to get out of here! Now!”

************************************************

A marine screamed as a spiker bolt drilled into his chest, knocking him backwards. Massad, a dressing on one cheek as a result of a plasma bolt, yelled, “Medic!”

A corpsman hobbled over, and, after applying some basic anaesthetic, began the process of removing the spike. Massad eyed the wounded marine worriedly. “Is he gonna make it?”

The medic shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not if we stay here much longer.” He returned to his task, and Massad went back to the rocks. The rest of the group crouched here, returning fire.

They were in a desperate situation. Despite their best efforts, the Brutes had them well and truly pinned down. Red Team was in their own fight, from what they could see. And sooner or later, the Phantoms would be back with more reinforcements until they would be overwhelmed. Three more marines lay stretched out in a line, their eyes closed. The first to die. Something’s gotta be done, damnit.

Massad tossed another grenade over their barricade, and watched it detonate harmlessly against the Brutes’ shields. Next to him was that soldier from Kyle’s squad, Zerba. He poked the barrel of his rifle over the rocks and fired, sending a Brute spinning. Massad felt a surge of admiration. “Zerba!”

The marine looked up and saluted shakily. “Sir?”

Massad stared him in the face. “We’re *** if we stay here much longer. Got any ideas? I’m fresh out.”

Horatio shook his head. “Can’t say I do, sir.” He fired another shot, which missed and struck a plasma coil near one of the smelting pits. Instantly, an Engineer left its cover and went to fix it. Horatio noticed that its bulbous body was covered in a looping belt of plasma charges. Punishment for a misdeed? There was no way to know. As more Engineers floated over to help, he saw they were similarly garbed. An idea crept into his head.

He turned back to Massad. “Sir? Scratch that, I might have an idea. But we’ll have to do it fast.”

He explained his plan to the sergeant, and Massad raised his eyebrows. “Sounds pretty flukey to me. But hell, we haven’t got anything else to do.” He raised his voice. “Marines! Target that smelting pool!” The entire group, confused, poured fire onto a pool off to their left, damaging the plasma coils and other machinery. Meanwhile, Massad passed orders along to all marksman in the group. Almost immediately, a quartet of Engineers squawked in protest and began leisurely floating over to the damaged pool. Their path would take them directly over the heads of the Brute squad. Massad redirected their gunfire back to the Brutes, and he looked at Horatio, whose rifle was firmly trained on the squid-like aliens. “Zerba…”

“Have to maximise, “he replied. Through the scope, the pinkish light of the Engineer flared brightly. The group were passing unnoticed above the Brutes. Massad watched nervously. “Um, Private. If you don’t mind!”

“Now!” Horatio and several others fired their rifles until they were dry. The shields of the Engineers shimmered brightly with each impact, until they collapsed. Then, one bullet hit the gas-bladder of one. The reaction was instantaneous. An Engineer pitched to earth, and the Brutes realised, too late.

There was a blinding explosion of plasma, and pieces of flesh sprayed everywhere, white-hot. The heat was fierce, so much that they had to crouch behind the rocks as the air turned white. When they poked their heads up, there were only three Brutes left, burned beyond recognition and thrashing in pain. “Take them out, “Massad ordered, not a hint of emotion in his voice. They obeyed with relish.

The group, now whittled down to nine, ran across the ground, all pretence of stealth forgotten. At hearing screams and roars, Horatio turned in the direction of the Covenant camp. Smoke was rising from it and he could see Brutes moving past the tents. Christ, it looks like a slaughter over there. “Sir, Red Team’s in trouble.”

Massad stopped, and looked. A crease appeared above his eyebrows. “They have their orders. Divert their attention, until we can secure the Scarab.”

“But-”

“Caputo knew the risks!” Massad snapped. “Now get moving, marine.” He turned his back and kept moving. Horatio, after casting a last look of frustration and helplessness, did the same.

***************************************************

Caputo huddled between a jumble of rocks, shrinking back whenever she saw Brutes go past. Plasma burns covered her right leg, and she felt blood drip from a knife wound on her shoulder. She could not stop shivering.

They were all gone, all dead. Taken in by the trap set by the Brutes, her team had been ruthlessly slaughtered. She’d tried to rally her men, but they had been scattered, lulled into a false sense of security. Hanson, the poor ***-he’d been burnt alive, by one of those incendiary grenades. The Stalkers, the internal police force of the Covenant and deadly assassins, had been methodical. She, by some fluke, had escaped. But for how much longer?

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She had lost comrades, she had endured terrible defeats, but not a cold massacre delivered with such surgical precision. It was unnatural, and to think about it was to invite despair.

What of Blue Team? Why weren’t they here to help? Surely they must have seen…

The Brutes began howling in triumph, and she closed her eyes. Her mind felt like it was about to shatter.

*************************************************

Blue Team gathered beneath the left foreleg of the Scarab. It was hard to keep from looking up at the colossal construct, blotting out the sky. To say they were crouched in its shadow would be an absurd understatement.

Built around the leg were a series of purple scaffolding, connected by a series of minature gravity lifts. The platforms were around ten metres wide, allowing for reasonable movement. There was no sign of any Covenant, save for a few Engineers that floated around the Scarab’s underbelly.

Massad gazed up at the leg, about thirty metres long. “Big, isn’t it? Alright, this is the only way up to the Scarab. Expect resistance marines, and don’t slip-it’s a long way to fall.” He laughed, the only one to do so. “I’ll go first. Right, soldiers, go go go!”

One by one, they stepped into the gravity left. Horatio was towards the back, and he looked upwards again. There looked to be a tangled blot floating in the sky, dark against the sun. Frowning, he took a closer look, but it was gone. Probably just a cloud. He stepped into the lift, and felt the cold rush propel him upwards.

The entire team gathered on the first platform, rifles snapped upward, expecting an attack. No figures could be seen on the Scarab’s balcony. Apart from a faint humming from its generator, it was quiet. “I don’t like this, man, “a marine muttered. “They wouldn’t just let us come up.”

“Cut the chatter, “Massad ordered tersely. “Keep going.” Once again, they proceeded into the next grav lift, emerging on the second platform without incident. They were now quite far above the ground.

Suddenly a bark was heard, and a Brute, a jump-pack strapped to its back, floated down towards them, firing. A concerted bunch of fire sent him spiralling. Massad exhaled. “There, ya babies. Nothing to worry about now-”

An earsplitting screech interrupted him, and they all looked upwards again, to see a swarm of Drones, about thrity in all, bearing down on them.

“Fire! Take ‘em down!” The team opened up, and a few of the insectile warriors were killed. But the vast majority made it through and slammed into the marines.

Horatio shouted in disgust, enveloped by a flurry of wings, feelers and carapace. Laying left and right, he managed to clear a space. Other marines were holding them off, but just barely. One marine was overwhelmed, and two Drones lifted him bodily into the air, cruel pincers tearing into his flesh. They flew up some distance, and then dropped him, screaming, downward. Horatio winced at the splat and renewed his assault.

Massad was like an enraged bear, killing Drones in a frenzy. One clung to his chest, hissing maniacally. “Piss off!” the sergeant bellowed, and, seizing its fragile body, tore it in half. Yellow gore sprayed everywhere. He killed two more with a burst from his MA5K.

Horatio punched one in the face and turned, to see Dean struggling with a particularly large specimen. Horatio brought his sniper around and shot in through the head, but it tumbled forward, knocking Dean over the edge. “Help!” he shouted, clinging by one hand to the platform.

“I’m coming!” Horatio bulled through the press of Drones, and caught Dean’s hand just as it slipped. Horatio steadied, as his teammate dangled below. He forced a smile. “This day just keeps getting better and better, hey?”

Dean nodded ruefully, then shouted in alarm. “Look out!” A Drone was creeping up behind Horatio, intending to push him over the edge. Horatio strained to pull Dean up, but to no avail. “Goddamnit!”

Dean ducked one hand to his belt, and pulled out his pistol. Just as the Drone arrived, he put a bullet in its skull. “Watch yourself, man.”

The number of insects had dwindled, but there were still plenty left. Every marine sported a series of nasty cuts and gashes. One, clad in red armour, continued to evade Massad, shooting barbs at him. One zipped past his cheek and sliced it open. Massad’s temper broke. “*** you, you insect fucker!” Grabbing it in one hand, he lit a plasma grenade, stuffed it inside its snarling mouth and shoved it towards the remainder of the swarm.

There was a flash of light, and the Drones were consumed by the explosion. The purple platform was covered with their blood and guts. The last dying screech rang faintly, like a bell. Breathing heavily, Massad rubbed his face, and eyed his team. “Marines! Sound off. We lose anyone?”

“One, sir, “a marine reported. “But everyone else-”

“Hey! If you don’t help us up, you’ll have to cross two more names off your list.”

They all turned, to see Horatio nearly dangling off the edge. Massad hid a smile. “Help those boys up, so we can finish this mission.”

When Horatio and Dean were rescued, Massad faced the final gravity lift. “Right, you bastards. Let’s get moving.” He stepped inside, Blue Team behind him.

At long last, they stood atop the foredeck of the Scarab. The smelting pools looked like buttons. Massad cast his eyes about, noting the plasma turrets lining the railings. “OK, team. Pair off. I need the power core, the lower deck, the foredeck and the aft deck secured. Hurley, Vedrich, stay here. Everyone else, go.”

Horatio, Dean in tow, headed for the lower deck. They walked cautiously down the ramp, flashlights on. “I’ll go left, “Horatio murmured. Dean nodded assent. As they reached the bottom, they went their separate ways. The blackness of the lower deck closed in on them.

The walls were a smooth black, but ahead there was a faint blue glow. Here and there, crates of materials and weapons were stacked. His breathing sounding amplified by the closeted space, he progressed to the end of the deck. Emblazoned on the wall, was a strange design, pulsing a cool blue. Horatio put his hand to it. Nothing happened. Perhaps it was simply ornamental.

His radio crackled. “Blue Team, aft deck secured. No hostiles.”

“Ditto for power core. It’s operational, but it’s missing some parts. The squids probably know how to fix it.”

“Excellent, “came Massad’s voice. “Whose on the lower decks? All clear?”

Horatio looked about. It was dim, but there was nothing here. “Affirmative, Blue Team. It’s cle-”

A black form rushed out of the darkness and bowled him over. He heard it running for the ramp. Disorientated, he sat up and shook his head, clearing the stars from his vision. Dean came racing around the other side, rifle cocked. “What happened?” he demanded.

Horatio stood up. “No idea. Something came out of nowhere and just-”

His head snapped around. “Oh crap. Blue Team, watch yourselves! There’s still one hostile left and heading up to the upper deck! Most likely a Brute. I repeat, watch yourselves!”

Massad, on the foredeck with three other marines, caught the transmission just before a crazed Brute, covered in red and white paint, came charging up the ramp, holding a long stave of ironwood, sharpened at both ends. They dived out of the way, but Massad was too slow. It crash-tackled him, and they fought.

The stave slammed into the plating beside his head, and Massad grabbed it, and smacked the Brute in the side of the head, stunning it. Using his feet, he booted the alien backwards, coming onto his knees at the same time. He went for his pistol, but the Brute came up and wrenched it from his hands, pulling him forward.. The marines tried to get a clear shot, but couldn’t.

The Brute lunged with its mouth and bit savagely into Massad’s shoulder. Roaring in pain, the sergeant grabbed his knife and drove it into the beast’s chest. This did little to deter it, but several more stabs with the blade caused it to release its grip. Massad backed off, clutching his bloodied shoulder. “Shoot it!”

The marines opened up, marring the alien’s flesh with bullet holes. But it was clearly amped up on some sort of drug-it barely registered the impacts and charged forward again, into Massad. This time, they tumbled over the edge, and dangled before the Scarab’s main gun. The group ran over to help.

Massad was above the Brute, but it clung persistently to his foot, almost dislocating it from the rest of his body. Lashing out with his other foot, he looked down and swallowed. They were at least fifty metres above the ground. The light from the cannon was blinding, and he swayed. “A little help, please, “he called.

Horatio and Dean thumped onto the deck, assessing the situation. Spying the Brute’s stave, Horatio grabbed it and pushed past the other marines. “Grab onto this!”

Without looking, Massad grappled for the wood and found it. “Pull me up!”

Together, the remnants of Blue Team heaved, and managed to drag their sergeant onto the deck. Wheezing, Massad stood up shakily and peered over the edge. The Brute wailed mournfully, knowing it was doomed. He turned to Horatio. “Private. Your rifle, please.”

Horatio acceded, and Massad sighted the Brute through the scope. “Enjoy your flight, ***.” And fired.

The bullet struck the alien’s hands, dislodging its grip. From there, it plummeted earthward. Peal upon peal of manic screaming echoed, until it ended abruptly, far below.

Massad sniffed. “We won’t be seeing him again. Here you go, Private.” He handed back the sniper rifle. “Now then. Where are the controls for this thing?”

“Near the power core, sir.” They moved off in a group, until they found a series of holographic switches, buttons and levers, on the curved wall opposite the power core. The sergeant frowned. “Damned if I can read this stuff. Anyone seen this *** before?”

“I have, sir.” An olive-skinned marine with a pencil mustache moved forward, and tapped a few buttons. A piercing whistle erupted from the console. Nothing happened. Massad was about to say something, when six Engineers floated up to them, chirping softly.

The marine scratched his head. “I guess with these buttons, we can tell them what to do, sarge.”

Massad nodded appreciatively. “Very good. Now, tap in what I say…”

After about ten minutes the single-minded aliens had completed their work. Massad clapped his hands and grinned. “Perfect. Those Covenant sons-of-*** are in for a big surprise.”

Horatio eyed the targeting data. “Sir, you’ve targeted the encampment. What about Red Team?”

Massad sighed sorrowfully, and passed a hand over his eyes. “They’re gone, Private. Take a look for yourself. We’ve got no choice.”

Horatio squinted at the encampment, saw the Brutes moving through it, and the corpses of marines. It made him angry. “We can’t just destroy it all because-”

“That’s enough, Private!” Massad snapped. “If anyone’s left alive, then this will be a favour to them, rather than what the Brutes will do to them. You know it and I know it.” He turned away. Horatio clenched his fists.

Damnit. This isn’t right.

**************************************************

Soon, the next flight of troops arrived at the dig site. Forty more shock troppers, clad in red and black armour streamed to the ground. Forming ranks, they fanned out and began searching the area. A group of ten was sent to secure the Scarab. They marched over to the left foreleg and prepared to climb up via the scaffolding.

Suddenly it’s eye-which until now had been dim-flared to life. A mechanical roaring was heard, and the right leg pitched forward. The Brutes ran for their lives, but were crushed underneath the massive leg. Every other Brute in the valley turned and stared. There was silence.

Then a pulsing, glowing ball of plasma began to gather inside the cannon’s barrel. Guessing what was about to happen, the Brutes attempted to run. But, like their fellows earlier on, they had no chance. The ball morphed into a stream, a lancing beam of energy which annihilated anything it touched. Deep gashes were created in the landscape from the high-output laser. Brutes were vaporized without a sound. The Phantoms suffered the same fate. The encampment was struck several times, sending up plumes of noxious smoke.

Blue Team cheered in triumph as the Covenant forces were utterly destroyed. Massad surveyed it all with satisfaction. “I guess they never counted on running onto the biggest bunch of badasses in the Corps, huh? Now for the big test. Let’s see if this thing can move. Everybody hold on.” They grabbed onto the railing as Massad headed to the controls. The Engineers all crowded in front of the console, listening as Massad transferred his orders.

With a full cadre of Engineers working hard, they’d managed to get the leg motors online. Whether they would work was a different matter.

The back right leg slowly raised itself from the ground, and lowered itself again. Massad did the same with the other legs. It was fully operational. He closed his eyes slowly. “OK, squids. Take this thing forward. One step. That’s all. Easy does it.” Please don’t *** this up.

Tentacles made contact with the holograms, and the entire Scarab lurched forward. The metal juddered beneath his feet. Vibrations ran through the metal. “Stop!”

They came to a halt. Massad laughed shakily, patted one of the Engineers on the back and made his way back to the group. “It’s all good to go! Before we go, dismount. We’ll take one last look around. See if there’s anything we can salvage. Drayson, stay here and guard the squids.”

A few marines had ropes, and by stringing them together, formed a long rappel line. They abseiled down and stood amongst the ruins of the Covenant camp. The ground, still steaming, crunched underfoot. Little mounds of ashes stood where Brutes had stood. A few rocks and boulders had survived the beam, but little else remained to tell the tale. A few marines scavenged weapons and power cells from the rubble.

Horatio stood still, gazing sadly at the site. “They might have made it, “he muttered to Dean. “If we hadn’t left them.”

Dean sighed. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know-”

“Sergeant! We’ve found something!”

Two marines emerged from a jumble of rocks, supporting someone between them. Everyone stared, speechless. It was unbelievable. Massad’s rifle slipped from his hands. “Caputo?”

It was indeed Caputo, but she barely resembled the fit, earthy woman from before. She had survived the Scarab beam, but had suffered horrific injuries. Her ears had melted, fusing to the side of her head, forming hideous lumps of flesh. The skin on her face was hanging, turned a mottled black. Her right leg had burnt off below the knee. The fingers of her left hand had melted together. Worst of all, however, were her eyes-two wide, staring orbs of white containing a horror so naked you couldn’t look. At seeing Massad, her face twisted to form a snarl of hatred. “You!” she shrieked, trying to break free. The marines held her back, but her fury gave her strength and she raced to Massad, trying to beat at his chest. She was restrained again, sobbing and spitting.

“You left us to die!” she screamed. “They all died, and you-you-” She clawed at the dirt, trying to expend her rage. A medic injected her with something, and her struggles stilled.

Massad had watched all this with silent shock. Now a look of sadness came over his face. “Bring her with us, “he ordered quietly. “Treat her as best you can.” He turned and walked back to the Scarab without a word. The marines looked after him, their expressions unreadable.

Horatio gazed upon the ruined form of Caputo. A stolid, good marine, who’d been utterly destroyed. Just how many more would suffer the same fate?

He sighed, and rubbed his face. I don’t know.

Quiet lengthy, but I hope it was worth the wait. :)

*Chapter Eleven

EARTH TIME: 19^th of October, 2553

Brute Muster

Gethrii

Mission Clock: 1800

With a grunt, Gerun gripped the rope with both hands and began hauling himself upwards, muscular forearms bulging. Dasa and the sappers weren’t far behind. All about him, the walls were trembling and groaning. Something had been set off, apparently.

As soon as they’d reached the top, Gerun stopped the others just before the entrance. Poking his head through the trapdoor, he scanned for targets. Nothing.

They emerged from the darkness and into the weak sunlight. The air still sweltered. The plate’s reflective surface crackled under their feet. Gethrii’s sun had long since reached its zenith and had begun the gradual descent. In a few hours night would spread its cloak over the land. A protracted ground war with the Jiralhanae at night? The stuff of nightmares, indeed.

The entrance was still guarded by Brutes, but they had their backs turned. For now, they were safe. Still, he was taking no chances. The group dashed to the safety of the pipe maze. Crouching behind a conduit, they convened a quick council of war.

Gerun rounded on one of the sappers. “How much time is left?”

“Eleven minutes, twelve seconds, “the Elite reported.

“Right.” He looked about. “We have to get to the rally point. But we shall never make it on foot. Ideas?”

“Secure a vehicle, “Dasa offered.

Gerun nodded. “The Jiralhanae will be guarding them, however. And it must accommodate all of us.”

Dasa snapped his fingers. “The Prowler! We can take it and flee!”

One of the sappers looked around. “But where is it? The Brute technicians parked it here, but I no longer see it-”

Gerun ground his teeth. “Stay here. I will go to investigate.” He slipped away, heading back towards the plate.

Minutes passed, and the Elites shifted nervously. No-one wanted to be here when the reactor blew. Dasa expected nothing less than a steaming crater when it did. And Hirf would be here at that time. Forerunners guard you, brother.

Eventually Gerun came back, face grim. “I have found it. But it lies in a vehicle compound past the gates, surrounded by Brutes. We’ll have to walk straight into the midst of them.”

Silence.

Gerun shrugged. “We have to try. There is no other course of action.”

Dasa scratched his chin. “Think. We are deep inside their territory-they do not expect a concerted attack. The last thing they would suspect would be Sangheili stealing their craft.”

At this, a slow smile crept across Gerun’s features.

*************************************************

The Brute guard, Balk, had been on duty for over nine units now, and his initial air of vigilance had gone. All he wished was to rest. At first, he had relished the responsibility, but soon realised that his pack-leaders had palmed off a thoroughly lousy task on him. Wearily, he reached down to free his bottle of thralva juice. Tugging away the stopper, he drank deeply.

Quietly, twin prongs of plasma entered his back. Eyes widening, his nerveless fingers trembled, and the bottle slipped from his grasp. He tried to make a noise, but failed. The heat of the blade was all-consuming. There wasn’t even any pain.

After what seemed an eternity, it slid from his back. He dropped to his knees, only half-aware of what was happening. Around him, he heard footsteps in the dirt. Gigantic figures stood above him. Sangheili. In the camp. I have to warn the others. The others.

But once again, he couldn’t speak. Balk died, that last thought repeating itself in his head.

Gerun glanced right, and saw Dasa dealing with the other guards. They flopped to the ground, throats slit. Making sure none remained, he waved them forward. Emerging from the safety of the reactor compound, they entered the main camp.

So far, no-one had noticed them yet. There were few shanties and camps close to the reactor. That would not last. One Brute passing by looked up, and started. “Halt! What are you-”

Without blinking, Gerun stabbed the alien through the chest, killing him instantly. The Elites continued their march across the hardpan, coming ever closer to the collection of Brute vehicles. One on side, the Prowler sat. Opposite, five Choppers stood in a row. A twine fence, tied to stakes, encompassed the area.

Only a few Brutes guarded the haphazard clutch of craft, and these were nodding off in the unrelenting blaze of Gethrii’s sun. One raised its head, spotted the approaching Sangheili and barely had a chance to stand up before its head disappeared in a spray. One of the sappers reloaded his carbine. A flurry of fire dropped the other three where they stood.

“Dasa, “Gerun barked. “Secure the Prowler. Sappers, guard him.” Dasa hurried over to the ungainly support vehicle, settled into the driver’s seat and touched the activation panel. Nothing happened. “It will not start!”

Gerun looked around-Brutes had been attracted by the gunfire and were coming to investigate. “Dasa, check the engine!” He ducked behind a Chopper for cover, needler drawn.

Dasa flipped open the cowling of the engine and made a face. “The engine is fried. Plasma scoring on both propulsion generators. These Brute fools could not manage an infant’s sled!”

“Never mind that!” Gerun snapped. “Can you fix it?” The growls of the Brutes were growing ever closer.

Dasa nodded. “I have been cross-trained on Brute vehicles. But I shall need your sword!”

“What for?” Gerun inquired, tossing the hilt to Dasa. It became apparent as Dasa activated the blade, went to the nearest chopper, sawed its engine hatch open and began removing parts. Seeing the Brutes upon them, he beckoned the sappers to him.

Five Brutes had entered the enclosure. Sniffing about, they gripped their spike rifles warily. One ambled in a small lane between two Choppers.

With a rending screech, one of the Choppers was pushed inward. The unfortunate Brute tried to hold it back, but to no avail. It was crushed between the two metal hulks.

Gerun stepped out from behind the last Chopper. “Seeking retribution, Jiralhanae dogs? Come and get it.” He opened fire.

With a howl the four remaining Brutes charged at him. Gerun killed one with a flurry of needles, but the three continued unscathed. Gerun stood his ground-

Out of one of the small lanes, two plasma grenades pitched forth, and scored direct hits on the Brutes armor. Battle rage turned to panic. “Get it off!” one managed to scream, before being consumed by a sapphire blast.

Dasa emerged from behind the Prowler and set to work, holding a clutch of engine parts cannibalized from the Chopper. Lowering himself into the engine space, he began attaching them. Sparks fizzled.

Gerun kept his eye fixed on the area beyond the enclosure. No doubt about it-the Brutes were closing in, like sharks around a swimmer. Even now, Brutes were streaming out from tents, buckling on their weapons and armour. The time for secrecy was over. Gerun grabbed a spike rifle and grenades from one of the dead Jiralhanae, and opened fire. The sappers, crouched in the shades of the Choppers, did the same.

Two Brutes fell down, dead. The others kept pressing, returning fire. Gerun winced as a stray spike shattered against the Chopper’s engine, sending red-hot powder everywhere. He fired with both weapons, and killed two more Brutes. But they couldn’t keep this up much longer. He saw a pair of Grunt tenders bringing up a plasma turret. If that was brought online they were doomed. The blast from a grenade knocked him back, and he banged his head onto the Chopper’s seat. Staring dazed at the driving panel, he got an idea.

Most of the Brutes had formed a tight semicircle around the vehicle depot. So far, none had bothered to flank the beleaguered Sangheili warriors. Spikes chattered, and grenades were thrown with complete disregard to their vehicles. A few Brutes howled their battle fury, eager to rend Elite flesh. By now, return fire had slackened off.

So it came as a complete surprise when one of the Choppers came alive and rocketed forward with a roar.

Brutes screamed as the massive attack vehicle plowed through their ranks, sending dismembered limbs through the air. The Grunt pair with the plasma cannon barely had time to squeak as they were consumed by its whirring blades. It continued its mad rampage until it crashed to a halt against a boulder. The ground was littered with groaning, wounded Brutes.

Gerun silently cackled. It had been a simple matter to jam the handles forward and activate the engines. He looked over his shoulder. “Dasa! Have you completed the repairs?”

The heavy weapons specialist was covered in soot, and was straining at something inside the Prowler. “Almost, “he grunted.

“Well, hurry up!” Gerun’s normal urbanity was wearing thin. He drilled a spike into the chest of one Brute trying to crawl away, and looked for more targets.

Suddenly the Chopper next to him was shunted towards him. With a yelp, Gerun grabbed the massive wheel, trying to hold it back. He could feel the vehicle’s barbs pressing into his chest. If he stayed here much longer he’d be crushed. Whoever was pushing the vehicle possessed enormous strength, to be doing this.

Underneath the Chopper, he could see a pair of hairy feet, encased in metal sandals, planted solidly against the ground. With a tremendous effort, he reached down with one hand, grabbed his needler and fired.

There was a yell of pain, and the pressure slackened. Gerun used this to drop down, and crawl out from between the two vehicles. Standing up, he faced his attacker.

A truly massive Brute-one of the biggest he’d ever seen-stood facing him. It wore strange armour-completely black, with a visor that completely obscured its face. Glaring red eyes gleamed through tiny slits. A jagged blade made of black iron was clenched in a fist. A spiked cuirass-made of the same material-covered its muscular torso. It looked nothing less than a human knight-or what he’d been told of them by his human companions.

The sole exception to this was held in the Brute’s other hand. A Brute firearm that he’d never seen. A tubular barrel-shaped like a log-had a pair of bent blades attached to the end, like a scarab beetle’s pincers. Sparks of blue plasma flickered between the two extended spikes, and at the end of the barrel, there was a hole. Inside it, whirring gears and others machinery was seen, bathed in a fiery orange light.

The apparition loosed a throaty roar, muffled by its helmet. It raised the weapon and fired.

Gerun flew backwards, the blast sending him tumbling into the dirt. Raising his head, he saw several metal points sticking out of his chest. A few seconds later, they sprang apart, like claws. Flesh tore, and he roared in pain. He felt as though his ribs had exploded through his chest. He tried to stand up, and barely managed it.

The sappers were alerted, and opened fire on the lone Brute. Shields shimmered, and it was driven back a step. But a burst of fire from the strange new weapon forced them to duck for cover. It charged forward with surprising speed. “I am Furius!” it bellowed.

Gerun ducked as the black blade whistled over his head, and launched a punch at the Brute’s neck, where it was more exposed. His hand hit solid bone, and vibrations raced up his hand. A return strike from his opponent sent his sprawling. He tried to focus, and saw the Jiralhanae’s gargantuan form appear above him. An iron-shod foot was raised to descend upon his face.

Suddenly the Brute staggered backwards, as jets of blue plasma thudded into it. Gerun looked around, to see Dasa seated in the Prowler’s turret, pouring heavy fire onto the Brute attacker. Its shielding was still holding, but not for much longer. Amazingly, it pointed its gun at Dasa and fired, sending a spray of the metal points thudding into the vehicle. Dasa grimaced but kept firing. Eventually, its shields collapsed, and it was forced to retreat. “Get on board!” he snapped. He swiveled, and raked the new Brute attackers that were now appearing.

Gerun got up, and settled into the driver’s seat, touching various holo-panels. The seat lifted off the ground, and a thrumming noise could be heard. The controls glowed purple-red. “Mount up, warriors!” he called. “Time grows short.” He checked his time-only 5:38 remaining.

The two sappers fired a last volley, and hustled aboard the Prowler, taking up positions on either side. Gerun gunned the throttle. “Hold on.” The vehicle jumped forward.

And came to a crashing halt. Gerun smacked his head on the console painfully. He looked at what was ahead of them.

Furius had grasped the Prowler’s front ram, and was stubbornly pushing it in the other direction. Digging its feet in, sweat ran from holes in its armour. But it did not falter. “I am as a mountain. You will not defeat Furius!” Clearly this Brute was some sort of champion. Albeit a single-minded one.

Gerun increased the acceleration, but to no avail. “Shoot him!”

One of the sappers acted-but not with a weapon. Reaching into his pack, he removed a compressed pack of the webbing they had used in the reactor. Languidly, he tossed it at the Brute’s face.

It howled as the constricting, rubbery webs enveloped its helmet, eliminating what little breathing space it had. The Brute might have been a titanic figure, but it was as mortal as any other. Its breaths grew ragged, gasping. Its grip slackened, and Gerun seized his chance. He powered forward.

With an unpleasant crunch, Furius disappeared under the Prowler, and they bumped over him. Gerun glanced behind him, and saw the Brute getting up, clawing the lattice from its face. Spirits below, how can that beast withstand such punishment? Fervently, he hoped to never face it again.

Furius spat out the last fragments of web, his mind filled with bloodlust-his normal state, in other words. None were permitted to do such things and live! Casting his eyes about, they came to rest on the row of Choppers. Lumbering over, he mounted up, engaged the throttle and began his pursuit. He gave no regard to the unfortunates that got in his way-only to his slighted ego.

Back to Gerun. There was at least another two hundred metres before they were free of the Brute encampment. Ahead was a medley of tents, machinery and above all, Covenant. Gerun did his best to aim away, it was impossible. There were just too many objects in the way.

Tents, power cells and numerous other things flew through the air as the Prowler blazed a path. Brutes dived for cover, but some fired on them. A grenade whistled dangerously close to his head. They jinked from side to side, the debris beneath them proving greatly impeding.

Eventually, they passed through the storm of mayhem and were on their way out. But not far behind were innumerable Choppers and other Prowlers, thrown together in a hasty pursuit. They needed to head that off. What lay ahead gave him an idea.

One of the big laser drills rose before them, still pulsing with blue energy. It cast a massive shadow over the camp. A complex twisting support structure of metal beams lay underneath it, still fresh from welding. “Dasa!” Gerun yelled over the thunderous noise of the engine. “Target the supports!”

The Elite opened up-pulses of plasma scored hits against the dark metal, and flakes of it fluttered away. But nothing happened. Soon they would be past it. “Keep firing!” The sappers joined in-pouring small arms fire at the beams.

Dasa sent a concentrated stream of bolts at the supports-and was rewarded with a snap and a groaning noise that rose in crescendo. Beams snapped, and the entire edifice began to fall. Back in the direction of the oncoming Brute vehicles. Covenant shrieked and attempted to run for safety as the laser drill toppled towards their camps. It would not save them.

Though Gerun did not see the construction die-see it crumple, crushing countless enemy soldiers beneath its bulk-he felt it. A shockwave rippled through the tightly packed ground underneath them, and its rumbling shook them. When it subsided, a choking cloud of orange dust rose to replace it. Even at this distance, Gerun heard the Covenant screaming in pain and shock. But they were free.

Gerun laughed gaily as he eased the Prowler into a steady speed. As they climbed out of the basin, he saw a vista of hills and valleys ahead of them. It stretched to the horizon. Thankfully, they did not need to traverse all of it. “Dasa, transfer the rendezvous point’s co-ordinates to the Prowler’s navigational device, “he commanded. “We can ill afford to become lost in these hills-”

A jarring bolt of metal streaked past them, carving a rock in half. Gerun snapped a look behind them.

Five Choppers-snorting oily flames and creating plumes of dust-were chasing them. Evidently they had outran the laser drill’s collapse. Their afterburners roared as the Brute pilots desperately tried to catch up with the fleeing Sangheili warriors. Dasa turned in his seat and fired back. Gerun swore-would there be no end to this? The rules had changed.

Forsaking what he had said before, he spotted a low canyon, and entered it. With any luck, he would be able to throw off his pursuers. Failing that, they could always fight, despite the odds that were against them. But when were the odds last in our favour? Ah, victory is no easy thing nowadays.

The Brutes, powering forward on their assault craft, followed Gerun and entered the canyon.

Meanwhile, back in the basin, things were beginning to heat up…

 

**************************************************

Mission Clock: 1806

Hirf Kalok’ fired on the fleeing Jackal with his plasma rifle, its charge nearly depleted. It shrieked and fell, smouldering, to the floor. Other corpses-a mix of Covenant races-lay scattered around it.

He had suffered wounds-plenty of them. Third-degree burns covered his right thigh, which had only exacerbated his rib injury. A Brute’s flailing fists had fractured his right hand, making it hard to hold his sword. To cap it off, a raging pain burned behind his eyes. All in all, it was a miracle he was still standing.

Gasping, he eyed the charges on the reactor. Every second that passed by was agonisingly slow. Hirf had accepted his death. But waiting for it was quite something else. They now read 4:34.

As was the habit with exhausted warriors, his mind wandered. Back to Sangheilios, his beloved home. To the Kalok’ estates, where the silver-capped mountains watched over the placid lakes, where terraced farmlands stretched to the horizon. The smell of the lonna crops in spring-now there was something he had not smelt in some time-

A bolt of plasma narrowly missed his head and splattered on the wall beside him. An Unggoy-a cowardly thing-poked its head out of the shadows, bulbous eyes gleaming. Hirf vanquished that gleam for ever by planting a few shots between its eyes.

He continued to reminisce. Being the only one of his brothers to learn the craft of war, the others fading into obscurity. All ties to his parents and immediate family cut, his only home the academy, with its fighting pits and sparring arenas. Meeting his mentor, still only a youth-a stern man, yes, not one to be crossed; when he was sent flying by a blow after a muttered derision.

But he’d worked hard at it. He’d suffered the harsh words, the blows, all the things that accompanied the life of a Sangheili fighter. Learning every lesson, facing every challenge and wrangling with it until he was victorious. Becoming more, in and of himself.

A Brute roared its fury, darting out of the shadows. Once again, Hirf snapped out of it. He tried to track its movements, but it was too fast, and he was too weak. His arms felt like lumps of clay. His eyes grew leaden. He so very wanted to sleep.

It came out of nowhere-bulling him to the floor, hands tearing at his flesh. All of a sudden, he remembered the sword in his hand. Even in his weakened state, it did its work. The alien sagged, dying slowly from a head injury. Hirf grunted his satisfaction, and tried to stand up. He felt like he was carrying an iceberg on his shoulders. Memories flooded through him again.

-sparring with his closest friend, Vrik, in the courtyards of Kalok’-

-skipping stones across a pond-

-laughter-

He couldn’t stand under his own volition any more. He rested his back against the cool metal of the reactor column. All around him, the noises and lights were intensifying. But they were as nothing to the storm of memories.

-meeting Laruma, the love of his life-his heart stolen by those soft brown eyes-

-taking her as his mate; the ceremony taking place on the shores of Tal’buy Lake. Happiness shuddering through him-

The luminous numbers of the charges glowed bright: 2:12.

-his training culminating in Virtue’s Advent-that day where new Sangheili recruits received their official weapons and armour-

-waving his sword exultantly in the air-

1:37

-his sword-

0:21

-sword-

Clarity arrived, at the end. With a sudden surge of energy, he lifted his sword into the air triumphantly.

So it ends. To my ancestors paradise, I now go.

Detonation.

It began with a tremendous rumbling. It filled the air and the ground. Dozens of miniature bangs echoed through the dirt. All eyes turned to the reactor, first with curiosity, then concern. They didn’t have time to get to panic.

There was a thunderous explosion. Whole hillsides collapsed, and the metallic plating of the reactor Penitence Company had been assigned to groaned and buckled. Metal bolts snapped and pinged. The piping was shaking itself apart. Engineering teams were immediately dispatched, but by then it was too late.

The reactor broke apart, consumed by a violet sphere of energy that increased in size and width, consuming everything in its path. As soon as it reached the next reactor, it doubled in size and continued to expand. The noise was terrible. The Covenant troops were helpless before this onslaught. Standing slack-jawed at their impending doom, they were incinerated in moments. Those that tried to run fared no better. Banshees and dropships failed to out-distance it, swallowed up. Flesh, metal, wood-all of it was devoured by the apocalyptic sphere of furious energy. The plasma batteries and digging equipment only fueled the flames.

It took all of three minutes. By that time, the basin had become an ashy wasteland. Steam rose from the piles of charred and twisted bone and metal that had marked concentrations of Covenant troops. The muster had been obliterated. Tendrils of plasma still sparked fitfully at the very edges of the basin.

Hirf’s spirit rose over the scene, his heart filled with gladness. A mighty blow had been struck against the enemy. He only hoped that his brothers would continue to succeed in such a manner.

He turned, and saw his ancestors roaring their welcome.

**********************************************

Mission Clock: 1811

Gerun was privy to the explosion as well, distant though he was. The sky became a blinding white, and static electricity washed across his armour. A muffled boom was heard. The holographic controls flickered. Behind him, the Choppers shuddered as their ballistic shielding failed completely.

But, caught up in the frantic chase, he paid it little heed.

Try as he might, Gerun could not shake his pursuers. The Jiralhanae followed him with dogged determination, no doubt wanting to exact a vicious revenge. The nature of their surroundings prevented Dasa from getting a clear shot. The same could not be said for the Choppers. Built to handle jagged terrain, the vehicles toothed wheels ate up the ground at a frightening pace.

Yet another spike rattled past, blowing a large divot in the ground. One Chopper had pulled ahead of the rest, and was harassing them relentlessly. It was only a matter of time before the driver got lucky. He racked his brains trying to think of a solution. He scanned the terrain.

The walls of the canyon had risen somewhat, but ahead there was a ragged gap on the left. It descended deep, and ended in what used to be a rock pool. Above it was a drop-off. Anyone who fell would be smashed on the rocks below. It was a long shot, but it would get this nagging Brute off their tail. “Hold on, brothers!”

Before they could ask what he was doing, Gerun halved their speed and turned sharply to the right. And kept going. The Prowler began to rotate on the spot. Metal screeched and the world became a blur.

The Chopper’s pilot was completely taken by surprise, and didn’t have time to adjust its speed. Roaring past, the Brute fought desperately to save himself, but it was too late. He tumbled down the slope with a howl. Three seconds later, a crunch was heard. Smoke drifted.

Gerun powered up the engines and they continued their flight. Dasa swiveled to face him and laughed shakily. “By the Arbiter’s blade, Gerun, but you can be singularly insane sometimes.” Gerun grunted vaguely.

This maneuver had given the other four Choppers time to catch up, and they rained fire upon the lone Prowler. A spike embedded itself in one of the sleds, narrowly missing one of the sappers. More filaments of shrapnel cascaded down, making every surface dangerous. Cursing, Gerun turned the corner that lay ahead. The resulting canyon was much wider, but began to slope up at the end. It lay far ahead, however. Massive boulders-shaped like termite nests-dotted the landscape.

These proved to be lethal. Dasa blasted at one Chopper pulling ahead on the left, forcing the driver to move out of the plasma cannon’s range. Seeing a rock ahead, the Brute attempted to plow through it. The rock, having weathered countless decades of sun and wind, held firm. The driver flew out of his seat and smacked into the boulder with a nasty sprack.

Their attackers then tried a new tack. Racing ahead with their boosters, they came alongside the Prowler and closed in on both sides. The sound of their engines was deafening. The sappers tried firing on them-at point-blank range it was impossible not to-but their shots did little damage. The drivers were out of their range.

Gerun was mystified. What was the purpose of this? He looked ahead, and his mouth turned dry. A truly massive rock was directly in front of them, and they were headed straight for it. He tried to pull left, but the bulkier Chopper boxed him in. Gerun could see the driver’s malicious grin, anticipating what was to come. Dasa sent a stream of plasma bolts into the hull of one Chopper, but the vehicle was sturdy, and held firm. Soon, it wouldn’t have to worry about the damage. They would be held in this position until they met the rock.

“Gerun!”

He looked up, and saw his comrade standing up in the turret cavity, preparing to step out of it. “What folly is this?” he demanded. The heat of this planet has inflamed Dasa. He will see a healer by the end of this, if I have to force him at sword point.

“Just hold the Prowler steady!” Dasa tensed, and removed his last leg from the cavity. He now stood perched on the bonnet. Taking a deep breath, he leapt.

Onto the left Chopper’s hull.

Gerun would later describe it to his fellows, but what he saw was nothing like what Dasa felt. Time seemed to slow, and the pair of vehicles moved in perfect unison. The boom of the various engines reduced to a drone. With catlike grace and confidence, Dasa alighted between the Chopper’s grinding wheels.

Perched above the driver’s head, Dasa gripped the metal sides tightly. Below him, the gears spun mercilessly. Best not to think of what one could lose down there. Putting one hand to his belt, he drew his spiker. The driver swerved in an attempt to dislodge Dasa, but the Elite was quicker. An entire clip pummeled him in the face, and the driver sagged off his seat. Before the vehicle could slow, Dasa leapt again and flawlessly landed on the Prowler. It had all happened in the space of ten seconds.

Dumbstruck, Gerun watched him re-man the turret. This would surely be the defining moment of Dasa’s battle poem. Perhaps it would even merit him a position in the communal tapestry Deeds Awake, which presided over a large museum detailing the history of Sangheilios. The Virot’ family was not a prolific one, but it was not without its heroes. Pride and admiration surged through him for his friend.

Then the Chopper on the right struck him, and he refocused. Enraged by the foiling of the plan, the second Brute sought vengeance. A projectile grazed Dasa’s shoulder, spilling purple blood all over his back. He could no longer operate the turret properly. Like an aggressive carnivore, it dogged them without quarter. Gerun could feel the heat coming off its engine, it was that close. Something had to be done.

He had a flash of inspiration. He addressed one of the sappers, “Warrior! Do you still have some of that webbing?”

“I do, “affirmed the puzzled Elite. “But why-”

“Give it to me, and be quick about it!” The Chopper was bearing down on them like a gorgon from the Seven Hells. Hurriedly, the Elite tossed a square grey package to Gerun. It landed on his lap. Taking one hand off the controls, he gripped it in one hand, and pressed the flat, yellow button in the centre of it. Just as an ominous beeping began, he threw it over his shoulder

The flanges of white webbing erupted from the package, just as it became firmly lodged inside the Chopper’s gears. Clogging its constant movement, the ceaseless whirr of the Chopper became a snark. Massive spiked wheels flew out from the inner casing, and the vehicle slowly fell apart.

There was but one Chopper now, and it had learned from the fates of its fellows. It followed cautiously, too far to be struck by turret or anything else. Gerun snatched a look behind him, and saw the driver’s massive form hunched behind the controls, encased in familiar-looking black armour. The blade over its shoulder confirmed it. Not this animal again!

They begun to ascend the slope. At its crest, a natural arch stretched between two hilltops. Gerun dismissed this minor detail and focused on climbing the slope. It was quite steep. Just then, a wavering drone filled the air, and a Phantom-coated with green alloy-glided above their heads, going west. It belonged to their comrades!

But Gerun had grown careless, and Furius took advantage of this. He unleashed a fusillade of orange spikes. One cracked his seating and jabbed into his back, and three more drilled into the Prowler’s carapace. The craft groaned, and began to slow. “No!” Gerun yelled, slamming a hand on the controls. They couldn’t fall! Not after all this!

Furius had seen the results, and turned his Chopper around, getting ready for another pass. He howled triumphantly, the noise bouncing off the canyon walls.

Just as they reached the top of the slope, the engine cut out and the Prowler shut down. It was now no more useful than a piece of bark. Seething, Gerun dismounted and bade the others to do the same. “Keep an eye on him, “he ordered, and went to see what lay ahead.

There was another slope-traveling down, obviously. At its bottom was another relic of times past-a perished waterfall. The cliff from whence it came was around thirty meta-units high. Where once water had collected, there was a dry gulch, quite deep.

His eyes returned to the arch. With its pitted and cracked surface, it was not very strong. Perhaps it would prove useful after all. But no, that would be lunacy…

This entire day has been nothing but lunacy, fool. Gerun went back to the others. “Sappers to me, “he commanded. “Dasa, remain on guard.” His subordinate stood watching the Chopper, weapon out. As he did so, Gerun quietly explained his plan to the other Elites. After a time, they nodded and reached into their packs, pulling out strands of rope, webbing and explosives. The pair headed for the canyon walls.

Dasa was curious. “What do you plan, brother?”

Gerun smiled grimly. “That Brute could defeat any number of our fighters with strength alone. No, to kill this champion, we must use overwhelming force. That is what I plan.” He drew his needler, the long violet quills glistening in the sunlight. “Dasa, you will draw his attention. Bring him ever closer to the summit. The sappers are preparing the final phase of the plan.” Behind him, the commandos scaled the canyon’s walls, heading for the arch. However, that was not all they would do.

“But what of you?” Dasa inquired, worry creeping into his voice.

Gerun leapt atop the Prowler, his stance defiant. “I will be the bait.”

*************************************************

Furius, champion of the Semk clan and the mailed fist of the Alpha Packs, pulled his Chopper to a halt, coming to rest facing the slope. The slippery Sangheili had evaded his brothers and killed them with outlandish tricks, but not him. Not Furius. He’d tear them limb from limb. The Brute salivated at the thought.

Even Furius has to admit, they were exceptionally cunning, even by Sangheili standards. Somehow, they had obliterated the entire muster. No matter. The fates of his brothers concerned him little-just his own personal glory. A single-minded view, perhaps, but one that kept him focused.

Their Prowler had been sufficiently damaged, and they had no heavy weapons-there was no reason to wait and allow them more time. Grinning in anticipation, he gunned the throttle and rocketed up the hill. As he did so, things came into view.

Slightly ahead, there was a lone Sangheili, crouched behind rocks. He opened fire with a plasma rifle. Furius laughed-did the feeble thing think to wound him with such toys?

His laughter died when a plasma grenade followed the barrage. It went off and sent his Chopper tumbling down the slope, though not wrecked. Shudders of static danced through his armour, and his smugness was replaced by frothing rage. The audacity! Furius would make that one bleed slowly for such an insult.

As he righted his vehicle, he saw the Elite running back up the slope. Strange-usually these infidels were fanatic about honour and glory. Furius dismissed it out of hand and went at it again, this time unmolested. Nothing would stop him now.

There was the hilltop, and sitting in full view was the Prowler-with an Elite perched on top. He squinted-this was the same one he had tried to kill at the muster! The worm had evaded him before, but now it was time to finish the deed. He patted the sword on his back.

The other Elite he would deal with later. For now, a target standing in full view was too good an opportunity to pass up. He would not fire-instead he would ram it. It was more violent, and Furius revelled in violence. His vehicle closed the distance.

Gerun, meanwhile, stood impassively, watching Furius come closer. He would have to wait until the last second for this to work. If it did not work…

He stood firm, and roared a Sangheili war-cry. One that his ancestors would have bellowed, in their unification wars. Primal strength flowed through him. He raised his needler and fired. Though it was like attacking a whale with a knife, he kept doing it.

The Brute was not far now. He clicked his COM. “Sappers, are the charges ready?”

“Ready and waiting, Gerun.”

“Excellent.” Eventually he sheathed the firearm and stood ready, hands held out to the sides. He would have to be quick.

The Chopper prepared to ram him, its boosters charging-

Gerun dived off the Prowler. Furius’ momentum was too great, and he plowed through the Prowler like it was butter. A nanosecond before he did, one of the sappers pressed a button, and several things happened.

The camouflaged mines attached to the Prowler went off, blowing the support vehicle into smithereens. Gerun was thrown by the blast, and thudded somewhere down the slope. Dasa wanted to rush to his side, but couldn’t. Not yet. As the bewildered Brute raced down the slope, he roared, “Set off the charges now!”

The last of the explosives-spread all over the cracked arch-detonated. Though the blast itself was mighty, it was as nothing compared to the cascade of rubble and shale that followed. It flooded down the narrow slope like water, sending up a massive dust cloud. Furius was trapped at the bottom of the gulch. When the rumbling had finally stopped, Dasa cautiously investigated.

A tomb’s worth of rock was now sitting where the gulch had been. Even if Furius had survived, he wouldn’t be escaping any time soon. Satisfied, he turned back.

The sappers were supporting Gerun, who was wounded-badly. His features were pale. Dasa saw evidence of internal bleeding, broken limbs and worse. As his leader coughed violently, one of the sappers informed Dasa, “He has a punctured lung. That will need to be treated.”

Dasa nodded. “Begin broadcasting on your COMs. There are dropships nearby-we must signal them. Be about it.” They left Gerun propped up on a rock. Dasa knelt beside his brother and handed the energy sword back to him. “Your plan worked perfectly. The beast is no more. You are to be congratulated.”

Gerun spat blood. “Then why do I feel so terrible?”

It was not long before they were finally found and rescued. A Phantom hovered over them, engaging its gravity lift. Two Elites floated to the ground, dressed in burnished red armour. They regarded the battered foursome with interest. “Well met. I am Majordomo Elbu. Come aboard, warriors-you need rest. We will prepare medical treatment for you, brother.” This last comment was to Gerun, who nodded thanks.

“We have also found other members of the Xonnel Legion, “the Elite continued. “They claim to be under the command of Hirf Kalok’. Is he present?”

They looked at each other and sighed. “No, “Gerun finally said. “He fell. But before doing so, he struck a great blow against the enemy. His memory should be honored.”

“Then so it shall.”

The Phantom climbed into the sky, and flew north, where more troubles awaited.

******************************************

As the surrounding plains grew darker, and the sun slowly sank towards the horizon, a hand burst through the pile of rubble that lay in a gulch. It flexed, and began moving away more rocks.

When the task was finished, a very dirty and vengeful Brute arose from the tomb, its armour dented all over. The blade it was carrying had snapped in two. Its firearm-known by the Jiralhanae as a Mangler-was still functioning. It snorted, and removed its helmet to get some fresh air.

The Sangheili would pay dearly for this. Presuming him dead had been their first mistake. He did not know when he would find them, or where, but he would.

Furius straightened up, and began walking north, where he knew more of his kind were located.

******************************************

One hour earlier

Horatio finished resealing the scope on his sniper rifle and clamped it onto the barrel. He peered through it, and found it was back to normal. A piece of rock had scratched the insides, and he’d needed to make repairs. Perched on a rocky precipice, he gazed downward, looking at a sulphur-filled canyon. He couldn’t see anything, so he returned his attention to the surrounding forest of thin grey trees.

The scattered marines and ODSTs in the area had rallied here, cut off from the majority of the human forces. Though a few fighter craft had passed overhead, they had not noticed them. So here they were, around one hundred and fifty men, with few resources and no support. Someone up there doesn’t like me, that’s for sure.

Scouts had been sent out, to get a sense of the surrounding terrain. They would be back soon. Horatio looked behind him, taking a look at his-for the time being-squad. Dean was there, and the marine they’d rescued, whose name turned out to be Chad. Two others, whom he had yet to meet, waited as well. A sea of olive green and black, gathered in this clearing.

Sudden shouts-the scouts had returned, and all eyes turned in their direction. Squad sergeants called for silence as a swarthy-looking man of about fifty years stepped onto a rock, using it as a podium. “Alright, listen up marines, “he called. Silence fell-this man was clearly important. Horatio strained to listen.

“For those of you who don’t know, I’m Master Sergeant Massad, and I pretty much pass for rank around here. I won’t mince words-here’s how we stand. There are no other marine groups within three miles, so it seems we’re on our own. Our COMs are no good and we have no air support or armour. So, we’ll have to improvise.”

“In fact, we have an opportunity to do some serious damage. I’ve just received intel from our scouts that there is a Covenant dig site not far from here. Our thermal scanners have confirmed the presence of plasma drills. Not only that-they’ve got something worse.” He paused dramatically. “A Scarab.”

A hush of fear went through the huddle of marines, and in the silence a few muttered expletives were heard. They’d seen what the assault platforms, hulking and unstoppable, tear their way through the strongest armour and turn formations to sighing ghosts on the wind. As for the stories, told by those who hadn’t encountered one, they weren’t so far from the reality.

Sensing fear, Massad held up his hands. “Calm down, ladies. They’re not invincible. Now, any of you who have to change your pants, do so.” A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. “Anyway, it’s not quite finished. They’ve yet to install the leg motors, which means it won’t be hunting us down anytime soon. Too busy digging around for God knows what. Only a light garrison, too. Meaning I’ve seen fit to send a strike team.”

The marines looked amongst themselves. Massad continued. “It’ll be around thirty, forty men. I’ll handpick it myself. Rest of us will stay here and await further developments. Alright, line up in squads and let’s do this.” The company scrambled into a loose chain. Massad began walking down it slowly, picking out soldiers. Most of them seemed quite peeved about it.

Eventually, he got to Horatio’s squad. The master sergeant’s dark eyes appraised his squad. “State your name, soldier.”

Horatio saluted. “Private Horatio Zerba, sir!”

Massad nodded. “Zerba. This your squad?”

“For the time being, sir. I was separated. I’m part of Sergeant Kyle’s squad.”

Massad grinned unexpectedly, pleased. “Kyle! The old ***’s still going strong then, eh?”

Horatio was surprised. “You know him?”

Massad waved a hand. “Back on New Constantinople, years ago. Anyway. You a marksman? I’m coming up short and I could use a man watching my back.”

“Affirmative, sir. But I haven’t been one for-”

Massad clapped him on the shoulder. “Great! You’re in!” Before Horatio could protest, the man moved on to question other soldiers. He had no choice but to steam quietly. He’d been there, in New Mombassa, and the constant fighting retreat against the Scarab stood out in his mind. Fatalistically, he concluded that this time wouldn’t be much better.

When the team had been assembled, Horatio saw that Dean had been selected as well. Nodding ruefully, he said, “Well, this trip is a bust. What’d you do to get in?”

Dean scowled. “No particular reason. Just wants a lot of people around to do the dying, I suspect.” He spat in the dirt.

The group gathered around Massad, who carried an MA5K carbine in his brawny hands. “OK, xaskares, “he said, using the Arabic word for soldier. “We’ve got about two klicks to cover. Move out, and be quick about it.” The soldiers-a mix of infantry, marksman, combat engineers and other leathernecks-moved quietly through the grey forest. The trees loomed like silent sentinels. Ash and sand pattered underfoot. Their olive and grey armour let them blend into the terrain with ease. The sounds of the marines they’d left behind faded away.

The journey passed without incident. Spread out in a rough line, the marines got closer and closer to the dig site. After a time, they began to hear a roaring sound, punctuated with repetitive thumping. They must be close. There was a muffled cough, and everyone cocked their guns.

The radio crackled. “All personnel, this is Squad Three, “a calm voice murmured. “Found some Jackal sentries, but they’re taken care of.”

“Some over here, too, “a marine reported. “Neutralised.”

Horatio stumbled over a protruding rock, and fell down. Just as he was about to get up, he saw light reflect off his dog tags. Grateful for the helmet, he looked right-with his eyes. A Grunt sentry was hidden in a small hollow behind a rock slab, curled into a tight ball. Apart from the light glancing off his cone tip, he was doing an extremely good job of lying in wait. If they passed by, he would sound the alarm.

Dean bent down to give him a hand, and Horatio made some quick hand signals. Three o’clock-don’t look directly.

His fellow marine passed a casual look over the hiding spot, and returned, Kill him?

No, Horatio signed back. Just follow my lead. He walked to a spot near the Grunt, and unscrewed his canteen. He closed his eyes and let the water trickle down his throat with a sigh of pleasure. Seeing he was alone, the Grunt’s hands went to its plasma pistol, and it raised the weapon.

Suddenly a hand reached out and dragged it forward. Dean stepped out from behind the tree and held the squirming alien at arm’s length. “Gotcha, ya little runt, “he said. Pressing a knife to the alien’s throat, he pushed it forward into a walk.

Massad had been informed, and he surveyed their prisoner with disgust. A circle of marines watched. “A Grunt, huh? The little *** will crack in five seconds flat, just watch.” He bent down and jabbed it with its pistol. “Right then. You’re gonna answer my questions to the letter. Any attitude, and I’ll put a bullet through your ugly face. Clear?”

The Grunt, terrified, nodded jerkily. Massad grinned with satisfaction. “Good. First, what are you and your friends digging for?”

The Grunt’s speech in English was halting. “Brute masters order it so. They say they need materials for war. They deep underground. Must use drills.”

Massad looked at him suspiciously. “Is that all you’re doing? Speak!”

The Grunt’s eyes became frantic. He was evidently torn between self-preservation and the danger of divulging any information. Massad pulled the slide on his pistol, and e stammered out, “Brutes think relics may be in planet. But they deep also. They keep it secret. Only top warriors and leaders know-”

Horatio snorted, unable to contain himself. “Then how is it a scrub like you knows about it?”

The diminutive alien shrugged. “Words pass through. We Unggoy hear. Not as stupid as they think. But still, secret.”

Massad scratched his bristly black beard. “Do the Brutes have any idea of what could be on the planet?”

The Grunt shook his head. “That we not know. We know the Brute masters have found one, maybe two nodes. But they silent. Nothing comes from them, they find nothing. But they think maybe they have better chance if-”

It promptly shut up. Massad narrowed his eyes ferociously. “If? Don’t give me the silent treatment, you little lakeet. Keep talking, or you’ll know what will happen.” He dug the barrel into the Grunt’s forehead.

“They think better chance if…” The alien quailed, foul-smelling sweat soaking it. “If….”

“If what!?”

“If…they eat you.”

Massad blinked in consternation. It was obviously not what he had been expecting. “If they eat us? What the hell does that mean?”

But his surprise had caused him to loosen his grip, and the Grunt took its chance. Bounding forward, it seized the pistol and pointed it at its head, eyes filled with madness. A shot rang out, and the Grunt dropped like a rock. Massad swore, and kicked it in frustration. “***! Didn’t think he had it in him. Logan, pull him out of the way and cover him up. Wouldn’t do to have him discovered.” He dusted himself off, and the marines kept going.

Dean nudged Horatio. “These Covenant are getting more crazy by the day. Eat us? That’ll be the day.” He laughed scornfully.

Horatio wished he could share Dean’s optimism. He had a foreboding feeling that things had become much more sinister than before.

*******************************************************

“Take a look at that.”

Massad, lying on a rock ledge, jabbed a finger at the Covenant dig site. The rest of the group did the same, except for those still in the trees. The place was situated in a depression, which, judging by the blackened scorches, was not natural. It extended around fifteen metres into the ground. Off to one side, there was a haphazard collection of dwellings-methane pits and the muddy-brown cloth tents of the Brutes. A fence surrounded it. This was only lightly guarded, however. Large smelting pools were tended to by Engineers, their gas-bladders keeping them aloft. Large iron barrels containing molten elements were shipped to squat, brick-like structures, for various purposes. Parked next to these places were portable drills on hover-crafts. Bands of Grunts and Jackals roved here and there, attended by the odd Brute. Two or three Choppers zoomed around, patrolling.

But this was all dwarfed by the Scarab assault platform, its back to the cliff wall. Even from here, it was astonishingly huge, like a purple juggernaught. The main cannon glinted green, like a snake’s eye. Horatio swallowed audibly. They couldn’t go near that thing without being roasted.

It wasn’t quite finished, though. Its front legs had yet to be plated with purple alloy, and were just metal struts. Scaffolding surrounded these. The anti-air turret was just a plasma core with wires sprouting underneath it. A small dot-an Engineer-floated over to it and began attaching something.

Massad exhaled noisily. “Well, see it for yourself boys. They’ve got around seventy, eighty men, and a few vehicles too. And of course, the Scarab. Given our numbers, it’s gonna be a tough nut to crack. But don’t worry your dopey heads about it-I’ve got a plan.”

Massad gesticulated as he spoke. “We’ll divide into two teams-Red and Blue. Red Team will be responsible for keeping those on the ground busy. Blue Team will push through and board the Scarab.”

“What?” a marine asked in disbelief. “I thought we were gonna blow it up or something-”

Massad glared at him. “I’m allowed to change my mind, private. Now get back in line and listen.” As the chagrined marine stepped backwards, Massad continued.

“Now, I can’t imagine that any of you know how to pilot a Scarab. Until we can figure that out, we’ll just use the main gun.” He chuckled viciously. “We’ll light those Covenant suckers up like a bonfire.” A few of the marines cheered.

“I’ll lead Blue Team. Sergeant Caputo, you’ll have command of Red Team.” A stocky woman with cropped red hair nodded slightly. “Any and all marines who’ve had experience with Scarabs will be in my team. Now, split up.” With a sigh of resignation, Horatio pushed himself off a rock and went to stand with Massad. Some others did as well, Dean among them. Soon, two groups of around twenty men stood apart.

Massad nodded with satisfaction. “Good, good. Caputo, take your lot around to the Covenant camp and start there. Let’s go, men.”

“Hoo-rah!” they said as one. While Red Team moved off, using the forest for cover, Blue Team started down the slope, keeping low.

***************************************************

Rocks clattered as Blue Team moved slowly down the slope. Jagged rocks poked out of the hard ground, providing ideal cover. There was no way of telling if the Covenant had placed remote sensors, but Horatio doubted they were as dumb as that.

They had gone maybe thirty metres when Massad called a halt, hand raised with thumb pressed against the palm. Nestled behind rocks, they were now fairly close to what passed for the picket lines. A purple barricade, with Shade turrets to either side. The Covenant had been foiled by the obvious-there was too much ground to cover and they’d had to make do with a minimal solution. Easy pickings.

“OK, marines, steady now, “Massad’s voice whispered over the COM. “We wait for Red Team to initiate the attack, then we move up. Snipers, put everything you have on the turrets. Rocket jockeys, wait until we get closer-those Choppers move fast.”

Horatio breathed deeply, and pressed the butt of his sniper rifle against his shoulder. Peeking out from a space between two rocks, he sighted the Grunt atop one turret and steadied. He waited for the signal.

It was moments like this he hated-from basic training, all the way to here. The attack didn’t seem so bad, in comparison to the wait. The mind wandered-got distracted. Something one couldn’t afford in combat. The anticipation was palpable, a force filling the air. Some marines were equally discomfited. Others grinned, fingers waiting to squeeze triggers. We’ve got all types in a war, don’t we just-

There was an explosion, and Horatio saw bodies flying through the air in the Covenant camp. The staccato crack of rifle fire reached his ears. “Commence attack! I repeat, commence attack!”

Horatio fired, the sound magnified by the canyon walls. Several more shots followed from fellow snipers, and the Grunt fell, riddled with bullets. The other swiveled and fired, but a grenade thrown by Massad blew him to hell. “Forward, marines!” he barked. Together, they charged the barricade, leaping over it.

Horatio’s suspicions were confirmed-once they passed the barricade, an alarm began to sound. Plasma emitters began to flash rapidly. Groups of Covenant began to mass, one headed in their direction. Horatio shouldered the rifle and fired, sending a Jackal spinning. More marines opened fire, and their enemies bit the dirt.

One Brute made it through, and fired a volley of spikes, dropping two marines where they stood. Massad fired a concerted burst, and the Brute flopped down dead. They were about to celebrate this victory when a Chopper roared past, guns firing. One marine didn’t jump out of the way and was mulched. Horatio winced at the sight.

“Orville! Take him out!” Massad yelled. A burly marine pulled the M41 SSR MAV/AW launcher off his back, and settled it on his shoulder. Just as the attack vehicle pulled about for another pass, the warhead streaked past and blew it in half. “Hell yeah!” a marine cried. “Way to shoot!”

From what they could see, Red Team were pressing hard. A tent went up in a crackling sheet of flame, and screaming Grunts ran for their lives. Engineers, scared by the gunfire and mayhem, cowered behind rocks. The few Brutes tried to marshal their subordinates, but concerted sniper fire took them down before they could organise resistance. I don’t like this…it seems way too easy. He was reloading his rifle, when a shadow passed overhead.

His heart sank as once again, his suspicions were confirmed. Two Phantom dropships hovered above the scene, sending the marines scattering with bursts from their plasma cannons. The side doors opened, and Brute troopers bailed out. Massad cursed. “Take cover, damnit! Take cover!”

Blue Team hunkered down behind rocks as best they could, while the newly arrived Brutes formed a phalanx, pouring fire onto them. Despite their best efforts, they were trapped. Horatio swore as a round missed his face by inches and fired again. Once again, things had gone to ***.

***********************************************

Sergeant Caputo had served thirteen years in the Corps, and had handled a variety of missions. Throughout she had developed a no-nonsense attitude that worked well in combat situations. This attack was no different from the others, and she intended to handle it the same way.

The camp was largely occupied by Grunts and Jackals, the Brute overseers at work elsewhere. Most were sleeping, catching whatever rest they could. The Brutes wouldn’t be, though. Caputo found one of her rocket jockeys, and had him target one of the tents. She signaled for the others to move in on her command.

As soon as the rocket detonated, spraying the material with dark blood, Red Team moved in. The ODSTs in her group were the most methodical, tossing grenades into the pits and into the tents before opening fire. The unwitting Grunts had only a few seconds before they went up in the blast. The Brutes blundered out of their tents, and got pummeled by bullets. The marines exchanged high-fives as their enemy wilted before them. “Burn what’s left!” Caputo ordered. “Don’t leave anything for them to salvage.” Leading by example, she reached down, tugged an incendiary grenade off a Brute’s corpse, and tossed it at a tent, setting it to light.

Mayhem reigned in the camp. Security groups of Grunts and Jackals tried to force their way in to provide assistance, but the ODSTs trained extensively for counter intrusion tactics. Six were sent to secure the main gate, and a reaction force of five was standing by in case of emergency. Marines roamed the camp unopposed, searching for survivors. Evidently they hadn’t been suspecting an attack. Shows what those ugly bastards know, hey?

She was about to pull her helmet off when she heard a thrumming noise, and looked up with dread, to see a Phantom closing in. “Dropship! Get down, get your heads down!”

The marines in the camp scrabbled to find cover as the blue-purple craft loomed over them, discharging plasma from its fore cannon. Grunts manned the side turrets, tracking any movement. Another floated further off, dropping Brutes to the ground. Blue Team was in some serious trouble, but they had their own problems. She braced herself, waiting for the rain of alien soldiers to begin.

But nothing came. After one last barrage, the Phantom’s engines flared, and it raced off into the sky. Its counterpart did the same. Caputo was nonplussed. Had the Covenant decided to ignore them? Surely not. Cowardice or no, they never just left them to their own devices. I’ve got a bad feeling about this… She heard a rasp behind her, and turned. Nothing but ash and cloth flapping in the breeze.

She started stripping plasma grenades off a dead Grunt, listening to two marines talk. “Man, these Covenant pussies can’t take a hint. This took, what, five minutes? I’m telling you, things aren’t what they used to be-”

Caputo raised her head. “You mean back when you got shot in the ass, Hanson? Don’t think I don’t remember. Let’s see, 2547, on Miridem…”

The marine turned red, and his friend shoved him, chortling. “Shot in the ass, Hanson? I think you neglected to tell us that. Wait until the guys hear this-”

Without warning, a serrated blade burst through the leatherneck’s chest, twisting cruelly and splitting bone. Hanson shouted in horror and backed away. His mouth gaped, trying to form words to express his agony, but before he could, the blade disappeared and he toppled to the ground, blood spreading out from under him.

From behind him, a Brute clad in reactive camoflage armour stepped forward. It held a barbed blade in one meaty hand. The optical red light glinted dully against its triangular helmet. It barked an evil laugh, and raised the blade again.

Caputo snapped out of her shock, and opened fire on the alien. Grimacing, it backed off, activated its camoflage and hurried off. Hanson gasped, the situation finally sinking in. “***!”

Sudden clarity arrived in Caputo’s mind. The entire Brute squad had been camouflaged when they left the Phantom. That was why they hadn’t been seen. Now, who knew how many of them were infiltrating the camp. Not far off, she heard another shocked scream and scattered gunfire. A guttural roar echoed through the camp.

Swearing, Caputo grabbed Hanson by the arm. “Fall back! Goddamnit, we need to get out of here! Now!”

************************************************

A marine screamed as a spiker bolt drilled into his chest, knocking him backwards. Massad, a dressing on one cheek as a result of a plasma bolt, yelled, “Medic!”

A corpsman hobbled over, and, after applying some basic anaesthetic, began the process of removing the spike. Massad eyed the wounded marine worriedly. “Is he gonna make it?”

The medic shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not if we stay here much longer.” He returned to his task, and Massad went back to the rocks. The rest of the group crouched here, returning fire.

They were in a desperate situation. Despite their best efforts, the Brutes had them well and truly pinned down. Red Team was in their own fight, from what they could see. And sooner or later, the Phantoms would be back with more reinforcements until they would be overwhelmed. Three more marines lay stretched out in a line, their eyes closed. The first to die. Something’s gotta be done, damnit.

Massad tossed another grenade over their barricade, and watched it detonate harmlessly against the Brutes’ shields. Next to him was that soldier from Kyle’s squad, Zerba. He poked the barrel of his rifle over the rocks and fired, sending a Brute spinning. Massad felt a surge of admiration. “Zerba!”

The marine looked up and saluted shakily. “Sir?”

Massad stared him in the face. “We’re *** if we stay here much longer. Got any ideas? I’m fresh out.”

Horatio shook his head. “Can’t say I do, sir.” He fired another shot, which missed and struck a plasma coil near one of the smelting pits. Instantly, an Engineer left its cover and went to fix it. Horatio noticed that its bulbous body was covered in a looping belt of plasma charges. Punishment for a misdeed? There was no way to know. As more Engineers floated over to help, he saw they were similarly garbed. An idea crept into his head.

He turned back to Massad. “Sir? Scratch that, I might have an idea. But we’ll have to do it fast.”

He explained his plan to the sergeant, and Massad raised his eyebrows. “Sounds pretty flukey to me. But hell, we haven’t got anything else to do.” He raised his voice. “Marines! Target that smelting pool!” The entire group, confused, poured fire onto a pool off to their left, damaging the plasma coils and other machinery. Meanwhile, Massad passed orders along to all marksman in the group. Almost immediately, a quartet of Engineers squawked in protest and began leisurely floating over to the damaged pool. Their path would take them directly over the heads of the Brute squad. Massad redirected their gunfire back to the Brutes, and he looked at Horatio, whose rifle was firmly trained on the squid-like aliens. “Zerba…”

“Have to maximise, “he replied. Through the scope, the pinkish light of the Engineer flared brightly. The group were passing unnoticed above the Brutes. Massad watched nervously. “Um, Private. If you don’t mind!”

“Now!” Horatio and several others fired their rifles until they were dry. The shields of the Engineers shimmered brightly with each impact, until they collapsed. Then, one bullet hit the gas-bladder of one. The reaction was instantaneous. An Engineer pitched to earth, and the Brutes realised, too late.

There was a blinding explosion of plasma, and pieces of flesh sprayed everywhere, white-hot. The heat was fierce, so much that they had to crouch behind the rocks as the air turned white. When they poked their heads up, there were only three Brutes left, burned beyond recognition and thrashing in pain. “Take them out, “Massad ordered, not a hint of emotion in his voice. They obeyed with relish.

The group, now whittled down to nine, ran across the ground, all pretence of stealth forgotten. At hearing screams and roars, Horatio turned in the direction of the Covenant camp. Smoke was rising from it and he could see Brutes moving past the tents. Christ, it looks like a slaughter over there. “Sir, Red Team’s in trouble.”

Massad stopped, and looked. A crease appeared above his eyebrows. “They have their orders. Divert their attention, until we can secure the Scarab.”

“But-”

“Caputo knew the risks!” Massad snapped. “Now get moving, marine.” He turned his back and kept moving. Horatio, after casting a last look of frustration and helplessness, did the same.

***************************************************

Caputo huddled between a jumble of rocks, shrinking back whenever she saw Brutes go past. Plasma burns covered her right leg, and she felt blood drip from a knife wound on her shoulder. She could not stop shivering.

They were all gone, all dead. Taken in by the trap set by the Brutes, her team had been ruthlessly slaughtered. She’d tried to rally her men, but they had been scattered, lulled into a false sense of security. Hanson, the poor ***-he’d been burnt alive, by one of those incendiary grenades. The Stalkers, the internal police force of the Covenant and deadly assassins, had been methodical. She, by some fluke, had escaped. But for how much longer?

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She had lost comrades, she had endured terrible defeats, but not a cold massacre delivered with such surgical precision. It was unnatural, and to think about it was to invite despair.

What of Blue Team? Why weren’t they here to help? Surely they must have seen…

The Brutes began howling in triumph, and she closed her eyes. Her mind felt like it was about to shatter.

*************************************************

Blue Team gathered beneath the left foreleg of the Scarab. It was hard to keep from looking up at the colossal construct, blotting out the sky. To say they were crouched in its shadow would be an absurd understatement.

Built around the leg were a series of purple scaffolding, connected by a series of minature gravity lifts. The platforms were around ten metres wide, allowing for reasonable movement. There was no sign of any Covenant, save for a few Engineers that floated around the Scarab’s underbelly.

Massad gazed up at the leg, about thirty metres long. “Big, isn’t it? Alright, this is the only way up to the Scarab. Expect resistance marines, and don’t slip-it’s a long way to fall.” He laughed, the only one to do so. “I’ll go first. Right, soldiers, go go go!”

One by one, they stepped into the gravity left. Horatio was towards the back, and he looked upwards again. There looked to be a tangled blot floating in the sky, dark against the sun. Frowning, he took a closer look, but it was gone. Probably just a cloud. He stepped into the lift, and felt the cold rush propel him upwards.

The entire team gathered on the first platform, rifles snapped upward, expecting an attack. No figures could be seen on the Scarab’s balcony. Apart from a faint humming from its generator, it was quiet. “I don’t like this, man, “a marine muttered. “They wouldn’t just let us come up.”

“Cut the chatter, “Massad ordered tersely. “Keep going.” Once again, they proceeded into the next grav lift, emerging on the second platform without incident. They were now quite far above the ground.

Suddenly a bark was heard, and a Brute, a jump-pack strapped to its back, floated down towards them, firing. A concerted bunch of fire sent him spiralling. Massad exhaled. “There, ya babies. Nothing to worry about now-”

An earsplitting screech interrupted him, and they all looked upwards again, to see a swarm of Drones, about thrity in all, bearing down on them.

“Fire! Take ‘em down!” The team opened up, and a few of the insectile warriors were killed. But the vast majority made it through and slammed into the marines.

Horatio shouted in disgust, enveloped by a flurry of wings, feelers and carapace. Laying left and right, he managed to clear a space. Other marines were holding them off, but just barely. One marine was overwhelmed, and two Drones lifted him bodily into the air, cruel pincers tearing into his flesh. They flew up some distance, and then dropped him, screaming, downward. Horatio winced at the splat and renewed his assault.

Massad was like an enraged bear, killing Drones in a frenzy. One clung to his chest, hissing maniacally. “Piss off!” the sergeant bellowed, and, seizing its fragile body, tore it in half. Yellow gore sprayed everywhere. He killed two more with a burst from his MA5K.

Horatio punched one in the face and turned, to see Dean struggling with a particularly large specimen. Horatio brought his sniper around and shot in through the head, but it tumbled forward, knocking Dean over the edge. “Help!” he shouted, clinging by one hand to the platform.

“I’m coming!” Horatio bulled through the press of Drones, and caught Dean’s hand just as it slipped. Horatio steadied, as his teammate dangled below. He forced a smile. “This day just keeps getting better and better, hey?”

Dean nodded ruefully, then shouted in alarm. “Look out!” A Drone was creeping up behind Horatio, intending to push him over the edge. Horatio strained to pull Dean up, but to no avail. “Goddamnit!”

Dean ducked one hand to his belt, and pulled out his pistol. Just as the Drone arrived, he put a bullet in its skull. “Watch yourself, man.”

The number of insects had dwindled, but there were still plenty left. Every marine sported a series of nasty cuts and gashes. One, clad in red armour, continued to evade Massad, shooting barbs at him. One zipped past his cheek and sliced it open. Massad’s temper broke. “*** you, you insect fucker!” Grabbing it in one hand, he lit a plasma grenade, stuffed it inside its snarling mouth and shoved it towards the remainder of the swarm.

There was a flash of light, and the Drones were consumed by the explosion. The purple platform was covered with their blood and guts. The last dying screech rang faintly, like a bell. Breathing heavily, Massad rubbed his face, and eyed his team. “Marines! Sound off. We lose anyone?”

“One, sir, “a marine reported. “But everyone else-”

“Hey! If you don’t help us up, you’ll have to cross two more names off your list.”

They all turned, to see Horatio nearly dangling off the edge. Massad hid a smile. “Help those boys up, so we can finish this mission.”

When Horatio and Dean were rescued, Massad faced the final gravity lift. “Right, you bastards. Let’s get moving.” He stepped inside, Blue Team behind him.

At long last, they stood atop the foredeck of the Scarab. The smelting pools looked like buttons. Massad cast his eyes about, noting the plasma turrets lining the railings. “OK, team. Pair off. I need the power core, the lower deck, the foredeck and the aft deck secured. Hurley, Vedrich, stay here. Everyone else, go.”

Horatio, Dean in tow, headed for the lower deck. They walked cautiously down the ramp, flashlights on. “I’ll go left, “Horatio murmured. Dean nodded assent. As they reached the bottom, they went their separate ways. The blackness of the lower deck closed in on them.

The walls were a smooth black, but ahead there was a faint blue glow. Here and there, crates of materials and weapons were stacked. His breathing sounding amplified by the closeted space, he progressed to the end of the deck. Emblazoned on the wall, was a strange design, pulsing a cool blue. Horatio put his hand to it. Nothing happened. Perhaps it was simply ornamental.

His radio crackled. “Blue Team, aft deck secured. No hostiles.”

“Ditto for power core. It’s operational, but it’s missing some parts. The squids probably know how to fix it.”

“Excellent, “came Massad’s voice. “Whose on the lower decks? All clear?”

Horatio looked about. It was dim, but there was nothing here. “Affirmative, Blue Team. It’s cle-”

A black form rushed out of the darkness and bowled him over. He heard it running for the ramp. Disorientated, he sat up and shook his head, clearing the stars from his vision. Dean came racing around the other side, rifle cocked. “What happened?” he demanded.

Horatio stood up. “No idea. Something came out of nowhere and just-”

His head snapped around. “Oh crap. Blue Team, watch yourselves! There’s still one hostile left and heading up to the upper deck! Most likely a Brute. I repeat, watch yourselves!”

Massad, on the foredeck with three other marines, caught the transmission just before a crazed Brute, covered in red and white paint, came charging up the ramp, holding a long stave of ironwood, sharpened at both ends. They dived out of the way, but Massad was too slow. It crash-tackled him, and they fought.

The stave slammed into the plating beside his head, and Massad grabbed it, and smacked the Brute in the side of the head, stunning it. Using his feet, he booted the alien backwards, coming onto his knees at the same time. He went for his pistol, but the Brute came up and wrenched it from his hands, pulling him forward.. The marines tried to get a clear shot, but couldn’t.

The Brute lunged with its mouth and bit savagely into Massad’s shoulder. Roaring in pain, the sergeant grabbed his knife and drove it into the beast’s chest. This did little to deter it, but several more stabs with the blade caused it to release its grip. Massad backed off, clutching his bloodied shoulder. “Shoot it!”

The marines opened up, marring the alien’s flesh with bullet holes. But it was clearly amped up on some sort of drug-it barely registered the impacts and charged forward again, into Massad. This time, they tumbled over the edge, and dangled before the Scarab’s main gun. The group ran over to help.

Massad was above the Brute, but it clung persistently to his foot, almost dislocating it from the rest of his body. Lashing out with his other foot, he looked down and swallowed. They were at least fifty metres above the ground. The light from the cannon was blinding, and he swayed. “A little help, please, “he called.

Horatio and Dean thumped onto the deck, assessing the situation. Spying the Brute’s stave, Horatio grabbed it and pushed past the other marines. “Grab onto this!”

Without looking, Massad grappled for the wood and found it. “Pull me up!”

Together, the remnants of Blue Team heaved, and managed to drag their sergeant onto the deck. Wheezing, Massad stood up shakily and peered over the edge. The Brute wailed mournfully, knowing it was doomed. He turned to Horatio. “Private. Your rifle, please.”

Horatio acceded, and Massad sighted the Brute through the scope. “Enjoy your flight, ***.” And fired.

The bullet struck the alien’s hands, dislodging its grip. From there, it plummeted earthward. Peal upon peal of manic screaming echoed, until it ended abruptly, far below.

Massad sniffed. “We won’t be seeing him again. Here you go, Private.” He handed back the sniper rifle. “Now then. Where are the controls for this thing?”

“Near the power core, sir.” They moved off in a group, until they found a series of holographic switches, buttons and levers, on the curved wall opposite the power core. The sergeant frowned. “Damned if I can read this stuff. Anyone seen this *** before?”

“I have, sir.” An olive-skinned marine with a pencil mustache moved forward, and tapped a few buttons. A piercing whistle erupted from the console. Nothing happened. Massad was about to say something, when six Engineers floated up to them, chirping softly.

The marine scratched his head. “I guess with these buttons, we can tell them what to do, sarge.”

Massad nodded appreciatively. “Very good. Now, tap in what I say…”

After about ten minutes the single-minded aliens had completed their work. Massad clapped his hands and grinned. “Perfect. Those Covenant sons-of-*** are in for a big surprise.”

Horatio eyed the targeting data. “Sir, you’ve targeted the encampment. What about Red Team?”

Massad sighed sorrowfully, and passed a hand over his eyes. “They’re gone, Private. Take a look for yourself. We’ve got no choice.”

Horatio squinted at the encampment, saw the Brutes moving through it, and the corpses of marines. It made him angry. “We can’t just destroy it all because-”

“That’s enough, Private!” Massad snapped. “If anyone’s left alive, then this will be a favour to them, rather than what the Brutes will do to them. You know it and I know it.” He turned away. Horatio clenched his fists.

Damnit. This isn’t right.

**************************************************

Soon, the next flight of troops arrived at the dig site. Forty more shock troppers, clad in red and black armour streamed to the ground. Forming ranks, they fanned out and began searching the area. A group of ten was sent to secure the Scarab. They marched over to the left foreleg and prepared to climb up via the scaffolding.

Suddenly it’s eye-which until now had been dim-flared to life. A mechanical roaring was heard, and the right leg pitched forward. The Brutes ran for their lives, but were crushed underneath the massive leg. Every other Brute in the valley turned and stared. There was silence.

Then a pulsing, glowing ball of plasma began to gather inside the cannon’s barrel. Guessing what was about to happen, the Brutes attempted to run. But, like their fellows earlier on, they had no chance. The ball morphed into a stream, a lancing beam of energy which annihilated anything it touched. Deep gashes were created in the landscape from the high-output laser. Brutes were vaporized without a sound. The Phantoms suffered the same fate. The encampment was struck several times, sending up plumes of noxious smoke.

Blue Team cheered in triumph as the Covenant forces were utterly destroyed. Massad surveyed it all with satisfaction. “I guess they never counted on running onto the biggest bunch of badasses in the Corps, huh? Now for the big test. Let’s see if this thing can move. Everybody hold on.” They grabbed onto the railing as Massad headed to the controls. The Engineers all crowded in front of the console, listening as Massad transferred his orders.

With a full cadre of Engineers working hard, they’d managed to get the leg motors online. Whether they would work was a different matter.

The back right leg slowly raised itself from the ground, and lowered itself again. Massad did the same with the other legs. It was fully operational. He closed his eyes slowly. “OK, squids. Take this thing forward. One step. That’s all. Easy does it.” Please don’t *** this up.

Tentacles made contact with the holograms, and the entire Scarab lurched forward. The metal juddered beneath his feet. Vibrations ran through the metal. “Stop!”

They came to a halt. Massad laughed shakily, patted one of the Engineers on the back and made his way back to the group. “It’s all good to go! Before we go, dismount. We’ll take one last look around. See if there’s anything we can salvage. Drayson, stay here and guard the squids.”

A few marines had ropes, and by stringing them together, formed a long rappel line. They abseiled down and stood amongst the ruins of the Covenant camp. The ground, still steaming, crunched underfoot. Little mounds of ashes stood where Brutes had stood. A few rocks and boulders had survived the beam, but little else remained to tell the tale. A few marines scavenged weapons and power cells from the rubble.

Horatio stood still, gazing sadly at the site. “They might have made it, “he muttered to Dean. “If we hadn’t left them.”

Dean sighed. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know-”

“Sergeant! We’ve found something!”

Two marines emerged from a jumble of rocks, supporting someone between them. Everyone stared, speechless. It was unbelievable. Massad’s rifle slipped from his hands. “Caputo?”

It was indeed Caputo, but she barely resembled the fit, earthy woman from before. She had survived the Scarab beam, but had suffered horrific injuries. Her ears had melted, fusing to the side of her head, forming hideous lumps of flesh. The skin on her face was hanging, turned a mottled black. Her right leg had burnt off below the knee. The fingers of her left hand had melted together. Worst of all, however, were her eyes-two wide, staring orbs of white containing a horror so naked you couldn’t look. At seeing Massad, her face twisted to form a snarl of hatred. “You!” she shrieked, trying to break free. The marines held her back, but her fury gave her strength and she raced to Massad, trying to beat at his chest. She was restrained again, sobbing and spitting.

“You left us to die!” she screamed. “They all died, and you-you-” She clawed at the dirt, trying to expend her rage. A medic injected her with something, and her struggles stilled.

Massad had watched all this with silent shock. Now a look of sadness came over his face. “Bring her with us, “he ordered quietly. “Treat her as best you can.” He turned and walked back to the Scarab without a word. The marines looked after him, their expressions unreadable.

Horatio gazed upon the ruined form of Caputo. A stolid, good marine, who’d been utterly destroyed. Just how many more would suffer the same fate?

He sighed, and rubbed his face. I don’t know.

Quiet lengthy, but I hope it was worth the wait. :)

Note to all my readers: I've decided that this site isn't a good place for my fic due to space constraints so I'm moving it to FF.net. Same username and fic title.