[C-Deck] The Escape

[The Commander]

It had been inevitable. No matter how well they had covered up their tracks, the humans were bound to have found their ship. No matter how deeply his brethren despised them, nor how harshly they looked down upon them, the Commander had to give them credit. The humans were by no means an unworthy enemy. Their actions today had shown him that.

Which made it a pity that they could not stay longer. Long had it been since he had been pitted up against an adversary worthy enough to do battle with his men. These humans had proven their strength in battle with his warriors. They had not given up when the going got tough, and did not flee when the odds were stacked against their favor. They did not cower in fear when faced with a superior foe, but faced them with honor.

Today, despite whatever was to happen in the proceeding time from now, those humans had earned his respect. While he knew it was unlikely he would ever encounter them again, especially if his superiors were honest in their intentions once his brothers had left this wretched ship behind, he hoped that he may do battle against them again. If only to see, under different circumstances, who would emerge the Victor.

"Commander," one of his subordinates called, breaking him out of his reverie.

The Commander turned his head as he placed his hands behind his back, straightening himself as to stand at his full height. "Yes?" he inquired sharply.

"The final lances are preparing to board their vessels for disembarkation," the Sangheili said.

The Commander nodded. "Good. See to it that no one is left behind. I have just received word that the Shipmaster intends to scuttle this ship, and the humans with it. We must make haste in our retreat." Those last words left a sour taste in his mouth.

It was not in the nature of a Sangheili to cower from an enemy and retreat. Such acts were generally seen as heresy, and punishable by death. However, it had not been his decision, and he had no say in the matter. Those above him in the hierarchy had ordered the retreat of his men, and as a good leader and follower, it was his duty to obey. His personal feelings were of no consequence to his superiors.

Strangely enough, it had not been the Shipmaster whom had ordered the retreat. The orders had come from the top - from the mouth of a Holy One - and to disobey would be the ultimate heresy. One could not simply ignore the wishes of a Minor Prophet. Lest that individual sought the most painful of deaths, and their kin the eternal embarrassment of having a cowardly disobedient in their bloodline.

The sudden whir of a Spirit drop-ship's engines coming to life snapped him back to reality. He turned and watched as groups of Unggoy, Sangheili, and even a few Kig'yar boarded their assigned troop ships. The evacuation seemed to be going smoothly.

That is until the door to the hangar unexpectedly opened.

"Humans! the Spirit's pilot barked over the BattleNet.

A grin creased the Commander's features. "Fourth and Fifth Lances, cover our retreat. Pilots! Target the humans and open fire with your turrets! They cannot be allowed to impede our progress!"

[Bukar, O.]

In the preceding two weeks that had led up to the event that he and Brutus had been so sourly waiting for, he and what had originally been his team had taken to learning the intricasies of the Templar. In their reconnaissance, they had accidentally stumbled upon the assembling area of the Covenant troops that had infested the ship and all but eviscerated its crew. Hangar C-12, at the aft end of the starboard side of the ship, was their nest.

So, naturally, Bukar had offered to take point. Lieutenant Durant had agreed, and now he and Brutus were leading the battered platoon of Marines to the Covenant's hiding place. The belly of the beast, if one felt like being overly dramatic. Inside the hangar was a handful of Spirit drop-ships, which if used against them, would turn any offensive action into a terrible bloodbath.

In the back of his mind, he hoped that it wouldn't come to that. So long as the Marines kept the pressure on the enemy, they might have a chance of taking them out before they could get the drop-ships in the air to turn their turrets on them.

Bukar gripped his MA2 tightly as he rounded a corner, and stepped through a door that placed him on a catwalk. Down below were a series of cargo freight lines that moved cargo and vehicles from the hangars to the lower storage bays. The catwalk cut across the chasm, leading to the starboard end of the ship.

The forward area seemed to be clear, so the Gunny moved forward. Behind him, Brutus kept his eyes open and scanned from left to right, ensuring that no hostiles were somehow hidden in the shadows. Fortunately, they reached the other side without incident, and the door into the next corridor opened wide to admit them. Omar glanced back at Brutus and signaled him with his hands. The ODST nodded in understanding and closed the gap between them, coming to his side.

Bukar extended three fingers into the air and counted down, curling each finger back into a fist. Then he took hold of his rifle and stepped through the door before darting to the left. Brutus broke right and halted. Together they swept both directions for hostiles.

The corridor was dark, and nothing stirred. The Gunny activated his VISR's low light amplification, the room suddenly highlighted with green and blue outlines. According to his HUD, there weren't any contacts present. Bukar lowered the rifle in his hands and activated his external speakers. "Clear left!" he proclaimed.

"Clear right!" Staff Sergeant Brutus rang.

The Marines funneled out into the corridor, fanning out and assuming defensive positions as they waited for orders. Bukar waved at them to follow him, and then he set forth towards the rear hangar bay. He approached the door cautiously, expecting Covenant to suddenly explode out of it and attempt to lay waste to the humans. Fortunately, that didn't happen, and Bukar assumed a position beside the door. He was ready to breach.

Upon Lieutenant Durant's orders, he slapped the panel beside the door and stormed through the door as it opened.

Immediately his eyes were met with a sight to see. Most of the hangar was ransacked, with a handful of bodies lying in pools of long dried, coagulated blood. In the center of the hangar were three Spirit drop-ships, the typical U-shaped transports utilized by the Covenant. Their side hatches werre open, and it seemed that the Covenant were boarding them.

An Elite was the first to notice the intrusion, and it roared something unintelligible before raising a plasma rifle. Bukar snapped his rifle onto the target and let loose with a sustained burst that caused the Elite to dive into cover.

"Contact front!" he exclaimed, and dashed for cover behind an opened crate. Just as he slid into cover, the room erupted with plasma fire as a dozen Covenant troops broke off from their groups and moved to engage the new threat.

[Faust, M.]

Michelle Faust had been moving along with the platoon, she was still enraged by the death of one of the member of her fireteam. The loss of a good friend struck her deeply but she tried to suppress it. There would be time for grieving later, assuming they all survived the mission. Right now she needed to avenge the fallen by killing as many of these damned aliens as possible. She assumed a defensive position and waited for the ODST to open the door. Faust took the time to double check the ammunition in her assault rifle, it would have been terrible to be going into battle with a half full magazine. Lieutenant Durant's order to open the door led to a hanger, Michelle began to follow the ODST in when he declared "Contact front". 

Michelle swung herself round the corner of the door, but she was not fast enough. An Elite alerted by the sound of gunfire, unleashed a burst from a plasma rifle, the round burned into her stomach the force of impact knocking her off her feet. Michelle landed on her back staring up at the ceiling. The pain was beyond description, Michelle tried to not scream out from the liquid agony that lanced up her spine yet she couldn't. She screamed loudly, voicing her pain. She lay just outside of easy reach of those still coming through the doorway, even if they did rush through and reach her, they would still have to drag Michelle to cover... Which though nearby would leave them exposed to enemy fire as they did so. Plasma rounds scorched the metal decking where she squirmed, crying and screaming.

"Papa! Papa!" She begged, calling her father by her childhood name for him as if he would appear and take the agony and suffering away. The Elite perhaps encouraged by her cries moved out of cover to try and angle a better shot, seeking to put the marine down for good or keep her comrades from reaching. 

"Ah! Help" She cried hoping that someone would try to reach her. It must have been terribly disheartening and crushing for the platoon's moral to see Michelle in such a state. "Help me! Papa!" The wound site on her stomach was blackened, the uniform scorched and smouldering slowly, damn and sticky with dark red blood. 

The Elite fired a few more shots her way but fortunately they missed, yet they may have discouraged members of the platoon or the ODSTs' from trying to reach her. Michelle had the terrible fortune to get injured just outside of the reach of her fellow soldiers. It must have been frustrating to say the least for them to be in such a predicament. She continued to scream, wail and moan from the wound. Michelle did not want to die, no she wanted to live... However the pain was so intense she could do little more than squirm pathetically in the open, almost like a worm on a hook.  "LT! Help!" She begged in desperation.

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace tried to shut the screaming out, but as hard as she tried she could not. As tight as she squeezed her eyes and regardless of placing her hands against the helmet, she could still hear the terrible wailing. Faust, a soldier she had always thought to be a bit of bad ass lay screaming, crying for her father in the open. She was paralysed by fear, Grace wanted to reach her comrade, her fellow marine but even if she was not already injured... With the Elite firing at the platoon, anyone who moved through the doorway to try and reach her would be picked off by the Elite. Yet... Doing nothing was terrible, horrible, sickening. Utterly Demoralising. Grace could not do anything but listen to the terrible screaming.

She wanted to survive the mission as did all the marines but someone would have to take the risk and run the gauntlet of fire if anyone was to reach Faust. Grace would have volunteered herself for it yet with her injury she wasn't going to be moving fast anywhere. Besides the LT needed to keep her close and alive, her radio pack happened to be vital for communications and information. Wilkas happened to be a far to valuable an asset to be risked on such a mission. But the screaming... Grace wished for someone to help her and stop her wailing. The sickening cries of a human in agony continued, forcing their way into her mind.

If Grace managed to live through her trial by fire then she would no doubt remember the screaming for all eternity. It would haunt her life for all eternity, even if Faust lived, her screams would haunt her dreams and stalk her nightmares until the day she passed on from the world. Nothing in basic training ever prepared her for the true horror, the true nightmare that was war. Books could never hope to show the full scope of the horror that she now faced. Fate had placed her in such a situation, even if Grace curled up in a small ball trying to block out the screaming was probably not the being that fate had hoped for.

A fragment of her courage forced her out of her ball. She removed her hands from her helmet and opened her eyes, looking at Durant in the desperate hope for orders, for a motivational word even a cutting comment for her actions. The screaming still went on, Faust calling for her father, begging for her.
How could anyone ignore her cries? But how could anyone reach her? Someone would have to do something, someone would have to reach her, to rescue the team mate and drag her and bring her back to the safety of cover.

[Davis, E.]

The screams ripping out of the hanger, with the stray plasma rounds were all the more motivation Davis needed to react. The ODSTs were already in the hanger, along with another fire team and he wasn't about to let a fellow Team Leader stay down with no help. His team was stacked on door anyway, and he wasn't going to falter with this much on the line. He started pulling smoke and chaff grenades to get them some cover.

"Corpsman," he bellowed. "You're with me. It's hero time."

Dropping the three grenades into the hanger, making sure they got past Faust to provide some cover, or at least some confusion. Using his HUD, he highlighted two pieces of cover just inside the door for Furby and Avery to make their homes. Both men broke at the command and slid home safe. When cover fire started ripping through the smoke and chaff, Davis grabbed the corpsman by the back of his body armor and forced him ahead to the center of the room where Faust was still laying and writhing in pain. He could only hope that the LT would funnel in the rest of the men behind them to keep the momentum. Working with the corpsman, knowing the kind of pain they must be causing, they shifted Faust behind cover, plasma coming through the cloud of smoke at random. 

Having finally reached cover, Davis pulled off his helmet, complete with optics that fed into the HUD, and slid it forward through the smoke and chaff cloud. He motioned to Furby, hoping the Private would put the added tracking sensors to work through the cloud. Avery would help too, but he knew that Furby was their crack shot, and couldn't help but smile at the idea of Grunts missing parts of their faces. Breaking out of his revelry, Davis low crawled through the smoke and found some cover on the other side. He set up to provide cover fire, hoping the rest of the platoon was coming behind him.

Unfortunately, being one of the few the Covenant could see, Davis was now drawing enemy fire. Plasma rounds burned by him, and he could feel his cover shuddering as rounds hit square. He didn't even have to provide fire back now, doing all he could to stay small and behind cover. He did manage to pull a grenade out from underneath him, mashing down the primer and throwing it blind, but that was all. A piece of his shipping crate, near the top, gave way to the plasma, spraying him with splinters. Davis laughed the laugh of the forsaken, taking a moment to reload and decide how to meet his end. He had a little time for that anyway.

[Furby, J.]

It seemed that good 'ol Murphy wasn't yet willing to cut Second Platoon a break. Almost immediately after the pair of ODSTs breached through the door and entered the hangar did all hell break loose. As if that wasn't enough, Corporal Faust had been hit leading her fire team through the door after the ODSTs. Her screams and pleas for help echoed in his ears, causing him to grit his teeth as he tried to focus. They had a wounded Marine out there screaming her lungs off, and unfortunately she was out of the way, meaning getting her and dragging her to cover would be extremely perilous. Perhaps even a suicidal endeavor.

However, that didn't seem to face his fire team leader. Furby watched as Corporal Davis readied smoke and chaff grenades and called the corpsman up in preparation for a risky move to rescue Faust. A second later he tossed the grenades in and they cooked off.

Suddenly, a waypoint appeared on Jayson's HUD. It caught him by surprise, and took him a moment to comprehend the reason behind the waypoint. Once it clicked in his head, he grinned and tightened his grip on his Battle Rifle. As soon as Davis issued the order, Furby bolted for the door and passed through it. Stray, indirect plasma fire zipped mere inches by his face before colliding with the wall behind him and fizzing out. He ignored it as best he could, moving as fast as his feet could carry him towards the marked piece of defilade.

Furby collapsed to the deck and readied his weapon, leaning out from behind the cargo crate that he had been ordered to take cover behind, and sighted in through his rifle's ACOG optic. He placed the scope's crosshairs over top a Grunt's head and squeezed the trigger, fire erupting from the muzzle as the weapon jerked against his armored shoulder. Three high powered rounds cut through the Grunt's skull like butter, blood and brain matter exploding out the back of its head.

Before he could relish the kill, a plasma round exploded against the floor a few feet away, clearly intended to hit him. It was then he noticed that the smoke and chaff had dissipated, and he also noted that he no longer heard Faust screaming. Whether that meant Davis and Doc had reached her, or something far more grim had happened, he didn't know. But at the moment, he didn't have time to check or debate over it. Jayson turned his sights to the right, to which he spotted a Jackal hiding behind its personal shield, aiming right for him.

Aiming for the notch in its shield, the only spot that exposed the alien to enemy fire, he squeezed off a pair of bursts that struck home, dropping his target to its knees. The Jackal, whom was now fully exposed with its shield to the side, received a third and final burst to the head, ending its life.

"Get some, motherfucker!"

[Durant, M.]

This was it.

The end game. Durant could feel it in his gut. The Covenant, who until now had maintained the upper hand over the Marines, were now on the run. The Marines - his Marines - were about to put an end to all of this once and for all. Of course, he knew that he and his men could not take all the credit. Had it not been for the Helljumpers who'd shown up in the nick of time, many more of his Marines would be dead and they would have no idea where the Covenant had ran off to.

No. This would be as much their victory as it would be Second Platoon's. For them, there was far more at stake here. They had spent the last couple weeks fighting for their very lives, watching as their friends and comrades were cut down next to them by the relentless onslaught of the Covenant boarders. Now, they had a chance for pay back.

So when the ODSTs and his Marines stacked up at the door to Hangar C-12, Durant didn't hesitate in giving the order. "Breach!" he bellowed loudly, steeling himself for whatever was to lie ahead of them. The Helljumpers disappeared through the door, and almost immediately Durant heard the voice of Bukar shouting, "Contact front!"

The Lieutenant watched as First Squad's Second Fire Team booked it through the door, Corporal Faust at the helm of her element. However, no sooner had they disappeared through the threshold of the door, did the sound of Faust's screaming reach his ears. "Faust's hit!" someone from Stone's squad yelled, driving the point home.

Before Durant could react or dish out an order, Corporal Davis and his team sprang to action. They rushed into the hangar, followed by the platoon's corpsman, and added their gunfire to the mix. Michael followed behind them, and was able to witness Doc and Davis pulling Faust into cover before Davis broke off to head for his own defilade to engage the enemy from.

Plasma landed between his feet, bringing the Lieutenant back to earth. He immediately dashed for cover and stood up to return fire, snapping his rifle onto a target. The Elite that had initiated the firefight was standing out of cover, firing wildly towards Gunnery Sergeant Bukar's position. Durant sighted in and let loose, the Elite's shields flaring as they took a beating from his bullets. Before the Elite could duck away into cover, its shield gave way to the barrage and Durant watched as his bullets tore into the bulky alien's body, sending blood and chunks of flesh flying through the air before its legs gave way and it made one final cry of agony before succumbing to its wounds.

"Marines, spread out and engage! First Squad, flank right! Second, center, base of fire, Third --" before he could finish his sentence, his eyes fell upon one of the Covenant drop-ships occupying the hangar. Its side hatches closed and sealed as the craft slowly levitated into the air. Underneath the cockpit, on its undercarriage, its large and powerful three-pronged plasma turret rotated to point directly at him and his Marines.

Michael's eyes widened. "Turret! Disperse! Now!" he ordered, turning and running towards cover farther away.

The drop-ship's turret opened fire, the first volley landing in the spot Durant had occupied mere seconds ago, instantly flash vaporizing the storage crate he had been hiding behind and sending whatever bits and pieces that were left flying through the air. Several tiny fragments of molten metal embedded into his neck, causing him to wince in pain as they cut and burned his flesh. He ignored his pain as best he could and slid into cover behind a steel support pillar.

"Omen Two to Platoon, spread out and keep up the fire! Do not let that turret get a zero on you! Over."

[Stone, T.]

The sound of Faust's screams for help coupled with the noise of combat brought memories to mind that Thomas would have preferred to have kept locked away in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. Memories of Operation: PAYBACK, better known by most as the Harvest Campaign. Humanity's first taste of combat with the Covenant, which lasted five years.

Five long, bloody years. Harvest had been the longest, most protracted fight against the Covenant to date. Thousands of good men and women had lost their lives at the hands of the alien bastards. Some of them close friends and acquaintances of Stone's. All of them fellow brothers and sisters in arms.

Thomas shook his head and pushed those thoughts, those terrible memories, to the wayside. Right now he had a job to do, and his men needed him to be focused and alert. Their lives depended on it, after all. So, he gripped his rifle and tightened his jaw, steeling himself for the battle ahead.

Davis and his fire team disappeared through the door, followed by the Lieutenant. Stone didn't waste any time ushering Third Fire Team into the hangar, making sure he was right on the heel of their rear guard. Plasma crashed into the wall beside the door, mere inches from his chest. Thomas scowled and broke for cover, all the while searching for the split-jaw that had been ballsy enough to take a shot at him.

Standing behind the usual cannon fodder was an obsidian armored Elite, barking orders in its native language. Stone wasn't sure if it had been the one who'd shot at him, but he didn't care. It was an alien.

It had to die.

The Sergeant steadied the rifle and placed his HUD's cross hairs on the Elite's chest, and jerked back on the trigger. Fire erupted from the muzzle, and it jerked in his hands as it spat a flurry of seven-six-two bullets at high velocity towards the giant alien. The bullets bounced and pinged off the Elite's shields, which shone bright gold each time a round struck.

Angered by the attempt at its life, the Elite fired back and made a beeline for cover, ordering its subordinates forward (likely in hopes of distracting Stone and drawing his fire). The grizzled veteran was not about to fall for that trick, however. He ducked behind cover and rolled over to the opposite side, laying flat on his belly. He waited. Like a lion stalking its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike; the moment it made a fatal mistake, leaving itself open to attack.

He didn't have to wait long.

The Elite, which had taken cover behind a crate, emerged from the other side and slowly began to approach Stone's position. It was trying to flank him, but little did it know that he had seen the move coming from a mile away. Thomas waited a few more seconds, letting the Elite draw closer to him, before he opened fire. The Elite stopped dead in its tracks, a look of shock upon its face as the first bullet panged against its shield. By the time it had returned to its senses and thought to fire back, it was already too late.

In a buzz of static, the shield failed and dissipated. The last ten rounds in Stone's magazine punched through the Elite's chest like a hot knife through butter, and the alien collapsed with a heavy thud.

Thomas did not revel in his handiwork, however. The voice of Lieutenant Durant buzzed in his ear, warning the platoon to spread and stay on the move lest they wanted to be target practice for a Spirit's turret. Stone keyed his push-to-talk, and replied, "Omen Two-One copies! Break. Squad, ya heard th' El-Tee! Flank right, fire and maneuver! First Fire Team, yer up first! Second 'n Third Teams'll cover yer advance! Over."

[Faust, M.]

Faust was in far too much pain to notice the grenades that flew over her. Even when they started to release smoke she did not comprehend the idea that it may have been the first stage in a rescue plan for her. A task that would have been plain suicidal if it weren't for the cover provided by those grenades. Through out all of this Faust still screamed, though they where dying down now as she exhausted herself from the constant stream of yells, cries, wails and pleas. Her agonised cries tripled when the rescue party arrived and moved her behind cover. She still yelled out for her father in-between her screams, her scream subsided as she exhausted herself and the Doc having placed a morphine syringe into her right arm. 

"Stay with me Faust" The Doc spoke to her as he sprayed biofoam into the wound site, a disgusting mass of blood, brunt flesh, tattered remains of fatigues and fragments of melted body armour. The Medic who had seen many wounds almost felt like gagging but he forced such feelings aside. He had to remain calm. If it hadn't been for the morphine in her system it would have been at that point that she would have passed out from the agony. The Doc was concerned, her vital signs where not good, that and Faust had been a good friend of his. It always hurt more seeing a fellow comrade injured, especially when they happened to be one of your buddies. "Your going to be fine"

Faust lapsed into unconsciousness, a small mercy one might dare to say. The sudden lack of her screaming might be a cause for concern for the rest of the platoon but they would deal have to deal with the Covenant first before they learned the truth. She was still alive, just not able to talk much in this state. At least it might reduce the number of aliens trying to kill her since Faust had made enough noise to tell everyone she happened to be horribly wounded.
But would she survive the wound long enough to receive medical care back on their own ship? The thought dominated the Doc's mind as he worked trying to make her as stable as possible. 

The Doc did not want to risk moving her until the time came for an evacuation back to the other ship. Faust though tough happened to be only human, there would be a limit to what she could take. He wondered how much time they had until even Faust lost the battle to her injury. He opened a direct link to Durant, aiming to inform him of Faust's current situation. "LT she's table but we need a... Shit!" He broke off as a plasma round struck the wall nearby him. "Recommend a Medevac" 

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas focused her attention on Durant, when he moved she immediately forced herself to follow him. Her instincts screamed at her to follow him, to shadow him closely so that she would be ready whenever he required the radio or was required to be on the radio. She moved as fast as she was able to despite of her injuries. Armed with just a magnum, Grace however happened to be cautious about closing with the enemy. The magnum was a good side arm, of that there could be no denying of it yet it would not be able to beat the fully automatic fire power of an assault rifle at close range. She dashed to cover near Durant and fired three shots with her pistol at a Grunt. The first two shots where wild and missed the target, the third perhaps guided by fate, destiny and the generous help of the Gods, struck the alien in the head, blowing it's brain out of the back of it's skull along with fragments of shattered bone. 

Grace heard Durant's order "Turret! Disperse! Now!" Momentarily she was paralyised by fear a strange parody of a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Yet unlike the rabbit who had no training, her training kicked in, moving her muscles and diving her into a new cover before the dropship fired destroying the cover that she and the LT had sheltered behind. Grace felt the heat of the alien round, fresh hot pains in her back and legs from fragments of their cover and the soft pings as splinters bounced off of her armour. She gritted her teeth from the pains but resolutely refused to cry out. She landed on her chest and got slowly to her feet. 

A sudden realisation hit her as strong as a punch in the stomach. She had dived away from Durant, separating him from the radio. The radio! Her radio pack would have taken the bulk of the damage as she dived to cover as her back would have been towards the blast. Panicking from fear of having damaged her most vital piece of equipment she struggled frantically out of it, the chaos of the battle seemingly forgotten about or at least put out of her mind. Finally she succeeded in removing the pack, bringing it in front of her she turned it over to see the damage. If any. The sight made her blood freeze, several largish fragments of metal where lodged into the radio. Hurriedly she removed the offending items and checked the radio. It was dead.

"Shit" She said as she fiddled with the casing, seeking a way to fix the radio. "Come on! Come on you bastard work!" Wilkas yelled at the thing, as she used her combat knife's blade like a screw driver. Eventually she made it in the casing and fiddled around with the wiring and anything else that looked like it could move or be damaged. The results where less than impressive. To put it bluntly, the radio was busted, dead as a duck at the moment. A dead weight that she was intent on fixing. 

[Davis, E.]

The fire that was slowly chipping away at Davis's cover suddenly shifted away, letting him know that the rest of the platoon, in various stages, had made it in. Seeing his helmet laying on the floor only a few feet away, he knew that was his first order of business. He could here different garbled pieces of comms, but had no way to respond or direct his squad without the comlink in his helmet. Taking a two count to make sure that fire was directed elsewhere, he broke cover, his rifle locked into his hip, spitting lead toward covenant positions without any real control or aim. It was simply to look the part and buy some time on his made dash to the next piece of cover. He drug his foot to kick the helmet ahead of him to cover, but it stuck to his toe. His next step slid sideways, the helmet giving him no traction. His massive frame fell hard, and he tucked his rifle back in, getting his shoulder to contact the floor first. A flail of arms, legs, and foot still in his helmet rolled him behind his targeted piece of cover. Shaking himself off, he jammed his helmet back on his head, blinking a few times to give his eyes a minute to adjust to the HUD.

"Good copy," he shot back to Stone, mentally highlighting waypoints and ideas for cover for Furby and Avery over the HUD. He quickly assigned them a movement order, bringing Avery first, then Furby. He popped up to take a survey of the battlefield quickly, trying to get a visual picture of what was there. Plenty of red dots were running around the mini-map of his HUD, but he had to see. Popping over cover, his barrel first, the active turret of the dropship immediately turned red on his display. A mental command changed his sight settings over to the grenade launcher and he elevated the barrel, pulling the trigger as the grenade sight flashed green. He didn't wait to see the flight path, ducking back down to cover, but the echoing boom through the hanger was satisfying enough.

"Objective is to get in place to be the anvil," he called to Furby and Avery over the fire team channel of the comms. "Light cover fire, move quickly. We've got plenty of lead behind us. Double jumps and we move together. We'll tighten back up to overwatch as we close in on the far side. And if you see those Helljumpers, help em if they need it. Avery, go, I'm behind you."

Davis popped back over the top of his cover, putting down lead in three round bursts. The rifle bucked in his hands with each burst, guided back to a new target before the trigger was squeezed again once more. He could hear Furby's rifle in his ear, seeing Avery's progress in the top corner of his HUD. The chaos of battle was full on now, and Davis did his best to keep his eyes on everything to bring back what was left of his team.

"FURBY, BREAK!" he barked, guiding down on a new target. He put the rounds into the shield of a Jackal to grab its attention. The alien did exactly as he expected, pulling the shield up and turning towards Davis. A cruel grin spread across Davis's lips as rounds from a different angle cut down the Jackal. No time to relish the small victory though, Davis moved onto the next target. Furby's marking on the HUD stopped moving and Davis pulled back down behind his cover and glanced over. Avery was moving again while Furby put down more cover fire.

Davis executed a smooth reload, jamming the old magazine into a pouch before breaking from cover and moving to keep up with his team. A few stray plasma shots came his way, but they weren't on an island yet, and their luck was holding on being detected. Davis executed a slide into the cover behind Furby. Popping up next to him, he put up another round of fire to give the man a chance to move to his next position. Davis couldn't keep the grin from his face, and his sense tingled with the adrenaline. This was what he lived for now, and the sound of chaos and the buck of his rifle were all the more he wanted.

[Bukar, O.]

While the Marines were hard at work to take out the Covenant troops that were standing in their way, Bukar and Brutus had more pressing concerns in mind to handle. While the two squads were definitely a threat, they were no where near as large of a threat as those turrets mounted to the undercarriage of the Covenant's three drop-ships. Those turrets had the power to take out an entire fire team in one volley, and that was something that neither he nor Brutus could allow to happen.

So with the enemy's attention thoroughly diverted to what they perceived to be their immediate threat, it was relatively easy for the pair of ODSTs to break contact and maneuver virtually unseen by the Covenant. He and Brutus had crept along the far edge of the hangar, essentially managing to encircle the enemy, and were now on approach to the three glaring targets that needed to be dealt with.

Bukar hugged his rifle close to his body and kept low, moving in short sprints from one piece of cover to the next while Brutus maintained overwatch, before he too advanced while the Gunny covered him. The fact that the enemy hadn't noticed them and seemed to have forgotten about them was a testament to their skills as special forces operators. They knew how to move about unnoticed.

However, eventually their cover would be blown, and they would have to return to the fighting. The Gunny knew this, as did Brutus. There was absolutely no way they were pulling this off without attracting the enemy's attention. So, very soon, they'd be putting their close quarters combat skills to good use.

Perhaps sooner than they thought. As Bukar ducked down behind the next piece of cover, he heard the distinct sound of a Grunt sniffing the air nearby. The noise sounded akin to a dog, and the comparison was not all that inaccurate. Most people attributed Grunts to dogs or mommies in nature, and it was high time this one was put down in similar fashion to a rabid animal.

Omar signaled to Brutus to stay put, and lowered his weapon while reaching for his combat knife at the same time. From the sounds of things, the Grunt was just on the other side of the crate he had taken shelter behind, and it was about to have a very bad day. Cautiously, the Gunny crept around the left side of the crate, nearly hugging the metal surface as he moved.

He paused at the corner and peaked around it. To his relief, the alien had its back turned to him, clutching a plasma pistol in its shaky grasp. He had a feeling it knew something was up, as it looked around frantically. It didn't look behind it, however, and that's all he needed to know.

Steadily, he took two large steps towards it, and readied the knife. When he was right on top of it, he pounced like the predator he was. Bukar drove the knife into the alien's throat, and pulled back on it with all his might, ripping through its thick, scaly flesh. The stubby guy welled in pain and terror as its life drained out onto the floor and all over itself. The Gunny paused for just a moment, watching the creature suffer in sick pleasure, before driving the bloodied blade of his knife down onto the top of its skull.

Its legs instantly went limp and its eyes became glossy, the small body crumpling to the floor. A sick grin upon his face, Omar knelt down and turned the dead alien over to inspect its equipment. Wrapped around its chest was a bandolier of plasma grenades, with only a few actually missing from it. He didn't want to think about who those grenades had been used on, so he unceremoniously tore one off and rolled the Grunt back over onto its stomach. He opened a private channel with Brutus over the radio.

"Cover me," he demanded, and then gripped the grenade in his hand tightly.

Bukar sheathed his knife and stood up to his full height, turning his body to face the direction of the alien drop-ships. He brought his arm back, the one with the grenade, and thumbed the primer on the small ball and aimed his throw on the Spirit in the air. He took one step forward before he flung the grenade through the air with an overhead throw. He watched it soar through the air before it stuck to the side of the plasma turret and started to shimmer brightly. "Grenade! Fire in the hole!" he yelled and dived back into cover on the other side of the crate.

A moment later, there was a thundering explosion followed by what felt like a earthquake as deckplates shook underneath his boots. When the Gunnery Sergeant stood up to admire his handiwork, he spotted the remains of the Spirit, which had crashed into the frame of the hangar doors and was engulfed in bright blue flames.

"One down, two to go."

[The Commander]

It seemed that the Commander had underestimated the humans greatly. He had thought them no match for his troops and the combined fire support of three Spirit drop-ships. He had thought for sure that they would have fallen under the sheer fire power that was being dished out.

He had been wrong. Terribly so.

When the drop-ship in front of him crashed and ignited into a ball of flames, he clenched his mandibled jaw tightly to suppress a roar of untamed anger. He had known several of the troopers aboard that transport, and it had been his orders that had sealed their fates to a most horrid end. The image of them burning alive flashed through his mind, making it far more difficult for him to contain his rage. His hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his energy sword, fastened to his side and ready to be used to cut down his enemies.

Despite his desire to jump into the fray and cut down the interlopers in a fiery bout of revenge, he resisted the urge with a growl. The mission he had been tasked with completing was far more important that his desire for petty revenge. The information he held would be invaluable to to the Covenant. The coordinates to a human refuge.

A planet ripe for the taking. One in which he could enact his revenge upon a hundred times over to spite these humans that had so desperately wished to impede upon his efforts. They would know the sting of defeat at his hand when their world was nothing but a burning, glassy cinder. That would be his revenge.

The Commander took a step back from the edge and glanced at his second-in-command. "Order the pilots to seal the hatches and vacate this wretched ship. We must present our findings to his Excellency at once."

A look of surprise washed over his subordinate's face, and he started to open his mouth to voice his protest.

"I am not interested in what you have to say. I know our brothers are still in the fight," the Commander said. "But the information we now possess is far more important than even their lives. If we are dead, the message we have for his Excellency dies with us. Do as I commanded."

His second-in-command nodded hesitantly. "Yes, Commander. As you command."

With that, the he disappeared into the drop-ship's cockpit. The Commander turned his head back to the scene transpiring before him and decided to say his farewells to his men on the ground. He opened up a secure channel on the BattleNet. "Brothers, we must leave this wretched place and report our findings. What I am asking of you is not easy, but you are warriors of the Covenant. I trust you will honor yourselves and your Covenant by fighting to the very end. I promise you, your deaths will be avenged."

The response was quick and succinct. "Understood, Commander. For the Covenant."

With that, the connection died. The Commander watched as the hatch shut and sealed, and he felt the shift in gravity as the vessel began to disembark from the hangar. He closed his eyes for a moment and murmured a silent prayer to whatever deity that would listen to him. A prayer for his men. In all reality, they were the fortunate ones. Their Great Journey would start today.

"Mark my words, brothers... the humans have not seen the last of us."

[Mason, I.]

Mason and his squad kept pushing as hard as possible, despite the heavy losses sustained in the previous hangar. It appeared as though there was nothing left to be done at this point - the remaining dropships were disembarking.

“They’re getting away!” Corporal Rio shouted above the gunfight.

Private Dunn let out and hate-filled scream at the sight of their departure. He had lost the only two men on his fire team - one of whom sacrificed his own life to save Dunn. He had clear intent to kill every last Covenant he set eyes on. It looked like that wasn't going to happen.

Dunn suddenly sprang forward ahead of everyone into a full sprint. Rio reached out to grab him but missed, “shit!”

“Private!” Mason shouted as he began engaging the enemies closest to Dunn’s path, “get the f--- down!” Dunn ignored Omen 2-2 and kept sprinting. He attracted nearly half of the remaining enemy fire as he advanced towards their side. Dunn’s actions were beyond absurd. He wasn't even running at the remaining Covenant inside the hangar, but instead he was shooting for the departing dropships.

“Cover that dumbass!” Rio yelled at his fire team.

A Sangheili dropped to the ground with three holes in his skull; Mason was proving to be deadly accurate this day. Dunn leapt over the fallen enemy and was nearing the edge of the hangar. Mid sprint he checked to make sure his EVA equipment was vacuum sealed. He was now well past the enemy line and was a complete distraction to the enemy. They knew what he was going for and the vast majority began firing at him and chasing him - allowing the Marines to speed up their advance.

“Push forward!” Mason called out and begin moving at a quickened pace as he sprayed another Sangheili in the face. In all of his life, he had never seen anyone attempt something as bizarre as this. He had seen plenty of Marines attempt this on ground forces - with only a couple of successful attempts.

It was too late to stop Private Dunn, all anyone could do was take out the enemies trying to impede the sprinting private. A few more Covenant fell to the ground as Dunn whipped past - other Marines started providing what was probably reluctant assistance.

Private Dunn was upon the last few strides of the hangar floor - he reached down and grabbed a grenade. At the very edge of the hangar he put all the force he could muster into leaping into the dark abyss of space. His eyes widened as he saw that he was closing the gap between him and one of the dropships. Adrenaline was now going full throttle through his veins. He had no care for his life. His entire existence now revolved around decimating his target. He was still somewhat sane, but he just didn't give a damn about anything else.

He pulled out the pin to the grenade and released the handle, but held onto the grenade. With a thrust he held out the grenade in front of him - stretching his arm towards his enemy as far as he could. No one could see his face, but he had the widest grin he had ever displayed. He let out a long laugh of someone having pure enjoyment, “Don’t leave without your farewell presen..” The explosion cut him off mid-sentence.

“Holy shit!” Rio exclaimed "Did he make it?"

[Durant, M.]

There were things that one expected to see when facing the Covenant in combat. Death and grotesque injuries were unsurprisingly at the top of that list. In the comparatively short time that Michael had been a part of Oscar Company, he had seen plenty of good Marines die or end up gruesomely wounded in battle. It was something he coped with by telling himself that they were headed for a better place.

He rationalized all the death and bloodshed by believing in the tales of Norse mythology. He would tell himself that these men and women whom had laid down their lives had died a warrior's death. And according to the mythology, every honorable warrior that met their end in the heat of battle would transcend their flesh and enter the glorious afterlife that was Valhalla. There, their martial prowess would be tested in battle against other honorable warriors and against the Gods themselves.

However, in his time with the unit, and as Second Platoon's commanding officer, he had never seen anything like what Private Dunn - one of Mason's Marines - was attempting now. When the private charged forward, ignoring the orders of his superiors, it had caught Durant off guard. For once, he wasn't quite sure what to do or what to say. There was no bit of training that could prepare him adequately for the situation he was watching unfold right now. It was almost surreal.

Durant's mind caught back up with him a moment later, and he realized what Dunn was trying to do. While most of his platoon were probably in disbelief or chastising the Marine for his actions, Michael actually found himself proud of the young Marine. He was avenging the deaths of his fellow Marines and committing himself to die the death of a true warrior. He was going t send a message to the Covenant. A very clear one.

You don't run from humanity.

The Covenant troops still on the ground seemed to catch on to the private's intentions, and understandably were hard pressed to try and stop him from succeeding. However, Durant knew he could not allow that to happen. "Suppressing fire," he bellowed over the chaos. "Push up! This is it!"

And push forward the Marines did. With Sergeant Stone's squad having effectively flanked the enemy, their rounds tore into the Covenant's exposed flank while Second and Third Squad rushed forward and overwhelmed the troops holding position and attempting to stop Dunn. The Lieutenant engaged a pair of Grunts, cutting them down with a controlled burst from his rifle, and spattering the deck with their blood.

When Durant returned his attention to Dunn, he had already leapt from the edge of the hangar into the dark void of space, a grenade clutched tightly in his hands. In the blink of an eye there was a brilliant flash as the grenade detonated, Dunn disappearing in its fiery envelopment. When the fire dissipated thanks to the lack of oxygen, the results of the private's handiwork became apparent.

One of the U-shaped drop-ships had taken a direct hit from the blast, a dark scorch surrounding the point of impact. It appeared Dunn had been drifting over the ship's cockpit when the grenade went off, as bits of the forward section tumbled through the vacuum, leaving the innards of the cockpit exposed. The craft's power died, likely leaving its occupants who weren't caught in the blast to suffocate due to the lack of life support.

The other drop-ship, however, continued on its course, seemingly headed out for deep space. Michael's brow furrowed. Where could they possibly be going? He knew enough about Covenant technology to know that the small craft did not sport its own slipspace drive. So, where could they go?

The answer caused the Lieutenant's heart to skip a beat, his blood running cold. All color drained from his complexion as his eyes feasted upon the answer.

In the dark void, a ripple of static appeared. That sudden bout of static electricity was followed by the visage of a Covenant ship materializing into view. Its oblong shape and sleek, silver hull became visible at the Corvette's stealth drive deactivated. It loomed there, several thousand meters from the Templar, like a shark rearing to pounce upon its prey.

Michael stood, frozen by shock and awe, as his eyes remained transfixed upon the Covenant Stealth Corvette. He'd never seen a Covenant ship so close before, and in the back of his mind he knew that it wasn't something he should be proud of. The inherent danger the vessel posed became readily apparent. Across its hull, sparks of bright energy came to life. At first they were balls of dull crimson, but soon they morphed to large orbs of white-hot energy.

The Corvette was preparing to fire its plasma batteries upon the Templar.

Instantly, the Lieutenant snapped back to reality. "Marines," he screamed at the top of his lungs, "Fall back to Hangar C-1 now!"

Without checking to make sure his Marines heard him, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

They needed to abandon the Templar. Fast.