Operation "Grand Slam" (Anti-insurrection operation)

[Stringer, K.]

1300 Hours, May 1st, 2542 (Military Calender) \
Marathon-Class Cruiser UNSC Hammer Of Prosperity
In Orbit, Planet Bretharon, Alpha-Century System


Stringer just loaded up the last magazine for his BR55HB-SR battle rifle, having it and a M7 sub-machinegun for a secondary weapon. His entire platoon is loading up for a big operation, one that he did not see coming. The Office of Naval Intelligence just got word that a bit group of insurrectionist were held up on a farming world, dug in what appeared to be a processing plant for the local town's food supply. The plant was meant to process grain, wheat, and other forms of food to be turned into more common food items. Now, the innies held the plant, and were taking the food for themselves, shipping it off to other words and asteroids where the insurrection had bases or outpost.

That didn't settle well with Stringer, nor the rest of the 128th Infantry Battalion. Stringer was one of many marines who was itching to get rid of this threat, and to get back to the real war at had. The one with the Covenant, the alien sons-of-bitches who was causing so much mayhem and destruction, and was the one and only reason that Stringer was now alone in this big place called a universe. His father, killed by the aliens, causing his mother to become so stressed and distraught that she took her own life, and for him to be the last Stringer alive.

With his grand-father and grand-mother gone, passed on to the next life and into the kingdom above, and his parents gone, he was now the last "Stringer" in his family's blood-line. The rest of his family, having taken on other last names through marriage or other circumstances, leaving him truly alone. He lost touch with his family, all of them moving away or just not keeping touch after his grand-parents gone. They were the sole reason his family stayed together, coming to his grand-parents house every holiday, having usually a big dinner or something, especially at thanksgiving and christmas.

Now, here he is, a long away from family dinners and stuff turkey, having instead nothing but bullets and metal for what to have a good time with. That, and a bit of rage that was pent up from the moment he found out his mother took her own life, not even a month after they lose his father.

Stringer was slapping a magazine from the counter that he picked up the battle rifle mags from into his BR55HB-SR. He didn't want to load a round into the chamber just yet, not until they hit the ground. Which is where things got a bit complicated. The operation was not set to start for another three hours, but here he is, having to go in early. He, Paul Jecoi, Ramirez Selanto, and Rachel Woodcrest, all going in three hours early. Shadow Squad, as they were called, was to go in, ahead of the main force, and find out what the enemy had ready for any form of assault. They UNSC was prepared to send it alot of hardware, including tanks and air support, but they knew it was a risk to lose it to other humans, when it could be put to use against the Covenant.

To Stringer, this was pointless, since the Covenant could take out their heavy armor quicker than the innies could, since they used plasma-based weaponry. None the less, the UNSC was wanting to know what they were looking at, and how to combat it. So here they were. 128th Infantry Battalion, Third Platoon, Second squad, First Fireteam. Heading in ahead of the main force to find out what they can, as fast as they can, and be ready to support the main assault.

"Hey, any idea what we're heading into? I mean, we looking at open fields, or what?" Stringer looked back, having heard just now the voice of Paul, who spoke with a bit of a french accent. Rachel was the only other one of Shadow Squad that spoke with an american accent. Ramirez spoke with a Brazilian one, but he was american born as a child, so he did have a bit of american accent to it.

"Because, they want to know what type of shit to throw where, and how hard. Stand B.S. to start an op, you know how it goes Paul. Kevin, Ramirez, you two good to go?" Stringer puts on his combat helmet just as Woodcrest finishes her sentence, tapping his helmet twice.

"About as ready as ever, I guess. Would be nice if we got some fire support to throw in first before the main assault. Maybe an orbital strike or something?"


"Well, maybe they'll grant it IF we find heavy resistance, but you know how it goes, marine." Ramirez just slammed back the charging handle to his SRS-99 S2-AM sniper rifle. Stringer was the spotter for this operation, backing up Ramirez, as Rachel and Paul being the security team, and Stringer would be if need be. He chose the heavy barrel version of the BR55 so he can go full-auto when need be. He already practiced it several times, and he can manage firing it at full-auto, both with and without the scope. He learned that a slight tilt to the left, and he can use the rail as a make-shift iron site at a close enough range. So, he was prepared to use it for such close fights, but that was also what the M7 was for.

"Ey' Stringer, try not to miss any targets while we spot em', alright?" Stringer grins as he looks over at Ramirez, knowing where he was going with this.

"Yeah, and you try not to miss them when you SHOOT at em', alright Brazilian?" Stringer saw Ramirez grin as well, and tap his combat helmet one time, Stringer returning it with two taps to his own. A second later, Paul steps up, tapping his combat helmet three times, then Rachel stepping up and tapping her's four times, before they all stand there in a circle almost, facing each other.

"To the ones who have fallen, and to the next in line. Oo-rah!" All four of them say this at the same time, then hold up their primary weapons in the air for a second, then they all turn and begin to jog out of the armory and towards the hanger, where a pelican is already on stand-by to drop them off at their infiltration point.

[Stringer, K.]

1415 hours, May 1st, 2542 (Military Calender) \
2.5 Klicks Out From Insurrection Controlled Food Processing Plant
Planet Bretharon, Alpha-Century System

Stringer laid there, next to Ramirez, as he looked around the processing plant with a spotting scope, his BR55HB-SR on his back, as Rachel and Paul were at their flanks, all four covered with ghillie netting. They already spotted, from what they could tell, two anti-air batteries. Positions in the refinery that were housing rocket launchers, and a few old-style machine-gun nest, that when aimed right, might give some trouble, along with a M41 machine-gun on the roof, modified to be held on a mount that allowed one to aim almost straight up into the air and turn 360 degrees. It was truly an ugly sight, but a genius design none the less.

Along with that, they managed to spot a warthog, civilian version painted over with jungle camo design. It wasn't something Stringer considered a threat, till he saw it roll by just a few meters away from them on the way in to their hide spot. They were laying on a hilltop over-looking the plant. It had perimeter around half a kilometer wide, with spotters, snipers, and machine-guns covering nearly every single angle. They managed to spot five snipers on just the side they could see. The plant consist of a large refinery building, four storage towers to hold grain or any other sort of small material for food, as well as three smaller office buildings, each three stories tall. It almost reminded Stringer of an old factory he saw in a history lesson on the battle of stalingrad. Thankfully, and sadly, there are no destroyed building around the plant that hide the enemy, but that also means having to run straight in to the enemy. They blasted the perimeter clean of trees and grass, nothing but dirt and charred grass.

They were just watching now, waiting to hear back from a Colonel who was in charge of the operation. Rachel called in what they saw just fifteen minutes ago, and now they were to wait, see what else they can get intel wise, then thirty minutes from the when the operation is to begin, guide in targeted strikes on the heaviest positions and pave the way for the rest of their battalion. Turns out the UNSC wants to throw alot more than Stringer and Shadow Squad thought they were into this op.

"Hey Rachel, when they gonna bump you up to Staff Sergeant? Been, what, six months since that big op on, oh what was that planet called..."

"Deringo. It was called Deringo, or something like that. Why, you hating the fact that I'm still your sergeant?" Stringer grins, as he sets down the spotting scope for a second, Ramirez still looking around through his sniper rifle's scope.

"Nah. Beautiful brunette like you, being over a guy like me. I can go for that any day of the week, just less clothing. So long as the bullets aren't flying, and you ain't pissed off enough to have that body of your's being rougher than need be." Stringer looks back, seeing Rachel look his way as they both laughed a bit.

"Stringer, you been flirting with me, for how long now? Eight months? When you going to give it up? I am not sleeping with you"

"Hey now, never say never. Besides, I'm patient, and persistent. How do you think I got with half the women I've slept with?"

"Luck maybe? Hell if I know." Stringer laughs once more, then goes back to looking through his scope, just catching the warthog rolling back in to the perimeter, then towards the larger refinery building. Stringer nudges Ramirez, trying to get his attention for a moment.

"Ramirez, check it. Looks like the warthog is heading back into the main building. Think that's the only bit of armor they got?"

"I don't know man, but we can never be too sure. Did command say they want this place taken in one piece?"

"I think so. I would guess, since food is important to not just the war effort, but to everyone. But, then again, a little damage never did stop the UNSC."

"Good point. Let's call it in." Stringer looks from Ramirez, to Rachel, who listened in to the whole conversation, nodding and not having to say a word, as she picked up the radio handle to the pack they carried in.

"Broadpipe, broadpide, this is Shadow 2-1, radio check, over."

"Shadow 2-1, this is broadpipe. Coming in loud and clear. Send your traffic, over."

"Roger that broadpipe, traffic is as follows. Shadow team has spotted an enemy victor moving into the main building, designated target bravo. Requesting permission to have fast-movers hit target bravo with a baker's dozen, over."

"Shadow 2-1, this is broadpipe. Wait one, over." Stringer huffed a bit, watching the innies moving around on the roofs, and the catwalks, of the plant, along with a few foot patrols moving around the outside, each patrol moving in pairs. To think, they wanted them to spot targets, but when it comes to making sure they take out the heavy targets, they have to wait for permission to have some bombers drop some heavy ordinance on it, all because they don't want to repair a roof or a wall, out of fear of not being able to use the facility. If it was up to Stringer, he'd say bomb the place to nothing, and just build near-by or over it.

"Shadow 2-1, this is broadpipe. Permission granted. When the angels fly, bring down the fury on what targets you see fit, over and out." Stringer blinks twice, looking back at Rachel, hearing what he can't believe coming through the radio and their headsets. Command just gave them permission to not only target the building, but whatever else they see fit to either turn into scrap, or to send to god for a personal meeting.

"Well alright. Did we just get permission to really drop the hammer on these fucking assholes?" Stringer looks over at Ramirez, who has already taken his eye off of the scope, looking at Rachel now, and Stringer looks at Rachel again. She looks at the two of them and at Paul, then nods.

"I guess this is going to be one of those days boys! We get to designate some poor bastards for some serious CAS in an hour thirty. And we get the best seats in the house." Stringer laughs a bit, then looks back through the scope, seeing an innie turn, towards one of the plants storage towers, then sling his rifle over his shoulder so its held there by the sling. Then, a few seconds later, the man reaches between his legs, and Stringer sees liquid stringing down onto the ground.

"Yeah yeah, buddy. Take that leak, so you don't piss your pants when we drop the fury down on you and your friends' heads."

[Stringer, K.]

1550 Hours, May 1st, 2542 (Military Calender) \
2.5 Klicks Out From Insurrection Controlled Food Processing Plant
Planet Bretharon, Alpha-Century System
10 Minutes till Operation "Grand Slam" Commences

Stringer lays there, watching the innies on their patrols, not keeping a serious patrol pattern, but a slight pattern none the less. The roof-top sentries stayed on the roofs, not moving more than thirty yards away from a central spot, looking down the sides of the buildings and out towards the perimeter. The ground patrols move around the entire complex or around one particular building, but they all stop at some point and just watch towards the perimeter, take a smoke, or even take a piss. Stringer even saw one innie reading a magazine at the entrance to one of the office buildings, a MA5 series assault rifle held over his left shoulder by a sling.

Rachel and Paul were still holding security for their hide, while Ramirez and Stringer slowly calculate each target, the rough distance from them to each target, and how they would co-ordinate the air-strikes. Shadow Squad would have sole directive on how the first strikes happen, to make sure the enemy is crippled before the main strike force gets there. They would have to then keep an over-watch on the assault, watching for any high-value targets like snipers or anti-tank squads. These threats would take priority and be the reason Ramirez gets to shoot today. Stringer would spot each target, letting Ramirez know where the next target is, and making sure no one sees them firing. Once they neutralize enough targets, or if their position becomes compromised, they would move to an extraction point and head back for the Hammer Of Prosperity to debrief and get some chow. High command expects the strike to last no more than thirty to forty five minutes. Stringer knew though, all operational plans don't survive first contact with the enemy.

For now though, he was to continue what he has been doing for another eight minutes, and be ready to have Rachel call in the strikes on the pre-acquired targets, plus what they found out with their recon. They already decided. Twelve bombs on the large refinery building, two on each of the anti-air positions, and a few on the sniper positions to ruin their advantage points. They already let command know so the bombers don't have to wait for word, but instead can come in and have the targets known, strike, then be ready to drop more bombs or give strafing runs for the ground force. They also heard that a group of ODSTs were going to drop in on the other side of the refinery as the main force attacks, essentially surrounding the enemy, and getting some boots into the buildings to clear them out. On top of that, Rachel told Stringer that command has even outfitted two Pelicans to provide close-air support with rockets and machine-gun fire, but Rachel recommended command hold them back for a few minutes till after the first air-strikes and the ground forces move in.

Stringer looked at the heads-up display on his right eyepiece, looking at the time. It reads "1556" for the time, as he shifts a bit, getting uncomfortable. He then looks over at Ramirez, who is still keeping his attention through the scope and at the enemy. Stringer sighs, setting down the spotting scope for a moment, his stomach growling at him a bit.

"Man, I can't wait for this shit to be over. I'm getting hungry, and I don't care what the food is at this point. I just want something other than a M.R.E."


"Yeah, tell me about it. Not to mention my legs are falling asleep. I mean, I know I can last long enough to be out in the field for three days, but it still isn't pleasent." Stringer looks at Ramirez, nodding once as he then looks back at Rachel and Paul, both of them looking just as eager to get back to the ship. He then looks back towards the refinery, then at his HUD, seeing the time listing as "1558" as he looks up.

"To think, two minutes from now, and this quiet landscape is going to be echoing with the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and yelling. Not to mention jet engines and god only knows what else." Stringer hears Rachel laugh a bit, causing him to blink and then look over at her, seeing her grinning a bit.

"Yeah, should be pretty exciting, seeing how its been so damn quiet for almost two and a half hours." Stringer shakes his head a bit, grinning as well now. He couldn't help but laugh a bit at how Rachel was getting excited about combat. He never really knew what did make the sergeant happy, other than anything that was not boring.

For now though, it wasn't the time to think about that. Right as Stringer was about to check the time, he heard the roaring of jet engines slowly getting louder, looking through the scope suddenly as he sees the innies hearing the same thing, seeing them scramble on the rooftop, towards the positions that they had placed rocket launchers, and one heading towards the make-shift anti-air gun, as Stringer reached over and tapped Ramirez's left shoulder lightly, the man getting the hint.

"Ramirez, party time. M41 position. One target. Pop that son of a bitch, before he gets a round off." Stringer didn't look at Ramirez, keeping his eyes on the innie using his spotting scope, as he hears the crack of the SRS99 S2-AM, a few moments later the innie dropping onto the roof after having his torso almost torn in half by the 14.5mm anti-material round. The armor-piercing, fin-stabilized, depleted sabot rounds being meant to take out light armor, make short work of the flesh and blood of the man who was just about to start unleashing lead onto the UNSC longsword bombers. Stringer starts scanning the sniper positions, seeing one man slowly scanning towards their hide.

"Sniper two, scanning towards us. Take him." Stringer hears Ramirez's comfirmation, a second later the sniper having his upper body slam into the metal of the storage toward he was on, the wall painted with red and material spray. About that time, Stringer hears several explosions, seeing the spot where the M41 was, turned into a fireball and destruction, plus the roof of the refinery being dropped down as explosions tear the concrete material of the roof apart in an instant. Then another longsword comes in and starts to drop one of the storage towers by dropping several bombs at the base, causing the tower to lean and drop down through one of the three office buildings, seeing innies scramble to get away from the collapsing rubble.

"Damn, those pilots sure do know how to put on a good show. Rachel, I think it might be time to call in the marines" Stringer grins once again, laughing a bit while he talks, as Sergeant Woodcrest smiles and nods.

"Broadpipe, broadpipe, this is Shadow 2-1. Preliminary strikes completed. Targets are destroyed, repeat. Targets are destroyed. Bring down the hammer, and let's get this party started.

"Shadow 2-1, broadpipe here. Ground forces are already in-bound. Helljumpers are dropping now. Strike forces' ETA is one mike, over.


"Roger that broadpipe, shadow is standing by, over." Stringer looks up, seeing several pelican drop-ships moving in fast towards the surface, just to the left of their vision on the complex, seeing the ships land just inside the perimeter, three ships carrying scorpion main-battle tanks, and four carrying warthog jeeps with their own M41 machine-guns. several others hover just inches from the ground, but every one of them open their back hatches, the ones carrying vehicles seconds after dropping the loads onto the ground, and UNSC marines pour out the back, hearing the marines as they yell and leaders bark orders. A few seconds later, Stringer hears the sounds of something breaking through the air, as orbital drop pods rain down towards the other side of the refinery. ODST drop pods were coming in, and Stringer counted twelve. Four land on what remains of the refinery roof, the rest landing on the other side of the complex, out of Stringer's view.

A minute later, the UNSC marines are moving quickly up towards the complex, as the sound of gunfire breaks out, seeing tracers starting their way back and forth between the advancing marines, and the complex itself. Ramirez starts to fire, a few seconds between each shots, as Stringer spots targets, one being an innie trying to get into position to fire a rocket launcher. Stringer calls it out to Ramirez, and less than a second later, the man is down, and the launcher falling from the cold dead hands of what used to be a human being.

Suddenly, Stringer catches something out of the corner of his eye, looking suddenly as he sees three warthogs, painted in jungle camo, rolling towards the complex from the woodline just past the perimeter.

"Oh shit! Rachel! Call it in! Three enemy warthogs, carrying troops, rolling towards the facility from the east!"

"Damnit! Broadpipe, broadpipe! This is Shadow 2-1. Have the bombers focus to the east, break! Enemy victors are moving in, fast, and are carrying several tangos! How copy?"

"Copy that shadow team! Tasking bombers towards the east of the complex. Get ready for the fireworks!" About five seconds later, three longswords start to fly towards the group of warthog, strafing the ground with machine-gun fire, the rounds impacting the ground towards the enemy transports. Suddenly, Stringer sees several rockets head towards the aircraft, two impacting the left flanking bomber, impacting the left wing, as the other two take out two of the three warthogs, but one of them having the members mostly bail before hand. The third keeps rolling towards the complex. The bomber flies past the perimeter and into the jungle, just a few klicks from Stringer's position, along with the rest of Shadow squad. A few seconds later, Stringer hears the sounds of the fighter impacting the ground, but thankfully, no explosions.

"Broadpipe, insurrection fighters just took out a bomber! Requesting orders, over!"

"Shadow 2-1, this is broadpipe! Get your squad moving and get to the crash site! I don't want the innies getting their hands on the payload aboard that bomber, let alone the pilots! Over!"

"Roger that broadpipe! Shadow is oscar-mike, over and out! Let's move people!" Stringer starts to get up before Rachel even finishes her sentence, taking his BR55HB-SR off his back and getting it into the ready position. He knew things just changed, and this fight wasn't going to last just forty-five minutes. It juts got more serious, and now lives were in the hands of Shadow squad. Only this time, they weren't going to be directing bombs onto targets, but instead, bullets into flesh, and souls to the meeting place with god. They could only hope that they avoid the meeting themselves.

[Stringer, K.]

Stringer moves through the jungle, quickly but carefully, as he and Shadow Squad make their way towards the crashed longsword bomber. The innies and the UNSC continue their battle a couple of klicks back, the battle making the jungle ring with the sounds of gunfire and explosions, with the occasional scream or burst of yelling. Stringer however has his focus on the waypoint that command graciously placed on their HUDs, making the trek to the crash-site much more easier. Rachel was right on Stringer's six, with Ramirez following in third, a few meters back, and Paul covering the rear. They occasionally saw longswords flying overhead, seeing them heading towards the complex, a few minutes later hearing the report of bomb explosions.

To them, it didn't matter at the moment. Shadow squad's focus is solely on the pilots, and the payload, and making sure both do not end up in insurrection hands. Stringer was worried how the pilots would be treated if they fell into enemy hands. The innies were notorious for torturing and killing UNSC personnel, and even civilians if they thought they were working with the UNSC. So, for Shadow Squad, it was a race against time, and against the enemy. They knew if they had that big of a force waiting in the treeline, god only knew how many more were out there, moving towardts the crash-site, in an effort to be any UNSC forces to the longsword, the munitions, and the pilots.

Stringer saw they had three-hundred meters to go, and he began to see the smoke from the wreckage. He knew they needed to slow down a bit, and be ready for a fight. He slowed to almost a stop and began to crouch walk, his rifle almost completely at the ready, just barely keeping it from being in position to be able to aim straight ahead. He kept the barrel lowered only slightly, just so he could raise up on any enemy quickly than if he had it pointing downward. He check the ammo counter, seeing it read "36" which meant a full magazine. He slowly creeps in. Only one-hundred fifty meters now, and the trees were disappearing, being replaced with the turned dirt and destroyed remains of trees, along with the longsword's crash path carved into the dirt. Fifty, and he was closing the distance.

He saw that the back hatch was gone, most likely fallen off somewhere on impact, as he slowly moved in. He stopped at the doorway, putting the battle rifle on his back and instead pulling out a M7 sub machine-gun, since it was going to be tight in the bomber. He slowly made his way in, and up the ramp, towards the cockpit. Inside, both pilots were still there, and both seemed to be mostly unharmed, minus some obvious cuts and bruises. One did have a gash on the left side of his forehead, as Stringer slowly lowered the SMG, moving to the pilot as Rachel goes over to the co-pilot, who has the gash. Ramirez and Paul both remain outside the bomber, holding security in case any innies decided to drop in.

"Hey guys, you alright?" Stringer looks at the pilot and co-pilot, both slowly coming to, both groaning and moaning. The co-pilot seemed worse off, groaning and slowly reaching for the gash, before gasping and jerking his hand away. Stringer unhooks the pilot from his seat, cutting the belts where it would not release from the harness. Rachel does the same, slower, for the co-pilot, careful of his wounds.

"Hey sarge, I think these guys might want to get out of here, considering one is hurt, and both of them are dazed."


"I agree Stringer. Let's get away from the crash-site and find out where out extraction point is going to be!" Stringer nods, as the pilot starts to stand on his own, shaking off the crash. Stringer hands him his M7 SMG, and the pilot nods and gratefully takes it, as Stringer pulls his BR55HB-SR off of his back and holds it at the ready again, slowly moving out of the bomber. Rachel follows behind him and the pilot, helping the co-pilot walk, who is still dazed. Paul and Ramirez slowly move away from the entrance to the bomber, and back towards the tree-line. That's when a sudden crack catches Stringer's attention, and Paul drops to the ground like a ragdoll, Ramirez hitting the dirt chest firt.

"Shit! Man down!" Stringer crouches, looking forward as gunfire starts to erupt from the tree-line from where they just came through. The innies started to move forward, firing as they move.

"Contact front! Rachel, what are doing? Advance or fall back?!"

"Damnit! Ramirez, get Paul! We're not leaving him behind! Move past the bomber, I'll get us some-" Suddenly, Sergeant Woodcrest is hit in the back, as she screams and drops to her knees, then onto the ground as her chest impacts the dirt, the radio on her back shot, the shrapnel tearing through to just the left of her spine, just below the fifth lumbar. Stringer turns and begins to open fire, as does the pilot, the co-pilot dropping to the dirt and laying there, yelling in pain from the impact on his head. Ramirez keeps firing at the main group coming through the tree-line.

"Fuck! Ramirez! Sarge is hit! You, cover me!" Stringer points to the pilot when he yells, the pilot nodding and firing in short, controlled burst, as Stringer moves forward, firing as he moves, his first burst hitting an innie rifleman in the neck and shoulder, causing the tango to spin and fall back to the ground, no longer moving. His second and third burst force another to the ground, the first two rounds hitting the ground but the third hitting the second innie's left shin, causing his to drop to his left knee, the third burst catching the man in the chest as he flails backwards, his gun falling to the ground. Stringer grabs Rachel by the top of her combat webbing, dragging her towards the crash trail that was dug into the dirt by the bomber, now Shadow Squad's only form of cover, as he keeps firing back at the innies. The pilot helps his co-pilot to the trench.

"Ramirez, ammo count!"

"I'm down to two mags for my MA5, three for the SRS! You?!" Stringer pops out a now empty magazine, letting it hit the dirt as he snatchs a fresh one from his combat webbing, and slaps it into the battle rifle before yanking back the charging handle, letting go when it hits its limit on its draw.

"Four left! I got two for the SMG! Here!" Stringer tosses the ammo to the pilot.

"You call this a fucking rescue?!" The pilot catches the ammo, yelling at Stringer, as Stringer stands a bit, firing at the tree-line now, the third innie from the flank attack moving to join his friends. Stringer fires a long burst, catching a male and a female innie, both dropping from the impacts to their thighs and lower bodies.

"Well I didn't plan this shit! How long before you think back-up arrives Ramirez?!"

"Fuck if I know, but if it isn't soon, we're-" Suddenly, a round impacts Ramirez in the right side of the man's neck, causing his blood to spray out from where the artery in his neck was shredded open by the impact of the foreign object that was the bullet. Stringer suddenly moves over, dragging his squad-mate into the trench and out of harm's way. The pilots leans up, firing a long burst as the pilot is suddenly hit in the chest by a burst of fire, a grunt being the only noise that escapes the man's throat before he drops to the ground, life-less. Stringer grabs Ramirez's hand, making Ramirez put pressure on his neck. Stringer then stands up a bit, firing full-auto now at the entire tree-line, trying to suppress the innies. He yells out at them, in anger.

"Come on motherfuckers! You want some? Get some!" Stringer keeps firing at full-auto a second longer, hearing a click as he pops out the dry magazine, yanking a third one up into the stock of the gun, the mag finding its place as Stringer once again yanks the charging handle, forcing a round into the chamber quickly, before he returns to firing full-auto at the enemy. He catches three with the long burst, two innies dropping life-less, the third hitting the dirty, only catching the man in the left shoulder, but the innie keeps firing at Stringer.

Stringer crouches right as the gun clicks empty once more. He pops out the third empty magazine, loading his fourth and final magazine, grunting a bit as he yanks the charging handle once more. He knew this was going to be it. There was still several innies out there, as he pops the fire-selector into semi-auto, looking over at Ramirez, who was know laying there, his arms sprawled out, no longer breathing, let alone alive. Stringer looks at Rachel, seeing her either dead or passed-out, unsure because she is laying face-down in the dirt, and Paul's body laying there, his head covered in blood from where the round impacted the man right in the forehead. Stringer sighs a bit, then stands up and begins to fire at each innie that he sees. Suddenly, a round impacts his left shoulder, hitting the combat plating, but being enough to knock his onto his ass, as he yells. He moves to crouch and turn, firing again at the enemy.

He barely shows himself over the dirt trench's top, firing at two more innies, dropping them as they try to run up onto his position. He then fires at a machine-gunner trying to set up a M247 at the tree-line, ending it before the man can even take aim. Suddenly, Stringer hear's a "click", looking as his ammo display reads "00" on his rifle. He drops it, then pulls out both of his frag grenades, popping the primers and tossing both of them at the tree-line. The blast catch a total of three innies, but many more are running towards his position now.

"You fucking want me?! Come and get me, you scumbags!" Stringer draws his knife out of his sheathe, ready to fight to the end, when suddenly the tree-line erupts in a bright flash, several bombs exploding on the innies' positions, as Stringer hits the ground, taking cover. Three more explosions rock the tree-line and surrounding area before Stringer finally stands slowly, looking up as he sees nothing but bodies and splinters that are the remains of the trees that were there just seconds before. He then hears the whine of a pelican drop-ship, as one lands right at the position that the innies had just occupied seconds before, marines pouring out of the back as the drop-ship's main gun opens fire towards it front, in a wide field of fire, sending the remaining innies running. The marines mostly set up a firing line on either side of the pelican, as three run towards Stringer's position.

"You alright?!" Stringer sighs, sheathing his combat knife as he turns and sits down on the top of the dirt trench's lip, looking back at what remains of his team. One of the marine's checks the co-pilot, then Rachel. He sees the marine turn her onto her back, and she is thankfully breathing, but barely. The marine calls out for a medic, seconds later a corpsman running up and tending to her, then the co-pilot. They check Paul, Ramirez, and the pilot, seeing all three were gone. Stringer looks down at the ground, just between his feet, as the only sound now is soldiers moving, leaders barking orders, and the marines checking his squad start to get them ready for evac. Stringer sees them bring out three body-bags, not wanting to see this as he stands and slowly turns towards the pelican.

He just survived what seemed like his final battle, and just witnessed his entire squad get taken out, two of them dying at his side, and the third being critically injured. The pilot, dead, and the co-pilot severally injured as well. The innies were pushed back, but at such a cost to Shadow Squad. Stringer could only guess what was going to happen now. His sergeant, out of commission for now, his two squad-mates dead. He could only guess they would assign him to another squad, maybe another fireteam. Who knows, maybe another battalion all together. All he knew, was someone above gave him a pass today, but he wasn't sure if that was such a good thing. He would have rather taken a bullet and be injured, than see two of his squad-mates dead.

For now, he couldn't do anything. He was out of ammo, and the marines were starting to fall back to the pelican. This was obviously their extraction bird. Stringer slowly steps on board, to the starboard side, next to the cockpit entrance, as he sits down. He looks towards the back, towards the opening, as the rest of the marines pile onboard. Six carry the three body-bags, setting them in the center, as two help Rachel on-board on a stretcher. A third helps the pilot walk, helping the man into the back. Once the final two jumped in, the last of the security element on-board, the back hatch closes, and the pelican lifts off. Stringer closes his eyes, and leans his head forward, into his hands. He then suddenly slams his right fist into the side of the pelican, catching most of the marines' attention. He looks up, angered, frustrated, and ready to kick the ass of the first man to say a word. Thankfully, no one says anything, a second later going back to their own businesses.

Stringer looks at the body-bags, then sighs.

"I'm sorry guys. I wish it had gone different. Maybe I'll meet back up with you two. Ramirez, Paul, rest in peace brothers..." Stringer looks at Rachel, seeing she was still in pain as the corpsman tries to get the shrapnel out of her back, hearing her grunt and groan a bit loud, her eyes clenched close. He could only hope she makes it, but she was definitely going to need to go to a UNSC hospital from the look of it. Which meant he was now the only able member of Shadow Squad. How he would be transferred, he didn't know, but he did know this. He would do whatever it takes to keep this from happening to anyone else he fights alongside with.

For now though, the marine sighs once more, leaning against the wall of the pelican, as he looks down at the floor, in disgust, as the pelican makes it way back towards the Hammer of Prosperity, and to the only place he knew as home for now.