Dalton Conway's Story

"So a tale has begun.
A start of legends, and the end of a war.
An epic of loss, hardships, and the bonds that bind us.
As soldiers.
As warriors.
As humans.
A story of how the human race earned it's right to remain in existence.
Or perhaps this is more of a fable.
As with all fables, it must begin in tragedy.
And sacrifice."

---

Day 1....

---

Wind howls over the toothy grin of the surrounding mountain ridge, and rolls over man-made steel. A monolith of gleaming defiance stands resolute against the blizzard, and acts as warden to the land that lay beyond it's vigil. Within this sleeping giant lies many weapons of war, and a force of men one-hundred and fifty strong. Inside a compound at the far back, a single repetitive sound rings out. Echoing within a dark room, as a sluggish and scarred arm stretches out to silence this annoyance. Up rises a man, a soldier of countless battles. His tolls paid upon his skin, each old wound aching in the bitter cold. His bones throbbing from the storm outside.

"I'm getting too old for this crap."

"Your pre-morning wake-up call, Major. As you requested? Or are you becoming forgetful in your old age?"

Accompanying the feminine voice was the glowing body of a holographic construct, which formed into the space of the room and illuminated the darkness.

"Agh... No, but I am getting too old for your sass, Amanda. And tone down the brightness.... it's to damn early for that crap."

"I'll have my hologram installed with a dimmer switch ASAP, Sir."

The Major groaned as he slid out of bed, his leg sending sharp messages of pain to his mind. His groan deepened as he leaned forward, reaching for his one true love in life. His fingers traced it's delicate form, gliding upon it's surface. It's look, it's feel, even it's smell brought joy to him, as he brought it to his lips.

"You and your cigars. You should probably quit smoking those, they are still bad for you."

"Yeah? Well I'll quit when I die."

Biting off and disposing of the end, his finger ran over the emblem that wrapped it. A barely audible beep was heard, and the tip ignited. The cherry glowed intensely as he inhaled, slowly creeping up it's tobacco body. Exhaling a miniature mushroom cloud, the Major braced himself. His teeth bit down on the cigar as he pulled himself to his feet. He strained and limped over to his uniform, which was laid out neatly.

"What happened to the good old days, when getting dressed wasn't a chore? I miss those days."

He grumbled and bellyached as he pulled on his trousers, then stepping his foot into the holder of his mechanical caste. The machine beeped and came to life, sealing around his shin. Binding itself and adjusting to his form, the clamp finally released his newly reinforced leg. The Major proceeded to dress himself.

"So, what's new in the glorified toll booth today, Amanda?"

"Private Siegfield wished to speak to you, Major. If I may paraphrase, he said as soon as you were awake. I have him on standby, shall I patch him through?"

Finished with the task of buttoning up his medal-covered jacket, he nodded with a thick puff of white smoke. The room lit up as a large screen depicted a scrawny little man with wide, caffeine-charged eyes. He was busy typing away, and completely ignorant that he was in communications with the Major.

"Private..." the Major addressed the man, teeth loosely clenched around the cigar. The Private looked around the room in confusion, trying to spot the source of the voice. This was a little annoying, and the Major removed the cigar from his teeth to speak in a sterner voice.

"Private!"

The man turned three shades paler, before spinning in his chair to face the monitor.

"Uhh, Major Braxx, Sir! Sorry, Sir! Oh, and good morning, Sir! Or.... night. Or noon. I'm not exactly sure what time it is, Sir."

"Irrelevant, Private. You had something you wished to say to me?"

"Oh! Right! Um, I've lost contact with ATLAS, Sir. It's likely due to the weather, but I-I-I don't know if they know we're cut-off. We should arrange for short-ranged comm's channels, Sir."

"Good thinking, Private. And Siegfield.... how long have you been at post?"

"I.... have no fucking clue. Uhhh, Sir!"

"You got bags under your eyes bigger than warthog tires, son. Report to barracks and get some sleep. That's an order. Major, out."

The screen went blank, as Major Braxx took another long drag off of his cigar.

"Amanda, send up Peters in a warthog to ATLAS. See if they know how bad of a blizzard we're looking at, and rig up short-range comms. And till him to button up, it's colder than a witches tit out there. And twice as nasty."

"Right away, Sir. And an excellent choice in metaphors."

"Oh, and send out a scout to see if he c-" "Can give us eyes on the storm front? All ready taken care of, Sir. I had Ricks suit up and head out earlier."

"Excuse me?"

"Sir?"

Braxx closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. As the waft of white smoke left his mouth, he shot a rather stern look at the AI.

"Amanda, I realize you may be able to process things close to three-hundred times quicker than me, but remember that I am the commanding officer of this fort. And I like being kept in the loop, so no more going over my head."

"It's not as efficient, but as you wish, Sir. Is there anything else I can do for you, Major?"

"..... Yes. Have Captain Conway report to my office. He should be present to hear Riggs report so he can arrange the border patrols accordingly. Something tells me this is going to be a long, long day."

In the....

The....

.....

.....

.....

In some, unknown location inside the base was a Captain. With a near-perfect rythem, his arms pushed him up and then they slowly released him down only to push him back up and repeat the process, time and again. Some would call these 'push-ups', but he liked to think of them as his after-jog cooldown exercise. A frontline soldier always had to stay in shape, after all.

His breaths came easy, as if unfazed by the amount of reps he had done, which began numbering in the hundreds a minute or two ago. His form was perfect as were those breaths. Inhaling when he went down, exhaling when he pushed up. Simple, yet effective. That's how things should be. At least in his opinion. Eventually, reached his personal goal for this morning, one-hundred fifty, to be exact, and he got himself back to his feet. He gazed around the area he was in, only now realizing he was in the loading bay. No wonder he was hearing power tools as he worked out.

Dalton recalled when he was jogging prior, and the route he took to get here. He should probably plan out a route for his jogs and not just randomly go until he felt he did enough, but he didn't feel like it. His gaze swept over the stationed warthogs, one of which was currently being repaired because some dumbass didn't know how to effectively drive in snow. Lucky him he didn't even make it out of the base's field of view before he crashed, making recovering him a possibility. He'll probably have to thank the men in the sniper tower later on, once his leg feels better.

"Captain, sir!" a young soldier saluted him.

Dalton turned around, facing the young man. Private Matthews, he believed. "At ease. What is it you wanted?"

"Major Braxx requests your presence in his office, sir!"

"Is that all?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that all?" he repeated.

"Sir?" the boy raised his eyebrow in confusion.

"Is that all?" Dalton looked anything but pleased as he once again repeated himself.

"Sorry, sir." the troop's head was pointed downwards due to his shame.

"You may leave."

"Thank you, sir." he marine limped away.

Dalton sighed. What was he needed for now? To assist more troopers as they scouted? Like hell! Damn, there was nothing to do in this dump save for wait and rot away. Sure, the war may be over, but it's not like he couldn't help out with other duties... important duties. Duties that didn't waste his life away. He was still young, sorta, but this wasn't forever. Soon he'd be an old man, much like Braxx (who is admittedly a strong old man), but maybe worse. He can't just waste his potential here in this base.

But orders were orders.

After a pace through the base, Dalton arrived at Major Braxx's office and promptly knocked on the door. Even as a captain, he was required to salute and otherwise obey a higher authority. Though he was happy it wasn't as much as it used to be.

Braxx paced back and forth, awaiting the arrival of the captain. This wasn't anything important, and he knew it. It was just another day in this big refrigerator. Upon his third or fourth pass, his eye caught on the frame that hung on his wall. There behind the glass were the dog tags of every man that fell in battle under his command, kept in memory of their sacrifice and a permanent reminder to the Major of what he owes to the Covenant. Two of their's for every one of ours. His fingers lightly slid along the cold glass, in remembrance of each good man who gave their life for humanity. As he moved away from the frame, there was a strange buzz in the air. Almost like it was electrified, but more so. It was cold, foreboding even, and left it's sickly presence to stir at the bottom of his gut. It could have been a million things, a omen or warning of what was to come, but the Major wasn't a superstitious man. He simply shook it off as one of the MRE's returning to have it's revenge, which they often did.

"Sir, Captain Conway is here."

"Ah.... yes....."

"Major? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. Just some.... bad memories. Send the Captain in."

A smirk forms on the Major's face as Dalton enters his office. Braxx holds up two beers, still having that sly smile. He knew they aren't allowed to drink on duty, but there wasn't ever going to be any action here. Braxx tossed the Captain a beer, which he caught with ease. You throw enough ammo clips back and forth while ducking plasma fire, and catching anything else becomes a cinch.

"I know it's not your brand, but it's all I got. At least I can guarantee it's cold..."

Half an hour passed of the two BSing back and forth, as usual. Old war stories, from back when they were actually in the damn war.

"So now we're pinned behind the carcass of our goddamn tank, right? Monkeys and midgets pouring the light show all over us, all led by this ugly-ass bearded one. Big bastard, huge! And in a nice and shiny suit of armor, with a damn turret, to boot. Three of ours are wounded pretty bad, and we lost our sniper cover. The apes were listening to every word of gibberish that old bastard shouted out, so we figured he must be one of those chieftains. Phillips said something about how they might break ranks if we could off their boss, and a second later they stopped shooting. All- well, most of them. Figured they screwed up and didn't sync their reloads, and before I know it our rookie pulls out a freaking baseball. I asked him what the hell he was thinking, and he told me he could kill the chieftain. With the ball. You can see why I was skeptical, but what the hell? We were pretty screwed, anyway."

Braxx pauses in his story, popping the cap on his next bottle. Taking one swig from the fresh beer, he grins with a light chuckle. Shaking his head, he looks back to Dalton to continue his tale.

"So we give the kid support, and that bearded freak starts monologuing. Just yapping up a storm, you know. 'Weak humans, we smash you' blah blah yadda yadda. Anyway, I'm looking at the kid, wondering why he ain't doing anything. He's just sitting there in his little pitcher pose, rubbing the damn ball and shaking his head. I finally snap and order him to throw it, and..... whew, thunk. Right.... down... the son of a bitch's throat. I. Shit. You. Not. So now he's grabbing at his throat, all his buddies are freaking out cause apparently nobody taught them CPR, and we're laughing our asses off. I almost rolled out of cover, and took a hit to the arm. Sure enough, the remaining nimrods are panicking and we start dropping what we can. About five minutes later, a falcon passed by and mopped up the rest. To this day, I still can't believe the rook pulled that off. I still can't believe it worked..."

The Major paused once more, looking up towards the ceiling and lifting his bottle.

"Here's to you, kid. Where ever you ended up."

Suddenly, a luminescent form manifests in the corner of the room, it's blue female body being constructed in front of them. Amanda's hair waves slightly, as if from some non-existent breeze. She gives a warming smile, nodding at the two respectfully.

"Major. Captain. I'll pretend that isn't alcohol your both drinking. I have the report from ATLAS as to our communication issues. Short range comms are up, but understaffed. All of ONI's personnel at the base are currently busy in the final phases of their project."

"Any word on what the damn thing is, yet?"

"Classified."

"Why'd I ask?"

"Why, indeed. Though there are more... interesting bits of news from them. It seems that all off-planet communications are down as well. This has several of the researches worried, as such a thing is unusual for a storm to disrupt. Perhaps this is- ....Oh. Major, I have Ricks on comms channel. He says it's urgent, shall I patch him through?"

The Major placed the bottle on his desk and straightened up. Even though he believed a beer or two would never alter his judgement, it was still bad for his image to be seen drinking by his men. Shoulder's back, chest out, and arms behind his back, he stood facing the monitor.

"Proceed..."

The screen came to life, giving the image of a marine with a covered face. Fog leaking from the bit of cloth that covered his mouth.

"Major Braxx, Sir. I.... think I know why we've been cut off. Your going to want to see this...."

The camera's point of view shifted as it was moved over the small ridge the marine was hiding behind. What was being shown were several blurred figures trudging through the snow, which became clearer as the camera focused. The image sharpened, and revealed these to be Covenant forces. A small scouting party by the looks of it, mostly jackals and brutes. One of the bird-headed creatures trips, falling beak-first into the white powder.
"Stop wasting time!" bellows the brute at his back, launching the scrawny critter with a powerful kick and sending it flying. Another hairy monster roars at the first. "Keep your voice down, they can hear us."

Braxx looks at the monitor in disbelief. The only question ringing through his head being "how?" It simply isn't possible, but there they are. The Covenant has found Outpost 314.

"My God..." utters the Major, still unable to believe what he's seeing. The camera's view shifts once again back to Ricks.

"Major.... they're heading away from us. I..... I think we've already been scouted, sir. And.... there's more. Give me a sec..."

The camera reverts once again to the marines visor, as he crawls silently through the deep snow. Peering down over a ledge, the screen fills with the terrible visage of a large ground force, being comprised of mainly ghosts and grunts. The course of their slow, waddling march is unmistakable. Their heading for the fort.

"Theirs a lot of light infantry, down their. I think they're gonna test our defenses. I don't see any he- Gagh!"

Ricks cries out, his visor showing the pink spike protruding from his shoulder. Blood corrupts the snow, as he rolls over to behold the face of a very unhappy brute. The soldier can scarcely do anything but choke and gurgle out his protest, as the beast raises it's spiker. The screen cuts out.

"Corporal? Corporal! Damn it!" Braxx yells, a fiery yearning for vengeance already forming as he springs into action.

"Amanda, how far away was this transmission?"

"Less than two klicks out. I'd estimate they'll quicken their pace, seeing as they know we're aware."

"Agreed. Amanda, set the base to high alert and tell ATLAS what's really going on. Captain, get the troops together and prep our defenses. Keep squads hunkered down in the trench till we can offer enough support for their charge. Tell Wolf-Team Alpha and Bravo to hold their fire until the enemy is in their crossfire, giving our men on the ground heavy sniper cover. Have them focus on counter-sniping those damn birds! I don't want to be ducking my god damn head every three seconds. We can't let them think we're at a disadvantage, so we have to put them down hard! It's time to see if ONI built this piece of scrap on a budget or not."

Having given his standing orders, Braxx proceeded to gear himself up with his personal supplies. It felt almost too long since he had to don combat armor, but it was a long missed memory. Locked, cocked, and armed for bear, he proceeded through the yard as the alarm sounded. Men were rushing to battle stations, taking posts in the towers and walls. The unmistakable smell of cheap cigarettes gave a clear location of Corporal Jack Carter, the only person crazy enough to smoke around extremely flammable ammunition.

"Carter! Gear up and have your squad spaced out in the trench. Do not reveal your presence till I give the say so. I don't want to miss the look of 'oh shit' on their face when they see we brought hellbringers, so don't screw it up."

The Major took his position on the forward wall. This was the first time he'd seen combat in months and he wanted nothing more than to be on the ground with his men, but this elevated view gave him the ability to better direct his men's efforts. He lit up another cigar as the blast shields began to retract, opening up the field of fire. The blizzard made it impossible to see out into the distance, but they were out there. The Covenant. Braxx could feel it. He pulled out his PDF and opened communication with the sniper teams. The names and status of both teams were displayed, and he could see the team leaders were taking their positions.

"Alpha, Bravo, report. Do you have eyes on the Covy's position?"

A cold, monotone voice replied back to him "No joy. Alpha wolves got nothing in our scopes, Sir."

"Damn. Waddell, what can you and Bravo see from the West?"

"Lets go! I want all you dug in those trenches on the double!" any soldier here knew that Dalton was not fucking around when he then said, "Keep your heads down and your mouths shut! Don't you dare let them draw first blood or I'll have your corpse courtmartialed for insubordinance, you hear!" Conway could feel a small pain in his throat from shouting the same orders repeatedly to make sure everyone of his men got the idea through their skulls. While his twisted brows would have normally made his intimidation factor skyrocket, the blush he had sorta contradicted this. He was by no means drunk, only having a few beers with his CO wouldn't do that, but for a reason he was unsure of, blood rushed to his face after a couple of drinks. It annoyed him, which is why he never drank unless he was sure he wasn't needed; like today.

At the current moment, the Captain was not fully prepped for combat having went straightaway towards the trenches to give his men orders. His men came first, though anyone would know that. After all, no right commanding officer could bear to see his men die before him, and most definetly not because he was busy saving himself.

A small smile made itself apparent on his face as his men set themselves up. Now that that was done, they just needed to wait until they were given the order to fire before they could pop their heads out and start picking the covenant bastards off. His men seemed excited, as they should be. Dalton was, and he knew everyone here was just the same. Too much time was wasted in this cold, snow-bound dump. Never anything but meaningless scouting and boredom for everyone and now? Now there was shit to shoot, a morale booster.

Of course, the Captain wasn't aware that their morale would drop dramatically. But listening to his troops' comments just before the battle, the middle-aged war veteran couldn't possibly predict such a thing. He thought these aliens picked the wrong base to fuck with, and honestly

they did.

"You'd best be covered in blue when you take that shower, Corporal." he kept his small smile on his face. One could see he was eager for the lead and plasma to fill the air. He stood within the ranks of his men. While it would be wiser to go equip himself with a larger weapon, a sidearm would work for now. He could always make use of dropped weapons, his soldier would essentially be killing after they've gave their lives that way.

Sometime earlier, within the confines of the East Den, a wolf keeps his eyes on all the territory he claims as his. On a cot that was physically dragged over to the embrasure, where lay this hunter. Ed Slater, still on post and acting as sentry, and wearing only his thick thermal under-armor and combat slacks. Still as the steel and stone that surrounded him, with the only audible sound being the low hum of the thermal shielding, reacting to the stainless steel 50. caliber barrel protruding through it. A barely visible anomaly circles around the exact point where his rifle's barrel pierced the shields invisible vale. Still peering through his scope, and of course through his mirrored glasses, Slate watched ever intently for movement out in the frozen wastes, lightly scratching at the coarse stubble that spread across his face. Finally, something broke the silence.

An alert. There was going to be fun, soon. And, without any witnesses to validate it, a small grin etched it's way over his lips. He tapped the rim of his shades, causing it to beep. His standing orders flashed over the lenses, allowing him to maintain his unwavering watch. The door behind him slid open, as several fully geared snipers lined up next to him. No words were spoken, as there was no need. They knew what they're job was, to be the silent and unseen scourge of the enemy ranks. To be the angels of death. "Alpha, Bravo, report. Do you have eyes on the Covy's position?" echoed the voice of Braxx over his team's channel, showing a slight impatience for the enemies approach. He wanted this almost as much as Slate did. Ed's scope scanned and scrutinized every flake of snow in the flurries, scoffing at the absence identifiable movement.

"No joy. Alpha wolves got nothing in our scopes, Sir."

"Damn. Waddell, what can you and Bravo see from the West?"

Slater didn't exactly appreciate Braxx asking for the other's validation, but understood he couldn't risk missing anything.

"No, Sir. There is no Cov-...." Waddell trailed off. Ed knew they'd both seen it, a silent shadow darting through the snow-filled winds. "Scratch that Sir, we have movement three hundred feet out. Approaching Quickly."

"Alpha confirms. Single scouting vehicle, ghost class, grunt pilot. Good spot, Bravo."

Braxx grinned, checking the recorded wind speeds. A single shot would be all but inaudible. He commed back to the Wolf Teams "Confirmed. Make sure that pilot has an accident." He barely got a chance to finish, as Ed's cross hairs hovered over the grunt. The trigger's pulled, and the bullet rips through the methane tank on the stubby creature's back. It yelped and screamed, desperately trying to reach back and do..... something. Not that there was anything it could do. With it's hands off the controls, the ghost swerved and weaved about, tilting and causing one of it's wings to dig deep into the snow. The craft began to cartwheel violently, as the grunt held on for dear life. It's methane tank finally blew, launching the ghost like a mortar round. The damaged vehicle crashed into the frozen earth, where it vaporized and erupted in magnificent pink and blue flames.

"Alpha wolves..." Slater's voice came through over the channel, his voice interrupted by the cocking of his rifle. "First kill."

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?" replied someone from the opposing sniper team.

---

The Forward Wall

---

Braxx shook his head. "Just remember that my last orders still stand."

Amanda's voiced chimed in on the Major's private frequency.

"Sir, I have an unauthorized lift-off. Patching you into the hornet's comms."

The female voice on the channel was unmistakable. There really was only one person crazy enough to pull this little stunt.

"Sir, I can use the turrets on my hornet as backing fire."

"Negative, 3-4, negative. You did not secure clearance for lift-off, not to mention the winds are way too damn rough. I am not going to risk our only bird in the air to be downed in a storm, nor am I going to let the enemy know we have air support! I repeat. Jean, ground that hornet right god damn now! That's an order, Lieutenant."

The Major pinched the bridge of his nose. His thoughts on the matter were simple and shared by many. Our only air support, and she has the discipline of an Alaskan bush pilot.... He heard Slater's voice report back from his post: "Multiple high-speed tangos approaching. Ghosts, and they're rushing the line. Standing orders still in effect, Sir?"

"Confirmed. Do not reveal your presence until killzone is established."

He glanced down to the trench, as several troopers were busy setting up deployable turrets. Above him, he heard the sounds of the heavy turrets being prepped to deal with the threat. To his sides, several more turrets were being set up, one of which the Major casually strolled to. He nodded to the marines, and said "I'll take it from here, trooper" as he ran his fingers over it's steel frame. He stepped behind it, gripping the trigger's and peering through it's sights. In the distance, the enemy ghosts streaked across the snow.

"All deployments, light 'em up!"

The fortress practically breathed lead onto the opposition, as bullets shredded through the various alien metals. The ghosts returned fire, but were easily overwhelmed by the sheer amount of firepower that bared down on them from the giant, fire breathing monster they attempted to assault. The nimble crafts exploded violently, cascading the battlefield in unnaturally colored fire. One in particular was caught in the cross hairs of Major Braxx, as he grinned deviously and opened fire. The tiny grunt which operated it seamed helpless, as it was viciously perforated by his machine gun fire. The base of the vehicle exploded, launching the frame and fuel core through the air like fireworks. They too bursts into brilliant plasmafire, and sprayed upon the wall of the fort. Many more would accompany the would-be assailants in a horrible death. Though before he could enjoy his fun too thoroughly, he heard the sniper teams begin reporting back over the comms.

"Large vehicles approaching in the distance."

"Confirmed. Prowlers. Acting as rapid transit."

"They're trying to fill the gap."

"It's a grunt-rush."

A cigar was now clenched between the Major's teeth, it's smoke leaking through his wry smile. He removed the cigar, and tapped off the ashes onto the ground.

"Dalton, your boys up for good times? Cause I think these little bastards aim to introduce themselves to your rifles. Infantry..... prepare to engage."

"You'd best be covered in blue when you take that shower, Corporal."

Laughlin grins a sly, shit-eating grin down at Greyson and Val, "I see Cap'n drank his 'Oorah Juice' this morning."

Ducking her head back against the wall to avoid being immediately pinned as the resident voice of sass, the Corporal lifts a hand to the side of her helmet.

"Sniper nest spotted a Ghost."

Thank God for small distractions. She knew because the rig on her back, antennae bouncing over her shoulder, was a powerful sum'gun. She could listen in on pretty much anything that wasnt a secure ONI channel, and even then, if she had the right encryption codes... And she usually did listen, nosy radio bug that she was. But I digress. She makes her report not a handful of seconds before the muffled noise of a distant Ghost explosion wafts on the wind through the blizzard.

"Woops. Scratch that, no Ghost."

Shrugging, Laughlin lets her rifle hang by its sling and pops her gloved knuckles in a habitual motion. As if on cue, the scrambling of turrets has her duck her head before the loud chatter of persistant chaingun fire unleashes Hell itself on the approching Covenant vehicles. But this time it wasnt so safely distant as over the radio. The sporradic return fire of the Ghosts makes white plasma arc distantly overhead, and the blood leaves her face as it begins to sink in that, this time, no ammount of wit or luck ducking punishment would be able to pull her ass out of what was to come.

"Dalton, your boys up for good times? Cause I think these little bastards aim to introduce themselves to your rifles. Infantry..... prepare to engage."

She didnt need to repeat the message. That one would've been piped directly to the Captain's helmet. But that didnt mean that she didnt hear it, too. She settles her rifle back into her hands, looking up at the snow-covered rim of the trench and the distinct wailing moan of Covenant engines.

"Aw, hell..."

"I see Cap'n drank his 'Oorah Juice' this morning."

"It only makes things more interesting." Dalton replied with a grin, a tight grip on the handle of his one weapon. He closed his eyes and simply listened to the distant wails of detonating fuel cores and machine gun fire. It only brought back memories of prior battles, which he cherished for the sheer reason of absolute boredom and spite for this frosty dump he had been assigned to. But now.... now it was alive! Now it was filled with those roars of gunfire and explosions only madmen missed. The smell of burning grunts hadn't reached them yet. Thankfully. But, it was only a matter of time before they would engage, and it was definetly something he couldn't wait for.

"Dalton, your boys up for good times? Cause I think these little bastards aim to introduce themselves to your rifles. Infantry..... prepare to engage."

"They'd damn well better be." he smirked. "I didn't wait in this place, doing nothing just so a bit of laziness would get me killed." he took a small step forward before addressing all of his men with a tone only a CO could have... legally at least.

"You heard the Major!" he boomed. "Get your asses ready for some fun! I want rifles at the ready and scopes being used effectively. And you'd better not miss, either!" he added. "I want to see that training in action, I want to see accuracey you aren't physically capable of, soldiers! Don't you let me down or I'll make damn sure you do a five laps around the whole base for every wasted bullet, and that means non-fatal injuries!"

Soldiers began standing up and readying their rifles to fire on the approaching horde, as instructed. The sound of preparation was music to Dalton's ears, and he watched over them with a satisfied smirk on his face. Sure enough, seconds later, he watched as the men had their weapons aimed downrange, aimed at the advancing horde and waiting to strike. He could only hope that they didn't just have a good form.

Jack waited as the humming of Covenant vehicles grew closer, which he could surprisingly hear over the blizzard and through his helmet. He looked over his small squad: Private Barnes; Private, First Class Noble; Private Beam; and Lance Corporal Daniels. Each man was raring to go as much as Jack was. He'd drilled these men enough that they all knew better than to disobey orders and so they waited.

"Infantry... prepare to engage." He heard over the built-in radio.

"Get ready boys! Await the command, but be ready for hell to break loose! And get ready to bring hell to the Covenant as well!" The squad straightened immediately and Jack watched as Beam loaded a round into his mounted grenade launcher, which had been apparently forgotten before then.

Just a little bit longer...
-----------------------------------------------
Meanwhile...

"Infantry..... prepare to engage." Shane heard the command and took a deep breath.

Then Dalton gave his prebattle speech to the men: "You heard the Major! Get your asses ready for some fun! I want rifles at the ready and scopes being used effectively. And you'd better not miss, either!" he added. "I want to see that training in action, I want to see accuracy you aren't physically capable of, soldiers! Don't you let me down or I'll make damn sure you do a five laps around the whole base for every wasted bullet, and that means non-fatal injuries!"

Accuracy wasn't guaranteed, but Shane wasn't about to let a war injury put him down. He'd take the running over dying any day. He flipped the safety off, put a round in the chamber, and rested the butt of his battle rifle against his left shoulder, ready to bring it up and fire at any given moment.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shitty, shit, McShit-shit.

So goes Laughlin's internal monologue as they're all called up to the line. She stands agaisnt the wall and raises her rifle, using its barrel to push asside some of the accumulated snow on the rim so that her comparatively short 5'6" self can get a good view downrange without having to ask for a step ladder. The driving blizzard immediately pelts her in the face despite the snug snowmask, making sure to frost up her left-eye HUD for good measure until she rubs it irritably with her thumb.

Dalton's speech goes in one ear and barely registered before it flies out the other, logged under "Oorah, motivation, kill." If nothing else, though, the normality of such a traditional Marine pep-talk did help to settle her nerves. Sure. This was just a normal day. A little cold, a little dangerous, but normal. So dont screw up or everyone would laugh.

Holding her breath against the biting wind and squinting across the snowfield, the distant noise seems to keep getting louder without actually revealing itself. At least there were -some- advantages. For instance, the overcast from the blizzard meant they werent worrying about snow blindness just now. Secondly, if they couldnt see the Covenant, it was a good bet that the Covenant couldnt see them, either.

Her silent point is proven. A grunt, used to their icy methane home and so faster in it than some other beings, manifests in the distance when the blowing snow reveals him. Squat, ugly, mean little bastard. His distinct armor and pebbly dark skin is such a sudden contrast to the shadowy shapes and shades of white that Laughlin startles with a loud yelp, finger reflexively jerking the trigger of her rifle. Three hot bullets sizzle through the snow in a burst, 'walking' up the alien body as she forgets to hold tight enough to prevent that rising recoil.

With a squeal and a miniature font of irridescent blood, the grunt falls back and disappears as the snowstorm sweeps up again.

Transfixed, the Corporal stares for a long moment, before she remembers to breathe.

"I got him.... I GOT HIM!" She shouts, thumping Greyson - who was next to her - on the shoulder.

And then, as if it were a signal, the covenant is there. Plasma streaks across the space and alien shapes press towards them in the snow. Laughlin ducks with another yelp to avoid having revenge taken on her face as, all down the line, Marines open fire and make their reply with ferocious human lead.

East Sniper's Den

---

Slater watched, finger intently on his trigger, as finally a kill-zone was established. He watched as Alex on the opposing team downed a prowler with a single, well-placed shot. Not bad, he thought. Though seeing as how the Sgt. lost his cool and wasted three shots on one survivor. Ed could understand being pissed. When a sniper pulls a trick shot like that, any survivors are usually taken as an insult to the shooter's skill. But not being level headed enough to line up your next shot properly? Waddell was better than that. Bryce, the gunny to Ed's right, began with the usual trash talk.

"What's the matter, Bravo? Can't hit the broudside of a gr-"

"Stow it, Corporal." Ed snapped at him.

"Sir?"

"In a drill, in the range, the competitive crap is fine. But this is real. This is war, and I won't tolerate that shit under my command. Do it again and I will have you demoted. Am I understood?"

".......Yes Sir, Sgt. Slater Sir."

---

The Forward Wall

---

Braxx heard over the comms chatter that Corp. Laughlin was the first to bag one. He knew this was her first time under live fire, so congratulations were due. "Nicely done, Corporal. When this is done, the first beer is on me. But don't let it go to your head" he snickered. The grin on his face didn't last long, though, as he notice something..... odd. The prowlers were spaced apart, and charging in perfectly even lines. This forced the turrets to split the fire between them evenly, which their armor could easily absorb, or focus on them one at a time. Either way, this little maneuver effectively lowered their casualties and practically guaranteed that the majority of their troops would make it to the front lines. The grunt-rush was piling up, and fast.

Anyone who dealt with brutes for more than two firefights knew that they were generally straightforward when it came to combat. Charging forward with savage brutality, they didn't waste time attempting strategy and relied on force to when the fight. They got the name "brute" for a reason. But these kinds of tactics were a good bit out of the norm for them.

"All deployments, focus fire on the Prowlers. Take out their pilots when their exposed. Conway, things are going to get a little heavy. Stay frosty and drop 'em as they line up. Carter, the mini-me's are piling up, keep your men on stand-by. I'd like not to give your presence away this early, but I'm trusting you not to jump the gun here. You can question my good judgement later, just keep those torches lit and at the ready."

Slater piped up over the comms as he saw the tell-tale movement over the rocky outcrops. "Major, I got bird-heads moving in to give fire support. Confirming orders to make these birdies go bye-bye."

"Confirmed, make the feathers fl-" Braxx was cut off by the roar of Hornet engines over his head. Jean dived the Covenant's front line, letting loose with a missile volley and gunning down two Prowlers.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Lieutenant, you are disobeying a direct order! I told you to land that bird!" the Major barked over the hornet's channel. It's pilot commed back "I can flank and cut off their retreat!" but Braxx wasn't going to have it. "Neg-o-tive, Jean. Land that bird or I will have your flight status revoked!" "Major, I can get eyes on where their reinforcements are coming from. That'd at least give us an idea on where their forward base is!" The Major sighed with a loud growl. She obviously wasn't going to budge on this, so he had to relent. "Alright, god damn it. But if you start catching any stray or direct fire, you are to return to the pad immediately. That is not up for debate. Understand, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" Jean purred over the channel, sending a rocket into a cluster of jackals. Each gave a warbling scream as they were jettisoned through the air. "Heads up, Major. Second wave of ghost inbound. ETA.... uhhh.... now."

Dalton had to admit that as far as first blood's go, Laughlin had one of the more comedic ones. Apparently, Braxx thought so too, as he promised her a round when this was over. It was far from tactful, but a kill is a kill. That meant as far as score goes, it's UNSC: 1, Covenenant: 0 (Excluding the other base). Now if only they could go flawless......

From what Conway gathered, a prowler was downed by them as well, only it took more bullets that necessary to kill the pilot. Waddell was lucky he wasn't part of Dalton's troops right now, or he'd have about fifteen laps or so around the base already. He'd be off to a bad start, so to say.

Dalton heard the occasional sound of gunfire from some of the frontmost of his men trying to get a few shots off on some grunts. He smiled as he saw a couple of them drop lifeless in the snow, but was also moderately disappointed in himself for not arming up before arriving. Well, it was his mistake and he'd have to live with it for the moment.

"All deployments, focus fire on the Prowlers. Take out their pilots when their exposed. Conway, things are going to get a little heavy. Stay frosty and drop 'em as they line up. Carter, the mini-me's are piling up, keep your men on stand-by. I'd like not to give your presence away this early, but I'm trusting you not to jump the gun here. You can question my good judgement later, just keep those torches lit and at the ready."

Now that he was 'officially' allowed to give an order to fire, Dalton didn't hesitate in the least. Once more did he address his troops. "Alright men. Focus on those ugly little mugs of their's and take paced shots. Don't let them near us, or you aren't going to be happy in the least." he paced from the back slowly, as really it was all he could do. The air was now filled with sporadic gunfire, the men who previously held off from firing were now not doing so. Dalton watched the battlefield, and almost felt sorry for one of the grunts who, unfortunately, got caught with a hail of led. It looked just like he had a grenade stuck in his throat and it finally decided to detonate. The prowler it was driving simply slowed to a complete stop, strangely.

*Boom...boomboomboom*

"Eh?" Dalton raised a questioning eyebrow to the sudden appearance of a hornet that let loose a series of missles and then tore up a few prowlers. Conway knew that that had to be a denial of orders, as Braxx would know the importance of keeping their air support's presence hidden. The smile he had from the death of the multiple grunts and prowlers had dropped because he was... unpleased. Yet, Braxx would handle this, and Dalton could focus on his own task at hand. "Osier, remember basic training! Squeeze, don't pull that damn trigger, and fire at a pace!" he reminded a marine who, as far as Dalton could tell, couldn't hit the broadside of a barn if his life depended on it. He kept pulling up.

Kids these days.

The Major was unnerved, this was way too many forces for just prodding defenses. The Grunts were just pushing closer and closer to the trenches, some of them dying less than ten feet from the sand-bag nests. The only relief Braxx got was when his eye in the sky spotted the source of the reinforcements. Lt. Harveys' voice commed in over his channel, "Sir, I have an opening, want me to take it?" "High altitude strafing runs only, Lieutenant. No more cowboy stunts" the Bear replied, taking a pause in his turret fire. The rattatat of his gun resumed, as he tried to aerate one of the Brutes that were still shuttling Grunts. His teeth gnashed on the butt of his cigar as he tried to find a better solution to this problem.

"Conway, check the line and make sure anti-armor aren't slacking off again, like that last drill."

"Major, multiple plasma-based ordinance incoming. Estimated fire-source being 22 Revenant class assault crafts."

The bleak, gray background lit up with scattered pink streaking lights. Long distance attempts to scatter resistance forces. Our resistance. They were pulling shock and awe tactics. The Major was dumb-struck. What in the hell was going on here? Brutes aren't that smart! It wasn't till he realized that those shots were going to be surprisingly accurate that he snapped out of it. One mortar in particular caught his eye, as it's angle-of-trajectory was heading his way.

"Incoming! Everyone Take Cover!" Those were the only words he could get out in time As he dove away from the encroaching ball of death. As he and several other marines hit the deck, bright fuchsia flames and searing, white hot liquid explodes and completely encompass the turret. The metal floor screeches and warps, blackening around the edges of the now glowing steel. Braxx didn't waste time worrying about possible flak or aftershock, as he sprung to his feet. His thoughts were only about his men. He stormed his way off the wall, retrieving a shotgun and assault rifle off a gun rack.

"Scramble all medics, and get any wounded off the field. Prioritize those God damn Revenants for any anti-armor and all turrets. The Grunts are going to breach, but we can deal with them. Tell Carter to recover, regroup, and reply with napalm. All Wolf-Teams are to deploy railguns. Those bastards may be light armored, but we have to take them out now. And..... note any casualties."

His voice dropped at the thought. Why were the Covenant wasting such effort on what logically should have been a light incursion? If they could spare this much meat for the grinder...... how big was their main force? He began thinking out loud.

"There's no way in hell they could have mobilized so much so fast. How long were they planning this?"

"Sir?"

"This has to have something to do with that damn base. They're doing something those ball-sacks out there don't want completed."

"But sir-"

"I'm getting answers, damn it. I'm not risking my marines without knowing what the hell we're guarding."

"Yes, sir, but-"

"What the hell is that MAC even doing? How'd Covy even get here? God damn it, you'd think we'd get more warning than this. Trooper. Hand me those frags."

"Sir!"

"What?"

"Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm going out to the trench to hold this God damn hunk of frozen crap with the rest of those marines, who all just got shafted harder than I did!"

And with that, Braxx stormed out into the biting frost, the sounds of war drowning out the AI's voice in his ear as she burned holes through his logic. He didn't care, he would bleed with his men. Promptly spotting the Captain, he addressed the man and tossed him the rifle. Carter was scrambling to his feet, Mallard was attending the wounded, and all down the line marines leapt back to their posts. Though it seemed that their lines broke long enough for the Grunts to be upon them, as one of the horrid little monsters waddled over the lip of the trench, firing pink shards at a couple troops. It quickly stopped, prompted by the feel of a large metal barrel under it's chin. "Aw, crap!" was all it said, before luminescent blue spray through the air and out the very large hole in it's head. Braxx huddled down and popped two more of the miniature aliens. The fact that they were in shotgun range was proof enough that it was time.

"Carter! Now!"

Conway wasn't too happy with the fact that he was having to re-teach some of these imbeciles how to fire a gun in the middle of a live firefight. There weren't too much, thankfully, but a couple of these so-called 'marines' weren't hitting anything but the snow beneath their targets, or were running the risk of nailing their one bird in the air.

Dalton was fed up by the time he received orders from Braxx.

"Conway, check the line and make sure anti-armor aren't slacking off again, like that last drill."

"Will do." came Conway's reply as he remembered that other problem he had with his men. Anti-armor was much, much more important that teaching his men, who should know how to fire a damn gun, how to shoot in the middle of this shitstorm, and so he went to check on his heavy-armed men, who were hiding on either sides of the main trenches. There were marines armed with rocket launchers, marines carrying grenade launchers, and a good-sized chunk of marines with sniper rifles. Of course these snipers were meant for anti-vehicle, not infantry, and with a few well-placed shots from their rifles, a even a Wraith wouldn't stand much of a chance.

"What the hell are you doing wasting all that ammo on grunts, soldiers? We've got purple-pounders inbound, and I don't like them getting close, you hear? Vehicles take top priority over infanty, and as for expolosives? I want you to wait until they are within RANGE before you try to fire. Same for everyone else." Dalton wasn't done there, and went to give out more instruction when...

"Mortar rounds incoming!"

*Boom!* *BANG!*

Not only did the sound of the purple plasma smacking into the ground fill the air, but various screams and a few death cries as well. Conway managed to jump his way out of lethal radius, but one of the explosions managed to send him a few feet into the air and almost burning his arm horribly. As he pushed himself off the ground, he coughed and shook his head to rid himself of the ringing. That hurt, but he'd been through worse, and wouldn't be thrown out of the game just yet. Not while his men were still alive. "Anyone heavies still alive: Kill those goddamned Revenants!" he barked an order he couldn't personally hear just yet.

His hands weren't staying still, his fingers were itching to be used to pull the trigger to whatever gun they could, and Dalton was about to scavenge a weapon off one of his now-deceased men when Braxx spared him that effort, and tossed him a good rifle. Now he was feeling better. "I don't remember these aliens using such tactics under Brute command, sir." Dalton began as he kneeled down and pumped well-placed rounds into grunts that were way too close for comfort. Braxx was using a shotgun.... and getting kills. How the hell did they get so close? The Captain managed three more grunts before being forced to swap his magazine for a new one. "Whatever this implies, I don't like it one bit."

Greyson was in the middle of reloading his SAW as he heard the shout go out for Heavies. The Aussie's brain clicked, he knew this was his calling. He strapped his Heavy LMG onto his chest, the strap backwards to give room for his rocket launcher and ammo. His hands then wrapped themselves around said heavy weapon on his back and pulled it forward and off its magnetic holster. "I need cover fire! I need cover fire! Anti-Armor here!" He shouted out in his drawl, the accent's color making it a tad bit easier to be heard over both his mic and the actual air about them.

As a few marines did as he asked and fended the infantry off about him, he popped from cover and prepared himself. Everything seemed to be going slower as Revenant came into a range, firing and hitting the wall behind them. He could hear his own breathe as he gripped the cold, steel, heavy cylinder on his shoulder. The rocket tube covered in ice and snow. He closed his eyes and then fired one of the explosives toward the vehicle. The rocket buzzed through the air and slammed one of the small artillery vehicles head on, causing a meddly of purple and blue flashed and the screaming of a Brute pilot being disintegrated slowly by a mixture of stray plasma fire and flames from the blast of the needle headed tube of death the human race called a rocket.

The Lion went to fire another rocket before sprays of plasma streaked near him and nearly clipped his head, ducking just in time. One of the two marines next to him not so lucky. He cursed and spat, knowing this position was useless now, he began crawling down the trench, nearing the Captain and Major before sliding into cover and crying out again for more support, the infantry pushing up from place to place making it nearly impossible for him to get another shot out.

The Major slouched behind the wall of frozen Earth, taking a moment to place fresh shells in his shotgun. His only comfort being that anti-armor finally woke the hell up and got off their asses about those damn Rev's. A torrent of pink glowing shards reigned over his head as one of his troopers approached him. "How bad is it, sir?" "Nothing to worry about, Marine, just keep your skirt on and your head down." He was lying, but he couldn't worry his troops. This wasn't normal, and the possibilities twisted a knot in his stomach. Braxx glanced over and noticed that Dalton seemed to be enjoying his new upgrade, as Braxx must have counted eight kills in just a few moments of the Captain getting his mitts on that rifle. "I don't remember these aliens using such tactics under Brute command, sir." Conway said, pausing to swap out a fresh magazine. "Whatever this implies, I don't like it one bit."

The Major paused a moment, fingers still clinched tight on a shell of buckshot. His brow lowered as he looked at Conway. "Yeah, that makes two of us. These assholes are taking orders from up the chain, and whoever, or whatever it is, is smarter than a god damn Bru-" he was cut off, instinctively ducking at the screech of rapidly combusting air and the roar of rising flames. Oh, and the screaming of a lot of burning Grunts. The little aliens squealed and yelled, as they ran around trying to outrun the pain and fire. It really just made it worse. Eventually, their methane tanks ruptured one by one, launching the flaming midgets airborne before exploding, shooting flames and bright blue gore everywhere. It looked like we had our own artillery, as the mini explosions filled the air. The confusion must've been a bitch, and that's just what Braxx wanted. He looked over to the Captain with his renowned "shit-eating" grin. "Yeah, Carter may be a pain in the ass, but you gotta give him this...... That soldier knows how to make one hell of an entrance."

---

Jean struggled against the winds for control. Being forced this high up by the plasma artillery, the blizzard became the worst enemy yet. Slowly she managed to peak below the clouds, using the mountain ridge as shelter from the storm winds. This, however, was as low as she'd go. Things were getting way too crazy on the ground for any swoops, as fun as it was to watch Jackals crap themselves. Her targeting systems blinked to life, taking note of each sizable target on her screen. Prioritizing the Revenant's, the Lieutenant grinned as one by one little red boxes formed over four of them. Weapons Lock: Confirmed. Her wry smile only grew as she spoke the words she'd waited to say all day.

"Hornet 1, Fox 3!" Her payload of ordinance dead-dropped from the Hornet's wings for a moment, before ignition guided them with lethal accuracy towards the doomed vehicles. The bright flashes of plasma fire marked each one's utter destruction, being rivaled only by the flames that slowly crawled across the ground below. "The boys are having fun, I see." Her eyes spotted a group of tangos flanking around the hellfire, making a mad dash..... err..... "waddle" for the trench. From this altitude kills would be nearly impossible to confirm, but a nice spritz of chaingun fire might be enough to scatter the little bastards.... she thought as she reigned lead down on the little specks on the ground below. Some ran, some exploded, some just dropped. Either way, job well done.

---

Within the East and West sniper's dens, men scrambled to mount the large railguns at the embrasures in the wall. The order had been given for advanced anti-armor, and the Wolf Teams were eager to comply. The large cannons clicked and hissed as they locked into place, humming to life for the very first time. The imaging scoped blinked on, showing the many possible targets in the field. Slate took up position behind the weapon as it's gunner, and somehow he knew Waddell had done the same. His first target came into his crosshairs, as his finger gently eased on the trigger. The Revenant's mortar cannon warmed up, preparing to launch it's deadly plasma at the base. Slater never gave it the chance, as the magnetically-launched projectile tore right through it's weapon. The power overload caused the plasma fuel-core of the vehicle to surge and burst, exploding and sending shrapnel and fire everywhere. Alex had chose to aim for the pilot, as his round all-but obliterated both driver and passenger. On both sides, their men opened fire with 50. cal rounds, picking targets and popping heads at their leisure.

One particular Rev seemed to have been frowned upon by what ever cosmic power ran the universe, as it entered the sights of both cannons. The resulting sandwich of faster-than-light rounds caused the fuel core to launch out the front of the vehicle like a bottle-rocket. it skimmed across the field, ricocheting off of the fort itself, sending it airborne back the way it came and finally exploding in the sky over the Covenant's heads. The brilliantly colored energized plasma fire left pinks trails to drift through the sky. It's bright, celestial, almost Heavenly color standing in magnificent contrast to the raging Hell of flames that consumed the Earth below. Ed couldn't help but admire the beautiful sight, birthed by none-other but the carnage of war. That, and the source of said flames. Jack Carter. To Slater, this was a man worthy of respect. Jack was like him, a single man capable of inflicting so much death to the enemy. One soldier, who claimed hundreds if not thousands of Covenant lives, this is the kind of person who would win the game. One soldier, an average soldier. Not some damn Spartan. If the Covenant held higher numbers than humanity, then these would be the men who would even the odds.

---

Valerie stood, in the embrace of the various orchestra of the battle. The barks of shotguns, the booming roars of grenades, the chattering of assault rifles, but all of this only aided in clouding her focus. She knelt beside a man, writhing in pain and struggling to suppress his own screams. A large, bright red blister covered his face where he'd been struck by a large chunk of flash-boiled ice. His agony-induced spasms making it that much harder to tend to his wounds. Valerie held him down to better inspect the injury, and determined that all she could do was numb the pain. With a bit of a struggle, she removed the stopper from a field syringe, pinning the soldiers arm so she could deliver the sedative. The marine's rapidly beating heart raced the agent through his vein, which slowly alleviated his pain. As his breathing stabilized, Val could see that he was in no shape to continue fighting. with one hand motion, a fellow marine came over to cart the young man off. The red cross on his shoulder marked that he carried the same burden as her. To tend to the wounded and dying. And as one medic dragged a body that seemed a bit too lifeless, she was reminded that it wasn't always just the dying they had to care for.

A stream of bright green projectiles darted past her head, as she gripped her rifle and took up cover. Her entire outlook flipping like a switch, and she threw lead and curses at the opposition. "Hey, I'm trying to work, you little micro-midget pains in my ass! I'll put an extra couple of holes in all your asses, you pint-sized sons-a-bitches!" The marine next to her couldn't help but snicker and giggle, hearing the woman that had been described to him as "like an angel" swear so profusely. He just shook his head and looked over at her with a friendly smile. "You must be Valerie, right? Sergeant Valerie Mallard? I'm Jacob" he said, snickering a little more. Val looked him over, with a smirk of her own, before finally asking "So, Jacob, what's so funny about me?" With another shake of his head, Jacob just looked at her. "I'm sorry, but hearing you like that...... I's just that, you know, I heard you were an ang-" he gagged as three needles traced up his chest, a fourth buried in his shoulder. Very close to his throat.

He fell backwards, with Val scrambling to catch him. He laid on his back, his body twitching uncontrollably. A clear sign that he was going into shock. She yelled at him to try and keep him focused. To try and keep him here. "Jacob! Jacob, stay here, stay awake! Come on damn it, just stay awake!" She gripped his hand tightly, hoping to reassure him that she was there. In reality, there was nothing should could do. The bleeding was so severe, he could have been on the table with surgeons at the ready, and he would still be gone. Her warm brown eyes must of reflected that cold truth as he gazed up dazedly into them, smiling at what he beheld as the fire from the battlefield bathed a warm glow over her. It's gentle light accentuating her soft features, making her almost appear to have a halo. "Heh....... you are...... an angel......." Jacob trailed off. His eyes lifting from hers and glazing over, as his grip loosened and his hand thudded against the ground. A single tickle of blood inched it's way from the corner of his mouth to mingle and mix with the rest on the muddy dirt. Watching this, Val felt as if a piece of him would now forever be trapped on this cold, abysmal hell of a planet. As if he could never leave. That thought made her heart sink deep in her chest, but she had to suppress that feeling. Now was not the time for mourning, it was time for revenge.

---

Braxx couldn't grin, seeing casualties in the trenches. He could only grit his teeth as he pumped more rounds through the flames. He could see the Grunts retreating, but wasn't sure if that was a given order. The wind barreled over the fort, pushing the flames forward and chasing the aliens as they ran. "Good, I hope those bastards all get their asses scorched. Give 'em a good taste of the hell from my religion" he grumbled at a rather audible volume. The Major couldn't help but notice that there wasn't a mass retreat, as the grunt would pause every so often to return fire. Odd, but not particularly note-worthy. However, the green streaks whizzing past Carter and his men was. It was green, but not as Illumines as normal energy pistols, and it definitely didn't streak the same way. These were Covenant Combines. Jackals. They're trying to snipe their tanks! "Carter! Get Your Asses Back Here, Now! They're Aiming For Your Tanks!" the Major didn't like this. Not at all. He turned his attention to Conway.


"The Covy's aren't retreating, they're stalling. For what, for who, I don't know. What I do know is we have to break their foothold before whatever it is gets here. Prepare the men, as soon as Carter's boys are back we have to make a push. I don't like it any more than you do, but we have to break them here and now."

Quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had seen in a while, Conway was gifted by the sight of flames and grunts being combined to make a most very hilarious display, or so Dalton thought as each one of the grunts, set aflame, attempted anything they could to escape the pain and suffering from the fire they were engulfed in. Their attempts all failed as eventually, they stopped moving, killed by the flame or better yet, the tanks on their backs ruptured, exploded and only made the sight more awe-inspiring. If they weren't stuck smack-dab in the middle of battle, Conway would've given Carter a handshake right then and there. Braxx was probably just as happy as he was, the way he spoke made it sound it sound like that. "You're damn right he does. I'm buying him a drink once we're done here." Dalton smirked.

Unhappy. Almost immediately later, Dalton felt himself unhappy with this situation. Casualties left and right, green darts flying about, it pissed him off to see this, and he'd make sure the covies would pay for each human life they unwittingly took. He'd make damn sure they would, with his own hands if he had to. For now, he was using his rifle to do exactly what Braxx was doing, and that was pumping rounds into the beasts behind the flames. Call it cruel, but Dalton noticed one of his bursts had trailed off into a Grunt's leg and was non-fatal. Poor bastard was unable to nub itself away anymore, but was awefully close to the fire that was creeping its way towards the little devil. Dalton kept his eye out for others, popping some more, but also seemed to just smile when the flames caught up to him and began burning him slowly.... he screamed for his worthless life, eventually going quiet about a minute or two later, then exploding. Pretty.

"The Covy's aren't retreating, they're stalling. For what, for who, I don't know. What I do know is we have to break their foothold before whatever it is gets here. Prepare the men, as soon as Carter's boys are back we have to make a push. I don't like it any more than you do, but we have to break them here and now."

*Whoosh!*

Right past Conway's head flew one of those fatal, green rounds shot from a carbine. Well, it went over Conway's head because he had ducked into cover to reload, and unlike some novice rook, he made she he wasn't vulnerable to enemies while he did so. Dalton shook his head in distaste, but nevertheless, obeyed his orders and took out his radio because he figured he wasn't going to be able to shout over all of the gunfire. "This is Captain Conway speaking.... Any and all of you men and woman still not lying in a pool of your own blood, or better yet, alien blood, prepare yourselves! Fresh mags and a hardened reserve! We're taking our playground back from them, and you'd better be BEFORE I am! Now get moving!"

A group of marines next to Conway himself and Braxx answered: "Ho-ah!" before taking defense so they could keep their heads before the rush. Conway shook his head and smiled. At least some of the men know how to listen. These other ones though....

Well, maybe he should've gaven that order before he was ready, instead of after.

"You know what they say about running away from Bears don't you?" he smirked as he looked at Braxx. "You don't have to outrun the bear itself, just your friends. For their sake, I hope they know that, or this is going to wind up more messy than it should be. But then again, I've always wanted to see a Bear tear apart a grunt. You think you can grant that wish for me, Sir?" Braxx could probably tell that Dalton was excited, and that the blood was pumping through his veins. If anything, possibly even one of those brutes had made the mistake of getting up close, Dalton might've punched it square in the face.

Major Braxx

---

The Major's hand grasped onto one of the shoulder plates of the armored Flamers, guiding him into the trench. He didn't much bat an eye at Carter, merely stating that "Your orders are to sit tight and wait for further orders. Unless the shit hits the turbine again your part here is done". He took one final gaze over that blood stained field, surprised by how much snow was still there. The flames were dying down, with their little puddles of napalm drying and nothing else to burn but bare ground. The Grunts were trying to regroup, the Jackals were returning fire to the snipers, and no one was paying attention to the battle-hungry marines in the trench. This was a bad move, but if it was going to happen then these were the best circumstances. He could hear his troopers chomping at the bit, they wanted the charge. They wanted Revenge. They would not be denied.

"You know what they say about running away from Bears don't you?" Braxx heard from behind him, a small grin forming already. He turned to Dalton, to hear the man out. "You don't have to outrun the bear itself, just your friends. For their sake, I hope they know that, or this is going to wind up more messy than it should be. But then again, I've always wanted to see a Bear tear apart a grunt. You think you can grant that wish for me, Sir?" The Major didn't skip a beat, pulling out his knife with a wide smile on his face. "Oh, I suppose so, provided I still remember how. Then again, it's just like riding a bike, ain't it?" Braxx couldn't help it, that made his day. Despite all of bad that occurred in just an hour, he got something back he missed most dearly. He felt like a soldier again.

All it took was a hand motion, one signal, and they stormed the field. War cries, shouts, battle-roars. They all sounded as gunfire opened in controlled bursts and boots stomped over mud and purple blood. The remaining Covenant forces, for once, were outmatched. Marines practically lunged at the Grunts, as both sides made a push for ground. With no more armored support, and the Brutes leaving them for dead, there was little the little aliens could do. Still, they made their stands, sending green darts and pink shards flying back at the lead spewing troopers. Marines used the shattered bodies of those Covy vehicles that only moments ago were trying to kill them. Many of the remains were still smoldering or even still burning with plasma-fire. What was once a large, all-out war has since downgraded into a series of little skirmishes spread across the open field. Surprisingly, no fatality markers winked on in the entire scene.

Valerie Mallard

---

She could feel it, a hate burning in the pit of her stomach. She hated the Covenant for what they did, for what they do. She hated them for each of the men and women being dragged to the infirmary, and for each drop of human blood on the ground. She hated them for being on this damn planet, for being in this God forsaken war. A hate shared by every marine she stood shoulder to shoulder with. When the signal to charge was given, Valerie hesitated. She forced herself to look back, to look at those still, pale faces. To look at those dead faces. Each one, a young marine, green as grass. None of them deserved this. No one deserved to die here. It wasn't like she needed to remind herself of why she fought, she always would know why. But those faces..... this would be for them. Popping the new mag into her rifle, she quickly joined the others in the charge and the battle cries. No cold anymore, the fire in their hearts made sure of that.

Eddy Slater

---

There were no need for the big guns anymore, but the call for snipers was still high. Slate had just slapped a fresh clip into his rifle, and had his sights set on making the Brutes regret joining the fight. One in particular that he had his eye on, one missing a helmet. Someone had knocked it off earlier, but Ed was occupied with the deployment of the railgun. Now, it was time to make amends. Those emotionless aviators peered through the digital scope, sweeping for his mark. "Ah, there you are......." Riding at the wheel of a fleeing Prowler, his marked tango made his retreat. "And who said you got to leave?" Slater gently eased on the trigger, loosing a round. The projectile ricocheted off of the controls of the alien vehicle, trick-shotting into it's driver's face and causing a stream of strangely human-looking blood to arced out the back of the big ape's head. It flopped off the back of the moving vehicle, leaving it to crash into a snow drift. Deciding the gunner had no more right to live than the driver, Ed let fly two more bullets, each finding a home in the beast's throat.

Major Braxx

---

Shotguns have always had a psychological effect on people, this has been proven throughout the years, and judging by the cowering of many a Grunt, it's not human specific. They huddled together, only replying when their doom approached them. Braxx singled one out, dropping both his friends before charging in for the coup de grâce. The Grunt spun around, only to receive Baxx's metal shin caste to the face. The seven foot giant stood over the fallen creature, knife at the ready, as he delivered slash after slash in mad succession. Braxx stood, blue goop bathing his knife and staining his armor, as he raised the blade above his head and looked towards his captain. "Hey Dalton! First Knife Kill!" At this point, nothing could wipe the smile off his face. Well, till he turned around to claws in his face, that is. A Jackal that had moved in for a flank saw an opportunity at the human's apparent leader, and it's bloodthirsty nature demanded that it take it. The screeching bird raptor-jumped onto the Major, talons sinking into the nicks of his combat armor.

Eddy Slater

---

The final round was saved, as Ed saw the Jackal on the Major. He didn't shoot, no clear shot yet, but it was more than that. Slater needed to know, could the Major still fight? Had the dog grown lazy? Or has age made it simply meaner? Braxx had a reputation for being a badass, but those days were long in the past and Slater didn't follow on heresay alone. He had to see it. His finger hovered over the trigger, eager to see if indeed this old war vet had any right to battle on the lines with his troops.

Major Braxx

---

The hollowing monster squawked and clawed with hateful intent, wrestling with it's opponent for the killing blow. Finally Braxx got his hand on it's throat and tossed it off of him. The Jackal sprung to it's feet in an instant, engaging in a stare-down with the Major. It's inhumanly pale, slit eyes locking onto his dark brown ones. Finally, the move was made, the Jackal leaped first...... right into the heel of Braxx's steel-coated foot. The strong, straight kick clanged against the creatures skull, stopping it dead, leaving it dazed and sprawled across the ground. You could almost literally see the stars swirling around it's head, right up until Braxx moved in to slit it's throat. "I hate those God damn things" he grumbled, scraping the blade off on his armor.

This fight was finally nearing it's end, as the last of the petty resistance was fleeing in absolute terror from the hardened resolve of the human warriors, being chased by lead the whole way. All around him, marines shouting in victory. Charred and burnt carcasses littered the ground, along with mangled alien cadavers and shredded bodies. In some cases, it was litle more than just bits of various organic matter. The dirt had been turned to mud by the rivers of alien blood. Purple and blue blood covered their boots, sticking to the ground and muck. To some, this was a horror scene, but to the proud men and women who fought here today, this was absolutely beautiful. In the distance, however, the sound of rolling thunder gave pause to the cheers of the soldiers. Far on the horizon, the monolithic cannon of the Arm of Orion was moving. A deafening boom accompanied a flash of light as the clouds parted to show the path of it's shot. Something had invoked it's wrath, and that something was likely now dead. Then the call came. Amanda commed the major, informing him of dire news.

"Sir! I have news that ATLAS has picked up on an extremely fast moving Covenant ship headed to your position."

"Confirmed kill?"

"Affirmative. Target was downed less than one hundred klicks away from Echo."

"How the hell did it get that close?"

"Precision slip-space reentry accompanied by stealth capabilities seams to be the favorite theory."

"Theory?!"

"Yeah, I know you'd get hung up on that word. I tried suggesting that.... Oh crap! Multiple drop pods incoming onto your location, I count twenty! They're too small to target with the AA's, they're going to land!"

Braxx gazed up into the stormy skies, but could see the faint glow of Covenant drop parts as they plummeted to the ground. Directly above them. Braxx made a mistake. The Covy weren't stalling, they were baiting, and he just sent his men in like a total idiot. "What the fuck is going on...... Brutes are not that God damn smart!" There was no time to move, as the pods impacted against the ground around him and his men. The pods slowly slid open, as the Hunters roared at the sight of human soldiers. The Earth shaking thuds of their armored forms leaping from the pods to the ground was a huge strike to moral, let alone their mere presence.

".......Oh God damn it."

It was a bloodbath, this battlefield that Dalton found himself fighting on. And, luckily enough, none of the freshest blood appeared to be any of his mens', which only made his day that much more bearable. He kept a curved smile on his face due to the sheer enjoyment he was that they were nearly effortlessly pushing these aliens back from the base. They would know never to attack another human base so long as they lived - if they lived.

Conway, along with his men that were pushing forward through the covenant forces as if they were a knife and the aliens were butter, fired his weapon at the retreating enemies, scoring a few hits along the back of a small grouped-up bunch of grunts, tearing through the canister on the back of one and sending him flying forwards into another, at which point the canister detonated in a beautiful display of plasma fire and ragdoll grunts. God was it a sight to behold. Every alien kill was, or at least the veteran soldier would like to believe so. Serves them right for picking a fight they couldn't handle.

There was still retaliatory fire, but it was very minimal - to the point where Conway didn't even have to bother with hiding behind any of the wrecked Prowlers or Ghosts, he continued forwards, pulling the trigger and letting loose a couple of bursts from the barrel of his Assault Rifle, all of which were accurate and well-placed in the Covy-asses that they were showing. He wasn't too far from what targets he picked, so each round that soared gracefully through the air found its mark without fail. He was only relenting when he had to be, exchanging an empty magazine for a fresh one and popping in the bottom of the weapon, hearing it click in place. After that he'd continue with more bursts almost like a robot programmed to do so.

He was actually so into the killing that when he was about to finish off one more grunt and he ran out of ammo once more, he wasted no time in retrieving his combat knife and gripping it by the blade as he lined it up and gave it a hefty chuck. It would then fly through the air, following the grunt a small distance before he would turn to fire a few purple needles to cover his escape, only to be impaled through the head. Dalton, who had only occasionally thrown a knife out of sheer boredom, was surprised at his own accuracy, but smiled nontheless.

A short jog to the body of the grunt later, he reached down quickly and pulled the knife from the body with a little bit of resistance due to it becoming stuck a bit too far into the unfortunate bastard's head. It was a confirmed kill, and though it was probably one of the more satisfying kills he had made in a while, he wasn't about to ditch his ranged Assault Rifle to see if he was a natural at it. He'd be fine with just calling it luck. And so, once more, he pulled a mag - his last one mind you - off of his person and slammed it into the bottom of his weapon. It was around this time that Braxx had callled his attention.

"Hey Dalton! First Knife Kill!"

Dalton audibly cackled with a laugh. "You might be a second late there, Major." he replied with a wide grin on his face. Of course it was wiped off as a bird-brain decided that it would be a good idea to get in close-range with the Big Bear. Dalton, who had been a witness to Braxx's combat abilities before, honestly feared nothing unfavorable to happen in this situation, and watched as the beaked assailant regretted ever getting in close with the giant, and then watched it die.

"I hate those God damn things"

With the Major victorious in the battle, as Dalton had predicted, the Captain made his way to Braxx with a few quick steps. He looked up to the man quite literally and spoke with that same grin from before. "I'm sure it just left you with another scar to scare the greens with." he chuckled a little bit, seeing as it didn't impede the Major's ability to fight in the least, he figured. "I'm sure you'll get a few of them back before they disappear with their beaks in their asses." with that, the Captain turned back and joined the 'mop-up' that took place for a small time later.

....
....
....

Dalton, the Captain, was not angered that they had just fallen for a trap such as this. No, this plan was actually excellently executed to make it as effective as possible. But he was pissed regardless. Since when did Brutes use strategy - and an effective one at that! If they had done this much earlier, he would be afraid that the human race might not have made it too long in the war, but still, he believed that they could 'bounce back' from this trap, whatever it was. Until the pods that had fallen from the heavens opened with their cargo, Hunters.

"Well spank my ass and call me Charlie....." he muttered to himself.

This was going to be a bloodbath, and this time it would easily be his own mens' blood staining this charred, green snow. Two was bad enough, but with each of the many pods opening, they were going to be slaughtered. They already were! The volley of plasma fire tore through many a marine squad, rendering them unconcious or dead, the latter being the most prominent. "Shit, Major! We need to do something quick!" he shouted over the loud booms and howls of the Hunter fire, each one doing damage in one way or another.