Sarah Laughlin's Story

---Barracks---

"Goddammit!"

Corporal Laughlin, who'd stood the night watch, had all but fallen out of her rack when the GQ alarms had started blazing. She'd been dreaming of somewhere warm. With trees. And a color other than white. And maybe a few guys with haircuts that werent high and tight. So she wasnt in the best of moods upon having her little vacation interrupted, and groused appropriately to her bunkmates as she struggled into her boots.

"Old man picks a hell of a day for a drill, dont he?!"

"God please no 'boots and uts' in the snow. I just know I'm going to end up with frostbite. Again." Someone else joins in on the time-honored tradition of Bitching.

It gets shut down quickly, though, when a sargent sticks his head in the door to howl at them to move their asses. This wasnt a drill. There were Covenant confirmed, and comming in loaded for a fight. That set the room on fire, and Marines scramble into their gear and out of the door. Laughlin whistled appreciatively and, once her armor was kitted up, pushed asside the footlocker beneath her bed to retreive something from behind it. Her rifle and pistol, secured to her comm gear backpack. Another female glares accusingly, and Laughling can only grin stupidly and shrug.

"Too tired to hit the armory last night. I was gonna wait until you were all out before I slipped it back in there.. Guess it's a good thing this isnt a drill, right?" She laughs as she ratches the straps of the pack on tight, seeing the familiar datastream across her HUD as the comm gear winds through its powerup. Chatter instantly fills her headset until she filters out her squad and the command freq, moving her ass out the door and into the bitter cold.

---Yard/Trenches---

Everyone is running; the sort of controlled chaos that only the military can operate in. Laughlin dodges a crowd of eggheads heading for the interior and all but slides on her ass down the icy ramp into the trenches. She remembered the detail to dig these bastards. She, along with every other junior marine, had cursed the Major's name unto five generations as they'd chipped, scraped, and blasted their way through the permafrost. And now they just might save her ass. Grudgingly, she takes back her share of the curses as she pulls her snowmask up over her mouth and nose in an attempt to maintain the warmth of the barracks as long as possible.

Down the way, the Hellbringer CO is giving a particularly motivating speach and Laughlin cant help but snicker. Hurhur. Flamers. The jokes were endless and wrote themselves.

Apparently one of her squadmates was thinking the same thing, because he grins the same retarded grin back at her and joins her in supressed mirth before they cough themselves back into 'Serious Buisness' mode and re-check the condition of their rifles. All down the line, other grunts to do the same, and the trenches echo quietly with the rattle and click of metal and men prepared for war.

Always with the drilling and the range time and the 'oorah' this and 'covenant bastards' that. Twice, Laughlin had been close to combat, but had never actually seen it. Now that it was looming closer in the snow, she found herself wishing for just a few more of those damned drills. Maybe one more time at the fuckin' range. Maybe her combat luck would hold and the Covenant would, inexplicably, turn away. Third time was the charm, right?

The thought sets off another bout of nervous snickerfits, and she probably cuts a helluva sight hunkered down in her armor, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

---Barracks---

At the scream of the Sergeant the Aussie was upon on his feet, groaning lightly. Confirmed Covenant attack... This would be one of his first actual engagements with the said Alien Foes that had been slicing the Human's defenses open like butter since an assault on Harvest years back. That was all history though, what matters was that they were here at this very moment on his doorstep. Greyson along with most of his squad hustled to the Armory to suit up, quickly finding his armor set he slid it on, clicking the straps, magnets, and other devices of secure holding into place before sliding his helmet on. His armor was reinforced with an extra layer of steel due to the amount of attention he drew with his job of Support Gunner and Anti-Armor duty. As his helmet slid on he saw his HUD popping up and as he activated the Comms, heard the scrambling of the bases defenses. Next he grabbed his grenades, two anti-infantry fragmentation, and three anti-vehicular high explosives. Then came his armaments. Shuffling over, concentrated and focused he grabbed his Light Machine Gun and its ammunition and soon his Rocket Launcher. If felt as if he put a tank on his back, the weight of the 50. Cal Ammo and Dumb-Fire rockets weighed a ton and even in his shape strained him to move quickly. But mobility was underrated. He lagged behind the rest of the group as they exited the armory, having to take it slow to not overexert himself as a beast-of-war's-burden.

---Trenches---

Again the last one out of the yard in his squad he ran behind another member of it. Soon he too was pulling his mask over his face as the cold blasted his all too human skin. He was used to a hot city in the Southern Hemisphere of a temperate world, this on the other hand, this was hell to any Australian who had his head on straight. But he minded himself, not complaining, saving his breathe for the battle to come.

He passed the Hellbringers and couldn't help but smile. "Light 'em Torch Boys!" Were the first few words that came from his mouth, deeply accented. Soon he was placed in next to the female Corporal of his squadron. Checking his LMG as asked, not daring to use to the Launcher on his back until Hostile Heavy Armor actually came into sight. The man found himself shaking and his stomach churning in though of engaging enemies that were both physically and technologically more advanced than humanity and in a dead blizzard too. However, he shook his head clear, feeling his heart burn in determination again. Turning and whispering to the female next to him, he chuckled lightly at her snickering. "Whatta day for a bloodbath, 'ey?" A morbid battlefield joke, one he had said in Basic during weapons training once or twice, quickly turning to watch the snow.

She was hesitant at first, but Val soon darted off towards the Armory behind Shane. The alarm was a sudden rude awakening compared with the somewhat quiet day it had been only moments ago. Still, she had a job to do. Unlike her companions, her main role was to heal and to care, not practice with her weaponry. Not that she didn't know how to fire a gun, just that she had better healing hands than death-dealing fingers. Still. She was a soldier, and a soldier is called upon to fight, with no complaints, and no hesitation.

In the armory, she quickly grabbed her weapons and the accompanying ammunition. A DMR and an Assault Rifle, a fine accompaniment to the SMG she always carried with her. She jammed a clip into the DMR and ripped back the firing pin, slamming the first round into place. Now she was ready, she weaved between the soldiers likewise rushing to arm up and quickly made her way to the trenches, behind Corporal Jack and his squad of Hellbringers. Lucky. She arrived just in time to hear his alpha male bravado, but she couldn't fault the man for it. They were Marines, he was a soldier in command of soldiers. The Bravado was to be expected, even encouraged.

Fight through blood, through guts, through plasma and through fire, and win Glory. Perhaps she was old-fashioned. She enjoyed the war speeches of old, regal things, speaking of courage, of glory, of winning the day and forging stories to be told to the next generations. Heh. A woman with the codename Valkyrie with delusions of grandeur. How... Quaint. Well, if it was glory she wanted, she was bound to find it in the trenches. She was a combat medic, there to aid those who needed it the most. Something told her that the area that was going to be hit the hardest was the trenches.

Val had managed to end up beside a man with a thick Australian drawl. "Whatta day for a bloodbath, 'ey?" Despite herself, Valerie found herself laughing at the morbid joke and nodded with the man. "Personally, I'd prefer a hot shower. We take what we get, I suppose," she added, pointing her DMR downrange and waited, patiently, for the orders to fire.

An eternal optimist, even to the end.

"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..."

Greyson heard the reports coming steadily in on the radio strapped the Corporal's back. His hands shaking as he remained still with his LMG ready, not firing when the mountable turrets brought a malestorm of fire, lead, and stray plasma explosions down on the incoming Ghosts. It really was spectacular to see, the flashes of blue highlighted by purple, red, white, and yellow. Making a fire show. Grunts squealing in chaos as the Ghosts were blasted apart. He had never seen anything of the like...

Then came more news. News of light infantry transports. Prowlers. He had read about them and learned how engage them thanks to new anti-armor courses. He prepared his gun, aiming down the sights. The cool metal trigger on his gloved finger, read to fire, as the moan of their engines cut through snowstorm. He knew there was also a medic next to him. That was another priority. He knew a medic would need cover if the foes got up close and brutal, he looked over and whispered. "If they get into the trenches stay near me." And then turned back, calming and steadying his breath as he waited for the order to open fire upon enemy craft. He knew his gun would pack a punch, firing 50 Cal. even a Prowler's armor would be torn into by the heavy, FMJ/AP rounds he had provided with for the weapon.

He just kept on waiting as the second's ticked by, a million to one instances clicking through his brain. He had seen images, accounts, and received warnings if what most Covenant units were capable of doing to a Human, and he did not want to meet the wrong side of one's fist... Or the side of a Brute Shot or Spiker, and the most dreadful though was a Plasma Repeater or a damned Mauler. Grizzly weapons, all meant for one purpose to rend flesh in a brutal, imposing way.

"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.

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."

It was madness, wasnt it? Plasma comming in, bullets going out. Shouts and yells and alien screams. The roar of the Hornet's engines overwhelm the wail of the swarming Prowlers, but the snow prevents anything but the view of a big shadow. Not that Laughlin was busy sky-gazing.

The Corporal kept her rifle downrange, shooting at anything that opened itself up. She could never really tell if she'd hit or not, with how often the Covenant were quick to reply and force her head back down under the trench. There was no more snow in front of her. A close shot from a Prowler's guns had flash-boiled it, and made the bare dirt beneath hot to the touch besides. Freezing five minutes before, now she was soaked in sweat and panting for air.

"Christ on a crutch, how many are -out- there?!" She wonders out loud, sliding down the wall of the trench to sit on the firing bench while she reloads, tossing the empty mag into a growing pile of similar cases.

The Marine assigned to pop fresh rounds into those spent mags shrugs and tosses her a fresh one.

Hell, I thought the war was over! No one said shit about this when I signed up!

Wiggling the magazine into its place and giving it a securing smack in the palm of her glove, Laughlin does get a chance to look up briefly at the gray skies, "Storm's still really bad... Do you think we're going to call in for reinforcements?"

Laughlin didnt wait for an answer. It was really a rhetorical question, anyway. Unless the Major called on a drastically over-encoded channel, she'd know about it. Standing back up on the bench, she ducked sharpley as a plasma grenade's explosion sends ice flying, giving it a half-second to settle before she lifts her rifle to shoot a reply back into the Covenant lines. There were enough of them that they were pushing. What were just vehicles and dark shapes were now distict alien bodies.

In the famous words of the equally famous SgtMaj Johnson... this was gonna get hot.

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!"

"GET DOWN!"

It'd been all Laughlin had heared above the din of battle. Her eyes and attention had all been on the ground, increasingly frustrated and worried as the press of Covenant just got closer and closer no matter how many rounds she put into them. In the first few minutes, when they were a comfortable distance away, the Corporal fancied herself quite the veteran, now, having stared down the enemy and popped his ugly face. But then they'd just kept comming, and the bitter panic had crept up into the back of her throat.

Another Marine - she'd never learn who - grabbed the comm gear on her back and bodily pulled her down off the wall as her world suddenly became screaming light and boiling heat.

When the corporal's senses returned, sound was all muffled thuds and ringing. Everything hurt, and it took her a few seconds of blinking up at the blue-gray sky to fully realize what that fuzzy black shape leering down at her was. The Jackal was all but salivating at the trench full of Marines who hadnt immediately made it back to cover, and lifted its rounded pistol menacingly.

And then the heat was back, but this time in the form of Hell's own fire belched from Jack's boys as they howled a vicious reply. The Jackal - or rather the screaming torch that it'd become - fell backwards onto the snowmelt mud and out of sight. Laughlin groaned as she rolled off her pack and onto her stomach, scrambling briefly on her hands and boots to get out from under the line of Hellbringers and back into relative safety.

Sticking a finger in her ear to wiggle it clear of the ringing just makes her yelp with the ice-pick pain it caused, and the glovetip comes away bloody. There are only so many Hellbringers, and the grunts are jumping into the trenches where they can. Laughlin chases her rifle, hanging by its sling, before fumbling it back up to her shoulder and crouching at her corner, shooting at the first shape that's less than 5' tall and not squawking IFF.

She really hoped the Major called for help soon. This wasnt fun anymore

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."

Corporal Laughlin regains the wall as the Hellbringers push the grunts back. She passes Valerie hunched over the multitude of wounded, and her eyes dance briefly across pale faces to see if she recognized anyone, even if a voice in the back of her mind tells her she'd rather not know. Of course she would recall them; the post was too tiny not to. But these faces, twisted in agony or frozen in horrified surprise, were all strangers and completely removed from the Marines Sarah might have recognized. She'd seen them bored, annoyed, laughing, even pissed off and ready to fight. But never like this. The niggling question comes despite her efforts to supress it. Would someone recognize her, in all of this? Maybe a faceless letter would be better for family than comming to claim a body. It would rip her mom apart. A mass grave of anonymity on some far away alien world would be much more distant, an easier idea to live with.

The thought is colder than the ice that surrounds them, and serves to clear the rest of the fog from her head. She shoves it down into the bitter pit in the center of her gut, banishing it. The fear that swaddles it becomes her focus; fear that if she didnt win, there would be more faces in the snow leering up at people who might know them. The Corporal howls and opens fire at the backs of the covenant that press away from the flamethrowers, determined to teach them the folly of attacking a goddamn Marine.

Word begins snaking down word-of-mouth. The Major was going to order them foreward. Ammunition and replacement weapons trickle down, and Marines start appearing at the wall wearing the white of fresh bandages. Bolstered by the fire-flinging badasses and the word that they had utterly obliterated the Covenant artillery, catcalls and angry roars once again start building up in the lines. They wanted it. They wanted to spring over that wall and make the Covenant pay tenfold for every drop of human blood on the snow. Devildogs on a tight leash, and the Major had his finger on the release.

She glances back and -does- recognize Greyson. The big Aussie bastard was hard to miss. It'd earned him endless ridicule, but right now the Corporal was just happy to see a face she fucking recognized in this press of madness.

"Lion! Over here! We're gonna take the fight to them, and I would feel a helluva lot better having your grenade-happy ass nearby!" Her usual shit-eating grin is shaken, but she musters up a suitable ammount of 'oorah-diggity' to bring the tone of her voice back into acceptable ranges of good humor.

"Lion! Over here! We're gonna take the fight to them, and I would feel a helluva lot better having your grenade-happy ass nearby!" Was the first thing the Aussie heard after firing a second rocket into the fray, he couldn't help but grin under his snow and frost at the term "grenade-happy", just because he was a Boomer, or atleast that was what he called himself, did not make him grenade-happy. He moved over next to the Corporal and chuckled. "With all do respect Laughlin are you sure that's what you want? I could just end up blowing you up too... But since I got an invitation..." His accented voice shaky but amused in itself.

Squatted down next to the Corporal he wanted for the general order of attack, sliding his rocket launcher back into place on his back and pulling his LMG back off it's chest holster. "I will need cover Laughlin, I move slow, so would you mind...? It'll be like a dance." He uttered next, a small snerk in his voice. His hands still shaking on the piece of metal-covered death in his hand as he loaded a new clip. The soft clicking noise of the clip into the gun similar to that of dropping a marble on the floor over and over. Annoying a lot of the time but on this battle field oddly calming.

He peaked over the trench as he waited, watching the Gauss guns in the sniper nests tear the remaining Revenants apart in a glorious display of plasma and asymphony of destruction, the screeching and roaring of bending metal, the fizzle of falling plasma, burning its way slowly into the snow and ice covered earth of this hellhole of a planet. The screams and dying yells of unlucky pilots, getting torn apart by the meddly of dangerous flames, fumes, and shrapnel. To some soldier's this may have been a wondrous sight... To Greyson. Not so much. Even if they were aliens it made him think what ifs.. Like if the pushing vehicles where Warthogs getting shredded fuel-rod Shade turrets.

Ducking back down he took a deep shuddering breath before looking about the Trenches, his gaze, distorted lightly caught the eyes of a dead marine, blood dripping down the man's shoulders, eyes blank and abysmal, memories gone and burned away. He felt his heart begin to pound and blood rush to his head. The sound thudding over and over, this was battle, this was war. And he was trapped in its dimensions, seeing the reality of it for the first time. Shaking his head he pushed it all away and turned slowly to Laughlin. Looking towards her for a second. Wondering if she could be next to join the bodies on the ground or could he. But that didn't matter. He shook his head clear a second time and removed his mask for a second, vomitting onto the ice next to him nervous paranoia.

"Are you ready Laughlin?" He asked, popping back up. Head now clear, ready to charge, accepting the fact that not everyone came home from this deadly game know as warfare.

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."

"Charge!"

The command had been given, and Corporal Laughlin had been swept up in the tide of armor that roiled over the edge of the trench, howling wordlessly to add to the undeniably human battle cry issued forth by the Marines. It rose from their front, and seemed to take on a life of its own; building upon itself until it wasnt a hundred sepparate voices, but rather one giant seething rush of an angry white noise. Like the roar of a killer wave thrown onto some god-forsaken shore. And when it broke upon the retreating lines of Covenant, it did so with all the power of thier anger at the audacity of these alien bastards to show up on their doorstep this morning.

Get some.

Return fire was sparce; the Covenant were in a full panic. Laughlin actually managed to outrun a waddling little grunt, comming up behind it so close she was tempted - briefly - to reach out and shake its stupid little air tank right off its back. As if realizing how close its doom was, it turned with plasma-pistol in hand, and Laughlin was forced to end her momentum with a point-blank shot to the alien's face that left cold Grunt blood coating the front of her face and armor. She stopped short, and was torn between utter disgust and a glowing pride. She must look like a fucking badass right now.

With time to pause, she looks around the stampeding mass of human armor to locate the towering figure of Greyson like a waypoint. Someone familiar was a damn comfort, and by the time she spots and reaches him in the debris-strewn field, the shots are growing fewer in between. Scattered shouts of victory were already bubbling up when, in the distance, the massive call of the Orion silences them all as it rips the sky apart.

Slowing to a stop near the big Aussie, Laughlin looks vaguely confused for a moment before she lifts her hand to the left side of her head. Her right ear was still all ringing, but the left had been shielded by her comm headset, and now it filters in the conversation between the Major and Amanda. Her vague smile drops off her face like a rock, and she pales noticably. Looking to Greyson, intent on relaying the warning, the sky opens up a second time. With Covenant drop pods. They shake the earth in a drumming sucession, and it only gets worse when the second ground-shaking impact announces the arrival of towering, mobile artillery.

Alien roars and ominous green glows, Laughlin dives for the slushy ground as a searing surge of energy lances nearby, sending a twisted Prowler wreck into a tumble, exploding in a shower of plasma that caught several nearby Marines inside its radius. They die screaming. And all across the open field, they arent the only screams starting to rise...

The Aussie tore through the Covenant lines as the other Marines around him him did. It was in utter entirety a role reversal, one that even he found himself enjoying. The Grunts and Jackels were a minimum threat. Nothing compared to the horde of marines, rifles in hand, ammo in the clip. The creatures fled before the might of the UNSC getting torn to bits and pieces as it happened. It was a bluntly beautiful sight.

Greyson took time to fire at runners with his SAW, the heavier-than-most-rounds causing intense damage to the Grunts, the rounds ripping through their hides with a loud popping noise. Greyson rarely aimed at individuals; locating groups and blazing them in a saute of lead. Causing the bioluminesce blood to spray here and there, coating the ground, the snow-ridden chunk beneath their feet into a slush of life-fluids and gore. Unlike most accounts in history, it wasn't Human gore, but Covie. These bird-like creatures and arthropods were not the top-dogs here. The marines were.

They continued the push past the twisted wrecks, Greyson locating a survivor in the strewn metal of a Prowler. A Brute, impaled roughly to the snow and ice, legs trapped under the frame where the creature used to sit and guide the light ground transport. It was Gargling for it's life. Clawing feebly at the snow in last attempts to escape, it was obvious it had been here for a while, shielded on the knee side of the wreckage but held down by a piece of warped alloy, bleeding out like a stuck pig. Greyson looked at the beast, it snarled, meekly, the Marine almost sympathized with it. It seemed human in some aspects now, it was mortal, trapped by fate. He growled at himself, he aimed and fired multiple rounds into it. Carrying on almost immediately.

Soon the cheering broke out as soon as it seemed they had won. The foes they had been fighting eradicated. The day seemed over. Greyson in typical military fashion raised his gun to the air and bellowed in his accented voice. Shouting on the top of his lungs, a smile under his snow mask. He could hardly believe himself, they'd won and he was still breathing! Many Marines didn't make it this far, but it was not their time to mourn. It was time to cheer and shout, to show the Galaxy who he was, to show it that this rock was his! Along with every other damn leatherneck's here! I didn't last though...

He looked over at Laughlin for a brief second, in that second he could tell something was wrong. Her shoulders were slouched, along with many other ques of a crushed spirit. He heard a piercing noise in the sky and looked up. Drop-pods... "Fuck..." Was all Greyson muttered, hands instinctively pulling his Squad Automatic Weapon back into place. The pods it, and the next thing he knew Hunters were upon them. Roaring their challenge at the Human Soldiers and Warriors in an unemphatic display of strength and unity between the Alien forces.

The Aussie hit the dirt next to Laughlin, hearing the screams and sizzle of plasma around him. He looked at her and growled, instinct started up in him again, thee Hunters were hurting and endangering his damn friends and allies. It was like the incident on Earth which caused him to enlist. These Giant bulks of armor had made it personal. While other Marine's cowered he pulled his rocket launcher off his back and then climbed into a crouch, aiming for the first Hunter he could get a safe shot on. He shouted and pulled the trigger, the rocket tore through the air at the beast who was tilted sideways aiming for a group of dashing Marines. The ordinance smashed into its side, causing the monster to bellow as its armor came off in pieces, orange blood spurting onto the snow. The shambled for a second before landing with a heavy thud. The many smaller beings which composed into it shuddering and convulsing and squiring before going limp one by one, accepting cruel death. Greyson still had another rocket loaded, one he planned on using. He moved positions behind a Prowler wreck, locking onto his second target. The Hunter was firing at a group of Marine's behind cover, the Aussie quickly aimed his shot as he was distracted and fired. The payload streaked into it, however, this time it wasn't lethal. The rocket impacted on the behemoth's shield and threw it backward, roaring in rage, some armor on the arm and side torn asunder, dripping small lines of blood. Wounded, the massive beast fired a shot off at the marine's before rushing Greyson's position. The Aussie heard the steps and lunged away, the Prowler wreck behind him flipping over his head from the heavy shield bash. He flipped over and looked the Hunter raising its shield to finish him, he clenched. Must have been an angel looking over him that day. A grenade hit the Hunter's back and went off, killing it and shielding Greyson from the blast and shrapnel with its own body, it fell forward in a suspended motion. The Human rolling out of ts way scrambling for his launcher. The soldier that tossed the grenade hoisted him up and pulled him to cover. Greyson panted, slouched against the cover. Thanking luck or God or whatever just saved his ass.