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Stories of a Soudntrack -- Part 1
Date: 7 December 2006, 9:59 pm

Stories of a Soundtrack: Part 1

Opening Suite

      No other manuscript of the First Battle of Lost exists but this one. This is the story of a bloody fight between two rabid enemies, one seeking purity, the other fighting for survival.

      Insifier Plains, Planet Lost IV, Lost System

      Thunder. It seemed to be the only thing that existed on this flat plain. Thunder. And Death as well. Death was overworked on this flat, baked wasteland. Both Thunder and Death roiled across the flat crust of desert badlands. Thunder deafened and frightened those it touched while Death freed and released those it visited.

      Neither, however, could come close to the whirling figure, standing among dozens of others who had been touched by the Two Plagues of the Desert Wasteland. Even though Thunder or Death could not affect him, this whirling figure sent both out in all directions, directing them like well-trained dogs.

      He wasn't tall, or handsome. Wasn't overly muscled while not being too thin and wiry. He was as average as a man could be, in appearances that is. Not the kind who was looked at twice in a busy street, or the kind that stood out among others. That, however, was only appearances.

      This whirling figure, Master of the Plagues, was Ethan Pitt, a warrior of no other trade of profession than sending out his Plagues upon those he faced. Adeptly trained in all manners of war, Lance Corporal Ethan Pitt was among the unrecognized elite, the unsung heroes of the Great War. Ethan Pitt was the best.


      It started as a minor skirmish. A small Covenant probing force inched forward through the oven like plains of Insifier. Its purpose remains unknown to this day, but that is unimportant. What matters are its repercussions. Squads Alpha-Alpha through Mike-Zulu of the 253rd Marine Division based on Lost were deployed to the Insifier Plains to counter a potential Covenant assault upon the cities on the desert's edge. The Covenant probe force was destroyed. To counter the force that destroyed it were sent the Armies of Significant Courage and Inanimate Destruction.

      The two forces met in the center of the Insifier Plains by a large rock formation known as the Blasted Boulders. Scouts from each side were sent out, minor skirmishes ensued, and the survivors reported back to their commanders. Strategies were planned, routes laid, and orders delivered. The two forces closed in, neither attacking, but both trying to gain the upper hand in a strategic grapple.

      Suddenly, the two sides meet. Grunts were trampled, Warthogs were melted, Elites were shot, and Marines were incinerated. Losses were heavy, yet neither side gave in.


      This is where Ethan Pitt comes in. Commanding a tank, Ethan decimated row after row of Covenant soldiers to make way for his infantry. The infantry rushed forward, trying to widen the hole punched open through Ethan's tank. They fought valiantly, but they were outgunned, outnumbered, and outfought. Soon, his infantry were all dead or wounded, and he was left alone, encircled by the remains of the Army of Significant Courage.

      A plasma grenade lands on the tank and alarms blare. Ethan dives out just in time. He runs to a deserted Warthog and takes cover inside of its embrace.


      The Battle rages on outside of Ethan Pitt's area. The Humans are gaining on the Covenant as row after row of the latter's troops die and fall. The Humans let out a rousing cheer at their soon to be made victory, but it is not won yet. Many were destined to die on the Insifier Plains, and the number has not yet been reached.


      Ethan Pitt pulls out his two weapons, both spewing bullets as he sits up inside the vehicle and aims at his enemies. Many fall, yet Ethan does not. He continues to use the two Plagues, Thunder and Death, as he struggles to survive. He steps out of the Warthog and continues to fight. As he backs away from the vehicle yelling, the Warthog explodes, knocking down all around it.

      Ethan is the first to recover as he stands and sprays his Plagues around his whirling figure. A moment later and he stops, realizing that he alone stands in a sea where the Two Plagues of the Insifier Plains reign. Ethan Pitt has joined the ranks of the unsung elite. Now he rests from his wounds, falling to the ground, uncaring of its solidity, and waits to die.


      The Humans have pushed the Covenant back, away from Blasted Boulders, and are now encircling them. Many have fallen, and the number is almost reached, and the suffering of the Humans nears its end.

      The remainder of the Army of Inanimate Destruction flees from the carnage before they too make the Insifier Plains their final resting place.

      The Humans let out a cheer, for they have won. They fall back on the battlefield to retrieve their dead and wounded and to lick their wounds.


      A Corporal finds the member of the unsung elite next to a burnign Warthog. His hand grips the neck, searching for the throb of life. Finding none, and viewing the Covenant carnage surrounding the lone man, the Corporal carries the dead man off the field of battle.


      Beyond the Insifier Plains, General Marx picks up a transmitter and radios in to Sergeant Ricter on the field. He asks for an update. Ricter says "Operation: Opening Suite is a success, sir." And the General smiles.

Truth and Reconciliation Suite

2-5, 14th spin, Plateau Zeta-B1

      "Touchdown in two! Prepare for immediate engagement. LZ is HOT!" the Pilot's voice screamed over the radio. Lance Corporal Fern Dus loosened the grip on the handhold as the terrain below the Pelican bay morphed from an expansive ocean into a rocky plateau. Her free hand was holding an MA5B with a customized infra-scope and silencer. Fern held it in a vice-grip, not wanting to lose her only weapon.

      Her stomach fell out suddenly as the Pelican dropped like a stone to the mouth of a narrow ravine on the ground. The COM crackled again, "Kill some for me, Dren?"

      Sergeant Dren replied over his radio "Sure thing Hummer.' Then, to his Marines "HIT DIRT LADIES! GO!"

      Fern didn't wait for the Marines in front of her to scramble out of the bay. Instead she leaped into the aisle and hit the ground in a crouch, MA5B on her shoulder, scope in eye, and muzzle rapidly panning her flank. Her scope picked up a cold spot and her trigger finger reacted in turn. The squeal of a Grunt seemed loud compared to the silenced Assault Rifle.

      Similar sounds echoed around her as her fellow Marines cleared out the immediate area. The roar of the Pelican rapidly disappeared into the night as it left to drop off the next squadron. As soon as the engine noises dissipated, Fern took off in a crouched jog, knowing her team was right behind her.

      They had rehearsed this numerous times at Alpha Base, and each team knew where to go. There was no need for instructions once they hit dirt. Fern knew her objective: get to the Truth and Reconciliation's Gravity Lift and rendezvous with several other Marine squads. Once secured, they would infiltrate and neutralize the ship via the Gravity Lift.

      The foundation of this plan was speed. After the first infiltration of the Truth and Reconciliation, the Human COs were sure that the ship would lift again if presented with another infiltration. All squads had to get inside the ship fast, and pray it didn't lift off before reinforcements arrived.

      Fern and her squad landed roughly two hundred meters from the Gravity Lift, and was the last squad to get there. Along the way, the squad neutralized only two pockets of enemies, both Covenant, and had suffered no casualties. The rest of the Marine force had already cleared the pad of hostiles, their remains covering the ground within ten meters of the pad.

      The CO of the Marine Company, McKay, was already prepping the rest of the Marines for infiltration. Fern and her squad stepped up onto the explosion scarred platform, which was glowing an eerie greenish-blue. After they checked in, one of the Artificial Intelligence's, which one Fern didn't know, activated the Gravity Lift, and they floated upward.

      The hull of the ship opened for the briefest of moments as the soldiers passed through, and closed as soon as the last leg of the last Marine cleared the sensory field. They floated in the air a second, and then abruptly fell on the now closed portal. The Marines immediately spread out and scattered among various crates and vehicles that littered the floor.

      Fern and her squad mates rushed behind an immobilized Wraith with a large hole in its side. Fern looked around. The floor was metallic and felt somewhat soft. The walls weren't straight but sloped up to a ceiling about eight to ten meters above her head. There wasn't an enemy in sight, unless you counted a large smear of mixed Covenant blood by the nearest hatch.

      "Report in," McKay breathed over the COM.

      The eight fire teams inside the cargo bay all called in, none reporting any sight of Covenant or Flood. "Good, no hostiles," McKay said. "Follow plan directory A. Wesley, overlay the control room, hangers, and key junctions over our TACMAP. Good luck Marines, FALL OUT!"

      As if a switch was flipped, the stone still Marines jumped up and sprinted for the doors, each having memorized their own route. Fern and her fire team moved through a large bay door immediately to their left. The mammoth door was jammed on itself, as if struck by something large moving very fast. The team moved through a massive hallway and exited through another hefty bay door, suddenly finding themselves in a small hallway, barely large enough for them to walk upright in.

      A scream, low and gargled, pierced through the air like knife. The point man, Private First Class Muz, snapped his M7 up, resting the stock on his shoulder. "We got Flood ahead. Sounds like their fighting some Covies." A pause, then "No IFF tags detected, no Marines there Sir."

      "Keep going. We need to fight through it," commanded Dren.

      "Sir, yes sir," replied Muz. He started forward again, slowly and surely, keeping his eyes open for any sort of ambush. After a minute, the team reached a sharp turn in the hallway where the battle noises intensified. Muz chanced a look around the corner and buzzed open the COM. "Looks like a good dozen of 'em, all shooting at each other. We can take them."

      Even as he was saying this, the young Muz was priming a frag. Fern boosted her pressure dampers in her helmet and prepared for the concussion as she brought her Assault Rifle to bear.

      Then three things happened at once. The metal ceiling above Muz exploded as if hit on the other side by a rocket, the grenade Muz was holding detonated from the overpressure, and the fire team was flung in all directions.

      Fern was thrown against the wall behind her as if swatted by a large invisible hand. Shaking from the pain coursing through her back, she looked up and around. Muz was completely torn apart from the explosion, no piece larger than a finger was left intact. Dren and another Marine named Folk were both dead, each missing several limbs. The last two Marines, Corporals Flin and Greef, were far enough away from the grenade that they were both unwounded, if not a little dazed.

      As Fern struggled to stand up, a wet squirming was heard coming from the jagged hole above what used to be Muz. "FLOOD!" Greef screamed, even as his and Flin's Assault Rifle's were aimed at the hole. A pause, and then a veritable torrent of 7.62 mm bullets slammed through the opening. Then, as quickly as it had started, the thundering weapons fire was over. The squirming had stopped, and the corridor was eerily silent. Greef and Flin let their weapons relax as they surveyed the bloody carnage around them.

      "Gawd, Muzzy… There ain't a bit of him left," said Flin. His face contorted with sorrow and disgust at the remains splattered throughout the corridor.

      "Sarge and Folk bought it too," muttered Greef.
Flin and Greef walked over to Fern, who was breathing heavily and struggling to remain standing. Her face was a deathly pale. Greef looked down at the shorter woman and put a hand on her shoulder.

      "Hey girlie. You took quite a nasty hit there. You OK?"

      "I'm a bit raked on the back," she said through gritted teeth. "Nothing the Sugs can't fix once we get outta here. You hurt?"

      Flin was about to open his mouth to reply, but he never got a chance. A loud hiss filled the hallway as a badly distorted Human Flood unleashed an overcharged plasma shot. The ball of energy zipped forward and hit Flin right between the shoulder blades.

      The energy bolt burned through him in an instant, leaving a foot wide hole in his chest with a blackened rim. Flin stumbled forward from the impact and looked dumbly down at the cavity. He put his hand through it as if searching for something, and collapsed.

      "SAINT HALEY IN GLORY!" yelled Greef as he stood dumbfounded by his friend's death. He looked up at the Combat Form and suddenly snapped back to reality. The young Corporal was in the process of bringing his weapon to bear when the former Human leaped at him, iron hard tentacles flailing. The first tentacle hit Greef in the arm, breaking it, followed quickly by another one that struck him right above his collarbone, snapping his neck. The Marine flipped end for end and landed against a wall, limbs in unholy positions.

      The Flood turned to face the weaponless Fern, and with an expression disturbingly similar to a grin, leaped at her. Fern watched as the creature flew the air, tentacles aiming right for her head. Time seemed to slow, and Fern felt oddly relaxed. She watched the monster with a detached sort of curiosity, and closed her eyes.

      Suddenly the deck tilted downward at a forty five degree angle. The Human Combat Form, in the air and with no traction on the floor, suddenly flew to the right and hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Fern also began to move towards the right and, noticing the fact that she was still alive and that the floor was suddenly sloped, snapped out of her reverie. Pain ignored, she grabbed hold of a niche in the wall to keep herself from falling. The angle steepened and Fern felt vibrations rumbling through the deck.

      Without warning, a jolt knocked Fern from her handhold and sent her falling to the right wall, which was now the floor. The walls around her bent and warped, and the rumbling grew louder. A shock wave blew through the ship as she landed on the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of here. The overpressure wave continued up through the corridor, causing the walls to wave like ocean waves. A loud crack sounded when it reached the top, or end, of the corridor. As she lay immobilized on the wall next to the Combat Form, the corridor stretching above her swiftly collapsed, encasing her in debris.

      The [Truth and Reconciliation] had landed.

      Next, Brothers in Arms, a tale of the sirvivors of the crashed Pillar of Autumn.

      Also, Enough Dead Heroes, a poem to all those who have died in the unending struggle of survival against the Covenant.

Stories of a Soundtrack -- Part 2
Date: 14 December 2006, 10:58 pm

Stories of a Soundtrack: Part 2

Accessing IPNAC… Please Standby…
Access Granted, Welcome Viewer.
Personal File Selected, Retrieving Information, Please Standby…
Personal File 5836 – 645 – GYF – 15 Accessed, Displaying Information, Please Standby…
Name: Gery Young Faj
Age: 15
Location: Unknown
Occupation: Unknown
Place of Residence: Unknown
DOB: June 30th, 2537 (SAC)
POB: Fu City, Nib Ki Colony, Lost System
Current Status: Unknown.
Data Stream Interrupted, Receiving Request… Processing…
Request: Retrieve File 159 – 852 – 753 – SOAS – 55…
Checking Clearance… Clearance Approved.
Retrieving… File Retrieved. Displaying, Please Standby…

Brothers in Arms

Unknown Star System, UNSC Pillar of Autumn, Near Stairway ALPHA-ZETA, Condition: Combat

      Blackness surrounded him. His senses registered nothing. He felt no pain, heard no noise, and saw no light. He was not sure where he was, or who he was. He had no idea how he got into this black void.

      A sudden flash, then his senses quickly returned. A man, one in scarred battle armor, bent down over him and yelled. The sounds didn't make sense at first, but he quickly recognized them. "Paul! McCrathy! Get your fat ass up!" Then the blackness swallowed him again. This time though, he was aware of his surroundings. He remembered his name, Paul McCrathy, and he could hear the noises around him. Sharp cracks, like metal on stone, sounded through mind. Hissing like water on a hot surface also came.

      Gunshots. Plasma Bolts. The memories rushed back. He remembered he was a Marine, he was on a large cruiser, and was fighting an enemy. Which one he didn't know. At the moment, the only enemy he faced was the void.

      Another flash erupted around him, and his senses rushed back, this time with a burst of pain. The same man was over him, firing an Assault Rifle at an unseen target. "Covenant, circling the left Corridor! Feliz, Dennis, cut them off at the intra!" The man was now recognized by Paul: Sergeant Degrado Forde was the man he had followed into combat against the, Paul struggled to remember, the Covenant.

      Panic swept over him. He remembered now the opening battle, where they lost Florez and Sund. Then the chase through the corridors, struggling to stay ahead of the closing boarding doors. Then the ambush, and the flash, and then the darkness.

      Paul, with great effort, forced himself to sit up. Suddenly, the fog was lifted, and he knew everything. He looked around, trying to push the lancing pain in his head and legs into the back of his mind, and stood up. A plasma bolt skimmed by him, singing his helmet. Paul ducked down, hiding behind the table being used by Forde.

      "About damn time. You were out for a full two minutes! We were about to move on, with your tags," said Forde.

      Paul tried to say sorry, tried to say something with his lax mouth, but he never got a chance. The Sergeant thrust a Plasma Rifle into Paul's hands. "Grip Alien, McCrathy!"

      Paul crouched there, behind the table nearly melted with plasma, and looked at the alien weapon. "GIVE ME SOME DAMN COVER PAUL!" screamed Forde.

      Paul snapped out of his reverie, found the trigger pad on the Rifle, and prepared to fight.

      Five minutes. Jesus, it only took five minutes, thought Paul as he sat in a dark corridor, out of breath and near shock. Five minutes and they're dead.

      Over the past five minutes, Paul's squad, under the command of the wounded Sergeant Forde, had pushed through the mammoth ship's belly towards the lifeboats. They had minimal casualties until they reached a dark corridor, shorted out from a stray Plasma bolt. Inside, an ambush was sprung and Gavels was down. The squad managed to push off the assault, but the last Covenant, a Jackal, had flung a grenade right on Forde. He hadn't noticed it, and never would for the explosion killed him and the last two Marines, Dennis and Feliz. Paul had killed the Jackal, but it was too late. His squad was still dead, and he knew nothing would ever change that.

      Another minute passed. Sounds of a distant battle could still be heard as the Humans and Covenant grappled for control of the ship. Paul placed his hand on the wall and pushed himself up. He stood, looked around the dim corridor at the bloody butchery, and stumbled out of the hellhole.

      He managed to walk out into a large brightly lit hallway. The walls were blank, and the floor devoid of anything. No combat had touched this area. A sign on the floor pointed in the direction of the lifeboats, and Paul headed right for it.

      I have to get to one of the lifeboats, thought Paul. Maybe hook up wi—

      "All onboard Personnel," a disembodied voice said over the ship wide COM. "Prepare for emergency landing." To Paul, it sounded like she might say more, but he only heard static. He was confused. How could they be making an emergency landing if they were out in the middle of nowhere? Paul inquired his BAD (Battle Awareness Display) as to the [Pillar of Autumn]'s location. A moment later a map of a small star system popped up, accompanied with an artificial voice.

      "The location of the Halcyon Class Cruiser in question is in an unexplored star system outside of UNSC boundaries. No habitable planets in-system." The map zoomed in to a small section of space near a large gas giant. "Precise location is near Gas Giant 'Threshold' on a collision course with an unidentified alien construct. The construct is—"

      The voice was abruptly cut off as the [Pillar of Autumn] suddenly decelerated, flinging Paul rudely against the wall. The built in lights flickered and the deck fluctuated. Paul, suffering no major injury, quickly rose to his feet and gripped a handhold. The deck continued buck underneath his feet.

      The voice on his BAD came on again. "Warning, Warning. Your location is undergoing atmospheric re-entry onboard the [Pillar of Autumn]. Current coordinates indicate collision with alien contract within thirty seconds. Advisory! Find secure location immediately! Suggest compartment with strong walls and supports. Impact will compromise superstructure and will most likely be fatal."

      Paul reacted instantly. He half ran, half crawled across the deck and down the hallway. The tremors were becoming more violent and the walls started to buckle. It grew noticeably warmer. He was having trouble even standing on the floor, let alone running on it.

      Paul reached an intersection littered with Covenant bodies. A couple of Naval Techs were floundering on the floor among the bodies, trying to stand up on the heaving deck, but unable to reach any handholds. Paul passed them and reached another intersection.

      The BAD voice started a countdown. "25, 24, 23, 22…" Paul didn't need to be told what it was counting down to.

      At "20", Paul noticed a slant in the floor as the ship started pointing downward and outside gravity began pulling on it.

      At "15", Paul was sliding down the twenty five degree slope more than he was running. He slid into the bottom of the hallway, his legs slamming against the wall. Something in his right knee popped and a lancing pain shot through his right leg. Despite the obviously torn meniscus, Paul spotted a doorway into a cryo chamber and jumped through.

      At "6", a sonic boom rippled through the ship as the Pillar of Autumn's speed dropped below the sound barrier. The lights went out, and the groaning of the ship's stressed hull seemed to drown out all other noise. Paul ripped the crucifix from his neck and gripped it between his hands and prayed.

      At "0", a huge shock wave blasted through the ship and Paul was thrown into the air. He hung there for a moment as the large cruiser bounced, and then was heavily smashed against the far wall, as the ship landed again. A loud screeching of tearing metal resounded through the cryo bay and the roar grew louder. Something crashed and Paul felt, for the second time that hour, something smash into his head. Paul's grip on the crucifix relaxed and it was lost in the chaos of collapsing metal.

      Drip, drip, drip… That was the first thing Paul heard when he opened his eyes. Or at least he thought they were open; he couldn't see anything. He made no effort to move any part of his body; he was too afraid it might not react. It wasn't that he was afraid that he was dead. The dripping, the pain, and the urge to pee were all red flags that his body and mind were still connected.

      Almost immediately, Paul slid into unconsciousness before waking up again after a few minutes. Every time he woke up, something new seemed to hurt. First, he got a headache. Then his torn meniscus began to throb. After that, he felt something wet and realized he had peed in his sleep.

      Finally, after waking up for what he felt the hundredth time, he realized the dripping had stopped. He still hurt, his pants were still wet, and he was thirsty, so he wasn't dead. Paul was convinced he was stuck in limbo, a place where you can feel and hear, but not see or move.

      Suddenly a light, muffled scraping reached his ears, followed by a light pattering. The pattering slowly grew louder, until it was replaced by a crunching, accompanied by high pitched squeaks. Paul instantly realized what it was: a Grunt. And unless the Covenant had decided to move to Limbo, he was still alive.

      His mind started racing, and for the first time in hours, he moved his arms, testing their range of motion. His left arm was completely pinned and, except for his fingers, couldn't be moved. His right arm, however, was completely free, and could be moved liberally in a full upward arc. When he tried to feel the debris above him that was blocking the light, He felt nothing, bringing him to the conclusion a wall or support beam must be holding the debris at least three feet above him.

      His legs, Paul soon found out, were actually hanging over the edge of something, knees bent at the edge. They could be straightened out, but could not go down all the way without banging a smooth slope. His right leg moved sluggishly, and hurt whenever he bent it. His left leg, aside from a two-inch scrape, was fine. Paul desperately wished he had some light so he could at least see his legs and not accidentally touch a live wire.

      The whole time, the Grunt's noises had steadily been getting louder. A stifled hissing and sparking could be heard now, and Paul realized the Grunt was using plasma to burn through the debris. He tested his legs one more time, then curled them up, hoping for enough clearance for his knees. They moved freely, only brushing by some loose hanging cables. The pain in his right knee grew worse with every centimeter they moved upward. Finally, the heels gripped the edge of the object he was lying on.

      Using the grip of his boots, he pushed himself back along the surface, biting his boom mike to keep from yelling out in pain. After a few seconds, his helmet, which had remained strapped to his head during the crash, bumped into something solid.

      Without warning, bright light burst through the debris and lit up the interior of the rubble cavern. Heat washed over Paul, even as he held up his arm to shield from the sudden light. The heat subsided, as did the brightness. After a few seconds, Paul moved his right arm down, and looked up through the hole. The rims of the puncture were glowing red from the plasma that burned through it. The hole itself was about three feet wide, mostly likely caused by an overcharged plasma pistol.

      Nothing was beyond it, except for some charred walls and a couple of loose cables. Knowing the Grunt would come to look inside of the hole, Paul took in his surroundings and summed up his options. He was lying on top of a cryo tube, his left arm pinned by a second tube. Above him was a partially caved in wall that had kept the rest of the rubble from crushing him. Some cables hung down from ports in the walls.

      As his eyes adjusted, he realized there was a metal railing protruding right from the middle of his cryo tube, mere inches from his right leg. Another few inches up, and it would have impaled him right through the abdomen after the crash. He gripped the railing with his right hand and yanked. It slid out without so much as a hint of resistance.

      Paul was in the process of wedging it under the second cryo tube pinning his arm to use as a lever when a loud snorting squeal pierced his ears. His head snapped to the right and looked up into the glazed eyes of a Grunt, peering through the hole. The Grunt stood there for a moment and then let out a high pitched gurgle, followed by more squealing. It turned and disappeared, the crunching of rubble giving away its panicked run.

      Paul thanked God that the Grunt had chickened out instead of shooting, he turned back to wedging the pole under the cryo tube, rethinking his choices. Either the Grunt was a survivor of the crash, or the Covenant had already found the downed Autumn. If the Grunt was a survivor, he might return, and this time he would shoot. If the Covenant had found the [Autumn], the Grunt would return with a couple of Jackals, or maybe an Elite. Neither possibility looked promising, but both had a chance of survival if he could get out of the debris pile.

      The pole caught and he gripped it. He felt something sticky on the end of the shaft and pulled his hand away to see blood. It wasn't his blood, it was too cold. A sudden thought and he looked down into the cryo tube and then stifled a yell. Inside of the tube was a man, naked, with a large hole between his eyes, obviously where he pulled the pole from. The revulsion turned into bile pushing up his throat. He quietly threw up onto the top of the tube.

      After a few seconds, Paul recovered and, careful not to touch the end of the post, began pulling it downward, unable to stand because of his arm. Goddamn heavy tube, he thought. After a moment of straining, he let his right arm rest and then took up the fight once again. He pulled harder this time, hoping to get away from the body as soon as possible. Something popped and the tube budged slightly. He pulled even harder, and the pressure from his arm lifted. He quickly yanked it out, ignoring the pain from the idle muscles.

      No sooner had he pulled it out then the pole snapped and the tube fell back into its position. He shook his left arm vigorously, trying to get the circulation going again. The tips of his fingers were showing signs of necrosis, and his veins burned with fire as the blood returned. Then, the silence was broken by an odd clicking. Paul recognized it immediately: the hoofs of an armored Elite.

      He looked around, looking for a way to escape. He couldn't go through the hole, it would take too long and he would be out in the open with God knows how many Covenant. He couldn't go in the opening his legs were hanging through since it was too small and there were probably live wires down there. The only place was off to the side, in as much shadow as he could find.

      One side beckoned in particular: it offered a deep shadow that could hide his whole body, and was completely out of view of the hole. He scurried into the shadow, pushing himself as far back as possible. A round protrusion, another cryo pod, poked him uncomfortably in the back.

      The clicking stopped, and the light darkened. An Elite's hand gripped the side of the hole, now cool, and it's head followed. It was so close that Paul could smell it's breath, a cold metallic sort of smell. A brief few seconds passed as the Elite gazed around the dark interior of the hole, but it felt like a lifetime to Paul.

      Finally, it withdrew. A few angry growls and frightened grunts could be heard. Paul's translation software kicked in, displaying the message across his BAD. "Curses a Thousand You, Grunt Pitiful! Dead Human, none but, Therein. Grunt Cowardly, Move Kill or I Will!" The dialogue came fractured and staggered as the software struggled to make sense of the Covenant dialect. But it made enough sense to Paul. The dead man in the cryo tube had saved his life. The Covenant had mistaken the unknown man for Paul.

      Some more squealing and a [thump] followed, after which the Grunt's snivels stopped. Paul listened as the Elite's hooves receded from the room, until all was silent, yet again. He reached up to the hole and, after patting the rim to check the heat, gripped the edge. He froze, half expecting his hand to melt under a plasma burst. Nothing came. Slowly, he pulled himself up until he was standing on top of the cryo tube, his head just barely poking out of the rupture.

      He looked around, expecting to spot some sort of Covenant sentry, but saw none. He pulled himself up till he was on his toes, and jumped and pulled at the same time. His knee popped from the pressure, and the pain there fired up anew. He gritted his teeth, ignoring it, and pulled. Finally, after what seemed ages, he fell out of the hole and slid down the slight incline of the collapsed wall to the floor.

      Coming to a sudden stop that bruised his tailbone on the cracked deck, Paul stood up, rubbing his lower back. He reveled in the open, well lit space, free of the dead. Paul stretched and bended, loosening his muscles and relieving the cramps.

      After answering the call of nature in a corner of the room, he examined the cryo bay. Paul noticed two things in particular: first, the light was natural, not artificial. Its origin appeared to be a large gash in the side of the room, as if the hull had cracked open upon landing. The second thing was that everything was black. The walls, the visible cryo tubes, the large wall he had been trapped under, everything. After a moment of thought, Paul realized what it was: ash.

      When the hull cracked, the aura of fire around the Pillar of Autumn rushed into and engulfed the room, leaving everything coated in ash. Paul, in an ironic twist of fate, had been saved by his prison.

      After thoroughly examining the room and finding no weapons, Paul decided he had to get out of the ship and radio in any survivors that had landed on the ring, if there were any. As far as he knew, he could be the last living Human from the Pillar of Autumn. Paul tried to climb through the slash in the wall, but it was too high.

      Damnit, Paul thought. I'm going to have to fight my way out. He made his way to the only intact door in the room, a small, half caved in doorway. He poked his head through the portal and pulled back in. There had been no Covenant in the blackened hallway. He slowly inched his way through the door, trying to not injure himself further by tripping. Finally he was over the pile of rubble and standing in the middle of a wide corridor.

      With a laugh, Paul realized this was the same hallway he had scurried along during the crash. It seemed so harmless now, but back then, it was a death trap. He brought up his BAD and queried for schematics of the ship.
There was no response. He repeated the question. Still no response. "Damnit," he swore. Goddamn crash must've took it out."

      Paul, without having any sense of direction, decided to progress down the hallway to the right, where the deck wasn't as burned. As he walked, tiny puffs of ash flew up around his boots, and then settled back down. Paul knew he was probably walking the line towards hell; there was no way he could leave the ship if it had already been found by the Covenant. But he had to try.

      Suddenly, he heard a scraping sound, followed by a thump. He looked down and realized he had kicked a Plasma Rifle into a small pile of debris, leaving a small path of clear deck behind it. He picked it up and put his hand near the coils. They were warm. Paul was about to test it out on a wall to be sure when fire exploded around him. He immediately dropped to the deck, hiding behind the debris pile, clutching the Plasma Rifle.

      The plasma stopped, and the screeching of Jackals commenced. Translation software popped up on his BAD screen, but he ignored it. Only one thought echoed through his mind as he stood and pointed the rifle at the two grotesque Jackals: Grip Alien, McCrathy.

      Two hours later, Lieutenant McKay was at a recently captured intersection aboard the Pillar of Autumn. Her ears were still ringing from the MA5B Assault Rifles that were used to clear the area of Covenant. Her radio beeped and she let her BAD access it. Wesley's voice came over.

      "Uh, Lieutenant, you might want to know we just picked up a Marine at Intersection KAPPA-4."

      "Yeah," McKay said around a mouthful of jerky she had found in a bunkroom. "What 'bout it?"

      "I thought it would be nice to inform you," the AI replied in a stiff tone, "that the Marine was not of the attack force."

      "I don't see what you're getting at," the Lieutenant replied, putting more of the meat in her mouth.

      "He survived the crash landing of the Pillar of Autumn, fought his way out of a hull side compartment, and managed to hook up with us."

      "Survived the crash?" McKay said, obviously surprised. "And then fought his way out? Hell, that's one tough son of a bitch. You get his name?"

      "Yes, as a matter of fact I did," said Wesley with a pompous tone accenting his voice. "His name is Geoff K. Spick, a Private First Class."

      "Wow, remind me to get him a medal once we get off this ring. Getting through that alone deserves a Frude Cross," McKay said, swallowing the jerky.

      "Well, he didn't do it alone. He claims that he had hooked up with another Marine, a Corporal Paul P. McCrathy. He got hit in a firefight, died before Geoff could do anything. His BV backs it up," explained Wesley.

      "Well, make damn sure you retrieve his body. That's the least we can do," ordered McKay.

      "Yes Ma'am. Geoff also said that in the two hours he had fought with McCrathy, they had, quote en quote, 'Become brothers, and he should get everything I get.' Strangely enough, what he said is a passage from a favorite book of mine, Brothers in Arms."

      "Ya, ya, ya, Wesley, I don't care what books you've read, or absorbed, or wuteva the hell AI's do with books. Just make sure both Marines are flown to Alpha Base, ASAP."

      "Yes, Ma'am," Wesley replied in a hurt tone.
McKay cut the channel and made a mental note to get both Geoff and McCrathy every medal they deserved.

Enough Dead Heroes

Through trials and tests,
They have fought.

Many men, struggling to survive,
Striving to protect,
The very soul of Humanity.

Many have died,
Many more will,
All at the hand of the religious fervor,
An intense zealotry,
A multitude of fierce beliefs,
A disposition of iron faith.

Whether fleeing, fighting, hiding,
All were cut down,
Some without remorse,
Others out of anger,
And even more for the sake of violence.

People flee from the Juggernaut,
Few escape.

But, there are the chosen few,
The ones who have the ability to fight,
Without fear,
Without selfishness.

They are the ones assigned,
The most difficult of jobs,
To protect,
To die,
For Humanity.

These are our heroes,
The warriors on the front lines,
Doing the things we cannot.

They are our Guardian Angels,
Saving us from the demons and devils,
Giving their blood to satisfy the Juggernaut's thirst.

Some go unsung,
Others give in glory,
All are heroes.

But too many are gone,
Too many have given their lives to protect us,
Fallen in saving Humanity's soul.

Too many are gone,
Too few remain.

Humanity's stores are running low,
In it's struggle for life.

But the odds are not good,
Humanity is looking at its last few survivors.

And they all cry out,
As one voice in unison,
Enough Dead Heroes!

      Next week, Perilous Journey, the story of two civilians caught in the hellfire onboard Malta Station during the First Invasion of Earth.

      Also, A Walk in the Woods, the documentation concerning the Skirmish of Murnil Forest, a minor fight that irreversibly changed the fate of the Yeng System.

Stories of a Soundtrack -- Part 3
Date: 21 December 2006, 7:58 pm

Stories of a Soundtrack

Accessing IPNAC… Please Stand By…
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Request: Access to EDCR Network. Request Pending…
Access Granted, Please Enter Message.
"Bud, Huff, its Fredrik. Sorry that I've been out of contact for so long. I'll be traveling to the Big Y soon enough. Can't wait to get out of the Lost system. I'll be arriving sometime next week, SAC, give or take a day. Stupid SlipStorms make Slipspace travel more annoying than Military Drafters. See ya then, F."
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Request: Retrieve File 159 – 852 – 753 – SOAS – 56…
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Retrieving… File Retrieved. Displaying, Please Standby…

Perilous Journey

      Sol System, Approximately 345.76 Miles above Earth, Onboard Military Station MAC-231 (A.K.A. Malta Station), Romeo Terrarium

      "Okay, on three, say 'MAC'! One, two, Three!"

      "MAC!"

      The small Pip flashed its bright white light, the rays bouncing off the three women standing, arms over shoulders, in front of the half meter thick space glass. Captured light bounced back and burned an image onto the sensitive picture plate of the Pip, momentarily etching its designs on it. The image was captured and stored inside a supra-dense crystal even as the plate cleaned itself.

      The women let go of each other and ran behind the tall, scarlet haired man who took the picture. He pressed a button and the crystal plate on the Pip lit up with a high definition replica of the women standing there.

      "Wow," one said. "I'm going to make that my desktop once I get back to my job." She was a short, young lady, about twenty, and had long flowing black hair. Her face portrayed obvious signs of Prosperity heritage, a colony populated mainly by a Eurasian people. Her DZ shirt holding the customized logo, "Don't mess with Bindy."

      "I'm going to make a shirt out of it," declared the second lady, a thin pretty woman with short hair that fell to just above the shoulders. Her nose was small and rounded, her eyes a dark green, and her teeth a stainless white. Her face had a heavy Filipino accent to it. "I can see it now, 'Don't you wish you were here, Calsa was!'"

      The last woman, also of Filipino complexion, and nearly identical to Calsa piped up. "I'll outdo you both. I'll stick it on my Maro's hood!"

      Bindy nudged Calsa. "Imagine this. That would be the tenth one on Dona's Maro. Any more and it might not move anymore." The group burst out laughing at the thought of Dona's little car unable to budge because of one to many spray-ons.

      Dona took on a hurt expression. "Neil," she said in an overly injured tone, "make them stop."

      The tall, red haired man only laughed harder at Dona's request. Dona huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, that's it. I'm going back to find the Tour Guide. Even he's better company than hanging out with you Grunts."

      Dona turned and made a show of walking away, before succumbing to laughing herself. The group finally stopped giggling as the laughs died down into hoarse chuckling. Neil slid the Pip into his pocket, making sure it was off, and looped his arms around Calsa and Bindy. "Well," he said. "We better catch up with Mr. Stuffy-Tour-Guide before he kicks us off the station."

      "Do we have to?" playfully whined Bindy. "He's so uptight. He makes this place feel like a museum. And, after seeing the station fire off a test round, I know it's anything but that."

      "Ya, really," chimed in Dona. "Can't we just make our own way through here?"

      "No, not unless you want to spend the rest of your life in the EC," warned Neil. "Come on; let's go give our guide a fit."

      "How?" inquired Calsa.

      "We'll tell him we pressed a big red button labeled 'DO NOT PRESS'."

      The small group moved out of the large atrium and into a small military hallway, giggling at how they would make their tour guide have an early heart attack.

      After catching up with the rest of the tour group, the foursome endured a short lecture from the guide, a Mr. Machivelli, on the rules aboard the Malta, the assembly moved out. Mr. Machivelli led them through an open bay door and into a large docking bay where several Pelicans were docked and receiving new paint jobs. "This," he announced in an unnaturally high voice, "is the aft Docking Bay, where small craft, such as these Pelicans here, can dock and be repaired, loaded, or refitted."

      Mr. Machivelli droned on, talking about the specifics and construction of the docking and securing mechanism. Dona nudged Neil in the ribs. "How about a little make out in the cockpit?"

      Neil, her boyfriend, gave her a queer look. "What? Are you missing a few screws up there? We can't do that."

      She batted her eyes, gave a small frown, and clamped her hands together. "Well, can we at least look inside of it?" she asked in a pitifully small voice.

      Neil, unable to turn down such a look, sighed and nodded his head. Dona gave a squeal and giggled excitedly. Mr. Machivelli peered over the heads of the other tourists at Dona and Neil in the back. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?" he squeaked.

      "Nope, nothing," Dona quickly replied. Mr. Machivelli gave a disapproving frown but resumed talking. Dona rolled her eyes. "God, I don't believe he was ever in the Military; it seems like they loaned him from a Persumary School," she said, referring to her 10th Grade English Teacher.

      "Tell me about it," said Neil. "Now let's go, but be quiet." As they turned to leave, Bindy saw them and grabbed Dona's arm.

      "Now where are you going?" she asked.

      "Neil just wants to show me some of the inner workings of the cockpit," she replied. Seeing the concerned look on her friend's face, she quickly said "Don't worry, we'll be quiet. The guide won't even know we're gone."

      Calsa, witnessing the discussion, tossed her two cents in. "Seriously guys, you get us in trouble here, we'll be off the station quicker than you can say 'Malta'."

      Dona ignored her and led Neil by the hand around the group and into the back of the Pelican. They walked along the immaculately clean interior and through the sliding door into the cockpit. Neil closed it behind them. It secured itself with a slight hiss, soundproofing the compartment.

      Dona gave a quick clap and plucked down into the co-pilot's seat. She gripped side of the chair and looked around. "Wow. Look at all the switches and buttons. There's so many." She made an exaggerated motion towards the trigger on the stick.

      Neil reacted quickly, shoving her hand away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

      "I was just kidding, silly," Dona grumbled. "Take a joke will you."

      "Whatever. Just don't do it again." Neil looked around the interior of the cockpit. "As a matter of fact, we really shouldn't be here. This could warrant a HLFC and an express trip Earth side; in a Prison boat."

      "O, you worry too much," chided Dona. She looked through the window. "Hey, what's that?" she asked, pointing at something in space.

      Neil followed her finger and peered through the Bay Window. After a few seconds, he could make out a small speck. "Hmm, not sure. Looks kind of like one of them fighter ships from the SC."

      "Well, whatever it is, it's heading straight for us, and it seems to be going faster," said Dona, fear darkening her tone.

      A sudden alarm blared through the cockpit. The sound had a universal meaning: imminent collision. "Jesus, and its heading straight for us. It could blow out the windows!" yelled Neil.

      Dona quickly secured herself in the co-pilots seat, Neil jumping into the pilot's side. Screams came from outside the Pelican, but went unheard by Neil and Dona inside the soundproofed cockpit. Neil swallowed and licked dry lips. "Is it just me, or does that ship look Covenant?"

      "No, it can't be. We're too far in. They can't know where Earth is," cried Dona, her voice starting to crack. But as the ship came closer, its origins were confirmed. The hull was a deep purple, covered in intricate geometry. Three equally distanced "legs" circled the main part, a long, bulged cylindrical piece that ended in a red-hot circle. The tube was apparently hollow.

      "Look," said Neil. "It's slowing down." The aura of the engines in the back of the craft pulsed and changed from a light blue to a crimson red as the ship poured on counter thrust. Suddenly, it's "legs" pivoted forward and contacted the glass.

      Instead cracking and breaking the thick window as Neil and Dona had thought it would, the leg tips glowed red, fusing the glass to itself. The front tube of the odd craft shot forward and melted a hole in the glass window. Neil and Dona watched as the tube moved through the hole, plugging it and preventing any atmosphere from escaping.

      A few seconds passed and nothing happened. There was just this obscene craft sticking onto the window; latched on like a tick on its host. "Neil, what's going to happen?" Dona whispered.

      Before Neil could answer, a sharp alarm pierced through the cockpit, accompanied by a synthesized female voice. Warning, Warning. Covenant bio-signs detected within immediate area. Thermal scans indicate roughly a dozen Grunts and three to five Elites.

      At Grunts, the tube suddenly sprang to life. A glowing blue gravity rope shot through the center of the cylinder, expanding until it covered the inner the walls of the ship. Without warning, a dozen or so Grunts shot through the tube, supported by the anti-gravity field, and were suspended at the end of the tunnel. They dropped down onto the deck all at once and crouched there, sniveling and looking around but did nothing else. Dona screamed, Neil stared shocked, but neither knew the horrors to come.

      "Release Gravity Filter," came the voice of Minor Ship Leader Rusa 'Onomonee, a tall Elite with a proud stance and red armor. 'Onomonee had been in engagements before, and so had developed an arrogant nature. Even so, he had combat experience and a moderate understanding of strategics.

      In one particular engangement the Ship Leader was killed. Being the next highest ranking Elite, 'Onomonee took command of the Boarding Vessel Brilliant Infiltration. He clicked his mandibles, the beady eyes focusing as he thought over the protocol. "Insure docking clamps are secure and that the void is contained."

      Another Elite, also in the veteran's red armor, but with the insignia of Minor Veteran, checked a series of holographic monitors. "The void is contained, Ship Leader. All scans indicate atmosphere within Infidel's station is intact."

      A third Elite, one in blue armor, also spoke. "Gravity Filter operating full efficiency. Soldiers ready for battle. Surely we have been blessed with good fortune." His mandibles curled in on themselves in what passed for a smile. "Giving the troops blue light to pass in. Troops away."

      A large holographic image appeared in the center of the teardrop shaped bridge. The image became more defined and the resolution sharpened, making it apparent it was a camera viewing the inside of the bay. Several boxes were scattered around and the bay was split in half by an elevated walkway. The side opposite the Brilliant Infiltration was dominated by one of the Human's bulky troop carriers, one they called a "Pelican".

      The picture shimmered as the Gravity Filter activated and briefly distorted the space around the camera. The image flashed and several Grunts appeared, the cannon fodder of the force, and landed on the deck. 'Onomonee's Communication Officer, Soya 'Puleemee, spoke to the Grunts, giving commands and demanding reports, since 'Onomonee considered himself above talking to the Inferiors.

      "Ship Leader," said 'Puleemee. "Unggoy Veteran Chulap reports several heat textures throughout the bay. He wonders if he should attack."

      'Onomonee snarled. "Foolish Unggoy. They need no order to kill Infidels. Tell the Unggoy that unless he fights well, he will be used as Kig-Yar bait."

      'Puleemee relayed the message and the Grunts moved out, encircling in a primitive pincer motion on a large crate. The holographic screen in the middle of the bridge pulsed and switched to infrared. Sure enough, a large heat blob was situated behind the box the Grunts were advancing on.

      Without warning, a Human in bright white clothing sprung from a metal shield on the walkway above the Grunts, gripping a small pistol. He opened fire on the Grunts, killing two and wounding one other. The Grunts, cowardly as they are, scattered, screaming unintelligibly after the barrage of bullets. "Direct their fire! You're not in the military to watch!" snarled 'Onomonee at Puleemee. The lower Elite quickly dispatched commands, reassuring the Grunts that directed fire would insure them victory.

      The Grunts, as a group, turned to their right and discharged their plasma pistols. The plasma melted right through the hardened Titanium A shield, causing it to distort and collapse on the Human behind it. The heat killed him instantly, not even leaving him enough time to yell out, and his body was encased inside of a solidifying metal shell.

      "Return back to original route, concentrate on the Infidels beyond the unholy canisters," directed 'Puleemee. "Kill them all, the Kig-Yar and Sangheili will follow."

      The holographic field throbbed again and the picture resolved into normal light, showing that the Grunts were advancing on the large crate blocking the heat. When they were within five feet, a scream cut the air. The audio sensors briefly overloaded at the sudden decibel rise and a piercing feedback whine cut throughout the bridge. No one flinched; an Elite's range of hearing makes feedback sound like a muffled tire screech.

      The source of the yell became apparent as a Human woman ran from behind the crate towards an open bay door. The Grunts quickly cut her down, even though she was unarmed. As soon as her smoking body stopped moving, more Humans ran. The Grunts killed all of them. 'Puleemee clicked his mandibles, a sound generally made in satisfaction. "Unggoy report that the Infidels were unarmed, and that they must've have thrown down their weapons and fled in fright."

      'Onomonee shook his head and spoke. "Fled in fright, yes, but they were unarmed. Their primitive clothing shows no sign of Battle Preparation or the primitive plates they are so fond of. No, these Humans were Socials, not Fighters."

      "A correct assumption, Ship Leader. We bathe in your intelligence and wit." 'Onomonee accepted the compliment quietly, his ego inflating at the praise.

      'Onomonee watched as the Grunts swept the bay, and finding no more Humans, returned to the entrance of Brilliant Infiltration, awaiting the promised Kig-Yar and Sangheili reinforcements. They came soon enough. The small force carried off a couple of shield generators, and set them up around the opening. Soon, the bay would be reinforced to allow passage of the Holy Light, if needed.

      Suddenly, 'Puleemee shouted out. "Ship Leader! Multiple Infidel targets approaching rapidly. Scans show nine in all." A quick pause, then "These ones are equipped with weaponry, primitive as it is."

      "Warning taken," growled 'Onomonee. "We should be able to hold them out. Tell the Minors to hold positions."

      "Accepted, Ship Leader. Relaying orders."

      The holographic image in the bridge grew larger, and 'Onomonee walked inside of it, his armor reflecting the light. The Minors on the floor assembled behind the shield generators, the Kig-Yar in front, the Sangheili resting their weapons inside slots in the shield, and the Unggoy in the back, Plasma Grenades primed. They were ready to fight, and all had no doubt they would win.

      "Mezin, Fora, move it up!" yelled out Sergeant Yasmine. "The Covies have boarded our beautiful station and by God, they came without an invitation! Let's show 'em to the door."

      The two Marines ran up to the bay door that opened up into the large room beyond. Mezin spoke up. "Ma'am, the Covies are entrenched behind a couple of SG's. They got 'nades and Elites. Look pretty tough."

      "Den, pass up the decoy," called back Yasmine. A short Marine in the back lugged a Grunt up front to the doorway and handed it to Mezin and Fora. The two Marines gripped the dead Grunt, who was missing his head, by the arms and swung him a couple of times. On the third swing, they let go and the Grunt sailed into the room. Even as the alien flew through the air, Yasmine was handing out more orders. "Bravo and Alpha, move it up after decoy. Foxtrot, hold in reserve and use those 55s to snipe."

      A sudden ring of explosions sounded, slightly deafening the small squad. As planned, the Covenant had mistaken their dead comrade as an enemy and thrown the grenades at it, only realizing too late their error. As soon as the explosions sounded, Mezin, Fora, and Den of Bravo rounded the bay door and tossed the grenades at the entrenched Covenant before diving behind a large storage crate for cover. Yasmine, Felice, and Julio of Alpha followed quickly, spraying their MA5B's past the now collapsed shield generators and into the dense Covenant formation. They scrambled in the confusion to another crate, hoping the Covenant didn't toss more Grenades.

      Yasmine snuck a peak around the crate and saw the dazed and confused Covenant staggering around, almost all of them wounded. "Hit 'em NOW, Foxtrot!"

      In compliance to the order, Gidry, Flick, and Orez poked their heads and 55s out of the doorway and opened fire. The confused Covenant were easy pickings for the experienced and accurate Marines, especially with their shields down. Gore spattered the deck and windows behind the invaders, and at least a dozen fell. Then shield generators popped and fizzed, and a protective window popped up, deflecting the bullets into bulkheads or boxes.

      Foxtrot, seeing their attacks were futile on the shields, backed back into the protective grasp of the hallway. "Gimme a body count Orez!" yelled Yasmine.

      "Yes Ma'am," he replied. A brief pause followed as Orez checked his BAD (the military slang for the Battle Awareness Display). "Scans read thirteen Covenant down, mostly the chimps. We got two split lips though, and all the Jacks are dead. About ten still standing, eight split lips and two Grunts."

      "Eight?" said Gidry. "Damn, that's a lot of skulls to crack."

      "Consider yourself lucky Marine. Not many people get this chance," said Julio.

      "Lottery, all right," muttered Gidry.

      "Stop the chatter," growled Yasmine. "Foxtrot, provide cover. Shoot any inhuman son-of-a-bitch who shows himself. Bravo, circle around the walkway and provide a flanking position. Alpha, on me, and be prepared to rush in after Bravo."

      Bravo ducked from the ring of boxes and proceeded under cover to the circuitry covered pillar holding the walkway up. "Bravo in position," radioed Mezin. "Moving in."

      Onboard the Brilliant Infiltration, 'Onomonee watched the Humans circle into a flanking position. "'Puleemee, warn the Minors of the flanking movement!"

      "Yes Honorable Ship Leader!" the Elite replied. Five seconds later, the majority of the Minors were prepared for Bravo team.

      Bravo rounded the corner of the pillar, expecting to catch the Covenant on the uncovered side, but instead found all eight Elites looking right at them. "What the hell…" was all Mezin managed before he and Den were vaporized by the plasma. Fora managed to duck back behind the pillar, her shoulder armor smoking.

      Alpha, thinking Bravo was in position, rushed out of cover and started firing on the Covenant. Foxtrot also joined the melee. The Elites, unharmed by Bravo's flanking, were in a comfortable position to fire back at the Marines. Yasmine realized too late what had happened. "Pull Back Alpha. PULL THE HELL BACK!"

      Julio and Felice realized what had happened and fell back immediately, but Julio took a needler round into the back of his head, the resulting explosion spattering its contents around his body. Felice and Yasmine huddled behind the crate, pushing Julio from their minds, and praying that the crate the Covenant were melting didn't contain explosives.

      Their charge had cost the Covenant though. Four more Elites lay dead, and the entire area was littered with mangled Covenant corpses. The remaining Covenant looked around nervously, even the Elites shaken by the carnage.

      "Yasmine, I think we got something," came Orez's voice over the COM. "I just found a couple of concussions on a dead Naval guy. We could use them to disorient the Covies. Disorient and kill."

      "Chuck 'em," ordered Yasmine. "Amplify Audio Dampers NOW!"

      She pushed her AD's to full and the world around her went still and quiet, as if it were stuffed with invisible cotton. She felt two vibrations rumble the deck and she rounded the crate for the third time. The shield generators were still active, but the Covenant behind them were crouched on the floor, ear drums blown and eyes blinded. She fired off her MA5B as Foxtrot fired their 55s. The remaining five Covenant fell quickly.

      "WHAT?! NO!" screamed out 'Onomonee. The arrogant Elite had watched as his Minors were annihilated by the Infidels, of which only three were dead. He had been so confident that his Minors would win that the sight of them dead was overloading the Elite.

      "Ship Leader, all the Minors are dead, thermals show that six Infidels remain," reported "Heffemee, a Minor Operations Elite. "We have no more troops on the roster. Should we disengage and retreat?"

      "No, we must wait for the Holy Light before leaving," said 'Onomonee, struggling hard to keep his voice level. "If we leave now, we will compromise the Infidel's station and kill our comrades. No, they cannot enter our ship, and we will wait for the Supreme Prophet of Regret to give the order to evacuate."

      "What of the wrath of our superiors when they discover our failure?" inquired 'Puleemee.

      'Onomonee didn't reply immediately, but thought over the question. Arrogant as he was, the Elite had a strong sense of pride. "Then we will get our just punishment. We are honorable and will not flee for our lives."

      "So be it, Ship Leader."

      "Good work Marines, file in and check for survivors," Yasmine ordered.

      A chorus of stressed "Yes Ma'am"s came back over the COM. The squad was saddened from the loss of Mezin, Den, and Julio. A quick staccato sounded as Fora put rounds into the wounded body of an Elite. "That's for my Marines, motherfucker."

      "Ma'am!" called out Flick. "We got civilians on the thermals." A pause, then "All dead Ma'am. They look like that tourist group that passed through back in the Terrarium. Wait a second! We got two live ones!"

      Yasmine perked up at the last comment, happy that not all the civilians were killed. "Where?"

      "In the cockpit of the Pelican. The thermals are faint, but compensation shows that they are alive. I'll retrieve 'em."

      Neil and Dona refused to come out of the cockpit at first. The trauma of watching Calsa and Bindy and the other tourists get slaughtered by the Grunts had put them in a momentary catatonic state. It took a death threat for the Marine to get them out. After exiting the cockpit, Dona vomited at the gory carnage as the remaining Marines policed the bodies. The team Medic, Orez, walked over and gave Dona a shot form a hypodermic needle. "Here, this will help."

      Neil was also offered the medication, but he declined. Despite the sickening bloodbath, he didn't want his mind fogged.

      Yasmine, despite her thankfulness that the civilians were secure, acted as if they were unimportant. "Gidry! Orez! You're on civvy duty! The rest of you, fall out on me!"

      The Marines jumped to their duties: Gidry and Orez flanked Neil and Dona while Felice, Fora, and Flick fell in behind Yasmine, who proceeded to move through an open bay door into a small curving hallway.

      The hallway had a fire burning from a wall on the right and there was rubble from the ceiling on the floor. Dona and Neil hurriedly rushed from the bay room, glad to be away. The Marines came across another group of humans, all dead Marines, and took the time to move them off to the side of the hallway, close their eyes, and lat their arms on their chests.

      During this process, Neil tried to console Dona, but didn't know what to say. All he could do was put his arms around her shoulders and hug her. She got the message. "Thanks, but it doesn't mean anything, their still dead."

      "Yes, but we're not. Do you think Calsa would want you to mourn her and get yourself killed?" he said, watching Dona flinch at her dead sister's name. It was a risky move, but it got her attention. "We just need to follow these, these soldiers and do what they tell us. If anything goes wrong, which it won't, they'll protect us. Trust me."

      Dona didn't answer, but Neil could see hope in her eyes. He had grossly optimized their situation but he knew she needed it.

      Without warning, a loud rumble and grinding noise went throughout Malta Station followed by a loud roar and a sharp bang. "What in infernal hell was that?" yelled Fora.

      "The Big Stick! It's firing!" answered Felice. "They must be attempting to repel the Covenant fleet!"

      The noise and shaking repeated as the Super MAC recycled and fired again. Without warning, the gravity disappeared. The Marines, the bodies, Dona, and Neil all floated up into the air. "What the hell?" said Flick.

      Yasmine gave an explanation. "The station stops rotating for better accuracy. Thus, the gravity dissipates." She bended at the waist and grabbed a handhold on the floor. Swinging her legs downward, she hooked her foot under it, and then swung her body upward into a standing position. "Remember your training. Zero G ain't fun, but if you know how to move in it, you just might survive."

      Orez also hooked his foot under a handhold and directed Neil and Dona on how to "walk" in the Zero G: by hooking your feet under consecutive handholds. "I always wondered what those were for," said Neil to Dona, trying to keep her mind off the attack. The medication was working though, and Dona was becoming much more relaxed and rational. Neil could've sworn he saw a smile on her face as she manipulated the footholds.

      Progress was much slower now as they have to make each step count or they could twist an ankle or break a leg. After what seemed hours of shuddering MAC fire, they made it to the end of the corridor.

      Flick and Felice took up positions on the open doorway to another cargo bay and peeked inside. Felice reported. "Uh, Ma'am, we may need to turn back."

      "Why?" said Yasmine.

      "Because there are like ten Elites in this room and a dozen Grunts. About fifteen Jacks too."

      "Shit," Yasmine muttered. "Do you see anything else?"

      "Yeah," said Flick. "There's a big, a big thing in there. It kind of looks like an oversized hitball with a ton of spikes on it. And, it's blinking."

      "Patch it through." An image snapped onto Yasmine's BAD, the little computer analyzing it.

      After a second, the synthesized female voice spoke. "Scans show several deposits of anti-matter inside of object. Anti-matter is being held in a chamber adjacent to a large piece of supra dense promethium. Analysis: Anti-Matter bomb."

      "Holy shit! They're trying to blow up the Malta!" said Orez.

      "Flick, Felice. What's the 'nade count?"

      "Enough," said Flick.

      "Well, lug a couple of them towards the head Elite. Fora, Flick, and myself will open up firing and then get behind that circuit board over there," said Yasmine, pointing to a large wall covered in panels. "Orez, Gidry, and Felice will follow up with their Battle Rifles and take down any vulnerable sons of bitches. The two civvies, stay up there and don't move."

      "Ma'am?" asked Gidry over the COM. "Don't you think the odds are a little lopsided? Thirty five plus Covies against us? We don't stand a chance."

      "We have to try. If that bomb goes off, it'll open a hole between here and Earth. Not to mention we'll still be dead anyway. We can't have that."

      A long silence, then "Yes Ma'am, I understand."

      "Good, execute NOW!"

      Felice and Flick tossed as many grenades as they could throw in flat trajectories to make up for the lost gravity. The Elites were caught off guard, their shields down. After the tenth and final grenade, the Grunts and most of the Elites were paste. Their remains shot off in trajectories away from the explosion, creating a delicate dance of gore and blood on their side of the bay.

      But they recovered quickly. Yasmine, Fora, and Flick dove through the doorway, pushing off hard to propel them to far wall. Their weapons fired off and hundreds of bullets impacted on the now shielded Jackals and Elites.

      None got through.

      They returned fire at the flying Marines. Flick took a hit right in the abdomen, spinning his burning body into the far wall. His flailing arms grabbed Fora's boot and yanked her off her course. Her body hit the far wall with a sickening crunch and bounced off into the open area of the bay right towards the Covenant fortification. Unable to slow or change her direction, Fora screamed and fired at the rapidly approaching Covenant. They fired back at her and hit her, burning her body through the armor, but she still landed on an Elite, wrapping her body around it. The plasma burned through both and another two corpses were added to the floating ballet of the dead.

      Fora distracted the Covenant long enough so that Yasmine was able to reach the shelter of the circuit wall, panting heavily. She keyed her COM as the Covenant started to pour fire on her. "Orez, get the civvies some weapons. Have 'em do some round-about firing."

      "Aye Ma'am," replied Orez, shaken by the fact they were fighting an un-winnable battle. He pulled the body of Flick closer, as it had drifted near the hallway, and took his BR55 and sidearm. He pushed the body deeper into the hall to keep it from getting even more mutilated. He passed the rifle Neil and the pistol to Dona. "Do you know how to use a weapon?"

      "Yes."

      "Ya."

      "Well, good. Poke 'em out the doorway and shoot at the Covies."

      Orez was surprised; the civvies took it in stride. They floated up towards the door, gripping a handhold so they wouldn't go into the room, and fired. Several screams echoed through the bay as the last Grunt and two Jackals died. Plasma fire started coming at the doorway too, melting the frame. Neil yelled and yanked his hand back, the sudden movement almost twisting his ankle. The BR55 he had been using was now just a lump of melted metal with a thin scope sticking out the top.

      "Catch any?" Orez asked as Gidry and Felice started firing back.

      "Nah, just burned me a little."

      "Put some of this on it, it'll help," said Orez as he gave Neil a small tube.

      The COM crackled to life with Yasmine coming over it. "Orez, Gidry, Felice! We got trouble. Them Jack-asses are pulling a Beta on us. Can't get a shot in edgewise. The split lips are following 'em."

      Orez took a peek around the slagged frame and saw what Yasmine was saying. The Jackals were forming a phalanx and haphazardly crossing the floor towards Yasmine's position. The boots of the Jackals and Elites were too big for the handholds on the floor, a specific design by the engineers, so they had to carefully maneuver using nearby objects. Even so, the shields were impenetrable to the Marines' weaponry.

      "Damnit. Gidry, Felise, fire on the formation," said Orez. He hoped to use the momentum of the bullets to break the haphazard formation. The two Marines fired at the aliens, and the bullets were deflected from the shields, but the force of the impacts distorted the formation and it broke.

      Soon Yasmine joined the fight and the Jackals began to fall quickly. Felice took a shot to the face from an Elite and her body remained stuck on the handhold she had been using. Gidry got stuck with a Plasma Grenade on his weapon but threw it at the Jackals before it went off. A piece of shrapnel form the explosion, however, hit him between the eyes, killing him instantly.

      Finally the last Elite fell to a shot in the abdomen. Orez, Neil, Yasmine, and Dona floated at the end of the bay, looking at the dozens of floating Human and Covenant bodies against a backdrop of Earth. Rivulets of blood flowed around, sticking to anything. Every now and then a body or weapon would plow through one and leave a small hole and a shower of blood drops. Every time the MAC fired, everything in the bay shuddered and changed direction. Pulsing quickly now, the bomb floated from one end of the room to the other, it's momentum bowling bodies away from it, leaving a wake in it's trail. Two Grunts were impaled on the spikes.

      Yasmine and Orez bounced over to the bomb. moving through a cloud of shell casings form their weapons and threw several blood rivulets. They caught the bomb and slowed it down, careful not to make a Marine shiskabob out of themselves. Neil and Dona, now used to the butchery, watched from the slagged door as the Marines discussed how to shut the bomb down.

      "Look, I'm no master of Covenant tech or anything, but I bet the small circle sign on the display will shut it off," explained Orez.

      "You sure? That squiggly 'X' looks more inviting," said Yasmine.

      "Well, we have to choose one now, or we all die."

      "Right, you do it."

      "Ok, I'll- Wait, why me?" protested Orez.

      "Because I ordered you to."

      The Medic sighed. "Pulling rank on me Ma'am. I would never have though it from you. Alright, here goes nothing."

      He touched the small circle. For a second, nothing happened, then the pulsing stopped and the display cleared. Orez whooped, accidentally flinging himself into the window.

      Yasmine just smiled. "Good choice Orez, now we can go home."

      Neil and Dona overheard the conversation and started whooping too. Despite everything they had been through, they would be alright. They hugged and kissed each other before resuming the celebrating.

      Back on the Brilliant Infiltration, a panel flashed red. 'Heffemee hit a holographic switch, stopping the flashing. "Most High Ship Leader 'Onomonee, the Holy Light has been activated. Removing ourselves from the Infidel's Station."

      'Onomonee curled his mandibles into a smile. "So our failure does not matter. The Holy Light will be activated, the Infidels driven away, and their planet used as a channel into the Great Journey. All is not lost."

      "Switching Holographic Display to Expanded View," announced 'Heffemee. The holographic display on the bridge zoomed out from the carnage in the Docking Bay and focused on the cluster of the three Super MAC's. Their ship appeared as a blip on the screen, a blip that left a long white ion trail behind it. Several other blips flashed onto the screen, a name posted next to each one.

      "Ship Leader, Boarding Vessels Dark Light and Ascended Faith and Justice are still on the station," said 'Heffemee, a touch of sadness entering his gruff voice. "I will pray for them as they start the Great Journey."

      Inside the bomb that had begun drifting again, two cylinders slid towards eachother. One containing supra-dense promethium, the other a volatile mix of anti-matter. The two cylinders met at the ends and prepared to eject their contents into eachother.

      Several dozen miles beyond Malta Station floated Cairo Station, the de facto HQ of the Mediterranean Battle Cluster. In one Docking Bay, nearly identical to the one where Yasmine, Orez, Neil, and Dona were celebrating, a titan in green MJOLNIR armor shot an Elite and picked up it's Plasma Sword. The Spartan flicked a switch and a sheet of plasma filled out into a two pronged sword. John tested it a couple more times before deactivating it and hitching it on his thigh.

      He cocked his head as he unslung his Battle Rifle and listened to the chatter.

      "Hey, check it out. The Malta's already driven off it's borders," said a Marine even as white streaks sped from the massive Super MAC.

      Cortana's voice sounded over the COM. "Malta, what is your status, Over."

      The Commander of the station, a John Fedrico, spoke. "I don't believe it! They're retreating; we won!"

      It sounded like he may have said more, but the COM was suddenly cut off and replaced with static.

      The two cylinders inside the bomb suddenly opened their touching ends and mixed their contents. Almost immediately, the anti-matter hit the promethium and converted it into pure energy. The explosion was contained inside the dense Novenium shell of the bomb for a millisecond, enough time to amplify it's power a hudrend-fold. Then it was released in a hell storm of incinerating fire and plasma.

John watched as Malta Station's living area was vaporized and the burning, disconnected MAC gun drifted upward, the loading and recoil compensator floating downward. The intensity of the light caused his helmet to polarize to it's maximum tint before it faded away. All that remained was a field of molten debris, burning metal, and flash fired bodies.

      The Master Chief heard an explosion and turned, his eyes falling on two Elites and four Grunts entering through a blown out doorway. He grabbed the sword, flicked it on, and sprinted toward the White Elite wielding an identical weapon. As the two swords connected, the Master Chief hissed. "This is for Malta Station."

Coming soon!

A Walk in the Woods, the story of a belleugered Covenant garrison caught in the Vice Grip of the UNSC.

Also, Ambient Wonder, the story of how the Christmas Cloud turned from a beautiful ice formation into a raging battlefield.

And, The Gun Pointed at the Head of the Universe, the story of Sergeant Mobuto, a Human Marine who's chosen by 343 Guilty Spark to purge the Galaxy of the Flood.

Stories of a Soundtrack -- Part 4
Date: 5 January 2007, 12:49 am

Accessing IPNAC… Please Stand By…
Access Granted, Welcome Viewer.
Receiving Request, Processing…
Request: Retrieve Personal File of Civilian Louis Gandry Wu. Request Pending…
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Name: Wu, Louis Gandry
Sex: Male
Age: 29
Occupation: Ancalogist
Degrees: AhD, PDf, CaAP
Location: Slipspace, en route to Lost Colony from Nib Ki (CONDITION: Rendered INHABITABLE by HV Plasma) Debris Field
Place of Residence: Def'Na City, Manchile Continent, Lost System.
DOB: February 29th, 2522 (SAC)
POB: Def'Na City, Manchile Continent, Lost System
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Request: Retrieve File 159 – 852 – 753 – SOAS – 56
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A Walk in the Woods

Near Hill Golf 331, Murnil Forest, Acienic Continent, Planet Yeng III, Yeng system

      The force of battered armor, weary souls, and heavy prospects moved through the dense woods, filtering through trees, crushing ferns underfoot, and looking out for pursuers. They had fled the Battle of Murnil Plains, leaving their wounded, and struggling to make it into the safety of the forest.

      They were the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith, a relatively small company that had been dispatched to Yeng as part of the 3rd Parallel Invasion Force. They had started out as 2,500 strong, with files of Grunts, Elites, Jackals, and even several Hunter Pairs. Wraiths and Ghosts had complemented their strength along with two Heavy Mortars. Now, there were only a hundred and thirty two troops, mostly Grunts, but with a light scattering of Jackals and Elites taking up the front of the force.

      In the very center of the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith was an Elite, dressed in the Silver armor of the Commander. He was tall and imposing, and could bend the toughest of soldiers to his will. His name and title were Army Commander Futo 'Gulomemee, and he had led them through many conflicts, survived many battles, and had the scars to show for it.

      Even now, with more than 95% of his force dead, he acted as if they had command of the battlefield. He walked with a strut in his battle scarred armor, his eyes held confidence, and his chest was puffed out. He clicked his mandibles at a nearby Veteran Minor; the blue armored female Pula 'Furtoma. "'Furtoma, are we within reasonable distance of any defensible positions? High hills, steep walls, bodies of water?" he asked. Most Covenant would be surprised for an Army Commander to speak with a Veteran Minor, let alone a female Veteran Minor, but 'Gulomemee was a fair leader. He had seen her fight, and believed that she had more than proven herself on the battlefield and was long overdue for a promotion to Major Veteran at the least.

      'Furtoma, who had become used to being spoken to by the Army Commander, checked her Topographic Simulator. The small red tube beeped, and a holographic topographic map appeared out of the end of it. "Most High Army Commander, there is a nearby hill in an open clearing about two hundred Mild Units that way," 'Furtoma said, pointing to the north. "Elevation, ten Major Units. Length, thirty five Major Units. Width, twenty Major Units. Ground is soft and ribbed with hard rock, good for trench making. There are large rocks on it providing ample cover and a large flat rock crowns the hill. Scans show that it is a reasonable platform for the mortar."

      "Very good," said "Gulomemee. He held a small purple cube to his mandibles and spoke, the cube relaying the message to every Covenant in the formation. "Honorable survivors of the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith, we have come this far and lived. Even now, the filthy Infidels that slaughtered are comrades are gathering and advancing upon us. If we hold any chance of survival, it's in reaching a defensible location. Fortunately, the Forerunners have smiled on us as we struggled, and we are blessed with a hill that, with us in command of it, will withstand the hardiest of attacks. This is where we will make our stand, where we will fight back and send the Heathens to their Hell. For we are the Covenant! And none have ever beaten us, and these Humans will be no different! For we shall stand victorious and be guaranteed are passage with our Prophets on the Great Journey!"

      As soon as 'Gulomemee finished his speech, the front ranks broke out of the dense forest and into a large clearing dominated by a hill in the center. The Covenant let out a cheer and immediately made preparations for a long siege, tossing their whole selves into the task. 'Gulomemee commanded the operations from the crest of the hill, right in front of the rock that the mortar was to be placed on. But even as the fortifications were built, and the mortar placed, the trenches built, and the turrets placed, he knew he would never leave the hill alive.

      Thirty five Units later, the Covenant were entrenched in the South side of the hill. Two trenches were blasted and smoothed out between bands of granite, roughly 3 feet deep, and lined with stationary plasma turrets. On top of a hill, the Sniper Perch was set up, the container floating above the platform. Several Jackals inside the container checked their Beam Rifles for energy and damage.

      At the very crest of the hill was a large mass of battle scarred purple metal. A wide platform held up a wide, curved turret mounted on a half circle base, the tip of the turret glowing purple as it waited to unleash it's deadly plasma. The platform was held roughly one Minor Unit above the ground by three stubby legs.

      Standing in front of the machine, his armor reflecting the last rays of sunlight, 'Gulomemee watched as the Grunts finished positioning the Plasma Turrets above the trenches. 'Furtoma walked up beside him and held up a small disc, a holographic report floating above it. "Most Honorable Commander, you wished for me to report the advances of the Humans when within a three hundred Major Units. A large Human force, about 500 in all with armor support, is advancing on our position."

      "Thank you 'Furtoma," 'Gulomemee said without turning his black eyes away from the setting sun. "Retrieve 'Jugomee and 'Dunomonee and send them to the crest. Leave the report with me."

      "Of course Most Honorable Commander," said 'Furtoma as she placed the disc in 'Gulomemee's hand before backing away with a graceful bow. 'Gulomemee looked away from the sunset as 'Furtoma loped down the slope, her multi-jointed legs receiving the shock of her downhill run. The Commander joined his opposing mandibles together and let the bottom two fall down, the Sangheili equivalent of a Human sigh. One of his fingers made their way to a small pad on the disc, activating the holographic battlefield.

      The hill that the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith had entrenched appeared, the forest of thin tall trees found on Yeng materializing around it. A small section of the forest to the south pulsed and became lined with red dots. They moved in the tight rectangular formation the Humans preferred, the vehicles following on the flanks.

      'Gulomemee was studying the distance between the Human column and the hill when two High Major Veterans loped up to his side. Both wore scarred armor that had seen one to many bullets. 'Dunomonee was bleeding from a shrapnel wound on his shoulder. 'Jugomee was missing his chest piece.

      Without wasting time on formalities, the Commander addressed his officers. "Fellow Sangheili brethren, the infidels march upon our position. As you can tell from the map, they are within a hundred Major Units from us and are fortunately arriving on our entrenched flank. From my studies, the battlefield is in our favor. We are embedded, have stable artillery, snipers, trenches, and an elevated position. With our long range sensors, we can keep track of their movements. Our only weakness is our numbers. Although with the Unggoy, we number over a hundred, we are short in our amount of experienced, skilled, or well trained soldiers."

      Edo 'Jugomee cut in, pride ringing in his voice. "We Sangheili number fifteen, and our very best Kig-Yar have survived the battle! Weak as the Unggoy may be, enough of them should provide protection for us. We have more than enough [experienced] troops to survive this!" 'Jugomee stopped short, realizing he had spoken out and against a superior officer, one three whole ranks above himself.

      Commander 'Gulomemee looked down at the shorter 'Jugomee, anger burning deep in his eyes. He lifted his arm and backhanded 'Jugomee across the face, hard. 'Gulomemee's eyelids slid down and up, moistening his eyes against the dry air. "In any other situation, you would be shot on the spot and have your dishonor thrown back on your clan. But, we are outnumbered and cut off. As you pointed out, we are fifteen Sangheili with a compliment of Unggoy and a file of Kig-Yar. But, this is not enough. A Human force of five hundred with vehicle support is enough to wipe us off this hill." He paused, looking at the turned head of 'Jugomee. "We need every warrior we have, no matter how small. Or disrespectful. Is that understood?"

      'Jugomee looked up, hatred burning in his eyes. "Of course, Honorable Commander," he forced threw constricted mandibles.

      'Gulomemee's expression lightened slightly. "Good! Now, let us concentrate our mentality on pressing matters. We have no time for frivolities. The Humans are within two hundred and fifty Major Units of our position. They number five hundred with several of their light vehicles and a tank. We have only one hundred Unggoy, seventeen Kig-Yar, and one fedrula of Sangheili, including us.

      "Our only advantage is the hill we are embedded in. The rocks provide ample cover, and several trenches make the way haphazard for any Human foolish enough to approach. The firm crest makes an excellent platform for our single remaining mortar and the Infidels will have to cross a small open plain to reach us. If we hold tight, we can weather the maelstrom."

      Over the next few Minor Units, 'Gulomemee outlined the defense plan. At times, 'Dunomonee would ask questions, but 'Jugomee never opened his mouth.

      After 'Gulomemee finished, he sent his officers to their duties. 'Dunomonee went down to the trenches to oversee the front line defenses and to monitor the turrets. 'Jugomee was kept on the crest to keep watch of the Sniper Kig-Yar and to make sure the Unggoy operating the mortar didn't mess up.

      'Gulomemee had him near him for a reason. The Commander had had time to review the Major Veteran's report. What he saw was not dazzling. Several counts of Minor Disrespect, a Minor Violence violation against another Sangheili, and a most puzzling was that he had been in the Military of the Covenant for over twenty five Cycles, nearly half his life, and had not had a single infraction before mysteriously disappearing for a Succession several Cycles before joining the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith. He knew something wasn't right.

      As he thought over 'Jugomee, he felt a tingling on the nape of his neck, as if someone was watching him. He turned around, hand on his plasma pistol, to find 'Jugomee staring right at him, a cold and determined look in his eyes.

      "Haul her up boys! We ain't on no daisy picking!" yelled Gunnery Sergeant Ricky Gum, throwing his arm over his head in an exaggerated motion at the Marines behind him who were hauling a crate filled with ammunition towards the edge of the forest. The two Marines, both Privates, finally dropped the crate of 7.62 mm bullets heavily on the ground. Sergeant Gun whistled and headed back towards a loaded Warthog, one of five the Marine force had brought.

      The other Warthogs and the Scorpion were in the process of unloading the strapped on supplies several meters back in the forest. Everything from ammo crates and rockets to gun mounts and fire shields had been brought along; anything that could be scrounged from the Murnil Plains where thousands lay dead.

      As the Marines followed their Sergeant back, Gum started counting in his head. He always liked to see how far he got before he needed to break up a fight. Gum claimed it help calm him down and help him concentrate. He already had used it three times since entering the Murnil Forest.

      "Gawd Sarge, them AR rounds weigh more than one of 'em Hunters," whined one Marine with the name "Nex" stenciled on his helmet.

      One.

      The other Marine, a Delcin "Rica" Fedrick, glared over the box at Nex. "Since when has a soft-ass like you ever seen a Worm Farm?"

      Two.

      "On Felix IV, that's where! A big 'un too. The Docs had us haulin' it's fat ass over to a Pelican for dissection," shot back Nex, who pronounced dissection as "diss-etch-un".

      Three.

      "That's [dissection] you idiot."

      "Makin' fun of my accent, Rica?"

      Four.

      "Whut accent?" replied Rica, mocking Nex's distinctive Prosperity drawl.

      "Why you sun-uva-butch, stuck up, Reacher! You shou'd be back at base test-tastin' the slop!"

      Five.

      "I thought that was your job. If it turns out to be deadly, they won't mind losing an ugly face."

      "Tea Time's over boys," said Gum, stepping between the two scowling Marines. "Congratulations, you set a new record. I actually waited only six seconds that time." He slapped them both on the back, hard, as they picked up the last crate, one holding three light weight Battle Shields. Light weight as in twenty kilograms.
Gum lifted one of his thick arms and tapped his boom mike twice, connecting himself to the CO of the force, Master Sergeant Resinky. "Ma'am, Warthog Opera Gertrude has been unloaded. Awaiting for further orders for Fire Team Opera-Trade."

      Resinky came over the COM, her voice scratchy in the poor reception area. "Stick to the plan FT Opera-Trade. That hill is crawling with chimps and split lips. Be careful, stay hidden."

      "Yes Ma'am. Gum out." Ricky turned back to Nex and Rica, who had finished unloading the Battle Shields. "Come-on, let's go. You guys remember the plan?"

      "Ya."

      "Sure."

      "Good, now follow it. Remember, stay on my tracks, watch your backs, keep an eye on that hill, and stay hidden. There should be some Battle Shields and a Sniper stop up ahead."

      The three Marines moved off into the forest, heading along the tree line to keep hidden while holding a good view of the hill in the dual moonlight. Gum watched the hill carefully. There was a trench, obviously made by plasma, lining the South face about thirty feet up the slope. Another trench snaked it's away another twenty feet higher, near the crest of the hill.

      Gum turned on his Battle Awareness Display (affectionately known as the BAD by Marines) as he crouch walked along the tree line. A map indicating the locations of the ammo and attack drop points flicked into his iris along with blue blips indicating Human forces. A series of numbers on the bottom of the map showed the total count of Human forces and the coordinates, relative to Yeng.

      Snap! The sudden noise alerted Gum. He whirled around, his pistol out in front of him to find a sheepish looking Nex standing on top of a broken branch. "Sorra Sir," he mumbled.

      Gum sighed. "Just watch your stepping okay?"

      "Yeah Nex," taunted Rica. "Watch those big feet of yours. Your gonna get us all--"

      Fif!

      Thump!

      Splat!

      Rica's headless body crumpled and rolled down a small incline, the Beam Rifle silencing his words. Behind him was a tree with a red rimmed hole dead center in it's trunk, Rica's cerebral remains painted around it.

"Commence Firing!" roared 'Gulomemee into his purple receiver. Immediately, the tension on the hill was broken as the hidden Covenant forces started pouring plasma on the supposedly hidden Humans. The disguised Plasma Turrets in the trenches pulsed to life and rained plasma on the enemy. The Jackal Snipers flicked on their weapons and began sharp shooting any Human who would show his head. Behind himself, 'Gulomemee could feel the Plasma Mortar activating, the heat warming his back.

      "The first Human is mine!" bragged a Kig-Yar sniper on his nearby perch. "It's head was clean off!"

      "Silence Kig-Yar, and resume your attacks!" scolded 'Gulomemee. "You will have more than enough notches to carve in your weapon by the end of night!"

      The three Kig-Yar giggled in their perch, a gargling caw in 'Gulomemee's ears. Filthy and disrespectful creatures, snarled 'Gulomemee inwardly. They care nothing of honor.

      A whining noise filled the air as the mortar prepared to fire. The engineers had reported to 'Gulomemee saying that it would take twice as long to fire than before, due to a severed plasma coil. They recommended using it only sparingly; the overuse of the lone plasma coil could cause an explosion. 'Gulomemee knew he would have to risk it, it was their only chance of surviving.

      As the weapon slowly charged, 'Gulomemee continued to survey the battlefield from his position. The tree line was almost completely scorched and several fires had broken out, unfourtanely contained by the damp ground and trees. 'Gulomemee was hoping he could use fire to help drive the Humans back.

      Plasma fire continued to volley into the undergrowth, and now the Humans were starting to return fire. Tracers help light up the night as they impacted on the hillside. Several rockets were also launched, but most only exploded in the gap between trenches, hurling earth down upon the bottom trench.

      Finally, the mortar shuddered and squeezed out a ball of plasma several Minor Units wide. It sailed into the air, gracefully adding a third moon to the sky, before falling back to Yeng. A large section of the forest was vaporized on impact, taking several Humans and a Warthog with it. The Unggoy crew cheered at the successful hit. 'Gulomemee turned around to insure that the Unggoy and 'Jugomee returned to work.

      The Unggoy were already preparing the mortar for another launch. 'Jugomee wasn't there with them. 'Gulomemee blinked and narrowed his eyes, his mandibles flexing with anger. [The filthy swine has deserted!] he roared inwardly. Before he could ask the Unggoy where their supervisor went, the crest of the hill turned into an inferno.

      Ever since Rica had his extreme lobotomy, Gum and Nex had been running to the East, away from Rica's headless body. After falling flat to the ground a second after Rica lost his head, Gum and Nex had crawled into a narrow riverbed turned bog and trudged through the disgusting muck until reaching a shallow slope, where they hastily got out of the rotting vegetation.

      Once out, they found chaos. A Marine squad had been based there, all dead, their bodies strewn around. Most were missing body parts, or had large hole sin them. Plasma can easily mutilate a body. The area around them was burning with isolated fires, easily contained by the damp terrain.

      "Gawd, it luks like a slughtur huss," said Nex, his mouth hanging slightly. Gum started moving towards the burning corpses. "Wuddya doin' Sarge?!" yelled Nex.

      "Quiet!" said Gum in a hushed whisper. "I'm getting their tags, they deserve that much."

      After he had gathered the tags while Nex kept an eye on the Jackal Snipers, Gum took out a pair of binoculars and looked in the direction of the Sniper Perch. "Yeh, that's them. I count three Birdies with snipes pickin' us off. Their not firing too much, probably trying to conserve. Too far away for us to get a shot out."

      "What shou'd we do Sarge?" asked Nex.

      "Move to a new location, hunker down, and take 'em out!"

      Before Nex could reply, thunder broke through the staccato of bullets. The ground shook and the air whistled as the top of the hill became wrapped in fire. "The Scorp'! She's shootin'!" said Nex.

      A few seconds later and the process repeated itself. Thunder, whistling, fire. The mortar on top of the hill squeezed out its own plasma in return, but the bolt missed and landed harmlessly behind the Marine force, vaporizing a small grove of trees.

      Gum spoke up. "It doesn't matter how many rounds the Scorp' shoots, none of 'em will do any more good than make ankle-twisters unless they hit something worthwhile." He paused, checked the map in his BAD for a few moments. He then shook Nex on the shoulder and slapped his helmet. "Come-on Nexxy, lets go kill some Jacks!"

      The two Marines headed off deeper into the woods to avoid Sniper fire before leveling out East. Their route would lead them to a flanking area directly North of the hill, giving them a good shooting field at the East facing Covenant. As they continued on, Gum looked at Nex and Nex looked back. Something passed between the two Marines, lifelong buddies since the 3rd grade. Something neither would ever bring up but knew one day they would have to face it. They looked away, both knowing that this was that day.

To be continued…

Stories of a Soundtrack -- Part 5
Date: 30 August 2007, 2:32 am

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A Walk in the Woods, Part 2

      Hill Golf 331, Murnil Forest, Acienic Continent Planet Yeng III, Yeng System

      He had left only two Minor Units after he had been dismissed by 'Gulomemee, leaving his file of pathetic Unggoy behind to man the mortar themselves. With him, he only took a Beam Rifle and a Needler, trekking down the steep back of the hill in the direction the sun had set. For navigation, he only used his memory and eyesight. His name, Edo 'Jugomee. His real name, Fero 'Wetrumoo.

      The real Edo 'Jugomee had disappeared for two Minor Cycles, completely vanishing from his barracks onboard the Inscrutable Justice. To 'Jugomee, he had been kidnapped by an extremist Heretic faction and was being tortured for information. 'Wetrumoo had held nothing back from the act and had given himself sick satisfaction at tormenting the honorable Sangheili Officer. After he had lived out the facade, he had ejected Edo's body into interstellar space, erasing any chance of him being found. 'Wetrumoo was surgically altered to be identical to 'Jugomee before returning to the Inscrutable Justice. When asked where he, 'Jugomee, had disappeared to, he told them the truth. Captured, tortured, and drugged, but eventually escaping and returning. He always conveniently forgot the part about the flash-frozen 'Jugomee floating in the void.

       'Wetrumoo was an experienced assassin, a practicer of the deadly and silent art of killing in secrecy. His target: Futo 'Gulomemee, Silver High Commander of the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith, 3rd Parallel, Masses of Regret. He had tried several times before: poisoning food, cutting wires, even trying to stab him in the back once. Each time failed, or wasn't carried through. Whether by chance, meaning, or the will of the Forerunners, Futo would not die.

      Now was an extreme situation: The Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith was caught in a vice grip, with nowhere to run. Futo 'Gulomemee would surely perish. 'Wetrumoo/'Jugomee could just as easily walk away from the battle, casting his honor to the depths of necessity, as was declared by his trade. Whether he stayed or not, Futo was doomed. But his superior, the un-nameable leader of the Assassins, had made a strange request: 'Wetrumoo himself had to kill 'Gulomemee, or by means of his causing. His superior would not explain why he wanted this done this way and 'Wetrumoo knew better than to ask. One doesn't question his superior in the Assassins.

      His hoofs made soft impressions in the ground as he sneaked into the trees. Sneaking because the weaponry and moonlight combined lit the hill and surrounding area as brightly as a Drinol stadium. His pace quickened into a sprint as he got deeper into the thin bamboo like trees. After roughly ten Major Units, 'Wetrumoo came to a stop, his breath barely faster than normal. He disconnected his Beam Rifle from its strap on his back before discarding all of his armor. He did this to avoid it reflecting moonlight for someone or something to see. He wasn't bothered by being naked; the Military's initiation rites he had endured Cycles before becoming an Assassin erased any reason to be ashamed of his nudity.

       'Wetrumoo crouched, placing his needler on the soft moss of a nearby rock, and put his Beam Rifle's stock on his shoulder. He found a hole in the trees where he had an open sight of the hill he had just left. The assassin pulsed the magnification on the scope and the mortar slid forward. Near it were Unggoy tending to its intricacies. He also saw the figure of Futo 'Gulomemee covered in his silver armor watching the battle. The figure twitched as the Plasma Mortar fired before turning around to command the Unggoy. 'Wetrumoo couldn't help but to laugh at the imagined confusion pasting itself on his victim's face as he learned his officer had disappeared.

       "You will not escape me this time, 'Gulomemee," sneered 'Wetrumoo. "Not after that dishonorable slap." His mandibles curled in on themselves in a smile as his long finger started to compress the trigger pad.

      A sudden noise ripped through the foliage. 'Wetrumoo flattened himself on the ground, his dark skin blending in with the nighttime shadows. The noise grew louder and his acute hearing recognized it as a Human Warthog. Where there are Humans, there are more Humans. I think a Human bullet would look more natural than a plasma burst thought 'Wetrumoo. He slinked back farther into the shadows and waited for the Humans to pass by.

       "Oi, Rendez!" yelled Private First Class Fen "Big Pat" Ruly. "How's the ride?"

      Corporal Rendez, who was enduring the severely rugged jolting in the Warthog, scowled and yelled over his shoulder at the PFC. "Aw, screw you, Pat!"

       "Jesus, come-on, it can't be that bad. You're doing what? 10? 15? Toughen up," taunted Pat.

       "I said, screw you! Why don't you come up here and see how long a 'hard-ass' like you lasts?"

       "Nah," said Big Pat nonchalantly. "I need the youthful exercise of walking."

      The Marine riding the gun spoke up. "Guy-s-s, wh-a-a-t ab-bout-t m-e-e? You thi-ink the fro-ont's-s ba-ad?"

       "Shut up O'Riely, no one likes you," kidded Pat at the jouncing Marine.

       "Fu-uck you Pa-a-t!" O'Riely managed through the jarring ride.

       "Ya, take it easy on him. He's gonna have brain damage after this," warned Rendez.

      A sudden explosion cut through the small arms fire as the Plasma Mortar landed another blob of plasma. Pat was silent afterwards.

      The Warthog screeched to a halt and O'Riely swung the gun around. The ground was unscorched. The Plasma Mortar had hit an area on the open plain in front of the hill.

       "Hey Pat! You OK?" yelled Rendez.

      A pause and he called out again.

      Still no reply. Rendez tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Stay in the 'Hog. Keeps it idling in case it's a trick."

      He climbed out with O'Riely and looked around. Pat had disappeared. "Damn," said O'Riely. "Where'd he go?"

       "I dunno."

      The two Marines walked around the area while the driver kept the Warthog running. "Hurry it up guys! We got a date with the Covies behind!"

      They didn't answer, but kept beating the bushes. A group of twenty Marines came around the bend in the path. The one in front, a Sergeant yelled to Rendez. "Corporal! Why has the Warthog stopped in the middle of my path with no hostiles nearby?"

      Rendez snapped to attention, remembering not to salute in the combat zone. "Sir, Private First Class Fen Ruly has vanished. We were searching for 'im, Sir!"

       "We got to keep moving or else the Covies can retreat. Pat can catch up back at base. Move out!"

       "Sir, yes Sir!"

      Rendez and O'Riely climbed back into the Warthog. As it started up again, Rendez could've sworn he saw two red eyes peering at him through the foliage. A second look and they had disappeared into the night.

      Just 300 feet south of there, Gum and Nex had set up camp. After trekking through the bogs, large puddles, and insects that inhabit this part of Yeng, the two Snipers finally made it to a desirable range to shoot from.

      Gum glanced across at the prone form of Nex, most of whose body was buried in bug infested swamp muck. "How you doing Nex?"

      Nex glared at Gum who had situated himself on top of the only dry piece of ground within ten feet. "Fine, ju't fine. And I bet yu'r endurin' the elements on that piece o' dry land! Nah, it's 'kay. I o'ly have five buggers crawling up me pants at the moment!"

       "Hey, who got her first? Who found the high ground first?"

      Nex sighed, making sure his Sniper Rifle was out of the muck. "You did," he said in a downcast tone.

       "Lighten up, we got three Jackasses ripe for the picking and God knows however many more Covenant who want to poke their heads out of the damn trenches," consoled Gum. With that, he propped up his Sniper rifle on its tripod and sighted through the Oracle scope. "One bullet apiece…"

       "…and an extra one to make sure," finished Nex.

      The two men punched their fists and peered down their barrels. Gum said "I got the ugly bastard with the yellow fin. You take the Red fin. The one in the middle is wild card. On my mark." Gum paused. "Mark!"

      Two shots rang out so close in unison that they sounded like one. Two of the Sniper Jackals fell, one missing it's head, the other missing it's head and shoulders. The third Jackal, named Ruk, reacted quickly. It ducked behind the rim of the sniper Perch as two more white trails carved the air above its head. He poked his rifle through one of the slits in the rim made especially for cover shooting. It traced the trails back through the night air into a small clearing where two Humans lay, both with Sniper Rifles. It aimed for the head of the lower one and prepared to shoot.

       "We got two of 'em," said Nex. "The third one's hidin'."

      A sudden whoosh of air and a Beam Rifle bolt lashed down at Nex, slashing his shoulder. "DAMN!" yelled Gum as he traced the beam back to the tower. "Gotcha, mother—"

       CRACK!

      The bullet ran straight and true, cracking through the thin wall around the slit and blowing half the Jackal's head away. The perch swayed precariously on its grav beam from the impact. Purple blood began dripping through the entry hole in the middle where the anti gravity field propelled it back into the perch again.

      Gum quickly rolled over to Nex who was still in the bog, now screaming in pain. The shot had cut deep, over 3 inches, and the arteries below it spurted blood by the pint full into the air. Plasma bolts usually traveled slow enough to cauterize any wounds they had caused, keeping blood loss to a minimum. Beam Rifle bolts, however, moved so fast that they cut right through and barely sizzled the flesh. Of course, the victim generally has bigger problems at the moment than 1st degree burns.

      He checked the wound and reached for the med kit, realizing too late that the beam had also cut through the arteries in his right thigh and boiled the medical kit, its contents rendered useless. At once, Gum knew Nex was going to die, slowly and painfully. After a half hour, he would have bled enough to slip into unconsciousness, but not before suffering through the agony of it.

      Nex sobbed, biting through his own lip in pain. The hurt proved too much for him to form words and he could only gag and choke on his own fluids. Gum stood up, taking Nex's dog tags and drew his pistol. A look of peace flashed through Nex's eyes as the barrel was pointed at him, and his convulsions eased momentarily. He managed to mouth Thank you. Gum looked away and squeezed the trigger. The sobs were horribly cut off, the spattering of blood dying away, and the surrounding area silent once more.

      Captain Resinky sighed and cupped her head in her hands as she sat at her impromptu desk at the Field base on the Murnil Plains. The terrible losses inflicted on the Marines during the Battle of Murnil Plains had taken its toll on her once pretty face. Her cheeks sagged and her eyes had black circles under them. Her hands sometimes shook and her mental state was degrading. After 56 hours of constant fighting and watching her soldiers die, she was about ready to buy it herself.

      She looked down at her desk and sighed as the reports kept coming in. Two Warthogs destroyed, over one hundred Marines dead from the Snipers, Turrets, and the Mortar. And now she would either hope that the Scorpion Tank got in a lucky shot on the Mortar or she would be forced to risk a rush on the. With the turret emplacements, the mortar, and the height advantage, the Covenant forces would wreak utter havoc on the Human forces.

      New reports came in. The Mortar round struck the Warthog depot. All the Warthogs destroyed but one, which the Panic Squad was using, and thirty more Marines killed in the explosion. A strange report from the Panic Squad said that one of their men, their Sniper, had disappeared, literally into thin air, and couldn't be found. With the loss of her LRVs, the deaths of dozens more Marines, and the soon to arrive Panic Squad, she braced her self.

      Resinky picked up the FORCOM unit and primed the receiver. She held it to her mouth and left it there for five seconds before talking. Finally, she forced the words out. "Commence FBP Alpha Tango Opera Sixer Eighter. Commence the rush."




To be concluded...

Stories of a Soundtrack -- Part 6
Date: 7 September 2007, 2:32 am

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A Walk in the Woods -- Part 3

Hill Golf 331, Murnil Forest, Acienic Continent, Planet Yeng III, Yeng System
      Atop of the hill, Futo 'Gulomemee was facing a dilemma. With the disappearance of one of his officers, the death of his Snipers, and the destruction of more than thirty Unggoy and two Sangheili from Sniper fire severely weakened his defensive abilities. The appearance of more Infidel troops along the edge of the forest and the moving of the Scorpion tank into the open meant the Humans had received reinforcements. They were being bold. But wait… Could they be doing a...

      No, 'Gulomemee thought. Not even Humans are that stupid.

      Not everything was against them however, the Mortar had proven extremely useful in destroying Human emplacements, especially after their motor pool went up in vaporized ions. His plasma turrets had taken out at least a score of Humans who had attempted to rush the hill by themselves and the snipers picked off several dozen.

      Suddenly, the area went eerily silent. Bullets stopped zipping into the hill, the thundering of the tank slacked off, and the final grenade detonated with bone-jarring intensity. Then… nothing. Many of the Covenant soldiers slowly stopped shooting, confused by the lack of incoming fire. Several looked around, breathing heavily, as the twin moons shone down on them, bathing the hill in silver moonlight.

      On top of the hill, 'Gulomemee stared across the wide open plain, a cold rock forming in the pit of his stomach. His original guess had been false: the Humans had not received reinforcement. Normally, this would be a good thing, but their recent troop and tank movements, as well as the sudden disengagement, now meant something completely different. It wasn't an act of boldness; but one of desperation. And every good commander knew a desperate animal was much fiercer.

      Then it began. Slowly warming in intensity, a throaty rumbling noise came from the surrounding treeline. A multiple hundred Human throats echoed with the frenzied cry. For the blood of Covenant. For vengeance to lay their fallen comrade's souls to rest. 'Gulomemee felt a shiver of fear run down his spine, but quickly discarded the emotion.

      The roar became louder and then crested into an all out cheer. Without warning, dozens of white vapor trails etched the area from the forest to the first trench. Most of the bullets missed their marks, but enough landed to disable the Unggoy using the plasma turrets. The roar continued and, along with a slight tremor, several hundred Humans raced out of the tree line, firing Assault Rifles, Sniper Rifles, and the occasional captured Plasma Weapon. The silence was shattered, and the fight began yet again.

       'Gulomemee, knowing that such a mass of Humans cheering and shooting would discourage any Unggoy or Kig-Yar, raised his Communicator to his mandibles. "Noble warriors of the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith! This is our finest moment. Let not the damned Infidels destroy it, but instead create it!. We shall break their tide and hold our ground. We will leave this damned rock and destroy it from our Fleet. They may stab us, shoot us, kill us. But they will never destroy our spirit! For we are the Covenant, and the Infidels will not annihilate our faith and honor. Stay your ground, defend with your life, and you will soon be on the Great Journey with your blessed ancestors!"

      At the end of the speech, 'Gulomemee listened as a battle cry of their own swelled up and replied to Infidel's cry. They didn't run any slower, but they seemed much less sure of themselves as needles and plasma rained down on them. 'Gulomemee desperately wished for a Drinol, or some Lekgolo; anything that would give them a fighting chance.

      Suddenly, the two sides clashed. Exchanged fire turned into hand-to-hand combat. Unggoy soaked up bullets while Sangheili manned the turrets before being killed themselves. Dozens of Humans jumped into the first trench, and the forces there were overwhelmed with their ferocity. "Retreat!" yelled 'Gulomemee into his communicator. "Fall back to the second trench!" The remaining Covenant hurriedly obeyed, leaving their battles and scrambling up the cratered slope, the Unggoy falling easily as they slowly climbed over the ridges. The Sangheili ran up the slope, shooting over the shoulders. When they reached the trench, they dove into it and used it for cover.

      The tide of Humans followed, most chasing up the slope while others stayed behind and took care of stragglers in the trench. The Human tank started moving forward and began shelling the second trench. 'Gulomemee sent his personal bodyguards, Dera 'Gugonomee and Fi 'Dunee to reinforce the second trench. They obeyed without question and jogged down the slope, their expert aim killing many.

      The Humans, while suffering terrible losses, were adamant and swarmed the second trench in just two Minor Units. To add insult to injury, as the Mortar prepared to fire yet again, it shuddered and flexed. Unggoy ran in every direction away from it as the heavily damaged artillery started to sag.. A shock wave went out from it as it exploded, knocking 'Gulomemee off his feet and peppering the Humans and Covenant alike with white hot shrapnel.

      It was a bad day for the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith.

       'Wetrumoo the Assassin snarled with satisfaction after killing the Human soldier. The smell of blood was a good smell, the warmth of the red liquid enjoyable. The assassin had waited for the mortar bomb to hit, one of the last fired from the doomed cannon. When it impacted, he had snatched the loud mouthed Human and pulled him into the undergrowth. For a split second, the shocked Human had stared into the cold eyes of the assassin, fear and confusion etched into his face. Then 'Wetrumoo had shot him in the skull with his Needler, ending the confused expression and leaving a gaping hole.

      With his carnal yearnings satisfied, 'Wetrumoo grasped the stock of the Human sniper, disgusted with how cold and hard the metal was. He hefted it as he stood and, careful not to alert the Humans searching for their companion nearby, walked to a nearby thin tree that split into two trunks. He rested the barrel there, adapting himself to the awkward and inefficient scope that zoomed in at bounds, not smoothly.

      Once sure he could fire it with pinpoint accuracy, 'Wetrumoo sighted to the top of the hill. The trenches were still there, but the occupants were no longer shooting and neither were the Humans. He could hear a deep roar picking up from the Humans . He knew they would rush soon. He had to hurry.

      A sudden crack of a branch behind him startled the Elite, causing him to drop the Sniper Rifle through the split in the tree onto the ground behind it. He recovered and whirled around, Needler held in his hands, fingers on the pressure pad.

      Gum was hurting. The numerous cuts and bruises from fighting for the past ten hours from the Plains to the Hill, coupled with the burning leech bites from the swamp made for a very painful walk. Add that he had to kill his best friend, and had watched a long time boot buddy's head explode, along with the fact that he had to carry on, even if he was all by himself, drained him emotionally. Mentally, his mind had been on overdrive for the entire ordeal, and he was reaching the end of his limits.

       Click, click.

      The sound was muffled and light, but it came to Gum's ears. Being a Sniper and Scout, he recognized it instantly: the adjusting of an Oracle scope. But there was no FOF beacons, no talking, nothing to indicate a Human. After the clicking stopped, Gum could've sworn he heard a deep breathing, like that of an Elite.

      Gum crouched and started to walk slowly towards the source of the deep breathing. He thought if he could just get behind the Elite, he could dispatch it with a shot to the head or maybe a good ol' fashioned pistol whip.

       Crack!

      Gum swore inwardly as he took his foot off the snapped bamboo branch. The split-lip had definitely heard that. As if too confirm his theory, a hail of needles headed in his direction, tearing up the foliage. He dove to the ground and went flat as the purple shards sailed over his head, their movement arcing downward to track him. The Needler rounds couldn't turn hard enough and impacted the ground immediately behind the prone Marine, sending puffs of dirt upward as they detonated.

      Gum reacted instantly. He began yelling and screaming like a Banshee and curled up in a ball, faking a hit. He kept his eyes pointed in the direction the needles came from and buried his arm, pistol in hand, in the soft ground. As he expected, the honorable Elite decided to come and gloat over his victory.

      It stood two and a half meters tall, dark skin blending in the shadows. The mandibles were long and had razor sharp teeth rooted on them like deadly fins. Set deep in it's ugly head were two eyes, small black beady things that looked like they had been frozen in the Artic and just now set in the alien's head. It said something, the warbling tone hushed and subdued but filled with contempt, followed by it's signature Wort Wort Wort!

      Gum gripped the pistol and forced the tip up out of the dirt. The Elite began to raise it's Needler, it's mandibles forming a grotesque grin. Gum looked up and stopped moaning, revealing he wasn't actually hurt. As he stared down the startled Elite in it's ugly eyes, he began to pull the trigger.

       "Rica and Nex, mother—"

       BOOM!

      The powerful M6E pistol bucked into the dirt, bruising Gum's hand and burying itself three inches deeper. The Elite had far bigger problems. The oversized round had taken it in the stomach and blown right through the body, leaving a large hole the size of a man's fist. The Elite stared at the Human dumbfounded, processing the fatal wound. The multi-jointed legs gave out and the thick bulk collapsed to the ground, blood seeping into the dirt.

      Gum pulled his hand and pistol out of the ground and stood up. The Elite was lying face up, hand exploring the wound in his stomach, dumb shock on it's face. "How?" it managed to croak in the Human tongue.

      Gum walked over to it and put the gun in it's mouth. "'Cause we got better soldiers."

      The report was lost in the Human's charge.

      Things were go badly, very badly. 'Gulomemee gripped his sword hilt as the Humans climbed out of the second trench, the remaining Covenant fleeing, no, retreating back to the last defensible position, the wreckage of the mortar. The hill, once smooth and soothing, now looked like a shot from Hell. Bushfires started by plasma bolts raged in the dry grass, multiple craters gouged out by grenades and tank rounds dotted the south face of the hill. An Unggoy running to close to one of the fires exploded as his methane tank caught fire, the shock wave knocking several Humans and Jackals down.

      'Gulomemee shook his head and looked downward, accepting his defeat. As the retreating Covenant passed him and held their ground at the burning mortar, 'Gulomemee looked up just in time to catch a trio of bullets in the face.

      His shields held at half strength and the impact rocked him back on his heels. He recovered quickly, activated sword held in his hand. With a cry, he ran headlong into the human formation, his honorary plasma sword tearing through metal, armor, and flesh. Another spray of bullets and his shields were down, but he kept going, the sword dealing death wherever it touched.

      Suddenly, he found himself alone on top of the hill, eight Human Marines lay in smoldering pieces at his hooves. The other Humans had fallen back momentarily at the second trench, preparing for the final rush. They had lost over half their force, but the Army of the Tangible Remains of Faith was utterly annihilated. As 'Gulomemee wearily walked back to the mortar where his troops had watched in awe, he was startled by how few had survived.

      Five Sangheili: his bodyguards, his First Officer, and two Minor Veteran's, were crouched, weapons at ready, behind the wreckage. A lone Unggoy stood behind the Elites, holding two plasma pistols pointed at the trench behind 'Gulomemee. No Kig-Yar had survived.

      As he joined the group, Plasma Sword deactivated, one of the Minor Veterans hung his mandibles and spoke up. "Honorable Commander? Why are they not attacking?"

      He forced a grin. "They require a moment of rest. Our defense has decimated their ranks and they feel the fear gnawing at their souls as they prepare to attack us. They think they will recover by waiting."

      His bodyguard, 'Dunee, stood. "Honorable Commander, there is no margin for retreat, the Humans have encircled us and may attack from behind. I will be honored as I make my last stand with you here."

       "And I," said another Sangheili.

       "As well as I."

       "Me too!" squeaked the Unggoy, who proceeded to beat the ground with it's pistols in a frenzy dance.

       'Gulomemee widened his mandibles. "You will all be blessed at the forefront of our ranks as we march onto the Great Journey! I am honored to fight and die with such bravery!" 'Gulomemee roared and thrust his sword in the air. "Let us not wait for the Human swine to attack us, for we are Covenant, and we will give them a fight to remember!"

      With that, 'Gulomemee roared again and rushed towards the trench, sword held in front of him. The other Sangeheili ran behind him, raining plasma down on the trenches. Even the Unggoy followed in a tottering run, firing his duel weapons.

      The Humans in the trench were not expecting an attack by the outnumbered Covenant. The Sangheili dove into the trench, soaking up bullets as if they had an iron deficiency in their blood. The Unggoy dove in after them, ripping off his re-breather and biting at the Humans with his sharp teeth. The Sangheili shot, hit, and broke several Marines before starting to fall. 'Gulomemee's bodyguards fell to a grenade at their feet. The Grunt's leaking methane exploded into a fireball, killing him and lighting up several other Humans. The other Elites fell one by one from a constant stream of enemy fire.

       'Gulomemee and his three remaining Sangheili fought, the Commander with his sword, his officers with their spent rifles as clubs. 'Gulomemee's mind was blank, his emotions destroyed. His only purpose in life now was to end it, and he was very good at it. His shields fell from panicked rifle burst and he disembowled the attacker. Two of his other Sangheili had fallen and it was just him and a tall Minor Veteran, fighting back to back. The pressure gave way as the Blue Sangheili fell, the bullets that had killed him smattering the Commander's shield. 'Gulomemee felt no sorrow for his Army's death. No pain, nor joy in killing the heathens. He didn't feel loneliness or desperation either. He didn't even feel pain from his wounds. No, 'Gulomemee did feel relief. Relief that would be woven into his clan's poem, and his legacy remembered.

      Gum watched with a fascinated horror at the final battle on the top of the hill. Even though the Covenant were outnumbered 50 to 1, they actually rushed the hill. Gum pulled his view from the Sniper Rifle's scope, scanning the forest around him for enemies, and shook his head. The Covenant were always portrayed as weak, cowardly beings, never staying to fight and always looking to run. But after watching them dive into certain death and sign their wills, Gum now knew they were not only an enemy to be hated and feared, but also to be respected.

      The lone Marine returned his view to the Oracle scope, peering through the crosshairs at the last three Split-Lips. He hesitated on firing a shot for fear of hitting a fellow Marine and decided it would be best to just watch. Maybe he could get a clearer report into Intel than the battle-fogged Marines could. Gum couldn't see the maimed or dead on the floor of the trench, but he could see as the Elites began to fall. Soon, only one was left, the Silver one with a sword. After a few seconds, he was put down too by a burly Marine wielding a shotgun. He continued to fire into the corpse as the rest of the Marines cheered. He saw several Marines climbing out of the trench, all of their pants soaked up to low shin in blood.

      Gum sighed, put down the Sniper Rifle and closed his eyes. The fight is over. He fingered Nex's and Rica's dog tags as he began to head back to base. The Sergeant was mentally and physically exhausted, the battle draining him of everything. The only thing he could think of as he headed back to the staging area was I need a raise.

      Coming Soon...

      Ambient Wonder, the story of the Human destroyer Gargantum in the Battle of the Christmas Cloud

      The Gun Pointed at the Head of the Universe, a narrative of Sergeant Mobuto's last mission, and his final moments.

      Trace Amounts, a poem dedicated to the Covenant cruiser of the same name.

Stories of a Soundtrack -- Part 7
Date: 12 September 2007, 6:37 pm

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Ambient Wonder

Frezni Ice Field, 45.223 AU from Lost, Lost System
      "Fire Team Hotel, Theta right, on my mark," said Staff Sergeant Parce, his voice barely above a whisper. He loosened his grip on the ice formation and bunched his legs, preparing to launch to his new Theta right position. On his BAD (Battle Awareness Display), three tags, Private McCall, Lance Corporal Dimon, and Lance Corporal Fitzpatrick, lit up with the green "acknowledge" mark at their corresponding positions around the twenty ton web of water crystals.

      Parce quickly double-checked his reasoning behind the order, once again coming to the conclusion that it would provide sufficient crossfire and retreat options for the situation. He flicked his TEAMCOM on again, firing single beam transmissions to each of his soldiers. "Mark."

      Even as he said this, he crouched low on his thighs and kicked off from the ice patch. He didn't have to check to make sure his squad was following suit, only make sure he would land on the slight curve in a frozen ice crystal web and cover his individual LOF.

      He neared his target. Thirty meters, twenty, ten. Then he landed on it, bending his necessary joints to take the blow in zero-g and gripping a protruding water crystal to prevent rebounding off into the emptiness of space. After securing himself and making sure his weapon was undamaged he reopened the single beam TEAMCOM. "Sound off, Hotel Omega here."

      One by one, his team checked in.

      "Hotel Delta, reporting Sir," Dimon's rough voice crackled over the TEAMCOM.

      "Hotel Zulu here, nice and tight with my Packer, sir," answered McCall, heavy breathing heard in the background.

      "Hotel Kappa, nice and frosty Sir," chirped Fitzpatrick. Nervous laughter answered her pun. The giant field of ice crystals surrounding Fire Team Hotel made the North Pole look like a tropical retreat.

      "Hell, bet it took you the entire tour aboard the Gargantum to think of that one," commented Dimon. More nervous laughter, but slightly relaxed this time.

      Parce abruptly interjected. "Any sight of Mike or Alpha?" Although the laughter helped keep his Marines loose, he had to make sure it didn't distract them.

      McCall's IFF flashed amber as he established a COM link. "No, sir, lanes are clear an-- AAARGH!" His yell pierced Parce's ears as the COM shrieked from the sudden decibel rise. Parce turned sideways in his bulky EVA suit, careful not to throw himself off in the null gravity, just in time to see a sublimed jet of superheated water vapor eject from the crystals where McCall had been stationed. The area had been vaporized.

      Aboard the bridge of the Gargantum, a Cherokee class Heavy Destroyer, the mood was happy. Laughter arced across the small steel room as COM techs and bridge officers exchanged jokes and hummed carols. Even though they were in a relative null velocity inside one of the largest ice fields in UNSC space, it was still Christmas Eve as told by the Military clock. The near absolute zero temperatures in the vacuum did little to dampen the festive mood inside. The Zero Beer, so named for its nonexistent alcohol level, helped too.

      Near the front of the bridge, Commander LaShalle stood in front of her Battle Screen, immune to the festivities around her. Being a Commander had its privileges, but drinking Zero with the crew was not one of them. Instead, she watched the small blips on the Battle Screen dance among the sheets of ice crystals; Marine Squads in a routine training exercise. She smiled as she watched Fire Team Hotel maneuver behind a large chunk of ice, only to lose one of their members to Fire Team Alpha in a superior firing position. Wild cursing came from the incapacitated Marine as his EVA suit stiffened and he "died."

      LaShalle turned to her General Operations Officer, Lieutenant Gris. "End the training exercise, FT Alpha winner." Gris turned to his console and punched in commands, green lighting the exercise and declaring Alpha the winner.

      "O, and thaw out the Marine," she said, almost as after thought. "Gris let out a gruff chuckle as he unfroze the immobilized soldier drifting near Fire Team Hotel. The banter between the two squads came in over the COM, FT Hotel calling FT Alpha cheaters and Alpha returning with slackers. It slowly grew friendly as the two squads met up, preparing to board the destroyer.

      The Gargantum along with the three frigates, a cruiser, and two destroyers had been involved in a massive training exercise. A total of three hundred Marines had been released into the ice field for a series of training "death matches" to give them more experience in zero gee space combat. The Frezni Ice Field was the ideal location; plenty of room for multiple simultaneous training skirmishes, plenty of cover to encourage strategic thinking, and a perfect place to spend Christmas Eve. Even the brass know how to let soldiers cut loose during the holidays, thought LaShalle.

      Her COM officer interrupted her silent thought. Lieutenant Junior Grade Lin was new aboard the Gargantum and had horns greener than a Christmas pine, having no more combat experience than a baby. Even so, he was competent, did his job, and rose in rank quickly. "Ma'am, incoming transmission from the Julius Caesar. It's the Admiral, Ma'am."

      "Put him on the Main," LaShalle ordered.

      "Aye."

      The Battle Screen abruptly changed from a tactical view of the ice field to the stern face of Vice Admiral Ferman. The low din on the bridge abruptly disappeared. A few of the crew members furtively tried to hide the circular Zero bottles and many tried to appear to be busy. Ferman looked around the bridge quickly and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Commander," he said without emotion. "Pull in your division, we're heading back to Lost II," he said sharply.

      LaShalle saluted. "Sir, yes sir."

      Ferman looked away, as if motioning to cut the line, but turned back. "And LaShalle, keep your officers in check. Christmas or not, their duty comes first."

      "Yes Sir," she replied. The transmission cut off, the screen once again a tableau of crystallized water and small IFF blips. Some of the bridge members made a move to take a last swig of Zero, but LaShalle stopped them. "Orders are orders. You can celebrate when you swap out." She stared frostily at one NAV tech holding two Zeros. He turned his eyes away, unable to hold the gaze. "Dispose of the drinks and return to your jobs."

      LaShalle motioned to Gris. "Round them up and let's get out of this freezer."

      "Yes Ma'am," he replied, eager to get his Holiday Shore Leave upon returning planetside. He typed in some commands and the IFF tags on the Battle Screen dispersed and started heading towards the Gargantum.

      A noise cut through the bridge. Her NAV officer, Lieutenant Feraday, yelled out. "Ma'am, Slipspace ruptures bearing zero five nine by five three five. Covenant!"


To be continued...

SOAS Session 8 -- Ambient Wonder: Part 2
Date: 21 September 2007, 3:32 am

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Ambient Wonder

Frezni Ice Field, 45.223 AU from Lost, Lost System
      The flare of Cherenkov radiation lit up the Frezni Ice Field, the delicate patterns of frozen water refracting and deflecting the blue-purple aura. Seven Covenant ships, the Sub-Fleet of Wrathful Inquisition, lit up after the Slipspace jump. Power coils brightened with heat, plasma turrets sparked as their controllers ran test loops through their systems, and engines glowed with silent intensity. Three destroyers headed the pack, followed by three smaller frigates; a massive carrier occupied the center of the formation. They moved like sharks, gliding past the icy wisps on the edge of the Frezni field, the shield of the lead destroyer flaring briefly as a blackened meteor knocked against it.

      On the control platform of the carrier Strength and Fortitude, Sub-Commander Ulna 'Fosolomee surveyed his inferiors. Numerous Sangheili, all proud and strong, stood in a semi circle facing the vertical holographic displays, monitoring the functions of the carrier. A smaller clutch of the officers were on the back of the bridge, checking in on the other vessels of the Sub-Fleet after the long Slipspace journey and monitoring communications and outbound sensors.

      Above the circular control platform was a broad hologram, slanted to be perpendicular to the officer's line of sight. On it was a real time view of the Frezni Ice Field, the immense size of the natural wonder lost in the translation to 2D. Quietly, a destroyer slowly inched into the corner of the screen, and the scale clicked into place. There were several gasps of wonder and awe, the destroyer looked like a pebble next to a large boulder, but 'Fosolomee held his tongue. Command had it's privileges: appreciation of natural splendor was not one of them.

       Several officers reported in, labeling everything in good condition. One of the frigates, Exhilarant Truth, reported a minor breach in a spare plasma coil, but the Huragok were already almost done repairing it. A minor distraction of insignificant consequence.

      A moment later, Ago 'Noree, the sensor array monitor, spoke up in a calm and deep voice. "Honorable Sub-Commander, I've detected seven Infidel vessels." He tripped a holographic switch, and the faint images on his screen sharpened. "Their make up is nearly identical to ours: three small vessels, Frigate class, along with the four Destroyer class ships." 'Noree paused, then continued, the faintest hint of anxiety lacing his voice. "They also possess a Cruiser."

      'Fosolomee merely twitched his head. "Bah, a distraction, a mess not worth our time to clean up." The Sub-Commander paused, and stroked his lower left mandible, something he did quite often when thinking. "We'll destroy them, then move onto the planet. Insignificant as they may be, we don't want a possible surprise attack." Then, to his Ship Masters. "Move into the field and position your vessels just out of attack range in a concave arrangement. The Humans should take the bait and move in to attack, and burn for their stupidity."

      Vice Admiral Ferman's face was plastered on the screen as LaShalle relayed her information. "Damnit," he muttered. Then, looking off-screen person. "Alert HIGHCOM and get Stanforth on the horn."

      LaShalle had finished her report by then, and was now flinging out orders to her crew. "Gris, lock down all nonessential compartments and sound the decompression alarms. Feraday, keep me updated on the Covie ships. Moors, warm up the Alpha and Omega MACs and remove safeties from Archers A through M. And tell the damn Longsword pilots to get in the tube!"

      She paused to eye the Battle Screen, noting the large ice formations dotting the vacuum between the Covenant, her ship, and her fellow Commanders' ships. "Feraday, I want 110% from the engines to zero five nine by five three oh."

       "LaShalle! Where is Gargantum going?" Ferman barked over the COM.

      The person in question cocked her head curiously. "Sir? Moving to intercept the Covenant, Sir."

       "Pull back," the Vice Admiral said. "I repeat, do not engage. HIGHCOM is sending reinforcements from the Gordon and Titan systems. We're waiting for them before we commit suicide."

      "Sir!" LaShalle yelled back. "We're just going to sit back and wait for reinforcements while the Covenant move in on the planet? What about the colonies on the moon? They'll be paste before reinforcements get here. Damnit! Gris, get the Cole Protocol going and purge the databases."

      The admiral looked uncomfortable. "Captain, you will follow my order. We will wait for reinforcements and then engage the Covenant."

      LaShalle gritted her teeth and then turned to Feraday. "Belay my last order. Keep us to station keeping behind this ice block." Then, to Ferman. "Sir, yes Sir." Ferman nodded in return, then blinked off the screen. A 2D map of the Frezni Ice Field replaced him, massive blocks and clouds of ice shifting amongst each other in real time. Feraday started to type in new commands, but LaShalle stopped him.

       "What are you doing? I said zero five nine by five three oh."

      Feraday looked confused. "But, Ma'am, you just said—"

      "Zero five nine by five three oh, soldier," she repeated firmly. "Gris, decompress the compartments you lit up. Moors, put a nuke in the tube." Then, she turned to find Ferman's face once again filling up the TACMAP.

      "Damn it, LaShalle! Do not engage the Covenant! Keep to station keeping and wait for reinforcements. Do not make me court—"

      LaShalle pushed a button and Ferman's voice went mute. "Screw you… Sir" Then the transmission cut out and the TACMAP once again filled the empty space.

      An awkward silence filled the bridge. Officers looked at each other warily, then at the seething LaShalle, then at the TACMAP displaying the approaching Covenant. Only the light tapping of Feraday punching in the flight coordinates could be heard.

      "Ma'am," said Lin, breaking the silence. "We have incoming transmissions from the other two destroyers, Moscow and Hellfire. They say… They say 'Screw Ferman' Ma'am."

      LaShalle smiled. "Good. Tell them to fill up behind the ice blocks to either side of us. I got a plan."

      'Fosolomee felt like laughing. Five of the Human ships were fleeing the ice field, leaving three behind. One moved forward slightly, hanging behind an ice cloud. The other two hid themselves behind large, faintly trapezoidal ice blocks. "'Many flee, but few stand against many,'" said the Sub-Commander, reciting a line from a past war poem. "This is interesting," he continued. "Humans never break up fleets, not in this fashion. They either fight together, or die together."

       "Yes, Honorable Sub-Commander," commented 'Noree. "But they are swine, vermin. Is not the lack of unity a sure sign of their identity?"

       "Hah! You make a good point," 'Fosolomee said happily. "Noree felt confidence swell his chest. "I should set up a more suitable environment for such a discussion, but first the eradication of these pathetic Human ships and their world must occur. Order the frigates to converge on the central Infidel vessel. They should be more than enough to deal with them."

      What 'Fosolomee forgot was the other two Human ships, both of which were in perfect flanking position. And, as the frigates' plasma turrets warmed with deadly potential, the two ice blocks on either side began to move.

       "She's crazy!" said Lieutenant Banks onboard the destroyer Hellfire, even as he typed rapid fire commands to the ship's NAV system.

       "Crazy, but genius," replied Commander Oak.

       "Shit…" Banks muttered. "OK, I'm coordinating with the Moscow's AI. Transferring engine code to Fermi. Kay-Kay, I'm done with that."

      The holotube on the bridge flickered to life. An Oriental appearing old man with a long white beard appeared, floating about two inches in the air. "Thank you, Lieutenant Banks. Captain Oak? We'll be maneuvering in five seconds. Sounding alarms…"

       "Thanks, Fermi," said Oak, even as klaxons began to wail throughout the ship. The officers on the bridge gripped handholds and braced themselves against the walls.

       "5… 4… 3… Beginning maneuvering…"

      Suddenly, gravity gave out. The ghostly white and blue three mile wide chunk of ice disappeared from the bridge's view screens, replaced by rapidly moving stars that migrated from the bottom of Oak's field of vision to the top in record time. The entire destroyer flipped over lengthwise in ten seconds flat, so that now the engines were facing the ice block, and the vessel was upside down compared to it's original orientation.

      The null G gave out, and many of the officer's were unceremoniously dumped onto the floor with the return of gravity. Oak landed awkwardly on the deck, shaking off vertigo from the rapid movement. Fermi cocked his head, watching the Captain. "Acceleration in 2… 1…"

       "Grab a handhold!" Oak called out, gripping the handle on the bulkhead near him just in time. The destroyer's engines flared to life, burning at 150% capacity… straight into the ice block. Oak was jerked backward as the destroyer overcame it's inertia and sluggishly moved forward from it's stationary position.

       "Jesus Christ Fermi," said Kent, the GO officer. "Think you gettin' a bit rusty, eh?"

       "Shit! Look!" yelled Banks, gesturing at the TACMAP. On it, the massive block of ice they had been hiding behind was moving forward, the backwash of the engines accelerating it forward, albeit after melting a good couple of tons. The flash vaporization propelled the block forward at a fair speed. On the other side of the map, the block Moscow had been hiding behind was also moving forward.

      The three Covenant frigates, clustered slightly as their lines of attack started to converge, were right in the intersecting paths of the two mammoth ice chunks. Their lateral lines reddened, the ice clouds catching the light and refracting it into a beautiful cloud of light orange.

The Gargantum drifted up from behind it's protective block, a double blast from it's twin MACs impacting on the lead Covenant frigate, followed by a hail of Archer missiles. The vessel flexed, it's shields gone after the first MAC round, the second hitting the reinforced "spine" and deflecting inside the ship, like a 9 mm bullet in a skull. The frigate listed to one side, brushing against it's sister ship, then detonated.

      Even as the field of debris from the destroyed frigate cooled and arced outward into the ice clouds, the remaining ships fired their plasma torpedoes. The Gargantum remained stationary, staring down the plasma bolts, then suddenly jerked downward as it detonated it's emergency thrusters. The plasma reacted accordingly, arcing downward to follow.

      But the chunk of ice that sheltered LaShalle's destroyer was in the way, and took the hits. The water vaporized, shooting outward at incredible speeds, and refreezing nearly instantly. The spires of ejected flash-frozen ice shot out into the Frezni Ice Field, hitting nearby formations and shattering the beautiful work of many millennia in the absolute zero cold. It looked remarkably like a fragmentation grenade detonating in a hall of fragile glass structures, complete with shards and shrapnel. Unbelievably, none of the Human or Covenant ships were hit.

      The slab of ice the Gargantum had used for cover shot backward, latching itself onto the destroyer's nose. The ship in turn propelled it's engines, canceling out the momentum carried by the now slim ice block. Then, the monolith shattered into a haze of glittering pieces. If looked at closely, one could see tiny swirls among the five cubic mile cloud of ice shards left behind by dual MAC slugs, the solid projectiles punching straight through the ice where plasma could not. The twin chunks of depleted uranium bolted through space directly at the twin frigates.

      The Covenant had ample time to react from the distance, and nimbly ducked downward a kilometer below their trajectories. Both were clean misses. But, the Ship Masters Edo 'Fremee and No 'Kulomemee missed one important detail: they were now in the path of several dozen tons of ice propelled forward by the Moscow's and Hellfire's maneuver.

      The two chunks of ice simultaneously hit the frigates. Twin thousand ton blocks of frozen water came together, the pitifully small looking vessels caught between them. Their shields popped like a ball caught between two closing walls, and then their superstructures cracked and flattened. The two ice chunks stuck together, the frames of the pancaked Covenant frigates holding them together. The newly made structure tilted and drifted slowly through space, joining the delicate ballet of the Frezni Ice Field.

       "LaShalle's a fucking genius," said Banks, who had watched the entire thing in awe.

      A loud cough from Fermi followed. "O, you too Ferms," added Banks, winking.

      The AI glowed a little brighter. "Thank you Lieutenant. You know, it's not easy coordinating a dual thruster boost across a radar's hell of an ice field between two Cherokee class destroyers with an irr—" Fermi stopped as Banks performed a mock yawn and rolled his eyes.

      The Lieutenant turned to face the holotube. "O, sorry. Were you saying something?"

      Fermi gave an irritated sigh. "No. Nothing." Then he vanished in a starburst of holographic light, muttering under his breath. If Banks survived the battle, his name might accidentally slip off the rations list. Of course, Fermi would have nothing to do with it.

      To be continued…

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