One last Hurrah!

The ground beneath and above him trembled. The cave shook and small particles of dust filled the air. The sound reminded Lt. Harkin of a beast’s growl, that soft roar that the lost wolves of Eridanus VII used to let go, right before striking down their prey. That’s what they were, he thought, a helpless prey, and nothing more. The menacing beast of the Covenant had taken it all. Reach, New Mombasa, his sight and soon they would take the Earth. Humanity was doomed to become nothing more than a whisper of the stars, just one more of the hundreds of thounsands of creatures that had gone extinct.

He was useless; the war had made him a tragedy. He had abandoned all hope, and accepted fate as inevitable, just like the ancient Greek used to do in those times of yore. The weapons he had used didn’t stop the monsters; they hadn’t even scratched the fierce elites. Only a few grunts had fallen to the filmsy bullets of the once trusty Assault Rifle. And even then, it had ammounted to nothing. Grunts were much like the Hydra, if you killed one, ten more took its place.

He had gone up in the ranks, not through heroic deeds, or missions accomplished, but through the sole act of surviving. Time and time again he had seen his comarades fall, pierced by large pink needles, blown to pieces, or victims of friendly fire. All died but him; the most useless and coward of them all had survived. He who longed for death, lived to see another day; and those who dreamt of a tomorrow, laid dead, charred on the molten ground. Such a tragedy can only be the work of fate, of an unavoidable and relentless fate.

He had tried to anticipate it. He had walked willingly towards the glassing in New Momabasa, but he hadn’t been reached by the blast radius. He wanted it all to end, but he couldn’t muster the courage to put a bullet to his head. It would dishonor those who perished before him. His release from life would only happen in the heat of battle. The glassing was the last he had seen. He could get his sight back, or at least that’s what the medic had told him, but only in a Hospital and with the right care and instruments. Out in the battlefield there were no such concesions.

He wasn’t angry, he prefered it that way, since he wouldn’t be able to dodge the plasma bolts. The Covenant was coming, he knew better than to fool himself. Commander Keyes said that they could find the base and that it would happen eventualy. He liked her; she wasn’t like the others he had served during the war. She didn’t lie to them. She was fierce and strong, but she was way over her head. One frigate, a small base, a few soldiers, mostly wounded, and some Pelicans could not stop the Covenant. They only lived still, because they hadn’t moved forward, but it was a matter of time. Death was coming. It didn’t matter how many sorties they completed or how deep they dug, the Convenant would find them.

Somenone carried him to the Pelican’s landing bay, the uppermost one in the base. He had requested to be there on some false heroic excuse, he had been granted the request. He imagined no one would have the heart to refuse him, every bit of morale was necessary. Even if he was blind, he could still reflect the spirit of the UNSC soldiers. The truth, however, was grim. He thought that that particular landing bay was the base weakest point, and surely the first to be raided.

That morning he didn´t hear the usual early roars of the Pelicans. Three left instead of the usual two. And half an hour later, a fourth. He had been there enough times to know something was off.

“This is it” he said to himself as he relaxed by the stairs. It was a matter of waiting now. Only a few more hours and the end would come. Death would stand before him, give him back his sight and let him read the pages of his destiny that were written long ago. He hoped he would die like the greek of the island of Milos, who did not struggle with fate, but instead accepted it humbly, as was narrated by Thucydides.

He remembered that there was another time when he would wait for hours. Just like the people on the island saw the Athenian army of three thounsand strong and expected Spartan help, he had hoped a Spartan would come. Those towering convenant murdering machines that were undefeatable. He had waited so many times for them, and they had never shown. Not once, not to save him, not to save his comarades, not to save the people of Milos. He was convinced they were no more than a lie, a carefuly built ruse to push them to fight harder, to hold the line one more minute. But it had been pointless, almost everything was lost. And what little remained would soon disappear. The engines of the Pelican crackled as the thrusters stoped and the huge metalic bird landed.

“A Spartan!” someone claimed. Harkin’s heart skipped a beat.

“For real?!” he could barely believe it.

“Yeah man! For real!”

And so, everything he hoped came to be, a Spartan had come for him.

Contact

UNSC Controlled Space – Undisclosed Date [REDACTED] 2530

Margaret glanced at the files one last time, as if she had missed something. She never missed anything, that's why she had been picked for the job in the first place. That was how she had kept it all these years. Yet, somehow, something was missing here, and she couldn’t find what it was. But he did, even if he wasn't aware of it.

“Send him in” she said begrudgingly.

“Right away ma’am” replied an AI. Margaret had long since stopped trusting humans. Whenever the outmost secrecy was needed, AIs were the only ones reliable, and then not every AI was. But some of them were the perfect fit for the job. You couldn’t just order someone to forget something; no matter how faithful the soldier was, he simply couldn’t let go. An AI’s memories, however, could be deleted at the press of a button, and in cases they would even do it themselves.

“Them…selves” Margaret murmured to herself. She had become accustomed to smart AIs and to thinking of them as part of her staff. But no matter how smart, an AI could be corrupted by enemies both foreign and domestic. You could never be too careful, specially at the head of ONI. For that very same reason Margaret had four different AIs commissioned and assigned to her. Two of them were officially reported as malfunctioning and decommissioned. Not quite the truth, since they handled a lot of her affairs as head of ONI. Of course, they did everything that needed to be done in secrecy. Forging security footage, changing dates, logs and records, and even holding files like the one that was displayed in front of her. These two AIs were smart, but Margaret had asked that the personalities be removed, she wanted them to be as cold and dispassionate as possible.

The door opened, a man in black uniform stepped in, and the door shut tight behind him. The room became absolutely sound proof, and the man could feel the vacuum building outside the door. Margaret had full control; she could even choke everyone on deck if needed. The man clenched his jaw as soon as he stepped into her office. He tried to hide it, right before he saluted, but she noticed. Only a few had entered her Office and survived the encounter. Most had been transferred to distant, forgotten stations and jobs barely known to human kind. Very few had become her most senior Officers and one, just one, had become her Achilles heel.

“You may sit” Margaret sounded cold, she was not happy and there was no reason to hide it. The man briskly sat in front of her. She knew everything there was to know about him, but she didn’t know him at all. His rank and name were just filler, not the essence of who he was, and more importantly they did not say if he deserved any sort of chance.

“Guide me through the events” Margaret looked deeply into his eyes.

“It’s all there ma’am” the man said “I’ve spoken countless times with the AIs”

“I know, and believe me, I’ve read it countless times”.The way she pronounced the word ‘countless’ produced a spike in the man's heart rate, she was told by one of the AIs “But now, I want to hear it from you”.

Margaret wanted to hear every word of his report coming out of his mouth. She had a natural gift to detect liars and to not tolerate any kind of incompetence. Precious gifts that had helped her more than once.

“Yes ma’am” he did not stutter and that pleased her. She hated whenever an ONI Officer showed fear.

“I was doing a scout mission. Searching in the UNSC Prowler “Hades” for Covenant forward positions” the man paused for a brief second as if thinking whether or not to go in full detail “The mission came sanctioned per FleetCom, ONI, Section 3. Senior Officer Heinder had signed the request”. Heinder, the name rang a bell... It was one of Ackerson’s men. Margaret made a mental annotation to send him her regards later that evening. The man in front of her, Brigs, had chosen to go the full disclosure route, he was pledging his allegiance to her. Margaret did not care one bit, ONI wasn’t about loyalty, but about power, the rawest power in existence in the UNSC.

“I surveyed the planetoid XF-063, codenamed Onix, since the absence of tectonic movements and the presence of Forerunner structures made it ideal for the Covenant to set as a FOB”, ‘Forerunner’ a word that had become a problem for Margaret. “A Covenant Forward Operations Base in the region would…” the man began to say.

“I know what an FOB is, and what it would do, and as I recall it is not what I asked you to tell me” Brigs heart rate spiked again and then came down.

“Sorry ma’am, will not happen again” Brigs replied.

“See to it that it does not” Brigs gently bowed his head in acknowledgment and proceeded with his narration.

“The Prowler, the systems and the on board AI, Locker, seemed nominal, the planetoid showed the same readings as it had the previous year, in 2529, but then out of nowhere some sort of shockwave hit the ship. It wasn’t as hard as a direct impact, but noticeable none the less”.

“To what kind of impact are you referring to as a ‘direct impact’?” Margaret needed precise information and Brigs did not disappoint.

“Debris field impact, NavCom systems don't even detect them or issue warnings to the crew, they vary in diameter but most aren’t larger than 30 inches, the armor plating can take it, but you feel it resonating through the hull. You get used to it” Brigs realized he was derailing again and went back to his retelling of the events.

“What was peculiar was that all systems went haywire, comms, sensors, even artificial gravity. A second later, everything went back to normal. I suspected foul play and filed a report immediately, which brought me here, to you.” He wasn’t telling the whole truth and they both knew it.

“That’s not what brought you here” Margaret said.

“No ma’am, it was the fact that when I checked the AI it had been compromised. It’s memory had been completely wiped, everything, files, NavCom data, everything save for three things. Two unidentified words and a log, a record of sorts. That’s what brought me here.”

“Correct. And I’m sure you already know that for security reasons and until further notice you are listed as MIA according to our database, so is Locker and the Prowler ‘Hades’, acknowledge?” He didn’t know and Margaret knew that, and this was the most civil way to communicate it.

“Yes ma’am” Brigs did not seem surprised.

“You will be given a new identity and reassigned, you will play catch with me o you will most definitely disappear, acknowledge?” Margaret knew that he was better off dead, but after the continuous and colossal cost of the Battle of Harvest she had the feeling that she couldn’t afford to have him killed.

“I will serve wherever the UNSC needs me to, ma’am, and I will report to you as often as you ask”, ‘Good boy’ Margaret thought.

“How does a Halcyon-Class sound to you?”

“Sounds as good as it’s going to get.”

“You will be briefed, dismissed.”

Brigs stood up, saluted and left the room. It was the last time he was going to be wearing ONI’s black uniform, but he would forever be a spook, and one that would only answer to her. A valuable asset, provided that the ship he was going to be assigned to didn’t get blown to pieces, which in all honesty was a very probable outcome.

Margaret re-read the file once more. After the event, Brigs had come back immediately in outmost secrecy. Margaret had come half-way to meet with him. She hated space, but it was sometimes necessary. While Brigs was in the brig being questioned by the AIs, the Prowler ‘Hades’ had been literally taken apart piece by piece. Everything had been studied, recorded and tested as it was being dismantled.

There were no signs of foul play; if it weren’t for the record and the unidentified words, it might have been categorized as an AI malfunction. Whoever or whatever left them wanted to make sure that the UNSC, that Margaret knew it had been there.

When the on-board AI, Locker, was examined, a few things stood out. The most peculiar of them was the log that had been deliberately left behind. It was a database log. One of ONI’s most secure and darkest server records, to be precise. It was accessed even before the AI could initiate the most basic routine commands, and it was accessed through the open Comms channels. Whoever had entered the server had first screened many files, as if looking for something. It had finally found the database of the ongoing Spartan II program and stopped on a Datafile. It wasn’t looking for something, but rather for someone. Spartan Sierra 117, to be precise.

“It isn’t Covenant” Margaret said aloud as she read the report yet again.

“How can you be so sure?” an AI replied.

“Because if it were, we would have lost this war four years ago”. The AI didn’t reply. It was a logical conclusion.

“Do you have a translation on the words?”

“We have an estimate, according to Sander’s and Halsey’s research” said another soulless voice, “and it should be noted that they upped their security measures considerably, we may even have blind spots”.

“I will deal with it latter, give me the estimates” Margaret was anxious. It was the same anxiety she had felt when the first Harvest reports started coming in through Loki.

Two words flashed in front of her. She read them aloud.

“Ancilla; Librarian”

“The first one also seems to include some sort of schematic, an AI pattern.” A truly smart AI? A trap? Margaret couldn’t be sure, and she had to go to her Aquilles heel to be sure.

“Send the pattern to Halsey, tag it and track everything she discovers. Disguise it as research from someone else, someone she wouldn’t even dare to ask”.

“As for the second word?” the AI asked.

“We wait, and we prepare” Margaret knew these events had forced her hand “Contact Ackerson and Hood, set up a meeting, and bring the stolen Spartan. Ackerson’s ambitions may still be of use to the UNSC”

Faber's last request

“That is all” Catalog’s words seemed categorical.

“No, it is not” Master Builder’s, on the other hand, were authoritarian.

“I’m no longer connected to the Juridical network” Catalog warned him.

“It doesn’t matter, not anymore. Just listen. This needs be said” his tone, now apprehensive, was filled with sorrow. “There’s one last thing I must confess”.

“As I rose through the Ecumene to become who I am, there has only been one constant in me. Nothing ever calmed my quest for knowledge of The Mantle of Responsibility. The philosophy that governs us, that mediates every action we take part in. We have believed in it since the dawn of time, and now, in our final hours some of us still do. We have faltered, it is true. But my beliefs are stronger that ever, just like my resolve of what must be done.

My doubts arose long before The Librarian’s journey to Path Kethona. By the time Warrior Servants atoned for their sins in the Human-Forerunner War I had already lost all notion of Responsibility to the galaxy. The Mantle were no more than mere words that guided our diets and our ceremonies when the war begun; to me the Tree mark meant only that those who rise to the occasion, adapting, learning, have the right to rule. Humans challenged that, and so the War would prove us stronger than them. But it did not. The Humans had fought fiercely and admirably, were it not for the parasite, we would have been defeated. And were it not for us, I believe the Humans would have defeated the Flood. The same cannot be said about us. The only wound that never heals is that of the pride it is said, and it is true. As we faced the threat of the flood my contempt for the Mantle only grew. As I learned the truth of the prisoner of Charum Hakkor my disdain changed into fear and ultimately madness. Fearing the failure of the Didact’s plans and the eventual demise of the Forerunner the Halos were conceived. Engulfed in foolishness I let an Ancilla, a former enemy of sorts, conduct all the necessary procedures. But you know all of that.

What you do not know is that after building of the first Halo began I embarked in a new quest for knowledge of the Mantle. The Domain offered little else than what I already had studied for years, but it struck me as if it was hiding information, withholding it to be more precise. I dealt with the feeling of rejection every time I was in contact with the Domain. After Didact’s exile I allowed the Librarian the journey to Path Kethona. For more than a hundred years I delved on the origin of the Mantle. Why had we been chosen by the Precursors? In the eyes of our Forerunner pride it was an obvious answer, but the human had taught me that it only blinded us. Had we been chosen at all? Was it a Legacy of our long lost fathers? Or perhaps even a curse leading to our own ruin? From what you told me Catalog, the Librarian has reached such conclusion. And, at first, so did I. When the Librarian came back from her journey I learned of another truth, we had appropriated and secured the Mantle of Responsibility through war with the Precursors, and we had condemned them to oblivion. Only then I thought of the Mantle as a nuisance to stop the flood. But when I tested the Halo for the first time, I was proven wrong. The Primordial proved me wrong.

But it was too late, what I had done I could not undo. So I asked myself, what else is there to protect? Who must guide? We are not destined to guide, and the Domain confirmed this. It gradually shut us out. We were never worthy of the Mantle and we have never been worthy of understanding it. Tell me Catalog, how ironic is it that the very civilization that denies the existence of gods, even to the extent of killing our forefathers and creators, accepts so willingly a divine mandate to protect and guide the rest of the universe? Hypocrisy, that’s our foundation. Even after all this I still have very little answers, but I can tell you this.

I can only accept that The Mantle of Responsibility is not only the words, rituals, guidance and obligations that bind us to others. It is you; it is me; it is juridical, Domain and Forerunner. It is Human with all it’s violence; it is Primordial, with its ever growing hunger for knowledge; it is Precursor, with all the mysteries it conceals. It is the sheer will to progress. To move forward, to advance in knowledge, in reach, in grasp even higher. It is the purpose of every sentient being, living or dead. The Domain knows it, and wisely it denied me, for it foresaw what I had begun. Not a path of progress but the steps that led us here, to this control room, in this Ark. Another civilization shall and will reclaim the Mantle, as it should be, and progress will not be stopped, the Librarian, for utterly different reasons, has helped ensured that it be so. I do not know where the Mantle lies, if it’s in the genetic markers, or the imprinted geas, or perhaps in the nature of the Domain itself, or even there very essence of self-awareness. But I cannot help but to feel that it is all connected. The Mantle of Responsibility is very much alive, though not in the sense we conceive it to be, and because we couldn’t understand its existence it is that it left us, long before we sinned against it. I fear it even exceeds the Precursors.”

“The Master Juridical has reached a verdict on your request” Catalog seemed uneasy “Also the Iso-Didact is set to arrive soon to this station”.

“So be it”.

Hard Landing

“Everything seems in order” Wright yelled. Borges could hear him just fine with his headphones had he whispered but Wright loved to yell. He somehow felt better every time he shouted. Most of the time he did so on the cockpit of the D77H-TC Pelican Dropship, which didn't really bother anyone, but on the hangar bay of this battle cruiser it became rather annoying. It also pissed the hell out of the Comms officer on the bridge, who was kind enough to ignore him during the battles and flights, and that only meant trouble for both of them. It wasn't very wise to be on an officer's bad side, specially during the war.

“This piece of shit will most surely kill us, but not today” said Borges. Wright's answer didn't take long to reach him “Nah! She's a good girl! Uncle Luis is kiddin' because he is a pain in the ass” Wright kept repeating the same thing over and over through the Comms, he was certainly trying to piss Hogder off. Borges thought of shutting him up, but he knew it would be a pointless argument, and besides he enjoyed seeing Hodger rage as much as the next guy. He had a peculiar OCD with order, which became extremely helpful as a Comms Officer; even with an assisting A.I. things could get very hectic in a matter of seconds. Whenever things were hectic Hodger would talk like a maniac, and his body would start having spasms. He would have been discharged were it not for how efficient he was and the little fact that the UNSC would take anyone it could get its hands on. He found a way to keep his calm during combat, but he still couldn’t control it when things got chaotic outside of battle. Seeing him at his station while docking on port had proven a real amusement for some of the crew. Hell! It was fun to piss him off just for the sake of it.

Borges mind drifted away while Wright was checking the wing thrusters for the sixth time. It had been a long time since he remembered a time of calm like this. Eight standard earth days had passed since the last slipspace jump. Granted, it was a random jump per Cole Protocol, so the chances of running into something interesting, which for Borges meant dangerous, were narrow. However this time the covies they had run into hadn’t followed them and that was unusual. After a jump the Covenant used to send one or two corvettes after any human ship. They weren’t hard to avoid but it made the possibility of being engaged in naval combat all the more likely; and that was a completely different story. Everyone’s blood froze when that possibility arose. Human ships had a very low survival rate against Covenant. He somehow felt proud of his Pelican, the odds onboard her were much higher. He felt inclined to kiss the ship, but he had an agreement with Wright, she was no pretty girl to take out, she was their daughter and they would care for her as much as she cared for them.

“Wrigth, Borges, to the Captain’s Briefing Room, ON THE DOUBLE!” Hogder’s voice sounded calm. Borges could almost feel him sniggering. “I bet he ran like a little girl crying when he went to the Captain” Wright said. Borges couldn’t help to chuckle with his joke. Hodger was certainly listening to the Comms and by now he was surely shaking, more so with the following timid laughs that could be heard. They belonged to the mechanics and engineers on duty at the hangar. They all really liked Wright, and that meant getting the best assistance a Pelican flying crew could ask for. It even meant on occasion getting access to some mods that were outside of UNSC Regulation. “I’m sure we are going to get spanked” Borges said, but his comeback didn’t resonate as well as his partner’s joke. He wasn’t a funny guy, and it showed. For many it was a mystery how he and Wright put up with each other, there even was a bet going on about how long it would take them to tear each other apart. What many didn’t know was that they had been together for twelve years. They had crossed the white line of Earth’s Icarus Combat Flight Academy together; they had crashed into what was left of a Destroyer. They had been through hell and back together. “The Cap..tain said on the Dable” Hodger reminded them, he had clearly lost his calm.

“Roger that Sir, on our way” replied Wright in a very militaristic tone. To everyone it seemed like a soldier following an order, but Borges knew the truth, it was a mockery. They gathered at the nose of the Pelican and marched together towards the elevator. Wright was sure it was going to be a slap on the wrist, but Borges had other things in mind. He feared something, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He felt the two minute life sensation that fighter pilots talked about so much. Two Marines were waiting by the Captain’s Briefing Room. Wright’s smirk disappeared as they turned to face them; this was no slap on the wrist. They announced to the Marines and they let them in. The door locked behind them. Few ships had a private briefing room for the Captain. This room was specially designed with secrecy in mind. Borges was sure that it was a safe house for ONI’s spooks during the war with the insurrectionist. I was dimly lit, and the holomap in the middle showed some planets circling a sun. The Captain was sitting in his chair reading files on his data pad. “Are you two waiting for a formal invitation?” the Captain said without raising his sight. He had a tough as nails attitude that sit well with the crew and with what is to be expected of a Battle cruiser Captain. “Sir!” they both said in unison and approached the holomap. They stood as straight as they could. “At ease” the Captain said. He stood up and looked at them for the first time. He started walking towards them “Luis Borges and Jackson Wright I simply cannot fathom what you two want..” he said “..on the one hand I have two complete fools who love to piss on my Junior Officers; on the other, two pilots with one of the very best god damned flight records I have ever seen.”

Borges felt inclined to say something, but his military training had tough him to quench those urges. “I know only one other pilot who managed to cross the white line with a Hornet in Icarus Academy and here I stand in front of you not knowing whether to congratulate you or to give you some arrest days to think about it”. Borges couldn’t help but to remember what it felt to fly the Hornet on Earth’s gravity. He remembered the tenacity that had brought him and Jackson together. Flying across the white line was an extremely dangerous exercise that very few were given the privilege of attempting. The whole idea was to get the best students to try and maneuver a gliding Hornet in order to follow a white smoke trail laid by a drone. You had to fly solo, with no assisting electronic commands of any kind. It was just you, the stick, your calculations and the pedals that controlled the tiny Hornet’s flaps. It was considered suicidal by the books and in fact you quit the exercise by ejecting. The idea was that the student’s ego met its limits. It was very rare that a student achieved it, let alone that two managed to do so. It was considered a great honor. For Borges, it was the last time he had tested freedom.

“Think very hardly about Earth men” the Captain paused; his tone was different “Think about what we are protecting. They are all yours”. Suddenly a man came out of the shadows. He had a uniform of the UNSC, however it was matte black and had no insignia. He was a spy working for ONI without a doubt. “Gentlemen, need I remind you that if anything we discuss leaves this room you will be banned traitors and executed?” He didn’t have to remind them, everyone knew this even if they had never encountered an ONI spy. It was one of their scare tactics, and so far it was paying off. Borges clenched his teeth. He had crossed an ONI Officer before, he had never told Wright. It was after the battle of Hestion, when their Pelican crashed into a Destroyer. The ship was being decimated by Covenant plasma bolts and broke formation, drifting dangerously through the battlefield. Wright was too concentrated in keeping the attached Scorpion Tank stable to notice the incoming ship; and he was too focused on avoiding Seraphs and debris to imagine that the incoming Destroyer had lost all control. When he realized what was going on, it was too late. Even if he reacted with all the Pelican’s thrusters the speed of the Destroyer was too fast to avoid it. So instead, he chose to aim for one of the hangars, which was twisted and had clearly melted due to plasma. It was the only place where there was no chance of splattering a friendly. He had very little time to warn Wright to brace for impact; but when he turned to do so he was already reading the cargo release. He had to time it right, otherwise they would be crushed by the Scorpion Tank after the improvised landing.

The crash was rough, especially on Dolores, “his girl” back then. The nose bent as it hit the charred metal, and the Dropship turned on its side. The screen in the cockpit went black as soon as they touched what was left of the hangar bay. Borges had set the thrusters to full reverse throttle before impact to reduce the collision force and it had worked, but it also tilted the Dropship. If it started to spin, they were both dead men. Wright had timed the payload release to the Pelican’s full reverse, in order to reduce the Scorpion’s momentum. It would definitely smash against the Dropship, but at least it gave them a few seconds to flee the remains provided they survived the landing. As soon as the ship hit one of the hangar’s walls, they both unbuckled and left through the Pelican’s cargo bay door. It was the furthest from their seats but also the only one that was very unlikely to jam. A jammed emergency escape hatch would otherwise mean dying crushed under the Scorpion, not the best way to go. When the door opened what little oxygen was inside the Pelican was sucked out. They both felt the pressure and the cold through their pressurized suits. They had ten minutes worth of oxygen. They to find an air pocket soon. They jumped off the Pelican in the nick of time and heard as the Tank squashed what was left of Dolores.

“Goodbye my love” said Borges as he floated across the hangar. Most systems were clearly offline in the bay. Wright took out his ICE repair kit torch and approached the nearest door. He was already working on the door control panel by the time Borges caught up with him. It was tight shut so they had to force it open overriding the lock. I was hard to operate the torch and the tweezers under the pressure of space. They felt a little numb between the freezing cold and the slight pain in their joints. As soon as they opened the door they found themselves in a pressurization room. In case of emergency all contents of the hangar bay could be vented into space. They activated the mechanism and the door shut firmly behind them. They relaxed for a second as they felt the pressure reducing. They tried to calm down and breathe normally, but they both had one thing in mind “Payback”. As soon as the door opened on the other side they were treated to a gruesome spectacle. Dead soldiers were floating on the hallway, some simply dead, others burned beyond recognition, and a few with strange markings.

The Covenant had been on board the ship killing any survivors and searching for any useful NavCom data. Without saying a word they both headed to the engineers locker room and suited up with proper space suits. Since they did maintenance on the hull of the ship, their suits were far better designed for precision work and endurance. They argued for what seemed to them a couple of minutes and then decided on an interesting surprise for the Covenant. They went back to the hangar, this time however the pressure of space and the cold were not a nuisance as before. Wright went inside the Scorpion Tank and a few minutes later handed Borges some cables, which he connected to the now silent Dolores. The ship came to life for a couple of seconds in spite of being in a very bad shape, and it started broadcasting an emergency signal. After a while, Borges unplugged the cables and the ship went dead again. He would make sure the covies payed for what had done to her. Wright had managed to get the Tank’s turret working. Borges joined him in the cockpit, which was very tight, as far as he was concerned a Pelican was far cozier than that, but for the moment it had to do. They waited for a target to come into view, any Covenant would suffice, they just wanted revenge. They would even settle for a Banshee or a Seraph, but fortune gave them a big smile when a Covenant Corvette came into view. The god dammed ship had ship was a great and easy target, but it had shields so they had to time it perfectly. Luckily for them timing was their mastery.

They had to wait until the ship charged a plasma round and then fire at the main battery as it was firing it. The ship would drop its shields for a second, if not less, to fire and that was their window of opportunity. If they fired too soon, they were dead. It they fired too late, they might hit the ship, but the plasma round would hit them. They didn’t want to damage the ship. They wanted it sunk. They had to hit the plasma round with the explosion of the shell to ensure that the ship went down for good. A bold and risky strategy. The ship had been lured to the destroyer’s remains by the Pelican’s SOS signal. Dolores last words were not of helplessness and shame, but an angry defying roar.

They stayed still in the Tank's cockpit waiting for any sign from the Covenant ship as it became bigger and bigger. Suddenly Borges spotted a bluish glow near the bow and Wright took aim. This was it. Neither of them spoke a word, they knew what had to be done. The adrenaline that rushed through them made them feel as if time had slowed down. They were gliding again free of electronic commands and assists. Just them, the Tank and the ship. The blue glow started changing in both size and color. They could feel their nerves wrecking, just as they had felt trying to pull the dammed Hornet up. And then amidst all that, Borges saw it, a tiny glimmer on the ship's stern. “Fire!” he shouted, but Wright had already pulled the trigger a fraction of second before he had finished yelling. Wright immediately begun shouting, if he was going to die he might as well do so doing what he loved. Borges, relieved of the stress, looked at Dolores one last time and said “we did it baby”. Then he fainted.

He woke up inside the cell of an ONI Prowler. An Officer explained that they were found due to the distress beacon and that they had managed to sink the Covenant Corvette. They had fallen unconscious due to hypoxia, Wright had not yet regained consciousness. The Officer then left the room and the interrogation begun. It was an endless torture of question after question, they went from basic color recognition, to the assembly of a weapon. From strategical deployment, and flight controls to the events of the battle. From the names of his fellow soldiers, to the names and dates he had graduated. They feared they were spies of some sort, or they simply couldn't believe his story. Truth be told, he couldn't either. Every time the interrogator left the room, another came in. The new one asked the same questions all over again and left, and another one came in. Borges estimated he must have been twelve of fourteen hours being interrogated. For a couple of moments he wished the Covenant had killed him, it was far better than being endlessly interrogated. Finally a man came into the room, he had a different uniform, it was matte black and had no visible insignias. He explained that both him and Wright would remain under surveillance, but for now they chose to believe his story. He also explained that there would not be any decoration not due to the lack of heroism in their actions, but because of the fact that the battle had been a complete massacre for the UNSC, almost thirteen ships had been lost with all hands. The battle was to stay out of the public eye and the Official Communications channels. Just as he was leaving he said the same thing the ONI Officer I the Captain's Briefing Room had said.

Wright couldn't understand what was going through Borges mind, but he could know how he felt about those words. He had asked Borges many times about their rescue after waking up in the Hospital ship, but his answer had always been the same “Classified ONI Directive”, which were the exact words the ONI Officer had told him to repeat. The Officer approached the holomap and gave it a nostalgic look. He took a deep breath and said calmly “Reach has fallen. On August 30, 2552 all remaining UNSC ships were ordered to abandon the planet.”. He had a hard time saying those words and keeping his calm tone, it was the first time he had said it aloud.

Borges and Wright couldn't move. They were frozen in place, unable to act, think or do otherwise. They simply couldn't understand how humanity's biggest military stronghold in the galaxy had fallen in eight days (considering the last Comms entry before the last slipspace jump). The ONI Officer took a moments pause and the continued “Needless to say how dire the war has become. I have orders to take you with me to Earth. Your services, loyalty and secrecy are required.” The man handed them a Datapad and then vanished again in the darkness of the room.

The Captain ordered them to be ready at 0700, since they would be transferred to an ONI Prowler. He saluted them as if Wright and Borges were his superiors and said “Take good care of Earth for me boys, make me proud!”. They nodded in silent respect and left the room. The walk towards the hangar was silent, neither of them was bold enough to say a word. It was too much to take in, too much to bear. They both tried to remember the names of any acquaintances stationed in Reach, but came out empty handed. They couldn't even remember the planet's landscape or the space port, or even the fancy bars in New Alexandria. It was as if it had been ripped from their memories. They both knew they couldn't let that happen to earth, they couldn't let that happen to humanity. And they wouldn't.

Unyielding Faith

Chi’T Sotomee walked tall and proudly. For a moment he represented the whole Sangheili in victory, honor and pride. All of the Covenant looked up to him. He did not care for the Unggoy or the Kig Yar, he respected the present San’Shyuum and he was very proud that the Jiralhanae weren’t even allowed inside High Charity’s most sacred chambers. He had an evident reason for being awarded such distinctive honor as being personally congratulated by a High Prophet; but deep within him laid a different motive for joy.

He had killed a Demon with his bare hands. He had seen it in agony without it bulking armor. It was a good fight, and one he was not prone to forget. An admirable and fearsome foe had fallen by his hand. It was a tale that would last forever in his Keep. But more importantly he had avenged his kin. Warriors of his own keep that had been shamed not with death, but with trickery. The Sotom keep could walk proud once more. They had regained the chance for their elder’s name to be written once more; not in the Wall of the Ancients, but in the Wall of the Covenant’s Ninth Age of Reclamation. As he walked the narrow walkway he could hear the chanting of the Divine Principles and as a deeply devoted believer he couldn’t help but to sing along.

Whenever he did it, he felt a part of something bigger, greater than both him and the Sangheili. It was a feeling so powerful that had united several species. And only during his Era, his time, had the blasphemous humans been found. A chance to prove his worth. A chance for the Covenant to endure, to prosper as they had done before in the Fourth Age of Reconciliation; as they had done suffocating the Arbitrer’s Rebellion. More than anything it was a chance to remove that stain of shame that very few knew so well.

As he walked across the narrow platform he could see the human colony below being glassed, a formidable spectacle, for only the very best and most devoted Captains were allowed to participate on this special occasion. Humans were a lot like the indigenous vermin of his planet; little rodents that hit crops in the middle of the night and the run into the thick jungle, only useful for trade as food for the Kig Yar. This planet seemed to be more important to them than any other. They had fought to the last ship which wasn’t very characteristic of them. He could almost respect them for not fleeing, but truth be told, their ships were no more than target practice. There was more honor to be found if they simply surrendered and accepted their shame and died peacefully seeking forgiveness.

He could see one ship in particular not participating of the glassing. One of the Vadam keep ships, “Truth and Reconciliation” was preparing to enter slipspace. Had they been shamed? Perhaps it was his chance to be Fleet Admiral. He snarled a little in satisfaction.

As he approached the Prophet’s chamber the chanting became louder. He posed in his ceremonial stance waiting to be summoned by the Prophet. He had been given an ornamented armor. His combat suit was not allowed inside the chamber. The armor he wore was very ancient and it belonged to a lost lineage of Elders who ruled the Sangheili before they met the enlightenment of the Covenant. It was heavy, very protective but not suited for combat. I had no shields, no dagger, no cloaking device, not even a rations compartment. It was a relic of a bygone era. It was said that on the origin of the Sangheili all those who wanted to be considered worthy had to assassinate an elder only wearing such armor. Not an easy task, as the armor was not easy to conceal. Chi’T Sotomee had even heard rumors that some keeps still maintained the barbaric assassination tradition. His keep had abandoned the old and useless traditions in favor of the Prestigious Covenant Principles. They had quickly risen to the top of the Covenant Hierarchy, but then; defeat after defeat in the hands of Rebellions, uprisings, and lately in the hands of those vermin; had thrown them off their throne. He blamed the demons above all for such shame.

It was then that one of the most traditional Keeps, the Vadam keep, had taken their place. Since his elders failed, Chi’T Sotomee had spent his entire life waiting for a chance to regain what was theirs. An ancient and traditional clan had no place in the New Covenant. The old tradition still held blasphemous elements that the Prophets chose to ignore due to the events at hand. But he would not let the Great Journey be compromised by such nonsense.

Chi’T Sotomee expected the summoning to be immediate, but after a while he understood he had a test of patience and devotion before him. He could barely hear the Prophets voice amongst the chanting. It was the Prophet of Regret, and his words were not kind. Inside he hoped and prayed that the Vadam keep was being demoted. On the outside he held his uncomfortable stance without flinching, not a sing of weakness or doubt to be found. He also chanted along only due to his faith, his words were not needed, his voice was irrelevant.

The prayers went on and on, and Chi’T realized that they had begun repeating. He set his doubts aside, they clouded his judgment and no such thing would be tolerated in this sacred chambers. Some of his muscles begun itching and he could feel the ornamental armor crushing his wrist. It was certainly not designed for combat. All of a sudden the chanting stopped. His pulse raced and he thanked by the Great Journey that the wait was over. Two Ministers came out of the Prophet’s Chamber and inspected him with disgust. He felt being inspected as if he was a traitor, as if his mission was to kill the Prophet. It was another test, only the pure, only the truth could walk into the Chamber. They moved around in a spherical chair, their long necks elongated to observe any miniscule detail.

Their big eyes opened and inspected everything. They didn’t however took their arms outside of the chair. They were sitting one next to the other on the same chair and they both operated the controls. Perhaps one maneuvered the chair while the other handled the communications with the rest of High Charity. Truth was Chi’T Sotomee didn’t know much about the San’Shyuum, most of the Covenant didn’t know much. He had only seen them a few times without their chairs. They had a low and narrow waist, and very short legs. They weren’t too strong and most adults were as high as a Kig Yar standing straight. Their skin was soft and musky as if they were covered with some kind of fungi. They had some thick hairs that came out of their back and their eyes. Had it not been for the Revelation they had, they would have been decimated long ago. They were chosen and revealed the Truth about salvation, meanwhile the Sangheili were engulfed in war amongst brothers. Chi’T blamed the old traditional ways for that.

“He seems worthy” one of the Ministers said. “So may the Gods show him his fate” the other one answered. “Let the Prophet’s word illuminate you and guide you to the Great Journey” they said in unison. The present Unggoy screamed in joy and jubilee, the Kig Yar showed much less enthusiasm and the San’Shyuum simply floated away in their chairs of three as if there was nothing more of relevance that conveyed them to stay. Chi’T Sotomee stoop up and felt the might of the Prophet even outside his chamber. His words could burn worlds, and his devotion made him one of the few who could speak with the sacred oracles.

The last steps were a revelation to Chi’T Sotomee. His future and that of his keep would be forever changed after the Prophet had spoken. He didn’t feel fear but restlessness for the things to come. As soon as he crossed the gate he was marveled by the sheer beauty of the Prophet’s Chambers. The walls shined as if they had just been cleaned, and the roof was ornamented with a beautiful scripture he could only assume it to be the Covenant Principles. Perfectly woven Covenant Glyphs hanged from the walls. They looked as if they were from ages long lost in time. And on the middle of the room there was a small pillar which emitted a blue glow, and suspended above it there was a small chunk of charred metal. Even form the distance Chi’T Sotomee recognized it as a piece of Forerunner structure and moved his gaze away from it. It was far too sacred for him to lay eyes on it.

“The time of the Covenant is upon us, and those worthy will join as one in the Great Journey” spoke a soft voice. Chi’T Sotomee had not seen the Prophet as he entered the room. He was atop his chair, on the far corner of the room in front of a main control station. Chi’T Sotomee dropped to his knees as he heard the voice. He feared it was too late and he had already been shamed. The beauty of the room and the Forerunner relic had led him to temptation. “It is your Faith that will save you Zealot, and if solid enough it shall deliver us all”. The Prophet had clearly seen his devotion as he looked away from the relic. Any other member of the Covenant, even a few San’Shyuum, would have stared at it, and maybe tried to touch it. “Rise, and let’s not delve in ceremony, tell me all about your feat”. Chi’T Sotomee felt weird leaving ceremonial salutes behind, but he could feel the Great Journey close, and he understood that time was not to be wasted. As he stood he took a humble pose for he did not want to resemble his fellow Sangheili. He wanted the Prophet to know he wasn’t like the rest.

The Prophet looked firmly at him, as if he was a young initiate awaiting a combat lesson, exited but not too sure what to expect. His chair was far larger than the others. It had a complete array of controls that were connected not only to High Charity, but also to the Fleet. To his private Fleet.

Chi’T Sotomee took a deep breath and proceeded to tell the Prophet of Regret how he had slain a Demon. As he told the story he kept certain details to himself, as they took honor out of the fight. He was commanding a ground detachment tasked with purging human settlements and protecting the spires. Three Banshees overflew the ground group in a strange formation, and Chi’T noticed something strange in their flight pattern. When the first Banshee dropped something he hadn’t hesitated and had already deployed his bubbleshied. The impact knocked him off his feet even through the shield; it was clear who they were. As he readied to give orders to attack them, one of the Banshees had already been damaged by plasma fire. It crashed near an unggoy mobile replenishment station. The pesky annoying creatures sucked on a protuberance to feed and replenished their fetid gas tanks in there. A disgusting place and not worthy of any fight. But if the Demon was still alive he would have the killing blow, no matter the place.

When he got there a few unggoys were shooting senselessly at the ruble and every now and then they were fired at. Chi’T Sotomee didn’t lose time and stepped over the Banshee’s remains. He pulled the Demon out of it and threw him into the ground. He wanted all to witness his victory. The Demon said a few words and took off his cracked helmet. It was the first time he saw one without its armor. It looked like any other human could have slain. His armor emitted a blip and it was clear that his shields were malfunctioning. He stood up, looked at Chi’T straight in the eyes, raised his fists to protect his chin and said a few more words. After the battle an unggoy named Zap Yip told him the Demon said something about them dancing. It made no sense whatsoever to Chi’T Sotomee, but the defying look was more than enough for him to know it was a worthy fight; thou not an even one. The Demon could barely move from the waist down and his blood was leaking even through his armor. Even without the fight he wouldn’t last long, he knew that and wanted Chi’T Sotomee to put him out of his misery.

Chi´T Sotomee felt up to the task but as soon as he engaged the Demon in hand to hand he realized that if the Demon hadn’t been injured he might not be telling the tale at all. Every time the Demon hit him he felt a pain he had never experienced before. Luckily for him the Demon was slow and didn’t connect too many punches. After a short but effective show, Chi’T was ready to take his life. When he approached the Demon with his ceremonial plasma wrist blade the Demon primed a plasma grenade and held it tight in his hand. Chi’T reacted immediately and cut off his hand. As it fell to the ground, Chi’T Sotomee took cover from the blast behind the Demon. Both of them were thrown a few meters back by the blast. After he reincorporated from the shock he turned the body only to find the burned lifeless face of the Demon, he mustered a few ceremonial words and performed a useless killing blow. The few unggoy that were present revered him as if he was a god, and despite the fake spectacle, he did feel like one.

The Prophet listened to his tale with interest and never noticed the small adjustments he had done to it. The Demon was in perfect shape after the crash, it had been a fair fight and the grenade had only injured the Demon, Chi’T Sotomee had taken his life. It was then that the Prophet asked a question he had not expected. With joy on his face he asked about the symbols on the Demon’s chest. Chi’T Sotomee named the symbols carefully, the human language was considered blasphemous by some. “029” he said. The Prophet turned to his controls and the smile vanished from his face, and in its place anger and frustration appeared. “Not the one” he said to himself and turned to look at the glyphs on the walls.

Chi’T Sotomee didn’t know if he had done something wrong. He felt shamed, but couldn’t explain why. He had succeeded but the look in the Prophet’s face had failure written all over it. He tried to say something, but all he could muster were a few prayers. Regret looked at him with disdain, and Chi’T couldn’t help thinking of this misfortune. He had failed; even with all his might he had failed his keep. He would soon join the Vadam keep in disgrace and shame.

“Fear not, for it is not your failure warrior” the Prophet said in a soft voice once again. He turned again towards Chi’T and sit straight. Despite being very feeble looking, he imposed a kind of respect that was hard to come by.

“I will task you with a far greater task that you can imagine” he said. Chi’T felt the adrenaline rush through his body. “We have found the final holy instrument that will take us in the Great Journey, and my fellow Prophets saw it wise to send the Vadam elder to secure this holy place.” The Prophet sounded cynical as he said the word wise. Chi’T couldn’t understand if he had just witnessed blasphemy coming from the mouth of one of the Hierarchs, but he couldn’t focus. He was much too excited for the Prophet’s words. “But they have been beaten by the vermin, our sacred instrument is now tainted by the humans touch, and they fight back with their Demon. The one and particular Demon” Chi’T knew who the Prophet was talking about, they told scary tales about it. A green Demon, who had the stench of death around him.

“I however believe that in order to defeat the Demons, we have to burn hell itself” the Prophet turned to the screens and Chi’T could see the world were a day ago he had slain the demon. “This was one of their homes, but I believe not the only one. Some of their ships flee the battle. There has to be another infectious world like this!” As he screamed the last phrase he smashed his delicate fingers against the controls. Chi’T Sotomee could feel his wrath and power.

“But my will is unyielding and unrelenting. I will eradicate those vermin. I will unleash the Unyielding Heirophant”. Chi’T could feel his feet trembling, the Heirophant had only been used once and only as a threat, it had never fired. Its presence had squashed any Unggoy’s rebellion ideas. It was the Covenant’s mobile fortress. Nothing could stop it, and it was said it could even take out the city of High Charity with a couple of attacks.

“And I want you, Chi’T Sotomee, to command it. I want you to carve your own name in the Wall of the Ninth Age of Reclamation!” the scream resonated through Chi’T Sotomee as his true purpose had just been revealed.

“I shall be worthy” Chi’T responded. He did a ceremonial salute and left the chamber.

“For your own sake you’d better be” Regret answered once he left the room.

The Undead

UNSC – ONI S.2 – 2549 – 1.0023.2132.667- Hi-Priority Communication

Decryption Protocol 7.64.1 – Encryption Tier 4 File – SR.11231-7 Protocol Initiated

Begin Log-

To General Staff,

Since the reveal of the SPARTAN II morale has been difficult to uplift again. Going forward, all general propaganda to support the war will star our brave soldiers holding the front. We need moving stories of bravery and heroism. The ODST incident in Eradinnus IV does not represent the image we want to project of the UNSC. If at all possible I wish to avoid stories that end in tragedy, but due to the circumstances of the war I understand that this might be hard to accomplish.

Attached you will find a communication that resembles the kind of stories we wish to promote.

Keep up the work soldiers,

LCDR Jeanos

ONI Section 2

Department of Propaganda and Morale

Log End-

Encryption Protocol 7.64.1 – Encryption Tier 4 File – SR.11231-7 Protocol End

UNSC – ONI S.2 – 2549 – 1.0023.2132.667- Hi-Priority Communication

Attached File – Encryption Tier CPOB – SR.111111-0 Civilian Comms Relay Protocol

UNSC – Text Only – Location [REDACTED]

From: St. Kyle Stärsberg – UNSC – Second Deployment Fleet – Orbital Drop Shock Troopers Station Alfa-7 – UNSC Service Tag [REDACTED]

To: Mastrana Kerg, Epsilon Erandi System, Reach, New Alexandria – Digital P.O. Box [REDACTED]

Dear Mastrana,

You must be wondering why of all people in the galaxy I’m writing to you. Truth is, I don’t really know. Perhaps it’s because my parents died shortly after my brother and I were born. Perhaps I’m writing because to me you are still my brother’s wife, or perhaps, because after his death, I don’t have anyone else to write to. What I do know is what I want with this letter. I want you to remember me, not as the asshole who dragged your husband into a war and got him killed, but as man willing to give everything to protect the most important things we have, our right to live.

I know, I know, I was a jarhead and an ODST long before the Covenant. I became one at the age of 6 when the Innies killed mom and dad. I know also that they didn’t intend to kill them, only the UNSC soldiers on board the Transit Station, you said so the last time we saw each other, when I was leaving with Jaën. I can’t even imagine how much you hated me, how much you still do, and in certain way, you are right to do so. I still blame myself for Jaën’s death, even though he wasn’t even on my unit. But since the appearance of the Covenant I don’t have the privilege of self-loathing, there’s simply too much at stake.

I never told you, but since Jaën’s death I got a new nickname amongst my fellow ODST’s. They started calling me “Crass” (short for Crazy Ass). As you become an ODST, they give you a nickname, and it sticks with you until the day you die. It never changes. You forget names, but you know your men through their nicknames. While in combat, you really see the depth of those names, and how much they reflect about them. They changed mine, because after his death I became someone different. I didn’t disregard my fellows ODST’s safety, I never stopped working as a unit, but I enlisted for every single suicide task at hand. And between ODST’s, which are already considered suicidal, that means facing almost certain death every time.

I longed for death, but only if it meant something, only if my dying saved lives. Suicide was out of the question. That was the time I stopped sending VidComs. I couldn’t bear to watch you spatter short inconsequential sentences trying to pretend that you did not blame me for Jaën’s death. Knowing some of the UNSC propaganda measures, I was certain that you were pressured to keep sending me videos to keep my morale up, but inside you were dying to tell me how much you hated me, how you wished it was me the one dead instead of Jaën.

I faced death time and time again. With every jump, with every assignment in which I took point. With every demo charges I carried in my pod. Every single time I could lay down my life to save others, I took the chance. Death wasn’t kind enough to look at me, instead she choose to take those who surrounded me.

No, it wasn’t death, it was the Covenant who took them and I will forever hate them for that. Every single one of those damn bastards will pay for what they’ve done. Not a single one of those freaks will find mercy at my hands.

Anyway, as I was saying, all I achieved was to get promoted. My Commander, Lt. [REDACTED] was an asshole and a ruthless son of a bitch, and though that my death wish could inspire other soldiers to fight harder. I was now responsible for a group of seven fellow ODST’s. Heck! I was even given the privilege to choose my men. All ODST’s are crazy as far as I’m concerned, hell I know that better than anyone, I’m one of them. But there is a special kind of crazy that is very rare to find, a certain type of madness that dares to stare at death in the face, but keeping in mind the task at hand. These soldiers are rare and far and between even among ODST’s. They use their madness as a fuel for war. I spent four weeks assessing candidates, watching their performances, and I could only find four other people. I found a fifth and a sixth, but they were taken, and to be honest they seemed like an odd couple.

I ended up forming my unit with only five men (counting myself) an odd number in every regard, but my superiors liked it, again it somehow boosted the morale of fellow soldiers. I didn’t really care.

Since we were tasked with suicidal jumps we never stayed in a ship for too long. Most ODST’s squads are assigned to stations. They don’t go cruising from ship to ship. We spent a lot of time jumping deep behind Covenant conquered colonies under [REDACTED] order’s. We all saw our fare share of glass working for the spooks. Whole colonies burned to the ground, the earth charred and crumbling beneath our every step. I remember [REDACTED], we found few covies when we landed, they were taking shelter in what was left of a school. I think I never squeezed the trigger so hard. I could almost hear the children's screams from the day before.

We once worked with a group of Spartans. The three hulking behemoths carried on our “suicidal” job as if it were a walk on the park. I did not envy them, they serve a different purpose that us. After our third jump, we lost “Smiles”. She was always starring at the empty skies looking for the Covenant Vessel that destroyed his son’s transport; there wasn’t a single trace of human emotion on her face. Her pod malfunctioned; she smashed the ground at 800 kilometers per second.

Shortly after, in our fifth and final jump, “Grin” was hit by a needler shard and lost his arm. Yet he didn’t stop grinning, even when he picked up the rifle and started shooting with his other arm. He had a thirst for combat that made him grin whenever he was in a firefight. He died of blood loss after the battle, the biofoam only relieved him of his pain long enough for him to grin one last time during the fight.

We achieved our goal, we located [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Then we headed to the rendezvous point and waited seven hours under fire for our evac. We soon realized there wasn’t going to be an evac, and that our RV was compromised. We started running low on ammo. “Fingers” then did something that both me and “Rodriguez” never quite understood. Our superiors thought he simply cracked under the pressure and that it led him to blow up the trap we had prepared. But he had something different in mind, I explained it several times to the spooks in my debriefing but they still didn’t understand.

Our objective was to locate the [REDACTED] and set the [REDACTED] for a Covenant [REDACTED]. The spooks believed that there was something of relevance to the Covenant in the building, enough to warrant the visit of one of these so called [REDACTED], which is some kind of worm in a floating chair that apparently can fix anything. “Fingers” had a knack for finding tells in people, he was extremely dangerous playing dice, and extremely useful in the battlefield. He could sense that something was wrong, even when there weren’t any clues. He was right; it was a set up, but not for us, the covies were expecting Spartans. [REDACTED] suspected that, and sent us instead. Not a bad call knowing the lethal vector of the Spartans, they decimate the covies every single time they step on a battlefield. My life and my men’s life in exchange for three Spartans, that can amount to thousands of dead covies. A god damned good call if you ask me. Hell!, if we played our cards well we might even kill a Covenant [REDACTED].

“Fingers” also knew that both “Rodriguez” and I were well protected from the blast when he detonated the charges. We were buried in rubble and left for dead by the covies. “Rodriguez”, who was always cursing in Spanish (as in Rodriguez from that television series) moved some debris and gave me his rifle. His good arm, and his legs were crushed by the rubble, he couldn’t fire. But I was in an excellent position to do, still trapped, but I couldn’t have asked for a better position.

We saw a Covenant Ship landing, and we knew the worm would arrive soon. They were obsessed with whatever was in [REDACTED]. I took aim and tried to breath as slowly as I could. My chest hurt and I couldn’t feel my legs. We knew that the second I took the shot we were dead men. So I had to be sure to hit the mark. I struggled to plug in the rifle’s optics into my helmet (I think I even broke a bone doing so).

“Rodriguez” still cursing and spitting blood took the biofoam from his field kit and readied it. He was in agony, I could hear him panting with every curse he sputtered. I couldn’t look at him, I could hardly move my head and torso. The video feed from his helmet was only static, that mean that he had bashed his head really bad. My mind went blank we I saw the floating worm coming out of the ship. I cocked the rifle, and took aim.

As I was about to fire I heard it for the first time since the explosion, I don’t know if it was my helmet malfunctioning or if I was so focused on setting up the rifle, but I hadn’t heard it before. It was the wheezing noise of a Grunt’s gas mask (little annoying aliens), followed by an exclamation the surely meant something like “Die!”. “Rodriguez” had seen him before, and he had readied the biofoam not for his wounds, but for mine. He was determined to ensure I could take the shot. I felt the injection of biofoam in my womb, and the cold that spread alongside my body as it shielded my torso.

I saw the light shifting as if someone had thrown me a light bulb, and then I heard the distinctive sound that plasma grenades do as they are primed. I saw the [REDACTED] down my sights and took the shot. Last thing I remember was seeing the plasma melting into the rifle’s barrel. It was a strange sight as blue, orange and purple ball fused with the worn out metal alloy. I thought “This is it”, and for a brief second dreamed of drinking beer with you and Jaën.

I woke up two months ago. Both my legs were missing, as well as my left arm. My right arm ended with my elbow. I lost my left eye and a part of my skull. I was more a monster than a human, but I was still alive. The spooks debriefed me several times, and they had an A.I. interpret what I said, since I could barely speak. This A.I. is the same one typing this message. They told me that the biofoam saved me, that part of my helmet had fused with my skull and they had to remove a lot of tissue. The doctors later told me that I had plasma poisoning, that they didn’t expect me to make it through the night. I made it, and day after day they studied my reactions to the poisoning. They even got leads to develop a cure, or so I was told by one of the assistants.

Last week they offered me a choice. They can put an end to my agony, sedate me so much that I will never wake up, or they can offer me a desk job at [REDACTED] and be an Advisor on field deployment strategies. They said that I had done enough and that they understood if I chose the former, and that I would be buried with all the honors a UNSC Soldier deserved. Even after several debriefings they still don’t understand. So I asked them for something. They left the room silent.

I want to be reinstated. I want to be back on the field, back on my pod, laying my life to save others. I owe it to Jaën, I owe it you, to “Smiles”, ”Grin”, “Fingers” and “Rodriguez”. I have long been dead, ever since he died. I refuse to meet my end if it doesn’t means saving lives.

Yesterday they gave me prosthetic arms and legs. The suited me up with a self-regulating suit that keeps my plasma poisoning in check. They offered to fix my skull, but I asked for a helmet instead, with a translation software similar to the one used by the A.I.. I look now more like a Spartan than an ODST. But I’m not them; I’m not here to win the war, that’s their purpose. I’m here to save lives.

As I stepped into the Pod once more, I asked that they deliver you this letter. I can’t bring him back, but if I can save at least one life, I can make it worth it. I don’t know how much of this letter will pass the [REDACTED], but I hope you understand I never forgot about him, or you. I never will. You both are my sole reason for fighting. Every time I look at the soldiers at my side they have your faces, and I will do everything I can to save you. Everything, every single time, whenever I can.

I will gladly be “Feet first into Hell”, but I swear by all that’s left of me that I will drag the god forsaken Covenant with me.

Kyle “The Undead” Stärsberg

End Attached File – Encryption Tier CPOB – SR.111111-0 Civilian Comms Relay Protocol

UNSC – ONI S.2 – 2549 – 1.0023.2132.667- Hi-Priority Communication

End COMMS