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