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Countdown Earth: Hour Nine
Date: 13 October 2003, 10:56 PM

E.S.N. Capital Building
Biloxi, Mississippi

"Oslow, Mobile, New York, Beijing, Paris, Rome, San Diego, Tampa Bay, Buenos Ares, Mexico City, Bagdhad, Tokyo, and New Delhi all under heavy attack sir. As well as many lesser engagements in surrounding smaller cities." Major Sergeant Taki read the list off with a solemn and downtrodden voice. Earth was under attack, that much was sure, it had been expected for some time now. The strength and timing of the attack, however, were not determined. Even the most pessimistic estimates at how many ships the covenant would send were quickly doused as the real invasion began.

With only marginal protection from UNSC capital ships in the region, many deploid in other sectors ONI had prioritized. They had totally skipped their normal procedures. Losing sight of their method of taking out every human colony one by one, they opted now for a direct attack on Earth.

"What's our status Taki, how long do we have?" General Anderson, who was seated next to Admirals Trotson and Relinoir, asked with uneasy eyes.

"E.S.N. (Earth Shield Network, the massive network of land and space based orbital MAC super-cannons) AI Phoenix estimates they can hold the Covenant off only so long."

"How long is that Taki?"

"Phoenix won't speculate sir, the AI are doing everything in their power to stop them sir, but there's only so much they can do from fixed positions."

"How many ships do we have fighting?"

"The capital ships Magistrate, Ghandi, Mohammed, Shield of Fate, Partridge, Phantom, Romulus, Cerebrus, Lemnos, Sphericles, and Euclid are doing their best. We have received transmissions from the third, sixth, and eighth fleets, all are heading our way now. The third and sixth estimate nine hours until their arrival, the eighth is closer and should be here in two. The third and sixth are the only fleets with enough firepower to bare to stave the attacks. So if we can't last until they get here, there will be no lasting."

"That'll be close, very close." Trotson said with visible perspiration running down his crown and dripping off of his nose.

"We'll have to make due with what we have si-Incoming transmission..." Taki was interupted, his face on the General and Admiral's video feeds changing to that of a rock-jawed Captain.

"This is Captain Shields, you should know that another wave of dropships are heading planetside as we speak. My longswords are doing their best, but those damn Seraphs keep ducking in their from time to time. They look clustered and heading for Europe. Best wishes sirs, Shields out." His video link was abruptly ended, and the small round face of Taki returned.

"He's right, Phoenix estimates they'll hit London, Amsterdam and the Aix-en-Provence within the hour. I've already sent alerts to their commanders." The computer terminal behind Taki was aglow with reports and scrolling text, information from the field that wasn't looking very promising.


"Keep track of the battle, we're going to see what we can do, and Taki, be sure to tell us if anything happens we should know about. Whatever you do, be sure to keep E.S.N. running, without her, Earth is dead. Do you understand me?" Relinoir's seriousness made him look almost vicious in the dimly-lit room in which he was seated.

"Crystal sir."

Mobile, Alabama
(Home of Brookley Aerospace Industries and the Am-Sat shipyards)

"Where are they Corporal?" Gunnery Sergeant McPherson asked brutally."

"Scattered, they're heading for the shipyards and Aerospace facilities, we know that much, but the patrols there've seen nothing." Corporal Lance responded, handing the Sergeant his canteen of sweet tea. Dirt cracking and finally falling off in clumps as his lips parted and the cool liquid seeped into his mouth. He sloshed it around on his palette for several seconds before swallowing, a heavy exhale his only thanks.

"You're wife makes damn good sweet tea Roderick." McPherson growled without turning his head away from the emptied streets before him. Overturned cars, a smoldering bus, and corpses littered the paved gradeyard he was passing through, and he cursed to himself as he passed by the charred remains of a small child. Any thanks Lance was going to give was obliterated as the gas pedal was jammed to the floor.

A stop light on the four-lane main road was red, but there was no one in the city who, if alive, cared. He sped past it's blinking warning and towards the airport. Three "Armadillo" APC's were following him. They were going to drop off marines and retrieve the wounded, if there were any, and evac them to a nearby M.A.S.H. unit.

His warthog bounded ferociously over the abrupt end to the hill, sending it hurtling ten or more meters before finally crashing to the ground with a harsh scraping of his chasis sending sparks to the heavens. They were perhaps his only plea to the gods during his journey, as he was too occupied to think about such stuff in his rush to save lives.

The gigantic cylindrical control tower was littered with holes, and plasma scoring peppered the base. A heavy-duty metal fence was the only barrier into the airport's main building, and the sturdy warthog had no problem slicing through it. An orange and white checkered tin building also crumpled under the weight, breaking several unknown devices as it was crushed.

The APC's were considerably slower, but their zeal somehow kept them behind McPherson's speeding vehicle. The rectangular marble building that was the heart of the complex loomed ominously in front of him. It grew exponentially the closer he moved to it, and was before long at least six stories above his head. The covering that usually protected passengers from rain was now only a pile of broken glass on the gravel pathway.

McPherson and Lance rolled out of the car's seats and crouched behind it's armor plated siding. Their gunner concentrated his aim on the sliding glass doors, which were only now sliding steel frames. The Armadillos' breaks squeeled as they came to an abrupt halt at the entrance. Their top-gunners also turning to face the entrance. A thick back panel on each Armadillo pulsed open from hydraulic force, and marines quickly surged from the hatch.

Thirty marines lined up along the wall of the building, weapons at the ready. The majestic oak ticket-counter in the foyer was on fire, and three bodies lay heaped on top of it. The smell of frying flesh permeated through the doorway and gagged Lance's lungs.

McPherson and Lance slowly crawled into a small opaque hallway that preceded the larger room's open waiting area, and the congolmerate of marines behind them followed closely. Lance nearly stepped carelessly into the seemingly lifeless room, but McPherson's large forearm stopped him. The Gunny pulled a small black box, with two long black wires attached. He plugged one into his eyepiece, and probed the other around the corner.

Four sleeping grunts were breathing heavily through their methane masks, and a lone jackal was on duty. The optical viewer was slid to the other side of the hallway, with similar results. A large blue-spiked beast was knelt in the corner, his back to the team. He was staring at several shadowy figures Lance could see sprinting around the hall a distance away. Several lobs of plasma sprang from it's arm-bound weapon. Pieces of marble cracked and shattered as they impacted the heavy tile floor.

A hidden Elite appeared from in front of him, masked by the Hunter's enormous figure. Just what they needed, a Hunter and Elite were their biggest opponents. Where the Hunter's companion was was beyond anyone's knowledge, they could only mark it as dead in their minds and push forward.

The elite spun quickly around, as the slower Hunter was only beginning to, as the metallic clink of grenades entered their ears. Their columns of fire and molten death splintered through the half of the room they were in, killing the elite's shields. The metal shards packed into the device only ricocheted off of the Hunter's heavy plate shield.

A succession of two more grenades bounced into the pack of sleeping grunts, splattering their blue-green blood along the walls. Grunts' flesh flew everwhere, several pieces making their home on McPherson's uniform and face. He brushed them off with the back of his hand, and then gripped his weapon.

The volley of human warriors rushed into the confusion that had ensnared the elite and hunter, and a hail of bullets were a brutal reality check. The elite's body jumped backwards as hot tungsten steel filled his cavities.

The hunter roared monstrously and bounded into action, raising his shield high above his head, and charging his plasma cannon. Lance pulled off a perfect roll, landing on his shoulder, as a plasma round soared past him. Two unfortunate marines behind him met tragically different fates. Plasma seared off one of their arms at the shoulder, the intense heat cauterizing his bloodvessels. The other slammed into the abdomen of another Private, his internal organs instantly melted from the extreme heat.

Lance pelted the creature with his MA5B's shredder rounds. Many only made loud tinks and bounded off of it's shield, but three did exactly what he hoped for. Two lodged itself in it's stomach, and one snapped through it's spine and stuck in the wall.

They combed the area, and once sure that there were no other enemy threats present, moved into the adjacent hallway. Four of the mechanics stationed at the airport slowly crawled from behind a thick barracade of overturned baggage trolleys. McPherson greeted one of them as the other marines moved on, looking for survivors, or enemies.

"Anyone else alive here?" Lance asked first, glancing slyly at the cutoff McPherson who was still standing open mouthed before the man.

"We dunno, we heard the firing, saw some bodies, and covenant, and they saw us. So we've been hiding here."

"For how long?"

"Two or so hours."

"With no weapons." We found the guard house on the way up here, and there were several pistols and shotguns in there. But we ran out of bullets about thirty minutes into it. Killed several of those grunt buggers, and they held off. That big mother with the spikes been pelting us ever since, they apparently didn't know we were out of ammo."

"You're very luck men." Lance's radio crackled to life as the voice of an unknown marine came over the frequency. "Dropships sighted in the area, six or more hitting the shipyards, five hitting the Aerospace facilities, and four or five heading north. Towards the airport. Anyone in these areas be prepared. E T A thirty minutes. Over."

Lance and McPherson rounded up the men they had found, and were prepairing to leave. The APC's were going to follow ten or so minutes later, after the marines had thoroughly searched the entire facility and it's outlying buildings.

They headed towards the center of town, trying to make it back to the hastily set up command center. The warthog slowed considerably as they approached the smoking hulk of the bridge leading back to the city. Something powerful had blown it's center out with the desired effects, stranding them from the town by a wide margin. The only other road to the town took them a good fifty miles out of the way, and through a Covenant hot spot.

The vehicle spun around, and shot back towards the airport. An unfamiliar growl arose as two banshees whoosed over the treetops and turned to face McPherson's position. The gunner opened up, but his accuracy from so far away was greatly diminished. White-hot orbs of plasma shot past them and exploded several yards away. The obvious culprits of the bridge incident.

It was beginning to be a very long day.

Countdown Earth: Hour Eight
Date: 19 October 2003, 9:12 PM

      His treads roughed the thicket and bounced roughly over the fence, jarring the passengers. McPherson looked behind him without stopping or slowing down, eager to get back to the airport in one piece. The Light Anting Aircraft Gun (LAAG) attached to the rear was firing her furious barrage. These pilots were unusually good. They strafed from side to side, looped, and rolled to avoid the incoming projectiles. Corporal Lance positioned himself backwards in the passenger seat, a very uncomfortable position with the large metal beam jabbing into the small of his back.

      His weapon had neither the punch nor sustainability of the large one attached to the rear, but any help was better than none. His MA5B was blazing wildly, her shredder rounds splintering the air itself. Tracers were swallowed by the sky, but several landed their mark. The massive jeep hit another hard bump, jolting the Corporal towards the gunner. He shook his head several times, making sure it was still attached, then came back up with the hammer heavy. But nothing happened, his gun wasn't in his hands. Frantic eyes darted across the vehicle's rear section, following the box-like bed. A shimmer in the grass caught his eye, but quickly disappeared as they sped farther and farther away.

      McPherson jammed the butt of his weapon into Lance's side, and he gladly accepted. Cylinders of metallic death sprinted forth aimlessly. A spent shell casing, still smoldering from the chemical reaction that took place only seconds earlier, caught itself on his armor, and wedged itself inside of his shoulder padding. Wincing, he tried to shrug off the pain as long as he could. Those banshees were a bigger threat than the minimal burn he would be inflicted with. One of the airborne demons was finally brought down.

      A succession of ten .50 caliber rounds slammed into the bird's armor, tearing massive holes in it. Sparks darted from the chasis before it finally erupted in a ten meter wide fireball. It spiraled into the ground and skidded for thirty or so meters before finally running out of momentum. His wingman banked sharply to the left, missing all of the rounds lobbed at it. Lance cursed to himself as his borrowed weapon expended it's last clip of ammunition.

      He tossed the rifle onto the floorboard, and unholstered his pistol. Removing a fresh clip from his utility belt, he slapped it in and pulled the slide. His aim was much more careful with the small supply he had, and he lined the vehicle perfectly in his sights. Several trigger pulls later and it was a flaming hulk. The roughly thirty rounds the LAAG had filled her with probably helped bring about the results, but Lance wouldn't admit that to himself.

      He holstered his sidearem, turned in his seat, and slumped heavily down in it. McPherson laughed aloud, and tossed a small package to him. Lance caught it half-heartedly, and examined the contents. "Snowballs" was written on the clear packaging, the bright-pink contents inside looked scrumptious to his stomache. His hunger was overpowering, and he tore into it with abandon.

"Careful son, you're gonna choke on that thing."

"I'm hungry Gunny."

"I know what you are, hell, that's why I gave you the food."

"Well, I don't eat slow, never have, don't plan on startin soon."

"If you choke to death, I swear..."

      The warthog made a bounding jump into the air, and began an unexpected roll. Lance was tossed carelessly out of the spinning machine, and landed with a hard thump. McPherson's seat belt kept him strapped tightly into the seat, but he wasn't sure how much of a benefit that was going to be. The gunner slid out of the small foot harness that held him in the heavy weapon's rotating turret. A blood-curdling snap of bone and flesh was heard, followed by his passing out.

      "Shit McPherson, where'd you get your license?" Lance coughed up a small pool of blood that had worked it's way into his mouth. He grabbed his aching ribs and slowly worked his way onto his feet. McPherson, who was now upside down in the overturned warthog, only returned him the finger. A weak smile the only thing the Corporal could muster up.

      "Charlie, hey Charlie, you there man?" His voice was low and broken through the radio. After several minutes, he tried again, with no success. "Damnit charlie, where are you. Get off your lazy rear and answer me." McPherson had a splitting headache from the blood rushing to his head.

      "Yea Mac, what you want?" The Southern-drawl evident on the speakers voice, he sounded as though he was eating something.

      "We've had a little, accident, up on Airport Boulevard, about a kilometer west of the airport. Can you get any of those guys out here to help us out?"

      "Yea Mac, I'll send 'em down as soon as I can get a hold of 'em. Ya'll alright?"

      "We're in mixed condition. My corporal probably has several fractured ribs, maybe some internal damage, and my gunner is passed out in the dirt, broken leg, and possibly a concussion."

      "Well I'll be.....alright, I'll tell 'em to hurry on over. If I can't get him, I'll request nine one one's help, they aren't marines, but they can get the job done. It'll be a good fifteen minutes though. The Boulevard is a hotspot right now, marines are engaging all over the place."

      "Negative, the Boulevard's out of the question. Two Banshees blew the bridge all to hell, you'll have to take the Route 12 around Citronelle to get here."

      "Damn, alright, hang tough."

      "Roger that, be safe Charlie."

      "Always am."

E.S.N. Capital Building

      "Sirs, regret to inform you that the Magistrate, Cerebrus, and Ghandi are out of commission. FLEETCOM says that it'll still be another hour before those reinforcements get here. The bad part is, that the Covenant have enacted a massive push to take out or orbitals. They aren't going for the power stations this time either, they're trying to take the orbitals themselves out." Taki looked over the Generals once more. Their records were on the screen next to him, an impressive list of achievments spanning several engagements and numerous awards.

      "We've dispatched as many men as we can, and it still isn't enough. How many ground forces do the Covenant have?" Trotson asked grimly.

      "Estimating about three hundred thousand. That was as of 0900 this morning. We can't be sure how many have been deployed since."

      "Alright. Prep the Nautilus, we may have to use her. If it comes to that, then so be it. I'm sure we'll be spared some mercy if the time comes." Relinoir ordered with impunity.

      "The Nautilus, Jack are you crazy?" Troston questioned his equal's orders, putting Taki in a bind.

      "It's our only option, we might have to use it if the time comes."

      "You can't, that's, that's suicide."

      "There are things we must be willing to do for our cause, if you won't be, then I will." Relinoir slammed his fist on his desk.

      "Taki, belay that order, we will not use the Nautilus without direct orders from the Chiefs of Staff of the U.N."

      "Master Sergeant, if you belay that order I will have you tried for blatant disregard of an order by a superior officer."

      "And if you don't belay that order, I'll have you thrown in the brig and replaced by someone who will. Relinoir, we are NOT firing the Nautilus."

STAY TUNED

Countdown Earth: Hour Seven
Date: 23 October 2003, 2:20 AM

E.S.N. Capital Building

New York, New York
43rd Street Overpass

      "Collins, get your ass up that slope double-time." Command Sergeant Major Razkael barked. His few remaining men scrambled wildly up the rocky ledge, clawing frantically at their only support, a thin wire fence. Razkael shoved his palm into Collins' butt, quickly pushing the man onto the pavement above. Razkael pulled himself up and rolled on top of Collins just in time. The explosive charges the group had placed on the bridge went off with a fury, sending debris and shrapnel pummeling the spot he had just been dangling.

      The two marines faced the bridge as the fireball flamed into the sky. The reinforced concrete beams that supported the crossing gave way under the force, a mortal wound to the bridge. Several enormous Covenant troop carriers, Ghosts, Shadows, and equipment vehicles plunged into the chaos without a moment to rethink their tragic mistake.

      They erupted in a small chain-reaction of explosions, even further destroying the bridge. It was now no more than a hulking mess of metal beams and concrete dust. The Covenant convoy on both sides of the explosion came to a screeching halt as they turned to survey what had happened. Razkael and Collins were surprised as three ghosts turned towards them, and began speeding across the urban jungle after them. Collins stared at Razkael, and then pushed him off with a hard thrusting motion. They got up and began their systematic retreat, as well as the other members of remaining soldiers.

      "Don't get any funny ideas Collins." Razkael shouted as he made a diving roll over a large rectangular flower pot, and rolled down a hill befor finally coming to a stop as he collided with a stone pillar.

      "Never sir." Collins responded before tripping on a barely visible stub of brick tile that had been broken by earlier fighting. He fell headlong into one of the flower containers, cutting his brow ridge and sliding down the hill on his back. He went into a reverse tumble and ended upside down beside a heavy window.

      "You alright Collins?"

      "Yes sir, I think I am."

      "Then this is no time for a fucking nap, get up and lets go. Those ghosts aren't gonna be as nice to ya as I am!"

      "But your not nice." Collins protested as Razkael locked wrists and jerked the man to his feet. Three of the other surviving marines in his squad, actually, the only other surviving marines in his squad, rushed by the two as they hurried to secure the area. They moved to the corner of the building, and one man peeked around the side. He put up two fingers, pointed to himself, and then to his eyes. He made a gun sign on his hand, and shot several invisible people standing around the corner. The other two marines nodded, and scurried quietly across the street.

      Six hapless Grunts were wading through the street in the other direction, their backs to their unseen enemy. Boykins and Adamson's weapons fired several small blurps of fire before the meter-tall fighters hit the ground in a heap. Boykins hand motioned to the hidden marines, and they crossed the street one by one.

      A jet-wash like roar echoed from somewhere above. Razkael turned to face the sky as two Ghosts bounded the ridge above. They sailed for thirty or so feet before finally coming to a sparking stop at the ground. The third ghost wasn't as lucky, and nailed one of the plant's holders as it attempted it's jump. It made several wild flips before landing upside down in the gravel, bullets pelting it's driver as it landed.

      Plasma soared towards Boykins and Adamson, who covered their faces in a futile attempt to stave the attack. Luckily, their path suddenly arked in a slight curve, sending the super-heated matter hurtling harmlessly into the air. The upturned Ghost's gravity device had been stuck in the active position by the driver's leg in the crash, and the force it exerted changed the weapons direction.

      Two angry elites accelerated towards the marines on a kamikazeesque attack. If their ammo wasn't going to hit them, they would use their hover bikes to. The metallic hovering beasts coasted around the corner of the urban goliath that was the City Financial Bank, and were greeted by an empty courtyard. The vehicle's slowed their velocity, a mistake their pilots would soon regret. Two humans leapt from a dark recess and tackled the seated Elites. One slipped from his seat and was replaced by a more-than-willing marine, and the other was holding on for dear life as the relatively scrawny human tugged vigorously at him.

      Razkael turned his Ghost and aimed the nose at the second one. The unseated elite was quickly laid-out as the heavy metal mechanism crushed him under it's weight. The anti-gravity pods underneath it's stubby wings only helping to pin him further down. Razkael floored the "gas" pedal, and he leapt forth in a bound. Collins released his grip on the Elite he was fighting and rolled to the right just in time for his comrade's Ghost to slam into the nearby Ghost.

E.S.N. Capital Building

      Taki watched with surprise as the five humans he had been keeping an eye on managed to get the upper hand, managing even to commandeer several Ghosts. The nimble and quick vehicles were ideal for the urban combat, as their small stature and great handling allowed them access to many places larger vehicles were not.

      He switched feeds to San Francisco, where a heavy battle was being faught on the third Golden Gate Bridge. Six human tanks, three warthogs, and a small company of support infantry to back them up. Their opposing force was of equal stature, with two or three Shadow tanks, and six or so Ghosts in supporting rolls. A larger detachment of Grunts and Jackals were backing up the Covenant Troop attempting to either cross or control the bridge.

      Weapons fire etched it's way back and forth across the bridge, white, blue, green, and red tracer and plasma fire racing to-and-fro on the span. Taki switched once more.

      A massive building, which soon turned into the Eiffel Tower, was burning in the background. The one prestigious Tomb of the Unknown Soldier had long been destroyed, but the small hill at it's location was being valiantly defended by the British troops taking cover there. On the other side was a large formation of Covenant, sitting with heavy support, waiting for whatever unfortunate person or persons should stumble into their midsts.

Paris, France
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

      William Preseey wathched on with curios eyes as a troop of French "cavalry" rolled past them, a hunred and fifty or two hundred strong. He thought they looked splendid in their heavily armed vehicles. Word must have gotten out about the Covenant herassing then, and they had come to put a stop to that. They could never have been told about the heavy plasma turrets on the other side. They laughed at the men as they rode briskly by, raising their assault rifles in the air as the British marines looked back at them.

      Before reaching the top of the hill they opened out to about six feet between each vehicle and in a straight line. Preesey hardly breathed. Over the top of the hill they charged, weapons at the ready. There was not a sound from any of the marines. Then, only a few seconds after they disappeared, the hellish noise of machine guns broke out. Preesey just looked at his friend, who returned the gesture. The only words he heard spoken were "Bloody hell...". That's what it must have been over the hill, because none of the French troops returned.

      If only the commanding officer had stopped for one minute and talked to one of the British officers, they would have told them of the mounted machine guns, and that it was certain death over the hill from where they had come. Who had sent that splendid troop to a certain death? What an awful waste of husbands, brothers, sons. Many commanders of the war must have a lot on their minds. Preseey thought to himself as he turned from the hill in disgust, and began his march back towards camp. There was no more fighting to be had for them, at least not then. They were heavily out numbered, tired, and worst of all, hungry.


STAY TUNED

Reference: All for a Shilling a Day William Preseey, British gunner in the Royal Artillery.

Countdown Earth: Hour Six
Date: 26 October 2003, 2:41 AM

E.S.N. Northern Theater Headquarters

      "Well Steve, the time has come to activate the Nautilus. Paris fell to those damnable beasts, what next? Mobile is barely hanging on as it is, and there a little less than an hour away. Reports alreay have two convoys out of New Orleans heading right for us. They know where E.S.N. is, and they know what it does. There is no more time, activate it NOW!" Relinoir bellowed vigorously.

      "I'm sorry to say I have to agree with you this time Jack. Our only tit has been cut off. Reinforcements are nill, and we've all-but-lost the space campaign. Our only defense against that are the orbitals, and soon those won't be enough." The four-star general's face pleaded silently for his comrade to go through with it, a single tear leaving his eye. Desperation had seeped into his soul and driven him mad, the one benefit Trotson still had was sanity.

      "Give me the codes Jack, and I'll get Anderson's permission." Trotson's voice was soft, almost motherly as he held his hand up to the monitor peacefully. Relinoir nodded and turned to his command console, typing four long-since memorized passwords into the machine.

      N4U71LU5, G3N3R4L, REL1N01R, 4C71V4710N. The codes appeared as four separate lines of text on Steve's screen, one after the other. The asterisks used to represent the numbers were still undiscernable, but the encryption software specially programmed into the E.S.N. networks quickly deciphered it. Trotson nodded to Relinoir, stiffed a salute, and then switched his monitor to General Anderson.

      "Afternoon Nelson." The good usually inserted before afternoon was out of the question, there was nothing good about today. The rock-jawed Five-star general only stared emotionlessly at his counterpart, unflinchingly. The General of the Army, which had until the U.N.S.C.'s formation been consigned to history, was the highest rank one could wish to achieve beyond Presidential authority.

      "Can I help you Steve? I am very busy." It was all to apparenty that the man on the screen was quickly trying to blow him off, shrugging this interuption off as a nuisance.

      "Nelson, it's about Nautilus." Trotson grinned inside as the mere mention quickly turned the conversation's tide his way.

      "I'm listening."

      "As you're obviously well aware, this invasion was unexpected and much larger than we could have ever imagined. Both I and Relinoir have agreed that it is time to prep the Nautilus in case."

      "Incase of..."

      "Don't play dumb, not now. We need to get the system ready, otherwise there might not be another chance. If the Covenant get to the mainframe before we prep her, there will be no way to access the controls from outside of E.S.N. itself."

      "I know how Nautilus works Steve, I helped create the damned thing. Now you don't play dumb with me, why would I prep the Nautilus when the Eighth fleet just arrived? You know better than I do that they can hold back our timetable by at least two hours."

      "But-" Steve began muttering in defiance, but was stopped short once more.

      "But nothing. You'll be glad your ass leaves the Tribunal alive after your case."

      "What in the hell are you talking about?"

      "I didn't get to be a five-star general without a helluva lot of ass kissing, and having a lot of friends in a lot of places. Now let me tell you something you backstabbing son of a bitch. If you think your ass is getting out of the pot, you're only getting into the fire."

      "I don't understand."

      "Then you're either dumb or a poor actor, and seeing as how your a general I've already written off the dumb. So let me lay it out for you. Does the Archaepalago ring a bell?"

      "No."

      "Really, it should, according to command roster dated November twelfth, one General Steven G. Trotson sent orders to that ship, sending it on an awkward patrol in a known Covenant hotspot. Further communications between you and the ship's captain resulted in heated debates on the validity of the orders. He knew what you told him to do wasn't right, and so did you."

      "That's madness. I would have NEVER done something like that."

      "Oh really, well there's more. The Archaepalago did end up going out there, and guess what happened? They were intercepted by the Covenant, which really isn't all that strange in itself. What is strange, is the fact that the ship's log has the captain recorded as saying, and I quote a particular phrase of interest. This damnable computer system won't erase the nav logs, I don't know what to do." Anderson's face was red as an apple, a large vein had sprung up the periphery of his forehead.

      "I had never expected this. I had, I, I had-"

      "Expected the same invasion force as Reach? Expected our superior orbital system and the fleet above would be able to hold them off, that you would be able to recall the fleets on a moments notice. That if it came to it, you could fire the Nautilus, effectively eradicating the Covenant invasion force in it's whole."

      "YES! That's exaclty what I had planned. It was never supposed to be this. This is madness. If I had known..." The corners of Trotson's eyes swelled with sorrow, the sudden realization of his terrible mistake becoming further evident as every word Anderson spoke stung deep inside his soul. It's moral poison killing him inside, tearing at him, breaking him apart.

      "Oh, if only you had known. How could you have known? It makes sense at first, but after a second look, it's madness. A million things could go wrong, and they have Steve, believe me, they have. I'm guessing that you never took that second look, did you?"

      "No, it seemed, so perfect. I would pull them in, as we waited, and when they arrived, E.S.N. and the fleets could pound the hell out of them. If I had too, I could use the Nautilus, and we would have repelled them. It would be a major vitory, an enormous morale booster."

      "Not if we're all dead Steve! Then not only have they destroyed Earth, but the fleets have NOWHERE to come. Our only colony is gone, we are gone. They win. We can't lose this war Steve. The Nautilus was for when they naturally found us, when we had widdled them down to a small number, and they attacked Earth in a weekened state. If they did finally overrun us, we could activate it, and then nobody wins. It was never meant for such a large scale conflict."

      "I, I, I'm sorry."

      "I know you are, and you are also hereby relieved of duty. There is a detachment of military police en route to arrest you as we speak, and if we do manage to survive this, you'll be going to jail for a very, very long time."

      His words were ice to Trotson, every piece stung like liquid nitrogen on his skin. Swiveling on his chair, he put his back to Anderson, who grew suddenly uneasy. The world was suddenly so cold, so lonely, so hopeless. Unholstering his weapon, he pulled the M6D from it's holster, and pulled the slide back. A single shell ejected from the weapon, and bounced with a ping off of the monitor. Anderson screamed in an attempt to stop him, but his words were mute to the man. He slowly nudged the barrel into his mouth, chipping a tooth on the triangular sight as he did so. The cold steel triggered his gag reflex, and it took all he could do to stop from regurgitating. A shaky finger curled itself apathetically around the trigger. He jerked the mechanism back, and it collided the grip with a thud.

      Fragments of gray-matter and nerves littered the screen Anderson was watching from, slowly edging it's way to the floor. Blood spatter covered the monitor as well, and was slowly dripping from the massive hole in his skull. Smoke wafted lazily from his cranium, through his nose, ears, mouth, and the new exit at the rear. Anderson punched the screen in fury before finally covering his face with his hands. A solemn-faced man, he turned torpidly from the still flickering screen before him, severing the sortid connection once and for all.

Mobile International Airport

      Lance managed a weak grin as the heavy roar of two APC's and the dust they kicked up signaled the arrival of help. They made a close-but-cautious circle before finally coming to a complete stop. The large bay doors at the rear came to a crashing finally as they opened, three medics pouring from each vehicle. They split into teams of two, one group for each man.

      A field dressing was applied to the gaping cut running across McPherson's bicep, as well as Metanoxin (a painkiller with anti-toxin capabilities). Lance was rewarded with the frugal bounty that was an IV drip and a dose of Demia morphine. As the pain left his throbbing tibia and fibia, the field doctor forcefully snapped the bone back into place. A Gelsac splint was applied to the wound, and wrapped several times in Microsafe gauss. (Microsafe is a copyright brandname, herein only referred to as gauss, and shall only be used in name for purposes of an explicitive nature, and the author is in no way taking responsibility or any form of possessive measure of control for this brand.)

      "He's in shock. Not sure if he'll make it, good amount of blood loss. If I don't stem the loss and get him some more soon, he won't make it." Gardner, the ranking medical staff, said remorsefully. He had been a pediatrician before the war, but everything changed afterwards. It had changed for everyone, not just him, no one's lives would be the same for a long time.

      McPherson shrugged off the pain, took a mental note of the situation, and unstrapped his seat belt. A few milliseconds later and he was sprawled on his aching stomach, his good arm pinned under his weight. Luckily, the headache stopped as the splitting pain of a possible broken rib set in. The medics took hold of his feet and drug him carefully from beneath the upturned vehicle.

      "You'll be okay, a bruise'll be the worst you get from this." Gardner patted his shoulder and helped him to his unsteady feet.

      "Alright, I want this towed to the main terminal."

      "Will do." The marine driver of the personnel carrier said as he disappeared into the belly of the squatty box-shaped transport.

Ten minutes later...

      "Can you fix it?" Lance questioned sorely.

      "Naw, it's transaxle's busted, gearbox is torn to hell, and the main driveshaft was beaten to a pulp. The most I can salvage is the turret on the back, assuming the hydraulics weren't busted on it too."

      "Not what I was hoping for, but it's better than nothing. Get that turret working, and then get some marines to put it on the roof. We're stuck here until we get a ride. What have your men found we can use to our benefit?"

      "There's a Coast Guard outpost about a half mile down the runway, they'll probably have several pelicans, perhaps an Aerowak, military issue of course, some warthogs, maybe a tank or two. If they have an armory, we can stock up on supplies, I'll have my men look for some stuff to set up a blockade or two." Staff Sergeant Moody replied.

      "Set up a watch in the control room, it's got a three-hundred sixty degree view, and is attached to the building, can't think of anything better. Get some rocket launchers for the men up there though, in case those dickheads send some more banshees."

      "Yes sir, what should we do about the civilians?"

      "How many are there?"

      "We found six more, two kids, the parents, and two security guards."

      "Get the security to show your men this buildings weak spots, and make me a map of this place. I want to know every way in and out of this airport there is, including bathroom stalls and water pipes. Got it?"

      "Other than that, what's our plan sir?"

      "We just sit and hope."

      "Hope's not a plan sir."

      "It is today Connor, it is today."

      "I understand." Moody saluted quickly before turning on his heel and marching over to a small huddle of men playing Texas Hold'em in a corner. After a quick chastising they were off in an attempt to procure whatever they could to secure the area.

E.S.N. Capital Building

      Taki was still watching the video feeds with amazement and curiosity. The disturbing amount of time that had passed since Trotson and Relinoir's last check in was becoming an unsettling presence in the back of his mind, one that kept pushing at him. The video feeds closed one at a time on the banquet of T.V.s he had set up in the control room. The quiet hum of E.S.N. Mainframe behind him nearly put him to sleep on most nights, but not tonight.

      He attempted to patch through to General Trotson's monitor, and was thorougly surprised when he didn't receive a response. Another, and another, and another; still, no response. He redirected his patch to Anderson. He was greeted by an unflattered older man who quickly told him off and closed the comm. channel. Taki flipped the marine off as his screen powered down, and tried the last thing he could think of. Relinoir's picture stuttered as the satellite's hovering above tried to aquire a signal, but finally failed altogether.

      Fear slowly began creeping it's ugly way into the back of his mind. He took a deep breath and returned to the now disheartening pictures of death and destruction. What he most feared may have come true; a fact he couldn't handle mentally or emotionally. He quietly turned all of the feeds off except one. The feed of a small band of marines making a triumphant stand at an airport centered itself in his mind. Their lonely stand somehow gave him a source of unknown strenght in this time of tragic turmoil. There may be hope yet. He thought to himself.

Countdown Earth: Hour Five
Date: 13 November 2003, 1:56 AM

Mobile International Airport

      "Enlighten me as to what's happened on the home front?"
      "Well, the men scrummaged up three tanks, four APC's, six warthogs, and a small armory's worth of weapons and ammunition. The survivors are being given a crash course on how to use them when the time arrives. There were several Pelicans, as well as Aerowaks, but nobody here knows how to fly 'em. Besides, it wouldn't do us any good. TacCom reports a heavy Covenant airpatrol over the city. We wouldn't get within six miles before there was more plasma than we knew what to do with." Lance replied coarsly. His voice was still scratchy and there were several bandages and splints on various appendages.
      "So in other words, we're still stuck?"
      "Yes, and reports still indicate a large envoy heading our way. ETA two hours twenty five minutes. From the north. I've begun having the chainguns taken off of the pelicans and placed at strategic locations throughout the buildings. I know we may have to retreat, so I gave us a couple at several key locations to bottleneck our persuers and give us enough time to back out."
      "Oh, is that all?" McPherson chuckled sarcastically, extremely impressed with his second in command's ability. The Corporal however was in too serious of a mood to catch the hint, and continued.
      "No sir. There were several civilian Aerowaks in the hangers as well as spare parts, the Lieutenant around here is getting several of his men to pack us up some blockades for their heavy infantry, cover over the windows, and made chokepoints in the building we can use for cover when the time comes. It's alot and we'll be pushing it, but nothing the men can't handle. We even have a couple engineers on the team, so it should be a walk in the park."
      McPherson had to keep his jaw from bouncing off of the floor and breaking. His admiration turned to envy at the sheer command ability. He was damn glad to have this man on his side, especially now. He relieve Lance to take a five minute breather and then get back to work. Normally he would be in no condition to so much as get up off of the couch, but this was far from normal. McPherson didn't know what was normal anymore. It had been so long since he'd seen normal that this whole, war, was normal. Normality was an everchanging beast, and many struggled to keep up with it, but normality had slowed since the war began. The only thing you had to do now was strap on body armor, grab your weapon, and shoot anything that wasn't human.
      "Command, this is the tower, you better see this sir." Whirred over the radio, sending the Gunny up a four flight journey . The control tower was just like any other airport control tower, save the heavy machine gun being secured to the foundation by a small group of marines. A small statured man greeted him, and handed him a pair of binnoculars. "Treeline, very bottom. It's the damndest thing. I don't know what to make of it. A flash here and there, can't make anything of it." He pointed to a small indifferent patch of shrubs on the periphery of the airport, near a small hole in the fence.
      "I don't see anything."
      "Just wait, you will."
      Five minutes passed before the solid and repeated reflection of sunlight sputtered. Strange was on his lips, but it seemed recognizable. Not something he figured the Covenant for, but then again, he'd been surprised before.
      "Morse code?"
      "Don't think so, if it is they really need to brush up. I take it for a signal of recognition. They probably saw the Covenant land, and weren't sure who was in control. Smartest thing to do was sit there and see who responded to the flashing. The distance gave 'em a good five minute headstart."
      "An APC and a hog, check it out. Keep me informed."
      "Will do."

Mobile International Airport
Squad Three-Blue team

      "Just check it out and report back. Shouldn't be that hard. Take ya five minutes at the most."
      "Yea yea, well if it's so easy you come do it, I'll take tower for the five minutes."
      "Oh hush Max, I hafta stay up here to cover your sorry ass. I'll tell ya if anyone sneakin up."
      "Great, that makes me feel REAL secure."
      "Doesn't it though." PFC Walker laughed over the intercom.
      "Oh go to hell." Private Hager replied with a chuckle. The two men had been good friends through boot, but Walker was the first to get promoted. Hager would be soon though. He tapped the top of the armored personnel carrier twice, and it growled to life. The squatty machine reminded him of a turtle. Slow to go, but tough as hell. The heavy top-mounted machine gun reiderated that fact, and he swept the weapon's sight in the flickering light's vicinity.
       He pulled the small synthetic fabric built into his suit over his nose and mouth, and slipped his goggles over his eyes to shield himself from the sweeping plumes of dirt trailing his escort. The warthog's gunner sent several warning shots sizzling into the tree's high above anything inside the wooded area's heads, but it served a purpose. Luckikly, plasma fire didn't bellow forth from the small bushes, and all hell wasn't breaking loose. At least not yet.
      Arriving at the scene, the driver and passenger from the warthog had already begun approaching the shimmering light, weapons raised and ready to fight. The passenger swept his weapon to the right and left nervously, and the gunner made deliberate motions to cover them. The driver made a low approach, coming up to the hedges.
      "Anyone in there?" He shouted, a quick brustling his only response.
      "I repeat, is anyone in there. If you don't responde, we will be forced to open fire. I really don't want to have to do that." He waited, still no answer. Suddenly, two shadows raced across the leafy floor and stopped behind a cluster of trees. The spooked passenger took several reaction shots, luckily missing all.
      "Hold fire goldamnit." The driver forced the MA5B's barrel into the dirt. One of the figures slowly inched it's way from behind the tree, making it's way toward the men. Both of the marines leveled their sights on it's torso, using their training to help them survive. Always aim for the largest target had been drilled into their skulls since day one, a lesson they couldn't forget if they had wanted too.




Authors Note: Due to a time restraint, and an inability to save this to any form of word processor, this piece may be short. But I decided to leave you at the most reasonable cliffhanger possible. So enjoy. The next hour should be chock full of action.

Countdown Earth: Hour Five and Thirty Minutes
Date: 16 November 2003, 4:23 AM

      Whoever it was, he or she was VERY tall. Too tall for that matter, and Gemelez didn't like it. A familiar hole opened in his stomach, forming a deep pit he couldn't help but feel. The outline was also strange, but not too strange. He had to make his mind quickly. If he opened fire on an innocent civilian he would be busted down to nothing and put in one of the "Brig Brigades", but if it was some sort of Covenant, they would both be dead before he knew it. The UNSC was too spread out to just simply put men in small cells to rot, that was both wasteful and cost innefective. Instead they were assembled in large misfit groups and thrown as spearheads into the fray. It was a suicide mission, and everyone knew it, that's why they all avoided crime as best as possible. His mind raced at a hundred miles a minute, back and forth, yes or no, yes or no, yes or no.
      The shadow made what seemed to be, at least in his hightened state of awareness, a sudden and drastic move. He snugged his rifle hard into his shoulder, bottomed out the top on his chin, and aimed.
      "Covenant, open fire!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The figure stood as still as a board, before being riddled with a barrage of 7.62mm armor-piercing and 50mm high explosive rounds. Gemerez and his partner sprayed the area with rounds, many making a deep splintering noise as they wedged themselves deep in wood, but many stuck. The shadow jerked back and forth from the vibrations, one of the limbs being torn violenty from the body by a 50mm round.
      "Hold your fire." He finally yelled after he had finally expended all of his ammunition. An awkward and eerie silence echoed through the treetops and surrounding flatlands, a flock of birds jetting vigorously into the air. A leaden thump and rustling of leaves as the shadow disappeared told him it landed.
      "I'm going to check it out." The passenger began to get up before a heavy hand would permit no more.
      "No, we're leaving."
      "But sir, McPherson will need assurance."
      "I'm your assurance. We killed a cleverly disguised Covenant troop attempting to lure us into the forest, and I would not allow my subordonate to risk his life for verification. He was covenant, we shot him. We did what we had to do." Gemerez growled with all of the seriousness of a black bear. His eyes were cold but deep, fear and confusion coursed through his veins.
      His partner nodded, before finally standing up and walking towards the M12 LRV. He knew what Gemerez had done, but couldn't quite blame him. He had seen the blood splotched leaves and gore-spattered ground. It was as red as paint, a color the Covenant didn't share. Something about it just didn't feel right though. Something that tugged at him from inside. He took one last look at the fleshen pile crumpled on the earth behind him before settling into the 'hog as it snorted to life.

E.S.N. Capital Building

      Taki took a deep breath as he spun silently in his chair. There was nothing to do, he hated feeling useless, especially now. Earth under attack, and he was left as a meager operator between various commanders and generals. Granted it was a very important task, vital to the outcome of the pitched battle underway, but still meaningless. He had long-since turned that task over to Phoenix, whose neural matrix could process the information with a precision that no human could match.
      He had grown bored with the various video feeds. Humans losing here, humans winning there, some of the feeds destroyed from satellite loss. The reports from space were sparse and grim, they had only lost one ship since the fleet had arrived, but many were either heavily damaged or close to innoperable. The Covenant forces were widdling the space down bit by bit, with the accuracy of a finely tuned rifle scope.
      "Major Sergeant Taki, this is General Anderson. What is our status." The largest viewing screen in the room winked to life without warning, an annoying habit of Phoenix's. He thought it more efficient to simply patch the men through without the time-waisting effort of introduction. This, however, was a much welcomed site.
      "Status is Yellow. We're holding them off as best we can in space, and we are split on the ground news. Some are losing ground, but many are winning." A large map of Europe overlapped the General on Taki's screen, while becoming the predominant feature on Anderson's. Ten large green arrows were nudging at ten large red arrows. "The green arrows represent our forces, and the red arrows represent Covenant forces. This is a time lapse of the battles."
      Four of the green arrows made an enormous surge forward, two from the south-eastern edge of Europe curving around to the north and into Germany and Switzerland. The other two were based in Egypt, and swept over the Ionian and Adriatic seas into Greece, lower Italy, and Croacia. Two more of the arrows made no move whatsoever, and the remaining two made surging steps backward. A Toulouse, France based offensive was forced to retreat into Zarazoga, Spain, cripplingly efficient and battle-hardened Covenant forces contributed to the immense success. The other arrow was based out of Minsk, Belarus made a quick surge forward, getting as far as Brest before being quickly turned back and finally coming to a stop at Rivne,Ukraine.
      "That's only Europe sir." The map of Europe shrunk and was squarely between two 3-box rows of continents. "The Americas, Antartica, Australia, Asia, and Africa are still to be reviewed." Taki began, but Anderson was too busy for the drawn-out overview.
      "Taki, I'm grateful for these maps, and they'll make great instruction tools after this battle is over. But right now, I need quick and easy to read versions of this. Do you have those?"
      "Yes sir." Replied a disheartened Taki. He tapped one-handedly at his keys and the data was sent over the secure lines that had been deeply buried between the buildings.
      Anderson read over the materials quickly with a smile showing his approval. "These are very good Taki. Very good indeed." Anderson smiled before closing the line. Taki was quickly surrounded by the darkness again. The cold metallic room seemed all-encompassing. He was alone, again. He decided to delegate himself all of the high-ranking and important calls from now on, an attempt at alleviating boredome.
      "This is Colonel Hayford, requesting information on how to proceed from here. Is anyone on this frequency.?"
      "Yes Colonel, one moment." Taki responded as he began to redirect the man, but a thought struck him. He was well aware that only a General or Admiral was legally permitted to offer the orders that he was about to give, and that he would be put away for a very long time if caught. Hell, I'm as good as that putz Anderson, and I've actually been keeping up with this war. I could make one little decision to keep such a busy man from being distracted. I'm sure he wouldn't mind...would he? No, he wouldn't. Just this once.Taki thought to himself. He turned to face the man, noting his location in his head. The map of Colombia popped up on his secondary screen, the Colonel's position and information at plain sight. Over 10,000 men under his command, and for now essentially under Taki's command.
      "It appears from here that you've been stonewalled near Florencia, with a large Covenant force stationed at San Vicente del Caguan. I suggest splitting your forces into three groups, sending two along the mountains, with one attacking from the west, and another attack their flank. And sending one along the east and attacking them from either the front or side. It'll string them out and as far as I can tell, they only have eyes on the highway leading right to them. They think we're stupid Colonel. Make them pay for that assumption." Taki finished with a smile.
      Colonel Hayford nodded and his screen dissapated from Taki's view. Taki's thirst for attention was momentarily slated, but there was an unexpected result of his actions just then. He had caught an amazing rush at being in control, he loved the power rush, and it was pulsing through him like so much of a drug. He nearly yipped for joy, but managed to push his emotions deep, there was still a lot left to this battle.

Countdown Earth: Hour Four
Date: 13 January 2004, 9:25 PM

      Hour Four

      "Where the hell did they come from?" McPherson asked solemnly of his radar operator. "You said they wouldn't be here for another hour at least!"
      "Listen Gunny, all of my scanners are operating. The SatRads just weren't focused on the area their coming from. I couldn't have seen them no matter how hard I looked. SatRads aren't under my control. I can just access their feeds."
      "How long do we have?"
      "If they keep up their current heading and speed."
      "Then..."
      "Ten minutes. That's an optimistic estimate too."
      "Shit. I'm no radar expert, but that doesn't look like a small landing party either."
      "No sir, it's not. The covenant fly overlapping formations so that it reduces their signature, but either way you look at it, we're outnumbered, outgunned, and outlucked."
      "Leave the post, we don't need radar anymore. Get your gear and spread the word. ALl hands to combat stations. If we can't win this, we'll give 'em hell."
The Gunny saluted the brave corporal, and watched sourly as he left the room.
      "Communications, send a message to TacCom."
      "Ready sir."
      "Last communique. Overrun by large surprise force. Covenant following north by northeast vector at unknown speed. Don't let this happen to anyone else. McPherson out."
      The bewildered and confused communications officer sat staring blankly. The words hadn't fully hit him, but he knew that the words overrun and last weren't good. Fear ached through his body, pulsing at his veins, and tearing through his heart. His breaths were short and quick, an almost pant.
      "Did you hear me? Send that message now!"
      "Y-Ye-Yes sir." He stuttered. His body swiveled awkwardly, as though he was undergoing vertigo, or taking his first steps as a young child.
      "After you've sent it, shut down North One, and get ready to fight. As for the rest of you, there's nothing more you can do here. Check your armor and weapons, and see Corporal Lance for orders. Now move like you gotta' purpose!"
      "Sir, yes sir!" Echoed throughout the room.
      North One was the wing of the airport that contained the tower and command center. The airport was a large structure, but weapons like those the Covenant had didn't care. They could burn through metal and concrete easily. McPherson knew they didn't have a chance, but he could do something. If this force was an attack force designed to move surprisingly and devastatingly through the country, he could reduce it and give a warning.
      In the foyer stood Lance, and fifty three other men and women. The six civilians the marines had rescued eariler were also in the room, the small boy standing at a non-uniform salute. His palm was out, and his hand touched the top of his forehead, but he was trying.
      "I've never bullshitted you before, and I won't start now. We won't win this fight, we can't win this fight. I'm an optimist, but I'm also logical. What we can do, is batter their numbers, and give them the most hell they've ever seen. I wouldn't ask you to sacrifice your lives if I could avoid it, but we have nowhere else to go. So we're staying, and we're fighting."
      "You better not give up! If you turn tale and run, I'll shoot you myself. We'll be dead before we see them if we do. I don't care if you're shot, missing an arm, or your dick's been shot off. Chances are the guy next to you is already dead, and you better go out fighting. Do you understand me marines?"
      "We understand you sir! We will not give up sir!" Drowned out the dull humm of machines and vents that perpetually creaked through the building.
      "Hooha!" McPherson yelled, and was quickly followed by his marines.
      "Well, what are you jarheads looking at? We've got a battle to fight. Get to your damn stations!"
      His men said nothing, simply skattered like roaches in the light. The six civilians were put to work helping with the ordinance. Making a jerry-rigged supply chain that sent jackhammer rockets and boxes of ammunition up to the tower. If they couldn't fight, there were a million other things they could do.
      Marines rushed in every direction, many with belts of ammo draped over their shoulders and weapons in their hands. Gun bolts were snapping to a stop as weapons were undergoing a quick check. The seven bottlenecks and chokepoints that had been set up in the roughly U-shaped building were at nearly regular intervals, and the closest thing they'd get to heavy support.
      Three APC's sat calmly at the front door, manned and ready by Blue Team. Ground forces would have a good time getting through their thick skin and .50 caliber heavy machine guns. They hadn't heard the speech, but they didn't need to. They'd never give up, none of the marines would've. They knew their duty.
      What no one at the airport did know, or could've known, was that the strike force consisted of nothing but special forces. The black-armored warriors were legendary on their homeworlds, they had never known defeat and laughed in alien tongues at the humans efforts to kill them. Even the pilots were specially trained. None of the humans had a chance.
      PFC Walker stared in disbelief as the enemy craft dotted the horizon. Fifteen Seraphs with two Banshee escorts each, six Phantoms, and easily twenty Specter Dropships. He counted again, just to make sure his eyes weren't betraying him. He'd expected a fight, but this wasn't a fight. This was suicide. McPherson was right all along; no one would leave the airport alive.
      He and the other eight men in the room all hefted the launchers on their shoulders, and readied themselves. Four took knees, and the other four stood between them. Walker was the one giving the orders in the tower, and it was up to him to judge. Six hundred meters, no. Five hundred meters, no. Four hundred meters, no. Three hundred meters, FIRE!
      His rocket whirred to life and spewed fire as it whizzed out of it's tube; the only signal the others needed to open fire. The dumb rockets only chance at hitting the enemy was to take advantage of their numbers, or hit them with a precisely calculated shot.
      A Seraph dodged the shot with ease, but left his guardian Banshee unawares as the shot mushroomed into it's cockpit. The stubby wings were severed violently and pinged into other flyers as they fell to Earth. Another seraph wasn't so lucky, and was hit by two rockets. The flames that bellowed off of it's rear temporarily blinded the Banshee behind it, who caught himself on a dead path with another rocket. Two of the rockets missed entirely, but the other two impacted a Phantom. It belched plasma fumes and fire, listed to it's side, and slowly inched to the ground. Gravity didn't care what side you were on, it hated everyone.
      They weren't getting a second chance; there wasn't time to reload. The enormous formation split into two equal groups, which one in itself was enough to wreak more havoc than needed. A huge volley of plasma torpedoes and bullets churned towards the tower from the first wing. They seemingly combined into one singular blast, the size of a minivan.
      Walker kept reloading as the rest of the men rushed down the stairwell and headed for the ground. His finger jerked once, then again. Two of the flyers too close to pull up died a flaming molten death. The blast impacted the tower at the midsection, rocking it to it's core. All seven men inside were scorched instantly as the explosion cut solidly through the front and exited the rear. The tower shook on it's foundation and toppled backwards.
      The PFC took a white-knuckle grip on a nearby computer terminal, and willed it to hang on. The screws holding it to the floor stripped free and released the heavy machines it was securing. Luckily, the man holding onto them had enough time to roll away to safety. A large hole had been cut into North One from the tower's forceful removal, and Walker made a dash for it. Fifteen feet until he was in. Ten feet. Five feet. The roar of ravenous Banshees behind him told him he had to hurry, and he gave it all he had. He leapt the remaining five feet, and landed on the tiled floor.
      He smiled to himself as he turned to give them the finger, but he never made it. His body disappeared in a bright green flash, as well as the entire fifteen foot section of North One that hadn't been previously destroyed.
      The Phantoms took a slowly circling path and landed on the tarmac, as did the Specters. Hundreds of ground troops poured out of their clam-hatched doors with a fervor, eager to taste human blood.
      The Banshees and Seraphs finished the APCs off in a single miraculous blast, all of their armor and the men inside had been reduced to molten slag in two seconds. They began a random attack pattern, hitting the wartorn building with a torpedo or strafing it whenever they could.
      McPherson swore under his breath as he watched the tower fall. Eight good men were gone. Another rumble shook the ground. Glass spewed into the foyer. A quick glance showed him that his heavy armor was gone too. Whoever these Covenant were, they were better than any he'd seen before.
      The glimmer of black armor in the sunlight caught his eye. Five elites jumped into the building at once, while fifteen squatty grunts took positions outside. Machine guns screached to life in protest of their intrusion. Shields flared and died as bullets found a new home; finally dying. Their armor dented with pockmarks and finally ripped open from force. Purple blood columned into the air and coagulated.
      Six grunts moaned in pain as the machine guns found new targets. The other nine shot off a salvo of heavy ordinance. Mini-plasma torpedoes splashed across the walls, as did human blood. In less than a minute three of the bottlenecks had fallen. They wouldn't last five minutes at this rate. He spun around as machine guns behind him opened fire. On nothing, it appeared.
      Two machine guns on opposite sides of the hallway were sending six hundred rounds a minute down range. Flickers of light gave away the camoflauged elites attempting to sneak in through the back amidst the confusion. Bullets peppered their unshielded bodies, but it would take more than one shot to penetrate their armor.
      Air sizzled as a long bluish-green blade forged itself into life. The marine manning the left machine gun turned to face his attacker, but was too slow. His head toppled to the floor in a pool of it's own blood. The right marine didn't flinch, or even look. He just kept firing.
      Six invisible elites clutched their throats or let out heavy roars as they died. One arm was cut brutally off from a swipe, but it wasn't fatal yet. The marine only screamed and squeezed the trigger harder. A second swipe removed his torso, and his machine gun's barrel jerked to the ceiling. The elite that killed him jerked violently as bullets ripped through him, bouncing around inside his body and tearing his organs to hell.
      The still running machine gun created a thick white powder that rained to the floor, revealing another six previously cloaked elites. Grenades bounced into their formation, and carefully plucked their limbs from their bodies.
      "Lance, get over here!" He yelled over the fire.
      The corporal began his jog to his commanding officer, but a falling piece of debris crushed him in a single blow. One of the finest and most brilliant men in the military died in a single, fateless blow. Life wasn't fair.
      Two hunters and a company of jackals and grunts poured in behind the elites, sending thousands of rounds of plasma into the open building. Thirty of the forty remaining marines were killed in the fighting at the door. Many never even sighted a target. The pure volume of fire simply overwhelmed them.
      McPherson screamed as a bolt severed his knee from his leg, and he toppled onto his back. The heat cauterized the wound. He pumped six slugs into the grun that had fired the shot. It barked a guttural chirp and spun to the floor. A nearby hunter charged six marines providing cover fire.
      It's heavy boot was the last thing Gunnery Sergeant Patrick McPherson would ever see. It's half-ton of unknown metal crushed his head in a single forceful step. His body jerked twice before stilling. The ten marines left were obliterated in five minutes.
      Mobile International Airport, like so many other places, had fallen. Many of the major countries were struggling to survive. Space was the key factor in the battle for Earth, and it wasn't faring any better. The sheer volume of Covenant space ships that had arrived negated almost any chance they had to fend off the enemy. It would be a long three hours. A critical time for Earth.

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