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The Enemy Within-Chapter One: In the Shadows
Date: 12 February 2004, 7:25 PM

(Authors Note: My name was previously "PBP", and I decided to change it to something more suitable.)

Pwalomi's boots clicked as he strode down the hallway of the destroyer, the Lancing Blade, followed by his own dual personal guard. His chest was held high, with the pride of a newly commissioned Ship Master. As he approached the bridge entrance the two maroon colored Elite guards protecting the entrance stiffened, moving one arm to their holstered plasma pistol and the other to the door controls, a practiced procedure. Pwalomi walked with the attitude of one who could walk right through the blast doors of his destroyer's bridge, but was forced to stop in front of the unyielding alloy plates. Normally a Ship Master would be let past in the blink of an eye, but recently, security measures had been increased. The destruction of the Unyielding Hierophant was not taken lightly, and now forces were being assembled at a almost frantic pace.

The gold armored Elite paused for but a moment to stare into the compact retinal scanner. The door locks glowed bright green along the center and the two guards simultaneously depressed the door activation key, bowing their heads. Pwalomi stepped onto the bridge and took a look around his new vessels bridge, while his personal guard moved to their places on the adorned deck. His crew was already manning the holographic control stations atop the suspended platform. Engineers twittered and chirped as they monitored the functions of the systems, making sure nothing would falter. In the center of the raised platform, an esteemed figure stood, a Fleet Master. His white armor shone with an almost holy glow in the light of the bridge, and his personal guard clad in black chrome armor only strengthened his powerful aura. The presence of such a powerful figure on his ship was unnerving for Pwalomi, but a visit from a Fleet Master made all Ship Masters nervous. Fuilomee was here to greet the new commander however, not to issue punishment, thankfully.

"Welcome Pwalomi," boomed Fuilomee from his armor, turning on his heal to Pwalomi. "I assume you have looked over your vessel."

The approaching Elite bowed low in front of his commanding officer, "Yes Master, I am privileged to be granted command of such a fine vessel." He was purposefully flattering to Fuilomee, seeing as he had been the one who had helped gain his current position and craft.

Pwalomi had been a Special Operations Elite for the last ten years, fighting against the human scum. Fuilomee had seen him in combat, and apparently took a liking to his style. After taking command of a small vessel in a skirmish and showing his commanding ability, Pwalomi had
been promoted to Ship Apprentice, and recently, Ship Master. Of course, Fuilomee wasn't about to let a new Ship Master out of his sight yet.
"When will we complete the search?"

"Have patience young one," answered Fuilomee. "These tasks take their own time, and we cannot take the risk missing the slightest of details."
he embarrassed Elite lowered his head, his face darkening, and took a moment to look over the surrounding data screens. Chunks of debris were scattered about the space around the fleet of ships. The remnants of a once grand construct were now only pieces, orbiting silently around a gas giant. From the remains, it seemed as if a giant explosion had caused the gigantic ring to rip itself apart. The surfaces of the remaining chunks were glassed over, lumps and valleys indicating where mountains and gorges had once been. Craters marked where smaller pieces of wreckage had implanted themselves. The infidels responsible for this disaster would be punished severely, but that duty was not for Pwalomi to pursue.

His duty was the situation at hand, and that was searching the field of wreckage for surviving troops or, more hopefully, undamaged components of the holy ring. Pwalomi watched the six other ships floating in the vacuum, smoothly gliding through the jagged edged debris, while his Fleet Master's vessel stayed adjacent to his own. Fuilomee turned his head away from the main display to listen to an incoming report from a nearby ship.

"Master, we have lost contact with several of our search parties within the tunnels," came the voice of the Ship Master commanding the Impending Incursion, Reigando. His ship was currently docked to a portion of the broken ring, attempting to find something within the depths of the remains. "They are two full units behind in reporting, and five units past the time they should have returned to my vessel as scheduled."

Several search teams composed of the highest trained Elites had already entered the many passages. This must have been what the report referred to, thought Pwalomi. Although usually it would have been much easier and more preferred to land directly on the surface of the ring and enter through an ancient doorway, this possibility was negated the surfaces current condition.

"What could have caused such a delay?" questioned Fuilomee, clicking his mandibles, agitated. "And why were the troops allowed to stay out longer than planned?"

"I gave them permission to stay out longer, Master," stated Reigando. "They said that they had come upon an undameged and unsearched portion of passageways."

"You should have told them to mark their position on scanners and report back," Fuilomee said, frustrated with Reigando's ignorance and lack of good judgement.

"I appologize, Master, as for why they have not reported on their new position, we are unsure," responded the immensely nervous Reigando. "It is possible that they
have become lost, perhaps became confused in the large subterranean system of tunnels after wandering too far."

Pwalomi stepped up beside his superior and timidly offered his opinion, "Would that not be highly unlikely Excellency?" Fuilomee gave him an encouraging glance, but only made Pwalomi nervous. "I have read the reports of what happened on the construct, as required of me. Could not they have been attacked or have become trapped or injured by some remaining defenses or enemy forces."

"A wise assumption, but only an assumption Pwalomi," commended Fuilomee. "Reigando, send a search party to find out about this immediately, but be sure to place transmitters on them, and keep constant contact."

"Yes Master," replied Reigando, letting his superior cut the connection.

Fuilomee gestured almost indecipherably to his personal guard, they move towards the main bridge portal.

"I will return to my ship to monitor the situation," announced Fuilomee, moving towards the exit himself. "You may initiate your ordered search pattern."

"Master," answered Pwalomi, bowing low and bending his knees.

Fuilomee followed the foremost of his alert and elite personal guard through the opening doorway, closely followed by the other two. Pwalomi saw his own guards stiffen as if they had become solid rock statues, most likely terrified of such a presence so close to them. As soon as the triangle of black Elites rounded the far corner of the corridor the door slid shut, hissing as the
secondary seals slid into place. Pwalomi stood at his station, reflecting on his just passing experience. As he saw his Masters personal shuttle leave his own ship, he turned to his crew, eager to get them all underway.

"Activated ordered search pattern," he commanded with a voice filled with self pride. "Engage an active search at maximum radius and strength, alert me of any anomalies immidiately."

"Yes excellency," responded Jualimae, standing stiffly for his orders before jumping to them.

Pwalomi turned back to the displays, confident he would have a grand time aboard his new vessel, fulfilling his new command.

-------------------

Cavilin whimpered in the dark, curled into a little ball. The small Grunt was paralised with fear. He had come along with one of the many Elite groups sent to look through the deep tunnels of the remains. He was now alone in a small room, and he didn't know where. All Cavilin knew was that he wanted to get back to the ship and into his quarters. He was slitely comforted by the fact that his brother, Vilf, was sleeping in the far corner of the room. A couple of Jackles were in the next room as well.

They were all there because of an accident. The two foremost Elites in the party had been overrun with monsters. The rest of the team had barely made it to the current set of tunnels, tempoarily sealed by the Elites. Cavilin didn't think it would make a differece though. All he knew was that monsters were lurking everywhere but came from nowhere. The three surviving Elites had gone to contact the ship a full unit previous, but where they were at present was yet to be found. Now Cavilin and his companions were alone in the dark with nothing to do but dwell on their fear.

Gacom would have turned off his small light and knelt down by the door to relax, if it hadn't been for the movement behind him. He let out a warning sound to alert the others within the two small rooms. His light shown upon the glittering surface of the walls but nothing was there. Now Gacom was very afraid. Again he saw something move in the shadows, but this time he didn't have time to make a sound before he was knocked over and covered with an odd soft form.

Cavalin was just about to drift into a deep sleep when a screech from the other room brang him back to reality. He looked around, seeing nothing in the black. As he sunk lower towards the floor and fumbled with his small light, a sharp pain ripped through his spine. He body went numb and Cavilin the last thing he saw, was his brothers form being covered by round creatures in the beam of his dropped light.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Two: A Trap Triggered
Date: 18 February 2004, 4:20 PM

      Erus Uilomee's eyes jerked from one shadow to the next. He wasn't yet afraid, but he was worried. He and his fellow Elites were almost half way back to the ship. Having to crawl through these tunnels was unnerving. Unknown dangers could be lurking around the next bend. Uilomee wished he had never joined this team to search the remains of the ring. He had witnessed two of his fellow teammates consumed by a hoard of the Flood. The fact that these beasts still remained was not good. Now he and his fellow Elites had the unpleasant task of making it back to the ship to warn the others.
      From the looks of the two other Elites, they felt the same way. A muscle twitch here, the clicking of a mandible at other times, they were all becoming increasingly wary. The group came upon a closed door, the lights on it glowing red. The beams of the trio's lights danced across the walls, looking for a way through, or what could be waiting for them if they went back.
      "What was that?" exclaimed Kial Niasomee, the lowest ranking in the team.
      "What was what," asked the Squad Master.
      "I heard something behind us," Niasomee replied. "Something is with us in here."
      The other two's faces displayed their now present fear, they knew the Flood had a tendency to come from nowhere. The Squad Master ran his fingers over the door, trying to find a possible way through. He turned back down the hall, and turned his light to the maximum setting. Nothing.
      "This is where we gain permission from the Ship Master to continue on," commented Uilomee, the memory flashing into his mind. "Perhaps we could now gain contact."
      "A welcome possibility," responded the Squad Master.
      He activated his communication device. It responded with a weak signal of the shipboard communications system, but at least there was something.
      Niasomee jumped again, backing into the corner and staring down the hallway. A flicker light reflected off of something down the hall. The light on the door remained an eerie red.



      Reigando stared at the displays, there was still no sign of the missing teams. Three search teams had been dispatched, and thankfully remained in contact, but they still had not reached the last known location of the lost teams communication. He lowered his head, tightening his mandibles, contemplating the bad situation. The possibility of the most feared was on the top of his mind. Reigando had read the reports, he knew about the organism known as the Flood. The possibility that this was what had caused the problem chilled him to the core.
      His attention was changed as a report from a search team reported in. The message was of medium priority on the pre-message.
      "Master," reported the Squad Master of the farthest search team. "We have picked up a communication signal from one of the lost exploration groups."
      "Transmit it to the ship," commanded Reigando, hiding his growing worry.
      The communications panel displayed new information before emitting the voice of Gweiol, the Squad Master of the second exploration group.
      "This is Gweiol, Squad Master of exploration group two," came the wavering voice, partly obscured by static. The message was obviously prerecorded, and not a live transmission, but the time signature read only a few minutes had passed since the communication was sent. The message continued: "We have been attacked an are locked behind a sealed door adjacent to our last reported position. We require assistance and have suspicions we are being followed, and are in danger of another attack."
      The transmission snapped off.
      "Monitor any further trans…" Reigando began, before stopping to listen to the incoming message.
      "Master! We are receiving emergency report from Gweiol!" exclaimed the same Squad Master.
      "Patch it through!" yelled Reigando.
      The message was marked as high alert, but the only noise that came from the speakers was a warped static.
      A chill ran through Reigando, he knew exactly what was happening to his men. "Pull out! Return to the ship immediately!" he screamed into the receiver.
      The voice that came through the link was not a Squad Masters, but of his second in commands. "…can….ull…ac...ou….att…ck."
      Reigando checked the signal, it went dead.



      Rotting bodies flew from all the passages around them. Doors that had been locked now burst open, pouring out green creatures. Simultaneously all three search teams were overrun by the swarming beasts. Rotting flesh filled the air, limbs and parts of bodies fell and smoldered. Bullets pot marked the walls and soon the flesh of the Covenant as they tried to escape. The trap had worked, and now new weapons, food, and more new hosts filled the growing inventory of the Flood army.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Three: New Hopes
Date: 20 February 2004, 1:49 AM

       Sergeant Lance Ferring starred blankly into the air in front of him. Looking upon the dimly lit walls, glowing a ghostly blue. Three others slept around him on the cold floor, and two others stood guard by the door to the adjacent room, sitting by an unyielding door. They had been trapped there for days, weeks maybe, Lance wasn't sure. All he knew was that they couldn't get out, and would soon run out of food. The lack of food wasn't what terrified the Sergeant, the possibility of become something's snack was what worried him. He would have taken his squad out long ago if he wasn't aware of what waited for him: the Flood.
       He had seen what they did to humans and Covenant alike, and it was far from pretty. Mutated corpses waited for them on the other side of the double sealed doors. The hellish red glow the lock lights emitted were no comfort, however. Activity lately had gotten busier. Something could be heard moving everyday, and not just once a day either. Just a few hours ago, Samantha Jones, a member of the squad, swore she heard Covenant voices outside the entrance to the chambers they now called home. Distant as they sounded, it was still something. That was before the second doors had been shut though, two hours ago. A bashing of the outer doors had been the cause.
       "No! No! Stay back!" a sleeping soldier screamed, before waking to a sweat drenched face, and nothing but a few chemical lights to lay eyes on.
       "It's alright Private, we're safe," assured the Sergeant, lieing to himself and the young marine. "Go back to sleep."
       "I can't Sarge," the young man replied shaking the newly introduced adrenalin from his system. "I don't want to see them again."
       Lance wished he could be asleep, but he was afraid of what he would find there as well. He wished he would have just tried to get back to Alpha Base those few days ago, but no. He had made the decision to back into some ancient structure to gain refuge from the tide of hideous monstrosities. He had been wrong. Soon after pulling his men and women down a few levels into the claustrophobic tunnels, the flood ambushed them from nowhere. Fifth squad was overcome by the beasts, and Sergeant Ferring had pulled his squad even farther down into Halo's tunnels, into a catacomb of maze-like passageways that seemed to run through the entire ring in every direction. That was how he had ended up where he was. They had come upon an undamaged potion of tunnels and settled down into their current location.
       "Pat," addressed Lance.
       "Sir?" answered Corporal Patrick Carter from one of the corners by the door.
       "Get your ass some sleep," said the Sergeant groggily. "Private, take guard duty."
       "Yes sir," answered Patrick standing to walk over to Private James Daniels and offering his old training buddy a hand.
       James looked up at the shadowy face of his friend and took his hand. "Have fun," encouraged Patrick with a characteristic smile, outlined in the dark, before pulling himself into his teammates sleeping bag, soon falling into a light slumber.
       Lance again dove into his thoughts. About the situation, and what he would do when they ran out of food. He might try to reach the surface, but he wasn't sure he could. After the explosion, a rolling thunder and flash of heat, he had tried to go back but found his progress impeaded. A door had been melted shut, fused by some enormous heat on the other side. The Sergeant wouldn't get out that way. As he pondered further he finally found his lack of sleep and was pulled into a deep sleep.

       Reigando paced uneasily, waiting to hear back from the secondary search teams. He had always been called to persistent and had been teased for caring for others to much, but he couldn't just leave anyone behind for the Flood to ravage. The Impending Incursion remained attached to the slowly rotating section of ring originally designated to be explored. The second round of search teams were sent one unit ago, but they were sent in at different location, more towards the inside of the rings original build. Their purpose was to locate any surviving troops, and gain a communications link with any surviving members of the original teams. So far there was only silence over the communications system. Until now.
       Reigando's nervous walk was slowed by the incoming transmission. All incoming transmissions from teams in the ring were to be marked high priority. This message was no different.
       "Master," came the high pitched voice of Dwegol, a Grunt.
       "Where is your Squad Master?" commanded Reigando, even he didn't have much of a liking for the diminutive species.
       "He is not with us at the moment Excellency," the Grunt replied.
       Reigando hoped another attack was about to happen, he had lost to many good soldiers already during the day. "Why?" he questioned authoritatively.
       "Do not worry, he is simply investigating a couple of closed doors, he will not be long."
       Dread filled Reigando's senses, he knew that many things could lurk behind closed doors upon Halo.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Four: Ask, Seek, Knock
Date: 23 February 2004, 10:23 PM

       A third beam of light crept around the corner, pushing back the darkness trying to consume the tunnels. Its source became dimly illuminated by the red of the adjacent door's locks. The figure kept his light active, as he spun and walked backwards, holding his shield and weapon in front of himself. Stepping into the radius lit by the stationary lamp, ever vigilant of dangers in the shadows, the Jackal assumed his position around the team's perimeter. He glanced up to see his immediate superior's face staring back down the hall. Jhignie was strangely assured at the fact that not only his kind were afraid of the Flood.
       "Report?" asked 'Haeimee, Squad Master of the primary secondary search team, as the Elite he had placed in charge of the three creature scouting group approached.
       Eile 'Syimas, an Elite, paused to look back to where he had come. "Nothing Master, only a little bit of slime," he answered, turning as his following two team members assumed guarding positions.
       "That's all?" questioned the wary Squad Master, he was far from assured. One of the other secondary search teams had narrowly evaded a Flood ambush. 'Haeimee did not want to fall prey to another such instance.
       "But," continued 'Syimas, stepping closer, plasma rifle still at the ready. "We did hear the sound of the Flood around us, as if any different from any other time, but all the doors remained locked."
       The Squad Master sighed, still lacking peace within himself. It was un-wise to send the three down the hall, even if it only was a few units. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as the door 'Syimas had just come through slid silently shut. The whole of the group was uneasy as Jhignie and his brother walked carefully closer to the door, making sure the door remained sealed and the gray metal did not yield to anything a Flood-colored green.
       Soon, braces were slid into place over the door, hopefully enough to repel an attack from the other side. At least for a long enough time to escape. After a quick sweep of the room, four Jackals and four Elites funneled out of the far end.
       "Halt," commanded 'Haeimee, holding up one of his arms. He had almost missed it, as he must have when he had passed this point before. Two doors were bashed in on the side of the hallway. But what caught his eye was the dim blue light emanating from the small room beyond. 'Syimas must have noticed it as well, as he took a step towards the broken and plasma warped door. "I said: 'halt!'"
       The Jackals moved into their practiced positions around the Elites. Light shimmered off the surrounding walls from their shields, as they kept their eyes wide open.
       'Haeimee keyed his comm link. "Dwegol," he said, and waited for the lazy creature to respond.
       "Yes Master?" the Grunt replied, sounding like he had just been woken. Typical.
       "I am on the way back to your position," stated the Squad Master. "But I am looking into something first, I will not be long."
       "Shall I contact the Ship Master?"
       "Yes, include this with the report," 'Haeimee terminated the connection and turned to the doors, not but a few paces away.
       It was not difficult to pull the damaged door apart enough for entry. As the team entered, weapons at the ready, it was clear that something had previously inhabited it. Two small tubular objects sat on the floor, glowing a faint blue. A few thin sheets of dull material were scattered on the floor, and a black vest lay in one corner. A single locked door stood to the right, but somehow looked odd to the trained eye. As the leading Squad Master approached, it was clear the door had been hastily shut, from the inside. What suddenly struck the Elite, was that the work and materials laying on the floor were obviously Human.


       Music pounded softly into the Warrant Officer's ears through his headset. Wearing combat boots and a deceased soldier's vest, the Navy pilot was hardly a Marine. But in times like these, everyone became a fighter and was used where and how they were needed. Derrick hardly remembered he was in a dark room on an alien construct. All he knew was that he was tired, sitting down and listening to his music. 'Metal' it was called, and most of his fellow fighters disliked it as much as he enjoyed it. Except of course for Sergeant Johnson. Derrick secretly enjoyed having to transport the tough soldier, and his music.
       "Hunter," came a whispering voice over his radio, cutting off his tunes.
       The surprisingly relaxed pilot opened his eyes to the foreboding dark of the room. His inner peace was gone, as he slid his hand to his acquired pistol and eyed his MA5B assault rifle. Warrant Officer Derrick Hunter turned to look at the man who had used the comm. A Marine looked back at him from across the threshold, fully alert and on his feet, a loaded and pumped shotgun in hand. Patrick was his name, and he looked uneasy. It was odd for him to have used the radio while so close to his guarding partner, it could only mean trouble.
       With a quick gesture and short walk, Sergeant Ferring was up and wanting an explanation. Apparently, speaking across the room was bad at this point, so James made his way over to his CO.
       "What is it Daniels?" whispered Lance, still a little tired.
       "I swear I heard Covenant on the other side of the door, sir," he answered, holding his gun at the ready. "It could mean..."
       Lance didn't need or want to hear anymore, he wouldn't take any chances. Plus, if there really was Covenant on the other side of the door, it could mean escape. A couple of clicks over the comms was all it took to wake the still sleeping soldiers. A hand signal was enough to keep them quiet and get them ready for anything that would come through the door. Sleeping bags were quickly stowed as the random assorted personal grabbed their things and brought their weapons to bare on the shadowy doorway.
       The adrenaline pumped squadron was drawn into focus as Sergeant Lance Ferring spoke his favorite ancient verse slow and deliberately:
       "Ask and it will be given to you," he began, sliding a new clip into his pistol with a satisfying and assuring clack. "Seek and you will find." Lance continued, cocking his weapon and moving into position. As the Sergeant raised his pistol and the door locks flashed green, he finished: "Knock and the door will be opened for you."


       'Kxiasiomee worked quickly on the poorly locked door, and soon the lights glowed green. 'Haeimee crouched and leveled his plasma rifle, preparing to go in first, as all Masters did for their troops. The door hissed and parted, letting the darkness spill from the room beyond. The team's lights cut through the black like a hot knife, revealing silvery metal on the far wall. As the alert Squad Master slowly crept forward, something moved on both of his sides, just out of the light. A quick spin and pull of his trigger would have solved the "Marine problem" right then and there, but three trios of armor piercing bullets followed by an encore of high-explosive rounds and a single shotgun spread relieved 'Haeimee of the responsibility.
       'Syimas saw his Master's shields flare and vanish before the hole ridden corpse crumped to the floor in a pool of dark purple blood. Two of the Jackals fired into the darkness on either side of the portal, but found only wall. The Elite heard a muffled shiiink followed by two metal balls bouncing towards him. All 'Syimas had time to do was jump towards the opposite door before twin explosions rattled his bones. A scorched 'Kxiasiomee was thrown into the wall, producing a sickening craanchck on impact, and two disemboweled Jackals to follow.

       The single Elite and dual Jackals saw 'Syimas' prone form fly through the door and slide a couple of short units across the floor, followed by a wave of heat and flying shrapnel. Drawn by angered curiosity, the threesome ran into the blackened room apparently eager to transcend the bonds of physical life, only to meet a symphony of shaped alloy slugs. All before they could fire little more than a final quartet of plasmatic spheres into the surrounding churned and heated air.

       "No!" shouted Reigando through the communications link. "Get him on the link immediately!"
       Dwegol jumped, startled by the Ships Master's harsh tone, he almost dropped the device from his small hands. Shakily, he pulled the microphone back to his respirator piece. "Yes Master," he said, barely.
       "I said now!" shouted an obviously infuriated Ship Master back through the speakers.
       This time he did drop the piece of Covenant technology, with a loud pop onto the cold, hard floor. His two fellow Grunts snapped up, awoken, while the two guarding Hunters didn't even offer a glance. The accompanying Jackal turned his head with a "you're an idiot" look on his face.
       "Do what the Ship Master says gas sucker!" the Jackal snapped.
       All three of the diminutive creatures were still too shocked to respond to such insults. After a few moments of silence, Dwegol finally picked up the comm link device and set it upon its base. He quickly keyed in the command to contact his Squad Master, and readied himself to feed the connection through to the ship.
       Six Covenant bodies stiffened as the signal came back as "connection lost."

The Enemy Within-Chapter Five: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire
Date: 27 February 2004, 12:48 AM

       Samantha Jones fell down to the floor, clutching at her smoldering shoulder. The last sounds of dying Covenant animals faded and came to a stop. Derrick and James slid into the adjacent room, staring intently down their gun sights into their individual beams of artificial light. Derrick stopped to kick in the maroon armored head of the gore splattered former "warrior" of a Squad Master, lying unnaturally over the threshold, before moving to back up the young Private Daniels.
       "All clear," reported James.
       "Copy that," responded Sergeant Ferring, kneeling on the ground. "Secure the perimeter."
       Derrick holstered his weapon to help his teammate drag the bloody bodies and body parts towards the far door. One of them, an Elite having managed to survive the hail of bullets behind a Jackal, made an attempt to activate a plasma grenade. He received a blow to the back and a swift decapitation from James' M90. The brainless nervous system managed two twitches before shutting down.
       "Hey Sarge?" asked Corporal Carter. "I just spent my last clip."
       "You'll have to scavenge one of those Covenant pieces of ####, son."
       Patrick let out a sarcastic, but felt, low moan. Everyone present felt the same: all they wanted was some good old UNSC weapons. A functional MA5B AR or M6D Pistol would be just fine over a plasma pistol. Alien pieces of junk.
       Private Kyle Jones plopped down next to his good friend: Sam. That boy was damned lucky, thought Lance. Having his wife with him on the Pillar of Autumn was a miracle, and having her in his squad was an up front act of God, but then again it could also be considered a curse. Just having to worry about what happens to your spouse during the passing day can be hell. The young soldier knelt by his wife, treating her wound. Kyle uttered gentle assurances, his voice thick with an Australian accent. Those two had been the only two in their Underarmor and nothing else when the recent attack came, having been taking a nap. It had cost Samantha. She received some nice molten metal on her shoulder, splashed off the wall. Plus the fact of narrowly avoiding the plasma beam at fault, she was lucky, but Lance had the feeling that his squad's luck was running low.
       The Sergeant watched as a caring husband quickly administered anti-burn gel and stuck on some dressings. Finally, Lance remembered that he was wounded too. He grunted as he touched his raw wound. Two of those needle projectiles had caught him in his lower thigh, right above the knee. He was fortunate that he had evaded the other three, otherwise he might now be missing a leg. The squad CO peeled back his leg armor to get a better look. A ragged hole sat in his tissues, blood welling in the inch deep wound and running down his leg. He took a brief second to soak up the dark red liquid with a torn piece of uniform and toss it aside on the floor. It stung as he sprayed a small amount of bio-foam over the raw meat, before sticking on a bandage and wrapping gauze around his leg to hold it in place.
       "Carter, Daniels, Hunter; secure those weapons ASAP," he ordered, wincing as he stood. "We need as much firepower as we can find to get out of this place."
       "Yes sir," replied the two Marines. Followed by an: "Aye" from the Navy pilot.


       'Syimas' world was a blur. Black patches filled his vision, as if there was anything else to be seen. He tried to move but quickly ceased such attempts. The Elite could hear and feel some of his skin crack when he tried to move. Where was he? What had happened?: were the thoughts running through his aching head. An explosion, he started to recall. He could feel where pieces of alien metal had imbedded into his skin. Voices, he heard voices, distorted and faint, but he heard them. Unfortunately for him, he came to realize, the voices were human. A sharp pain lanced up his side, emanating from a kick in his gut. Another quickly followed in his leg, and then his ribs and shoulder. 'Syimas decided to remain motionless, play it safe, regardless of the discomfort. He would use this to his advantage, he hoped.


       "Hey J-man, look at this guy," called Patrick, scouting out in the hall. "All toasty like."
       James chuckled as he came closer in a crouch, keeping a full shell of shotgun goodness towards the blackened figure. "Hungry?" he joked.
       "It's fresh," muttered Pat, noting the blood still slowly trickling from shrapnel impacts. "Real fresh."
       The two would have continued, had they not remembered their situation. Pat jerked his rifle towards a door across the hall. James followed his partners eyes to the open door, filled with an inky black. Something could be heard, like a faint whisper of a slither, almost there, but not quite recognizable. Footsteps approached from behind them, thumping lightly as the source hit the ground. The two Marines jumped.
       "What's this?" questioned Sergeant Ferring, placing a firm hand on Patrick's shoulder.
       James sighed, laughing inside having seen his friend's startled expression.
       "Some unlucky Covie," answered the calmed Pat, looking back down at the prostrate Elite. "Must have been thrown by the blast."
       Sam and Kyle walked carefully forward out of the door, remaining alert of their surroundings. Samantha took the initiative and gave the body a hard kick on the hip for the trouble its kind had given her. Even with a hurt arm, she was full of angry energy. Derrick backed slowly through the door next, now favoring the AR given to him days previous.
       "Well kids, let's move out," ordered the Sergeant.
       The Humans pulled into formation and started across the hall. They quickly stopped; however, when the thought dead Elite, sprawled out on the floor, started making noises.
       All weapon barrels jerked back to lay on the now known alive body. James was the first to approach, nudging a portion the burnt blue armor with the muzzle of his weapon. Lance approached and carefully with the help of the Warrant Officer, after looking the body over and stripping it of the remaining grenades and a pistol, flipped the form onto its back. It convulsed, trying to raise itself, but stopped due to the apparent intense pain. The formerly blue armor no longer had its luster. The odd alien alloy had protected the important parts of the creatures body. The revealed portions, however, had received quite a punishment. Its shields...well, there were none to be spoken of.


       'Syimas struggled to maintain consciousness. The Humans around him spoke their filthy language. Yet another surprise had found the helpless Elite, he was exactly that: completely helpless. He would have killed the vermin as soon as they flipped him over, had the pain not been so great. His injuries must have been more serious than he had thought. 'Syimas now wondered what they would do to him. Hopefully, they would do him the favor of killing him, but Humans, he knew, were renowned for taking prisoners.
       "Should we kill him?" he heard one of them say, but didn't understand any of it. The one holding a Plasma Pistol.
       "I volunteer," announced the female, taking two steps forward. 'Syimas raised his head and opened his mandibles, letting out a low growl.
       This, or the quick response of one of the Humans carrying a small metal weapon, caused the woman to recoil. The Elite let out a long gurgling laugh.


       "Why I oughta," started Sam, glaring back at the death deserving Elite.
       "Stow it soldier!" Sergeant Ferring said commandingly. He sighed and looked back at the low life animal. "We might need it."
       Suddenly, the Elite froze, starring into the black beyond the nearby open doorway. A growling emanated from the void. No one standing in the hall, Human or Covenant, wanted to meet the source.
       Even the severely burnt Elite managed to crawl toward the far end of the hall. Lance, followed by his Squad, was quick to follow.
       "Grab the pansy!" shouted the Sergeant, backpedaling towards the only other open door in the vicinity, at the far end of the hall. "And Hunter! Get some grenades in that room!"
       Just as Patrick and James grabbed the fleeing Elite, hefting the mass by it's appanages, a living wave burst from the void behind the black filled door. Samantha fired three shots, then turned and ran, closely followed by Kyle, following her Sergeant and the surprisingly swift twosome carrying the alien.
       Derricks eyes grew wide as corpses flew towards the door in front of him. He managed to prime his two M9 HE-DP Grenades and toss them into the oncoming hoard, before sprinting for his life. He heard the explosions, and multiple wet slaps, but didn't dare turn to look back. The pitter-patter of little tentacles, stomping of stolen feet, all noises filling the Pilot's ears.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Six: ...And The Cracked Flood Gates Finally Fell
Date: 6 March 2004, 9:53 PM

       Ipnaimee flexed his spine and arms, relaxing his tense muscles. His glistening black eyes looked out upon the shimmering surfaces of the purple hued shields. Beyond, the matte surfaced materials of Halo looked in. A spiraling hole, its diameter encompassing the whole of both docking bay portals, revealed a honeycomb of small conduits and several openings to long running tunnels. If the Elite would have looked close enough, he could have seen the small scrapes where tiny teeth had chipped away at the titanic chunk of alloy.
       Around him, on the peninsula that bisected the large room, several Shades kept their trio of energy focusing prongs hovering over the open spaces beyond the protective film. Two dropships stood by to transport any troops that appeared on the make shift decks jutting out from the walls of rock and metal. So far, only scheduled contact had been made from the secondary search teams, but one of the four was due in only a couple more short units. Outer lights flicked on in anticipation, shedding a ghostly luminance over the drilled hole.
       The Elites manning the plasma turrets-such a job in such a situation was unfit for lowly grunts-stiffened, readying themselves for anything. Or more accurately, what they most feared that would come at them from the darkness. A relief to all present, only blank walls looked back into fearful eyes. At the far end, one hundred units-or fifty meters-away, the largest of the three erected porches hugged the fleeing shadows. A thick silver door sat stationary, guarding the passageway beyond. Suddenly four lights snapped on. A white light covered the platform, and the door's locks hummed to life.
       "Master," squeaked a black clad Grunt, waddling up behind Ipnaimee.
       "What is it?" he growled back, stretching his mandibles. They softly popped.
       The small creature took two involuntary steps back as his gold clad Elite Field Master turned to look at him. "Secondary Search Group Three has just reported in Master," the quivering Grunt said back. "They are ready to pass through the security barrier."
       "Are their codes acceptable?"
       "Yes Master."
       "Good, return to your post."
       The Grunt didn't bother to reply. He simply turned and waddled quicky back to the rear of the hangar. Once back with his friends, he returned to his lazy routines.
       Ipnaimee flicked his wrists, a signal to his two pilots, and walked over to a computer terminal. As he keyed in commands, the two U-shaped dropships released from their docking clamps and wobbled on their anti-gravity projectors. The codes checked out perfectly, so far so good. The Elite turned to the video display, showing the hall beyond the locked doors at the end of the bored tunnel. The purple energy field, acting as a sort of double door, was fully functional. As the film flickered, glowed bright, and shut down, a pair of Elites walked forward into the short length of hallway. The camera was obscured as the tailing duo of Hunters lumbered across the shield generator pods.
       The forward Elites looked uncomfortable in the tight quarters, minor aliens standing round. The Hunters stood one behind the other, they had plenty of room from the other Covenant troops.
       After the purple film slid back into place, the outer door shuttered and slid apart, before the main blast doors released their grip upon each other and moved out of the doorway. Three Elites flowed out of the opened portal, swinging their Plasma Rifles over the surrounding features of the Covenant made cave. Four Jackals were soon to follow, forming themselves into a crescent formation to cover the fourth Elite and four Grunts streaming from the passageway.
       Ipnaimee gave a slight nod of his head, and the two energy barriers faded and ceased to exist. The whir of engines filled the bay as the dual dropships sped out to meet the troops. The many Shades snapped to crisp attention, their operators keeping a keen eye out for unwelcome visitors. The Field Master looked out into the tunnel, its' walls illuminated in a ring as the ships passed. Things were going well, it seemed almost too easy. Of course, when things got easy, sentient beings have a tendency to relax, and when things got relaxed, disaster always struck. Especially when one was on Halo.

       Dwegol stretched a shaking finger to activate the connection to the ship. His heart pounded faster than he could count, and he couldn't breath in enough of his own carried methane. His small hand touched the communication consol, and he sent the message from his small brain to his hand, to press the control. This simple action would have gone through without a hitch, had Dwegol's methane tank not exploded. Flames whipped into the air, eating up the escaping gas, explosively throwing the Grunt's body into the device in front of him. Dwegol didn't have to suffer long before his head smashed into the floor. His neck broke and the creature knew no more.
       Bullets pinged off of the floor, sparks zinged through the air, and confusion flooded the remaining Grunts, as they woke with a start. Green plasma bursts splashed over the walls, two found their home in the center of the nearby Jackal's back. The bird-like creature screeched as a third shot found his face. One Grunt was in the process of pulling out a grenade to throw at a shadow when he found his head missing. The ensuing explosion threw his, and his two companions' shredded bodies about he room. One landed right on the head of one bewildered Hunter.
       The Hunters were not confused for long; however, and they quickly found targets. The two lumbering giants turned and brought their shields to bare as they stomped over to the door at the far end of the room, outlined by mussel flashes from Human weapons. Bullets pinged off of their thick armor as they slid near to the opening. Opila, the lead Hunter, came into the line of sight first and began to charge his weapon. The creature was soon enough to see one of the Humans throw two plasma grenades on the floor behind him and slide back behind the doorway.
Both Covenant beasts raised their arms to take a swing at the alien, but to no avail.
       A blinding flash caused the large creatures to stumble back for a moment, critical seconds for the enemy. Opila felt a sharp pain rip through his exposed mid-section, miniature explosions shredding his tissues. A bright warm fluid flowed down the warriors legs, and he let out a low moan before slumping to the blood splattered floor, dead. Of course, the Humans hadn't stayed still either.
       Lango saw his blood brother fall, and roared with rage. The furious beast fired a barrage of blasts through the door ahead of him, but they did not find his partners murderers. Triple streaks of green plasma impacted on waves of rolling flesh, blowing charred chunks into the air. The spongy flesh smouldered before being stomped over by mutated corpses. Lango swung his shield, sending several masses flying into the walls, leaving green ichor as they slid down. More took their place, however. Whips of flesh slashed across his armor, scratching the surfaces. His armor held, too thick for limbs to penetrate. More bullets poured into the area, saturating anything that moved with destruction. A glowing blue orb bounced off of the ceiling, and landed upon Lango's shield arm. The remaining Hunter fired his fuel rod gun at point black range towards the assualting monstrosities, and swung with his shield again.

       "Fire in the hole!" shouted Kyle, launching a primed grenade towards the Flood covered Hunter across the room. Muzzle flashes outlined his combat hardened features as he pulled himself to the ground.
       The ensuing explosion threw rotten limbs everywhere. Yet more gore splattered over the blood drenched floor. This gave the Hunter the lull that he needed. The beast charged forward at the door, from which yet more Flood forms flowed. A fuel rod blast seared right through a carrier, blowing the trailing former Elite into pieces of smoking flesh. The lone hunter, however, hadn't stopped his charge. Razor sharp spines lowered into position, meant to assist the armored shoulder. An enraged animal flew full steam into the oncoming hoard. Combat forms were crushed upon impact, and shed off like so much wet paper. Green blood oozed over the Hunter's form, as it swung with all of its' might.
       Green light filled the door, and pieces of green ichor and flesh splattered onto the floor. But what caught the Sergeant's eye, were the few weapons sliding over the ground. Some Human weapons already lay on the floor, an MA5B and two HE Pistols, Lance would scavenge ammo from those quickly. Sergeant Ferring's eyes, however, locked onto the two M90 Shotguns clattering into the wall, while the real prize, a M19 SSM Rocket Launcher with accompanying loose magazine, slid to a halt in the center of the room.
       "Pat! James! Get that body out of here pronto!" shouted Sergeant Ferring. "Hunter, get on their six. Jones', let's secure that ordnance ASAP!"
       Carter and Daniels let their ARs fall, allowing their attachment clips to hold the weapons, and once again hefted the Elite's bulk.
       As Patrick turned his back to the fire fight, and fled through the only other door available, he caught a glimpse of his partners face. It said all of what the Corporal felt himself: Why do we have to carry this thing's sorry damned ass?

       Juargas, the last creature to back out of the passageway, let out a bone rattling bellow. The Hunter shuffled out of the doorway, and leveled his fuel rod cannon. A blue flash, and lap of thunder replaced the shimmering purple hued shield. As the haze dissipated, deranged faces leapt forward. Juargas fired his weapon, turning several of the foremost combat forms into steaming paste. The thick metal doors quickly slid shut and hissed to an airtight seal. Dull thuds could be heard, as multiple combat forms threw themselves onto the barrier, marring the once clean surfaces.
       The Covenant troops backed away from the door, eager to meet the approaching dropships and get back to their vessel. The two Hunters moved to the either side of the platform, covering their teammates, and kept their eyes open for any threat that chose to expose itself.
       The two ships decelerated and stopped with a couple meters of their twin prongs hovering over the metallic surfaces of the platform. The Grunts and Jackals rushed up the lowered ramp and into the relative safety of the small craft. The Elites, keeping their eyes on the now smouldering doors, backed slowly towards the waiting vessels. The four warriors suddenly stopped, crouching low and bringing their weapons to bare on the door. Flashes of blue outlined the door, bringing the surrounding metal to a warm orange. Another flash of light streamed out of the new heated gap between the wall and mounted door. This flash was green, and was accompanied by familiar sound of exploding fuel rod gun blasts. The Flood were getting smarter. The door locks flickered and disapeared.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Seven: Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down
Date: 3 April 2004, 2:40 AM

(Author's Note: Sorry about the wait, for those who have been following my series. This is tedious work, and my schedule keeps getting things added to it. Some of you may notice I kept the Hunter's names that I mistakenly created from the last chapter. I had to, to keep a reference. I will endeavor to come up with accurately put names for the Covenant characters in the future. Have a good read!)



       "Let's move!" shouted Sergeant Ferring, scrambling across the slick floor.
       Private Kyle Jones fired long bursts into the motion filled doorway. Luckily for the humans, the Flood were much more interested in the flailing Hunter than them. Another green flash outlined far too many combat forms, making their way around the Covenant beast.
       Plasma spheres impacted the metal mere inches from Samantha, leaving glowing craters. She heard someone yell, and hit the deck. The characteristic gurgle of the Flood filled her ears for a split second, before green gore stained her back. Sam sent silent thanks to her husband before quickly scampering towards the fallen weapons not far ahead.
       Another form flew from the doorway with "superhuman" strength, but it intentions were never fulfilled as it fell apart, courtesy of a HE pistol. As Lance saw Kyle slap a new magazine home and once more open fire, he made his three yard dash to his prize. Warm olive colored casing found his grip, as the Sergeant grasped the dual-rocket-holding magazine. He reached for the double tubed firing assembly and-
       "Fire in the hole!!" -a flash of thunder turned three far to productive Elite flood forms into strips of slimy flesh. "I can't hold out much longer!" added Kyle, lobbing yet another grenade into the approaching fray.

       A wave of heat and another concussion threw Lango back to the ground. He was losing his endurance, and knew his time was coming, like his blood brother's had just a few moments previous. Monstrous Flood forms swept over him, effectively keeping him pinned to the ground. The Hunter was not finished yet though, and willed up the strength to swing his shield again. Lango felt satisfaction with the nearly drowned out sound of cracking bones.
       The creature fired his weapon again, and more Flood ceased to exist. Lango struggled to rise, under the push of wild animated corpses. Yet another blast impacted the frayed Hunter, flipping him onto his side, only to smack back down onto his belly. Orange blood smeared across the floor. The lone beast finally righted itself, teetering on his legs for a moment before managing to regain his balance. Combat forms and Flood pods alike pushed against the mighty animal, driving him forward from behind.
       Lango billowed, blood spraying out of his mouth. The Hunter reflexively spread his limbs as he was pushed into the doorframe, he could see three humans sliding across the floor. They would surely die soon as well. As a living flood shoved ever harder against the struggling animal, Lango braced himself as firm as he could against the frame of the portal.

       "Sarge!" shouted Patrick Carter over Sergeant Ferring's COM. "Where the hell are you, Sir?"
       "It sounds pretty damn noisy from here" added Daniels.
       "Keep your ass moving Marine!" growled the Sergeant back through his radio. "We're coming."
       A flash filled the right barrel of the M19 SSM RL, and a high-explosive rocket streaked forwards. The horizontal plume of grey smoke, spiced with black wisps and tendrils of flame, sped forward to meet its' target. The one-hundred-two millimeter shaped charge slammed into the armored chest of the Hunter. A ball of flame and smoke enveloped the creature, blackening the ancient alloy. A dozen mangled pieces of bright orange meat smacked into the walls, along with their once attached fragments of bone and segments of warped metal. The Flood had not escaped the blast either, and a new void enticed newly arriving Flood forms towards the humans.
       Samantha Jones stumbled forward from the Rocket Launcher induced blast, nearly falling to the floor. The deal hulk of a former Elite Combat Flood form hit the ground two feet in front of her. Sam slammed her heals into the metal, and fell flat on her butt. She grunted and looked back behind her, and her eyes met those of a rapidly approaching Human Combat form. She scrambled to her feat and pushed towards the single shotgun tantalizingly close. It didn't work, the tip of Sam's boot caught on the mass of the green gore composed Flood form laying prone on the floor. The frantic woman moved her feet to rise again, but to no avail, as her boots slipped on the discolored blood.
       The bolt on the MA5B locked, and the rapid fire bursts stopped. Kyle glanced away from the falling creatures that should have already been dead. Before the empty clip had even clattered onto the cold floor, Kyle slid his last full clip into place and snapped the bolt back. As the Private raised his rifle to fire, a motion caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see an air born former Human land on its' feet, nearly on top of his wife. Sam's right arm stretched out towards a M90, her fingers brushing the stock.
       "Sam!" he shouted, bringing his rifle to bare and squeezing the trigger.
       But Kyle was too late. The Combat form had enough time to take a swing, its' trio of hardened tentacles whizzing through the smoke choked air. Time slowed for Samantha, like when your life depends on a single act. She willed her arm to reach farther, her middle finger barely catching on the trigger guard of her goal. Her wrist, popping from the strain, it contacted the body of the weapon and Sam tightened her grip. As she began to retract her arm; however, a triple whip sliced into her legs. The foreign limbs cut through her fair skin, peeling through layers of muscle and tissue. The two outer whips of flesh slid outward; the upper sliding through and under the back of her thighs and exiting out of her left buttock, and the lower raping the tissues of her calves. The center, however, dug down to the bone, reaching a centimeter into the hard supporting organ of her upper left leg before slipping free. The once green Flood limbs came out carrying a sickening red substance, speckled with white and pink pieces.

       The heated door exploded outward, one section cutting clean through two Elites and implanting itself into the front of a dropship. Two other sections smoked through the air as well, one slamming harmlessly into the ceiling, and the other gauging a five centimeter scar in the shield of the closest Hunter, Juargas. Then, more fire came from the smoking portal. A rocket streamed out of the haze, blowing Juargas into the wall above the Covenant built deck. Following the rocket, two grenades, one human and one Covenant, and a single fuel rod blast landed on the now smouldering platform. One of the remaining Elites, still caught relatively off guard, was caught in the chest by the green fuel rod round. The burning projectile punched a hole through its' chest before exploding, sending blue paste through the energized air.
       The other, and last Elite, took a step back and grabbed onto the fuselage of the closest dropship as the two troop carrying vessels hummed into motion. As the ship with the lone Elite turned away from the death ridden porch, the single Plasma Grenade landing right in the Elite's lap. The human fragmentation grenade; however, bounced towards the intact Hunter and detonated in a flash of thunder. The metal fragments pinged off the thick armor, clearing for the real threat, now coming through the door.
       Flood, Combat forms, Carrier forms, and Ranger forms alike raced through the constricted passage. It was as if vinegar had been poured into a tube of living green baking soda.

       'Ipnaimee raised the monocular to one of his eyes, trying to get a better idea of the situation at the end of the large tunnel. Through the magnification device, the Field Master had enough time to see a Plasma Grenade latch onto an Elite, who himself was attempting to get into a fleeing dropship. The explosive went off, sending a corpse into the air, and deforming the metal on the front left corner of the dropship, as the ramp raised into place. The two crafts fired their mounted weapons, lances of plasma etching dark craters through the spongy Flood. Ipnaimee redirected the monocular to the Flood covered Hunter, who lit the surrounding area with his weapon blasts.
       The Field Master dropped his monocular, to see the ships speeding towards the bay. As more plasma fire rained from the dropships to the sides of the tunnel, 'Ipnaimee saw them, he saw them all. Hundreds of Flood forms literally poured from the passageways lining the bored tunnel. A living torrent, climbing over and under, beside and through each other, over the walls, and on the floor and ceiling, the Flood rushed towards the open doors of the Covenant ship's hangar. The already trailing dropship took fire, two rockets caught the vessel in the belly, and a third, a fuel rod blat, smacked into the rear set cockpit. Smoke billowed from the crafts wounds, the ship started to wobble.
       "Activate the shields!" shouted 'Ipnaimee. "Bring up the shields!"
       The closest Elite leapt towards the holographic controls, slamming his fist on the controls. A blue tinged flicker covered the border of the large portals, and the purple film sped into place.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Eight: The Torrent Awaits
Date: 28 April 2004, 12:45 AM

(Author's Note: Once again, I sincerely apologize for the delay of this chapter. But, there is good new for those of you who are getting tired of waiting up to two or three weeks for the next chapter of this series. My schedule is smoothing out-reaching a level plain, and hopefully starting a gentle down-slope (end of school-year... slow down?-yeah right). I don't want to whine, but lately I barely have time to take a good crap, let alone write well. I will try to spin these out more quickly, but these things take time...and love and caring and...well it will get out when it gets out. Have a good read!)




       The already lagging dropship took another hit in her hind quarters. A glowing green projectile implanted itself into the already damaged cockpit, and exploded. Molten metal sprayed outward, pushed away by the expanding cloud of radioactive induced plasma. Pues 'Koiwee, the scared beyond sense Elite piloting the failing craft, felt the heat in his small control room rise drastically. Just as he thought he might make it into the hangar, whose energy field was visibly warming into existence, another explosive weapon impacted his vessel.
       Nuies 'Meiwonase looked away from the glowing blue rim of the approaching portal to look back at his fellow pilot's ship. He had just enough time to see a human rocket launcher round impact the back of the dropship, wreathed by sparks and smoke. The explosion tore the already weakened rear section apart, like a firecracker would have done, implanted in an orange. A plume of night black smoke erupted from the vessel, its' tip began to drop, and it rolled forward.

       'Ipnaimee watched in horror as the single intact dropship ran full steam through the openings before him. The shield, not yet at full power, failed to fully keep the vessel from continuing. With sparks and screeching metal, the front two prongs slid into the ship bay. There was a crackle and pop as the shields reached maximum strength, and a red hot metallic pang filled the air. The front halves of the dropship's two troop carrying prongs flew away from the rest of the ship, colliding into the second level's deck. The other half of the ship pushed on the shield, visibly bowing it forward, before springing back into the Flood coated tunnel.
       A now out of control dropship also headed for the docking bay energy field. The small vessel trailed smoke, fire and sparks, and was taking a nose dive. As the nose fell and the tail rose, the dropship careened into the shield. Its' full top side contacting the protective film, the craft pushed the near clear shield to its limits. The shield began to flicker, but barley pushed the ship back. This was not enough; however, and the combined force of the dropship, finally succumbing to the damage it had sustained and exploding, along with the push of the Flood and the impact of their weapons was too much for the shield's strained systems to handle.

       Samantha was too tough for her own good. The Flood inflicted trauma wasn't quite enough to cause her to faint. So she screamed.
       His wife's scream was barely discernable through the chaos around him. The Combat form guilty of slashing his wife wilted under a hail of armor-piercing rounds, green gore leaking from its' form. All the while, Kyle had been running towards Sam, screaming along with her at loudly as he could. He stopped firing as soon as the Flood form had hit the ground. Kyle slid up to his spouse and caressed her face, all the while attempting to pull her up. Crimson liquid stained the back of her legs and lower torso, running from the gashes in her clothing and, underneath, her skin. A wet spot started to grow around her legs. Sam was grinding her teeth in the pain, her face pressed to the ground. Her fingers dug into the stock and barrel of the shotgun she had gotten to, too late.
       Kyle pulled Samantha closer, and tried to push them both up.
       "Kyle!" shouted Sergeant Ferring, the bulky Rocket Launcher in his arms not permitting him to fire upon the Carrier nearing two of his squad. He fumbled with the large weapon, in the mitst of his battle. "Look out!!"



       Patrick glanced behind himself, hearing an explosion detonate in the room his CO was still in. His legs and chest were burning, but he knew he had plenty more running to do ahead. As both Marines, holding the alien, and single Navy pilot came to the next bend, Pat Carter clicked his COM. Both of his squad-mates glanced back at the Corporal. He gestured handlessly, and the threesome skidded to a halt. Pat gestured towards the corner, and so they went without a sound.
       The two Marines set the Elite down on the cold floor, which was the cleanest they had some upon as of late. It had lapsed into unconsciousness, and was just dead wait to carry along. Patrick didn't have an idea in hell of why they were carting this thing around. Sarge had said: "they might need it", but Corporal Carter didn't think so. He reached down tentatively and pushed two fingers into the neck of the animal-the mottled skin was warm, still alive. Pat eyed his two companions, trying to think up what to do next-but not before his Sergeant was back.
       Derrick and James quickly affirmed Carter's hand signals, and slid into the two "legs" of the hall, their ARs twitching back and forth across the inky black beyond them. The darkness tried to fight the sharp beams of light assaulting it, but did not hold out.
       "Sarge!" Pat shouted through his COM. He noted that he could still hear gun fire down the hall they had come from. "Where the hell are you?"
       James turned his head to glance at Patrick before adding his own worries, "It sounds pretty damn noisy from here."
       There was a pause, then the channel opened from the other end, static tinging the sound. "Keep your ass moving Marine!" shouted Sergeant Ferring back through the radio. His voice was followed by staccato bursts of automatic weapon fire in the background. "We're coming," Pat heard his Sergeant add in a whisper, before it cut off.
       He knelt in his place for a moment, remaining still in thgouht until yet another explosion reverberated through the hallways. James must have seen the worry on his superiors face, as his face, too, morphed into one of concern.
       "What now, sir?" he asked. Derrick also turned to face the Corporal, keeping his light pointed down his "leg" of the hall.
       "He's coming," Carter answered. "So let's find us a way out of here."

       "I said now!" 'Reigando shouted into the communications device. The lethargic Grunt on the other end was trying his patience.
       The Ship Master stood rigid, his heart rate high, and temper flaring. Dealing with the Grunt Dwegol was becoming increasingly agitating. He needed to gain contact with Dwegol's Squad Master, and quickly. The Elite shifted his weight, and clicked his mandibles in frustration as he waited for the link to 'Haeimee.
       'Reigando glanced back down at the display. Dwegol was taking too long, for a simple connection link. The angered Elite reached towards the control when an message flashed over the screen. It read: "signal lost", and flashed a bright red hue. The Ship Master's face faded to a lighter color, standing out against the flashy gold armor adorning his form. At first he was unable to move, too startled and too terrified to act.
       "Master?!" 'Itlaee's voice snapped 'Reigando's mind into focus.
       He regained his authoritative posture and turned to face the lower ranking Elite warrior. 'Itlaee's face, too, was lacking of its normal vivid color-the Ship Master's spirits dropped yet another notch. As his fear mounted, he began to believe that they could drop no further.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Nine: The Light at the End of the Tunnel Turns Red
Date: 14 May 2004, 3:12 PM

       The blue film, backlit with plasma and fire, brightened and popped. The flaming wreckage of a dropship fell forward and slammed into the non-active Wraith on the hangar floor. A ball of fire and glowing metal shards expanded into the area, taking out two Shades in the miniature inferno. All at once, the remaining plasma turrets opened fire, not waiting for the hundreds of threats to make the first move. The first five trios of burning purple plasma lashed out at the doorway. The rapidly advancing Flood army sped right into the hail of fire, mindlessly throwing themselves at their enemy, eager for the taste of blood. The lances of super heated and electrified gases seared through the foremost Flood forms; turning the soft tissues into carbonized dust.
       The advancing mutant corpses suffered multiple plasma punches, but refused to let up. One in particular, a former ODST, took a hit in the right side of her chest cavity; instantly killing the fledgling Infection form inside and blowing a melon-sized chunk out of her transformed body. The smoking ends of her brittle ribs, along with half of her rotting respiratory system, werevisible to the Covenant forces for mere units before two more plasma discharges put the woman out of her hellish misery. A fog of smoke and airborne particles of scorched rotten flesh began to rise, and fill the large door. More Flood still came forward; running, waddling, and bouncing towards the food they sought. Tentacle filled limbs–bulging with expanding, rotting muscle tissues, splitting open the ragged skin–flew through the air. Decomposing body parts splashed across the pink and purple hued deck plates as they were separated from their bodies. Pools of green blood and gore spread across the floor, occasionally evaporated by stray plasma fire. The Covenant, however, had been prepared. The tsunami of Flood was stonewalled at the hangar's portal. Nothing could pass the scene from hell over the threshold of the ship's bay.

       All of a sudden, the wave of Flood stopped, as if a giant faucet had been turned off. The last of the formerly advancing Flood forms toppled backwards out of the docking bay's unprotected door. 'Ipnaimee raised himself slowly from his crouch, his muscles still tense. The vary active Shades ceased fire, revealing the smoking berm of bone and flesh adorning the portal. Body forms were barely discernable in the mess, the cratered and glowing surface still bubbling.
       "Me kill it!" enthusiastically shouted a Grunt from the ground floor, in its' high-pitched voice, as it scurried out from behind a crate.
       The Grunt's more cautious companion poked its' head out from behind the same crate. "Very quiet now..."
       'Ipnaimee surveyed the damage as the few Engineers in the nearby areas of the ship were herded towards the shield controls and emitters. With a flick of his wrist and wave of his arm, the Field Master signaled for the Grunts to be put to work. All of the Grunts in the hangar were forced towards the carnage on the floor. They began the grisly task of shoving the smoking flesh out of the ship bay.
       "No..." one of the Grunts moaned.
       As they worked, the commanding Elite continued looking over what had occurred. The two Elites that had been manning the crushed Shades lay sprawled out on the floor in unnatural positions, blown away from the wreckage as they attempted to escape.
       The still nervous Field Master ordered the external lights to be pushed to maximum levels. 'Ipnaimee held his breath as the light spread out into the tunnel. He exhaled in relief as he saw no movement, and no Flood forms ready to rush forward. Death, however, was present in the large passage as well. Scores of Flood corpses littered the surfaces of the tunnel, as well as a few Covenant ones at the far end. The remaining half of the cut-in-two dropship still sat motionless on the bottom of the round passage; with 'Meiwonase, the former pilot, slumped out of the cockpit. With his monocular, 'Ipnaimee again glanced down the large tube. The porch at the end was piled with former Flood forms, mixed with the two Hunters who had been on the platform when it was overcome.
       "Send a report to the Ship Master immediately," he ordered, as the last of the roasted Flood bodies were pushed over the edge of the large opening.
       Saeis 'Itlaee turned from his ordering of another soldier and looked at his commanding Elite. "I will make the report in person," he put forward, not wanting in the least to stay in the room where he was.
       "Very well," the Field Master answered, turning back towards the single active docking bay door shield.        'Itlaee spun on his boot's heal and made his way quickly through the nearest door, deeper into the Impending Incursion.

       Having not been on Halo for that long, the Covenant forces present did not realize the danger they were in. None of them knew how fast the Flood learned, and how many tactics they could implement. A rude awakening was waiting for them, possibly a short time in the future.
       Unknown to the crew of the alien vessel, docked and anchored to the slowly spinning chunk of what was once Halo. Floating amidst a silent ballet before a gas giant and its' moon. The Flood had, had considerable time to group up; bodies and weapons. After a couple days of running rampant through the two sentient forces: the Humans and, their releasers, the Covenant; and several days in the broken ring, they had time to gather intelligence. A new commanding Flood form sat waiting in this particular part of the ring, almost ready to be moved. Once the Covenant ship was captured, it would be moved to that vessels control room. There, it would begin the spread of the Flood.
       The Covenant didn't know it yet, but the Impending Incursion had sprung many leaks. With her shields down, there was nothing but metal in the way of the slithering Flood creatures. Slowly but surely, the craft was being invaded. All that remained to occur, was the impeding incursion into the Covenant forces.

       Corporal Carter focused his brown eyes on the screen in front of his right eye. It fed the image from his optical probe camera for his viewing. Around the corner, a foot to his right, was a very tantalizing goal. The belly of a Covenant ship was visible only seventy-five feet above the floor. Patrick zoomed further, centering the small digital device on the scintillating stream of vertically aligned, purple energy. A group of Covenant soldiers was just floating down.
       Pat transmitted the live image to James, kneeling a meter down and across the dark hall. The waiting Marine's eyes widened, and he let a smirk form on his face. He looked down at the floor, revealing the bold capital letters–"DANIELS"–on the back of his helmet, to get a better look at the pictures on his eyepiece. "Good shit," he mouthed towards his partner, looking back towards the light coming from the bend.
       Patrick again scrutinized the open room he was viewing. Realizing the real problem, his face melted into an expression of perplexed aggravation. Two shades sat on either side of the door the Corporal and his portion of the squad would have to come through; one manned my a red armored Grunt, and the other by a blue Elite. Their aim was lazily focused on the open doorway; apparently not expecting an immediate threat coming their way. Around the perimeter of the rectangular room, with a drop off to one side, were several patrolling Elites–two of them Gold, wielding bright blue energy swords and a plasma pistol clipped to their left "thigh". Pat though he caught a glimpse of a couple free-floating plasma swords not far from the gravity lift, each meandering behind a group of purple and blue crates. Many Grunts and Jackals also stood guard. Most forming a rough oval around the landing platform of the gravitational lift, several of the Grunts with their head between their legs–sleeping.
       James, meanwhile, wasn't looking at the Elites, or other Covenant creatures; though, he was trying to get a good look at the vehicles stationed in the area. He had caught a glance of one of those Covie tanks–Wraiths–in the corner of the small display. As his pupils jerked across the green tinted screen, attached to his helmet, he noticed two other hovering, ground craft. Two Ghosts held themselves a foot off the ground, their "hoods" drifting back and forth, facing the dull silvery walls on three sides of the room. As his present commanding NCO panned farther across the large room, he noticed a third type of vehicle he would not have expected.
       "A Banshee?" he whispered to himself. "What is that doing underground?"
       Indeed, the shiny purple craft sat stationary on the floor of the room ahead. The assumed pilot, a maroon Elite, was two meters away, his hands performing some sort of functions on the extended pad of what looked like a crate. While Private Daniels was still taking in all the details of the area in, the video link snapped off.
       James looked at Patrick, who was withdrawing the pen-sized camera and sliding a few feet back down the hall.
       "All right," started the Corporal, in a low voice. "We've got to get to that grav. lift."
       "I hope you brought butter, sir," returned James. "That infantry will have us fried in no time."
       Carter sighed and bit his lip, thinking. "We can do it. We need a plan, some grenades and precise fire," he suggested. "If only we had a sniper rifle, or a rocket launcher. Maybe Sarge will have something that–"
       "Sir?" interrupted James, looking down the hall, at the vacated burnt Elite. "Where'd Hunter go?"
       Pat looked down the hall. There wasn't anyone else there. He crept back to where the Elite was still laying, and shone his light down the hall farther down as well, but Derrick wasn't there either. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath.


       The blast knocked Kyle off his feet, and slid Samantha five feet across the slick floor. Wet fleshy bits rained down on the floor–the aftermath of a Carrier form's detonation. Lance pulled his hand away from his face, and prepared to fire another rocket into the doorway. He didn't have to. No more motion filled the doorway, and nothing living could be seen beyond either. The Sergeant was almost assured, nearly forgetting about the six threats still in the room.
       The green balls bounced and skittered across the floor, towards the humans. Kyle shook his head and pushed himself up by his elbows, still dazed. He then noticed the three Flood Infection forms rapidly approaching him. He scrambled backwards, all while pulling his acquired plasma pistol from his impromptu leg holster. As the nearest of the three got within but a hand's breath of his feet, he freed his weapon. Two shots into the nearest form was enough to start the triple-pop, chain reaction. Meanwhile, Sergeant Ferring had two forms who had though him appetizing enough to pursue, to contend with.
       Lance glanced once at his heavy weapon and decided it was not suited to the situation. He let it hit the ground, and reached for his HE pistol. The foremost Infection form was too quick for him, though. It managed to wrap its tentacles onto his left leg, and attempted to "bite" its' way up the Sergeant. Lance didn't take a liking to the prospect, and so he gave the Flood form a piece of his pistol. The angular edge of the weapon ripped into the soft flesh of the balloon like creature, and it popped. A following shot into the center of the second Ranger was the end of it. Lance was still not assured, the situation didn't feel right. He swung his pistol around the room, but there wasn't anything–
       "There it is!" shouted Kyle, noticing the lone remaining Infection form–not a foot from his wife. "No!"
       Sergeant Ferring and Kyle jumped off the floor and aimed their weapons, but they didn't have a shot. The Ranger was too close, they might hit Sam in the process. It was a critical mistake; however, the Humans' delay was all the little Flood form needed to get a grip on the female Marine.
       Lance watched, horror stricken, as the sickening alien form latched on to the back of his soldier. Her body convulsed, and a gurgle filled scream accompanied the initial spasms.
       Kyle clenched his teeth, tears beginning to blur his vision, and jolted forward. "Oh, God!"

       "What is it?" questioned 'Reigando.
       "It's the Flood Master," replied 'Itlaee. "They have attacked one of our hangars, on the port bow."
       "Did they get through?" 'Reigando asked, he held his breath.
       "They managed to breach one of the shields, Master. But our forces were able to repel their attack."
       The worried Ship Master let out his breath all at once, slightly relieved.
       'Itlaee continued: "We sustained casualties, but nothing serious."
       "What has happened with the malfunctioning shield?" 'Reigando queried further. "And are the Flood still attacking?"
       "Field Master 'Ipnaimee has several Engineers working on the overloaded mechanisms now. And the Flood are no longer attacking, they seem to have retreated and withdrawn."
       'Reigando was not so trusting of the Flood, he did not want another mistake made. Too many had been already. "Do not assume anything. We will leave this ring, and as soon as possible."

The Enemy Within-Chapter Ten: Dark Shadows Hold Dark Secrets
Date: 16 June 2004, 3:32 AM

       A high and powerful being looked over the holographic readouts in front of him. The colors emitted by the displays cast a glowing iridescence over the two-meter-high, white armored figure. He stood in the center of the command platform, positioned in the center of the bridge, located in the center of a Covenant destroyer. This was not just any destroyer; however, this ship was a flagship. One of the most powerful weapons in the Covenant's space going arsenal.
       The Black Bane sat motionless in the outskirts of the debris field. This commanding vessel was the replacement for the renegade, and now destroyed, Ascendant Justice. While many ships had been rallied, ordered to again mass, where the Unyielding Hierophant met its end; the task of scouring the remains of Halo was still a necessity. It was 'Fuilomee who oversaw the operations, under orders from the High Charity itself. He was chosen because of his elite status in the Covenant forces. He had fought for years in ground operations, and had been part of one of the legendary Black Special Operation Teams. But for 'Fuilomee, those days were over. He had seen many years pass, as his knowledge and experience grew with him. This is not to say the Elite was not a formidable creature. Reaching the rank of Fleet Master, or a rank close to what the humans called "Admiral," was no easy task. Many lives had been taken by 'Fuilomee's hands alone, some with hand held weapons, others obtained by means of a ship, but many of his kills had bathed his armored hands in alien blood.
       The Elite took a few moments to bask in his own pride. He sung his battle poem to himself, and let his thoughts of past engagements flash through his mind. Then he refocused on the tasks at hand, there was still much work to be done.

       'Fuilomee again scrutinized the display readouts. All ships were following their ordered search patterns, scanning every piece of debris in their sector. The Fleet Master clicked his mandibles, pleased things were going decently. He would have liked to relax but a little, to sooth his tired muscles, but he had to maintain his air of authority for those under his command. The Elite glanced towards on of his personal guard, who were stationed around the control center. 'Gargilee, the guard he looked upon, stood rigid, as solid as if the Elite had been made of the hardest stone. The armor let a faint trace of the lights around it reflect off, while still looking as if a great power was held within, waiting to be awakened and unleashed. From the angle that 'Fuilomee viewed his fellow Elite, the armor looked as if it had been fashioned out of the black of space itself. 'Gargilee was in his prime, 'Fuilomee thought, and had many kills ahead of him. The Fleet Master let his eyes return to the suspended displays. His face morphed into what one could call a smile, if not a sinister one at that.
       All was not totally well, though, and one ship still nagged at his thoughts: the Impending Incursion. The carrier was docked to what had seemed to be a likely section of the broken ring. This was not the problem; her Ship Master, Aknu 'Reigando, was. The Elite had lost several patrols in the ring, and still had not reported back as to the cause, or his findings of late. 'Fuilomee did not fear what could be the cause. He knew that it was possible that a few Flood had survived deep within the construct. He was frustrated and angry, however, that a Ship Master would be so naive as to not expect such dangers. All Fleet Masters looked greatly down upon incompetent commanders. Punishment is often needed to correct such stupidity, and 'Fuilomee knew, that for the situation to be fully corrected, he would have to issue punishment a plenty. This was not necessarily a bad thing, though. At least not in the eyes of 'Fuilomee.

       The black rubbery soles of combat boots thudded over the metal floor. Derrick thought it looked and felt like metal infused rock, but right now that didn't matter. A beam of white light illuminated the walls' contained spirals and faint designs as the end of the MA5B Assault Rifle jerked back and forth.
       Warrant Officer Hunter could hear screams and shouts drawing nearer, as he jogged down the hall and rounded another bend. He still didn't know why he was doing it. Maybe he was going insane, or perhaps all the combat had gotten to him. Whatever the cause, Derrick knew what he was trying to do was ridiculously stupid. A Navy pilot was trying to help a few Marines, that's what he was doing.
       While Pat and James were peering around a corner, apparently checking out some Covenant ground forces, Derrick came up with his own plan. The Sergeant and two other Marines were under attack, and were taking way to long to catch up. The word "heroism" wasn't at the top of reasons to do it at the time, but now the word played across Derrick's thoughts. He wasn't brave though, he just wanted to get the hell out of this place. A Halo of a hell. The Warrant Officer had gotten too nervous and jittery, just sitting next to an unconscious alien. So now, here he was, going to help some Marines out.

       As Derrick skidded around yet another bend, and he saw light spilling through an opening, he became somewhat confused. He no longer heard the sounds of fighting; there were no guns firing, or detonations. Just shouting; screaming, yelling, and shouting came from the next room.
       The Navy noncom sprinted into the room, but what he saw he didn't expect. None of the Marines present so much as glanced in his direction. The two male members of the party were staring down their gun sights at the lone woman. A Flood Infection form had latched onto her shoulders, and was in the process of trying to take over her nervous system. Derrick had always been told he made quick, and often irrational, decisions-but he had never payed attention enough to change the habit. He let the attachments clips on his vest catch his AR, and implemented his, come-to-be, trusty pistol.
       Seeing as Private Jones wasn't taking the initiative to shoot the monstrosity, and Sergeant Ferring was in the same emotional and physical condition, Hunter decided to take things into his own hands. His hands trembling, he was careful to aim well in the half-second he had available to him. The Warrant Officer carefully aimed his barrel around Kyle, who was now running towards his wife whilst screaming, and felt the cool touch of the curved metal under his forefinger. Letting his reflexes and instincts take over the job, Derrick pulled the trigger.

       The orange armored Grunt teetered side to side on his legs uneasily. Fvilop looked out into the shadowy expanse between himself and the end of the tunnel. Although there was no light at the end that Fvilop could see for himself, or the rest of the fleet for that matter. He tapped his Plasma Pistol on his side and stretched as much as he could in his bulky and cumbersome environmental suit. His bladder of methane was sixty-eight percent full, and he had already used the excuse to make a lengthy trip to refill it earlier. An Engineer chirped as another short section of the shield generating array hummed into working order. The overall shield was far from operational, however.
       Several other Covenant soldiers stood and paced around the open portal of the docking bay. All treading on the still moist remnants of the fallen Flood bodies. Four Jackals stood guard on the edge of the large door, using their senses to keep an eye out for unwelcome visitors. More paced between the many Grunts standing in place. Only two Elites were near the opening; though, one on either side of the portal, both of low rank, clad in blue armor.
       Fvilop wanted to waddle over to a corner and just sleep, but his Elite masters would have none of that. So he was stuck, not able to talk to anyone, just waiting for another attack to come. With nothing else to do, the Grunt went back to examining shadows.

       It was quiet, too quiet as far as 'Ipnaimee was concerned. The Field Master was not content with the situation. He didn't feel right about the Flood's attack. It wasn't their way to just stop, give up so easily, or so the Elite thought. From the reports he had read, 'Ipnaimee had come to believe that they usually never stoped attacking until either their enemy was dead and mutated, or all of their own resources have been expended. That was not all, though. There wasn't any movement in the tunnel at all. The Flood had totally withdrawn and now had either used up their numbers, something that 'Ipnaimee did not think likely; or were lying in wait just beyond the black filled doors along the large passageway's length.
       Progress, in means of shield mechanism repairs, was progressing slowly. Also, 'Ipnaimee wondered what was keeping 'Itlaee. He should have reported back by now, but perhaps he was discussing matters further with the Ship Master. It wasn't a Field Master's preferred choice to have a discussion with a Ship Master. 'Ipnaimee was glad he could implement those certain rank related privileges.
       This Field Master would have liked it if the ship he was stationed on would be ordered to leave this ring in the very near future. He was getting jumpy, and the weighing darkness and stillness was getting to him. It was unnerving, to just sit in front of an open portal, knowing what had been on the other side. 'Ipnaimee was starting to think that all the Masters that had been on Halo had gone insane.


       'Itlaee stood, ill at ease, while his Ship Master seemingly thought over all the details and pondered the situation. He had just announced that he was going to depart this section of the ring, but now the process of how to conduct it was at hand.
       "Shall I inform the Field Master 'Ipnaimee to cease his repairs?" 'Itlaee suggestively asked.
       'Reigando kept silent for a brief moment. "Yes, tell the Field Master to evacuate the ship bay," he responded. "We will close the external blast doors once we have cleared the segment."
       "Yes, Master," replied 'Itlaee, glad with the realization that this nightmare would come to an end . "I will go and instruct the Field Master, with your orders, at once."
       'Reigando watched as the blue-armored Elite turned briskly, and walked out of the control room. He clicked his mandibles in worry, there was a situation higher up that he would now have to attend to. The Fleet Master would not take this situation well and 'Fuilomee, 'Reigando knew, was already angered with his results. But a Ship Master had to report to his Master, no matter what his feelings, and so 'Reigando made his way to the holographic communications console.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Eleven: Ill Conceived Actions
Date: 20 June 2004, 2:46 AM

       Kyle paused for a split second as the roughly spherical creature popped, and the report of a Human pistol echoed in his ears. He didn't feel the need to take his attention away from Samantha, though. His feet continued on across the few meters separating the two from each other. For the second time in the last five minutes, he slid up to his wife and dropped down beside her. He pulled her close, and rested her head on his lap, as he retrieved his compact medical kit from his pack. For some reason, Private Jones was thankful that Sam had finally
fainted. Now she wouldn't have to consciously feel the pain, at least.
       Smoke still slowly drifted from the silver barrel of the M6D in Derrick's hands. They shook as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. He took deep breaths and swallowed slowly as his heart rate gradually dropped back to "normal." The Warrant Officer took a second to let the sweat drip off his nose. Then he came back to reality. He let the tip of his weapon drop, and took his first post-conflict look around the room. Kyle was, of course, already next to his wife. The Private was pulling what remained of the Flood form from the neck of the female soldier and was in the process of dressing the wound. Hunter couldn't help but notice her legs; however, which still leaked crimson.
       Sergeant Ferring took a good look towards Sam, and seeing that she was already being attended to, then jogged over to the Navy noncom now present. Lance made sure to keep his weapon at the ready, they were already spending too much lax time in this room.
       "What the hell are you doing here, son?" the Sergeant asked, trying to control his voice. "I distinctly remember ordering Corporal Carter to keep all your asses where they were."
       Derrick shook off the shock he was still feeling and turned to fully face his CO. "The decision was mine, Sir."
       "How so?" questioned Lance, his face showing he was disgruntled over the situation.
       "I, ah, made the choice to check on your progress sir," Hunter responded, licking his dry lips. "I thought you were taking too long, so�"
       "Son," Sergeant Ferring paused a moment, thinking over the situation. "You should have stayed put."
       The Warrant Officer started to open his mouth, but the sound refused to come.
       Kyle finished sticking a self-adhesive on the back of his wife's neck. Luckily the blood flow had slowed to a trickle from her legs. It hadn't severed a major artery. He gently maneuvered Samantha's body so that he was over her legs, and began applying a cauterizing agent to the bloody meat.
       "You might have saved Sam though," Lance rubbed his hand through his sweat drenched stubble atop his head, his concern showing over his face. "But don't you ever think about pulling this kind of crap again."
       "Understood sir." Derrick watched the Sergeant stare at the two Jones' for a moment, before thinking of the words to put forth. "Sarge?"
       The man took a couple seconds to respond, "Yes Warrant Officer?"
       "I was thinking it might be a good idea to get the out of here...sir."
       "Yeah, that might�" Lance trailed off, still focusing on his two soldiers. "Yeah, it would be a damn good idea. Grab any ordinance you can pry out of those monsters' hands. I'll help Kyle with Sam."
       "Aye sir."

       The Sergeant made his way, quickly, over to Kyle and the unconscious Sam.
       "Kyle, pack it in," he ordered. "We're pulling out."
       "I can't move 'er yet," he responded. He must have been concentrated, or worried, for his rough voice was overly slurred with his cockney accent. "We 'ave got ta get 'er legs bandaged up first."
       Lance sighed, "I'm sorry soldier, but you know as well as I do that the less time we spend here, the better."
       The worried Private nodded and started to pack away the small pack of medical supplies.
       "But do make sure to put some biofoam in those gashes, so we can get us all back to Pat's position alive," the Sergeant finished, bending down to get a look at his injured soldier.
       Derrick, meanwhile, looked around the blood stained room. After grabbing a shotgun and scavenging the shells off of a nearby rotting Combat form, he scampered to the other Flood bodies around the dimly lit room. The few Covenant work lights scattered around the room helped, but all the Humans in the room would have liked a nice bright overhead. After a couple moments, he had nine full magazines of AR ammunition and a loaded HE Pistol with four complimenting clips. Plus the plasma pistol he had wedged into his left cargo pocket, and two plasma rifles. He was gaining weight fast, and was already eager to let someone else carry the weapons.
       The pilot was about to pull back to Sergeant Ferring, transfer some weight, and cover them all as they left, when he noticed something worth looking into. A long matte-black barrel stuck out from under a Human Combat form. Derrick instantly recognized the former face-up Marine as Lance Corporal Eric Jones, he had been Fifth Squad's sniper. Normally Hunter wouldn't have given the thought of who the man was more than half a moment, but this man was different. "Snaky" Jones was Private Kyle Jones' brother, or rather, had been. An uncomfortable feeling grew in the pit of this pilot's stomach, and he had to look away from the corpse. Derrick held his breath, as the putrid smell of rotting flesh was making him gag, while he turned over the mutated Lance Corporal. There the weapon was, a S2 AM Sniper Rifle with a half-full clip; and apparently the Flood didn't bother removing the extras, because a rucksack and a harness with gear were still attached to the body. The Warrant Officer removed all these items, including extra APFSDS rounds for the 'rifle, thinking Kyle might find a use for them, and backed away from the now liquefying form.
       The Sergeant, who had reacquired the Rocket Launcher, and the Private were just moving Samantha to the door Derrick had only recently come through. They set her down and their eyes looked over the Warrant Officer approaching from across the room.
       "I, um, found a little, ah, toy for you," stammered Derrick, offering the Sniper Rifle to Kyle, and setting his brother's supplies at the Private's feet.
       Kyle's face was far from relaxed, and he only barely managed a smile with the sight of these familiar materials. If only he knew from where they had come, but a related thought still came to his mind. He had trained as a sniper, and he had become very proficient with the skill. His brother had suggested it, after Kyle was recognized for sharpshooting. The young Private wished his brother was with him now, but the memory would have to do. The Marine slipped on the combat harness and rucksack, which he noticed had characteristic green slime on them, and slung the 'rifle. He was grateful for the extra supplies, he had lost those when they first retreated into these danger ridden tunnels.
       Derrick returned the smile and offered the Marine the M90 and Human Pistol with two clips as well. They were quickly accepted with some of the extra shotgun ammunition, as Kyle's other weapon, a plasma pistol, was reinserted into its' makeshift holster. Sergeant Ferring reluctantly grasped both plasma rifles, sliping one into Sam's harness and holstered his own pistol, with a new clip from Hunter. The Warrant Officer kept a single Pistol magazine, and took advantage of the time it was taking the other two to position their gear to do the same. He finished by making sure the attachment clip of his MA5B was secure, and grasping the weapon with both hands.
       "Alright," Lance said. "Time to regroup with Pat and James."
       All the other two men present did was nod.
       The Sergeant bent down to pick up the lower half of Samantha when he paused. Maybe it was his demolitions training, or maybe he just had good eyes, but this was the second time in this room he had spied a prize. Two former Marines were wedged into a corner nearby, probably courtesy of one of the many previous explosions. Even though one of them he knew as having been part of Fifth Squad, this was not what interested him.
       Two rectangular blocks had spilt from one of the soldiers' split-open packs, belonging to the former PFC Jeremy Smith. The items were non other than C-12 plastic explosives. He sprinted the short distance and inspected the rucksack. There were six other blocks within, as well as ten remote detonators and a couple activation devices. Lance quickly looked over the second pack. It wasn't another rucksack, but it was just as good. Sergeant Ferring quickly pulled the strap of the satchel charge from around the Flood form.
       He looped it around himself and grabbed some "EB Green" from the other pack. After repairing the rucksack, he tossed it towards the Warrant Officer.
       "Take this, quickly son," he directed at Derrick, who barely caught the sack before it hit the ground.
       "What are these�" Hunter started.
       "We might need them later," answered Lance. "Now lets get going."
       Derrick and Kyle looked at each other and shrugged. Sergeant Ferring ran back over and bent down to pick up Sam. Kyle quickly went to assist, and the Navy pilot took a good look down the opposite hall. Within seconds they had disappeared into the unlit hallway, and left the death covered room behind themselves for good.
       These Humans may have been hungry, tired, and in need of a good hot shower, but they were the military type. Angry and filled with a remarkable renewed vigor, these men and women were ready to get out of this God forsaken hell hole.

       Scir 'Fuilomee turned away from the displays showing the debris field around him. A communication was coming in from one of the other ships. As the Fleet Master approached the flashing displays, he saw the transmission was from the Impending Incursion. It was from Aknu 'Reigando. 'Fuilomee bared his teeth at the thought of that particular Ship Master. He had already been too much trouble, but the weathered Scir calmed himself. Now was not the time for such feelings, for they would be saved until later.
       The Fleet Master selected the icon that answered the pre-message thus opening the channel.
       "What is it Ship Master 'Reigando?" asked 'Fuilomee.
       "Master. I am reporting on my progress," the Elite on the other end responded. "I apologize for my un-excused delay."
       "Then report your progress, and anger me no further," 'Fuilomee nearly growled. The pitiful apology frustrated him even more. It was a good thing, however, that the lower ranking Elite knew his place. "Speak."
       'Reigando paused for a moment before answering. "I have decided that the best corse of action would be to vacate this section of the construct."
       "Explain you reasoning," the Elite speaking from the Black Bane returned curtly.
       "The primary cause was the Flood, Master," the Ship Master said, looking away from his view screen. "They attacked one of my port ship bays."
       "The result?" was 'Fuilomee's swift reply, full of a demanding tone.
       Reigando's response was laced with shame, "The attack was repelled by the keen actions of the stationed Field Master."
       "Perhaps he should be the one commanding your vessel," authoritatively suggested Scir, with cold sarcasm.
       The Ship Master did not make a reply immediately, so the Fleet Master took a brief moment to think over the situation. He knew it was not like the Flood to cease an attack so seemingly easy. Normally, for their attack to have stopped, they must have run out of mutant soldiers to send in to combat; but for some reason, 'Fuilomee didn't feel right with that answer.
       "What happened after the attack?" he questioned.
       "According to Saeis 'Itlaee, who was also stationed in the hangar at the time of the attack, Master; the attack ended very abruptly," the lower ranking Elite answered.
       This brought another string of thoughts to the Fleet Master's mind. Perhaps the attack was some kind of test, or pre-attack. However, 'Fuilomee wondered what the purpose of such an attack could be. He pondered onward for another moment. Perhaps the Flood had changed tactics; thinking this chilled him to the core. For this would mean that they were far more capable and sentient than had before been assumed. It could have been an act to whittle down the Covenant forces, and lure them into a false sense of security when the initial attack was beaten back. Still, this, in 'Fuilomee's mind at least, was giving the Flood too much credit. The thought that those beasts, that stole his good troops, were clever enough to orchestrate such things was as monstrous as the Flood themselves.
       The Fleet Master's thoughts were interrupted as 'Reigando grew bold enough to make a statement without a question being asked first.
       "That is why I decided to leave the ring as soon as it was possible, Master," he stated. "To prevent any further danger to my ship."
       'Fuilomee was not that naive as to think the danger was contained only to a singe ship bay. "You were foolish to not have thought of this further. You have already exposed you craft to the danger of the Flood by remaining at your position when you knew the beasts were present."
       'Reigando did not feel he needed to reply.
       "It is now pertinent that you leave the piece of debris without any further delay," continued Scir. "But before you come in contact with any other vessel, or take part in any other search efforts, you are commanded to conduct a thorough search of your own ship."
       "I understand Master," came a slow reply.
       "Good," finished the Fleet Master. "Because you will not fail again."

       Aknu watched as the connection was terminated. He grinded his mandibles together in a combination of worry, fear, and anxiety.
       The Elite stayed at the communications consol, however. He still had to order the rest of those under his command to leave the ring and to prepare to disconnect from the segment. The Ship Master stood uneasily as he entered the command into the controls and waited for the message to be relayed to all the Covenant soldiers involved.




(Story/Author's Note: I would like to say that the strange reason for using the Elites' first names in the story is so I had more than their rank and other name to work with in the dialogue. Without this it would have, as it did to a degree, become repetitive.)

The Enemy Within-Chapter Twelve: Flash Flood Warning
Date: 14 July 2004, 5:21 PM

       'Ipnaimee continued to nervously observe the troops moving about, under his command. Within the past few units, several more sections of the shield generating array had been restored to operational status. The shield could still not be activated; however, because for that, all, or almost all, of the generating mechanisms must be functional. All of them weren't.
       This constant threat posed by the opened door, and events having passed previously, were getting to the Field Master, more and more. The contingent of ground bound troops and Shade Plasma Turrets did give him somewhat of a sense of security. However, the thoughts of danger would not leave his mind. They had been in his mind ever since they docked to the section of the ring. So 'Ipnaimee continued to pace in the space he had available to him, atop the peninsula of deck jutting out of the second level.
       He tried to do something to take his mind off things. The Elite took his Plasma Sword and rolled it over in his hands. 'Ipnaimee checked its energy reserves, and made sure the emitters and containment field generator were both fully functional. As he expected, all the systems were just fine. The Field Master then looked at the troops stationed on his own level. A few Shades with their gunners were there, alert as they should be; but only one group of Grunts was present, all sleeping next to a single console crate.
       "Awake!" shouted 'Ipnaimee. "You indolent cretins!"
       The five Grunts jumped with a start, waking only to the anger-filled face of their Field Master. They all jumped into some kind of action, trying to look like they were doing something useful.
       This simple act made 'Ipnaimee feel much better. Perhaps he would live on after all.

       Suddenly, a Jackal on the edge of the portal screeched a warning that he had seen something in the darkness. When the first attack had begun, The Field Master's eyes had not seen the living layer of Flood coating the walls and floor of the tunnel. This time though, he knew what to look for. He searched for the faint ripple that would give the presence of the enemy away. 'Ipnaimee had just registered the slight movements when for the second time, the Flood threw themselves forward. Another living tide moved quickly towards the large open door, firing as they went.
       "The shield?!" he questioned desperately, not directing it to anyone in particular.
       A blue Elite looked up from the floor. "It is not ready Master."
       "Quickly, send a message to-" but the Field Master couldn't speak fast enough. One of the randomly Flood-fired rockets struck the blue Elite in the center of his face.
       The other Covenant troops jumped to, firing into the void. A low ranking Elite, having been thrown and severely injured by the rocket blast, got a good look at the oncoming horde as they galloped into the outer lights. His eyes grew wide as he realized the vast numbers coming forth. The Elite, by the name Lop 'Jee, pulled himself with his good claw towards one of the communications consoles; taking the initiative that his dead fellow Elite hadn't had the time to.
       'Ipnaimee looked on in horror. The Jackals had moved to either side of the non-functional door, forming a barrier with their shields so that the remaining Elites could fire while protected. The majority of the Grunts, however, ran hither and yon. The Field Master was too perplexed and scared to move, his joints would not respond. He watched as the quarter-circle of Jackals and a single Elite, in the farthest corner of the door, was thrown across the floor in bloody chunks from another human rocket weapon. Smaller human projectiles mixed with plasma weapons fire also rained into the portal, increasing in intensity as the Flood rapidly approached.
       "Gunners!" 'Ipnaimee managed to stammer.
       All of the Elite gunners, stationed in their seats snapped their heads towards their Master. The highest ranking of the group spoke quickly:
       "The troops, Master, they block our fire."
       While normally the Shades would have immediately opened fire, their were too many troops in their line of fire. The few gunners turned in their seats and shouted down for their comrades to vacate the area, but the noise was too great.
       'Ipnaimee made the call, "Fire anyway!"

       Fvilop stood behind the remaining barrier of Jackals, firing random shots into the blurry wave of rotten flesh coming strait towards them all. It seemed as though the light at the end of this tunnel had turned a sickening shade of green; and was about to morph into a mosaic of purple and blue at this end.
       As the Flood forms got close enough so that the small Grunt could see the features of their deranged faces, the creature could take no more.
       "We're all going to die!" he yelled in a moan, bouncing off his heals and running behind the opposite side of the barrier in the center of hangar.
       The two Elites, one maroon and the other blue, behind the Jackals gave the Grunt a disapproving look and a shout before turning and continuing to fire. Apparently they assumed that the strength of their own forces was going to drive the demons back where they came from. Their overconfidence would be their undoing.
       Fvilop gave a quick glance back in time to see the wave of inflated balloon Carriers, and a mix of Elite warriors and human soldiers turned mutants, wash over the defending troops. The last thing the two Elites did was step forward, truly thinking that their pride and personal power would drive their enemies back. Their act ended in failure. Of course, that was all the Grunt needed to see to make him run even faster. He didn't think he would make it all the way to any of the doors, so his eyes searched for the closest cover.

       'Jee willed the muscles in his good arm to pull him faster. The Elite could feel the Flood approaching behind him. With his friend gone, and the enemy nearly upon them all, Lop understood his duty. The communications crate was only but a couple units from he reach. The Elite turned back for a brief moment, just to see what was really happening. Doing this didn't help his spirit of things, for all he saw was his Covenant comrades ravaged by the Flood forces.
       The enemy was literally on the doorstep now, 'Jee must be quick to alert the rest of the ship, of this danger. He grabbed the base of the crate, and began to pull himself up towards the control panel. A Flood form, however, had a different idea. The Human Combat form jumped out in front of the main hoard, landing on the Elite's good arm. The bones within cracked, and broke, separating from each other. Lop screamed in pain, trying to kick the form off of him-
       -But the Flood from was stronger than the still living Elite. It seemed to look down at 'Jee for a moment before rasing its left arm, from which two tentacles extruded. With one swift motion, the hardened limbs severed Lop's head roughly off. The Elite's body went immediately limp, whilst the oblong head bounced a short distance before rolling to a stop. 'Jee's eyes stared blankly upward, his purple gore spilling from the two sides of the hack, staining the deck plates.

       Seeing as the only troops blocking their fire had been killed, the Shade gunners let the plasma fly. Before, the combined fire of all of the Shades had been enough to push back the Flood, but it wasn't this time. The many triple streaks of blue-purple fire lashed out at their targets. Non of them missed, but it didn't make much of a difference. As the plasma hit the tide of Flood, a temporary swath of vacancy was carved, but like a spoon moving through oatmeal, the path quickly filled itself back in.
       The lone Grunt, Fvilop, dove behind the Wraith tank dominating the space and knew it wouldn't shield him for long. He again chanced a look behind him, and saw a few random Covenant troops emerge from the far doors and rush towards the very one-sided battle ensuing on the floor. The Flood only took fractions of units to advance forward; as the Grunt looked on, they passed the room's center divider. Fvilop then noticed that the top hatch of the tank was open. He took the opportunity and climbed inside.
       A dimly lit, mottled purple interior waited for the Grunt; with a matching seat towards the front. Fvilop barely had time to find a tight corner to squeeze into before a blood curdling scream filled his ears.

       Oh shit, what the fuck was he thinking? thought James. Neither he or the Corporal was going to run after Derrick.
       The Navy ass had disappeared a few minutes ago. Now everything was just falling apart. How he and Pat would get off the ring alive was very questionable indeed. The enemy had tanks, ground troops, and they might have even captured God by now; from what James was thinking. There was still Sarge though, perhaps he would just come running around the bend with three unicorns and a dragon. Blah, thinking about what wasn't there and wasn't going to happen wouldn't get anyone anywhere.
       James crouched next to the still unconscious Elite, looking down the hall down which the Warrant Officer had vanished down. The Private shook his head. Maybe Carter and himself were the only sane ones still alive. Daniels turned and looked at Patrick, who was again looking over the Covenant troops, just around the bend. Maybe the Corporal would find some kind of weakness, or way through, or something other than getting killed.

       Something moved in the corner of the Private's eye. Something had rushed into the cone-shaped beam of light from the front of James' weapon. The Marine prepared for the worst, and swung his weight towards what he thought was a threat. As the forms filled his eyes, he barely stopped himself from pulling the trigger.
       Kyle Jones was the first to come around the bend. James' face lit up with a smile, cracking the grime that had started to harden on his face. Sarge and Derrick were also on foot, but Daniels' face sunk when he saw Sam.
       "What happened?" he asked, keeping his voice low, as Kyle and Sarge set the woman down in front of him.
       Kyle frowned back, "She got hit, bad."
       "Why did you stop here?" asked Sergeant Ferring, stepping forward. The man had a Rocket Launcher, thank God. "I had thought you made it further than this."
       Hunter simply stood nervously on the other side of Samantha, holding a rucksack.
       James gave a scowl of a glance towards Derrick. It softened as he spoke to the Sergeant. "You should see what we found around the corner."
       Lance looked at Patrick, his current second in command, who was viewing something around the closest corner. "I'll catch Pat, you keep keeping an eye on that Elite, and help stabilize Sam if you can."
       James nodded as the Sergeant walked over to Carter. Daniels turned back and watched Kyle. The worried husband tightened the bandages around the four individual gashes in Samantha's legs, and single gash across the woman's thigh and butt. Red had still managed to stain all the way through the white gauze, and padding; but it looked like the blood flow had been stopped. James moved his gaze to the female soldier's face. It looked like she was in pain, but at least she wasn't conscious at the moment.
       Daniels looked over Kyle, he had brought back some extra weapons. The 'Rifle would definitely come in handy in conjunction with the Rocket Launcher. The shotgun would just help out in the team's armament.
       James motioned to Derrick, "What'cha got there?"
       The rucksack hit the floor with a light thud, as Hunter tossed it over.
       James let an annoyed look show on his face as he parted the fabric of the pack. He smirked as he viewed the equipment inside. The squad could definitely find a good use for these packages.
       James tossed the pack back. "Nice." He turned back to check on what Sarge was doing.

       "So?" whispered Sergeant Ferring.
       Patrick didn't respond, he just kept looking by means of the optical probe camera, with his mouth slightly agape.
       The Sergeant poked Pat in the shoulder.
       Pat moved slightly, blinked, and turned to face his commanding officer. "Sir."
       "Well?" continued Lance. "What's so interesting?"
       Corporal Carter refocused on the image in front of his right eye for another moment. "It's the Covenant forces sir."
       "Well? What about them?"
       "They're...leaving," Pat looked bemused.
       "Say again."
       "They're all just packing up," Patrick answered again, in disbelief. "Just leaving."

The Enemy Within-Chapter Thirteen: Blood Of The Wraith
Date: 17 July 2004, 6:14 PM

      A living wave of rotting green monstrosities poured in through the unshielded hangar door of the Impending Incursion. Their numbers, however, were triple the force they had displayed earlier. The beasts poured up from the tunnel's floor, rolling over the bottom of the large door; but still managed to climb the sides, only to dump themselves upon the second and third levels, as well as rain down on their brethren below.
       Individual squads of Covenant troops emerged from the many doors around the ship bay, having heard the initial commotion. However, brains were apparently in short supply at the time, for none of them thought to send a communication outside of the hangar area. Half of their numbers were eliminated during their first second of emerging from behind the blast doors.

       'Ipnaimee was struck with shock from the very beginning. He had thought that once the Shade turrets had opened fire, it would slow the Flood enough to allow reinforcements to arrive. The situation had not gone anywhere near what could be called well, though. One gunner had just been flowed over by a group of Flood; and another was about to be flipped, only a couple units in front of 'Ipnaimee. The Elite would have to think of something fast to preserve himself, not to mention this hangar and, eventually, the rest of the ship.
       The Field Master glanced to his right, to see another door open, and the Flood wash over those attempting to exit from it. The Plasma Sword flashed to life in the Elite's hands, filling his heart with but an ounce of vigor. 'Ipnaimee then saw something that could save his life for but a few more units. A Wraith sat on his left, inactive on the ground floor. Better still, the Flood weren't seemingly interested in that side of the hangar yet.
       'Ipnaimee turned and took a long swing, with his sword, at the group of Flood that had just managed to push the Shade turret off of the tip of the second floor peninsula. The tips of the triple-pronged weapon still discharged as the turret and gunner fell. The blue blade cut the multiple forms in two, giving the Field Master what he thought would be enough time to make it to his vehicle of a weapon. It was not meant to be, however; and even as 'Ipnaimee willed his legs to push off, his end approached quickly.
       The first of the string of bad events was an Elite Combat form that vaulted itself into the air from the floor below. A burst from the creatures human assault rifle, coupled with a swing from its' trio of hardened tentacles was enough to stop the still whole Elite from jumping, and send him to the floor. 'Ipnaimee managed to arc his blade of fire up and slice into the Flood form's chest. The Infection form within must have perished, for the host fell limply to the ground. The Field Master tried to raise himself, and just as his muscles started to propel him forward, a human projectile weapon impacted behind him. It didn't blow the Elite to pieces, but the shrapnel shredded his armor and tenderized the meat of 'Ipnaimee's back.
       The once great Field Master let loose a horrific wail as he tumbled through the air and plummeted back down. The last thing the gold armored Elite saw was the outer surfaces of his intended safety; before his body struck the unyielding alloys of the vehicle, his neck snapped forward, and the front of his skull caved in against the interior surfaces of the Wraith.

       Fvilop squealed and sat frozen, staring up at the Elite's corpse. Dark purple blood mixed with saliva seeped from the former Field Master's vertebrae-punctured throat, running along the four mandibles before mixing with the liquids oozing from the cracks in the golden helmet; all before beading up and dripping onto the Grunt's respirator.
       The small creature's body shook, his arms and legs trembling. Fvilop could help but look into 'Ipnaimee's deformed face; but what the Grunt found there was far from pleasant. Past the shattered helmet, past the fragmented bits of skull, and past the exposed near-black, purple brain; past all that were the Elite's two eyes. Captured within the two spheres, colored a night-black, was a mix of terrible emotions: hopelessness, disbelief, malice, and the most recent and most terrifying to Fvilop, sheer terror. The reeking smell of death smothered the interior of the Wraith.
       All of this sunk into the Grunt's consciousness. It sat for a brief moment, haunting the creature's very being, then Fvilop could have no more. He let out a final screech and went insane. The creature barely had time to thrash about the cockpit before the main artery in his brain experienced the bursting of an aneurysm, due to a massive fearand stress-induced heart attack. The body of Fvilop convulsed, all its parts in spasm, before going still. A phosphorescent-blue liquid leaked from the former Covenant soldier's ear.
       Now blue and purple blood, mingling together, stained the floor. Two lay dead on the Wraith.

       The shimmering purple anti-gravitational field below the small Covenant vehicle caught the attention of 'Lshowee for a brief moment. The Elite's eyes then shifted to the purple skin of the craft; he noted that the color closely resembled the hue that covered his own form, unlike the blue color that adorned the Elite piloting the Ghost. However, the young warrior's current guard position and pattern were inefficient.
       "'Urucilee," addressed 'Lshowee, currently a First Class, Junior Grade Pilot Squad
Master.
       The lower ranking Elite turned in his seat to look at he who addressed him. "Yes, Master?" he answered.
       "Your patrol radius has tightened visibly," 'Lshowee replied. "Expand the radius back to its previous ordered area."
       "Of course Master," 'Urucilee turned back towards the display console of his vehicle.
       'Lshowee could see the young Elite look over his ordered patrol. After a brief unit, 'Urucilee's vehicle sidled to the right, maneuvering into the path he should have already been in.
       The Squad Master smiled, what could be described as the Elite equivalent of a smirk; but 'Lshowee's smile was borderline sadistic. This Elite wanted to win wars, of course, and he knew what could and could not be done. Except this Elite would expend just about anything but his own safety to gain victory, or just to keep that safety. 'Lshowee was no coward, but he knew how to use others to his own advantage. His goal was to one day control an entire fleet, perhaps an armada; however, even he would never think of undermining the authority of the High Charity, the authority of the Prophets.
       'Lshowee blinked, changing the subject of his thoughts. The Elite drew his primary weapon, a Plasma Rifle, and looked it over in his hands. Its seems glowed a cool blue, but the power storage device energy indicator displayed that the weapon only contained thirty-two units of energy. The Squad Master activated a control and ejected the mostly drained power storage device, and retrieved a full one, replacing it with the old device. This act brought back memories of the short battle that had occurred earlier. It had been the organism called the Flood. 'Lshowee understood why they were called what they were. Even from the short encounter he had witnessed, the Elite had seen how they moved and acted as a single wave. He was still not sure as to why the creatures had stopped as they did. Again 'Lshowee shifted his mind elsewhere.
       He looked to his right side; fastened to a quick release clip on the rear-hip of his Combat Armor sat a Needler. The Elite didn't need to grab it to know that it was fully loaded. All of the twenty crystalline quills glowed a purple-pink. Plus, below the weapon, on 'Lshowee's belt were three light-purple ammunition capsules, containing more of the deadly projectiles. Not as oblong, and not sharing the same colors, six other spheres were attached to the Elites belt. The several inactive explosives-waiting-to-happen, otherwise known as Plasma Grenades, were attached in a line to the front left of 'Lshowee.
       That was still not the end of the Squad Master's arsenal. The Elite looked down at the Plasma Pistol on his left thigh, glowing a faint green. 'Lshowee nodded, his smirk again rising to the surface of his face.

       A beeping on the communications console grabbed 'Lshowee's attention. The Elite walked over to the control panel, and pressed a holographic button. A message scrolled across the screen: new orders.
       'Lshowee activated a communications link to the two Field Masters stationed in the large room. "Masters," the Squad Master began. "I have received new orders from the Ship Master that we are to move our forces back into the Impending Incursion."
       The higher ranking of the two responded, but 'Lshowee could see both of them looking in his direction from their patrols. "Understood, Squad Master 'Lshowee, we will round up the troops and move the equipment back into the ship," responded 'Tacoayee, First Class, Median Grade Ground Operations Field Master.
       "Let the vehicle operators know of the orders, and send a message for equipment carts," ordered the lower ranking Field Master, a Second Class, Master Grade Swordsman.
       "Right away, Master," 'Lshowee waited for his commanders to terminate the connection.
       The Squad Master quickly sent the orders to the pilots of the ground vehicles. The vehicle operators visibly paused for a brief moment, then moved their vehicles to cover, and assist if necessary, the other ground troops, now preparing to leave. When 'Lshowee received confirmation of the orders from the vehicle operators, he sent a request for several gravity carts to the troops stationed at the top of the gravity lift. Within a couple units, the requested carts were floating down the purple beam.
       'Lshowee stood back, shouting orders and directing the Grunts sent down to assist with moving equipment. The Squad Master took a brief glance to either side of the room. The stationed troops had formed into wide, rough lines, funneling troops and lighter equipment towards the gravity lift. Soon, all of the Covenant forces should be off this section of the ring. 'Lshowee smiled, honestly he would like to returned to comfortable interior quarters, but he sure would miss the feeling of waiting for a good round of combat.


       Sergeant Ferring watched through his eyepiece as the first groups of Covenant rode upwards in the purple beam in the center of the room. The forces, on all sides of the grav lift's base were thinning. Of course there was still that Wraith that would have to be dealt with, and the two Ghosts; only one of which, though, was on the same side as the Sergeant.
       A column of troops was still on either side of the Covenant lift as well. A gold Elite seeming to run the show of each group. Lance could also just make out a floating plasma sword, each a little more than a meter off the ground, right next to the grav lift. Plus, neither of the two Shades just outside the door had been vacated; and two Hunters were still meandering nearby. The Sergeant did see what looked to be good news; though, a pair of floating carts were headed towards the two Shades. Sergeant Ferring hoped that they were intended for what he assumed. The sooner the Covenant troops pulled back, the sooner he and the rest of his squad would have a chance to get out of the confining tunnels.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Fourteen: A Decision Made Too Late
Date: 1 August 2004, 4:07 AM

       "Now?" asked the other Elite, named 'Agasee. The designation "Master" wasn't needed, seeing as 'Agasee was of equal rank to 'Reigando. But even though the Ship Master didn't outrank him, 'Agasee still had to take orders. The Impending Incursion was 'Reigando's ship, after all.
       "Yes, 'Agasee," answered 'Reigando, through the ship board communications system. "Prepare your Special Operations troops immediately."
       'Agasee, a First Class Black Master, replied from his barracks section, "Of course, I will sound the call at once." He could tell that the Ship Master on the other end of the connection was jittery, nervous, perhaps was even becoming frightened. "Are you in a condition to command?"
       "Of course I am fit to command, I am fine," replied 'Reigando. "Now begin searching the vessel."
       "Right away," 'Agasee terminated the link.
       Black Master; 'Agasee rather preferred that title over Ship Master. He had decided to dedicate himself to the Special Operation Forces, rather than go into ship commanding. This Elite thought riding in a ship much too tiresome, and lacking of action. He preferred the heat and tense atmosphere of battle. 'Agasee also preferred his title over Field Master. He outranked even a First Class Field Master, but only because he had gone into Special Operations rather than standard ground operations. In actuality, 'Agasee's full rank was First Class, Special Operations, Black Field Master; but the "Black" before "Field Master" acknowledged that this Covenant warrior was of high ability.
       The Black Master input a command on the holographic consol he was already in front of. It was for all of the troops in his barracks to prepare themselves. This would take but a couple units, for all Special Operation soldiers were on standby at all times, especially when hovering over a planet, or in this case, docked to a broken ancient structure.
       "All Squad Masters report to the main preparation chamber at once!" 'Agasee barked over the speakers. "Troops: prepare for patrol duty. Gather your equipment and assemble at your designated areas."
       The Black Master made his way quickly from the Masters' section to the main preparation room. He made it there mere seconds before his Squad Masters and two lower ranking Field Masters arrived, fully armored and armed.
       The highest ranking under 'Agasee spoke first. "What is our mission, Master?" Third Class Black Field Master Igkas 'Shukee sounded enthusiastic, ready for some kind of action more than watch duty.
       'Agasee looked over the two Field Masters and several Squad Masters and smiled, his troops were well trained and ready for any challenge. "Your Ship Master has ordered that search teams be sent through out the vessel, and regular patrols to be set until full security has been established within the vessel."
       Apprentice Field Master 'Lashowagee spoke up, "What is the threat, Master 'Agasee?"
       "The Ship Master wants to make sure that we have not unknowingly allowed any enemy forces aboard this vessel." The Black Master slightly appreciated being addressed by his name and more than a title, but still, a professional attitude should be maintained.
       "What are our orders?" asked 'Shukee.
       "You will coordinate the search teams. Apprentice Field Master 'Lashowagee: you will take three squads to help with the effort at the gravitational lift," replied 'Agasee. "I will be commanding a group to make sure the Control Room remains secure."
       All of the lower Masters present nodded once, acknowledging the orders. The Apprentice Field Master quickly and quietly selected three Squad Masters, ones he usually battled with and commanded, and set off to gather the rest of the three squads appointed to him.

       Meanwhile, the normal troops aboard the Impending Incursion were also given new orders. The current guard posts and normal stations were to be doubled in force. The troops that had previously been off-duty made their way to their local armory.
       Elites, Hunters, Jackals, and Grunts filed into the weapon and armor holding chambers. Little did the first group of armored Covenant soldiers, filing into the equipment chambers, know that a nasty surprise waited for them. The Hunters picked up charges for their main weapon, already integrated into their armor; the Elites, picked up Plasma Grenades and Plasma Rifles or Needlers; the Jackals picked up their shields and Plasma Pistols; and the Grunts made their way to pick up grenades and Plasma Pistols or Needlers. Some of the Elites were of the class to pick up a Plasma Sword as their weapon, others moved to pick up the cloaking devices they used at their duty stations.
       Just as they thought they were about to leave, the waiting danger decided that their wait was over. Signaled by some unseen, unheard, and un-smelt signal, or maybe even having grown tired of waiting, the Flood unleashed themselves. Their numbers were not small, they had had many days to build up their numbers in the small crevasses and unchecked spaces in the Covenant ship. The Combat forms could not have made it in through the hull, they were finding an alternate means of entrance, but the soft and flexible Rangers were just right for the job of infiltration.
       Now, the Flood's numbers had built up to a critical level in the confined spaces they were kept to, but no longer. All of a sudden, what looked like a green foam poured from the vents and small passageways into the armory of un-expectant Covenant. The bubbling mass was hard to miss, and hundreds of shots were sent into the mass; but the soldiers wielding the weapons observed that for as quickly as the creatures popped, they appeared thrice as fast. The Covenant contingent of soldiers in the armory was quickly overrun. Having learnt, the Flood took advantage of the bodies, and the Infection forms first order of business was to convert as many normal Covenant troops into agents of the Flood's bidding.
       Unbeknownst to the majority of the crew aboard the Impending Incursion, they were being assaulted within their own ranks. Death, it was beginning to seem, was approaching on swift wings.


       'Itlaee walked slowly down the corridor, taking his time to reach his destination. The Elite was glad, however, he would finally get to think in peace, now that the ship was soon leaving the broken ring. The last couple of days, 'Itlaee had been experiencing odd feelings throughout his consciousness. Like he was being watched, and like a foul presence was creeping in on the ship. It had all seemed like non-sense at first, but now . . . now the cause of the feelings were much more clear.
       The Elite walked around another bend, through another circular room, and towards the door that led into the hangar where Field Master 'Ipnaimee was stationed. 'Itlaee felt a strong feeling now, like something wasn't right. The sounds coming from the room on the other side of the door weren't normal, and a sickening smell wafted from the door's seems. 'Itlaee knew what was happening; it had to be another Flood attack. He had to inform the Ship Master-but the Elite had strayed to close to the door. The sensors detected him and the two door sections slid open, revealing the horrid sights on the other side.
       'Itlaee, shocked and scared beyond belief, tried to run. He managed to spin around and take three strides. The Flood that had been pressing against the other side of the door, however, were faster than the Elite. The rotten masses plowed into 'Itlaee, and instead of rounding the corner, through the room through which he had just past, the Elite was thrown forward into the wall. He could feel the bodies passing him, and heard a horrible gurgling in his ears, but couldn't move. The wall had taken his breath away, and shot stars into his vision. Nevertheless, it wouldn't have mattered for this Elite. In his dazed, frightened confusion, his guard was let down. The Infection form had no problem sending its penetrator between 'Itlaee's helmet and torso armor. Within a minute, 'Itlaee was just another body, marching with the Flood through the halls.

       When to make the move, that was the question on Lance's mind. It wasn't taking long for the Covenant to pack up, and soon they would all certainly pull back to within the ship. They were smart bastards though. They still had kept all four Shades out and fairly close to the two doors: the only easy ways into the large room. Plus the vehicles had stayed behind, a smart move to cover the ground troops. In that field of things, the remaining troops had moved into covering positions by the shades and, mainly, by the grav lift.
       The two gold Elites were still there, one on either side of the gravity lift. The two invisible sword Elites were also still there, but they had jumped up on two of the pieces that jutted off the main grav lift platform. A sort of invisible sentry service, it would seem. Sergeant Ferring didn't like the sound of taking all of it on at all. He would need some kind of strategy to take them out quickly. The Sergeant almost wished the Flood would attack again, from the other door; but he knew well that if they came from one side, they would almost certainly appear again on the other.
       Lance conjectured that he and his squad might just have to wait a little longer. Wait until half of the ground troops were gone; and maybe the Covenant would send up the vehicles and Shades up and leave a final group of just ground troops that would be easier to contend with. Time would tell, though, and the Sergeant knew that.
       Meanwhile, Kyle had been able to wrap up Sam a little more. She had even regained consciousness for a few seconds before conking back out again. The woman was honestly not looking that well. Her face had drained of color, and her pulse was weak, as well as her breathing being shallow. Lance knew that the female soldier had lost a lot of blood through her legs. Plus, there was no telling what kind of trauma she had experience from the half Flood infection. Private Jones was currently holding his wife in his lap, her torso rested against his stomach, and her head held in his arms. Kyle ran his finger slowly through Samantha's hair, and wiped the dirt off of her face. Lance knew he must be going through many emotions right now; and was probably wishing that his wife was still safe at home, with a good chance to live.
       Derrick and James were talking a bit, but Sergeant Ferring wasn't sure what their conversation was about. Beside the two, against the wall, the Elite was still laying. The creature seemed to be unconscious, but no one could be sure. Daniels had felt for a pulse and said he had found something, but non of the team members were experts in Covenant physiology. Lance could only guess that the animal was in pain. The thing's skin was visible burnt and some parts were cracking. No more blood was coming out, and some had dried on the burnt-blue armor. The Sergeant still couldn't feel sympathetic for the beast. Maybe if some of the damned Covenant would understand that Humanity was fighting against the same thing in this case, Lance could develop an understanding; but the arrogant fashion in which the aliens conducted their action really turned Sergeant Ferring against the bastards.
       Beside the Sergeant, Corporal Carter was still crouched. Having surrendered his optical probe camera to Sergeant Ferring, Patrick was now only looking at the images coming from the small camera as an observer. Pat was contemplating the best course of action the Marines should take when the time for and offensive move came. The Rocket Launcher would be a big asset, it would be able to take out the Hunters, and, the Corporal remembered, the communications crate would be a good thing to hit. Only four shots though. His CO had found the 'Launcher with two ammunition boxes; and the two shots which had been in the weapon at the time had already been fired. That left, the previously thought of, four more shots. Not a whole lot to work with, so targets would have to be chosen carefully.
       The Sniper Rifle would be very nice as well. Carter had overheard that Derrick had been responsible for the find. At least the Swabbie had made up for his disappearance. Perhaps Hunter would turn out alright. After all, he was the only pilot in the squad if they had to take a flight out of the Covenant ship. That was if they made it that far, but James didn't want to think about the negative, so he refocused on how the 'Rifle would be implemented. The Elites would be good targets to get first, being the most dangerous; the Corporal thought maybe the invisible ones on the grav lift pedestal, and Pat knew that those gold Elites were trouble, luckily only one was on this side of the lift, though, and he was all the way back at the base of the lift. Sniper round wouldn't be an initial problem, Derrick had also found some extra ammo with the weapon.
       Vehicles; those would be the real problem. Private Kyle Jones, the team Rifleman, was a good shot, and so the Ghosts might not be a big problem, if Jones could get the shots off when the pilots were exposed. The Banshee didn't have a pilot in it, so as long as they didn't allow anything near it: no problem there; Patrick thought that the nearby maroon armored Elite was probably that pilot. The creature was currently standing a couple meters from a communications console-the only one visible in the room-with the Banshee another two meters away; he would have to be one of the first to go.
       Then was the issue of lighting. The random blue lights placed in the geometrically patterned, near and far, walls weren't that bright, but if someone was looking . . . it would probably be best to not stick to the walls. On the other hand, the only real covenant lighting was placed near the gravity lift and doors; with some evenly spaced lights creating a perimeter, a few meters away from the grav lift, and a few more evenly spaced between the lift and opposing doors. Approaching from the side, from the created shadows, could be a good tactic; but the Humans would have to get through the doorway unnoticed first. There were a lot of things to consider, and not a lot of time to spend thinking over them. Corporal Carter was fully aware that the Flood could attack again at any moment, and he and the rest of his fellow Humans wouldn't last long in these tunnels; with and enemy on either side. No, they would have to move very soon if ever.
       Then Pat remembered the grav carts and came up with an idea. The Covenant had already loaded the two Shades at, at least, their end onto a pair of hovering gravity carts; but the gunners had remained in the guns. A good move on the Covenant's part, thought Carter, but it might work to the Humans' advantage. Patrick continued to formulate his plan. If they could take out the enemy in the area of the carts, then two members of the team could jump into the Shades and start lighting up the Covenant's world. The Corporal nodded lightly at his own idea.
       Sergeant Ferring jerked his head to the side, focusing beyond the image on his boom-mounted information screen, and looked at his second in command. Corporal Carter motioned for the two of them to move back, away from the corner. The Sergeant turned off the probe camera and moved back a few feet.
       "What is it Corporal?" he asked.
       "Well, sir, I have a plan," answered Patrick. "It could just be crazy enough to work."
       Lance looked past Carter at the five other bodies at the far corner, then glanced back at the corner he had just occupied. "What do you think?"





(Author/Story Note: I was speculating about the whole Black Master and rest of Spec Ops Elites ranks. I will do this more during the ending chapters of this series. I hope I got all the details about rank equivalence right, but is any of you who read this know more about the subject, please inform me so I can improve upon the subject. Also, those of you who have differing opinions, or maybe agree with how I described it, please go ahead and say something in your comment to this story.)

The Enemy Within-Chapter Fifteen: Taking The Offensive
Date: 22 August 2004, 12:53 AM

       They were moving, the Covenant troops were all pulling back towards the gravity lift. Now was the time to execute the quickly formulated plan of action. The unconscious Elite and Sam were laid side-by-side, two meters from the corner; not touching, but the burnt alien was still mere inches from contacting the comatose woman. Derrick, having been assigned a tail cover position, was behind the other five Humans, Assault Rifle in hand, lighting up the passage beyond with white light. Private Kyle Jones was positioned against the right side of the tunnel, opposite the wide open ancient door, ready to comfortably lean into the open with his loaded and ready S2 AM. The heavy weapon in the group, a M19 SSM, was in the hands of he who had found it-Sergeant Ferring-who was also ready to move into the open to let loose four good shots.
       That left two Assault Riflemen to take point. Patrick and James were ready to do just that. Daniels had a black bandana, with skull and crossbones spaced over the cloth, pulled tightly over his clean shaven head, underneath his helmet, tied surprisingly neatly in the back. The Corporal hadn't put on any traditional accessories; though, just his combat-ready face. He did have a nice design on his cheeks, however. Back when all of them had been trapped in a little dark room, James had jokingly offered to shave a flame design into Pat's quarter-centimeter-long stubble; Carter had accepted. Daniels had been big on tattoos and face art before he became a soldier, but a day and a half later, the design didn't look clean or pretty anymore. Now, a hard etched half-frown painted the picture of a battle hardened soldier on the face of Patrick; his centimeter-long black hair wet with sweat, flattened under his helmet.
       "Ready team?" the Sergeant whispered, his present position a foot in font of the squad Rifleman, centering himself in the tunnel.
       Corporal Carter turned his head from his own position, two inches from the ninety-degree corner. "Enemy watchmen still looking this way," he said back, in a bare whisper through his cupped hand.
       Private Daniels looked on edge, like a coiled spring, ready to jump forward and unleash his potential energy.
       Lance decided that the time for verbal communications was over. Keep your eyes on them, Sergeant Ferring told his second in command with only his left hand.
       Patrick responded with a once-inch, up-and-down motion of his head, focusing on looking through his probe camera again.
       The Sergeant dropped his gaze to the floor, sighing quietly rocking his head to both sides. His eyes caught those of the single pilot present. The Warrant Officer looked pretty strange, almost funny; still wearing his flight suit under a used combat harness and vest, along with a pair of dirtied black boots. Lance would have smiled at the spectacle of a Swab holding an AR, had the situation permitted.
       It'll be okay, son, was the thought Sergeant Ferring conveyed with a slow and simple triple nod.
       Derrick understood, returning the nod while curling in his lips; he stopped the motion of his head after a second, pushing his lips tightly together, and turned back around.
       Lance's attention was captured back with a click of the squad COM channel.
       Patrick had his hand held up, signaling his four active teammates to prepare for action. The tense fingers loosened slightly, the smallest curling half way down, but the rest remained erect. The Corporal tensed, raising his arm a hair higher, his ring finger twitching. Two heart beats later, he jerked his optical probe camera from around the corner and into its compartment on his vest; his other hand, meanwhile, pulled the smallest two fingers to its palm. Without pause, Pat jerked his stiff fore and middle fingers around the corner; pushing off the floor and into the light, taking his MA5B into his hands.

       The two Hunters, on either side of the two Shade turret loaded carts and accompanying soldiers, had just turned the other way, sweeping their eyes over the grav lift instead of the walls. Poor timing, or perhaps chance, on the other Covenant soldiers' parts had them all looking everywhere else than at the door. It was just the break Patrick had been looking for, and he had taken it with both hands.
       Corporal Carter was first out the door, his boots making an indiscernible amount of sound from their impact to the metallic floor; he went left out of the door. PFC Daniels was second through the door, with no one following on his tail, taking the same aurally silent steps as the leading Marine had; James went to the right as he cleared the door. Neither side was lit well, the stationary lights set by the Covenant lighting only a path back to the gravity lift's perimeter. The lighting was perfect for the two Human soldiers who rushed through it, for beyond the fringes of the bright light, thick shadows made ideal cover; enhanced by the probability that the Covenant troops' eyes were used to the light, and so would not as easily spot a thing in the darker spaces.
       Both Human Assault Riflemen moved in symmetry after exiting and branching off to either side of the ancient portal. Two pairs of large armored legs were just rotating back to face the joined torso towards the-thought well covered-door. That pair of Hunters would be the first to go.

       Puapo Laga Kiesu focused on the brightly lit alloys around the large room. Normally, Kiesu made others look small, with his large stature and bulky armor. Puapo was a reletively large creature, not above the Elites in combat, but, when wanted, Hunters could rise to their full height, over a full unit above the tallest of the other races making up the Covenant. This room though, it made Kiesu feel diminutive; expansive from side to side. Then there was the large gaping pit off to one side, a drop most certainly long enough to kill. It made this particular Hunter wonder how powerful the ones who came before had really been. To have built such a place, they must have been-
       Kiesu thought he heard something behind him. Something must have moved on his back side, but what could it have been? There weren't any other Covenant soldiers off the side like the two Hunters were, all of the others were grouped around the two slowly moving gravity carts. So what was it?
       The Hunter turned into the dark shadows at his left side, his eyes straining to see anything of consequence. Puapo would have never know there was a Human behind him, if he would not have felt something latch on to his exposed back. He wheeled around in a quick circle, swinging his shield around in his full-degree turn, but the melee weapon found nothing to strike; the culprit was already three units away, firing a noisy projectile weapon at the troops around the two grav carts. The Hunter could just make out the faint sound of the explosive device stuck onto his back, and faint blue light coming off of the activated Plasma Grenade.
       Kiesu felt rage rise quickly within him, and began to charge his powerful main weapon. The glowing Fuel Rod Cannon had just reached full charge, and the Hunter wielding the weapon prepared to launch the round-
       -The fuse on the Plasma Grenade apparently objected; and just as Kiesu willed his weapon to fire, a blue flash ripped his body in two. The readied green blast went high, detonating harmlessly against the nearby wall. Brightly colored entrails burst out from the Hunter's exposed frontal-mid-section, spraying out over the lit path on the silver floor. The heavy mass that used to be Puapo's torso flew three units into the air, spinning as it went, sending the flourescent orange blood that was still left in the body cavity spraying into the air; the thick liquid splashing onto the floor. The armored head of the creature hit the ground first, willing the rest of the attached form to roll over; the torso stopping chest up after sliding briefly over the floor, a trail of bodily fluids following it. Having been contacting the ground, the legs were only tossed a short distance forward, letting the blood left in them leak onto the floor.
       Little did the late Kiesu know, having been airborne and too preoccupied to notice, that his blood brother had suffered the same fate, and what was left of him was now on the floor as well, only a few units away.

       While the two Hunters had been trying to figure out what had been attached to their backs, and by whom, the two responsible Humans were starting to cause even more havoc, starting the next kill cycle of their very flexible plan. The first next to go were the Shade turret gunners; grenades would have been a superb thing to use for the job, but that would have been in the case that the plasma turrets were not to be used by the attacking forces, and this was not the case.
       Grenades were used in a different fashion; however, and two of them, plasma, found their place on the cold floor, at the feet of the foremost Covenant troops, ahead of the grav carts. That kept that small group busy while 7.62 millimeter, armor piercing, rounds pounded into the exposed sides and heads of the two Shade gunners. James dispatched the Grunt fast enough, only using up six rounds, in two consecutive bursts, to spray blue brains into the air, the ruptured respirator adding methane to the messy mix.
       Patrick's hard working cohort was already throwing the dead Grunt from its former seat when the other gunner, this one a blue armored Elite, departed the physical realm. It had taken the better part of a full clip to break through the creature's shields and armor; the beast had almost had enough time to react, beginning to rotate the large, turret-mounted, weapon in the assaulting Corporal's direction. The solid stream of hardened slugs, however, kept the Covenant bastard bamboozled long enough to put him down for good.
       Of course, the other alien forces along side the two carts didn't take a liking to their brethren being blasted to hell. The two grenades had tossed several Grunts and Jackals around, but two of the three Elites caught in the blast had made it through, only their shields having bitten the plasmatic dust. They managed a single challenging roar before James swept his conveniently aimed, newly acquired, heavy weapon over the man-like forms. Pat heard the roar turn to a dying howl, as he climbed into his own seized turret and opened fire at the perfectly intact Covenant ground forces between himself and the madly firing James.
       The Corporal swept the three discharging prongs quickly back and forth over the alien bodies before him. Knocking Grunts clean off their feet as melon sized holes appeared in their bodies, spilling neon blue blood over the ground. The seven Jackals managed a brief second longer than their methane breathing counterparts, their shields resisting the large bolts of plasma pounding into them; but once the shields had overloaded, the bird-like creatures were turned into smoking chunks of meat and warped grey armor. Having full body energy shields protecting their forms, the four Elites, three clad in blue metal armor and a single maroon veteran, managed a ten full seconds of resistance before they were done away with. Two of the blues had stood their ground upon the advance of the scorching plasmatic energy. Half a magazine of needle-like projectiles managed to implant themselves in the armored front of the Human manned Shade, along with a pair of short streams of light-blue plasma rifle discharges. The two were quickly rewarded for the action; however, and were run through with the lances of purple energy.
       Patrick was just cutting down the maroon and third blue, who had backed away from the initial carnage zone, when Private Daniels shouted something over the COM.
       "Sir, look at that!" James put through. "What the hell is goin' on?"
       Pat looked up from his rather gratifying task to see to what his fellow Marine was referring. Daniels had stopped firing, now just pointing his acquired turret lazily in the direction of the gravity lift. A few contrails from Kyle's 'Rifle were now stretching the expance between the wall and center of the room, along with a single rocket propelled grenade. It was over the top of the lift's base, however, that the surprise, and something Carter hadn't expected, came. Green and blue plasma shots flew off target and over the base from the other side. The Corporal wasn't sure what he was might be happening until Human tracers began to intermingle with the stray shots.
       There was only one thing that would cause such an event, and only one conclusion that Pat could come upon: the Flood had decided to make a second charge.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Sixteen: And Again The Incoming Tide Breaks
Date: 31 August 2004, 9:37 PM

(Author's Note: I am happy to report that this is the first story posted off of my new [computer] build. I just had to get that out. Enjoy.)



       Progress so far was doing well. Most of the lower ranking troops and non-soldier personnel were now back in the Impending Incursion, along with many of the supply crates. None of the vehicles had been moved up yet, and the same went for the Shade turrets, essential equipment crates, and the communications crates. They were still needed, and so remained, and would remain until the last few groups were fully pulled back and ready to ride up on the gravity lift themselves.
       'Lshowee had moved from his previous position next to the communications console and his Banshee to the side of the gravitational lift's base. At this location, he could easily view both small convoys of soldiers coming back from their door covering positions. This side of the lift was also being occupied by a large Wraith tank. The purple skinned craft floated half a unit above the ground, not looking like the pilot was interested in anything in particular. The two invisible sentries atop the gravity lift base's large tower-like extensions were still present, keeping an eye on the whole picture at once. The observing Squad Master could just make out the shimmering bodies of the pair, but the glowing Plasma Swords were very obvious, floating in mid air.
       Both Field Masters were busy shouting out orders to their respective underlings loading weapons and other equipment onto gravity carts. 'Tacoayee, the ranking Master in the whole room, looked particularly angry with a pair of indignant Grunts who had to carry the belongings of a few Elites. 'Lshowee smiled at the spectacle, he enjoyed the power to push around those lazy animals that were allowed to be in the Covenant's service.
       The Squad Master went back to observing the actions of the other troops. The two Shades on the opposite side as he was assigned to were already half way back to the lift, along with their accompanying forces. 'Lshowee turned his maroon armored head to look at the Shade group on his own side that was seeing less progress. The group was just loading up some final supplies and starting to move. The Elite watching shook his head in disgust at the inefficiency of his fellow soldiers. Apparently Field Master 'Pikasee, the lower ranking of the two stationed Field Masters, felt the same way; he was shouting orders and trying to get the group to quicken their efforts from across the room, but the group "was going as fast as they could."
       'Lshowee clicked his lower mandibles, and began walking toward the communications crate to inform the troops at the top of the gravity lift to prepare for the next load of soldiers and equipment, both of which were just walking up onto the lift's base.
       "Alert!" shouted 'Kiakee, one of the sword baring sentries, as 'Lshowee was just arriving back at his station. "Enemy on approach!"
       It was obvious to see what enemy 'Kiakee was referring to as several stray plasma bolts stuttered across the darkness enveloping the large room. 'Lshowee gave a quick glance back at the Shade convoy on his own side, to see if the attack was from both fronts. Two Hunters were just exploding, and the Shade gunners soon opened fire. The Squad Master's eyes were good, but apparently not good enough to notice that the figures firing the Shades and those being struck by that fire were not in the Covenant's favor. Thinking that an enemy was attacking from that side as well, but that the Shade gunners would take care of things for a few seconds, 'Lshowee started to sprint back around the gravity lift's base to observe the attack that was coming from the other side.
       The Elite got his first glimpse of the attacking force as he rounded the rounded the perimeter of the base. What he saw immediately sent a pang of fear through his body. Not again, they can not be attacking again 'Lshowee thought to himself, as he tried to figure out what would be best to do next.


       Of course, that was when the rounds of sniper fire began to punch holes in the Covenant troops. Kyle decided to soften up the larger, more skilled, targets first: the Elites. One of the red ones was making a break for the other side of the lift, but didn't look like a priority target at the time, the sword baring invisible ones on the sides of the grav lift base did, though. Both mirage-like figures seemed to be standing still, making this sniper's job much easier. The smart-linked scope didn't change the aiming reticle from blue to red as it was centered over the blurry target, as the cloaking device didn't allow the systems to recognize the wearer as an enemy target. The Private could still aim, however, and aim well he did.
       The torso shot couldn't have been better. The sabot round flew straight into the Elite's chest, creating a mere 14.5-millimeter insertion puncture between the two chest-side covering armor plates; the exit wound was substantially larger, however, and pieces of alien heart and lung tissue erupted from the creatures back, intermingling with a spray of blood and fragments of the Elite's armor. The silver-blue clad figure materialized silently, the power to the cloaking device having been cut off when the power pack of the armor and part of the lungs were shot through; then the dead form proceeded in toppling backwards off his former perch.
       With a quick turn of the long-range weapon, the second invisible Elite met a similar fate. That one now lay hanging off the side of his "perch tower" with his head only attached by a single muscle and two pieces of neck skin. The two deaths hadn't gone unnoticed; though, and the once oblivious red Elite was now standing in a combat ready position, looking over the first body to have taken a hit, now laying a pool of its own blood and gore. This Elite still didn't look like he was expecting a third sniper round to be sent his way; however, this sniper would quickly change his mind.
       With steady hands, Private Jones lead his aim slightly in front of the red armored form, who was sprinting in an almost circle like pattern, in short bursts. Intending the beast to cross the reticle at head height, Kyle held his weapon still. Apparently the man-like alien didn't expect to have to do anything more than run around in circles, trying to figure out what to do. The Rifleman decided to cancel any plans that the Elite might have made.
       As the eight-foot-six body ran directly into Kyle's line of fire, the Private pulled the trigger. The S2 AM's barrel belched fire with a sharp craack, sending the one-hundred-fourteen-millimeter-long projectile downrange. The red Elite hadn't moved more than an inch when the bullet struck.


       'Lshowee ran around in a rough circle, trying to keep tabs on both the initial battle from the attacking Flood forces that weren't even in his patrol route, and what seemed like a small scale fray on his own side. All while attempting to not fall prey to any stray or wild weapons fire; and on top of what the Elite's neural systems already had to process, now the two sentries were now laying dead, killed by some powerful weapon from nowhere; and a large explosion had decimated the troops waiting on the gravitational lift. Had the attacking Flood fired the weapons? Fired a type of long range sniper weapon, in the case of the two sentries? the Squad Master asked himself. No, they are not that intelligent, and cannot handle weapons with such proficiency; can they? But the explosion . . . such a detonation could have been from a Covenant Fuel Rod Gun, or purhaps a human rocket launcher.
      'Lshowee again looked upon 'Kiakee's corpse, lying on its back, soaking in a bath of his own fluids. The still living of the two was not queasy, but the sight was still disturbing and disconcerting all the same. Just as the Elite sprinted back in the opposite direction, heading over to have another good look at the ensuing fray across the room, a sharp pain shot down his arm and across his chest. A hard punch slammed into his shields, directly over his right shoulder plate, immediately draining the energy shields protecting him. Nearly knocked off his feet by the impact, 'Lshowee dropped to the ground, and rolled towards the gravitational lift's base, seeking cover from his assailant.
       A white contrail faded from the air as the Elite looked back to where he had stood, but another soon replaced it, accompanied a hard metallic impact and spray of sparks on the dull silver floor, not but a few centiunits from his head. 'Lshowee had only barely made it behind the cover of the base, his back now stained with 'Kiakee's purple blood.


       Damn, Kyle Jones barely stopped from coming through his lips. The Covenant bugger had taken a dive, evading his second-should have been lethal-shot. "You're mine pal; now let's see your ugly little face," the squad CO was close enough to hear.
       The Human squad's Rifleman was almost oblivious to the other semi-long range weapon baring member of the team. Sergeant Ferring was but a foot away from contacting his sniper, but he also was not paying much attention to the noncoms body, only looking out for shots fired. So while Private Jones was finding his first target, the Sergeant was finding his. The answer came quickly to him, as he noticed the closely packed troops atop the grav lift's base, waiting for the purple beam to pull them upwards into their ships gullet. Lance would have none of that, he wanted them to join his party first.
       The three blue Elites and single red were just looking at the first sniper-killed Covenant troop when the Human Sergeant let his first rocket fly. One of the Jackals noticed the plume of smoke that erupted from the thought-empty door, and turned to take a look. Just as the bird-like alien screeched a warning, the explosive projectile contacted the surface beneath the group's feet, and detonated. A mix of blood, armor, weapons, and body parts were thrown outwards as the Human charge set off a full belt of four plasma grenades, and started a chain reaction.
       Private Jones' second shot had just scored a second kill when the peak of the explosion took place. Sergeant Ferring really couldn't tell how many grenades had gone off, but his estimate was around twenty, including the four that had gone off after being blown clear of the main blast area. The results were spectacular and disgusting at the same time. Almost twenty-five bodies had been bunched together on the gravity lift when Lance had fired, some of which lay intact about ten meters out, but the majority of which had either been blown to bloody bits, the remnants of which were now splattered in the ten meter perimeter, or totally destroyed and vaporized by the explosion.
       Now was time to spend the second shot of the two-rocket magazine. Lance eyed all the stuff around the grav lift, looking for something else to blow up. He found it. A group of crates were still bunched up on his side of the room, a brace of Grunts, Jackals, and Elites standing in and around the purple hued boxes: another good target. Why do they make it so easy? the Sergeant asked himself, picking out the best place to put his shot. The demolitions expert didn't take more than a second in choosing a path for his rocket to take, and pull the fire mechanism.
       What was left of the crates and Covenant bodies were thrown in an oblong radius of destruction. Disappointingly, there apparently hadn't been any grenades in the crates, and only a handful of secondary explosions filled the air, product once again of soldier carried explosives.

       The plasma turret vibrated with each expelled burst of lethal energy. James, meanwhile, was enjoying every moment of it. He had been assigned the job of hosing down any Covenant bastards that weren't in between the two grav carts. It hadn't been that hard, for there were only a few of the fuckers who had decided to make a break for it. Now, though, PFC Daniels was pouring fire into some more distant targets: those still left around the lift. Most of the Grunts and Jackals who had been out in the open ran hither and yon, their hand thrown up in dismay. The first two sniper shots and first rocket had caused quite a ruckus. Well, James Daniels was always one to ruin people's, or in this case alien's, fun.
       The purple knives of plasma weren't that accurate at this range, but they still found targets, burning smoking holes through their bodies, and pulverizing what was left after it had hit the ground. At the least, hundreds of dinner plate-sized scorches and divots were now covering this side of the grav lift base.
       Then came the second Human rocket. It had blown one particular Elite no less than ten meters into the air, before it came back down with an unheard snap.
       "Hey, you stole my kill!" James put in over the COM.
       "Get your own, I saw 'em first," came Sergeant Ferring's mumbled reply.
       Private Daniels smiled wide, pulling the fire control mechanisms of his weapon harder, cutting through the smoke of the fading explosion. Then came the surprise, something that was almost totally unexpected: return fire from the other side of the lift. That was what James first thought, anyway, until he recognized the Human travers in the jumble of plasma.
       "Sir, look at that!" he shouted through the COM at the Marine manning the turret to his left. "What the hell is goin' on?"

       Corporal Carter had just witnessed the explosion out of the corner of his eye, and had mopped up the already smoking remains of the Covenant troops that had been assigned to guard the convoy of two Shade turrets. Now, the only thing that remained of the alien soldiers was a pile of burnt and blackened mush; bone, flesh, armor and all.
       That had been finished and the noncom was just about to turn toward the grav lift anyway when he heard his subordinate's comment. Now, with the conclusion that whatever was firing could only be Flood forces, Patrick was confronted with the choice of what to do next. Apparently, the two long range squad members had noticed the intermingling weapons fire as well, seeing as no more shots came from the door.
       "Corporal Carter to Sergeant Ferring," he spoke into his boom mounted microphone.
       The response was delayed. "I see it too Corporal," was the initial reply. "Covenant?"
       "Negative, sir. Looks like the Flood have decided to join the party again."
       "The Flood?" came an angered voice. "Shit. Alright kids, it's time to move out. Those mutated freaks won't just come from one side, so lets get Sam and that Covie bastard on one of them grav carts and haul ass."
       "Copy that," Pat turned to James and spoke: "Keep in that turret, and make sure that any aliens of freaks don't get the chance to spoil our fun."
       James response would have been a strong cocking of a bolt if he had been in a Human turret, but unfortunately, he wasn't, and so all he could do was reply. "Yes sir."
       Within ten seconds, Sergeant Ferring and Private Jones were coming out of the door, the squad CO dragging the captured Elite, and Sam hanging over Kyle's shoulders. Derrick Hunter slowly backed out of the door, not looking anywhere but through the opening and into the dark beyond.
       Kyle Jones reached the cart on which Private Daniels was manning the Shade first, and carefully laid his wife down beside it, moving small equipment boxes from the lower level of the grav cart before he could fit his spouse on the thing. The Sergeant was only a few seconds behind, making good time, seeing as he was dragging a larger, more heavy, body, and had an injured knee. After helping the Rifleman pull some more of the Covenant boxes off of the cart, Sergeant Ferring was the first to put his "package" on the lower level, the head and feet of the beast having little room between the more important, meaning weapon bearing, boxes that had been left on. No later than three minutes after the order to get on the get go, both bodies were loaded, and the team was ready to get out of there.
       "Should we grab the other Shade?" shouted James down from his weapon. Now firing erratically at a group of Covenant that were just floating down, in conjunction with some more from the other side of the room. The situation on the far side hadn't seemingly improved. Now the stray fire coming over the lift base was about three times as heavy as it had been before; and the explosions and alien shouts were louder and more pronounced.
       A light nod from Sergeant Ferring. "We could use it, but I don't know-do we have the manpower to push both of them?"
       "Probably not effectively," agreed Carter. "Not if we want any cover fire for the Shade gunner. We'd all be pushin'."
       "Right, well lets get-"
       "Sergeant!" shouted Derrick, who had been standing patiently by the ancient door for the last few moments. "I think we've got company; there is definitely something on its way from the halls!"
       James stopped firing, all his targets down, and turned towards the door. Pat and the Sergeant did the same, weapons ready.
       "Hunter: get that cart moving!" shouted Sergeant Ferring, un-lumbering the Rocket Launcher from his back. "Carter: help him out and get ready to provide cover!"
       "Sir!" the Corporal answered, starting to shove on the back of the hovering cart. "But-what about you?"
       "Don't worry 'bout me, son. I'll cover your asses."
       No sooner had Lance finished his sentence, gurgling noises grew louder from the hall, and the first green-colored form ran around the bend, into the light, and started into the open, opening fire with its weapon. The next Flood attack had begun; and the Humans' fight for their lives had reached another climax.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Seventeen: Enter In The Black Masters
Date: 8 September 2004, 9:31 PM

       Apprentice Field Master 'Lashowagee strode proudly up the large passageway, on his way to the Gravitational Lift Embarkation Room. He walked with a look on his face like nothing could touch him, like he was the best of the best, the cream of the crop, and no enemy would scare or thwart him. The three Squad Masters walking in sync acted in the same manner, inflating their chests, and pulling their wide shoulders back ever so slightly, just enough to give them an appearance of authority. Of course, they had the right to act as they did, as arrogant as some others might think of them, they had earned the titles to believe they were the greatest soldiers in the Covenant. These Elites were Special Operation, and not just that, they were Black Special Operations troops.
       The three Squad Masters walked closely behind their Commanding Officer, leading their individual squads of soldiers forward to their duty. Four Grunts and two Elites followed each of the three, who followed the single 'Field Master. Perhaps he wasn't a full Field Master, but he most certainly had proven his skill in battle, showed that he had the skills and attitude to act within the specialized group of Covenant soldiers.
       The six lower ranking Elites, ones having been recruited fairly recently, and having not yet reach the status of a Squad Master, the status that allowed one to lead a team of fellow soldiers, followed behind in obedience. They also tried to inflate themselves to look more warrior-like, to look more like the Masters they admired and wished to become like, but they hadn't had as much practice at looking more powerful; so their attempts were not fully successful. Still, even if they didn't look powerful enough by themselves, their image was automatically boosted when walking with their more well known leaders.
       All of the six lower ranking Black Operations Elites also wanted to wear the symbolic black armor that the Black Field Masters were privileged enough to wear. Their armor looked black, yes, but not the solid jet black that adored the high ranking. The armor that the lower ranking Elites wore distinguished that they were still not Masters yet; giving off a slight blue tint in the light. Squad Masters' armor looked more purple than blue, the faint maroon color replacing that of the blue in the armor plates. Even Apprentice Field Master 'Lashowagee didn't get the solid black armor; though, the hue that adorned his form containing traces of silver.
       Regardless of colors, or of rank, the group of three Black squads and their leader was an impressive one. The total twenty-two soldiers marching around the final corner on the way to the gravity lift room was sure to bring chills of either respect or fear.

       "Master!" shouted a maroon armored Elite, standing by the control panel to the lift, bowing to show his respect.
       A group of regular soldiers was standing at the ready on the gravity lift's departure pad, apparently preparing to drop down below the ship.
       "Report, Squad Master," ordered 'Lashowagee.
       The Squad Master, slightly intimidated by the black armored soldier in front of him, swallowed and remained stiff. "Yes, Master: the troops surrounding the gravity lift are in the process of pulling all personnel and equipment back into the ship."
       "What is you delay?" inquired the intuitive 'Field Master, wondering why two squads were being sent down if troops were supposed to be coming from the opposite position. "Why do you send these two squads of troops? Do the forces below require assistance?"
       "We are not sure, Excellency," the Squad Master replied, hesitating.
       The Apprentice Master stood, his head a few centiunits over the subordinates, holding his stature, waiting for a reply.
       "We have not received the scheduled communication from the stationed Master, and do not know what the current situation is," finally continued the maroon clad Elite. "I was sending the squads down to assess the situation."
       'Lashowagee nodded lightly, accepting the explanation. "Very well Squad Master. Send you troops down, and check on the progress and condition of the troops below."
       "Yes, of course, Master. Right away."
       The Squad Master turned and quickly signaled the Masters of the two squads to prepare for insertion. They quickly replied positively, and called their troops to bunch up and gather for a clean and smooth drop down the lift.
       The commanding Squad Master punched a control, the lift activated, and within seconds, the two squads of Covenant troops were gone, dropping down into the unknown chaos below.

       'Lshowee breathed deeply, calming himself and quickly thinking over the situation. He had been hit, that was obvious, but he hadn't had the time to notice from which direction the fire came from. The Flood? he pondered again, wondering if in fact they could use a sniper weapon. It didn't matter at the moment though, what did was getting to a safer position. The Elite looked over at his shoulder. The armor plate was dented in near the top, with something still lodged in the protective armor. 'Lshowee carefully removed the plate, exposing damaged flesh, and a pocket of blood.
       The Squad Master could bare the pain, but he had to see what had happened to his shoulder plate. Some kind of projectile had jammed itself in the armor, managing to go all the way through and barely be stopped with two-centiunits of its blunted tip protruding from the inner side. It had definitely gotten into the Elite's skin, puncturing a ragged hole in the mottled flesh, letting the dark blue-purple liquid start to flow.
       The injured, but thankfully still living, Elite discarded is damaged combat armor component, glancing over at the former sentry's body. It only took a few seconds to remove the shoulder plate from the body that no longer needed it, and only a couple more to fasten it in place in 'Lshowee's own body. The blue-silver color didn't match his own armors maroon hue, but it still would do the job. A small amount of pain was still present from the wound, but this Elite didn't pay it any mind, ignoring it for the moment; knowing that his arm still worked, and so would be fine for now.
       Now it was time to get to a safer position. 'Lshowee decided to move to the side of the lift with the most battle, to be closer to a Field Master, and possibly the strength of numbers. With careful steps, the Elite moved quickly around the perimeter of the lift's base, making sure to keep his eyes open for anything.
       Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, but had really only been a few seconds, the Squad Master made it to the other side of the lift's base, past strewn out body parts, and to the side of Field Master 'Tacoayee. The higher ranking, gold armored, Elite was busy shouting frantic and demanding orders to his troops until his fellow Elite came up behind him.
       "Where have you been, Squad Master?" shouted the Field Master, over all of the ruckus.
       The waves of Flood that continued to throw themselves forward had been stalled not far from the opening from whence they came. Things were not improving; however, and even through the combined efforts of all the present troops, many soldiers were falling, and so the outgoing fire slackened.
       "I have been busy, Master," was 'Lshowee's reply. "I regret to inform you that I was not able to reach the communications crate in time to send any messages to the troops within the ship."
       The Wraith, now having moved farther towards the more violent side of the room, lobbed another large ball of blue-white plasma at the oncoming hoard. Upon impact, the liquid-like projectile seemed to splash over the rotting forms that had been beneath it when it hit. The soft, spongy makeup of the several bodies caught in the fiery embrace of the explosion simply seemed to vanish, as the liquid in their bodies instantly expanded and vaporized, and what was left was sent flying into the air in the form of free floating carbon. The circular gap, complete with a ring of varying levels of destruction, stayed vacant for but a moment, until more monstrosities rushed to take their fallen brethren's place.
       "I see," responded 'Tacoayee. "And it is obvious the troops did not make it up the gravity lift."
       'Lshowee subconsciously glanced towards the complete decimation atop the lift base. "What now Master?"
       "Gather what troops you can, Squad Master. And get as many as you can up into the safety of the ship."
       "And you?" questioned 'Lshowee, trying to formulate a plan in his mind.
       The Field Master glanced once at the soldiers fighting a losing battle before him, then back at his subordinate. "I will hold off the Flood as long as I can. Now go! Quickly!."
       'Tacoayee sighed once, an expression of rage coming over his face, the Elite filling himself with anger and a renewed strength. With a flick of his wrist, the Field Master activated his Plasma Sword, the brilliant blue-white energy casting a shimmering pattern on the metal covering the floor of the expansive room. With a single nod, the determined Elite ran off toward the not-so-far-away front lines, to show his faith and bravery.
       'Lshowee glanced at his superior running off towards the enemy and let the equivalent of a smirk form on his face. Another Master out of my way, he thought to himself, fairwell.
       The two Shade turrets still fired away, their gunners shaking from the vibrations of the weapons. Hundreds of purple lances rushed to great the forms they were aimed upon, and the receivers unhappily took the fire in. Flesh melted away from the energy, the smell of burnt flesh thickening in the air. A haze of smoke and steam started build over the battle, lit up for a brief moment every time a shot was fired, creating a series of non-rhythmic pulses of colored light, flashing constantly.
       Just then, a group of Covenant soldiers floated down from above. The two squads looked around for a moment, and seemed to be confused over the situation. All of them started fragmenting within seconds; however, as Plasma Turret fire rained on top of them; and hundreds of stray shots from the nearby battle pierced the air and some of their bodies.
       As the Squad Master turned to look at the quickly falling troops, he was immediately perplexed. The feeling soon faded, and he began to think more logically. If fire was coming from the other direction, that meant that the Flood were there as well.
       "You!" 'Lshowee shouted to a squad of Covenant troops taking cover and returning inaccurate fire at the Flood on their side. "Assist them!"
       The commanding Elite of the group, only a minor blue armored figure, glanced between the Flood and the superior officer for a moment before rallying the small contingent of Grunts, Jackals, and a single other Elite with him to head towards the gravity lift. Their fate was not a good one, though, and their bodies, too, became victim to a spray of Shade fire from the other direction. This is hopeless the Squad Master admitted to himself, looking around for a means of escape. He might be able to make it to the gravity lift, but first he would give some final orders.
       "'Urucilee!" he shouted, sprinting towards the Elite still piloting the Ghost.
       The younger being stopped firing and looked at the roughed up Master coming towards him. "Yes, Master?"
       "You will go forward: drive straight and true towards the demons!" was the order from 'Lshowee.
       "What for Master?" asked the pilot, somewhat confused.
       "Do not question an order! Go, help your comrades, run over and crush the enemy! You will be rewarded in the afterlife do you pass on!"
       The younger Elite nodded, started to look determined, and gunned his controls forward. 'Urucilee was all too focused on his inspired drive, that he didn't even notice his commanding Elite stick a remote mine to the back of his vehicle.
       The Ghost sped forward, past the straining Covenant positions, and drove right into the attacking mob. The two stubby wings cut through the first of the forms that got in the way, cutting them in two from sheer force. The next few forms didn't go down in pieces, but were still crushed as the hovering vehicle plowed through them all. 'Urucilee was just a few units from the door from which the enemy was coming when the observing Squad Master detonated the explosive.
       Blue fire engulfed the small craft, turning it into pieces of smoldering wreckage as its engine exploded. A large diameter circle appeared the Flood's archaic formation, reaching all the way to the door. Green bodies littered the area, not moving at all. The mass of fire lessened audibly as the plug of burnt bodies kept the mutant horrors from continuing their onslaught from the door. The strategy had worked, if only for a moment.
       'Lshowee switched his attention to Master 'Tacoayee. The gold armored figure fought with an incredible vigor, pushing through his foes with the ease of parting curtains. Sizzles and pops filled the air around the prevailing Elite as the energy blade sliced through rotting bodies like they were no more dense than the air. Even great Field Masters made mistakes; however, and the Squad Master noticed it just before 'Tacoayee was made violently aware. He had pushed in too far, too quickly, letting the forms to his side quickly pass him by, thinking he was covered from his rear by his own troops. The loyal soldiers were doing their best, blazing away with all they had, but the mix of Combat, Carrier, and Infection forms were quick to close in around the ignorant non-mutant.
       Before he knew it, Field Master 'Tacoayee, who hadn't even been a real Swordsman, was blocked in from all sides. The immensely strong Elite still fought, swinging his blade in an arc all around him. It wasn't enough. The small amounts of plasma bolts and hardened projectiles soon caused the Master to falter, stumble and start to fall, in turn making his attacks less accurate and less devastating. Small geysers of dark purple blood shot into the air with the dreadful wails as 'Tacoayee's body was buried beneath a small pile of monstrosities.
       'Lshowee didn't even grimace, in fact, the familiar look of satisfaction came over his face. Now was his time to leave, his time to save his life, to live to fight another day.

       "What is the delay? Why have we not received information from your away teams?" questioned Apprentice Black Field Master 'Lashowagee.
       The stationed Squad Master hesitated, frantically reading over the displays in front of him. "I am unsure Master, I have lost contact with both of the commanding Masters of both the squads."
       "I see," replied 'Lashowagee, looking around at his own troops, observing their readiness.
       "Here, let me try again-" tried the maroon armored Elite, looking away from the angered black commanding officer.
       "No, do not anger me further with your delinquent actions," growled the Field Master, stepping forward.
       "Master, I-"
       "Be silent!"
       The Squad Master, who obviously had not had much experience in the past, took two involuntary steps back, frightened by the Black Master before him. He decided not to speak a verbal response, and replied with a respectful nod.
       "Are there any active signals down there? And what are the sensor readings?" demanded 'Lashowagee. "Be quick!"
       The maroon Squad Master was already stunned, and so was unsure whether he should reply, step forward and access the information, or remain silent. After a second's consideration, with no answer of any kind coming from his lips, the Elite prepared to take the steps forward
necessary to acquire the requested information.
       It was too late. By this time, the Field Master was infuriated by the incompetence of this subordinate. A black armored arm was already halfway through its' swing when the energy blade came to life. Plasma Swords extend quickly, but 'Lashowagee's reflexes were too quick for even the great technology of the lethal device. The blue-white blade was only extended to half of its full length when it contacted the stunned Squad Master's throat. It took only a fraction of a second for the energy shields to fail, and the blade to cut through layers of combat suit, skin, muscle, arteries, veins, and other tubes. The head of the maroon clad body stayed attached; however, as the spinal cord had not been severed by the short blade.
       A limp Elite's body fell with a clack and a thump to the floor. Purple blood flowed freely from the severed circulatory system, quickly forming a puddle that started to encompass the whole of the deceased warriors dead form.
       None of the present Black Special Operations troops so much as batted an eyelash. All of them knew the price for failure, and so it came with no surprises.
       "Squad Master 'Balinee," addressed 'Lashowagee.
       "Yes Master?" came the reply, the named Elite stepping forward and bowing his head.
       "I deem you in command of the embarkation area."
       "Of course, Master."
       "You two," the Field Master gestured towards his other Squad Masters. "You and your squads will accompany me to view the situation below."
       The replies were two respectful nods.
       "Let us go."

The Enemy Within-Chapter Eighteen: From One Pot Into Another
Date: 4 October 2004, 12:35 AM

       "Go, go, go!" shouted Sergeant Ferring, back pedaling slowly to keep pace with the heavily loaded grav cart. Corporal Patrick Carter and Warrant Officer Derrick Hunter pushed as hard as they could on the back of the hovering transportation device, their feet slipping occasionally on the slick blood beneath their feet, trying to get it moving at a decent pace.
       Private Kyle Jones walked along, also facing backwards, behind the cart, ready to provide covering fire. In his hands a M90 Shotgun, pumped and ready to go; but not needing to provide any assistance fire.
       Various types of green colored Flood forms attempted to exit the door, which was slowly moving away from the Human squad, but were finding the opposition a solid one. Private Daniels was doing well with the captured Covenant Plasma Turret, focusing all of the firepower he could muster out of the thing upon the door.
       Searing purple beams of energy ripped through the soft spongy tissues of the green-colored Combat forms, the Carrier and Infection forms not having a chance against the sheer volume of energy. Smoke from burnt flesh started to fill the doorway, along with amounting chunks of Flood bodies. The newer entries into the fight were having to crawl over their fallen comrades to find a way at the Sergeant and his group of determined soldiers.
       The second gravity cart, along with the other Shade and random ammunition crates, was still sitting a few meters from the door; nothing having the chance to reach it. The bodies of the former Covenant team that had been manning the carts and turrets were still sprawled out in a splattering of blue, purple, and black gore.
       Lance looked over his shoulder at the grav lift; still nothing. He hoped that his luck would hold, and no enemy troops landed on the platform. A battle, apparently, still raged on the other side of the lift. Smoke and weapons fire continued to rise from the unseen fray. Meanwhile, the Humans were half way to the lift.
       "Keep up that fire, Daniels!" encouraged Ferring, letting his arms relax ever so slightly, the weight of his heavy weapon getting to his muscles.
       "Sir!" said the Corporal, his face red from his exertion. "I don't know how much longer we can push on this thing!"
       The Sergeant thought for a moment, letting his vision bounce back and forth between the many events occurring within the room. "Look for a control or something. Those alien bastards must have some way of moving their own shit easier!"
       Corporal Carter nodded, looking back down at the cart. His eyes flashed back and forth over the surfaces, trying to find some sort of-there! A small control panel was inlayed at waist level. Several odd looking holographic symbols sat hovering a couple millimeters over the alloy surfaces, glowing in rhythmic pulses.
       "This thing's getting off aim!" warned the madly firing Private.
       "Just keep firing, Daniels! Try to overwhelm the green little things!" shouted back Sergeant Ferring through the increasing noises.
       James gritted his teeth, his hands starting to tingle and go numb from the constant vibrations of his large weapon.
       Patrick's face showed his worry. If he didn't find the right button, the Flood just might be able to make it past the limited field of fire that the Covenant turret provided; and if that happened, well, then everyone would be screwed, and the only chance of getting out of this demon infested hell hole would be lost. All of the controls looked the same or really similar to Pat; he wasn't sure which one to press, but he jabbed at one anyway. He was lucky; the small anti-grav pods on the bottom of the cart flared slightly, pulling the cart forward under its own power.
       "I got it, sir!" shouted Carter, letting go of the floating piece of metal along with Hunter.
       "Good!" Ferring replied, giving the rest of his team a glance. "Take point; Hunter: keep that thing under control, and make sure it gets to that lift."
       "Here they come! I can't take all of them anymore!" screamed James, starting to sweep his weapon over the Flood that just managed to run from the clogged portal now several meters distant.
       "Keep focused on the door!" ordered Lance, raising his rocket launcher to fire. "Jones: take some pot shots at those Combat forms; try to keep the independent ones to a minimum."
       Kyle nodded at the command, pulling the only effective weapon he had from its holster: his plasma pistol. He would have used his Sniper Rifle, but he had tried earlier on the Flood forms; the discovery that the high-velocity rounds passed clean through the rotting bodies had surprised him and angered him at the time. So, the Covenant piece of tech would have to do; not ideal at the distance, but it would do better than his shotgun.
       The door, meanwhile, continued to be assaulted by a barrage of plasma fire, flaring purple-white as the off-target shots impacted the metal. Flood forms still came through; though, at a diminished rate, due to the bottlenecking through still-smoking bodies. Some were put down quickly by a well placed Shade burst; others managed to sprint out to the side, some dropping from wild Plasma Turret discharges, others by Kyle's marksmanship, but some did managed to make it through the hail of opposition.
       Derrick witnessed all this; the Navy pilot confused and in fear of his life through the events transpiring around him. The Sergeant was just letting a rocket fly, the projectile headed directly towards the vacant Shade. A chain of explosions sent debris and the bodies of Flood forms, that had been relatively close to the detonation, flying through the air as the Human shaped-charge ignited the few crates of plasma grenades and mines that had been left on the other cart. Most of the now rogue Combat forms were thrown down by the fireball itself, as well as the heat wave that spread rapidly outward.
       As the explosion cleared, all that was left was a patch of blackened and scorched metal. There was still the problem of the Flood; however, and more still forced their way through the burning bodies of their brethren, into a hellish field of flying plasma and black smoke. The Warrant Officer decided to aid Kyle in the long-range firing. Hunter drew his M6D, and centered it on the closest form he could make out. Five rounds later the thing was on the ground; but the pilot wondered how effective he could really be with his limited ammunition supply.
       "Sir! The grav lift!" alerted Corporal Carter. The Human convoy now amazingly having made it three-fourths of the total distance was now more susceptible to attacks from the now approaching gravity lift.
       Sergeant Ferring turned away from his team, all of which were firing into the oncoming hoard. The Corporal had been right, the grav lift was now a big problem. A large group of Covenant troops was just drifting down the lift, their boots touching the blood-stained surfaces of the lift's base. Fortunately for Lance, though, the leader of this group made a grave mistake.


       "Assist our troops!" ordered Apprentice Master 'Lashowagee, waving his black clad arm in the general direction of the battle. Off to his left was a single shade turret in the shadows, moving steadily towards the gravitational lift. The Black Apprentice Master, in the rush of his arrival, quickly decided that there were Covenant soldiers on that side, and so it was not an immediate threat. He didn't bother to wonder much on why bodies of his own kind littered the surface on which he stood.
       The Grunts let out a loud howl as they rushed forward off the lift, eager to test their small skills and use their weapons. The enemy forces attacking en masse on 'Lashowagee's right must have been more intelligent then they looked. Just as he turned to further assess the situation, two human explosive projectiles streaked out of the crowd and towards the Elite's position. He was easily able to duck under the first, catching only a whiff of the rocket's smoke, but his Grunt cohorts were not as equally fortunate. The second rocket took out an entire file of them, ripping a couple of their bodies into three or more pieces before throwing them and their powerful Fuel Rod Guns into the air to harmlessly explode.
       Only three of the diminutive creatures survived, one of them badly injured with phosphorescent blue blood running down its chest-plate, and took offense to the fate of their brothers-in-arms. The trio of Grunts were quick to fire their weapons in high arc into the enemy formations, blowing them apart upon the cloudy, green impacts. The Covenant troops busy holding off the many enemy forms let out a cry of relief with the sight of the black armored soldiers.
       The commanding Field Master grinned at his troops' determination. With merely his presence, the normal Covenant ground troops fought harder; encouraged by the powerful warriors who had just arrived.
       "Squad Master 'Julianee, take your apprentices and look into the situation of the Shade gunner," he said, before preparing to step off of the gravity lift's base.
       Just as the other Master started to reply, the totally unexpected happened. Another human rocket flew forward and impacted the gravity lift base, this one from the left side of the room. The results were devastating to even the Black Special Operations soldiers, with their superior armor. 'Lashowagee was in a state of shock and horror as his body was catapulted several units into the air. He gained a glimpse of his attacker-a foul looking human creature-and the Elite he had just sent in that direction, who was also airborne, before landing in a heap within his own ranks.
       The impact snapped his spine just below his shoulders, effectively paralyzing the majority of his body while keeping him alive and conscious, blood leaking from the many other damage points on his large body. Even from his lowered vantage point, and blurred vision, this Field Master knew that the battle around him was worsening by the moment. Another Jackal took a hit in the head and collapsed over 'Lashowagee's body, covering him with brain matter. More weapons fire rained over the area.


       'Lshowee witnessed the whole thing while sprinting back around the gravitational lift base, but didn't feel the slightest remorse. All that the falling troops were gaining him was more time. The Wraith tank belched a final blue-white comet into the air, before succumbing to the increasing punishment inflicted upon it. A rocket blew the cockpit of the vehicle open, spreading the alloy plates like the blossom of a flower; flames licked up the sides of the purple mass from a ruptured engine compartment, and night-black smoke billowed into the already thick atmosphere.
       The observing Elite, his body slick with perspiration and many samples of blood, ran around the final corner and came in view of his prize: his perfectly intact Banshee. With it, he planned to escape off the ring and onto a safer vessel, one that had been isolated from this section of the ring, and was floating in space. Perhaps a great advance in rank would await him; after all, many good Masters had perished during this fight, but not here. For this Elite was smart enough to know that if the Flood had attacked down at the gravity lift, then the beasts would almost certainly have attacked elsewhere on the ship. From the way the things were going on this front, 'Lshowee didn't think his forces had a chance of holding back this terrifying enemy.
       He did though; this Elite had a chance, or so he thought. As he grew within touching distance of his goal, his distorted reflection visible off of the nearly flawless metal covering, a new factor was thrown into his equation. Rapid impacts slammed into his side, accompanying the staccato sounds from bursts of a human weapon, his now renewed shields barely holding out the force. 'Lshowee instinctively spun to face his adversary, drawing his Plasma Pistol to fire. As his eyes made contact with this new threat, one that he was almost certain would be a Flood form, he was surprised with what he saw.
       An uninfected human soldier was assaulting him, the shots on target and driven by a mortal being. Just as the Elite prepared to prove the mortality of his foe, his flaring shields finally gave way; he had been shocked by the sight of the human, and had apparently stared too long. With a blue pop, the systems powering his energy shields overloaded, the projectiles were now impacting into his armor, a spray of sparks flying from the strong alloys; but even they didn't last long against the armor-piercing rounds.
       The first puncturing bullet slammed into 'Lshowee's chest plate, driving itself into the tip of his left lung; another stopping a mere milliunit from his rapidly beating heart. The next two rounds to make it through his armor were lower, stopping their forward motion within the Elite's ribs; fractures snaked through the dense bone. It was the fifth round that started the maroon armored creature's fall; slicing straight into the soft intestinal tissues of his abdomen, and erupting out the back of the warrior's back; two others followed suit. A howl burst forth from his lungs.
       The final seven rounds of the human weapon's magazine fell even lower; impacting from the hip to lower leg on the hapless Elite. Metal projectiles splintered bone, ruptured blood vessels, and tore through muscles; sending a bloody cocktail of purple fluids and bits of muscular organs onto the floor. 'Lshowee bent over in pain, clutching at his stomach and leg before his conscious awareness slipped away through the agony. His limp body hit the dull floor with a clack, tensing into a ball before stopping its motions.

       "Yeah, si'down bitch!" spat Patrick, loading a fresh magazine into his Assault Rifle before heading further towards the lift.
       "Can that thing go any faster?" shouted Ferring, starting to trail behind the rest of his teammates. The quick medical treatment he had given his leg were starting to fail. He could feel the bio-foam coming out and loosening its grip.
       "I'll try, sir," answered Hunter, pressing random buttons on the control panel of the cart.
       Private Daniels still fired away at the Flood forms that, amazingly, still tried to pour from the now less defended doorway. The purple fire coming from his turret scattered inaccurately over the far side of the room; the radius of the impacts reaching out to a few meters. Some Flood forms took hits, but half made it through, waving their arms erratically as they ran at the Humans.
       Kyle Jones kept pace with the grav cart, though he still jogged backwards to get a few shots in at the enemies that had nearly cost his wife her life, and still might. The plasma pistol in his hands let forth a flurry of green fire every couple of seconds, directed at whatever moving shape the man could make out between himself and the lit portal at the end of the room. Combat forms got closer every time he was forced to fire, that worried the Private.
       "Ye-haw!" shouted Derrick, the gravity cart shooting forward, the anti-grav pods flaring bright-blue. It rode up the side of the lift, bottoming out as it reached the peak, and came to a smooth stop at the top. Hunter scrambled after it, firing a couple randomly aimed shots at the ever increasing crowd behind him.
       "Good work, Hunter!" Sergeant Ferring shouted back to the pilot. Lance was now five meters behind his squad sniper, the bio-foam just failed, letting the un-healed wound become exposed once more. The squad CO bit his lip as his clothing began to rub against the raw meat; he could feel blood starting to run down his leg.
       "Sir!" the Corporal said, just stepping up beside the still firing cart-mounted Shade and turning back around.
       Private Jones was quick to follow suit, sprinting up the short slope to the top of the grav lift base; he, instead of turning back, looked over the situation at the other side of the room. A few groups of scattered Covenant troops were fiercely fending off the dwindling Flood army; it seemed that the mutant numbers were finally beginning to drop, but it wouldn't be enough. Kyle could tell that through it all, their strength was waning, as well as the power in their weapons. After a brief second, another realization his the Private: the Sergeant was now the only Human on the floor of the room.
       "Get your ass up that lift, Carter!" Lance replied, looking back at the thickening mass of Flood forms approaching him. Their numbers had tripled since they had reached the three-quarters mark. They were gaining ground fast, too; they would be overcoming the Human group in less than fifteen seconds. "I'll cover your backs!"
       "But sir-"
       "I mean now; that's an order!"
       Patrick looked around at the rest of the squad, all of whom looked just as concerned as he was over the squad leader. James continued to fire, his whole body shaking from the weapon's feedback. Kyle still tried to pick off what he could with his alien pistol. Derrick stood over the control panel of the cart, looking for a holographic button to send them up.
       "Yes sir," Pat managed to say, his face showing his resentment for not going back and helping his CO.
       "I think I got it," commented Hunter, watching as the alien cart's control panel flashed a message. He looked around enthusiastically, his expression changing to one of confusion as static electricity put his nerves on end.
       An invisible hand seemed to reach down and pluck each of the team up. First went the Corporal, next the Warrant Officer, and then the rest in one big jolt. They all rose up rapidly through the purple beam of gravitational energy, getting a wonderful view of the whole room as they went. Non of them were able to get a final look at Sergeant Ferring before a flash of white signaled their entry into the Covenant ship.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Nineteen: Benedictions of the Mind
Date: 11 February 2005, 2:56 AM

       Bullets and plasma seemed to strike every surface around the lone Sergeant; save his body. Metal slugs pinged from the few purple Covenant cargo containers around him, flying around his head like a hail storm and leaving scars and divots in the silver alloys at the man's feet. He could feel the heat from the plasma, too; glowing craters pot-marking all that was surrounding his form, even dead bodies.
       Sergeant Lance Ferring ran for his life, not turning his head to look at a threat that was all too real to him: A mass of Flood forms, hungry for his blood. Their gurgles, growls and occasional screams were the only things that the sole Human occupant of the large Forerunner crafted room could hear. But it was the latter that got to him the most.
       He had heard the screams before; but now, so close and so plentiful, it was all he could do not to fall to the floor holding his ears. The cry was inhuman; something that came from beyond the grave and was meant to stay there. But it didn't. These monstrosities, these beasts, these non-mortal horrors didn't seem to discern between the living and the dead. All they did was kill and destroy, dominate and consume; like a virus that knew no bounds.
       Lance didn't know much about the purpose of these rings, but he had sure had time to think about it. They held these creatures, they had seemingly held them for millennia in dark corridors and labyrinthian halls. Now free, nothing could stop them. All that the still-living could do was try to escape. Leave the nightmares and atrocities behind and go far, far away; never to return. The ancient beings that had built these rings must have had the right idea, the Sergeant thought.
       All that Sergeant Ferring knew now, however, were the results. He was presently finding himself choosing the only remaining option: running.

       The black-alloy gravity lift base sat waiting ahead, burnished in alien blood. Just a few seconds before, the other members of Lance's squad had been standing right there; lending covering fire and calling their leader to them.
       Get your ass up that lift, Carter! he had said, trying to get his soldiers safe.
       But sir! his SINC had called in response, agonizing over the sight of his doomed CO.
       I mean now; that's an order! that leader, this man, had shouted back; telling his own people to leave him behind.
       Now, the Sergeant almost regretted giving that order; but not quite. He no longer had a desire to live for himself. No, the only reason he sustained his life was for the good of those whom he served. He had done the right thing in getting his Marines - and Navy pilot - to a safer place; or a place that he hoped was safer. That was done, and now this soldier's only remaining duty was to make sure he kept the things behind him from endangering anymore lives that he had control of. It was his duty, his charge, his choice.

       Pain lanced again up his leg, spreading from the wound that he had so hastily repaired only hours earlier. Blood now ran freely down his calf, moistening his dark hairs and soaking into his clothes. He would have to make a real effort now if he was to make it to the lift. It was only seven meters now, to his salvation, to his way of escape. Of course, he would have to make it there before his adversaries did.
       Sergeant Ferring finally made the decision to look behind him, to see what he was up against. He quickly wished he hadn't.
       Back that short time ago, when Private Daniels had still been there in the captured Shade plasma turret, raining hellish fire upon the green demons that vied to come forth from their pit, things had been looking like they all could have made it. But, after those purple beams of energy had disappeared with the rest of the Human forces up the grav lift, things had gone from bad to much worse.
       The Flood's numbers had multiplied by two fold; now just a rolling green mass. Some were out in front, having more intact bodies or a more eager hunger; but most were part of a single rotting crowd. The Sergeant thought he could even see the rear of the group, where their numbers had finally run out and stopped flowing through the doorway now so far away. If only they would have held them back a couple minutes longer...
       He had to do something now, Lance quickly realized, pulling himself back from his despair. In his hands was a weapon that would spell certain destruction to several of those chasing after him - but he only had one shot with the powerful M19 SSM Rocket Launcher. It would have to do.
       With grave determination on his face, the Marine swivelled his waist to face a dense pocket of Flood Combat Forms. His sharp eyes scanned for something - anything that would intensify the explosion, to make his single shot well worth it. There! The bright blue grenades bouncing on the waist of several of the closest forms stood like jewels in the mayhem; and there were sure to be human grenades somewhere in the mix. That was all Lance needed to see.
       With a pull of his weapon's mighty trigger, the second, and last, rocket of his current magazine zipped from the 'Launcher. It only took half a second for it to reach the enemy forms, now only ten meters back. In a ball of fire, no less than a dozen decomposing bodies transformed into chunks of burnt flesh, clouds of sprayed fluids, and vaporized tissues. Though, the explosion didn't stop there. Crackling blue clouds erupted within the still-think smoke, their lightning reaching out to every solid mass within their deadly proximity. Dozens more of the explosive packages attached to other Combat Forms were set off as those nearby un-stabilized their continents.
       A rapid streak of shrapnel and plasma ripped through the soft-bodied army massed so close together, flinging gore in every direction. One branch of the reaction reached all the way to the back of the crowd - barely; but enough to upset the delicate balance held within the bulging sacks of Carrier forms. A whole file of them transformed themselves, and those nearest them, into eruptions of puss and wet flesh.
       Sergeant Ferring had felt some of the heat of the initial detonation of the 102mm shaped charge; but the shockwave of the combined secondary explosions rattled his bones. That, he thought, should slow them the hell down. Through the clinging haze and carnage, however, and just as always, more of the monsters came. They were scattered, any many were now missing portions of their stolen bodies, but they were still in motion. It wasn't over yet.

       Now lacking ammunition, the useless heavy weapon dropped unceremoniously to the cold floor; a limping Human scurrying away as quickly as his leg would allow. The man's prize waited only five feet away now, close enough to touch within another moment. Until a thought that was powerful enough to make the Sergeant slow pounded into his consciousness.
       What will stop them from following me?

       Blood and gore were the only things that the fallen Black Master could see. Bodies, intact and otherwise, lay all around him; their blood pooling up in a lake under his back and all around his body. There were still some Covenant troops left, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. The Flood continued onward as if they could not feel pain, as if their numbers knew no ends; as if their approach was as inevitable as the incoming tide.
       'Lashowagee tried for the hundredth time in the last few minutes to move his body; but, without change, found that he could not. Each time he but moved his mandibles, pain lanced through him like a burning flame, eager to consume him. He could feel his crushed atlas-vertebrae, grinding with each small movement of his head. The feeling of loss, vulnerability, pain, sorrow, agony, and despair was all that the once great Apprentice Field Master had to himself now.
       Another explosion sent a third body toppling to the ground within centiunits of 'Lashowagee's body. In the upper reaches of his vision, the Black Master could see a wall of green mutant forms growing closer with each passing second. No longer did he care, however. No longer did he care that his fate was fast approaching.
       With the new-found apathy, the world went quiet. There was no more gunfire, no more death, no more screaming, no more shouting, and no more distraction besides the contents of this Elite's own mind. The dim lights around him seemed to be at a distance, as if he was an observer from afar. But he still knew he was not. He was still not free of the physical bounds known to him for so long.
       The last of the remaining Covenant forces stumbled backwards past the Field Master's stationary position; their weapons discharging their final ounces of energy. But, as the energy cores depleted, so did their hope and chance of making it away from Halo alive. 'Lashowagee knew now that the great rings were no place of salvation, but only damnation; a place where nightmares became reality, and hopes were absorbed as quickly as the bodies of friends and enemies alike. In his final resting place, he had found Hell.


       All he knew was pain. It was the only sensation that registered in his mind. He could feel the breaks in his bones with each shallow and ragged breath - the fractures sending waves of agony through his torso. In fact, the very pain that had pushed his mind from a conscious state had only served to reverse the process but a couple moments later.
       Squad Master 'Lshowee could smell the fluids that had leaked from his body and onto the ground beneath him. And he could feel from where the liquids still leaked from. His belly suffered the most grievous injury: two holes straight through his intestines and excretory system. Bile, half-digested food, feces, and urine had all spilt from his now-open body cavity. It made an oddly colored mosaic, mixed with at least a unit of his thick blood.
       The visible world came back far too slowly; light fading in and out with each weak pump of his heart. It was wounded as well. The single bullet to penetrate his chest must have done more damage than he had originally thought. However, it was just one of many physical hindrances that the Elite now had to contend with.
       As soon as the dull pain in his limbs faded back to its full intensity - signaling that he now had control over them again - he made efforts to flex his muscles. He instantly regretted the choice. The new pulses of pain causing him to convulse; he nearly blacked-out a second time. But he barely managed to resist. He was still aware - if but faintly - that he was in a battle-zone; and that meant if he didn't get up and moving soon, he was dead. Whether it be from his sustained injuries, or by the hands of another foe.
       So, he had little choice but to bare his pain and force his body into motion. 'Lshowee strained to ignore the torturous discomfort in his entire body; but he did so, pushing himself up with his arms, and out of his own pool of gore. The viscous substance clung to his armor; at first streaming off in solid strings, but soon slowing to a constant drip.
       The room was still dark, which was not a surprise to this Elite. Still, there were plenty of other things to look at besides bright lights. A battle still raged between the small and scattered groups of Covenant and with the dwindling Flood numbers on the opposite side of the large chamber. To this warrior's quick-to-assess eye, though, it was clear who the unfortunate victor would prove to be.
       Then, also, was the mass of mutated bodies - composed of humans and Covenant troops alike - that was in the process of rushing a lone primate on 'Lshowee's own side of the room. He hoped it would give him what little time he required to complete his escape. As soon as he knew he was supporting himself by his arms and single good leg, he pushed off the ground and towards the Banshee not a standard unit away.
       With the feel of the smooth alloy came a rising sense of hope for the struggling soldier. Within several agonizing seconds, the Elite managed to pull himself towards the small cockpit of the flying vehicle. Then came the challenge. 'Lshowee's plan included taking a short flight into space and to another - uninfected, of course - ship. Seeing as his armor was breached, and he was in a critical condition, this would prove to be a problem. The obvious solution came with the assurance that the pre-placed environmental armor-upgrade was still sitting to the side of the controls.
       The only thing left for this Elite warrior to do was to equip the device. A task easier said that done. With fractured ribs, ruptured internal organs, a fatal - if not soon treated - chest wound, and a shredded leg, the normally simple action of slipping on the air-tight suit and activating the oxygen-recyclers became much more complicated.

       The pool of blood around the former Elite had finally grown stagnant; the bodily liquids having exhausted themselves. Black Squad Master Iko 'Balinee considered moving the corpse - but decided against it. No, a crumpled body and pool of blood was better than the long smear across the floor that dragging it would cause. It was unfortunate that the soldier had forced his own death. Such lack of discipline and action of duty was rare among the Covenant ranks. Still, it weeded out those that were unfit warriors; getting rid of them before their incompetence could cause fatal problems on a battlefield. Of course, Iko had no way of knowing that whether or not the former Squad Master sprawled out before him had acted, the many inevitable deaths could not have been stopped.
       With the end of that thought process, 'Balinee glanced back to the control console - which doubled as a communications link when troops were directly below the ship. It was silent. The Squad Master thought that he was beginning to see a pattern: When they had arrived, there had been no contact from the troops below; after the two squads of soldiers had descended, they had not received a communiqué; and now, after the 'Field Master had gone down for himself, he had not reported back. This disturbed Squad Master 'Balinee greatly. For he did not believe in coincidences - so this series of occurrences could only mean something grave was befalling them all.
       It was at this moment that the senior Master of the Gravity Lift Embarkation Room decided on his next action. However, it would not be following the same pattern that had resulted in nothing but a clear lack of results. No, this action would be sure to get something accomplished; of that, Iko was certain. 'Balinee flexed his shoulders and started the short trek towards the console, preparing the words in his mind that he would present to his Ship Master - but then something observable finally happened: The Gravity Lift hummed into active status.
       'Balinee was close enough to the command console to quickly find out what was in occurrence. With a quick look, he saw something that finally eased his mind's troubles; a group was finally rising up the lift. They would certainly bring news of the current situation, and an explanation. Perhaps it was even 'Field Master 'Lashowagee himself.
       The Black Squad Master stiffened to present himself for the arrival of the rising forces. He prepared several different queries, in the case that a lower ranking soldier was in charge of the incoming group, and several replies, in the case that a higher ranking Master was ascending. 'Balinee was ready for whatever was to rise through the opening iris in the floor - or so he thought; this Elite was ready for news, explanation, or a delayed withdrawal of troops. What he was indeed not prepared for was what slowed to a hovering stop in the center of the room: A pitiful looking band of Human filth.

The Enemy Within-Chapter Twenty: The Two Confrontations
Date: 9 March 2005, 12:17 AM

       Pat froze as his body, along with his comrades', passed up into the belly of the Covenant cruiser. He wasn't immediately afraid of what he was confronted with; but the shock paused his breath and caused his heart to skip a beat. There were alien soldiers encircling the top of the lift; waiting and ready, as if they had known the Humans were coming. The Corporal's team must have been in much the same state as he for the first several seconds in the enemy ship. Out of the corner of his eye he could see clenched jaws and stiffened bodies.
       Apparently, Corporal Patrick Carter's Covenant counterpart was in as much a state of confusion as he was. Not a shot was fired as the dull-silver iris slid noiselessly shut and three pairs of Human legs absorbed the short fall that followed; the gravity cart simply bobbed down once, and then back up again, stabilized. All weapons were raised, but neither side so much as twitched a muscle - everyone just stared at everyone else. James held his large turret pointed in the same direction as he had risen in, but towards a pocket of three aliens instead of a hundred Flood forms. The rest of the Human squad held their various armaments cocked and ready.
       Purple lights, emanating from all around, lit the chamber with an idiosyncratic iridescence. Hundreds, it seemed, of tiny luminescent pinpricks sparkled in the dim space, cast from objects of unknown purposes. A few crates were scattered throughout the area as well; throwing several shadows across the floor where anything could be laying in wait. Two doors lined each of the four walls - four of them sized for personnel, looking a burnished silver; the other four stretching nearly from floor to ceiling, colored a slate gray. Two of the large ones were open.
       Carter forced his head to complete three look-arounds of the assembly, his MA5B Assault Rifle following his eyes as they swept over every detail. The Covenant beings - the visible ones, at least - were scattered about the room; presumably waiting for an order, but all with weapons at least half-way raised. There were seven of them, all clad in black armor; three Elites and four Grunts - two of them with deadly fuel rod guns. The Human squad, though, was bunched up in a ragged circle around the captured Shade; all pointing outward, exposed, and wondering what the hell they were to do next. All had their weapons up, as well, trying to decide on a target. Finally, the Human team leader focused on what he thought to be the commander of the enemy - the tall one near the holo panel.
       The beast stood a full head higher than the other two Elites. In his hands was some sort of sleek, long barreled weapon; encased in a purple shell. Patrick had never seen one like it before - in combat or otherwise - and he certainly didn't want to find out how effective it was at this point in time. However, his cautious examination of the creature only served to elicit a threateningly menacing stare in return. The alien's powerful gaze sent a chill of fear rushing up this Human's spine. All of a sudden, he was no longer ready to rush into anything, push forward into enemy lines and kill without thought - he was fearful for his life and that of his companions, and didn't know what to do next. This is what command must feel like, Patrick quickly thought to himself, his loneliness weighing in on him. I wish Sarge was here.
       Quickly assessing the situation, the Corporal first considered the number ratio. His team was composed of three Marines - one of them in the turret - and one Navy pilot. His opposition had double the numbers. Though all of his squad's weapons would be damned effective in close-range combat, their standard ballistic armor wouldn't stand a chance against prolonged fire; and there was nowhere to take cover between them and the enemy. Not a good looking situation at all.

       Three agonizing seconds passed without a sound or movement from anything; only the constant thrumming of the ship's systems and the slow rasp of shallow breathing to be heard. Finally, just as it looked like the moment may have become completely stagnant, something living broke the stiff silence. It was the leading Elite.
       A low growl arose from its lung, seeming to vibrate the air itself with the hideous rumble. The creature lowered itself into a defensive stance, raising its weapon and parting its four mandibles - it had made its decision. Postures, Human and Covenant alike, stiffened and prepared for an engagement. Eyes locked and mental preparations were made for what would be soon happening.
       "Wait!" anxiously shouted Carter, trying to stall the hopeless engagement; his eyes darting erratically around the chamber. The outburst only served to generate a look of angered bemusement upon his adversary's face. His Marines glanced around nervously, not trusting the situation - but how could they? They were in a room with bloodthirsty monsters trained to kill. Nobody backed off . "We don't have to be shooting each other. Those fucking monsters are trying to kill both of us - can't you see that?"
       "Yeah. Haven't you ever heard that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' thing?" nervously threw out Derrick, trying his own hand at negotiation.
       Pat's heart pounded in his chest, his brain racing in sync. He knew the chances of the Elite siding with him, actually reasoning, or even responding at all were very low; so low that even considering them would normally be considered insane. But it was an option other than immediate death, and this was not a normal situation.
       What amazed the young Corporal after his blurted plea was that, if but for a moment, his outburst actually produced the desired effect: Nobody tried to kill anyone else.


       The speech alone, more than the question, put a pause to Squad Master 'Balinee's immediate plan of action. That this human dared to direct its unholy utterances towards his greatness - it was blatant blasphemy. The Elite could barely contain himself for the outrage. His mandibles twitched and his muscles were tense. Even so, the loathsome words did not ring meaningless in his ears.
       Like all of his Black Special Operations Elite brethren, he had been trained to understand the primitive vocal patterns of these vermin - to further understand the enemy in battle, to more easily and fully defeat them - and so his mind was forced to produce some kind of answer. His thoughts bounced between his instinct to kill and his analytical intellect. As difficult as it was for him to admit, 'Balinee knew that the query was legitimate. That it made sense at all was actually as surprising a fact as had been the human's action.
       The Squad Master recalled reading the reports about what had happened on the instillation so very near. How the parasite had indeed sought out not only his kind, but the humans as well. Their bodies and weapons were taken - stolen just as many of his brothers' had been. The humans had lost soldiers just as 'Balinee's own forces had. What was the real difference? Why then were they fighting a three-sided battle? Were they fighting and dying more than they had to?
       Iko was torn between his whole-hearted commitment to his Covenant - the oaths that he had taken with complete honesty - and the reality of his mind's answer: They were fighting the same enemy. He was certainly not aware of the human adage "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," but he still came to similar conclusions. Was it not more efficient to spend resources together against a common foe instead of wasting them in a momentarily product-less feud? Still, the Prophets had decreed that the destruction of the humans be utter and complete; spoken the command without room to question. The Elite sighed; the action looking more like an irritated huff - which it was, also. It was moments like this that brought forth 'Balinee's inner discontent with his leadership.
       The great "Holy Ones" were indeed wise - how else could the Covenant have progressed so far? However, the more the Squad Master looked at this war, the more lives he saw lost to a cause unknown to him, the more he found himself inclined to think over the mysterious reasons. Not many actually knew why the Prophets had decided on wiping out a whole species. Why weren't they good enough to serve? Or why not worthy of being shown the wonders and majesty of the Forerunners and the Great Journey?
       Master 'Balinee was not a blasphemer of the gods, and had been taught through training and experience not to question his orders; but such things often surfaced in his mind during reflection. They had just never chosen the time of a direct confrontation with the enemy to do so.
       The Elite slackened his stance as he was forced to come to a conclusion: There was no need for bloodshed here and now. As much as he despised the humans, he had never met them face to face. Were they not flesh and blood just as he was? He had been trained since the discovery of the primates to hate and despise all associated with the enemy race - but at this very moment the black clad soldier could not bring himself to sentence another warrior to death without reason. For that act held no honor, and was not one to be done willingly.
       Weapons were lowered ever so slightly on the other side of the species gap, showing they somehow knew. The tenseness had still not dropped a hair, however. It was then that the Elite noticed how pitiful the group of humans actually looked. Their coverings were torn and tattered, soaked with perspiration, smeared with dirt and mud, singed, and splattered with blood ranging from dark purple, to vibrant orange and blue, to a crimson red. Their forms were haggard and worn, many of their equipment straps frayed and broken. How they had even made it to the ship through whatever forces festered below was beyond the Squad Master - and what was really down there?
       But then more pertinent questions rose to Iko's consideration. What to do now with the humans? Ally with them or take them prisoner? And what would those higher up think of his decision? Two of the three personal queries were answered by 'Balinee promptly. He would have to take them prisoner. This Elite had no immediate need for assistance - and he knew the humans were not as proficient as he in combat anyway. Plus the fact that the aliens would be valuable sources of information about - to begin with - the situation below.
       Which brought Iko back to the question of what was really going on below the ship. It must obviously be violent - as these humans had been in recent battle; but with who, or what? Not the Covenant's own. Else they would have not made it to this point. That, then, left two possibilities: that there was a large human force attacking below, or the Flood were showing their hand. 'Balinee had more faith in the latter of the two. Suddenly he could easily smell the rot that wafted from the green ichor painted on the aliens arrayed before him.
       The black-clad Squad Master inflated his lung to speak, tilting his head towards the ceiling ever so slightly. "The parasite consumes all, human; and will stop for neither of us," he spoke, his mandibles clenching from the forced language - humans could only understand their own. 'Balinee stiffened and stood to his full height to make his final decree. "Surrender yourselves to my troops. There is no need to spill each other's blood when a more menacing force threatens us both."
       The humans exchanged glances, looks of puzzlement washing over their dirtied features. They lowered their weapons further, and rose from their crouches. One even disarmed a small explosive device he had been holding.
       The most battered of the group took a bold, but shaky, step forward. "Surrender?" it asked 'Balinee, seeming to think about the word. "On what terms?"

       It was at this unstable moment when something happened to break the fragile peace between the two forces. One of the troop-sized doors along the sides of the room flashed and slid open, revealing a group of three Elites and a few trailing Grunts. They looked as if they had arrived hastily - sent with something important to say.
       All of them stopped immediately upon their entrance. The foremost of the squad bristled, his compatriots looking on in equal amounts of shock. Whatever had been on the top of their minds was instantly overridden.
       "By the Forerunners . . . what is going on here, Excellency?" the leader of the team demanded - though his blazing orange armor did not rank he to whom he spoke. "Do you dare speak to this vile filth?"
       The humans whirred at the loud bark, taking immediate aim. They, obviously, had no way of knowing the intent of the question, but could apparently tell there was hatred in the tones. 'Balinee saw that the situation was degrading quickly by just the entrance of this ignorant soldier.
       The new arrivals pointed their own weapons, preparing for an offensive. The leader roared a battle cry, and one of the humans shouted something the Squad Master didn't catch. None of them were taking the time to think this situation over, consider it and ponder a less violent solution. Did the craving for this goal make 'Balinee a weak member of his race? He didn't see how. All he desired was to preserve the lives of those entrusted to his command - and those under his care. If an intervention was not made, the death he was working to prevent would be escalated.
       "Stop!" he shouted in the human tongue, changing to his own as he addresses the rash Elite before him. "Stop! Do not act with such foolish haste. More goes on here than you know."
       "Blasphemy! What could possibly be occurring between you and these infidels?" the younger and more brash of the two countered, baring his fangs. Iko was nearly taken aback by the blatant lack of respect. "Their death is the only goal you should have to accomplish - and to allow them on our own holy vessel! Sacrilege!"
       There seemed to be no quick solution for this situation - his comrade's mind was quite obviously made up for the moment - so how was this Squad Master to handle things. What options had he?
       And if his fellow soldiers fired, what was he to do? Surely the humans would, once attacked, not differentiate between the two squads of Covenant troops; opening fire on every "hostile" in the vicinity. So if his own shot, he could not stand by and watch, for there would be the threat of succumbing his enemy's wide-covering fire. Of course, he would not go so far as to shoot those of his own race, either. How was he to handle this?
       Snarls issued from the lungs of the defensively postured Elites before 'Balinee. His own were standing motionless around the humans, not knowing how to react. Iko knew that they would most likely follow the example of the impudent fool before him, however. There seemed no way to stop this landslide of unfortunate happenings now.
       Luckily for the Black Squad Master, he would never have to find out the answers to his questions; as a completely new option presented itself in a rather unexpected way.

       Ship Master Aknu 'Reigando stool ill at ease at the center of his ship's Control Room. What bothered him the most was that, though there was so much going on at the present, he could do nothing but observe. That was what a ship's commander was forced to endure while the trained soldiers - usually pent up within the vessel's confines - were out on their missions. And this situation was even worse than that. This Ship Master knew that his ship had become under attack - but just not the degree of the invasion.
       The security offered by his craft's highest ranking infantry soldier being present in the same room did little to assuage his fears and apprehension. Three squads of Black Special Operations troops surrounded the heart of the Impending Incursion. One just outside each of the doors on either side of the chamber, and the third spread out in less-traversed hall running parallel to the rear wall. Black Field Master 'Agasee, however, and his personal team of soldiers, stood guard personally around the suspended command platform; pushing the normal security detail to the outer rim of the open floor.
       Now 'Reigando just stood and waited for all of his troops to move back into the ship; watching the reported progress via constantly updating holographic readouts. The only soldiers that now remained to complete the evacuation were the troops dependent upon the Gravitational Lift Embarkation Room. There had been a lack of answered calls throughout the ship; and the fact that the 'Lift 'Room was among those areas having not reported regularly disconcerted this Ship Master greatly. As a reaction, he had personally sent a small squad to the area to check up on things - make sure everything was still progressing. They should have been reaching their destination at any moment.
       This is what kept Aknu in constant stressful thought.

       'Master 'Agasee had easily noticed the nervous posture of his ship's commander. He had kept silent up to this point; but now he was driven to ask how much longer the craft must be kept attached to an enemy infested construct. Though he had questioned the ability of the Ship Master before, it was now that he chose to express himself.
       " 'Master 'Reigando," he addressed, his voice neutral; slowly ascending the ramp to the all-but-empty platform, the clack of his clean booted-hooves echoing through the hushed chamber. "Do you think it wise to remain here any longer?"
       The gold-armored Elite spoken to seemed almost startled by the question - or perhaps the approach all together. His trained nerves were indeed on edge. "We shall remain until all our forces are onboard," came the automated-sounding reply, after a short delay. "Then we shall detach from the ring and conduct our search of stray enemy aboard."
       " 'Reigando, I fear that I must disagree with your decision," 'Agasee stated bluntly, stretching himself out to his full height - three centiunits above the armored head of Aknu.
       Light reflected harshly off the rebuked Elite's helmet as he swung around to face the intimidating soldier before him. The Black Master may have had a tall stature on his side, but Ship Masters are not appointed for nothing, and this one had plenty of bulk to his favor; which he promptly inflated in response. Still, the returned challenge did not come to words; more remained to be said by the challenger.
       "Your constant delay of our departure puts the whole of the ship in unneeded danger," the 'Field Master continued, with barely veiled impudence. "We have no way of knowing how much of the ship has come under attack. Many sections of your vessel are now out of contact, and the preliminary investigation squads have not reported back - and the mysteries are growing, 'Reigando."
       "You nor I have any real way of knowing if these lapses in contact are product of Flood attack," quickly retorted Aknu, displaying his own way with words. He, though normally one to remain passive in the face of denouncement, would not easily take insult to his face. Even though what he was confronted with directly addressed his inner suspicions and fears. "Perhaps they have been caused by interference from the damaged systems of the great ring."
       Three of 'Agasee's mandibles twitched in contempt. "Why do you concoct a shield of excuses and lies to distract you from what is obviously in occurrence? Did not you tell me that at least one of your docking bays was besieged? How, then, can you be sure the attack is not on a larger front? For cycles we have been in contact with this place - exposed to invasion at every point of weakness. The enemy we fight here is more cunning than you would lend yourself to believe, and it has used your own stubbornness and foolishness to infiltrate your vessel.
       "Lives have been lost, and more will be because of your lack of vision!" the 'Special Operations soldier nearly spat, almost letting his rage overcome him. If it was one thing that he could not tolerate, it was a commander that was unable to do his duty. In his mind, failure should only be rewarded with death.
       'Reigando's face was flushed. His mandibles hung limply on his face, unable and unwilling to utter a response. Never before had he been so openly assaulted. The great pride he had once hefted so high now sat quivering on the floor. Why did he take this demeaning treatment so? For one reason: he knew what was spoken was done so in truth.
       Seeing that his mental blow had been successful, and not paying attention to the many eyes that now were focused on him, 'Agasee prepared to deliver his knock-out strike. "It is now clear to me," he concluded, clicking his lower mandibles and upwardly-tilting his head, "beyond doubt, that you are exceedingly unable to properly preform your duty."
       Aknu lifted his eyes to those of the nearly-equal-in-rank before him; glaring with venomous poison in his eyes. Outwardly, he looked much less imposing.
       "Thus," went the continuation. "It is my duty, demanded of me by the Prophets and by the gods, that I relieve you of your inept command. The Impending Incursion will now be under my control."
       The last phrase was what tipped the strained Ship Master over the edge. Before it had been the pointing-out of his unwise decisions and flawed actions - but now it had turned into a unadulterated challenge of his position. He had always known 'Agasee to be high-aspiring; always reaching for the highest goal. But to achieve it in this fashion was absolutely enraging to 'Reigando - more so than anything he had experienced in the whole of his career. It was treason, mutiny; an affront to the righteous honor he stood for.
       Aknu snarled sharply, bringing the blunt tip of his golden helmet to a miliunit from the black one of his opposition. He stretched his joints and tensed all of his muscles to provide himself with the largest and most contentious posture available. However, his final, and most aggressive, act was to grip the hilt of his personal Plasma Sword in hand; holding a twitching thumb over the activator.
       "You dare challenge both my dignity and command?" the fully infuriated Elite bellowed, pushing his mass forward to physically subdue what he saw as an indignant subordinate.
       Black Field Master 'Agasee did not show the slightest hint of intimidation, firmly holding his ground. His reply was as forward and blunt as it was simple: "I do."

The Enemy Within - Chapter Twenty-One: Lurking Shadows
Date: 18 April 2005, 1:42 AM

       Black Field Master 'Shukee allowed a guttural growl to arise from his lung in frustration as he waited for the cooling systems of his two Plasma Rifles to unfreeze the weapons - though, he could not hear himself over the cacophony around him. Of course, he knew better than to let this happen: Firing continuously would quickly overheat both the electrodes and the sophisticated circuitry of his weapons. He had known this and now had to accept it. Having held both firing mechanisms until the tiresome venting process took over may have been depleting his power cores more quickly, but in battle one did not always care about such things; instead caring only about sending your enemy sprawling to the ground.
       During the battle he was in the midst of now, this Elite had felled many an enemy - but this foe did not seem to stop coming. Several units down the smoke clogged passageway, a solid wedge of bodies tried furiously to advance themselves forward. 'Master Igkas 'Shukee knew what he was facing: the Flood. From what he had read in combat reports and heard through common rumor, the parasite had nearly limitless numbers: the more they fought, the more they gained. It was an altogether sickening thought, even to this battle-hardened warrior.

       Igkas grunted as the cooling fins of the weapons in both his hands finally stopped hissing, snapping themselves shut. Again he added to the volume of fire stuttering through the narrow hallway. Streaks of blue and green plasma crisscrossed the intervening space between the two forces; and bullets of human weapons pinged from the already cratered and blackened bulkheads. On the losing side, slimy, rotting flesh was transformed into smoke and ashes; on the prevailing side, shields flared and heads were kept low.
       On either side of the bold 'Field Master, two Grunts hunched over their weapons: Plasma Turrets. They could fire twice as fast as one of 'Shukee's current weapons; and without the encumbrance of overheating, as they, with larger bodies and more efficient innards, cooled themselves quickly enough. The near solid lines of fire cut into the disintegrating wall of beasts held back at the far corner.
       Just behind the black-clad leader stood two more Elites. One sported two blazing Needlers - the rounds of which continued to produce devastating explosions in the enemy ranks. The other held a Carbine. It did not fire as quickly as the other weapons, but its powerful - yet compact - ammunition sliced easily into the rotting bodies it was being directed towards.
       Of course, as much as all this firepower aided the battle, plasma and projectiles still managed to be unleashed by the opposing forces. 'Shukee's shields were under constant strain; just recovering from one burst of Plasma Pistol fire only to be brought back down by a spray of automatic human slugs. Through all this, however, this Field Master stood bold and tall. He had to set an example for his troops - lead them and show them that this fight could be won. Even if that meant that Igkas had to endure some unshielded impacts upon his armor; it was made to protect him, after all.

       In fact, the Black 'Master currently had forces in route to squelch this seemingly endless battle more quickly - it has already lasted for eight whole units. Perhaps it was relatively not all that much time; but under fire and with lives on the line, it could seem quite lengthy in one's mind. Power cores were starting to dwindle, and projectile ammunition was beginning to run low. Even these mighty Covenant warriors only had so much to give.
       The hardened troops beside the commanding Elite were not tired - firing weapons took but a fraction of their total strength - but their shielding and armor were being pushed to their limits. Even the enhanced systems the Black Special Operations soldiers were equipped with were straining. Almost all present sported wounds of varying severity - plasma burns or bullet impacts. Amazingly, the Grunts were the most intact. Their squat forms kept them below the main volume of fire, leaving most of the punishment to be thrown upon their higher stature Elite Masters.
       That was why 'Shukee had come up with a quick plan to hit the enemy from two places at once. This Elite knew that only certain passages were unlocked; and so only some were accessible to the path of the parasite. Though they could, surely and eventually, break down some of the sealed doors, they seemed to take the path of least resistence first. This had become apparent to Igkas after he had been forced to abandon two previous positions, and see eight members of his group of soldiers fall to enemy fire.
       He had been in the process of searching the ship; as 'Field Master 'Agasee had given him the responsibility for after receiving orders from the Ship Master himself. There had been several reports of lost contact through varying areas of the Impending Incursion. Those areas included the main armory, vehicle and equipment storage bays, and hallways leading from the previously attacked ship bay to the center of the vessel - towards the Control Center. 'Shukee had deemed the latter more pertinently important for him, personally, to investigate. So he had sent detachments of two squads to check both the engineering spaces and the main troop armory.
       Just as he had started losing contacts from the latter group, his own three squads had come under attack. The Flood had barreled head-long around the next bend they were all to round in their search pattern. Almost all of the leading squad was taken down within the first half-unit of combat. Grunts, lacking real armor, had gone down as soon as the fire started; and the Elites hadn't had time to let their over-loaded shields recover before the wave swept over them, too. After that, the two remaining squads - with the last surviving Elite of the ravaged leading unit - had only been able to stop one other time before finally setting up temporary defenses where they were now. But the parasite had followed them all the way through the winding tunnels; not spreading out into other passages.
       That was where the 'Field Master's plan came into action. He needed to stop the flow of the creatures through the halls of the ship. To do that, without having to destroy every one in this particular narrow space, he had devised a strategy to stop their progress, and start eliminating them from two locations, simultaneously.
       Currently, he had a full squad, headed by one of his most gifted First Class Squad Masters, en route to a specified doorway. It was only a couple bends back from where the Flood now tried to push their way through a steady barrage of fire - where the first attempt to stop them after the initial attack had been made. The team - with their active camouflage equipped - was to set anti-matter charges on the locked door; carefully, as to not compromise the hull or sheer through more than necessary.
       At the very best, the charges, placed very specifically to do their task, would collapse part of the tunnel the beasts were coming from - or had come from, in the, unlikely as far as this commander was concerned, case that the monsters did not have a solid line of forces up to the point where they were now seen - in all their horrid and mutated veneration. This would, hopefully, stop, or at least stall, their advance; allowing the invisible team to begin a tactical assault on their exposed flanks with heavy weapons and grenades. If things did not work perfectly, as most often was the case; at the least the charges would annihilate a good score of the beasts walled up on the other side of the door. Then, still, the attack from that point would be made; so that the parasite had two different places to defend themselves, thus making them less effective at each.
       At least, that was how Black Field Master 'Shukee saw things. Though he had made sure that the team locked all doors behind them. For in the rather unlikely event of their failure, they would have just opened up another clear passage from where the Flood could spread their infection. With the doors sealed, Igkas would not be worse off if his plan did not work - with the exception of a full squad being eliminated and thus unable to aid the defense effort.

       And so, the 'Field Master was left to wait for his plans to be started. Meanwhile he was left to holding back all that the parasite could throw at him.
       Thankfully the beasts did not have any heavy weapons, nor were they in any way proficient with thrown explosives. Else things could have become very interesting, very quickly. As it was, the two black-armored Grunt gunners on his sides were all that was really ebbing the tide of monstrosities. Adding to the lack of enemy progress was the sheer amount of bodies that the converted humans and Elites had to navigate to gain a clear shot at the impeding Covenant troops.
       'Shukee let his mandibles part in a smile - even as one of his plasma rifles momentarily stopped functioning again to cool off, and a trio of metal alloy projectiles bounced off the resonating energy shield protecting his face. He smiled because he knew that, ultimately, his short lull in attack would not stop his elite group of warriors from stemming the tide of adversaries before them. Little did the Elite think about how small mistakes and pride-filled thoughts that clouded his judgement would have an impact on this battle; or how he may have underestimated the situation, not letting his plans encompass more than just his specific problem.
       The heat and thrill of combat had bestowed a vigor upon him. But he had let himself fall under assumed realities that were but mere illusions. The Flood were accomplishing more than he knew; they had won their own not-unimportant fight: The distraction had worked.

       The Sergeant was consciously unaware of the actions his legs were taking as he ascended to he circular plateau atop the grav lift base. He was unconcerned with the sea of enemies that surrounded the metal island. Even the throbbing pain from the wound above his knee that threatened to immobilize him didn't register. All that mattered to Sergeant Lance Ferring now was what he had to do - and what little amount of time to do it in.
       His hands were a blur as he swung the filthy detonation pack in front of himself. It was the only way he could think of to end the Flood threat for the men and injured woman under his command and care. The monsters could not be allowed to go up the gravity lift. Why some squid-head above hadn't already shut the damn thing down was beyond Lance. It was now his duty to do so - by rather unorthodox means.
       Before this moment, the det sack had been intended to be thrown behind the squad to slow advancing enemies, or to blast their way through some obstacle. The new plan Sergeant Ferring had for it was a little different. It was still to slow - or rather stop - advancing enemies, but in a more permanent manner. The explosives packed into the rucksack-sized bag would be more than enough to render the grav lift base useless. Then the mutant horrors flocking ever nearer wound be left to sit and rot into eternity and hell.

       The buttons were caked in dirt and grime, but they still glowed warmly to the Sergeant's weary touch. With each depression, the arming device emitted a reassuring beep. Finally, it was ready. The small LCD display - amazingly still intact, having been through hell, but not yet back - announced its readiness to serve its final purpose. Suddenly, a wave of emotion washed over Lance as he realized he was about to rise and join his team.
       It was a new thought for him, in this place. For the last several days, he hadn't thought of himself escaping this place alive. For a few of those lingering moments, he had thought his whole squad - hell, the whole crew of the Autumn, even that Spartan - would die a cold and lonely death on this ring. Then had come their escape from the room that would have been their tomb, their harrowing run through dark, confined hallways, and their final, if not somewhat desperate, assault on the gravity lift. Through that, the only thought of safety in Lance Ferring's mind had been focused on everyone but himself.
       Now, however, he was the guy in the hot spot, the one who would make it out alive and well - or close to it. He would be able to return to his h ome on Earth. The faces of his children would be more than just ink on paper. And the sweet smell and feel of his wife for five years no longer be confined to his fading memories. For the first time since landing on Halo, the Sergeant let a genuine smile crack his nearly permanent scowl. He would be able to see his family again, after all.

       Or so he thought. Reflex, or perhaps just coincidence, had Lance look up just as he activated the bomb in his hands - and as the purple beam of the gravity lift took hold of his form, drawing him up wards. It happened too fast for him to avoid. By the time he saw the danger, the only reaction he could will was bringing the device in his hands - which he was about to plant -
up to protect himself. It didn't help.
       Hundreds of pounds of rotting flesh slammed into Sergeant Ferring as he was only two meters off the ground. At first, it only had a hold on the human's legs, both of which were kicking erratically to send the Flood form back down to the rest of its kind. However, the contest of strength was very much one sided. The former Elite quickly clawed its way up the struggling body, pulling its arm back for the death blow as it mounted its victim's chest.
       The Sergeant haplessly fought to avoid his death, to free himself from the hold of this monstrosity. But it was to no avail. He hoped beyond hope that the creature would loose its grip, or get struck my some stray plasma bolt; or that the rotting muscles would finally decide to fail, or that the Infection form inside would pause its actions for but a split second - but none of that happened.
       The hardened whips of flesh - specially designed through millennia of use to prove as resilient and sturdy as organically possible - easily dented the alloys making up the back of the Marine's helmet. Spots of light burst into the soldier's vision, his body going limp instantly as two of the vertebra in his neck shattered from the blow. The man was still fully conscious, however, when the back-swing of the creature riding him up brutally ripped his head from his body, flinging it into the energized air of the massive room beyond the shimmering purple walls to all sides.
       A fountain of heated blood fountained onto the careless killer still using the rising body as its means of boarding the ship above. The carefully constructed package of explosives riding with it, however, was still fully armed and activated. Just as the Combat form tensed its stolen legs to lunge towards the nearing opening, the digital counter of the human-made detonator reached its lowest digit.


       Even on the floor below, the explosion was enough to send bodies stumbling back and to the ground. The column of Flood that had begun to rise up the gravity lift behind the awkward two-some was blasted straight back down to the back base of metal beneath them. Grenades detonated on the belts of the bodies closest to the detonation - the heat wave overloading their shielding and igniting the volatile mixture within.
       The actual blast was directed straight up and into the receiving end of the lift, the magnetic walls of the vertical transportation device attempting to contain the force. What resulted would have pleased he who had activated the weapon. Metal fragments were ripped completely off of their place within the radius of the concentrated fire-ball, leaving behind the glowing remnants of what would have provided the users of the grav lift a place to ascend through.
       Electric conduits sparked and sputtered through the thick cloud of smoke and vaporized alloys. The bright purple beam below the wreck flickered twice, then faded into the darkness. Those forms still managing to be caught in gravitational influence of the lift were sent plummeting to the floor below. No one else would be gaining access to this Covenant ship by those means.

       Luckily for 'Lshowee, his plan of escape was not in the slightest dependent upon the unusable ruin. Though, he had witnessed the whole of the spectacle. The force of the explosion had even forced him to his knees - both going down and then pushing himself back up had proven to be excruciatingly painful. Now, however, in the fading results of the violent chemical reaction, he slid his stiff body into place behind the controls of his intact Banshee.
       The Elite could feel his thick blood starting to collect next to his hooves. The air-tight suit he had finally managed to slip into easily held his bodily fluids in. It was quite uncomfortable and unsettling, but proved to amount to little compared to what signals his nerves already were sending en mass to the Squad Master's brain.
       Fortunately, the whole ordeal had presented quite a distraction for the hoard of Flood now fully surrounding the gravity lift and that which sought refuge around it. For several units around the large black base, rotting forms were still struggling back to an upright stance. This gave 'Lshowee all the opportunity he needed to get himself out of harm's way.
       Rising to a wavering hover above the dull silver floor, the pilot jammed the control stick forward, pushing the engines as far as was safe. Flashing over a forest of stubby green bodies, the Elite was tortured with the fact that he could not fire at this moment - the engine pods needed all of what the small craft had to offer. And to slow now could mean a quick and painful death.
       Now the only non-mutant life form in the whole of this particular chunk of Halo, 'Lshowee's vehicle attracted the fire from all the surviving Flood below him. Bullets, needles, plasma, rockets, fuel rod projectiles, and even some grenades streaked through the air, racing to catch the Banshee, outlined in the blue flare of its engine pods. Most of the fire missed - the Elite before it thanking the Prophets that the mutant hands of his enemies could not hold their weapons steady - though the occasional metal slug or bolt of plasma smeared the purple finish of the aircraft.

       Finally, the Squad Master found himself flashing over the edge of the precipice on the far side of the room. His eyes darting erratically over the top of the Forerunner metals, 'Lshowee searched furiously for a gap in the seal between his ship and the broken section of ring. There was none. To keep the atmosphere contained below the lift upon their arrival, the ship had been carefully set down around the edge of the room, as to allow troops the ability to move unhindered in the vast space.
       Now it worked against the only remaining survivor of those send down beneath the main vessel. There was no way for the Elite to escape, to free himself and run away from those who so adamantly sought him dead. The darkness finally sunk in upon 'Lshowee. Until his former home was moved, he was stuck in this mass grave of a room. However, he was still not out of options. His escape-craft did have weapons, after all.
       Spinning around, he slid the target reticle over the nearest of the filth arrayed before him. With the depression of the firing studs, two lines of fire sped out into the many targets seemingly awaiting their death. Flesh was melted, bones were splintered, and chilling cries arose into the air. 'Lshowee smiled through the pain, grinding his mandibles together. In that moment, he made a vow to himself: if he did not make it out of this place, he would not let himself die until every one of these beasts lay dead among piles of their smoldering corpses.

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