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Five UNSC marines walked through the jungle, all of them outfitted in mottled green combat fatigues to better conceal them in the dense vegetation. Three hours ago at the Crow's Nest radar had picked up three foreign objects hurtling towards the earth at great speeds. The first one was immediately identified as the Forerunner ship that the Prophet of Truth had "commandeered." The second and the third had both given out the transponder signal of Spartan 117- the Master Chief. Each object had crash landed right smack in the middle of the jungle sixteen miles apart. Commander Miranda Keyes, Crow's Nest's CO, had immediately dispatched three squads to these locations- two to the smaller and more likely crash-site and one to the larger and less likely crash-site. In the off chance that maybe the Spartan was in fact part of the "wreckage" at the larger crash-site, she wanted someone to confirm or deny it.

So Sergeant Randy Elkes, a 40-something year old African-American, led his four man squad towards the larger and inevitably empty crash-site- a blue milk run. Of the four men, Elkes knew three of them quite well. They had been serving together for eight years which was extremely rare in this time. Corporal Timothy Whipiski, a 32 year old Irishman, Private Stan Barstow, a 30 year New Yorker, and Private Carter Juna, also 30 years old and Jamaican. "Hey mon!" Juna called, almost casually, "How come we be sent to this God-Forsaken crater, and not after the big green mon himself?" The squad-mates all smiled, and Elkes shook his head before replying. "Because Private," he said, "there is a chance- albeit a small one- that the Chief is at the location we're heading to." Juna snorted, and pulled a large hand rolled cigar out of a pouch hanging from his combat webbing. Private Barstow noticed it. "Jesus Carter that shit better not be what I think it is." He exclaimed.

Juna smiled as he stuck it into his mouth, lit it, and took a long drag. "No mon." He smiled, "This be the standard stuff." After a quick glance at the Sergeant he said in a low voice, "I left the five finger plant back at base." Whipiski laughed before saying, "Carter that stuff kills." Before Juna could reply, a voice piped up from the back of the squad. "Yeah, but so do the Covenant." Everyone but Elkes turned and studied the young, serious Australian. At 28 years of age, Private Jack Denton was without question the strangest man in the squad. While the rest of them (excluding the Sergeant) were laid back, Denton was no-nonsense in the field, his blue eyes constantly moving, surveying the jungle for any threats. He hadn't been in the field long and had just been recently transferred to Elkes' squad due to a recent death. Poor old Paulson. "Yah." Juna said after an awkward silence. "You make a good point mon." Elkes held up a balled fist and all five men crouched down and melted into the fauna, hefting their weapons to their shoulder. Barstow glanced over at Juna, who still had the cigar in his mouth. "Hey dipshit!" he whispered hoarsely, "Put that shit out, it's gonna give us away!" Juna spat out the cigar and mashed it into the soft ground with his gloved palm.

"Quiet!" Elkes whispered over his shoulder. Using his Battle Rifle to push a large leaf aside, Elkes peered down at the surprisingly shallow crater that the wreckage had caused. Elkes looked at Barstow and Denton and signalled them to circle left. He ordered Whipiski and Juna to circle right. He went straight down the middle himself. At a crouch, Elkes moved out into the open and took up position next to the wreckage, which appeared to be some sort of doorframe. There he stayed for about three minutes, trying to entice any watchers to come in for the kill and walk right into his trap. But there was nothing. The Sergeant stood. "Bring it in marines." He called. The four of them just appeared from out of the jungle and formed a rough circle around the doorframe. On closer inspection, the doorframe appeared to be made of some strange material. "What the hell is it made of?" Whipiski asked. "Dunno..." Elkes replied, "But it doesn't seem like the Chief is here." The marines quickly looked around just to make doubly sure before turning back to their Sergeant. "What now sir-" Juna started to ask before he was cut off. "I think I've seen these patterns before!" Barstow declared, pointing at the doorframe. "Does anyone remember what the structures on that Halo ring looked like? The ones we saw from the vid-discs that were recovered?" he asked.

"I try not to." Elkes said. But he saw it too. The same distinctive parallel pattern that ran diagonally across the doorframe. "You think that this came from that Forerunner ship that Crow's Nest picked up on radar?" Whipiski shrugged. "This ain't the crater the Chief is at." He said. "We're at the wrong one." Juna just looked away and shook his head. "Oh well, time to pack up and go I think?" he said, looking at Elkes. The Sergeant nodded, looked away and switched on his radio. "Crow's Nest, this is Rescue Two, come in Crow's Nest." There was silence for a few seconds then... "Rescue Two this is Crow's Nest, have you located 117?" Elkes shook his head. Straight to the point. "That is a negative Crow's Nest, 117 is not at Crater Two, repeat, 117 is not at Crater Two." He replied. Another few seconds then- "Alright Rescue Two we read you loud and clear. Extraction is 4 klicks to your west; pick up should arrive at 1400 hours."
"Roger that Crow's Nest. Over and out." Elkes turned off his radio. He turned back to his men and was about to give the order to move out when he saw something that made him freeze. Private Jack Denton had his MA5C Assault Rifle up against his shoulder and was staring down the sights at Private Juna. The other squad mates, seeing the look on Elkes' face turned and froze as well. "Lower your weapon Private." The Sergeant said. Denton didn't budge. Juna took a step forward. "What the hell is the big idea mon?" he said angrily. Denton hadn't moved a muscle. "Don't. Move." He said to Juna, softly and forcefully. "Private-" Elkes started to say as the Jamaican Private took another step forward. "Don't move!" Denton said louder and more forcefully. Juna suddenly rushed at him and before Elkes or any of the others could do anything, the Australian fired a single shot. Juna stopped in his tracks and looked down. He hadn't been hit.

Then he heard something drop behind him. Turning, Juna was greeted by the corpse of a Jackal sniper, its vulture-like snout completely broken and pulverized from the round that Denton had inserted into its head. Juna looked back at the Private. "I- it...- you-" he stammered. "Sergeant I suggest we double time it outta here." Denton said. Still looking at the alien corpse, Elkes nodded. "Fucking-A Private." He said, and then ran off into the jungle followed closely by his squad. Leaves and branches whipped at the marines faces as they plunged into the thick vegetation, barely seeing where they were going. There were distant howls that were getting closer and closer, and though nobody said anything, the crunching of leaves and twigs could be heard over their own footsteps. There was something chasing them. Denton looked over his shoulder and caught the faint glint of blue metal before he turned back around and ran even faster. Brutes. Shit.

All of a sudden the marines silence was broken by Barstow. "We're screwed!" he yelled, "We're so frigging screwed- AHH!" Something leapt out of the bushes and crash tackled into Barstow, knocking him out of the squad's view. His screams echoed shrilly through the jungle and chilled the blood of the rest of them. He was being eaten alive. "SCREW THIS!" Juna yelled and threw a grenade. "Carter NO!" Elkes roared, but it was too late. The frag went flying through the air and was lost in the shrubbery. For a second there was nothing then-

BOOM!

The marines were knocked off their feet as the grenade exploded, kicking up dirt and plants. Barstow could no longer be heard. They just got to their feet and ran.

* * *

For half an hour they ran and only when they entered a clearing did they stop, breathing hard. Juna placed a hand on a tree to steady himself when all of a sudden Whipiski shoved him into it and pinned him there. "You killed him you son of a bitch! You killed Stan!" Juna just looked away, unable to bring himself to look into the Corporal's eyes. Elkes pushed Whipiski off of him. "Now is not the time Tim!" he said. "We have to get out of here!" he turned to Juna. "Make no mistake though you bastard, you are gonna pay for that." Juna looked angrily at the Sergeant. "You heard him!" he yelled "Those things were eating him! I just put him out of his miser-" Carter Juna never got to finish his sentence. Because Carter Juna's head was blown off. A purple beam arced through his forehead and into the tree behind him. The beam just blasted Juna's head to bits, the bloody bits of skull and flesh squelching wetly against the tree. The others hit the dirt. "Holy crap!" Whipiski squealed. "Follow me!" Elkes called and commando crawled down the slope near the edge of the clearing. At the bottom of the slope a stream ran through the dense jungle, snaking its way through the trees and shrubbery.

The marines hit the bottom of the slope, stood up and ran, Sergeant Randy Elkes in the lead, followed by Corporal Timothy Whipiski, with Private Jack Denton following up in the rear. "Call evac!" Whipiski said shrilly, "tell 'em we're coming in hot!" Denton pushed ahead. "No!" he cut in firmly. They crossed the other side of the stream and stopped. Elkes turned and faced the Australian Private. "Why not?" he said. "Because," Denton replied, "The last squad I was with was left behind." Whipiski and Elkes just stared. "What?" the Corporal whispered. Denton nodded. "Yeah. We had just completed our mission and we were coming in hot. Elites and Grunts all over our asses. My CO radioed in to tell evac the situation, and we got there just in time to see our Pelican take off and fly away." Elkes shook his head. It was every soldier's worst nightmare. Being left behind by the people you trusted. Most of the time you died out there. But if you survived, you just didn't know what to believe in any more.

Elkes looked at Denton with a new kind of respect. This marine had been left to rot with overwhelming forces on his tail. He'd survived, got back to base and he was still fighting. "Alright." The Sergeant said, "We don't radio in. But we're still two and a half klicks from evac. We better high tail." Then all hell broke loose. Plasma fire erupted from within the vegetation, burning through rock and tree alike. Whipiski was immediately hit and flew careening into the river. Dead or alive Elkes couldn't tell. He didn't have time to. Denton was shot in the head where his helmet took the brunt of the fire. Throwing it off quickly, Denton brought his gun to bear and fired. As Whipiski's possibly lifeless body floated downstream, Denton and Elkes ran after it stopping at cover to turn and fire at the unseen enemy with their weapons. Both men turned and fired taking up position behind a rock and a tree, both lazily resting against each other. "Where's Whipiski?" Denton panted. "I can't see him anymore." Elkes replied, reloading his battle rifle. "His body was moving too fast." He looked around and saw more cover behind them. "OK, listen up. We're gonna make it outta here but we'll have to work together. You cover me and I'll move to a better position. Then you come over to me and we'll keep doing that, ok?" Denton nodded. "Yes sir!" Elkes prepared to run when suddenly something smacked him in the shoulder. Searing pain shot through his arm as he was propelled into the tree behind him. He tried to move but he couldn't. He was pinned.

Denton looked down at Elkes shoulder with horror, and stared at the amber spike that was protruding out of his Sergeant's arm. "Goddammit." Elkes breathed. Then he looked up at Denton. "Run." He said quietly. Jack couldn't move. "RUN PRIVATE!" Elkes roared right before several more spikes pierced his chest. Elkes slumped, held in position by the spikes. Denton turned and saw three brutes coming towards him, Spiker pistols in hands. Jack got up and ran to the only safe place he could- the stream. Screaming, he unloaded his clip at the pursuing Brutes. One fell, four bullets slammed into its skull. Leaping, Denton broke the surface of the water and suddenly all the plasma fire, the howling, everything just stopped. There was nothing but the silence of the underwater world. Letting the current push him along, Jack held his breath and placed his MA5C on the magnetic holster on his back. He couldn't exactly use it right now.

After about forty seconds, jack's lungs began to burn. He needed air. He swam upwards and his head broke the surface. While gulping in air, he looked around. There was no one, nothing. He was alone. Maybe they had given him up for dead. Jack looked up ahead and saw the abrupt finish of the stream- a waterfall. Swimming as hard as he could, Jack fought against the current and, managed to crawl up onto the sandbank to the left. There he lay panting. As he got up, he noticed blood on the ground, mixing into the mud. He checked himself and couldn't find any wounds. Then a thought hit him.

Whipiski...

Jack was about to move out when an unpleasant surprise greeted him- another Jackal sniper. It sniffed the air then looked around suddenly. Denton crouched low in some foliage and watched it. It stood its ground and turned in a circle. It could smell him. It turned its back to the marine and that was when he struck. Rushing out of the bush, Denton raised his assault rifle and brought it to the Jackal's throat with an ominous smack. The Jackal squealed then was abruptly cut off as its windpipe became dislodged. Jack looked around before dragging the alien body into the foliage. He pilfered the thing's plasma grenades and beam rifle. He was about to run off into the jungle again when he heard something he did not want to hear: howling. Brutes were closing in; they had been pursuing him this entire time. "Bring it on assholes." He murmured, his grip tightening on the alien sniper rifle. He lay down in the mud underneath some shrubbery and stayed there for about eight minutes. The howling had ceased and had been replaced with a dogged but determined panting. He saw foliage and vegetation being pushed aside and trampled but he could not see the pursuers.

Then they broke out from the jungle and onto the bank. Five Brutes and eight Grunts. Damn. The leader, a Brute in golden armour crouched down and cupped some water in its hand. It raised the hand to its mouth, drank the water, and then spat it out almost immediately. It pointed to some of the Grunts and then sharply brought its arm upward. It wanted them to cross the river. One Grunt edged close to the water, dipped a stubby toe under the surface and then pulled it back. It shook its head as the Brutes roaring increased. Then without warning the gold armoured Brute picked the Grunt up and squeezed its neck until it stopped moving. It threw the body over the stream where it landed a bare foot away from Denton's position. Now was the time. Lining up the Brutes head in the alien scope, Jack held his breath and fired. The beam burned through the Brutes head armour and imploded the creature's brains. A disgusting soup of alien blood and brains oozed through the hole the beam had made as the alien dropped to the ground and lay still.

For a split second the others didn't move. Two more Grunts died, a burning hole fused through their chests. Then the aliens took cover and fired all over the place. Four Brutes and six Grunts to go. Denton fired twice more and killed another three grunts, one shot actually exiting through one Grunt's head and entering the chest on the one behind it. Suddenly the moist dirt beside him glassed over as a Grunt spotted him and started firing with its plasma pistol. Jack took one last shot and killed it then upped and ran like hell. He could hear a Brute yelling out order's behind him as he made tracks through the dense jungle. All of a sudden, running through a small clearing, a purple beam lanced through Jack's path landing a few centimetres away from him. Jack immediately hit the brakes and dove backwards. Resting against an old dying tree, Jack peered through a hole in its rotting trunk. A Jackal was perched up on a tree branch about ten metres away from him. Fucking snipers! Diving out from cover, Jack jammed down the trigger and let loose a sheet of bullets. The alien convulsed before its body dropped to the ground below.

As he got up, Denton reloaded. Then he heard it. Footsteps. Right behind him! As he primed a plasma grenade, a blue armoured Brute burst out from the vegetation. As it levelled its Spiker, jack hurled the grenade and leapt to cover. The grenade hit the Brute's head and latched to it. Before the ape-like creature could even register its situation, the grenade exploded. Wet chunks of alien meat flew in different directions as the rest of the Covenant squad followed through. Running past the gruesome jigsaw of body parts of their fallen comrade, the alien attackers fired their weapons, trying to hit this human that had defied them for so long. Jack leapt over a fallen tree; crouch turned around and fired wildly. He heard the cowardly squeal of a Grunt and the roar of a Brute and chanced a peek over his cover. He saw a Grunt lying face down in the dirt and a Brute clad in blue armour clutching its face. Then to Jack's horror, bright blue filled his vision, a high-pitched whine accompanying it. Instinctively raising his hands to protect his face, Jack felt something hit his rifle. He looked down at the plasma grenade latched to his rifle's barrel. Knowing he had about a second, Jack threw his rifle as hard as he could and hit the dirt. An explosion rocked the world around him followed by alien screams of agony.

Pulling his M6C sidearm pistol from his thigh holster, Jack backed up slightly, unsure if anything was still alive. He chanced another peek over his cover and saw nothing but alien corpses. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. Now extraction. Jack looked around. He'd totally lost his bearing. Looking up at the sky, he checked which direction the sun was setting it was moving to his right- west. Jack turned- and smacked into something hard and hairy. He slowly raised his head. And found himself looking into the rabid eyes of the last surviving brute. There were ragged pieces of flesh hanging from its face and a dark bleeding hole where its left eye should of been. Teeth bared, the thing was completely silent. For a second Denton didn't move. Then as he brought his pistol up to fire, the brute lashed out, sending him flying. SMACK! He landed roughly against a tree and hit the ground hard. Dazed, he barely had time to register the berserk brute charging toward him. It pinned him to the tree by the neck snarling. Jack found his gun hand pinned against the tree by the alien's other hand. Firing his pistol from where it was, metal slugs ripped into and through the brutes arm, causing the creature to roar and drop him. Jack dove to the side and fired at the creatures back, causing it to turn and lunge at him. It brought him to the ground and they rolled around. Jack put up a hell of a fight but it was too strong. The Brute got on top of the Australian marine and tried to clasp his throat in its paws. From where he was positioned Jack managed to fire three more rounds into the Brute's other arm, the slugs impacting with a dull, wet thud. Its grip weakened and Jack slowly but surely began to pry the creature's paws further away from his neck, dropping his weapon. The alien did the last thing it could- it slowly brought its face closer to Jack's, teeth bared and its rancid breath washing over the human's face. Jack couldn't move. He couldn't pull away. It was going to mutilate his face; he was going to die-

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The Brute slumped, its head dropping to the wet earth right next to Jack's face. He breathed a sigh of relief and tried to spot his observer. "Are you ok?" came a voice. "Whipiski?" Jack called back. He managed to push the alien corpse high enough so he could slide half of his body out from underneath it. Roughly dropping the dead Brute, he pulled his arm out from under it. There, lying in the grass, assault rifle resting against his knee, was Corporal Timothy Whipiski. "Are you ok man?" he asked Denton, breathing heavily. "Yes sir. Thank you sir." Jack replied. He retrieved his fallen weapon, and then went to help the wounded Corporal up. "How's your arm sir?" Jack asked, trying to examine the wound. The Corporal grimaced. "Burns like hell, but the plasma cauterized the wound." Whipiski looked around. Suddenly more Brute howls pierced the air. They were close. "Now. Where the hell are we?" Jack pointed to their right. "The sun's setting that way, so I'm guessing that's where evac should be." Whipiski just stared. "What?" was all he said. "The sun." Jack said, "It sets in the west and Sergeant Elkes said that our evac would be 4 klicks west." Whipiski nodded. "Ok. Let's roll." They both started jogging. About thirty seconds into it, Whipiski asked through breaths, "Where is the sarge anyway?" Jack didn't look at the Corporal. "He's dead sir." Came the reply.


* * *

The two pilots sat in the Pelican drop-ship staring out at the surrounding jungle. They had been waiting there for two hours longer than they should have. Rescue Two was late. "You think something's wrong?" one of them asked. "I don't know." The other replied, "Maybe they found the Chief. Maybe he's wounded and slowing them down." The first pilot shook his head. "Na I don't think- Holy shit there they are!" he exclaimed. Both pilots watched as two men burst through the jungle running doggedly towards the drop-ship. The second pilot got up and ran to the back and opened the bay doors. One of the marines collapsed, clutching a blood-covered arm. The other just bent over, hands on his knees, panting. The pilot made to check the wounded marine's arm but the other blocked his way. "There's no time for that." said Private Jack Denton. "There's hostiles in the vicinity and they're close. We gotta take off. Now." The pilot looked up at the marine. "What?" he said. "We need to leave now! There's Brutes out there!" Jack exclaimed. "Shit." The pilot said and ran back to the cockpit. As Denton helped Whipiski into a seat and slumped down beside him, the aircraft slowly rise and take off. Jack turned and looked at Whipiski. Sheer exhaustion had caused the Corporal to fall asleep. He looked down at the wounded arm. It would been fine until they reached medical staff at Crow's Nest.



After about ten minutes the same pilot came back to check on the marines. "He alright?" he said, pointing to the sleeping Whipiski. "He'll be fine." Jack replied, and closed his eyes. The pilot studied the young marine and his grime-covered features. "What happened down there?" he finally asked, "Where's the rest of your squad? And where's the Chief?" Without opening his eyes, the marine just answered his questions quickly and simply. "The rest of the squad is dead. The Chief wasn't there. We were at the wrong one."

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