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      "As your leader, it's my responsibilty to decide if the mission requires me to spend your lives, as well as my own, in order for it to succeed. Chief Mendez has taught me this," Master Chief John 117 had once said in a rare moment of benevolence, the last time they had all been assembled. "As your brother," he had continued, looking each Spartan in the eye, "I would value your opinions."

      After a moment one had replied. "I know I speak for all of us, sir. You don't need our permission."

      "Lloyd..."

      "Sir, I'll never doubt your judgement. You just point me at them." Some of his comrades laughed. "Don't worry about my life, though. I'm invincible!"

      The Master Chief had nodded with an even rarer smile. "I wish that were so."

      But these men and women were not Spartans. As marines, they were exemplary, the most capable human soldiers in space, the next best thing to Spartans. As Helljumpers they were exceptional, willing to put aside the 105th's decades-old enmity against NavSpecWep's super-soldiers and take orders from their new Master Sergeant. If any had harboured lingering doubts about the plan, Lloyd's performance in their first operation had cemented their trust in him.

      Now they would do anything he asked of them. It gave him a certain sense of pride. But they were not Spartans. And so if he thought he could have survived where one of his soldiers did not, it bothered him.

      "Take that Wraith out, Sterling."

      The gauss gun cracked away over Lloyd's shoulder while he sniped at the support troops. The final Covenant perimeter defence had spread into a dense line between them and the city, intending to encircle and overwhelm the platoon. The marines' response was to angle toward the western end of the line and put the pedal to the metal. The Covenant had barely begun to reorganise when the four captured Ghosts speared through their ranks, spitting plasma death. The Warthogs followed shortly, the carriers unloading their men and women and decelerating to provide mobile cover. The ATVs hung back, their riders sniping the bravest-looking aliens from long-range. The weapon-mounted 'Hogs maintained heavy fire support, and the rout began.

      The only Wraith in sight tore itself apart in a bright blue cloud of heat. The luckiest of the alien survivors ran back into the low-lying residential buildings at the immediate edge of the city.

      "That one's for Ciezlinski," Lloyd growled as the UNSC vehicles regrouped.

      "Amen," replied a few of his soldiers over radio.

      "Kingfisher," the Master Sergeant keyed.

      "I read you, sir."

      "Be ready to receive my direct target feed." He opened the general frequency. "We proceed as planned, people! Keep things orderly on this side, Sergeant Baker."

      "Yes sir!" Fireteams Charlie through Echo and Hotel, occupying three of the TCVs, parked at the edge of the vast field of crop soil cum battlefield. The captured Ghosts hovered nearby as the marines secured the area. Medusa's pair of snipers also parked to restock.

      Lloyd's 'Hog's wheels tore at moist dirt, reaquired the sealed road and screeched loudly, accelerating it into the streets of the outlying developed zone. It was followed closely by the troop vehicle carrying the rest of Fireteam Alpha along with Foxtrot and some heavy armament. The other two pairs of teams, comprising the rest of the first squad, followed similarly in paired-off vehicles and maintained gaps of safety.

      The 'Hogs powered throatily up the main street, the buildings morphing into the support installations for the city's sprawling harvest refinery. At the first major intersection Fireteams Bravo and India turned to secure the left flank, Golf and Juliet peeled off to the right. The taller buildings of the two blocks now encompassed by the marine's advance were blackened and crumbling from the SkyHawk's pre-emptive strike. Ground cars and rubble lined the street.

      "If it moves, shoot it," Lloyd encouraged. "If it keeps moving, run it down."

      The gauss gun spoke twice, loose rubble and alien gore spraying upwards ahead. From the parallel streets one, then both LAAGs joined in.

      "Another Wraith!" radioed Juliet's driver. Then, "What the hell are those!?"

      "Hunters, man!" his sergeant replied. "Draw their fire. Shit, keep it steady!" A SPNKr rocket whooshed away.

      "What a mess!"

      "Keep those bombs away from the carrier!"

      "Kingfisher," Lloyd called.

      "I see it, sir."

      Plasma suddenly spattered against the windshield. Lloyd zoomed in to see half a dozen tall Elite aliens taking positions behind the heaviest chunks of building ahead. The gauss gun answered, chewing holes into their cover. As if in echo, the SkyHawk's guns roared hot metal streams down into the adjacent street.

      Sterling swiftly checked the ammunition feed. "Getting low, Sarge," she warned.

      "Acknowledged. Tapscott, bring your 'Hog alongside."

      "Yes sir." The carrier came up from behind and both vehicles slowed. Foxtrot's jackhammer man riding shotgun sent a round in between the Covenant's cover as Sergeant Nolte and Private Heitz stood up between the rollbars and sighted with their battle rifles.

      A blue-armoured alien popped up, reeling back to hurl a grenade. Lloyd's 9.6mm round ricocheted off a glowing barrier surrounding it. Three more shots snuffed it out and the Elite toppled.

      "Looks like full-body shielding," the Master Sergeant growled. "Make sure to confirm your kills."

      The next Covenant troop to stand up received three rounds to the head simultaneously, keeling over into a puddle of its own blood.

      "Nice grouping," remarked Private Sterling.

      Lloyd mentally tagged the Covenant held area, then radioed, "Kingfisher. Got a moment?"

      "Inbound."

      "Heads up, marines!" Lloyd shouted. The drivers hit the brakes completely.

      A dark shape moved from off to the side. An abrupt stream of hot plasma showered the TCV. Heitz was thrown back into the tray, stiffling a scream. Blackness covered his upper chest and smoke coiled from his burnt armour.

      All of a sudden the rubble ahead disintegrated violently, the road surface and sides of the buildings disappearing into geysers of dust and shrapnel amid the ear-splitting thunder of the jumpjet's 50mm quad cannons. Debris pattered against the Warthogs' panels.

      "Report!"

      "Heitz was hit, sir. Some of his armour padding is fused to his skin."

      "I..." the Private rasped, "I can fight, sir."

      "Good man. Move out, and keep your eyes peeled," ordered the Spartan. "Fireteam Golf, report."

      "Wong minced the Wraith, sir. The TCV took a hit from a Hunter. We're proceeding on foot, except for Robinson," the Sergeant sighed. "They got one of their grenades on him. He took it back to them."

      "Secure the perimeter when we reach the entrance, Sergeant."

      "Sergeant Lloyd," Fireteam Bravo's non-com radioed. "Resistance was negligible on this side. Most of the remaining enemy force is guarding the entrance."

      "Medusa here. We'll deal with that."

      Lloyd's convoy reached a rise in the street and crept upward; the troop carrier parked and the marines dispersed. The 'trunk' of the arcology loomed ahead, its main entrance, at the other side of an expansive plaza, was about one hundred and twenty metres distant and barricaded with enemy emplacements. Lloyd lowered his scope, then glanced up at the top storey windows on his left.

      "Report, Medusa."

      "One of their Elites is standing right in front of the door, behind all the barricades. He's all gold and has a nasty glowy sword." There was the crack of an S2 AM kinetic energy round. Then two more. "Better shields, too. Ooh, they didn't like that - I'd say now's your chance, Sarge."

      "On my order, people!" Lloyd said, slapping a fresh clip into his MM55. "Kingfisher, can you get in there?"

      "I can't get too close, sir," the pilot answered. The wide overhang of the arcology meant the jet would need to essentially hover to engage the ground targets, and the SkyHawk's air-superiority lay in manoeuvreability rather than durability - it would be an easy kill for concentrated enemy fire. Any less precise an attack would risk blocking the main entrance.

      "Right, stay on station." The Spartan glanced past the building on his right, at Bravo and India teams who were also on foot now save for their lead 'Hog's driver and gunner. His keen Spartan eyesight caught the sergeant's nod.

      "Go! Go! Go!" he cried, springing from his position into a crouching sprint, sighting on an unprepared Jackal and blowing its head off.

      "KICK SOME ASS!" "Covenant bastards!" "Groaaarh!" Sixteen heavily armed and armoured marines, in two groups, followed the Spartan onto the plaza and rapidly advanced on the Covenant emplacement. At the same time the three Warthogs powered up behind them, trails of 12.7mm LAAG cover fire whistling overhead, and carefully placed gauss rounds smashing the alien cover apart.

      A line of Grunts emerged, firing plasma wildly, and fell under bursts of MA5B fire. A few managed to pull out grenades, fewer still hurling the fizzing explosives before taking MM55 rounds through their skulls and vital organs. The marines rolled to safe distances from the cloudy blue explosions, coming up shooting.

      A roaring Elite fired a stream of glowing pink needles; one speared a dodging marine in the shoulder, and as he fell, shrieking, to the side it shattered, severing his arm.

      A brief vapour-trail connected Medusa's position to the Elite's head, splitting it apart in a purple mist. However, the remaining needles penetrated the armour of the next soldier who misguessed their bizarre behaviour, collecting in a pointy, throbbing mass. His cry was cut short, his entire body exploding apart.

      Several Helljumpers paused from the sheer violence of their comrade's death, but the deep hatred for their genocidal enemy momentarily kicked in with renewed intensity. They ran on with cries of anger save for one young marine who stood, transfixed, and trembling slightly.

      The Master Sergeant had seen Private Bianco's fate, and noticed Private Strzelecki's reaction, veering to his position as he gunned down another Jackal. Swapping gun-hands, he grasped the marine's arm and all but dragged him forward while shooting, past the gruesome remains to the groaning Corporal Guerin, who lay face up, clutching weakly at his bleeding shoulder. Lloyd kneeled, keeping one eye on the Covenant position, and shouted into Strzelecki's ear, "Get the Corporal back to the 'Hog, Private! That's an order!"

      The stricken soldier's military training took over and he wrapped the grimacing Guerin's remaining arm over his neck, hefted him half up then powered back towards the edge of the plaza in a crouch. His face hung in a white, blank expression.

      Lloyd did not look back to check them, but sprinted to make up lost time. He loosed the rest of his battle rifle's ammunition unmethodically at the few aliens left at the barricade, stowed it, and swapped it for his M90. The human artillery cover fire ceased as the Spartan and his Helljumpers over-armed a dozen fragmentation grenades then hurdled the ruined obstacles with a gutteral war cry.

      Explosions blossomed in the remaining ranks of the Covenant, halving again the numbers of Grunts and Jackals. The last Elite roared in anger and began firing automatic bursts of plasma bolts at the charging humans. Lloyd reached the first Grunt, his MJOLNIR suit ablating its panicked plasma fire, and unleased 8 gauge pump-action death into its face, hurling it, headless, back and up into the air. A Jackal rolled into his path and the sheer point-blank force of his weapon's blast on its shield tore the creature's arm from its body, and the latter was promptly filled with 7.62mm assault rifle fire. The Spartan dodged a fizzing plasma grenade, blew away two more Grunts, and bore down on the Elite.

      His first blast spanged against its silvery shielding, but the force made the alien reel, and Lloyd got another shot in at point blank range before it could return fire. Its shields winked out, and with a vicious cry the soldier rammed the shotgun's muzzle into the Elite's sternum with a momentary crack of bone, then pulled the trigger a third time. The creature's split jaws gaped grotesquely as a scream gurgled from its yellow throat before it slumped backwards into its own gore.

      What little Covenant infantry that remained lost all semblance of cohesion, essentially becoming target practice for the marines. The last Grunt was thoroughly bludgeoned to death, before Corporal Doubet yelled, "How's it fuckin' feel, HUH?" and loosed a few final MA5B rounds into its corpse.

      Sergeant Nolte trotted up to Lloyd and reported, "We have two injured sir, Juliet is moving up to help them back to the perimeter. Also, Symes didn't make it."

      The Master Sergeant surveyed the alien carnage and multicoloured ichor coating the surface slabs of the plaza. One body had already been lifted clear, and dripped with very red blood. Fireteam Juliet were negotiating the wreckage of the former barricade, as well as Private Sterling.

      "Alright," he announced, "the injured can man the guns on the perimeter. Foxtrot, maintain this position and keep this door secure."

      "Yes sir," said his sergeant.

      He eyed the red FOFs on the front edge of his motion detector. "Hutt, get this thing unlocked. Check these weapons, people, they look ugly but they sure work."

      Sterling joined her team, slinging her MA2B and stooping to heft the Elite's plasma rifle, testing its weight.

      "You be careful with that thing," said Doubet.

      Lloyd reloaded his battle rifle, then started slapping shells into his M90. As he did he noticed the shine of the gold Elite's armour, and moved over to it. He looked at its hands: one clutched a compact, oddly-shaped handle. He prised it free, careful to remember which way it faced, and held it at arms length as he straightened up to examine the mechanism.

      "The access codes haven't been altered, sir," said Private Hutt. "On your order."

      The Spartan held the handle up. The energy blade ignited, two bright shafts seemingly piercing out from the Spartan's fist. He looked up its length, then down. "Groovy," he approved.

      "I hope you have enough for everyone, Sarge," said Sterling.

      Lloyd quicly extinguished the sword and tucked the handle away. "Sorry, this is a present for someone else." He took position beside the marine. "Enough chit chat, I need you all frosty. I'll take point."

      The wide vehicular access door split down the middle and ground open before Lloyd glanced inside, then at Hutt and Doubet against the other side of the entrance. "Clear it out."

      They tossed a pair of grenades in; Lloyd waited for the sharp detonation then wheeled onto the threshold, shooting twice at the first moving target he saw before kneeling. Alien fluids dripped down the well-lit corridor walls, but a few Grunts and Jackals were staggering to their fall-back position behind a collection of translucent ground-fixed energy barriers.

      The Master Sergeant and Private Hutt concentrated their 9.6mm splinter rounds on the shields to bring them down quickly, and Lloyd shuffled rapidly forward as Doubet and Sterling followed them in, spraying automatic armour-piercing and plasma fire. Blood sprayed from projectile wounds and steam wisped from blackened plasma burns; the screeching, dying enemy soldiers fell in a heap.

      "Ah, fuck!" shouted Maine, hurling the hissing, overheating plasma rifle to the floor.

      Doubet smirked. "Told you."

      She scowled back, unslinging and loading her MA2B.

      The corridor, normally used for agricultural machinery, was straight and sloped sightly downwards. The city plans Lloyd's men had found on archive media back at Fort Vengeance indicated that the freight lift seventy metres down would get them up to the same level as the admin block. The soldiers jogged the distance and took positions while the elevator arrived. Lloyd shoved his M90 in as the doors opened. Nothing lied in wait, and he waved his team in.

      "Let me see that wound, ma'am."

      "What wound, Singh?"

      The medic pointed at the blackened tatters of Sergeant Baker's sleeve where her armour once was. "Sarge, there's gotta be some burning from that."

      The small number of wounded had escaped quite lightly from the initial battle, and second squad's medics had attended to them promptly. Sergeant Baker had insisted on being examined last, if at all.

      "Shit," came a private's voice from the perimeter. "Sarge!" As she ran up to the soldier, he continued, "I've got multiple incoming contacts here. Incoming fast."

      He handed over his binoculars. Baker scanned the terrain. Suddenly her view was full of Covenant Ghosts and their Elite pilots. She flinched involuntarily, then keyed her COM channel.

      "Kingfisher, we have rapidly incoming forces north-northwest of our position."

      "I'm coming around now. Stand by."

      "Wake up people!" Baker shouted to the assembled fireteams. "Looks like we didn't get them all!"

      "Contact. Sergeant, I count nearly four dozen Ghosts with support infantry and - oh--!" There was sudden static in place of Wang's voice. "...Bansh...vy fire, I've taken...I'm losing altit--"

      An explosion echoed down the ancient delta.

      "Kingfisher! Do you copy?"

      "Sir, five Banshees took out our air support," said one of Sergeant Baker's snipers with a tremble in his voice. "He might have put down. I can't tell, I lost visual."

      "Fuck fuck fuck," the Sergeant began. "Everyone fall back. We'll hold position inside town. Master Sergeant, have you been monitoring?"

      "Yes. We're almost at the objective. I need you to hold off their reinforcements, but don't let them surround you."

      "Yes sir! Right, you heard the man, get your asses on those trucks! Simons, Rostrevor, Glengowry: you're driving! Check your ammo, we may have to leave the 'Hogs in the street and take positions in the buildings. C'mon, pack 'em in! Get in there!"

      It seemed that the initial Covenant forces had all rallied outside the arcology against the siege, and the Master Sergeant's team jogged through the silent passages to Admin without further incident. Hutt applied his skeleton key to the door's access circuit and it slid aside.

      The Spartan was taking a bead on the solitary alien within as it smoothly turned to face them; it hung above the decking like a pink helium-filled slug as it regarded the humans with several beady eyes. It's stumpy tentacles then began vibrating and it emmitted a muffled shriek. Bullet holes blossomed over its hide and it thumped dead to the ground.

      "Engineer," he muttered, checking the room's corners and waving his team in. "Looks like they were interested in this place after all."

      Doubet nodded in the general direction of the bay. "Maybe their crashed ship's transmitter was destroyed."

      "Well," said Hutt, frustration edging his voice. He walked over to the disarrayed terminal panels beside the alien corpse. "Our's is no better off now. Look at this - he's torn the entire Shaw-wave targetting circuit apart."

      "Can you fix it?" asked Lloyd.

      "I honestly don't know, sir. If the components are still intact... and I had twenty-four, then maybe." The private clenched his fists and sank a furious kick into the dead creature's hide.

      After a second's consideration the Master Sergeant declared, "All right, our mission is hereby postponed. We need to get back down to the streets and help hold our perimeter for now. Repairing this stuff and getting a message out will have to wait till we have the city entirely secured."

      "Okay, let's hit it!" concurred Corporal Doubet.

      Once again the Spartan took point, followed by Sterling no less than eight paces behind, then Hutt and Doubet backing them up at a similar distance. Lloyd brought the floor plan up on his HUD with a mental command. Swivelling the image slightly, he extrapolated from their current path and quickly found a better way out.

      "There's an arterial access ramp off the south-south-western side of the trunk section, one level below," he said over radio. "Leads to an exterior elevator. It'll give us a good vantage point on the way down. Pick it up, people!"

SECTION 2 of 4

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