Politics of the Machine Gun

shadowycrossroads‌:

“If it could what need would I have for a pathfinder?” she asked, having copped some of the text on the walls into a book. “Though perhaps it is unnecessary. I have seen enough to draw some conclusions about this ship and although mars would disagree I have decided what to do about it, nothing of value can be gained from it.”

She paused and held up her hand. “And we are no longer alone…” 

Far off in the dark steel corridors the panting of a grechin carrying something heavy could be heard.

The respite between assaults would be short… once the flanker was dealt with Faith turned and waved the others to follow. “That is all the distraction we can buy, come before we are overwhelmed.”

Since Baker hadn’t reacted the first time she’d find an arm around her middle and herself lifted, Janna watching behind them as Faith carried the marine.

@volatilepaths​

“Tch.” The last thing Fenella wanted was to meet some ugly mug in the dark of the ship, daemon or ork, it didn’t matter. She wanted neither, they were rough and tough, and they were smaller even if tough. The scout pulled her silver straight from her belt, shifting her rifle to her back. “We ought to make our exit Ma’am.”

“Or find a longer hall for me to work my magic better.” @onelastpatrol​

At first the aging ‘guard’ turned about to follow Faith and get out of a bad position, but she blinked in surprise as she felt the arm wrap around her and lift her like she weighed as much as a pillow. Baker squirmed at the sudden strong lift and nearly cursed aloud, but she forced herself not to struggle against the stronger woman’s grip. It was a good thing she did too, as the scavenged helmet atop her head started slipping off because of her head being angled towards the ground. Baker quickly jammed it down on her head with one hand, making sure her secrets remained unseen, keeping a grip on her lasrifle with the other. For if she was revealed to be a mutant, she would have two enemies here, one of which had her clutched to their side.

Still, Baker was inwardly cursing at the fact she was being manhandled like a baby. This wasn’t what the veteran of such long wars expected – and there was nothing she could do about it. Her look back towards Janna was one of exasperation. She did not voice any of her reservations about her current situation aloud.

A low chuckle of amusement sounded over the COM, as the Pelican glided out of its berth and began to drift almost lazily down towards the Halo installation below the In Amber Clad. It seemed that Fox had appreciated the Marine’s joke. Even if her sense of humour was awfully stunted, every now and then, she could grasp what someone was trying to get at, and it would elicit some form of laughter. Usually low, slightly rough, and very wolflike.

With the ease and care borne of many years of piloting such vehicles, the Spartan flew the dropship straight into the ringworld’s atmosphere. How odd it was, that such an artificial place, could look so human. The grey-green bird drifted through clouds, and below the nose was water, sparkling brightly and blue. Almost beautiful.

But it was all fake.

“The hell kind of alien race were these Forerunners, anyway?” Fox muttered, more to herself than those in the troop bay. Whoever they were, they must have been highly advanced, and highly intelligent. Because such designs… they surpassed things of even Covenant creation, and those were certainly something else. The Energy Sword strapped to her thigh attested to that.

For the marines in the back with no such lovely view of the ringworld they were going to land on, the only indication of anything serene or beautiful was the change of the light coming from the small rear window. But if she could see it from the air, before she had to fight combat on the surface of it, Baker may have commented on how close it looked to her home, Atlas IV. The home that had not existed for a decade and longer. Perhaps it was a small mercy that she did not see it from the air, such thoughts were an unneeded distraction just prior to combat.

Fox rose to her feet in a smooth motion, and gathered up the rubbish and trays after tucking the knife back into a secure compartment on her armour. “I won’t be long.” Even at a trot, she was bloody quick, and in no time she’d gone to the mess hall, returned the trays and put the rubbish in the bin, before returning to the Pelican.

She lingered a moment in the bay, scrounging around for some new weapons, before clopping up into the dropship, checking over the Marines once in turn.

She saw they were all seated, and eager to get going. That was good - she gave the soldiers a respectful nod, and then seated herself into the pilot’s chair. The ramp rose up and shut with a clang, and soon the Pelican began to lift off the ground, spinning slowly to point its nose in the direction of the exit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would take pains to secure your crash harnesses, because we are performing a drop from space straight into atmosphere. I’d hate  to have anybody fly about and get hurt.”

Just a bit of light humour and a pointless instruction. Something to ease the tension in the air. Something to boost morale.

At least a few of the marines did smile at the joke, they’d already been in those harnesses, but at least it was nice to see even Spartans have a sense of humour.

“Don’t make it too bumpy mate, Oi’m tryin’ta put on makeup!” The medic shouted back with a grin, though she was most certainly staying right in her seat, not doing any such thing. 

Another nod from Fox, this one angled slightly, and a corner of her mouth quirked into what might have been a smirk. “No worries. I know where to give credit when credit’s due. And you’ve certainly earned yours.”

And she would certainly make that known to the other Marines stationed with them. They needed to understand the company they kept. A Spartan - albeit much less of a seasoned warrior than those that they knew about - and a veteran Marine medic with more than just skills to put people back together.

She was quick to finish her meal - always a fast eater - and she relaxed as much as her body would allow given the situation. Fishing a combat knife out of her armour - ignoring the one that was resting in its sheath on her chestplate - she spun the blade in her fingers. An idle habit, and the way that it was performed suggested that she was deadly and skilled with such a weapon. Perhaps even more so than with a gun, except for a marksman rifle or a sniper rifle.

“Just say when, and I’ll get us in the air in no time.” She nodded to the group of soldiers. “I’m the best one to get you all to the ground safely, no matter which one of you is actually a pilot.”

Conversation continued until the last of them had finished eating. At least one marine admired the way the knife passed through her fingers with ease, impressed how she was able to do that with that kind of armour on. But eventually they were all done, even the pilot, who seemed miffed that he wasn’t going to fly his own bird into combat again.

shadowycrossroads‌:

The most effective weapon they had by has was obviously in the hands of the armored figure and it was wielded with discipline, and once the first mob was slowed she would start falling back, projectiles pining off the heavy plated she wore.

“Fall back, it is their way to chase us… and the others will be too bust near their camp to bother us.”

Janna too kept firing. “I hate orks… they just… don’t… die…” Unlike  Barclay the other two knew their weapons and hit consistently, Janna choosing to focus fire with Barkley to bring down the brutes and they gave ground, the final xenos raising their crude axe with a bellow and surging forwards with incredible speed right for the enemy with the most flash, Faith. 

Above them in the blue sky lights suddenly started twinkling, red, blue, white…

She inquisitor half turned, a blue eye gazing sideways at  Fenella past her ghostly white hair. 

“Do you tire of serving the Emperor?” she asked, “that you condescend to a member of his inquisition? I am a psyker, ther are no orks nor daemons near us.” she continued on, moving to a panel and imaging the writing, her face growing grim. 

“Perhaps though, you were correct..”

@volatilepaths​

To hear that question as they trotted through the abandoned and ruined halls of this former xeno ship now turned scrap heap by orks was no doubt a surprise. Turning with her rifle over her shoulder, having drawn her silver strait in case any lurker came up upon them in these tight quarters.

“Is that really a question you must ask at a time like this, my loyalty is undivided.” The ghostly haired woman shot back, though the other was a psyker and Fenella had her worries about that. “Does your being a psyker help us find the bridge of this vessel?” @onelastpatrol​

After a few more deadly bolts of light flew from her own weapon, the ex-marine also began to fall back, firing as she moved backwards. If she was told to run, she would, but for now she took it to mean a fighting retreat. The enemy was focusing upon their biggest weapon, which left them open for Janna and Cecilia to keep hitting them consistently. At one point, she started wondering when exactly she’d run on empty and have to take the time to reload. But until that moment came, she’d keep shooting.

“There’s a battle in orbit,” Baker remarked, just loud enough to be heard over the gun and lasfire. “Just thought that’d be something youse guys would want’ta know!” Though the lights were different than the normal yellow and purple, she’d had enough experience witnessing far away space-battles to recognise it. “Janna, watch the soide, there’s one tryin’ta be sneaky,” she remarked again, focusing on taking it down before the enemy ork could get close enough to hurt one of them. With repeated use of the weapon she was getting better at its use, though it would be a long while before she could change decades of recoil bucking her shoulder.

It was a familiar thing -- being in battle. It was in a different place, using different equipment, shooting different enemies, but in the end the basics were the same. Shoot the enemy until they died, and hope to this emperor they all pray to that the enemy doesn't do the same to you.

shadowycrossroads‌:

“They will be coming soon.” the soritas’ voice was calm as she joined them. The path was as prepared as they could make it at short notice. “But this is no last stand, we fall back when they swarm…” 

Janna gripped her gun and soon the greenskin stouts could be heard, the first of them coming into view.

Janna opened fire, her hot beams finding their mark but barely slowing the creature, but with the soft clink on her armor Faith raised her much more effective gun and calmly started emptying rounds. “If you have any more grenades…”

“Now we try to find out who this vessel used to belong to. Books, dataslates, anything we can find. You at least seem to have an intelligent eye so put it to use.”

She inquisitor soot in the other clues, iconography and construction and her face grew grim as she moved through the room, her weapon raised and ready.

@volatilepaths​

“Then we will have to move up and towards the front, hopefully your distractions all paid off. Else we’ll be meeting some unruly resistance soon.” She figured, the ship had crashed forward, the bridge had to be either at the top or front for viewing. It was not a design that had a back tower, or any real tower. So the observation deck had to be forward, just at the bottom or top was the question.

“Yes ma’am.” Fenella steadied her rifle and forward she went, looking back to her defacto leader with a grin well hidden below her mask. “Try not to move too fast, your loud gear will make it hard to be undetected.” Whether true or not, Fenella really just wanted to get on this woman’s nerves as much as she could, while still doing a good job. Leading them down hall after all, looking for any sign towards up or down. 

@onelastpatrol​

Barclay opened fire at the same time as Janna, aiming at another target. It was one of the real scrawny ones, which she hit in the midsection, instantly killing it. Her second target was much larger, nearly half a metre taller than she was, and most of the rest around it looked about the same height. This one had a… 

She wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a pile of scrap or a gun, but as it went off and a projectile of some sort flew very, very wide, hitting and killing another ork in front of it, she decided it was probably best to shoot it. 

So she did, one red bolt to the face. It didn’t seem to care, only shouting something unintelligible at her. Barclay fired a burst, cursing as she noticed the lack of recoil was messing with her aim – she was automatically adjusting for recoil. It was still not enough, and it took another burst to take it down.

“Shoite, these things are hard-as,” she muttered, and switched targets. This one had an axe, but before she shot it, Faith’s bolter killed the alien. “Oi’ve got two more grenades,” Barclay said, reaching down and taking one in hand. 

Her throwing arm was terrible, but it was good enough for this bunch. Pressing the red button, she flung it into the air. It landed just ahead of the horde, bouncing high into the air and into their midst and exploding before it hit the ground again, throwing out deadly shrapnel in every direction. Even before that, Barclay’s lasrifle was up and putting out its own voice in the skirmish.

“It makes sense, if you think about it. Which you clearly have.” Fox nodded to Sheila, out of a mixture of respect and agreement, acknowledging that her words were very comprehensible. “The rest of you should take a word of advice. The Corporal knows what she’s talking about; she’s seen more action than even me, and I have a feeling that I’ve seen more action than the lot of you.”

She rubbed at the scar over her left eye, and leaned her back against the side of the Pelican’s troop bay door. An awkward angle to be conversing with the Marines from, but it wasn’t like she had to look at them to talk to them.

“We were honestly bloody lucky that the Innies changed their minds, and decided to fight alongside us instead, just as things were way before all that hell started, and the way things should be for humanity. Because there’s no way in hell that we’d be able to fight a war on two fronts. It’d drive us to extinction.”

Fox shovelled in another mouthful of pasta-like substance, and added in an undertone, “Spartans bolstering the UNSC or no.”

Sheila grinned as Fox backed up what she said. Even the skeptical marines started nodding along when the Spartan agreed. “Thanks. Let’s finish our food quick-as, ay? Oi believe the helljumpahs are just about ready’ta deploy. We’ll be headin’ down after them.” There was a collective sigh at that, but the marines went right to eating.

Jerome almost voiced protest that he wasn’t a Helljumper, but he sighed instead, shoulders slumping briefly. How could he correct the Marine when he did not have the authority to do so? It would have to remain as it was, for now. Unless Captain Cutter told him that he was allowed to correct her….

He breathed a weary sigh, and unlatched his M6C Magnum from where it was attached to his thigh, checking that the magazine was full, and grunting in satisfaction. Good. Full clip. Meant he wouldn’t have to reload as soon.

“Unfortunately, no. We’re going to have to go in on foot.” These littered streets weren’t really good for driving a Warthog through, and aside from that, they’d simply never dropped one down for him. He was more than used to going by foot, any way - he just hoped that the Marine could keep up. After all, he was a Spartan, and she was rather short, even compared to someone like Forge, who himself was short compared to Jerome.

“Well, I suppose since you’ve been vacationing here, you’d know the layout of the area better than me. It’d be wisest if you guided us towards the metro, and I covered our six.” Considering the Covies liked sneaking up from behind, and there was quite a number of the hinge-heads in particular…

He was not keen on having the medic trailing after him, only to have her impaled by an Energy Sword that was wielded by a stealth Elite.

“… That’s fair enough, mate,” Barclay said, hesitating at first and then switching from rear-guard to point-position. The one advantage to wearing clothing other than her normal boots was in freedom of movement, and she wasn’t in rugged terrain at the moment that military clothing were built for. So the marine found herself carrying far less weight than she normally did, a good advantage for her stamina. Adjusting her grip on the rifle, she raised it up and started moving forward – quickly, but with caution, making sure no Covies were at each intersection or down the streets they weren’t going to traverse. Once a marine squad rushed by them, followed by a flood of civilians, but the flood abruptly closed and the street was clear again. Up ahead, the sounds of police pistols grew louder, reaching over the din of battle that permeated every street of Pirth City.

Fox released a derisive snort at that, shovelling in a forkful of something akin to pasta - although, if she was being honest, she couldn’t really tell. “What else do you expect, when the bastards caught us on the back foot, already caught up in a war between humans versus humans?” she remarked bitterly, giving a quick shake of her head. “We never had a chance.”

The horrors of the War were reflected upon her countenance and in her eyes, despite the fact that she was markedly young. And the two scars certainly belied the fact that she had seen as much action as the next guy - perhaps more. After all, Spartans certainly did not get shore leave, whereas mainline UNSC personnel did.

“Besides that, they’ve got superior numbers and armaments, despite us being the ones with the superior tactics. Those stealth Elites sure are no joke. And the Hunters? Hell, even I struggle to take one of ’em down, and you know that they come in pairs, and the second always gets angry when the first one is killed.”

It was funny, to her, to be conversing with Marines. And yet, what other choice did she have? Being silent was creepy, and since one of the soldiers had overheard her comment, it had turned into a full-blown discussion.

“Oi had a theory,” the medic interjected, reminded of it due to the first thing the Spartan had said. “Oi think we have a chance because’a the Innies.”

The other marines looked at her curiously. None of them had fought the Insurrectionists before, though they certainly had heard of them – but this woman was old enough to have done so (and she had). “Why do you say that? Ain’t it bad to be caught in the middle of a war by a harder fuckin’ enemy?”

“Because, before the Innies, what were we doin’? Colonoizin’, explorin’ – and not shootin’. Think about it. Our factories weren’t producing war material. Our ships weren’t armed with MACs. The feckin’ CMA was corrupt as feck and was in no shape’ta foight – and the UNSC didn’t have the power it does now. If the Innies hadn’t started up their shoite, we would’ve still been on a colonoizin’ venture when the feckin’ Covies showed up, ay?”

shadowycrossroads‌:

She looked back at Sheila, her expression invisible through her helmet but she moved back to her. “You are smart for a guardman.” Janan’s look behind her back could cut steel. 

“But we cannot simply cause a brawl in their camp, we need to draw them away so that the inquisitor can do her duty.” This close her hand pulled on the cord around Sheila’s neck, so she could examine Janna’s charm. “Play to the emperor and do as I said, lay your  ambush in case I need to run.” She took two of the grenades for herself, right from the other’s belt.

It wouldn’t me long after Janna and Sheila’s ambush was set that the voices of arguing orks could be heard, they would not see what had set them off the sororitus returned to them as an unhurried pace. “Soon.” she said. Then there was an explosion.

@volatilepaths​

There came the signal, exactly what they were waiting for. An explosion, orks getting angry and arguing, getting mad that someone might have ‘broken der stuff!’ As they hustled away from their messy work and off towards the ambush.

Without pause on the order given, Fenella took the lead, using her skills and sense of awareness to pick the right back into that ship again, really the one place on this planet she didn’t want to go into, let alone go back into.

“Here.” The scout lead the other to the hatch, unchanged yet as it led into the mess room that Fenella stole all the rations from and even off’d a few of the old daemon crew. No longer there, but at least no orks were either. “We’re inside, now what next..”

@onelastpatrol

Barclay grimaced as she felt the charm being pulled, dragging her head closer to the Sororitas, feeling the grenades leave her belt – just a few inches to the left, and the ex-marine’s tail could’ve been felt. She nodded her head as soon as the charm was released, quickly saying ‘Oi understand, my lady,” only barely managing not to squeak it out, as the large woman stalked off. It was all she could do – that was close to blowing her cover.

After the explosion, Sheila brought her lasrifle up, keeping in cover so as to not expose her body to possible enemy fire. There were no orks in sight just yet; but it paid to be vigilant. The primary thing with the lasrifle was to remind herself that it had no recoil. After twenty-two years of combat against the Covenant, she was extremely used to using weapons that used Newton’s Third Law.

“My brot-” Fox started to say, but then cut herself off, because they had reached the other Marines - and they did not need to know about her brother. “The Master Chief discovered one about a month or so ago. Blew it all to hell, and I believe the Covenant were not impressed.”

The Spartan seated herself outside the circle of Marines, pausing for a moment as she realized that she would either have to lift her faceplate up, or take her helmet off altogether, so that she could eat. She then shrugged, uncaring, and took the helm off and set it down near her boots.

She rubbed at her face tiredly, and blew out a heavy exhale.

“Something tells me that we’re on the back foot in this…” she murmured, half to herself rather than the Marines, although they were certainly able to hear her.

One of the marines certainly did hear her. They’d all been interested when she had taken the helmet off — finally putting a rest to the long standing rumour that Spartans were just robots — but the interest had quickly faded to just their food. He spoke around a mouthful, swallowing it mid-sentence. “We’re reacting rather acting—been doing so the entire war. Hard to go on the offensive when they never let up. Keyes has tried to do a role reversal with us pursuing them, but what can one fucking frigate do against that fucking beast of a ship?”

“I do not believe in coincidences.” came the inquisitor’s reply. “This ship has a role to play here.” if what you say is true then the dark gods have a plan…” 

She spat, cleansing her mouth of their name.

“This ship will not be allowed to leave with world, but that will not be our task, ours is to trace it back from whence it came…”

“Odd type of grenades…” Janna said. “Was hoping for sometime with more of a timer, lure them in with a small boom then big boom.” she thought some more.

“The way to fight the ork is to make them fight themselves.” their companion said. “They are decisive and ill disciplined, but we only need to distract them, not kill them.” she pointed. “Set up your trap along this path, I will be along shortly.”

@volatilepaths​

“... Is it easy’ta make them foigh’ between themselves?” Sheila questioned, heading towards what she sensed could be a good ambush position. “Hm...” 

“If it is that easy, we can target one group shoutin’ at another group with one grenade, wait a bit ‘til the accusations are flyin’, then hit the same group again. That make sense at all, Janna? Youse the more experienced with these things, so if you’ve got a better plan, have at it, ay?” There were several such groups stuck arguing with each other that she could see. 

“Apparently it was created by some race called the Forerunners.” Again, that had just been from the cursory read-over of the report, so Fox didn’t know the full details of what these damned things were about. “If these Forerunners are still somewhere in the galaxy, nobody knows for sure.”

Now it was she who ambled after Sheila as the Marine weaved through the halls with ease that belied years of being used to such vessels. Sure, the Spartan knew where she was going, but hell, it was better to rely on someone who had the experience of the interiors of such vessels. Because she might have just gotten them lost, and that delay would have been a pain in the ass.

“I’d imagine that we’d know more about these “Forerunners” and what these Halo rings were designed to do as we explore the second one.”

“With a name loike that? Doesn’t sound loike they’re still around,” Sheila commented. “Second? So we’ve already found one before? Figures, classified, ay?” The marine led them back out towards the hangar to eat and get ready. The eleven other marines were a tense and weary looking bunch, three of them still with blood splashed upon their fatigues in the fighting for New and Old Mombasa. 

“Uh, apologies, ma- Corporal.” Jerome was quick to correct himself. They were both non-coms, and he might have outranked her, but he was calling her ma’am out of a sense of respect.

He shifted his weight and checked the skies again. Still clear. It was something of a relief, because if an air attack had come, he was not sure he would be able to protect the civilians. Many of them would get wiped out, and that transport would be damaged.

His gaze dropped down to the medic once more.

“Sergeant Forge and some Marines are checking the buildings, making sure there are no stragglers. You and I can help get everyone out of the metro. The police aren’t going to be able to hold the line for long, and even I alone wouldn’t be able to hold off the Covenant. They’re throwing everything they’ve got at us.” Even Red Team as a whole unit had struggled to push the aliens back. 

He suppressed a grimace, head shaking from side to side. Damn split-chinned freaks and their buddies were all-too-concerned with making sure they killed as many humans as possible. He just couldn’t understand it - although, now wasn’t the time to think about it.

They had civilians to save.

“Got it, Chief. You got transport or are we hoofin’ it? No problem if the latter’s the case, though Oi’m not exactly geared’ta foight roigh’ now.” She lacked helmet, armour, boots or any of her medical equipment. But you didn’t get to choose what you fought in every time. 

Fox inclined her head in a nod. “It’s alright.” She was feeling pretty hungry herself, and she didn’t want to have to eat a protein bar or an MRE. They weren’t the most… appetizing… of meals. As filling and as nutritious as they were. Ships’ mess halls tended to have better foods - although not by much.

“…Apparently it’s known as a Halo ring - or installation - and it’s a galaxy…. something… super-weapon. I’m not one hundred percent sure; I only scanned over the report quickly. Didn’t have time to finish, or do a proper read-through. Something that’s very, very dangerous, and it’s not something we want to let the Covenant get their hands on.”

Just the thought of the kind of species who could build such a thing caused a shiver to race down her spine. That kind of thing was madness. Why would you want a super-weapon that could cause problems for the entire galaxy? What was the purpose? She didn’t know, and it was something that she needed to find out. To make sure nobody made the mistake of accidentally activating it, or anything like that.

“... Shoite.” Quite the succinct response, but it was all Sheila could think of right that instant. “Let’s hope’ta feck it ain’t Covie made. Too feckin’ much’ta have this on top’a their fleets,” she said, as she began to take the lead. 

Jerome opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself short, frowning beneath his helmet. Right. He had forgotten that a lot of people just did not know what Spartans were. Especially not the mainline men and women of the UNSC. The Spartan Program wasn’t exactly public knowledge. There was no sense correcting the Corporal on that.

“Senior Chief Petty Officer Sierra Oh-Nine-Two.”

When the Corporal asked if he had any weapons, he immediately detached the MA5C assault rifle from where it was magnetically locked to his back, and handed it to the Marine.

“Here you go, ma’am. And before you go protesting, it’s okay. I’ve learned how to make do with less than an M6C and a combat knife.” He flexed his hands, and looked up to the sky for a moment, scanning to see if there were any Banshees or Covenant dropships overhead. There were none, and he was silently grateful for that. It was hard enough defending civilians from the aliens when they were on foot. But once they were in the air, that was when they had the advantage.

His helmet tipped down to look at the Marine once more.

“Are there any civilians that still need to be evacuated from the nearby buildings, or anyone holed up in a place they can’t get out of? We haven’t got long, because sooner or later, those Covies are going to come back, sniffing for more civilians to hunt down.”

Though she preferred a BR55 or M7, every marine trained on the MA5. Sheila gratefully took the weapon in hand, nodding her head despite the lack of an actual name. If he was going to be like that, then she was just going to refer to him by rank. “Oi’m a feckin’ non-com, Oi work’fah a livin’, don’t call me ma’am, Chief.” After a quick check of the weapon, she responded more seriously.

“Protect those civilian transports. Douglas, you take right, Alice, you head left. I’ll make sure this one gets off the ground safely.”

Jerome bounded up a set of steps, watching the green lights blink off in his HUD, and his teammates peel off in their assigned directions. As he came closer to the landing pad - or, more correctly, what served as the landing pad - he could see the destruction around it. Bodies, human and Covenant alike. His stomach roiled at the thought of just how many more bodies the damned aliens had left in their wake.

He reloaded his shotgun as he moved, and that was when he espied one Elite still standing, laughing quietly as it activated an Energy Sword, and stared down a bloodied civilian woman, who turned and darted around behind the transport.

“Hey, ugly!” he shouted, and the sound blasted through his helmet’s external speakers, turning the split-lip’s attention onto him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The Spartan gave a war cry, which mingled with the alien’s bellow of frustration, and he blasted buckshot into its face. A quick sweep to the side as it lunged forwards in an attempt to impale him, and he continued to unload shotgun shells into the alien, most of them pinging off its energy shielding, until the M90 clacked empty. He tossed the spent weapon aside, pulled out his combat knife, and with a quick dart, jabbed the blade all the way up to the hilt in the alien’s neck.

He pulled the weapon out and wiped purple ichor onto the saurian’s armour, before straightening up, wondering where the civilian woman had gotten to.

“Everyone alright, back there?” he called out.

The comforting sound of a human voice and his shotgun was the welcome saviour she’d been hoping for. She was worried when the shotgun stopped, but moments later. He called out again, showing that he’d won the fight. “We’re good, mate, gimme a moment!” Barclay shouted, and then she turned to the huddled civilians, giving out quick orders and assisting one ‘walking wounded’ aboard the evacuation shuttle. After they were aboard, she walked back down the ramp, holding the empty pistol in one hand. She’d have to find more ammunition – but first she should find the person who’d rescued them. Turning around the evacuation shuttle, her eyes landed on—

“Good chroist, youse a tall fecker!” How refined. The armour was unlike any she’d ever seen before. Special forces? ODST? The marine wasn’t sure. Without a helmet she was unable to see his rank, and she assumed he had to be a helljumper, so she introduced herself quickly. In a combat zone they weren’t supposed to salute either, so she did not, no matter if he turned out to be an officer.