New Allies - A Halo Story

The persistent hum of the pelican’s engines burrowed into Corporal Roger Hasting’s brain, lulling him to catch up on the days’ worth of missed, or, at best, restless sleep. The air filtered through the pelican’s pressurization intake provided reprieve from the metallic air of Halo, the strange ring-world he’d somehow found himself up on, giving him clean breaths of reprieve for just a few short moments.

He shouldn’t be there, he thought. He should have died on Reach with his friends, his family, his fellow soldiers. He never had any intention of leaving his home planet; he did everything to ensure he’d never leave Reach. He liked to imagine his mother had made it off planet when the Covenant attacked; boarded a civilian evacuation vessel and was on her way to the safe harbor of Earth. He knew better than that. She was with his father. Ten years they were without him, and he wasn’t even killed by the Covenant. Billions of humans shot, stabbed, melted, and probably eaten, yet he was killed by God damned insurrectionists. Had the Covenant killed his father, Hastings might have been able to forgive them. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do; a common reprieve in his mind. The Covenant were mindless killers; they probably had no concept of humanity. But the innies? They should know better. Didn’t they know there was a war going on? Didn’t they know humanity was fighting for its survival? Of course they did, and yet, they bombed the factory anyway—taking ten innocent men with them. They never even gave a clear explanation as to why some farm equipment had to go, just their usual schlock about fascism and the military industrial complex. The same tired rhetoric to justify murder.

The Army was the best chance he had of never seeing the Covenant, and Hastings jumped at the opportunity. He’d join the Army, stay on Reach, and retire never seeing an alien; maybe he’d even take a few innies out along the way. What a plan that was. He didn’t believe the reports when they first came in, but when he saw that Covenant supercarrier in the sky, he knew it was all over. All he could do was pray, and follow orders. Everyone wanted off planet, and the Aszod shipbreaking yard was a priority one asset to the Army. He’d been sent as security, expected to fight until his death against endless waves of alien bastards. Hastings had counted himself lucky after the first few quiet weeks, but as August drew to a close, the drop ships started coming. They were small squads of grunts, jackals, and the occasional Elite, but they were fearsome. The news didn’t do the carnage justice. How could it? Words couldn’t capture the sounds, the smells, or the heat of plasma as it whizzed by his head and melted rock and metal behind him. Had he known what it was like, he might have been driven to join the Marines; take the fight to them. But even with the Covenant bearing down on them, he sent more rounds into crowds of terrified humans just looking for a way off planet as the civilian ships dried up. It was a trickle at first, a family every few hours begging for their lives. Hastings thanked God with each one that he was in a gate tower, and not the one who had to turn away a sobbing mother with a newborn held at her chest. When the horde came attempting to storm the facility, the orders to fire crackled through the radio; he followed by firing above their heads at first, but when the horde fired back, he had little choice. That battle was over shortly.

The Covenant came in force not long after, and when Lieutenant Perkins ordered the remains of the platoon retreat to the Pillar of Autumn, Hastings didn’t hesitate. With every intention to live and die on Reach, a primal drive for survival took precedence. The soldiers put up a good fight against the Covenant warriors, but could only do so much as their numbers dwindled. Of the fifty men in his platoon, only ten had survived to retreat. Only three made it off the surely glassed planet, and of them, only Hastings had made it to Alpha Base on what The Covenant called Halo. He’d made himself useful enough, even helping repel a pack of Covenant invaders on the Autumn, but since crash landing on Halo, he’d done little more than move boxes back and forth around Alpha Base. Hastings respected the hell out of Major Silva and Captain Keyes; what could have been total annihilation had turned into a somewhat successful resistance, in no small part thanks to the leadership of those two men. Them, and The Master Chief.

Hastings’s newly acquired MA5B felt strange in his hands. It was heavier than the Army’s MA37 Assault Rifle, loaded with nearly twice the number of rounds in its magazine. It wasn’t made for open battle, or to be humped around on patrol. Nor was the ill-fitting armor he’d been given with “PFC A. Castro” still stitched into the collar. It chafed under the arms, and the helmet bobbled on his head, but the poor private wouldn’t need it as much as the corporal did anymore. He may not be a UNSC Marine, but he was a UNSC Marine, and he was ordered to look the part with their heavy assault rifles and allegedly heat dispersing armor. He’d seen enough Covenant plasma in action to know the armor didn’t work as advertised.

The Marines in Pelican Hotel-417 didn’t seem to care much for their own lives as they were sent off to destroy a Covenant supply depot. None of them bothered to wear their helmets, or strap into the harnessed seats along the inner walls of the pressurized cabin. They chatted, laughed, and even snuck in a quick meal on the two-hour flight of what was billed as an important mission to disrupt the Covenant on the ring. Three pelicans had been dispatched with the intention of taking out of commission a moderately defended Covenant landing field, reportedly filled with food and potentially even some weapons. The Marines were to be dropped off at the center of a canyon two klicks “south” of the depot, and with any luck, a diversion team would set off charges on one side, while the rest storm from the other.

“Safety first?” PFC Menendez teased from the seat beside Hastings, referring to his harness and helmet.

Hastings wouldn’t admit it, but he loved the ground. He loved dirt, or rock beneath his feet. He hated flying, be it a small Falcon helicopter, or a massive space-cruiser like The Pillar of Autumn.

“Here, have some of this,” said Menendez, handing Hastings his canteen.

Hastings took a quick swig and was shocked to find Menendez had been carrying a half gallon canteen of whiskey. He spit the liquor out in surprise, prompting a chorus of laughter from the Marines in the cabin. Hastings didn’t appreciate it, though, but could only helplessly cough up the burning liquid that somehow made it into his lungs.

“They don’t teach you how to drink in the army?” The marine across from Hastings asked.

“He’ll learn, he’ll learn,” Menendez assured him. “We’ll make a real leatherneck of you yet, Hastings!” He said, patting Roger on the back as the coughing subsided.

“I think he’s already-“ a loud blast from the pelican’s engine cut the marine off, and the dropship lurched into a clockwise roll, throwing the marines helplessly about the cabin. Hastings held on tight to the harness’s handles; eyes closed, praying quietly as the ship plunged from the sky to the ring below. He never even felt whatever it was that knocked him out cold.

The corporal’s head pounded as his arms hung down over his head, his legs stretched toward his chest, and shoulders pressing at the harness. The red glow of the pelican’s cabin light dimly revealed a grim scene of marine bodies strewn about the ceiling of the dropship. Hastings, mustering his strength, unlatched the harness at his waist, causing his legs to fall further, righting him as far as his shoulders would allow. He was able to slither his arms free from the safety shackles, and finally regain some semblance of balance on the ground.

Menendez’s body didn’t land far from where he’d been seated; his neck bent at an unnatural angle. He might have been lucky to go out quickly. One marine, a Corporal Stevens, was sat upright against the far wall, his legs twisted and deformed; between them an assault rifle whose muzzle was fixed firmly in his mouth—the spray preserved within his helmet. Hastings performed a blood sweep as he’d been trained, revealing a gash on his forehead, just at the edge of Private Castro’s ill-fitting helmet. The blood had mostly dried, congealing in his hair, but the wound stung when touched. He couldn’t see it, but so long as the bleeding stopped, it wasn’t life threatening. He had more to worry about.

Hastings crawled to the cabin open button, and pressing it brought to life a machine buried in the walls of the pelican, but the door had jammed shut in the crash. He was stuck. Roger pulled open the door to the pelican’s cockpit, to find the pilots both dead in their own seats, and the view of the outside obscured by dirt or sand. He had to commend the UNSC engineers for how well the structure of the pelican held as it buried itself into the surface upside down. Hastings searched through the cockpit for any button or switch that might send out some distress signal to Alpha Base. He didn’t have high hopes; in fact, it would probably just lure Covenant forces right to him, but he was already a dead man, at least that way he may be able to take one or two of the little ones with him. As sure as he predicted, there was a small switch labelled ‘DISTRESS’ at the bottom of the flight controls, and switching it turned on a blinking red light beside it. He had no way to know if it was actually sending any signal, but he supposed if no one came, he could always shoot himself. One thing was certain; he had no intention of starving to death in that hunk of metal.

He didn’t dare check his watch as he dragged the remains of his fellow man, lining them up shoulder to shoulder, sat upright against the starboard wall. One by one, he placed them and gently closed their eyes with the prayer of eternal rest, gripping the pure silver cross that hung from his neck. Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, and let Your perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen. Each one, one by one, granted the last gift he could hope to give them.

With the burials handled, he had nothing but time, and got to equipping himself for any fight that might come. He found an assault rifle still stowed in perfect condition, and affixed it with an already loaded magazine, even going so far as to chamber and replace a round for the extra shot that might be the difference between a kill and being killed. Then came the waiting. Minutes, hours, days, he wouldn’t let himself find out. He simply sat with his back against the front of the cabin, MA5B assault rifle and M6D pistol at either side, ready to blow a few holes into the first alien bastard that dared open the aft hatch of the upturned dropship.

With his eyes tired, and dry, Hastings sat staring at the rear of the Pelican until finally the wrenching of metal echoed through the silent cabin. A bang and rip as someone tried to pry open the pelican’s bay door. Hastings quickly grabbed his assault rifle, and trained it toward the rear of the drop ship. He thought to call out, but suspected he’d benefit from the element of surprise. Surely if they were humans they’d tell him first. No, these were Covenant.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Rip! The intruders continued tearing their way in from the outside. The crunching of the metal got louder, and Hastings’s heart began to race as his reality of his imminent death set in. He didn’t want to die. He had survived Reach; he would survive this. He scrambled back into the cockpit and took cover behind the door. It was a tight squeeze between the wall ant the pilot’s seat, but he fit well enough. He wouldn’t make it easy on them, he might even win.

With a loud creak, the Covenant had broken through, and almost effortlessly pulled open a small hole in the bay door. It was the Covenant. An Elite, or something that looked like one. Its skin was a sickly pale green, its head was limply hanging to the side, and tendrils protruded from the base of its neck. Hastings tried to pull the trigger on his assault rifle, but his body froze. His hand wouldn’t squeeze the trigger, no matter how much his brain screamed at it to fire at the Elite breaking through. The Elite screamed a warbled roar as it attempted to squeeze through the hole it had torn into the pelican’s bay door. Hastings still couldn’t fire.

The distinctive sound of a Covenant plasma rifle rang out, and Hastings closed his eyes, knowing his time had come. They said you never hear the one that gets you, but he heard the whole burst. It didn’t hurt, though. Why didn’t it hurt? Hastings opened his eyes to see the Elite hanging limply in the newly created entrance. Something pulled the body from the hole, and another Elite poked his chest, and plasma rifle, through the hole. The Elite and Hastings both stared with their respective weapons trained on the other. But neither pulled the trigger. The Elite’s chest and shoulders heaved as it breathed heavy breaths, matched by the Corporal’s. After what felt like an eternity, the Elite balked, and lowered its plasma rifle. Hastings wouldn’t be fooled into dropping his own weapon, though.

The Elite gestured for the human to approach him, join him outside in the dark night on Halo’s surface. Then, it did the last thing Hastings would ever suspect from an enemy combatant: it threw him his weapon. The plasma rifle clattered against the ceiling of the overturned pelican, and the shocked Hastings lowered his own rifle, finally accepting some accord of peace between the two mortal enemies. He climbed from the cockpit, his rifle still in his hand; he wouldn’t let the Elite trick him. He picked up the plasma rifle, a massive weapon that the Covenant Elites wielded in one hand. The Elite’s blue armor reflected dim light from the nearby planet as it gestured toward Hastings as if to tell him it was his to keep. Surrender didn’t make sense. The Covenant did not surrender. And yet, Hastings had an unarmed Elite communicating with him.

“Friendly,” the Elite strained in garbled English, his mandibles contorting in a way that even looked difficult to Hastings.

“We’re not friends,” Hastings said in reply. “What’s the trick?”

“Trick?” The Elite repeated, as if it had no knowledge of the word.

“Trick. Ploy, plot, deception,” Hastings told the Elite.

“Deception,” the Elite said in a conclusive tone. “No deception. We fight… together,” the alien creature said, the last word coming as unnaturally as friendly.

“Together, huh?” Hastings gruffed. “Why’s that?”

The Elite thought for a moment, visibly thinking of the words, his four pieced jaw mouthing silently the words he intended to say as he formed the sentence. “The parasite spares none. It is a common enemy.” The Elite spoke slowly and enunciated every syllable distinctly. Whether it was for clarity, or difficulty, Hastings didn’t know or care.

“Parasite. That’s what that thing was? A parasite?” Hastings asked the alien, nodding his head to where he thought the Elite had pulled the deformed Elite.

“Yes,” said the Elite plainly.

“How do I know you’re not one of them?” It was a stupid question, Hastings knew that, but he needed every bit of information he could gather before he put himself in the clutches of a Covenant Elite.

“You have my weapon. And my word.”

He had his word. What did the word of a genocidal alien mean to him? “Alright, I am coming out. I suppose you will want this back,” he said, raising the plasma rifle.

“We will need it,” the Elite told him. “Your weapons and medicines too.” The Elite watched as Hastings picked from each body ammunition, rations, bandages, and some morphine injections, stowing them each in his pack until it was barely too heavy to carry.

When he was ready to leave, he tossed his bag through the hole the parasite had ripped into the pelican’s bay door, letting it fall to the tail of the dropship. He hesitantly pushed the plasma rifle through, which the Elite took with a bow of his head as if it were respectful or courteous. Finally, it came his time to exit, and he pushed his torso through the hole pulling himself through to the waist. “Can you give me a hand?” He asked of the Elite who stood idly as if he had no idea what he’d been asked. “Hand,” Hastings requested again, waving his own hand for the Elite to connect the dots.

The Elite raised his free hand to his face and repeated the word as if he were a child first learning anatomy. “Hand.” He seemed to grasp what the human soldier was asking for, and placed his massive four fingered hand out to support the man as he climbed from the pelican.

The pelican had crashed into a dense forest, downing a trail of pine-like trees in a nearly one hundred yard trail. It was night, but the nearby planet illuminated the forest floor well enough to reveal their surroundings. It reminded the Corporal of pictures from his father’s childhood on Earth, in the woods outside of Seattle. He knew the atmosphere and gravity on Halo were particularly Earth-like, but the similarity of its vegetation gave Hastings the unshakable feeling there was more to the ring world than the UNSC knew, or The Covenant were letting on. At his feet was not just the single parasite that had broken into the pelican, but another three similarly deformed Elites, their bodies melted and torn apart by their former compatriot’s plasma rifle. “Friends of yours?” He asked as he picked up his bag and assault rifle.

The Elite paused in contemplation. “What is friend?”

“It’s friend. I don’t know. Pal, compadre. They’re- you know, people you like to be around.” He couldn’t help but think how strange it was the Elite knew “friendly” but not “friend”.

“I did not know them,” the Elite answered.

Hastings sighed, seeking to end the confusing interaction. “Where are we going?”

“I do not know,” the Elite admitted. “I know only of my outpost nearby. It is gone.”

Hastings raised an eyebrow. “I suppose we just pick a direction and start moving until we find something,” Hastings suggested, only half-jokingly.

“That is acceptable,” the Elite said, pulling a plasma grenade from his hip.

“Woah!” Hastings shouted. “The hell is that for?”

Again, the Elite paused to translate the words in his mind. “I do not know what you are saying,” he finally said.

“The grenade!” Hastings said, pointing toward the Elite’s hand. “Why do you have it?!” He shouted.

“We must destroy the bodies before the parasite can take them,” the Elite told him, as if it were an obvious precaution to take.

“What, like zombies? Jesus Christ.” Hastings had been taught not to take the lord’s name in vain all his life; he’d also been taught the dead stay dead.

“I do not know this word: zombie,” the Elite told him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hastings said. “Can I at least be the one to do it?”

The Elite, without hesitation, raised the grenade in an offering to the human. “I would have asked the same.”

Hastings took the plasma grenade from the Elite’s hand, and nodded in appreciation, just as the Elite had done before. He approached the small hole, said one quick prayer for forgiveness of what he was about to do, armed the grenade, and tossed it inside. As the plasma charged, he ducked around the side of the pelican. When the grenade detonated, a wave of superheated plasma splashed from the opening, and fell into the dirt, a small puff of smoke rising from its landing point.

The Elite climbed onto the tail of the pelican and peered inside. “It is done,” he said, backing away. Hastings couldn’t bring himself to take his own look to verify his comrades were a puddle of melted flesh. Without a word, the Elite started off down the trail of destruction left by the downed pelican.

“Hey wait up! Who said you get to pick where we go?” Hastings wasn’t sure why he was protesting; he had no desire to go in any one direction.

“I am continuing on my path,” the Elite informed him without stopping.

With a huff, Hastings jogged behind until he caught up with the Elite. They walked silently for some time, but as Hastings grew either bored or comfortable, he decided to break the quiet. “How do you know English?” It was a question that’d been nagging him since the Elite first said the word ‘friendly’. He’d received plenty of training on the Covenant, but none of it covered communication. He’d heard rumors of some Covenant captives divulging information, but he’d always assumed they would point to maps, or the Office of Naval Intelligence had some kind of secret translator.

“I intercept and study human communications,” the Elite said plainly.

It made sense why the Elite knew the word ‘friendly’, but not ‘friend’. Friendlies would have gone over UNSC comms channels enough for him to pick it up and learn its meaning, but it was rare anyone would send the word ‘friend’ through those same channels. He’d known a farming mechanic back on Reach who was raised speaking Hungarian, but knew plenty of English engineering terms; he could have a whole discussion about the mechanics of an engine, but struggle to order a beer. He imagined that the Elite wasn’t so different. “You got a name?”

“I am called Rohn Mok’amee,” the Elite answered, still marching ahead.

“Rohn Mok’amee,” Hastings repeated. “Mocha, like chocolate,” he mused.

“I do not understand,” the Elite responded.

“Never mind. I’m Roger Hastings. Eh, Corporal Roger Hastings,” he said.

“Hastings,” the Elite hissed each ‘S’ as he worked out the sound to more accurately reflect what the human had said to him.

“Yeah, Hastings.” He wasn’t sure where to go from there, but he didn’t like the silence. “Your people, The Covenant, they seem to know this place. What is it, this Halo?”

The Elite whipped around to face the man and shouted, “You already defile the holy relic with your presence, do not defile its name with your tongue!”

Hastings stepped back and his arm tensed to raise his assault rifle to meet the Elite’s angry gaze, but the alien hadn’t raised his own weapon. It wouldn’t be a fight he’d win anyway, he was no Spartan; not even an ODST. That didn’t mean he was going to take lip from the alien son of a bitch, though. “Defile the holy relic?” He mocked. “I don’t even know what this place is. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. You can have all the relics you want, I’m sure we’d even help you find them if you asked.”

“Your pitiful race does not deserve to be in the presence of any holy relics. It is for that the Prophets have declared you be exterminated.”

“To Hell with your Prophets!” He shot back.

“Blasphemy!” The Elite growled.

Oh, but you don’t know the word ‘friend’, Hastings thought. “If I’m defiling your relics, and undeserving of their presence, why rescue me? Why bring me along with you? Huh? Where’s the logic in that one? You recognize some worth in me right now, clearly.”

“You are insignificant. A tool; less than this rifle. You are here by my grace.”

The Corporal couldn’t argue with the last part. If the Elite wished it, he’d be lights out before he realized he’d been attacked. But, he wouldn’t let his last thought go unsaid. “I’m here because you’re afraid. This parasite, it terrifies you.” The Elite would have to admit defeat there; he’d won.

“Of course I fear the parasite. Do not think yourself my equal in this regard. I fear it because I know it. I fight it because I fear it. You were paralyzed by your fear. Fear borne of ignorance of what you faced.”

Hastings went quiet. He had frozen when faced with the parasite, he was terrified from just looking at the creature. He promised himself that the next time he was face to face with one of those parasites he wouldn’t hesitate to put it down.

They continued for another few kilometers in the same direction, but even the mighty Elite had grown fatigued from the journey, and suggested they rest for a short time, resting at the foot of a large boulder. Hastings was just as happy to rest, his ill-fitting fatigues chaffed painfully, and it would give him a real chance to tend to the cut on his forehead. He took the opportunity to climb atop the boulder for a greater view of his surroundings. It was mostly dense wood, but having a clear vantage point was comforting. “What does this ring do, anyway? Why is it so important to you guys?”

“I am resting,” the Elite grumbled, seated on the ground below.

“And I’m asking you a question. Come on, just one. Sate my curiosity.”

The Elite growled low in frustration. “Its activation will send us on The Great Journey. We shall join the gods, leaving you behind.” The Elite chuckled just loud enough for Hastings to hear.

“Me? What, I haven’t proven my worth to your gods?” Hastings joked. The Elite didn’t bother to reply. The Corporal knew that on the off chance he made it out of all of this alive, ONI would have a field day with what he could tell them. On the other hand, they might have already known everything he learned. They weren’t exactly forthright with what they knew about The Covenant. Worse, they might dissect his brain and stick him in one of those smart AIs, like Cortana.

When the Elite was satisfied with his rest, he called Hastings to join him on the trek forward. All was quiet as he stayed on watch, but there was an eerie feeling they were being somehow observed. The two pushed on for another few kilometers in an ever-growing discomforting silence. Hastings wanted to start another argument with the Elite, but felt it was better not to attract anyone, or anything, to the sound.

As dawn broke the Elite claimed to have spotted a structure ahead. Hastings couldn’t see it himself, but it would have been a strange thing for the alien to lie about, so he followed as they veered gently off their original path for the first time since leaving the pelican. Sure enough, the structure appeared through the trees, made of the same stone-like brushed metal as the other structures the humans had come across elsewhere on the ring. It wasn’t a particularly large one like those that fired bursts of light into their air. In fact, it didn’t have any clear purpose whatsoever. There was a ramp up its side to a half-walled platform encircling the main portion of the structure. “This seems like a perfect place to stop for a while,” Hastings suggested. “Good view of the area, one way up, and I think we both need some real rest.”

“I agree,” the Elite told the supposed insignificant blasphemer. The Elite took first watch as the human sat for some quick shut eye; well needed after the night he’d had. He wasn’t sure how long he was knocked out in the pelican, but doubted sleep brought on by a head injury was very restorative. When he woke up, Mok’amee was standing over him, propped up on the half wall.

“What is-“

“Quiet,” the Elite demanded of him, looking into the distance.

The soldier quickly grabbed his own rifle and joined the Elite, peering off in the same direction. He checked between each set of trees for any threats, but nothing stood out against the still forest scene ahead.

“They are out there,” the Elite said quietly, as if sensing doubt. But Hastings didn’t disbelieve the alien, so he kept his eyes wide and open. “There,” the Elite said, more casually than the situation reasonably required.

Hastings did what he could to see what the Elite did, but his eyes refused to cooperate. “I just don’t see anything,” he admitted.

“The parasite has… progressed. The battle must be going poorly. By the Prophets, the holy ring is tainted.”

“What are you-“ a burst of blue plasma fired from the trees, one of the bolts crashing against the half wall, and the next two soaring over the soldier’s head. The Elite returned with his own burst of plasma. Hastings rose up from the cover and fired off his own burst toward where the plasma had come from, the bullets splintering the tree the parasite must have been hiding behind. Just as his own burst finished, another flurry of plasma bolts came from the left. Hastings turned to face the new threat, but found it had already ducked behind the trees.

“They are trying to surround us,” the Elite shouted, firing his plasma rifle into the trees.

Hastings stood up and ran to the left side of the structure, taking his place at the top of the ramp. There, he finally saw the parasite moving through the trees. It moved quicker than any creature he’d ever seen; how those who had seen The Master Chief in action described him. He fired off a long burst toward the shadowy figure rushing through the trees.

On the other side of the structure, the Elite screamed. Hastings rounded the structure to assist, and found the Elite beating the bottom of his plasma rifle into the chest of a parasite that had made it up to the platform. The Elite turned toward Hastings and aimed his plasma rifle. The Corporal ducked to dodge the shots as they flew over and past him. Before he could raise his own rifle at the Elite, he realized the alien had actually saved his life. A parasite laid dead behind him, melted by the Covenant plasma weapon. The two warriors shared a knowing glance, and turned back toward their respective sides of the structure. Looking down the ramp, Hastings saw two strange bulbous creatures skittering up the metal ramp on tendrils, so light in its movements, he could have sworn they were floating. One of them jumped at him, and in a panic he fired a hail of bullets in its direction. The small creatures seemed to pop like balloons as the lead tore through their flesh. At the tree line, more of those same small parasite creatures poured through like a coming tide. He sent another burst into the wave of parasites, each one bursting as they were hit.

“We are surrounded!” The Elite called out from the other side.

“Come here!” Hastings yelled back. They’d push down the ramp and through the enemy line. A breakout is what they’d call it during basic training when learning about strategic maneuvers. When surrounded, focus all efforts on one small weak point of the enemy lines and push through. It wouldn’t work, but it was better to die trying. “Follow,” he ordered the Elite, and charged down the ramp firing toward the flood of parasites washing through the trees. The Elite stuck close behind, clearly understanding what they were attempting. They focused their fire ahead to open a gap, and charged.

As Hastings hit the tree line, Rohn Mok’amee shouted in pain, holding his side as purple blood leaked through his fingers. The parasites were innumerable, jumping high into the air, and sprinting toward them. Hastings shot the parasite nearest to the Elite who had slowed to a crawl.

“Go!” The Elite ordered him. “I won’t let them take me!” He pulled out another plasma grenade as the infected Elites collapsed on him, enveloping him in a pile of rotted flesh. Hastings turned to run away, and heard the grenade detonate behind him, illuminating the trees ahead in a flash of blue. He ran as hard, and as far as he could, but the sounds of the parasite persisted behind him the whole way. Blue and green bolts of plasma sailed past, and collided with the surrounding trees. He soon found himself in a rocky clearing, clear skies above showed countless stars, each brighter than the last. He turned back momentarily, and it was as if he hadn’t killed a single one of the parasites—they were endless.

A bolt of green plasma came from the right, nailing him in the side of his thigh. Hastings collapsed in searing pain, screaming as he fell. He raised his rifle and fired off a long burst, taking two more infected with him. The rifle clicked as he ran out of bullets, but he didn’t have time to reload. He drew his pistol and fired it wildly toward his impending fate. Then, from dead ahead, came another bolt of blue plasma, hitting the center of his chest. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel anything but tired. Corporal Hastings fell face up on the stone ground, weak and weary. The nightmare was almost over. He did his best, and that was what mattered. His eyes stared straight up at the ring world bisecting the sky. Halo, He thought. It was quite beautiful. A flash of white light filled the sky; he would go to it. Hastings closed his eyes and began one final prayer as the ground shook beneath him. Somehow, God answered.