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(Author's note: Sorry for breaking off this story in mid-stride, more to come!)

      The aliens swarmed through the gap like a kaleidoscopic river of reds, blues, and pinks - they toppled over broken barricades made hastily of rocks, gutted tanks, and warped steel. They clumsily swarmed over it all and made for our position. Screaming unholy war cries at the top of their lungs, filling the air with their rage and their fury, every one itching to get at us- every one striving to tear us apart.
      They would never get us. We were as good as gone already.

      The landing pad we were about to depart from was high atop the last remaining base in this region- the base situated inside of a pristine alpine gorge that was pristine no longer. No Marine, myself included, would ever forget the weeks-long siege that had just ended. The rocks of the gorge walls flowed like water before plasma barrages- the base shook for days on end with the massive artillery bombardment we had been subjected to, the Covenant died in scores before our swiftly dwindling forces. They had been held off for weeks now, they had been slaughtered- and it might have been our turn, but for a fortuitous twist of fate.
      Do an old Marine the service of listening to his tale.

      It all began at night, four weeks ago. We had been getting reports of Covenant patrol activity from our orbital sensors- but we didn't know how many of them there were or where their hiding spots were. On our very first patrol we ran into an entire Covenant LZ fifteen miles away from our base. I was on that mission, and I recall distinctly (this is not the sort of thing one forgets) the sheer an unadulterated horror that overcame me as I saw legions of them disembarking from their transports. The chill of the night seemed to suddenly slice right through my skin and into my very soul. Myself and five others in the recon squad laid flat on our bellies on the top of a tree-covered moraine a mile away, and took turns freaking out by looking through the lone set of binoculars we possessed. I spent all of two seconds peering through them- it was too much, even for me.
      And believe me, I've seen a lot. I've stared down the barrel of a rifle more than once and lived to tell the tale. I've been in such ridiculous odds before, outnumbered ten, fifteen, a hundred to one, and pulled through. I've bailed out of a flaming plane from a hundred feet and not suffered a scratch. Let me tell you, I've seen everything now!

      Back at base, the situation could be described as chaotic in the purest sense of the word. The word was out, not only at our base, but all across the planet, that the Covenant had launched a full-scale attack. Not just here- oh no! The squeaking freaks were everywhere. We had it easy, as I recall. Poor comrades on garrison duty at Echo V were attacked at night by four regiments' worth of aliens- don't know how they survived until the morning- except that not many of them did.
      At any rate, what was happening at the other end of the planet had no bearing on what was going on here- we, as normal, could expect no reinforcement, while the enemy had practically limitless supplies of reserves to call up.
      Well, you must be thinking by now, what else is new?

      The aliens found us soon after our recon mission- they sent their first few waves of grunts at our defenses in the morning. We heard 'em coming through the pass long before we saw 'em, and when they came out onto the valley floor, we let rip. Fifty-caliber bullets tore massive gaps in their line, entire platoons of grunts were blown to pieces by Marine howitzers, and our snipers took special care to pop the Elites unfortunate enough to be commanding this mission, while the rest of us sat back and took potshots. We all knew when to save our bullets.
      The rest of the day was uneventful. Well, allow me to rephrase that. It was uneventful for the enemy- it was one of the hardest days of my life. Setting concrete bunkers, strengthening the base defenses, mounting AA guns, re-stocking the howitzer pits and MG crews, and stringing mines and barbed wire in front of our positions.
      You see, the main base was a bunch of concrete bunkers half-covered with soil and inlaid with titanium. It was surrounded by a circular concrete wall twenty meters high and ten meters thick. Outside this base was where the real fight was to take place- where the trenches, MG nests, and bunkers were placed. Inside the base was essentially the medical station, the support weapons, air support, and the landing pad, in case anyone decided to drop on by and lend a hand to the defense. We were so sure of outside intervention, that we set up a large antenna right in the middle of the landing pad so that we could jam Covenant transmissions and decode them.

      The second attack wave was far more methodical and far more dangerous. The Covenant came on slowly, behind the protective shadow of their plasma tanks and under the cover of a rolling plasma barrage that slammed into our positions like a continuous, flaming shock wave. We Marines out on the line all hid like little girls in our bunkers and waited for the Covenant to come within what season Marines like to call 'the Teeth'- the point where there are four or more heavy weapons that can focus their attention on a single target from three or more angles. After the plasma barrage ended, we went out to the trenches again and waited to give the Covenant a taste of their own medicine.
      "Squad four, do you copy?" the radio from bas cackled in the bunker just as I was leaving, behind my men. I turned around and rushed to the radio.
      "Squad four here sir."
      "What is the g-2?"
      "The Covenant will be in the optimal firing range within one minute thirty seconds." I replied curtly and precisely into the microphone, my form hunched over the radio set and my rifle lying on the floor next to me, silently calling my name.
      "Acknowledged. Base out." I heard a yelled command over the radio after that, but I didn't understand what it was until artillery shells began whistling over my head and settling with a muted thump into the Covenant formations. The delayed- action charges gave the impression of being duds- and the artillerymen lent credence to that perception by firing some exploding rounds too. The aliens, thinking that our equipment had simply malfunctioned, walked on, until...
      A fiery blast rent the air and the shrieks of Covenant warriors pierced the eerie calm of the battlefield. Instantly the Covenant lines were thrown into a state of disarray, and then I moved outside the bunker and saw our entire air force- five troop transports- swoop low over the mass of troops and unload bombs, as Marine machine-gunners fired with wild abandon. The bombs tore great holes in the Covenant line and even managed to knock a few tanks out of action- one tank was slammed four times by bombs, and it is safe to say that the remnants of that particular tank are now in the stratosphere along with the rest of the dust. I grabbed my own weapon, set up the bipod, and let rip. I spent the entire clip firing at a group of jackals trying to form their shields into a protective barrier so that their brethren could chuck grenades at us. I knocked down three or four jackals with my high- caliber explosive ammo, before they got wise and started marching forward, shields locked and four deep, towards us. I threw a frag grenade, and to my endless surprise, an alien threw it back. He missed, naturally.

      The Covenant broke into an all-out charge shortly after that, when they ran into our mines. Their formations were shattered, and they retreated in haste, under a withering barrage of Marine lead. It was a refreshing experience, watching them run, squealing, back to their improvised staging area at the head of the valley. I laid on my stomach up against the front of the trench, looking down the ironsights on my rifle and squeezing off rounds every now and then. I doubt I hit anything.

      The radio once more cackled to life in the bunker, and I sprinted towards it, managing to catch the end of the first sentence: "-all platoon leaders listen up." Well, maybe I hadn't missed much.
      "We are sending out the armor. Repeat: we are sending out the armor. All squads fit assault armor and loadout to level three. Assault in t minus two minutes. Base out."
      Perhaps that statement bears some explaining- 'assault armor' was the works- breastplate, shin guards, helmet, etc. Level three loadout meant the close-in hard-hitting weapons. Pistols, shotguns, modified assault rifles. And of course, the phrase 'sending out the armor' meant we were going all-out, sending out our aging fleet of ten scorpion tanks to engage and hopefully slaughter the enemy. Before I had time to even grab a few clips and yell to my men to fit their armor, I saw a warthog scream over our trench, clearing the armored helmet of one of my men by a couple of inches and throwing up dust and rocks as it careened towards the Covenant firebase. What the hell was he doing?
      I was interrupted once more by ten or more Warthogs flying over the trench in pursuit of their leader, Marine gunners hanging on to their machine guns and crouching to stay onboard their vehicle as the drivers floored the petal and hauled ass. It was a curious scene- one of those small ironies of war that people forget about. Here was a platoon or two of mechanized Marines charging into battle against an entire alien army.
      It wasn't until the tanks rumbled past and our squad joined them that their brave charge seemed less like a suicide mission. After all, we were headed there too.
      And we were going to live, right?
      The tanks seemed to crawl over the plain, engines thrumming with a solid, steady power that grumbled and shook the ground. My squad was either riding on a tank or walking sullenly beside it, eyes glue to the alien camp before us and weapons at the ready, as they had been a thousand times before. This time, though, something seemed different. This war of extermination had brought us many victories- my regiment in particular. We were the best, the elite, the most decorated and hallowed formation on this god-forsaken planet. And everyone knew the same truth- this counterattack wasn't like any other- we could all feel it on our weary, battle-hardened bones. This was to be our Ragnarok, our Goetterdamerrung- the twilight of the Gods. I bet you there were men that day that knew they were going to die, that their luck had run out when they left their trench, and still they marched forward, proud and erect, like a goddamn Marine. Sometimes, when I see the state of our world today, and the direction this war is heading, I wish I had run out of luck on that day too.

      We reached the mouth of the valley and the ground became far rougher, strewn with car-sized boulders and littered with the refuse of an army in retreat- wounded and dead soldiers, cast-aside weapons, derelict tanks and other vehicles, and blood. Lots of trails of purple and pink blood. We followed them, knowing that more blood would be spilt today. Suddenly the tanks ground to a halt, their barrels elevated, and they all let loose a thundering volley of fire and steel whose vapor trails streaked towards the enemy camp and exploded with a force that seemed to tear the very fabric of our existence apart like so much paper. We were shaken now, and nervous. Artillery rounds thumped into the camp and we could see clearly the flying bodies and body parts littering the air and coating the ground with blood, three hundred yards in front of us.
      The Warthog teams seemed to have done their work, for they were screaming back at full speed, their gunners still tearing loose with machine guns, spraying bullets like water over the alien camp, raking it with yellow tracers. I smiled for a moment as they slowed in front of us and drove slowly through the line, to take up a position at the rear. We all gave them a rousing cheer, and it looked like they deserved it. Tires were melted from plasma, armor had been torn off in some cases by plasma and in others by furious Elites, and on more than one vehicle I saw small trails of blood running down the gun. I grimaced and marched on. Our time for sacrifice was about to some.

      We began to charge the camp at about one hundred meters, spreading out to reduce the effectiveness of the alien's energy weapons and approaching the camp from three directions. The aliens' defensive positions had been either savaged by the artillery bombardment or torn to ribbons by the Warthogs, so we had an easy time of it, until we crossed some invisible line and the aliens opened up with every weapon they had. We took cover behind tanks and saw them melt before the barrage- Titanium-A battle plate melting and coming off in gobs! The tanks pressed forward while they still could, firing all the time and disgorging vast amounts of steam as the armor cooling system overloaded. The tank I was following exploded, the turret ripping off and the hole in the top of the tank erupting in flame. The tank ground to a halt and, amazingly, the crew leaped out of the front hatch as fast as humanly possible. The last one to come out was on fire, screaming and beating at himself with gloved hands. Two of my soldiers grabbed his ankles, snatched him off the tank and beat him into the dust. One of them tore off his empty backpack and beat out the flames while the other grabbed a flame extinguishing unit off his hip and sprayed the soldier's legs and chest, dousing the flames nearly instantaneously. That stuff's not meant for human flesh, but it probably saved the soldier's life. He was screaming as the medics dragged him away, writhing and convulsing in pain. I have no idea what happened to him, but we hid out behind his tank before advancing forward under cover of its' smoke. We, along with the rest of the Marines, charged into the melee battle raging in the alien camp. Most of their weapons were out of ammo, their power generator having been knocked offline, and we had the upper hand.

      I sprinted at an elite standing over one of my Marines and decked him in the back of the head with the back end of my rifle, sending him reeling over my soldier and onto the ground in front of me. The wounded Marine got up, picked up his pistol, and squeezed off several rounds, most of which caught the alien in the face and dropped him to the ground while he choked on his own blood. I helped the Marine up and saw a pack of Grunts charging us, weapons firing and filling the air with plasma. I crouched and knocked three or four of the Grunts on their ass with a single burst from my rifle. The other Marine reloaded his pistol and got off a few shots before I turned around and saw him lying in a pile of his own blood.
      Behind him stood a grinning Elite, sword grasped. He swung the sword and I dodged backward, firing my rifle- but the bullets just bounced off his shield. He stepped forward and plunged the sword forward. Gasping and reeling backward before it's lethal advance, I fell to the ground. He had me now- the sword was poised for downfall and I could hear him cackling madly above the din of battle. As the sword's path traced downwards, life slowed down and I saw distinctly his head blown clean off by a sniper's bullet. The body seemed to remain, to hang there in front of me and sway from side to side, the shield dissipating and the body finally falling backward and settling to the ground with a loud thump. I stood up, brushed myself off, and noticed that the noise of battle had ended suddenly. I could see the alien columns streaming away in disarray down the valley, wounded and dying perched on their plasma tanks and everybody else hauling ass. I let out a deep sigh and gathered my men.

      Our ranks were thinned now, we'd lost a quarter of our own number. I know that I was one of the lucky ones- I saw other squad leaders later sobbing their hearts out over losing their entire squad. Some squads, leader and all, had simply ceased to exist. I don't doubt that the aliens knocked two entire companies of Marines off our order of battle, but of course I can never know because the casualty figures will never be released. We retreated to the base and it's spartan comforts that night, gathering with us all of the alien weapons and ammo. The sentries were wide-awake that night, probing the darkness for news of the inevitable alien assault. They never left a human outpost standing wherever they found it- and I wasn't about to fool myself with the belief that they'd leave us alone. I knew it was just a matter of time.

      The next day we picked it up- a Covenant force so big it jammed our radar and scared the living shit out of the radar operator that found it. We made the decision- or should I say the brass made the decision- that the base would be defended to the last man. I sat through the squad leader's briefing and was paralyzed by fear the entire time- this was a suicide order, a death sentence. The Earth we were supposed to be defending was pointing her long scepter at us and demanding that we make the ultimate sacrifice for her- and I didn't want to. I gave the ruling to my men in our barracks and watched their hearts sink through the floor. My newest recruit- a guy named Peter, tall and wiry with a Slavic look about him, was visibly shaken when I told everyone the news.
      Later that night I walked by his bunk and saw him scrawling out a note- most likely to his mother or his wife. He must not have known that they never send those letters.

End of Part I

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