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Last of the Walking Dead - Part One: Escape
Date: 5 August 2003, 1:28 AM

      Banshees screamed overhead, pounding the rattled base with their plasma cannons. The few remaining Marines scurried for cover, firing grossly ineffective rifle shots into the air. A Jackhammer missile sent a Banshee spiraling to the ground, landing in the middle of the middle of the now crater-filled parade ground where a squad of Marines had just been.
      "That was close, man!" Martinez yelled from his post at the stationary chaingun. He jammed his sore thumbs once more onto the gun's thumb triggers, sending smoke spraying out of the Banshees who weren't fast enough to dodge the bullets. A plasma shot landed right at the base of the stationary gun, sending both him and it flying.
      Lance Corporal Dirk Kennedy shouldered his Jackhammer launcher and ran towards the place Martinez had landed. His entrails were scattered all over the ground, his lower body fried and his upper body crushed by the weight of the flying stationary gun. He gasped with each breath, and by the odd angle of his ribs Dirk knew his lungs had been pierced.
      "I'm sorry, man," Dirk said, pulling out the M6D pistol he had taken from a dead officer. Only ranks above Sergeant and special classification soldiers such as drivers and snipers were issued sidearms. He looked from it to Martinez's face, which was contorted in agony. The dying man mouthed, "do it". There was pleading in his glazed-looking eyes. Dirk put the barrel to his head and sent a merciful .450 Magnum round through his brain.
      He took cover behind the overturned gun turret and swung his Jackhammer up. The Banshee that had hit Martinez was coming around for a second strafing run, and was just getting into position. Kennedy aimed right where the prone pilot's head would be through the targeting reticule hanging from his helmet, and pulled the trigger just as plasma shots crashed down in front of him, spraying him with cement fragments and knocking him backwards. Another Banshee spiraled to the ground.
      After eight hours of gruesome and unrelenting combat, the legendary fighters of the 1st Battalion, 9th Marines, known as the "Walking Dead", had gone from almost two hundred men to possibly less than five. In the almost six hundred years since Vietnam the unit had never been so decimated. Kennedy was one of the few and possibly the only survivor-but chances were he would be counted amongst his fallen fellow Marines before long.
      He had to get off the rooftop before it collapsed. Without a gunner, he was a sitting duck. There were plenty of Banshees just waiting to take a potshot at a lone human, not to mention a swarm of Grunts that had breached the walls of the base. Dirk peered over the rooftop and drew immediately back as a flurry of plasma shots whizzed past his face. He lobbed a grenade over the side, and peered over once more after it exploded. The ground was pasted with bluish Grunt blood and bodyparts. A Warthog sloshed through the blood, spraying it sky-high. Caught in the blast as he leapt down from the rooftop of the mess hall, Dirk wiped his face clean of the ooze. The Warthog switched to reverse and stopped in front of him. "Sorry about that, man!" the driver yelled over the deafening sound of the massive chaingun on the back of his vehicle. Dirk recognized the two, and they also knew him. They were in his now leaderless squad. "Need a lift, Corporal? Shotgun's open!"
      Dirk got up and ran over. He climbed into the side seat and rested the barrel of his Jackhammer on the windshield. "What's the news from the JOC? When are the dropships coming?" he asked the driver, Private Batonne.
"JOC got blown away, sir. Major Foreman and all his staff got wasted. I don't know when the dropships are coming, or even if they're coming. Hell, I don't even know if they know we're still alive down here. All I know is that everyone else on this godforsaken base is KIA and we gotta get outta here, and we're gonna have to blast our way out!"
"Then floor it!"
      Kennedy could see the open gates of the base ahead. The only thing that stood between the gates and the Warthog was a hundred yards of blood-soaked ground-and a horde of Covenant.
      Dirk and the gunner, Private Connors, blasted away at the Covenant. Grunts and Jackals were crushed beneath the treads of the tires and blown to pieces by the unrelenting fire provided by the chaingun. Elite and a single Hunter fell victim to Jackhammer rockets and heavy lead thrown by Connors. The Warthog bounced up and down as it rolled over fallen armored bodies. A single Jackal leaped out of the way of the chaingun and onboard the Warthog-right onto Kennedy. He kicked at the thing as it batted at him with its energy shield, trying to get a clear shot at close range with its plasma pistol. Dirk fought it off using his Jackhammer launcher to push it away, but the Jackal had a deathgrip on his leg. It saw an open shot when Dirk reached out to grab his neck and swung its pistol around. The Jackal pressed it against Dirk's temple-
      The Jackal flew off of his body just as the Warthog lurched through the open gates of the lost base. Dirk lay there for a moment, taking deep breaths and wondering what had happened. Then he looked up and saw Connors. His gun was smoking. The gunner nodded to him and then swiveled the devil's own weapon around, throwing a barrage of farewell shots into the temporarily disorganized Covenant forces. The less of them to follow the better chance they would survive to morning. And right now, those chances looked very slim…
      A Banshee was tailing them, trying to get a clear shot through the extremely thick treetop cover they had entered. Finally he gave up and began blasting away at the trees, setting them afire and kicking up dirt at the back of the Warthog. If he waited any longer, they would be fried. Dirk put the banshee in the sights of his targeting reticule and pulled the trigger just as the Warthog rolled over a thick root. The bounce of the chassis rocked his aim and the rocket went wide to the left. Luckily it managed to clip a wing down the middle, essentially putting the Banshee out of action as it fell shaking and smoking to the ground.
      "Where are we headed?" Dirk asked as he reloaded.
"Echo Base, sir. With any luck they haven't hit Major de Vires' 2nd Battalion stationed there," the Batonne said. He pointed to a series of hills in between which the base was located, across a short, rolling plain from the edge of the jungle. They slowly grew closer. "It should take us about to thirty minutes to get there. All I need you to do is keep up that covering fire, sir. The Covenant aren't about to give up the chase."
      "I'm almost out of rockets," Kennedy said. "After that we're gonna have to take out any bigger obstacles with the chaingun. I've only got one spare clip of ammo for my M6D and I already used all my grenades."
      "I'm not too good on ammo either, Corporal. I've got one more chain, and then we're out," Connors said as he put the new ammo chain into the gun. They had left the base behind, going at ninety miles per hour. No ground forces were going to catch them anytime soon, so their main priority was airborne attackers. They would have to rely on their heavy guns for that, and once Connors and Kennedy's ammo ran dry they would have to be fast.
      "How's you're ammo, Batonne?"
      "I've got an M6D and two spare clips. There's some fragmentation grenades and a flare pistol in the dashboard." Kennedy took the grenades and clipped them to his belt. Batonne turned to the Connors. "You've still got your MA2B carbine, right?"
      "Nah, must've fallen out. Damn, I had to go through a lot to get that gun."
      "Just be happy to get out alive," Dirk said. "If push comes to shove you can use this." He picked up a plasma pistol from the floor of the Warthog and handed it to the gunner. "I guess that Jackal dropped it on his way out."
      Dirk was now facing to the side and Connors to the back, turning occasionally to another side to check for enemies. "I'm Admiral Cole if those Banshees have lost our trail," Dirk said finally, irritable and nervous from the lack of enemies in the middle of a warzone. The sudden lack was getting to him.
      "Probably decided it was a waste of equipment to go after three humans and loose two more Banshees before they got us, sir," Connors said, scanning the skies. "Doesn't matter. They're still up there somewhere, way up where we can't hit them. They're waiting for us to get in the clear."
      "How long did you say to Echo Base?" Dirk asked.
      "Now, twenty-five minutes, sir, at our current speed," the Batonne said.
      "Can we go faster, Private?"
      "We're already going the max speed for this terrain, Kennedy-sir."
      "All right, that's good enough then. We'll have to radio Echo Base and tell them we're coming if we want cover fire. Does the radio in this thing still work?" he asked, reaching for the handset without waiting for an answer. He pulled it off its magnetic perch and flipped open the control board.
      "I think so, sir."
      "Do either of you know Echo Base's radio frequency?" he asked, his finger hesitantly hovering over a button. Connors looked to Batonne, and shook his head. "No sir, we don't. You'll have to use another frequency."
      "All right," he said, and punched in a code. "We'll use Guard channel." He held the handset to his mouth and turned it on. "Echo Base, do you read me?" he asked. No answer. "Echo Base, do you read me?" he repeated, and again there was no answer to be heard from the other end. Dirk looked to Batonne, who exchanged a worried glance with Connors. The silence was deafening.
      "Echo Base, do you read me?"
      "They're not going to answer, sir. No one's up there," Connors said.
      Dirk lowered the handset. "We don't know that, Connors. Their com system could have been knocked out, they could be blacked out, or they could be on lockdown. A million things could have happened. We don't know they're dead and we can't assume they are until we confirm that for sure-and that means visual confirmation, Connors. We have to go up there."
      "Sir?" Batonne asked skeptically.
      "You heard me, Private. We need to get up there and examine the base and find out for sure. If we find what we all hope we won't, and if the com system is still intact we can radio the Gorgon and have them get us out of here. Either way there's a very good chance that going up there is our only hope of getting off this rock alive."
      "All right, sir. Give me twenty minutes."
      Dirk leaned back in the seat and loosened the strap on his helmet. He reached for his canteen and shook it before opening and heard the sound of water sloshing around. He unscrewed the lid, tilted back his head and poured the cool liquid down his throat. After half of the contents were emptied he put the cap back on the canteen and clipped it back onto his combat belt. He needed water as badly as the rest of them, but he didn't know how long it would be until he could refill his canteen. If they were driven back into the hills around Echo Base and had to hole up in a cave or under an overhang, that might be quite awhile.
      Had they been left behind? No dropships had come for them, and because Delta Base had been lost the Gorgon would have more than adequate reason to assume there had been no survivors. His heart fluttered. Dying in battle he could take. A quick shot would fry his body and it would all be over. But to be left behind on a hostile planet to fend for himself, and eventually be hunted down by the Covenant, captured, and tortured as the prize of some Elite or Hunter unto death-he shuddered. He swore he would kill himself before he let them take him alive.
      "Fifteen minutes sir, we're almost there."
      He frowned. Eight straight hours of battle made this short pause seem so eerie. It also made him all that much more worried about what was waiting for them up ahead. Connors was probably right about the Banshees above preparing for them to come into the clear to take a potshot at them, for Covenant were always seeking to destroy every last human possible, even if it was extremely obvious they had already won the day. Their motivation was fanatically religious, and fear of all-powerful gods was motivation enough for the enemy forces to fight anyone. Dirk himself doubted the Prophets of the Covenant even believed in the gods they supposedly acted for. He was pretty sure they were just using them as an excuse to clear humans out of the way so that the Covenant could move in. His own god was nothing like theirs…
      "Ten minutes sir-were coming into the clear!"
      Dirk strapped his helmet once more and raised his Jackhammer, opening the breech to double check the loads. Two rockets lay in their magazine. He got into firing position and retested the sights on a squirrel-like animal that was perched on the branch of a tree. Perfect. Up ahead of them, the jungle split apart into open and rolling plains at the foothills of the hills up ahead. The Warthog pushed into the clear.
      Flashes of purple darted through the clouds until a formation of Banshees dove from the sky. Dirk, his aim undaunted by the pounding of the chaingun, tracked the point Banshee as it broke hard left. "Got you, you Covenant bastard," he said, and squeezed the trigger. The rocket screamed across the sky and hit the Banshee's exposed underbelly, where, just like a shelled animal, the armor was weakest. Shards of superheated metal broke away from the Banshee's corpse and it spiraled to the ground, leaving a twisting trail of smoke behind it.
      The Banshees broke formation and spread out, for the most part taking only potshots at the Warthog as it scrambled towards the hills across the plain, wary of the chaingun and fearful of the Jackhammer launcher. But a single Banshee dove low, made a diagonal cut as both heavy weapons tracked it, and then shot across their path in a strafing run. Plasma impacting all around them threw the Warthog completely into the air, and Dirk, with his Jackhammer launcher across his chest, reached across it and held onto the all-terrain vehicle for dear life. They landed hard, rocking the passengers. Kennedy felt shocks run through every bone in his body. The chaingun fire, which had kept steady throughout the whole time they were airborne, abruptly stopped. Dirk looked to Connors, who lay, slumped in the back, unconscious.
      "Shit," Batonne said.
      Dirk reloaded his launcher with the last two rockets and looked for the Banshee that had strafed them. It was nowhere to be seen. The other two remaining Banshees continued to fire at them with no real effect, their shots falling behind them. One cut across his comrade's path, causing the other to pull up abruptly. Aiming again for a belly shot, Dirk fired a rocket into the Banshee with devastating effect. It blew a hole into the cockpit and the aircraft fell right onto its wingman, dragging them both to the ground. Two birds with one stone.
      Dirk narrowed his eyes, searching for the last, most talented Banshee through his sights. "Where is the bastard?" he asked in a hushed whisper. Out of the corner of his eye a glimpse of violet passed through the cloud cover. He snapped in the direction and made a sweep of the sky with his Jackhammer launcher. Nothing, and this was his last rocket. If he missed, the chaingun was their only hope. Only a handful of shots remained in the ammunition chain.
      A plasma shot exploded before the Warthog, making the heavy vehicle rear into the air. Batonne swore as he was rendered blind of what was going on ahead. He stood up in his seat, throwing his weight forward in an attempt to keep the Warthog from overturning completely. The Banshee circled around, coming into position to finish them off. The Warthog began to reel backwards just as a series of shots exploded from the Banshee-
      "Jump!" Kennedy yelled, grabbing Connors and leaping from the Warthog. He hit the ground rolling, dragging both himself and Connors into the shelter of the long grass. He swung up his Jackhammer just as the Banshee tore the Warthog apart with a barrage of plasma, hesitant to fire his last rocket and reveal his position. It would be much better for them all if the Covenant thought they were dead…
      The Banshee circled the Warthog for a few moments, examining the wreckage from above. Ripped completely to pieces, the smoldering wreckage gave off black smoke that could be seen for miles. Satisfied that he had eliminated the humans, the Banshee gunned its engines and turned around to head back to the main Covenant force.
Kennedy lay panting in the long grass, holding Connors to the ground with one hand and keeping his Jackhammer launcher leveled at the sky in case the Banshee decided to come back. He lay there for several moments, then slumped over on his back and lay facing the blue sky. Streaks of smoke ran across it.
      "Batonne! You all right?" he called from his supine position.
      "Yeah! Did you get Connors?" he replied from the other side of the wreckage.
      "Yeah, I got him! He's alive and still breathing!"
      Kennedy got up and squatted in the long grass. He laid down his Jackhammer launcher and picked Connors firmly up, checking to make sure that there were no broken bones. He seemed to be all right. He set him over his shoulder, legs in front with his own arm wrapped around them. He picked up the Jackhammer launcher and hefted himself up slowly. With his Jackhammer launcher at the ready he strode over to Batonne.
      "What do we do now, sir?" he asked.
      "We've still got to get to Echo Base." Dirk looked up to the hills hopefully, scanning the area. He could see no smoke coming from them, nor did he see any debris spread over the area. Odds were, the base was still intact. But whether anyone was there or not was something entirely different. "If we were going to get there in ten minutes going ninety miles per hour, that means fifteen miles to go. Normally we could go about three miles per hour on foot, but with Connors out cold and having to climb the hills o foot that'll probably be cut down to a mile an hour. That means… fifteen hours till we reach Echo Base." He frowned.
      "A day," Batonne nodded. "It'll be zero two hundred tomorrow morning if we go nonstop," he said, checking his watch. The Covenant had hit them at the same time that morning. It was now ten hundred hours, and the sun had already risen high with the temperature. Batonne rubbed his finger along the inside of his color and removed his helmet, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Well, we'd better get moving. What should we do about our tracks?" he asked, looking back at the grass they had flattened with their few steps. They had already left a clear impression upon the ground.
      "There's not much we can do," Kennedy said. "The Covenant are probably going to take some time to reorganize their forces before advancing to Echo Base, so that'll buy us some time. I'd say about six hours. After that, all we can do is hope they march right over our tracks. They usually put Grunts in the lead as cannon fodder, so that should also give us an advantage. Grunts aren't all too smart."
      "Agreed."
      "Let's move out. I'll carry Connors for the first hour and we'll switch off after that at the end of every hour," Kennedy said, and headed off. Batonne followed for a moment, his M6D out and ready, then pulled ahead of Dirk and assumed point position.
      The journey would be long, but Kennedy tried not to think about that. He shifted Connors on his shoulder. What he had to concentrate on was making it through. He'd been trained for situations similar to this one, where he could be cut off from the main force of UNSC troops and left to fend for himself behind enemy lines. He had just never thought he would actually have to use that training. Now he was glad he had paid attention.
      Even before joining up with the Marines he had learned a lot about fighting from books and internet research. The weakest points in the human body, areas where major blood vessels were located, even old Apache tricks from the classic Westerns of Louis L'amour. And, of course, he had grown up around guns. While still an early teenager he was able to point at something without aiming and hit it as long as it was fairly close. He could put ten shots in the space of a quarter with a bolt-action rifle at fifty yards. The first time he ever shot a shotgun he hit twelve out of fourteen clay pigeons, and he had never missed when shooting high-caliber rifles. And on top of it all he was an Eagle Scout.
      When it was Batonne's turn to carry Connors, Kennedy took point with his Jackhammer launcher, the heavy weight lifted from his sore shoulders. He yawned and knew they would not be able to carry on nonstop. He had already missed out on four hours of sleep and replaced them with the heavy and wearying exercise of battle. Perhaps they could find a cave to hole up in for the night. If Connors came around by then they could take shorter shifts on watch. More sleep for all of them. It was certainly necessary to get as much as possible. Sleep depravation was something they prepared for, and it made them appreciate rest all that much more.
      Several hours later, ascending the hill with Connors on his back was stretching his aching muscles to their limit. If they were hit by a Covenant patrol he wouldn't be able to last long. It was all he could do to keep on going, and as soon as they had a shelter set up for the night he would drop dead. Let Batonne take the first watch. All he wanted to do was drift away and find some peace from the storm.
      By nightfall he was beat. He sat down on a rock, making sure to keep off the skyline and sliding Connors off his shoulders. "Batonne, I can't carry him another step. We're going to have to find somewhere to hole up that's relatively close. Do you see anything?"
      "Let me go see," Batonne said, raising his M6D. He scurried over to the other side of the hill into a valley surrounded by two other hills. He scouted around, searching for a site to set up camp. It would have to be somewhere they would not be easily found and where they could be relatively comfortable. Only two sites fit this profile. A cave that could be easily accessed which was located just to his left, and another cave that was directly below him, just under a slope that dropped into depthless dark. He chose the latter. It would be tricky to get in and out of, but it would provide the best cover from any possible intruders. In fact, it was entirely possible that the entire Covenant force could march right pass them and never see the humans concealed within. These attributes outweighed its dangerous location. He marked the spot mentally and scrambled back up the hill.
      "Well?" Kennedy asked.
      "I found a spot," he said. He stuck his M6D into his waistband. And walked over to Connors. He picked up the tall, unconscious man and carried him over each shoulder. "You go ahead, and I'll tell you where to go," he said.
      Kennedy pushed himself up and grabbed his Jackhammer launcher. He sauntered wearily over the hill, his eyes wide in the moonlit dark as he descended down the opposite slope. "Be careful!" Batonne called. "There's a slide and then a drop. Wait right there, and I'll show you how to get down."
      Batonne advanced and stopped beside Dirk, panting. "There," he said, sparing an arm to point the place out. "See it? It's that cave under the slide, just below us and a little to your left."
      "I see it," Dirk said warily.
      "All right. Since I've got Connors, you'll have to go down first. I'll hold your Jackhammer launcher and give it to you once you get down. To the right of the mouth of the cave is a little gravelly path that cuts off right about where the cave is. There's a seven-foot jump from where the path stops to the little ledge at the edge of the cave. Do you think you can make the jump, sir?"
      "I should be able to," Kennedy said.
      "Good. After you get down, you can take the supplies in after you as I hand them down. Connors will be tricky, but we'll figure that out later. Ready to go?" Batonne asked, his legs trembling slightly from the combination of Connor's weight and fatigue.
      Kennedy started off without answering, his steps slow and wary of how easy it would be to slip and fall to his death. He soon was so inclined that he was almost sliding down the path on his back, holding only to the occasional root for support. Then he reached the end of the path as Batonne had identified it, seven feet above the foot-long ledge at the cave's mouth. His heart began to thump, and his legs shake more out of fear than weariness. He had always hated heights…
      He heaved himself off the path, landing at a bad angle on the ledge and slipping. He fell heavily but managed to hold on. He looked down and saw his right leg dangling over space. He pulled himself up quickly and rolled inwards. "I made it, Batonne! Send down the supplies!"
      "All right!" Gravel skidded over the slope and fell into the oblivion below. Kennedy inched forward on his knees, and saw Batonne at the end of the path, bracing himself between it and the cave mouth's wall. The Jackhammer launcher was in the crook of his arm. "Take it," he said.
      Dirk took it firmly in his hands and pulled it below, setting it aside carefully. He then took Batonne and Connor's packs and put them by his Jackhammer launcher. His own had been shot off his back by a stray plasma shot, blowing its contents into oblivion while just narrowly missing his spine.
      Batonne went off to get Connors, then, with a worried look on his face, inched down towards the cave. "Corporal, there's a cord in my pack. Tie it to something and then hand it up here so I can secure it around Connors. That way, if he slips down we can still pull him up."
      Kennedy rummaged through one of the packs, pushing aside other supplies, and removed a lightweight padded cord with a metallic core. He made a quick and tight bowline knot around a stalagmite, then snaked the cord up to Batonne, who took it in between his index and middle fingers and fastened it about Connors' waist while keeping the unconscious Marine stable in between his upper arms. Kennedy reached up and Batonne hooked his foot into a root, pushing Connors' body down. They slowly transferred the weight, inch by inch, so neither of them slipped. Finally Dirk had Connors with a hand under each arm, and walked carefully back as Batonne let go and jumped in after him.
They lay Connors down and untied him next to the cave wall, taking a blanket out of his pack and placing it over him. They removed his helmet and placed his pack under his head as a pillow. "Should we risk a fire?" Batonne asked as soon as they were done with Connors as he set up his own sleeping place.
      "No," he said simply. Kennedy removed his helmet and placed the grenades and his extra M6D clip inside, using it as a bowl. He had no blanket or pillow, but he would make do. A Marine's uniform didn't do a fabulous job of keeping its wearer warm, but it was good enough for one night if it didn't get too cold. If push came to shove he and Batonne could split the blanket.
      "I'll take the first watch," Batonne volunteered graciously, moving forward with his M6D. "Take my blanket. I won't be needing it for awhile," he said, tossing the blanket at him. Kennedy pulled it over him and barely had time to appreciate his subordinate's sympathy for his weariness before he fell asleep.

Last of the Walking Dead - Part Two: Arrival
Date: 15 August 2003, 12:51 AM

      For the umpteenth time Batonne scanned the surrounding terrain with the zoom feature on his targeting reticule, the makeshift sniping tool he had found in his pistol held at the ready. All was quiet and calm on the hills as the soft drumming of drizzling rain tapped the rocky ground, glistening in the silver moonlight.
      It was an unusual thing, rain. It never rained within the environment domes on Earth's moon, and his enclosed hometown of New Little Rock was no exception. He had never seen rain in his life until basic training, and since he had regarded it with an unusual curiosity.
      A shrub shuddered beneath a low-limbed tree. A quick inspection through his sights revealed no threatening presence, and that the movement was most likely caused by rain spilling from a large leaf of the tree above where it had collected. His teeth chattered slightly with cold as a wind blew past, slashing through the light precipitation. It was a cold night.
      Oh, how he wished for a fire. He was tempted to light a cigarette more than once, but understood that they needed to keep a low profile, no matter how unlikely a Covenant presence would be at this hour. He looked wistfully at the pack in his front pocket and sighed. He put his eyes back on watch.
      Major de Vires wasn't one to run away, nor would FLEETCOM be likely to pull an entire battalion out of action before they had even been engaged by the enemy. Though, it was entirely possible that with the chain reaction of losses that had started with regimental headquarters at the 4th Battalion's Alpha Base and gone finally to the Walking Dead at Delta Base, the Gorgon and the surrounding fleet could have seen fit to get what they saw as the last survivors on the planet the hell out of there.
      Or they could have been destroyed.
      He shook his head. It was all to confusing to think about now when he was so tired that it was a struggle to stay awake. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. He couldn't fall asleep... he was on watch. He clamped down hard onto his lower lip until blood flowed. He had to stay awake.
      He remembered camping with his brother in the woods created by transplanted trees and soil outside New Little Rock. The smell of pine and smoke from the shimmering campfire drifting through the air, the ever-present stars glowering down on them through the transparent shell of the environment dome and his brother laughing as they told each other stories were the memories that came to his mind. Those were good times, when the Covenant seemed so far away.
      His brother had been killed in action only last year at a place Batonne had never even heard of. The ship he was being transported on was ambushed by a fleet of pirates, boarded, and captured. All the crew and Marines onboard had either died in battle or were captured and executed. A bad ending to a volunteer assignment.
      Pirates were not only hard to track down but the least of the UNSC's problems at the moment. With any luck the bastards would run into a Covenant cruiser and get blown out of the sky, saving the UNSC a lot of trouble. Batonne had no sympathy for them if they did.
      He checked his watch. A few more minutes until it would be the Corporal's watch, and then he could get some shuteye... that would be nice. He yawned, tasting the blood flow forth from his lip. Sleep would be very nice, and if tomorrow was going to be anything like today had been, he would need every last moment of it.
      He tapped the Corporal on the shoulder. The nineteen-year-old noncom woke with a start and his hand went to his gun as he snapped to alertness. "Whoa, Corporal," Batonne said softly, as if speaking to an excited animal. "It's me."
      "Let me guess," Dirk said. "My watch?"
      "Yeah."
      Dirk pulled himself to his feet and waddled over to the stalagmite Batonne had leaned against and rested the butt of his pistol on its peak. He strapped his emptied helmet to his head and activated the targeting reticule. Batonne watched the process for a few moments, then turned away and pulled the blanket around him tighter. He was about to close his eyes when he felt that something was awry. Knowing what it was, his hand snaked down to his gun, and he flicked off the safety.
      Now he could sleep.

Connors awoke but did not dare open his eyes. He did not know where he was, nor did he know what had happened to him. Had he been captured? Was he alone? Where was he? He sniffed the air lightly, taking in the musty smell of the place and thinking. What had happened? They were under attack from Covenant forces... Delta Base had been lost. They had blasted their way through the Covenant lines... and been attacked by Banshees en route to Echo Base. Something hit them... and it all went dark. He opened his eyes, and saw the light.
      He was in a cave. Everything was blurry. Light flooded the entrance, blinding him. He sat up and shielded his eyes with his hand, not liking the light. A figure detached itself from the cave wall and sneaked over to him. Connors scooted back, feeling for his gun and finding it wasn't there. Frantically, he raised a fist and prepared to fight.
      "Hey, Corporal," the figure whispered. "Connors is awake."
      Corporal? Connors lowered his fist slightly and narrowed his eyes, wondering what was going on. He blinked, shook his head clear of the grogginess and everything came into focus. Batonne was squatting before him, an M6D in his hand. Lance Corporal Kennedy lay prone at the cave entrance, his Jackhammer launcher tracking something in the sky. He held a finger up to his lips and nodded to Connors.
      "We were wondering when you were going to wake up," Batonne explained. He pointed towards the cave entrance, which seemed to open out into the sky. "Banshees outside, scanning the area before their ground forces advance. Covenant troops are coming soon, so once the Banshee hightails it back to their base camp we're gonna move out. Understand?" he asked quietly.
      Connors nodded, snaking out of under his blanket. He searched himself for a weapon and withdrew the plasma pistol Kennedy had given him from his waistband. He held the unsightly thing tightly in his hand, not liking the unnatural feel. But, he thought, it was this or nothing. And he wanted to kill as many Covenant as possible...
      "He's gone," Kennedy said. "We need to get moving."
      Connors began to inch forward to the cave's mouth, but Batonne put a hand on his shoulder. "Stop, man," he said, peering over across Kennedy, past the entrance to the cave. "The view's a little different out of there. Let us go first, and we'll get you out one step at a time."
      Connors cocked his head at him. "What do you mean?"
      "You'll see," he said, slung on his pack and waddled over to the mouth of the cave. With a rope in his hand, he swung it up like a lasso and brought it down again once it was hooked around whatever he had been aiming at. He tied it around his waist, while Kennedy held the other end of the rope. Batonne grabbed the cave wall and pushed himself up, casting a look downwards as he scrambled up out of sight.
      "Connors, come here," Dirk said. "Slow... be real slow."
      Batonne tossed the rope back down, and Dirk waited for Connors, holding both ends of the cord limply in his grasp. He spat over the edge of the cave's mouth and licked his dry lips, his face bearing the look of a man tired and weary and irritable. He shifted his Jackhammer launcher, which was slung over his back by another length of the same rope he held.
      Connors stopped beside him, took one look past him and his jaw dropped in amazement and fright. "Holy shit!" he said, his eyes wide. He took a step back, mumbled a quick prayer and crossed himself. The young Marine inched forward and peered downwards, gaping once more at the depthless mist. "How far down is it?" he asked warily.
      "As far as I can see it's about two hundred feet," Kennedy said, pulling the cord taught in his grasp and wrapping it around his hands in a crystal-clear gesture of his mounting impatience.
      Connors shook his head and sighed. "How do I get up?"
      "Watch," Kennedy said. He repeated the process Batonne had done, looping the cord around the root Batonne had hooked his foot into, bringing the rope down and tying a bowline around his waist. He handed the loose end to Connors. "Hold it tight."
      He supported his weight in between the ledge and the cave, and pulled himself stiffly up to the path they had traveled down last night. He made it a safe distance from the edge, untied himself, and tossed his end of the rope down to Connors. "Got it?" he asked.
      "Got it," Connors confirmed.
      He worked as quickly as possible with the rope, but he lacked the skill that Batonne and Kennedy possessed. It took him awhile, but in a few minutes time he had the rope secured around the root and his waist, and he pushed off the ledge. He grabbed the root with one and with the other took grip of an indent above the cave's mouth and began to pull himself up, aware that his legs were hanging over space and not liking it. He soon joined the other two Marines, and handed Batonne his rope back.
      "Let's move out," the Lance Corporal said.
      They were going to have to circle around the hillside... but with any luck Echo Base would be over the next one, and that wasn't too far away. A few hours, at most, which fit in with their timeframe estimate of a fifteen-hour journey, not including last night's stop.
      They kept low, taking cover in the underbrush and staying off the skyline. Every once in awhile they would stop, having heard the buzzing wail of a Banshee, then go on once they were assured the craft had left. Ground forces were certain to be on their way, so they traveled in long, careful strides and covered ground quickly.
      They stopped just before noon and broke out the rations. Kennedy, boots unlaced and helmet set beside him, took a swig from his canteen and munched on half of a tasteless nutrient bar, chewing slowly the tough and stringy synthetic fiber that the UNSC produced in mass proportions for its ground troops. It was disgusting the first time he had tasted it, but he had gotten used to it over time and now consumed it without thought on the subject.
      Batonne took a cigarette from his pack, removed the safety strip and placed it in his lips. He tapped the end with his tongue and it ignited, the taunting scent of the smoke drifting through the air around them. Batonne took the smoke in two fingers and exhaled in two, fine bursts from his nostrils. He passed the cigarette to Connors, who finished it off silently. Supplies might have to last awhile, so they all shared.
      Afterwards, Connors, with the other half of Kennedy's nutrient bar, ate it quickly so he wouldn't have to taste it too long. He guzzled some of his own water from his airtight canteen, giving no expression as the stale liquid cascaded down his throat. "I wouldn't mind some coffee right now," he said after he was done, screwing the cap back onto his canteen and replacing it on his belt. "This stuff must have been in here for days."
"If Echo Base is still up there, there'll be plenty of coffee and just about everything else you could want, and that means cigarettes, ammo, guns and explosives," Kennedy said, concentrating on lacing his boots back up. He sat back up, picked up his helmet and rocket launcher, and tossed the remainder of his nutrient bar into the shrubbery. "Lock and load. Fall out!"
      They moved on, scaling the next hill in a zigzag pattern to lessen the strain on their legs. It was much easier on Kennedy and Batonne's sore muscles not to have one hundred and sixty extra pounds on their backs, along with all the gear they already had to carry.
      Connors, the most rested, took point while the other two fell behind. He went carefully ahead, scouting out the terrain before them and always keeping a bit of distance between him, Batonne and Kennedy but making sure not to leave them in the dust. He flushed a few indigenous creatures from their hiding places, but once he realized they were not Covenant he paid them no heed.
      He remembered recruiting posters back on Earth. "Live the Adventure. Join the Marines." Of course, just like any cocky high school student, he grabbed the first chance to enlist and hopped on a transport to Reach without waiting to be drafted. Screw the pacifists and screw the cowards wetting their pants with the very thought of fighting the Covenant. He was going to get in the war, and nobody was going to stop him.
      Before he left for basic he stopped by his school on Monday morning and walked right in, mocking the teachers and defacing the jocks in front of their girlfriends. "Yeah, that's right, I joined up. I'm going off to fight Covenant while you ladies stay home and play with your balls," he had said, grinning at the football players while they gaped stupidly at him and the cheerleaders giggled. Security chased him off the premises then, and he drove away shouting, "See you in hell, Powell Senior High!"
      He soon lost his conceited attitude and learned to do his duty in the cool, calm and methodical manner that was exhibited by the most experienced Marines out in the field. With that came a sort of quiet demeanor. He was committed to this war with all of his being, and was convinced that it was the will of God that they should emerge victorious. He fought when it was time to fight, and when it was time to rest he relaxed, keeping an eye out for trouble.
      He was nearing the height of the slope when he paused. Only about one hundred feet to go, and if Batonne was right about the location, he would have a clear line of sight to Echo Base once he reached the top. He pushed himself forward unrelentingly, breathing heavy from the height and the climb, his pack hanging by a single strap from one shoulder like a bag at his side. His plasma pistol was in his hand. He was ready for whatever was on the other side of that hill...
      Connors parted the leaves of the plants and stepped around and over the shrubbery before him as he walked the last leg of the climb, stopping slightly below the skyline on the other side and going to a squatting position. He zoomed in on the targeting reticule hanging from his helmet and guided the sights along until he reached the flattened peak of what, compared to the magnificent hills surrounding, was a mound down below. There, built upon the wide and slowly rising mound, was the expanse of Echo Base.
      He tried to make out the details. The walls were composed of one and a half meters of Grade A titanium, with what looked like automated chaingun turrets along them. From the walls stretched an expanse of pathways and a parade ground, with the flag of the UNSC raised and fluttering in the breeze. Several gunmetal-colored structures among which were the armory, the mess hall and the JOC cluttered the inner area of the base, the latter being the tallest and sporting its own regimental flag—that of the 9th Marines. Connors was happy to see that everything seemed to be in perfect order, but there was something awry about the whole scene...
      Nothing was moving.
      He double-checked the whole scene in one large sweep, and confirmed for himself that there were no living movements within the base. So, it was as they had feared... they were indeed alone. He sighed, zoomed out and snaked stealthily back several yards in the direction he had come, waiting for the other two to arrive and see what had happened. They had been abandoned, condemned to death unknowingly by their own forces.
      Within five minutes Batonne and the Lance Corporal had hiked up the path, and stood beside the kneeling Marine as he fiddled in the dirt with a stick. He stood up and crushed the twig beneath his foot and kicked out the childish patterns in the ground. "Corporal, Echo Base is still down there but no one's home," he said. "I saw it myself."
      Kennedy nodded solemnly and peered through his sights down the valley, seeing what there was to see below. A few seconds later he gave a second nod that confirmed what Connors had just said. "He's right, there's no one down there that we can see. From what I can see there isn't any movement inside the buildings, either. But we still have to keep going. Maybe if we're lucky there'll be a few Marines down there, out of sight."
      "All right, sir," Batonne said hollowly. They all knew those chances were slim.
      "Let's keep moving," Dirk said, and they started down the hill.
      By now his entire body was stiff and sore. Basic hadn't ever been this strenuous and demanding of his body, nor had any experience he had ever had been this demanding of his mental ability to deal with the hand he was dealt. Now, the minute difference in rank between he and his comrades had placed him in a role of life-and-death leadership unlike any other he had ever had in battle or otherwise. It was his duty to lead this men back home... or die trying.
      The automated turrets tracked them carefully up to the base but didn't shoot. Their programs were specifically designed to fire only at Covenant species and equipment—or rather, the shapes of them. It was the way in that would be their problem... the base was certainly locked up, and one and a half meters of Grade A titanium wasn't going to be easy to blast through.
      Kennedy shifted the Jackhammer launcher on his back as he approached the gargantuan walls and peered up at them. The sun glinted off of the titanium shielding, making him narrow his eyes as he worked through the problem. They couldn't blast through, and he didn't know if a Lance Corporal's security clearance would gain them entrance with no one to open the door for them. Though, they would have to try.
      He walked over to a control box, and as Batonne and Connors waited behind, took one of his dog tags and inserted it into the slot below the box's screen. The screen went blank for a few moments, then two words scrolled across it: "Clearance rejected."
      Kennedy swore, and Batonne tapped him on the shoulder. "Try this," he said, handing him a slightly blackened dog tag with the other hand. He examined it closely, eyeing the burns and deciding whether they were adequate to destroy the dog tag's clearance chip. The dog tag seemed to be in good enough shape, and he turned it over. "Lieutenant Timothy M. Caldwell," he read aloud, recognizing the name of their platoon commander. "Serial number seven-two-six-four-five-three-nine."
      "I've got a few more if that one doesn't work," Batonne said. Connors faced the other way, watching their six silently through handsome gray eyes that had seen more blood than any Marine rookie could ever hope too and lost their laughing gaiety long, long ago.
      "No, the Lieutenant's should work fine," Kennedy said and shoved the dog tag into the slot, anxious to get out of the clear.
      "Clearance accepted."
      The doors split open and they rushed in, weapons held ready. A sweep of the grounds before them revealed no enemy in sight, but that meant nothing other than they would have to be doubly careful in their exploration of the base. Kennedy sent Batonne and Connors to explore the side to the right, while he took the left. Alone.
      There was a large hangar nearby him and the entrance; UNSC engineers had kept in mind vehicles badly needed wouldn't want to cross the entire base to be deployed into battle. The walls were cool and sleek, and the solidity of the floor felt good beneath his worn-out feet and aching ankles. Three warthogs were parked in a row on the left end. Two bore standard, massive 50mm chainguns, but the third boasted a rack of Argent V missiles... he recognized the symbolic mark of superiority in them. The Argent V's had been made popular by some drill sergeant on Reach, and now most high-ranking ground officers had them. The insignia of a major painted on the hood confirmed his suspicions—this was Major de Vires' personal vehicle.
      Where there should have been two Longsword fighters there was nothing. That sight discouraged him, because if the communications system didn't work or if the Gorgon and surrounding fleet had already retreated away from the planet, they could have had a chance to get out on their own and possibly slip past the Covenant fleet to safety. Now they would just have to hope that the Gorgon hadn't pulled out on them and was still up there, somewhere, playing keep-away from the Covenant.
      He proceeded to the back of the hangar, and looked over his shoulder at the descending sun. The pink sphere cast rays out from its mass like long, wiry tentacles, tickling his back with their heat. He pushed the Lieutenant's dog tag through the slot at the door and went through.
      There was a hallway about ten meters wide and several fathoms long. He proceeded down it slowly, wary of the intersection with another corridor and keeping his Jackhammer launcher at the ready. When he got to the intersection he made a sweep of both hallways and found them empty. He turned to the left and walked towards a door marked "armory".
      Again using the lieutenant's dog tag to unlock the door he began to examine the shelves of the armory. To one side were crates of ammunition. According to the labels, they included Jackhammer rockets, .390 clips for MA5B Assault Riffles and their variants, twelve-round .450 Magnum magazines for M6D pistols and 8 gauge shotgun shells for M90s. On the wall parallel to the door were ten boxes of fragmentation grenades and two Jackhammer launchers on a single shelf, and above those were fifteen M90 shotguns. On the final wall were twenty M6D pistols, fifteen MA5Bs, two MA2B carbines, and four SRS99C-S2 AM sniper rifles, commonly called S2 AMs. He placed his Jackhammer launcher against the wall and began to collect weapons.
He discarded his M6D pistol in favor of an M90 shotgun, and took two handfuls of shells and placed them in an ammunition bandoleer lying on top of the ammo crate. He swung the bandoleer across his back where the Jackhammer would have been, and with the shotgun in the crook of his arm he grabbed an S2 AM. He had never been a sniper within his squad, though Corporal Kieran, his squad leader, had often pressured him to take up sniper training. But he stuck to his guns, specifically the MA5B—the Jackhammer wasn't his normal weapon—offering only the fact that he didn't like to stay behind with an S2 AM while his friends jumped into the fight and raised hell as an explanation for his reluctance. But, that didn't mean that sniping hadn't appealed to him...
      He kicked his old Jackhammer through the threshold, closed the door and locked up the armory. With the S2 AM's sling slung around his neck and shoulder and the rifle hanging by his right hip he raised the already loaded the shotgun and advanced, ready to explore the rest of the area.

Last of the Walking Dead - Part Three: Fire
Date: 25 August 2003, 10:16 PM

      Connors and Batonne tried to get into the first door they came to, but it was locked and Batonne had only grabbed one of Lieutenant Caldwell's dog tags, as per regulation. They weren't going to get in that way short of blasting their way in, and they had nowhere near the amount of firepower that they needed to do that. They kept moving.
      They had more luck with the next entrance. It was the door to the mess hall, a building of about fifty meters by seventy meters long and lined with long rows of metallic tables and benches and with three rails intended to lead lines into the serving places at the front of the kitchens. It was very similar to the mess hall at Delta Base, having been designed by the same engineers. Nothing special, but it was enough to get them inside. Batonne covered the ground in quick, long strides and only when he was at the hallway leading to the inside of the base did he notice Connors had fallen behind.
      "Connors, where are you?" he shouted irritably—and slightly worried.
      A few seconds later, he heard Connors' voice answered him. "Over here, man!"
      Batonne marched towards the voice, his hand resting cautiously on the butt of his M6D. He found himself traveling down one of the intended service lines, and sure enough, there at the end, was Connors, climbing over the counter and into the kitchen. "Connors, what the hell are you doing?" Batonne inquired.
      From the other side of the rail, Connors answered matter-of-factly, "Seeing what's on the lunch menu." He ducked out of sight as he went back to the kitchens, then resurfaced moments later carrying four sandwiches, individually wrapped. "Tuna, salami, ham and turkey," he said quickly. "According to the Marine Corps, 'real food'."
      "Better than the nutrient bars they pack into field rations," Batonne said, grabbing a sandwich, unwrapping it, and shoving it into his mouth. Connors followed suit.       Moments later, when they finished, they started again, Connors with two sandwiches shoved into his pack for the Lance Corporal and the plasma pistol he was carrying once more clutched tightly in his fist.
      They met up with the Lance Corporal a few minutes later, and nearly shot each other. When Batonne spotted him he went flat against the wall and palmed his pistol, and Connors dove to the side and sent a ball of plasma whizzing over Kennedy's head. Kennedy, with his M90 in one hand, almost blew Connors' face into oblivion, and the only thing that stopped him was Batonne yelling out. It all happened in less than a second.
      They stood there for a few moments, none of them daring to breathe. Batonne exchanged glances with Dirk, wondering whether to apologize or not. The Lance Corporal lowered his shotgun, but made no other move. Connors broke the silence when he reached into his pack, pulled out a sandwich, and tossed it over to Dirk. "Here, Corporal," he said. "Tuna fish."
      Dirk caught it awkwardly in between his palm and wrist, his hands full with weaponry. He stared at the tuna sandwich, then looked to Connors and then to Batonne, whose face broke into a grin. "That was close, Corporal."
      "It was," Kennedy agreed.
      "What's with the guns?"
      Dirk looked down at the shotgun in his hand and past the sandwich in his left to the sniper rifle and his bandoleer of ammunition, which had already contained sniper magazines and was now stuffed with shotgun shells. "I found a little cache back along that way," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction that he had come as he unwrapped the tuna sandwich and took a bite. "Come on, I'll show you."
      After a few backtracking paces they came to the armory. Kennedy, glad that they had a way to gain access to the facilities of the locked-down base, used Caldwell's dog tag once more and revealed the treasure within. Connors rushed into the place quickly, dropping his plasma pistol as he went, while Batonne looked like a child on Christmas morning.
      Connors chose an MA2B carbine, with four ringlets of extended clips of ammo. He slid them up his legs and tightened the straps. He also picked up twelve fragmentation grenades, which he clipped all along the empty spaces in his belt. Finally he grabbed a standard-issue lockbreaker—which he had discovered behind one of the ammo crates—need he get into a room if he was separated from Kennedy and Caldwell's dog tag, on which they had come to rely.
      Batonne took an ammunition belt for an MA5B and girded it about his waist. He grabbed an assault rifle and only two grenades, which he managed to clip on the ammo belt. His M6D he kept, and four clips for that, which he shoved into his bootleg—next to a twenty-centimeter combat knife with one serrated edge. After tossing it up and down he saw that it was balanced for easy throwing, and its non-reflective surface looked like it was made of titanium carbide. No pocketknife, it would come in handy.
      "Hey, Corporal! Check this out!" Connors hollered, digging through a smaller crate that had been before concealed by its larger counterparts. He stopped rummaging through its contents a few moments later, and a strange glint came into his eye. He picked up what looked like a large bullet with a handle, and showed it to Kennedy.
      "Damn, is that what I think it is?"
      "Uh-huh," Connors said. "A thirty-megaton HAVOK tactical nuke."
      Two years ago Kennedy would have told Connors to put that thing down—slowly and carefully. Now he only looked at the nuke as a friend in combat, one of the best kill-Covenant-quick tools the UNSC had to offer. Basic training had taught him that, not only would the thirty-megaton nuclear warhead be one of the best presents to leave behind on a captured planet, but you could also fire a bullet straight into the thing and the chances were less than a million to one that it would go off. He held out his hands. "Pass it over, already."
      Looking the HAVOK nuke over, he decided he the thing looked oddly beautiful. On the handle were three buttons: a green one, to start the five-minute countdown, a blue one which started a separate, five-second countdown, and the third, a red one, which would stop either, but if used to stop the five-minute countdown it had to be pressed before the timer reached the halfway-point. Also there was a slide that had to be pushed down and to the side before any of the buttons would move, acting as a safety. Marines had been known to use all four.
      "How are we gonna carry this thing?" Batonne asked.
      Connors tossed a black satchel quite accidentally at the Marine's face. Batonne reached up blindly and pulled the thing off of his nose as if it was a wet dishrag, then threw Connors an irritated look over his shoulder. He handed the satchel to Kennedy, who placed the nuke at the bottom and handed it back to Batonne, who proceeded to sling it across his shoulders. "Let's keep exploring."
      Down the corridor, a few moments later: "Where do you suppose the JOC is?"
      "It's usually in the center of a base. From where I came in..." Kennedy said, mentally tracing back his steps, "it looked like the center was to my right. Turn here." They came to an abrupt intersection and took the pathway leading to the magnetic northwest.
      They passed the large chambers of the hospital, and through tinted windows glimpsed rows of beds lined against the walls, with IV racks next to each one and another, inner room whose door read "surgery". The lack of movement and usual bustle found in a hospital was eerie, and compelled them to move on.
      A few meters ahead and across the hallway was a briefing room, with a holographic map projector at the front. Bolted-down, reclining and non-padded seats were set facing towards the front. They could just imagine a roomful of platoon and company commanders seated there, listening intently to the instructions and taking notes as Major Foreman and his XO explained the details of the exercise. Normally before a mission cigars would be dealt to the officers present, but the box where they would usually reside, at the far right corner, was absent. They moved on.
      The hallway opened into a larger corridor, and at the end was a large, full-frame door marked "Joint Operations Center". They ran towards it, weapons clinking against their standard-issue armor. Kennedy, whose long legs marked him the tallest, was in the lead and with a slash of the Lieutenant's dog tag through the security panel they were in.
      It was a whole new world, a high-tech super-station of map display panels, radar screens, communication stations and at the center, facing a large, deactivated holoprojector map screen, was the command chair, where all the orders came from. It felt almost like being on the bridge of a ship but for one thing:
      No one was there.
      Kennedy began to issue orders. Pointing to the main communications center, he said, "Batonne, see if you can raise the Gorgon or any other of the ships in Admiral Ikaru's fleet. Connors, man the radar station and see if you can locate the main body of the Covenant force."
      "Sir!" they said simultaneously and obeyed.
      Kennedy walked over to the map projector and hovered over the command chair, reluctant to seat himself in Major de Vires' personal seat of authority. Finally he decided to go past it, and bent over the controls of the holoprojector while unslinging his S2 AM and leaning it against the command chair. After a few moments he managed to get a large, revolving red globe to appear over the holoprojector. Little numbers and lines streaked across it, marking latitude and longitude. Dirk was glad to see that there were holographic representations of UNSC ships orbiting the globe, signaling that their friends were still up there. There was still a way out.
      He eyed warily the Covenant battlegroups engaged with Admiral Ikaru's fleet, and hit a button that read "Top". The globe became a topographical map but that still wasn't what he wanted. He hit the same button once more. A more thorough search of the controls revealed a button that was marked "Zoom". He hit it multiple times, and eventually he saw their current location. He studied it carefully, then turned to Connors. "Well? What have you got?"
      Connors face was hard and humorless as usual, but now it was more gaunt. He tapped a few keys and the radar screen popped up beside the map on a different holoprojector. "Covenant just on the next rise. If this radar's right, we should be hearing Banshees soon."
      Batonne's fingers, experienced with military computers and communication signals, danced over the keyboard. He cast a glance every few moments over his shoulder and examined the Lance Corporal's work as he entered a text message onto his own screen, relaying their location and status to the Gorgon, Admiral Ikaru's flagship. With the tapping of a few more keys he sent the message, then turned around and grabbed his MA5B.
      "Batonne, get that nuke ready."

Admiral Ikaru stood rooted to his spot at the center of the bridge, his hands clasped so firmly behind his back that his knuckles were white. A slight tremor was sent up his body via his legs as several formations of Archer missiles exploded from their pods and collided with the pursuing Covenant spacecraft. Shields flickered on the ships, but no Archer missiles made it through to anything that mattered. Out of the corner of his eye he vaguely noted the dozen Covenant dropships that were sinking into the atmosphere of the planet below and burning up in the process.
      He spat a string of curses in a rainbow of languages that began with Japanese, then went to Italian, Portuguese and finally English. "Godammit! Get those MAC rounds in their tubes!"
      "Yes sir!" the weapons officer yelled hoarsely.
      Admiral Ikaru bit his lower lip and swore viciously to himself. Thirty-six hours of straight combat and the Covenant were still content to toy with them, watch them wither and die slowly as their cruisers cut down his fleet, one ship at a time. He knew, eventually, if they didn't get the navigation systems on the Gorgon repaired, he would be next. He considered a few times making a completely blind slipstream jump, but shot down the idea every time it arose. It was all to probable that they would come out of slipstream space in the middle of some gas giant or even on the other side of the galaxy, where who-knows-what could be lurking. Possibly something worse than the Covenant.
      And, at any current rate, he already had his hands full with one enemy.
      "Admiral!"
      The summons came from his communication's officer, Lieutenant Emerson. The young man with black hair and green eyes approached him at the double-quick, looking handsome in his pressed uniform. A fine, energetic officer, he showed no sign of weariness despite the fact that he had been on duty for the past one-and-a-half days just the same as most of them. He held a freshly printed document out to the Admiral. "Sir, it just came in from I think you should see this."
      Admiral Ikaru read aloud:

      "Urgent. Lance Corporal Kennedy and Privates Batonne and Connors, 1st Battalion, 9th Marines, UNSC, grounded at Echo Base. See coordinates at top of page. Overwhelming Covenant forces approaching and already within immediate area. Requesting immediate evacuation."

      "Sir, what should we do?" Lieutenant Emerson asked.
      Admiral Ikaru handed back the stunning communication. "Lieutenant, what are the chances that this is a trap?"
      "Unlikely, sir. This came straight from Echo Base's central communication station," Emerson said quickly, furrowing his brows. "It's even more unlikely any Covenant with the language skills to send a message like this would be out in the field—they'd be to valuable for the Covenant to send into battle."
      "Can we risk a Pelican?"
      "Yes, sir, I think we can."
      "Then get them the hell out of there!"

By the time the Pelican left the Gorgon's docking bay, a message telling the Marines to sit tight, that their ride would be there in fifteen minutes, had been sitting, unread at the computer terminal for several seconds. Outside of the JOC, three Leathernecks thundered down the corridor, weapons at the ready.
      "What are we going to do, sir?" Connors asked.
      "Hold them off until our ride gets here," Kennedy asked, cocking his S2 AM and testing out the scope. Finding everything in working order, he slung the sniper rifle back over his shoulders and worked the pump on the shotgun.
      "And if there isn't a ride?" Batonne asked.
      "Then we hold them off as long as we can."
      They broke out into the open air and Kennedy lead them up the walls, covering the ground in long strides. They slowed down to a slow, snakelike crawl without missing a beat, and separated to different points in the walls to assume defensive positions beside the turrets. Kennedy pulled up at the easternmost point in the wall where he could hear the sounds of the swiveling automated turrets as they began to track the Covenant forms streaming across the hills, and opened fire in a large, thunderous barrage as Banshees screamed across the rise.
      He set down his shotgun and laid his sniper across the wall, setting his sights on a squad of Grunts as they waddled over the rough terrain. Waiting until the two point-leads lined up one-behind-the-other, he squeezed off a shot that dropped the both and brought a look of surprise on the other's faces as the rest of their squadmates were cut down. He tossed the used clip over the side and quickly slipped another in, cursing as the automated turrets spewed burning-hot spent shell casings onto him.
      A Banshee dropped a well-aimed ball of plasma onto the barrel of the turret down the line from him, dropping it from its socket and sending it tumbling down. A Jackal, running foolishly ahead of his squad, was crushed beneath it. Another turret, it's shredder rounds ripping through the aircraft's underbelly, brought down the Banshee on top of a quartet of Grunts attempting to set up a stationary Shade gun turret.
      Another quick four shots mowed down the last three Grunts of the squad he had victimized. He took the last shot on a Grunt who was trying to squirm out from beneath the weight of the Banshee, his lower body crushed by the aircraft. Kennedy's shot knocked him loose and killed him at the same time, making a fairly amusing scene as the creature tumbled down the hill.
      A few wild plasma shots whizzed too near his head for his comfort, signaling to him that it was time to haul ass to a new position. He slung the S2 AM across his shoulders once more, picked his M90 up in his right hand and ran down the line to where the empty turret socket was located. He grabbed two grenades off of his belt, pulled the pins and watched slowly as Covenant cannon fodder scurried up towards Echo Base. Only a few more moments...
      He released the levers on the fragmentation grenades and lobbed them over the side. One exploded in the air, showering the heads of unsuspecting Grunts in shrapnel. What was left over from the blast exploded soon thereafter as the second grenade detonated at their feet.
      It was time to get to get too a new position on the wall as soon as the Elites started shooting at him. He emptied his second-to-last sniper clip into one of the creatures just as his buddy opened fire with a plasma rifle, chipping away at the section of Grade A titanium wall before him. Kennedy lobbed another grenade and scurried away just as the wall was splattered in the Elite's guts.
      The turrets kept up a steady stream of fire, reloading in turns so that there was only one turret off at any one time, just as they were programmed. Batonne came down from the wall and, with heavy breath, asked for Caldwell's dog tag. Kennedy tossed it down and Batonne caught it running. The Canadian soon disappeared behind the hangar where the Warthogs were.
      Seconds later a Warthog came screaming out of the hangar, bridging the gap between the raised floor of the hangar and the ground and kicking up dirt as it landed. It bore the insignia of a major on the hood and a menacing rack of Argent V missiles where the 50mm LAAG chaingun should be. Batonne pulled up under the overhang of the MP hut, home of the prison cells and disciplinary records of Major de Vires' 2nd Battalion, and positioned the Argent Vs facing to the sky. The next Banshee who circled them would get a heat-seeking surprise on their tail.
      Batonne set the missiles on automated fire and climbed out of the warthog, MA5B in hand. He scurried over towards the wall and scaled the stairway quickly, then hopped into a stationary 30mm chaingun, the same as Martinez had manned. He slapped a chain of the heavy ammunition into the breech and hooked his finger around the trigger. He began to fire, and soon the gun was another chord in the humming symphony of fully-automatic fire.
      Connors was doing a fantastic job, laying a blanket of fire over the enemy. With the wall to aid him, he managed to keep up the defensive fire for several moments at a time, stopping only to reload, relocate, and reacquire new targets. A two-craft formation of Banshees made dive-bombing runs of the walls, grinding down the thinning Grade A titanium of the half-meter gates. The rack of Argent Vs spat its missiles at the two Banshees, twisting and twirling in unison with their evasive movements and then moving in for the kill. Both aircraft erupted into balls of flame.
      Despite all this, though, it was only a matter of time before the Covenant broke through. The gates, already missing a third of their original strength, would soon fall and the Covenant would storm in. Dirk brought down a Jackal as he turned his back to rally a cowardly squad of Grunts, then sent three of the same squad screaming about wildly, methane gas leaking from their environment suits as they slowly suffocated. He had no mercy for them—the bastards weren't anywhere near human.
      He replaced the magazine in his S2 AM with a new one and looked to Batonne. He was doing a good job of keeping up the fire in his line of sight with the 30mm chaingun, but he had a blind spot over to his left—just where there was an Elite standing, barking orders to four Grunts as they set a Shade gun in place, out of sight from Batonne and the automated turrets. The Elite hopped into the seat and swung up the barrel, putting Batonne in his sights.
      "Batonne! Get down, Godammit!"
      "Wha—?"
      The Shade gun whistled as it threw burning balls of plasmatic fire into Batonne, knocking him loose from the stationary chaingun. His body, burned almost beyond recognition, flew backwards out of the 30mm gun and fell three stories to the ground, where it hit with a thump and raised a small cloud of dust. It all happened in less than a second.
      "Shit!" Kennedy yelled. The Elite looked up at him with a grunt and swung the Shade gun around in his direction, sending superheated plasma flying over his head. Dirk felt the heat brush across the top of his helmet, making the two centimeters of hair on his head prickle. He snapped his rifle up and, without peering through the scope, slumped the Elite in his seat with three shots. The last shot in the clip blew the head off a Grunt trying to climb into the operator's seat of the turret, making his decapitated body spurt blood all over the Shade gun.
      "Batonne!" Dirk yelled, running down the stairway three steps at a time. He dropped his S2 AM indifferently on the bleak gray steps and tripped over his own feet running to the body whose cauterized wounds were crackling like greasy bacon in a frying pan. Kennedy crawled the rest of the way to his friend, hovering over the broken body and examining the wounds.
      He didn't have to take a second look to know the Canadian was dead. Kennedy swore heavily, then flipped the body over and removed the bag carrying the nuke. He examined the thirty-megaton HAVOK. Despite the heavy fall, it seemed undamaged. Dirk set it aside and took a look at the rest of Batonne's weapons.
      First he fished Caldwell's dog tag from Batonne's pocket. The bandoleer of .390 magazines in good shape; two of the clips were bent, having been beneath Batonne when he fell. Kennedy wasn't going to bother with removing any undamaged rounds from inside the magazines, so he tossed them over his shoulder. The M6D in Batonne's waistband was missing a chunk of the barrel, and Dirk also tossed that away. The clips in the bootleg weren't going to see much use, but he shoved them into his own boot for safekeeping and removed the twenty-centimeter knife and its clip holster. Still in perfect condition, he clipped that to his ammo bandoleer. Finally, he took Batonne—or what was left of him—over his shoulders in the same fashion he had carried Connors and propped him against the provost marshal's desk. The nuke he had carried he set in the body's lap.
      A Banshee, smarter than the rest of his attack squadron, bored into the gate with his plasma cannons, keeping them trained on the exact centerline of the failing Grade A titanium blast-resistant structure. An Argent V exploded from the rack and spiraled towards its target, but the resourceful pilot armed a plasma grenade and tossed out behind his craft. He zoomed away, and the Argent V missile collided with the falling grenade, which just happened to land right next to the inside of the gate.
      The explosion knocked Dirk on his rear as he rushed out of the MP hut. Smoke billowed from the crater in the ground and melted titanium dripped from the door-sized hole in the gate. Two ecstatic Grunts rushed callously through the hole and were dropped by a quick shot from Kennedy's shotgun that clipped both their heads the second their forms arose from the smoke. Connors sent a grenade over the side from his position at the top of the wall, then ran down the stairway firing blindly through the gap.
      "Fall back!" Kennedy yelled, dashing into the MP hut and grabbing the nuke off of Batonne's fried carcass. Connors leaped through the windows, crashing onto the ground and running to the door. He locked it tight and slid the bolt through, then pulled the provost marshal's desk away from Batonne's body and pushed it against the door. He gave his squadmate's lifeless form a passing glance, no expression on his face.
      They knelt side-by-side at the shattered window, firing their weapons from the shoulder. Grunts soon clogged the hole at the gate, a temporary fix that gave both remaining Marines time to reload. Kennedy's nimble fingers slipped eight shotgun shells into the M90, and Connors slapped another extended magazine into his MA2B carbine. The number "90" flashed onto the electronic ammo counter just as the clump of Grunt corpses were blown apart by the blast of a Hunter's fuel rod cannon. "Oh shit," Connors said, and Dirk cursed himself for leaving his Jackhammer launcher behind.
      The Hunter ripped through the severely weakened gate and lumbered onto the grounds of Echo Base. He rotated slowly, menacingly examining the area with his fuel rod cannon held at the ready. The big, ugly, one-creature artillery piece turned all the way around, exposing an orange spot on its back to the Marines in his search for a target. Recognizing the "sweet spot", both Connors and Kennedy fired at once. The Hunter swaggered for a moment, turned on one foot and fell to the ground. A tremor shot up the Marines' legs.
      Grunts clambered over the fallen giant in swarms and were mowed down by automatic fire and steel shot. Jackals, forming a phalanx of sorts, advanced through the hellhole with their shields covering the Jackal beside them. The creatures, having located the source of enemy fire, sent a steady stream of plasma their way.
      A furrow was carved through the top of Connors' helmet by one of the plasma balls. "Bastards!" he yelled, ripping the hot cover from his head. He threw it angrily at the Jackals, who continued to shoot and offered the greatest threat to the two Marines at the moment.
      "We've gotta take out those sons of bitches," Connors said, panting as he reloaded. He licked his dry lips, cocked his MA5B once more and raised it to his shoulder, drawing out a three-round burst across the Jackal's phalanx.
      "Don't I know it," Kennedy said. He looked behind him and pointed to a door leading to the inside of the base, adjacent to the empty detention cells. "Maybe I can flank them. Are you going to be all right here?"
      "Yes, mommy, I can stay here and behave like a good little boy," Connors said irritably. His sarcasm was punctuated by another three-round burst from his carbine, again deflected by the Jackal's energy shielding.

Last of the Walking Dead - Part Three: Fire (Continued)
Date: 25 August 2003, 11:17 PM

      Without another word he ran to the door, crouched down and pushed the Lieutenant's dog tag through the slot. It slid open, he snaked through and closed it behind him. Once he was sure that the are was clear of enemies he began to run as fast as his long, gallant strides would carry him. His shotgun was held tight in his hand.
      Dirk reached a turn and was about to take it when he heard several footsteps ahead and a flurry of inane chatter that signaled to him the presence of one or more Grunts. He began to breathe more slowly and calmly, trying only to inhale or exhale when the creature or creatures ahead did, so as to shadow his presence. He slowly peeked his head around the corner, only so much as to catch a glimpse of what was going on.
      Two Grunts, apparently separated from the main body in the midst of the battle, were waddling down the corridor, examining the walls and uniform building technique of UNSC engineers with a curios and childlike interest. One of them stopped for a moment, and sniffed the air. He nudged his squadmate and raised his plasma pistol, exchanging some words with the other Grunt that sounded like nothing more than pointless blabber to Dirk. He pulled his head back around the corner and smiled slightly to himself. Don't shower for two days, and your smell is hard to miss.
      He lunged across the head of the corridor, firing once and bringing down the less alert Grunt. The other one screamed with surprise, and began to throw a frenzy poorly-aimed shots in Kennedy's direction. The Marine fired into his central mass, and batted him over the head with the barrel of his shotgun before he had a chance to fall. Upon striking the floor, blue-green blood leaked from the carcass. The Lance Corporal stepped around the gooey liquid carefully, having already been bathed in the stuff and not wanting any more part of it.
      He policed up the Grunts' weapons and shoved one into his waistband and the other in-between his shirt and breastplate armor, need he reach them quickly if he ran out of ammo in the middle of a firefight. The Lance Corporal continued on through the unlocked door and stalked across the grounds of Echo Base, switching weapons to his S2 AM and his last clip for the rifle.
      Reminded of hunting in the Rocky Mountains with his cousins when he was young, Dirk chose a nice little spot outside the clerk's office. The raised office boasted a small stairway, which he rolled under. At prone position he leveled his rifle and began the hunt.
      An Elite roared a battle cry as it leveled its plasma rifle and cut across Connors' general direction with a plasma rifle, running expertly to the side as it did so. Using the double-tap technique, Kennedy tapped the trigger twice and brought the Elite down with two shots to where a human's temple would me.
      A Jackal bent over the Elite's body and greedily picked up his plasma rifle while the other Jackals covered him from Connors' fire. The only thing they weren't counting on was another Marine to the side, just waiting for a chance to slump them over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Kennedy pushed a bullet through the Jackal's head, and he fell in an unnatural position, his back contorted with pain.
      Dirk dropped the sniper and palmed both of the plasma pistols. He held down the triggers until the pistols were fully charged and let loose the supercharged blast, taking down the Jackals' shields. A quick succession of shots brought down the unprotected creatures, and the last one made the mistake of lowering his shield just enough for Connors to get a shot in.
      The bright, flying balls of plasma shooing from beneath the shadows of the stairway had revealed Dirk's position, and now fire was being concentrated on him. He scurried out of his hiding spot, and began firing the plasma pistols as soon as they recharged. A Banshee singled him out from the scurrying ground forms and sent him turning on a dime as he cut across the Marine's path with a blast of his plasma cannons.
      "Get out of my Goddamn way, you bastards!" he yelled, charging straight into the disorganized Covenant lines with his head bowed down like an angry bull. He was firing blindly, but he took down three Grunts who turned as they fell. He tackled another to the ground and unslung his shotgun as Connors covered his charge, and began beating the thing in the face with the M90.
      It screamed as its skull shattered, and Kennedy ripped the still-living thing's methane tank away from its face and shoved it into the bellowing mouth. Several moments later, the thing went limp, and Kennedy leaped to his feet. Dust clouded his vision, and he could barely make out the wall and the huge, galactic carcass of the fallen Hunter. When the dust cleared, they were alone. The Covenant had fallen back.
      The same Banshee that had before herded him into the mass of Covenant cannon fodder now chased him into the MP hut. He, like Connors, dived through the window and watched warily as the thing circled the parade ground, filling it with craters to show its might.
      Dirk noticed that Connors was wounded. A chunk of his right side was missing, and he was holding his entrails in with his hand. His left held his blood-soaked carbine, his finger tight around the trigger. He flashed one of his rare grins at Kennedy, and gave a slow chuckle. "We beat them back, Lance Corporal. We beat them."
      Suddenly, there was a whirl of engines and a thundering roar of cannons. Bullets tore into the Banshee as it seemed to hang limp in the sky, caught in fire from two directions. The metal that formed its hull screamed as 90mm rounds from a Pelican's HV cannon ripped away at it, then the thing fell and was impaled on the barrel of the last remaining automated turret as it fired into the sky.
      The 90mm gun swiveled towards the Covenant on the other side of the gate, tearing up the blood-soaked soil and mowing down the retreating enemy forms. The Pelican slowly lowered, but continued firing as the back ramp swung open and five ODSTs hopped out. Three assumed defensive positions on the wall, but the last one, a Sergeant, charged down the steps with a medic who held a medical bag in one hand and an M6D in the other.
      They jogged over to the MP hut, the Sergeant with an MA7B battle rifle slung over his shoulder. He grabbed Kennedy by the arm and bodily pulled him from the MP hut out onto the ground. The medic holstered his pistol and leaped over the wall, making quick work of sealing the bleeding Marine regular with biofoam and taping him up. He helped him over the side, and tried to take his carbine away from him, but Connors refused. "I'll keep this one, thanks. It'll make a nice souvenir."
      They scaled the ladder as quickly as possible, the Sergeant and the medic helping Connors in-between them. Kennedy stood aside as they piled Connors into the Pelican and laid him on a stretcher. "Aw, damn, don't let the nurses see me like this," he said, grinning again.
      "All right, buddy, hop in," the Sergeant said.
      "Wait!" Kennedy yelled, suddenly remembering. He charged past the Sergeant and stumbled down the steps of the stairway on weary legs, and climbed quickly through the broken window into the MP hut. He grabbed the nuke off of Batonne's lap, slung it around the dead man's neck, and took his body over his shoulders.
      The Sergeant watched with no expression as he made his way back up the steps, then took the body off of his shoulders and placed it by Connors, who looked away. He shoved Kennedy forcibly into the back of the Pelican, not wanting to wait anymore, and hopped in himself, taking a seat at the edge of the ramp where his legs dangled over the side. The medic gave the Pelican pilot thumbs-up, and the dropship slowly rose.
      The Sergeant lifted himself up and strapped into a seat, and Kennedy repeated the process as the ramp door rose up and shut with a clang, sealing them inside. "Everybody strapped in?" the pilot asked, and several "affirmative"s were heard. The pilot started up the main thrusters, and the ship rocketed to the sky.
      "Corporal, come here," Connors said, from his prone position on the ground. He still held his MA2B carbine close to his chest, and Dirk finally realized he was holding it so tight not out of want to stay in the fight but to make it easier to bear the pain of his wound. The Marine inched close to his buddy as the medic moved aside. Connors released a hand from his carbine and pulled Dirk close by the collar of his uniform. "Corporal?" he asked hoarsely.
      "Yeah, Connors?"
      "I just want you to know, sir, that you did good. Real good."

Last of the Walking Dead - Epilogue: Marine
Date: 26 August 2003, 12:16 AM

      Lance Corporal Dirk Kennedy, UNSC Marine Corps, stood on the bridge of the Gorgon beside Admiral Ikaru as the ship rocketed away from the battle into Slipstream space. He knew not their destination, nor did anyone onboard the ship, save for the AI, Agesilaus. All he knew was that, for the moment, he was out of danger, and that he wasn't going to be seeing the Covenant for a long time. He hoped.
      The majority of the ship's crew were in their cryogenic tubes, sleeping away the trip through the black of interdimensional space and for a time forgetting the hard and bitter memories of the battle for a seemingly worthless colony that, previous to this little adventure, none of them had probably even heard of.
      Yet, they had fought. They had all fought tooth and nail for a scrap of inhabitable mass at the very edges of the slowly shrinking domain of the UNSC. They knew no one whose home was on that planet behind them, they knew not what made them settle there, what was their livelihood, their beliefs or their religion. All they knew was that they were fellow citizens of the UNSC, and they were fellow human beings, created in the image of whatever gods they chose to worship.
      And that was why they mattered.
      Kennedy turned away from the scene and closed his eyes. It was all hell, this Goddamned stupid war. He hated it just as much as he hated the Covenant he was fighting. He hated the planet, he hated this ship, he hated Admiral Ikaru and he hated the ODSTs and the Pelican pilot who had rescued them. At the moment, he hated everyone and everything. He just wanted to cry. He just wanted to die.
      He mentally kicked himself and swore under his breath. He could do neither of those things all for a number of reasons, all varying in origin and level of importance. Part of it was the fact that, even as one of the lowest-ranking servicemen on the bridge, he had to set an example and keep up his nerves, despite the fact that they were virtually numbed by all the battle and carnage he had witnessed—and willfully taken part in. Another was that he owed it to himself, and all he had ever done for his species. But, the most important reason was that if he broke down—right here and now, or anywhere else—everything that Batonne and Martinez and Caldwell had died for and Connors had shed blood for and that millions had been sacrificed for would all be in vain. And he just couldn't do that to them.
      He excused himself from the company of the bridge officers and took a stroll down to the sickbay. Two Marine privates on patrol saluted as he passed, and he managed barely to return their salutes with a sloppy one. He had too much on his mind right now to bother with them. He had too much he had to do.
      The female Marine on duty, also a Lance Corporal, exchanged the slightest of nods with him. She stepped aside, fingering her MA5B out of pure habit, and let him through. The doors parted for him and he stopped just past the threshold, examining the rows of empty medical pallets, only a few of them occupied by Navy personnel who had been wounded by the rocking of the Gorgon as it sustained Covenant fire. Finally, he found what he was looking for. There, next to two nurses and a Navy medical officer, lay Connors.
      Kennedy walked toward him and he sat up. "Hey, sir," he said, again smiling. He had, it seemed, gotten into the habit of it. One of the nurses threw Dirk a dirty look, and, like a defensive mother, told Connors very politely to lay back down. "Aw, Celia, it's all right, he's a buddy. He's the only reason I'm here right now," Connors said.
      "Don't listen to him, nurse," said Dirk, approaching the medical pallet. Connors began to protest, but defeated by a glare from Celia's eyes, the casualty shrugged and eased back down on his back. Kennedy took a seat next to him, trying to stay out of the way as the three-person medical team scurried back and forth.
      "How're you holding up?"
      "Damn fine. They've got the best food down here," he said, then his voice changed to a whisper. "Not to mention some fine-looking girls. Celia's already told me all about her parent's beach resort in Hawaii. She said if I ever got a furlough to pay her a visit."
      "The tiger strikes again." They both smiled.
      "Did you see...?" Connors asked quietly, his smile disappearing.
      "Yeah, I saw."
      "Oh," Connors said, nodding. "You know, I tried to go, but the sawbones wouldn't let me out of this place. I damn near introduced his ass to my foot, but It wouldn't have done me any good. I should have asked for them to record it for me..." he said sadly.
      "You wouldn't want to see it," Kennedy assured him.
      "Batonne was a good man. I'll never forgive myself for letting him get shot up and then getting shot myself just in time to miss his funeral. "
      Kennedy said nothing.
      "You know, he would have liked that trick you pulled, arming the nuke and having the pilot open the ramp so you could drop it out at ten thousand feet," Connors said, recalling to both their memories the picture of the mass of Covenant below them exploding in a ball of nuclear flame. "That's the stuff war heroes are made of."
      "Guys like Batonne have the stuff war heroes are made of."
      Again there was silence.
      They talked for a few more minutes, until finally the nurse, Celia, and her older and fatter counterpart hushed him out of the sickbay, aided by the Navy doctor. "He needs his sleep if he's going to be strong enough for the reconstructive surgery," the Medical Corps Captain said. "You can see him in a few days."
      Kennedy exited the sickbay, and this time he looked the guard over. Her hair was bright blonde and close-cropped, about ten centimeters. Her uniform didn't do a very good job of hiding her decidedly feminine figure, and neither did the hard look she wore. Dirk made a mental note to ask her for a drink when she got off duty, and hummed to himself as he walked down to the quarters he had been assigned.
      At first he didn't remember the tune, but then it awoke in his memory as if it had been fire-branded there. He smiled, remembering the image of a little boy, looking into the mirror hanging by his door, wearing a "uniform" of his own and sporting a pocketknife and a tied-down cap gun. The boy saluted, and began to hum the same tune:

      From the Halls of Montezuma
      To the shores of Tripoli
      We fight our country's battles
      In the air, on land, and sea;
      First to fight for right and freedom
      Then to keep our honor clean;
      We are proud to claim the title
      Of United States Marines.

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