Chapter 2

Alan thought about his Lieutenant’s words for a moment. Slowly, he came to a shocking epiphany of terrible fear, and he immediately became nauseous. It was all on them. They were the final protectors of thousands and thousands of people, and if the Covenant stumbled across their backwater planet, they were going to be tested. As if the pressure before he knew this hadn’t been enough, Leo’s frankness was enough to bring a bit of nausea to the pit of his stomach.

“That’s the reason for this, you know.” Leo patted the helmet of his MJOLNIR armor sitting on his desk. “Every other company of Spartan-IIIs was equipped with that cheaper SPI garbage.”

Alan tried to remember where he’d heard that acronym before-- around the dinner table one night back during training. That “garbage” was the newest in UNSC armor technology. It wasn’t as heavy or as thick as the half-ton MJOLNIR Mk. VI, but it did feature a cutting-edge active camouflage system. It allowed the Spartan-III to become nearly invisible against any background; a blur of motion that came before the kill.

“Why weren’t we issued the same equipment?” Alan asked, curious. The lieutenant jabbed the tiny, burnt end of his cigar into an ashtray on his desk.

Looking back up at Alan, Leo’s answer was frank and to the point. “Because that new stuff peels off like a candy wrapper when it gets hit by plasma… I guess they figure that the defenders of Earth’s refugees, and possibly the last examples of the human race, need something a little more resilient.”

Alan’s stomach dropped at the latter part of the response. He quickly tried to find another question to clear his mind, but he couldn’t find a more comfortable topic. “Well then, why are there only three hundred of us?”

“I guess they went for quality over quantity. With only three hundred of us for an entire colony of wounded, war-weary refugees, we had better be good.”

“Yes sir.”

“And we are.”

“Hell yes, sir!” Leo smiled. “Alright, three-four…”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Alan snapped out of the daydream he was in when he heard the shrill blast of the warning siren. It was two whistles, with two seconds silence, and then repeated itself. It was a level two alarm- a small Covenant force inbound with vehicles.

As he ran to his quarters for his weapon, he thought about what Leo had told him. He loaded a fresh clip of ammunition into the stock of his MA5C Assault Rifle and pulled the bolt. While he watched the digital “32” on the ammo indicator wink on, he couldn’t help but think happily to himself, and a smirk emerged across his face.

“We are damn good,” Spartan-O34 said out loud.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Alan took a bit of a detour, not to avoid the fight, but to buy himself time. He was very superstitious; every time he knew there would be a fight, he liked to prepare himself mentally.

He rounded the corner, and saw the red light above the door to the soon-to-be front lines flashing. “I guess it’s time to face the music,” he said under his breath.

Upon donning his helmet, Alan saw his Assault Rifle’s reticule and the green status lights of his three hundred comrades, divided into groups of four. He took a spot next to Leo behind one of the reinforced, portable titanium ramparts. “What’s the good word, sir?” he asked.

“Our surveillance reports two ghosts, one Spectre. Half a klick out, and they’re all Elites.” Alan looked at the S2AM Sniper Rifle in Leo’s hands.

“A little present for a ghost pilot, sir?” Had he not been wearing a helmet, Alan would have seen him smile. “You bet.”

Alan looked down the line to his right and saw Chad standing a few yards away, loading a clip into his own sniper rifle. It looked like he’d be giving the other Elite his haircut. He was confident when he saw Chad with the weapon- Spartan-O12 was probably the best shot out of all of them.

Up the line, to the left of Leo, Alan could see one of the other Omegas doing a once-over on his M41 “SPNKr” rocket launcher; a warm welcome for the incoming Spectre. He looked on his Heads-Up Display and saw the soldier listed as “SPARTAN O-129: ERIC.” In the minutes before the first shots of the engagement would be fired, Alan read through Eric’s dossier. He knew that this Spartan was unfamiliar; O-129 had just been transferred in from Delta Company. He was the sole survivor of the group.

Alan opened up a private COM channel with Eric. He wanted to help ease the kid’s nerves. “Hey one-two-nine! Welcome to Omega Company. Make sure that rocket of yours doesn’t miss, alright?”

Eric jumped when he heard the voice inside his helmet. “Yes, sir!” he replied nervously. Alan could tell he was on edge; his heart rate was showing up higher than normal on the HUD’s vitals monitor.

“Don’t worry, I’m just busting your chops. If you don’t hit it, someone will. There are three hundred of us… against what? Six of them split-jaws? Forget about it. Just stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”

Alan could hear Eric give a sigh of relief in his helmet. “Thank you, sir. Sorry I’m so nervous. I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

Spartan O-34 gave a chuckle. “Trust me, bud. I know exactly how you feel.” He turned and looked out on the horizon. He could see dust and sand being kicked up by the engines of the Covenant vehicles.

“Half a klick!” Leo yelled to all the Spartans.