An Oath

Vilmos had been counting the rounds spit out of the triple-barreled M46 in a series of tens. For the past two minutes, he and the UNSC remnants he had attached himself to had been talking guns with two entrenched positions of Banished fighters. It had left two of the Marines he had taken charge of the dead, and another one in critical condition… And with two flats and a cooking engine, there was little Vilmos could do to get them out of what was becoming a very sticky situation. 
He slapped the bolt catch of his VK78, injecting the first round of the last two magazines he had left on his person. Little he could do to hit the Banished positions where he was at. 
At least, not without catching a spike through his faceplate. 
Barrel rotations for the M46 started to click off empty, telling Vilmos what he needed to know about that. He flicked his wrist to tell the Corporal that manned the weapon to duck down, to which the Marine immediately obeyed. The Corporal scrambled to collect her BR75, ducking down under the frame of their ruined transport, but stopped short of falling in too close next to the Spartan.
“Well, shit,” Vilmos whispered to himself. He chanced to peak over the M12B, but dropped back down right before a Skewer spike shot through his faceplate. What he did see confirmed what he needed to know about the enemy, however.
A pack of Brutes, quickly approaching. Some were trying to get around to flank the three survivors, and within a minute's time, they’d be engaging with the enemy at extremely close range.
“Lila,” Vilmos said. “Looks like you’re running.”
“Running?” She blinked. “We stand up and we’re getting shot in the back, VeeVee. And if you think I’m gonna–”
“Chad’s still breathing. I need to you carry him,” Vilmos interrupted. It was uncharacteristic of him, sure, but he’d hope that’d be enough to catch her attention. He tried smiling under his faceplate, but instead croaked a bit: “You’re a big girl, right?”
She stared at him, for a second too long.
“Lila: yes or no–”
“I’m not going anywhere if you’re not,” Lila said, metaphorically and literally putting her foot down. “If I don’t have cover, we’re dead anyways!”
“Yes or no?” Vilmos repeated.
“Fine,” Lila replied. She looked at Chad, who Vilmos had rolled into a recovery position before she reached to pull him out to where she could sling him over her shoulders.
She weight half of what he did, and even with his gear stripped, Vilmos could see her nearly buckle under the weight of their still-living companion… But her face beamed with determination. The Spartan bowed his head in admiration, a quiet gesture, but one he knew she’d understand.
And sure enough, she smiled back.
“The humans are over here!” A shrill voice cried through a gasmask. “Dibs on the helmets!”
“The helmets are mine!” A deep voice roared. “I shall pick them limb from limb!”
Vilmos, shook his head and lifted his rifle to the firing position. And with a single flick of his wrist, he saw Lila turn and make her way down the hill. The Spartan paused, drew in a breath for what felt like a minute, and turned back to peer over the M12B’s chassis. Bringing his rifle to bear, he scanned over the approaching enemies, dropped his finger to the trigger, and squeezed.
The round loosed from the barrel and pinged through the head of an approaching Grunt, bouncing around before the alien fell dead. Adjusting his aim to a second target, Vilmos fired three rounds, tearing off the helmet of the Brute, tearing through its throat, and shooting out its eye. And hen he turned toward the third target–
And it shot before him.
Needles cracked against his shielding, flaring the golden energy in a succession of bursts as Vilmos’ HUD whined. He ducked below the chassis, trying to avoid losing his shielding as he closely monitored his motion sensor. It was fast, faster than an Elite–
Vilmos watched as what it was lept in front of him, gnashing with a beak that displayed dozens of sharpened teeth, its head flaring with feathers and scales. The alien lifted up its Needler, attempting to shoot the Spartan with a volley of tracking crystals that’d explode him into a pinkish mist. 
In a deft flick upward, the Spartan shot the Skirmisher in the arm. The alien squawked, activating its energy gauntlets just in time to deflect the round, but it was enough to at least catch it off guard–
“Spartan!” A creature behind Vilmos roared. “Your head is mine!”
He swore under his breath, reaching for his machete before a gravity wave sent him flying into a nearby tree. His body thrashed into the bark, cracking it before he rolled around the trunk and flew a few metres more into the dirt. His body screamed in agony as he struggled to stand, glancing toward the machete that had been launched more than a dozen metres – sticking blade-first into the soil.
Vilmos turned his head, spotting Lila just barely as she pushed into the brush and out of sight. If she took what he had taught them, she’d circle through it a few times before rapidly changing directions. It might not be much, but it’d be enough to throw the Banished off her trail for at least a day.
He knew she would. And while she did, he’d keep his end of the bargain.
“Clever girl,” Vilmos coughed as he yanked his M6C off from his hip and lifted it up toward the Chieftain and Skirmisher.
They laughed in response, either because of his perceived weakness or because they thought he was foolish to think Lila and Chad would make it out alive.
“I wasn’t joking,” Vilmos said to himself, but pretended it was to his enemies. “More brains than the three of us combined.”