DT 2022: Stray's Shadow

An alternate timeline short story about Andra-D054 in Halo: Heaven and Earth during the Battle of Archangel's Rest.
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Artillery boomed from the foothills behind the frontline warriors of the Kru’desh Legion. Ahead of them, light plumes flashed in the distant darkness where shells and bolts of plasma landed, hard of knowing whether the kings of battle struck their targets. Somewhere out there, the enemy hid in haphazard defenses constructed around the ancient citadel of House Baran.
The enemy, like the Kru’desh, answered artillery duel with artillery duel in the long, cold embrace of the blizzard above them. Where the weather cleared for a brief time of the siege’s inception, it returned in force and smothered any hopes of ending it through lighting assault or combined arms.
Both sides seemed happy to make this a squatter’s war, a battle of waiting for a chance to keel over and die. But happiness was relative however; the Kru’desh ranks, many declared condemned warriors long ago, itched for a glorious charge. But no such order came down from above. Instead, they sat with waning campfires and seditious thoughts they dared not voice for fear diehard officers might make examples of them like their commander Stray did with his deputy in the field—the late Ier ‘Barun.
An anti-material rifle shattered the quiet from a ridge on the Kru’desh side. A low cheer and grunts of approval answered in response.
Despite little going well for the Kru’desh as invaders, their fighting spirit wasn’t gone. Their sharpshooters, like the artillery, carried on the fight where others could not. Missed shots were unacceptable on their dwindling ammo stocks so a rifle discharge was a moment of excitement free from waiting. A confirmed kill most likely.
Someone near the sniper called out, “It’s Commander Stray, he made another of those bastards pay!”
The cheers echoed a little louder among the human and alien trenches.
Stray was not known among his troops as a galaxy-class marksmen but it seemed desperate times revealed his latent talents. Such were the surprises of Spartan supersoldiers. The last few months were full of surprises for his legend—his capture of the impenetrable Le Havre archology and turned a young Spartan spy to the Kru’desh cause.
Stray seemed humbled and without glorious speeches since the siege’s first day. But he bested death—revealed the Jiralhanae war chieftain Irthanus who claimed his hide as a liar.
While the Kru’desh pleased themselves with wild rumors of what high-value target their commander just sent to an early afterlife, Stray slinked back to his barely-heated Gallu command lifter. He vanished into a converted supply closet many came to call his “war room,” a little piece of privacy to their glorious commander.
Stray peeled back his fishbowl combat helmet as the door sealed behind him. No one saw his face since the siege began. Most knew him as pale, boyish, a growing mop of hair atop his head, and an overconfident personality. They would’ve been surprised to see her feminine features, a headful of brown locks, but similar fury-stricken eyes.
“You seem tired,” Captain Mohsin Shah remarked from the closet’s hologram table. “Who did you take out this time?”
The female Stray shook her head like a mangy dog, carelessly spraying the room with sweat.
“Akoni-D284, it was hard to tell from this distance but the armor matches from when they ambushed our convoy. He was … a nice one back in training.”
“Congratulations,” Mohsin offered though his voice seemed more conflicted between elation at the death of another feared Spartan and tolerant indifference. Stray also detected a hint of conflicted sympathy to her plight, but she didn’t respond back.
Mohsin continued after a moment, “That’s two Spartans down now.”
“I’m sure Fireteam Gravity will march on us now.”
“Well, we had a good run of it if we don’t manage to kill them first. You think you could take them in Commander Venter’s armor?”
Simon Venter.
The name Stray went by now, or did, until he disappeared and left the turncoat Andra-D054—Kru’desh Lieutenant Andra Kearsarge—to play pretend in his place.
“I don’t know. At range is one thing, in Delta Company I was one of the best. But up close, they have Mjolnir and we have what we have. The UNSC calls a single Spartan in a Mjolnir suit a ‘hyper-lethal asset.’ I don’t gamble, there’s still three of them left.”
“And the rest of the Baran Keep. Or the Guardians when the Created decide to finally end this whole joke of a siege.” Mohsin bitterly muttered.
“I hope you’re not thinking about surrendering now,” Andra shot Stray’s remaining deputy an icy look.
“I don’t know what goes through the heads of Spartans but I doubt I could manage it without you just breaking my neck here and now. But then you would be running this legion all on your own.”
Andra, or Stray, shrugged away the premise. Instead, she asked, “How is the artillery teams doing?”
“Running ragged. And we probably only have a day’s worth of inventory left. It won’t be long before we’re out of both—”
“—and we’re all dead.”
“Venter was right about you being one moody teenager.”
“Whatever. If you’ll take my advice, cool it with the tempo and try to stretch the fire rate as much as possible. I’ll keep an eye out for the Spartans.”
“Sure… Lieutenant.”
“I thought we decided to ignore ranks now that we’re in this farce.”
“I just need a little bit of normalcy, in these final days…”
Andra stared at the polygon battle map floating over the hologram table. “Have you heard back from Argo?”
“He’s still radio silent.”
“And what of Stray?”
“He’s still missing.”
Andra glanced back at Mohsin, “You think he’s dead?”
Mohsin shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? You just need to keep being him until something about this mess changes. That was his last order to you, so do it.”
“Can I have the room? It’s Stray’s after all.”
Mohsin glanced around the closet gingerly before nodding. He left with one more sideways glance at Andra.
Stray’s shadow waited until she heard the door seal behind the Kru’desh captain before collapsing on the commander’s bed and carelessly dropping her sniper rifle by her boots.
Leaning back, Andra let herself slip into a much-needed nap after days of uninterrupted fighting and frostbite. She shivered as her wakeful mind asked one last question, “Where did you go, Simon?”