The Hunted

# Act I — *Arrow Flight*

## Chapter 01

**Location:** Bridge of the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

“This is Captain Julius Bruening of the UNSC *Arrow Flight*; We are adrift without power and Covenant are boarding the ship. I'm left no other choice; We must abandon ship.”

The broadcast went silent; Julius could hear fighting directly outside the bridge. He grasped his sidearm, checking the ammunition. *Even if we could get the power back on, that cruiser would burn us out of space…*

Metal snapped and blood dripped from Harald’s hands as the broadcast ended. He turned his head slightly to the two ODSTs that were accompanying him. “You two, watch my six. I’m getting this door open.”

He didn’t wait for a response. The Spartan tossed the lifeless Elite to the ground and turned his attention to the bridge’s blast door.

Julius readied himself, he could hear the prying on the door. Slowly it creaked open, only wide enough for for him to see the blinking red light be blotted out by an immense figure; a blinding light flashed in his face. He recovered quickly, sighing in relief.

“Harald.. Just the man I needed to see. We don't have time for chit-chat, so I'm getting straight to the point. This ship's going down one way or the other; I need the reactors overloaded. We're scuttling the ship.”

Julius let out a light sigh as he eyed the two young ODSTs behind the Spartan. “You two will join him.”

The male ODST turned to his squadmate. “Looks like we're babysitting again, Amelia.”

The Spartan backed away from the crack in the door he made. He gestured for the two ODSTs to take point.

“It was nice to see you again, sir. Good luck.”

He grasped the door as he finished speaking, slowly creaking it shut. As the Spartan disappeared behind the metal, Julius muttered something under his breath.

“Good luck to you too, Spartan. Make it back in one piece.”

## Chapter 02

**Location:** Cryobay 04 aboard the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

Lieutenant Commander Aleksandra Zaytseva stumbled out of her cryopod, falling to the floor and coughing up the surfactant that had been protecting her lungs. Standing up and getting dressed in the light shirt and pants stored next to the pod, Sasha frowned. The ship felt still, the dull humming of the reactors silent. That, combined with the hasty manner of her awakening and the awakening of the people around her led to only one conclusion: main power was offline.

Just as she came to that conclusion herself, Sasha's suspicions were confirmed as the PA system crackled to life and Captain Bruening's announcement filled the air.

«This is Captain Julius Bruening of the UNSC *Arrow Flight*; We are adrift without power and Covenant are boarding the ship. I'm left no other choice; We must abandon ship.»

Listening closely, Sasha headed to get into her flightsuit, grabbing one of the additional armor sets for protection against the Covenant she would inevitably be facing. Grabbing a sidearm, she holstered it and moved to the weapon rack of one of the empty pods, grabbing the BR55HB and several magazines of ammunition for both of her weapons.

Sasha turned to the various flight deck personnel in her cryobay.

“Alright, everyone. Captain's ordered evacuation, and that means we get to the hangar, clear it out of those alien bastards, and load up the Pelicans with supplies, fuel, and any crew and marines who show up.”

Various acknowledgements went up as she finished her short speech and turned to the door of the cryobay. Motioning to a few of the marines who had been present in the cryobay with the flight crew, she directed them to the door to place a breaching charge and cover the hole when it opened.

Getting into position, she raised her rifle, shouldering it, and thumbed the button on the detonator.

## Chapter 03

**Location:** Cryobay 03 aboard the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

“Alright ladies, you heard the old man, we're evacuating the *Arrow Flight*!”

Master Sergeant Mike Sanders yelled across the cryobay that contained a few dozen cryopods, most of them previously occupied by some of the ship's marines. He placed his helmet on his head and fastened it, completing his battle dress uniform.

“I want every marine combat ready in two minutes, and I want to see those who aren't marines with either a gun in their hands, carrying supplies, or hauling ammo.”

He moved past a few marines that were checking their weapons one final time and over to weapons rack. He grabbed a MA5D from the rack and as many clips of ammo as he could carry without hindering his mobility. He clipped two frag grenades and a M6C to his hip and thigh.

Now fully loaded and ready for battle, he turned to his men and the few non-combat crew members.

“The Covies are swarming the ship, so we're making our way to the hangers and get the hell off this overpriced tin can. Now, get moving!”

The marines roared their acknowledgement and formed ranks right behind their Master Sergeant, weapons held high and ready to bring death to anything and everything that stood in their way off the ship. The few unarmed people in the group formed up the rear and held onto their packs filled with weapons, ammo, food, and other supplies.

Pulling the emergency handle on the door out of the hall filled with cryopods, Mike was the first out, heading straight for the hangers, praying to any higher powers that it wouldn't be overrun by the time they got there.

His prayers, however, fell on deaf ears and only after a few corridors away from the cryopods struck misfortune. Mike had nearly run into a just-as-surprised Kig-Yar when he had turned a corner. Luckily for him he had reacted first, and a burst from his assault rifle almost threatened to tear off its head.

“Hostiles!”

Mike jumped back around the corner just in time as bolts of plasma and crystal shards smashed into metal that stood between him and a gruesome death. His marines pushed themselves up to the wall, readying themselves for a fight while the non-combat members of the group pushed, covered their heads, and screamed in terror.

“We'll have to fight our way through here or we'll never make it to the hanger in time.”

He dared a quick look over the edge before pulling back again. He pointed at two marines to get up beside him.

“I didn't see any Split-Jaws. Only a few Chickens and Grunts. You two will bring down some covering fire while I and two others cross the hall for better firing positions. Alright?”

The two marines nodded and got into position, ready to spray down the hallway at the Covenant soldiers. Mike forced himself to clear his mind and calm down.

“Three…

“two...

“one...

“Now!”

## Chapter 04

**Location:** Armory behind the bridge of the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

“We need to move, Captain, there's no telling the saboteur - or whatever brought us out of slipspace - may still be around.”

The captain clicked his flashlight so he could see who was addressing him. In the darkness of the room stood Corporal Žagar, saluting the captain despite being blinded by the light. He lowered the flashlight slightly, out of the corporal’s eyes.

“At ease, Corporal.” He eyed Žagar for a second. “It's too late to worry about that now. They're probably already onboard.”

Breuning checked his ammunition one more time, making sure to stuff as many magazines he could find into his pockets—not many, considering they were in the small armory behind the bridge. Upon strapping on the hefty should-plate onto his bicep, he waited as the corporal was done tightening the straps for the ODST armor—clearly one which wasn't his. After donning his helmet and grabbing a nearby rifle, he nodded his head to let Bruening know he was ready.

“Alright, Let's move!”

Bartolomej Žagar attempted to follow—clumsily as he was in his forty kilos of armor—and tried to quickly check each corner, despite often being a fare distance behind his superior. The reduced gravity was throwing the ODST off.

“Captain, I've been hearing radio chatter; Quite a bit of chaos is going on in the maintenance areas.”

The captain slowed his jog a tad, getting ready to turn a corner into another the corridor.

“There's chaos everywhere right now, Corporal. We're in a giant piece of metal on a crash course. I've got a pair of Spartans on my ship and only one of them has made any contact,” He stated blatantly as if it was obvious. He stopped as he reached the end of the corridor, and looked down with envy on the soldier beside him.

“I wish I had some of that armor, and something stronger than this pea-shooter. You're a lucky one, Corporal.”

Bart smiled slightly, unpolarizing his visor in the process.

“If it makes you feel any better, sir, I left a gift for the Covies in the bridge.”

As the Captain prepared to continue towards the lifeboats, the corporal tugged at his uniform.

“Sir, wait! We can't leave. When we came out of slipspace, the emergency power for some of the cryotubes didn't come up. We need to help them, or they'll be sitting ducks for... whatever may be here."

The captain never got the chance to agree or rebut him, as at that moment a figure uncloaked at the far end of the hall. Seemingly smiling towards its stranded prey, the Zealot grabbed something from its hip as its armor lit up the corridor.

“Humans…”

The luminous monster activated its energy sword, walking towards them with purpose. It dragged the blade across the floor, leaving orange marks in a way which intimidated the two worms before the Zealot. It suddenly stopped halfway through, however, raising its sword in the process. It made a sound as if it was disgusted, or annoyed; Bart couldn't tell.

“Not Demons.....who are you?”

The captain took a step closer, raising his pistol—not that it would do much good against this split-lip. He responded immediately. Strangely, he wasn't scared, instead seething confidence in a way which defied Bart's understanding. With his left hand he gestured subtlety for Žagar to stay back.

“Demons? You mean Spartans? I'm the captain of this ship, you split-lip *bastards* have ignorantly boarded.”

*But no matter, I'm not stupid,* Žagar thought as he rolled in front of his commander. He brought his MA5 to bear, watching the rounds be powerlessly absorbed by their foes shields. Stopping as soon as it became clear it had little effect on the elite's stride, Bart pulled Julius back, trying to lead him towards the escape pods. Bruening struggled to stand his ground as Žagar pulled him away, shouting sharply as he was dragged away by his subordinate; Bart made no effort to stop.

“Stand down, Corporal!”

“Sir, I will *not* have you dying today!”

To his satisfaction, the captain suddenly relented, perhaps acknowledging it would be pointless for him to die right now.

“Alright, Corporal. We've gotta move then.”

The pair brought back up to a running pace down the corridor; there was chatter, getting louder as the two drew closer to the escape pods. He worried that the Zealot was catching up to him, but didn’t dare check.

Bart stopped as he ran out of breath, and turned around to fire on his attacker—to see nothing. Surprised at this, yet still worried that the attacker was on his tail, the pair continued to the escape pods, jumping into the one with the most passengers. He whispered something as the doors closed.

“Welcome to yet another day in hell, Captain.”

## Chapter 05

**Location:** Hallways of the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

*Abandon ship.*

Oh god, they were abandoning ship.

Youssef knew what that meant. Not just that the Covenant attack was succeeding, nor that they were fleeing blindly into space, but that without the *Arrow Flight*, they’d be without a slipspace drive. Even if a life-sustaining planet *happened*—against astronomical odds—to be within range of the escape craft, without the ship itself, they wouldn’t be seeing home again for a very long time, if ever.

As the *Arrow Flight*’s deck chief, Youssef had been part of the skeleton crew already awake when the ship first shuddered unexpectedly out of slipspace and shrill klaxons started blaring in his ears. With the fighting ground force defrosting, Youssef had felt compelled to help—still did—while they readied themselves, but knew if Captain Bruening had given the order, it was already too late. So, knot of regret in his gut or not, he’d turned and followed a handful of groggy-looking Marines funneling through the ship’s corridors to the escape pods.

Several times, he almost stopped. Even if they safely cleared the ship, it was pointless. In open space, the teardrop-shaped Covenant Seraphs would just hunt them down one-by-one as nothing more than target practice. But Youssef shoved the feeling of hopelessness back down each time, silently scolding each time that the slim chance in a life pod was better than no chance on the ship. He owed it to far more than himself to keep going, and did, even if he slipped to the back of the Marines’ group.

The Marines turned one final corner, and as Yousef followed, he caught the welcoming sight of a Bumblebee’s open door across from where the hallway ended. Just as the last of his despair fell away, an explosion rocked the floor out from under Yousef’s feet. He sprawled to the deck, banging his side through his jumpsuit’s thin, gray fabric. He sucked air through his teeth, then realized the Marines’ bootsteps hadn’t slowed.

Pain forgotten, Yousef’s head shot up to see the Marines already reaching the pod and buckling in. One had slipped into the pilot’s seat at its nose.

“Hey!” Yousef cried out. “Don’t leave me!”

The last man had just reached the end of the corridor. He glanced over his shoulder, and looked as if he were about to double back—but the hesitation cost him. From around the corner, a hail of slim, neon-pink crystals flew into view and embedded themselves in the man’s back, then exploded in a cloud of gore and glassy fragments.

Yousef stared in open-mouthed horror at the corpse, thrown to the bottom of the opposite wall, then noticed the next-to-last Marine doing the same from where he stood in the frame of the Bumblebee’s hatch. The man’s face had gone white with fear.

They locked eyes for just a moment, and Yousef knew calling out again would do no good. The next, the life pod’s airlock closed, and Yousef heard the reverb of its rockets blast the Bumblebee clear, putting meters of cold, empty vacuum between himself and it.

Heavy footsteps echoed from around the distant corner. His eyes locked to it, Yousef thought of the bend behind him. He could jump up, scramble behind it to safety—but it would take seconds, every one of which an alien could turn the corner, spot, and kill him with the pull of a trigger. The promise of it filling every instant of indecision, Yousef played dead, freezing where he lay with one eye upturned to watch the hallway’s end. He prayed the corpse there would be enough to fool whatever was coming.

A hulking biped strode into view, hairless purple skin showing between plates of blue armor. Its multi-jawed head sat above the top of the airlock’s door, and a sleek plasma rifle was clutched in its four-fingered hand. Yousef watched its mandibles curl to sniff the air, his eye dry and stinging as he dared not even to blink. A second creature slipped out from behind the wall, much shorter and more gangly, but just as tall as a human. Feather-like spines grew from the back of its avian, beakish-jawed head.

The tall one, mercifully, passed without a glance down Yousef’s corridor, but the slitted eyes of its companion focused on the Marine corpse, pooling blood where it lay. The alien prowled nearer, hunching, and placed its claw in the ragged hole in the body, heedless of the crimson stains made on its orange scales. The callous way it seemed to assess the body reminded Yousef of the butcher in his hometown on Aleria appraising meat.

Then the cat-like eye flicked to Yousef. He couldn’t move if he’d wanted to, now—and he desperately wanted to move. He wanted to jump up and sprint the other way down the corridor, even if all it would get him was a Needler in the back.

Then a gurgling growl sounded from beyond the corner. The creature twisted, straightened, and followed after without a look back, slipping behind the corner and passing from Yousef’s perception of the world as it did.

Yousef sucked in a breath, feeling the sweat he’d shed for the first time and marveling how the larger creature hadn’t smelled him immediately. Ahead, he could hear the blast of plasma grenades, and could guess at once what the aliens were doing—destroying the remaining escape pods to trap the humans still aboard. There was only one other way off, and that was the dropship compliment in the hangar. And the capacity of those handful of ships were far short of what the seven hundred crew of a *Charon*-class frigate needed to evacuate.

He weighed his options—and the escape pods just a few meters ahead weren’t among them. He couldn’t fight off the Covenant soldiers destroying them, and no one else was likely to get there soon enough. With them gone, even if the Marines managed to save the other banks of pods, they’d need the Pelicans to have any hope of getting everyone evacuated, and he was Deck Chief. They’d need him to get those ships flight-ready, which meant he had a job to do.

Reluctantly, Chief Amir turned from the nearby promise of safety and, unarmed, back into the uncertainty of the compromised ship’s corridors, plotting his route to the hangar bay.

## Chapter 06

**Location:** Hallways of the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

“We should have gone for the pods,” gasped a marine as the group pounded down one of the **Arrow Flight**’s corridors. They had already run into three Covenant kill groups and already the rag-tag squad was looking like a band of men walking to their deaths.

At the front of the group, Flight Officer Fletcher O'Hara tried to keep a cool head. Inside he was having the same internal battle that the others behind him were having, to turn back for the sure safety of an easy escape pod or to keep moving forward and brave the uncertainty of the ship in the hopes of making it to the hanger.

Looking down at the pistol he gripped in unsure hands, he tried again to steel his soul against thoughts of turning back. He was a pilot first and he didn't much like the idea of being stuck in a metal cylinder to be blasted apart by a Seraph. No, if he was going to die then he was going to do it where he was at his best. And at least if he was in a Pelican he could dodge a few shots.

“If you wanna turn back you can,” replied Fletcher, keeping his eyes forward,”But I'd rather be in a bird that can take off again.”

No one replied, which Fletcher was silently thankful for; He was lucky enough to have dragged these guys along so far and didn't relish the idea of taking this trip on his own. He shrugged off the images of Covenant needles digging into his flesh, trying instead to picture his Pelican's cockpit, the smoothness of the controls in his sure grip. Yes, that was where they were headed.

So they ran on, down corridors of blinking red lights and up dark stairwells. Around them the ship echoed with the sounds of death, screams of the dying rolling through corridors like their spirits were trapped in the metal of the ship they had died in. Fletcher tried to block them out, focus on his ship.

His salvation.

After what felt like an eternity of running through the ship, they were just a minute away from the hanger. Fletcher could almost smell the sweet scent of fuel from the drop ship's thrusters. But then one of the marines at the back yelled out a warning and it all went to ruin.

“Contact rear!” shouted a marine as he spun around the fired back down the corridor they had just passed through.

Fletcher never saw what happened to that marine, he was suddenly tackled to the ground and forced behind the safety of a bulkhead. Looking back he saw a torrent of plasma fire, blue and green bolts of energy that zipped across his eyes like will-o-wisps. Next to him the marine sergeant was kneeling by the bulkhead, his assault rifle firing a staccato of bullets back down the corridor.

“Get to the hanger and get that bird operational,” shouted the sergeant, his voice somehow overpowering the noise of battle not a few feet in front of him. “I didn't drag my men on this god forsaken trip just to have us all die here.”

Fletcher didn't wait to reply, not even to thank the man who may well be selling his life for his own. Ahead of him was the door to the hanger, oddly calm in comparison to the corridor he was now trapped in. Waiting to pick his moment, Fletcher bolted from his hiding place and dove into the hanger.

Without taking in the rest of the hanger, Fletcher focused his eyes on a Pelican situated about twenty meters from him. It was still black marked and scarred from his last mission run and he prayed that also meant it was still ready to fly.

Behind him he could still here the marines fighting it out with the oncoming Covenant. At least he'd got his wish. Chances were he was going to die in that Pelican before it even made it out of the hanger.

The human's head slammed into the metal wall of its simple ship, the weak skull below its soft flesh splintered. Tal let go of the corpse, letting it slip to the floor. He moved onward, scanning the open room for a sign of another unfortunate victim to kill. Around him, the rest of the Black Lance carried out the same sentence.

They surged through the room, moving between the tables and chairs like predators seeking prey. It was the first time the Lance had been let off the leash in a few cycles and they were out for blood. Behind them paced their Warden, Tharkis. A fearsome splinter rifle gripped in his meaty fists he paced after the Lance, ever keeping them in his sight.

Tal stopped by a door, sniffing the air like a hound zeroing in on its target. He smelled sweat and the sweet taste of fear. His mandibles bunched up in a smile. *Prey.* He moved into the dark little hideaway, eyes open for movement. He caught a glimpse of something, a glint of light off something shiny. It glimmered at him from inside a box, the door open just a bit.

Tal wrenched the door from its hinges with little effort, casting it to the side he looked inside to find a human. It had a gun raised, a tiny pitiful weapon. The human roared a wordless outcry of anger and begun to fire, the tiny rounds impacted Tal's shields and sent shimmers across his armor. By the time it had finished firing, the massive Sangheili's shields had only dropped halfway.

Tal huffed and grabbed the little creature by its throat; To its credit, the human struggled in Tal's iron grip as it tried to pry one of Tal's fingers from its throat. Walking back to the main room, Tal called to his fellow reprobates.

“I've found a live one, seems to have a bit of spirit left in him.”

As Tal walked back into the room, some of the Lance turned from their pursuit to see his prize. Two Kig-yar slithered over to examine it, poking and hissing at the human as it bucked in Tal's grip.

Without a word, Tal threw the human into the center of the room. A metallic bang resounded across the room as the human collided with a metal column. The two Kig-Yar pressed in early, clearly looking to have some fun with this unfortunate man.

As the scavengers closed in, a large, superheated spike suddenly shot across the room to embed itself in the human's chest. Tharkis suddenly shouldered his way past Tal and glared at the Kig-Yar.

“We aren't here for sport. Go.”

The two criminals slunk off to find other humans. Tharkis turned to Tal and glared at him, a glare that Tal returned.

“Move forward reprobate. We are headed to the hanger.”

Tal huffed back at Tharkis and followed the Warden’s orders.

## Chapter 07

**Location:** Hallways outside Cryobay 04 aboard the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

A small detonation echoed down the corridor of the ship as the shape charge blasted a hole through the previously sealed door. Sighting down the hallway, thermal activated, Sasha spotted a cluster of cold spots in the hallway, grouped around warmer areas.

Moving her reticle to cover the closest of the surprised group of Grunts and Jackals, she squeezed the trigger, sending a quick three round burst through its body, dropping the alien. As she heard the gunfire around her from the Marines, Sasha moved to the next target, killing it in the same manner as the first. The combined firepower of the group and the surprise of the blast through the door, the shrapnel of which had killed a fair portion of the aliens before the shooting even started, quickly cleared the hall of the invaders.

Motioning to run into the hallway, Sasha followed quickly behind the leading two marines. They were covering the front of the group, leaving two others behind the flight officers and pilots, who themselves were armed with pistols and awkwardly fitting armor.

Meeting relatively little resistance as they made their way down the short stretch of corridor, through the various bulkheads, the group quickly made their way to the hangar. Rounding the corner, Sasha barely ducked back into cover as a blue blast of plasma screamed past her face, sending a heat over it even from a few feet away.

“Contact! Covenant around the corner, looks like Marines as well. Flight crews, you're getting to the hangar. Get fuel, supplies, weapons onto those birds. I'll be right behind you. Marines…”

Sasha paused to look at the sergeant in command of the small fireteam of marines that were with the group, getting a nod, confirming that the Marines would do what they enlisted to do.

“...Give 'em hell. Clear the corridor, but don't die trying. Hold as long as possible to keep the path to the hangar clear for evacuation, but if you need to fall back, get into the hangar. There's some cover in there, and the Pelicans' guns will provide support, once we get them up and running.”

With that, the sergeant turned, barking an order to the other three marines behind him, before rushing between cover to join the team already in the hallway in defending the entrance to the hangar.

Popping around the corner, Sasha opened fire with her BR, covering the flight crews as they dove into the hangar, before doing so herself. As the door closed behind her, Sasha looked around, spotting an IFF tag in one of the Pelicans, a Flight Officer F. O'Hara.

Running to her bird, she climbed into the cockpit, sitting down next to her copilot and started the checks, plugging her helmet into the console to connect the keyboard on the Pelican to the helmet built in comm system. She turned to her copilot.

“Complete the checks, I'm getting a message out. Make sure you get those guns working.”

Sasha turned back to the console, tapping away at the Pelican's keyboard, typing out a few text-only messages. She sent one directly to O'Hara's bird, before typing one for the crew left on the ship.

*«O'Hara. You've got a flight crew again. Get your bird up and running, guns first. We're no use in the evacuation if we leave before we have to. I'm calling anyone who's cut off from the bumblebees here, so we'll be keeping the route open.»*

As she hit send, Sasha hoped that this “O'Hara” understood his duty enough to stay as long as possible. If any one of the Pelicans left early, that would be that many more people left behind. She started tapping out the message to the rest of the crew, hoping enough marines were left that they could spread the word as it arrived on the helmets' HUD's.

*«Crew and passengers of the* Arrow Flight*, a group of marines is holding the port corridor to the hangar clear, and we've got birds powering up to take people who need to be evacuated. If you're cut off from the escape pods, but can make it here, we'll be waiting. Supplies, fuel, and weapons are being loaded. Good luck.»*

With that, Sasha tapped send, returning to her checks. Seeing the gun controls up and running, she grabbed the control stick, aiming the nose gun on the dropship towards the hangar door. Seeing the Marines backing into the hangar, and plasma quickly following, Sasha waited, gently closing her finger on the trigger, ready to fire should any Covenant swarm in.

## Chapter 08

**Location:** Flight Deck Ops Room aboard the UNSC *Arrow Flight*

Yousef had managed to avoid the thunder of rifles and slash of plasma fire with long and often claustrophobic detours, squeezing through dark maintenance accesses with his breath held as the chirps and grunts of Covenant boarding parties reached him from the other side of very thin wall panels. But as he neared the hangar, firefights sprang up in every corridor, until he was forced to dash through a hail of deadly shots to at last reach the flight deck ops room.

Stumbling through an open bulkhead, he threw the door shut behind him, sealing out the flashes of the battle behind to leave him in the darkness of a long, narrow room. The control center for the *Arrow Flight*’s hangar didn't feel nearly as cramped as it was, thanks to the wall made up of sloped windows looking down on the hangar floor, two stories below. Yousef could see the fighting had already spread there, as marines fell back from a hasty defense of an entry corridor. As they scrambled to take up cover, the nose gun of a berthed Pelican suddenly sprang to life, a withering cone of lead spraying down the entryway to shred steel plate and advancing alien soldiers alike. It would need someone to get *Arrow Flight*’s doors open.

He turned his attention up to the dashboard controls to find a pair of ensigns standing anxiously over them, staring wide-eyed like deer at the Chief Petty Officer instead of coordinating the evacuation.

“Hey!” Yousef barked, snapping them into attention the way only an angry superior could. “Where's the flight ops manager?”

“Splattered all over the wall in compartment C12, sir,” one of them answered. Her eyes didn't quite meet his, unfocused and distant as she recalled the sight. Yousef couldn't let either of them think about it now.

“Alright. I'm taking over,” he stated, and got no argument out of either junior officer. He pushed past the closer to lead the woman to a chair. “Get the airlock ready to open, my authorization. Do we have a comm line?”

“Here, sir,” answered the other. Yousef turned, accepted the headset, and slipped it over his head while surveying the hangar below.

Only eight of the *Charon*-class frigate's berths for Pelican dropships were filled, part of its complement lost during the battle they'd fled from, and the *Arrow Flight* had never carried Albatrosses in the years Yousef had been aboard. Given what he could see of the fighting, it might be enough to evacuate the passengers and crew who'd converged on the hangar, but they'd have to act fast. Fortunately, it seemed like pilots and crew had already started boarding and running flight checks on their birds.

Unfortunately, there was an unavoidable bottleneck: human ships didn't have the Covenant's energy barriers, so deploying ships usually meant depressurizing the whole hangar. But with Marines fresh out of cryo engaged all across it, they'd have to use the vehicle airlock at the hangar's aft, which could only launch one Pelican at a time.

Resigned to his task nonetheless, Yousef keyed the headset's speaker as the ensign gave him a thumbs-up, patched into the pilots' line.

“Attention all Pelicans, this is Flight Dispatch. Activate ship IFF transponders and standby to disembark.”

Control screens flickered to life immediately, displaying line after line of text identifying pilots, dropships, and their supply levels as each ship checked in. Yousef knew most of the names from both the alert and reserve pilot lists, and wondered how many of the primary pilots hadn't reached the hangar—or never would. Yet, he set it aside and took the data in with one glance.

“Alright... Pelicans, standby for new designations. We'll have to use the shuttle airlock, so you'll go in sequence on my mark. Zaytseva, designating you Alpha Zero-Zero-One. O'Hara, Alpha Zero-Zero-Two.” Yousef repeated the process for the other half-dozen names, up to Alpha-008, and took a momentary pause, analyzing the list. He had to decide who went first, and logically, it was fastest to send whatever ship was readied first. But sitting and waiting would take nerves made of something stronger than even most Pelican jockeys had, and Yousef had to consider their ability to stay calm. With a deep breath, he made his call. “Alpha Zero-Zero-Seven, you'll be the first out, once you've reached crew capacity. Zaytseva, your berth gives you the best position to cover, so you're out last, copy?”

Instead of a verbal acknowledgement, a burst of text scrolled across Yousef's screen: *«Set for the long haul, Dispatch.»*

Satisfied, Yousef muted the headset and glanced to the ensign who'd handed it to him. “Can you get me those marines?”

Nodding shakily, the ensign adjusted the frequency feeding to him, and patched him in to a non-com starting to take command of the makeshift defense being rallied. “Master Sergeant, I'm setting a waypoint on Pelican Alpha Zero-Zero-Seven. That's our first bus out of here, I need you to start falling back your people in sets until each fills up, over.”

The gruff voice of a soldier answered him. «Copy that, Dispatch. Don't you keep us waiting long!»

With a second's hesitation, Yousef added, “Anyone have eyes on the Captain, yet?”

«Not us so far, Dispatch, but we'll keep you posted. Over and out.»

With the transmission clear, Yousef had the ensign transfer him back to the dropships' line, just in time to release Alpha-007 from its docking clamp. Each Pelican was hung from a hydraulic lock, with a rail system which could maneuver them carefully into the recessed berths just barely large enough for each one. The other young officer took control of the crane, carefully shifting Alpha-007 onto the main deck, then rotating it so its open boarding ramp faced the defending marines' backs, and its nose faced the aft airlock. Then, with a button press, the clamp released, and Alpha-007 caught itself on already-ignited thrusters to gently touch down and await passengers.

Crewmen and marines alike rushed to the safety of the waiting dropship, even as Yousef noticed several of the deckhands of his own crew rush away from it, moving to ensure the next bird was fueled up and its guns loaded. He let a brief rush of pride steel his chest against the fear he himself felt. He'd need it. He'd be staying even longer than most of them.

«Dispatch, Alpha-Five here,» one of the dropship pilots reported, «I'm stuck here half-done loading supplies. Shouldn't Seven be carrying a little of this?»

Yousef caught a tremble in the pilot's voice. Jumpy, afraid, and jealous as he watched Alpha-007 finish boarding and take off, slipping gently into the shuttle airlock. The ensign at Yousef's side hit its release, and the interior doors rolled closed to seal the lock. Normally, they'd take time to depressurize the lock and conserve air, but the *Arrow Flight* wouldn't need it much longer anyway. Yousef let the ensign handle overriding the exterior release and devoted his attention to the pilot.

“Negative, Five, not enough time to get all the camping gear together. Take what you've already got loaded, but leave the rest. Alpha Zero-Zero-Six, you're up next.”

As the next dropship's own automated rail tram began ferrying it out to the landing pad, a bright green blob streaked out through the doorway Zaytseva's chaingun was covering—a fuel rod shot. The cannon round, miraculously, missed the suspended Pelican and slammed into the wall. It just so happened, however, this was the wall in front of Alpha-005.

«Fuck this!» the pilot shouted, «I've got supplies and my flight crew. I'm full up and getting out of here!»

“Hold it, Five!” Yousef shouted, even as the connection buzzed and died. Looking frantically at the controls, Yousef looked for the control to lock down the docking clamp, but too late. Red advisory warnings alerted him the Pelican had already engaged its docking override and broken free. All Yousef could do was glance up and watch the disaster happen.

Just as Alpha-006 set down and began taking on passengers, -005 made a haphazard, clumsy attempt to escape from its berth, wings scraping and rebounding the ship from one wall to the other. The last hit came too hard, and at the wrong moment. The pilot overcorrected, dipped its nose—and ploughed right into its fellow vessel. Both Pelicans crumpled, -005's cockpit disappearing as reinforced glass sprayed like blood from a broken nose. It crashed heavily to the deck, belching thick, black smoke. Tongues of flame began to sprout from both ships, and the frightened ensigns at least had enough presence of mind to engage emergency fire control systems, venting the haze out as fast as they could manage.

Yousef would've cussed out the dead pilot if he'd had a second to spare. As if the loss of the Pelicans wasn't bad enough, their wrecks were now preventing any of the other five dropships from coming forward on their cranes. The delay would mean lives.

Seizing the headset tightly, Yousef switched to an open channel for pilots and marines alike. “Attention all hands, we need that flight deck cleared! Get those fires out, drag them clear, something! And see if anyone survived inside if possible!”

## Chapter 09

While the chaos of the evacuation was going, several figures stalked through the hallways in a far corners of the ship, their claws itching for blood.

The hunt had begun.

The Zealot placed one hand on the doorway, prying it open. Inside, he peered through the dim light. Several flashlights shined in his face, and he raised a hand. There came screaming, and he began to make out the small, lean figures running around, panicking as they did. He activated his sword, glowing blue. Before him, he could see several faces, terrified and confused, as far as he could discern. He snorted. *Typical for humans.* His brothers in arms moved to take place behind him, drawing their swords and rifles. From his side, he heard several guns being drawn on him. A squawking voice came through his COM.

«Ten armed….forty unarmed…it would be too easy.»

He turned his head slightly, seeing the hunchbacked figure in the doorway they came through, staring through a pair of purple goggles at the room.The Zealot knew that Juk could see straight through him with those things. He didn't like it.

The Elites stood in front of the gathered crowd, seemingly waiting for a response. The humans didn't move, apparently thinking that if they stayed still long enough, they would become invisible. The Zealot snorted in amusement at the thought. But he had had enough of waiting. He had Demons to hunt. He activated his sword, raising it. His men moved to do the same. The few armed men in the room readied to fire.

“Wait!” A man moved forward, holding his hands out. From what the Zealot could tell, he was thinner and more scraggly than the rest. An elderly. The fact that so many humans lived and rotted away on their feet instead of dying in battle disgusted him. The man spoke.

“Most of us aren't armed. We have…wounded, women, children here….running from the planet you burned. We're without a home or a people, and we're scared and defenseless...you’ve already taken everything from us. Tell me, where is the honor in killing us? We are dead to the galaxy.”

The Elite snorted, waiting for several moments. The room hung silent, and everyone held their breath, waiting and praying. A child's whimper broke the silence, but his mother silenced him. Through the COM, Juk spoke again.

«No Demons...just more of them...the few survivors from the world we glassed…»

Survivors. The Zealot couldn't allow that. He spoke.

“There is no pride in stomping out rats, but you can still take pleasure in it.”

The man's eyes went wide, and he held out his hands. “Wait, no-!”

The Elite drove his sword through the man's gut and lifted him upwards, letting him slide down. He watched the life seep from his eyes and laughed.

His men waded into the crowd, tearing through them with swords and plasma. Screams overtook the room, soon replaced by gunfire. The Zealot laughed as the bullets bounced harmlessly off of his shields, and he peeled the man's body off the sword, tossing it to the ground. He waded back into the crowd, slashing through flesh and bone. After several moments, nothing was left but smoldering hunks of flesh. Silence took the room once again.

The colony’s legacy had been extinguished.

The Zealot motioned for his men to leave, shaking bits of gore off of him.

“We won’t be caught in the crash, or vaporized if the humans reach their reactors. It is time to leave. Message Tharkis and tell him and his men to abandon ship. We’ll need them for the hunt when it reaches the planet below. We’ll track whatever survivors flee to it, kill them there. Maybe I shall get another chance with their leader…”

His men nodded and stepped out of the piles melted flesh, walking for the exit. Juk hobbled sideways to let them pass. As the Zealot followed them. Juk extended an elongated, deformed claw to him as he passed.

“Sir, what about...the rest of...the men?”

The Zealot snorted derisively, and stopped walking. “They get an honor that they goes have yet denied us...to die in the glorious fires of the hunt. You may join them if you wish.”

The Zealot began to walk forward once again, and grinned silently to himself as he heard the uneven steps and pained gasps of the deformed Jackal as it rushed to catch up with him.

## Chapter 10

**Location:**
*Arrow Flight*'s mess hall, en route to the reactors

*This is suicide.*

Amelia Hope and Jet Thompson, two of the three remaining ODSTs of their squad, were on their way to the ship's reactors. They were to assist a Spartan, Harald, in scuttling the ship to prevent it from falling into Covenant hands. Only problem, they don't know how long they'll have to escape after they set the reactors to explode.

*We could have only a few minutes to escape, or even just seconds.*

The corporal looked back at Jet, and through his unpolarized visor Jet's expression indicated that he was thinking the same thing. Now that Amelia was the new squad leader, she had to worry about their next move. If she didn't, then another squadmate could die.

The group was stopped in their tracks as two elites came through the doorway opposite of them, weapons firing. Their shots impacted the Spartan, but his shielding was able to withstand them as he flipped a table to use as cover. Amelia and Jet slid behind the table as two more split-jaws and a trio of jackals entered through the door behind them.

They were surrounded.

“Spartan, Jet and I will cover your rear while you handle those two dinos.” Amelia pointed in the general direction of the first pair of elites, still pinning them with plasma. “Sound good?”

Before Harald could respond, two more doors to their right burst open to reveal a pair of hunters. Before Amelia could even register what just happened, Harald had already stood up and engaged them.

Amelia looked around for better cover, and noticed the serving bars to their left. She nudged Jet, who was still fixated on the hunters, and pointed to the bars. Jet nodded, and they sprinted towards them. Amelia vaulted over one, using a chair to gain height, and Jet followed with a dive.

She popped her head out from around the side and opened fire on the jackals. She could see on her HUD that Jet had engaged the elites opposite, and she assumed that Harald was still occupied with the hulking colonies of worms. Why the Covenant would send such powerful assets to board their ship was beyond her. *Don't they know that we're gonna crash?*

She lifted herself from behind cover, laying a hail of bullets at the elite minors, killing one of them. Then she caught a green glint out of the corner of her eye.

The mess hall shook violently as the fuel rod directly impacted an elite, snapping his shields instantly and melting various parts of him to the bone.

*I didn't know those things could miss so badly.* She turned her attentions to Harald, who was standing on top of one of the hunter's corpses. She called to Jet, “Well, that's one down.”

“I've seen a Spartan fight before, but not up close. Did I ever tell you that?” Jet had already finished clearing his side now, and turned towards the chickens that Amelia hadn't killed yet.

“And I guess Isaac seen one too. You guys are always with each other.” Amelia managed to get one of her shots to miss a jackal's shield and hit it in the eye. “But that has its benefits. If I find one of you, I find both. Where is Isaac anyway?”

Before Jet could answer, Harald came crashing into the serving bar the two of them were using for cover; His shields snapped completely as he rolled to the floor. Amelia and Jet fell backwards on the floor from the enormous impact Harald created, nothing either of them weren't used to. Amelia, stunned, shuffled to her feet in time to see Harald roll out of the way of a thunderous blow from the Hunter's two ton shield.

“Fuck!” Jet yelled as he picked his gun back up. “Amelia, you help Harald, I'll deal with the crows.”

“Too scared?”

“Very funny.”

Harald used a table to pull himself back up, bending it in the process. Amelia was glad she didn't offer to help him up, valuing her arm. The hunter swung its free arm towards Amelia as she slid behind the table. Its swing missed, although the momentum managed to free its shield from the bar. She stood back up and opened fire, her shots only keeping the hunter distracted so Jet can move.

While the Hunter was preoccupied, Jet laid a burst of fire down on both of the jackals, killing one as the bullets managed to avoid its shield gauntlet.

Harald took the advantage and mounted the Hunter, his rifle was gone but he had managed to salvage a grenade. He pulled the pin and shoved the grenade into the exposed orange worms in the hunter's back, but he was thrown backwards onto another table, breaking it in half.

As the hunter exploded, Amelia could see that Jet had grabbed the last jackal by the head and snapped its neck. She spotted Harald's gun on the ground, next to what was left of the serving bar.

“Spartan, I think you dropped something. This yours?”

She picked up the gun and tossed it to the Spartan, who caught it out of the air.

“Let's keep moving, we don't have much time.” Jet said as he reloaded his rifle. He pointed in the direction of the reactors. “I'll take point. Amelia, you okay being in the back?”

“Just don't run into anymore ambushes, and I'll be fine.”