The feel of Andios’ hand in his own was almost alien to him. In fact, the feel of any human hand in his without an objective of injury felt alien…
Through his golden faceplate the Spartan-III, wearing a full set of Ackerson’s variant of the next generation MJLONIR, stared down at his dying soldiers face. The cold steel and plastic that was visible to those around him held no more warmth or ice than the impassive expression on his face.
For years Axel had hardened his belief in that control, endurance, and absolute discipline were all that would keep him and his men alive. He would demand no less from his Spartans. However here, now, on the UNSC Shatter… things were different. There was less than ten Spartans were left. Out of nearly one thousand Spartans, only that few remained. Axel had done everything he could to keep his men and women alive, but he’d failed regardless. He’d taught them, he’d trained them, he’d fought with them, he’d gained their respect and trust, and trusted them in return, and above all… though he did not show it, Axel had cared for them.
Control. Discipline. Endurance. Those words echoed in his mind, that is what it meant to be a Spartan. Those worlds, reflected in his actions every minute, of every day, of every year in his life. Among Ackerson’s Spartans, Axel was legendary for being only one of two for having the MJLONIR armour… but above all, he was respected, hated, and trusted because he’d never, NEVER shown any amount of emotion. He’d never lost control. Perfect discipline.
But now… Things’ were different.
In the last month, Axel had become known for his showing of compassion. It lightened the spirits of his Spartans, but it made them edgy at the same time. As if they felt what he did… The impending sense of doom. A sense that was now the realistic sense of pain.
He’d given up trying to save Andios’ life now. The bio-foam, implants… Nothing had worked. Without Kurt’s illegal augmentations, Andios’ would’ve been unconscious ten minutes ago. He was after all, missing half his torso. So Axel had simply knelt beside his friend, held his hand, and stayed with him in his final seconds. This simple gesture, one of the few he’d made in the past month, spoke magnitudes for what he felt. A speech though, only his own Spartans would ever really understand.
The three other Spartans had gone ahead. He’d ordered them too. He would stay behind with Andios, but the mission was still at hand. The Admiral had to be protected. Reinforcements needed to be sent. The Shatter had several new systems. Its slipspace engine could be shut down. Safety measures unheard of before already in place… The ship had a good 40 minutes easily before it would blow. Probably an hour, maybe an hour and a half.
The admiral needed to be protected. Humanity needed the Key. Aside from a few Spartans in SPI’s, half a squad of ODST, and a senile balding old man, Axel was the only human left alive on this ship. Time was running out.
Axel looked down at Andios. His soldier was gone. He took the man's dog tags, a sniper rifle, two assault rifles, and all the grenades he could carry. “023, 201, 171… The AI has informed you you’ve reached the Admiral. Moving now would be unwise… Barricade yourself in there, and protect Richardson at all costs.” He paused, ready to cut the transmission… “This is what I’ve spent my life training you for Spartans. Good luck. Spartan 010 out.” His hand fell to his side after cutting the comm.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Yes sir!” 201 responded. He turned to the others, ready to give orders, glancing at the admiral as he did so.
The door behind him exploded.
The Spartan III’s snapped into action. Falling behind cover, drawing fire away from the Admiral who had taken residence up behind his console.
023 had moved to the left, moving at a crouch. A sharpshooter, he fired of controlled three round bursts at the storming Covenant as fast the gun would allow. Each burst was accompanied by one or two falling aliens, dead before they it the ground. He moved behind a large bed of plans, his SPI matching the colours. However the area around him, methodically being light by the metal ring of death, betrayed his position well enough.
201 began back-pedalling, the sniper rifle in her arms training on the Elites that came through. She backed into a corner, with enough room for a quick exit, and let the constant gunfire of her comrades provide her with the cover of distraction.
171 knelt down where he was, half behind cover, and threw a grenade into the doorway. Firing non-stop into the mass of enemies, using up all 3 clips left for his MA5B, riddling the Covenant with bullets. Alien after alien fell under the constant storm of bullets, and sporadic grenades. He dropped the rifle, and brought up the SMG at his side. The only weapon he had left, aside from his knife.
The Covenant force was larger, much larger, but most died within a few meters of the doorway, accurate firing and the suppressive wall coming from 171 keeping them at bay. The air filled with the odour of blood. Blue and purple replaced the dull grey texture of the floor. The walls became covered in intricate patterns of liquid.
The Spartans moved at odd times. Seemingly random grenades bounced their way into the threat… However, ammo only lasted so long.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
001 and 002, the two Spartans still together since basic, has pursued the Covenant all the way to communications. The key was in their grasp. The two Spartans saw the Covenant enter the main comm hub 4 doors ahead.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the bridge of the UNSC Sacrifice, Commander Pierce sighed. “Fire.” The four assembled UNSC vessels fired their main MAC Cannons. The massive rounds punched into and through the hull of the Shatter, exiting out the other side. The resulting destruction obliterating the bottom half of the ships center. The Shatter’s angle of drift changed, and it started to tumble slowly in space. The two halfs of the ships slowly being pulled apart.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
001 and 002 stared in horror as the world before them changed into total chaos. Flame, debris, and the odd glimpse of space all that they could see. The force field that had erected into place in front of them, along with the others along the other decks, the only things keeping the front half of the Shatter air tight.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The door opened behind 023. Over the sounds of battle, he didn’t realize until it was too late. He spun, bringing his weapon to bear, as the fire from two plasma rifles and 5 plasma pistols rained into his armour. His shields failed in less than three seconds. Under the physical force, and unbearable heat, he staggered backwards, dropping his weapon. The movements almost invisible under the forming cloud of energy that enveloped him. Under the armour, his flesh blistered and cooked instantly. His screamed was almost drowned out, until it ceased as the armour also ceased to exist, and his physical form was reduced to ashes. One of the grunts kept shooting after he’d fallen.
201 shouted to her friend, bringing her weapon to bear she fired off all four rounds. Two Elites and three Grunts dropped dead. Through tears of rage and sadness, and in desperation without logic, she hurled the now useless weapon at the Covenant before bringing out her side arm and spending what ammo it had. A grenade found it’s way onto her shoulder. 201 died charging the Covenant, with the empty satisfaction of bringing her killer to the gates of hell with her.
171 strafed to the side, with speed and agility startling even for a Spartan in SPI. He looked over at 023, and what was left of his former friend. He was out of ammo. Out of options. Mission was a failure. He wondered if 010 would be proud of them still, or whether he would feel the opposite. Somehow, he thought 010 would still be proud. As he stared death in the face, and new ideas entered his mind, he hoped 010 could know he thought that. Drawing his knife, 171, the best Spartan in SPI Axel had ever trained charged the Covenant.
As he charged, the deck suddenly lurched greatly. The Spartan recovered instantly. The Covenant did not. Two Elites, three Jackals, and seven Grunts fell before he was stopped. 171 looked down at the sword that exploded out of his chest. His bio-signs flat lined, but he still managed to laugh and self-destruct the reactor in his SPI before he died completely.
As metal groaned in protest, the ships structure screaming it’s defiance in its death throws, the two halfs of the shatter pried apart.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
001 watched as 002 was launched forward, bounced off the floor of the hall once, and rocketed out into space as the floor by the force field twisted out of shape as it snapped and ripped. The young Spartan watched as her friend sailed straight into a flaming section of the Shatters front half before she too lost her grip, and was pulled into space spinning head over heels, her hands scraped along the cold metal of the Shatter in futile effort.
She saw a glimpse of silver and her faceplate slammed into something. The glass shattered and the debris wedged into the back of her internal helmet. Red seeped into the vacuum for a split second.
The Admiral was taken hostage. The Key was out of reach. The ODST were unable to assist.
There was one Spartan left.