LOVE OF A SPARTAN

Welcome readers - old and new. This is a rewrite of the original fanfic of the same title, posted and updated 2007-2011. In its time, the story and its sequel "After the War" became incredibly popular, seeing a rather large fan following not only on here, but on WattPad and Ao3. I decided to rewrite the story to give it a more mature and realistic outlook, as well as rely heavily on my military experience - something I didn't have when writing the original.

Content Warning: This story involves mature themes, explicit language, graphic violence, sexual content, alcohol and drug use. As the Halo franchise itself is given a M rating, this shouldn't be a surprise. However, I am aware a lot of the fan base is under 18, so I'll keep the story's rating at T. But you've been forewarned.

I

MAY 2525 - EARTH

An eight year old girl sat on her living room couch, thumbing through a gossip magazine that had been abandoned on the coffee table. Her brown hair had been hastily brushed into a high ponytail. An expanse of freckles littered her sun-tinged cheeks. One gold stud earring shone on her earlobe, the other lost forever after her latest excursion with her friends. Her rumpled clothes hung loosely on her lean frame, spotted with various grass and dirt stains.

Natalie Klein often rejected her mother's attempts to beautify her. She preferred a t-shirt and jeans as opposed to dresses. She asked multiple questions about the contents of her father's toolbox as opposed to wanting to try the various shades of lipstick on her mother's dresser.

Her personality could easily be described as outgoing and cheerful, only to be enhanced when paired with her contagious dimpled smile.

She was a tomboy – a trait influenced strongly by the close adoration of her two best friends, Myles and Amy. The three shared a bond that was currently five years strong and showed no signs of weakening.

Amy Smythe lived just down the street and was a few months Natalie's senior. She had bright red hair and large expressive blue eyes that suited her fiery personality. Amy always remained fearless when speaking her mind, despite the numerous times it had gotten in trouble. She often was the voice for Natalie, and on the odd occasion, Myles as well.

At the age of eleven, Myles Coddington was rambunctious and curious as any other young boy his age. He enjoyed causing harmless mischief and made sure to include his two female friends in any of his adventures – regardless of how their parents might disapprove. Despite being coined a rebel and the occasional bad influence, Myles always had the best intentions at heart and looked out for both girls no matter what.

Natalie heaved a sigh and tossed aside the magazine, bored. Her eyes flickered up to the holographic television. The base platform lazily pulsed a soft blue glow in its slumber.

"On," she commanded. The television glimmered to life, an image swirling into clear high-definition in a blur of pixels that shone like diamonds. It had been left on the local news channel.

The reporter was relaying the latest updates on the Human-Covenant War – the dominant headline that had captured everyone's attention for months now. The war had been raging since February and there wasn't a positive end in sight. The United Nations Space Command was up against an extremely powerful and intelligent alien foe that had quickly become fixated on humanity's extinction.

Presently, Earth was a safe haven. The goings-on of the war were hundreds of light-years away on the distant outer colonies. It was certainly easier to dismiss the war as nothing to worry about, but the casualties that made headlines daily forecast the morbid opposite.

"Today, a Covenant cruiser has entered the atmosphere of the colony of Kepler and launched an immediate attack. Kepler's population numbers around four million. Several thousand have already been evacuated, with their alternate destination remaining classified. The UNSCMC, together with several ships of the fleet are currently struggling to hold off the Covenant forces. Our sources have provided us with exclusive footage taken from one marine's helmet cam during the battle just yesterday. I will warn you that the footage you are about to see may be disturbing to some viewers."

Natalie exhaled a shaky breath, feeling goose-flesh prickling her arms as the severity of the situation sank in. A part of her wanted to change the channel, but her curiosity won over as the news report cut to shaky camera footage. Gunfire crackled all around. Bright blue and green bolts of what looked to be light streaked across the screen. Dirt could be seen catapulting into the air by explosions. Suddenly, a blue armour-clad alien came into view, and Natalie startled, staring wide-eyed in horror as the creature warbled something in its guttural tongue and charged towards the camera.

It was tall, big, and ugly. As it neared, viewers could make out that it had an elongated reptilian face with four jaws lined with sharp teeth. It let out a deep, terrifying roar that seemed to echo throughout the living room. The image distorted with a bright blue flash and a loud sizzling noise before finally diminishing to a noisy static buzz.

The footage switched back to the reporter, who appeared rattled at the ending, his face pale against his dark grey suit. He cleared his throat and continued in his report, but Natalie was finished listening.

"Off." Her voice trembled, and the television silenced itself. Her heartbeat seemed loud in her ears. That marine had likely been killed, and his insinuated death broadcast to the world. A raw dose of realism plainly saying this is what we're up against.

"Scary, ain't they?"

Natalie whipped around, stifling a gasp. Myles stood in the threshold of the living room, leaning casually against the door-frame, chewing on the remnants of an energy bar. She hadn't even heard him come in. His shaggy dark hair looked to be a mess underneath his hat, and his blue eyes shone through the dirt on his face. He had acquired a new injury, Natalie noted, by the new band-aid slapped on his arm.

He met her eyes, a small grin appearing on his lips as he surveyed her expression.

"Hah. I startled you, didn't I?"

"Make your entrance more obvious next time." Her brow furrowed.

"I didn't know you'd be watching the latest from Kepler."

"You're following it, then?"

"Of course. Aren't you?"

Natalie shrugged. It had been the first she heard of this particular battle. Her parents tried their best to keep her sheltered from the worst goings-on of the war.

"Don't let it bother you, Nat. You know, Dad says that I should fight the Covenant when I'm old enough."

"What? The war will probably be over by then!"

"I doubt it."

"How do you know?"

"The news. It's not good, as you just saw for yourself." Myles paused to cram the last of his snack into his mouth, speaking as he chewed. "We all could enlist when we get older. You, Amy and I. We could join the Marine Corps. It'd be one hell of an adventure."

"No, it wouldn't." Natalie replied flatly. The idea of fighting creatures like the one in the video was a thing of nightmares, not a future goal. She stood up from the couch, sliding her feet into her flip-flops. "I don't know about you, but I'm up for a game of gravball."

"Y'never know what the future's got in store for us."

"Well for me, it's not being a marine." Natalie felt her irritation building. "Come on, let's go get Amy."

TEN YEARS LATER

MARCH 2535

An M-12 Warthog sped across a dirt clearing, kicking up red dust as it headed towards a cluster of concrete buildings that had once been considered the outskirts of capital city of the UNSC colony Capricornia. Besides the roar of the vehicle's engine and the crunching of the wheels against the ground, the air was filled with sounds of distant gunfire and the buzz of overhead Banshees and Covenant drop ships.

It was a war zone. Vega, which was once a flourishing city of over two million, had now been almost completely abandoned, save for a few hundred marines and a handful of terrified civilian stragglers desperately searching for a way out of the nightmare. The latter weren't likely to last long. Many were left to wander the scorched and crumbling streets of what had once been their home, searching for help that they wouldn't find. Those unfortunates, like millions of others, would meet their deaths directly or indirectly at the hands of the Covenant.

The alien forces had found the colony of Capricornia three days ago, not long after destroying the colony of Jericho IV which hadn't even been a week before. Their fleet had been led right to Capricornia by pure accident - a set of coordinates falling into alien hands.

The invasion was huge. From the ground, at least two Covenant assault carriers were visible. They crept through the air almost lazily, making a sweep of the north end of the city. Almost constantly, blue beams of plasma flashed down from them, enveloping the city in a bright orange flame, scorching the ground and buildings as easy as tossing a match in gasoline. The sky was thick with smoke. The majority of light didn't come from the sun, but the flaming horizon.

They had already begun glassing.

Lieutenant Myles Coddington sat in the driver's seat of the Warthog. He had the pedal to the floor and the hand of the speedometer buried. The vehicle roared across the uneven ground, making occasional air, bouncing heavily on the shocks.

Coddington's gloved hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, jerking it this way and that to avoid large rocks and pits in the ground. He could feel sweat running down the back of his neck and the heaviness of his soaked hair beneath his helmet. Every once and a while he'd remove one hand from the wheel to hastily wipe trickles of sweat that were cascading down his forehead and into his eyes, not willing to take his focus from the road ahead. His expression one of concentration and disgust, eyebrows furrowed and mouth down-turned. He glanced briefly to the rear-view mirror at the Covenant ships glassing the city behind them. Anywhere he looked, the horizon was glowing with distant fire – fire that would soon envelop the entire planet.

They were fighting a losing battle, Coddington knew that much. It only added to his frustration, knowing that death was all around them and the options for the marines were limited and kept getting cut down. Static bits and pieces he heard from the comm channels over his headset contained nothing positive. The only hopes of saving Capricornia now were if UNSC forces could raid off the Covenant from the air, however, the chances of that happening were slim. Lately, the UNSC was being outnumbered in ship-to-ship battle three to one.

Coddington tore his eyes away from the rear-view mirror and glanced briefly to his side, where Private Natalie Klein sat beside him. She and Amy had joined the UNSC not long after he had. The two women had less than a year of actual field experience under their belts and were fresh to war zones. Expressions of bewilderment and horror were often seen on their faces.

Childish dreams aside, he never wanted them to join. He never wanted for them to experience this - to be so close to death. This war, the bloodshed, the stress, completed with the gap between ranks and enforced authority made their long-term friendship a faraway fantasy now.

Klein, strapped into the passenger's seat of the Warthog with her assault rifle in hand, was trying to mask the overwhelming adrenaline and fear that was plaguing her, but she knew she wore it on her face plainly as the dirt and sweat.

She and Smythe had graduated from the Academy on the same basic training course and spent their first six months of service on the Malta Space Station.

Soon, the demand for marines increased as the Covenant attacks on the colonies grew more and more severe. They were posted within weeks to the UNSC ship Hercules, destined for the conflicts plaguing humanity hundreds of light-years away.

Now here they were: in the midst of a nightmare where the sun had been blinded by smoke, the horizons shone with fire and the air filled with alien ships concentrating on one thing and one thing only – planetary annihilation.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Klein made sure her chin-strap of her helmet was tight and glanced back over her shoulder to Smythe, who was manning the M41, a chain-machine gun with armour piercing rounds on a swivel turret – a powerful match against anything Covenant on the ground.

Smythe let loose a creative array of profanities, drawing their attention to the rear. Two Covenant Ghosts darted from a side street behind them, entering the clearing. They broke off and sped forward, intent on attacking. The M41 sputtered to life as Smythe aimed it at them.

"Two Ghosts, coming up pronto at five and seven o'clock!" Klein bellowed over the gunfire and the engine.

Hearing this, Coddington caught a glimpse of them in his rear-view mirror, zigzagging to avoid Smythe's fire. Manning the Ghosts, were two Covenant Elites. Good, Coddington thought, he'd be able to sprinkle off some of his anger on these two unfortunate bastards.

"Hang on," he announced, and pulled his favourite trick: jamming on the breaks and twisting the wheel. The Warthog screeched and flipped around in a split-second U-turn. At first, Smythe must've thought he was doing this to give her an easier shot, but when the LT drove his foot into the gas pedal once more, heading straight for one of the Ghosts, she shouted, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

The Elite driving the Ghost, clearly thrown off by this move, fired at them. A deadly array of searing bright blue bolts of plasma went sizzling over their heads and glanced off the windshield. Coddington and Klein, even though protected by the glass, could feel the incredible heat from the plasma. If just one of those bolts even grazed one of them, it was a possible goodbye to a limb or even a life.

As the space between the Ghost and the Warthog diminished, Coddington couldn't help but chuckle at the Elite - it thought he was going to stop. Showing the alien wrong, Coddington slammed the Warthog straight into the Covenant Ghost. There was a loud screech of metal hitting metal and with a bone-jarring impact they were all thrown forward and then yanked back into their seats by their seat belts.

Through the dusty and now-cracked windshield, she could see that their Warthog was now half on top of the Ghost, pinning the hovering vehicle tight to the ground. The frustrating groans and whirrs of the Ghost's engine were heard, followed by an irritated roar that came from the Covenant Elite manning it. Its four jaws parted to bear rows of sharp teeth as it shouted something in its guttural language as it tried to put the Ghost into reverse, but the weight of the Warthog kept it tight to the ground.

"Givin' us a generous look at the ugly fucks up close, eh sir?" Smythe remarked. The machine gun growled to life. The Ghost was just in range. In seconds its rotating barrels spat a copious amount of armour-piercing rounds in the Elite's direction. The Ghost's hull sparked as it was peppered with bullets, and the Elite's body armour proved no match against the reign of fire. It was quickly killed, letting out a mournful wail as it was finished with a bullet to the head. Spurts of thick purple blood splattered the area around it as the Elite's limp body fell from the Ghost onto the dirt with a dull thud.

Klein stared at the dead alien, momentarily perplexed. The area grew silent as Smythe stopped the machine gun fire – but this silence wasn't to last. It was seconds before they heard a far off whirr of a Covenant engine, and seconds later, the unmistakable sound of firing plasma weapons. Several bolts of plasma soared precariously close to the Warthog. Smythe had to duck, letting out a surprised gasp as a bolt whizzed over her helmet, popping and sizzling the air around her.

"Sweet Jesus Christ!" She spun the turret around to face the rear. It was the other Ghost.

Coddington cursed, jerking the stick shift into reverse. The Warthog sped back off the Ghost and he turned them to face the oncoming one. The Elite driving was far from enthused. It was shooting mercilessly in their direction, splashing the windshield and hood of the Warthog with burning plasma. It popped and sizzled, vaporising the paint. As the two vehicles veered towards each other, the Warthog gained speed, Coddington attempting to try his trick once more. However this Elite wasn't about to be as stupid as his comrade had been, having witnessing his death from afar. The Elite zigzagged the Ghost at the last second, darting around the Warthog, shooting continuously.

Coddington muttered an array of profanities, watching as the Ghost zipped out of his peripheral vision and behind the 'Hog. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the plasma bolts from the Ghost starting to melt the titanium armour plating of the Warthog.

"Get at him, Smythe, for fuck's sake!"

"He's too close!" she shouted, spinning the turret to follow the Ghost as it whirled around them almost playfully. For a moment she thought she could hear the Elite chuckle, a mocking, humanoid response. She attempted to fire the M41, but the bullets went clean over the Elite's head. "I can't aim that low! He's too fucking close to us!"

Trying to get the Elite off their ass, Coddington began to play an irritating game of cat and mouse, the two vehicles circling and looping around the clearing in a deadly dance. Smythe tried to get in shots where she could, but this Elite was smart, keeping the Ghost close as it could.

Coddington knew that with each plasma bolt that struck the side of the Warthog, it weakened the vehicle's armour. In a desperate attempt, he pulled an emergency U-turn, jamming on the breaks and twisting the wheel, causing the Warthog lurching sickeningly to the side. He waited for the Warthog to level, but his heart jumped into his throat as he felt the vehicle tip further. As Hogs were known to do, the fucking thing was going to flip.

"Get the fuck out!" he bellowed.

Coddington tried to get out of the driver's seat. His hand fumbled for his seat belt, but gravity was against him. Unable to get it undone in time, he tumbled with the Warthog, hearing the others' screams as the Warthog crashed onto its side, stirring up clouds of dust. It went further, rolling upside down, and Coddington saw the world spin and heard crunching metal and crashing and firing plasma.

Then everything went black.

The Warthog was flipping, and Klein's hand went instantly to her seat belt. Getting it undone in a flash, she grabbed her assault rifle and jumped. She landed face first in the dirt, driving her assault rifle into her ribs, a searing pain ebbing through her chest. She felt the air leaving her lungs with one sickening rush. As she struggled to gulp a mouthful of oxygen, she heard a loud crash, and looked back over her shoulder to see the Warthog laying upside down not two feet away, the wheels still spinning. There was no sign of Smythe or Coddington. Taking a few frantic gasps and ignoring the pain in her chest, she quickly pulled herself to her feet, grabbing her weapon. She took few unsteady steps, breathing heavily, each breath causing a burning pain to sear through her. Something was seriously bruised or broken. Cracked rib, perhaps.

"Oh, fuck me sideways," she whispered, grimacing. Dread shot through her as she the Ghost buzzing around on the other side of the overturned Hog.

Suddenly the air was filled with sharp, ear-splitting cracks of gunshots, and she heard Smythe yelling. Pushing aside the aching in her chest, Klein rushed to the other side of the Warthog. She saw Smythe with her M6D pistol, trying her best to make accurate shots at the Ghost, as the Elite played with her, darting the Ghost back and forth just a few feet in front of her.

"Get this fucker away from me or I'm done!" Fear could be heard in Smythe's voice.

"Moving!"

"Covering!" Smythe bellowed, watching her friend hurry past her, heading straight for the Ghost. She noticed a slight limp in her friend's gait and her expression twisted into one of suppressed pain.

The situation was fucked. Klein locked eyes with the Elite manning the Ghost. It was observing her approach with amusement.

It's going to fucking shoot me dead before I can even get close, she realized.

Suddenly, bullets whizzed by its head and pinged off the side of the Ghost. The Elite turned, distracted by Smythe, and Klein had her move.

Letting out a barbaric scream deep down from her diagram, she used her speed to aid her as she made a frantic leap. She landed on the purple hood of the Ghost, nearly slipping off the smooth surface, but she grabbed onto the control panel with one hand to keep from sliding back. The Elite turned to look, and Klein saw the surprise in its reptilian eyes at the little human hanging off its vehicle.

Her grip was failing. She tossed her assault rifle to the ground and used both hands to hold on. Her mind was running a thousand questions, a thousand thoughts. Now what? This seemed to be the most frequent one. Now what the fuck are you going to do?

This Elite was a clever bastard. She saw its mandibles twitch with a throaty chuckle and the Ghost accelerated. She heard Smythe screaming at her, but couldn't make out the words.

She stared into the Elite's black, glittering eyes. She'd never imagined to ever be this close to a Covenant Elite. She remembered the time she saw that footage on the news back when she was a little girl.

These Elites were much uglier in person. She could see the greyish blue of its leathery skin beneath its shining blue armour, and its yellowed sharp teeth in each of its four mandibles. It almost looked like it was grinning at her.

She snapped to, tearing her eyes away from the Elite. Her friend's screams cut into her ears.

"THE WALL!"

Klein whipped her head back to look over her shoulder, and saw the hard stone wall approaching fast. Glancing down at the lower half of her body dangling down the front of the Ghost, she put two and two together. She met the Elite's eyes in terror. She felt a chill run down her spine when she saw it throw its head back and let out a deep menacing laugh.

Quickly, Klein went through her options. If she jumped off now, it wouldn't solve the problem of this Elite. Humans on the ground didn't stand a very good match against Ghosts. And if she didn't jump, her body would be crushed and she would be killed.

The Elite was still laughing, and Klein took this as an opportunity. Letting out a strangled cry, she used every muscle in her body and pulled herself forward, just as the Ghost crashed into the wall. The impact helped her, and she surprisingly went flying right onto the Elite's lap.

The Elite hadn't been expecting this, and in seconds, Klein had her M6D pistol from the holster. Just as the alien began to roar a guttural curse of surprise and raise its fist to bring down on her, she squeezed the trigger, placing four bullets into its open maw. Its head jerked with the shots as the skull exploded out backwards, splattering warm purple blood and brain matter onto Klein's face and armour.

In shock, her mouth hanging open, Klein couldn't move, even as the Ghost's engines sighed and the machine settled to the ground. She stared at the remains of the Elite, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She heard running footsteps approaching her, and knew, without looking, it was Smythe.

"Holy shit!" was her first exclamation. For the first time, Klein tore her eyes away from the dead alien to her friend's bewildered face, knowing her own was covered with purple gore.

Klein's voice failed her. She forced her trembling legs to move and she climbed off the dead Elite's body, her chest searing with pain. She felt a surge of relief as her feet touched the ground, but took a couple of steps before dropping to her knees. All she could smell was the strange odour of Elite blood, and the air seemed thick, hot and heavy. It only took her a couple of suppressed dry heaves until she was overcome and vomited into the dirt. The retching only exaggerated the pain of her injury.

"Fuck, are you alright?" Klein felt Smythe's hand on her back. In those few weak seconds after vomiting, waiting to see if there was more to come, Klein managed a nod. She pressed her hand against her ribs, knowing the tenderness that lay beneath her armour. She felt her stomach settle, and knew there would be no more. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she nodded again for her own assurance.

"I can make it," she finally croaked out, trying to clear her mind. "Where's Myles?"

Coddington groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in the dirt, his legs up above him, somewhere by the steering wheel. So, his seat belt must've come undone after all – too late, however. Dust filled his nose and his mouth, and his eyes watered. He could feel that he had lost his helmet sometime during the accident. Other than a sore back, he was fine. He could feel all his limbs, and if he tried, could move them. The Warthog hadn't crushed him.

He looked to the passenger's side and didn't see Klein.

That's when he realized how strangely quiet it was. There were no gunshots, no plasma, no buzz of the Ghost, no voices. Nothing.

For a moment, he thought he was dead, but no, death wouldn't be the dusty, cramped confines of a flipped Warthog. He was alive, that was for certain. The only sound was his own breathing and his heart pounding in his ears. Where were Klein and Smythe? Where in the hell was that damned Ghost and the Elite driving it?

That's when he heard footsteps - running footsteps. They were distant at first, but quickly grew closer. Two sets of footsteps, familiar too – combat boots on dirt.

"Lieutenant Coddington!"

Familiar voices calling his name, laced with worry.

"Myles!"

He twisted his head to the driver's side, and saw someone's combat boots. The marine in question knelt down, and he saw Klein. Her face was covered in dirt, and strange purple smears. Was that… alien blood?

"Myles! Are you alright?"

All formalities of his rank were forgotten at this point. She raised her head. "Amy, help me get him out!" She looked back to him again."Has the Warthog landed on you?"

"No." Coddington coughed. "I'm just in a fucking awkward position. Pull me out."

He extended a gloved hand out to her. Two sets of hands grabbed his arm, and he was quickly yanked out onto the dirt. He took a deep lungful of air, feeling the claustrophobia fading away. Staring up at the sky, he watched as a Banshee streak across the strangely purple clouds, bringing him back to reality. It wasn't over yet.

"You good, sir?" Smythe inquired.

"I think so." Coddington nodded, muffling a cough again.

The privates helped him to his feet. Wiping some dirt from his fatigues, he began to survey the scene. He saw the one Ghost he had destroyed and the dead Elite lying in the dirt beside it.

"Where's the other…" he began, but then he saw the Ghost by the wall. The front of it was crushed and faint smoke was billowing from it. The engine sparked beneath the purple hood. He saw a limp body of the Elite still in the driver's seat, its head dangling limply, not much left of it. The purplish-blue blood seemed to be splattered everywhere. He didn't bother finishing his sentence, making the connection with the blood on Klein's face and the second dead Elite. He raised an eyebrow and looked to her.

"You?"

Klein nodded wordlessly.

"Well, fuck. Good job." He eyed her clutching her side. "You hurt, Klein?"

"I'll make it, sir."

"I'll take your word for it. How about you, Smythe?"

"Right as rain, sir," she nodded, but gestured to the overturned Warthog. "Our ride's not, though."

"Fuck. Let's try to flip 'er."

"Just with the three of us? I fuckin' doubt it," Smythe commented.

"It wasn't a fucking suggestion!" he snapped, striding toward the Warthog. "Come on!"

Out of the silence, a distant engine could be heard, nearing closer to them.

"Shit," Coddington said, pausing in his tracks. He jogged over to retrieve his helmet from the dirt and slapped it back on his head. "Did either of you see my fucking rifle?"

A Warthog came whipping around the corner of a half-destroyed building, much to their relief. It sped into the clearing, kicking up dust, the driver almost as reckless as Coddington, but not quite.

"What the fuck, no gunner?" Coddington noticed.

The vehicle slowed, and came to a break-screeching stop three feet from marines.

The driver wasn't a marine. When they all saw him, they took an uncontrollable step back. He wore green titanium armour with a helmet with an orange-mirrored visor. When he rose to full height when he exited the vehicle, he was easily seven feet tall.

A Spartan. The super-soldiers they'd all heard about but never seen until now.

Master Chief John-117 took a couple of long strides towards the marines. Noting one had the rank of Lieutenant, John snapped his arm up in a salute.

"Sir."

"Spartan." Coddington returned his salute, feeling rather surprised. "Good to see you. As you can see, we're in a bit of a fucking jam."

He watched as the Spartan nodded his head once, then turned to look at the overturned Hog. A moment passed where he surveyed the scene, before he approached the Warthog. Bending at the knees, he grabbed onto the frame of the vehicle. With what looked to be an effortless flick of his wrists, the Spartan flipped the 'Hog. It landed upright in the dirt with a loud crash, the frame flexing on the shocks from impact.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Coddington stared in awe.

"Did he just…" Smythe began.

"Yup, he did." Klein nodded.

John spotted the Lieutenant's rifle lying in the dirt and retrieved it. As he approached the three marines, their expressions were ones of disbelief. He handed the Lieutenant's weapon back to him.

"Much appreciated, Spartan. I see you are without a gunner. Private Klein."

"Sir," she took a step forward, her eyes locked on the Spartan. He stood still in front of them. All she could see in his visor was her own miserable reflection.

"You're now with him."

"Yes, sir." Klein climbed up onto the back of the Spartan's Warthog. She checked the ammo supply and cocked the machine gun. The movement of yanking on the cocking lever once again caused a shooting pain to web across her chest and she hissed a curse, digging out a cigarette from her pocket. It was mangled, but would work. She needed something to calm her nerves.

"Thank you again for your help, Spartan," she heard Coddington say to the Spartan. "Smythe, let's go. We'll rendezvous back at the EZ."

"That's where I'm headed, sir," John replied. "I know the safest route. You can follow along behind me."

"Fucking wonderful," Coddington grinned.

"EZ? We're leaving?" Klein spoke up, exhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke. She leaned heavily on the turret, waiting for the pain in her ribs to fade. "So this is going to be another fucking Jericho, eh?"

"Well we're not doing much fucking good down here, are we?" Coddington retorted.

"It's too late, Private," the Spartan spoke up. He turned to look at her, knowing just by the way she was standing that she was masking some kind of injury. Her hand trembled as she raised the cigarette to her mouth. He made note to inquire about it later. "The Covenant will stop at nothing until this entire planet is glassed. It's too far gone. We've done all we can here."

Klein watched as the Spartan walked over and jumped in the driver's seat of the 'Hog, and felt the shocks dip with his added weight. Coddington and Smythe were hopping into their own.

"I'll be right behind you, Spartan!" Coddington called.

The Spartan gave him a thumbs up, and started the engine with a rumble. Klein exhaled a sigh, discarding the remnants of her cigarette as the Warthog began to roll forward on the bumpy trail. She bit her lip as her ribs once again seared with pain. She glanced up at the sky to the tall skyscrapers ablaze in the distance, the dark silhouette of the assault carriers just visible.

"Fuck it all," she whispered.