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To the Last Man Part 1 Chapter 1
Date: 16 July 2004, 6:19 AM

The silhouette of a giant sphere contrasted the blinding vestige of the star to the rear of it.
Its fair blue surface reflected light, similar to an enormous sapphire. A rocky satellite orbited nearby. This is Dragonhead, a planet almost a mirror image of Earth in the way of minerals and atmosphere.
Its surface contained one of the largest military stations since Reach. A vast network of roads interweaving between testing and research facilities and various military installations covered the surface. The dark side of the planet shone brilliantly in an almost unending light.
A minute blip showed on the radar of an inner space inspector. He called the lieutenant supervising his group.
"Uh, Sir? You'd better come look at this . . . " he said as his voice drifted away.
"What is it, boy?"
"Um . . . Is that all that's left of battle group Victor 29-17?"
"Oh God, that is! Send out some escort fighters on the double!"
"Calling for two escort Longswords to sector A S B - 14328 and make it quick!" the inspector called into his emergency radio.
"We're on the way, over and out," replied a voice on the other side.
Drifting out in the darkness of space was a familiar shape. A D77 Pelican. Outfitted with twin 70 mm heavy chain guns, two giant ATG Hellfire missile packs on its top and various anti - vehicle bombs in its storage compartment. This edition was labeled the D77-AV "Angry Pelican."
It could also carry some human cargo.
Augmented with light MJOLNIR class 5 Battle Suits and trained in various special forces tactics for two years, Hell jumpers make up the heavy support infantry in place of the SPARTANs, other than, of course, the Master Chief.
The surviving Hell jumper onboard the craft was a lieutenant colonel Arnold Johnson. He was summoned to the UNSC Marine Corps' ARCHANGEL 7 special forces training at age seventeen and chosen by an ONI officer to become an 'elite paratrooper, leaping from orbit and falling right into Hell,' a clever name for battle.
After further training, he was assigned to his first mission: a covenant outbreak on the planet Eclipse 4. After outstanding success, arrangements were made to fit him in his recent assignment. It was the first ever assault on an entire system controlled by Covenant forces
A small storage planet full of ships and personnel emptied out. It was the greatest armada devised in UNSC history. The majority of forces were left behind, though.


"I'm really not too sure of this, though, Captain," Johnson said to his lifelong friend, Captain Lorenzo Gutierrez.
"Don't worry, Arny, with all this shit they have, what could possibly happen to us or the ship?" reassured his friend.
"I'm not doubting us or the Maria. It's just that intelligence on their weapons has been getting hazy lately. Oh, yeah, and this 'shit' has been hobbled together pretty quickly, so I'm not sure of its integrity."
"I guess all we can do is hurry up and wait."


"This is Recon 424, we're, uh, getting something big here. It's, um, really big here, hehe."
"Enough squaking. This is Captain Gutierrez, and since I'm closest, I'd like to know what it is."
"Um, it appears to be a new type of Covenant cruiser. It's about two Kilometers in length, shaped sort of like an arrowhead, and - WHAT THE HELL IS IT DOING - AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"A few intense seconds after the transmission, a hand clasped the Captain's shoulder. He jumped and whirled around.
"Hey, Lorenzo, my group is shipping out. Any last words?" Johnson said.
"Yeah. Good luck," the Captain replied.

After several minutes, the shipboard AI, Liara, prepared the captain for very bad news.
"Sir. I have something to tell you."
"Spill it, Liara," Lorenzo ordered.
"Yes, Captain. Several fighter pickets have reported heavy anti-cruiser ion cannon fire from all over the surface. That means that we can't penetrate the surface unless we put up an impossibly high scrambling frequency. Even if we could, it would fry our circuts, too."
"Sounds bad. Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. If you thought that was bad, then here's something really bad. I've detected a few hundred Covenant STB class battle cruisers, God knows how many more there are. Seems that they've come to eliminate us. The really good part is that they'll be here in about four minutes."
Lorenzo pondered this for a moment. Even with about one thousand individual large ships, each one would have to hold their own against a storm of Covenant ships. Super Titan Behemoth classes (the namers were not known for their originality) could carry small cruisers on the bottom of their hulls. That meant that for about every blip on the radar there could be two or three large ships. If that were the case, then his men's lives would have to have been spent as dearly as possible. Then there was also the new type of Covenant cruiser to think about.
"Get all personnel to combat alert status. I want all defense cannons on standby, and load up eight Shocker missiles," the captain said to Liara.
"Aye aye, captain," she replied. "I want all personnel to combat readiness, and get eight Shockers to Firing Bay 6."
"Yes Ma'am," answered the marine on the other end.


An alarm buzzed and a red light flashed about scurrying marines, running hither and thither, preparing for the imminent doom falling before them. Weapons were armed and systems were checked over and over again. Sergeants gave lectures to the marines under their command.
All of this was surveyed by the single Hell jumper leaving on the D77-AV.
"Everything's green. Are you sure you under stand your mission?" said the pilot of the dropship/ heavy antitank aircraft.
"Hell yeah. I went over it a thousand times. I'm supposed to go behind our enemy's lines and take out their main transport line around the landing zone."
"OK, let's get the heck out of -!" At that exact time, a few of the Covenant spacecraft discharged their weapons at the exposed starboard side of the ship, which was the side of the vehicle bay.
After a few hazy moments after the racking of his head on the side of the craft, he came to and viewed a trickle of blood running down the side of the pilot's face. Gore was imbued on the glass of the cockpit making for a sickening sight.
"Oh God . . ." the lieutenant colonel gasped at the sight of his friend's brains splattered around him. "Well... I'm going to miss you, bud. Sorry about this," he said, as if his ally would care if his corpse was pushed out of an open cockpit.
He looked around and saw that everyone else in the charred room was sprawled across the floor, dead.
"Lucky me," he sighed as he closed the cockpit and started the engines. "At least the damage on the Pelican isn't too extensive. Just a scuffed wing. OK, sorry to abandon you, Lorenzo, but I have to get the hell out of here."
The ship shot out of the Maria like a bat out of hell. It swung away from enemy fire as gracefully as a fighter. Outside, a heated battle continued. Explosions blossomed like beautiful orange and red flowers. He threw up the Pelican's throttle and burst away from the battle.
The next thing he knew, two Longsword fighters were taking him down to the surface of Dragonhead.
"Welcome back, sport," one of the pilots said, "welcome back."

The Boring Part: To the Last Man Pt. 1 Chap. 2
Date: 19 July 2004, 1:50 AM

      He shook violently, trying to control his grip on his mug of coffee. He knew that something like this shouldn't shake his iron-strong will and discipline, but something about this one event disturbed him more than it should have. It wasn't the horrible mutilation of his friends. He had seen that before, on his excursion to Eclipse. It was something deeper, an intense fear of a dark, mysterious aura hiding in the shadows.
      He looked up to investigate his environment again. It wasn't much different from any other small room on the base. It was cramped, dark, smoky and had two marines guarding the door. If it didn't have a table lit by a dangling lamp and a security camera whirring in the upper corner, it could have been called a closet
      "All we really need to know," the sergeant.sitting across from him began, "is if anybody followed you."
      "There's a minimum chance that they may have tracked me from there, but there were a lot of lifeboats and escape ships launching and they didn't seem to mind them. The Covenant STBs were content destroying the larger ships and their fighters were mainly after ours. It was almost like they wanted us to leave."
      "Uh huh, exactly. Was there a possibility that a location tracking device was fired onto your ship?"
      "No, there wasn't enough time for them to get one on. I got out of there as soon as I could. There's no way that they could've attached one in four seconds unless I saw it or the ones who launched it. It would be activated in a few milliseconds and no one could miss the energy signature on their sensors for the short time after it activates. So there's really no way."
      "Okay, thanks for your time. See ya," was all the sergeant replied.


      Though the indiscriminate clanging of his boots on the metal floor was all too common in the military life, he thought it was very irritating at that one moment walking down the halls. He never thought of it before, and never again.
      "Sir, the General has been expecting you, Sir! His office is right behind the blast door." After he spoke, the marine oriented his raised thumb in the way of the large door behind him.
The colonel took one step in the direction of the door and it shot open suddenly, startling him.
      "Relax. Nothing to fear here, except maybe Edgar's coffee," he joked. "Come in, have a drink. Make yourself at home."
      "So, what do you want to talk about?"
      "Oh, nothing. Just the encroaching Covenant armada."
      "How did they find us here? They never planted a tracking device on that Pelican!"
      "We have reasons to believe that they may have used different methods . . ." A few moments passed as the two stared at each other. The colonel tilted his head toward the general.
      "Like what?" The general gave no answer. He looked lost in his head. "Uh, General? Can you hear me?" The general stalled for a few seconds and then snapped out of it.
      "As I was saying, they may be using dissimilar methods of tracking than ours. Eccentric devices have been found by several weapons intelligence officers on Eclipse before you landed there. They said it was an amplifier of some sorts. We have gathered enough Intel to lead us to believe that the Covenants Prophets use these devices to amplify their brain waves and the brain waves of other sentient beings. But the problem is that Prophets hardly ever leave the surface, and the communication jamming devices on the surface would make these devices useless because they don't use the same kind of frequency the other Covenant devices use. So they would have to leave the planet on some sort of small craft, because the Covenant let loose on their battle net that protocol was Prophets had to leave on heavily guarded ships, with most of their attention on shields. This would mean a shape like a triangle or a sphere, because shields cover their forms better than any other shape. The problem is that the usual Covenant design pattern has a shape wholly different from either one of those to fit more weapons. In that case we're looking for a prototype ship from which Prophets can command their fleets."
      "If I can interrupt this ramble of yours, General," the Colonel started, "Then I may have a clue."
      "Permission granted," the General said as soon as the Colonel finished
      "During my voyage to the Covenant held star-system, I overheard a peculiar transmission from our recon post 424. They said that they were attacked by a prototype similar in shape to the ones you were describing. They were immediately destroyed by it though. But it was a relatively small ship, even they described it as 'big.' It was really only two kilometers in length, so I don't understand why they would say it was large." They both meditated on this for the next ten minutes.


      Twelve kilometers to the South of the General's office stood a small long distance ship detection facility. Inside of its dull silver walls, a distortion on the screen of a long distance infrared telescope alerted an intelligence agent.
      "Hey, Dennis! Come look at this!" he said, pointing to his screen.
      "Are you sure it's not a drip from your MRE?" Dennis inquired as he twirled around in his chair.
      "No man, it's the real deal this time! Come quick!" Dennis rolled his wheeled desk chair over next to the man's char.
      "OK, where is it?"
      "Right here," he said as he pointed to a yellow spot on the screen, "Do you see it?" Dennis was alarmed for the first time in a while. This was no joke. "It was twenty -two thousand miles away yesterday, so I just thought it was a group of asteroids, right? Now they're only six thousand miles away, and heading right for us."
      "At that rate they'll be here in five hours! We've got to get this to the Commander General! Come on!" They rushed out of the room and pulled the alarm switch.



      The alarm drew the two out of their trance. The General stood up and said, "I knew it was a bad idea bringing you here. "Listen, make yourself useful and man an AA turret. Now get out of my face."
      "Yes, sir," the colonel replied. He strolled to the door as if having a massive Covenant flotilla breathing down his neck was as normal as breathing.
      "HURRY YOUR SORRY ASS UP, SOLDIER, OR YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE MY BOOT UP IT!" the General screamed across the room.
      "Yes sir!" the Colonel said half - heartedly as he sped out of there.

      In the dark interior of a Covenant ship, an Elite Commander's golden armor glistened as he kneeled to the creature seated in a throne located in the darkest corner of the room.
      "Master, what is it you ask of me?" the elite asked the form in the dark side of the room.
      "I ask that you give no quarter to the humans on the surface. The one exception is their commander, whom we shall torture until he gives us the location of their home world. I will then give you the pleasure of killing him."
      "Yes, master."

The Battle for Dragonhead, To the Last Man 1-3
Date: 13 October 2004, 3:40 AM

      Instead of manning an AA MAC turret as the Commander General had wanted, Johnson had found his way to Vehicle Bay 6.792 instead. He joined the other Helljumpers and was briefed for a new mission: the defense of Dragonhead. The Covenant has destroyed many bases on Dragonhead and is now threatening to destroy its two most important stations: Installation Alpha and Zulu . . .

19:26 Hrs. 7/26/2558 Military Standard Time
Airspace above Zulu Installation
Dragonhead
Ciara Alpha system

      Lieutenant Colonel Arnold Johnson pulled his helmet over his hair and across his face, snapping it into place. His heavy breath fogged his visor, a heavy haze making the cramped compartment a red blur. He unsnapped the gray ammo pouch on the right of his utility vest. He slid out a fresh clip for his battle rifle. He lifted the weapon and inserted the clip underneath it. He snapped back the breech, making the familiar 'click-clack' sound.
The heavy door of the Pelican's troop hold slid open, revealing the clouds just meters below them. This wasn't a high jump, but time was of the essence. The red light turned green, and Johnson once again briefed his troops.
      "It's our job to bail the marine's asses out of the frying pan, AGAIN." There was a collective laugh around the troop compartment. " Okay, you've all done this hundreds of times before. Open your chutes at one thousand meters and secure the LZ. Got that?"
      There was a unanimous "YES SIR." The light went green, and all of the Helljumpers put their hands in the center of the semi-room. "FIRST TO RISE, LAST TO FALL, HELLJUMPERS DO IT ALL, FEET FIRST INTO HELL!" With that, one after another, they piled out of the Pelican and into the sky.
      Even through his helmet Johnson heard the whine of the air rushing past him. The ice cold puff of the clouds passed in just more than two seconds. The ground rapidly approached and he saw the forteress-like Zulu installation and something to his right, hidden by low clouds. His adrenaline was pumping and his heart was beating insanely. It was the rush that he craved.
      At what he assumed was one thousand meters, Arnold signaled his platoon and pulled his release strap. His body jerked upward and his descent slowed. But he was going down too fast. He struggled to steady himself, but . . .

      "SHIT!"
      Johnson landed on top of a bunker with a clank and an unpleasant crash. He rolled across the roof and fell down amidst several marines. The rest of his squad set down where he had just been. He lifted himself to his feet and brushed off spots of dirt on his suit. It didn't let him move at the speed of thought, but it sure as hell held up well. He looked up at the crowd of Marines that had gathered up around him. They straightened as they noticed the ODST insignia on his shoulder.
      Christ, they're just kids,he thought, gazing around at their young faces. They couldn't be much older than twenty-four.
      "Are you okay, man? That looked like it hurt bad!" asked one of the Marines. His expressive Hispanic face expressed both his concern and slight confusion.
      "Yeah, I'm all right. What's your name, kid?"
      "Pr-Private Hernandez, Sir!" he answered nervously. His face straightened and he saluted. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. Johnson could see the fear in his eyes. He knew what was going to happen that night. He knew what they were up against.
      A loud, undefined sound drew everyone's attention. Johnson was frozen with terror, along with everybody else.
A Super Titan Behemoth stared down his throat. Even from miles away it filled his entire line of sight. An enormous panel on its side opened wide and thousands of dropships streamed out toward them. A purple wall amassed ahead of the soldiers.
      The AA MACs warmed up their guns, preparing to fire. With a deafening roar, they unleashed their arsenal into the oncoming storm of ships, but it was no use. Hundreds of them landed on the field before them. Covies of every kind streamed out of their transports and raced toward the fortified base. The MACs stopped to reload.
That's when the artillery struck.
      Giant balls of plasma soared over head. They crashed into a MAC. Debris flew into the air and it rained down into the ranks of Marines with a blossom of blue flame. Dust stifled the screams of the young men. The fire burned on, providing a cold light for the dark night. Another barrage crashed into the ground, blowing away the barriers that the Marines had stacked up with haste. Suddenly it struck him. He knew what they were doing. He knew what those bastards were up to-
      Sons of bitches.
      A war cry started from behind the smoke and flames. A projectile spiraled out of the cloud of dust. As if in slow motion, he saw it hit an unlucky soldier standing in just the right place. He simply exploded. The direct hit had sent his torso flying into the air. His insides burst like a tomato, spattering along the wall of the bunker. The legs went limp and just flopped to the side.
      Instead of fear, Johnson felt a rage build inside him. He lifted his battle rifle and held it to his shoulder. He hated the Covenant, and he always had. It was time to kick some ass.

20:00 Hrs. MST
Installation Zulu

      He squared the charging Elites head into his crosshairs. He pulled back the trigger. The rifle jerked back into his shoulder and he straightened the sights back. The Elite fired and missed, the plasma hitting around Johnson's feet. He lined up the shot and heard the rifle crack six times. The creature's shield dispersed and it kept sprinting toward Arnold. He dodged its desperate tackle and jammed the butt of his rifle into the back of its skull. Purple brains squeezed out as the creature's life gurgled away.
      A brigade of stalwart Grunts filed out into the small concrete clearing. Sweat poured down Arnold's face as he sprinted toward the nearest mound of debris. He squatted down behind the various chunks of uneven rubble.       He would only have a few seconds before they rushed in on him. His hand plucked a grenade from his belt and squeezed the cold metal surface. His finger pulled the pin out of the grenade and he peeked up out of his hiding place. The fight was confused and several Jackals had now joined the fray. He chucked the grenade right into the center of the advancing group. There was a cry of alarm from two Jackals, but it was too late. It exploded, filling the night with a bright orange fireball. Through his ringing ears, he could hear the blood spatter and tiny bits of shrapnel embed themselves into the metal of his helmet.
      He snatched up his rifle and whirled around to survey the area. His head throbbed, like it was beating itself to pieces. There was a crater, smoke pouring out of the meter wide hole. The stench of burned flesh enveloped the area; purple and blue gore was strewed around the area. Helljumpers and Marines were still firing and the Covenant Wraiths were still bombarding the base, but the overall battle had died down. Hernandez pushed himself up from his prone position behind the corner of the bunker and walked over to Johnson.
      "Phew. That was a close call, don't you say, Bro?"
      "At least there weren't too many casualties."
      "PHH!" Hernandez said, socking Arnold jokingly on his right shoulder. "I know you don't mean that, bro. You can trust us Marines more than that, man. You should be talkin' 'bout getting ourselves killed, you over there with that close range grenade flinging' shit, you know, bro?" He had a smug grin on his face.
      "Yeah. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?"
      "Yeah, I can't argue with that, bro. Hold on a sec, bro. I want you to meet my other friends." He ushered several more marines, along with one ODST.
      "I didn't know you knew a Helljumper," Johnson said.
      "Well, you've only known me for an hour," he replied. "Well, here they are. There's Carl," he pointed to a tall African-American.
      "Hey," Carl said, waving at Arnold.
      "There's Jose, Ron, Frank, and Dan," he said, pointing to each as he said their names. He now pointed to the ODST. "That's Jenny."
      "Jenny?" Arnold questioned, his right eyebrow raised, "Isn't that usually a girls' name?"
      "Yeah," said the ODST, removing its helmet, "It is." Her golden-blonde hair was curled up into a tight bun.
      "Holy shit! I didn't know there was a woman on my team!"
      "Well, now you do! Isn't that great!" she said, both enthusiastic and sarcastic at the same time. She shoved her helmet into his hands.
      "Well, I, uh,"
[indent"Just c'mon. Looks like we've got more work to do," she said, pointing to the two Banshees hovering overhead. She fired at the purple masses with amazing accuracy. Every time she pulled the trigger, the hull of a Banshee lit up in a shower of sparks. She handled the recoil beautifully, holding the barrel firmly in place. One of the Banshees spiralled out of control and corkscrewed over their heads, sparks fizzing on the concrete. The other one pulled out of its dive and sped off towards the giant Titan Behemoth in the distance.
      "Thanks guys, I hardly broke a sweat," she stated in her constant sarcastic tone. She threw her rifle over her shoulder, tendrils of smoke still spouting from the end of the barrel. Her boots clicked as she swaggered into the hole in the bunker. Johnson just stood and gawked: he had just seen his definition of beauty personified. From the moment he saw her, he loved her.

      Krour D'bel 'Urdebes stood motionless in the dark purple hangar of the Punisher of Lost Souls, examining the force of Special Op Covenant granted to him. Their minds were strong - he could see that. But were their hearts willing enough to destroy the pink-fleshed scum for the valor of the Gods? Were they strong enough to fight until the very last of them in order to achieve their duty? Krour was caught by the dilemma. They were willing to serve him, but would they stand and fight or flee? He had witnessed many strong ones run because of a little resistance. No. They would suffer at their hand or face death at his sword. And that death would not be a pleasant one.

23:00 hrs., MST

      The restless din of battle was quiet. Only the sound of flames sparkling in the distance and the dust blowing in the emerging breeze. Shells and cases lay in a blanket over the ground. The smell of charred flesh and phosphorous was ripe. The breeze was slowly getting stronger, and now the bullet cases were beginning to roll across the ground. Johnson, sitting atop a crate, noticed this. His head turned up. He could vaguely see a Ghost hovering in the distance. There was a roar, so loud that even from that distance it rattled his helmet. The others' faces snapped up. Warcries echoed through the night, as if it were phsycological warfare.
      "WOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRT WWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRT WORT! DOZ'T DRUNE DUL DE'AREN ARKTUN'ED DUL D'BEL 'URBEDES!!! BAFEM DURIDELS!!!"
Mad cries for battle stations combated the rebel yell of the Covenant. Sniper fire sounded, but the Elite's call drowned everything else out.
      Before anything major could be done, the charge of the Covenant had reached them. The Ghost strafed around the cavalcade of Marines, covering for their bretheren. The bright flash of the plasma blinded Arnold. He stumbled back, his hands groping for something to support him. He smacked against the bunker wall. He fell to the ground and retrieved his bearings. The blindness, luckily, was only temporary. The remnants of the Helljumpers surrounded him in a tight circle. Johnson clamored to his feet and lifted his rifle. He squared an Elite's head downrange, and jammed down the trigger.
      The rifle sputtered in his hands and he aimed once more and fired. The ODST in front of him clasped his stomach. Plasma burned through a weak spot in his armor. His knees gave way and he collapsed in a heap. Arnold moved up and stood over his corpse. His rifle felt hot in his hands. Purple blood spattered from the Elite's skull as he brought it to the ground. He and his ODST brothers (and sister) stood their ground before the storm of spec ops Elites. Throw a flag in here and we would make the perfect color guard, he thought, smiling. Marines rushed past them into the safety of the bunker. The ODST's slowly backed away, covering their retreat with their own fire. Arnold stopped firing from his shoulder. Instead, he fired his rifle on full auto from his hip.
      The Covenant seemed to be backing away, too. They stopped firing until their weapons overheated and started shooting sporadically. They weren't afraid of something; they withdrew, but stood their ground when any of the Helljumpers tried to advance. It wasn't a full retreat: they were making way for something.
      Roars sounded from the rear of the Spec-ops troop. There was a muffled blast, and two missiles whistled through the air in an arc. They spun in the same way the projectile that had reduced the unlucky marine to a bloody spot on the wall had. He watched as they fell, corkscrewing over their heads and smashing into the bunker behind them. A shockwave toppled anything in the immediate area and a tsunami of debris flew from the point of impact, but the small explosion area had only set the squad of Helljumpers off balance.
      Johnson could scarcely see a sparkling helmet bobbing up and down amidst the crowd of Spec-ops Covenant. There were also two shaggy beasts and the mammoth form of a Hunter following close behind. The human combatants slowly backed int o the bunker in the eerie silence. There was the hiss of a plasma sword being energized.
There was no other choice. They had to retreat into the bunker. Plasma started flying as the Helljumpers filed into the small bunker hatch. The Elite commander crouched down and sprung up high into the air. Johnson barely had time to slam the door shut as the Commander slammed into the ground next to it.

[The clanging of the boots on the metal was an almost deafening sound. There were only several hundred thousand survivors from the entire Dragonhead disaster, and now they were making a mad dash through Installation Zulu with the Covenant in close pursuit. They were headed to the docked UNSC flagship Aurora, their last hope of survival. Even when they arrived, what would they do? How could they escape the STBs and make a blind FTL jump in their battered condition? Johnson's mind was troubled. But in spite of everything, he kept on leading the charge.
Plasma whizzed by the group but they kept one step ahead of their pursuers. A right turn, left turn, this way, that. He was lost but in some way he wasn't. He didn't know where he was but he knew where he was going. It was as if his will to survive kept his feet moving in the right direction when his memory couldn't.
      There was a straight, wide hall with an arrow pointing straight ahead: Ship Bay 37742. His step lightened, he was sprinting now, his feet hardly touching the ground. But he skidded to a stop as he noticed the red outline of the door.Goddamit, it's locked!
      "Out of the way! Out of the fucking way!" shouted a familiar voice. Jenny was making her way through the awestruck crowd. She slipped through to Johnson as the Covanant slid around the corner to the hall. A heated firefight broke out; the corridor lit up with the tracers and blasts of energy being exchanged. Arnold turned his attention to Jenny. "Here, I've got the door code. She punched in the code on the blast door's keypad. Fuel rod tracers crashed into the high ceiling, raining down rubble on the survivors. As the blast door opened, another was revealed.
      "Aw, SHIT!" the Lieutenant Colonel and Jennifer said at the same time. They rushed into the airlock and punched in she entered the code. The door creaked open; a hatch of the Aurora was open. The Commander General ushered them in, sniper rifle in hand.
      "Come on, you maggots! I've got ya covered!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. But Hernandez instead moved to the side of the crowd. He started firing at the Covenant down the hall. Johnson ushered him to the ship, but he shook his head.
      "Nah, man! Someone's got to give you vatos some time, no?" He turned back to the charging Hunter. He could just barely make out a orange crack in it's neck. He squeezed off one shot and it made it. Right on target.

      It was almost five minutes later. Hernandez was still fighting his furious resistance in the long corridor. His rifle was out of ammunition,lying on the floor, and he had his pistol out. This wasn't your new-fangled Magnum: it was an old school MD9, complete with scope.
      He popped a few into a Grunt's skull as it hobbled into his sights. There was little resistance after the blast door had closed behind him. It seemed that they were trying to find antother way in. He knew he wouldn't make it out of here; he was going slightly insane already. The Elite's battlecry echoed through his mind. He didn't mind if he died; he was in Hell already.
      They'll come back for me, won't they, Bro? I don't know Bro! AAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAHAHA!
He curled up in a ball as his sanity slowly drained away. He thought he hear something scuttling inside the walls. . . .

The Epilogue to Part 1 will come very soon.

To the Last Man, revised edition, Part One Chapter Prologue
Date: 4 December 2004, 7:57 AM

      First of all, here's an explanation. Hate me for it, yes, but it must be. My first versions of this story bombed with you guys and I really want to show you the extent of my talent, so I went on a mission. I wanted to make this story how I had envisioned it. Taking Helljumper's advice to all authors, I read a Clancy book and a few accounts by actual soldiers. I then decided to buy TfoR, but my pockets protested, so I read whats-his-name's Revelation of War series. I combined the styles of my old self and the others carefully so as not to steal anything from them and made my story into the epic I'd had in mind.So sits the final product. And yes, I know that my poems suck arse, but I write them in like five seconds so bear with me (thanks Sushimaster for saying that my Library of Horrors poem was alright, but it wasn't a serious attempt anyway. YOU GUYS SHOULD KNOW THAT!). Anywho, on with the show!



Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson


      To the Last Man, Chapter One, Prologue
      Episode I: Three Down, A Million More to Go

      Staring blankly into space, Admiral Gutierrez was troubled. The amount of resposiblilty that came with his position was tiring. He desperately needed a vacation. He turned back to his desk and put on his earpiece.
      "Cetra, turn Captain's moniter to video five."
      "Wouldn't it be easier to turn it on yourself? You are right there," the AI said.
      "It's more fun to annoy you."
       "Hmmph. Admiral, there's a message for you on the intercom."
       "Send it through." There was the buzz that signaled the transition, and a tinny voice came through.
      "Uh, Adirwl? Dersumuneredozeeoo. Ooksikeodeeesdee."
      "Oh, I've forgotten the filters. Clumsy me," Cetra said. Even though there wasn't a holopad in the room, he could tell she had a smirk on her face. "Okay, I've put them back on."
      Not saying anything to Cetra, he replied to the guard, "Say that again, soldier."
      "I said, sir, that there's someone here to see you. Looks like an ODST."
      Lorenzo smiled. "Good. Let him in.

      The sight of Arnold Johnson was impressive. His arms and legs showed an everlasting youthful strength while his grizzled face was a reminder of his many years in the service. He definetly wasn't your normal twenty-something army boy. His dark eyes carefully watched, learned and wise after many battles. He was wearing a dark red ODST beret with a black star and gold bars, representing his rank: Lieutenant Colonel.
      "Old friends meet again,"said Lorenzo. He held out his hand, and Arnold shook it.
      "The years have treated me well, old buddy, as you can see."
      Lorenzo laughed. "Come on in, have a drink!"
      "Oh, I don't drink anymore." Gutierrez laughed again.
      "It's not like a few now and then will hurt you. Come on in and make yourself comfortable."
      He nodded and stepped into the room. As soon as he did so, the ship quaked and he braced himself into the doorway. The two looked around, confused by what had just happened. "That wasn't an accident," Cetra said, "someone is after us." The admiral nodded in agreement.
      "I need everyone at their Battle Stations, priority two. I want guards at every airlock and Longswords in their defensive positions, and you, Cetra, to warm the M.A.C.s up."
      "Gladly," Cetra replied.
      "Colonel, I want you to help in any way."
      Johnson saluted. "Yes, Admiral."

      Johnson ran down the halls of the USS Column of Light to the armory near the rear. He dodged the personnel as he hurried through to the arsenal.
      He finally reached the armory, panting after having to run nearly two kilometers to reach his destination. The automatic doors opened and a few marines came running out, Battle Rifles in hand.
      "Hey!" a marine called to him. "You need to hurry and get to your post, sir." Johnson said nothing, he just cooly strolled in through the doors as if nothing was happening. He walked over to a rack of Battle Rifles. He unhooked one and slung it over his shoulders. He unsnapped one of his pouches and stuffed one bag of clips into it. Then he left the rifle cache for a stand of SMG's. Taking one and a clip off of the rack, Johnson clicked it onto the side of the gun. As nonchalant as he came in, he went out.
      Havoc erupted from seemingly nowhere as he ran past a cafetoreum. The mess hall was alive with the billowing blue light from plasma.. Screams and gunshots. It all reminded Johnson of his first few years in the corp.
      His tour of duty on Eclipse was his first official assignment, and if it weren't for him and his squad, the entire mission would have been a faliure. He was only about twenty-three then, but he had as much training and experience as a fifty-year-old veteran thanks in large part to the ARCHANGEL Accelerated ODST program. It was effectively a disposable replacement for the SPARTAN project, though not for its subjects. Basically, it was a series of nanobot injections that reproduced and built muscle tissue, giving for much more combat training and nearly no conditioning periods.
      Makes me all warm and toasty inside, the colonel thought. He strafed into the open doorway, missing plasma by literally just fractions of inches. I should have brought more ammo.
       A contingent of marines was spread out and they were forced to take cover. Covenant had breached the far door and were picking them off one by one, but not very subtly.
      Arnold cocked the SMG. He inaled slowly, and exhaled in one short puff.. From behind the wall, he peeked into the gallery. The enemies weren't as numerous as he thought. Just an Elite plus a couple of Grunts. And a Plasma Cannon.
      The Lieutenant Colonel side-stepped into the doorway once again. Fire from the cannon erupted, but it was delayed. They miraculously had no idea that he was coming. He sqaured his sights on the Grunt manning the cannon. He squeezed the trigger.
      Thunder erupted from the muzzle of his weapon. The Grunt's head exploded in a spatter of thick blue blood. His mask burst, spraying its invisible contents into the air with a bang and a hiss. One down.
       The marines joined in and started firing sporadically in a quick succession. The other Grunt, crouching behind a crate and invisible to Arnold, was gone. He could only guess what had happened amidst the splatter of its insides. Two down.
      The Elite knew he was doomed. Johnson ran into the cafeteria and crouched behind a table. The Covenant dropped its weapon. A growl started in his throat, and became louder. There was no mistaking that it was going to do something. The growl erupted into a roar, an ear-splitting call from the pits of Hell. Even Arnold was forced to cover his ears. The Elite snatched something from its belt and held it in its hand for a moment. Oh Shit.
      A crack signaled the arrival of a Plasma Sword. With only a few rounds left in his gun, Johnson needed to think fast. A plan popped into his head, but it was incredibly stupid.I've done stupider.
      He leapt to his feet and ran straight to the Elite. It raised its sword in preparation. Expecting this, Johnson leapt into the air. He raised his foot and and thrust it foward. It collided with the alien, and its shields fluttered. Johnson ricocheted and planted his feet on the floor. A perfectly executed flying side kick. He glanced back at the marines, gazing in awe. He ran back, away from the dazed Elite.
      "Fire at will! Fire at will!" Arnold commanded the soldiers, and they followed immediately.The Elite died in a fitting rain of purple. Three down.
      The marines gathered around him. "Thanks! We're lucky you showed up! We were goners, for sure. I guess that's it," one said. The ship rumbled again.
      "Not yet."
      A million more to go.

To the Last Man, Prolouge Part 2 (revised edition)
Date: 2 February 2005, 1:42 AM

Column



      The tactics deck nearest to the airlocks was now the site of a makeshift command post for the marines guarding the station. The construction was excellent, as far as Arnold could see. The exits were well defended, weapons and ammo were easily accessible, and the barriers that were set up were set up just so to make cover easy to get to, to be out of the way, and so the soldiers behind them could have an effective fire arc. The UNSCDF engineers were still some of the best.

      Johnson walked briskly down the steps in front of him to the second level. There was a man standing there, looking out over the deck. He noticed Johnson, then saw the beret, snapped to and saluted.

      "Welcome to the party, sir. I'm Master Sergeant Andrew Wilson, sir," the man said in a thick Texan accent.

      "Glad I could come. What's the situation so far?"

      "The Column's been able to get away from the main Covenant Battle cluster. She's being pursued, but it's nothing too fancy just a fighter and a boarding craft now and then."

      "The boarders, how far into the Column have they gotten?"

      "Well, as you can see on this screen," Wilson said, typing something and pulling up a diagram of the Column, "the boarders've taken the airlocks, stairwells three-two, three-three and security station four. We sealed them in, but it won't take them long to cut through the bulkheads. That's about it. Anything you can think of, sir?"

      Johnson looked over the schematics carefully. He was never so confused in his life. He looked around for something useful. Then he noticed what he needed. A ventilation shaft ran from just outside the room straight over the airlocks. If he could set up a diversion, he could take the hostiles down from behind. All he needed was a small team of marines and well, there were a few flashbangs in his pocket for emergencies. . . .

      "Could these vents support someone's weight?"

      "Probably, but I sure as hell wouldn't want to try. If it-" he was cut off by Johnson.

      "Sergeant, gather up some marines and meet me by the weapons cache over there."

      "Yes sir!"

      Arnold made a signal with his hands to the two marines creeping behind him. They went past him, kicked open the vent intake and tossed two grenades down to the floor below. After the explosion they hopped down. Johnson proceeded to drop down as well.

      They were in the airlocks. The place was emptied of Covenant but the signs that they were there were all around. Plasma Rifles, Pistols, Grenades, Needlers, and a large purple crate or two were scattered all around the room. Johnson waved to the marines for them to follow him. They ran down the hall to their right.

      They heard the sounds of an Elite walking their way down the white hallway. Johnson motioned the marines to crouch down. He sneaked to the corner and peeked around it. The creature was at the opposite end, carrying a Carbine in its hands. Alongside it was a few Grunts and a Jackal.

      "Okay, time to rock and roll, people," Arnold whispered. "Standard corner takedown, my count." The marines went to his side and stood against the wall. "One, two," he began, slowly. "Go!"

      They came off the wall and formed a line in front of the enemies, who were halfway down the hall now. The marine on the far left of Johnson fired. The rounds raced down the hall and put three clean holes through a Grunt's head.

      "Nice shot!" the other shouted. Johnson fired at the Elite and its sheilds fluttered. He shot again and again. Finally, the sheilds gave one last flash and went out. The Elite looked around. It dove for the nearest cover it could find. Johnson lead his shot and hoped for a bit of luck. He pulled back the trigger and caught the beast in midair. One of the bulllets tore through its eye and came out the other side, carrying with it a piece of brain; another came through its chest and splattered the thick purple blood across the wall; the last one just made a partial hole in the wall.

      "They got leader! Run!" the remaining Grunt cried. The marines closest to Johnson put it down in a bloodbath. The M7 Caseless sprayed out a quick burst of fire that made the imp's body jerk and fall foward. The Jackal covered its head with its shield and ran in a cowardly fashion back down to the end of the hall where it turned and ran around the corner.

      "Get tactical! They know we're here now!" Arnold screamed. There was an explosion and the high pitched whine of plasma and the crack of gunfire. Right on cue, Arnold thought to himself. "Let's move out!"

      They ran down the hall with their weapons beared. After climbing up a stairwell, they entered a large security checkpoint where a heated firefight was well underway. Plasma floated by as the boarders turned to face the newcomers. The marines ran to the right and went out of Johnson's vision.

      Plasma scarred the ground dangerously close to his moving feet. He found cover behind a console to his left. It was tiny, but it would have to do. He ducked behind it as plasma bolts streamed past him. Movement sparked to his left and he fired two bursts from his BR55 at the source of the action. The Grunt at the opposite end of his crosshairs flew back at least two feet with its thick blood falling to the floor. More exposed themselves from behind a counter. On the counter a plasma turret was set up that could potentially make things messy. There was a brief burst from a Plasma Rifle that hit the console and sent sparks showering down on Johnson. He covered his face as the sparks came down and stung his back and arms.

      He unclipped a grenade from his belt and started to make the brief run to the counter. An Elite veteran saw him and fired his weapon. The blasts of energy flew all around him. One hurtled past his leg, nicking and burning the back of his right calf. He groaned in pain and fell. His right hand clutched the burning wound, which was bleeding. He quickly pulled the pin from his grenade and chucked it into the office behind the counter. The explosion rocked the floor beneath him.

      He speedily rolled so as to not let the Elite catch him off guard. He pulled himself to his feet despite the burning pain coming from the back of his leg. The Colonel limped into the shattered door leading into the office from where the Grunts were once. The floor was black from the grenade's explosion. Books, papers and other objects from the shelves at the edges of the room were scattered all about the floor. Johnson limped over to the turret. Surprisingly, it was operational. He had to duck quickly as plasma bolts flew overhead, crashing into the far wall and the counter. More papers flew onto the floor. He got up and put his finger around the turret's trigger and squeezed. The end of the barrel suddenly flashed and it nearly startled him. He regained control of himself and tried to make out the shapes of the enemies moving behind the brightness. He took out what seemed to be a few Elites and let go of the trigger.

      Johnson noticed movement to his right and brought his rifle to bear. He quickly locked the head of the Grunt into his sights and fired. The creature stopped and fell backwards, landing on the large backpack that they wore.

      Another Jackal revealed itself on the other side of the large room. Arnold shot a quick burst in through the niche in their sheild. This knocked the Jackal off its balance, and he finished it off with another three rounds to its head. The creature's neck snapped at the force of the blow and its head disintegrated in a splash of blood. Its shield dispersed and it keeled over and landed with a meaty thud, dead.

      The fight settled down after that, with only the occasional rifle burst here and there. Johnson limped with his bleeding leg to the middle of the room and sat on a green crate. He looked up at the Sergeant walking toward him.

      "Looks like your plan worked just fine, Colonel."

      "Not perfectly," Arnold replied, pointing to the bloody gash on the back of his leg. "You came in at the right time, and I was able to get them from behind, but they got me."

      "This is the Admiral, I'm enacting Cole Protocol, Article Three. We're making a jump, but all personnel must evacuate the ship. I repeat, all personnel evacuate ship."

      "Looks like we need to get out of here. Come on, I'll get somebody to patch you up."

The Archangels, TTLM Chapter One
Date: 11 March 2005, 12:56 AM

      Chapter One: The Archangels.


USS Column of Light
Unknown position

      Gutierrez slicked his graying black hair back. He was in the middle of nowhere, millions of miles away from home, and gravely outnumbered. He shrugged. Though an unfavorable position, it was just another day in the Corps. "Where are we, Cetra?"

      The A.I.'s hologram projected above the console. "We're near the Avedros system, far enough away that the Covenant won't find that, either. I would like to say more, but we're pretty much lost."

      "It's days like this that I hate the Cole Protocol," the Commander said with a tone of anger in his voice.

      "Yes, but you did what you needed to do to protect Dragonhead, and ultimately, Earth."

      "I know," he sighed. "Okay, what are our options at this point?"

      "I really wish you hadn't called for the Marines to evac, because we could have sent a strike team in to find out what the Covenant is doing here," she said, "But, since that's not an option, we can't do anything that would be of any really significant importance to Dragonhead."


      "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that," Gutierrez said, looking away as if he was nervous.

      "Oh?" Cetra said, putting her virtual hands on her hips.

      "It's a story I'd, uh, like to keep to myself. Right now, my concern is getting away from the Covenant."

Sabre VII Orbital Defense Station
In orbit around Dragonhead


      Colonel Jason Froman looked up from the news report playing on his handheld PC and saw Arnold Johnson lightly limping in the door. Johnson wondered, why meet me in the barracks? He soon got his answer.

      "Johnson, I'm glad to see you. It's been a long time," he said, reaching out a hand.

      "Good to see you too, sir," he said in return, grabbing Froman's hand and shaking it. "What exactly did you call me here for, sir?"

      "Well," he said, "we've been able to find some new volunteers for the Archangel unit. They've been through the AC nano-injections and they've been trained until their knuckles were bloody. I think that they're ready for an assignment." He cleared his throat. "I wanted you to see them. They're in the bunk room right now," he said, "and once you're done with the pleasantries, come back here. We need to talk a bit about the Column's little encounter with the Covenant."

      "Yes, sir." Arnold walked through the door behind the Colonel. He passed several steel doors that were marked with big, white, stenciled letters. He found the one he was looking for at the end of the hall: Sleeping Quarters. He pulled the handle up and swung the door open.

      He watched as his young troops looked up from their conversation. They reminded the slightly seasoned Colonel of his old squad. They were young, anxious and determined. It was just another sign that he wasn't exactly the young buck he used to be. But he was still tough, and he would show them that. He was now their leader.

      One on the left side of the room stood up. The young Archangel recognized Johnson on sight. "Major Perez, sir, leader of Team One. You're the El-Tee Colonel, right?"

      "That's right," he replied. "The rest of you, on your feet. Move it!" The remaining troops sitting on the cots around the room immediately stood up and formed a line in front of Arnold. He looked down the row. There weren't that many of them; only eight stood there. "Is this all of you?" he asked.

      "No, sir," Perez said. "This is just Team One. Team Two is stationed in the Carlos, sir."

      Arnold nodded his head. "Okay, I'm going to be your leader. I'm going to deploy with both teams, I'm going to be on the field with both teams, I'm going to train with you all, I'm going to eat with you all and I'm going to sleep with you all, so get used to be seeing my face." He started pacing up and down the line. "I am your commander. The Colonel might be my boss, but he's not here with you. You're dealing with ME. You're in my house. You will listen to your team leader when I'm not around. You will not talk without my permission. You will not eat without my permission. You will not sleep without my permission, you will not piss without my permission, and you will not breathe without my permission. Am I clear?"

      There was a resounding "SIR, YES SIR!" from the Archangels. Arnold looked around.

      "Enough about me; how about you? Tell me your name, rank, and specialty. Sound off, left to right!"

      "Major Alex Perez, team leader and rifleman, sir!"

      The next troop, a lean Asian, spoke. "Captain Gregory Hung, close combat and rifleman, sir."

      "Sergeant Will Marksam, support weapons, sir," said the rather beefy soldier who stood arrow-straight in the line. He reminded Johnson of the right guard on his football team in highschool at the academy, with the broad shoulders, thick neck and spiked brown hair.

      Johnson turned to the next Marine in the team. He shifted his narrow body and waved his spiky dark blonde hair. "I'm Sergeant Joseph Heinriksen, long rifleman, sir."

      "Private First-Class Al Rodriguez, rifleman, sir," said a stocky hispanic soldier.

      "Private Harold Peters, sir, I'm your team techie." Iit surprised Arnold to see a thin and slightly pasty bookworm on his team, but, if he was as good with electronics as the file said he was, then Arnold supposed he could suffice.

      "Sergeant Roger Hapscom, battlefield engineer, sir." His bald head glistend like cooking oil had been spilled on it. He was about Johnson's height with large hands and dark skin.

      Arnold was surprised to see that the last one in line was a woman. When he had first walked in the room, her hair was hidden under her helmet. Now, she had the helmet off and he could see her hair, tied in a tight bun. "Lieutenant Jenny Morrison," she said in a quiet but tough, in a feminine way, voice "rifleman, sir."

      Arnold looked up and down the line again. "Alright, now that we're done with the introductions, we have business to get to. At ease, carry on." With that he saluted, they saluted back, and he walked out of the room.

      Kurt McLane was a detection technician. It was his job to use all the UNSC's little gadgets he had at his disposal, such as infrared telescopes, radiation moniters, and slipspace moniters, to snoop around the system to see if he could find anything unusual.

      His eyes showed his boredom on this ordinary day. They showed no glisten, just a dull black and dark green. To momentarily break his boredom, he had strolled down to the lounge to get himself a cup of coffee during his regular five-minute break. The cup was still in his hand, steaming and piping hot.

      After taking a left from the white hallway leading from the break room, he passed through several doors on his way back to the bridge. After showing the guard his ID tags attached to his semi-civilian military shirt, he climbed down a short stairwell to the lower level. He sipped his coffee.

      He saw his assistant sitting at their desk, staring intently at the moniter placed on it. He went over to him, quietly, and put his hand on his shoulder. He jumped a bit, surprised at Kurt for coming back so early from his (usually longer than five minutes) break. "Anything new?" he inquired, expecting 'nope' for a response.

      "There were a few slipspace ruptures over around Phorus while you were gone, sir. I'm betting it's the patrol Command sent out a couple of days ago, so don't get your hopes up for anything big. Some probes are en route, just to make sure."

      "Okay," Kurt responded, seemingly dazed or surprised. "Keep an eye on it."

      "I'm ready," Gutierrez said, breaking the silence that hovered over the bridge.

      "Ready for what?" Cetra asked, her hologram coming into view again.

      "I'm ready to tell you what the UNSC didn't tell you, or tell anyone."

      "That would be. . .?"

      "I'm ready to tell you about my past."

      "Ah," she said with a slight tone of eagerness.

      He sighed with a deep feel of sadness. Cetra was just an AI, but she understood human emotions better than any she had met. His past obviously contained some sort of trauma, or some sort of deep depression. She could tell that there were many memories he didn't want to relive. That would explain why it took so long for him to well up his strength enough to tell her.

      "You've probably read my files, but I'm going to tell you that those are all lies. I'm not who they say I am," he said, "I'm not a captain, and most of these men aren't really who you think they are, either."

      She was caught up in a web of lies and deceit? She'd never thought that she'd see the day. . .

      "This ship isn't what you think it is, either. It's ONI, and so am I."

      Joe Miller dipped his old mop into the bucket full of water beside him and he wiped the sweat from his forehead.The darkened stretch of halls was certainly a job well done, especially with the lights, for the most part, burnt out. He would get new bulbs as soon as he got back to the main floor of the station. He abandoned his proud pose and packed up his supplies.

      He reached the elevator a minute later. He could see the florescent lights flickering. There was a strange metallic crashing sound, and he turned back to the hallway from which he came. It must just be my imagination, he thought. Then he heard a hissing noise coming from down the hall. He recognized that sound and it filled him with dread. It was a Covenant fusion cutter.

      "I'm getting readings from all over, sir!" yelled Kurt's assistant. He panicked as he saw the edge of screen come alive with tiny red dots that could only mean certain doom.

      Joe grabbed for the revolver he had tucked into his tool belt. He squeezed the walnut grip. Joe knew fully well that if worst came to worst and he had to fight off Covenant, then the revolver wouldn't help much. He pulled it out and backed toward the elevator.

      The hissing of the fusion cutter making a hole in the hull of the station came to a stop. Joe's left hand groped for the lift buttons. His hand came in contact with the cold metal door and he slid it along untill he found the console. He pressed the first button he could and jammed his thumb into It again and again in a frantic panic. It didn't matter where the hell it went, he just wanted to get out!

      He noticed a movement to his right. The revolver snapped up. He spotted another at the edge of his sight, and he whipped around to face. There was another. And another. He could just see an ever-so faint outline, a slight distortion on the edge of their figure. He felt like he was surrounded by the things, whether they were Covenant or whoop-de-freakin' demons from hell, he didn't care. His breathing became harder, and his hands started trembling. He heard a deep growl, a hateful growl that made him cower in fear. He could feel a warm wetness creeping down his pants.

      He realized what his fate would be. He would die. His trembling hands steadied as he realized this. He was going to die, and he would be goddamned if he was going to go down as a coward.

      "COME ON YOU BAAAAASSTAAARDS!" he screamed as his finger pulled back hard on the trigger. It jerked back violently in his hands and the muzzle flash lit the dark room. He gritted his teeth and fired as fast as his old hands would let him. A shield fluttered and so did another. It didn't occur to him as odd that they weren't attacking back. His hands were shaking from the rush of adrenaline. He fired another round, and he pulled the trigger again and-

      Nothing. No fire came from the barrel of the gun. Just smoke and the clicking sound of the mechanisms going without a cartridge to fire. His breath still maintained its erratic pace, but it was in fear now.

      He never noticed the cloaked Elite making its way around to his backside. The sword it held was now activated, and it was glowing with an eerie blue light in the dark room. The Elite raised it up carefully and quietly. The old janitor dropped his pistol and backed away, right into the trap. It brought the energy blade down with enough force to cut right through his bone. It sliced open Joe's skull and the force squeezed the brains out of the cracks that the impact had made. They spilled onto the freshly mopped floor with a sloshy, wet noise. The elevator arrived and opened its doors with a "ding."

To the Last Man Chapter Two
Date: 19 April 2005, 3:17 AM

Chapter Two
Warning: Keep Arms and Legs inside Vehicle at all Times

"Though good or bad, the destination will remain the same
For those who ride along with death above the clicking wheels of trains. . . "

A few minutes earlier

      Johnson sat uncomfortably in the stiff unpadded blue chair parked in front of Froman's desk. It wasn't so much the chair as the topic that he and the Colonel had been discussing for the last couple of minutes or so that made him shift uneasily. He had wanted to know firsthand what had happened on the Column, which he had probably heard about in an emergency transmission Cetra had undoubtedly sent out. Johnson knew what size the fleet had been, and the fact that a transmission had been sent out would mean that the Covenant could have tracked it. The people were too unprepared. That's what unsettled him.

      "What happened after you cleared the checkpoint?"

      "The Captain made us evac the ship and then he escaped himself."

      "What?" he said I surprise, "Why the hell would he want you to evac when he could have just taken you with him?"

      "I'm pretty sure he had a good reason," he said, shifting his position on the chair, letting his head rest on his hand. He looked up and checked the clock hanging over the few filing cabinets in the room; it was now nineteen-hundred.

      "I don't understand- wait!" Froman's eyes were suddenly affixed to his computer screen. Arnold heard several clicks from his keyboard and watched intently as he read the message. "You're getting the call, Johnson. Move it!" he said with a raised voice. "Meet me at the bridge once you and your team have got your gear together." He hastily stuffed papers into a small briefcase and snapped it shut.

      "Yes sir." Johnson jumped out of his chair and went running down the short length of the hall to the bunk room where the team was still waiting. The Sabre's alarm system started ushering its repetitive whooping cry seconds later. Arnold slid to a halt in front of the door and jerked up the handle. The door swung open and made a dull metallic clang as it hit the wall. The Archangels were already organized and making their way to the door , going to the armory. Apparently Johnson didn't need to tell them what to do.

      He stepped out of their way and followed behind the last man out the door. They turned right and entered the armory where each member's personal locker waited. Johnson ran to his locker as the others rushed to theirs.

      He slapped his hand down onto the palm reader and received a green light for confirmation. He opened the clear door and took out the components of his battle suit. He slipped on the undersuit over his fatigues, and then pulled on the waist piece. Then he pulled on the leg armor, the heavy torso armor, and the arm plates. Lastly, he pulled out his favorite piece from the shelf at the top of the locker.

      His helmet was the same dark black-gray color as the rest of his suit and the visor was a dark, glossy blue. He turned it around in his hand and put it on. It took a second for it to pressurize and then it too sealed itself to the undersuit in a process that he didn't understand. The suit pressurized and made itself airtight. Then he turned and walked quickly to the weapons cage along with the other members that had finished with their suits rather quickly.

      Inside of the weapons cage, all of the walls except for the chain-link fence side were covered with weapons of all shapes and sizes. Johnson bypassed all of the others and went straight for the glass case on the right side of the room. He had his palm read again and the glass panel covering the case slid out of the way. The rack in the middle rotated to reveal several bulky-looking rifles. They were MA5XA's, the newest rifle in the UNSC's armory line that was issued exclusively to the Archangels. Most of them took one with five magazines and also took an M6C pistol from another rack and left. Will Marksam skipped them; instead he lifted a K50A1 SAW .

      After they finished arming themselves, in a single file they ran out of the armory and down the short hall. They ran past the Colonel's desk and exited through the glass doors ahead. A tramcar already sat waiting as the group climbed up the small stairwell to the platform. The door at the top opened and they went through, one by one. Finally, they all clambered into the car and the doors shut behind them.

      It started to move slowly down the single track. Instead of taking the normal, longer, indoor route, Johnson pressed several buttons on the lit control panel. The tramcar slowly crept along, but instead of taking the normal route on the left, at the fork in the track it took the path on the right.

      After traveling for about twenty seconds, the railcar finally came to a stop inside of a large room. Behind them, the opening that seemed to just be the open entrance to the room closed. The only light in the room came from several dim fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling. There were two huge bulkheads in the room, the one they had entered from and the one they would go out from. Johnson could read the warning signs that plastered the far wall. The brightly-colored plates of metal had messages of caution such as Warning: Route for emergency purposes only emblazoned in bold black letters across their fronts.

      Suddenly, steam started pouring from somewhere in the room. The entire room seemed to lurch and the opposite wall just seemed to split in half as the gigantic bulkhead opened. The signs rattled, the tramcar shook and the lights above flickered. All of the air inside of the room rushed out in a great wind. Finally, it was all gone and things settled down.

      Slowly, but surely, the car started to move down the track. It became apperent that they were moving faster; the car was rapidly accelerating down the tracks. They could all feel the pull of speed as the tramcar quickened, Alex Perez most of all. He didn't like moving fast, but he was getting used to it. He needed to.

      In less than a minute, Johnson could see another one of the bulkheads ahead at the end of the rail. On the edge of his sight he could see a few dozen or so black disfigurations that were long like a cigar attached to the side of the station. He turned to look, but they were slightly blurred by the fast movement of the vehicle he was in. He couldn't make out what they were.

      Moments later, they entered the now open room and were instantly engulfed in darkness. The lights that were supposed to be hanging overhead and raining a dull fluorescent glow down on them weren't there. The door behind them shut all the same, and unseen steam still hissed somewhere in the darkness. The only light came from the aisle liners on the floor of the car. They were enough to see something moving.

      At that moment, Arnold looked through the windows on the ceiling. He saw something at once; not something solid. It was more like a dim vestige of movement, like someone hiding behind your door just when you look at them. He knew it was there, but he couldn't see it.

      "Keep your eyes peeled," he said, "I think I just saw something move."

      "I saw it too," Major Perez whispered back. He shouldered his rifle, to be ready for the worst. The others did, too. There was a moment of silence in the dark that made Alex's stomach drop with dread. Johnson reassured his grip on the rifle's pistol grip. He was used to moments like this. He just had to keep his eyes open and his trigger finger ready.

      But Perez wasn't. Neither were any of the others, in fact. They were inexperienced and no amount of training could prepare them for a moment like this. Their lives were in their hands, and if the tiniest thing went wrong, they could wind up dead. They knew that if even one mistake was made, it could cost them their lives. Alex could feel the inside of the gloves on his suit moistening with sweat. Heinriksen could see his sights move a little bit. But they had to keep their composure. They had to to survive.

      Colonel Jason Froman stepped out of his tramcar. The bridge was alive with movement as everyone rushed ot get to their stations under the droning wail of the alarms. It was dark, and the dozens of moniters filled the room with their blue glow. Men in white and colored uniforms raced around the room and sat at the various moniter stations located in the back of the gigantic room. He paused for a moment and then stepped down the stairs of the platform to the main level.

      A man in a formal Marine uniform approached him as he reached the bottom. The man offered his hand and Jason shook it. He could feel the powerful grip, and his eyes scanned the man's face. He had a beard, and Jason could see the hair beneath his hat was graying.

      "I'm Brigadier General Paul Hudson, and I'm in charge of the defence of this station. You're Jason Froman, right?"

      "Correct. Nice to meet you. Could you give me a current run of the situation?" he asked, letting go of Paul's hand.

      "Yeah. We - hold on," he said. A man sitting at a moniter was calling his name and waving his hand in the air, gesturing for Paul to come to him immediately. The Brigadier General walked quickly over to the man and looked at the screen. Jason followed, not too closely so as to not attract attention. He leaned in to listen to their conversation.

      "- Multiple boarding craft on approach. We suggest moving your Marines to all susceptible areas of the station, like the airlocks, and to the dangerous places suck as the generators. We're receiving reports of Spec Ops already inside the station, so you'll have to be careful -"

      Jason had heard enough. Spec Ops inside the station? That would make matters worse for Johnson. He hoped he was still alive.

      A moment of dead quiet followed. It seemed like hours passed as they waited in utter silence, watching and waiting for something to happen. Arnold still watched above, but all of the things seemed to stop moving which only made them near-impossible to see. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He could have killed them if he could see one clearly. That would mean making them move.

      Finally, the bulkhead into the station opened. It opened slowly and jerkily, as if it were damaged. The tramcar accelerated and as it did, the things that were on the car seemed to jump off, as the cabin shook and seemed to lift a bit higher. The light inside was just barely brighter than in the room they had just left and it made everything seem to have a gray hue.

      "Sir? You may want to come have a look at this..." Jennifer said from the front of the cabin.

      "What is it?" Johnson asked, walking to her and looking past her head.

      "We've got some wreckage on the track, sir, and we're going to hit it really quickly." she said, pointing to a pile of steel plates, twisted pipes and other indistinguishable rubble that crossed the tracks ahead. Above it was a gaping hole in the ceiling.

      "We have to get off of this train," Arnold said in alarm.

      "I think that we can make it through, if we accelerate now," Roger Hapscom suggested.

      "I don't want to risk a derailing,"Johnson replied, "Trying could put us all in a bad spot."

      "What about those things back there?" Hapscom asked, "What about those Spec Ops Covie bastards?"

      "We'll have a better chance with them if we're not hurt," he said. "If anything fails, I have a few flashbangs in my pocket," he continued, "for emergencies." Immediately, he went for the control panel and pulled a small lever down. Almost as soon as he pulled the lever the tramcar jerked to a slow crawl. It continued moving for a few meters and finally slowed to a halt.

      "What the hell will a flashbang do?" Hapscom yelled at Arnold in an outrage. "It won't do shit!"

      "It'll stun them for a few seconds," he explained.

      "I know that! So what? We'll just have a few more seconds to live before we die!"

      "As I was saying, soldier, It'll stun them for a few seconds. Mine also emit a small EMP, which'll take down their shields and mess with their camouflage. That'll mess with our electronics, too, but at least we'll have a chance to kick their asses."

      With that, Johnson opened the tramcar's doors and hopped out. The tunnel they were in extended a ways behind them and ahead of them. He searched the tunnel with his eyes and could see nothing. He kept his rifle at his shoulder in case something happened.

      "Come on, it's better to keep moving," he said to the others, who were still inside the tramcar. They hopped out, one by one, until they all stood on the concrete. The Lieutenant Colonel ushered them onward by waving his gun toward the pile of rubble.

      The heap was larger than he had expected, and there were flames in several spots. They stepped over it carefully, not trusting any of the places they put their feet down, testing each and every one of them before stepping on it. After reaching the other side, they were met with something else they had not expected.

      Johnson was surprised that he had not seen the hole behind the rubble. The bottom was a long fall down, enough to break a leg. It was wide enough that none of them could jump it. Arnold looked around the gap, hoping he would find a way across. If not, that would likely be the end for the Archangels.

      "Over there!" Marksam yelled. He pointed to a ledge that ran along the left side of the gap. Johnson estimated that it would be just big enough for them to take a few quick side steps over it.

      "What are you wasting time for? Get across!" Johnson barked. At once, they made their way across quickly but carefully. Arnold was last, and he quickly put his back to the wall and slid across. Suddenly, a flash of blue plasma streaked past his face and hit the wall near him, where it burned a small hole into the steel. He grunted and jumped the last few feet to the other side of the gap. Al Rodriguez helped Arnold to his feet and immediately fired a silent burst from his rifle. The rounds hit something on the other side and its outline became less vague. It was an Elite.

      Johnson cursed under his breath. "Open up!" he ordered. He brought his rifle to bear and switched the function of the onboard computer to the Motion Sensor Scope setting. The Elite's movements were fully visible and displayed in bright red. He lined up the creature's head with the crosshairs and pulled back the trigger.

      The Elite's shields flickered as the burst of bullets smashed into them. Johnson had to dodge a burst of plasma that another one of the beasts had fired his way. He took aim again and shot another quick burst from his rifle. Again the Elite's shields fluttered. Another burst came from Arnold's MA5XA and again the shields weakened. Finally, the bullets took the shield down and tore through the creature's body, splattering the sickeningly colored blood on the tracks of the tram.

      "Tango down," Johnson said conclusively.

      "Tango down," Perez announced after finishing one off seconds later.

      Johnson lined up his sights on another one of the cloaked beasts. He squeezed off five rounds into the area of the Elite's head. They contacted the shield and bounced off as it pushed them away. Before he could fire his next shot, however, his target fired at him, forcing him to roll out of the way of the glowing orbs of plasma.. They missed him altogether and hit harmlessly on the floor where he was a second ago, throwing up droplets of molten metal. The beast growled angrily and shook its fists in frustration.

      "Yeah?" Johnson said in reply to the sight. He returned to his crouched firing position and shot four rounds at its head. The Elite flinched as they hit its sheild near its eyes. "How'd that feel?" Johnson taunted.

      Out of nowhere, a burst of blue plasma streaked toward him. He dodged as best he could, but one of the bolts caught him in the left shoulder. It seared instantly through the undersuit that showed through the armor plates and burned his flesh. The wound cauterized instantly but the intense heat that still lingered opened it again. It was painful enough to make a few tears squirt out of his eyes. He shrugged off the pain and immediately recovered to his feet. As soon as he got there, however, he saw something that he would have preferred not to.

      Johnson saw that the source of the new income of fire was several more Elites clad in black- and pumice-gray-colored armor.

      "We have to drop back," he announced to the others, "There's too many of them."

      "I'm 'gonna agree with you on that one, sir" Perez replied. He fired a grenade at the enemies from his XA's under-mounted grenade launcher to distract them. The projectile hurtled into the middle of the mass of Elites and detonated on contact with the floor. The explosion sent the nearest one flying backward through the air. Another was thrown to the ground and had its sheilds taken out instantly. Sparks flew from the sheild emitters that dotted its battle suit. An instant later the creature's mandibles and showing face were gone in a flash of purple as Heinriksen fired his BR55.

      They immediately took for the nearest source of cover they could see, a security station only about fifty meters ahead of them. Johnson looked over his shoulder to watch for any fire the enemies might put down on them. Several bolts of the super-heated gas raced toward him; if it weren't for his quick dodging, they nearly would have hit him in the back. Their aim was improving.

      Seconds later, they reached the station. Arnold promptly kicked in the glass pane that seperated them from the inside and ordered the others through. They climbed through the empty window frame and crawled into the office. Johnson was last, and he looked back out of the window to see if the Elites were still following them. A glossy black helmet answered his question right away.

      "Come on, let's keep moving," he said as he turned back to the office. "There's got to be a bulkhead nearby that we could close to get away from those Elites." They walked through the room to a door at the rear of the desk at the very back of the room. The door was unlocked, but it did have a lock on it. That could buy them a little bit of time.

      They headed inside and Johnson immediately spun around and turned the little knob on the doorknob which locked the door. "Does anyone see something we could prop up against the door?" he asked.

      "There's a couple of chairs in this hallway, sir,"Heinriksen stated as his eyes first adjusted to the darkness, "but I'm afraid there's not much else."

      "Those will do." Johnson saw Heinriksen dissapear into the darkness. Seconds later, he resurfaced with two wooden chairs under his arms. Arnold took one and propped it up under the doorknob. The other one he stood against the door.

      "Wait, I think we've got a bench," Heinriksen said, perring with squinted eyes into the darkness.

      "Bring it over here," Arnold ordered. "Move it, we don't have that much time!"

      Again Heinriksen walked into the darkness, but this time he brought Marksam with him. They came back carrying a small bench. "Put it up against the door diagonally." They did so and Arnold turned to the hallway that laid before them.

      "Come on," he said, turning his flashlight on, "We don't have that much time."

To the Last Man Chapter 3
Date: 7 June 2005, 4:47 AM

One Last Breath

USS Column of Light, Position Unknown

      Gutierrez ushered a groan as he approached his private quarters. Now was a particularly quiet time on the Column, something that was uncommon while evading the Covenant and something he would now take advantage of for some much needed R and R. He keyed his code into the lock and pushed the door aside. After entering he immediately went for his cot and sat on the edge.

      He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and groaned again. It had been a long day for him. He was grateful to have at least a few hours for sleep after the Covenant's relentless pursuit. He gave a dry cough, swung his feet onto the cot, and closed his eyes.

      He tried to sleep, but his restless mind prevented him from doing so. How could he only tell the half truth, especially to Cetra, his trusted AI colleague? He tried to reason with himself. The consequences would be worse if he didn't. ONI did keep that certain incident a secret for a reason.

      But then again, he didn't see himself coming back from this. After all, how long could he escape the Covenant's grasp? They would find him eventually. He couldn't run forever. Why not? he reasoned.

      The Captain rolled off of the cot and walked to his desk. After activating his computer, Gutierrez pulled his microphone to his mouth.

      "Cetra?" he whispered.

      "Hmm?" replied the AI.

      "There is a little more that I want to tell you."

Lift to Recreation D-103, Orbital Defense Station Sabre

      Johnson winced as biofoam was administered into his shoulder wound. It still shot slight pain through his burn as he got to his feet, but the stinging was manageable and it was nowhere near how the initial burn felt. "Thanks, Hapscom," he remarked.

      "No problem," the engineer replied. "You can probably put the dressing on yourself."

      The trek to the lift was slow and uneventful. Johnson took his time to search each and every hiding place the Covenant could use so that the group wouldn't walk straight into an ambush. The going was slow, but the results were satisfactory.

      They finally found the elevator by following the signs mounted on the ceiling. When they arrived, they were met with a ghastly sight. A man's body lay crumpled next to the open door, face first in a puddle of his own blood. His brains were spilled across the mopped floor and the walls nearby were smeared with crimson. Johnson had seen such carnage before at the hands of the sword-wielding Elites, so he was unaffected by the horror. He urged them on, but didn't leave without a proper salute for the brave man.

       The Lieutenant Colonel stuffed the self-adhering cloth into the wound. He would need a patch or sealant spray to make the suit airtight again, but for now it was fine. He turned his attention back to the floor indicator. The lift was nearly at its destination.

      The lift came to a halt at the top floor: Recreation D-103. According to the map uploaded to the MA5XA's computer, it was as close to the bridge as he could get. The door opened with a "ping."

      Recreation D-103 was set on a high balcony overlooking the larger Recreation F-117. It held a few luxuries- that the Marines were glad to have in their spare time: brightly lit vending machines filled with snacks and soft drinks, tables with chairs, sparsely cushioned sofas, a television, even a few monitors that the troops could challenge each other to combat games on. Some of the objects were pushed aside to make way for the olive crates that the Marines used to transport supplies. Attached to the railing was a light-machine-gun turret pointing down to the lower level.

      The door that faced opposite the lift opened. Two Marines walked in, carrying more of the crates. One of them set his down and ran over to where Johnson was standing and quickly saluted. Arnold returned the salute.

      "Sir," the Marine said, "Your commanding officer wants to see you. He told me to keep a look out for you, and if I saw you to take you to him." He waved his hand at Johnson. "Follow me. Just you, the others can wait here."

      The Marine led Johnson through the door he just came from. The loud buzz from the bridge hit like a freight train. Before he could look at the sights, however, his escort led him to a separate stairwell behind another automatic door to the left, which they clambered down. At the bottom was a door guarded by an MP in BDU fatigues.

      The Marine flashed an ID that he had pinned to his shirt. The MP waved them in through the door and offered a salute which Johnson returned. Past it was a stark hall with steel doors lining the sides. "Go ahead, sir, the one you want to go in is at the end of the hall, on the right."

      Johnson walked down the short length of the hall and turned to his right. He reached down to the outdated doorknob and twisted, opening the door. He pushed it forward. The room beyond was darkened, with only a lamp suspended above providing light. A long table extended from one end of the room to the other, while much of the opposite wall was taken up by an enormous flat screen.

      The chairs by the table were nearly all occupied by high-ranking officials, all of whom were higher than Arnold was. He immediately snapped to attention and saluted, until one of the men rose from his seat. "At ease," said a familiar voice.

      Colonel Froman strode to where he was standing and held out his hand. Johnson grabbed it and shook strongly. "It's good to see you back in one piece, Johnson." He paused for a moment, and then returned his hand to his side. "Take your seat; we only have a few minutes."

      The Marine nodded affirmatively and removed his helmet to reveal his matted black hair.
He followed the Colonel to his chair and swung it out from under the table. He sat facing the screen with his arms folded across his lap.

      "Admiral on deck!" one of the officers announced as the walnut side door slowly swung open. A solitary figure was revealed, standing with his arms crossed behind his back. He walked slowly into the light to reveal a white dress uniform and three glittering stars on his shoulders.

      "Take your seats, gentlemen," he said. Johnson found the gravelly baritone voice familiar, but he didn't recognize the man until he stepped out of the shadows. His face was wrinkled, his eyes glittering slits, warily staring at the group, and his expression was determined. Admiral Williforth Stanford had come.

      Johnson looked on in awe. Admiral Stanford was nearly a legend amongst the UNSC forces of Dragonhead. He was the man who led the first true victory against the Covenant in the outer colonies. He and the massive Sabre defense station were the only two reasons why Dragonhead was still standing.

      "I regret to inform you that we will have to make this meeting short," Stanford said in his rumbling voice. He sat in his chair located at the end of the table and folded his hands in his lap. "I've called you here for obvious reasons. The Covenant has sent an attack force for no reason we can discern. Disregarding the purpose, we have to find a way to stop it.

      "Our first priority is the orbital defense grid. We have to prevent it from either falling into Covenant hands or being destroyed. I'll leave the details to you, General."

      Brigadier General Paul Hudson, dressed in his command uniform, rose from his seat and strode to the front of the room where the large view screen was located. The screen flickered to life.

      "The defense grid, as you know, is composed of thirty eight orbiting MAC guns, several dozen Destroyers, Cruisers and Carriers, as well as the Sabre.

      "Our main objective is to protect these stations at all costs. They are the key to our defense and if they are destroyed, well..." He cleared his throat. "You might as well kiss your asses goodbye.

      "Recent intellegence reports claim that the Covenant have developed a new method of eliminating our orbital stations: bringing a bomb onboard. This method is often used to preserve their ships for engaging ours instead of taking on an orbital MAC face-to-face.

      "To counter this, we'll have to take the defense up a level." As he finished the sentence, he stepped away from the screen. A diagram of an orbital MAC station appeared and scrolled across the screen. "We'll need to protect the high-priority areas such as the main reactor, the ship bays, and the MAC gun's mechanism. To do this, we'll need to up our security in these areas, as well as defend any areas where the Covenant may try to board. That is all I have to say, I'll leave the individual strategies to the commanders. Marine commanders are dismissed."

      The lights returned to normal. The Marine Commanders rose from their chairs and started moving toward the doors. Johnson started to rise with them as the Colonel lowered him back to his seat.

      "I don't see any reason for us to make strategies ahead of time," Froman said. "I don't think that the Covenant will be that predictable. They have never been. Besides, we're not exactly the general infantry around here. We don't need to guard anything: we're going to eliminate the boarders. I say we play this one by ear."

      Johnson nodded. "I understand."

      "Perfect. Get back to your team. The clock is running out. Oh, and leave Private Harold with me. I'll need his skills with technology."

      "Yes, sir."

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