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Five minutes of racing across the nearly flat ground was suddenly shattered when they heard a scream over head.

"Banshee!" screamed the marine on the turret.

John immediately opened the link to the mongoose drivers and ordered them to fan out and make evasive maneuvers. Behind him, the turret swung around and opened fire. Bright flashes of orange lit up the mirrors. The elite growled, and ducked its head, gripping its own plasma rifle.

Behind the jeep there was the familiar whooshing of wind as a rocket sailed up, followed by a metallic sounding explosion as the banshee flier exploded apart into a bright blue fireball. The purple hull sped out in spinning arcs in every direction, raining some down on the jeep. John ignored it.

Suddenly the second banshee swooped down in front of them, coming out of a rolling dive. It faced them directly, playing chicken with the human vehicle. John saw the telltale flash of green light as the fuel rod gun lit up, and spun the wheel hard to the left, fish tailing the warthog. The turret on the back opened fire, but the shots simply bounced off the alien craft's nose, sending sparks and flak to the sides.
The ensuing blast of plasma sizzled close to the warthog's rear bumper, causing it to heat red. Static flickered around on John's display, but didn't impede much.

Before the hog came to a sliding stop, there was a flash of movement and John turned to look as the elite beside him twisted and leapt into the air, spinning gracefully. In the air, his black and silver armor flashed grotesquely in the odd light coming from the Ark. As the elite soared through the air, it gripped a small silver rod that had been clasped to its waist, and an energy sword flashed to life brilliantly. The elite came down hoof first on the nose of the flier, and drove the energy sword into it without hesitation, cutting to the side. The banshee suddenly dropped, its engine dead, and the elite continued to stab at it methodically. John heard the scream as the brute pilot inside was punctured with plasma over and over again.

When the banshee hit the ground, the elite rolled hard on its side, and sliding to a hard stop. He picked himself up, and John watched admiringly as the alien jogged over to the idling hog and climbed back in. It gave a satisfied grunt, ignoring the awe-struck stare of the marine on the turret, and waited in silence as John floored it.

If the elite had been one of John's soldiers he would have complimented it.

They encountered very little resistance for the remainder of the trip to the rim of the crater. Twice they saw banshees circling, but was most likely for reconnaissance. The Covenant armada seemed to think that the human resistance was a joke. And the small resistance force led by the Spartan had already taken out two of their fliers with relative ease. They probably weren't willing to risk any more resources on them. Still, John kept one eye on the ground and the other in the air, figuratively speaking. He boosted his radar to maximum range, and tagged his team yellow. Every time a red or white dot would enter, he would take note and watch it as closely as he could afford.

_____

When they reached the rim, John pulled up along the edge. It was a four-hundred-foot drop at least, and at the bottom was an oddly tinted soil. At the center of the crater was the massive three-mile wide circle, glowing unbelievable bright. His visor had to polarize to prevent him from going blind. The marines were forced to wear extra protective goggles on top of their already tinted faceplates. The Elite seemed not to notice, but avoided looking directly into the light. John got out and looked over. He had been on the edge before, when they had activated the Ark. He remembered the wind and sheer power of the machine below him. What he didn't know, however, was the purpose, and that made him edgy.

A sizzling blast of plasma shot over John's shoulder. "Phantom!" came a cry over the com. John rolled backwards, coming out of it facing the warthog. Sure enough, a phantom drop ship had slipped unnoticed out of the clouds and was dropping off its load of covenant troops in the miniature gravity beam it carried. They slid down the scintillating tube of light, touching down lightly, before fanning out. Jackals moved into a phalanx of glimmering energy shields, with grunts behind them, all armed with fuel rod cannons. Behind them a row of brutes in blue armor barked and growled with the anticipation of blood. A brute captain stood behind them in brilliantly colored red armor with an head dress that outmatched his underlings. He shouted orders in a tongue John's new translation system could hardly pick up.

It must have been the raw, pure version of the Brute's native language, because there seemed to be some of the grunts seemed to have problems following orders correctly, resulting in a heavy thumbing in the back of their small round heads.

"Kill the scum," John's translator announced. "Leave the Demon to me!"

He crouch ran to the side of the warthog, where the elite was crouched watching over the side. "We will do well to hit them first," it said, looking now at John.

"Agreed." John opened the COM, and ordered all working rocket launchers to fire at the phalanx's feet. Hopefully the concussive blast would knock them back and into the grunts. If they were lucky, the nervous and twitchy trigger fingers of the grunts would take out the whole front of the line.

John hefted a launcher and aimed. At his command, they all fired at once. The turret opened up as well, sending blue-black blood high into the air and through the cloud of dust and smoke. Suddenly three fluorescent green explosions wracked the cloud of smoke and shook the ground. Screams of agony came through across the gap, and John heard the brutes screaming in rage. They waited only a second more before the brutes advanced with the two remaining jackals and lone grunt. The brutes soon moved ahead of the grunts, their long, powerful legs propelling them faster.

John dropped the launcher, its open casing threading a slender finger of smoke upwards. He gripped his rifle and started firing in quick, controlled bursts. The turret above him to the left painted the battlefield yellow as it cut down a jackal, a grunt, and a brute. John himself downed one of the six advancing brutes.

Next to him, there was a roar of anger, and he tried to stop the elite from leaping over the side of the hog, but the iron bands of muscle that wrapped around the elite's leg jerked John forward. A burst of white fire brought the energy sword to life, and the elite ran forward, screaming. "Fool!" John shouted after it.

The elite ran forward shooting with its plasma rifle, burning holes into the chest of one brute, who kept moving for a moment, before collapsing into a smoldering heap. A second brute advanced on the elite, swinging the mighty scythe on the end of its weapon, slicing the air. The Sangheli ducked, evading the blade, and caught the brute off balance. With a simple stroke, he sliced the brute into two cauterized halves, and it collapsed screaming and writhing in pain as it died.

From a distance, John watched as the elite managed to cut down the last four of the brutes alone. The marine at the turret said something about not being able to fire, swearing at the elite, but quickly quieted down to watch.

John saw the danger first, and in an instant was vaulting over the hog, and sprinting to the elite's aid. But he was too slow. The massive, red armored brute captain strode out of the smoke as the elite jammed its energy blade through the last of the four brutes. It grabbed it by the face, its massive hand wrapping all the way around it, and slammed it into the dirt. The elite tried to get up, but the brute kicked it again in the side, and the elite convulsed in pain. John watched in horror as the elite brought its huge, thick foot up, and slammed it down on the elite's face. Dark blue blood seeped out as it roared in triumph and beat its chest.

In that instant, John collided with it like a missile. They slammed into the ground, rolling. The brute was stunned, and John took advantage of this to pin it. He brought his knee as hard as he could into its stomach plating, and felt it give way. It howled in pain, and with a tremendous heave, threw him off. John landed sprawled, but rolled with the movement and came up on his feet quickly. The brute's armor was mangled, smashed, with vein like cracks spreading all the way up the plating. With a simple gesture, it tore off the armor, throwing it to the ground. Its muscular physique rippled as it flexed. Its shaggy brown coat moved with the wind. It dropped into a crouch and rushed John on all fours.

Luckily, John had experienced this tactic more than a few times before, and he side stepped, bringing his leg around for a crushing blow into the brute's back. It sprawled out next to the dead elite's body and rolled to get up. John felt his stomach sink as he saw it clasp the energy sword hilt. In the corner of his eye he saw a queue pop up asking him for orders, but he ignored it, focusing on the advancing brute.

It held the energy sword high, and it burned brightly against the gray clouds above. John strafed around it, trying to make it to his fallen gun. His foot brushed against the one of the brute's spike rifle. He crouched, all the time keeping his eye on the moving brute, and gripped it. He had never used one before, but it looked much like a human firearm.

John held it up and pointed it at the brute, pulling the trigger. He was surprised by the jerk of the rifle as it fired the razor sharp flak. It cut into the brute, making it stagger back and whine. John took his chance, and sprinted at it. He jumped and drop kicked the brute, crushing its sternum. When John landed, he came up on his knees with his gun pointed at the brute. Tears welled in its eyes as it struggled against the lethal wound, writing in pain. John put it out of its misery, and moved around it to where the fallen energy sword was. He attached it to his belt and moved away. The three marines watched in awe as he climbed back into the hog. Its side was embedded with the brute flak, and in some spots slogged, but it ran fine.

What they couldn't see, was that through his nearly invincible armor was that he was shaking. That brute had been a struggle. He hadn't been prepared, he had acted on sentimentality, and it had almost cost him his life. John suddenly felt the exhaustion rush in on him from the last week of running and hiding since they had been driven back. He wanted to sag down and sleep, but he couldn't. His trained mind and body stowed them away. He would have a good sleep when this was over, either way, and this wasn't the time to fall apart.

He gave the ready signal and nosed the hog up to the edge of the cliff. Since there wasn't any way in through ramps or tunnels, they would have to improvise. "Bring one of the mongooses over here," he ordered. The marines complied silently. He took the hook attached to every warthog's front, and attached it to an extra cable lining they had taken. He squeezed the hooks tight against one another with his one hand. The marines watched on in awe and curiosity. When he was done with that, he estimated the length of the cord to be about twenty-five feet short. He glanced over the edge of the crater, and looked down. There were some ledges, luckily, down there, and he surmised that it was round enough towards the bottom for the marines to be able to climb or slide down. He got back in the hog and backed it up about five feet., and jumped out. He grasped the hooks and attached them to the bumper of the first mongoose. "Get in the hog and get ready to slam it into reverse," he ordered. The marine on the hog's turret dropped into the drivers seat.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to knock this mongoose off of the cliff and then help keep the hog from falling over."

"The weight will tear off the bumper!" declared Private Ryan, who had given up his ride.

"That's where you come in", John said. He pointed at the simple controls of the cable coil. "Unwind it slowly enough to prevent it from snapping, and quickly enough so that we aren't here all day."

"Yes sir, I'll try sir." John nodded and braced his foot on the mongoose. With one powerful movement, he nudged it over the edge. He spun around and dug his feet into the ground and braced his arms on the warthog. There was a sudden jerk, but his armor barely whined with the strain. He heard the cable unwind with a twanging sound, and felt the hog as it struggled to reverse.

It was a long minute of silence as the fire team tried to keep the mongoose steady. The one watching quietly gave estimates. At less than fifty feet John's feet slipped. He slid forward and the hog came with him. There was an excited yelp from Ryan, but the hog finally caught and drove back. John's heels had been over the edge. He pushed forward with it, and felt the weight lighten. "Mongoose is on the ledges, sir."

John nodded in response, and pointed at the cable. They unwound it a bit and jiggled it. After a string of curses it came loose and was quickly retracted by the motor in the coil. After that, they repeated the gesture without a hitch.

Next was the marine's turn. They used the buckles in their straps to attach to the hooks, and john lowered them. Because there was no one to help reverse the hog, he had to strain extra hard to keep it from nosing over the side. When he retraced the wire, he tied it around himself and leapt over the edge. He plummeted fast, but drove his feet into the side of the crater, creating vertical wake. His feet went numb from the vibration, but as he slowed he saw the marines fighting to right one of the mongooses which had landed upside down.

John glanced back and saw the two deep lines his heels had left in the dirt sides of the crater. Walking over to the marines he lifted the mongoose to its side with ease, and tipped it back over onto its tires. "Do they run?" he asked.

"They should," Midge responded.

"Good," said John as he mounted the ATV, "We've got ground to cover."

"Yes sir," they said. Midge rode behind John on the metal foot rail, holding onto the metal shoulders of the Spartan. John led the way, and they rocketed down the nearly smooth sides of the crater, rushing towards the arc at just above sixty miles an hour. When the ground leveled out, the purple hull of one of the many Covenant cruisers fell to a low height just above them. John saw it's intentions and ordered evasive maneuvers.

It didn't help though, because it was like an ant avoiding a shoe. The cruiser opened fire with twelve of its plasma turrets, glassing the ground around them. It continued for well over a mile as they targeted again and again trying to hit them. John felt his stomach sink when they finally hit the other mongoose.

A plasma turret's discharge could melt instantly through inches of especially hardened titanium, could evaporate thousands of gallons of water. What it did to two lightly armored men and a small mongoose John did not care to find out. He didn't look back, just kept driving, shifting left, right, right, left, in a mad attempt to reach the ark before he two was eliminated.

The ramp leading up the ark- where the scourging white light shot up from the ground- was only a hundred yards before them. John leaned down, trying to will the mongoose to move faster.

At one hundred yards, the cruiser pulled up, and seraph fighters swooped down. With precision lasers they shot at the mongoose. Two of the beams got close, scorching the dirt where the mongoose had been only seconds before, but with only a hundred feet to go, they pulled up and around. They were in the clear. Or so they thought.

A line of brutes was forming on the rim of the Ark, and John felt his stomach sink. They jostled over the edge and he heard a wailing scream. The marine that had been riding with John, Private Ryan, was shook loose. He flopped through the air, and then his FOF tag went dark. John cursed. He cursed loud, and repeatedly. The ramp sloped up sharply and he was forced to crouch as a hail of plasma and flak surrounded him. As he rushed up he gripped his rifle in one hand and with the other activated the white energy blade. He shot up and over through the line of brutes, twisting and firing and swinging as the mongoose's velocity carried him the last three feet before launching up into the air.

John managed to decapitate a brute and kill two others with his rifle, and knocked one down the ramp. The other dozen or so snarled and roared, but did not fire. They couldn't fire into their holy relic, John knew. But he was not safe. He was rushing into unknown danger as the mongoose fell into the bright light. He braced himself and for the first time in his life prayed for help. He didn't know from whom, but he asked for help from anyone.

When he landed, he landed hard. And in the middle of a fire fight. He was dazed from the sudden jump, but he was trained to readjust quickly. He dove off of the mongoose as it exploded from a direct fuel rod hit, and waited until the brief shower of debris and fire were over. Then he was up and running.

He strafed, not stopping his movement, searching for a weapon. Miraculously, the weapon satchel they had attached to the mongoose survived. He moved to it, carefully avoiding the lines of fire coming from all around him, and picked it up. With that, he took time to figure out where the lines of fire were coming from. One came from a grassy knoll to his right, and more came from the massive silver tower to his left. More plasma than good, hard lead came from the left, and he decided that it was probably covenant in nature.

He sprinted away from the massive twisted rift in space he had come through, avoiding the odd structure because it hurt his eyes, and moved around the hill.

When he was safely behind another knoll, he tried to plan out what to do. If the battle was between humans and covenant, they would probably be nervous and shoot at him. If it was separatists and covenant, the separatists were just as unpredictable and would likely shoot at him out of habit. He called out on the regular UNSC frequencies with the basic SOS call, but there was no response. John tried the separatist greeting in the alien tongue. He had found it hard to pronounce and harder to remember. But that might be because he didn't want to remember it at all. He wanted no association with the covenant besides being their doom.

John took a deep breath. He only knew one other call, and he had only said it a few times in the last few months. It was the Spartan call signal, and he would die rather than give its meaning to someone outside of his 'family'.

John spoke quietly and solemnly now, with little hope that his attempt would harbor anything. "Oly oly oxen free," he said with iron in his voice.

He waited. After five seconds he repeated the signal. No reply. He repeated it once more. There was a lapse in the firing off to his right. John watched carefully.

There was a click on the COM from the band the Spartans used when on a mission. "…John?"

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