Chapter One

1400 Hours, November 3, 2552 (Military Calendar) \
Sol System, Planet Earth \ Western Europe, on Normandy Beachhead

4th Squad Leader Joseph Grant sat at his computer station, monitoring air traffic coming in to Western Europe. He was filling out his hourly report while looking out the window lazily. The murky water swirled beneath the bluff, which the radar station was stationed upon. Small fishing boats were hauling in catch on the horizon.

A siren shattered the thick silence of the afternoon. Two red blips were approaching the mainland, and another, faster blue symbol was racing towards the outpost. The objects had no IFF. They must be Covenant!

Joseph looked at the display in disbelief. I thought the Covenant were only supposed to be landing in Africa!

"Mortar!" Joseph yelled into the base's intercom. He searched the room frantically for an exit, his eyes darting back and forth. There wasn't one close enough to him. Adrenaline pumping, Joseph picked up his M6G pistol and squeezed four shots into a box wide enough for a casket in the window. He shot another into the middle of the cracked square and dove through, headfirst. His helmet kept most of the glass from hitting him, but some jagged glass shards rained down and cut into his cheek. He screamed in pain as he descended in a free-fall, headed for the water below.

BOOM! The outpost exploded in a fiery blue cloud behind him. The structure was razed almost instantly. The searing plasma melted the concrete and the men inside. All that was left was a field of scorched earth with occasional parts of the foundation jutting into the crisp French air. Not one of the two squads inside survived. The only remaining structure was the garage. Two M12-LRV Warthogs and a couple of M274 Mongooses were all that was left of the Normandy radar post.

Joseph clumsily prepared his body for impact with the churning ocean below. The splash his body made was barely discernable within the maelstrom of waves crashing on the large, sharp boulders of the bluff. He was dazed and confused from the lack of oxygen. The waters pressed in to swallow him like some horrible mouth of the sea. Then Joseph saw a ray of sunlight, reoriented himself, and kicked for the surface. His lungs raked in the air as he surfaced in the icy British Channel. He looked around and swam carefully to shore, making sure to steer clear of sharp rocks that he knew would impale him like a bug on a stick.

Grant finally arrived panting heavily on solid ground and ran stiffly in a beeline toward the latrine complex in the woods near the outpost. There he met up with First and Third Squads, who were rapidly erecting sandbag barriers. Two of the Marines were assembling a tripod for a 30mm. machine gun turret. Three others were parking the Warthogs and Mongooses on the road to Carentan in preparation for a quick retreat.

Joseph reported to First Sergeant Daniel Kelsey, the leader of their platoon.

"Sir, Joseph Grant reporting, UNSC I.D. Number 014-287-012! Requesting a weapon, an update, and a med kit for my face," Joseph reported, flustered.

"Your face may hurt, soldier, but its killing me," the First Sergeant looked up smiling. "Glad to know you survived. The rest of your squad, as well as Second Squad, weren't so lucky."

"I'm sorry to hear that sir."

"Well, just make sure you remember them when we kick some Covenant ass in a minute. Here's the update. The Covenant are trying to make a beachhead for a seafloor excavation. Theyre going to need a base, so France sounded like a good place, though I'm not sure that those little Grunts enjoy wine. Our job is to make sure that doesnt happen. We have two Phantoms inbound, and it looks like theyre carrying Brutes, not Elites. Theres some kind of civil war going on, but that doesn't matter!" Kelsey barked. "We gotta kick them right back to where they come from anyway! I'll have two Third-Squaders help you out. For the med-kit, go see Corporal Lange over there. Dilinkov will outfit you with a weapon."

Joseph walked over to a small copse of trees and sat down on a supply crate. He was patched by a young Marine with an S2-AM Sniper Rifle hung over his back. They made small talk as the biofoam sealed the wound, and a bandage was applied to the cut. The medical marvel seared as it saved the cheek from infection. The Corporal, named Jacob Lange, waved goodbye as Joseph ambled over to the makeshift armory.

A Russian Marine, also carrying a sniper rifle, swore as a rack of M90 Shotguns fell over with a crash. He muttered darkly under his breath as he set out to rectify the damage.

"Excuse me, sir, Im here to pick up a weapon. A Battle Rifle or MA5C would be nice," said Joseph.

The Marine stood up and was all smiles. "Of course, sorry about that. Kelsey doesnt understand that sand isnt exactly the best material to stick poles into. Ha-ha! My name is Will Dilinkov, Lance Corporal." He held out his hand, and Joseph took it and shook firmly.

"Thank you, soldier."

"No problem! Now, you said you wanted a BR55? Well, lucky for you, I have the newest model, a BR55HB SR Battle Rifle!" Will exclaimed triumphantly.

Joseph thanked him, took the weapon, three clips of ammo, and some shooting glasses. He walked away to get to know it better. The new BR55 was lighter than its predecessor, and it had an extremely satisfying sound when you shot. The clip was very similar in design, and Joseph had no trouble re-loading and un-loading the thirty-six bullet magazine of the gun blindly. He raised the medium-range rifle and took aim at what use to be his bunk, the wall was still standing. He fired three bursts and watched proudly as they drilled one after another into a circle approximately ten centimeters apart.

Joseph was ready.


Argor sniffed the air expectantly as the Phantom dropship neared its destination. The sunlight reflected dazzlingly off of his crimson armor, and his leather buckles glistened brightly in the light, recently polished. He wielded the hammer in his hand with authority. It had the power to throw a human vehicle twenty-five feet. He had taken it from his father after defeating him in single combat, the primary means of Brute inheritance.

His pack was similarly adorned, though in less magnificent teals and blues. They were eager for bloodshed, as they had missed the battle in High Charity. Each member of the group was busy preparing for the coming battle. Many checked their Type-25 Carbine Spikers, searching for another reason to clean the weapon. The guns' deadly shards would easily eat through human armor and flesh.

Argor grunted at the Unggoy pilot. The puny creature nodded in acknowledgement and activated the forward turret. His pack prepared for landfall, their killing scent rotting the air in the Phantom.

"For the Prophets!" roared Argor as the Phantoms gravity lift activated.


The energy pulses from the first Phantoms forward turret began to char the forest blocking the out-houses from view of the sea. The Marines huddled behind sandbags and waited anxiously for the barrage to end.

"Blow out the candle, Marines!" screamed Kelsey as two marines with M19 SSM Rocket Launchers stood up and launched a salvo at the first Phantom. Both SPNKr rockets hit, and the plasma gun fell out of its clamp below the alien troop carrier. The Marines repeated the process on the second Phantom.
"Clear!"


The 30mm. gun, as well as the LAAGs on the Warthogs, activated and began to eat away at the Brutes shields. The Brute pack, consisting of ten fearsome rhino-like apes, was momentarily stunned, but they soon began to move up the beach, ducking behind dunes as they went.

A group of Grunts had been dropped from the second Phantom and were in a panic on the beachhead. Corporal Dilinkov stuck his rifle into the crook of his shoulder and tracked one of the little aliens in the center of the group. He fired once with and explosive-tipped round. The Grunts methane pack burst into flame immediately. He ran around, screaming, in a circle. The fire zipped down the stubby suit and reacted with the aliens plasma grenades. A bright blue explosion lit up the beach as all twelve Grunts were taken out in a flash of gore and fire.

"All mine!" shouted Dilinkov triumphantly. He pulled out his Combat Knife and proceeded to make 12 notches on the butt of his rifle.

Meanwhile the Brutes were about ready to charge over the top of the hill. All of the Marines' weapons were trained at the drop-off.

"We wont be able to take them all out by the time they charge us. I want you three," he pointed to a group of soldiers manning one of the Warthogs, "To drive behind those bastards and soften 'em up with the gun, so we can take em out once they climb the hill. Go on three. One Two THREE!"

The driver hit the accelerator, and the tires on the LRV screamed as they dug into the wet sand of the beach. Dirt and grime sprayed everywhere as the Warthog tore down the shore and rounded the dune, all three barrels blazing like a 4th of July celebration.

The gun was rotating at full speed, trained on the lead Brute. He bellowed, and charged at the Warthog with his hammer as the rest of the pack clambered up and over the hill. The crimson-covered creature swung the mallet and sent the M12 careening into a dune. The gunner was thrown from the turret, but she scurried back to the UNSC lines unscathed. The driver was killed on impact; his helmet had punched a hole in the LRVs windshield. The Marine passenger, however, survived. He clambered groggily to his feet and looked up. The ape-like creature stood above him, snarling. The soldier cursed and brought up his sidearm. Too late, the mighty beast tore the Marine in two with his bare hands.

Meanwhile, the first two Brutes, wearing teal armor, cleared the dune and rushed forward. One received two 14.5 x 114 mm slugs to the face and promptly fell down. The other lobbed a Spike Grenade at the defenders but was quickly cut down by fire from the 30mm Chain Gun and the M12s LAAG. The grenade landed and stuck to one of the M274 Mongooses and detonated. The directional grenade detonated. The quad exploded and sent shards of metal flying through the air. A Marine was bisected by the exhaust pipe, but no one else was hurt. The remaining Brutes were dissuaded from advancing any further.

Grant raised his Battle Rifle and began to land shots on the pack leaders head. The bullet ricocheted off his shields, but Joseph could see them crackling, a sure sign of their weakening. The great hulk of fur and muscle turned to him and roared defiantly, but the macho act lasted only so long. He quickly motioned to his troops and retreated down the beach. The Marines cheered, but Kelsey was already on the radio.

"European Command, this is First Sergeant Daniel Kelsey!" he said with surprising calm. "Weve been attacked by Covenant and are requesting interceptors to end their retreat. Two Phantoms are leaving Normandy. Okay. Yes, sir. Thank you."

He put down the receiver.

"Sir?" asked an orderly.

"Theyre being escorted out by a squadron of Seraphs. Command wont risk the attack," Kelsey replied. "On the bright side, we are all to be treated to hot chow in Paris!"

There was a cheer, but not for the food. The younger soldiers were excited about the prospect of picking up French women, supposedly returning to their World War roots.

"Is it true they dont shave their pits?" queried a Marine, just out of Basic.

"I dont mind either way, wild or civilized, theyre still women!"

Joseph laughed, but he was still thankful for going, as his wife was visiting relatives there. The couple lived in Frankfort, Germany. He hadnt seen her since his last weekend pass. That had been three weeks ago. Grant was most concerned about their baby, though. His wife, Ellen, was five months pregnant.

Kelseys voice rose above the chatter, "Why do we love being ground-pounding Marines?"

"The chow, the toilets, and the weekend passes! Its not as good as the Navy's, but at least we keep our feet on the ground!" they chorused in unison. It was somewhat of a branch joke. Everyone knew that the Navy didn't do anything.

The Platoon fell into marching order and headed back for base, singing all the way.

"Oh, if your mama had seen you,
Storming up the beaches,
If your granny had seen you
Eating mess hall peaches,
If your auntie had seen you,
Taking orders from those leeches

They'd have picked you up, right away.
'Mama, cant I finish my BT today?'
'No!'
They didnt like the tough-as-nails,
Sons-of-bitches, ground-pounding,
And Covenant-killing MARINES!"

I apologize for the weird symbols, they're supposed to be asteriks and quote marks.