Banned
>Location - Oman, Shield World 902
>Days Since Evacuation - 2
>...
>Loading
"Do you remember it, Grant? You need to make sure you remember it all. As hard as it is, every detail needs to be remembered." For him, it was difficult. He didn't want to remember it all, but he did. Every single detail he saw, heard and spoke of. The communications with his own team wasn't allowed over the Radio. Their presence was to be of the most secret, even to their comrades. In the hands of danger, holding the key to victory. He began to remember it. All of it. From the very start, to the very end. The moments of two behemoths being brought down without much obstruction. The screams of the Naval, and ground, forces as it impacted the surface. Begs for help as executions were held all over the planet. Radar Pings, explosions from both sides...a massacre. He remember having to sit there, listening to Lucinda. Her Falcon was reported to be destroyed, annihilated. He couldn't respond to any messages she'd attempt to send him. Their secrecy was a priority during that time. War, always had a way to break the strongest minds. This battle was one of them. Can it even be called a battle at this point? It wasn't any sort of mission, more of a death sentence. A punishment for simply being human. An oppressive action by their superiors, taking them on a pathway to their demise. Doom was a strong word in this situation, yet so was hope. Not even a metre away from himself, the package was there. Waiting in the hands of a true soldier, a true warrior...it still was to fill a purpose. Already knowing what should it come to, there was nothing to think about. Actually, there was two things he could think of. The Comrades, and the Package. If Fireteam Chariot, infamous, strong and known for their priority, had managed to pull through the onslaught simply by moving quietly with espionage tactics, then surely the other Spartan Fireteams had a chance? Fuck, the Marine and ODSTs would've had a chance. They are tough bastards, even without the enhancements they'd been treated with. "Grant? Is there a response I can take note of?"
"Y-Yeah....Yeah Victor...I...I was just remembering it. But...why do you need me to do this again?" He quizzed his companion. The two had shared a handful of adventures, Operations on the Front and behind the Front. Witnessing deaths, and causing them...That was their job, wasn't it?
"All measurements must be made. Your mental state needs to be measured to reduce the lack of losing focus and distraction whilst finishing the objective that had been set by Admiral Arthurs." Keyword: Had. The Admiral wasn't in any position to make new orders, mainly because of what had happened to him. He left out a final message, broadcasting to everyone...even Fireteam Chariot. It was one move that was risky, but it was what he would've always wanted. Those words, of apology...thanking the sacrifices that were going to be made...He even stated his death was inevitable, and something worthy of someone leading such a massacre.
Taking up this task, wasn't what he had in mind. Fireteam Chariot may be one of the most Highest Respected groups of Gamma Company, as well as the entire Spartan III Programme, that doesn't mean they aren't capable of mistakes. Those mistakes cost lives. That was all it costed. Mistakes take those who you love, like...hate...a punishment from life itself for your crimes. It doesn't seem fair...but that's how life works. Just look at the Fireteam. They've had a total of 14 members, including himself, within Chariot. Many of which had died in previous Operations, as well as on the day of Operations. Nothing could've gone worse. Looking for a way to get into the ship, seemed impossible. Many of the soldiers, as Radios had shown, had lost a lot of reason to fight. Even the Spartans had given up, thinking their only chance to destroy the Fleet Master's ship was destroyed. No one was told that Chariot were to be taking part in this mission, and ever since OPERATION: DIRE CONNECTIONS, the team hadn't actually worked alongside another Fireteam side-to-side. Some had talked to others, or assisted from afar in further Operations, but this was a huge case. Grant had become so attached to his team, based upon the major Operations they'd been restricted to. The closest the team had gotten to working side by side since DIRE CONNECTIONS was indeed Fireteam Cosmo during OPERATION: BLACKFOOT. Hardly anyone had seen their faces since the two Operations, and years had gone by. Living legends was one way to describe them, when really they were just the one's who had to complete the job, with any price. Because of this, the Spartan teams, and those below extremely High Authority, were not aware of Chariot's participation. It was believed that the UNSC were to clear ground forces, allowing them to have less In-Atmosphere resistance to take on the Flagship. Little did anyone know that the Package was what was really going to be the task's completion.
Grant looked around, at the forest's stance. The vegetation looked remarkable, how it formed. Twirling in and out of Forerunner compartments, it definitely took a strange environmental atmosphere to a new level. From his right, still staring at the Package, a noise was heard. His Comrades suddenly leaping into a crouched, squatted or readied position, Grant soon followed. With the words that bellowed from one of his own, looking to their surrounding vegetations. Weapons were slapped into hands, equipment and already taken off helmets were reattached...
"Shit...Everyone...Something's coming!" The loud whisper was more than enough to fix up the attention of everyone. They formed up, not too tightly. Weapons aimed outwards, they waited. Hearing the mumbles, footsteps draw nearer. The bushes would be parted from afar, as they halted until the final second...expecting the Covenant threat...