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Heart of Iron

Chapter 1: Unexpected Cirumstances

He was going to die, there was no other way around it. Spartan-B312, also known as Noble Six, was at the end of his rope. He had been fighting for the last seventy two hours without rest. Of which his comrades fell one by one. Not ten minutes ago, his last marine companion had fallen. A lucky plasma grenade reducing him to nothing but a recent memory. Now he was alone, against the seemingly endless hoards of the Covenant.

Their unstoppable war machine had quickly overwhelmed the brave, but ultimately outclassed and outgunned, UNSC forces on the planet Reach. His defiance was nothing more then a final spit into the proverbial faces of his adversaries. Even noble team couldn't stop them, he was the last member. Jorge had died taking out a super carrier, Kat had been killed by a lance of energy from a sniper, Carter had rammed a pelican into a scarab battle walker, Jun had disappeared, (he was most likely dead), and then there was Emile. Emile had died a few hours ago. Frankly his death was magnificent, Six only hoped he could sell his life just as well.

The mostly silent spartan had been ambushed by sangheili zealots. Still he managed to kill his attackers, with an energy sword in his gut. Six had watched in futile anger as his teammate was killed, too far to aid him. His rage had been sated when he finally made it over there and ravaged the sangheili who had killed his brother in arms.

Six had rallied the scattered remainders of the UNSC defenders and had fashioned a sort of last stand. They fought like demons, every soldier displaying unbelievable acts of heroism. The only thing that had gnawed on Six's mind was that no one would ever know of their stand, at least no one human. Only the Covenant would remember, and that would have to do. When his last comrade had fallen Six ran.

Not in cowardice you see, but with a plan. A plan to enact one final piece of vengeance. Seizing a saber from the hidden and abandoned launch lads, he would take to the skies. Where, with luck he could perhaps dive it into a ship and destroy it. That was the best he had come up with at the moment.

His planning ground to a halt when a blob of green plasma impacted on the rock he was taking cover behind. It melted slightly under the heat, molten drops cascading down the cold stone, sizzling. The elites were drawing close. Six tore a frag from his bandoleer and tossed it over the rock. After hearing the bang and roars of anguish, he sprinted deeper into the mountains, using his augmented muscles and the suits amplifying power to distance himself from the approaching hunters. With wide and heavy bounds, he lost them.

With the extra time he stopped aside another rock and took a look at his armor. He had been lucky so far. His matte black MJOLNIR had taken almost no damage. Just superficial gouges and burn scars, almost imperceptible from the already dark coloring. He took the necklace he had fashioned off his neck to look at it for a moment, to give him inspiration.

Jorge, Kat, Emile, and Carter. He had their dog tags. This was their memory, their legacy. As long as he lived he would carry them. Their fighting spirit right beside him till the end. Sadly when he would sacrifice himself, smashing into one of ships overhead, orbiting reach, they would be lost. But it didn't matter. Spartans never die, they just go missing in action. A blessing...and a curse.

The growling of sangheili hunters dragged his attention away from his dark brooding. They were closing in once more. He stashed the tags back into their place, patting them softly, and continued the treck to the last known saber launch pad. If it all worked out, there would be an available fighter for him to take. The chance was slim, most likely they had all launched already.

Six jogged for hours, barley staying ahead of the teams of elites hounding him. His augmented eyes allowed him to fully view the horrendous catastrophe that had befallen Reach. Vast swaths of the land was glassed all the way to the cities and beyond, nothing but melted earth and the broken alloy skeletons of skyscrapers, like the bones of ancient metal beasts erupting from the earth. Glassing was a devious and cruel thing. Using plasma projectors the Covenant would systematically burn the ground until mountains melted and seas boiled. Nothing was spared, all that was left was stone and metal. This was what Six saw, the ruination of the planet he had sworn to protect. The end of lives he was supposed to defend.

Then he spied something sticking out of a mountain that had been sheared in half, probably due to an unfinished glassing. It was a ramp that aimed up into the skies, like a jagged tooth. The hidden launch pad, he had found it. Picking up his pace, he put everything he had into it. Nothing but a blur he sprinted to the protruding objective. Half-way there he heard the ominous hum of a phantom dropship.

The black and purple ship stopped in front of the mountain. It's anti gravity engines allowed it to hover thirty feet off the ground, downdraft cleared the area under it of debris. With shimmering air, it disgorged a contingent of elites and a hunter pair. They spread out to search the area. Soon they would find him.

Six sighed, will he ever get a brake? Luckily he had several armor mods in his possession. He installed the stealth modification and went closer. As he approached the gathering of elites, he activated the mod. Now invisible he snuck past. Graceful and swift as a panther, he stalked through the unsuspecting elites.

He was going to make it, unless of course that is, an elite would happen to move, blocking his way ou-and what would you know, an elite shifted places to stand in-between the two boulders he needed to cross in order to escape undetected. He checked his HUD to ascertain the amount of energy left in the cloak. The counter read forty five seconds. He needed to act fast.

With a leap he tackled the the elite, he aimed for the legs. Hitting the lower center of gravity, he ruined his opponents equilibrium, making for an easier takedown. Lady Luck was on his side this day. He managed to knock the elite over, on the opposite side of the rocks, concealing their little skirmish from prying eyes. With a practiced movement he wrapped his bicep around the elite's jugular, and before it could roar in anger, Six plunged his KA-BAR into its cranium. The ebony diamond carbide edged blade sliced straight through armor, bone, and flesh. It came to a stop inside the grey matter of the unfortunate sangheili. As soon as the blade rammed home the thrashing body went limp. He gently laid down the massive alien warrior, resting him on the gravely earth.

Six wiped the blade off on the corpses armor and sheathed it. Now with the enemy taken care of, he could return his focus to escaping undetected. Then, without warning his active-camo gave out.

BLARGHHHHHHHH!!

...Or not.

One of the elites, a spec-ops variant, had spotted him as he got up from his crouch, cloak vanishing. Wasting no time, Six ripped a plasma grenade off the chest of the fallen elite, activated it, and threw it to land on the spec-ops sanghelil's head. The glowing sapphire orb clung to its helmet. It tried to tear the helm off, but ultimately failed. With a thunderous detonation, the upper torso of the sangheili vanished. Using the brief moment of respite, Six ran away once more, chased by lines of plasma rifle fire.

He had honestly considered staying to fight that group, but knew that word would spread and he would eventually get bogged down and surrounded.That would lead to a pointless death. A tremendous green beam flew by his helmet, obliterating a mound of stone in front of him. Yeah...staying didn't look so hot right now. The hunters would probably not miss next time, and he would rather not test the limits of his mjolnir, even if it was of a heavier make then the others. With that thought he sped up and outpaced his pursuers, pushing himself to the end of his endurance. He had lost his weapons at one point during the stand, so he couldn't fight a ranged engagement and win.

He sprinted until he reached the base of the mountain. As soon as he reached it he looked for an entrance. Somewhere their would be one. He ringed the mountain, half way around he stumbled upon the door. Built into the rocks and camouflaged, the doorway was all but invisible. His hawkish enhanced vision allowed him to pierce the veil of subterfuge. To make matters worse, the door was broken. Something had smashed into it and ruined the inner mechanisms, buckling it inwards. Six had to leverage it open with his super human strength. He bent the metal out of place until it could fit his massive frame. After he shimmed through he molded it back into place with a grunt of exertion.

Good, he was inside the facility. Now, the enemy would not find him, being too occupied with the razing of Reach to smoke him out. He could not waste the time he had bought. Six quickly strode through the abandoned hallways, looking for the fighter bay. They were filled with the refuse of humanity. Scattered papers and debris littered the hallway, as did spent shell casings and dried blood. It seemed the battle here had been hard fought. But as always, the Covenant won. This infuriated Six, it was not fair, he had sacrificed his future life, as did all the other spartans. And for what, setbacks and loss? He though that humans deserved a break, they were willing to sacrifice so much. So why did the alien bastards keep winning? He put existential queries on hold. For now he should focus on his objective. While he searched Six found the room labeled ARMORY. With a triumphant grin he walked inside. Things were finally looking up!

He found a MA37 assault rifle, a M6G magnum, an M45 tactical shotgun, and finally a SRS-99 sniper rifle. He frowned when he saw a spartan laser, it had been snapped in half. Six would not be taking it with him unfortunately, well least he had some weapons. Maybe his saber would not explode when he rammed into the Covenant ship. He could then use these guns to try and take it over. If he succeeded, it would be a valuable asset to the UNSC. And if he failed, he would have died fighting.

Six placed the assault rifle and shotgun on the magnetic clamps on his back. The magnum went on his thigh, mag-locked. The sniper rifle was put into a large duffle bag, which he filled with as much ammo as could possibly fit. Then he filled his armor's holders with clips for the assault rifle and pistol. Then he topped off his bandoleer with shotgun shells and grenades. He filled another duffle bag entirely with ammo. Six walked out of the armory with practically all the contents of the entire arsenal. He was ready to kick some ass.

He carried the duffels to the hanger, which he had found directions for in a desolate briefing room, the only things left being cold molded coffee and the stench of despair. He did not linger there. Six pressed on, continuing his search for the vacuum worthy fighter craft. He hoped that there would be one Sabre for him. Six opened the double doors to the hanger and sighed with relief. There was exactly one left, and it was in the cradle to boot. He made his way over to it and gazed at its streamlined beauty.

The YSS-1000, or Sabre, was the most lethal fighter ever developed by UNSC minds. At 75ft in length it was smaller then its cousins, the longsword and broadsword. Six had piloted one during the insurrection of Mamore, and once more over Reach. He was a pretty damn good pilot, having earned medals for his piloting skills. He pushed away thoughts of his past and loaded the bags into the small hold under the cockpit. With them stowed away he climbed in.

He ran a flight checklist, the ship was still in good condition, the tanks were full, the grade-a titanium battle plate was brand new, and the ammo reels were primed and loaded. So with the pre-flight checklist complete, Six started it up. With a deep throaty roar the engines began to cycle. The whole aircraft vibrated with barely repressed potential. He could feel it through the thick metal souls of his armored boots, and in his chair. Six began to feel at home in the cockpit, here he could do some real good. No Covenant ship could take him down when he was in control. None have, and none ever will.

When the engine whine reached a crescendo he pushed the throttle. With a explosion of noise the Sabre lifted off into the sky, trailing exhaust fumes and smoke. The incredible g-force pushing the spartan into the form-fitting gel seat. The skies were dark now, the stars could be seen clearly, sparkling, as could the shadows of the Covenant fleet orbiting overhead. The massive armada blotting out whole constellations. As he gained altitude, Six checked his armaments. The Sabre had two M1024 ASW/AC 30mm ALA Cannons, and Medusa missile pods.

The Sabre was perhaps the only vehicle the UNSC had ever built that could stand up to its Covenant counter part so easily. The Sabre had shielding. No other vehicle in the UNSC arsenal had that. It allowed it to go toe-to-toe with the seraph fighters. In point of fact, they were in many ways superior. Six had shot down a number of seraphs, exoatmospheric banshees, and phantom gunboats while in the cockpit of a Sabre.

As he rocketed into the sky, Six prepared himself for the end. It was only a matter of time before the armada above spotted him and launched a squadron. Speak of the devil, just as he reached the outer atmosphere a cloud of fighters emerged from the belly of a purplish corvette. It was like watching a great beast of the ocean relieving itself of parasites. The swarm of attack craft closed in on the lone spartan.

Six grinned underneath his helmet. This is what spartans were bred for. To face unbeatable odds and come out victorious. He kicked in the afterburner and closed in on the closest enemy ship. The ebony and amaranthine tear dropped visage of a seraph strike-craft was his first target. It closed in at high speeds and launched a coupling of laser pulses. Six banked hard to the right, and fired back with the rotary cannons. The seraphs assault missed, the sapphire bolts grazing his ship and draining the shields slightly. His though, did not. The grouping of superheated projectiles slammed into the alien ship, and with a flash of light, tore its shield to pieces. Before it could maneuver away to recover, Six fired a pair of medusa rockets. The twin trails of exhaust chased after the fleeing starship and impacted against the rear, shearing it off before detonating in a dazzling display of sparks and bits of shattered metal.

While this happened, the other Covenant aggressors did not stand idle. Six had to quickly enact an aileron role, and turn hard to the left to dodge a retaliatory pulse bombardment. Eight seraphs had begun to doggedly tail him, trying to nail him with their plasma cannons. It took all the skills he had earned to evade his pursers. Even with the pack of spacecraft hounding him, he managed to fire off a salvo of Medusa missiles, which plowed into a grouping of banshees. The contingent of smaller craft were completely pulverized by the high explosive armor piercing torpedoes.

Six flew through the wreckage and dived. The brief loss of eye contact allowed him to disappear into the blackness of space. Still their sensors would detect him eventually, Six needed to prepare. He used the extra time to recharge his depleted shields and to checkup on his ammo. So far, he was still in the green. With that out of the way he turned to the left and up. Now underneath the pack of seraphs, he flew up and blazed away at them with his 30mm cannons and fired a small round of missiles as an afterthought. The 30mm shells ripped through the shields of the unsuspecting craft. Then, as a coup de grâce, the Medusa warheads gutted the now vulnerable strike-craft. They exploded in stunning display of pyrotechnics, shooting shards of molten metal and broken corpses through the empty and airless vacuum.

Six knew that he couldn't do this forever, he needed to act swiftly. So the spartan powered past his foes and approached the closest cruiser. As he neared he prepared himself for his end. Within ten kilometers of his target, a strange whirlpool like distortion in space materialized before him. The Sabre was going to fast to correct his course, and so with a furious and disappointed growl the, the spartan and his craft sped into the rippling portal.

"Dammit T-bone, the Pastmaster is getting away!" The frustrated voice of Razor, the RIO officer aboard the Turbokat, exclaimed. Half an hour ago Callie Briggs had called them on her personal communicator and told them of a theft. They had been working in the scrap lot when the call had come in, forcing them to stop and rush into their secret underground base. Now they found themselves chasing the crazed feline through the city.

"Calm down Razor, he's not going anywhere without a ride!" T-bone said determinedly. They were chasing the undead sorcerer, who was astride a pterodactyl, cackling madly. He had just robbed the Megakat City Museum. The evil Kat had nabbed some sort of strange trinket, and was attempting to make off with it, emphasis on 'attempting'.

"Fire the buzz-saw missile!" T-bone ordered.

"On it!" With a flip of a top and press of a button, Razor fired. The buzz-saw missile shot out from under the Turbokat. The rotating blades collided with the wings of the aerial dinosaur and sent it tumbling towards the ground shrieking in agony. It was a little brutal, but it had to be done. The Pastmaster could not get away.

"Nooooo!" The villainous feline shouted in anger as he fell off the wounded beast, and landed on a tower. He would not allow himself to be foiled again! Not when he had one last trick up his sleeve. He took out his pocket-watch and fiddled with the recently heisted trinket. If it all worked out, a portal to another plan would open above the city, and he could escape with his prize. Within moments he was ready.

"Hey, what's going on?" Razor asked in confusion. It appeared that the diminutive orange Kat had opened one of his usual portals, but something was wrong. It was swirling erratically and pulsing in a strange variety of colors.

"I don't know Razor, but I'm pretty sure it's not a good thing." T-bone muttered darkly. The few times that they had been sucked in had not been fun. Last time they had went into the future...it wasn't fun.

"Look! Something's coming out!" Razor exclaimed in dreaded anticipation.

Six emerged out of the thrice damned portal and into...a city? What the hell? He had spent only seconds in the mind-bending tunnel, and now he was...where? This was way beyond anything he had experienced before. He could honestly admit he did not know what in the hell was going on. From the looks of it this was a pre space-age society, he could see the undefinable figures of the planets populace underneath him. From this distance they looked human, except for some strange things trailing behind their backs.

As he streaked through the skies of the strange city he circled back to the portal, trying to reenter before it closed. Just as he reached it, it collapsed with a bang. Six snarled in impotent anger and smashed his gauntlet into the paneling of the center console. Luckily he did not break anything. It seemed as though he was now stranded here...wherever here is. He put the Sabre into hover and began to plan his next move.

"A jet?" Razor mumbled in surprise. This was the first time something of any modern aspect appeared from the Pastmaster's portals.

"Not just any jet!" T-bone said in wonder. "That thing is beautiful. I've never seen one quite like it, besides the Turbokat."

"What do we do now?" Razor asked. Usually he was the one coming up with the planes. He decided to defer to T-bone's call on this one.

"Let's get a closer look." The intrigued Kat suggested and brought the Turbokat around to inspect this strange craft.

Meanwhile, a disgruntled and furious undead sorcerer vanished. If they had paid attention they would have seen the outline of a wounded dinosaur with a cloaked figure set off into the forests near the city.

Six was rapidly trying to formulate a plan. Stranded on a unfamiliar planet, he couldn't just fly into space, he didn't have enough fuel to get anywhere. He would just find himself stranded in the vast emptiness, where he would slowly and ignobly die of oxygen deprivation. What he needed was Intel, and lots of it. He had to know what they are, how advanced they are, and how he could get out of here and back to the UNSC. He still had a fight to win.

That's when he noticed a strange aircraft zoom towards him. It was not of any Covenant design, it actually closely resembled ancient humanities atmospheric fighters. The black and red pigmented jet closed in.

He didn't want to greet the locals just yet so he kicked in the afterburners and tried to lose them. He sped through the skyscrapers of the city and hung low, trying to lose them in the spires of iron. Whoever they were, they were exceptional talented pilots. Six was having a hell of a time trying to evade them. Even in the Sabre they stayed on his tail. They played a game of cat and mouse weaving through the city.

Six pulled an incredibly risky move, he dived straight for the surface street. Just before impact he pulled up on the stick and banked right, he circled around a skyscraper and then rammed the throttle lever viciously. The Sabre replied with a roar and shot up into the skies. It kept going until he lost sight of the city. He continued till he was in the upper atmosphere. He put it in hover and waited. He floated there for fifteen minutes, cockpit silent as death.

Six used the time to once more evaluate his current situation. He was almost undoubtedly stranded on a foreign planet, for all he knew this wasn't even the same section of the galaxy, or universe. What what he do now? No contact with the UNSC, no means of leaving the planet (without dying eventually), and he had limited resources. He had believed that he would die, so he had not packed any nutritional supplies. He was truly in dire straits. But it mattered not, he was a spartan, the definition of adaptability and lethality. Wherever Six was he would thrive, no questions about it.

He shut the hover function off and glided down to a normal altitude. He needed supplies, and he spotted a forest outside that city. A perfect place to hunt and set up a temporary base of operations. He could monitor the settlement and discern what lived there and if they had some sort of means of leaving the planet. Maybe he was lucky and they were humans, that would make things easier.

So with that somewhat positive notion, Six flew the Sabre to the huge forest just outside that town. Not wanting to be detected again he skimmed the tree line as he looked for a location to stash his jet. Soon he found a wide enough clearing and landed his Sabre. Six climbed out, and jumped out of the cockpit. His half ton weight indenting the soles of his boots into the dry dirt with a puff of displaced air. He surveyed his surroundings. The site was deep in the forest, farther then anyone would bother to go, he hoped.

The clearing was approximately one hundred and fifty meters circularly, perfect for his needs. Six would have to work diligently to set up his base of operations. The next hour was spent checking the area for any threats, beside some animals he was completely alone. Six had not found any signs of bipedal life. Once satisfied, he shifted his focus to construction. He didn't really need a shelter, but he built one anyways. With great strength he ripped a few trees out of their mooring and molded them into a small cabin-like housing. If anything, Six could use it as a means of shelter against small arms fire.

After much deliberation he placed his duffle-bags inside the construct. It would be closer to his reach in the event of an ambush. In case others stumbled across his dwelling he put them under a pile of logs, only he would be strong enough to lift them. Dusting of his gauntlets he stepped outside his shelter. The sky was darkening, night would fall soon. He gathered the splintered limbs from the trees he uprooted. Six then built a roaring fire in the front of his temporary home.

His MJOLNIR would keep him warm but he understood the physiological aspects of fire. And maybe he could go hunting and find some real food to eat. All Six had left was some ration packs from the Sabre's emergency kit. He needed to save those. He unsheathed his KA-BAR, the twenty two inch ebony blade had been with him since his first days as a spartan. He had killed countless insurrectionists and Covenant troops alike with it. Now it would get him a meal, like his time in basic, when he had gone hunting with it. The trainees had only been allowed knives in their survival courses. His instructor had personally given him the knife, it had been unwieldy when he was still a child. But by the time his training had finished and he donned the armor of a spartan, it felt at home in his grip.

Six left his base and ventured forth into the forest. He was looking for any sort of prey animal, he was looking for something like deer or rabbits. His tracking skills were more then sufficient, discovering a trail less then five minutes after beginning the hunt. Six followed it to a small river, perfect! A source of fresh water! Stealthily climbing into a massive tree, (thankfully his weight did not snap the thick branch he crouched on), he waited for his prey.

He waited, patient, unmoving, his armor silent. Not even the tree creaked under his incredibly bulk. Six was focused on the hunt, hawkish blue eyes scouring the environment for any sign of movement. An hour later they zeroed in on a shape coming out from the undergrowth. A deer? He had expected something alien, not a deer like the ones on Reach. No matter, Six needed food, and here it was. His knife was ready, now he waited for the animal to reach the river. It hesitantly meandered to the crystalline pure blue water, and began to lap at its surface.

Six exploded into movement, he lunged from his spot and towards the unsuspecting cervine. He fell onto its back, snapping the spine and quickly rammed his knife into its lower jaw. He rolled off and looked at his unfortunate prey. The brown furred animal had died swiftly, a clean kill. He wiped his bloody blade on the fur of the deceased deer and then dipped it in the river before sheathing it in his chest harness.

Six grabbed the carcass and dragged it away from his river, he had to gut it in another location. That should keep predators away from his source of water. Not that he couldn't handle them, he just didn't want them to scare off his food supply. Once far enough away he gutted and cleaned the body with the swiftness of experienced hands. He dumped the gruesome offal in a small hole he dug with his hands and buried it.

Then he carried the deer on his shoulders, it hardly weighed anything to him, all the way back to his camp. The fire he had built was still going, he set the carcass down on a log away from his shelter and began to saw off a strip of meat with his knife. He pulled one of the twigs off the log and jammed it through the venison. Six sat by the fire and roasted his meal. The stick was implanted in the ground over the fire and then he brought his gauntlets up to his helmet. He placed his armored fingers on the seals and twisted it slightly to the right. With the hiss of displaced air, the helm was removed and placed on the floor beside him.

He took in a deep breath, it had been a very long time since he had taken it off. His nose was greeted with the appetizing scent of cooking meat and the natural odor of the forest. He gazed up into the stars with his naked eyes, these stars did not have an armada blocking them from view, Six found it quite beautiful. He placed his gauntlets behind his helmetless head, pressing against his stark black hair, and laid back onto the brittle dry grass, the fan stalks crackled under his suit. His sapphire eyes gazed up into the sky.

Six was far from home, but he was content.

Jake Clawson however was anything but. The dark brown Kat paced around the garage. His boots making a clacking sound that was slowly driving his friend mad.

Chance Furlong was working on a car, the only visible portion of his body were his shoes sticking out from under the truck. "Calm down Jake, your gonna wear a whole into the floor."

"How can you be so calm!" Jake muttered. "An unknown ship came out of the Pastmaster's portal, and out-flew us! Now we have no idea of where it went or what it's doing, or even of who was piloting it!" The Kat ranted.

Chance wheels out from under the truck, the tan bulky feline looked at his friend. "Worrying about that isn't going to help, what's bugging you really? Your always the levelheaded one."

"No ones ever outflown us." He grumbled in response.

"Oh so that's it eh?" Chance smirked. "Well then shouldn't I be the most upset? I was the one flying after all."

Jake sighed and sat down on the stool by the front desk. "I suppose your right, but doesn't it irk you?"

Chance looked thoughtful. "Honestly it does a little, but something tells me that whoever that was, they weren't bad. If they were they would have done something."

Jake chuckled ruefully. "Would you look at that, Chance Furlong, acting so wise and calm."

Chance walked over and slugged Jake on the arm. "Don't go spreading that around I gotta reputation to maintain."

"Jeez don't, worry I won't tell everyone of your change of heart." Jake said sarcastically, rubbing his arm.

"Damn right you won't!" His friend chuckled. "Now help me fix this truck, the owner is coming back tomorrow." The duo went on to work on the truck, although they both thought about their mystery pilot.