November 5th, 2552

1822 hours

Private First-Class Vincent Jameson Dempsey

M12 Warthog FAV, Earth, South Africa

Vincent J. Dempsey drove the Warthog through the sandy deserts of South Africa, or at least what wasn’t turned to glass. That didn’t mean it wasn’t occupied by the Covenant. The sound of Warthog’s reliable engine blaring through the sandstorm was only suppressed by the sound of gale force winds or Private Roland as he opened fire from the M41 mounted on the back of the vehicle. The anti-aircraft gun did an unsurprisingly effective job at blasting away the Ghosts who were too stupid to pursue them.

“I think that’s the last of them!” Private Roland yelled over the sound of sand scrapping along metal.

“Hope you’re right Mitch!” Vincent called back to the gunner. The two marines had met in training when the first enlisted and became best friends since. All they had to do was trust in each other and they’d get through hell and back. And that’s exactly what the two were doing. Vincent looked over into the passenger seat and in between gusts of sand he could see Lt. Richards gripping his shoulder in agonizing pain, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers.

“That was suicide what you did there Private,” The Lieutenant coughed, “Royal should have left me.”

“Heh, that’s what everyone was saying,” Vincent talked gently over the storm, just loud enough to be heard by Richards. “But we gotcha, didn’t we?”

“You two are getting promoted for sure…” Richards began, but was caught off by the deafening roar of the much anticipated sounds above. Cutting through the thickened brown of the sand the raced through the air, two fog lights rained down on the Warthog matching its speed and direction. A small crackle of the short-wave radio rang off in Vincent’s ear.

*crack* “Hey, you found him!” *crack*

“I’ll be damned Spade, you missed the show!”

*crack* “Really? Shoulda saved me something! Here, follow our lights and we’ll lead you out of this storm! Over and out!” *crack*

“Roger that! Over and out!”

\x\x\x\x\

The sandstorm behind them, the Warthog slammed on the brakes. The ominous wall of sand leaned over them like a skyscraper of books just waiting to topple. But it held, and did little more than fire small grains of dust at them in anger that they escaped its clutches. Spade came around and did the aerial equivalent of a power slide, stopping right above the men. Vincent and Mitch jumped out of the vehicle and went to help Richards out of the passenger seat. His shoulder was still bleeding, but as long as the Lieutenant held pressure it should stop any moment now. The Pelican above slowly descended, the bay doors opened and a happy yet pissed off Staff Sargent standing in the doorway.

“Ya stinkin’ bastards! Ya made it! I shoulda had ya demoted for goin’ against my orders, but I don’t think ya can derank a Private!” He boasted a menacing look of authority, yet his eyes were full of sympathy. “Nontheless ya did a good job. Hurry up and get in, we’re buggin’ out.”

The marines carried Richards into the Pelican that hovered just feet off the ground. With the help of their fellow soldiers, they got hoisted up as well. The loud clang of the electromagnetic clamps coming to life lifted the Warthog off the ground and attached it to the underside of the ship. The bay doors closed and Spade was off to rejoin the rest of the platoon, ascending into the atmosphere.

“Alright guys, all of you owe me a beer!” A marine cheered in satisfaction. Mumbles were heard throughout the rest of the ship as everyone tried to get their way out of the bet they placed.

“What’s going on?” Mitch asked.

“These dumbasses bet you wouldn’t make it back alive. I bet you would.” He said smugly, and with that the two soldiers gave scowls to the rest of the squad. “Let me see, eight minus you three and myself equals four. Man, I’m getting drunk tonight!”

“Sometimes we wonder if you’re always drunk.”

“Drunk on life, Lieutenant. Drunk. On. Life.”

“And that is why we don’t like you.”

“Enough of the bickerin’!” The Sarge yelled, getting muffled laughs from the squad and few sheepish side conversations in response. The crew chief stuck his head out of the cockpit for a brief moment to assess everything.

“Casualties?” He asked to everyone. A few soldiers glanced up from the commotion, but for the most part the squad paid him little attention.

“Two wounded, none serious. Zero KIA.” Richards looked up from his own wound to the crew chief who apologetically nodded and returned to the cockpit. A medic was treating his shoulder and even though he was told it wasn’t serious, something that rang in the back of his head denying that.

Vincent tightened himself the straps on his seat and looked around at the tired and worrisome faces. “It’s going to be a good day,” he whispered under his breath.

“I hate it when you say that,” Mitch joked. Right on cue, the Pelican took a sharp, angled left turn and began descending back to Earth. A voice echoed through the onboard speakers.

”This is your copilot speaking. We got bogies on our six and we are engaging. I highly recommend you strap yourselves in if you haven’t already, and I apologize in advance for the turbulence.”

The Pelican’s chin-mounted minigun erupted, sending intense vibrations throughout the ship. The bright yellow lights that previously illuminated the amidships bay turned a dark red. Everyone held onto something whether it is their seats, the guy next to them, their weapons, or themselves. No one liked the abrupt aerial maneuvers Spade was pulling off, nor did they like weightlessness of falling, nor the abrupt five-g vertical lift. Within seconds the ordeal was over, and feelings of the steady climb of the Pelican escaping the atmosphere softened everyone as they became progressively lighter. The further they got away from Earth, the lower the effect of gravity had on them. The red hue of the ceiling lights returned to their comforting yellow.

”This is your copilot again,” The speakers announced once more, ” Scratch two enemy Phantoms. We are returning to the UNSC Houston for some much needed R&R.”

\x\x\x\x\

“So Vincent, what was going through your little head that made you made you go AWOL? Too eager to get yourself killed?”

“We didn’t get killed, Yao.” Vincent stood his ground, “You’d think saving a soldier who went MIA would get someone anything but criticism.”

“He’s right, Private. Ya can learn somethin’ for a kid like him.” Mathews defended, only getting Yao to shut his mouth, but the Private was more than likely to start chatting again.

“Are we there yet?” Richards solemnly hung his head, his eyes locked to his blood stained uniform, still holding his hand tight around his shoulder. Mike leaned over and wrapped an arm around him, careful not to touch the wound.

“You don’t leave a fellow soldier behind you dick,” Mitch glared at Yao in a menacing tone and the Private nervously looked away, dropping himself from the argument as he sunk back further into his seat.

“I asked are we there yet?” Richards spoke once more, bringing his head up slightly before it fell back into his lap. The Lieutenant had lost a lot of blood, but what was left stayed in his body.

“I don’t know,” Mitch shrugged, releasing himself from Richards with a quick pat on the back. After that the bay filled with the mixed conversations of the soldiers. Some were whispering to each other in delight while another proudly proclaimed how “badass” punching a Jackal between the eyes is.

“Hey Vincent, that was some nice driving back there,” Mitch leaned in, held behind by his harness.

“Eh, I haven’t met anything yet the ‘Hog can’t handle.”

“You’ll find one eventually. The things aren’t indestructible.”

“Don’t jinx me Mitch. How many Covies do you think you killed?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The sand obscured my vision... a lot?”

“So… what? Five? Ten?”

“Fifteen. I think. Most of them were Grunts.”

“Yeah? By how much lead you were pumping I thought-“ Vincent was cut short by the sound of an inaudible screech. Electricity could be felt through the air as if someone just rubbed the ship with balloons. Vincent hugged his assault rifle and looked to Mitch, the two friends sharing worried looks. The screech grew louder and louder and then the cabin briefly shook before ceasing; the whole ordeal over in a matter of seconds. The lights cut out, consuming the ship in darkness.

The next thing Vincent felt was the sound of his skull slamming against the wall as the ship violently jarred.

\x\x\x\x\

The next thing he felt after that was a slap to the face, and he awoke Mitch glaring him down.

“Thank God you’re alive! I thought you’d never wake up!” Through the darkness he saw his friend standing over him, sighing heavily.

“Wha…? What? What? What’s going on?” Vincent’s head stirred and pained his neck as he tried to look around. He was dizzy, disoriented, confused. The rest of the squad wasn’t in much better shape; Mathews, Mitch, and Vincent were the only ones awake, and the other soldiers were either unconscious or worse. Vincent weakly brought his head up and noticed the barrel of a Battle Rifle floating ominously in front of him. It was his gun. The strap that held it around him must have broken off somehow. We reached out and touched the cold metal of the barrel. The light tap sent the weapon floating away and he lunged out, grapping the stock, and pulled it tightly wrapping the gun in a bear hug. If anything training taught him, it wasn’t to lose sight of your weapon. The Pelican shook once more, violently rattling.

“Get the fuck down Private!” Mathews pulled Mitch back down into his seat. “Am I goin’ to have to buckle you in?” The Sargent yelled, sitting down in a seat of his own.

“No sir!” Mitch saluted, throwing his harness down over himself. The ship shook again, this time with velocity. Vincent got butterflies in his stomach; a sign he was falling. They ship was falling. They were reentering the Earth’s atmosphere. The ship was dead. They were going to crash. They were going to die. Held down by the surge of adrenaline, Vincent sat in his seat like a statue.

“Ugh… where…?” Richards looked up, regaining consciousness. A fresh streak of blood stretched itself across his forehead.

“Get down! Brace yourselves soldiers!” Mathews bellowed over the squeaking the hull made; twisting and bending in the atmosphere. There was the sudden flare of light of through the peephole in the door that led into the cockpit. The door was sealed, and the light was a blazing orange. The ship was likely on fire.

“Don’t tell me this is how it ends. We had a mission to complete! Why didn’t we finish it!?” Mitch cried out, his voice slowly being lost to the screams of the falling ship. The harnesses on their seats pushed up against them attempting to counteract the immense g-forces. The orange glow that lit the internal bay disappeared, the Pelican still screamed, and then it came to life. The roars of the engines barely made themselves audible over the scream of the Pelican falling out of the sky. Much to the satisfaction of everyone who regained their consciousness, the lights flickered to life. They felt the sudden jerk of the ship pulling sharply to the left and into an ascending climb.

“God damn! We’ll live!” Mathews cried out in joy, getting nervous laughter from Mitch and Richards. Vincent eased up from his trance when his butterflies crashed hard to the pit of his stomach; the harness held him tight. Vincent straightened his legs against the floor doing his best to not slide out from underneath the straps. The Pelican shuddered, but kept climbing.

The thrusters that pushed the ship through the air coughed and spat with every second. The Pelican continued to climb; rolling onto its side in a sharp angled turn. It kept rolling, until it was inevitably on upside down, and darkness returned to the ship. The engines sputtered a final time, and they fell. The Pelican tumbled and fell. Adrenaline returned to his system in even higher amounts. Someone screamed. Vincent tightened his grip on the rifle.

The Pelican nosed towards the ground below, impacting something. Whatever it was they hit was nearly vertical. The Pelican bounced at the impact, but returned to scraping the surface. The cargo door that once secured the squad from the outside world buckled. A supply crate, torn free from its restraints, flew against the door breaking it down. The chunk of metal twisted and snapped off its hydraulic lines, leaving the ship to fall at its own pace. Vincent looked up to the outside world and made a keen mental note; one that would imbed itself deep into his mind.

There was silence. All Vincent heard was silence. They were crashing at an obtuse angle, scrapping along the hard rock surface of a mountain. The exposed hole from the door being torn out showed a possessed Warthog, its tires turning on their own as it raced down the rocky slope with them and its suspension doing its best to hold the roll cage up against the rear of the Pelican. The vehicle was only held down by the weight of the Pelican and chasing the ship to the ground below, the intimidating grill and hooks of the winching system stared Vincent in the face. The Pelican buckled and bounced again, returning to its grinding descent against the rock with a bang. A wing snapped off and Vincent saw as it tumbled awkwardly behind them before it smashed into a boulder in a wreck of twisted metal. The moon stuck its head out from behind the night sky, watching the spectacle below.

Their other supply crate shook violently like a bull, throwing itself against its restraints with every bounce the ship took until it finally became free. There was a deafening squish as the crate smashed up against a wall, splattering an unfortunate marine against the wall and taking the corpse with it out the gaping hole. The crate smashed into the Warthog, knocking it slightly to the side; only half of it still under the ship.

Mitch looked up to the Vincent terrified, crossing his chest. The two exchanged stares. Mathews looks at the cockpit with a stony blank expression. Richards was knocked out again. At least he’d die painlessly.

Mitch looked out to the Warthog; the menacing beast chased after them, wanting to get closer and closer and smash into them from behind. This mountain couldn’t drag on forever. Vincent watched Mitch release the assault rifle from his grip and it fell upwards into the windshield of the Warthog, doing little more than cracking the windscreen before the weapon tumbled out of view. Mitch looked to Vincent and gulped. Vincent watched as his best friend started to unhook his harness; the very thing that kept alive and the very thing that would end of killing him. He had a slight idea as to what Mitch was attempting, and the thought seemed impossible to even conceive.

“No!” Vincent wanted to shout, but he didn’t hear himself speak. He didn’t hear anything. Mitch gave him a slight nod before undoing the final strap and fell out of the ship.

Mitch flew straight into the windshield of the Warthog, through it, and into its cabin. The vehicle buckled again, almost coming loose from underneath the weight of the craft it resisted from crushing under. But it kept going. Its tires turned with the stone mountainside, bouncing with every bump in the surface. Mitch was in pain, but alive. He sat quietly, eyes wide, sprawled out inside the makeshift cradle the Warthog cabin made. Vincent looked back to his friend in astonishment and he looked back, but then off to the side; ahead of them. Mitch could see something coming Vincent couldn’t. Mitch shuffled uncomfortably into the Driver’s seat and rustled with the control, bringing the Warthog’s headlight to life. His eyes widened still, shifting between Vincent and whatever lay ahead. The mountain peak grew progressively further into the distance as the Pelican screamed down its face.

Vincent looked down and fought relentlessly with his restraints. Maybe he could land in the Warthog with his friend! All he had to do was avoid slamming into the grill of the vehicle. But the main buckle that held the nylon straps together didn’t give. Desperate, Vincent brought up the rifle he had still held on to, above his head, and fired a three-round burst into the shackle. It gave, hitting Vincent in the leg with a ricochet as he was torn out of his seat. The rifle that just gave him a fighting chance was knocked out of his grip and flew with him into the night.

Vincent bounced off the hood of the Warthog, off the underside of the Pelican above, and into his friend, kocking himself out.

\x\x\x\x\

The entire trip down the side of the mountain lasted probably twenty seconds. The ship, already damaged beyond repair, buckled again with another bounce against the hard rock. A rear engine tore itself from the bending bolts that had held it in place. A single strand of a fuel line still tethered the engine to the ship, trailing it behind the Pelican like a wrecking ball. With a bounce, the Warthog that crammed itself between the Pelican and the ground jarred free from underneath the rear of the ship. For a brief instant, it drove itself down the side of the mountain like something out of a cartoon. The vehicle was snapped into reality by the tumbling engine behind it, knocking it to the side at the last instant.

The Pelican smashed headlong into an enormous boulder. The Warthog continued down the slope, bounding out of the way of the wreck, hitting a rock and getting tossed into the air. The Pelican that once flew proudly through the air did so again for a final time, a second before it smashed into the face of a cliff and got consumed in fire. The Warthog continued its haphazard roll down the face of the mountain, bouncing off another rock, doing an aerial maneuver that would make Peppy Hare proud, before landing on all four wheels and continuing its descent at an unearthly speed. By impossible chances, the slop slowly evened out into a level surface. The vehicle continued to travel on its own into the straight, even ground at the bottom of the canyon that carved its way through the mountain range. The Warthog continued to roll, slowly losing momentum before coming to a sound stop. The remaining headlight flickered out of existence.

A bloodstained figure staggered out of the vehicle and collapsed onto the ground. The legendary Warthog lived up to the hype.

\x\x\x\x\

April 12th, year 6 PH

1: 58 am

Canterlot Castle, Canterlot, Equestria

Princess Luna burst through the castle doors, right into a surprised patrol of pegasus guards. They weren’t her guardponies per se; rather they were Celestia’s Royal Guard. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t order them.

“Guards!” Luna shouted at the three ponies snapping them into attention, “A meteorite has just impacted the Whitetail Woods, possibly starting a fire. I need you three to secure the site and set up a perimeter. Put out any fire you come across, and send for reinforcements if necessary. I do not want any civilians getting near the crater. There’s no telling how dangerous the site is.”

Silently, the guards saluted and flew out the door Luna had come in from. Now that that was over with, she had to go share the news of the meteors with her sister. Luna ran down the hall towards the throne room. A guard tried to stop her about something, but to no avail. Luna took a sharp right and then a left and went into a full sprint to the end of the halls.

Luna stopped in her tracks right in front of the double doors and straightened herself. After briefly adjusting her saddlebags, she nudged the door open.

Celestia sat idly at the window, exactly the way Luna left her over twenty minutes ago. Her attention slowly drifted from the moon that dimly lit the sky to her overexcited sister.

“I see you enjoyed the meteor shower, sister,” Celestia said with a small grin.

“Oh yes, ‘Tia.” Luna nodded her head, getting a slight satisfactory nod from her sister. “But they weren’t meteors! They were meteorites!”

“Yes, I saw that. Atmospheric reentry tends to illuminate the sky. And there were four of them, right?”

Luna let out an annoyed sigh. Astronomy was her department and Celestia just took away the opportunity for Luna to impress her.

“…but…” Luna began, getting a cocked brow from her sister, “Something about them was… off.”

“Oh? How so?”

Luna smiled cheerfully, “Well, two of them trailed smoke and crashed somewhere in the Everfree Forest.” Celestia tilted her head as if that’s all Luna had to say. She was about to interject but Luna kept talking.

“And two of them curved, doing impossible aerial maneuvers for any space rock. One of them slowed into a glide and landed in the Whitetail Woods. The other regained altitude somehow, and it crashed into the mountains behind Canterlot.”

Now Celestia was intrigued. The thought crossed her mind that Luna was simply pulling her leg, but the serious glare Luna gave her rejected any possibility of that. Whatever her sister had just described she saw with her own eyes and wasn’t making things up.

“Well, that’s troublesome. Are you sure these rocks made such midflight adjustments?”

“Of course I am ‘Tia. There’s a possible fire at the crash in Whitetail Woods, so I dispatched a squad of guards to the area. I’ll order some more to relieve them in the morning.”

“Good. I’m very interested in these two “intelligent” rocks. I’d love to go and investigate but I fear we might lose track of time. The sun will need to be risen in a few hours.”

“So we’ll wait until morning then? We can go to the one that crashed in the mountains. The two in the Everfree Forest should be undisturbed, so we can secure them in due time.”

Celestia looked to her sister who was grinning wider than ever. Celestia knew what was coming next and took a deep sigh.

“But…” Luna continued, “You are the one that raises the sun. I can go now, can’t I?” Luna eagerly smiled awaiting approval from her sister. Celestia smiled to herself and took a deep breath. There’s no stopping Luna when she puts her mind to something.

“Very well, but take a patrol with you.”