Just a few of the proud skyscrapers that had previously dominated the city still stood. Most were reduced to massive piles of rubble, giving cover to the intense ground battle. Every now and then an MA-5 would clatter in noisy bursts, but more often than not they were silenced by a flurry of plasma bolts.<br/><br/>One of the strongholds of human activity was Firebase Romeo. Some from the initial insertions, a few teams from the<em>Hercules</em>, even a single scorpion from the 17th UNSC Tank Battalion. Wrecks of warthogs were used as improvised machine gun nests, and what precious instacrete they had was used to build a central command bunker and a pair of pillboxes. They had an objective, and they were going to hold it until they were physically incapable of doing so. It had only been twelve hours since mission start.<br/><br/>From just outside the perimeter, a second sun rose from the horizon, sizzling as it lazily arced into the field positions. The plasma round detonated with an ear-splitting bang, throwing several Marines hurtling through the air. The few that survived could only groan in pain as overworked medics ran from casualty to casualty. A second plasma mortar turned most of the medics into casualties themselves.<br/><br/>The blast had roughly awoken OSDT Staff Sergeant Wilkins from a two-hour powernap. They had all been on alternating sleep cycles to keep as many guns on the perimeter as they could at a time. His eyes stinging from a lack of sleep, he grabbed a nearby canteen and poured the freezing water onto his head before slamming on his helmet and rushing out of the bunker, BR-55 in hand.<br/><br/>"Ah, shit..." The red blips on his squad readout showed CPL Montes and PFC Lindt were KIA, with SGT Nelson MIA. That cut the already scant men under his direct command in half. Marine regulars and even fellow Helljumpers were<em>still</em>looking to the Staff Sergeant for answers, as he was one of the only men who had fought against the covenant before this operation, and more importantly survived.<br/><br/>A dazed-looking Marine private ran up to Wilkins. "Sarge, there's a wraith platoon nearby. Four fucking tanks! What the HELL do we do now?"<br/><br/>"Cool your jets..." The ODST quickly checked his tags, having long forgotten most faces in the hellish fighting. "... Private DiTomasso. We'll get tank-hunter teams together. For now, you need to help organize casualties."<br/><br/>PFC DiTomasso gave a tired thumbs-up. "On it, sarge."<br/><br/>SSGT Wilkins nodded, his grim expression hidden by the opaque helmet visor. He stepped through the steaming wreckage of several field positions, looking for a particular building that hadn't quite collapsed yet. One particular tower had a winch installed for quick access to the upper floors. He clipped himself into the harness and made the ascent, arriving at the top in a little under a minute. Upon entrance, he glanced around warily.<br/><br/>Their only Spartan-II had been using the place as an observation post. Despite frequent comments and even bets to the contrary, it had yet to take a hit from a plasma mortar. The interior seemed a little better-off than most of the other structures, and it would have looked almost friendly if not for the various weapons laid all over the place. He audibly cleared his throat. "Ma'am, the covenant brought more Wraiths."<br/><br/>The Spartan emerged from one of the side rooms, an elegant, but brutal mass of brown ceramic panels and black joints. A M19 rocket launcher poked over one shoulder, and a variety of web gear was loaded with ammunition. "Four and a pair of ghosts, to be exact. The sporadic bombing means they want to prod us for a reaction, instead of killing us outright." The external speakers slightly masked her voice, but it was clear, quiet, and very martial.<br/><br/>"Will all due respect ma'am... they're doing a hell of a job at killing us regardless." Wilkins felt a chill down his back as the Spartan turned, armored visor hiding their gaze as they stared at the Helljumper. The ghostly image of an ID tag flashed next to her outline, reading 'Callsign:<em>Valkyrie</em>.'<br/><br/>To his surprise, the armored giant sighed. "This is true. They have more tanks than we have Marines. "<br/><br/>The ODST nodded. "Not to mention those Phantoms hauling loads of food and ammunition to them every night." He unconsciously patted his vest, just to make sure that his eight magazines of battle rifle ammo were still there. "Our firebase is going to get drowned with covvie logistics." Wilkins was incredulous the entire time. He had always known Spartans as those of few words - this one seemed to be holding a normal discussion with him.<br/><br/>"Either way Staff Sergeant, the first step is to destroy their armor. We can look into a goodie raid or a supply drop afterwards. I'll need you to organize two sections with antitank missiles and LOTUS mines in one hour. Have a 'hog ready to go and the Scorpion's ammunition double-checked."<br/><br/>Wilkins unconsciously snapped a crisp Marine salute. "Ma'am."<br/><br/>Hidden by the helmet, 'Valkyrie' smiled. She was only a Petty Officer 1st Class, but she found more and more that the Marines treated her as a leader as much as a simple boost to their fighting capacity that had landed in the wrong dropzone twelve hours ago. It reminded her of being with the rest of the S-2s, if only vaguely.<br/><br/>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/><br/>The Spartan crouched in the rubble along with a dozen black-suited ODSTs. Over half their numbers were equipped with M19 and M41 rocket launchers and as much ammunition as they could physically carry. Only two hundred meters from their position, the Covenant armor group was pounding away with their wraiths, firing shells into targets she could only hope were prepared. She quietly noted there was now a fifth tank, the group laid out in a neat horizontal firing line.<br/><br/>Valkyrie opened the private channel to the base communications and fired off a quick burst message.<em>Elevation 200. Search 30. Target stationary. Fire for effect.</em>Any covenant decryption would be too late to make a difference, the messaging hitting HQ in a fraction of a second.<br/><br/>They didn't have actual artillery, technically speaking. But the Scorpion's 105mm main gun could indirectly land a shell several klicks away. Accurately. The first shells came in almost directly on top of the right-most wraith, tearing it open like a bulbous purple tin can. The second wraith was blown apart before the rest took the hint and scattered, now firing wildly into the estimated direction of attack. Leaking plasma obscured the air, only pierced by the brilliant blue of covenant fire.<br/><br/>"I got a lock!" An ODST laughed ominously before a rocket leaped from his M41, zooming into one of the Ghosts. The elite driver actually turned around and tried to leave the vehicle, but the explosive beat him to it. A thunderclap punctuated the crunch of vehicle and driver alike being torn apart as a ragged cheer rose from the Helljumpers. Crazy or not, they still professionals, and the men swiftly relocated to avoid the inevitable return fire.<br/><br/>The Spartan took her cue and left at a dead sprint, hopping out of a window and circling behind another pile of rubble.