[quote][b][i]Entrenched[/b][/i] [i]by Papa John[/i][/quote] [b][i]2543[/b][/i] [i]Part One: Into the Deep[/i] [b][u]Chapter I: "Bird of Prey"[/u][/b] [b]1950 Hours--April 18, 2543 (Military Calendar)\ Psi Serpentis System, Aboard UNSC [i]Everest[/i] Orbiting Viperidae[/b] The stale grey deck of the [i]Everest[/i] roared angrily from beneath his feet as Corporal Tom Waters grappled a bulkhead, balancing in a precarious dance. The deck shuddered as another impact thundered throughout the super heavy-cruiser's many decks. The bulkhead let out a deep and dull groan. With that, Tom gave up and slid down to the floor cursing under his breath. Tom was a soldier and, most of all, Tom was a survivor. An average man with a clean regulation cut of black hair that now showed the grey signs of his some thirty-eight years, the Corporal had been through everything and then some. He had been one of the lucky few to survive the attack on Jericho VII eight years ago. He'd seen the worst of the alien Covenant and scraped through, but he hated the idea of naval combat. He hated the helpless feeling it brought. Here, in a tin can drifting dangerously on the edge of a gas giant's gravity well, Tom felt no security. As Tom curiously keyed the COM link in his helmet, three Marines slid around the corner. Tom closed the link, threw off his clamshell helmet, and eyed the familiar trio. Tom hadn't been the only one to survive Jericho VII. Protecting human secrets had come at a cost, but these three had been with him since the beginning. Outnumbered a thousand to one, his squad had pulled through--mostly. They stuck together after, having built a bond that only the few who had been there could truly share. "We thought we'd lost you!" One piped jokingly at him as the three joined Tom around the bulkhead. "Not a great time to go for soda." "I figured I'd get as close to the hangars as I could, just in case," Tom replied to the man, Corporal Graves. Graves nodded back grimly, scratching his light red and grey stubble. He had seen more combat than the other three combined and showed it. Corporal Graves was a laidback soldier who could pass for a comedian. He was older than Tom and his face carried a permanent look of fatigue. On the inside, something drove him to fight that he had never revealed to Tom. Graves was Tom's right-hand man, best friend, and best man at his wedding. His wife, Private Kate Williams was one of the other three now standing around him. Alongside her stood Private James O'Brian--a nervous and slightly mousy medic who had come of age on Jericho VII. "What do you think the Admiral's up to?" O'Brian mused, adjusting his glasses. "He's moving us in closer to that gas giant; chatter says there's two hundred ships out there and they're all gunning for us," Williams replied. The deck shook violently again and continued its wild vibrations for some time. The three Marines decidedly joined Tom on the floor. "I didn't think we'd go out this way," Tom said matter-of-factly. "Seems silly now," O'Brian replied. "I just can't believe the Admiral flashed an entire fleet like that. A couple of flyboys said we already nailed almost a hundred of them, but that was before what's left of our side retreated. I guess it means that we'll get a plaque somewhere. Maybe the Admiral will get a statue. That'll be nice," Williams stated half-heartedly. As she finished, the speakers of the ship-wide COM buzzed alive from their static graves and boomed the familiar voice of Vice Admiral Preston J. Cole. "This'll be good!" O'Brian chirped. As the four sat hunched intently on the cold metallic floor, they listened like hunters onto a fresh prey. The Admiral was addressing the Covenant, the xenocidal alliance of alien races bent on Humanity's elimination. The Covenant had been at war with Humanity for nearly twenty years--and they were winning. Tom smiled as the Admiral laughed at the superior Covenant. Cole's gruff voice and the constant ebb of the gravity well that now firmly held the [i]Everest[/i] were comforting. The four looked to each other and nodded approvingly as the Admiral taunted the enemy. They were going out with a bang. "We've gotta find a viewport; I want to see the show," Graves interrupted, shooting up to his feet and jogging down the hall. The others followed in unison, running freely. The violent shakes of plasma impacts from the opposing fleet had long stopped. Tom laughed heartily and smiled--a real smile. He was running, like a child in an open field. Here, in some odd way, he was free. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, following the sound of Graves's boyish giggles down the corridor. "They can't hit us. Those bastards can't hit us here!" Graves said happily, peering out a portside viewport. Tom pulled up next to him. Ignoring the fact that he couldn't breathe, Tom let out an excited laugh. The plasma rounds from a hundred cruisers faltered and fizzled harmlessly at the edge of the gas giant's magnetosphere. The Admiral was a genius! Elation coursed through his veins and Tom felt like kissing the old man's freckled forehead. The four held each other, arms around shoulders, and watched in merriment as though they'd just won the championship of some glorious and wholly imaginary tournament. "Now for the final act," Graves said suddenly, swiftly stealing away the moment but building a delicious suspense. Tom's toes and fingers tingled in anticipation as the Admiral's voice abruptly disappeared and a tantalizing silence entered the corridor. "Looks like the Admiral hit a nerve. They're pissed off," O'Brian said as, like vultures to a fresh kill, the two hundred sleek violet Covenant warships edged closer and closer through the dark distance. Plasma lit up along the noses and through the lateral lines of the kilometre-long ships as they prepared to swoop in for the final blow. The silence became menacing. The wait became unbearable. The excitement was agonizing. Tom's stomach lay suspended firmly in his ribcage, his heart lay tucked away deeply in his throat. His fists clenched as the anticipation grew to an alarming crescendo, boiling over into a concentrated sweat on his forehead and palms. He got suddenly warm, as though ignited in the pit of his suspended stomach was a batch of hot coals. His throat grew dry and he breathed a strained and seemingly final breath. He latched out and onto Kate's hand. She squeezed intently back.