章 12: A United Christmas
Location: UNSC Forward Operating Base, Avenport, Virek
Date and Time: December 24, 2552 – 1200 Hours
A week has passed since we hit the convoy, and the pace hasn't let up since. Every day, it feels like we're pushing deeper into URF territory, hitting harder, moving faster. But no matter how many skirmishes we win, no matter how many supply lines we cut, it doesn't feel like enough. The URF is everywhere, and the closer we get to breaking them, the more desperate they become.
I sit outside the barracks, my back against the wall, the cool air biting at my skin. It's Christmas Eve, but there's no sign of celebration here. Just the cold reality of war. I can hear the hum of activity all around me—the rumble of transports, the clink of gear being prepped for the next mission. We don't get breaks anymore. There's no time.
Across the yard, Grayson is in a heated discussion with the platoon leadership. I can't hear what they're saying, but I don't need to. I know the look on his face well enough by now. We're going out again. Soon.
The door to the barracks opens, and Santiago steps out, his face unusually serious. He's not the type to get rattled, but even he looks tired—worn down by the constant fighting.
"Another mission?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Santiago nods, leaning against the wall next to me. "Yeah. Command wants us to sweep a section of the Northern Hills. Intel says there's a high-value target there—some kind of URF commander."
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. Another mission. Another push into enemy territory. "When?"
"Tomorrow morning," Santiago says. "We're moving at dawn. First light."
I nod, the weight of the mission settling on my shoulders. There's no point in arguing it. This is what we do. We fight. We push. We keep going, even when the line between winning and losing feels like it's disappearing.
"Better get some rest," Santiago says, giving me a pat on the shoulder before heading back inside. But sleep? That feels impossible right now.
Later that night, I sit alone in the quiet corner of the barracks, staring at the ceiling. The sounds of the squad settling in for the night are faint—muted voices, the rustle of gear being packed and repacked, the occasional creak of a bunk. We're all on edge. Every mission feels like it could be the last.
I think about the people we've lost. Frost is still recovering from his wound, but he's been pulled off active duty for now. Dash is back with us, though he's quieter than he used to be, the firefights taking their toll on him. And the rest of us? We just keep moving, trying to pretend that each mission is the same as the last.
But it's not. It never is.
Christmas Day comes and goes with barely any acknowledgment. At first light, we load into the transports, the cold morning air biting at our skin as we head toward the Northern Hills. The ride is silent—no jokes from Santiago, no idle chatter. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of our own thoughts.
I sit near the back, my rifle across my lap, my mind running through the mission over and over. Grayson briefed us before we left—intel suggests that a URF commander is holed up in a fortified bunker in the hills. If we can take him out, it'll cripple their operations in this sector.
It's a high-stakes mission, and we all know it. But I can't help feeling that we're walking into something bigger than we realize.
The hills rise up in the distance, jagged and imposing against the pale sky. As the transport rolls to a stop, we disembark, moving quickly to take up positions along the rocky terrain. The air is cold, the wind cutting through our armor as we climb higher into the hills.
Grayson leads the way, his eyes sharp as he scans the horizon. Santiago and I follow close behind, our rifles ready, every nerve on edge. The hills are quiet, but it's the kind of quiet that feels wrong—like something's waiting for us.
"We're getting close," Grayson whispers, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Stay sharp."
We reach a ridge overlooking the valley below, and that's when we see it—the URF bunker, half-buried in the side of the hill. It's fortified, with heavy defenses and armed guards patrolling the perimeter. This isn't just a hideout. It's a stronghold.
Grayson pulls out his binoculars, surveying the area before handing them to me. "They're dug in pretty deep. But we've got the element of surprise."
I peer through the binoculars, watching the guards move in and out of the bunker. There's no sign of the URF commander, but he's in there somewhere. And getting to him? That's going to be the hard part.
"We'll split into two teams," Grayson says, his voice calm and focused. "Santiago, you take Bravo Fireteam and move around to the east side. Kowalski, you're with me. We'll hit the front."
I nod, my stomach tightening at the thought of what's about to come. This is the kind of mission that makes or breaks a squad. One wrong move, and it's over.
We move into position, creeping along the ridge as we close in on the bunker. The wind picks up, the cold biting at my skin as we get closer. My heart is pounding, but I force myself to stay focused. This is it.
"Ready?" Grayson asks, glancing at me.
I nod, tightening my grip on my rifle. "Let's go."
We move quickly, slipping down the ridge and closing the distance between us and the bunker. The guards are oblivious—too focused on their routine patrols to notice the threat creeping up on them. It's only when we're right on top of them that the first alarm is raised.
"Contact!" a voice shouts, and the world erupts into chaos.
I dive behind a stack of rocks as bullets snap past, the sharp crack of gunfire filling the air. Grayson is already moving, laying down suppressive fire as we push forward. The rebels are scrambling, trying to get organized, but we've caught them off guard.
"Push up!" Grayson shouts, and I'm on my feet, moving with him as we advance on the bunker.
We reach the outer defenses, taking cover behind the sandbags as more rebels pour out of the bunker. It's a full-blown firefight now, bullets flying in every direction, the air thick with smoke and dust. My heart is racing, but I keep moving, my rifle trained on the enemy as I fire round after round.
"Santiago, how's your side?" Grayson shouts into the comms, his voice strained.
"We're pinned down!" Santiago's voice crackles through the comms. "They've got more firepower than we expected!"
Grayson swears under his breath. "We need to take out that turret. Kowalski, with me!"
We move toward the left flank, where a heavy machine gun is pinning down Bravo Fireteam. The gunner is dug in deep, his weapon spraying bullets across the battlefield, keeping us from advancing.
Grayson nods to me, and I take a deep breath, my hands steady despite the chaos around me. We need to take him out, and fast.
"Cover me," Grayson says, and I lay down fire as he moves up, flanking the turret. The gunner doesn't see him until it's too late—a quick burst from Grayson's rifle, and the turret falls silent.
"We're clear!" Grayson shouts, and Bravo Fireteam begins to push up, advancing on the bunker.
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