New Mombasa. Hell on earth. Waves of marines and ODSTs sent to their deaths. They fought valiantly. They fought for humanity. You were usually the ones that saw the worst of it. The Frontline. Warthogs after Warthogs. Scorpions after Scorpions. Pelicans after Pelicans. All vaporized or destroyed in hellfire explosions.

Supposedly you were supposed to get spartan reinforcements. Supposedly.

April. She was a Spartan-three. The two hundred and thirty first spartan out of five hundred, and only one of about three hundred surviving Spartan-threes. About a hundred were lost in the states, trying to defend the capitol. Only one or two Spartan-threes were sent out to each platoon. They were being spread thin. This seemed like a losing battle. Earth was on track to be lost, just like Reach was.

You were a marine. Just another nameless grunt. You weren't special. You weren't a hero. You were a nobody. Someone just trying to survive. Live to see another day. You were sitting with your head in your hands, just trying to get the ever present feeling of exhaustion gone. It had been months since you slept uninterrupted. Either plasma fire, or artillery being shelled out. It was constant.

You slowly looked up, shielding your eyes from the harsh sun as a Pelican began to land. Supplies? No. Those were delivered last week. Relief? No. That wasn't for another few months. You and the rest of the company gathered around the Pelican.

Their was silent awes and gazes of admiration. Spartan-threes. The reinforcements were actually here. There was only two, but that could change the tide of most battles monumentally.

One was wearing red Mark-VI armor. A blue visor on their helmet that was held in their hands. She had black hair, cut to a dirty bob. Her eyes were tired. Just like everyone else. But they had a sharpness to them. An eternal alertness that they had been genetically modified to have. She had a shotgun slung over her shoulder, lines of shells along her breastplate and forearms.

Next to her, a slightly taller Spartan-three in grey and white Mark-VI-B armor. A golden visor covered his helmet, that was also in his hand. His hair was a dirty blonde, almost brown. He shared the same tiredness that everyone else had. He had a MA5D on his back. Your lingered on them as they disappeared into a tent, followed by the base commander.

You didn't see them until the next day. It could very easily be the last. Since you were being sent out to destroy a Covenant controlled section of the city. The Pelican dipped under the two behemoths combined weight. You pulled the charging handle back on your rifle, looking up as the red armored spartan sat next to you, her face covered with her helmet.

The Pelicans engines hummed to life as the pilot finished off their preflight checklist and lifted into the air.

You kept glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. Were they all like this? Silent. Overbearing. And so.. so weird. She was just.. staring.