War Is Messy

It is a standard recovery mission: get in, secure the perimeter, salvage any assets, and get out.
Simplicity itself.
Jorge-052 almost laughs when he is told not to expect any resistance. As a Spartan II, he knows that things are never as straightforward as they appear, and statements like that are unreliable. As he and his team prepare for departure, he attaches a few extra grenades to his belt. “Expecting trouble, are we?”
He turns to Aislinn and ruffles her messy blonde hair. “Always.”

          They land in a shallow vale, and watch as their transport peels off, disappearing behind the tree line. Emile is already advancing towards their destination, a small blinking light on Jorge’s HUD, gaining distance. Two lights remain stationary: Verity and Aislinn. He can’t see their faces, but he knows they are watching him, waiting. Emile has almost reached the other side of the vale, fueled by impatience and impulse; a deadly combination - for whom, Jorge was unsure.

          When they catch up to his position, his agitation is visible, and Jorge wonders how long it will be before he makes a mistake. They advance in pairs. Aislinn and Jorge take the front, while Verity and Emile follow at a steady pace. They move with caution, crouching low in the long, dry grass, and everyone can feel Emile’s frustration building. Though he remains silent, Jorge is certain the other Spartan is directing violent thoughts at him.  Maybe he should be surprised when Emile stands up and says, “There’s no one here, so why the f*** are we acting like there is?”
But he isn’t.

          Jorge lifts his hand and slowly closes it into a fist as Emile begins moving past his position, and he crouches again, growling quietly. Jorge drops to his stomach and the other three follow his example, crawling forward through the grass in silence. An explosion of high-pitched giggling interrupts the quiet; followed by excited, unintelligible chatter.  “Grunts,” Verity says, chuckling to herself.
          “Do I hear The Bold and the Beautiful?” Aislinn asks, moving a little closer to observe the scene before them. Sure enough, there is a cluster of Grunts, all sitting together, watching a projection of the popular American Soap Opera.

          Without hesitation, Emile fires twice at one of their methane tanks. He watches with amusement as the Grunt launches into the air, screaming pathetically before it explodes into chunks of alien flesh. “Like a firework.”
Verity flicks a piece of Grunt off her shoulder and makes a charade of wiping down her MJOLNIR armour. “Only messier.”
Emile shrugs and races in to engage the rest, gun blazing. They chase after him, firing on the Grunts as they shriek and run, scrambling to escape their assailants.

          It doesn't take them long to dispose of them all: four Spartans against a bunch of Grunts is hardly fair odds. Aislinn fires again at one of the squirming bodies as they comb through the equipment, searching for any useful ordnance. They manage to recover several Needlers, as well as one or two working Plasma rifles, and an abundance of ammunition. Verity discovers a busted energy sword and studies it, wondering why Unggoy would have one of them lying around. “Unless…” Emile starts to whistle the first notes of Oly Oly Oxen Free, when a Sangheili decloaks and tackles him to the ground.

          “Watch out!” Aislinn shouts, as another appears behind Jorge. The Spartan II turns and knocks it hard with the barrel of his gun, firing several shots as it staggers back. Another three appear, effectively engaging all four Spartans. Verity shoots one point-blank in the head, between the armour plates, and it falls limp to the ground. Aislinn swipes one of Jorge’s grenades and sticks it to a Sangheili, kicking it out of range. It splatters onto her faceplate, partially obscuring her vision.

          A fifth Sangheili strikes the side of her head, catching her off guard. She stumbles over, hand scraping the ground as she pushes back up, driving the butt of her rifle into its jaw. She steps back and lines up her sight, only to witness its head blowing apart, the unfortunate side effect of a rocket from behind. They exchange nods, and peel away to secure the perimeter.

          Emile is still wrestling with the first Sangheili. Having discarded his gun, he frees his arm and unsheathes his kukri, stabbing it several times in the neck, even after its eyes glaze over. Verity drags him off the dead Sangheili, and gives him a shove for good measure, before moving off to ensure they’ve fought off the last of the hostile forces in the area.

          After securing the perimeter and salvaging what they can from the dead Sangheili, they stand together among the scattered bodies, full of adrenalin and breathing heavy. Their armour is covered in luminous blue blood and a decent amount of alien flesh. Verity punches Emile hard in the arm, jerking her middle finger at him as she dodges his retaliation. As she turns away, she thinks she sees him swipe two fingers across his faceplate, but the gesture is too quick to tell. “Piece of cake,” she says to Aislinn, wiping the remains of some poor Grunt from her armour. She picks a chunk from Aislinn’s visor and shakes it off her hand. “A little too much alien junk for my taste, though.”
          “I’ll call for evac,” Aislinn says, a smile in her voice.