Kurt was lucky that Hunter shield hadn't cut him in half. "I understand." He rechecked his mission timer: 6:32. "I'll hold myself together for a few more minutes. Then you can do whatever you want to me."

He looked past Dr. Halsey to the central rift. The rings here were flattening fastest. The ledges were only an eighth of a meter high and visibly contracting.

Within the rift he caught flashes of golden sunlight. There were other colors: green, blue, and brown, but the distortion was so great, Kurt couldn't focus on what shapes lay beyond.

"Once it closes, this Slipspace field will remain intact?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise," she replied.

"Impenetrable…" Kurt whispered.

"To any force in our normal three dimensions, yes."

The Sentinels, the Halo rings, this so-called "shield world," and the clockwork design that the Forerunners had set in motion millennia ago was about to end… and it made sense to Kurt.

At least it made sense in terms of him now having a winning option.

He unpolarized his faceplate and looked at her. "I think I understand what you were trying to tell me before, Doctor. The Forerunners built this construct to protect these 'Reclaimers' from the Halo detonations. Like a bomb shelter. But they never got inside. You were going to use it for the Spartans."

" 'Behind the sharpened edge of the shield,'" Dr. Halsey quoted. "Safe… perhaps from everything."

He locked stares with her and nodded.

"I'm sending Team Saber, Mendez, and you ahead."

She blinked. "I thought you said we stay together."

For the last two decades Kurt had struggled to keep his Spartans alive. But what if Dr.

Halsey had been correct and all their battles meant nothing? What if no matter how valiant the fight they could not win this war? Did it make sense to die, or was it better to live to fight another day?… Even if that "day" was very far away.

He turned back to the Spartans. "Tom, Lucy, Team Saber," he said over the COM, "set Dante and Will on the pods. Saber will go ahead and scout the core."

Tom and Lucy nodded, and with help from Olivia and Mark, they gathered the fallen Spartans.

Ash jumped into the center and approached. "Sir," he said, "we're not leaving the fight."

"This isn't about a fight," Kurt told him. "You have a mission to accomplish, son. Carry out my orders."

"Understood, sir."

Ash motioned for Olivia and Mark to join him near the rift.

"Go," Ash told them.

Olivia and Mark looked at Kurt and then together jumped into the brilliance.

There were a pair of flares and they vanished.

Ash hesitated, his hand moved up as if to salute, but he stopped, recalling the standing order of "no saluting in combat arenas." He stood straighter, gave Kurt a nod, and jumped after his teammates.

Kurt keyed the COM, "Saber One, you read me?"

"We're goooo…" Ash's voice dopplered to the ultrasonic.

"Saber One? Ash?"

Static washed over the channel.

Not even a COM signal made it through—an observation that only strengthened Kurt's conviction that he was doing the right thing. He hoped for the best, hoped Saber and the others would be okay.

"Pods," Kurt said, and motioned toward Tom and Lucy.

His NCOs pushed the cryo pods and the bodies of Will and Dante through. More flashes.

Silence.

"Chief. Doctor," Kurt said. "You're next."

Mendez looked to the spatial rift and then to Kurt. He swallowed, and said, "Aye aye, sir.

We'll see you on the other side."

For once. Dr. Halsey had nothing to say. Instead she made the traditional Spartan two- finger "smile" gesture over her face. She blinked quickly, and then turned to the fissure.

Mendez took her hand and they stepped— And were gone.

"They're starting," Fred announced over the COM.

"Guard the opening, you two," Kurt ordered Lucy and Tom.

Kurt then moved back up to the edge of the hill and watched with Fred as 150 Elites moved toward them. This time it was not a slow, careful march with overlapped shields. They charged en masse. Banshees swooped up and over the formation, two high and two low, accelerating ahead of the Covenant infantry and then over the hill.

They ducked behind the towers, and then Linda popped out as the Banshees passed.

"I have them." Linda's sniper rifle was to her shoulder. She stood motionless for a heartbeat, then fired once at the receding fliers, moved her aim slightly, and fired once more.

The rear two Banshee pilots fell. Riderless, the Banshees nosed to the floor, bounced, and sparked to a halt.

Linda dropped the magazine, examined the chamber, cycled the bolt, and then set it down. "I'm out."

Kurt, Kelly, and Fred leveled their assault rifles at the remaining fliers and opened fire.

Tracer rounds arced through the air and stitched over the Banshees. Smoke billowed from the leader, and erupted into a ball of flame that smeared through the air.

The last lone Banshee pulled up and circled back.

The advancing horde of Elites and Hunters was only two hundred meters away. A few in their ranks fired, and wild energy bolts streaked overhead.

The towers now lay thirty degrees off the deck, and the "hill" only three meters tall. Kurt knew they'd soon have no cover left.

Fred glanced at the open smoking bolt of his MAB5. "I'm out, too," he said.

Kurt opened up the administrative subdirectory on his heads-up display and accessed SPARTAN-104's file. "As acting CO of Team Blue, 1 am hereby granting you a field commission to the rank of Lieutenant, Junior Grade," Kurt told Fred. "Congratulations."

Fred shook his head, not understanding.

Kurt uploaded Fred's change of rank, and his IFF icon blinked to the star-and-bar insignia of Lieutenant.

"As an officer, you'll have to keep your eye on the larger picture, Fred. Get your team through that Slipspace field. I'll be right behind you."

Linda and Kelly gathered around them.

Kelly whispered, "We lost you once, Kurt. We're not going to leave you again."

Plasma artillery pounded the face of the hill, shattering stone, and superheated convection rolls distorted the air.

"No one's leaving anyone behind," Kurt assured her. "I just have to rig a little welcome present for our friends." He grabbed the pack with the FENRIS warheads, and swung it over his shoulder.

Kelly, Linda, and Fred exchanged glances.

"I'll be right behind you," Kurt told them. "Now, go. The SPARTAN-IIIs are going to need you."

A hail of needier shards arced up and over the top of the slope, impacting the surfaces around them.

The Spartans huddled together, presenting the smallest target surface, their energy shields flaring as the crystal rounds detonated.

The hardened plates of Kurt's SPI armor cracked and the concussion rattled his bones and splintered the hardening bio-foam in his abdomen. He tasted fresh blood.

The bombardment ceased.

"Hurry!" Kurt told them.

They all jogged to the center. The rift was fading and was now only a meter across. Deep inside, Kurt caught sight of a ribbon of blue and silver. Water glistening in the sunlight?

Kelly and Linda entered without hesitation; Fred halted, turned, and held out his hand.

Kurt took it and shook.

Fred stepped backward and vanished.

Only Tom and Lucy remained, still standing guard by the rift. Their SPI armor picked up and mimicked the gold sunlight in the fissure.

"Okay you two—"

"With all due respect, sir," Tom said. "We're not leaving. You'll have to court-martial us."

Lucy said nothing, but made her intention to fight understood as she hefted their last SPNKr missile launcher.

The rift wavered, dimmed, and contracted to a mere half meter.

"There's no time for this," Kurt growled.

Tom took a step closer to Lucy.

Of course, Kurt had been foolish to think Tom and Lucy would leave him after so many years together—orders or not. Perhaps they even knew what he had in mind.

"Okay, you win. How much ammunition do you have?" Kurt moved to Tom. "We'll pool our reserves."

Tom looked down at his rifle— Kurt hit him, his flattened palm connecting with the underside of Tom's helmet. The impact lifted the Spartan a half meter off the ground, and he landed in a heap.

Kurt wheeled on Lucy and held up a warning finger, indicating that she stay put.

He checked Tom's bio signs. No bones broken. No cerebral swelling. Just coldcocked.

"He'll live," he said. "You're both going to live. Now give me a hand."

Shadows crisscrossed the hill, and fifty meters overhead Kurt watched three Banshees streak past.

Lucy dropped the missile launcher and helped Kurt pull Tom up.

Kurt wrapped his limp arm around her shoulder. "You two didn't survive Pegasi Delta to die here," he told her. "There's too much left for you to do."

She shook her head violently back and forth.

"Yes," he said. "Don't make me…"

His vision blurred and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His heart struggled, pumping harder and faster. There was a warm trickle in his stomach. He was losing more blood. Slipping into shock.

Plasma blots stitched the stone nearby, shattering them, as Banshees screamed by on a strafing run.

"Please," he whispered.

Lucy reached up to Kurt's faceplate, touching two fingers to his mouth. She struggled to make a sound, but all she could manage was a half-choked cry.

He took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and let go.

Lucy lingered, looked at Kurt one last time, and then slipped into the rift.

"Good-bye," he said.

They were gone. All of them.

Now Kurt could concentrate on what had to be done.

He picked up Tom's MASK. Its ammo counter indicated half a magazine. It would have to do. He grabbed the last missile launcher, too. He was sure he could find a use for it.

The "hill" around the center was only a meter tall now and shrinking rapidly as the concentric rings eased back to the floor of the room. The finlike towers folded inward, almost flat against the ground.

Elite snipers poked over the top of the hill and fired a tight cluster of plasma.

Kurt was too slow to dodge the shots. His SPI armor heated, cracked, and half of his chest plate shattered away.

Smoldering, Kurt dropped to his knees. Blackness clouded his mind. He struggled to stay conscious—fought his way back by sheer willpower, and his vision cleared.

The snipers backed away, not bothering to finish him off. More Elites appeared on the hill, now only a half meter tall, sinking even faster toward a level topology.

A Hunter pair appeared on the slight rise and assessed Kurt. They snorted, unimpressed.

Almost there, he thought. Almost done. Almost won.

Kurt grabbed up the SPNKr launcher and fired from the hip. The missile rocketed toward one Hunter, hit, exploded, and knocked it off the top. Kurt leveled his assault rifle and sprayed the other Hunter, but it turtled behind its shield.

The rifle's bolt clacked—empty.

The Hunter stood and growled. Its mate, bloodied and still smoking from the missile impact, stomped toward Kurt, hands ready to tear him to pieces.

Kurt ventured a glance back. The rift was only a flicker now, and shrinking.

His mission timer read "0:47."

A sharp bark behind the Hunters made them halt in their tracks.

An Elite in golden armor strode toward them, gracing Kurt with a glance that was part disdain… and part respect. It jabbered orders at the Hunters and the others.

Kurt's translation software deciphered part of this: "Damage not the center. Engineers with the Slipspace field shunts… Reopen the silver gate. Glory is ours!"

A roar of thunderous triumph burst from the gathered Covenant.

Kurt struggled to rise. There was more pain than he'd ever felt, and his legs had turned to wet sand. His vision tunneled… but he got to his feet… and raised both hands into a fighting stance.

"You haven't won," Kurt said. "You've still got me to get through."

The Ship Master assessed Kurt and nodded, perhaps understanding him, perhaps not. It gazed upon Kurt as an equal. A fellow warrior.

Around them the concentric rings settled to the floor, and with a whispered hiss, all of the ridges melded into a single smooth surface. The fins touched down silently, thirteen clamping armatures splayed two meters from the center of the room.

His countdown timer blinked at him: "0:00."

He exhaled. The rift was closed.

Kurt opened his team roster—subheading status—and moved Will, SPARTAN-043; Dante, SPARTAN-G188; and Holly, SPARTAN-G003 to the missing-in-action column, adhering to the tradition of never listing a fallen Spartan as "killed in action."

Kurt then highlighted Lieutenant Commandeer Kurt Ambrose… and moved that name to the MIA list as well—next to Kurt, SPARTAN-051.

The room started to spin. His mouth went dry He tried to swallow. Couldn't.

His vision doubled and he thought he saw Tom and Lucy come back to get him… but it wasn't them. It was Shane, Robert, and Jane from Team Wolf Pack.

There were hundreds of Spartans with him on the platform— from Alpha and Beta Companies, Dante, Holly, Will, and even Sam… all ready to fight and win this last battle with him.

Hallucination? Maybe. It was nonetheless welcome.

The ghostly Spartans nodded, and gave him the thumbs-up "can-do" signal.

Kurt wouldn't let them down. All he had to do was single-handedly stop a Covenant army. One last impossible mission… the short definition of any Spartan. It was the least he owed them.

The Fleet Master Elite snarled at Kurt, and the translation filtered through his helmet's speaker: "One last fight, demon. You will die and we shall reopen the silver path. "

"Die?" Kurt laughed. "Didn't you know?" he told the Elite. "… Spartans never die."

Kurt turned his gauntlet face-up and pressed the detonator.