Not the Last

My tripmines are placed on the corners, waiting for the vanguard to set them off and start everything. My finger is on the trigger, my rifle's scope pressed up against my good optical sensor.  I take a deep breath.

Any moment now, a stream of angry Fallen are going to make their way down that hall. They're going to scream and shout and try to take my head off. My face itches under the helmet.  I actuate the servos on my head to try to scratch it against the helmet.  It doesn't help.

I know there's at least one Captain coming. I saw his furious impotent arms waving as I sailed over his head after Ghost got the data we came for.  So, safe to assume he's still mad. He'll probably kill me. I do a visual check on the mines again. Still good.

One more deep breath, and the Fallen appear.  The first Dreg has just enough time to shout to his comrades before I detonate his head. The rest of them swarm around the corner, right into my mines. But there are more.  There's always more.  I squeeze the trigger, feeling the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the auto rifle punching into my shoulder while I pour a stream of ammunition down the hallway.

It's a crashing wave of violent death, a slow tide of explosions and steel working its way down the hallway for me. My auto rifle runs dry, and I switch to my sidearm.

I can see the captain now, striding through the carnage for me.  Two of his arms bring his shrapnel launcher to bear, and annihilate my shields.  He charges me, and I think to myself... don't let this death be the last.