An Elite's Tale

A decade earlier, after he had finally gotten through the mandatory probation period as a Minor, Ludo 'Macdemee signed on to be recruited into the Bin Son, an exclusive branch of the Special Operations Sangheili that focused solely on the strength and physical capabilities of individual Elites. But it came at a cost. If one agreed to join, they were very well signing their lives away. At the end of the course, all students had to participate in a bare handed fight to the death.

Many Elites saw it as one of the most honorable courses, so those who took it and survived graduation wear the emblem with considerable pride. Ludo had always been a close up kind of soldier, so from the moment he joined, he strived to be the most aggressive, determined recruit in his class. And he was. During this time he learned, honed, and mastered Ppaleun Hogan, the Sangheili art of hand-to-hand combat. He never let it cloud his judgment, but with his unparalleled mastery of the arts, he wore the graduation emblem with more pride than most.

From there he was chosen by the Hierarchs to do their bidding, until they placed him under Vadumee's command as a result of his failure to save the Sacred Ring. But it was the training that he was thinking of when he saw Theg pass by him and Joha on his way to occupy one of the three Banshees that had just arrived. The pilots were all Majors, and they headed over to join the others after parking and exiting.

Theg wears the patch of the Bin Son Sangheili on his arm.

Ludo paused, stunned. This Elite looked old enough to be one of his instructors, but Ludo hadn't been a student for years so he had trouble scrolling through the few faces he did remember. Especially when his thoughts kept shifting back to disfiguring the Chieftain of the Jiralhanae with his new Spiker.

Before he could call out, the elder took to the skies behind the Arbiter. Ludo saved his inquiries for later. They would have to wait.

Joha interrupted his thoughts when he motioned to the last flier and said, "'Tis a shame. I am quite the pilot when the occasion calls for it."

Ludo looked up at the purple machine with concealed dismay. It's been said that the Shipmaster's Plague fears nothing. That he is the true embodiment of death itself. Numerous tales of his accounts were often retold, both diminished and exaggerated by nearly every species in the Covenant, though he couldn't hold a candle to Supreme Commander 'Vadamee, who was recently appointed to be this era's Arbiter.

Nonetheless, Ludo had unintentionally made a name for himself, and upon realizing this, made up his mind to prove the growing rumors of his prowess. In his efforts to accomplish this however, he repeatedly ran into the same problem.

Flying. Ludo hated flying. He despised it more than those ridiculous orbital drop capsules. He liked to have both feet planted firmly on the ground where he could better control the variables, and minute details like wind current didn't bother him. The thing he disliked the most about being in the air, aside from the big red target one paints on themselves by being up there, was that he had to completely rely on the machine.

One of the first rules of combat he learned the hard way that relying on equipment could and would get him killed. This lesson came to him during his drudge days as a Minor when the plasma rifle he'd been given during basic training malfunctioned in a firefight. And that was on the ground. Aside from a weapon disabling, any number of things could happen up there. Missile lock. EMP. Sniper. A crazed enemy could fly up to board you, which he knew about all too well. He just didn't have the aerial skill it took to properly react to these things.

Mortar tanks were more his forte. On the ground, he could focus on prioritizing and eliminating targets, capturing and securing bases, all without the extra stress and confusion clouding his mind. But as luck would have it, every third or fourth mission he was sent on, he found himself in the cockpit of a Type-26 Ground Support Aircraft.

In other words, out of his element. Not where he belonged. Accompanied by his desire not to dishonor his name by being less than what he's known to be: the best. It was a toxic combination that Joha saved him from having to consume yet again.

Ludo patted his ally's shoulder and said, "The occasion calls for it. Go with the Arbiter, I'll make sure no boarders get to the High Councilors."

"A fine plan indeed," Joha agreed, eager to get in the air. Ludo watched him run and dive into the Banshee, then power it up, lower the cowling, and take off in one smooth motion.

That alone deemed him a better flight combatant. Ludo would have taken that procedure step by step, like a rookie. He shook his head and remembered the Bin Son mantra.

When guns are empty, the fight is won by hand.

He'd rather die charging the enemy on foot than to fall prey to gravity. He shrugged and stepped into the purple glow of the Phantom's gravity lift.