AN: Let me just say that it was really, REALLY hard to make this my own, since the wonderful Serenity movie novelization has the same scene in it. I hope I managed to do it without making it too similar to Keith R.A. DeCandido's version. Thankfully the rest of it really isn't in the movie novelization.

Oh, yeah, and I don't own none of it. Firefly and its characters belong to Joss (who is my master) and always will.

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PROLOGUE The Battle Of Serenity Valley

Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds never did like running. He found it troublesome, and tiring. He supposed it was just because he couldn’t run, not very well. He got tired too quickly. And yet, here he was, his legs pumping one after another with surges of adrenaline along the uneven ground of Serenity Valley. An Alliance skiff soared above, shooting at any target it found. Mal could hear gunshots, people yelling, as he averted his eyes from his fallen comrades and the fallen soldiers of the Alliance, silently praying that they all – even the Alliance – found their place in heaven.

He didn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, though, as another explosion sounded off nearby, followed by the pained screams of soldiers. Mal sprinted, leaping over rocks and objects towards the safety of their makeshift base. He swerved around the rocks at the entrance of the cave, getting down low to avoid any stray (or aimed) shots that might enter. He approached his men, waiting for news. One man moved toward him – Mal couldn’t remember his name. With the thousands of people he recently found under his command, he found it hard to remember many.

“Sergeant,” his voice was serious and hard, “Command says they’re holding until they can assess our status.”

Mal was incredulous. Our status? Bitterly, he countered, “Our status is we need some gorram air support.” Really, how blind could these people be? “Now, get back online, and tell them to get in here!” The man nodded, and went back to his radio.

More footsteps were approaching, light and silent on the dirt. Without warning, Zoë Alleyne appeared next to Mal. The Sergeant had grown used to it, though, throughout the battles – Zoë was one of the only people who had been with him since he had started. She was a loyal soldier and possibly the most frightening and dangerous Browncoat he knew; but right now, Mal could tell she was worried. Her eyes always gave her away. Mal eyed her, silently telling her to speak.

“That skiff is shredding us, Sir,” Zoë stated the obvious, and the two shared a look of familiarity for a split second before the other soldier spoke up again.

“They won’t move without a Lieutenant’s authorization code, Sir.”

Mal groaned, moving his way over to the mangled corpse of Lieutenant Baker. He muttered a quick prayer before he ripped the Independent’s badge off of his sleeve. He flipped it over, looking at the code, before running it back over to the soldier.

“Here,” Mal shot out, “Here’s your code. You’re now Lieutenant Baker. Congratulations on your promotion – now get me some air support!” The soldier started as Mal yelled out the last few words, nodded, and ran off. The Sergeant looked into the faces of the other soldiers standing around him, and he knew they were waiting for orders.

“Go back, just far enough to wedge ‘em in here,” Mal started, the wheels in his mind wracking for thoughts. He turned his attention to Zoë, “Get your squad to high grounds. Start picking them off-“

Zoë shook her head, cutting Mal off, “High ground is death with that skiff in the air.”

Mal grinned at her, “That’s our job. Thanks for volunteering.” Zoë’s eyes widened for a split second before reverting back to their hardened gaze. Mal shrugged slightly before turning to another soldier to his left, “Bendis.”

The man glanced up at him, his face unlike all the others’. He looked frightened. Mal inwardly cursed, but he knew there was nobody else who could do the job. He ordered, “Give us some cover fire, Bendis. We’re goin’ duck-hunting.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, a nearby explosion shook the cave, causing loose rocks and boulders to dislodge themselves from the roof of their base. Mal winced as one of them crushed the skull of a soldier who had been naught but three feet away from where he was. The soldiers who had covered their heads looked up slowly, their eyes noting their fallen teammate. Mal looked from one to another, and he could feel their need for a strong hand. Mal knew he was the one that needed to be that hand.

“Okay, now, just focus!” Mal yelled out. He felt all the eyes trained on him, and the words of a natural-born leader started flowing out of his mouth, “The Alliance said they were goin’ to waltz through Serenity Valley, and we choked ‘em with those words. We have done the impossible, and that makes us mighty.” He smiled lightly at his soldiers – these dedicated Browncoats, “Just a little while longer, and our Angels will be soarin’ overhead, rainin’ fire on those arrogant Khans.”

The Independents were silent as Mal spoke, and the Sergeant finished his speech with emphasis, “Now, you hold.” He glanced at the soldiers, before repeating in a much more assertive and commanding voice, “You hold! Go!”

His words worked. The soldiers scattered, moving to their locations to give Mal and Zoë the cover fire they needed. Mal moved to get his weapon, kneeling next to Zoë. She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“You really think we can bring her down, Sir?”

Mal smiled at Zoë, his eyes showing the answer to the question without hesitation, “You even need to ask?” Mal reached into his shirt, pulling out the cross pendant he wore around his neck. He raised it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it before tucking it back into the safety of his shirt. Hefting his gun up, Mal gazed at Zoë, “Ready?”

Zoë stood, readying herself to run out of the base, “Always.” The two made off then, Mal in front, Zoë in back. Zoë paused slightly before they reached the exit, her gaze falling on the still frozen form of Bendis. She called out to him, “Bendis.” He didn’t react, so she tried again, “Bendis!” When he still didn’t move, Zoë let out a low hiss of frustration before she gave up and ran into the open grounds of the valley. She raised her gun and started shooting down any Alliance soldiers she could find. As soon as she started firing, Mal ran out, training his gun on anybody who trained their’s on him. Mal quickly found cover behind a large rock, and waited for Zoë to join him.

Zoë appeared next to him, her back flesh against the stone, as bullets danced around them. Mal peeked over the boulder for a second before he raised his gun up, took aim, and shot at a hidden Alliance officer. The soldier stood up, startled from the close call, but was shot down by three bullets before he even had the chance to return fire. Mal licked his lips slightly, before he began running again.

The cannon owned by the Independents was an older model, probably considered caveman by the Alliance. Yet Mal found that the older models were the best, even against the high-tech Alliance weapons. He booted up the targeting screen, his hand braced firmly on the bars as he tried to get the weapon locked onto the skiff. He bit the inside of his mouth in concentration, and as he got it lined up as best he could, he started firing. The bullets flew out, the shells dropping noisily to the rocky ground under him.

And then he heard the distant explosion as a puff of smoke came out of one of the skiff’s wings. Mal felt his breath hitch for a moment before he grinned, throwing his fists in the air, “Yeah! Huh!” That’s what I’m talkin’ about!

Then he noticed where the ship was heading. The skiff was spiraling down to the planet, right in the direction of Mal and Zoë. Gorramit. Mal’s eyes widened slightly as he started to run back for cover, shouting out in a warning cry, “Zoë!” She looked up, noticing the skiff hurtling towards them, and braced herself for when Mal launched himself at her, bringing them both down to the ground as the skiff landed right on top of the cannon mount.

The explosion shook the earth around them. Mal could feel the scorching heat from the fire the skiff let off, and as he rolled on his back and saw the debris floating gently back to the earth, he started to laugh. Zoë rolled her eyes, leaning her head back and letting out a sigh of relief. The two re-entered their base, Zoë not wasting anytime before badgering Bendis, “Nice cover fire.”

Mal was still laughing as he followed her, “Did you see that?” He headed towards a soldier, “Green, what’s our status on-“ he froze, staring at the body of Phil Green, who now had a nicely shaped round bullet hole in his forehead. Much quieter and somber than before, he motioned toward the body, “Zoë.” She immediately went to check his pulse as Mal went to talk to Bendis.

“Hey,” Mal started, touching Bendis lightly on the shoulder, “Listen to me.” Bendis sat still, fiddling with his thumbs. Mal frowned, grasping the man’s shoulder to turn him, “Bendis, look at me!” Unwillingly, Bendis gave Mal his attention, “Listen, we’re holding this valley no matter what.”

Bendis looked down, “We’re gonna die.”

Mal shook his head, “We’re not gonna die. We can’t die, Bendis, and you know why?” When Bendis didn’t respond, Mal mustered up the most serious voice he could, “Because we are so... very... pretty.” Mal grinned, and Bendis managed to muster up a small smile of his own, “We are just too pretty for God to let us die.” Mal grasped Bendis’ chin, shaking it slightly, “How about that chiseled jaw? Huh? Come on.”

And then Mal heard it. The sounds of aircrafts overhead. Bendis’ eyes widened, and Mal could feel an uncharacteristic grin coming over his face.

“If you won’t believe me, then believe that. Those are our angels, come to blow the Alliance to the hot place.” He whirled his head around and shouted to Zoë, “Tell the 82nd to-“

Zoë cut him off, her voice faltering slightly, “They’re not coming.”

The Browncoats were silent, and Mal was confused. Not coming? Of course they were coming – he heard them, for God’s sake. They were right outside.

Zoë started speaking again, “Command says it’s too hot... they’re pulling out. We’re to lay down arms.”

Mal was at a loss for words. He looked from Bendis to Zoë, who were both watching him carefully, “But... what’s...?”

Suddenly, it hit him like a punch to the stomach. Mal stood up slowly, looking up over the mounds of rocks and boulders, right into the face of the last thing he wanted to see.

Alliance ships were settling over Serenity Valley, raining missiles and fire down into the grounds below. Mal was vaguely aware of Bendis coming to stand up beside him, and didn’t even notice when two bullets hit his comrade square in the chest, sending him backwards and down.

While his comrades ran for cover, Mal simply stared straight ahead and watched everything he knew explode and crumble around him.

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks since the Alliance had taken over Serenity Valley. It had been two weeks since the people who were supposed to save them had ran away like dogs, their tails between their legs. They hadn’t even sent a rescue. Certainly the gorram armistice had been signed?

Through those two weeks, everything and nothing had happened at once. Soldiers were dying everywhere, from bullet wounds, starvation, dehydration, sickness... they had to start moving the bodies away in hopes that they could keep the healthy troops going.

Zoë Alleyne sat still next to Mal, cleaning out her gun just for something to do. She heard some of the sick coughing, and the wounded were groaning. Mal was talking quietly with one of the other soldiers, a smile plastered onto his face. Zoë had sensed a definite change in the air surrounding Malcolm Reynolds. He was still strong, he kept the soldiers going as best he could – but it almost seemed as if he was dead. He was bitter. Whenever he smiled, it was fake. Whenever he laughed, it was hollow. Zoë knew he had lost his faith in everything, and she felt her heart breaking for him.

Yet, without him, she doubted that even she would still be alive. He kept them all sane. He kept them all alive.

One of the soldiers, a female named Caila, spoke up, hope in her voice,” I hear something! Does anybody hear that?!”

Everyone looked at her. It had been so long since anybody had shown any semblance of hope. Zoë was about to tell the poor girl it was her imagination, when suddenly she heard it too.

Mal sprang up, his eyes squinting as he tried to make something out on the horizon, “Zoë! Signal flares!”

Zoë struggled to rise, her arms and legs sore and tired from... well, everything. She moved to stand next to Mal. “Whose colors?”

Caila bounced up, sprinting and jumping through the base with an energy that no one had had in weeks, “It’s a rescue ship! They came! They came!”

Zoë looked back at her, failing to fight the smile that as crossing her face, before she voiced her question again, “But whose colors are they flyin’?”

Mal shook his head, “It doesn’t matter none. One side or the other, at this point, makes no difference. We just gotta get outta here.”

Zoë knew then that Mal had lost all hope in winning this war. She didn’t think he’d forgotten what they had been fighting for, but she could tell that he just didn’t think fighting for it now would do any good.

Mal turned his attention to Caila, and another man they just knew as Brown because he was always covered in dirt, “Go tell the others that rescue’s comin’. Make sure the sick and wounded get to the ship first. We’re goin’ home.” He shouted out then, “Look alive people! We got medships en route! Get ready for extraction!”

Zoë went searching for the flare, rummaging through various bags. She grasped the edge of one, and yanked it out. She glanced out into the open, seeing the small specks of what could be ships heading their way. Handing Mal the flare, she asked him, “Are those really medships? Are we really getting out?”

Mal grasped the flare, looking down as he answered, “We are.”

Zoë let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for the entirety of the two weeks she had been here, “Thank God.”

Mal let out a bitter, sadistic laugh, giving her one of the most hurt and angry looks she had ever seen on him, “God?” he questioned her, his words sour, “Whose colors is he flyin’?”

Zoë had no answer for that. As Mal lit the flare and the ships came into view, only one thing was certain in her mind:

The war was officially over, and the Browncoats had lost.

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AN: Well, there you go. A little bit of a novelization. Hopefully I'll have the second chapter up soon, it's about halfway done.