User:RelentlessRecusant/Halo Wars/Archive 5

1
"Project currrent status of the fleets" The Admiral ordered. Small models played across the TACMAP.

"I have ordered the fleet into a rough "V" formation and heading towards the far side of the moon. One of the frigates has launched a Clarion spy-drone and will be in position in 2 minutes. Repairs are underway to all ships" He said matter-of-factly

"Good," He purred. Will was a "Smart" AI and always performed superbly. "Alert me when the drone is in place and project it on the fore view screen"

"Yes, Admiral" -- MIL AI 2340 00:59, 12 January 2007

2
1847 Hours, April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

The crew of the Erwin Rommel was in trouble. They were pinned down by a group of Elites, and some new enemy. This new enemy stood at roughly 8’6” and wielded their own type of weapons. They looked like large gorillas, complete with mottled dark brown fur. Some wielded grenade launchers, other wielded red plasma rifles, which seemed to have a higher rate of fire. Yet others wielded odd looking weapons that fired orange spikes similar to those of a needler. These new enemy were tougher than Elites, and seemed to be tougher than Elites.

“From what I have been able to discern,” began Janglur, the ship’s AI, “These things are called Brutes.”

“Brutes…” repeated Hänkel in deep thought. He was worried. The crew had split up, him leading one group and Vrana leading the other. Hänkel had lost contact with Vrana several minutes ago, almost immediately prior to the ambush. Now they were all pinned down. Hänkel tried to peer over the short dirt mound he had sought cover behind. A beam of plasma splashed across the dirt, barely missing his head. He ducked back down quickly. The situation wasn’t good at all. He had already taken three casaulties, and they were pinned down. The Covenant soldiers were slowly gaining ground. They’d soon be in range for plasma grenades, and then it would be over for Hänkel and his men. “Darn it Vrana! If you can hear this, please respond! We’re pinned down two klicks due west of where we split up. We need support now!” He cut the COM.

Hänkel popped up again, trying to get a fix on his enemies for a quick burst. He saw, in the distance atop a hill behind the Covenant forces, a lone figure holding some long looking weapon. A lance of purple shot out from the silhouette, striking a Brute in the back of the head. Another Brute turned, and saw the plasma burns on his comrade’s dead corpse, and immediately opened fire on the nearest Elite with his red plasma rifle. Soon, the entire group was in chaos, and within a minute, only a single Elite stood, holding an energy sword. Another lance of purple shot from the hilltop, ending the lone survivors life.

“''I think we’ve gotten our COM working again. If you can hear this, please respond,''” came Vrana’s voice over the COM.

“I read you loud and clear,” replied Hänkel. The silhouette waved, and soon nearly a platoon of men, Marine and Navy alike, came walking over the hill. It was a sight for sore eyes; it was Vrana’s group.

“We were ambushed right after losing radio contact,” Hänkel reported.

“I know. Most of our electronics went dead. No idea why. Some sort of EMP wave I think…Wait a sec, receiving a COM from the Winston Churchill.”

“''Boys, you haven’t been picked up yet have you? We’ve got a mission for you.''”

3
"This is Major Lance Peterson, DCM-68 we are pinned down by heavy fire from Elites and the so called Brutes as well as snipers on the ridge, we are taking a pounding here! i need support immediately from any UNSC personal over!"

The Major turned and fired his Sniper Rifle taking down one of the Brutes, and then again taking down a Elite Commander's shields he shouted to his marines "Marines nail that gold son of a bitch right now, send his ass to the floor" 2 of his marines popped up from behind cover and emptied half a clip each from thier MA5B Assault Rifle's into the Elite Commander he jumped right over them and pulled out his energy sword, the marine turned round and shot him square in the head the elite fell to the floor the marine then carried on fighting as the Major spoke "Nice work son, get some more" when suddenly the downed Commander reached out and grabbed his energy sword and swung for the marine when suddenly it just dropped its weapon the Major said to the marine "yep, nice work son but next time make sure there dead, i wont be here to save your ass all the time Corporal, now nail em all" the major removed his field combat knife from the back of the Elite Commanders neck, and then took a shot at the jackal on the ridge, when a brute jumped in near him and slashed one of the marines with a sword like weapon on the back of some sort of grenade launcher, the Major shot but had no ammo the Brute turned and swung his weapon at the Major who blocked it with his sniper, he then stabbed the Brute in its upper leg with his knife when the Brute went on some sort of rampage and sent the Major flying, then suddenly the brute dropped dead one of the marines spoke "c'mon Major i wont be here to save your ass all the time" the Major spoke "thanks corporal but next time give me that lip and someone will have to save you from me boy" the Major had a smile for a second.

When a marine called "Major you might want to take a look at this"

"What is it son!"

"It’s the Elites there fighting the other race, sir!"

"Marines, open up take every one of those bastards down"

the Marines shouted different comments "with pleasure sir", "god you gotta love christmas, hey Major", "eat this split-chin" and "hey monkey boy, when im done your gunna have bullets in that dumb-ass monkey brain of yours, now come get some!"

Major Lance Peterson

4
Jacob sat staring at the wall. They had been sitting there for hours, or so it seemed. He was not exactly sure how long it had been but it seemed like a lifetime. The anomaly that had disabled his ship had stopped the deuterium fusion core. As they had been drifting he had been trying to think of a way to restart the core. “Sir, can I suggest something?” said Derek. “Sure go ahead Derek.” Jacob said. “Well sir, I once saw a very old film, before we had holovids, called Flight of the Phoenix. It was about several people who crashed in a plane in the desert. In the film they used a physical generator to charge their plane’s batteries. Maybe we could use some spare parts around the ship to come up with something like that so we could try to jump start the core.” He said. Jacob smiled. “Run down to Tyler. Andrew, go with him and help him pry open the doors.” Jacob said. “Captain, I believe I have an idea to repair the com, also, I have short range sensors online, the destroyers, prowlers, and the stealth cruiser are dead in space.” Reported Sheila.

“Sir, I have been trying to repair some of the damage that the anomaly did and I believe I may have repaired lighting and door control systems. However, if I was wrong then we may lose all lighting.” Sheila reported. “How sure are you that you fixed it?” Jacob asked. “There is a 97% chance that I was correct.” She said. “Well then let’s give it a shot.” “Yes sir.” The emergency lights dimmed and then went out. Suddenly all the lights were back on. Jacob closed his eyes. About 5 seconds later he opened them and was pleased to find the lights still on. “Ensign Miller, see if the doors are working. Sheila, any idea how long it’ll take until we have inter-ship coms working?” “Oh did I forget to mention that I fixed those to? Oh, well I did.” Sheila giggled. Jacob had noticed that when she accomplished something she had a tendency to act VERY girlie.

“Tyler,” Jacob said into the com. “Yes sir, good to hear you voice again.” Came the reply from the com. “Did Andrew and Derek make it there ok?” “Yes sir, AND, we started charging for a jump start. We should have enough energy in about 1 hour. It could go faster if we had more people to help.” “Consider it done. I’ll get all nonessential personnel down there ASAP. Sheila, let’s get the coms working,”

Jacob had a feeling that their luck wasn’t out yet. He only hoped he was right. If he wasn’t, there was going to be big trouble.

--  O_M_R_I_F_E_R_E  TundefinedC 22:23, 12 January 2007 (UTC)

5
1903 Hours, April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

Four Pelicans touched down about a mile south of their target. Hank scanned the horizon. They didn’t know what kind of defenses they would meet attacking this Forerunner structure. That was the name of the ring builders, at least, if the Covenant BATTLENET interceptions had been translated correctly. They had no idea what Forerunner looked like, nor how they fought. From the way their technology worked, they would probably be far better soldiers. However, Hank had to take that chance. Word had come down via the Winston Churchill that he and a large group of marines would assault the weapon. It seemed to have a hold on the ONI ships that had made brief contact with Battle Group Churchill, and as long as it was active, it would maintain that hold. That meant something like seven or eight ships were sitting ducks. Luckily, the Covenant was rather preoccupied with this little civil war they were fighting amongst themselves.

Hank made a motion with his hands, ordering the marines to move out to the first checkpoint they had established on a crude map one of the ships had provided with a satellite image on the ride to the LZ. Hank was basically in command of this op, which was rather nice. There had been no time to get marine officers for the op, so Bryan, who has served in the Corps, was given command. The wounded marines and few Navy personnel had ridden back to Alpha Base on the other two Pelicans. Bryan and Hank had known each other for going on twenty-one years, and Bryan knew Hank to be the better commander, so he let Hank run the show.

As they arrived at the ridge, Hank picked up a sniper rifle and viewed through the scope. There was a patrol of two Elites, their blue armor denoting their low status and lack of experience. He looked to a team of snipers. All four carried S2 AM sniper rifles fitted with silencers. The silencers wouldn’t nearly silence the sound of the anti-material version of the SRS99C, but it would at least dull considerably. The four marines crawled up to get the best vantage point, and then sighted the Elites’ heads, two barrels aimed at each. Hank clicked his COM once, and four shots rang out simultaneously. Two Elites, short their heads, slumped to the ground. Hank held his breath. The air was still. It appeared no one had heard the shots. Hank’s luck had held. He exhaled. He signaled to the marines, and they moved up to the structure. The snipers switched to assault rifles. Hank could see Bryan toying with his shotgun nervously. Hank again clicked his COM. A marine hit the only obvious button to activate the door, which slid open. The marines waited several moments to see if anyone would come to investigate the doors. When none came, two marines stepped in front of the doors, assault rifles leveled. They signaled that the coast was clear, and soon marines began filing in. Once inside the structure, they were to place charges on anything that might cripple the machine. The going was fast, though silent. The place was virtually unguarded. Hank approached a door from a shadow, unseen. There were two red Elites standing guard. This was either their target, or the Covenant base of operations for this building. Either way, Hank figured it would be well worth the effort. The door slid open, and out flew three drones unlike anything Hank had ever seen before. They had three main boons, and two tail boons. They were roughly two and a half meters long, and they had a red central “eye” that hung just below their main body. One turned, its eye heating to a gold color.

--RotBrandon 23:57, 12 January 2007 (UTC)

6
“Simmons, any luck with the com?” Michael asked. Since the anomaly had shutdown the ship, he had been watching the situation through a window. His ship was the farthest away from the ring, it also had some mobility. Therefore the anomaly must have originated on or near the ring’s surface. “No sir, the com might take me awhile to fix. However, I have detected energy spikes from Shadow’s Blade and Ethereal hand. Also, the destroyers seem to be in the same state as we are. I cannot confirm the number of Covenant vessels damaged or destroyed.” Michael sighed. There was another thing bothering him, Veronica Sanderson, captain of Ethereal Hand had sent a message before coms had gone offline. “This is Captain Veronica Sanderson of the UNSC Prowler Ethereal Hand, we have taken a hit and are in danger of” then the transmission faded into static. He wondered if she was still alive. The ship had power so some occupants must still be alive but if it had been the anomaly that had cut the transmission there would have been no static.

“Sir, receiving a weak transmission from the Ethereal Hand.” Reported Brady. Michael’s heart started to beat, “What is their status?” he asked. “Sir, Captain Sanderson, she’s dead. Apparently she was heading toward a lifeboat, then a steel girder collapsed and crushed her.”. And there it was, he now had to find a replacement captain. Since the com had been working they had received a transmission from Shadow’s Blade. The good news was that they had no casualties, the bad news was that they couldn’t move for about an hour, 35 minutes at the very least. --  O_M_R_I_F_E_R_E  TundefinedC 00:54, 13 January 2007 (UTC)

7
1907 Hours, April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

A golden beam cut through the air, striking one of the marines square in the chest. He was thrown back, and his battle armor was severely damaged, but he’d live. At least, as long as they killed whatever these drones were. The two red Elites, suddenly aware of the enemy presence, shouldered their plasma rifles, wondering where the enemy was now. Hank looked at Bryan. Bryan took careful aim with his shotgun. A blast resounded against the cold metal walls as one of the drones dropped to the floor, smoldering, and then exploded. The explosion surprised the Elites, who turned for only a second to see it. That was all Hank needed. His marines burst from cover, guns blazing. Bryan quickly dispatched the other two drones, and then joined in the fight against the two Elites. They were caught off guard, and were full of bullets before they could even get a shot off. Hank motioned to his marines, who burst through the door. Inside was a single white Elite. He had had time to prepare, having heard the fight.

“Let the Sentinels be your death!” he cried, using a translator so that the humans could hear his curses against them. More drones flew in, lasers blazing. They reminded Hank of the direct energy weapon Brandon had died to destroy. He took out his rage on these drones, reminded of Brandon’s sacrifice.

The drones just kept coming. Eventually, their numbers began to trickle off. The Elite, realizing his Sentinels would not be enough to kill these humans, powered up his energy sword, preparing for battle. Hank had dealt with such Elites before, and stepped forward, challenging the Elite. It spat at him, and then charged with its sword. Hank sidestepped, and used the momentum of the Elite’s arm to carry the sword into its overly ornate helmet. He wondered if Elites would ever learn. The Elite tried to turn and look at Hank, but then the realization of the sword in its head came over it and it died.

“This must be the generator complex,” whispered Hank quietly to his marines. “Let’s place those charges before more of those…Sentinels I think they’re called, show up.” The marines jumped to it, setting charges on anything that looked vital, and several things that were not, like the white Elite’s corpse.

“Good job, men,” stated Bryan matter-of-factly. He turned to Hank. “Let’s get out of here.” Hank nodded. They moved swiftly, disregarding stealth. They exited the complex, and as they cleared the ridge that had been their first checkpoint, Hank stopped, turned, and looked back at the building. He pressed down on the detonator with all the hatred and anger built up inside him. The resonating boom was beautiful, but it didn’t fill the gap. Brandon was still dead. Hank turned away, catching up with his marines. Four Pelicans were waiting to extract them. Hank turned back one last time to the smoldering wreckage of what was once a building. A single though echoed through his mind. Brandon was still dead.

1812 Hours (Ship’s Time), April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Destroyer Erwin Rommel, space above Installation 03

The Erwin Rommel sped towards the ring. A lance of energy shot up to greet it, but dissipated against the flames that now covered it and marked its trajectory across the sky. As it fell, it began to break apart. Small pieces fell every which way. One such piece, a near perfectly round cylinder, about the eight feet tall and four feet in diameter, spun out of control. It spun this way and that towards the surface. Free of the Erwin Rommel’s influence, the piece of debris was son behind it, drifting in the wind. Soon, the skin of this particular piece of debris began to peal away. However, what was more surprising than its outer layer of skin was its contents. A man was strapped in on the inside. He thought back to the events that had unfolded, replaying them in his mind.

“If you are hearing this, Brandon, then you are perhaps more stubborn than I thought. I figured you’d want to take this thing in manually, but wouldn’t send anyone else to their death. This message is playing because the final Bumblebee lifepod just exited the ship. Thus, if you are hearing this, you are still aboard. Well, I know you are one who is willing to die for your country, but why not live for your country instead? I am sure you overlooked this, but there are still two HEV pods aboard the Erwin Rommel due to sickness and other reasons. If you act quickly, the pod might withstand the re-entry burn I am sure you will have chosen and perhaps even allow you to land on the surface. I’d estimate your chance of survival is twenty-five percent, my calculations based on a two hundred percent burn of the engines, which is the course of action I calculate you will have chosen. Good luck.” Brandon had recognized Janglur’s voice.

“Shoot. Two hundred percent? His predictions are off. Worth a try though,” he had thought aloud to himself. He had run to the HEV launch bay, what the ODST called Hell’s waiting room. He had strapped himself in and launched the pod, having no time to check the systems. If there was an error, he would have died checking for it anyway.

The pod continued its tumble, but soon righted itself. Everything was hot around him. Normal temperatures for such a drop were one hundred degrees, but the speed at which the Erwin Rommel had been traveling, and the fire surrounding it, had added to the heat. It was nearly one hundred and forty degrees in the pod. As the craft made it further into the atmosphere of the ring, the air suddenly cooled. He was still coming in fast, but not too fast. The pod jerked as the chute opened. However, the jerk wasn’t caused by a sudden deceleration, but rather was caused by the cords holding the chute in place snapping. Perhaps he was coming in too fast. Brandon wondered what Janglur’s estimate on his chance of survival would have been had he known Brandon was set on a three hundred percent burn. He tried to do the math in his head. He came up with two percent.

“Well…those are better odds than I’ve had in the past,” he thought to himself, yelling over the roar of his accelerating pod. Brandon clenched his eyes shut. “En mortis est gloriam,” Brandon whispered. Several seconds later, there was a loud bang followed by an explosion.

--RotBrandon 06:02, 13 January 2007 (UTC)

8
"Admiral," Will piqued up "Clarion spy-drone is in position. Displaying on main screen" The Covenant fleet was in disarry,shooting at each other and burning.

The Vice Admiral simply ignored the main screen "Ship and Fleet repair status?"

"Repairs have begun to the lower decks. All hull breachs have been sealed. " The AIs avatar dimmed "Most of the fleet is not battle ready"

"Estimated time until repairs are finished for the fleet?"

"Based on the most damaged vessel..." Coding flashed across his cloak "25 hours 36 minutes"

"Order all ships to seal all hull breaches before commencing with interal repairs. I want them to be ready in case, our friends," The Admiral turned to the fighting covenant and smilied "Finish eariler than expected. Is that clear?" He lifted up an eyebrow

"Crystal clear,sir" --MIL AI 2430COMM 10:18, 13 January 2007 (UTC)

9
1705 Hours, April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

"Yes, you heard me correctly Parker, you and your platoon are to move deeper into this complex." Lt. Pierson stared directly at him. "I've been in contact with Will, the Mil AI from the Winston Churchill. He's gathered data from the Prowlers still in-system, and all data is pointing towards there being caverns or even structures below ground.  As of yet we do not know what's down there, and that's why we're sending you guys."

1906 Hours, April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ Underground complex of Installation 03

It had been two hours since Parker's 3 squads had descended into the underground tunnels, and only half of an hour since they had split up, leaving trails of relays, in order to assure communication. All the while, Will had been keeping them updated on developments on the surface and in orbit, as well as giving him information about the AI construct in charge of this place, the oddly named 49 Proximal Secant, and opening doors for them. They stopped as they approached another door. "I'm detecting a large amount of electromagnetic interference beyond that door," Will said, on a private COM line to Parker's squad. "One second." The door silently slid open. Parker's second-in-command, Cpl. Quince Williams leaned in first, then, after scanning the room for hostiles, waved in the first group. The three man Marine fireteam stepped in, and cleared the room, before the rest of the squad moved in. The room they stepped into was different from the others. At first glance it appeared to be a research area, but there was electricity arcing along the walls. Aside from the sparks dancing along the walls, the only other distinguishing feature in the room was a panel set into the wall, near a section of the floor that was... different from the rest. It seemed to be a different color, a bit darker than the rest. The panel itself was different as well, not being made up of any kind of material, save light itself. Parkers squad moved closer to the panel. "Will, are you seeing this?" Parker made sure his mission recorder was catching this. "Yes Sergeant. Using the known Covenant language as a rough guide, I'll try to decode what this thing is for... Hmm... Ahh, yes, apparantly this panel allows limited control to this construct's teleportation grid. From what I am gathering, there are multiple 'stations' scattered all around the ring, and using these 'stations' will allow you to teleport to any other 'station'.  However, there are some who actually have control over the entire grid, and can teleport anywhere, such as this '49 Proximal Secant'. Ah, here's an interesting one." Parker rolled his eyes. "What is it Will, spit it out." "Barbarian. Anyway, it appears that somewhere on the opposite side of the ring, there is a dedicated system that has created, and constantly updates, a map of this construct. I cannot access it from here, but using this teleportation grid, I should be able to get you close enough to access it for me." Parker looked at the rest of his squad, who nodded in silent agreement. "All right. Recall the other squads. We'll do it." "Excellent. Now, all you have to do is stand on that differently-colored portion of the floor. Double-checking... Ok everything seems to be in order." The marines moved to the teleportation pad. "All right, contact me when you arrive" And with that, the Marines disappeared.

10
Captain Adam Deadrus Graves. Captain of the I.S.S. Parabola-Class freighter The Hesperus. He was never meant to see the light of battle, never meant to handle a gun or order fire upon enemy vessels. Meant to ship cargo from one system to another, making sure it's done properly and on time. He was assured this role when graduating only until humanity's darkest time when all able persons would be conscripted into the military. So, was this humanity's last hour? Was this why he couldn't seem to escape combat or order a retreat from his crew? Why he felt the need to continue? He wasn't going to give up. He was much stronger than many other men in this kind of situation. I guess he got that from his father...

He looked around the bridge, from his vantage point a few feet above his two subbordinate officers. 'Who was he to give orders?' He thought to himself for a moment, as they continued on their way to the intended point of attack. They were moving stealthily to make their move, using the moon as a slingshot to decrease the amount of energy necessary to put them into place. 'God, let us survive this engagement...' He thought once more, closing his eyes before turning to his men. He needed to act now, while the iron was hot and the Covenant were distracted with themselves. It was time to show why The Hesperus could survive, why it's name was so ironic, and protect the UNSC fleet which was now in sudden disarray. It may have only been meant for cargo, but this ship was rather resiliant and was ready to take a beating.

"Get the Pelicans up here ASAP, Peterson. We're going to need them ready and willing to make our next move..." He said, then turned to the window, his hand on his chin as they circled round the mooon. Peterson nodded and went back to his work, raising communications to the two Pelicans who had left before.

"Sir, we have a 'dead in the water' friendly at eleven O'clock," O'Shay said less than enthused. It was common to find the wreckage of ships on the battlefield. They slowly came up beside the Anasazi and docked in space off their bow. Upon closer inspection, it was clear the ship was only damaged and not inoperable.

"O'Shay bring up communications with that ship," Graves muttered, staring out the side window at the wreckage. The important thing about this was that The Hesperus boasted some very skilled engineers onboard, and that would considerably increase the amount of time that the ship could get up and running. And if the Anasazi could accompany The Hesperus on their mission, the odds of both ships making it out of this fight alive was high and the odds of the mission being succesfully accomplished was even higher. O'Shay proceeded to hail the Anasazi.

A flashing box appeared on Graves' holoscreen, bearing the call sign 'SII:Spartan-054'. He tapped it and waited for Angel to relay the news. Hopefully it was good. Hopefully she was fully fitted with her armor once more and could tend to this mission he had planned for her. He knew Adrian was fighting on the ground, and he also knew that Angel wanted to go. That would have to wait, an oppurtunity such as this came once in a blue moon. Hopefully, she wasn't hurt...

"Sir, the engineers and I have refitted my Mjolnir armor. I'm combat ready, along with a full platoon of marines. We're all waiting for orders..." She said, with a hint of boredom in her speech. This was kind of strange, and it made him smile slightly. If she was bored now, then she would probably love his idea.

"Get that platoon fully armed, break out some of the C12 Damage Packs and those LOTUS mines, you're going to need them. Get near the Pelican Bay and get ready to board," Graves said smirking and turning to his back to the holo-screen. He was still stroking his chin, trying to think of the best way to tell her what he was planning. "You're going for a visit, be ready to bring a couple of presents along for our friends..." Graves said with that wild grin, stopping the stroking of his chin to put his hands back his back clasped, together.

There was a short pause, accompanied by a laugh. "Good, thank you sir. I thought for a moment there we would just play it safe the whole time. Spartan-054, out." She said with a giggle, before cutting out. Graves sighed, closing his eyes and looking down. This was so strange, this was all so strange... CaptainAdamGraves 22:59, 13 January 2007 (UTC)

11
"Friendly Contact, moving alongside. It's that freighter... The Hesperus." Jenson peered out the bridge window at the new ship. It had to have been luck to have come out here and found his ship, hidden in the moon's shadow. "What's the status on our communications?" Jenson asked. "We have limited range, but for the most part all is normal." The tech officer looked back down at his console, then looked back up at the captain. "Sir the Hesperus is hailing us." "Open a secure channel." The tech officer rapidly tapped commands into his console, and looked back up to the captain. "This is Captain Roger Jenson of the UNSC Destroyer Anasazi. Go ahead you have my attention."

12
1815 Hours, April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ Accelerating towards surface of Installation 03

Brandon opened his eyes in time to see the mushroom cloud that had once been the Erwin Rommel. He was then suddenly surrounded by water. He was confused at first. Was Heaven some twisted water world? He looked around himself. He was still strapped in the HEV pod. The life support system was still functioning as well. He appeared to be nearly twenty meters below the surface of a lake, and falling fast. That was no good. The HEV pod was weighing him down. He unbuckled himself, took a deep breath, and then pulled the respirator from his mouth and swam out one of the many large breaches in the hull of the pod. He swam to the surface quickly, though slowly enough to avoid decompression sickness. He popped up on the surface of the lake. It seemed to be a perfect hemisphere, with a hundred meter radius. He was about forty meters from the closest shore, so he began to swim.

When he reached the shore, he reached for the assault rifle that was standard for every HEV pod. He had left it in the pod in his hastiness. Darn. He still had his sidearm, which would have to do for now. He was soaking wet. He’d have to complain about that later, right after Hank bought him that beer. Hank! That was it. He’d link up with Hank and go back to Alpha Base. Hank and his men surely must be somewhere near the wreckage.

“Hank, this is Commander Rebuga. Do you copy, over?” Nothing happened. The private COM didn’t seem to be working. He tried to open a COM on E-band. All he got was static. He tried to raise FLEETCOM 7, still nothing. His radio must not be completely water proof. “Joy,” he said to himself sarcastically. He was stranded in the middle of a desert in some war zone, possible in hostile territory. “Looks like I’m on my own…” he seemed crestfallen. “Hank still owes me that beer though!” he shouted more to himself than to anyone else. He tried the COM again.

“Hank, I know you don’t want to have to buy me a beer, but seriously, please respond.” There was no response. Rebuga shouted several profanities at the faulty radio then turned and tossed it in the lake behind him. He pulled out his sidearm and checked its clip and chamber. The clip was full and a round was chambered. Good. He was ready.

He began trotting towards the wreckage. Perhaps some of the Erwin Rommel had survived, like a radio or a distress beacon. Maybe they would come and recover the black box. Maybe he’d just get lucky again and come across friendly forces on the way there. Maybe God would descend from Heaven and levitate him back to Earth. He didn’t care. Anything was better than standing there doing nothing. He just needed something to keep his mind off his ever dire situation.

--RotBrandon 09:28, 14 January 2007 (UTC)

13
1807-20 Hours (Ship’s Time), April 26, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ Orbiting the Moon nearby Alien Structure/ Alpha Base on Alien Structure

Graves took a step towards the holo-screen, re-directing the communications between O'Shay and Captain Jenson to him. He cleared his throat and prepared to put forth his rather un-orthodox, plan of action.

"I am Captain Adam Graves, of the UNSC freighter The Hesperus. I see your ship is in need of repairs and I believe we can be of some assistance. Do you mind if we come aboard, Captain?" He asked, knowing he had no way of ferrying over any of his crew without a Pelican. He was hoping Jenson had one onboard, or some way of getting one from the "Halo" back up to his ship. This was a way of figuring if the plan was possible without actually asking if he had a Pelican onboard. Even negotiations with allies were delicate, if they are about the right subject.

O'Shay and Peterson both took different reactions to their Captain's conversation. Peterson took the moment to run a hand through his short brown hair, lean back in his chair and close his eyes for a moment. O'Shay leaned forward and nestled his head between his hands, staring straight out the window at the Anasazi, seemingly lost in thought, or no thought at all. Graves paid no attention, he had reverted back to stroking the stubbles of hair on his chin, trying to stay as 'cool as a cuke', so as not to spoil his chances of recruiting Captain Jenson after repairs were completed. And he knew his men were more than capable of repairing the ship in a short amount of time.

Adrian continued to run forward towards the incoming Wraith tanks, hearing a spatter of sniper rounds fired off in the near-distance behind him. He knew that was Jared, staying alive and keeping an eye on him from higher ground. He felt a sense of security and capability to keep focused under the extreme conditions because the Spartan was watching him as he did it. Another comforting sound was the rumble of atmospheric jets tearing throught the sky above him. He continued to run, increasing his speed slightly. He wanted to get a jump on the Wraiths as they were hit by the fly-boys.

"This is Jason Orion, Adrian-014, were inbound on your position with seven Wraith MBTs in sight. Dropping Scorpion Missiles in 3...2...1... Missiles away! See ya in hell splitchins!" The enigmatic pilot yelled out over the comm. system as their missiles released from the ships. The shortswords and longswords screamed through the sky above and off into the upper atmosphere after expelling their air-land Scorpion Missiles. Originally designed for combat against Scorpion tanks by Sky-Hawk Jump Jets, they were out-fitted on the bombers because they could do considerable damage to bunkers and clustered enemies as well. Besides, they never missed.

Adrian kept running. Each step was felt throughout his body, the ground seeming to perpetuate the resonance of his footsteps throughout it and reverberating back up into his armor. He gritted his teeth together, firing two rounds at the lead Wraith tank. The others turned in sync with the first, and all prepared to aim at the attacking Spartan. That's when the flames began to rise. Of the seven Wraith tanks, five instantly alit with flame and mortar expense into the air, their pilots not having a moments notice to vacate their cockpits. The remaining two Wraiths turned to fire at Adrian with their auto-cannons, which followed him as he evaded easily from side to side, strapping his BR-55X onto his back. Too bad he didn't have any explosive tipped bullets anymore, or he would've taken down these last few tanks with those. He was within a 50 meter dash now, and he needed to figure a plan now.

He closed his eyes and reached down to his leg compartment, retrieving the small grayish orb which he had hidden there to keep safe. He placed his fingers on the corresponding sides to open the wings of the object, to activate it. He didn't really understand how it worked yet, Helen had surmised a theory but he couldn't understand it. It made just about as much sense as the Shaw-Fujikawa drives. He didn't care though, as long as they both worked right when he needed them. And so far, thats how things have played out.

Just then, breaking through the beats of sound that were still playing through his speakers, sounded the engine of an approaching Warthog. Then, there was a blast, sounding like that of a Gauss cannon, like the ones that were supposed to have been delivered to Reach during their shipment. Adrian turned while making that few dozen meters to see Warren driving the Warthog, along with Curtis manning it's gun turret. It's pounding blasts continued, and he saw corresponding explosions bouncing off of the armor of one of the Wraith tanks. It appeared burnt from the blasts, and he knew it was only a few more shots until that tank was done for. He grinned, this meant he didn't need the Divine Judgement after all. He quickly placed the ball back into it's holster and leapt onto the other Wraith, which sprayed its auto-cannons in stress. It turned and leapt forward, trying to shake the Spartan free. All it ended up doing was slamming into the other Wraith and flipping it over as it tried to follow the speeding Warthog.

Adrian pulled his right fist back and thrust it forward, wrenching it into the hatch and pealing the purple metal off like he was undoing a sardine can lid. The Elite within barely had enough time to look up at him and shout somehting in Alien tounge before Adrian tossed him out forcefully onto the ground and pulled his Battle rifle from his back; putting six hot slugs into the Elite's chest. He then proceeded to enter the pilot's seat of the alien mortar tank, activating its warmed controls. On the view screen he saw that the other tank was still on it's back, and the Elite which had tried to vacate it had been fried by the smash of the Guass Warthog. It was in just the right time that Adrian had chosen to enter the cockpit, because a second after he was strafed with a line of plasma from an incoming pair of banshees. He saw Warren and Curtis turn to engage one and turned his tank towards the other. The screen flashed a lock, and he pulled the trigger. He felt the plasma mortar exit it's cannon, and fly into the air, connecting with the strangely-unevasive Banshee, creating a pile of smoldering purple metal on the ground, which was soon accompanied by the burnt remains of the other Banshee. Adrian turned his Wraith once more, set up a shot and let another mortar round go, firing it at a rather large cluster of Elite's mounting a hardcore attack on Alpha base, sending them burnt and bloody; dead and flying from the impact.

"Can we get a pick-up of these two Wraith MBT's, take 'em back to camp for artillery support Pelican pilots..." Adrian said over the comm. link, before leaving the cockpit and holding his BR-55X in his arms, the sun glinting off of his Mark VI armor, a grin across his lips as he walked back slowly towards base camp. A small victory for the human forces on the ring, for now. CaptainAdamGraves 22:30, 15 January 2007 (UTC)

14
The two pilots stopped what they were doing and looked up as Adrian-014 charged the Covenant Wraith tanks. It was amazing what a Spartan would do when they had their mind set on something, Rult thought as he watched him. He was snapped out of his thoughts as they received a message from the Hesperus.

PLNB Transmission XX497T-XX

Encryption Code: N/A

Public Key: N/A

From: the UNSC Hesperus

To: Bravo-617, Bravo-291

Subject: Orders

/FILE EXTRACTION-RECONSTITUTION COMPLETE/

/START FILE/

UNSC Hesperus '' to Bravo-617 and Bravo-291, return to ship immediatly for orders and resupply. Coordinates included''

"Odd." Rult mumbled, "Why wouldn't they just give us the orders in the message?" Though the question wasn't meant to be anwsered, Rodney piped in with his theory anyway. "Maybe they don't want the Covenant overhearing the orders. Either way, it's getting us away from this place." Rodney said, placing the locks back on the missle pods and inputting the new coordinates into the NAV computer. Almost immediately after they stopped talking and got ready to leave, the COM channel clicked on and Adrian's voice came over Rults headset.

"Can we get a pick-up of these two Wraith MBT's, take 'em back to camp for artillery support Pelican pilots..."

"Roger that." Rult replied closing the link. "What about returning to the ship?" Rodney asked, curious. "We'll do that right after. If they were in a rush then they should have included the orders and not make us guess at what they are." Rult said, more joking then serious. He moved the Pelican's bay closer to the wreckage, getting the magnetic locks ready. The Pelican wasn't made for transporting Covenant technology, but it had proven that it could over the course of multiple missions. As soon as they were close enough, and got the go ahead, he activated the locks and the Wraith hooked onto the back end of the dropship.

Since they already had orders to return to the ship, the Pelican hurried back to the base. Though the added weight slowed them down a little, they still made it back, dropped off the tanks, and were ready to leave in what could be called a "record time". They met with little to no problems on their way back to the Hesperus. The Covenant ships seemed preoccupied with themselves for the most part. at least until they got within a half kilometer of the ship. Rodney noticed it first. The Covenant ships turned at almost the exact same time towards the ring structure they had just vacated. They got to watch for a split second before they arrived at the ship.

Once they landed and the hangar bay's atmosphere vented back in, a few engineers walked in to resupply the ships ammo and fuel. That took care of one part of why they needed to return. Now they needed to find out what their orders were. Lekrel 23:17, 16 January 2007 (UTC)

15
“Sir, all our systems, there back.” Reported Sheila. “Were Derek, Andrew, and Tyler successful?” Jacob inquired. “Unknown sir, however, they had just acquired sufficient charge to jump start the core when the power came back. It is logical to assume that was the cause.” “Try to raise Call of the Wild on the com, and find out how many ships were lost in the explosion.” “Yes sir I’m on it.” She replied. “Also, tell Call of the Wild that I have a recommendation for a promotion.” They were now on their feet and ready for action.

--  O_M_R_I_F_E_R_E  TundefinedC</tt> 00:35, 17 January 2007 (UTC)

16
Communications Disk, Model FFQ, Unidentified Serial Number Office of Naval Intelligence

<start audio transcript alpha-primer>

GEMINI: “Start recording.”

[pause]

VOICE ONE: “Counterelectronics package online. We’re free to talk.” [voiceprint confirmed: General Chamberlain, ONI Director] VOICE TWO: “With all due respect, you never can be sure, sir, especially with Ackerson running loose.” [voiceprint confirmed: Colonel Steinberg] GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “Damn it, I told Winslow to get a leash on that dog!” VOICE THREE: “Yes sir. I’m on it. Wait...damn. Paragonsky just paged me. I’ll tell her that I was over at FLEETCOM for a...meeting.I’ll finish the final encryption matrix in several hours. I have to go.” [voiceprint unconfirmed, data corruption in sector 67-XX]

[pause]

VOICE FOUR: “General, do you think that [censored] Team will complete the objective? The Call of the Wild reports that they are still reading the active transponder of the REAPER nuke on-planet.” [voiceprint confirmed: Rear Admiral Prescott] COL. STEINBERG: “Like our little friend Katherine-” VOICE THREE: “You mean that little bitch.” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “Watch your fucking language. And get your ass outta here.” VOICE THREE: “Yes. Sir.”

[laughter]

COL. STEINBERG: “As I was saying, the Spartans are completely incorruptible. They aren’t concerned with oil prices, stock options, rogue agents, black ops...” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “You forget that the Spartans are a black op. PROJECT: Nova.” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “Very true, but the fact is that Ackerson and his pet agents, yes that includes Paragonsky, rather pathetically, hasn’t uncovered [censored] Team and the bioaugumentations...imagine if Ackerson laid his hands on the Mark VII-C armor. That he knew that we’d developed a next-generation armor suit and hadn’t given it to his SPARTAN-IIIs or Elizabeth’s SPARTAN-IIs. He’d hang us to crosses and excise our egg rolls over a fire.” COL. STEINBERG: “Yes sir. That brings me back to another point. Plausible deniability must be established. Gotta go back to bird hatching, and can’t do that if Ackerson eviscerates us.” [chuckling] “General, are you sure that ECCM box is working?” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “I pirated it off one of the SPARTAN-III gear shipments. It works a hundred and ten percent, Colonel. So, back to the topic. Paragonsky nor Ackerson can ever find out about Christina or the rest. The detonation of the REAPER will not only eliminate the alien beam weapon, but also ensure that PROJECT: Nova does not end up in Ackerson’s hands. Did you see his new abomination? I pulled a few strings in CENTCOM. Ackerson has his private SPARTAN-II. Not Kurt, that incompetent derogate, but a “SPARTAN-458”, Nicole.” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “But what about the SPARTAN-IIs attached to NavSpecWep that are on the ground on the alien world? It would not be unfortunate for them to know that [censored] team, another batch, is fighting alongside them. I don’t see Steinberg’s obsession here about not letting the rest of ONI find out about PROJECT: Nova. Yes, Paragonsky would dress us down, but General, I’m sure that you can silence her and Ackerson. We’ve seen it in the past.” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “But Ackerson has his private Spartan. Do you know he can use her for?” COL. STEINBERG: “With all due respect, that sounded...” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “Wrong, I understand. However, he’s a serious threat, but his father, that insolent bitch, has enough connections to raise a stink even for me, Director of ONI, if Ackerson is...forcibly reassigned. We underestimated him, too. He was able to genetically engineer a SPARTAN-II behind our collective backs?” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “Sir, just take it to Elizabeth. She’ll have her grimy paws all over Ackerson.” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “She’d freak on us, that we created five SPARTAN-IIs without her signed consent. Hell, she struts like she owns SPARTAN-117 and the rest.” COL. STEINBERG: “She does.” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “That’s besides the point. Well...” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “I apologize for interrupting, sir, especially without having been able to sit in on our previous...conference..., but why would [censored] team detonate a REAPER on themselves? Just to ensure that word of NOVA and the Spartans we made doesn’t get out?” COL. STEINBERG: “Sir. It’s for the worse-case scenario. While the Call of the Wild has tech specialists trying to perform a field analysis of the Halo ring’s offensive discharge weapon and [censored] team watching them, if other ONI forces...” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “Sophistry. How the hell can ENGCORPS figure out some supermassive energy beam weapon in several hours in the field?” GEN. CHAMBERLAIN: “It'll be difficult, but it'll work. I’ll excuse you now for your overall general failure of understanding because of your lack of knowledge, but it’s for Xytan. He needs it to launch his Scarred Angel op or whatever. Without the backing of the Prophets and their fleets, he’ll take whatever we can find and refit his warships with it to launch his bloody revolution. Needless to say, this will strengthen our position infinitely. With the split-chinned freaks fighting amongst themselves, we’ll have a chance to win. Our good Imperial Admiral knows this, but wants avengeance. For his brothers.” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “I understand our rationale for working with Xytan, but why the REAPER?” COL. STEINBERG: “Sir, imagine if someone got their hands that the Director of ONI was collaborating with an enemy fleet commander.” R. ADM. PRESCOTT: “Ah.”

[pause]

GEMINI: “End recording at 0846 hours.”

<end audio transcript alpha-primer>

Cheers,

TRU</tt>7H</tt> 03:14, 17 January 2007 (UTC)

17
0920 Hours April 27, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Midway Deep Space above Instillation 03

"Daedalus, search the systems for any problems, check if they tried invading our systems at all due in the battle" Captain Edson spoke again "Tactical Ops, bring me up the list of the current repairs needed, but only the ones we can perform, okay"

One of the Tactical Officers spoke "yes sir, on it now..., okay well we need completely new reactor plasma because we had to purge the first and one of the two back-ups so the main reactor cant go above fifty six percent, sir, and as well as this all starboard emergency thrusters are used up, sixty three percent of the portside thrusters, were down to thirty seven percent total fuel, seventeen hull breaches, armour in sections three, four, nine and eleven are down to thirty percent or below, one of the main drive shifts is offline and the auxiliary reactor is cracked sir we had to shut it down so the best thing we can do is get rid of it, weapons are thirteen rounds for the MAC all heavy's all Shiva missile pods are empty and we only have two hundred and twenty five Archer missiles left those are in pod lines C, K, P, X, Y and Z and only around fifty percent in each or less that’s about it, sir"

"Okay, well get engineering on what they can do, Daedalus how’s that report"

Daedalus spoke "sir the covenant tried infiltrating the ship with some sort of virus, i was able to destroy in time before it was able to even penetrate our firewalls, and I have to say for an advanced collection of races they are not as smart as one would think"

"Okay, good, just go through for me and re check all the data, check for footprints and if they got near anything, check it all i want you to check, re-check and check again"

Captain John Edson

1008 Hours April 27, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Midway Deep Space above Instillation 03

"Sir, if i may we could get more out of the main reactor if we use the plasma from one of the small, auxiliary reactors this would allow us to take the main reactor to seventy nine percent, sir"

The Captain spoke "Very good Daedalus, make sure it’s done, oh and i don’t suppose you have anything else to add, that would do us some good"

"Actually sir, i do engineering has seemed to fix one of the three main drive shifts"

One of the bridge crew turned to face the Captain she spoke with a strange hint of joy in her voice "Sir one more of the Covenant ships just got destroyed" the captain smiled and spoke "Good, theres only one thing better than watching them kill each other, and that’s when you kill them", he never really smiled anymore not since his family was murdered on Eridanus II by the Covenant he only smiled now when either his battle plans worked as best they could, or when he destroyed a covenant ship, which was basically the same.

Daedalus MIL AI 2608

18
Ninteenth Cycle, 47 Units, 9th Age of Reclamation (Covenant Battle Calendar), Installation 03, Security Sector Five-Seven

Sub-Master Krisha cringed at the sound of the harsh voice on his COM. Special Commander Marshal ‘Ayatolee was never enjoyable to work with. Krisha knew very little about the S.E.A.R.S. program, but he did know that it was a program with little honor, and that must burn the soul of all its units deeply. Perhaps that was why the Special Commander Marshal was such a harsh Sangheili.

Kirsha looked back to the topic at hand. A small group of humans had been sighted. They had split up into two groups. A small group of Jiralhanae had joined up with his regiment, the Fifth Joint Regiment of Arcane Divination. They had split up and were preparing to ambush the unsuspecting humans, who all looked tired and worn from a long days travel in this vast desert. One of the main problems was that quite a bit of Krisha’s regiment, his Banshee flyers, his Wraith and Ghost units, and even most of his ground units, were devoted elsewhere. He had only twenty or so Sangheili warriors and the Jiralhanae scum that he had come across. He had only accepted them because of the shortage of manpower, as the filthy humans called it.

“This is Marshal Kolante. We will be able to send your Banshee flyers back to you in several units. What is your current situation?” Krisha shivered at the reminder of ‘Ayatolee’s unit, which had been borrowing the Banshee flyers.

“We are moving to ambush several humans.” He surveyed the group. “By my count, there are maybe sixty of the scum.” He glanced to one of the groups as it passed behind a hill. “There might be some trouble. It seems that a demon is present in the group. I cannot confirm this however.”

“May the Ancient’s be with you, Krisha.” The COM ended. Krisha turned back to the problem at hand. A demon could easily take his entire unit. He’d need to use all his tricks to defeat such a crafty enemy.

His ambush group moved over a hill, a perfect position for sniping. Soon, the group Krisha had chosen to ambush had taken more than three of their filthy soldiers. The group that he had chosen did not contain the demon, so he was relatively safe. However, he was never sure when Jiralhanae were around.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, with only a few more moments required to be in plasma grenade range of the pinned humans, a lance or purple plasma narrowly missed his head and sizzled as it connected with a Jiralhanae scum that was standing in front of him. He knew immediately that the Jiralhanae were revolting, and turned to face his attacked. On the hill was the sillouhette of the demon. As he turned back, he found himself face to face with a red plasma rifle. Krisha’s life ended moments later in a flurry of plasma.


 * --RotBrandon 04:22, 23 January 2007 (UTC)

19
"COMMs open up a channel with our ground troops, put me straight through", "Yes Sir, im patching you through now, i have Colonel Halsey on the horn, he’s in command of all ground Ops Sir"

The Colonel spoke "Sir, we have sustained heavy casualties to Bravo and Charlie Company's, we are pushing through to the downed Covenant Frigate i have everybody from the Midway with me Sir, i repeat all company’s with me Sir, there are very few Covenant ground troops left sir, thier to busy fighting themselves" the Captain interrupted "yea, i know beautiful isn’t it"

The colonel laughed and spoke back "Yes Sir, hell of a show down here, we will proceed with the mission Sir, but i request any help you can give us"

"Roger that Colonel il have Longswords commence bombing runs, just send them the location, over and out"

"Okay, Deployment Ops, get me 6 Longswords helping those boys as well as this i want 16 Pelican Gun ships down there giving them support, got it"

The deployment officer responded to the captain with no hesitation, the bridge crew had been hardened over the battle they were just like robots when the Captain gave an order "Yes Sir, il see to it"

Captain John Edson

20
"Sir?" Will piqed up "All ships have sealed hull breachs and are beginning internal repairs"

"Status of covenant ships?" the Vice Admiral asked

"Still fighting,sir"

"Spilt the fleet into 2 battle groups, equal firepower. Then order them to charge MAC guns and head towards here," he tapped the TACMAP and a NAV point appeared "Alert me when the covies are done and repairs completed,"

Will's cloaked avatar dimmed "Yes,Admrial" after a few seconds his hologram appeared again "Orders acknowledged. Let me guess,sir, you have concocted a plan including us firing our MAC guns at extreme range, which will, hopefully get their attention?"

Vice Admrial Cory Johnson smilied "Precisely,"

--MIL AI 2340

21
A small Covenant fleet drops out of slipspace just outside the MAC killzone. Councilor 'Nodotee stiffened from the bump of the Assault Carrier coming out of slipspace. It had only been a few days since he took command of the Combined Regional Fleet of Contrite Purpose, and now he led a small detachment here. To Halo.

"Main viewscreens on." His voice rang out in the quiet control room.

"Main viewscreens coming online, Excellency."

The left screen showed their objective. Halo. The other showed their fleet status.

"Hail Ffch 'Nifumee, tell him to bring the Enlightened around. I may have found a use for him after all..."

"Excellency?"

"Contrite Purpose needs a scout, he'll do nicely. Also, get me a secure BattleNet with the other Ship Masters." Ffch 'Nifumee was less then pleased with his new orders. However he would carry them out, he knew disobeying 'Nodotee would be death, especially with all the times Ffch has messed up before.

"There. That's what Shch 'Nodotee wants, a clear view of the fight. Rely that to Bloodied Remnants right away." Ffch commanded his underling.

"Transmission sent" "Connection established. Excellency, Ffch is in position."

"Excellent. Display on my forward viewscreens."

"Done."

Shch 'Nodotee activated his personal viewscreens on his control panel.

"There it is, Halo. Move Enlightened and Oversight closer. Make sure there are no surviving Jiralhanae ships in our proximity."

Shch 'Nodotee felt out of place in the control room. It had been years since he last commanded a ship, he thought it was all done with when he was given the position of Councilor. Although fate has a funny way of bringing people back to places they thought long gone. He could tell the rest of the command crew were intimidated by his presence there. It wasn't everyday they saw a Councilor in it's bright white armour and overly large headpiece standing above them on the command platform. Then a sudden and loud explosion brought 'Nodotee out of his thoughts and back into the fight.

"Councilor! Oversight has been crippled by a Jiralhanae Frigate, the Jiralhanae frigate was destroyed in the crossfire."

"Damage report. How?"

"Oversight didn't have it's shields up, the betrayers pretended to be Sangheili, they set an ambush. Oversight isn't going anywhere Excellency. Dead metal."

"Retrieve any survivors, then bring Enlightened back to us. This is going to be more fun than i originally thought. The beasts are actually putting up a fight."

Councilor Shch 'Nodotee

22
0204 Hours, May 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

Luck. Luck is proof that God has a sense of humor. Sometimes it is very good, and other times it is very bad. Of course, it can also be viewed as being very bad for one while very good for another. This time, luck favored no one. Today marked the seventeenth day since the Battle of Installation 03 started. It also marked the fourteenth day since the UNSC fleet had either been decimated or had crash landed on the surface of this forsaken ring due to damaged reactors.

Hank still didn’t know how, but several captains, one in particular being Adam Graves, had somehow managed to actually land their ships on the surface. The Hesperus had an operational reactor and was hovering about thirty meters above the surface. Of course, operational was a term to be loosely applied. The Hesperus, as well as every other ship on the surface that was being repaired, didn’t have enough power to escape the gravity of the ring. One ship had tried, one that had had a rather bumpy, but generally safe landing. The captain had reasoned that he had enough power for the return trip to Earth, including the extra Cole Protocol jumps, to inform HIGHCOM of the dire situation and then return with a fleet, supplies, and most importantly, reactor parts. Of course, the ship got about halfway into Installation 03’s gravity well and then plummeted back to the surface. God rest the souls of those who had volunteered for the mission, all dead now because of one captain’s overzealous math error. Currently, the UNSC forces were based in the hulls of spaceworthy, and broken ships across a ten square kilometer region in an open desert near where the initial Alpha Base had been.

Of course, the Covenant hadn’t fared much better. When the civil war broke out, the Covenant fleets virtually annihilated each other. Needless to say, the Covenant threat had somewhat slackened. The Elites had been victorious over the Brutes, but the Elites’ combined forces currently weren’t nearly enough to overpower the massive buildup of UNSC forces in their new “fortresses”. Hank thought on the word fortress. It was odd that the calamity of broken reactors had probably saved most of the marine forces from being overrun. The UNSC now had very effective point defense; the fifty millimeter MLA CIWS systems mounted on most of the ships that were still intact could rip a Spirit apart, let alone a Wraith or an Elite. The Covenant wouldn’t glass the surface either, like some had speculated they would. Apparently this installation, called Gamma Halo, held some sort of holy reverence to the Covenant. Even with the Covenant Civil War beginning, the Elites held fast to their beliefs. Hank wondered if this was foolishness or faith. Perhaps it was a bit of both. Who could know but the Elites themselves? Hank wasn’t going to worry about which of the Elite’s heathen gods had saved him, but rather, was going to thank his God for the luck the UNSC had received. God truly did have a sense of humor.

1618 Hours, May 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

Radar picked up incoming contacts en masse. They were coming. The general alarm sounded. They were coming. Shudders ran through the spine of almost everyone on board. They were coming. Marines ran to occupy light and heavy machine gun emplacements. They were coming. Naval personnel powered up the auto cannons. They were coming. An eerie silence hung over the ship. They were coming.

They broke cover, charging at the grounded ship in the thousands. Plasma filled the air as they fired wildly at the defenders. The ship’s hull had been ripped open when it had landed and thus was a prime target for attack. The marines opened fire, spraying almost just as blindly into the wave that crested the horizon. They just wouldn’t die. One managed to get into the valley between the horizon and the ship where the machine gunners couldn’t fire. It came up the edge and was suddenly in front of a machine gun. It discarded its weapon and lashed out violently at the marine. The marine’s fingers pulled on the trigger too late. The machine gun fired until the barrel melted from the heat, its trigger held down in the decapitated marine’s death grip.

The Flood had come. Several seconds after the initial invasion, the auto cannons warmed up and opened fire. The thousands of Combat Forms were blasted into pieces in a very literal sense. The battle lasted only two minutes, and the result was a loss of nearly a thousand of the Flood against ten marines. Hank shook his head. Of all the places to be assigned, he had been assigned to the Winston Churchill, which had had one of the worst landings without being unsalvageable. Work was being done around the clock to repair the breeched hull, but little could be done without the proper tools and equipment. Every morning teams would set out to salvage metal from other wrecks that hadn’t been lucky. Every evening a majority of those teams returned with metal. The ones that didn’t usually didn’t return at all. The problem wasn’t a lack of metal, but a surplus of hostiles. The Covenant were similarly pinned down in the wrecks of their ships and other bases they had established. The UNSC had even considered offering an olive branch of peace to the Covenant, but they doubted it would do anything but get a few negotiators killed, or worse, captured.

One thing was for sure, with the breech only half-way sealed, the battle would repeat itself when darkness came, and again when the sun arose. It was a cycle. The Flood seemed to know that the ship couldn’t be held for long, and they also had plenty of bodies to throw at it. The bodies were beginning to collect upon the ground around all of the ships, but especially the Winston Churchill. Hank watched as a group of engineers went out to try and dispose of some of the bodies and reset the series of land mines that had destroyed hundreds of the Flood before they even came over the horizon. This wouldn’t last long. Ammo was running low, and land mines were even more in demand. At least the Winston Churchill was a Marathon-class cruiser-carrier, which meant it had a decently large amount of auto cannons. Hank wondered if it would be possible to defend the breech without the auto cannons. All the machine guns did was slow the wave down enough for the auto cannons to warm up. Hank wondered if, even with the auto cannons, the ship could be kept Flood free for much longer.


 * --RotBrandon 00:02, 5 February 2007 (UTC)

23
"Battle formation Alpha. Move Contrite Purpose to heading zero-six-four by one-seven-seven. Establish BattleNet with the other fleet's commander."

"Consider it done, Excellency."

Contrite Purpose slowly moved towards the ring. Councilor 'Nodotee had already lost one CCS-class Battlecruiser, he'd make sure the rest of his troops survived. Bloodied Remnants took point, the remaining ships took position behind the Assault Carrier.

"What's the status of the other fleets? How many capital ships are spaceworthy?" Councilor 'Nodotee stood anxiously waiting for a response from the other fleets.

"Excellency, I've hailed the other fleets, no response."

Councilor 'Nodotee clicked his lower mandibles together. Then proceeded to his personal viewscreen, and brought up a display of the other fleets at the ring. The other Covenant Fleet was in bad shape, as was the human fleet here. He could have easily destroyed the remaining human fleet, but 'Nodotee decided not to waste the time, that fleet wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He'd destroy them when he finished what needed to be done on Halo. For the moment 'Nodotee decided to go around the humans. Then 'Nodotee brought up a second holographic display, this one displayed his fleet. Then he broadcasted a message over the BattleNet.

"Halt all forward movement! Create a separate battlegroup, consisting of Enlightened, Glorious Truth, Revived Faith, and Bloodied Remnants. This battlegroup will move to Halo, the remaining ships will provide support to those going ground side."

The Ship Masters all responded quickly to 'Nodotee's orders and moved into position. Battlegroup One moved on to Halo.

"Excellency, incoming transmission..." Bloodied Remnants and Battlegroup One desended through the atmosphere of Halo. It was a bumpy ride, but not as bad as exiting Slipspace. Councilor 'Nodotee always hated Slipspace, it made him feel powerless, not being able to fight back, but just able to go in one direction. Horrible.

"Excellency, we're in position, extending the Gav Lift."

"Send only a single Legion to secure a base around our Gav Lift. Be prepared to cut Gav Lift and exit the atmosphere at a moments notice, I've read the reports on the parasite. They will not make a vessel out of us. Rely my orders to the rest of the Battlegroup. We will not made hosts, and any hosts will not leave this ring."

Councilor 'Nodotee and his brothers would not be made parasites, and he'd make sure of it.

"Excellency, Ffch is hailing us... apparently there's a demon encampment close by."

'Nodotee would never admit it, but he prayed to the forefathers that the humans would survive the Flood. The last thing he needed was for the humans to reinforce the already overwhelming number Flood here.

Councilor 'Nodotee turned to his underling, "Tell Ffch to prepare for combat, ready several legions. Ffch will personally lead them. I want all possible demon hosts, eliminated."

Shch 'Nodotee BattleNet

24
Adam Graves sat down at the seat that his seconds in command, Second Lieutenant Maximus Peterson, had been sitting at during the time the ship had been in combat in space against the Covenant. Graves kept reminiscing on the strength the ship had put forth, after they had helped to fix the Anasazi. They had used everything... And had put the Covenant in their place. At least for the time being, that is.

After the Anasazi and the Hesperus had eked from behind the moon, they stealthily moved around the perimeter of the battle raging between the Covenant and their rebelling factions. The plan Adam had relayed to the captain of the Anasazi had been to take a Covenant battleship, no matter how large, and use it against the Covenant itself. The Covenant ships were extremely more powerful against vessels of their own, especially when used in conjunction with UNSC firepower. While the plasma depletes the shields and scars the hull of the enemy vessels, the MAC round punches through the marred ship with ease, to finish it off. But this was all hope, and it had taken the engineers of both ships ten days to fix the damage, as the war around them raged on. Their resources, in the fuel department, were running relatively low at this point and the sooner they could vacate this battle scene the better.

The ensuing fight was vigorous, showing the full might of the X-121 prototype MAC-Cannon coupled with the two in-board MAC-Cannons of the Anasazi. The enemy ships didn't necessarily conform to Graves' plans, and if he had been bolder like a Captain Keyes it may have worked. But he opted to fight, to fight instead of capturing. The Anasazi would take down the shields of the vectoring Covenant ships, and then it would charge its reactors while it launched a round of Archer missiles and the Hesperus would rattle off a burst of its MAC-rounds.

This kind of battling between Covenant and the two ships went on for the next few days, until finally the Covenant retreated from combat, leaving a heavily depleted Hesperus and Anasazi fighting the gravitational pull of the ring world. Graves, using his wit and intelligence, decided to conserve enough fuel to break atmosphere once more by just letting the gravity take the ship in. Graves had the crew strap down every box of cargo in the bay area with the toughest strapping available, and then vented the atmosphere of the area. The doors which spanned nearly the entire side of the ship fell down, giving the behemoth make-shift wings. This was the way that the Hesperus had survived the crash-landing to the forerunner world, using its cargo doors as wings; brilliant how when the captain was put in the corner, options were still there. This made atmospheric maneuverability multitudes better, and the Hesperus touched down just outside a lake without a problem, four miles south of the Winston Churchill. Yet, even though they had fought aside the Anasazi for four days, and spent nearly two weeks with them in space, they had lost contact upon entry. They could be anywhere now... And that worried Graves.

And there he sat, staring out at the countryside of the Halo... Where he was trapped. His ship could even break atmosphere, yet they had NO fuel that would be remaining to perform some slip space jumps. They were virtually marooned until help arrived, or more fuel could be found. Over the past day had been spent salvaging for scraps in the surrounding area, and Adrian had even returned from Alpha Base with the marines who had served on the Hesperus, a Wraith Adrian had personally captured, and two Banshees who had their pilot's sniped out by Jared-091. This was now Alpha Base... Protection of the Hesperus was one of the human’s top priorities.

He continued to think, as his crew worked on the ship, repairing the gash and refitting the MLA Auto-Cannons which would provide point defense against the Covenant and this new threat that was continuously coming in force... The flood. The ship also had one other option, call it artillery. Very strong, powerful artillery. But with Adrian around, and an excess of outfitting cargo onboard for continual defense of the ship, they didn’t have much to worry about considering the ground base attacks. They had two operational Pelican's still, one of which had left piloted by Rult, to transport supplies to the Winston Churchill nearby and six fully usable Guass and Chain Warthogs. What the Captain didn't know was that Spartan-014 was onboard that Pelican, along with three of the most capable soldiers they had; Peterson, Warren and Curtis. Reinforcements for the Winston Churchill were on the way... A way out if they were on the run was on the way...

A young man with red, short cut curled red hair came over to Graves and sat down next to him, still wearing his full Ensign outfit; hat and all. At his hip was a magnum pistol and in his hands were two beers. He handed one to Graves, who smiled and nodded, popping the top and clinking cans with Ensign O'Shay. "It's been a good run sir. I'm just hoping we can make it out of her alive..." O'Shay said outloud, before taking a deep gulp.

"Me too... Hope is always a good thing to have. It means there's still a chance," Graves answered, taking a sip before placing the cold beer in his hands and holding it out while leaning his elbows on his knees, his legs dangling above the ground whilst the two sat on the elevated door. He laughed out, and then shook his head, looking back over at his subordinate and nodding. O'Shay returned the nod with a grin and they both laughed.

A Pelican whirred over head of Brandon Rebuga and continued on flying forward of him for nearly thirty feet before beginning its decent to the ground below. The grass fettered out, and the dust picked up as the landing gear peirced the dead body of a flood combat form. The elongated cargo box on the rear of the Pelican dropped, several smaller boxes within of ammunition for the Auto-Cannons and the guns which the marines at this outpost were using. Within the Pelican's troop transport portion, save Adrian, Warren, Curtis and Peterson who walked out once the ship touched ground, was packed with similiar cargo. Humanity would not falter, not after surviving this long. And Adrian was ready to make sure.

He walked over to Rebuga, and saluted standing up straight, his BR-55X attached to his back on the Mjolnir armor. It shown gleeming in the sunlight and the marine force around stared wide eyed at the towering figure. "Sir, Petty Officer Second Class SPARTAN-014 reporting..." Adrian muttered out, looking down at Brandon with an unflinching respect. This battle had continued to harden him. Harder and Harder, until he would crack... CaptainAdamGraves 02:55, 5 February 2007 (UTC)

25
1449 Hours, May 29, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

Brandon had walked for several kilometers before he came into view of the wreckage itself. Of course, it hadn’t been hard to keep his course. A pillar of black smoke rose high into the sky, marking the position of the Erwin Rommel. It had been a two day journey, and when Brandon arrived, he was alone. Somehow, for reasons unknown to him, something that he would never understand for the rest of his life, the kitchen had survived the crash and ensuing blast almost completely intact. Brandon didn’t pause to consider this, opting rather to just accept his good luck in exchange for the lack of contact with friendlies. Any equipment that might have been a radio had been utterly destroyed. It was almost ironic that he had had the supplies to survive for a month but hadn’t had the materials to even attempt to contact friendly forces, but all that was about to change.

Brandon heard it before he saw it. There was a familiar humming in the air of a D77-TC Pelican. Of course, Pelicans had flown over the wreckage plenty of times in the past several weeks of Brandon’s exile. But none ever noticed the lone figure run out into the open waving his hands. Brandon had seen the Flood, even killed them, and that was probably what the Pelican pilots thought he was. Today, however, seemed different. Instead of a Pelican flying on a path that passed the wreckage, it flew at the wreckage. It came in low, and flared into a landing about ten meters from Brandon’s position. He began walking towards it, partially hoping for rescue, but also wary of the Flood. The Flood didn’t land Pelicans, however. They crashed them into an area and then poured out. This was different; it was professional.

To Brandon’s relief, a Spartan stepped out of the Pelican followed by several marines. Brandon would never be able to tell one Spartan from another, but the FoF tag read SPARTAN-014. Brandon had half expected SPARTAN-048, whom he knew had been assigned to the Erwin Rommel and held in reserve until the ship was abandoned, but again, he didn’t care who rescued him as long as someone did. SPARTAN-014 walked over to Brandon, his modified Battle Rifle slung over his shoulder, and stopped about half a meter short. He came to a crisp salute.

“Sir, Petty Officer Second Class SPARTAN-014 reporting.” Brandon could tell by his voice that they shared a mutual respect. He returned the salute quickly.

“At ease. What brings you to my end of town?” Brandon replied, a tad curious.


 * --RotBrandon 06:03, 5 February 2007 (UTC)

26
1450 Hours, May 29, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

Adrian lowered his hand, took a deep breath and prepared to relay the information to Rebuga about his own personal mission. "Sir, we've come to evac you and your men. We'll stick around and fight... But we plan to go looking for some more supplies... With a working reactor the engineers of our ship believe we can break atmosphere and return to Earth," Adrian looked around as he said those words to the commander, watching the marines scramble over to the cargo which had been brought by Rult and the others from the Hesperus. The all had smiles on their faces, like the ammunition was some sort of god send in the midst of an oncoming famine. He smiled slightly behind his visor, before turning back to Brandon.

"We're going to find a way off of this thing... If it's the last thing we do, Sir." Adrian said, his deep voice resonating outwards as the doubt in the back of his mind clashed with the willingness he had to complete this self-assigned mission. He was the Hesperus hero... He wasn't going to let them down now. Not when they were so close.

Needless to say he had already tried everything he could to get the ship moving. Helen and him had worked for nearly the past twenty four hours to find a way to integrate the Divine Judgement into the power grid of the Hesperus, to try and give the fusion reactors a little more juice. But the Covenant reactor was almost as heavily damaged as most of the other ships. It was like searching for water in a drought, no one had it, and even if they did they wouldn't just give it up. Everyone had needs, and everyone needed water.

'I keep hearing these whispers... It's like something is out there...' A familiar female voice sounded in Adrian's mind. Helen sounded confused, mixed with a dash of disappointment at her own inadequacy to decipher to incoming transmissions. She had grown so much over the past two weeks it was astounding. He smart form had truly taken over, and she was absorbing knowledge like it was inhalable. And maybe for an artifical manifestation such as herself, it was.

"Is it Proximal Secant?" Adrian asked, turning off his outward facing speakers, so he and Helen could converse alone. He turned away from Brandon, giving him an angle of his back, trying not to seem strange to the human leader. He began to walk forward, unstrapping the BR-55X from his back. That was just habit, I guess. He didn't necessarily need the weapon, but something about Helen not feeling confident made him wary as well.

'No... Maybe... No, he wouldn't whisper. He'd at least say hello..." Helen muttered, rolling her metaphorical eyes as she said it. Adrian grinned, as he could sense her sarcasm, before putting back on a straight face as he stopped walking. A shiver was sent down his spine, as he stood straight up. Something was wrong, maybe not wrong, but he sensed something strange. Something off... CaptainAdamGraves 23:29, 5 February 2007 (UTC)

27
It had only been 51 Units since Bloodied Remnants and the rest of Battlegroup One touched down on Halo. Councilor 'Nodotee was proceeding towards the main Gav Lift. As he entered the large room, seven Spec Op Sangheili greeted him. Then Ffch appeared behind them.

"Do you really find it necessary to have seven Spec Ops guarding you?" Councilor 'Nodotee was disgusted by Ffch's cowardliness. Hmm. How could someone like him become a Ship Master.

Ffch was caught off guard by 'Nodotee's question, "Excellency, I'd prefer to live today, to serve you tomorrow." Ffch knew 'Nodotee wouldn't belive that, but it sounded good.

"Come Ffch." Councilor 'Nodotee and Ffch 'Nifumee, along with Ffch's guards, proceeded down the Gav Lift. The base camp the first Legions had set up was quite impressive given the time frame. They had chosen a large hill in the middle of the desert for their base Gav Lift. The advance legion had established several layers of shield walls, lookout towers, and plasma turrets. If the apes, or the parasite were to try an assault at this point 'Nodotee was certain the enemy would not prevail.

A red armoured Major Domo ran to the Councilor's side, "Excellency! We've lost contact with the Osoona unit that was dispatched."

"Last contact with the unit? Ape or parasite hostiles?" 'Nodotee stiffened, awaiting a response. If it was the parasite, then there was a good chance the Flood knew where the Battlegroup set up camp.

"Last recorded sound was... Umm, the translation is a bit off, but... Suk It Spitchin."

"Ape." 'Nodotee was disappointed that he'd lost some brothers, but gladdened to know it wasn't Flood.

The Major Domo went back to his position.

"Ffch, take your squads, lead an assault on this location, the ape base camp." 'Nodotee pointed to an area on a holographic display pad, "It appears to be nothing more than a grounded spacecraft, it's badly damaged and under constant Flood attack. I will personally lead my troops here, this craft is less damaged, but none the less pathetic." 'Nodotee watched as Ffch slowly walked away. How did he become a Ship Master... Councilor 'Nodotee activated his loaned camouflage unit, he stood on a hill opposite the downed UNSC Hesperus. "All units hold position! Wait for my orders." An Ultra approached on 'Nodotee's right, and then pointed to something on the horizon. Flood. A lone combat form. It was only a scout, but it wouldn't be long now. "All units, take five, let the parasite weaken their defences... then we strike."

['Nodotee's BattleNet crackled to life]: "Excellency, bad news. Ffch 'Nifumee's squads are under heavy Flood attack, less than half the group remains."

"By the forefathers! Curse 'Nifumee!" Councilor 'Nodotee clicked his mandibles, then slowly walked back to his second in command, "Stay here. Ready the soldiers, i'll return shortly."

The Ultra looked confused, "Excellency?"

'Nodotee looked off into the distance, "Once the parasite strikes this Hesperus, proceed with the assault. I will find Ffch, he will not fail me again..." Councilor 'Nodotee donned his Energy Sword and activated his camo again. He disappeared into the horizon. Two Spec Op Sangheili then followed the Councilor's lead, and disappeared from sight.

Councilor 'Nodotee BattleNet 00:55, 6 February 2007 (UTC)

28
1942 Hours, June 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

The hull of the Winston Churchill had been repaired. That was good. The bad was that there had been almost nothing recoverable from the wreckage of the Erwin Rommel. The reactor had been destroyed during the explosion, as well as most of the ammunition. In fact, the only thing truly salvageable was steel for the repair of the Winston Churchill and most of the other ships. Now there was a little bit of the Erwin Rommel in nearly every ship on the surface. Brandon spent most of his time in the Winston Churchill with Hank, who had given him a beer upon his return as promised. Brandon was surprised that Hank had even remembered.

The Flood had begun to taper off. There were only so many dead bodies to reanimate, and as long as the UNSC policed their dead the Flood would eventually starve out. Of course, that was only an assumption made by Will, the AI aboard the Winston Churchill. Janglur, who was also now aboard the Winston Churchill, tended to disagree. He argued that the Flood probably had enough combat forms to overrun any one ship, but that they were biding their time preparing for a major offensive. Will dismissed this as pessimistic thinking, but even he admit that the numbers killed didn’t account for even a fourth of the noted human casualties that were bound to be Flood forms now, let alone the Covenant casualties.

As of yet, no one had tried to find the missing battle group. It was a pity that their mission had been so top secret that ONI had probably covered it up. Think of the possibilities! ONI was truly missing out. Over the past several months, the chain of command had to degrade. Some of the ships had declared themselves as separate colonies and not under the jurisdiction of the Vice Admiral. Some even had the audacity to claim affiliation with the United Rebel Front! This, of course, enraged Cory, but he didn’t have the time, nor materials, to be fighting a civil war. He merely cut off supplies to those ships. They could fend for themselves for all he cared, though he did wish he could pool all of the working reactor parts into one ship and send it back to Earth, or Reach, or somewhere else…anywhere at all. They were desperate for contact with the UNSC again.

Only six ships were still in contact with the Winston Churchill: the carrier Midway, the freighter Hesperus, the stealth cruiser Call of the Wild, the destroyer Quickfire, the prowler Shadow’s Blade, and the prowler Windtalker. They had lost all contact with the destroyer Anasazi, which wasn’t among the rebel ships. Collectively, they had enough one working reactor with enough power for a single ship to break the gravity well of Installation 03, but not enough to even make a direct Slipspace journey into UNSC-controlled space. They would just have to wait.

An alarm sounded. It was almost routine now. There would be no human casualties, only Flood casualties. They would attack in a large group and get mowed down by the auto cannons, which were kept ready to fire at all times.

0811 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

The Flood had almost disappeared. This was good and bad. Will and Janglur both agreed that the Flood wasn’t defeated, but neither could explain where they had gone. As it became safer and safer to venture outside, it was immediately reported that of the ten rebel ships, four had been overrun. That meant the Flood presence had been bolstered significantly.

When the Flood had backed off, the civil war had started. Of course, the UNSC forces weren’t very involved. The rebel ships had no allegiances and wanted reactor parts, so they attacked each other. They knew better than to attack UNSC ships, though several times they came very close to bringing the wrath of an organized military down on them. Of course, as soon as they opened up on each other, the Flood burst from hiding, taking advantage of the lack of preparation for such an attack. The UNSC was ready, but none of the rebels were. The UNSC forces actually intervened on behalf of the rebels purely because they didn’t want the Flood to grow. Of course, the rebels hadn’t helped much. They sat back and let the UNSC save them, considering whether they should strike the UNSC now or if they were still strong enough to counter. They decided, luckily for them, not to. Had they attacked, Hank had an armored unit in reserve ready to strike.

Time past, and the rebels began to settle down. Someone must have realized that the only way to get at the other ships was to destroy or damage the ship, and that by damaging the ship, they usually ended up destroying the reactor they were trying to get to in the first place. It was a lose-lose situation that the rebels finally dropped.

Later that week, a recon team dropped out of contact near the entrance to one of the many tunnels into the subsurface of Halo. It was assumed that the Flood were behind it, but when the Pelican flew over the area, the pilot could discern plasma burns and clean cuts from an energy sword. The Covenant were still a threat. It was something the UNSC had almost forgotten.

The Flood began to increase daily incursions, and the Covenant inevitably were pinned down in whatever little hole they had dug for themselves, but the UNSC wouldn’t forget the threat they posed. Vice Admiral Johnson had hoped they could band together against a common enemy, if not until they could get off this ring, but he knew that was merely wishful thinking. The Covenant didn’t ally with the enemy of their enemy if they themselves were enemies. Their code of “honor” blinded them from such propositions. Perhaps soon they would see the good that could come out of a mutual alliance. Perhaps.

Whatever the case, it wouldn’t mean squat if they didn’t end up getting off this ring. Perhaps it was time for the UNSC to deal with the rebel factions and, together, gather enough reactor parts to send a ship out to UNSC-controlled space. All they needed was a fully operational reactor, yet it was the one thing they didn’t have.

0000, October 24, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

A new day had begun. That meant Chris’s shift was over and he could get a few hours of sleep. Sleep, of course, wouldn’t come, but he knew he should at least try. He hadn’t slept in three days. He had led the team that had salvaged the latest rebel ship. They were lucky that the reactor was left undamaged. Some of the rebel ships had self-destructed rather than die fighting. Of course, most of the fighting hadn’t involved the UNSC.

When they boarded, it was much like the others. As soon as one passed the threshold of the ship’s entrance, death was evident. There was blood everywhere, bodies strewn in contorted positions and usually mutilated beyond recognition. Of course, the bodies that hadn’t been so damaged had been removed before the team got there. Most of the defenses were smashed and battered, and there were even signs of hand-to-hand combat. The Flood was a ruthless foe. Some of the images from the last ship had stuck with Chris.

For a Spartan-II, Chris was probably one of the more emotional. Emotion wasn’t a good word for it. Like every other Spartan-II, Chris had almost full control of his emotions. However, that didn’t mean that seeing all of the faces, or remains of faces, staring blankly up begging for mercy didn’t affect him. He found it difficult to sleep after one of the raids. He had witnessed the death of legions of his enemies, but humans were something he didn’t enjoy seeing dead. He would normally fight twice as hard to keep the marines around him alive.

“Petty Officer, what’s on your mind?” The voice belonged to Master Guns Hank Wimbleton. Chris respected him. They had fought together on a few occasions. Hank had been in the Corps since anyone could remember, easily longer than Chris had been in the Navy. Hell, Hank had been a Master Gunnery Sergeant for longer than Chris had been in the Navy. Hank was one of the most decorated marines still serving active duty.

“Nothing much, sir,” Chris heard himself say.

“SPARTAN-048, I may not be able to see your face, but I can tell by the way you move that there’s something troubling you.”

“I suppose it is death, sir. I’ve seen a lot of Covenant dead, and it never bothers me, but seeing all those dead humans aboard the rebel craft just sticks in my mind and haunts my sleep.” Chris looked down, almost ashamed at the fact that he had such weaknesses.

“Don’t hang your head, boy. To be unnerved by the death of a fellow human aint a weakness, it just proves you’ve still got a soul. A lot of people don’t think us Spartans have souls.” Hank read the confusion in Chris’s body movement at that last statement. “A story for another time, friend,” he finally said flatly.


 * --RotBrandon 02:31, 7 February 2007 (UTC)

29
Councilor 'Nodotee stopped, looked around the corner, nothing. Hmm. Nothing. That was something that was bothering him, it had been too long since he last saw the parasite or the humans. The last enemies his team discovered was that human recon team. They put up little fight, weaklings. 'Nodotee was certain the humans would be all over his position any second, it had been almost two days since they were spotted by that Pelican. What a horrible day.

"Report." Councilor 'Nodotee was very much on edge.

Two black armoured Sangheili approached 'Nodotee from behind, "Excellency, we've spotted Ffch's group. They'll all dead."

"How many were with that fool?"

"458 Sangheili, 621 Unggoy, and 74 Lekgolo. A large group, all presumed infected." The Spec Op couldn't make eye contact with 'Nodotee. Those numbers were overwhelming, if those parasites would assault a CCS... unimaginable.

Councilor 'Nodotee turned to his two Spec Ops, "We're moving out."

"Where to Excellency?"

'Nodotee stood a little taller, "I want to see 'Nifumee's body. I do not believe he'd have the honor to stand ground with his men as they died. 'Nifumee still draws breath, this is unacceptable, but first back to the squad assaulting the downed human craft." Dead. All dead. How? Such an army, just... massacred. Councilor 'Nodotee wondered when it happened. The entire group he left here was dead. They never assaulted the human ship, dead before anything could happen. It appeared that the humans within the ship didn't even realize the Covenant army sitting on the other side of a hill. And now it was too late. "It had Ffch's infected army. Nothing else could take them so quickly, or even find them so quickly."

[The BatteNet started back up]: "Excellency, Bloodied Remnants was attacked by the parasite. No dead or wounded. However, you should return here quickly. Also... Ffch 'Nifumee returned before the attack, he claims to be the only survivor of his group."

"Understood. My squad will return shortly." Councilor 'Nodotee and his squad slowly proceeded back to their carrier. Horrible day indeed.

Councilor 'Nodotee [BattleNet] 03:10, 7 February 2007 (UTC)

30
0940 Hours, October 25, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ surface of Installation 03

“Sensors are picking up a new group of contacts over the hill,” called Lieutenant Jordan Basham, one of the displaced bridge crew from the Erwin Rommel. The Vice Admiral came over to his makeshift station. Indeed, another group was just sitting on their flank. Waiting…strategizing. That meant Covenant.

“The auto cannons are warmed up on that end of the ship, correct?” he inquired.

“Yes sir.”

“Good, then we let them come to us. No need to leave our defense.” The Vice Admiral walked over to view some other sensor stations. The Flood raid was going as expected: no human casualties against thousands of obliterated Flood corpses.

“Sir! I think you should see this,” called Lieutenant Basham, more frantic than before. The Vice Admiral returned. A third contact moved into the second.

“Reinforcements?” the Vice Admiral wondered aloud, “or two enemies engaging each other?” He hoped for the latter, as it meant the Covenant wouldn’t be attacking. A Flood raid was easily turned back without casualty, but a Covenant attack would be much different. The two blobs of light merged into one. One of them had won. It began moving off away from the ship. It was odd for the Flood to retreat. This reinforced Janglur’s theory of a commanding intelligence. Will wouldn’t be too pleased.

It had been a day since Hank and Chris had spoken. Chris had thought on Hank’s words much; they had replaced the images of dead bodies that had haunted his dreams. He had said ‘us Spartans’. It didn’t make sense. Hank didn’t wear armor. Chris sifted through his knowledge. Finally, giving into the fact that he didn’t know off the top of his head, he opened Hank’s CSV. It was enormous! Hank had joined the Corps in 2494. He had quickly moved up and was a First Sergeant before the turn of the century. His CSV, however, jumped from 2496 to 2516. What caught his eye was that he had been transferred in and out of something in that time. That must be what he was talking about. Chris reviewed all of the files on that time period searching for key word ‘Spartan’. One file popped up. Project ORION. When Chris clicked on it, the file request was shut down and then redirected to another file concerning the testing of the Mjolnir Mk. IV armor. He tried again, but this time it redirected immediately. He would have to just ask Hank. He spotted Hank taking his normal walk around the ship. He stopped him, and began.

“I’ve been mulling over what you said the other day. I was wondering exactly what you meant.” Chris paused. “What about Project ORION?” Hank looked at him, surprised.

“I suppose this is the time for that story, then, eh?”


 * --RotBrandon 05:03, 7 February 2007 (UTC)