Halo: The Defense of Humanity
Table of Contents:
o Prologue: Point Insertion
o Chapter I: Undue Alarm
o Chapter II: Sandtraps
o Chapter III: Highway 17
o Chapter IV: Entanglement
o Chapter V: Direct Intervention
o Chapter VI: T-Minus 1
o Chapter VII: Our Benefactors
o Chapter VIII: Urban Flight
o Epilogue: Triton
Prologue:
November 7, 2552
Pelican 502, off the Coast of Kenya
First Lieutenant Adrian Sheppard slid a fresh clip into his BR55HB SR Battle Rifle and cocked it. He sat on the starboard section of Pelican 502 as it skimmed along the frosty waves near the coast of Africa. A veteran Orbital Deployment Shock Trooper, Adrian Sheppard was no stranger to the Human-Covenant War. His black armor was scraped and burnt, remnants of earlier engagements. The white bars on his left shoulder designated his rank of First Lieutenant. Captain Leroy ‘Mac’ Miller exited the cockpit and addressed the ODST’s.
“All right boys, this is it. I’m only going to go over this once. Once we touch down we have to get our asses up that beach and neutralize the Covenant forces around the road. The supply convoy is depending on us to clear the shore. Voi is getting hit hard and without backup there’s no doubt that it will fall to the Covenant. We’re going in solo on this one; the UNSC can’t spare one more Marine, let alone an ODST. Check your sights and make every shot count. Once we take the beach, we can fall back to the Pelican.”
The pilot leaned over his seat and shouted over the roar of the engines.
“The LZ is hot. Buckle up back there. Things are going to get rough.”
“You heard him Marines! Lock and Load! I want hot barrels when you hit the sand!” the captain yelled.
Sheppard held onto the bars next to his seat. Although this wasn’t his first time in combat, he was nervous. The Pelican shook as it rapidly descended toward the beachhead.
“We’ve got AA Wraiths on the beachhead!” the pilot yelled.
A flash of white and green suddenly erupted through the canopy and illuminated the ODST’s for a split second.
“We’re hit!” the pilot screamed. “This is Pelican 502. Mayday! Mayday! We are going down! I repeat…..”
And everything went black.
Chapter I:
November 8, 2552
Malindi, Kenya
The sound of gunfire was faint and distant to Sheppard’s ears. It gradually grew louder as his vision returned. He could hear his heart beating in his chest and his sight was blurry and distorted. He felt around for a weapon. His fingers grasped the cold steel of a Battle Rifle. Lifting himself up and clutching the weapon, Sheppard staggered toward the Pelican’s rear hatch. The dropship had been hit on the right engine block and had barrel rolled right into the beach landing on its back. An ODST’s body lay on the floor, a pool of blood slowly expanded from his head. Sheppard pushed the body to the side and made his way out of the wreckage. A burst of gunfire sent him diving to cover as several molten hot spikes hit the ground behind him. Brutes had the crash zone pinned down. He looked up and saw a few ODST’s had made it out and had set up behind supply crates as makeshift cover. He crawled on his hands and knees toward them.
“Sheppard!” Mac yelled over the din. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. We’ve got some big problems here.”
“What can I do for you sir?”
“See if you can get rid of some of those snipers for starters!”
The Captain pointed up the beach to a small Covenant aerial bunker. Inside it Sheppard could make out two Jackal snipers.
“Their Beam Rifle’s are making short work of us. Take them out!”
Adrian Sheppard was one of the best shots ever sent out of an ODST training camp and his reputation as an excellent sniper preceded him. Peering through the scope of the rifle he sighted one of the Jackals. He took aim over its head and pulled the trigger. A puff of purplish-blue told him he’d scored a headshot. The second Jackal retreated into the bunker, out of sight.
“OK the snipers are dead. Let’s move up!” Mac shouted.
The three ODST’s clamored over the debris littering the beach and established a new foothold inside a crater on the beach. The smell of burning flesh penetrated Sheppard nostrils as he took pot shots at the Brutes above them. Plasma rounds scorched the ground, turning the sand into molten glass. Sheppard fired again, taking out a Grunt manning a Plasma Turret. The body fell and rolled down the hill, collapsing in a bloody mess on the sand. The ground suddenly shook like nothing he’d ever experienced.
“Captain look! A ship’s coming out of slip space, over there!” said the ODST next to him.
A Covenant cruiser was pulling its way out of slip space above them. Sheppard noticed the craft looked in bad shape and seemed to be covered in bulbous growths. As it flew over head, a light powder fell onto the battlefield. Sheppard held up his hand and caught some of the small spores.
“What the hell?” he thought.
His thoughts were dashed as a grenade detonated next to him. Wiping the sand off his face, he blind fired over cover.
“We need a better position Captain!”
“You got any suggestions Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. We need to retreat to the Pelican.”
He nodded. “Ok everybody, fallback! Fallback to the Pelican!”
Captain Miller signaled to the team and the ODST’s ran from cover to cover under a constant hail of fire. Sheppard dived from cover into the Pelican landing hard on his chest. Staggering to his feet, he dropped his ammoless Battle Rifle and unsheathed his pistol. The Covenant continued their barrage of the downed dropship, explosives tearing holes into the heavily damaged sides. Sheppard fired his pistol at point blank range into an approaching Jackal, striking its head and killing it. An ODST next to him screamed as he was hit in the chest with a Needler needle. Sheppard dragged the man to cover and took his SMG. Holding the pistol in one hand and the Sub Machine Gun in the other, he moved from behind cover and opened fire on the Covenant hordes pouring toward them. As the hailstorm of lead slowed the Covenant, Sheppard noticed movement out over the ocean.
“Sir, look!” an ODST shouted. “The evac is here.”
The dropship descended toward the beach, swiveling around to allow the remaining ODST’s to board as the gunner lead loose a stream of fire upon the Loyalists, forcing them to retreat. They piled on and the Pelican lifted off, leaving the burning city of Malindi behind.
Chapter II:
November 8, 2552
Pelican 738, Northeastern Kenya
As the Pelican rose above the cloud bank, the comm buzzed in Sheppard’s ear.
“Is this Lieutenant Adrian Sheppard?”
“Speaking.”
“Sheppard, this is ONI, we have a special task for you.”
“Just name it.”
“We know this is impromptu but we don’t have the time for regulation. We have recently received some Intel that a small force of spec-op’s Brutes are landing near an important shipping complex in Garsen. That facility is vital to getting supplies to our troops and the Brutes plan on destroying. You’re team are the only UNSC personnel near there. We need you and your team to ambush them at shipping complex and prevent them from doing any damage. You have commander status during this operation, so the men will be under your control. Protect that facility at all costs. We’ll upload the coordinates to your Pelican; another team will rendezvous with you when you land. Contact us when the facility is secure. ONI out.”
“Pilot. Did you get the coordinates?”
“Affirmative Lieutenant, I got them, we’re heading there now.”
Sheppard looked over the ODST’s in the Pelican with him. Four other men sat quietly around him as if waiting to die.
“Listen up Marines.” he said. “I know we just went through hell this morning but we’ve got another job to do. ONI needs a supply depot protected. Now I’m designated the four of you as Team 2. You’ll be up close and personal during the ambush and I expect the best out of all of you. Sync your comm systems to channel 49-2. I want stellar performance today, anything less will get you killed.”
The Pelican lowered into a shallow canyon near the outskirts of the shipping facility. Sheppard could already see it was perfect for an ambush. The canyon was littered with large stones, perfect for cover. The ridge around it was just right for sniper perches.
The first team was already there as they stepped off the transport into the rocky canyon. An ODST walked toward Sheppard.
“Second Lieutenant Jason Williams, I’m in charge of these boys behind me but ONI says you’ve got complete authority. We’re excellent marksmen and would right at home up on the ridge. Where do you want us?”
“On the ridge Lieutenant, that’ll do just fine. Sync your comms to 49-2, you’re designated Team 1. Don’t take a shot without my permission and watch your backs.”
“Yes sir. OK Team 1, you heard the man. Move it out, up to the ridge. Go, go, go.”
Captain Miller turned to Sheppard.
“Well sir. What about us?”
“Take up position in the rocks, about fifty feet from where they’ll be landing in that clearing. Hold your fire until I give you the go ahead.”
“Roger that. We won’t let you down.”
As both teams got into position, an eerie silence fell upon the canyon. Sheppard pressed the ear bud to his comm into his ear and waited.
He heard Lieutenant Williams whisper into his comm. “Team 1 is in position.”
“Affirmative Team 1. Hold position.”
“Team 2 here.” Captain Miller said. “In position.”
“Good. Here come the Phantoms.”
Out of the murky sky dropped three Loyalist Phantoms, their purple hides glimmering in the weak light. They slowed and hovered over the clearing in the canyon. Brutes and supplies were sent down with the gravity-lift. One by one the spec-op’s team amassed and the Phantoms, their cargo unloaded, retreated into the unknowns of space. Sheppard counted about forty Brutes in all. They began to open the weapon crates and arm themselves.
“All Teams commence on my mark. On my count. 3…….2…….1, do it.”
Gunfire rang through out the valley as sniper shots pierced skulls and Battle rifle bursts and shotgun blasts downed Brutes in a spectacular manner. But the Brutes were soon wise to the ambush and activated their active-camo.
“Sir I can’t see them. Where the hell are they!?”
“Calm down. Watch for fluctuations in the light. Look closely and watch your backs.”
Sheppard let loose fire into a Brute, the beast unable to react fast enough, was killed.
“Ahhhhhh, it got me. Get off you piece of…….”an ODST screamed as the comm went dead.
“Sheppard! They’re all over the place. We need to pull back!”
“Affirmative. Regroup at my position.”
From the cliffs above a Marine screamed. Sheppard turned to look for the source and saw a Brute holding one of the snipers over his knee. The Brute slammed the ODST down and broke his back, hurling the body onto the rocks.
“Sheppard to Team 1. Come in Team 1. Do you read me?”
There was no response.
“Team 2. Come in.”
“Team 2 hear loud and clear. I’ve lost contact with two of my boys. These Brutes are….wait. There’s one over there. I got him. Wait what!? Ahhhhhh….let go of me....”
Sheppard heard Captain Miller’s comm drop to the ground. He could hear gunfire and a scream, and then it was quiet. Sheppard checked to see if it was clear and then darted out behind a rock to another piece of cover, gradually brining him closer and closer to the supply facility. The facility was just about 100 meters away.
“Any UNSC personnel. Come in. This is Adrian Sheppard of the 501st ODST team. Does anyone read me?”
No one responded. He was on his own. Sheppard took a deep breath and broke from cover, sprinting as fast as he could toward the facility. Spikes shot into the ground all around his feet, the Brutes had known where he was hiding. Sheppard saw the door coming closer; he was almost there as a bolt of pain shot up from his leg. Sheppard tripped and fell, sliding into a boulder, knocking the wind out of him. He looked down at his leg. A large glowing spike protruded from his calf. He grabbed it with both hands and ripped it out. More spikes and weapon fire impacted near him. He pulled himself together and stood up. Limping across the sand he collapsed next to the door. He reached up and hit the access button. The door slid open and he crawled inside. He locked the door and put a tourniquet on his leg using his jacket. Sheppard limped up the stairwell to the roof to get a better view of the situation. Sheppard looked down into the canyon from the roof. He could see the Brutes mobilizing for an attack as the sun began to set in the distance. “It looks like I’m in for one hell of a night.”
Chapter III:
November 8, 2552
UNSC Supply Depot, Garsen, Kenya
The cold night air chilled Sheppard to the bone. His ears and nose were numb and he could barely feel his toes. His situation was dire. The supply depot itself was mainly vehicle oriented and most of the supplies were useless to him. In addition to that there were more than twenty Brutes still out there. Luckily Sheppard managed to find a Sniper Rifle and a Spartan Laser in a crate. He had carried them up to the roof where he would make his stand against the Brutes. The scope on the sniper rifle was fogged up as Sheppard peered through it. He wiped it off with his sleeve and looked out toward the Brute base camp. Magnifying it by ten the image became clearer. The Brutes had set up behind a large rock, safely out of the way of his sniper rounds. But the eerie blue lights that shone out from it gave their location away. He wondered why they were waiting.
Sheppard put the rifle down and had a seat in the small chair next to the door to the roof. But no sooner had he sat down, the Loyalists began to move. Mobilizing for a night attack, the Brute pack stealthily made their way through the boulders toward the facilities entrance. Sheppard grabbed the Spartan Laser from the floor and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. It was a lot heavier than he’d expected as he followed the Brutes in the dark with the scope and, confident he’d acquired a target, pulled the trigger. The targeting laser bounced along the ground near the Brute pack. Sheppard felt the weapon rumble as it discharged a massive amount of energy. A flare of red lit up the night sky. The brief flash illuminating several Brutes, their bodies cart wheeling over one another as the explosion faded. The weapon let loose a burst of steam and a small light flashed green, indicating it was ready to fire again. He fired again, the red beam piercing a Brute chieftain and sending him into oblivion. Sheppard watched a Brute dive behind a small boulder. He took aim at the rock and held down the trigger. The shot annihilated the rock and sent a confused Brute face first into the ground. The laser had only two more shots in it and he knew he’d have to make them count.
The thrum of engines startled him as a Phantom flew over his head, only about 15 feet above him. The dropship pulled around in a tight circle to engage him while it dropped off its troops. Sheppard moved to a new position to avoid the barrage of laser fire and peered into the scope again, aiming the laser at the Phantom’s left engine. The shot fired but the Phantom pitched left, causing the laser to scrape harmlessly along the armored exterior. Sheppard waited until it slowed to release the troops inside and fired again. The shot went true and clean right into the starboard engine pocket. The core went critical, and, with a loud whine, the Phantom exploded, showering the canyon with molten metal and flaming corpses. Dropping the weapon, Sheppard picked up his Sniper Rifle. Staring through the scope, the glint of blue caught his eye, Wraiths. The Brutes seemed to be going all out on this attack. As Sheppard wondered why they wanted the depot destroyed so badly, the infamous noise of mortar shells filled the air as the blue arcs of plasma slammed into the building. Sheppard was thrown back by the sheer force of the blasts.
Glass and metal peppered him and the loud groan of metal reverberated through out the facility, reassuring Sheppard’s fear that the place would collapse. Jumping down the stairs, he made it to the ground floor in one piece, all the while as the supply depot was hit again and again with vicious explosions. A falling beam nearly took off his head as he navigated the dense industrial storage section. A pane of glass shattered and several crates of grenades detonated. As luck would have it a Warthog APC was in the main storage room with the keys in the ignition. Sheppard hauled himself aboard. The engine roared to life and he gunned it toward the exit. But as he neared, the upper level collapsed, blocking his exit. Sheppard hit the brakes and fish-tailed the Warthog around. His eyes searched for an escape route. A large observation window looked like a perfect exit. He floored the Warthog toward the window, the room exploding in every direction. The vehicle accelerated into the window, smashing through as the building exploded behind him. The suspension system rocked as it hit the ground and the Warthog pulled away from the collapsing building. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Sheppard cursed his luck as a pair of Banshees screamed down toward him, plasma cannons firing. Molten hot shots scorched the rear of the Warthog as the Banshees gained on him. He dropped down from the dirt road onto the highway. The road was in a state of disrepair and Sheppard had to navigate around potholes and massive cracks. Another shot burned away the bumper as he valiantly attempted to evade his aerial pursuers. He swerved to the left going up the runaway truck path, attempting to lose them in the jungle. Driving through the dense forest, Sheppard had a moment of peace. But that peace was short lived as the woods ended right back out on the highway and the chase continued. The highway was a narrow pass along side the cliff face toward the ocean. The Banshee’s fired their Fuel Rod Cannons in unison and the combined force of the explosion sent Sheppard and his Warthog spinning off the highway toward the warm Atlantic waters, 400 feet below him. The air screamed through the twisted chassis as it plummeted down. Sheppard saw the water coming toward him faster and faster and as it hit the force knocked him against the seat and then slammed him forward into the dashboard.
The Warthog was sinking fast into the emerald waves and Sheppard knew he couldn’t hold his breath long enough to stay under much further. With blood gushing from the wound on his head, he pulled himself out of the rapidly sinking Warthog and swam with all his might toward the surface. The light was getting brighter but his muscles were getting weaker. Lactic acid made his limbs ache with a burning pain as his head burst from the frothy waves allowing air to fill his lungs. Breathing hard, Sheppard struggled to stay afloat. He looked around, expected to be shot at any moment. But to his relief, the Banshees were gone. Sheppard paddled to the beach and staggered up onto the shore. He collapsed in the sand and, to weary to continue on, fell fast asleep on the warm seashore.
When he awoke, the sun was rising in the distance. Sitting up, he checked his surroundings for Covenant. It was clear, for the moment. His gear was gone. No weapons, no grenades, no comm. Walking up the beach to the shore line, he noticed a plume of smoke above the nearby trees. Investigating, Sheppard crawled through the underbrush to the site of the crash. A smoldering Hornet attack craft lay on its side, the cockpit broken and the pilot’s body lying against a tree. Sheppard searched the man but retrieved only a pistol. The Hornet appeared to be still functional and from the looks of it a shot had gone through the window and killed the pilot, sparing the Hornet too much damage. Sheppard removed the broken glass and bloody cloth and climbed in the seat, booting up the systems. The lights flicked across the dash and the Hornet roared to life.
The engines sent up clouds of dust as it ascended into the morning air. Sheppard had quite a bit of experience piloting the Hornet from his earlier days in the Navy and he had little difficultly remembering what did what.
Checking the GPS, he was surprised to see that he had gotten nearly five miles from the supply facility while evading the Banshees. It was a lot farther than he’d figured he’d get with two Banshees on his tail. Sheppard pushed the throttle forward as he flew toward the nearest UNSC base, V75-C Providence Point. Built on the edge of the sea, Providence Point was a small base designed to locate any enemy invasions via the ocean. Sheppard could recoup there and get himself together. As he neared Providence Point, Sheppard saw movement below him. He brought the Hornet down for a better look. Crashing through the forest were five Shadows, each carrying a deadly payload of Covenant troops. Several hundred feet below him, Brutes and other Loyalists marched through the dense jungle, intent on claiming the UNSC base for the Prophet of Truth.
Chapter IV:
November 8, 2552
Providence Point Naval HQ, Kenya
The Covenant below were not oblivious to the smoking human craft above them and quickly opened fire. Sheppard pitched to the left to avoid being hit by a barrage from the Shadows and infantry. The starboard engine took a hit from a small RPG and caught fire. Alarms blaring into his ears, Sheppard struggled to control the rapidly falling Hornet. Pulling up, he hoped to catch a wind that would give him the extra distance to make it to the base before the Covenant. He could make out the base on the cliff and prayed he would make it. The Hornet began a steep descent and Sheppard knew it was now or never. Slamming his palm down on a red knob on the control panel, he ejected out of the Hornet into the air. The Hornet smashed down through the trees, exploding as it hit the ground. UNSC Marines pointed up at the rapidly approaching object in the sky.
“It’s an ODST! Get a recovery crew ready.”
The blast doors rumbled open as a Warthog drove out toward where the ODST had landed. Sheppard heard the Warthog coming and headed toward the noise. Coming out onto the road, he flagged them down.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m….fine…Covenant….are coming. Get back…to the base.” Sheppard said trying to catch his breath.
“Covenant?! How many?”
“Enough. Let’s get back to the base. Now!”
“Right. Get aboard.”
As they made their way back to the base, Sheppard turned to the driver.
“Who’s your CO?”
“Corporal Mather. Well, he was our CO. He went out into the woods to set up some early warning scanner systems and never came back. Wish we had those scanners now.”
“A Covenant scout probably killed him. Who’s commanding now?”
“No one sir. Guess you’re it.”
Sheppard grimaced. He preferred taking orders, not giving them. The Warthog stopped and they got off.
“Orders sir?”
“Get the blast doors closed. Get all available men armed and ready. Have all turrets set up along the southwest.”
“Yes sir.”
Sheppard made his way up the stairs to the southwest wall and waited. In only a few minutes, his tasks were carried out and completed. He looked over the men standing along the wall.
“Are these all the men?” he asked a Marine.
“Yes sir, 26 of us in all.”
“That should be enough. I hope.”
The Marines waited. Led by their estranged ODST companion, they bravely stood their ground as the forest began to tremble.
“Here they come! Guns at the ready!” he shouted.
Six Machine Gun turrets rotated toward the disturbance in the woods. The first Shadow burst out, guns blazing. The turrets opened fire and hot lead penetrated the transport, killing its driver and wreaking its drive systems. Brutes, Grunts and Jackals marched out of the thicket around the smoldering craft and opened fire. Sheppard ducked as a series of molten spikes killed a Marine next to him. Sheppard put a round through a Brute’s head with his Battle Rifle. The next two Shadows moved around the first and rammed the base. Concrete chunks flew out as the massive transports collided with Providence Point’s southwest wall. The Marines were knocked off their feet but quickly recovered and began to pour fire down on the Covenant. Brutes clamored over the Shadows toward the top off the base wall. Sheppard pulled his Shotgun off his back and squeezed the trigger, blasting a Brute back off the wall. Pumping the gun, he fired again, killing several Grunts with the shrapnel. Marines were falling all around him; the Covenant was making fast headway. Sheppard put another round into a Brute Chieftain. The power armor collapsed as the Brute roared with anger. He put another round into the beast and it went down. Plasma rounds scorched the walls as the Loyalists pressed on.
A turret gunner collapsed to the deck, writhing in pain as he tried to pull out the spike imbedded in his torso. Sheppard pushed the man aside and manned the turret opening up on the Covenant. Mowing them down like weeds, the turret cut through armor and energy shields alike. Grunts screamed and ran as lead shots bloodied their bodies and sent them to an early death. Jackals dived away from the exploding ground only to find themselves targets for UNSC snipers. But not even the turret could keep the enemy at bay and Sheppard relinquished control of the turret. He realized he was fighting a losing battle as more Marines died around him, their blood dripping down off the platform. A spike hit his arm, the burning pain working all the way up, as Brute towered above him, grabbing him by the neck. Looking into the Brutes red eyes Sheppard pulled the spike out of his arm and stabbed it into the Brutes neck.
Dropping the human, the Brute fell backwards off the wall, hitting the ground below. Jumping down into the base he ran toward the barracks in the center of the base, plasma shots hitting the ground behind his feet. Climbing up the side of the building Sheppard fired down at the Covenant forces that were quickly filling the base. He pulled himself up to the top of the battered building to make a last stand. As a carbine round hit him in the chest, Sheppard’s world went spinning and warm blood seeped from the wound. The Marine next to him was talking to him but he couldn’t hear anything. The Marine pointed up in the sky and Sheppard saw objects in the distant sky coming closer. The three dark objects shot overhead as the base lit up in a gigantic fireball. The Covenant Shadows exploded as raw explosive force pulverized their armored hides. The objects flew overhead again and Sheppard understood what the Marine was saying.
“Shortswords.”
The remaining Loyalists were incinerated as the bombers unleashed another payload on their dwindling forces. The flames faded, leaving behind charred corpses of the dead. A Pelican swooped down from above. Marines piled off and secured the area, helping the few that were left onboard. Sheppard stumbled toward them.
“Sir, we have to go. The Shortswords are coming back around for anther run. There are more Covenant coming. Let’s go!”
The Marine helped him into the Pelican and banged on the cockpit door.
“Let’s go!”
Providence Point became smaller and smaller as they pulled away. The Shortswords passed over again. Sheppard could see the bombs falling out of their holding chambers. The landscape changed from serene to a living hell as napalm and explosives detonated above and in the jungle. It was a rather hollow victory and one Adrian Sheppard would never forget.
Chapter V:
June 13, 2555
UNSC Medical Facility, Cairo
First Lieutenant Adrian Sheppard had spent the two years since the end of the fight between the Covenant and the UNSC recovering from his wounds. The medical facility at Cairo had become his home and a dreary one at that. Hours of traction and exercise, therapy, surgery and every other medical procedure wracked the battle damaged Lieutenant every day. But as the tendons in his arm healed and the burns on his chest and legs disappeared, Sheppard felt good for the first time in a long time. And finally after so much suffering, he was to be released today, finally able to start a peaceful life.
“Well, Lieutenant, you’ve got a clean bill of health.” Dr. James R Greenswith said as he sat down at his computer behind the check in desk. Sheppard waited impatiently for the man to finish recording the medical data.
“Here you are.” the doctor handed him a small RFID card. “You can use this to leave the facility. Keep doing your exercises at home and we’ll check up on you every three months.”
Dr. Greenswith stood and gave Sheppard a brief handshake.
“Take care of yourself, all right kid?”
“Yeah Doc, I will.”
“Good. Now clear out so I can deal with the rest of my patients.”
Sheppard smiled.
“You bet.”
Waving goodbye, Sheppard scanned the RFID card on the main doors and exited the complex; the bright morning light momentarily blinded him. He shaded his eyes with his hand. He realized he’d have to hail a cab to get home, a place he hadn’t seen in years.
“Excuse me, Mr. Sheppard?”
He turned to face an older man in a military uniform, his graying hair barely visible.
“Yes?”
“I’m General Keitel. I’d like to have a word with you.”
“Concerning?”
“We can’t talk here” the General motioned toward a waiting limo. “Please, step inside.”
Sheppard followed Keitel into the limousine. The leather interior was dimly light and the smell of cigar smoke reached his nostrils.
“Can I see your ID card?”
The General pulled his Radio Frequency Identification card from his jackets inner pocket and showed it to Sheppard.
“Ok, let’s go.”
As it pulled away from the Cairo Medical Facility General Keitel was silent. He watched the streets of Cairo fly by outside. The city was abandoned now, its only residents the few UNSC personally left behind. Sheppard could see the great pyramids in the distance, their angular hides scorched and crumbled. The limo slowed and the passing sights halted. They had stopped in front of a nondescript, gray office building. The two men exited the limo and the General walked up the steps closely followed by Sheppard. Sliding his RFID tag over the doors security panel, they opened to reveal a small elevator.
The interior was completely barren and as soon as they entered the doors shut behind them. The ride to the top was short and Sheppard felt himself growing nervous. He had no idea why he was here and sensed something amiss. The doors opened again, revealing a gray hallway. The General lead him down the hall to another entrance, their footsteps echoing along the walls. Two armed ODST’s stood on either side of a narrow doorway at the end of the hall. The saluted to General Keitel and opened the door for him. A leather chair and a metal file cabinet sat next to a steel table. A wooden chair sat in front of the table.
“Have a seat and we’ll begin.”
Sheppard pulled out the chair and sat down. Keitel lit a cigar and relaxed in his seat.
“Lieutenant, the words you and I exchange here, should you decide to decline my offer, will never leave this room. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir”
“Excellent. I’ll make this short and sweet. We’re restarting the Spartan Program. The Spartan IV’s will follow in the footsteps of Dr. Hasley and her work with the Spartan III’s. As of now, we have no candidates for the program and I feel that you’d be a perfect choice.”
“Me? My past three operations ended in failures. All I did was survive.”
“That’s exactly the point. You survived against all odds. You held your ground. Your actions have proven to me that you can handle being a Spartan. You’re the perfect match for the program. No family, no dependents, your physical standards are above and beyond what is required. We haven’t seen someone like you since Spartan 117.”
Sheppard took a deep breath. Could he do this? Cast aside his entire life for service into the United Nations Space Command. Could he fill the space left by the Master Chief? He could, couldn’t he?
“Your contract was open to the highest bidder and we have, it seems, procured you for our means. My employers have been keeping an eye on you Mr. Sheppard. They agree with me that you have limitless potential. You've proved yourself a decisive man so I don't expect you'll have any trouble deciding what to do.”
“Why should I? The war is over.”
“There are matters present that not even I have the knowledge of. Rather than offer you the illusion of free choice, I will take the liberty of choosing for you. I do apologize for what must seem to you an arbitrary imposition, Mr. Sheppard. I trust it will all make sense to you in the course of... well... I'm really not at liberty to say.”
Keitel slides some papers to Sheppard.
“I’m required to show you these before you begin.”
Sheppard picks the documents up and begins to peruse them.
ONI Top Secret Classified Information
Spartan IV Program
All individuals handling this information are requested to protect it from unauthorized disclosure in the interest of national security of the United Nations Space Command.
Handling, storage, reproduction and disposition of the attached document will be in accordance with applicable executive order(s), statue(s) and agency implementing regulations.
The following is a complete transcript of the Spartan IV training and initialization procedures. All courses of action are subject of change if seen fit by the Office of Naval Intelligence.
Physical Augmentation:
1. Carbide ceramic ossification: advanced material: special metal and ceramic layers, grafting onto skeletal structure to make bones virtually unbreakable.
2. Muscular enhancement injections: protein complex is injected intramuscularly to increase tissue density and decrease lactase recovery time.
3. Catalytic thyroid implant: platinum pellet containing human growth hormone catalyst is implanted in the thyroid to boost growth of skeletal and muscle tissues.
4. Occipital capillary reversal: submergence and boosted blood vessel flow beneath the rods and cones of subject’s retina. Produces a marked visual perception increase.
5. Superconducting fabrication of neural dendrites: alteration of bioelectrical nerve transduction to shielded electronic transduction. Three hundred percent increase in subject’s reflexes. Anecdotal evidence of marked increase in intelligence, memory, and creativity.
Physical Training
Spartan training consists of all UNSC current training practices involved in the training of personnel. In addition to those said practices, Spartan training is focused on endurance, strength and all manner of physical prowess. These exercises will perfect the body of the trainee to levels deemed fit for Spartan Augmentation and use of the MOJLNIR Mark VII Powered Assault Armor.
MJOLNIR Mark VII Powered Assault Armor
Due to the recent actions and excellent performance rate of the Mark VI, the Mark VII has expanded on the basis of its predecessor and improves in every division.
1. Mark VII mass: Armor weight has been reduced drastically with the induction of the nano-polymer exoskeleton. Armor weight tops off at 265 lbs, allowing user greater mobility and flexibility while using the suit.
2. Neural Interface: The vastly advanced Neural Interface chip is implanted directly into the base of the user’s skull. Removal of the device will result in immediate death of user. The Mark VII implant allows unprecedented synergy between the user and the armor. The Heads up Display now features advanced features including the motion tracker, a shield integrity monitor, maps and information uploaded from TACCOM, Fiber Optic Probe visual enhancement, along with a targeting reticule for the current UNSC weapon system in use are also included.
3. Mark VII Armor Features: In addition to the above attributes, the Mark VII also includes:
· Hydrostatic Gel Layer
· Pressure Seals
· Personal Energy Shield
· Reactive Metal Liquid Crystal Layer
· Force Multiplying Circuit System
· RKD VII attached combat blade
· Magnetic Weapon and Equipment attachment structure
· Nano-film helmet display with integrated Mark V HUD
Augmentation Expected Results:
· Spartan Speed: 73.829 MPH
· Reaction Time: 13 Milliseconds
· Night Vision: Light amplification at 78%
· Strength Increase: User can lift 5X own body weight
· Variable results based on Spartan individual physical profile. Abilities are independent from MJOLNIR Power Assault Armor.
Risks Associated with Spartan Augmentation
· The ONI cannot divulge information to test subjects and/or their respected training officers concerning medical risks involving the augmentation.
This contract acts as a binding force between the signer and the United Nations Space Command. Any questions concerning the program and/or its policies can be directed to the ONI representative handling your file.
Spartan Applicant ____________
Sheppard stares at the last line, his pen resting on the paper.
“Why are you divulging so much of the induction process to me? Wasn’t Spartan training procedures kept from the inductees?”
“In light of the changes in our governing force, we’ve been told that potential applicants must be informed of the majority of the modus operandi used in the course.”
“Then why I am not allowed to see what risks are involved?”
“Mr. Sheppard, I’m not allowed to divulge that kind of information.”
Sheppard was unspoken. This was all happening so fast. Just thirty minutes ago he’d been going home. Now he was applying to be a Spartan. He pressed the pen against the line, paused and the in a quick motion, signed his name. Keitel took the papers and slid them into a manila envelope. He saw that the words “A. Sheppard” were written on the tab.
“Your ODST training will cut down on the time needed considerably. In the Spartan III project it took several years to successfully prepare their trainees. Now with the addition of your current preparation and the advancements ONI has made we can get you ready in about nine to thirteen months.”
The door behind them opened and one of the ODST motioned to the General.
“Mr. Sheppard it seems we’re ready for you. I’ll see you again soon.”
He turned back to his paperwork as Sheppard stood and followed the ODST out into the hall. He was silent, too absorbed with the turn of events to strike up a conversation. The labyrinth of halls and doors all looked the same and Sheppard lost track of where they were. The ODST stopped and withdrew a RFID key card. Turning to the door on their left, he swiped the card and the door slid open. Adrian Sheppard stepped into the room, never to return.
Chapter VI:
October 3, 2558
Iran
The sandy winds blow over the deserted oilfields. But things here are not as desolate as they seem. To the west of the abandoned refineries, an old UNSC missile complex, last used during the Covenant-Human war, still stands tested against the withering erosion. Capable of firing up to three large missiles, the complex has helped destroy many Covenant targets and bring peace and stability to the region. Along the outer edge of the base runs a walkway, high above the ground below. Footsteps clang along the metal grating. A lone guard, his face half hidden by a ragged scarf, patrols along the footpath. He stops and stares out over the sand dunes. A glint of light across the sandbank catches his eye. The guard’s body suddenly convulses as he falls over the edge. He hits the ground releasing a cloud of sand. A pool of blood slowly seeps from the bullet shot in his head.
Five hundred feet away Spartan 492 cocks his sniper rifle, expelling the used cartridge. He folds his rifle’s stand back together and moves like the wind across the open stretch of sand to the edge of the base. He slides along the wall to the maintenance door. The Spartan unclips a UNSC Spoofer, an automated un-locker, from his armor and clips it onto the doors access panel. The Spoofer blinks green and 492 pushes the door open with one hand, holding his LAR in the other. The light from the mounted flashlight on the underside of the weapon bounces along the walls in the maintenance room. The room is empty and silent. He locks the door and reattaches the Spoofer to his armor. This room is one of many used for the up keeping of the base. Coolant pipes snake down beside the walls and a diesel generator hums in the background.
Spartan 492 activates his uplink to the overhead COMSAT. Several miles above him, in orbit around Earth, a Black Widow communications and Intel satellite triangulates 492’s signal and relays back the information he has requested. In 492’s HUD, a holographic image of the UNSC Mark XVI Missile Silo/Military Complex appears. The MSMC is a relic of older times and is a virtual maze of tunnels and other smaller installations. He traces the pathways with his finger, drawing a virtual map. The path shows up on again on his HUD and he confirms the route toward his intended destination. A ladder reaches up from the maintenance room to the main level of the complex. 492 hoists himself up the ladder, taking it two rungs at a time. The surface of the complex is a scattered network of silos and control rooms. The ladder reaches up into one of these control rooms on the south side of the base. Reaching the top, he slowly pushes aside the cover and climbs out sweeping the area with his weapon sights. Two men stand working at the computer terminal in the control room. Blood splatters on the monitors as 492 puts several rounds into each one of them. The built in silencer in his Light Assault Rifle makes less than three decibels when firing, keeping the detection of the weapon based on audio nearly impossible.
Wiping the red from the screen, he works on disabling the security systems around the base. The old system proves no match for the Spartan and his technical training and he quickly disables the cameras and alarm systems. Attaching the LAR to the magnetic strips on the back of his armor, 492 opens the blast doors from the control room and walks out into the base. The three silos are positioned in a triangular position around the area while hangars and maintenance structures fill in the rest of the space. Half used supply crates and fuel barrels provide cover as the Spartan makes his way through the base. He nears the first silo. Billowing jets of steam pour from the open silo, the missiles cooling systems keeping it ready for launch. Attaching a zip-line to the edge of the silo he begins to rappel down the shaft. Pushing out from the wall he lets out more cord, descending further. His feet hit the concrete floor below and he un-attaches the cord from his armor. Taking several compact C4 charges from his armor, Spartan 492 begins to attach them to the underside of the rocket. The lack of personnel in the base works to his advantage and his work goes unmolested. He plants the final charge and begins to ascend again.
The wire whines as it pulls the Spartan up to the top of the silo. Scanning the area for any possible detection, he stealthily makes his way toward the second silo. Several guards stand ready around the closed silo bay door. He waits behind an ammo crate for them to start their rounds. One by one the guards split and began to patrol along their designated paths. As one comes near, 492 rolls out from cover behind him and wraps his arm around the man’s neck, breaking it with a quick motion. Dragging the body out of the way, he keeps moving. Most of the security personnel have a clear line of sight to the second silo. He’ll need a distraction to break in and plant charges on the missile. A nearby fuel truck fits the bill and 492 goes prone, crawling to the underside of the tanker. He snaps the gas line in the undercarriage allowing the viscous liquid to trickle out of the tank. 492 crawls out and reaches through the open window of the tanker, putting it in neutral, nearly ripping off the gear shift in the process. Now easily movable the tanker is an IED, Improvised Explosive Device, capable of being detonated remotely. Pushing the tanker, 492 gets the truck to begin to roll and it slowly moves off through the slightly sloped complex.
A resounding crash echoes through the base as the tanker hits a control room head on, smashing through the glass. As planned, the control room is the same one he had earlier killed two men in. The truck crash should hopefully fool the guards into believing that their death was caused by the runaway vehicle. As the crowd of soldiers around the truck grows, 492 eyes the line of gas from the truck all the way to where he is hidden. Unsheathing his pistol, his fires a round into the stream of gas. The immense friction caused by the bullets trajectory instantly sets the gas afire. The flame spreads quickly along the ground reaching the fuel truck within a few seconds. 492 watches as the fire reaches the tanker and, after a short pause, the entire vehicle detonates. Those lucky enough are incinerated by the blast. Others that were farther away are set on fire, the smell of burnt flesh and ash dust fill the air. 492 doesn’t waste a second and by the time the chunks of metal hit the ground he is already cutting through the silo with a fusion cutter. The white hot flame tears through the rusted metal and the circular piece of metal falls down through the silo, clanging off the missiles nose cone coming to rest at the bottom of the shaft.
Rappelling down again, he plants three more charges. By now the base security systems have been reactivated and alarms blare all over the compound. Before ascending to the top, Spartan 492 flips up a small panel on his wrist armor and presses down on a small button. Across the base in the first silo a massive fireball erupts from the silo, the ground buckling around the missile as the C4 charges ignite the hundreds of gallons of fuel in the rocket. By this time, many soldiers and guards have been killed during the ensuring chaos. And still, even now, Spartan 492 doesn’t know who these people are and what the rockets would be used for. But he doesn’t care. His goal is to protect Earth and all her colonies. And if people have to die to do that, 492 has no problem sending them to their early graves.
Climbing out of the second silo he opens fire on a group of disorganized soldiers trying to put out one of the fires. Making best use of the disorder Spartan 492 dashes to the last silo, detonating the second missile as he runs. The explosion takes out a large portion of the exterior wall and collapses several guard towers. Approaching the third silo, Spartan 492 finds that the last missile is gone, the empty silo the only silent part of the base. He glances over at the entrance of the base. The massive blast doors have been swung wide open. 492 sees a massive hovercraft floating effortlessly out of the base, the third missile prepped to fire on top of it.
The SL47 Hovercraft blasts out of the complex escorted by Warthogs and light APCs. Spartan 492 watches as a smaller hovercraft swings around to head him off, dual 80 cal machine gun turrets firing. Diving out of the way of the vehicle, 492 pulls the pin out of a M9 HE grenade and hurls it into the turbine on the rear of the hovercraft. The grenade catches in the fan blades and explodes, sending the vehicle flying. He kicks in the door to the depot and hotwires a hovercraft. Almost all of Iran is covered with a massive minefield and conventional transportation methods are useless. Here, hovercrafts, often armed with machine guns and missiles, are the primary mode to get around. Small black spheres dot the sandy landscape, millions of mines, armed and ready. As 492 switches on the weapon systems twin chainguns extend from the grill and dual missile pods rotate out from either side. 492 throws the throttle forward and the turbine whines as it spins at several hundred MPH.
The nose of the hovercraft smashes through the hangar doors and the chase begins. Enormous clouds of dust and sand are thrown up in the distance from where the SL47 and its escort had gone. As 492 leaves the base, bullets bounce along the armored hide of his ride. Steering with one hand, he grabs an SMG from the rack on the back of the seat and blind fires behind him. The ground next to him explodes, nearly overturning the hovercraft. 492 pulls the E-brake, closing the steering fins on the turbine, and makes a hard right, turning the vehicle to face his pursuers. Releasing the brake, he floors it in reverse while firing the missile pods and chainguns. The two hovercrafts behind him are caught off guard and destroyed instantly by the barrage of fire.
492 pulls around and heads off after the fleeing transport. Bringing up his fiber optic probe, he zooms in on the SL47 in the distance. The deck of the massive hovercraft is swarming with soldiers and the convoy has four more attack craft around it. Shots bounce off his hovercraft as snipers onboard the SL47 attempt to kill him. He reengages the missile pods and fires a volley of rockets at the transport. Explosions shower the deck blowing bodies over the side. But the armored behemoth is far too strong to be destroyed by 492’s vehicle. Dodging fire from heavy machine gun turrets mounted on the deck, he pulls alongside another escort craft.
Firing the SMG with one hand, he climbs off his damaged ride into the new one. Throwing the bullet ridden body out of the craft, he turns the weapon systems on the escort ahead of him. Twin rockets hit the back of the craft, sending it cart wheeling into the mine field. Spartan 492 swerves to avoid the smoldering ruin and accelerates in front of the transport. The SL47 speeds up, smashing the turbine on his hovercraft. Jumping over the seat, he climbs onto the windshield of the larger vehicle. Punching through the glass, he grabs the pilot by the neck and smashes his face into the dashboard. The copilot comes up from the lower deck and opens fire on him with a Shotgun. The blast knocks him off the hood and off the hovercraft. The events transpire in slow motion as he flies by the rapidly moving vehicle. He grabs at air, finally latching onto a hold. His feet kick up as they hit the ground, nearly setting off a mine.
Pulling himself up onto the deck, he unsheathes his sidearm and pumps two rounds into an approaching soldier. The huge missile on top of the hovercraft provides excellent cover as he takes shots at the crew. Projectile rounds dent the deck and explosions light up the sky. Pinned down by suppressing fire, 492 pops open a hatch and drops down to the lower level. The cramped corridors remind him of a submarine as he works on disabling the engines. A barrage of machine gun fire sends him sprawling over the control panel as well as destroying the controls. Rolling over, he shoots the guard in the shoulder and fires again, hitting him again in the chest. Putting a new magazine into the pistol, 492 tosses a C4 charge down the hall and detonates it. The explosion tears a hole in the side of the craft and the SL47 begins to list to the left. A voice over the PA system catches his attention.
“T-minus sixty seconds.”
492 puts his hand to his helmet and activates the comm.
“HIGHCOM, this is Spartan 492. I’ve destroyed two of the missiles but the third one is about to be launched. We’ve got one minute. Requesting back-up. Over”
“You can’t let that missile be launched. If it hits its target, wherever it is, the entire planet will be lost.”
492 takes cover behind a blast door and fires from cover, killing another soldier.
“Why, what the hell is in the missile?”
“We believe that they’ve gotten a hold of Flood spores and have Infection Forms packed into the missile. If that missile is able to hit its target and the Flood is unleashed I don’t have to tell you what will happen.”
“Affirmative. I’ll destroy the missile.”
“We’re sending some Shortswords your way. Plant a beacon on the missile and they’ll destroy it.”
492 is already moving to the upper deck, beacon in hand. Internal fires release plumes of black smoke, filling the ship. Again, 492 takes advantage of the disorganization and destruction and gets back on top of the hovercraft.
“T-minus thirty seconds. Secondary boosters engaged.”
492 turns around and watches for the Shortswords. In the distance he can see them, streaks of burnt fuel trailing behind. Attaching the beacon it begins to emanate ultraviolet flashes, visible only to the pilots in the Shortswords.
“We see the beacon 492, moving to…wait. We’ve got targets off the starboard side.”
Spartan 492 watches as two fighter jets blur past the bombers, their missiles impacting on the two UNSC craft. They explode in a violent explosion of red and orange their burnt out hulks collide with the ground, discharging hundreds of mines.
“T-minus 1. Primary boosters engaged.”
The deck catches fire as the missile lifts off, blasting the Spartan back. The fighting stops as both parties watch the missile arch overhead, the quiet before the storm.
Chapter VII:
The Human-Flood War
2558-2561
2558
Human Population: 200 Million
UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 7 Million Marines and support staff
Flood Population: Unknown
Events of 2558:
The first year marks the decline of the human race into near extinction by the Flood infestation of Earth. During the course of the year, nearly a quarter of the armed forces left in the UNSC are killed and infected. The Flood now possesses an amble supply of wartime weapons and vehicles. Repeated bombing runs and MAC strikes from orbit do little against the Flood. The UNSC HIGHCOM retreats to the Halcyon Cruiser Endeavor to oversee the containment procedures. The Flood continues to spread across North and South America. Preventative measures are made to ensure the security of the UNSC Salvation, the dry-docked Halcyon Cruiser in the Seychelles Island Cluster off the coast of Saudi Arabia.
End of 2558
2559
Human Population: 170 Million
UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 4.5 Million Marines and support staff
Flood Population: Over 35 million
Events of 2559:
Year two of the war goes no better than year one. The Flood continues from the Americas to Asia via the Bering Strait. Conflict between the two factions continues. The human forces are continually pushed back by the advancing Flood. Pushing into Russia, the parasite gains access to the UNSC Airfield Vostok, allowing them an ample supply of Pelicans and other dropships. Casualties mount higher and higher as refugees begin to run out of places to hide. The UNSC Endeavor and its sister ship, the UNSC Venture, exhaust most of their ammunition firing on the Flood from orbit. Counterattacks by remaining ground forces end in failure.
End of 2559
2560
Human Population: 50 Million
UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 600,000 Marines and support staff
Flood Population: Over 150 million
Events of 2560:
The battered and bedraggled UNSC finally wins a battle in Eastern Europe with the assistance of Spartan 492. The victory is short lived as Flood counterattack the surviving Marines, nearly killing all of them. Spartan 492 and three others live to see another day and are brought aboard the UNSC Endeavor. Plans are made to begin evacuating the remaining population and leave the system. The decision is made to finish work on the UNSC Salvation to not only get more survivors off planet, but to deprive the Flood of a means to leave the Sol System.
End of 2560
2561
Human Population: 5 Million
UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 30,000 Marines and support staff
Flood Population: 197 Million
Events of 2561:
The battles and casualties continue, the Flood seeming omnipotent. While shuttling supplies down to the Salvation, the Halcyons are attacked and boarded by Flood infected Pelicans. The Endeavor, on orders from HIGHCOM, damages the Venture before she is taken under Flood control, sending the ship plummeting through orbit and crashing into the Atlantic Ocean. A Pelican dropship manages to evade the Longsword defenses and crashes into the bridge of the Endeavor. In a panicked battle, the crew sets the ship to enter slipspace and attempts to abandon ship. As the Endeavor opens the resonance field, three lifeboats are jettisoned from the port side of the ship. The three lifeboats descend through Earths atmosphere and crash land on the coast of Kenya.
Human Population: Less than 2,000
UNSC Military Force: 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, Less than 100 Marines and support staff
Flood Population: Over 200 Million
Chapter VIII:
May 25, 2561
Coast of Kenya
“Sir! Sir, wake up! We’ve got to go. C’mon get up!”
Spartan 492 bolts up, suddenly remembering where he is. He un-straps himself from the lifeboat seat and stands up, the memories of the past few hours come rushing back.
“What happened to the Endeavor?”
“She jumped to slipspace when the Flood attacked. We jumped ship just as she left and the lifeboats crashed here. We’re in the middle of a Red Zone.”
492 grabs a LAR and cocks it. Following the Marine out of the lifeboat he sees that only a few of the evacuees survived the harsh landing. The craft had landed on a small outcropping on a cliff face. They had no where to run and no where to hide.
“How far away are we from the Salvation?”
“Pretty far” The Marine points out across the water. “If we can find transport, we can make it.”
“When do they leave?”
“Less than three hours.”
An inhuman screech echoes across the landscape. The survivors look around nervously.
“I liked it better when we were fighting the Covenant. I’ll try to contact the dry-dock.”
Spartan 492 activates his comm imbedded in his helmet and connects to the Seychelles base.
“This is Spartan 492. I have survivors from the Endeavor, we need evac!”
“Roger that 492, this is the Salvation. We have a transport in your area. We’ll send the Pelican to pick you up. Hold your position.”
“They’re picking us up, but we’ll have to hold here until they arrive. Dig in Marines, get defenses set up.”
“Yes, sir. You heard him, let’s go!”
The Marines unload the supplies from the lifeboats and arm themselves the best they can. Spartan 492 stands in the center of the small clearing, watching the events around him. Something catches his attention, a blur of movement. A small withered patch of trees shakes. He focuses his sights on the area, switching the safety off. Sweat dribbles down his forehead, the automated cooling systems in his suit evaporating it almost instantly. A small rock tumbles down from the ridge, bouncing to his feet. He looks up at the ridge. Something was up there. Something was watching them. 492 closes his eyes and listens. A dull thump reverberates throughout the clearing. The Marines look up from their work.
“What the hell….?”
The noise resounds again, slightly louder. Spartan 492 realizes what the noise its. The ground shakes once more. The footsteps stop and an eerie silence fills the air. The sheer mass of spores in the air has caused a perpetual fog to be present in most Red Zones and Kenya is no exception. Objects move through the dense mist, the group of survivors slowly closing together.
“Sir, what’s out there?”
An object bursts from the vapor colliding with the Spartan, smashing him against the lifeboat and knocking his helmet off. 492 hits the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. His helmet drops in front of his face, the visor reflecting his face. He stares transfixed by his manifestation on the helmet, his body unable, or unwilling, to move. Picking up his helmet, 492 puts it back on and picks up his LAR. Turning, he finds himself face to face a Combat Form. The parasite swings at him but the Spartan ducks and brings up the butt of his weapon into the Infection Form burrowed in the chest, shattering the creature in one swift blow. Infection Forms and Combat Forms engage the stranded Marines in vicious hand to hand combat. 492 empties another clip into the hordes around them. Then, as suddenly as they had attacked, the Flood retreats into the fog. 492 drags a dead Marine back with one hand, scanning the mist with the LAR in the other hand.
Another Marine next to him leans against a lifeboat, panting heavily.
“Well, at least that’s finished.”
492 feels a slight tremor in the ground.
“No, I think we’re just getting started.”
The Marines sweep their weapons around the crash site.
“Sir, do you hear that? It’s coming closer. We’re all going to die. Oh, hell no. We’re all going to die.”
The ground rumbles again and a large form moves through the haze. 492 fires at the retreating figure but it’s gone before he can wound it. He activates his comm and connects to the Pelican.
“This is Spartan 492, where the hell are you? Things are starting to get weird around here.”
“This is Echo 417, we’ll be there ASAP. Hold you position, over.”
Infection Forms begin to pour down from the slope into the encampment. As per Flood nature, the Combat Forms are right behind them. Empty shells hit the ground as rounds from eight rifles tear apart the Flood. The Combat Forms fall to the ground writing in anguish, attempting to get back up and kill the humans. 492 walks over to the downed Flood and blasts the Infection Forms out of its chest, disintegrating the torso.
“Sir, look! The Pelican is here!”
492 looks up from the mangled corpse to see two lights shining through the fog, the dropship on approach. The thrusters kick up clouds of thick spores and Flood biomass as the Pelican touches down next to the lifeboats. The transport is rusted and dented, missing several parts of its armor. The eight survivors pile on to the ship and it begins to ascend. 492 watches through the internal bay in the back as the bulky anomaly moves toward them.
“We need to move. Now!”
A massive tentacle shoots up from below and smashes into the Pelican’s left thruster, penetrating it to the other side. The tentacle jerks downward, sending the craft into a downward spiral. 492 is sent sprawling along the floor.
“We’re losing control!”
“Get a hold of her!”
“Negative, we’re going down!”
The dropship slams into the side of the cliff, teetering on the edge. The hull groans as the ship slips off the edge and down toward the sea. Landing in the dark waters, the Pelican begins to sink, its internal bay filling with water. Few manage to make it back to the surface; most are dragged down with the transport. Combat Forms jump down from the cliff, struggling through the ocean toward the waterlogged survivors. The already bad situation is rapidly becoming worse for the three Marines and the Spartan. Swimming toward the shore, the team staggers onto the beach, pausing just long enough to catch their breath.
“Salvation? This is 492. The Pelican was destroyed. We need an alternative.”
“Roger, accessing the COMSAT’s.”
The operator is silent for a moment as he searches the area for transport.
“About five clicks west is an old air field. Last time we checked there was a working Shortsword bomber there.”
“Affirmative, we’ll get there.”
He signals to the Marines and they begin to move toward the Air Field, constantly hounded by Flood.
“This is the Salvation, current Flood movement indicates they are moving to engage you. Deviate from current course and move to sector six.”
“Moving to six.”
“Hostiles inbound on you position. Tracking.”
“Affirmative. Give me an ETA on the air field.”
“Based on your movement, no more than three minutes.”
“Roger that. I see the air field.”
“The Shortsword is in hangar 43-B.”
“Affirmative.”
492 vaults over the corroded fence to the airfield, the tarmac overgrown with biomass and weeds. His feet sink into the soft ground as he runs toward hangar 43-B. The three Marines struggle after him, taking pot-shots at the following Flood. The lone Shortsword sits intact, ready for flight, its aft access ramp open and ready to receive its long forgotten crew. 492 stands at the base of the ramp and covers the Marines as they board. He stands on the hatch as it begins to close, elevating him into the ship.
“The systems and hull seem intact, surprising given the current surroundings. I’ll need about a minute to get the engines warmed up.”
Flood crawl along the outside of the ship and across the cockpit windows, desperately trying to reach and consume the humans inside.
“The fusion cores are stabilized. Hull integrity at 100%.”
He edges the throttle forward and the Shortsword responds, slowly creeping out of the hangar.
“Secondary thrusters primed and engaged.”
He releases the coolant valve and the engine blocks burn bright red, jets of infused plasma scorching the rear of the hangar. The bomber makes its way out onto the tarmac and rotates to take off position. Opening the vents on all of the turbojets, the Shortsword blasts forward, tearing across the ruined asphalt. Multitudes of Flood are splattered across the road by the bomber as it reaches the mid segment of the runway. 492 pulls back on the joystick and tilts the wings up. The wheels bump along the ground.
“500 feet and closing. EICAS at 100%. Thrusters at max.”
Spartan 492 grips the flight wheel as the Shortsword rumbles and shakes.
“200 feet. Gaining altitude. Scramjets engaged. We have liftoff.”
The Shortsword flies off the runway, just narrowly avoiding a nearby ridge. He quickly contacts the UNSC Salvation.
“Salvation, this is 492. We are on approach from point 6.29, heading at 175 degrees.”
“Affirmative. Rendezvous at mark 2.5, you’ll find us. We’ve already left the dry-dock.”
“Roger that. ETA six minutes.”
Less than ten miles away, the UNSC Halcyon Cruiser Salvation hovers over the Indian Ocean, its hangar littered with the supplies of four years of planning and preparation. On approach, 492 maneuvers the craft in line with the ship. The Shortsword bomber slowly hovers into the Salvations main hold and sets down. 492 opens the access ramp and they leave the ship, nerves wracked by the past few hours. The medical staff assists the Marines out of the hangar and toward the med center. A crew approaches the Spartan.
“Sir? The Captain wants to see you on the bridge.”
492 leaves the hangar and takes the lift to the bridge. Computers and computer parts are strewn apart the control room, crewmen working frantically to assemble the pieces. The Captain turns from one of his aides to face him.
“Spartan 492. Glad you could make it to the show. Sorry for the mess but our compound was overrun by Flood and we were forced to make an emergency takeoff. I’m sorry to hear about the Endeavor. We’re all glad you made it out alive. Your past and current actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of military service. Your bravery in the face of impossible odds reflects great credit, upon yourself, and the UNSC. The Colonial Cross is awarded to you for acts of singular daring and devotion, for a soldier of the United Earth Space Corps.”
The Captain places the medal in the Spartans palm.
“We don’t exactly have the time for formalities but I thought it would be best to do this now, before we leave.”
“Thank you, sir. But no soldier should be honored for doing what is expected.”
“Even so, in light of our current state, I’d say you’ve earned it.”
A crewman walks up next to the Captain.
“Sir, the thrusters are prepped and ready.”
“Good, set course for Triton.”
“Triton, sir?” 492 asks.
“It’s a colony world that was never colonized. Something about a Forerunner Installation on the surface. No one’s ever been there, just a few probes. ONI never released any pictures and almost nothing about what resources it has. But it’s our best bet considering the Covenant and, by now, the Flood know where all our other colonies were. Bring the SFTE’s online.”
The pilot enters the coordinates into the navi-computer and activates the engines.
“Resonance field opening. All systems are go.”
492 watches from the bridge as a slipspace portal opens in front of the ship.
“Hold on everyone” the Captain says over the PA. “We’re entering slipspace.”
The Salvation shakes as it pushes itself through the fabric of space. 492 watches Earth from the starboard window, its once vivid oceans murky brown. Then, in a burst of neutrinos, the Salvation disappears into the alternative dimensions of slipspace, leaving Earth and the Flood behind. Using the combined technologies of both Forerunner and Covenant slipspace drives, the Salvation can travel at nearly 5,000 lightyears per day, drastically reducing the time it takes to travel from A to B. Blurs of light, from all colors of the spectrum flash by as the Halcyon makes the jump from Earth to “New Earth”, Triton. Escaping the Flood was the hardest part but humanity didn’t exactly have the rest of their time cut out for them. Re-colonizing a planet with the resources from one ship wouldn’t be the easiest task. The Spartan stays on the bridge, watching space go by. The journey is relatively short, only about three hours. He barely even realizes that they’ve arrived.
“Dropping out of the slipstream, looks like we made it in one piece.”
Triton’s surface is green, the planet dominated by one giant continent. Lush forests and grasslands populate Proteus, the primary landmass. The Salvation’s portal closes as it exits the slipstream and moves toward the surface.
“Set down at Sector 17J.”
“Affirmative, brining her in.”
The Captain turns to Spartan 492.
“Welcome, to New Earth.”
Epilogue:
Triton “New Earth”
2562
The cruiser touches down on the grassy plains of Sector 17J, a valley on the supercontinent of Proteus. Landing gear extends as the ship comes to rest on the ground. The engines begin to cool after the strenuous journey through slipspace as the boarding platform extends to the ground.
“Oxygen levels at 27%, Nitrogen at 72%, small traces of Carbon and Sulfur.”
Only 2,401 humans have survived the catastrophe on Earth. The refugees from the infested homeworld begin to exit the ship onto the plains. They start to unpack their supplies, things needed to start anew. The crew and passengers survey their surroundings. Triton is peaceful and calm, another ‘perfect’ colony, ripe for colonization. Life can begin again. Unknown to the humans, someone is watching them. On the peak of the nearby ridge, a Forerunner construct takes careful note of the humans and the lone reclaimer among them.