Prologue
0752 HOURS, NOVEMBER 17, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
EAST AFRICAN PROTECTORATE, AFRICA
Five men sat staring at the starry sky. This was not an unusual occurrence, especially in the early hours of this particular morning. These five men were just one of many squads studying the rapidly brightening horizon for a wayward speck of light. Watching… Waiting… One of the men stood and sighed impatiently.
“Private Stuart, scan again.” Another stood slowly.
“With all due respect Sergeant Major, I don’t think it’ll do any good to-” But the first man cut him off. “Its been a long night Private Stuart,” the Sergeant noted, placing careful emphasis on the young man’s rank. “and since we’re all just a little tired from the hike, I’m willing to cut you some slack just this one time. Now, if you please, scan again.”
Private Stuart pressed a pair of high powered binoculars to his eyes and swept the sky as the Sergeant cupped his hands around the smoldering dog end clenched between his teeth. The wind wasn’t particularly strong, the leaves in the trees behind them barely rustled in the warm breeze. Even so, the remains of his Sweet William cigar stubbornly refused to reignite, and the Sergeant ground it into ash under his boot as he fished a replacement out of his breast pocket. He furrowed his brow in puzzlement as he discovered he had more pocket than cigar.
Damn, it had been a long night, he mused. He rolled the remaining cigars between his fingers and counted silently to himself. Two left. He’d had fourteen when the sun set over Mt. Kilimanjaro the previous evening. I’ve got to find myself another habit or I might not make it to eighty. He raised his head to the night sky as he reminded himself why he was out here in the first place. If nothing happens in the next hour none of us may make it to next year. He sighed.
“Anything there Private?” he asked. “Negative sir.” noted Stuart, still panning back and forth. The Sergeant sighed again. “I know this wasn’t the outcome we were hopin’ for boys, but we’ve gotta roll with the punches. Harrison, get me patched through to Bravo Team, maybe they got some idea-”
But at that moment Private Stuart began to shout triumphantly. “Sergeant Johnson! I-I see it! I see it sir!” The other three men leapt to their feet to squint at the sky as Johnson slapped Private Stuart on the back. “Well spotted Private! But I think we’d all like a chance to look if you don’t mind!” The Stuart handed the Sergeant the binoculars and pointed out the target to the others. Johnson squinted through the lenses in the direction of the Private’s finger.
Sure enough, a single star was darting in between its brethren, steadily increasing in size and brightness. Johnson scaled back the zoom at an increasingly quick pace before he was unable to keep the whole object within the binoculars’ field of view. “What is it sir?” asked Harrison. Johnson extracted his second to last cigar from his breast pocket but didn’t light it. Instead he dragged it under his nostrils to savor the smooth aroma.
“Classified. All I can tell you is it ain’t one of ours.” “Sir, is the Chief really on that thing?” asked Stuart. But before Johnson could answer, a smaller light broke from the speeding meteor, rapidly growing in intensity as it fell away from the original, which was streaking towards Voi. Despite his weariness, the Sergeant felt a small grin cross his face. “Not anymore Private, not anymore.”
The piece of debris hurtled into the forest canopy below them, there was an enormous cacophony, then a warm tranquil stillness. Harrison stepped forward. “Link’s up Sergeant.” Johnson took the earpiece and pressed it into his ear as the squad made its way back down the hill. “Bravo Team, this is Johnson; Sierra 117 has arrived. Me and my boys are gonna help him with any luggage he might have, and see if he’s hungry. Somehow I don’t think Covenant Airlines serves peanuts on Interplanetary flights.”
The first rays of dawn were breaking through the twisted canopy as First Squad made their way to the impact site. Private Stuart’s voice rang out. “Found him Sergeant. It’s… its not looking too good…” Sergeant Johnson skirted the small crater, making a conscious effort not to look. C’mon Chief, don’t be dead after all this. His back still to the crater, he lit up his second to last cigar.
Harrison crouched down beside Stuart. “This ain’t good.” Stuart shook his head. “Damn. How far did he fall?” A third soldier furrowed his brow as he calculated a rough estimate. Johnson decided he couldn’t avoid it any longer and turned to look at his fallen comrade. The Master Chief’s arms were stuck out in odd positions, frozen in armor lock. The Sergeant took a long pull from his Sweet William. Either he locked down his armor before he hit, or the suit locked down after his de- No! The Chief had to still be alive. He had to be…
“Two kilometers, easy.” said the third soldier finally (who’s name was Carmichael). Johnson exhaled a smooth and noxious cloud as he surveyed the surrounding brush. It was getting light out, the Bravo Kilos would start patrolling soon.
“Stay sharp!” he barked, scanning the shadows for any inhuman, no, Covenant intruders he reminded himself. After all, if the Chief was still alive there were seven of them in the new clearing.
Stuart took point, leveling his MA5C as his eyes joined the Sergeant’s to sweep the jungle. Corpsman Bennett slid down into the crater and pulled out his field computer to begin checking diagnostics. Johnson sidled up next to Private Stuart. “See anything Private?” Stuart shook his head. “Negative sir, just the split-” Johnson held up a hand to silence him. We ain’t countin’ him for the moment Private.”
He turned and spoke aloud. “Corpsman?” He joined Corpsman Bennett in the crater, and got his first glimpse of the Chief’s armor up close. A small flicker of hope erupted in his heart; the damage wasn’t too bad. In fact, if it weren’t for the ugly gash on his chest plate and the normal dents and smudges, the armor would look just like it did when Johnson had last seen him on Bravo Halo. He gave a small cautious grin to Bennett, who didn’t return it.
“His armor’s locked up. Gel layer could have taken most of the impact…” The Corpsman noted. He deactivated the suit’s joint locks, and the Master Chief’s arms settled into a more natural position with a hiss of micro pistons. He could have been sleeping. “…but I don’t know Sergeant Major.” Johnson knelt down and placed a scarred hand on the Chief’s chest plate.
A moment passed. No heartbeat, but is that because he’s dead, or his suit’s in the way? He exhaled another billow of smoke as he sighed loudly. His hand moved to cradle his friend’s head when his fingers pressed into a small slot. He corrected and refined the movement in an instant, ejecting the memory that contained- Nothing as it turned out. Where the small mote of light containing the essence and being of Cortana should be nestled lay a faint indigo hole. Another casualty, one I wasn’t expecting either.
He stood and nodded to Harrison. “Radio VTOL, heavy lift gear. We’re not leaving him here.” There was a sudden weight on the Sergeant’s wrist as a familiar gravelly voice came from below.
“Yeah. You’re not.” Johnson whipped his head around and gave a tiny laugh as the Master Chief hauled himself to his feet. “Crazy fool! Why do you always jump!? One of these days you’re gonna land on somethin’ as stubborn as you are! And I don’t do bits and pieces!”
The Chief didn’t reply. Instead he reached down and took Cortana’s chip from Johnson’s hand.
“Where is she Chief? Where’s Cortana?” The Sergeant asked. The Master Chief gave no response; he only stared at the memory chip as if remembering something. Johnson blinked. He could have sworn he saw a flash of blue cross the Chief’s visor for just a moment. The Master Chief swung his occupied hand behind his head and reinserted the chip.
“She stayed behind.” he noted. Johnson nodded. Not dead then. Cortana was one tough A.I., she’d be all right. Probably.
He felt a respectful tap on his shoulder from Corporal Menez. Johnson nodded to him as well. “Corporal? Make it quick.” He stepped off a little way as Menez‘s began his pre-combat check. “Your armor’s still in partial lockdown…”
Johnson turned and scanned the brush for- Ah. Yes. One of the trees seemed to shimmer slightly in the dawn light. Johnson gave it a quick wink. Well, that’s the first signal. Let’s just pray nobody loses their damn head. He stepped back towards the Corporal and the Chief, who looked about finished.
“Everything checks out Sergeant Major.” Johnson grinned. “Kick of the training wheels, Corporal. He’s good to go.”
John 117 flexed his limbs as he took in the steaming jungle around him. Still a little sore, he thought. Well, he had jumped off of a speeding Forerunner ship and ridden a piece of it all the way down from space. Looked like his legendary luck was among the things still intact, along with-
He froze, unsure if what he’d just seen had really been there, or if it was just steam coming off the trees as they warmed in the early morning sun. No. He had seen it. He slowly inched his way forward… just as the shimmer faded into the imposing image of a Covenant Elite.
John sprang forward, drawing Johnson’s M6G from his side holster with one hand even as he pushed the Sergeant away from danger. Within a few breathless milliseconds he had closed the gap and jammed the barrel in between the alien’s quad-partite mandibles. John’s eyes flicked up to meet the Elite’s reptilian ones as he eased his finger onto the trigger.
“Chief wait! The Arbiter’s with us!” Johnson yelled. John lightly stroked the trigger with force just shy of that required to fire it. A part of him had heard the Sergeant’s words, but it was grappling with the part of him that had got him this far through the war. The Elite stood absolutely still, but not from fear. If anything, it looked a little impatient. John felt Sergeant Johnson’s hand pat him on the back.
“C’mon now. We’ve got enough to worry about without you two tryin’ to kill each other!” John’s head reeled from the two voices struggling for control. You heard the Sergeant, situation’s changed. Give him back the Magnum and hear him out. But his every instinct was screaming in his head to pull the trigger.
You’ve spent your life following orders, are you really going to stop now? ‘Following orders!?’ replied instinct. ‘You’ve been fighting against these damn split-lips for the last twenty seven years! Shoot first, ask questions later!’
Johnson is your trusted friend. If he says the Elites are on our side now, he knows what he’s talking about. ‘On our side!? It’s a member of the Covenant! Shoot the scum! It hasn’t moved, its trying to reason with us. ‘Reason!? What do these fanatics know about reason!? Pull the trigger!
Trust Johnson. ‘No! Pull the trigger!’Trust Johnson, just like he trusted you. ‘PULL THE TRIGGER!!!’
But instinct faded away, and the Master Chief slowly lowered the M6G. The Elite merely clicked his mandibles in a shrug. “Were it so easy.” he stated in a rich baritone. It turned and moved away to take point. “We must go. The Brutes have our scent.” Johnson moved to follow with a smile of bravado on his face.
“Then they must love the smell of hero.” The Sergeant handed John a spare MA5C and they headed off into the brush.