Kholo, The Fall (A companion to The Return)

Community General Discussion
1

Kholo
April 15th, 2539 [4 Days prior to the Fall]
Monhonghiala Plain

Josephus Cooper

They’d been at it for 30 minutes now, banging on the door like a drunk locked out his own apartment. They knew he was home, the lights were on, smoke was wafting lazily from the far chimney. He’d have to face them now. Ratbastards. Parasites. He crushed his cigarette out, flung in the general direction of the waste processor, and got up from the disaster area that was his kitchen table. Heading for the front door, he stopped in his bedroom, took the Service Magnum off his bedside table and tucked it into his waistband. Hammer back, round chambered, safety on. For now. He strode down the entry hall reached the front door and pressed his palm against scanner. The door unlocked with a flurry of clicks and he tentatively slid it open.

“Mr. Cooper!” Began the lanky bureaucrat, “Henry Kort, UNSC emergency affairs coordinator. We are here to present you with the necessary documents, as requested.” He motioned to his associate, a short, pudgy clerk weighed down with two large briefcases, and, unconsciously, to the body-armored, sub-machine gun equipped Civil Guard officer who was doing a poor job of hiding in a bush a few meters away. Shorty handed his superior one of the briefcases which he opened. With a flourish, Mr. Kort produced a single, legal sized form and an old ink pen.

“Hold on…” Josephus caught Kort’s hand as he was attempting to pass the pen to him. “Where’s my just compensation?”

“You must understand, sir, that the UNSC is in a very precarious position. Though we respect you and your work, we cannot provide payment for the damage the landing and subsequent use a staging ground will cause to your crops until such a time when hostilities are officially declared to have ceased in this, and all, sectors currently besieged. I assure you, however, that the upstanding men and women your farm feeds will not go hungry, UNSC rations will be delivered to anyone who asks, and they are quite palatable.” The lanky civil servant explained.

His rotund associate, attempting diplomacy, opened his personal briefcase and handed him a small, brown, UNSC ration pack; his idea of a peace offering. “And there are plenty more where that came from.” He said, with a genuine enthusiasm that indicated he must be new to the job.

Cooper took the ration out of pity. “Say I refuse to sign, then what? More lawyers? More ‘personal history investigations’? More harassment?”

“No.” Kort said flatly. “Then, having exhausted all civil options, I am allowed under the Force Act in Council of 2531 to compel you to sign by any and all means. But this won’t be about you anymore after that, friend. Your former CAA buddies, your lovely ex-wives, kids, grandkids, any and all could face financial and civil death for giving material support to a person committing actions likely to aid the enemy. And if the time comes when their homeworlds are threatened by the Covenant, they’ll be the first on the draft rolls and the last on the evac lists.”

He pushed the paper and pen toward Cooper, forcing it on him. Cooper grudgingly took hold of them.

“My freedom of speech has yet to be gutted, right?” Cooper queried.

“For now…”

Cooper signed on the dotted line and tossed the paper and pen back to Kort.

“Then f*** you. All of you. The folks out here don’t deserve the covies but you and you lot just might.”

Wordlessly the bureaucrats turned and strode down the rocky path that led away from Cooper’s home, the Civil Guardsman slung his SMG and followed soon after. The lanky bureaucrat put his forefinger to his ear and spoke to a far-away dispatcher: “He finally signed, tell Carpathia she is cleared through at her earliest convenience.” The three government agents clambered into a well appointed civilian warthog and hummed away.

Cooper walked around the house to his back lot, placed the ration packet on a fence post, put ten meters between himself and it, drew his Service Magnum, thumbed the safety off and fired. The ration vaporized when the 10mm round slammed into it milliseconds later. Handouts never taste any good.

Having just committed two felonies–destruction of UNSC materials and nonsporting discharge of an unregistered firearm–he went inside to wait for his life’s work to be scorched into unrecognizable oblivion.

2

Later that same day…

It was, at least, a beautiful sight. The flash white, kilometer long ship was decked in landing and navigation lights that made her look like an angelic, otherworldly creature as she hovered a mile above Cooper’s property. Her cobalt blue engines flared and pulsed in the night sky, creating an ersatz aurora.

The ground team had arrived first, moving gangways into place, putting in Pelican pads, and generally slaughtering his crops in the process. Falcons moved in and dropped landing beacons the size of utility trucks that glowed bright red and cast their crimson beams skyward for miles. The final step was to set up large scaffold lights which illuminated the LZ in unnaturally bright halogen light. The UNSC horde had done all this one night; four hours from the first warthog to a staging ground fit for a full scale invasion. If only they were as good at fighting wars as they were at preparing for them.

At last, one of the engineers on the ground got on his radio and spoke the fateful words: “Carpathia this is Worker Bee 1-0, come on down.”

The massive vessel shuddered as her thrusters angled downward and ceased station-keeping. It was amazing how fast large ships dropped when not actively trying to hover, in a matter of seconds the Carpathia was at the half mile mark, at the quarter mile mark her station keeping thrusters fired again, downward pointed pillars of blue fire which, to Cooper’s disgust, caused the immediate thermal death of any crops below them. Her maneuvering thrusters fired next, edging the ship forward and downward toward her new berth. Finally, the massive ship kissed the ground, gently settling in the middle of Cooper’s largest field, bathed in false daylight and surrounded by landing beacons. The engineers swarmed around her, pushing gangways up against hatches as soon as they opened.

At least he would have a good story to tell.

3

FILE RECOVERY/////ONI/PROP/SECTION 2/////DEEP_ARCHIVES///SUPERANNUATED_INFORMATION:
Recover file:(“Kholo, OWI, 4/16/39, R4”)
BEGIN RECOVERED FILE/////////

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CAA Office of War Information
Press Release
Do not publicize until 2:00 p.m. on 4/16/2539

Headline: UNSC Carpathia Finds New Home on Kholo

Yesterday evening, the UNSC Carpathia landed in the remote agricultural region of Kholo known as the Monhonghiala Plain. The newly built hospital ship can now turn all of its resources toward healing those wounded in battles with the alien aggressors on outer colony worlds all while safely tucked away on quiet and peaceful Kholo. Designed primarily for such stationary operations, the Carpathia is intended to fill a long term, infrastructural role, with her slipspace drive and primary engines meant only for emergency use; she is even integrated into the local utility grid. Residents should be advised that airspace above Kholo will be far more crowded as evacuation transports and ambulance vessels converge on the Carpathia from life saving deployments throughout the outer colonies. To reduce aerial congestion, ride-sharing is strongly encouraged; remember, when you ride alone, you ride with the Covenant.

4

Kholo
April 16th, 2539 [3 Days prior to the Fall]
Monhonghiala Plain
Aboard the UNSC Carpathia
Captain Abigail Trout

From a security perspective, the Carpathia was a complete disaster. Hundreds of docking points and hatches, four hangars, and wide, difficult to barricade corridors that ran the length of the ship and fanned out in easy to navigate subroutes leading to every critical area. The layout had been designed to smoothly facilitate the mass movement of patients and staff from the craft which they arrived on to the wards where they were needed, but it also created a perfect highway for boarders and mutineers. Indeed, a small team could seize and secure the Carpathia in a matter of hours while a combat ship of similar size, with all of its nooks and service routes could take days to fully clear.

Then there was the question of armament. Though the ship had substantial Titanium-A armor plating, she carried no weapons save a standard asteroid defense mass driver that posed no threat to anything but the lowliest transport. Personal weapons were no better, none for the staff, and only few for the security team. The hope was that the Covenant, if they were to attack a world she was stationed on, would see the vessel as a low priority target and go after her only after wiping out the main military force. This would give the Carpathia and her precious human cargo of wounded, and, more importantly, valuable supplies and trained doctors, time to slip away in the chaos. The final absurdity was her paint job–bright white–a nod to hospital ships in centuries past and a way of making the ship’s benevolent mission clear to any humans who may consider nefarious acts against a groundsided UNSC vessel. Indeed, there would be no defense for anyone who dared bomb the Carpathia , it was a war crime of the highest order that dated back to the time of steam and sail. Not that the Covenant, the real threat, cared at all about war crimes. Abigail imagined that in some twisted way, the number of war crimes committed was how the Covies measured their success in a given campaign. To the Covenant, hospitals meant lots of humans in one place, generally unable to defend themselves.

Being given command of the Carpathia was either a punishment or a promotion and Abigail had yet to figure out which. One the one hand, if the ship had a long and illustrious career, both her and the vessel would take on a legendary, saintly status not unlike that of the UNSC Hope. If, however, the Carpathia was cut down at any point before war’s end then she, Captain Trout, would be forever vilified as the woman responsible for the no doubt horrible and terrifying deaths of a thousand or more wounded warriors. She had already resolved, privately, to make sure she died, either by running into a hopeless fight or simply with a bullet the brain, if the ship was ever attacked in a way that more-or-less guaranteed an unacceptable death toll. Somehow, by giving herself leave to be a coward in the future she was able to handle be a commander in the present. Or so went the rationalization.

The present was, if Abigail defined exclusively as the view from the bridge windows, in all honesty, not that bad. The ship was resting in a eminently beautiful corner of the galaxy, on a harsh yet lush world with haunting blue grey skies, only a jump away from the Covenant onslaught, yes, but on a world rarely traveled to or from. This obscurity made it unlikely to be located by the Covenant if they continued their standard strategy of picking their targets from the starcharts of ill-defended human vessels. Medical transports would, of course, converge on the planet now, but only after following the Cole-ordained three jump rule to throw the Covenant off. Furthermore, all UNSC Medical Corps starcharts, which now included the Carpathia’s location referred to it not as a major planet or installation but as an ‘abandoned listening post of little consequence.’ Anyone familiar with how ONI spooks obfuscated would, upon reading this, assume DEN OF ESPIONAGE, and usually be correct, but the Covenant were still ignorant of human doublespeak. Or so Abigail hoped, if not, then many spooks, secure in their ‘Desolate Outposts’ and ‘Defunct Mining Facilities’ and ‘Pay no attention to the hangar bay doors hollow asteroids’ were in for some serious chop.

5

Kholo [Orbit]
April 16th 2539 [3 Days prior to the Fall]
Aboard the UNSC Tempest-Tost
Commander Karl Hock, Acting Captain

The battered frigate wobbled through the slipspace tear it had just struggled to create, her engines flared deep blue, revealing in their harsh light the extent of the damage. All Archer Pods were gone, four of six decks had been hacked to pieces by plasma fire and were now open to space, venting atmosphere and the occasional corpse as the ship trundled toward the idyllic world. Her primary MAC had been run so hot an so fast that the muzzle had melted and warped, rendering the cannon useless, the entire right hangar nacelle had been shot away, cleaved off by fiendishly precise high energy plasma lances.

Acting Captain Hock unfastened the belt keeping him secured in the command chair and surveyed his bridge. No one had started the day in the position they were now assigned; a Gunner’s Mate was now the Chief Fire Control Officer, a Civilian refugee with some astronavigation experience was manning the nav board, and a low ranking drive technician was charged with damage control. Hock nodded at his ‘crew’, they had done their jobs, indeed, they had done jobs intended for officers well above their station, decently enough. He strode to the front viewport and, after visually confirming their destination out of habit, put a finger to his ear: “Medical Bay 02, this is the bridge, that last jump was all we needed and we are here, prep the Colonel and get him to a Pelican.”

“Aye, we’ll get him prepped but there’s a problem…” Responded the Acting Chief Medical Officer.

“Speak.”

“The only Pelican left took some fire, reentry isn’t an option… not without the Tost 's armor between us and the atmo for the first hundred meters.”

“Do the locals have suitable transport?”

“Nothing orbit capable that isn’t already tasked. Fracking backwater.”

Hock grunted in acknowledgement and turned to his would-be DC Officer, “Is it doable, can we break atmo in this condition?”

The DC man futzed with his keypad and eventually brought up a fuzzy status hologram. “As you can see…” He motioned to the holo. “We have severe damage in several ventral and lateral structural points.”

“Give me your best assessment.”

“We can do it… once. The stress will, as far as I can tell, break her ‘neck’, she’ll be of no use to anyone above 70,000 feet after that.”

Karl tapped on the viewport glass, as if that somehow let him judge the ship’s integrity, sighed and spoke: “Well, the mission was to get the Colonel to safety at any cost, and, hey, at least we’ll all be forced to take some shore leave.”

Commander Hock returned to his seat and strapped in. He turned to the man at the nav board: “Break orbit, hit atmo and make your altitude 50,000 feet therein. All secondary drives slow ahead together. All hands brace.”

The Civvie at the navboard began to work but stopped short and looked back at Karl: “Mr. Hock, Captain, err… sir, I’m getting some very odd blips in the local slipspace spectrum…”

“With the damage we’ve taken their liable to be ghosts in the sensor array, ignore them and continue your previous task.”

“Yes, I mean ‘aye’, descending now.”

6

Kholo
April 16th, 2539 [3 Days prior to the Fall]
Monhonghiala Plain
Near the UNSC Carpathia
23:04 Hours
Captain Abigail Trout

Abigail had resolved to take a walk, to get her land legs back and clear her head. She was already regretting her decision not five meters from the gangway. The night was clear and cold but the mud that now coated her boots attested to the intermittent but heavy rain showers that plagued the area, smearing a gray tint over the landscape. The landing zone was desolate, with only the faint hum of idling warthog on the other side of the field providing any audible hint of habitation. It was as barren as the inside of the ship and much colder. Yet, she pressed on; Abigail wanted to get away from the landing zone proper and out from under the massive scaffold lights which made the nighttime scene freakishly bright. The lights blotted out all but the brightest stars, and Abigail was keenly aware of every one they obscured. She missed seeing the entire galactic buffet of stars spread out before through the viewscreen of a cruiser. She loathed being limited to one world’s horizon, and detested her Pyrrhic promotion to the sainted and/or demonic position of Captain of the UNSC Carpathia–the ship that wasn’t. The ship that didn’t go and do, but sat and waited, the ship that needed a landlord, not a captain.

Abigail picked her way up the path that traversed a terraced hill leading to the small but stout structure that was, she assumed, the former hovel of whatever homesteader the UNSC had evicted to get its mitts on the land. It was difficult going, she was only half lucid thanks to a unending string of sleepless nights, and unaccustomed to rotational gravity. When she reached the top, her trouble was rewarded with the threat of imminent death a rifle aimed squarely at her face.

Before she could appraise the situation, the rifle’s underbarrel light flicked on and temporarily blinded her.

7

Double Post, see above.

8

Continued Directly from Previous…

“You drunk, sailor?” Asked the rifleman.

Abigail took a step back and answered “No.”

“So you’re saying you have no excuse for you trespassing?” Abigail shielded her eyes and took another step away, when she opened them the rifleman’s features became slightly more apparent. His weapon an aged but scrupulously maintained M119B Heavy Barrel Service Rifle, and its wielder was a tall, equally aged and far less well kept-up civilian.

She took another step back. The rifle’s manual safety clicked off, the normally quiet metallic ‘tisk’ of the operation sounded like a thunderclap in the soundless night.

“Alright, just hold on… what do you want with me?” She took another step back. “The UNSC lawfully acquired this area, nobody is trespassing.” She took another step back. And another, and tripped over a rock, falling flat on her back.

“You sure you’re not drunk?” The rifleman asked again.

“Yes.”

The rifleman moved deliberately over to her, and slung his firearm only when he had reached her and looked her over with a few sweeps of his weapon light across her now mud splattered form. He extended his hand. She ignored it. After a few false starts she picked herself up. She inched close to the rifleman and grabbed him by the collar.

“What. The. Hell. Is. Your. Problem.” She demanded.

“The UNSC requisitioned my fields, not my house and its lot. You. Were. Trespassing.” The rifleman responded coolly.

“No way. The UNSC told me this homestead was abandoned. Bad soil.”

“It’s bad soil now, Moby -Yoink-…” He motioned to the Carpathia “…took care of that.”

“You mean to tell me the UNSC just took arable land from you.”

And yet we wonder why the outer colonists hate us.

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

“That’s not acceptable, that’s not protocol, if you behave and keep out of my staff’s way I’ll put in a complain to the CAA with command level priority. What’s your name?”

“Josephus Jefferson Cooper. Now, don’t take any offense by this but why do you even care about this? Last time I checked anybody who had an affinity for private property was an obstructionist according to the United Nations ‘Strife’ Command.”

Captain Trout scrubbed a hand through her mud-matted her, sighed, and look skyward.

“My dad was a tenant farmer on Harvest, when he finally got his own 'stead the UNSC decided it would be a great place to drop a mooring post for the space tether they were oh so benevolently providing the good people of the planet. Yah, I joined the Strife Command, but all I wanted to do was finish officer training and then drop into the CAA as a planetary defense admin, but while I was on Reach… well… the Covenant hit Harvest, and everything changed, you know that story. Anyway, the UNSC needed commanders and my aptitude test put me on the fast-track. Politically, they wanted some more colony kids at the con to show they weren’t the earthborn conspiracy we mud diggers all thought they were. Anyway, I’ll look into to getting you some kind of recompense for the land, though I warn you that the UNSC likes to believe that since they were kind enough to give you a blanket and a hatchet when they dumped you out here they own your immortal soul. The whole fate of humanity on the line in every battle thing hasn’t made them less arrogant either. Anyway, I need to…”

Her in-ear comm headset fizzled to life: “Carpathia-actual this is UNSC Redwyne Station dispatch, I’ve just picked up a badly damaged frigate coming to you hot and fast, she is broadcasting precious cargo aboard… Cancel my last, she has a Pelican coming in with precious cargo, but needs a berth. Repeat, she is badly damaged and needs to put down to shut down. You should see her in you slice of sky at any time. How copy?”

Trout put a finger to her ear and replied: “Good Copy, however, I am not onboard the vessel at this time. Forward all traffic to my XO. Tell him to comply with all requests and give the frigate a golden path down to our LZ, he have room. Command Authorization Code: Alpha Tango 308911.”

“Roger, WilCo. Redwyne Dispatch out.”

Abigail turned to Cooper: “I’m sorry but I think we’re about to broil your back 40. It’ll be quite a sight. Eyes high.”

Cooper saw one point of light, and then a second smaller point. The smaller one dropped quickly and its engines cut on. It sailed downward and the familiar shape of Pelican, pockmarked as it was with plasma fire appear. At about 5,000 feet it made a turn to orient itself for landing, and one of the engines blew, then another. Then the entire back half the Pelican blossomed with blue fire and careened over the horizon. A purple streak cut across the sky behind it. Cooper heard a faint whir that sounded like a phased ion drive, but far more refined than anything he had encountered.

“Oh hell!” Abigail exclaimed as she got back on her headset radio: “Redwyne, we just lost the Pelican, repeat precious cargo is down!”

Echoes and static.

Silence.

“Redwyne Station Dispatch this is Carpathia-actual do you copy?”

Silence.

The frigate then tore into view, streaming flame from her battered engines and painting the sky crimson and cobalt. Cooper saw a third point of light appear. And grow. From the center of the point of light a purple beam scythed through the frigate. When the flames cleared a Covenant corvette was revealed behind the beam. It shined, freakishly, in the starlight as it engines pushed it toward the lights of the city of New Bern at the edge of the horizon.

Cooper drew his rifle and clicked the safety off.

Abigail gasped and switched her headset on once again.

“All units this Net, this is Abigail Trout, UNSC Carpathia: WINTER CONTINGENCY. Repeat: I am declaring WINTER CONTINGENCY. Definite Covenant sighting, direct all quick response forces to Kholo. WINTER CONTINGENCY.”

9

FILE RECOVERY//////ONI/NAVSPECWAR/SECTION 3/////DEEP_ARCHIVES//SUPERANNUATED_INFORMATION:
Recover file:("Communiques, JUNO ALPHA, CHARLIE HOTEL RE: Kholo)
BEGIN RECOVERED FILE///////////SECURITY_CHECK/////PASSED//////

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CHARLIE HOTEL to UNSC PROWLER CORPS::VESSEL:: ‘UNSC TONY MENDEZ’ ::ATTENTION::CO
RE: OPERATION FLYING CLOUD

I see you have acquired the necessary assets to commence FLYING CLOUD. Excellent work. I cannot further stress the importance of this operation. Give the chosen commander as much truth as you can afford to part with. Blind leaders are not effective leaders despite what [circus?] would have you believe. Get her out of there.

-CH

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JUNO ALPHA to UNSC PROWLER CORPS::VESSEL:: ‘UNSC TONY MENDEZ’ ::ATTENTION::CO
RE: OPERATION FLYING CLOUD – COUNTERMAND

i am countermanding ch’s directives, my priority exfil target supersedes all other targets. deploy op. flying cloud men and equipment only for recovery of asset dubbed: precious cargo.

-ja

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CHARLIE HOTEL to UNSC PROWLER CORPS::VESSEL:: ‘UNSC TONY MENDEZ’ ::ATTENTION::CO
RE: RE: OPERATION FLYING CLOUD – COUNTERMAND [IT CAN GO HANG]

Do not follow any directives handed down by JA. I have a usurpation privilege regardless of my rank or lack their of. JA’s precious cargo is little more than 99 Kilos of useless flesh. Perhaps JA needs to go through scaled morality training again? Exfil original target at all costs. Tier one authorization. Get them in the air.

-CH

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JUNO ALPHA to UNSC PROWLER CORPS::VESSEL:: ‘UNSC TONY MENDEZ’ ::ATTENTION::CO
RE: RE: OPERATION FLYING CLOUD – COUNTERMAND [IT CAN GO HANG] [real mature]

i’m escalating this one, play your games all you please but i have two branches of the unsc behind me.

-ja

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CHARLIE HOTEL to JUNO ALPHA
RE: RE: OPERATION FLYING CLOUD – COUNTERMAND [IT CAN GO HANG] [real mature] [BRACE YOURSELF]

Do you know what a Circuit Breaker class logic bomb is. You will in a moment.

Good day.

-CH

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10

Kholo
April 17th, 2539 [2 Days Prior to the Fall]
Aboard the UNSC/ONI ProwlerTony Mendez
50,000 Feet Above New Bern
Staff Sergeant Finnbar Cory, 45th Marine Expeditionary Unit, Special Operations Capable

Finnbar could taste the surfactant in his mouth and feel it in his gut but he could remember entering or leaving cryosleep. The room, which he had never seen before, was cold and sterile, with stark metal walls, a polished metal table, a metal chair (in which he was seated) and a screen on the facing wall. The room was lit only with a LED strip along the far wall. He shifted to get out his chair, and, as he was about to stand up, the screen flickered to life:

“Do not be alarmed. Sit down. Listen carefully.” Said a female voice.

He sat down. The screen was showing the ONI logo and a waveform graph showing the fluctuation of the audio it was outputting. The waveform jumped:

“You are aboard the an Office of Naval Intelligence Prowler, the UNSC Tony Mendez. You are inside a classified intelligence transfer cubicle. You are above the planet Kholo which is currently besieged by Covenant forces. This is not your concern. Your concern is this woman…”

The screen displayed a grainy picture of woman in her mid-30s with eastern European features and long hair.

“Dr. Helena Sorvad, an ONI operative within the Colonial Administration Authority. She is a highly skilled analyst, archeologist and a competent astronavigator. Any one of these traits would make her falling into enemy hands a severe threat to homeworld security; the fact that she possesses all three makes her capture unthinkable. You are tasked with her exfiltration. Dead or alive but intact regardless. Section Three has specific need of her brain, not her intelligence mind you, but the organ. She would make a wonderful smart AI, though that is a secondary concern. Alive is still is preferred. The doctor is currently trapped in the CAA consulate in New Bern. Your fireteam, Lance Corporal Levinson Dennek and Sergeant Conrad Price are onboard. They have been briefed and are waiting for you in the drop bay. The remainder of your squad remains aboard the Pillar of Autumn, they know you and your team are alive and fighting the enemy. They know nothing else. A suitable replacement has been found for you and dispatched. Upon successful completion of your mission you will be returned to your previous posting. You may now consider yourself officially read into Operation Flying Cloud. You belong to ONI now. Do you have any questions before I proceed with the specifics of the operation?”

“Yes. Why me? Why my team?”

“You team pioneered high altitude jump pack insertions, and given the Covenant’s propensity for shooting down drop pods, your ability to enter a surrounded city without the need for one makes your team the only choice for this operation. ONI has people for exfiltration, and we of course have access to jump pack technology, but, given the limited window, we could not train our operatives to employ the jump packs with the, shall we call it, finesse that you have developed. Now, for the particulars of your mission…”

“I had other questions…”

“You only get one. As I was saying, the particulars of your mission are as follows: You will drop in 25 minutes, you will move to the CAA consulate, secure the doctor, make your way to the Cutter Memorial Executive Spaceport, procure orbit capable transport and rendezvous with the Tony Mendez on the dark side of the planet in 16 hours. You have been provided with two mongooses which will drop alongside you. If absolutely necessary you have access to Falcon gunship air support from firebase Chickenhawk, call code is ‘Case Arrowhead’ on freq 25.9’. In the locker to your left you will find a modified ballistic battle dress uniform, ONI spec non-standard reconnaissance helmet, a XM392 Marksman Carbine, a disposable, quick detach suppressor compatible with this weapon, and M6C-SOCOM pistol. Put on the armor and helmet, arm yourself and proceed out the hatch to your left and down the hall, speak to no one and move quickly to the drop bay, which is clearly marked. Your team is waiting for you. You may call me ‘Purser’, your helmet radio is already tuned to my frequency.”

Fin got up. The screen did not protest. He opened the locker and put on the B-BDU which resembled the armor worn by ODSTs but featured an urban flecktarn pattern on the nanowoven fabric uniform, a dull gray finish on the armor plate and the necessary titanium hardpoints for a jump pack on the back. There was no rank insignia and no UNSC logo, only the all seeing eye of ONI graced the patch on the shoulder. The helmet was something he had never seen before, it was more rounded off than a trooper helmet, its visor, which began right above the nose, was a narrow slit bent slightly, not unlike a flaccid crescent moon turned on its side, and polarized jet black. He put the helmet on, it was tight at first but the memory material quickly reformed around his skull. Finally he grabbed and holstered the weapons and made for the hatch.

11

Continued from above…

The drop bay hatch opened with a click and a swoosh. Inside, Fin saw his comrades, Lev and Con, seated on a bench against the rear wall, already armed and armored. The looked straight at him, icily.

“How do I look?”

“Like a f***** spook.” Replied Lev.

“Is this for real, Fin?” Questioned Con.

“As far as I can tell yes.”

“This is bullsh*t.” Con and Lev responded almost in unison.

“You expect anything less from ONI?”

“Planet’s burnin’ and all they care about is pulling out one of their own. Typical.” Con mused.

“At least its simple. Get in, get the girl and we all go home. They’ll send us back to the Autumn, and first class too, if I have a say in it.”

“Which you won’t. You didn’t have in any say in this, and that’s no gonna change.” Lev remarked.

“The cap’s goin’ to raise hell when gets wind of this. I’ll bet he…” Con noted.

Lev cut him off: “When? He knows already! He had to okay it, ONI may loathe the chain of command but they can’t openly flout it, not now. Bet they offered a juicy advisory position and a free box of cigars.”

A buzzer sounded.

“Alright, that’s the tune. Let’s get our packs on. We drop in two mikes.”

Three jump packs emerged from ports in the bulkhead. One at a time, they strapped them on, each marine helping the other with the various clasps and clamps that were unreachable to the wearer but key to securing the pack in place. Weapons were holstered, seals were checked, and HUDs switched on. Ritualistically, they looked one another in the face, and then polarized their visors for the last time until they were safe aboard ship once again.

A klaxon sounded.

“Lev, get the ramp!”

Lev hit the ramp control with a closed, gloved fist. Daylight flooded the bay. In the sky beyond they could see a summary of the war laid out before them. A Covenant corvette with engines flaring hot and purple pursued a heavily damaged civilian transport, its ventral energy projector glassing all the while, as if it was an afterthought. A lance of Banshees zipped by, a Pelican exploded, a Falcon lost power and dropped earthward, the flaming, plasma scarred back half of a human cruiser plummeted down from orbit as desperate, bloodied sailors jumped from every open hatch.

“voi Luoja…” Murmured Lev.

“Focus up, no matter what you see, stick the mission and stay vertical on the descent! Final checks nowGreen is green, red is dead, no highs, now lows, no warnings! Main and aux power up! Turbines up! Push your ‘goose out first, track onto and follow it down! Con, follow me! All ready in the back! “

Fin took a breath…
and counted…
One. Two. Three. Jump Tone.

“Jump away!”

He pushed the first mongoose out of the bay and followed it. Lev pushed the second ‘goose out and followed it moments later. Con jumped last, and without a ‘goose to follow, tracked onto Fin and followed him.

45,000 feet. Check power.

40,000 feet. Stabilizing burn. Stay vertical.

30,000 feet. Stabilizing burn. Check oxygen. Stay vertical.

20,000 feet. Adjustment burn. Stay with the team. Stay vertical.

10,000 feet. Stabilizing burn. Stay vertical. Stay with team.

5,000 feet. Ignore the flack. Ignore the human flotsam from the tether. Stabilizing Burn. Stay vertical. Stay with the team.

2,000 feet. Yes that is a school. Yes it is on fire. This is what you signed up for. Stabilizing Burn. Stay vertical. Stay with the team.

1,000 feet. Final stabilizing burn. Give the team space. Don’t land on the goose.

300 feet. Terminal burn. Hold. Hold. This is it marine.

00 feet. Touchdown.