User:FightWithHonor/Halo: Fighting Back/Part 1

Author's Note: These chapters are a continuation of Halo: Fighting Back's prologue.

Chapter 1: Where's my Coffee?
"Thanks you for coming so early, Lieutenant Puller. I know you were scheduled for leave, but the situation is rather...pressing." The young Ensign tried to smile politely, yet no degree of pleasantries would blunt Archie Puller's moderate wrath. His liberty had been a long-awaited treat, and he disliked being robbed of it by a couple of panicky brass-hats.

Puller and his team,ONI 43, had been in action for the last 2 months, and the arrival of their Prowler at New Ashpoint had been the long-awaited chance for some well-deserved Rest and Recreation in the bustling metropolis. But the early morning arrival of the apologetic but urgent-voiced Ensign had shattered these hopes like a crystal split by the sudden shriek of a soprano.

And if Puller couldn't be happy, he was determined to ensure he could pass his misery to anyone remotely connected with his frustration. So Puller simply contented himself with glaring at the Ensign, venting his frustration at lost sleep by watching the Ensign squirm under his glare. It seemed the natural thing to do.

Shuffling into the wardroom, with the now-browbeaten Ensign in tow, Puller found a tiny huddle of bleary eyed officers and senior NCOs clustered around the synth-wood table.

"Puller, there's something we need you to see." It was the Prowler's captain. Swiveling in his chair, the officer pressed a small button on the wardroom table. The lights dimmed, a screen on the opposite wall flickered to life, displaying a news broadcast from the surface of New Ashpoint.

The behind the neatly-dressed reporter Puller could catch occasional glimpses of a pair of prostrate forms and the bullet marked shell of a black and white Warthog, its body covered with the phantasmic reflections of flashing lights. "...Recent reports from the scene indicate the two officers were ambushed and killed with automatic weapons fire. Suspects include organized crime or colonial fringe groups..."

"Two cops on New Ashpoint got killed yesterday," the captain explained, noticing the somewhat befuddled look on Puller's face.

"Cops get killed all the time, sir, no reason to pull me outta bed for that." Puller was moderately reproachful.

"It's different this time, Arch. NALED heard we were in town as asked for some help. Under the table so to speak."

"They want a military team to tramp around and kill mobsters? Aren't they supposed to have SWAT for that?"

"Archie, NALED is scared. Those killings took place in an area known to be rough, but not cop-killing rough. They're worried that if they try to send SWAT into the slums, they'll just lose more officers and start a riot, y'know 'police tyranny' and all that."

"So they figure if we go in and get killed busting the mob..."

"Arch, it isn't the Mafia. NALED thinks the Fringers are responsible for this one, the basic intel they sent us seems to support it."

"Sir, taking out the Fringers isn't a job for one team. How many Fringers are we talkin' here? Any Shockies?" Puller's voice was laced with concern. He had clashed with the Fringers enough to recognize the threat they posed, even in small numbers. Two Fringers with a bomb or a well placed vial of poison, could bring a city like New Ashpoint to its knees, a loss the UNSC, already reeling from the war with the Covenant, could not afford.

"NALED ain't an intel unit, Arch. You should get a better estimate put together when you hit dirtside and hook up with the cops. You leave in 30 minutes. Meeting adjourned."

Chapter 2: Descent
The gentle hum of the photoreactive panels and the quiet murmur of the Stealth Pelican was just enough noise to keep Puller from daydreaming. Through the canopy of the Pelican, Puller could see the sweeping skyline of New Ashpoint. Tall skyscrapers poked through layers of cloud, while both land and air vehicles wound their way through the maze of New Ashpoint's hundreds of roads and skyways.

New Ashpoint was the child of Mankind's quest to touch the stars. Her location at the contour of 5 major shipping lanes made her a vital component of the galactic economy. Her skyline was already rivaled those of metropolises like London or New Mombasa. Buildings pushing the 200-storey mark were springing up as New Ashpoint became the site of the largest building boom in 200 years. Her financial district was a Mecca for some of the Galaxy's wealthiest men, her luxurious skyscrapers home to an elite seeking a life of glamor and comfort.

But in her rapid development New Ashpoint had left many behind. The dingy slums at the outskirts of town were crowded with angry, discontented residents. The glassing of hundreds of Human colonies and worlds had driven these people from their homes, destitute, poverty-stricken, and above all, angry. The refugees had flocked to the planets which had survived, among them New Ashpoint. But the failure of the UNSC to save so many of her colonies and citizens had left many of the survivors bitter and anxious for a new order. These men and women had congregated within the tired wreckage of old tenements and warehouses, simmering at the opulence and materialism they saw all around them, while they starved, feeling betrayed by their government and by their fellow men.

The slums were the Achilles Heel of New Ashpoint. If this oft ignored, seemingly insignificant group of people could be rallied to the banner of a rebel cause, the implications for both New Ashpoint and for the Galaxy would be cataclysmic. A single act of otherwise insignificant rabble-rousing would translate into one of the most brilliant coups of the century. The nerve center of a trade route vital to the Galactic economy would be paralyzed as rebels would hold a chokehold on a vital spaceport, a key stop for freighters on their way to the edge of the Galaxy. This was a bomb which, if detonated, could unleash a holocaust of anarchy upon the galaxy, potentially spelling doom for the already weak UNSC, and fragmenting the once-united Glaxy into a rabble of feuding states. The appearance of the Fringers on New Ashpoint was the force that could set this horrifying possibility in motion. They had to be stopped

To defuse this bomb, one of the most brilliantly conducted surgical strikes in UNSC history would need to be carried out, as the demands of working within the slums of New Ashpoint meant a major ground invasion or airstrike would only bolster incite hatred for the UNSC and strengthen the Fringer cause. This was a mission for a scalpel, and ONI 43 was that scalpel.

Chapter 3: Into the Fire
The Pelican flared its nose, and eased into a hover, her photopanels flickering for a moment as power was diverted to the engines. The stern ramp lowered

Coming Soon
-- The ramp at the Pelican's rear lowered, and a small queue of camouflaged figures leaped out, joining their comrades as they moved from a second hovering Pelican. The long hours of insertion training by both the Pelican crews and the ONI personnel paid off, and within seconds, Puller was signaling the all clear. the photopanels of the Pelicans' blinked once more, and they became mere smudges, their rippling, camouflaged forms barely visible as they glided silently skywards.

ONI 43 quickly fanned out across the rooftop they had landed on, consolidating their position while Puller consulted with his XO and senior non-com as to their next move. A few seconds of discussion, a hand signal from Puller, and a pair of black-clad figures disappeared off the roof trailing cables behind them, followed quickly by the rest of the team.

In the murky alley below, the team began to wend their way past abandoned cars, rusted dumpsters, oozing garbage heaps, and the odd dead body, quietly disposed after a mugging or gang fight turned violent. Although in the very heart of New Ashpoint's slums, they could see no signs of life. The streets were barren, the windows empty. Silence ruled, the only sound the ONI troopers could hear were the gentle crunch of their boots on the permacrete and the soft rustle of uniforms and clink of equipment as a nervous trooper swiveled towards the sound of a threatening noise, only to discover it to be rustle of a yellowed newspaper cartwheeling down the grimy street.

The strong stench of squalor penetrated the polarized visors and dense balaclavas of the ONI team. Rotting food, putrid garbage.

They were in enemy territory now. And battle was about to be joined.

Chapter 4: Contact
Clutching his silenced SMG, the point man carefully swung his weapon around the corner, its fiber optic attachment allowing him a clear view of the terrain ahead without the need to expose himself to a potential ambush. Satisfied that the street pictured in the grainy image flickering in his HUD posed no threat, he carefully rounded the corner. Then a cacophany of staccato explosions ripped the air, their unexpected appearance made all the more frightening by the silence which had reigned a mere seconds before.

Standing a good six feet behind point and wearing an insulated helmet, Puller was still deafened