The Valley of Death

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil"

- Psalm 23

Time is running out. With rebel activity increasing across the galaxy, the UNSC finds itself harried from every corner. In a desperate effort to halt rebel activity on a key outpost world, the UNSCDF dispatches TF 77, an elite task force of special operators to crush the rebellion and bring peace.

Plans break down, chaos erupts, and soon battle-hardened Marine colonel Scott McMaster and an enigmatic SPECWAR operator known only as "Boresight" are caught in a mission which will test every fiber of their  conscience, duty and courage.

Prologue
The valley was harsh and barren, its rocky landscape disturbed only by the whistling wind. Below, a tiny settlement huddled, the ramshackle collection of miserable huts vainly seeking shelter between the stony cliffs. Few men would have chosen to make such a place their home; but these were no ordinary men. Only in the wilderness, far from any vestige of life of civilization, could these desperate outcasts find safety. And now, surrounded by desolation, they thought they could escape the dangers they had created for themselves. Here, in the wilderness, their hubris made them safe. Here, they no longer thought they had to run.

Pride comes before a fall…

Unseen by man and beast alike, the motionless figure crouched, his formless shape blending seamlessly with the rocky outcropping.

Things were about to change.

Chapter 1
The ops room was alive with activity. Constant chatter emanated from the rows of desks at the front of the room as young men and women armed with headsets and tired expressions did battle from a distance. Walls covered in screens cast a luminescent glow over the room, offering the only light in a room where it was never night or day.

McMaster glanced casually at a satellite feed. The black and white screen was filled with blackened, smoking wreckage, the aftermath of a car bomb.

That makes five this week…

Shaking his head, McMaster turned back to the latest ream of reports the duty officer had just handed him. The emotionless carbon copies drearily expounded upon bombings, drive-by shootings, and the executions of kidnapped UNSC personnel; moderate, yet clearly escalating violence across the planet.

“Sir?” The voice at McMaster’s shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Turning, McMaster saw a clean-shaven young ensign with an almost apologetic expression on his face. “Sir, we’ve had a message. Boresight’s found something.”

“Contact?”

“Yes, sir. They’re in a small compound about a 150 klicks south of here.”

“Has Crane taken a look at it?” Lt. Commander Crane was TF 77’s S-2 and one of the few Navy men who McMaster had ever respected personally or professionally.

“Send the feed to Ops; tell them I want a plan in fifteen minutes. Let’s end this thing once and for all.”

The SPECWAR operator shifted his grip on the rifle, imperceptibly relaxing just long enough to let the blood circulate. More out of habit that necessity, he inspected his immediate surroundings. Peeling back the piece of tape he had placed over it, he checked the uplink unit. The red LED was still dutifully blinking. Carefully, he replaced the sliver of tape. He’d seen too many good operators lose their lives after blinking bits of gadgetry had betrayed their positions.

Glancing upwards, he noted with satisfaction that the camouflage netting he’d so carefully erected the night before was still in place. If anyone wanted to see him, they’d need damn sharp eyes and mil-spec thermal goggles.

Below, all seemed calm. The compound was still wrapped in early-morning slumber, motionless. In fact, had it not been for the pungent odor of fresh human feces, vomit, and campfire smoke, an even casual observer might have dismissed the camp as abandoned.

But this was no ordinary camp.

Every cheap plastic chair in the small briefing room was filled. For the handful of unlucky latecomers, it was standing room only and nearly everyone was in some kind of uniform.

There were tough-looking operators in digital utilities, many wearing Tridents or the eagles, globes and anchors, grinning Army “dogfaces” wearing little more than undershirts and camouflaged cargo pants, pilots in fire-retardant flight suits with coffee cups in hand, and at the back of the room, two very uncomfortable-looking Air Force intel guys in immaculately-pressed blues.

But regardless of their uniform, every one of them scrambled to their feet when McMaster entered the room. “At ease, gentlemen.” The room was filled with sound of scraping chairs and clattering boots as the men noisily returned to their seats. McMaster waited for the noise to die down before speaking.

“Gentlemen, we’ve just got word from Boresight,” McMaster paused for effect, “We found what we’re looking for.”

It took a moment for the room to process McMaster’s words; but when they finally sunk in, the gathered men erupted in a chorus of shouts and cheers. The colonel waited for the room to quiet before continuing. With a curt nod of his head, he gestured towards a lanky man in the corner. “Commander Crane, if you will.”

Crane moved silently to a battered computer terminal at the front of the room. Inserting his ID card into a slot, the officer tapped a few keys. Seconds later, the screen at the front of the room came to life with text and projected images.

“Oh, could someone get the lights?” Crane asked, moderately embarrassed with himself for forgetting to have asked earlier. A Marine standing by the door obediently flicked the recessed switches, throwing the room into an artificial twilight. Pulling a palm-sized remote control from the pocket of his wrinkled khakis, Crane gestured at a fuzzy image on the screen. “This is the latest satellite imagery we have of the site. As you can see…” Even by squinting hard, the assembled personnel in the room could barely make out what appeared to be small collection of huts and cheap portable buildings. Seeing their somewhat pained expressions, Crane quickly paged to another image.

“Here’s the imagery from Boresight’s position. As you can see, there’s a few technicals here,” Crane’s laser pointer hovered over three beaten-looking pickup trucks, “and a rudimentary fenced perimeter here. The terrain is rough; but it shouldn’t be too much trouble to approach and assault.”

“Give the distances involved, we’ll be deploying our assets from the air. Mr. Vasquez will be leading a SPECWAR detachment as Chalk One. Lieutenant Pencala will take the ODSTs in Chalk Two. Chalk One will make the actual assault, while Chalk Two will secure the extraction point and serve as a blocking force for the mission. Both Chalks will be riding with Condors from the 182nd.”

“Officially, you are to follow our established ROE. Unofficially, this is a weapons-free mission, gentlemen. Take a few prisoners, the rest ‘tried to escape.’ Any questions?” The collected personnel shook their heads in response.

“Good, then let’s get out of here.”