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Halo: Ocean's Shadow

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Halo: Ocean's Shadow
''Underestimate the outliers at your peril.''
Protagonist

Simon-G294
Cassandra-G006

Author Actene
Author's Rating 16+ (Some harsh language and violence throughout)
Story Series Legacy
Soundtrack

[Source]

Dramatis Personae[]

United Nations Space Command[]

Team Jian[]

  • Jake-G293, SPARTAN-III (human male)
  • Mary-G130, SPARTAN-III (human female)
  • Ralph-G299, SPARTAN-III (human male)
  • Terrence-G130, SPARTAN-III (human male)
  • Simon-G294, SPARTAN-III (human male)

Team Kopis[]

  • Vincent-G050, SPARTAN-III (male human)
  • Alexander-G014, SPARTAN-III (male human)
  • Esther-G129, SPARTAN-III (female human)
  • Ramon-G204, SPARTAN-III (male human)
  • Cassandra-G006, SPARTAN-III (female human)

Miscellaneous Military[]

  • Bernard Dalthorn, civilian researcher (male human)
  • Juno, Smart AI (feminine programming)

Covenant Empire[]

Lance of Radiant Columns[]

  • Amul 'Visagee, warrior (male Sangheili)
  • Roh 'Visagee, warrior (male Sangheili)
  • Tul 'Beinee, warrior (male Sangheili)
  • Chur'R Kim, mercenary (female Kig-Yar)
  • Utula Saru Manu, Mgalekgolo (Lekgolo)
  • Hunua Saru Belu, Mgalekgolo (Lekgolo)
  • Hulut, warrior (male Unggoy)

Unaffiliated[]

  • Tobias Lensky, entrepreneur (male human)
  • Meredith Leone, mercenary (female human)
  • Gavin Dunn, pilot (male human)

Halo: Ocean's Shadow[]

Prologue[]

1632 Hours, September 20th, 2552

Location: Red Sea Research Facility, Tantalus


"Oh, God, please, I don't want to--"

Bernard Dalthorn covered his head and choked back a scream as Chang's cry was drowned out by the whine of plasma fire. From where he cowered behind a potted plant he saw his colleague topple to the floor, a smoking hole burnt through his torso. More plasma shots hissed through the room, cutting down the laboratory technicians who tried to make a run for the hallway.

He could hear the aliens shouting in the corridor. Guttural barks, savage hissing, high pitched chirps and whines; Bernard recognized them all from the security briefings and news vids.

The Covenant had breached Red Sea.

Several pairs of feet—or claws or talons or whatever it was these monsters walked on—scuttled into the room. Bernard fought the urge to scream as the invaders plugged more plasma bursts into the corpses of Chang and his companions. He thrust himself even closer to the ground, hoping against hope that the floor itself might open up and swallow him whole. In another moment they'd find him, and then he'd be lucky if he got a death as quick as the others.

A door at the other end of the room slid open. The Covenant soldiers squawked in surprise as gunfire—beautiful, clattering gunfire—split the air. Bernard risked a glance around the plant in time to see three avian Jackals fall amidst their victims.

The troopers who had killed them darted into the room. They were dark-armored Navy security, or at least two of them were. The third was a woman wearing nothing but a standard Navy uniform. Bernard scrambled to his feet as he saw the emblem of a lieutenant on her shoulder.

"Lieutenant Morenz," he gasped, trying to hold back his nausea at the site of his colleagues' mangled bodies. "Thank God you're here."

The last time he'd seen Morenz, she'd been manning a desk outside his work room. Now she held a sidearm and directed a fire team of three security troopers as they took up positions by the doorway. Her uniform was torn and scorched in several places and her hair, usually pinned up to precise military standards, was ragged and askew.

"Mr. Dalthorn," she replied, her voice tight. "You need to get out of here. Pull back to Bravo Wing, this area's already overrun."

Bernard stepped gingerly over corpses, wincing as blood stuck to his loafers. "Overrun? What are you talking about?"

"We just lost contact with the command center." Morenz looked away from Bernard and back down the hall. "Our fireteams keep reporting new breaches all over the facility. We've put out a distress call, but until they can send reinforcements we need to get you and the other civilians to safety."

Plasma fire echoed down the hall. Morenz and the troopers stiffened, taking aim and searching for the unseen enemy. Bernard stood amidst the corpses. He felt utterly helpless. He was unarmed, unarmored; even if he did have a weapon, he barely knew how to operate a pistol, let alone a rifle or one of the Covenant's bizarre weapons. He was useless.

All these years I've spent designing weapons to fight the Covenant, he thought bitterly. And now that they show up, I can't do a thing to stop them.

How fitting.

"Mr. Dalthorn," Morenz said again, the edge in her voice sharpening. "Get out of here."

"How could this happen?" Bernard asked. He stepped over the bodies, backing away towards the door the troopers had come through. "How could they get so many warriors this deep into--"

"Doesn't matter," Morenz snapped. "Get to Bravo Wing. Helios is coordinating the defense. If that damned AI doesn't unseal the classified wings I'm going to--"

Bernard never found out what Morenz planned to do to the facility's coordinating AI. Something hissed in the corridor outside and then two silver prongs came out of nowhere and ran the lieutenant clean through.

The security troopers yelled in alarm as the energy sword withdrew. Morenz sank to her knees, arms wrapped around her gut, as a burst of plasma fire scorched the nearest trooper's face off.

The two remaining troopers fired wildly into the hall. Bernard could only watch in horror as their bullets clattered off a wall of energy that erupted directly in front of them. Shrouded in its energy shield, the hunched form of a Covenant Elite faded into view as the bullets overwhelmed its active camouflage unit.

The red-armored alien towered over the stricken lieutenant and her fire team. Bernard froze, halfway through the door. Even from across the room he could see the warrior's reptilian eyes gleaming as it surveyed the carnage before it. The four mandibles that composed the alien's mouth spread in a hideous facsimile of a human smile.

The Elite raised its plasma rifle and blasted one trooper across the room with a burst of plasma. Its sword swept back up and cut through the remaining man's body armor like a hot knife through butter. The warrior stepped past the dying trooper, its eyes scanning the room until they settled on Bernard.

The researcher froze. The Elite's mandibles moved in some alien gesture as it moved further into the room. Bernard's eyes flicked from the warrior's eyes to its sword to its plasma rifle and then back again. His hands shook; his body felt as if it were made of ice. This was the end. Even if he fled now, the Elite would overtake him in two strides and cut him to pieces. Why hadn't he fled when he had the chance...?

From where she still knelt on the floor, Morenz let out an agonized whimper. One of her hands stretched out, reaching for her fallen pistol.

The Elite glanced back, as if only just remembering that she was still alive. It clicked its mandibles and, with the disinterest of an afterthought, stretched its plasma rifle out and shot the lieutenant through the back.

The sound of the blast shook Bernard out of his stupor. He turned and sprinted through the corridor and down the hallway. The Elite would be on top of him at any second, but he didn't care anymore. If he could just get through the corridor, if he could just make it to B-Wing...

He slammed into the wing access door at the end of the corridor. Plasma fire echoed down the hallway behind him. With a desperate cry he slammed his hand against the biometric scanner. Nothing happened.

"Come on!" he screamed, striking his palm down on the scanner again and again. He had come so close, why wasn't it working?

The intercom system above the doors clicked on. "All personnel," rasped the voice of Helios, Red Sea's resident artificial intelligence. "Be advised, Covenant presence detected in all wings of the facility. Security teams, switch to emergency protocol bravo. I will delay them as long as I can."

Bernard struck the panel so hard his hand went numb. What did Helios mean, all wings? Morenz had said B-Wing was safe. It had to be, her team had just come from there.

The intercom hissed. Helios's voice scraped over the speakers again, but this time it was fainter, more urgent.

"Be advised, the Covenant have breached my servers. They are cutting off my access to the mainframe. Initiating self-decommissioning as per the Cole Protocol. Transferring systems access to--"

The intercom fell silent. Helios was gone.

With a sob of desperation, Bernard slumped against the panel. It was over. He was going to die here. All his research, all his years of work here at Red Sea, it would all amount to nothing more than ashes and scorched plasma residue.

Something was moving in the corridor behind him. Bernard didn't look back. Just make it quick, he begged silently. Don't let me feel it. He was going to die, it was the only thing he could hope for.

Above him, the intercom crackled to life.

"What are you doing?" a new voice demanded. Bernard looked up, stunned. This new speaker was a woman, young from the sound of it but with a hard edge of authority to her voice. "Don't just stand there, run!"

Bernard nearly fell over as the door slid open. He scrambled on his hands and knees through the doorway, practically sobbing with relief. "Thank you... thank you!"

"Don't waste time, you have to run!" the voice ordered. Bernard was all too happy to obey. He scrambled to his feet and fled down the hallway. There was no sign of anyone, human or Covenant, but after his close shave with death Bernard welcomed the empty corridor.

"The distress call the facility put out has been received," the voice explained, speaking to him through the station's PA system. "It will take a few hours, but help will come. I know they'll send reinforcements."

"A few hours?" Bernard didn't know if he should be horrified or relieved. "So I just have to stay alive for a few hours?"

"Don't worry," the voice said. "I may be shackled, but I can help you. Just get to this wing's data control center and we'll work from there."

"Shackled?" Bernard slowed his pace. He was already out of breath; for years his only source of exercise had been the treks from one research wing to another. "You're an AI?"

"Helios wasn't the only unit assigned here," the AI told him. "I'm afraid your clearance level wasn't high enough for you to know about me."

Bernard wasn't surprised. In all the years he'd worked for the Office of Naval Intelligence, he'd grown used to all their secrets and paranoia. No matter how high you climbed on the clearance ladder, there was always another realm of things you weren't supposed to know about just above you. "And now?" he panted, approaching a corner.

"I'd say a Covenant raid is worth a few breaches in clearance levels," the AI replied evenly. "Call me Juno."

"Alright, Juno." Bernard rounded the corner. An elevator hummed a few yards away. That would take him down a few levels to the data center this "Juno" had told him about. "I guess that makes you my guardian angel, huh?"

"It isn't my place to judge," Juno said. She sounded pensive, not quite as certain of herself as she had a few moments ago. Bernard walked towards the elevator, wondering at her sudden change in tone. "But perhaps you don't deserve an angel, Bernard Dalthorn. Of any sort."

Bernard glanced up at the ceiling's speakers, blinking with surprise. What was Juno talking about? Could she know about...

The elevator's doors slid open before he could reach them. A troop of Covenant, a mix of the avian Jackals and the stocky, gas-mask clad Grunts stared at him in surprise. Bernard froze.

"Run!" Juno ordered, the edge of command back in her voice. The lift doors slid shut far earlier than they normally would have, but several of the alien soldiers had already leaped out into the hallway.

There was nothing to do but obey. Bernard turned on his heel and sprinted down the corridor. There was no confusion now, only the old, desperate fear.

Plasma blasts and needle rounds streaked all around him. Bernard could do nothing but duck his head, run, and pray that he really did deserve a guardian angel after all.


Chapter One: Team Jian[]

1231 Hours, September 5th, 2552

Location: 14th Ground Maneuver Training Zone, Onyx


Two weeks previously

"He's swinging right! Heads up, Runt, he's headed straight for you!"

The sound of Terrence's voice over the helmet coms was cut out by the dull snaps that burst through the air around Simon-G294's position. Pulling his MA5K close to his chest, Simon ducked and rolled to the side and behind a log as sim rounds peppered the brush he'd been hiding in. Bringing the carbine up, he fired over the log in the general direction of the enemy fire. He emptied half a magazine, then flattened himself out beside the log and waited for his armor's camo systems to kick in.

"Yeah," he muttered, activating the TEAMCOM with a twist of his jaw. His helmet's systems were amazingly diverse, each function controlled by a series of subtle facial movements. Handy to have, though it had taken him forever to get everything down to muscle memory. Practice and repetition were key when it came to operating the Semi-Powered Infiltration armor he and all his fellow Spartans wore. "Thanks for the tip. He wasn't happy to see me."

Another voice crackled over the com, this one laced with terse exasperation. "He saw you?"

Simon rolled his eyes and scanned the surrounding woods. Leave it to Jake to pick up on some minor detail like that. "Guess I wasn't positioned as well as I thought I was."

He hesitated, then rolled his eyes. "Sorry."

The shooter, one of the five opponents from Team Xiphos, wasn't shooting. An optimist might have hoped that he'd been taken out, but Simon had a good seven years' worth of experience with combat exercises like this to know that wasn't the case. He'd taken fire from an unseen attacker, returned fire, and now everything was quiet as he looked around for whoever had taken the shot at him. This was usually the time someone sneaked up on him, kicked him in the head, and emptied a magazine of sim rounds into his quivering body.

Not this time though.

Simon activated the TEAMCOM again. "This guy's got me pinned down. Terrence, you got anything for me?"

A moment's silence, then Terrence grunted over the radio. "Sorry, Runt, they got me. No help here."

"Half of Xiphos blindsided him while he was after the one shooting at you," Jake snapped over the radio. "You were supposed to be covering him."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the guy who came after me." It was a lame excuse and Simon knew it, but his mouth tended to take over when things got hairy, which they usually did. He could see the whole scenario playing out in the back of his mind: Xiphos figured out where he and Terrence were hiding, sent in the one guy to distract them, then nailed Terrence before the rest of Team Jian figured out what was going on. So easy to figure out, even with the benefit of a few second's hindsight. Hindsight being the operative word there.

There was no sense lying around here waiting to get shot. Simon kept low and rose, doglike, on all fours. His armored feet dug welts in the forest dirt and then he was up and running, darting through the trees and moving east.

Sim rounds opened up again from off to the left; the Xiphos shooter had been trying to move around to flank him. Simon didn't bother to return fire and just kept moving. He cleared the trees in a blur of motion, ducking low and heading for a small hill just ahead.

It had been nearly a month since Simon and the rest of Gamma Company had gone through the augmentation procedures on the medical station Hopeful—their official "graduation" that marked the completion of their training and transformation into Spartans. They'd spent the past few weeks growing acclimated to their enhanced bodies, but Simon still felt weird whenever he found himself streaking in a full-on sprint like this far faster then he could ever have thought possible.

The Spartan after Simon had the drop on him and probably the whole rest of Team Xiphos coming in to back him up. But Simon knew these woods well, as did the rest of Team Jian. They'd known where this match would be held over a week in advance and Jake had planned things accordingly. There were quite a few contingencies to fall back on, including a plan to cover Terrence and Simon getting smoked out.

Sometimes being one of the lowest-ranked teams in Gamma Company had its advantages.

Simon darted over the crest of the hill, knew what was coming next, and threw himself down to the side, landing just beside a large jumble of large rocks that had been inlaid into the opposite slope of the hill. Not enough to seriously hurt anyone, let alone an augmented SPARTAN-III in full body-armor, but enough to throw someone off balance.

And that was exactly what happened.

You couldn't hear someone yelling inside an SPI helmet; the armor sealed away all sounds unless you turned on the external speakers. But Simon could definitely imagine the Xiphos guy yelling his—Spartans got a good idea of what lay behind another Spartan's armor just from looking at them, and Simon was pretty sure this one was a guy—head off as his foot caught in the rocks and sent him tumbling head over heels across the rock-strewn hill and down into the ravine below. The dull thump he made as he hit the bottom was priceless.

No time to savor the the image. Simon scrambled to his knees, brought his MA5K to bear, and riddled the stunned Spartan with sim rounds. The guy twitched and curled into a ball but didn't get up. A definite kill.

Now that was something Simon didn't get very often.

He slid a new magazine into his weapon, clicking the TEAMCOM back on. "Hey guys, I got one! The ravine right behind where me and Terrence were at!"

"Holy shit, the Runt actually got somebody?" a new voice, Ralph, drawled over the com. "Maybe these Xiphos assholes aren't as tough as we thought they'd be."

"Lock it down," Jake's voice ordered. "Simon, we're pulling back to rally point Bravo. Get to cover and link back up with us, you've got the rest of Xiphos right on top of you!"

"Huh--" Simon glanced back up the hill and saw movement in the trees. Xiphos's camo systems were working out better for them than they'd done for him; it was hard to make out the flickering shapes that took up positions right above him.

Once again, no point in firing. Simon scrambled further down into the ravine, stepping over the body of the guy he'd shot as more sim rounds snapped around him. The Xiphos Spartan was being a good sport about being "dead"; he lay still where he'd been hit and didn't even crawl for cover as his teammates' bullets splattered the rocks around him.

Well, if he was going to be nice about it, Simon might as well take advantage of him. Dropping low, he hooked a hand beneath the Xiphos guy's armpit and hauled him upright. All it took was the strength of one arm, another augmentation miracle Simon was still getting used to. Simon kept his free hand on his MA5K as he kept the armored body between himself and the rest of Xiphos.

"Hey," the guy yelped, twisting his helmet's visor around to look at Simon. "What the hell are you going?"

"Shut up," Simon grunted back, heading backwards. The waypoint on his Heads Up Display's map was marked with the rally points he and his teammates had worked out before the exercise had started. He sent a ping to Jake, an alert that he was under fire. "Corpses don't talk."

"Oh, fuck me," the Xiphos guy muttered. "I had to get taken out by fucking Runt..."

Simon jabbed a thumb up into the guy's armpit to let him know what he thought of the nickname. The other Spartan jerked and swore again, but obligingly went both limp and silent.

More sim rounds crackled through the trees, this time from the side. Simon jerked around just in time to see a Spartan-shaped distortion slipping towards him. He made the mistake of trying to twist his captive around while bringing his MA5K to bear and got tangled up in the guy's arms. The distortion leaped forward, solidifying into an armored Spartan who grabbed its teammate and threw Simon to the ground.

Letting go of the "dead" Spartan at the last second, Simon grabbed his new attacker by the arm and pulled her down with him. Her stance was off—she had expected to shoot him when he fell, not fight hand to hand—and she fell down along with Simon and her defeated teammate.

The surprise from Simon's grab didn't slow her down for long. She ditched her weapon and grabbed back before Simon could roll away. He'd always considered himself a good hand at close quarters, but that had never seemed to stop him from winding up at the bottom of the rankings anyway. Within seconds she was on top of him, locking him down in a skillful arm-bar. Her helmet turned away slightly; she was calling on the rest of her teammates to get in and help her out.

In the next instant something big and solid slammed into Simon's attacker and knocked her flat. Simon yanked his arm free and grabbed his fallen MA5K as someone else in SPI armor pumped sim rounds into the surprised Xiphos Spartan.

"Oh, hey Ralph," Simon said, pushing himself up onto his haunches. "I thought you guys were back at the rally point."

"We were." Ralph-G299 leaned down and smacked a kill flag unceremoniously over the front of his victim's visor. "But then Mary and I figured someone's stupid ass needed saving."

Simon glanced around and saw Mary-G130 laying down fire from behind a fallen log. He hefted his MA5K and took cover. "I was trying to get back to you guys."

Ralph moved up and braced himself against a tree. "You weren't moving fast enough. Besides, Xiphos isn't falling for most of the traps we set. Might as well punch 'em in the face and see how things wind up."

Simon kept his head down as sim rounds whizzed back and forth through the trees. "And Jake? He's on board with that plan?"

Ralph shrugged and fired a burst up the hill. "He didn't really have much of a choice, we were going with or without him. I think he's trying to flank those guys or something."

With a groan, Simon joined Ralph in firing at Xiphos. "Oh great, he's gonna be pissed..."

"Oh, fuck you. You're welcome, jackass."

"Fuck you," Simon retorted eloquently. "I had things handled. Sort of."

"Both of you, stuff it and help me shoot these guys!" Mary snapped, priming a stun grenade. "Cover me while I move up!"

Simon and Ralph obligingly cut loose, pouring sim rounds uphill as Mary sprinted up and tossed the grenade over the hilltop. It went off with a thunderclap and a burst of light; the fire from Xiphos subsided.

Ralph slapped a new magazine into his weapon and motioned for Simon to follow. "C'mon, Runt, let's get these assholes!"

Simon opened his mouth to argue, then tucked his MA5K into his shoulder and hurried up the hill after his teammates. They'd come back to help him, and that was all that mattered. The least he could do was help them have a bit of fun with these stupid top honors competitions.

The three Spartans sprinted up the hill as one, weapons at the ready. It was time to show Xiphos that no one in Gamma Company messed with the "problem squad."


"Well." Mary took a swig of water from her canteen and tried to scrape sim round paint off of her breastplate. "That could have gone better."

"That's a nice way to think about it." Simon plucked the canteen from Mary's hand and took a sip of his own. "You think Jake's going to see things that way?"

"Ah, he'll get over it." Ralph took the canteen from Simon and gulped down a mouthful of water. "And Mendez is too busy coordinating the rest of the brackets to bring the hammer down on us. We'll be fine."

He passed the canteen over to Terrence, who shrugged and shot his teammates a wry look. "I couldn't see much from where they shot me, but it sounded like you guys had a pretty good time."

"Yeah, that was fun," Ralph admitted. His green-hued armor had practically been repainted red by the sim rounds and he didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to clean it off. "Aside from the part where we lost."

Team Jian sat in a tight circle on the grass, leaning back to back in the pleasant shade. They cradled their helmets in their laps and passed Simon's canteen around amongst each other. The rest of their water was already drained.

"I thought we were doing pretty good," Simon noted. His left arm was splattered with sim paint, which was apparently all you needed to be declared a kill. That was annoying, maybe even a little more than actually losing. He might not have stellar kill records, but surviving the simulated battles was something he'd always taken pride in. "I mean, we had Xiphos down by one at the hill there."

"Yeah, well, if you and Mary had just kept the left flank tied down we might have pulled it off," Ralph grumbled. "We had 'em by the balls."

Mary gulped the last bit of water from Simon's canteen and threw it at Ralph's head. "Don't blame it on me. You said Jake was moving in from the left."

"I thought he was moving in from the left. He didn't say anything about trying to cover us while we pulled back."

"Uh, I think he did," Terrence put in. Jian's designated marksman scratched at the stubble of his red hair. "He said that was what he was doing over the TEAMCOM."

"I didn't hear that." Ralph looked at Mary in Simon. "You guys hear that?"

The other two Spartans shook their heads. Simon had been a little busy tussling with Xiphos to keep his mind on the chatter in his helmet, though now that he had time to think about it situational awareness was one of the key battlefield skills Chief Mendez had drilled into them. He wondered how Jake's debriefing was going; the team leader was honest to a fault. If he thought Jian's loss was the fault of everyone else, Mendez would hear about it and be after them with some "remedial calisthenics" in no time. Simon wasn't too worried, though. Jake was more than likely to take responsibility for the whole thing anyway. Though if Mendez gave Jake punishment work, Simon and the others wouldn't hesitate to join him. "Problem squad" was no stranger to punishment duty.

"Well, let's not lose sight of the real win here." Mary threw an arm over Simon's shoulder. "Our Runt got himself a kill. And an assist, if you count him distracting Amy for Ralph."

Ralph snorted. "Yeah, I'll count that."

Simon tugged at Mary's arm, grinning in spite of himself. "I've gotten kills before."

"Yeah, sure you have. But it's so rare we feel obligated to commemorate the event every time it happens."

"I love how his low scores are funny now," Ralph complained, but there was no real animosity to his words. "Maybe I should go find Galen, see if he's got that stun baton handy."

Simon threw a punch at Ralph's armored shoulder. His gauntlet's knuckles scraped off the dull grey plating. "Asshole. Remind me to rig the latrines next time you're using them."

"Yeah, like you'd have the guts to--" Ralph glanced over towards Camp Currahee's headquarters. "Head's up guys, Jake's coming."

Team Jian watched their leader approach. Jake-G293 had always been an impressive specimen, even for a Spartan. Like all the Spartan-IIIs he was no older than thirteen, but seven years' worth of military conditioning, not to mention artificially enhanced puberty and the augmentation procedures had molded him into a powerfully built Spartan who looked completely natural clad in combat armor. With his shaved head, squared jaw, and keen blue eyes, Jake was the spitting image of a disciplined young soldier, a veritable poster boy for Gamma Company; Simon knew of more than a few trainees who had fallen for his team leader, though none would have dreamed of flirting with him openly. Physical attractions were the sorts of things you kept to yourself.

Jake strode over to his team, back straight, posture alert, his helmet tucked neatly under one arm. The rest of Jian looked up at him with knowing eyes; Ralph craned his neck to see around Terrence's head and flipped an ironic salute.

Jake looked down at his team for a moment, then shook his head. "You guys never change."

"Whoops," Mary replied with a casual shrug. "Not like we don't try."

"Yeah, we gave it a good shot," Simon pointed out. "We might have won if the rules weren't so dumb."

"We broke half the rules and still lost," Jake said with exasperation. "And Xiphos knows we prepped the training grounds beforehand, just in case any of you thought you were being clever with all those traps."

"Yeah, but does Mendez know?" Terrence pointed out.

"More importantly, does he care?" Ralph shrugged. "Since we're not in front leaning rest right now, I don't think he does. If anything, we should get bonus points for using our heads and doing the unexpected."

"You promised me you'd be discreet," Jake reminded him. "Otherwise I'd have never agreed to those traps in the first place."

"We were discreet," Terrence protested. "How could we have known which zone we were scheduled to throw down in? Nobody knew what the tournament schedule was."

A sly grin spread across his freckled face. "Not officially, anyway."

"I bet Dyne and Kodiak ratted us out," Ralph muttered. "We never should have brought those Machete rats into the loop."

"How the hell else were we supposed to get our hands on those extra flash bangs?" Simon protested. "I told you, if they got caught we wouldn't be the ones getting punished for stealing gear."

"Maybe Rondel found out. Or Saber. They've all got poles up their asses," Mary said, shaking her head. "We should've had a go at them, not friggin' Xiphos."

"Well, congratulations," Jake said coldly. "Now the entire company is going to think we're a bunch of cheaters."

"Oh, good. Mission accomplished then." Ralph threw up a hand. Mary, Terrence, and Simon fought to hold in their laughter as they took turns smacking his open palm. "I'd hate to ruin our reputation as the meanest bastards in Gamma Company."

"More like, team with the least amount of fucks given," Mary sniggered. "C'mon Jake, lighten up. The only people who give a shit about top honors are brown-nosers like Ash."

Jake slumped, the military bearing flooding out of him as he flopped down onto the grass beside the rest of his team. "Sometimes I really can't believe you guys."

"Oh, come on, you know you love us." Ralph gestured at the canteen strapped to Jake's combat harness. "That thing full? You know the drill."

Jake unclipped the canteen, took a quick swig, and passed it over to his teammates. "You do realize that stunts like what you guys pulled back there will get us killed when we deploy."

"Which we'll be doing a hell of a lot sooner now that we're out of the top honors running," Mary reminded him. "Don't worry so much. We all actually care about kicking the Covenant's ass. That's what actually matters, not some stupid combat exercise."

"You guys cared enough to rig the entire training zone with..." Jake trailed off and shook his head. "You know what, forget it. If you idiots haven't killed me by now, the Covenant doesn't stand a chance."

"That's the spirit." Mary gulped down the last of Jake's water before handing the canteen back to him. "Top honors won't count for shit once we're deployed. Just sit back and enjoy your last days on this rock."

The team fell silent as the true meaning of Mary's words sank in. Onyx had been their home for as long as they could remember. They had trained, camped, and explored in the forests and mountains surrounding Camp Currahee. Chief Mendez and the drill instructors had never let up from putting them through their paces, that was true, but that didn't make the planet any less special. After most of them had lost their families to the Covenant invasion, Onyx was the only real place they could call home.

And very soon, they'd be leaving it behind. Maybe forever.

Deploying was every Spartan in Gamma Company's dream. They all wanted to get out there and fight the Covenant, be the soldiers they had spent all these years training to be. They all knew about the exploits of the SPARTAN-IIs, their predecessors. They needed a chance to live up to the legends that had come before them, and the only way to do that was to get out and join the fight themselves.

They had the best training, gear, and augmentations humanity could provide. Even a problem squad like Jian was ready to take the fight to the Covenant with unflinching determination. It was their destiny, and everyone knew it.

But there was something gnawing at the pit of Simon's stomach, something inexplicable that he couldn't just will away. As he laughed and grinned along with the rest of his team—his family—he couldn't help but be afraid of what the future held.


About a mile north of Camp Currahee lay an inlet of the Twin Forks River that wound its way across the forested region that had been the site of much of Gamma Company's training these past seven years. A gently sloping hill rose up from the banks, creating an earthy barrier of grass and dirt between the river and the wood line. The trainees of Gamma Company had never been a sentimental bunch, but the hill was one place the drill instructors rarely ventured and it had a reputation as a little piece of tranquil calm amidst the constant discipline and regimentation that was daily life on Onyx. It wasn't for everyone, but whenever there was a lull in the training schedule you could always find a few dozen trainees lounging on the banks, enjoying the view of the Twin Forks and catching a rare moment of respite from classes and war games.

One trainee had once suggested the spot be named "Sunset Hill"; a gang of his peers had grabbed him and thrown him into the nearest patch of mud they could find because that was the dumbest name anyone had ever heard. Since then, the embankment had simply been referred to as "the Hill."

Simon idled in the shadow of the forest, reclining against a tree and looking out over the Twin Forks in the evening's fading light. Usually he and the rest of Jian would still be stuck in punishment duty after a loss like the one they had just suffered, but these days Chief Mendez seemed to be in a more lenient mood. Maybe he figured they could all use some downtime right before their deployment or maybe, as Ralph theorized, he really couldn't care less about the top honors nonsense. Whatever the reason, Simon wasn't doing push-ups right now and that was all that mattered.

Not that the usual punishments were all that bad anymore. Simon rolled up the sleeve on his dull green fatigues and examined his arm. The years of non-stop conditioning had given him solid layers of muscle across his body, but he was no hulking meathead. But after the augmentations had made him and his friends stronger, faster, and tougher, he was sometimes surprised to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror and find that he didn't look much different than he had before they'd been shuttled up to the Hopeful and injected with all sorts of drugs and chemicals.

He grimaced at the memory of all the tubes and needles. They'd been sedated for most of the procedure, but he could still recall a searing pain, like fire, tearing into his bones as he lay helpless in the medical bed.

A few inches shorter than the rest of his peers, Simon had earned the nickname "Runt" early on in training and since he'd never exactly sprouted the title had stuck. Slight of build and a bit skinnier than some of his peers, he was one of the more nondescript trainees in the company for which he was grateful. The less you stuck out, the less punishment work you wound up doing.

Of course, being in Jian meant that punishment work was par for the course, but it was a small price to pay for a bit of fun, theft, and experimentation here and there. Once his teammates had grown accustomed to having the guy from the bottom of all the ranking boards on their side, they'd bonded fairly well over a shared disregard for rules and regulations. Simon might not have been the best shot, a wizard with computers, or a powerhouse combatant, but he fit right in when it came to sneaking around and pilfering odds and ends from Camp Currahee's store rooms.

Other trainees were milling about the hill, screwing around in the water, or just relaxing on the grass. Simon recognized most of them. Even in an over three hundred strong company like Gamma, you got to know just about everyone from either experience or reputation. Seven years of Spartan training had a way of forging impressive bonds, even among a bunch of wild, competitive trainees. Gamma Company was more than a training brigade or a military unit. It was a family.

"I heard Team Jian gave another one of its outstanding performances today in the tournament," a familiar voice noted.

Simon turned to see a lanky, dark-haired man leaning against a tree a few feet away. He raised a hand in greeting. "Evening, sir."

Tom-B292 shook his head. "You know, any other trainee would snap to attention when talking to a senior instructor," he noted mildly.

"I could do some push-ups for you if you want, sir," Simon said, straight-faced. "But I thought we were off duty."

"That we are," Tom agreed. "Still, a little bird told me that someone rigged the training zone before your match with Xiphos. And when I was doing inventory the other day, I realized a few flash bangs were missing from the armory. And according to the battle logs, there were more detonations in the match today than either team's assigned grenade count.

Tom put his hands on his hips in mock disapproval. "Attempting to rig a training event is a serious offense, Spartan. Must be worth, oh, let's see... fifty push ups. Get to it."

"Sir." Simon obligingly rolled over and began knocking out push ups. After the augmentations, fifty was ridiculously low. He and his fellow Spartans could go for hours on end without stopping; not that Simon had any interest in experimenting with that. "I think a few broken rules are worth a kill, sir."

"Really." Tom laughed. "Why the hell didn't your team use that for its motto?"

He shook his head again and settled down to watch Simon finish the push-ups. "I did hear about the kill though. Nicely done."

"Thank you, sir," Simon said, and meant it.

Tom was one of the only graduated Spartans Gamma Company had ever seen. Some of the drill instructors were washouts from previous companies; they were always the nastiest trainers, but also the easiest to torment. Tom was something completely different, a graduate from Beta Company, Gamma's predecessors. He didn't talk about why he was here on Onyx instead of out fighting the Covenant, but no one faulted him for it. Nobody would have foregone Tom's training for anything.

Simon hadn't taken much notice of Tom at first. He'd just been another uniformed instructor when Simon and nearly four hundred other scared six year olds had been flown in from orphanages and refugee camps across the colonies to begin training on Onyx. Three years into the training, Simon was a frustrated, talentless wreck, barely able to keep up with his peers and going to sleep each night with the terrifying prospect of being washed out of training entirely looming over him. His own team resented him, and he'd resented them all right back.

Tom had changed all that.

He'd begun drilling Simon alone, giving him extra training and probing for areas to encourage. They'd spent hours sparring, rucking, and shooting, working Simon into the ground until he'd started to show improvement. If it hadn't been for Tom, Simon probably wouldn't have made it long enough to even be augmented.

Simon wasn't the only trainee Tom had taken under his wing, not by a long shot. But that was part of Tom's incredible gift: when he gave you his attention, it seemed as if nothing would stop him from getting the job done.

His push-ups completed, Simon pulled himself into a crouching position. "We would have won if the rules had been different," he explained. "The top honors stuff is too restricted. We can't fight like we would normally."

Tom shrugged. "Maybe. Sometimes you can change the rules in order to win. A bit like what your team tried to do. But sometimes that's not enough."

Simon hesitated. "We are ready, right sir?" he asked, giving voice to the question that had been bothering him ever since the augmenations. "We really deserve to be called Spartans?"

"You've spent seven years earning the name," Tom replied. "And Lieutenant Ambrose and Chief Mendez wouldn't be signing your deployment orders if they didn't think you were ready. When you all were being augmented, the lieutenant said that Gamma Company's the finest Spartans he's ever seen. For what it's worth, Lucy and I agree."

Simon ducked his head, not sure of how to respond to that. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled.

"You're the one who's about to deploy, not me." Tom paused for a moment. "Are you afraid?"

With someone else, Simon might have lied. But this was Tom. He didn't judge, just spoke his mind and figured out the best way to help. "A bit, sir."

"Good. That's the way it should be." Tom looked away for a few moments, casting his gaze over the other trainees on the hill. "I'll miss you all. But you'll do fine. All of you."

There was a strange look in his eyes, one that Simon couldn't read at all. "We'll see you again though. Right?"

"War's a strange thing," Tom admitted. "And one like this..." He shook his head.

"You can't say for sure. But I know you, Simon. I've trained you, watched you and the others grow up here. I know survivors when I see them. And no matter what the rankings say, you've got more potential than most. Jian's a tough gang. Stick with your team, get the job done, and you'll be fine."


Simon looked down, surprised by the praise. It was so rare to hear things like this that he wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Uh... thanks, sir." He hoped his face wasn't as red as he felt right now.

"Graceful as ever," Tom said with a laugh. He consulted his pocket for a moment, then withdrew a large combat dagger and offered it to Simon, hilt first. "Here. To make sure you don't stop practicing when I'm not there to ride you."

Simon looked down at the knife, surprised. It wasn't the standard combat model they were all issued but one of the longer, curved daggers, the type older special forces used. He'd seen Chief Mendez carry one before, but he hadn't even known that they were authorized for combat.

"Go on, don't make a big deal about it," Tom ordered. "You're good with knives, so gut some hinge-heads for me."

He tapped the sheathed knife and held it out until Simon took it. "I'll be wanting it back though, so don't lose it."

He got to his feet and gestured at the hill. "Now, I've got plenty of other trainees who need a proper sending off. Enjoy the time now; you won't get much relaxing once you're deployed."

Tom wandered off before Simon could say anything else. He glanced down at the knife in his hands, then back at his isntructor's retreating back. I'll be wanting it back, Tom had said.

Simon ducked his head and smiled. It was the most reassuring thing Tom could have told him.

It meant that he'd definitely be coming back.


Chapter Two: Brothers[]

Cycle 120, Seventh Age of Reclamation

Location: A'lur Legion rear encampment, Tantalus


Amul 'Visagee adjusted his combat harness as he approached the communications tent. The armorers had only fitted him for it yesterday and he had yet to give the harness a proper functions check. His old Major's harness had been his for over a year, comfortable and worn in to his liking. This new harness was of a different design and it felt as if it hung too loose on his body. Amul felt a little foolish, out of place in the ill-fitting armor as he strode through the camp. He straightened his posture and reminded himself that his fellow warriors were too busy going about their own duties to bother taking notice of one loose combat harness.

Besides, no amount of self-consciousness could dispel the wave of pride that coursed through his body every time he looked down and saw the rich orange colors displayed on his harness. The armor might need tightening, but even loose it still proclaimed his achievement to the whole of the Covenant: he was a full-fledged officer now.

He approached a small auxiliary tent near the rear of the encampment. The minor warrior on guard duty snapped to salute, and Amul was so taken in by such a hasty display of respect that he almost forgot to return the salute.

"I have a scheduled transmission," he told the guard. "It should be on your list."

As the guard obligingly scanned the identification chit on Amul's shoulder and confirmed it against his duty roster, the warrior at Amul's side let out a low grunt.

"You don't stroll up and politely tell him to check his list," Roh 'Visagee murmured. "You stride up and he checks your identification without you asking. If he's lucky, you even slow down for him on your way inside."

Amul shot a quick look at his brother. "There is no reason not to be polite about things," he replied defensively.

Roh shook his head. The elder of the two, he was nearly a head taller than Amul. He wore the less ornate harness of a Major, the same rank Amul had held just a few days before. "You are an officer now," he told him. "Learn who to afford time to and who to brush aside, or you will get nowhere in your command."

"Since when do you care about customs and courtesies?" Amul demanded, a little taken aback by Roh's rebuke.

Roh clicked his mandibles impatiently. "I don't. But seeing as my little brother is now my superior officer, I might as well make sure he doesn't make a mess of things and get me killed. Now hurry up, or you'll start a queue."

Amul realized with a jolt that the guard had finished his check several moments ago and was now waiting expectantly for him to enter. He hurried inside the tent with an apologetic nod, regretting even that when he heard Roh's amused huff behind him.

"Deference to junior warriors," Roh laughed as they ducked into the darkened tent. "Oh, you'll suit your new command nicely."

Amul shot his older brother a glare but did not reply. He stepped onto the smooth surface of the comm terminal; a bored looking Unggoy slouched against the control panel in the corner of the tent, waiting for Amul to give him the coordinates for the transmission. Roh waved it away with a dismissive hand.

"Go find some lung gas to barter for or whatever it is you do when you're on break," he told the surprised technician. "I'll handle the call myself."

The Unggoy hesitated, looking from Roh to Amul to the entrance to the tent. Roh approached the control terminal and brushed the Unggoy contemptuously aside with his foot. "Go on, get out," he ordered. "If your supervisor has a problem with it, he can take it up with us."

With a hasty bow, the Unggoy scurried outside. Amul shot his brother a disapproving look. "That was not necessary."

"If I don't show you how to do things, you will never learn," his brother replied, settling down at the console. "Now, go ahead and spread your joyful tidings to the family."

"Do you..." Amul hesitated, searching for the best way to be diplomatic. "Do you still remember the coordinates?"

"Yes, I remember." Roh was already spinning up the transmitter. "I have recalled some things about the keep, even after that old fool banished me."

There it was, out in the open. Amul opened his mandibles to press the issue, but Roh had already begun the transmission. The major's fingers sped across the dashboard, entering the coordinates and necessary security codes to fire the signal from this embattled human colony all the way through the space lanes to their homeworld of Sanghelios.

Pale light flashed around Amul as the transmitter platform hummed to life. He turned away from his brother just as the full-sized image of a young female wearing the robes of a page appeared in front of him. She inclined her head at once; the keep had been expecting this call.

"Lord Amul," the page said. "We have been expecting your transmission."

Amul spread his mandibles in a smile. "Nuva," he said in greeting. "You look well."

The page, Nuva, bowed even lower. She was the newest addition to the Visag keep's array of trainees, part of the Visags long tradition of opening their gates to Sangheili from other bloodlines. The Visag line was one of the oldest and most respected clans on Sanghelios and its kaidon saw no reason why it should not share its generations of accumulated wisdom with others. The keep was home to a swordsmanship school, for the instruction of both future and veteran warriors, and a school of instruction for females who would one day be tasked with assuming the duties of a keep mistress, the overseer of a keep. Nuva was one of these trainees; Amul had met her the last time he had visited his home at the keep.

"Thank you, lord," Nuva replied. "I will fetch Lady Benta immediately."

She hurried out of the transmission, her robes—stamped with the emblems of both the Visags and her own keep—fluttering behind her. From the console, Roh snorted. "You seem to have an admirer. Another word from you and her head might have exploded."

Amul shot his brother a glare, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Don't talk about what you don't understand," he snapped, and was instantly surprised by the sudden anger in his voice. Roh just laughed.

"Now that is the attitude you need to have," he said, adjusting the transmission. "Keep it up and you'll survive as an officer yet. But simmer down; wouldn't want to upset mother, now would we?"

Amul turned his attention back to the transmission just as another female stepped into view. This one was far older than Nuva, her neck longer and robes more graceful. Amul recognized her at once, and though he'd been expecting to see her—anticipating it for days—his hearts skipped a beat. He dropped to a knee in reverence.

"Mother," he said, head bowed low. "I have missed... I mean, I am honored to see you."

Benta 'Visag gestured quickly with her hand. "Amul," she said warmly. "Get up. There is no need for any of that. Especially not now."

Amul rose and faced his mother. She was by far the most beautiful and regal female he had ever seen. Taller than him by far, her neck and limbs were long and well-formed, held together by the posture of a born aristocrat. Shrouded in her many-layered robes, Benta was every inch the keep mistress. The keep matriarch, defender of the bloodline and mistress of all her bloodline's holdings, was one of the most revered stations in Sangheili society. Even the highest ranking warriors deferred to them in matters outside of war and only the zealots, the holy warriors who devoted their lives and souls to the service of the Covenant and its divine journey, were held in higher regard.

Benta had dedicated herself to the highest aesthetics of the matriarchy and as head of the Visags' courtesan school she had spent her life teaching young pages like Nuva to do the same. When she wanted to, she could become more majestic than any other aristocrat; Amul could remember times from his childhood when he had been too terrified to even speak in his mother's presence. But this time was different. Benta held a lower, amiable posture and her eyes were warm and kind, even through the hologram. Amul felt comforted to be in his mother's presence, regardless of the light-years that separated them.

"Amul," Benta said softly, looking over her son and his new armor. "We received news of your promotion yesterday. Words cannot express how proud we are of you. Our mighty warrior..."

Amul ducked his head again, embarrassed. He suddenly wished that Roh were not here; it didn't seem proper for him to bear witness to this exchange, looking on and judging every word with his smug mockery. For a moment he considered ordering him out, but then he remembered why he had brought his brother along in the first place. He turned back to his mother.

"I am just glad to be able to put my training to use," Amul replied humbly. "The opportunity to serve on the front lines is a great honor."

"You are the youngest warrior in our bloodline to advance to such a high status so quickly," Benta told him. Even with her practiced mannerisms, her voice glowed with pride. "I always knew there was a spark of greatness in you."

She angled her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with the knowing expression only a mother could wear. "But do not let that go to your head, mind you. There is plenty of room for further advancement."

Amul smiled, his tension dissipating somewhat at his mother's gentle warning. "Of course, mother. I am hurrying to become acquainted with my new responsibilities."

"You will have to tell me the details when you return home." Benta gave Amul an appraising look. "How long will the current expedition last?"

Amul shook his head. "I cannot say. The human defenses are steadily crumbling, but a swift victory here may mean that our fleet will carry on to another system once this planet has been purged."

"All the more opportunity for you to win more honors," Benta told him, though he could tell she was a bit disappointed. "The kaidon himself is away, fighting with the Fleet of Particular Justice. So few warriors are left here at the keep. Even many of the instructors from the school have been called up for service."

She sighed. "There was a time when this war against the humans was not such a pressing matter for the high council. But now they seem determined to put an end to things swiftly."

"Then I will be able to return home all the sooner," Amul told her. His hand raised instinctively to touch his mother's shoulder and reassure her, but he stopped when he remembered it was a hologram. "When the humans are destroyed I will be able to return home all the sooner, and without fear of another sudden call to arms."

"Yes, that is true," Benta agreed. "Now that you have attained true rank, much more of the homeworld is open to you. You should take the opportunity to travel more, experience its light and beauty..."

She trailed off and looked away for a moment, then shook her head and waved an apologetic hand. "But do not let me distract you from the battle at hand. From the sounds of it, you have plenty more fighting left to do. Thank you for taking the time to make this transmission. Even from far away, it gives me great pleasure to hear your voice and see the warrior you've grown to be."

"Mother," Amul said quickly, before she could terminate the link. "I am not alone out here. There is someone else in my lance, someone who has guided me ever since the fighting began."

Across the tent, Roh made a swift silencing gesture. He knew what was coming and clearly didn't approve, but even he was not so brash as to cut the transmission.

"Mother," Amul hurried on. "Roh is here, on the planet with me. He is close by, if you wish to..."

But Benta raised a hand, cutting him off. "No more, Amul." Her voice was still gentle, but there was an edge to it. A warning. "You know that I cannot speak with one who has been exiled."

"But mother..." Amul protested, disappointed at the swift rejection.

"Fight alongside him. Listen to him. Learn from him," Benta continued unflinchingly. "But he is no longer your brother. Do not forget that."

She inclined her head, politely indicating that the conversation was over. "Good-bye, Amul. Until we meet again. My love is with you always."

"And mine with you," Amul replied, bowing low. "Farewell, mother."

The lights dimmed and the figure of his mother faded away into shadows. Roh turned off the transmitter with a low hiss that grated out through clenched mandibles. "Are you satisfied?" he demanded.

"Forgive me, Roh," Amul said, feeling deflated. "I only wanted to—"

"I know what you wanted," Roh snapped. "But that is not what I want. She certainly doesn't want it, and neither does that old fool you call a kaidon."

He shot Amul a cutting look. "And what have I told you about being an officer. Do not apologize to your subordinates!"

"You aren't just my subordinate," Amul protested. "You are my brother."

"Weren't you listening just now? I'm not your brother. Not anymore. You would do well to remember that."

Roh turned on his heel and strode out of the tent.


The Third Fleet of Bountiful Grace had been fighting on the planet the humans called "Tantalous" for nearly a month. While the human defenses were being cut down with every passing day, the planet was not particularly important to the larger war effort. It was no fortress world or population hub, just a small, out of the way planet that the humans had defiled with their infestation. The nature of the Covenant's holy crusade to wipe them out and restore balance to the galaxy called for its purification, but the fleet could only do so much with what few ships and legions the council on High Charity had provided it.

A corvette loomed over the A'lur legion's encampment, a secure headquarters for the legion's field masters and a deterrent against any human bombers that might think a large ground force was a tempting target. Dozens of Banshee patrols drifted above the camp's perimeter while Phantom and Spirit dropships made their way across the skies, ferrying troops and equipment to and from the camp and the front lines.

Amul and Roh walked away from the transmission tent and headed back towards their lance's quartering area. The stream of Unggoy and Kig-Yar workers that flowed throughout the camp parted quickly in the face of two Sangheili warriors, creating a clear path for them to take back to their subordinates.

Amul kept quiet, though he didn't know if he wasn't speaking to his brother out of anger or embarrassment. The whole notion of coaxing a familial reconciliation out of a holo-transmission seemed so utterly vain and foolish now that he could hardly believe he had thought it might work. He didn't even know the full details behind Roh's exile, only that his brother had struck down a keep elder in anger some years ago. Whatever had transpired between Roh and kaidon Roni 'Visag was not a tale Amul was privy to.

They passed through the checkpoint that granted access to their division's wing of barracks. Amul's lance was all the way at the rear of the tent formation, far removed from any of the chief battle groups.

"Perhaps you should have described your new command to mother," Roh said snidely. "I think her pride would have been even greater if you'd let slip that you were in charge of a support unit."

Amul coldly ignored the jab and strode past the malingering Kig-Yar and Unggoy that composed his lance. Chur'R'Kim, the female who led the lance's ornery group of Kig-Yar sharpshooters, looked up from the open tent where she held court with a few of her crew. A beam rifle was cradled idly in her arms.

"Oh, excellency, you're back," she purred, the lips around her beak peeling back to show her needle-like teeth. "You'll be delighted to know that no catastrophes occurred in your absence."

He wanted to ignore her as well, but seeing as she'd been in charge during his absence he had no choice. "Any messages for me?" he demanded , doing his best to look and sound imposing.

The smaller alien just shrugged. "None come to mind."

Amul fought down the urge to kick the surly Kig-Yar across the camp. Respect had to be earned, not seized. Unfortunately, he had been dealing with his subordinates' utter lack of respect ever since he'd been assigned to this post. Kim and Roh were the ringleaders, he had no doubt of that. For all his condescending talk about officers' bearing, his brother was already making idle conversation with the sentries posted by the communications equipment.

A disheveled looking Unggoy waddled over and raised a hand in weary salute. "Hulut reporting, excellency. We've finished cleaning the latrines. Permission to head back to the methane chambers?"

Was it something about him that invited scorn? No Unggoy would ever dare speak openly to a Sangheili unless spoken to, yet here these ones were approaching him without a fear in the world. Amul wondered how he could be the youngest officer in the Visag bloodline and also the most disrespected officer in the Covenant armada.

Respect must be earned, he reminded himself. Respect must be earned.

"Do it in shifts," he ordered sternly. "Do not disrupt the sentry schedule."

"And clean your harness!" he barked as Hulut marched cheerfully off.

Yes, his lance was a gaggle of insubordinates who had somehow managed to avoid summary execution long enough to make it into a support role. Yes, their primary role was to do all the tasks the warriors from the other lances felt were beneath them. But they were still Amul's lance, and he would do whatever it took to lead them to glory. He strode over to his own tent, which was guarded by the only members of the lance who took their roles seriously. Nilu 'Banutee and Pol 'Navaree, two junior Sangheili clad in the blue armor of minor warriors, saluted respectfully as he approached.

"Any news from the homeworld?" Nilu asked. The elder of the two minors, he often spoke for the both of them. Pol, his close friend, hardly ever spoke at all.

"None worth mentioning," Amul replied. The only reason he hadn't left Nilu in charge in his absence was that Kim knew how to keep her Kig-Yar and the Unggoy in line. The bristly female might be callous and insubordinate, but she knew her task well enough to know that it was better for all of them if the lance did its assigned duties on time. Unggoy were far cleverer at hiding shoddy work from their officers than most Sangheili gave them credit for.

Most other Sangheili would also have been furious to see a Kig-Yar appointed over them, but Nilu and Pol had taken it in stride. Perhaps that was the reason they'd wound up here, instead of in one of the unit's more traditional lances.

He glanced over at the two armored Mgalekgolo who towered silently over them. Amul still wasn't sure why the ferocious bonded pair had been assigned to a lance that spent most of its time cleaning up after the other lances, but he was grateful for their presence. Most officers of his stature were not given command of the Covenant's formidable living weapons. It was a dubious honor, but at least it was something to be proud of amidst the disappointment his first command had brought.

"There have been some rumors from the other warriors," Nilu commented mildly. "Commander 'Vesicee was summoned for an audience on the corvette today. We may have an assignment."

An assignment. Amul's mood brightened at the thought. He needed to get back out into combat, to the battlefield where he had earned his promotion in the first place. It was there that he could shape this lance into something manageable. He could make them see the glory in fighting for the Covenant.

His expectations must have shown in his posture, because Roh was by his side in a moment. "So you've heard as well?"

"What do you mean?" Amul asked.

"Oh, nothing really." Roh's tone was sly, though that was hardly any different from how it was all the time. "I was just having a little chat with 'Pyronee, and the way he tells it the battalion's pilots are being ordered to have their Phantoms on standby. I do hope this isn't another pointless exercise."

"If the pilots are on standby, then so are we." Amul motioned to Roh. It was time his brother started acting like a Major. "Take Nilu and Pol and make sure the entire lance is ready for action," he ordered.

Roh gave him an appraising look but thankfully did not question his orders. As his brother and the Minors headed off to round up the lance, he headed off towards the battalion headquarters. If there was some truth to the order to mobilize, he wanted to know all about it.

Chapter Three: Briefing[]

0432 Hours, September 22nd, 2552

Location: UNSC Prowler Galilee in orbit over Tantalus


A cold jolt crashed through Simon’s body and he jerked awake inside the cryotube. His hands smacked against the tube’s frigid seal and for a moment his body panicked, trapped inside a transparent coffin. The tube responded to his thrashing by unsealing itself and opening with a hiss; the Spartan lurched forward and toppled out of the tube.

He landed on a floor as cold as the tube he had just left. Splayed on all fours, he struggled to get his bearings. Around him, the other cryo tubes were opening and disgorging his teammates. Simon tried to get up and grab the jumpsuit hanging by his pod, but a surge of nausea welled up inside him and he staggered over to the corner. A jet of watery fluid, stomach juices mixed with the pod’s grey cryo paste, shot from his mouth as he doubled over, trying not to fall down even as he vomited against the wall.

“Nice,” Ralph commented a few feet away. “Just the sight I want to see before breakfast.”

“He’s not the only one,” Terrence groaned, doubled over beside his cryo-pod. “I hate cryo.”

“Hey, at least he didn’t puke up on anybody this time,” Mary said. She’d always been the quickest to recover from a stint in cryosleep. She’d already donned her jumpsuit and thrust Simon’s own clothes at him. “Come on, get it on. Kopis doesn’t need to see your bare naked ass this early. I certainly don’t.”

Simon gratefully took the jumpsuit and fumbled to get dressed. Mary steadied him as he slipped into the legs. The head and wings of the eagle tattoo on her wrist poked out from under her sleeve. To celebrate graduation, each Spartan of Team Jian had gotten Terrence to ink them with the Spartan logo--an eagle clutching a lightning bolt in one talon and a bundle of arrows in the other--using a stolen tattoo set. Simon’s eagle was on his left forearm. Ralph’s could fortunately not be seen, since he already had his pants on. Terrence had somehow managed to give himself on on his neck, and Jake, sitting at the base of his pod and trying to regain his composure, had gotten a massive one spread across his back.

“Nice to see that Jian’s already up and at it.” Emmanuel-G065, Team Kopis’s squad leader, slipped his jumpsuit on and helped another one of his teammates up off the floor. “Makes up for the lousy room service.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t waiting for breakfast in bed,” Bianca-G157 said, pulling on her own jumpsuit.

“Yeah, very funny,” Ralph said with a scowl. “Go deal with your own problems Kopis, I think Alex just fainted.”

Emmanuel and Bianca turned to attend to their other teammates. Simon leaned against the wall and zipped up his jumpsuit, scanning the cramped cryo bay for any sign of the Prowler’s non-Spartan crew. “When do they feed us, anyway?” “I dunno,” Jake replied. “No one gave me the schedule.”

“Hope they do it before we get dropped on the Covenant,” Mary said, glancing around at her teammates. “That’s what we’re doing, right? Hitting the Covenant?”

Simon shrugged. They hadn’t been given much in the way of details when they were packed off onto dropships and sent up to the Prowler. Just that they were slated for a mission and that Lieutenant Ambrose and Chief Mendez knew they had what it took. Another small tremor coursed through Simon’s body at the thought of combat, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Hey Terrence, go steal me some rations,” Ralph said. “I’m starving.”

“Can you make that a double order, or do you Jian guys only service yourselves?” Bianca called from across the bay.

“Got any credits? Working out of house costs extra.”

Simon zipped up the jumpsuit and crossed over to see if Jake needed any help with his. One of his legs, not yet recovered from the numb of cryo sleep, gave out and he dropped to the floor, grabbing the base of a nearby cryo-pod for support.

“You too, huh? I still can’t feel my arms.”

Simon looked up and saw Cassandra-G006 leaning against the pod, fumbling to pull her arms through the sleeves of her jumpsuit.

“Hey Cass,” he grunted. “At least you aren’t throwing up.”

“Cassandra,” she corrected him. “But good point.”

She shot him a look of mock apprehension. “You don’t have any more left in your system, do you?”

“If I do, I’ll try to turn my head.”

“And I’ll try to duck.”

They might be in different teams, but Simon was very familiar with Cassandra. She shared his status as one of the lower-ranked Spartans on Gamma Company’s totem pole of rankings and training statistics and they’d often done the punishment work and remedial exercises Chief Mendez liked to come up with whenever his trainees didn’t meet standards.

But Cassandra was a bit better off than Simon as far as her time on Onyx had gone. She might not be the fastest runner or the strongest fighter, but she was the best combat medic in the company. Few of Simon’s fellow Gammas had been particularly interested in their first aid courses, but Cassandra had taken well to them to the point that Aspen, Camp Currahee’s resident medical expert, had taken her under his wing for special training.

“Don’t suppose you know of anything to help me not puke my guts out every time I climb out of a cryo pod?”

She grinned ruefully, stretching out her numb arms and brushing her sodden brown bangs out of her eyes. “Nothing that long term. Guess everyone takes to it differently.”

“Yeah. Lucky me.”

Overhead, the alarm system hissed and a man’s voice cut across the cryo-bay: “Spartan teams, complete thawing procedures, then head up to the mess hall. Briefing is at 0500, over.”

Jake checked the time on the side of his cryo-pod. “Oh great, we’ve got ten minutes to eat. Emmanuel, keep your guys in line, would you? Don’t go distracting my team from their meals.”

“Oh, now we have to watch ourselves?” Emmanuel laughed, motioning for Kopis to fall in. “I’d be more worried about your guys pulling something dumb, Problem Squad.”

“Terrence, think you can sneak something into their food before the briefing?” Ralph asked in a mock whisper.

“Ralph?”

“Yes Jake?”

“Don’t give him any ideas.”


Chow was a fast-paced affair that fortunately didn't leave Simon throwing up on any more bulkheads. It wasn't long before Kopis and Jian were sitting at attention in the Galilee's cramped briefing room as a captain wearing the insignia of the Office of Naval Intelligence conferred with his aide by the projector screen. From where he sat near the edge of the row, Simon could pick up a bit of what was being said.

"...very young, sir. Wasn't expecting it."

"These Threes are fresh. Don't worry, you'll get used to them."

"Undoubtedly sir, but why--?"

"Don't think about it too hard, Rosch. Easier that way."

"Yes sir."

The captain turned back and addressed the seated Spartans. “Team Kopis, Team Jian, I am Captain Susillo Kalla, Office of Naval Intelligence. I’ll be your handler for the duration of your operations on Tantalus. From this moment forward, I am the beginning and end of your chain of command. You will report only to me unless I designate otherwise, is that understood?”

The Spartans barked out in a rehearsed chant seven years’ in the making: “Yes sir!”

Simon had never been much for information briefings, but as Captain Kalla called up maps and combat reports of the Covenant’s invasion of Tantalus, he couldn’t deny feeling the same surge of pride he’d felt after waking up from his augmentations. This was the real deal, not some training op. He and his friends weren’t on Onyx anymore and they certainly weren’t trainees either.

They were full-fledged Spartans, more than ready to hit the field and put their training to work.

Tantalus, as it turned out, was in dire need of their skills. The Navy was doing its best to hold out in space, but it was too thinly spread across the system to keep the Covenant from landing ground legions. The holographic map display the captain conjured up displayed enemy deployments on nearly every region across the planet’s surface. Tiny markers designating Army and Marine Corps divisions winked beside the enemy incursions, showing the effort being made to shore up the defenses.

The confidence boost Kalla’s greeting had given Simon didn’t last long. The holograms of Covenant warships and ground forces opened up a pit in his stomach that he’d been trying to ignore for years now. He’d never actually seen a real live Covenant warrior before; none of his fellow Spartans had. There had been a few captured plasma weapons passing through Onyx for them to train with and even a few preserved corpses, but for the most part the Spartans had trained against fellow humans, fighting mock battles against themselves and the drill instructors.

As he took in the extent of the Covenant’s invasion of Tantalus, Simon could only hope that his trepidation wasn’t showing on his face. The Covenant wasn’t known for backing off from attacks like this. They threw wave after wave of forces at a planet, wearing down the defenders until the UNSC had no choice left but to pull out its forces and let the aliens move in to glass the planet.

But Spartans were supposed to rectify that. They were supposed to beat the Covenant and stop them completely. That was what Ambrose and Mendez had always said, anyway.

Simon snuck a glance at his teammates. He hoped they were up to the task. He certainly didn’t feel like he was.

“Which is where you come in,” the captain was saying. He nodded to his lieutenant, who fired up another projection. This one displayed a large compound built into a peninsula surrounded by ocean. The compound’s walls were high and imposing, built from hardened military alloys and studded with guard towers and anti-air batteries.

“This,” Captain Kalla explained, “Is the Red Sea, a military research station under the direct jurisdiction of the Office of Naval Intelligence.”

He grimaced. "At least it was, until a Covenant assault force stormed the facility two days ago. Red Sea is supposed to be well behind the front lines on Tantalus, not that it's ever made much of a difference as far as the Covenant are concerned. All contact with the facility was lost and we have to assume the Covenant killed everyone inside."

The images changed to show footage of Pelicans landing troops on the shores by the facility. Armored Marines leaped from the troop bays and advanced towards the facility, only to be met with hails of plasma fire and auto-cannon blasts from the guns on the walls. Simon watched the Marines get cut down, his gut twisting at the sight. It wasn't that he hadn't seen stuff like this before--Chief Mendez loved showing off his collection of horror-show combat footage to underperforming trainees--but knowing that he was watching something real, a place and an enemy he and his friends would no doubt soon be facing, made the carnage seem all the more terrifying.

"Yesterday," Kalla went on, narrating the grisly footage. "A Marine division was sent in to drive out the Covenant force. As you can see, the attempt was unsuccessful. The local navy task force can't spare any orbital assets, and the rest of the region's been hit by a renewed Covenant offensive. Red Sea is effectively cut off from all conventional means of relief."

Ralph nudged Simon's foot. "Good thing we ain't conventional, huh?" he murmured.

"Ambrose did say we were one of the special teams," Mary put in.

"Not sure he meant that as a compliment," Simon said out of the corner of his mouth.

Emmanuel raised a hand. "Sir, I'm guessing you need us to eliminate the Covenant inside?"

"We can't spare any other assets. The good news for your teams is that from the looks of things, neither can the Covenant. Their strike team's been holed up there for two days, but no other enemy forces have flown in to help secure their position. Our air defenses are poised to shoot down anything that tries to leave that place, but given the nature of the Covenant offensive, who knows how long that will last?"

Kalla cast his gaze over the assembled Spartans. "You are going to be inserted into Red Sea. Once there, you will neutralize their air defenses and then proceed to kill every living thing on the premises."


Just another mission. Another assignment, just like all the others.

But this one was different. This one was real. The target was no training mock-up but a true fortress, built to stand against heavy assault. Its defenders were not drill instructors or fellow trainees, but Covenant warriors who had already killed Red Sea’s original garrison, and they were shooting actual plasma, not TTR rounds.

Gamma Company had endured live fire on Onyx more than most Marine battalions did on a full combat deployment. They were schooled in every aspect of the Covenant war machine, from the known components of its organization to the tactics and weapons the alien warriors used. They had spent just as much time studying life-sized holo-simulations of their enemy as they had spent drilling against each other in the woods of Onyx.

They had been raised for the sole purpose of bringing the fight to the Covenant. This was what Spartans did.

So of course I’m the only one who doesn’t want to do this at all.

Simon snuck a glance around the armory where Jian and Kopis were making their final preparations for the mission ahead. From where he crouched in the corner, running an inventory on his armor and equipment, he could see just about everyone. Jake and Emmanuel were off on the other side of the room, studying the materials the ONI officers had given them after the mission briefing. Cassandra and the other three members of Kopis were seated in a loose circle, inspecting each other’s gear and talking amongst themselves in low voices. And the rest of Jian, as could be expected, was scattered around the room, each Spartan doing their own thing.

“Hey, Runt,” Ralph called from a few feet away. “Come on, back here, man.”

Simon glanced over at his teammate, who had his hand out expectantly. “What?”

Ralph rolled his eyes. “The tape, dumbass. Come on.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He must have drifted into his own thoughts just as his teammate had called out to him. He finished what he was doing—strapping Tom’s gift dagger onto the back of his torso armor—and slid the roll of tape over to Ralph.

Ralph snatched up the roll and tore off a strip, which he wrapped around one of the loose straps on his combat webbing. “Damn Navy guys got everything all jacked up while we were frozen,” he complained. “I had all this shit ready to go when we boarded. Now look at my kit.”

“Well, you got them back,” Simon pointed out, glad of something else to think about. “You helped yourself to their armory.”

Ralph grinned and patted the shotgun lying beside him. “Heck yeah I did. I’ve always said the M45 was a better model than the M90, but that’s all Mendez ever stocked the ranges with.”

He ran a finger down the weapon’s dark barrel and tapped the crosshairs. “Don’t know what an Army model’s doing on an ONI ship, but hey, I’m not complaining.”

“You’ll be complaining when they take it away from you after we get back,” Mary cut in. She strolled over and set two bulging satchels down on the ground beside Simon. “You’re looking a little pale, Runt. Come on, get with the game. Can’t have you falling out on us. Especially when we’ve got you carrying the extra gear.”

Simon unzipped one of the satchels and found it filled to bursting with carefully packed explosive charges. He shook his head and looked up at Mary. “I always play pack mule.”

“Hey, you want to trade off with Terrence? He can carry the bombs and you can take his rifle and cover us from a moving Pelican.”

They both looked over at Terrence, who gave them a carefree wave as he adjusted the scope on his marksman’s rifle. Simon shook his head and wrapped a hand around the satchel straps. “Yeah, I’ll just haul the goods. Stick to what I’m good at.”

“Ah, don’t give me that look,” Mary laughed. “We’ll let you arm ‘em when the time comes. Everyone knows how you like explosions.”

“Yeah,” Ralph agreed. “Big, uncontrolled ones.”

“Uncontrolled ones that level an entire mess hall?” Bianca called out. The Jian Spartans turned to find Kopis listening in on their conversation.

“Hey, no one ever proved that was us,” Ralph protested.

“Yeah, you guys all just happened to be on kitchen duty when the Chief let Saber have that big-ass meal after they won the river warfare trials.”

“I don’t think anyone was hurt,” Cassandra noted. “Not like that time they blew up the latrines on Rondel.”

“They didn’t prove that one either,” Ralph said stubbornly.

“They didn’t prove anything, yeah, but the Chief still had you and Simon in front leaning rest for two hours.”

“During a thunderstorm.” Simon rubbed his arm, remembering just how cold it had been that rainy day. The memory was unpleasant, but he was grateful for the banter. Now it felt like they were just getting ready for another exercise. Even Kopis, usually so much more straight-laced than their Jian counterparts—“brown nosers” as Ralph liked to call anyone who took just about anything seriously—were grinning at the memory of Jian’s escapades.

“Alright,” Jake’s voice cut through the chatter. “Everyone, gear up. We’ve got one hour till drop. Emmanuel and I have been going over the attack plan and we’ve made some modifications, so I want you all ready for final briefing in five minutes.”

Simon and the others rushed to pull their armor on. They strapped the SPI components onto their bodies with an ease born of countless such scrambles as Chief Mendez counted down the time until they’d all be doing push-ups. Jake’s time hack was a harsh one, but Simon appreciated the confidence in his team leader’s voice.

I’ll be fine. Just fine, he told himself. All he had to do was remember his training, keep himself squared away, and follow Jake’s every instruction. Just let himself go and be part of something bigger. It didn’t take a high combat score to manage something as simple as that.

Chapter Four: Point of Entry[]

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