Characters[]
Story[]Prologue[]
The loud smashing of Covenant artillery and the smell of plasma bolts filled the air. The UNSC forces at the Jiralhanae colony Ferinus were surrounded. Most of their units had been pulled back and deployed elsewhere. One such unit was that of Lieutenant Commander Leonardo "Leo" Simmons, who's squad had been decimated and systematically destroyed by repetitive attacks. Only he remained - huddled behind the burning hulk of a flaming M12 Warthog. With communications jammed, and his unit being the only UNSC forces in the immediate vicinity; Leo knew that his only chance of survival was to hold them off the best he could and for as long as he could. Even then, he'd still probably die. The officer was clad in his best Service Dress, with a ballistics vest tossed over it and kneepads tied on. He was not dressed to fight, and hadn't done so in an actual UNSC on alien fight since the Battle of Sydney more then seven years ago. He was still fit, and he was still proficient with small arms - but damn, he was almost 30 now. After a prolonged firefight, there was still four of the Brutes left, by his count; plus god-knows how many more moving up from the enemy lines to reinforce them. Simmons peeked out from behind cover, spotted a brute, fired off a burst with his BR60 Battle Rifle, before ducking down to avoid the return fire. The hail of spikes hit the vehicle he was hiding behind; one of which punching through the titanium vehicle, bursting through right next to Simmons' head. He held up his rifle and fired, with great expertise and hitting one, killing it instantly with a clean headshot. He calmly proceeded to gun down the remaining Brutes, before he realized that there was another; right behind him at that, that had escaped his attention. A Brute Chieftain. The Chieftain rammed Leo, throwing him on the ground. The Brute picked him up by the body armor over his chest, and held its gravity hammer to hit Simmons like a baseball. But before Leo could be spattered across the landscape, help arrived in the form of a robotic arm coming up from behind the Chieftain, and grabbing it by its face. Dropping Simmons, the brute was toppled by careful application of pressure, struggling to get back up, and roaring. Its struggles were squelched by a energy sword rammed through his chest. Behind him was a gold-clad Sangheili Zealot. One that had clearly been battle-weary, with multiple scars and the robotic arm on the left. His most defining feature was his eyes. One was a emerald green, the other a deep-sea blue. Stel 'Vadam. The muscular Sangheili walked over to Simmons and held his hand out to him. Although Simmons couldn't see much, his sight being dazed by the sudden appearance of the Chieftain, as he wiped his eyes. He could see the Elite right in the face. "You almost had yourself killed out there, human." "I had it covered," Leo quipped, grabbing the Sangheili's hand and pulling himself to his feet. He retrieved his battle rifle, and reloaded it, before slinging it and continuing. "Thanks for saving me - I didn't think there was actually a chance of getting out of that. Now, I think it might be a wise idea to get the hell outta dodge - its roughly seventeen kilometers from the main UNSC perimeter." The trooper paused, looking over his new companion. "No offense, but I actually think you might just get shot if you try to get there yourself. There are still a lot of military guys who hold a grudge with your kind from the Human-Covenant war," Leo informed the towering Sangheili, as he started hiking towards UNSC controlled area. Stel followed, and the two walked for a good ten minutes in an awkward silence, both wondering what each other was doing in the middle of nowhere at such opportune timing. "What is your name and what are doing so far out here, human," Stel queried, attempting to make a little conversation and find some common ground somewhere. "Lieutenant Commander Leonardo Simmons, UNSC Navy. I'm the current Deputy Commander of the Department of Transition, subordinate to the Office of Naval Research. Not Intelligence. Been there, done that. Anyway, I'm here because me and my team were attempting to test new firearms like this BR60 Battle Rifle in field conditions. Up until we were diverted and temporarily merged with a nearby mounted company, because some shit-for-brains Sangheili commander, who wanted to deploy his forces in an absolutely idiotic fashion that would display force - and ignore conventional troop deployment methods. Needless to say, they flew formation through a SAM rich environment. What about you?" "Zealot Fleet Master Stel 'Vadam. I am the "hothead" Sangheilian commander, in overall command of Sangheili forces on this campaign. Do not ask how I ended up on the ground." Stel answered, finding the reddening of the young Lieutenant Commander's cheeks quite humorous. He obviously did not know who he was talking to - which was rare, given how popular the 'Vadam name was in Human culture - the Arbiter had popularized it to no end in the human media. The two continued to walk, an awkward silence descending on the pair again. Stel looked over at the younger and shorter human a short while later, and noticed Leo was studying his prosthetic arm; apparently deep in thought. Leo saw the Sangheili look at him inquisitively, and correspondingly felt inclined to ask a question. "Fleet Master, what happened to your arm?" Stel grimaced at the rather sensitive question, before answering it somewhat unwillingly. "The prosthetic...was because my arm was amputated by one of your Demons. I prefer not to speak of it." Chapter 1: Enemy Mine[]
The toned Sangheili male and the Naval officer were still legging it through the midday sun of Ferinus; the human officer lagging somewhat behind. The Zealot's armor was in slightly better condition, and the polished metal plates were now smeared with the dust. Likewise, the Lieutenant Commander's black Service Dress uniform was beyond repair, but offered more protection from the hot sun then bare skin. The duo had been traveling for several hours now, and Stel was started to ponder as to where they were even going. "Lieutenant Commander...do you actually know where we are going?" Stel asked, with a curious deposition. Leo may have not even realized himself if he didn't answer the Zealot's question. "We're heading towards the closest UNSC outpost - or where it should e It's about ten to fifteen clicks kilometers further on." Leo casually said, trekking through the scorched and sun dried desert-like area of Ferinus. A silence descended on the two again. Leo decided to ask a somewhat taboo question in the post Human-Covenant war days. "So...were you involved in the last battles of the War? Battle of Reach? I came across several Zealots during that tactical eff-up. I do recall seeing one who looked similar to you," The human pondered aloud. More than a few soldiers had met their counterparts in the other military, and learned they had fought in the same battles, some quite near each other. It wouldn't be too odd if the two had actually encountered each other before - after all, it was a small Galaxy. The Zealot stroked his left mandibles, in thought. "Now that you mention it - you do look familiar. We might have exchanged a grenade or two and maybe several shots on Reach," the Sangheili mused; an audible chuckle emitted from the Sangheili's mandibles. A familiar hum suddenly became prominent in their consciousnesses; it could be heard in the distance; not on the ground, but in the air. "Do you hear that, Commander?" Suddenly the hum was louder, and an enormous Covenant Remnants ship floating above their heads - followed by a squadron of Phantoms. The two raced for cover; an outcropping of rocks being perfectly suited to the task, and peered up at the warships. Low flying Phantoms kicked up an artificial sandstorm, billowing out from the ground behind the high-performance fighters. After the hum dissipated, the pair carefully rose from their shelter, enveloped in sand. "That was...a Remnants carrier," Leo noted obviously, somewhat on edge, as raised his own head from the dirt, and coughing a quite a bit from the sand. Obviously, this meant the Remnants; being the leftover Jiralhanae, Kig-yar, and whatever forces still under their control; had the numbers and forces ready to mobilize against the joint UNSC and Sangheili forces defending the planet and the Forerunner excavations occurring under ONI's watchful eyes. Stel looked about, his concern evident. "It must have transitioned to real space in atmosphere. Your fleet must not have detected them - or are busy countering it now. Or they are dealing with a massive Remnants diversionary attack. Your forces are lucky that, before I was shot down, I issued orders to my fleet in orbit to support the UNSC Fleet to the best of their abilities, and to repel all attacks." A loud moving and a hum of an engine was moving along the ground, towards the duo. "Incoming vehicle!" Leo yelled, training his rifle on the approaching vehicle. The Sangheili raised his energy sword, waiting to activate it. As the unknown vehicle drew closer, the two realized it was a M12 Light Reconnaissance Vehicle - the ever-reliable 'Warthog'. It appeared to be occupied by only a driver and a gunner. It slid to a stop, the driver oh-so-friendlily covering the two in a wave of sand. "Need a lift?" the young Marine behind the wheel asked with a grin. "Mount up, Fleet Master," Leo deadpanned. "We've got shit to do." "...I am not getting out of this." The characteristic clicking of the MA5C assault rifles aimed directly at the Fleet Master's face was indeed not a welcome sight. The Sangheili had his hands raised in defense, sighing irritatedly as he did. Simmons rose to full height from his seat in the back of the Warthog. "Marines. It's 2560. The Sangheili are still our allies - as an officer, put your weapons down. Or you could risk a slap on the wrist." Leo deadpanned at the situation, which earned him a glance of discontent from the heterochromatic eyes of his split-jawed companion. Begrudgingly, the marines who were clutching their weapons lowered them. The animosity of the blood shed during the Human-Covenant War had not yet died down between the two species, and the word 'allies' was used rather loosely between the two. The recent incursion with The Fallen had stirred up some additional suspicion. Their alliance was rather fragile, and both sides needed watch themselves to prevent a diplomatic incident. The Fleet Master himself was displeased at the ordeal but none the less made an effort to conceal it. He climbed out of the 'hog and stepped on to the ground, standing a titanic eight-foot-six. He was quite taller than most other Sangheili and dwarfed both the marines and Simmons. "Marines, who's your commanding officer? The Fleetmaster here needs to get back in touch with his forces." The naval officer climbed out of the hog soon after and came up beside Stel, thumbing to the tall Elite. "Go check in with Colonel Morley over TACPAD. She's heard reports of activity of Brute and Sangheili on the far side of the mountains." One of the younger marines answered. From the looks of him, he looks like he was a Corporal. Too young to have been in the Human-Covenant war, unlike the others around him. Simmons lifted his hand near his head and salute the Marines, who returned the gesture before dispersing. Stel shifted his gaze towards the naval officer and came over. "Progress, Simmons? The situation could be dire." The Zealot asked, with a hint of urgency to his tone. Stel was a favored commander by many, not because of his military prowess, but because he was fiercely protective of his men. "Hold on to your mandibles, Stel..." Simmons shifted his own gaze towards the thankfully un-damaged TACPAD that rested on his wrist. Several lines of text appeared. Greetings, Simmons, and Fleetmaster 'Vadam. If you can read this, you must come to our main base about seven clicks from the forward base. I want to talk to 'Vadam personally. The Brutes are up to something that could turn around the battle on this planet. Get here, ASAP.
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