Chapter One
Unknown Location
There are a number of ways to tell if a mission has gone wrong or is going wrong, like enemy air support coming into play when it shouldn't or receiving orders from command to hold out for as long as possible while an extraction plan is worked out, or when the five kilometre long ship three-hundred ODSTs are dropping onto suddenly jumps into slipspace with no warning, scattering everyone and unleashing a wide reaching EMP blast.
The last of these happened to Gunnery Sergeant Michael Fletcher as he and his squad fell feet first into hell to secure and destroy the only Covenant ship to breach the orbital defence grid and make it to Earth unharmed.
What had been a routine drop turned catastrophic as every electronic system on the drop pods went offline and only worsened when the shockwave hit, scattering everybody to the four points of the compass. Those lucky enough to remain conscious managed to pop their emergency shuts and land with some modicum of success, while those who blacked out found themselves playing the cruel game of chance with the odds stacked heavily against them.
Michael was one of the unlucky ODSTs, his last memory before darkness engulfed his vision was that of a skyscraper coming up to greet him and both mild acceptance and annoyance at meeting his end this way. He had been through a lot in his fourteen years in the Marines and Helljumpers, enough to have come to terms with the possibility of dying of unnatural causes, but part of him hoped for a more dignified death than crashing into a building in a metal egg without firing his weapon.
He was justifiable surprised when he came to sometime afterwards, very much alive and still nestled in his pod, albeit with a colossal migraine that made his head feel like it was splitting open at the seams, with his bewilderment growing when it dawned on him the scenery surrounding him was that of a small, wooden cottage filled with bird boxes and mouse holes. New Mombasa was one of Earth's most modern cities, boasting architecture to match.
The bold and stark lines that defined the mega city did not fit with the wood panelling and chintzy furniture he was staring out at through broken hatches on his drop pod, nor did the vast swatch of greenery visible through the windows on the walls. Concrete was what he should be seeing, burning and wrecked after an occupation by the Covenant.
This was another indicator the mission had gone wrong, kicking Michael's instincts into gear. He placed a hand on his pistol, caressing the familiar contours, while the other activated the manual release for his pod's door, blasting it off with enough force to hit the wall opposite and become wedged.
Drawing his sidearm and holding it out level, Michael took his first step out of the ruined HEV and almost collapsed to one knee as the migraine felt like it doubled, causing his vision to fade in and out as he fought to overcome the pain. With gritted teeth, Michael forced himself over to the nearest window and peered out to see neither towering buildings nor UNSC aircraft coming in to reinforce the troops on the ground.
He saw a clear blue sky, rolling fields and a thick forest instead. Briefly he contended with the idea his pod had become blown radically off course and landed in a more temperate climate than the savannah and deserts of Africa but discarded it just as quickly. The idea was impossible for a number of reasons, chief amongst them the odds of his pod making an upright and survivable landing after such a rude trajectory readjustment.
Could the in atmosphere slipspace jump have played a part, he wondered, knowing the slippery mechanics of the realm meant nothing could be ruled out for definite. Of course, his grasp on quantum mechanics and particle physics was rudimentary at best so a half assed guess was the best he could manage.
The migraine increased again, seemingly focused right behind his eyes, and Michel's focus lessened ever so slightly as he tried to reign it in once more with only partial success. When his vision came back, or the flashes appearing before his eyes died down enough to make sense of anything, he saw six blobs of colours walking down a dirt path right towards him with Michael's first thought on whether they were friendly or not.
He wasn't entirely sure where on Earth he was, if he was even on Earth anymore, with the worst imaginable pain resonating throughout his head, with no idea if anyone from his squad was nearby or not. Best case scenario held that the blobs were friendly, they were human and they knew exactly where he was and how to get home but the worst case scenario was pretty much the opposite of that.
Trained and experience as he was, Michael knew his ability to aim and fire any of his weapons was severely hampered by the migraine and the spotty vision. If these were hostiles, he'd be in no position to fight back and be completely at their mercy. If they were friendlies then he'd be absolutely fine but veteran ODSTs didn't become veterans by assuming the best.
They expected the worst and planned accordingly. That meant fleeing until the migraine subsided or someone from the UNSC could retrieve him, so Michael did just that.
He returned to his HEV and plucked the battle rifle from its holster, cradling it like a newborn baby as he headed in the opposite direction of the blobs of colour, around his pod into what he took to be a very small kitchen and through a backdoor where nothing but green greeted him, hills to his left and forests to his right.
He chose the forests, managing to get thirty of forty metres into the overgrown mess of trees and tangled roots before some unknown gate burst and allowed a surge of pain to flood his head.
Michael dropped his weapon, dropped to his knees, then fell face first onto the spongy forest floor.