The Helljumpers

by E.J.C.Graves

Prior to the Halo Event, a group of marines graduate as ODSTs and are placed in a squad under the control of the Office of Naval Intelligence. Their job is to slow down the Covenant onslaught to buy Humanity as much time as possible. With the odds stacked high against them, they must fight tooth and nail for each other and the survival of their species... please read and review!

October 17, 2551 (Military Calendar)

13:43 Hours, Reach Time

Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Training

Trainee group 3548

Drop Training 3

Live Jump 1

Ship: UNSC Winter Hawk

First Drop

We drop in five… four… three… two… Drop! There was a sharp jolt and rapid acceleration downward. The small pod he was in grew hot as it passed through the outer layers of the atmosphere. He looked over at the small screen which held the temperature of the pod; it displayed the temperature as one hundred five degrees. Sweat started to form and bead on his skin. The pod seemed to shrink upon him as he plummeted downward toward the planet. He looked forward outside of the door of the pod. He saw the blue sky and lush, green terrain of Reach. For a moment, it brought him a feeling of relief. He had trained for the last two months for this day, his first jump. That relief washed away almost immediately, only to be replaced by all the horrible metaphysical situations that could occur at the time. What if his drag chute didn't deploy? What if his reverse engines didn't fire? What if? What if?

As he thought of this, his pulse spiked. A second later he heard the crisp voice of his drop instructor, "Corporal, keep your cool over there. You panic, you die. Remember only the best of the best become ODST's. You've made it this far through training, you're damn well not bugging out on me now." The Trainee sucked in his breath, held it in for a moment, and released it.

Then he was calm. Well, as calm as a person can be when plummeting at terminal velocity downward toward a planet's surface. He looked out again through the door and looked out at the other sixty pods freefalling with his. Once again he heard the voice of the instructor, "Trainees, release drag chutes in four… three… two… deploy!" The recruit punched a button on the touch panel and felt the shock of a metal alloy chute pulling on the air around his pod. Almost instantaneously it felt as if his stomach would fall out of his body because of sudden deceleration. This loss in speed was caused by several rockets fixed to the bottom of the pod firing upward. The Trainee's bones started shaking with the bump of the chute and the thrusters. He gripped the small steering handles hard enough with his hands, he thought they would break. A few seconds later the pod touched down with a loud CHUNG! The Trainee watched his helmet's faceplate polarize dark. He knew this was to allow his eyes to adjust to the sunlight outside more readily. The Trainee tapped the touch panel again and his pod's door jettisoned outward with a hiss and a bang. Thankfully the door missed any of the other marines in training. He stepped into the sunlight of Reach, looking up at the sky. He tapped a button inside his helmet with his chin to turn off the polarization. He took in a breath, feeling the autumn breeze brush over his ungloved fingers. Damn it felt good to be back on hard soil.

He looked back down to see his jump instructor staring at him. "Admiring the scenery, Corporal?" Having no other response, he replied to the woman, "Roger that, Drill Sergeant. It's a beautiful day to be boots on the ground, no offense intended."

"While it may be, your pod still needs to get stripped, so stop loitering and get the lead out, Corporal."

He nodded quickly, "Yes, Drill Sergeant." Immediately, he hurried off and began ripping his gear from his pod. He slung his MA5C on the magnetic hardpoint on his armor located just below the shoulder blade. It rested off to the side of his ruck pack, which had been packed to a full load for a combat mission. ODSTs didn't half-ass anything during training, which meant wearing full kit.

He stood there for a second and watched his instructor walk away to help out another marine who couldn't pop his door off. The Trainee glanced up at the blue sky again, and grinned. He realized that he had passed the first of many hurdles, and hopefully with flying colors. Hands still slightly shaking from adrenaline, he strolled into the middle of the clearing where they all had landed and waiting for his next order.

He didn't have to stand there long, because the instructor approached him from the south side of the field and called to him. "Corporal," she began, "you seem mildly competent. Stop wasting time and help the FNGs with their doors." For the next five minutes he walked from pod to pod, checking for anybody needing assistance.

Once everyone was clear of their pods, he watched the instructor walk to the middle of the clearing and tell everyone to group around her. The Trainee thought he heard something out in the distance, but ignored it. Automatically, he looked down at his right thigh and checked that his pistol was there. The instructor waited for everyone to regroup and took off her helmet. She motioned for all of them to do the same. When she saw everyone's face, she spoke, "I have to say that I'm impressed with what I've seen today. For the first time I had a first drop with no deaths or major accidents. But I hope you marines didn't think you were gonna get off that easily. The main base here on Reach is about seven miles east of here. I think that you guys need to burn off that adrenaline, so a healthy jog is in order." As she finished the last sentence, the sound the Trainee had heard grew into the growl of a warthog. A green door-less warthog approached from a path that had cut through the trees of the light forest surrounding the clearing. The Trainee recognized it as a transport model, because of the lack of weapons and the big open seats in the back. The two men in the 'hog hopped out of the vehicle and shook hands with the instructor. The men wore the armor of ODSTs except for the helmets. The Trainee ran his fingers through his coarse, close cropped, brown hair and scratched his head as he wondered what trick the instructor was going to pull on them.

The instructor reached into the back of the 'hog and pulled out a megaphone. She spoke clearly into the device, "All recruits, fall into two lines and follow the warthog to the base." On that note, the instructor hopped into the back of the warthog and watched the younger marines with a grin.

The Trainee put his helmet back on and ran to the front of the right line. He was the first to make it there. Everyone fell in behind him and the recruit next to him. The run to the base was actually enjoyable, except for the instructor wanting them to keep pace with a warthog. The Trainee liked the ODST battle dress uniform, it was lighter than the bulky standard issue UNSC Marine Corps armor. The Trainee grinned even wider underneath his helmet when the Instructor started naming off "today's specials" at the Mess Hall on base.

The instructor had them run all the way to the Hall, as it was called. She stopped, congratulated them all and told them tomorrow's assignments. As the rest of recruits walked into the Mess Hall, the instructor stopped the Trainee. "Corporal, off the record, that was a good landing. You may yet have some potential. If you keep stepping up to the challenge, someone up the line will probably take notice. Take that as you will, Corporal." With that, she motioned for him to leave and walked off to the Warthog, which the two other ODSTs were leaning against.

As the Trainee walked through the doors to the Hall, he threw one curious glance over his shoulder at the instructor. She was hopping into the 'hog with the other ODSTs and driving off in the direction of the landing zone. Once the vehicle was out of sight, he turned around and headed toward the food. He felt like he'd earned it.

15:22 Hours, Reach Time

Military Reservation 01478-B

Officers' Lounge

Major William Robinson held the door to the officer's lounge for Drill Sergeants Berres and Yung. He waved a hand toward a table cluttered with papers and datapads. "Take a seat and make yourselves comfortable, please."

"Don't make it in here very often. It's pretty damn nice in here." Sergeant Yung commented as he took a seat in one of the deep leather chairs. The man in full combat dress sank far into the armchair with a whooshing sound of the air forced out from the cushions. Where most other officers would chastise the trainer, Robinson laughed to himself. Every man this far into the war with the Covenant should be able to enjoy any amount of comfort he could grasp, in his opinion.

As Drill Sergeant Berres walked over to a seat over from Yung, she nudged Robinson's pack of gear and clothes then motioned to the messy table. "It looks like you don't waste any time getting to business, Sir."

Robinson walked past the two NCOs, grabbed some beers. He then sat down and replied to Berres' comment, "I try not to. When ONI says jump, there are not many other choices than to jump." When the two trainers glanced at each other, he said, "Relax, I'm no spook. I only work for the Office of Naval Intelligence as a liaison. ONI has only tasked my squads with reconnaissance, search and rescue, as well as asset denial. They leave the espionage and spying to more interesting individuals than I."

Both of the sergeants visibly relaxed in their seats. He passed them the drinks and sat down across from them. "Like I told you both earlier today," he began, "the 105th Marine Expeditionary, 72nd Battallion has a need for a small reconnaissance squad. What I could not tell you over normal service communiques is that ONI wants to use this squad. So I have been going over your trainees and their records."

Berres leaned forward and said, "Major, with all respect, those are supposed to be sealed records for not directly associated with their training and assignments." Yung whistled and ran a hand over his head. "Sir, are you sure you're not a spook?"

"Trust me, I am not. I just have spook level access to your personnel files." He passed them each a data pad. "These have a list of candidates from both of your groups that I think could work. I need your opinions on them and which you would suggest."

Both of the Sergeants looked over the lists for a moment. Berres set her pad down first. "There are only three NCO's on this list. I have six in my group alone. Doesn't ONI prefer more experience?"

"As do I, Drill Sergeant. All of these candidates have been deployed to planetary evacuations and frontline defense. Most importantly, of those on the list, four of them have seen the worst that the Covenant have thrown at us." By the looks on their faces, he knew they understood his meaning: orbital plasma bombardment of a planet, or glassing as it was colloquially known. "So, what do you think?"

Yung looked up from his pad. "I wouldn't be surprised if half of my group ices out before graduation," he began, "but I think these four will be suitable for recon."

Robinson accepted the pad he was handed back and read the names. "Corporals Broward and Hale, Lance Corporal Brunkst, and PFC Vega. Are you sure about these candidates?" He got a nod in response.

Berres pushed her pad over to him. Of the twelve names on the list displayed, only one was highlighted. He raised an eyebrow, curious. She shrugged, "I've followed my group from the moment they were boots on the ground here. I've seen them at the range, crawl through mud a foot deep with fifty cal's firing overhead, and I've seen their first drop from orbit. I can't say anything about Drill Sergeant Yung's group, but out of mine, there only one candidate who I know won't wash out. He's a trained sharpshooter and competent enough to make your list." She tapped the one highlighted name and finished, "So he is my choice."

Robinson read the name, "Corporal Thomas Jensen." He looked at the two drill sergeants. "Alright, put these five through the paces. ONI doesn't like unqualified troopers, and frankly, we cannot afford anything less than stellar with the Covenant knocking on everyone's door. Now, Drill Sergeants, you are dismissed. I'll keep an eye on how things go."