AN: I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.
Chapter One
1012 HOURS, MAY 24, 2545 (MILITARY CALANDER) \ LAMBDA AURIGAE SYSTEM, TARGET AREA GURKHA, PLANET ROOST
Stars exploded across SPARTAN-B124's vision as his long range orbital insertion pod touched down, metal and stealth coating crumpling under the impact as it came to an abrupt and jarring stop, forcing all the air from his lungs.
Training took over and Scott pried open the deformed shell of the drop pod and took a step outside, taking in the brown and dreary landscape of Roost, an Outer Colony that was quickly becoming a hot bed of Insurrectionist activity as the UNSC-Covenant war continued to escalate.
Only it shouldn't be. His briefing had made it clear that Roost was a tropical planet, boasting lush jungles and clear blue skies. Not dull and depressing brown tones. Something was wrong.
Instinct and training made Scott drop to a crouch, rifle drawn, and sprint to the nearest form of protection in sight, a shallow depression behind a rock. He skidded to a silent halt behind it and flattened himself to the ground, tensed in anticipation of incoming fire as the outer layers of his Semi-Powered Infiltration armour came online and faded to match the rock, letting Scott blend in with the surrounding.
The Semi-Powered Infiltration armour, colloquially shortened to SPI, was an experimental armour system created by the UNSC, almost exclusively used by SPARTAN-IIIs, that was able to mimic the textures and colours of its surroundings by way of hardened photo reactive panels on the outer layer of the armour. It protected him from more small arms fire than standard ODST and Marine equipment, though armour piercing or sniper rounds would punch through it without too much difficulty, but was particularly susceptible to plasma bolts. The system could only take a few glancing blows before it was rendered useless.
It was part of the reason why it was focused on stealth rather than power, and why SPARTAN-IIIs always worked as a team on operations. You can't hit what you can't see, and if by some miracle you were found, a teammate would be able to use the distraction to take out the gunner.
As Scott lay behind the rock, three dots on his displayed winked into existence.
To his right was SPARTAN-B040, Joan, and to his left were SPARTANS-B110 and –B299, Jack and Claire respectively. His teammates, Fireteam Kilo.
Scott blinked and brought up his TACMAP, eyes widening momentarily in surprise and worry when he didn't see a live feed of the drop zone, something that should have been there the moment he touched down. A number of reasons ran through his mind as to the lack of a feed. The STARS, small tactical satellites the size of a baseball, may not yet be online, or something was blocking their view of the drop zone. Or they had been detected and destroyed.
He pushed that thought out of his mind, focusing back on the mission.
Fireteam Kilo had been chosen to make landfall on the Outer Colony of Roost to perform reconnaissance ahead of a larger Marine Taskforce that was en route to quell the growing Insurrectionist faction on the planet before it could get big enough to be considered dangerous.
They had been launched six hours ago from the UNSC Pillar of Autumn while it was still in Slipspace, suffering through a bone rattling ride through Slipspace in specially designed drop pods and then fighting off nausea as they transitioned back to normal space before going through the fiery re-entry and final rough landing.
It struck Scott as odd that the UNSC, and ONI in particular, would deploy four Spartans on such a low risk mission and against an enemy that was nowhere near as dangerous as the Covenant, a religious alien alliance fixated on erasing humanity from the universe. But Lieutenant Ambrose, the man behind training the SPARTAN-IIIs, had specially selected them for this mission himself, and neither Scott nor the rest of Kilo could ever say no to the man that had given them a chance to take the fight to the Covenant.
The three dots on his TACMAP edged closer to Scott's position, prompting the Spartan to rise to one knee, rifle tucked firmly against his shoulder. It was an MA5K, a carbine version of the venerable MA5B issued to mainline Navy and Marine forces, boasting a lighter weight and slimmer profile but only half the magazine capacity, carrying only thirty 7.62mm rounds instead of sixty.
A digital ammo counter built into the frame of the gun confirmed that there were thirty rounds, as did its cousin in Scott's HUD as he swept the area in front of him.
No signs of any threats, though he did see a great deal of devastation. Scorched earth dotted a landscape littered with rocks and stumps of trees, a sense of gloom hanging in the air a gust of wind kicked up a plume of dust.
Scott tracked it and looked over his shoulder at the sound of gravel being crunched underfoot, seeing a faint ripple in the outline of a person approach him, making deliberate movements so he could see them. Even without checking his HUD, Scott could tell by the height and broad shoulders that it was Jack, Kilo-4, the CQC expert.
He swiped two fingers over his faceplate, the traditional Spartan smile which Scott returned.
Soon after, Joan, Kilo-3, and Claire, Kilo-2, arrived. They specialised in long range sniping and heavy weapons respectively, but were carrying MA5Ks, as was Jack. This was a simple recon mission, not a direct assault, and their weapons were for defensive purposes only. Each Spartan carried a little over a month's worth of supplies on them, scavenged from their drop pods and stowed in rucksacks.
When they were all assembled, Scott gave a series of hand signals directing them to set up a perimeter.
'Any of you picking up SATCOM?' he whispered over TEAMCOM, making sure it was on the lowest power setting that could reach the rest of Kilo as they assumed conceal positions in the rocks around him without going any further and give their location away. Their mission called for radio silence as much as possible.
'No.' Jack whispered back. 'TACMAP is down, too.'
'Same here.' Joan said.
'And me.' Claire added. 'Shouldn't STARS be online by now?'
'It should.' Scott said as he scanned the area. This definitely wasn't Roost. The lack of thriving vegetation confirmed as much. So where were they? 'Check your gear again. Maybe it's malfunctioning.'
The chances of their SPI armour suffering a glitch were low. To have four simultaneous failures before the mission had even begun was unheard of.
A row of green lights winked at Scott as Kilo ran a test on their COM gear.
'I've got a bad feeling about this.' Claire whispered as they went off.
On TEAMBIO, Scott saw all their pulses increase.
'Wait.' Joan said. 'Got something.'
'A signal?' Scott asked, glancing at her position in the rocks as he shut TEAMBIO down.
'No, some structures to the north.' She said. 'Looks like a city of some kind, only damaged.'
Scott shifted his attention north and squinted through a haze of dust, his faceplate automatically activating the five-times zoom.
There was a city, maybe three or four miles distant, and like Joan had said it was damaged. The buildings had some blast damage, but most of looked to be from a lack of upkeep more than anything. Windows were missing, walls had crumbled in places and only a few had roofs left.
'It can't be the primary objective.' Jack said, disbelief giving his voice an edge.
Scott concurred. 'No. It isn't.'
'So what is it?' Claire asked. 'The briefing on Roost never mentioned any derelict cities or a desert.'
'Never mentioned any men wearing faux Roman armour either.' Joan added. 'But I've got eyes on at least five of them heading our way.'
'What?' Scott deactivated the zoom and tried to spot the men Joan had seen. 'Where?'
'North, about your one o'clock position. Maybe a kilometre away but moving awfully fast.'
He turned to look where Joan had said and saw what she had described.
Five men, dressed in a crude imitation of ancient Roman armour, were jogging down an old and cracked highway that wound its way north. Scott zoomed in on them and saw large knives at their sides with only one carrying a revolver.
'They must have seen our pods come down.' He said.
'And their equipment?' Jack said.
Scott thought about it for a full second. 'No idea.'
He ducked back down behind the rock, thinking.
They had no link to the STARS, in an area that may or may not have been on Roost, with five men dressed as Roman soldiers bearing down on them. The mission called for Kilo to remain out of sight and refrain from actively engaging in combat while gathering information on their objective which, to Scott's dismay, they had no clue as to where it may be.
'Confirm you have no link to SATCOM or the STARS satellites?' Scott said over TEAMCOM. Three green lights flashed back, settling it in Scott's mind.
Kilo was on its own. Their briefing was either out of date, and that in the time it had taken to compile it Roost had suffered some sort of cataclysm, or they were on the wrong planet entirely, most likely one that was not under the UNSC's control if the five men were any indication, leaving them a few options.
One, they could follow their orders and stay out of sight until contact could be re-established or they come across orbit capable transport which could be used to reach UNSC controlled space and the planet's existence made known to ONI.
Or two, Kilo could get proactive and gather more immediate information on their current whereabouts, possibly link up with a friendly faction.
The second option made Scott uneasy. It meant going against orders and ran the risk of exposing Kilo to Insurrectionist forces, but it also held the most promise of learning where they were in a shorter time frame.
'Unknowns now five hundred metres out.' Joan announced. 'Estimate no more than three minutes until they arrive.'
'Maintain position, Kilo.' Scott ordered as he moved out from behind his rock and began moving towards the men. Uneasy or not, Scott had a duty to aid the UNSC and sitting around in the shadows would impede his progress to get back to them.
Kilo would take the more proactive approach.
'Time to meet the locals.'