Nightmare Resurrected - The Before Hours
UNSC Frigate Spirit of Justice
Orbiting Installation 06; March 14th, 2557
Within the hanger of the UNSC Frigate Spirit of Justice, Private Henry Michaels made sure his rifle was fully loaded and ready to be used on the surface of Installation 06. Command had found the ring during their investigations, and now the Spirit of Justice was being departed to scout the ring and place down some science teams to study it. Michaels himself found the idea to be stupid, as the ring was a giant superweapon housing a parasite that wants to consume the galaxy, but being a soldier he couldn't talk back to his commanders about it. So he had to obey his superior's orders and go on the ring to make sure no one was going to blow anything up.
Of course, if he had a nuke he'd just do it himself.
Laughter from the other side of the hanger revealed his friends and teammates were talking about some of their adventures from during the Human-Covenant War. Michaels was never part of the war as he was fresh from boot camp, but his new squad had taken him under their wing once he had joined the crew three weeks ago. He had no idea what purpose he had on their team as each and every one of them had their own major role in the field.
Turning the safety on so he could set his rifle aside, Michaels walked towards his crew, who were sitting down with drinks in their hands. The first one in front of him was Corporal Patrick McMillan, an Irish medic who loved his drink as much as the next man. Next to him was Private First Class Tyrone Phillips, whose love of explosions was only parallel to his mother's cooking. Sergeant Kayla Sterling was the only woman in the group, but she was also an experienced sniper and didn't play nice with the guys. The only one not present at the moment was Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Marshall. It was likely he was filing another report.
McMillan noticed the young private approached, and he gave him the proper greeting. "Oh hey, Michaels! Come, have a seat! We got beer!"
Michaels sat down next to him, a bit nervous about what was going to happen. "Shouldn't we be saving the drinks for the return?"
"We're just having one beer to relax. It's a tradition we've done before every mission. You know, in case one of us dies during a battle." He held the bottle out to Michaels, who hesitantly took it from the medic.
"So, how many friends have you lost if you don't mind me asking."
"Enough to make this a tradition. Forty men have been a part of this squad over twenty years. Only the Gunnery Sergeant has served the longest in the squad to carry out the tradition, back when he was a Private himself. So every new recruit is taught this little tradition so that it may carry on."
Michaels looked at the bottle. "You know I'm only nineteen, right?"
"Oh." McMillan spoke sheepishly. "I forgot you were from the States. Not like us, who were allowed to drink around your age."
Sterling seemed to reach into the cooler for another bottle, revealing it to be a bottle of orange pop. "Here." She spoke with an inherent British accent. "Gunnery Sergeant doesn't like drinking much, either. Orange is his favorite, though."
Michaels traded bottles with her, taking the orange liquid and letting its contents pour down his throat. A low laugh from Phillips forced him to stop as he almost choked on the fizzy liquid.
"The new guy's nervous, isn't he?" Phillips laughed. "He's downing that bottle faster than McMillan at the Christmas Party."
"Or faster than your mom's baked chicken." Sterling retorted.
"Hey, my mama makes the best damn chicken in the whole galaxy. That's not opinion-"
"It's fact. I get it."
Michaels couldn't help but laugh at that.
Sterling turned back to face Michaels. "So, what made you decide to join the UNSC?"
"I thought I could try to help people." Michaels answered. "My friends were always talking about the war and how it fucked up a lot of things. So I thought that maybe I could do something to help the galaxy. After all that training, however, I don't think this current mission will benefit from my help."
"Ha!" McMillan laughed. "You're just still feeling like a green-horn!" He slapped Michaels on the back, making the Private jolt. "Everybody on the team benefits. That's why it's a team! I'm the guy that patches you up, Phillips blows shit up, Sterling's the one who spots hostiles a mile off, and Marshall's the leader. You, well you're just a green-horn right now so we don't know what you can do."
"Well, I'm actually good with the designated marksman rifle. I also am a communications expert."
"So you're the one we call when we need to fix the radio?"
"I guess."
"Well there you go! Now you're essential to the group."
The entire crew laughed up a storm until they heard the words of their commanding officer.
"Attention!" Marshall commanded, making the members of his team stand up from the crates they were sitting on and standing completely still facing him. "At ease, Maximus. As you all know, in about two hours we are going to be touching base and scouting the area. However, Captain Reynolds has just informed me that our original orders have been redirected."
"What does that mean, sir?" Michaels asked.
"Reynolds has informed me that we are not the first team to have set foot on the ring. Two months ago, a small squad of ODSTs and SPARTAN-IVs were deployed to ensure the safety of its activation index of this ring. Unfortunately, we lost contact with them a week ago. Our directive is to head to their original camp and discover what happened."
"Any idea what we're facing, sir?" Sterling asked.
Marshall looked around at his men. "We aren't assuming any hostile threats currently, as communications were always tough to come by on the planet. However, we do believe that if it is an attack, then it might be a small branch of Covenant renegades. Worse case scenario would be that the team somehow got infected by the Flood."
Everyone seemed to gasp.
"Of course, we have no substantial evidence of that possibility. Nevertheless, I will advise you keep your helmets on at all times in case the Flood virus is airborne. Also, be on the lookout for a flying orb while we're there. It is believed to be the caretaker of the installation. If something bad has happened to the team it can tell us what happened."
"Sir, what happens if this is a Flood breakout?" Phillips asked.
"We have protocols as to what we will do with a Flood incursion. Activation of the ring, however, will not be an option. We have a human colony that has started development several light years away, and evacuations procedures would not be enough to save them all. Protocols would, however, including leaving us behind if it means the Flood do not manage to escape the ring."
"Would they actually do that, sir?"
"Only as a last resort." Marshall cleared his throat. "One last thing: Reynolds has approved a request from a particular individual onboard. They will be joining us on the ground to recover data for the Office of Naval Intelligence."
"With all due respect, sir," McMillan began. "we don't need a scientist on the planet to collect rock samples for those spooks up at ONI."
"We're not bringing a scientist onto the planet." Marshall spoke. "We're bringing a Spartan."
Michaels seemed to tip his head to the side at the mentioning of that. A Spartan? He had heard tales of the Spartans from some of the veterans back at basic training. They were nearly invincible soldiers who sacrifice everything to protect humanity. Many Spartans died during the war, and there were many memorials dedicated to them for their sacrifice.
"Who is he?"
"He's a SPARTAN-IV that goes by the designation 107. Otherwise, I've seen his file. Before joining the program he was an ODST that participated in important battles near the end of the war, including Reach, New Mombasa, Voi, and the Ark. For everyone but Michaels, that means every major battle we partook in. He's a Lieutenant-Commander so he will be leading the operation."
"Permission to speak freely, sir."
"Granted."
"That's bullshit. No one should replace you as commanding officer. Not even a Spartan."
Just as McMillan finished saying that, Michaels saw someone walking out of the shadows. His armor was blue with stripes of gold here and there, and his golden visor caught the Private's attention as his helmet was revealed. Its design was familiar, and it was only them that it was a standard Recon helmet he saw from some of the campaigning ads back home.
"Your commanding officer has given me permission to run this op." The Spartan spoke. "Aside from that, Captain Reynolds had the final say. You will follow my commands or you can stay on this ship in the brig. Make your choice."
His commanding voice made the group shudder, but none of them made a move or another argument.
"If that's all settled, you must be geared up and ready in two hours. No excuses, just results. One last thing, if nobody does anything stupid and you all follow my orders, we all make it out of this alive. We've all lost friends over the years and I don't think anyone's ready to join them."
"Yes, sir." The crew agreed.
"Good. Dismissed." The Spartan walked away from the group, leaving them all alone with their thoughts. Once he was sure their new commanding officer was out of earshot, McMillan turned towards Marshall.
"What the hell were you thinking?! You can't just have this guy in fancy-ass power armor take command of this team!"
"Like he said, the captain approved it. And his service record is excellent. I looked it over myself."
Phillips looked at Marshall. "So what's his story?"
"He's a veteran of the last few major battles of the war. His parents were killed during the evacuation of New Alexandria, and his brother had suffered severe injuries during the fighting. One of the Lieutenant's most brutal battles was during the Battle of New Mombasa. He endured traumatic injuries from a needler and continued to fight long enough to get his squad, along with three other squads, out of the city before the Covenant glassed it. Once the battle reached Voi he was back on his feet and ready to fight. He was also invaluable during the Battle of the Ark, taking out a Covenant super carrier from within with his squad."
"That sounds exciting." Sterling spoke enthusiastically.
"Otherwise, he's a mystery. Plenty of black ink aligned his records, but both ONI and the UNSC claim they didn't put it there. Even his name has been blotted out, although Reynolds claims he knows his first name, and said something about him only telling those he trusts his name."
"So is he a ghost or something?" McMillan asked.
"Far from it. He just prefers to keep his life private, according to Reynolds. In the heat of battle, he's a soldier. But outside of it he's a fine man. Reynolds doesn't know, however, where one ends and the other begins."
Michaels seemed to hum at that phrase. "What happened to his brother? You mentioned his parents are dead and that his brother was injured, but you didn't specify how much."
"His brother lost an arm during the fighting. After two weeks spent in a sort of coma his brother went through a few weeks of physical training and fought alongside his brother during the final battles. They apparently don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, though. His brother is also a Spartan, but I have no knowledge of where he is right now."
"Not that that's important." McMillan mumbled.
Marshall looked at McMillan. "Watch your tone, McMillan. Finish your drinks and get ready. We're deploying in two hours."
"You'll have your beer, too, right?" Sterling asked, holding an unopened bottle between her fingers.
"On-the-go, I'm afraid." He took the bottle from her hands. "Reynolds still needs me for a quick briefing with our Spartan commander."
"Good luck, then." Sterling waved as Marshall walked away.
"Still friendly with Gunny, Archer?" Phillips joked, getting a well-deserved punch from her.
"Shut your mouth, Bronco." Sterling walked away from them, going for her gear in the locker room.
"Bronco?" Michaels asked.
"Nicknames. We all get them from somewhere. I got Bronco because of my ability to wrestle an Elite to the ground. We call her Archer because she's a sniper. We just call Marshall Gunny because of his rank."
McMillan sat down on his crate. "And they call me Lucky because of my luck of the Irish."
"So you're the only one without a nickname, Michaels; aside from the Spartan, of course."
"Man, who cares about the Spartan." McMillan argued.
"Hey, lighten up. That guy's been through as much shit as us and more. Show him a bit of respect."
"Respect? That man is just a ghost in a tin suit thinking he's so special compared to us. Respect is earned from interaction, not from fucking stories."
"Lucky, you are this close to getting a fist shoved into your mouth."
Michaels placed himself in between the two men, trying to break up the ensuing fight. "Hey, knock it off, guys. We don't need to fight."
McMillan seemed to sigh before he walked off without a single word.
"What's his problem?"
"He's not so easily impressed. He takes his arguments too far, let me tell you. There have been plenty of times where he and Gunny damn near tore each other apart. Hopefully some time in the field will do him some good."
"Yeah, hopefully."
"Well, I better go make sure Big Bertha's all cleaned up."
"Big Bertha?"
"Yeah, my rocket launcher. She's a piece of beauty. We'll talk again later, okay?" He closed the cooler and walked out of the hanger, going for his weapon of choice.
Now Michaels stood all alone, and decided to go look for the Spartan. Something inside him told him it would be interesting to learn more about him before they deployed to the ring. Hell, maybe he'd find out they both want the ring destroyed in the hopes that it's never used for galactic genocide. And even if they wouldn't have the same opinion, learning about him all the same would still be nice.
With that thought, he walked out of the hanger in search of the Spartan that would help out on the mission.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I've sort of decided to work on another story because my brother has been producing chapters for his Halo fan fiction, which is connected to both this and my Halo one shot To Be Human. Check that out for a bit more info on the Spartan, and look up 900: A Halo Fanfiction by Domehead900 to get more info on past events, as well as more events that happen to his brother during and a bit after this story. Expect random updates whenever I decide to write. I'm thinking this will be around five-six chapters long. Reviews are appreciated, but please KEEP IT CLEAN.