Hey, JamesColbert here! I came up with an idea for a story after reading a fanfic by a good friend of mine, BrokenSoldier.

Basically Halo meets Star Fox. Cool, eh?

Time: during the events of Halo: Combat Evolved

Oh, BTW, I own NOTHING, excluding any OC's.

Halo: The Lylat System

Chapter I: The Cole Protocol

[Classified Material: High-Ranking Personnel Eyes-only]

ONI SECTOR_3 MEMBERS ONLY.

CLEARANCE PERMITTED. CONTINUE TRANSMISSION: Y/N?

Yes

No

BEGIN TRANSMISSION

The UNSC prowler-class ship, Connecticut, barely made it off Titan in time. It left the relatively small moon of Jupiter (comparatively to the planet, anyway) as it was being glassed.

"We can't let these Covenant bastards know how close they are to Earth!" shouted Captain Martin Scott Jamerson, who was, as usual, on deck in his chair, full uniform, watch on his right wrist, as he was a leftie.

He was a fairly tall man, standing at about 6' 5". He was young, straight out of training. He graduated only two months ago as a Private, but remarkably quickly rose in rank. He was somewhat thin, but nowhere near unhealthy.

He had thin, red hair, Irish descent. He always followed his orders to the letter, not caring what that took.

He was very young as well, at only 19. He was the youngest Commanding Officer (or CO) in UNSC history.

"Sir, would you like me to initiate the Cole Protocol?" asked the ship's onboard AI, Reeba. She had a cool, pleasant voice that betrayed none of the stress of running the whole ship.

Jamerson knew what that meant. The Cole Protocol stated that whenever a UNSC ship, especially a small one like his, was going to be captured; it was to do one of two things.

Take a randomized slipspace jump AWAY from Earth and the other Inner Colonies, or self-destruct.

'Let's hope it doesn't come to number two,' he thought.

"Sir?" asked the AI again.

"Yes," he said with a heavy heart.

'So close to home, but yet so damn far!'

They jumped, only to have a covenant super-carrier in pursuit.

'Damn it. We're screwed.'

The super-carrier brought friends. Two corvettes.

They were in slipspace, so until they exited, there would be no fighting.

"Well, if anyone needs me, tell them I'm in cryo," said the officer, leaving the bridge.

"Will do, sir," said Reeba.

*Lylat System, 5 months later.*

"Wake up, Capt. Jamerson, we will be exiting slipspace in two hours, forty-five minutes," said the Artificial Intelligence.

"Thank you, Reeba. That will be all for now," said Jamerson, spitting out the nasty residue that was the by-product of cryosleep.

'Screw ONI, that stuff tastes like shit.' he thought.

He got out of the tube and put on his uniform, as when in cryosleep, you can't wear anything, lest it freeze to your skin permanently.

He checked his watch; it read 13:37 05/02/2552.

'Damn, 5 months asleep? I missed New Year's Day! Wonder what else I missed.'

*Bridge of Connecticut, 15 minutes later*

"Sir, we're receiving a transmission, not sure who it's from... Doesn't match anything from the UNSC or Covenant..."

Said Private Andy Sherman Richards, the communications specialist.

He was not very high in rank, nor in age, either. He and Jamerson graduated together from basic training.

He actually was assigned to a smaller ship that had to leave Earth early to go to Reach. He never got the memo.

That ship's name was the Pillar of Autumn.

Jamerson found him and took him aboard, as his old comms officer died in the attack on Titan, where Richards was reassigned by the brass back on Earth.

He was somewhat short, standing at only 5'6", but that never stopped him. He had blonde hair, one green eye, and one blue eye.

"Patch it through," said Jamerson,

"Could be Rebels."

"Aye, sir," said Richards, using the ship's massive onboard supercomputer to decrypt it, "Hold on."

"Better hurry, here come our friends!" said Jamerson, noticing another slipspace hole opening about 30 miles back behind them.

"How are they so accurate with those?" asked a marine.

"Hell if I know, I'm a soldier, not an engineer," said an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, or ODST.

The transmission came on, audio only at first.

"Slippy, we on?" asked Fox McCloud, leader of team Starfox, but no one on the Connecticut knew that.

If you need a description of anyone on Team Starfox, go Google them, or play the games.

"Yes, sir!" said Slippy Toad, annoyingly happy as ever.

"Attention, unidentified warship. This is Starfox team of Corneria; we are ordering you to land under orders from General Pepper."

"Sir, visual contact established with three, repeat, three fighters, unknown origin or affiliation. Definitely not Rebels, UNSC, Covenant, OR Forerunner," said Richards.

"Then who the hell are they?" said Jamerson.

"Longswords report ready to launch. Pelicans 95% ready, Shortswords and Sabers both at 83% readiness," said Reeba, "Shivas loaded, along with Hydras, our only MAC, and all .75 cals.

"Wait, let's see where diplomacy gets us," said the Irishman, "Richards, get us a video with our audio, Reeba, incase diplomacy fails, get locks on all unidentified fighters."

"Aye, sir," they said in unison.

The video came on, displaying the three members of Starfox currently in-air: Fox, Slippy, and Falco Lombardi.

"What the hell? Who the hell are you?" asked Jamerson, now thoroughly scared.

"Calm down... Eh... Whatever you are. Who are you?" asked Fox, equally stunned when he saw Jamerson on his screen.

"This is Captain Martin Jamerson, in charge of UNSC Prowler-class stealth warship, the Connecticut. We are on the run from Covenant forces and would appreciate any help we can get!"

"How do we know we can trust you?" asked Falco.

"You don't. But you have two options: help us, and go against three massive warships, the smallest twice the size of ours with one on your side, or go against four with NO support. So, gentlemen, which will it be?" was Jamerson's reply.

TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED.

DECRYPTING...