Author's Note: This story coincides with my friend's story, 'Trial By Fire', also on FanFiction, as we wrote up the plotlines together over far too much time, with both being set in the same version of the Halo universe. Even though he suggests in his own note at the start of his story that the idea of the Spartan III-Xs was his, it was in fact a culmination of both our minds, as is the majority of the details in both plots. For now, the two stories are entirely separate, but will converge as time progresses. The timings will be clearly made out, and we will post links to one another's stories. In a way, 'Trial By Fire' comes first, and 'Hostel Intent' takes place after, even though much of it is set beforehand. The second half, however, will be a direct continuation of 'Trial By Fire', and I'm sure JHYW and myself will find some way of making things easier for people. We may even make an account just for our stories. We'll see. We also hope that this joint story (that we haven't got an overall name for, yet) will be the first of many, as we have many future plans.

Concerning technology and weapons, this will focus on weapons from throughout the series, and I may even be inclined to load up some photos of the characters and fights at some point, using the Halo game systems and .

Yes, the characters are based on real life people, in name and personality. And yes, I am rambling, so let's get on with the story itself.

'Trial By Fire': Search author "JHYW", "Trial By Fire".

ADDITIONAL: Part of the "Halo: Halberd" series of stories.

HALO: HALBERD

Hostel Intent

PROLOGUE

0200 Hours, October 02, 2552, (Military Calendar)/Desert Plains, near Covenant-occupied UNSC Outpost "Hostel Base", Hostel

"Not a chance." A long puff of cigarette smoke filled the air in front of the soldier's visor, and was quickly blown away by the heavy wind engulfing the sprawling desert. Corporal Oliver Webb looked through the scope of his sniper once more, glad that he could not feel the cold metal of the weapon through his gloves. The temperature had been dropping rapidly, much to his dissatisfaction, although his posture served to conserve much of his waning body heat.

Overhead, the twin moons provided some weak natural light for the non-com, faintly glimmering amongst the stars above, exposed until the star that lit this 'non-existent' system would outshine them in the steadily-approaching dawn, and return the sandy dunes to their usual, overheated and glistening selves. Webb chewed on the butt in his mouth as he closed his eyes momentarily to embrace the cool wind that, despite its harsh temperatures, was actually rather refreshing following a hot day lifting and organising military equipment, despite his initial disdain towards it. This was his downtime, even if he was ordered here. Regardless of the conditions, he enjoyed his time alone with nature; it gave him time to be alone with his thoughts, after spending so much time around other people.

His unannounced companion dropped to the ground next to him, lying as flat as he could as he crawled closer to the smoker, sand and ash billowing into his eyes. The new arrival was almost silent in the sound of the growing wind as grabbed the cigarette from Webb's mouth, and flicked it down the slope they were settled atop of.

"What the-" Webb caught himself before he continued his sentence as he realised who it was now laying next to him. "Sir?"

"Any news, corporal?" The gruff, older soldier was now shoulder-to-shoulder with the marksman, his own BR55 Battle Rifle slung round the back of his trademark black ODST body armour.

"Not much, sir." Webb peered through the scope of his weapon once again, sighting an amber-clad Elite conversing with three small Grunts next to a large purple container. They seemed almost impervious to the weather. Or at least, the larger species of the Covenant were better at hiding their discomfort. Then again, the shelter the ancient stone structure that made up HOSTEL's main base provided a good deal of cover from the natural dangers of the planet-wide desert, and was well adorned with modern technology to make the place a more palatable fortress for its human – now Covenant – inhabitants. "They spend most of their time patrolling the perimeter." The reticule of the sniper sights rested on the head of the red-armoured alien he had been observing. "Every now and again, some technicians run into the main structure. Very few come out, but those that do appear disappointed or frustrated. I can't really tell, but they look angrier than they normally do, which is saying something."

The ODST grunted in response, reaching over to grab the rifle and look downrange himself, using the scope to examine the tallest spire and the runway they had used for small air vehicles. A lone Jackal slept atop the spire, his own purple sniper resting against his slowly heaving body.

"I considered popping a few of them," Webb's voice was indignant, "but the wind's too heavy, and they're bound to spot one of their snipers missing. It's mainly just Elites shouting at Grunts, even at night. They definitely don't want anyone getting in there. Forcefields keep getting erected around the doorways, and it's mainly majors they're using as guards."

"Not surprising." The officer returned the sniper to its owner. "ONI was keen to keep this place under-locks. God knows how the Cuvvies managed to find us." He rolled over onto his back and sat up straight, checking the radio equipment attached to his armour. "There's no chance of us taking HOSTEL Base back without their cruiser up there sending down even more reinforcements, but given the nature of this place, I wager it won't be too long before someone comes a running to our aid."

"And until then, lieutenant?"

"And until then, corporal," he spoke softly, a wise tone replacing his gruff one, "we keep our heads down. Do what we can to prepare for when the time comes. Follow orders, like we always do."

Webb shuffled on the spot, uneasy about the prospect of waiting around in the desert for much longer; he was keen to start taking back what the Covenant had stolen from them. He, and indeed all of the survivors currently camping only two kilometres from their position, had lost a lot of friends and soldiers in assault some days before. He had been lucky when they came; the main assault took place on the main complex, where most of the science personnel had been working, and the marines had been training. Communications with the cruiser stationed in orbit, the UNSC Morning's Scimitar, had failed about twenty minutes before the initial bombardment, and the ensuing chaos consisted of several waves of Phantoms deploying squads of Covenant warriors, that quickly dispatched much of the ill-prepared UNSC forces.

Being quite far from human space and a secret operation, HOSTEL had a relatively small contingent stationed permanently, so as not to draw too much attention, and the Scimitar was the only ship that ever entered the system. Presumably, it had been destroyed in the first attack by the Covenant ship or fleet that arrived in orbit. Bombardment, however, had been limited to skimming the surface of the installation. Evidently, whatever reason ONI had to be there, the Covenant shared it. Even now, wreckage of Hornets shot down, Pelicans grounded and dead bodies littered the sand and stone that made up the base. From here, Webb could quite clearly make out the still-burning fires from destroyed Warthogs.

Webb clearly recalled that, about an hour into the fighting, he had rushed from his position under the main spire, ducking from incoming plasma fire, and jumped to the level beneath him, spraining his ankle as he landed hard on the sand. When he recovered from the shock of the fall, he noticed the unmoving body of a uniformed woman, deep crevices in her back where the pink needles of the trademark Covenant needler firearm had impaled her, and subsequently exploded. If it hadn't been for the quick actions of his squad's sergeant, he would have also endured the experience of a detonating plasma grenade, but he was quickly rushed inside, with about thirty other soldiers and scientists who had escaped the onslaught. Their escape from the base itself after that, though, was very unsuccessful, with only fifteen of the original managing to reach their new hiding place. Along the way, despite Webb's limping, he was skilful enough with his sniper to take out any pursuers, so their whereabouts couldn't be logged. The battle itself, though, carried on late into the night of that day; the small camp could still hear the cries, gunfire and explosion until the early morning, at which point one more survivor from the base arrived, informing them of the complete Covenant occupation. Webb found himself caressing the barrel and stock of his gun as he recalled the events, his fingers feeling the word 'Honcho' engraved down it.

That had been a very long night, and like most of the UNSC personnel stationed on HOSTEL, Webb had no idea why ONI was so interested in the ancient alien structure they had adapted into a military and scientific installation. He had seen the training programmes being run by the armoured super-soldier for the new recruits that had recently been shipped in, but there were so few of them, it seemed more coincidental that they would be here, given the excavations under the base had been ongoing for sometime prior to their arrival. Beyond the training and developments in a new aerial vehicle – that, quite frankly, could be completed anyway – ONI was far more interested in something else, as were the Covenant attackers, who had made no attempt at capturing the super-soldiers they found. Those they did come across had been killed without hesitation: another notch in the belt, for most Elites. The Covenant's interest seemed to be in the base, itself, rather than those present, and Webb wasn't aware of any prisoners that had been taken by them. He simply assumed that anyone who wasn't with them had been killed.

The lieutenant smacked the soldier on the back, disturbing his distant daydreaming. "Come on, corporal. Let's move out. The captain wants us to regroup back at camp, and we don't want to keep him waiting; he's threatening to shoot people himself, if they don't turn up at the right time." The ODST flexed his arms and legs after standing, pulling his rifle down in front of him as a precaution.

Oliver nodded to the lieutenant, before taking one last look down the sights at the patrolling aliens, aiming squarely at the red major's head, still. He grinned to himself. "You got lucky today, punk."