CHAPTER 1
Date: August 26th 2552Location: Frigate Orpheon High Orbit Over Charon IX
As the cryo tube opened air rushed in. Air that felt too warm and moist after his journey in cryosleep. The occupant of the seven foot long, five foot wide chamber stretched and rolled a neck stiff from disuse. A ripple of sharp cracks echoed around the sterile grey-walled chamber as the man's spine realigned. He winced at the tingle that accompanied the action and swept his long hair back from his eyes. As the last of steam from the defrosted cryotube vanished, the man became acutely aware of his discomfort.
He was naked, bare skin taut over packed muscle and red with cryorash that would fade in a few hours. Tall, slim, and muscular the soldier, for soldier he was, moved with the lithe grace of a panther as he walked over to the three other pods in the bay. The air of the chamber was kept at a chilly 16 degrees Celsius for the adjustment of the cryotube occupants. Any air out side of a tube, after a long hibernation, burned like a bad sunburn. The chill floor stung the soldier's feet as he inspected the other tubes, all indicator lights burned green. Good, no freezer burn. After ascertaining the status of freezer mates he allowed his blue eyes to roam the bay searching for the locker that held his uniform and rank pins so that he could attend the mission briefing.
As he reached the locker on the end a slight twinge flashed up his left arm from a long, ragged scar that ran from shoulder to elbow crook. He flexed the limb and the pain vanished. He grimaced, the first expression to cross his face since awakening, that pain usually heralded a bad day. Donning the black dress uniform he found in the locker he tied his hair, a good foot longer than regs permitted, into a ponytail. Affixing the Lieutenant Colonel's pins to his collar he considered his reflection in the mirrored wall of the chamber.
The face that stared back at him was possessed of prominent cheekbones and a narrow jaw, clean of stubble. The black uniform fit as though tailored for his tall frame, the gold rank pins winking on his collar. Cool, cobalt blue eyes stared back at his with laser like intensity from beneath ebony bangs, the rest of his hair gathered in a ponytail that reached halfway to his pants hem. He smiled at that little incongruence in his otherwise immaculate appearance. That subtle 'screw you' to the brass had almost gotten him demoted and was probably what was keeping him from making full Colonel. He didn't care, he kept his hair long as a way of honoring a friend. His uniform complete Lieutenant Colonel S-D028 Merek, a member of the SPARTANIII project's Delta company, turned to leave the cryobay. His briefing awaited.
As he traversed the multitude of iron grey corridors the comprised the Orpheon Merek's mind wandered. His team along with five others had been pulled away from the training camp that had been their home for six years, Delta company was kept on standby alert after augmentation, and shuttled rapidly the waiting frigate. All they had been told as they climbed into their cryotubes was that they were being shipped out into an intense combat theater. Reach had recently come under attack and they all hoped that was were they were headed. Reach was a place of mystery for the SPARTANIIIs. Their predecessors, the SPARTANIIs had been created there but the model IIIs world was Onyx. Many of them regarded Reach with a superstitious air. So absorbed as he with these thoughts that he hadn't realized he'd reached the briefing room until the MPs standing outside snapped to attention.
Returning the salute Merek stalked past the soldiers and into the room. Inside the room was a massive amphitheater capable of holding an entire battalion. Instead seven people stood clustered around a holoprojector displaying a canyon filled with snow. Not Reach then. He sagged a bit but then, sighting a white uniform and Colonel's uniform, snapped to crisp attention and rattled off, "Sierra Delta 028 reporting as ordered sir!" The Colonel returned the salute and turned back to the table. Merek's eyes roved over the faces in the room. Five of them, large enough to be nothing but SPARTANs, snapped off salutes of their own but the seventh person in the room held out a hand for Merek to shake. As he accepted the hand he gazed upon a face he thought he'd never see again. She was a civilian woman in her late fifties, stern features and iron grey hair betraying her age.
"So good to see you again Merek," she said, her warm slightly tart voice confirming his suspicion. Covering his surprise he replied, "Good to see you too ma'am." Catharine Halsey stepped back and released Merek's hand, "You're always too formal Merek." The SPARTAN managed a sheepish grin, somehow Dr. Halsey made him feel six years old again. To cover his embarrassment he turned to the holoproj table and inspected the display.
The white scenery framed three objects outlined in different colors. On the left was a roughly square building lined in black with blue traceries that Merek guessed were corridors. In center of the shape was the black-and-white triangle of the ONI division. To the right of the map was a solid stripe of purple blocking off the end of the canyon, perhaps a wall of some kind. Behind the wall were purple dots representing a Covenant force. In the center was a mushroom shaped field of blue that covered the wall. Merek indicated the map, "These our targets sir?"
The man nodded and stepped up onto the dais to work the projector. He nodded, "Yes, thank you Lieutenant Colonel. Those are indeed out targets. The Covenant have erected a beachhead around the captured area of the planet. Naturally, we want it back. Inside they have a captured ONI base and are combing through our archives as we speak. Needless to say there is extremely sensitive materiel in those archives." The blue shield flashed and highlighted that place it stemmed from. At this the Colonel indicated two of the SPARTANs on the room: First Lieutenant S-D103 David and Sergeant Major S-D199 Phoebe. The icons for their squads, Spook and Spectre respectively, appeared on the shield spire. For Spook it was an black EOD helmet with red eyes and for Spectre a vague misty skull.
"These teams will infiltrate the shield tower deactivate the shield by placing a nuke at the peak of the spire. The resulting EMP pulse should disable both the shield and Covenant communications long enough for the rest of the mission to continue. Hammer and Anvil squads," at this he indicated Second Lieutenant S-D223 Henry and Second Lieutenant S-D135 Daniel. "Will be deployed with the 7th Shock Troops ODST unit. Anvil is tasked with capturing but not destroying the wall. You will use the heavy turrets and mortars therein to catch the attention of the Covenant troops stationed here." He indicated the cluster of dots.
"Hammer along with the ODSTs will be deployed behind the Covenant forces and use heavy weaponry and superior cover to force the enemy against the wall and crush them. After this is accomplished Anvil will plant their nuke and exfil with Hammer and the others." the little dots on the map were pushed back by Hammer's symbol and the OSDT skull while Anvil's symbol remained stationary. Merek's keen blue eyes flickered over the ONI base and he frowned as a though occurred to him. He raised a hand and asked, "Sir? Permission to speak candidly, because I don't think Dr. Halsey came by to see her SPARTANs off. Not completely at least," he added seeing the look on Halsey's face.
"No, I believe you have some stake in this ma'am and I'd like to know what I'm getting my team into," he finished. The Colonel spun toward him, outrage plain upon his face but before he could speak Halsey interjected, "You always were too perceptive for your own good Merek. Yes I have 'stake in this' as you say. Your mission is twofold." She gestured to the holoproj and resumed, "Your Celtic team and Ryan's Thunder team will be assigned to torch-and-burn the ONI files yes, but you will also carry out some data for me. This is vital research that is classified top secret…" Merek smirked and interrupted, "So it's need to know and we don't?" Halsey's jaw bunched in irritation but she nodded. The Colonel recovered his composure and highlighted the ONI base and the tunnel that led from the shield spire to the base.
"Celtic and Thunder will infiltrate the base. Celtic will extract the research data while Thunder purges the archives," the Infinity knot of Celtic Team and the lightning bolt of Captain S-D124 Ryan's Thunder separated and moved into different directions. The base flickered once and both icons exited via the side where they vanished. The Colo0nel turned to the six SPARTANs as the holoproj faded, "Good luck SPARTANs." Merek smiled and replied, "Sir, we make our own luck." The SPARTANs saluted the Colonel before filing out.
As Merek turned to go he felt a hand on his shoulder. He tensed instinctively, like many SPARTANs he hated being touched, then he relaxed when the familiar scent of gunpowder and smoke filled his nostrils. Without turning he murmured, "Been a long time Henry." A quiet chuckle behind him confirmed his suspicion that the massive SPARTAN held his shoulder. Henry sighed behind him, "You always did enjoy pissing off the Brass." Merek laughed sadly and replied, "Yeah, Cryss was a great teacher…" Henry's hand slid from Merek's shoulder as the large man turned to go. "See you on the arming deck?" he asked. Merek nodded, sad memories welling up once more inside him.
Cryss and Merek had met in basic at age six. Even then Cryss was a joker. After one particularly brutal day of training he had enlisted Henry, Merek, and Myka to help catch biting ants and place them in the Drill Sergeant's bunk. At age twelve, before the augmentations, he had kept his blond hair at shoulder length. When asked to get it cut he had simply bound it up under a cap that hadn't come off until the week before A-day, or augmentation day, as it was called when the SPARTANs had left in isolation chambers. The medics had nearly thrown a fit, if Cryss had been anyone but a SPARATAN candidate they would have shaved him bald. As it was, when he came out of augmentation, it hung past his shoulder blades.
When they he been fitted for armor the tech told Cryss his hair would have to trimmed. Merek thought Cryss was about to have a coronary right there on the arming deck. He instead told the tech to measure an extra inch for a braid that would run the length of his head from back to fasten on the front. The tech, who wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor, had consented. Merek couldn't even remember what kind of helmet Cryss had worn but one of Cryss's shoulder plates was set into his own armor.
Shaking the sad memories from his head he glanced up and realized that during his musing his body had carried him straight to the armory. The Arming deck consisted for three wings, accessed by three corridors. The left hall led to the Vehicle Depository where the chainguns and cannons of various UNSC craft were loaded and serviced. The right hallway led to the Infantry Armory, where all of the weapons onboard were stored along with ammo. It was a favorite hangout for SPARTANs and Marines alike. The middle hall however was Merek's intended destination, the Armor Depository. In that drab, lifeless room were twenty-four of the most advanced, not to mention expensive, suits of armor known to man: MJOLINR. The legendary armor to made the SPARTANs the walking tanks they were idolized as.
Each SPARTAN chose his or her armor based on two things: function and personal preference. Very rarely did personal aesthetic factor into any thing. Even the paint job on the armor usually reflected the environment of the mission. For instance Henry, whose specialization was heavy hitting missions, wore mostly MJOLINR[G] or "Grenadier" armor. The thick plates and advanced shield system cut down on mobility but made the wearer able to wade through fire that would destroy a Scorpion tank and not flinch. For people like Merek's Celtic team who went on fast and quiet missions lighter armor was called for.
Merek personally wore a MJOLINR[K] variant or "Commando" helmet. Any soldier he'd aver spoken to about armor envied that helmet for looks. Merek didn't care about looks but he loved the in depth HUD, heads up display, the helmet afforded. For the rest of his armor a "Commando" chest plate allowed him to carry extra ammunition or supplies for longer term deployments. His shoulders were a cannibalized ODST plate taken from the body of a soldier who had impressed Merek on one particularly dangerous mission, the other was Cryss's "Commando" plate. The base coat for his armor was bright green with a silver stripe down his arms and legs, and one bisecting his helmet. The paint was the only personalization he put into the look of his gear but it made it made him instantly recognizable.
He entered the room and paused. The walls were the cold, lifeless metal of the rest of the ship but these were adorned with banks of readout monitors and instrument panels. Three walls were covered by this plethora of information but the fourth was a solid transparasteel wall that revealed the twenty-four suits of MJOLINR in their separate glass cases. A familiar thrill ran though Merek's body as he gazed over the sight. The anticipation of wearing the signature armor was a feeling like no other. To don the god-like armor, to take up a weapon, and to make the Covenant pay thousand fold for every wound he and his SPARTANs had suffered on that fateful day. His mind drifted back two years and for the third time that morning, sadness welled up inside him…
