AN: I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.
Chapter Two
1022 HOURS, MAY 24, 2545 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ UNKNOWN SYSTEM, UNKNOWN PLANET
Scott approached the five men cautiously, staying low and moving slowly, his SPI armour blending in perfectly with the rocks and dirt.
As he got closer, he saw that their armour wasn't quite an exact replica of what ancient Roman soldiers had worn, looking more like sports equipment that had been given additional padding and cloth to resemble it. Four of the men wore the same basic design while the fifth, possibly their leader, boasted a thicker armour set and carried the group's only gun, a scratched and worn revolver.
Questions ran through Scott's mind. Why were these men wearing such primitive armour? Why were they carrying only one gun between five? Why was it such an antiquated design, at that? Revolvers had been phased out of use in modern militaries before humanity had even left Earth and long before the formation of the UNSC. So why were these men carrying one now?
'Scott, are you sure about this?' Claire whispered over TEAMCOM. 'This is going against orders.'
'I know.' Scott said back. He didn't feel comfortable about breaking them. Kilo had been ordered to stay out of sight until follow up UNSC forces arrived, but they had been issued under the presumption that Kilo would land on the correct planet. 'Keep me covered.'
A green status light winked back at him. Scott knew that behind him, Clair and the others would be moving into positions where they had clear lines of sight on the five men. If anything went wrong, they would protect him.
He came to within ten metres of the soldiers. None of them were aware of their shadow, ignorant that they were heading straight for Scott. He took a deep breath and deactivated his camouflage system then stood up, rifle on his back and both hands empty, palms held out to the men.
'Don't attack. Friendly.' He said, hoping they actually understood and spoke English. Some colony worlds, in the beginning, often had a strong cultural influence behind them. Reach, the UNSC's primary shipbuilding yard, had a large percentage of the population that spoke Hungarian as a second language, or even first, and many names of cities came from Hungary itself.
The moment he spoke, all five men froze, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. Then just as suddenly, they drew their weapons.
Four machetes and a single revolver were brought to bear on the lone Spartan amid cries of profligate and Brotherhood coward.
Their meanings were lost on Scott, but the men's actions he understood perfectly. Training and a desire to keep living kicked in.
He jumped away from the men, hand dipping for the pistol on his thigh. Time slowed to a crawl and as Scott brought the weapon up, he saw two of the soldiers drop to the floor, a spurt of blood erupting from the sides of their heads. Kilo had seen their response and was engaging as well.
Scott levelled his gun, an M6C/SOCOM, essentially a suppressed variant of the mainline M6C, and fired twice, downing two of the three remaining targets, leaving the man with the revolver untouched.
'Hold fire.' Scott barked over TEAMCOM, lowering his aim to send a bullet tearing through the man's left knee. It disintegrated, the 12.7mm wide round tearing the leg in two, and he toppled to the ground, revolver still clutched in his hand which was still trying to aim at Scott.
The Spartan simply fired a fourth time, this time targeting the wrist. As the gun dropped to the ground, now covered in blood, Scott walked closer to the wounded and crippled soldier. 'Kilo, secure the area.'
Three green lights acknowledged him.
'Profligate.' The wounded man spat as Scott came to a halt nearly a metre from him. Despite suffering two crippling injuries and the loss of one leg, he still tried to make a reach for the knife on his belt.
'If you want to live, I suggest you stop.' Scott said, tracking his movements. It was doubtful the man could even muster enough strength to get up, let alone rush the Spartan, but it never hurt to be careful.
'You cannot scare me.' He replied, left hand awkwardly gripping the knife. It was angled to be easily accessible to the right hand but now that it was hanging uselessly, the left would have to do. All the while, Scott's pistol continued to stay aimed squarely at it. 'I have served my master Caesar and faced the full might of the Bear. I fear nothing, not even death. I embrace it, knowing I have done my part to further the Legion and its conquest of the profligate lands.'
Scott cocked his head to the side as he listened, filing everything that was being said away for further reference. 'And where might these profligate lands be?'
He spat at Scott again. 'Where else would they be? To the west, where the NCR and your pathetic Brotherhood came from. Today we took New Vegas. Tomorrow, we will begin preparations to take the rest of California. You cannot stop us.' With that, he drew the knife, more a machete, and lunged at Scott who responded by stepping back.
'What do you mean, 'California'?' Scott said. He stepped forwards and brought his armoured boot down hard on the hand holding the machete, smashing the bones and causing the man to howl in pain. 'What do you mean?'
'California.' The man grunted, fighting through the pain. 'Where America stops and the polluted ocean of the Pacific begins, where the NCR clings to the ideals of the Old World, where the Legion will finally stop in its march to glory.' He tried to yank his arm free but only succeeded in pulling his arm out of its socket.
Scott looked down on him, contemplating what had been said.
He knew of only a single place which contained America, California and the Pacific in one location, which led to two trains of thoughts, one highly unlikely and one practically impossible.
One, they had arrived on a planet that had places named almost exactly like the ones back on the home world of humanity. That was the highly unlikely thought.
Two, somehow Kilo had landed on Earth. This was the impossible thought for several reasons. The first was that Earth, like all Inner Colonies, was highly developed and boasted a large population. This meant that most of the planet's surface was either used up by high rise towers and housing complexes or lush forests to suit the needs of the people living there.
None of that was present. Even the desert regions were developed to some degree. All Scott could see for miles in every direction was blasted scrublands.
Second, the Pillar of Autumn had been nowhere near the Sol System as it deployed Kilo. At least, Scott hoped it had been.
'What are you waiting for, profligate?' Scott's prisoner hissed, his left arm unnaturally long. 'Kill me or release-'
A single silenced shot cut him off and Scott holstered his pistol, stepping away from the corpse as his camouflage system came back online. 'Kilo, we've got a problem.'
1051 HOURS, MAY 24, 2545 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ UNKNOWN SYSTEM, UNKNOWN PLANET
They moved away from the drop zone towards an abandoned house some miles to the west in silence, communicating with hand signals until they were all inside.
'We can't be on Earth.' Jack said once Scott had finished relaying what he had heard from the Roman lookalike. 'There's just no way.'
Scott nodded. 'I know, but I can't think of any other planet with those names all in one place.'
'Maybe we're on a rouge planet, one where Insurrectionists took control and warped the history that was taught.' Clair offered though she didn't sound convinced herself.
'Doubt it.' Scott said, shaking his head. 'If the Insurrection was in control, they'd at least teach the population what a soldier of the enemy looks like and equip their people with decent weapons.'
He had taken a quick look at the revolver before Kilo had left. It held only five .357 calibre rounds per magazine and had to be reloaded one bullet at a time. Even if the man had drawn the gun, the small size of the bullet would have lacked the power to penetrate the outer layer of the SPI armour.
'So where can we be?' Joan asked. She was stood in front of one of the windows in the house, staring out at the desert beyond. Scott should have reprimanded her for presenting such a viable target for a potential sniper but thought against it. Joan was an expert marksman. She knew the risks of standing where she was. And if she was presenting a highly visible target, it was only because her instincts were saying it was okay to do so, that there was no rifle trained on the house.
'I don't know.' Scott said after a full second.
They could be anywhere in known or unknown space, light years from the nearest friendly planet.
'Check your mission recorders.' He ordered after another. 'Maybe something happened on the drop in and we missed it.' A long shot, but their helmet cameras would have seen everything the Spartans would have seen and remembered it in better detail. Deploying from a ship in Slipspace was hardly the most comfortable ride anyone could endure but it was long and Scott knew Kilo would have used the chance to get any sleep they could. He had, remembering only parts of the bumpy journey from the Autumn. If anything were to have happened, it would have happened then.
Unfortunately, it also mean watching through six hours of footage and even at four times playback speed, the process would last well over an hour for each Spartan so they drew up a rota. One of them would try to get some sleep while another spooled through their footage, leaving the last two on guard duty.
Claire went first, crouching in one corner as Jack sprawled out on a rotten couch and fell asleep. Scott took up position by the front door while Joan watched the back.
From afar, Kilo looked almost identical in their SPI armour, the shifting angular plates covering their bodies completely. It didn't help that they were, collectively, six foot tall. Jack was a few inches above this and Joan was a few inches below, with Scott and Clair taking up the middle.
They were also all fourteen years old.
Selected from an early age by ONI, each of them had been orphaned, their parents killed by the Covenant, and all had agreed to become Spartans as a means to get revenge on the aliens that had caused them so much pain.
418 of them had been assembled on Onyx but only 300 could make the cut to become Spartans, like Lieutenant Ambrose. He had motivated and guided the candidates through six years of hellish training under Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez, the head drill instructor, covering every single aspect of battle. Marksmanship, combat First Aid, small unit tactics, target prioritising and most importantly, teamwork.
SPARTAN-IIIs operated in teams, something that been drilled into them so much by both Ambrose and Mendez that it had become an innate part of them, something they did without conscious thought. Team Kilo had been together since their training began. They knew what their strengths were, what their weaknesses were, and considered each other family, and their story was the same across Beta Company, the second wave of SPARTAN-IIIs following the pyrrhic victory of Alpha Company in 2537.
'Might have seen something.' Clair said after an hour, making Scott look over his shoulder at her and Jack wake up.
'Can you be more specific?' Scott asked.
'A light, maybe a few minutes before we exited Slipspace.' She said. 'Just a brief bit of light. That's all.'
'Slipspace doesn't have light.' Joan said from her position. 'It's just a blank void.'
'That's what my mission recorders saw.' Clair defended, turning to her teammate. 'A very brief flash of white light.'
'We'll check ours.' Scott said. 'Jack, you take a look next. Clair, watch the door. I'll sack out.' He moved to swap places with Jack but stopped, as did Jack and the rest of Kilo when their COM crackled to life, a stressed sounding man speaking over the channel.
'This is an emergency broadcast to any and all NCR forces still within the Mojave Wasteland, authorisation code Tango-Juliet-One-Oh-Nine. You are hereby ordered to retreat back to the Mojave Outpost and help hold the line against Caesar's Legion. They cannon gain control of it. Message repeats.'
Scott looked at Kilo as the message began again, its contents unchanged.
'We shouldn't.' Joan said.
'They're the ones those men were after.' Jack countered, standing up with his rifle drawn. 'Which means, they're probably the closest thing we've got to an ally in this place.'
'Or another hostile faction.' Clair said. 'We've got no idea how they'll react to us. Remember how our last encounter went?'
'We've got no other choice.' Scott said. 'Our supplies are limited, we're cut off from the UNSC and until we re-establish contact, we need to find a way of sustaining ourselves. This NCR might be able to help us. But if it doesn't then at least we've found a place to scavenge for food.' He turned to each Spartan in turn. 'It isn't ideal and goes against orders, but it's the best shot we've got at getting out of here as quickly as possible.'
No one said anything. 'Then it's settled.' Scott said, shouldering his MA5K. 'We'll zero in on the source of the transmission and go from there. I'll be on point. Clair, watch our backs. Jack, Joan, keep an eye out for any hostiles.' He went for the door, hand resting on the handle. 'Move out, Kilo. Time to meet the other locals.'