AN: I want to thank everyone for the initial support of this story. In all honesty, I didn't think this would get much attention, considering Kuroinu is not a well-known series, and for obviously good reasons. Nonetheless, the reception is appreciated, and I'll continue the story in conjunction with the Rising Autumn. Hopefully, the winter break will give me enough time to write one chapter for both stories, or for this one at the least. Anyway, many thanks for stopping by, and I hope you have a good day!
Exitus Acta Probat
Chapter 1: The Sounds of Thunder
Location: Unknown
Date: [March 28, 2559] [06:30 UNSC Standard Military Time]
The hustling activity within the bowels of the Spirit of Fire was certainly a busy one to be sure. If the large amount of personnel was any indication, it would be especially true for one of the ship's upper hangar bays.
To and fro, numerous crew members and Marines traveled in the reminiscent manner of a beehive, all rejuvenated by their awakening from cryo-sleep. The colorful jackets of the former and the tan armor of the latter seemed to contrast each other oddly, but the remarkably smooth manner of which these men worked together showed the contrary to that belief. Years of training and experience held them from reacting to the strange situation they were in, and the calm visage that was visible on their countenance spoke volumes of their unwavering discipline.
Truly, it was quite the testament to the crew's resolve in times of unusual circumstances.
With steady hands, operators lowered cargo elevators that contained numerous vehicles and aircraft from the ceiling storage bays. When the lifts eventually leveled to ground level, the technicians quickly moved in and began removing the dust that have been settling over the last three decades of drifting. Captain Cutter had already informed most of the crew of their near thirty-year jump into the future, so they weren't too surprised to see most of the vehicles in slight states of disrepair, obviously due to the lack of constant maintenance.
The Marines, fully armored and armed, performed drills and exercises in whatever extra space that wasn't occupied. Many of them began quickly at the behest of their screaming sergeants. They pushed themselves to their limits, the idea of becoming soft almost unfathomable to them, and the few who weren't participating had the initiative to assist the cargo personnel with loading food, medical supplies, and ammunition onboard the Darter dropships.
It was a controlled chaos, to say the least.
Amidst the sheer mass of movement, three massive beings moved through the hangar, unheeding to the commotion around them. Their armored boots pounded the titanium floor with loud thumps of metal on metal, alerting their presence to those who were close enough to listen. Marines, cargo personnel, lift operators, and technicians alike briefly halted their tasks, opting to watch the armored individuals move past them with wide eyes.
The members of Spartan Red Team chose to ignore the stares, however, and continued to saunter towards their intended destination.
Leading the front was Jerome-092, characterized by his armor's unique red markings, with the two figures of Alice-130 and Douglas-042 following right behind him. All of them donned green MJOLNIR armor, their helmet's golden visors reflecting back everything that dared to make eye-contact with the hulking goliaths. However, the weaponry carried on their person was just as intimidating as their immensely massive stature. Befitting to their roles, each of the Spartans were respectively assigned different weapons that they were more or less familiar with.
Jerome carried a MA5B assault rifle, along with extra magazines of armor-piercing ammunition, and a powerful M6 Spartan Laser that was securely attached to the magnetic strips on his back. Likewise, Alice hauled the imposing shape of a two-handle, triple-barreled HMG, with a pair of M6C magnums attached to each of her armored thighs. Douglas, compared to his two comrades, was more light with his armament, although the pair of M7 SMGs on his hips and the M90 shotgun he held across his chest were nothing to scoff at either.
Adding to the extra belts of M9 frag grenades and blowbacks filled with enough C12 charges to blow up apart meters of titanium plating, to say that the Spartans were armed to the teeth would have been an extremely gross understatement.
"I don't think this is what the Captain had in mind when he said 'travel light'." Douglas spoke through the private TEAMCOM channel.
Alice snorted lightly, "We're Spartans, Douglas. 'Light' is a relative term to us."
"As in enough weapons and explosives to fight a small war on our own?" Douglas retorted with a chuckle, "Do you think this is a bit too much for a simple recon mission?"
Jerome smiled slightly, enjoying the exchange between his fellow teammates. It was quite a refreshing sight to see, especially since most of their time was nearly spent in cryo-sleep. Trained to deal with different situations, the news about their thirty-year journey didn't affect him or his teammates as much compared to the rest of the crew.
The lack of insight regarding the mysterious situation they were in did worry the Spartan a bit, however.
"We're treading into unknown territory. More weapons will be the least of our concerns when we encounter something that could be a potential threat to us." He stated.
Douglas tilted his head ever so slightly, "Something that could be as dangerous as the Covenant?"
"Possibly." Jerome shrugged his shoulders.
"Those parasitic aliens weren't exactly pushovers when we first encountered them." Alice decided to add in, "Heavier gear wouldn't hurt if we manage to run into a similar situation."
Douglas' shoulders seem to deflate a bit, "Alright, I see your point." He murmured.
Jerome looked at both of them, "Hopefully, it won't come to that. We're only on recon, so no fighting unless we really have to. Understood?"
Silently, Alice and Douglas nodded in agreement, and Jerome turned around to see that they were closing in on their destination.
"Heads up, Spartans. We're almost at our ride."
Immediately cutting their conversation short, the three Spartans continued to journey forward as they passed by the watchful eyes of more Marines and crew members. Not too long after, Red Team eventually arrived at a landing pad currently occupied by a pair of D77-TC Pelicans. Attached to the dropships' aft overhangs were two variants of Warthog LRVs, each secured by magnetic attachment clamps.
However, the Spartans' attention wasn't directed at the vehicles themselves, but to the group of ODSTs who were standing by the open troop compartments of the Pelicans. The special operations troopers were closely inspecting their gear, with an array of weapons that showed each of their respective roles in the small squad. Silenced M7s, M6 magnums, and even the heavier variety of a sniper rifle and rocket launcher, it was painfully obvious that the ODSTs were not there to fool around.
Without hesitation, Jerome stepped forward to approach the small squad. His helmet faced the trooper who was spinning the barrels of his customized M41 SPNKR. From the unique unit patch and orange paint on the ODST's BDU, he immediately began to recognize the man in front of him.
"Major Vaughan."
The aforementioned ODST stiffened slightly and turned to face the awaiting Red Team. Without his helmet, the Spartans were able to see the man's expression of slight surprise and shock at their sudden appearance, his occupied hand twitching ever so lightly. But as fast as it had appeared, his astonishment disappeared from view, and his face took on a more neutral expression.
"Red Team." Vaughan broke out a small smile, "Glad you can make it with us."
Jerome nodded, "Likewise, Major. Are you and your squad ready?"
In response, Vaughan cocked his head to the other members of his team, "Give us a moment, Spartan, and Sunray 1-1 will be ready and waiting."
"Good." Without a moment's pause, Jerome took a quick moment to observe the ODSTs.
Prior to his arrival, the Spartan had taken the time to inspect Sunray 1-1's profile. To put it bluntly, he was quite impressed. This particular group of ODSTs were an unorthodox and motley bunch, no doubt about that, but they were also extremely efficient in what they can do. Even with their limited size, they were able to complete countless amounts of dangerous missions back at Harvest and so forth.
All without even losing a single member in the process. Impressive feats aside, that earned quite a bit of Jerome's respect.
He looked over his shoulder to his two teammates, "Let's go, Spartans."
Alice and Douglas nodded in an affirmative. With a light gesture from Jerome, the Spartans began to move past the ODSTs.
Dodging the hanging frame of the Warthog, they quietly stepped inside their designated Pelican's troop compartment. Entering the 'blood tray', Red Team took note of two occupants: an attractive woman in pilot gear and a brown-jacketed crew member. Judging from picked up terms like 'engine pods' and 'ANVIL missiles', they seemed to be conversing about the Pelican's propulsion and weapon systems respectively.
When loud footsteps alerted them to the presence of the three armored beings, the crew member immediately excused himself and maneuvered around the heavily armed Spartans. Once the man left the troop bay, the pilot approached Red Team tentatively. She raised a hand up to her mouth as if attempting to hold back a cough.
Whether it was from nervousness or otherwise, the Spartans didn't really know.
"Red Team?" The woman raised an eyebrow.
When Jerome responded with a curt nod, the female pilot let out a small grin, "Warrant Officer Charlotte Anderson, main operator of Bravo 029. I'll be your pilot for today."
"You're the one who's taking us down to the surface?" Douglas inquired gruffly.
"That's right." Almost gently, Anderson patted the surface of the titanium wall beside her, "This baby's seen a lot of action, so don't worry about any bumpy rides, Spartans. The trip down to the planet will be a smooth piece of cake."
Jerome tilted his head slightly, "This is a recon mission. There's no action as far as I'm aware."
"So I've heard." The pilot replied with an amused smirk, "I'm still running some diagnostic tests on the Pelican's systems. It'll take a few minutes for them to finish up, but in the meantime, get yourselves comfortable."
Jerome nodded, and Anderson gave a two-fingered salute before entering into the cockpit, leaving Red Team to their own devices. With nothing else to do, the Spartans gently dropped their gear down onto the floor, and began to quietly inspect their weapons for any defections. The silence between the members of Red Team was almost palpable enough to be cut by a butter knife.
Sitting down on the closest passenger seat, Jerome set his assault rifle down and looked to his two teammates. He quickly noticed that Alice was unusually tense, judging by the way she ever so slightly gripped the handle of her HMG. Jerome narrowed his eyes with suspicion.
She never held her weapons too tightly, in combat or otherwise.
"Alice, Douglas." He spoke up, catching the rest of Red Team's attention.
He flicked his finger at them, and the three Spartans immediately switched to their TEAMCOM channel. Now that he was certain there weren't any eavesdroppers, Jerome wasted no time tackling the metaphorical elephant in the room.
"Alice, do you have something to say?" The Spartan questioned.
Alice stayed silent for a second, the electronic whirl of her HMG's spinning barrels filling the compartment, "What do you think about all of this?"
"What do you mean?" Jerome started the process of dissembling his MA5B.
"The situation we're in." Alice gave a small huff as she set down her HMG, "I was just fine with taking down Covenant, but—"
The Spartan paused, as if she was trying to find the right words, "This is something I didn't have in mind."
"I agree with Alice." Douglas joined in while inserting more shells into the tubular magazine of his shotgun, "We've slept for nearly three decades, cut off from the rest of the UNSC, and we don't even know if we won the war or not."
Once the Spartan finished loading his weapon, he secured it on his back with a magnetic 'click', and looked to Jerome, who was watching him with a curious gaze.
"I know we're trained for this sort of thing, but does our circumstance at least...concern you?" Douglas asked, cocking his head inquisitively.
Jerome remained silent, retrieving a spare rag to clean the dissembled parts of his assault rifle. He took a moment to ponder about what his teammates suggested. Not surprisingly, he had to agree with their reasoning.
They were stuck in a rather peculiar position, and the thirty year gap meant that a lot could have happened during the time the Spirit of Fire was still drifting in space. There were so many unknown variables, so much that they don't know, and Jerome absolutely despised the idea of not knowing. But even then, he knew that there was no point lamenting over something so trivial. As the leader of Spartan Red Team, he could easily shuffle emotions into the deep corners of his mind, quickly devise strategies and plans within the heat of combat. Adapting to an unfamiliar scenario was a trait that became almost natural to him.
If anything, their current predicament shouldn't be any different.
"I can't really say to be honest, Douglas."
After cleaning the parts until they were practically spotless, Jerome set aside the dirtied rag and started the process of reassembling his MA5B.
"For one thing I know for sure, the best course of action for all of us is to move on forward and adapt."
The Spartan snapped the parts back into place with practiced, almost mechanical grace, "Our main priority is the objective at hand, regardless of the situation. We're Spartans. We've been through worse before."
"Yeah? And what if it becomes too much for us to handle?" Douglas grunted.
After slapping a fresh magazine into his newly cleaned assault rifle, Jerome stayed silent and looked to his teammates, "That's something I can't answer."
"You can't?" Alice challenged while giving her leader a level gaze, "Or you won't?
Jerome was about to shoot back a response when the sound of footsteps caused the Spartans to immediately pause their discussion. Nearly as one, Red Team directed their attention to Anderson. The pilot was leaning by the cockpit's doorway with both arms crossed in front of her chest. There was a curious, somewhat confused glint in her hazel eyes, although it was contrasted by the triumph smile that followed shortly after.
"Pelican's all good." Her soft voice held a proud tone, "Better get yourselves strapped in, Spartans. We're about to take off soon."
Once Jerome gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, Anderson went back into the cockpit and sealed the door shut behind her. He glanced over to his two teammates, who were waiting for him in still silence. The Spartan could easily tell that they weren't exactly done with the topic yet, judging from their subtle body language.
He held back a loud sigh.
"We'll talk about this later. Right now, we have a job to do." His tone was calm and even, but it clearly left no room for argument.
For a moment, Alice and Douglas did not let out a single word, their helmet's visors boring into his own. It almost seemed to go on forever, a silent battle that was practically impossible to witness. Eventually, Jerome could see their stances relax a bit, and they slightly nodded to him in a faint but noticeable sign of agreement. The leader of Red Team couldn't help but lightly sag his shoulders in relief, and he showed his appreciation through a gesture that was all too familiar to the entire team.
Raising a hand up to the front of his helmet, he moved his index and middle finger into a 'V' shape, swiping them across his faceplate: A Spartan smile.
Alice and Douglas gave a light nod in response, repeating the gesture with graceful sync. Another brief silence fell upon Red Team, and a calm atmosphere began to replace the tenseness permeating the air moments prior. For the three Spartans, the quiet camaraderie would have gone for a rather long time, had it not been for the voice of Anderson suddenly entering throughout the entire troop bay.
"This is Bravo 029. All of those in and out of the Pelican, please enter in your seats and fasten all seat beats. We will begin our departure shortly."
It was almost time to go. Red Team gave each other quick glances before they grabbed whatever equipment and weaponry was left on the floor. Without a single word, Alice and Douglas took their respective spots next to Jerome, right by the entrance of the troop compartment. The sounds of footsteps directed the attention of the three Spartans to Sunray 1-1's arrival, the troopers stepping onto the rear ramp and entering into the blood tray.
The five ODSTs took their own seats wordlessly, facing abreast to the members of Red Team.
As the troopers settled in, the Pelican's rear door closed off the troop bay with a mechanical 'click'. A slight rumble alerted the occupants to the service elevator that gradually elevated the drop ship into the upper deck of the hangar bay. With the warm up sequence starting up, each of the Pelican's four nacelles tilted in different directions while the six ventral thrusters whined to life. A few seconds past before the dropship's powerful engines flared with bursts of light, the bird slowly lifting itself off the ground.
Not long after, the lift leveled with the upper hangar bay's deck.
Inside the cockpit, Anderson prepared her Pelican for the launch sequence. Two rows of guiding lights illuminated the long corridors and flight deck, stretching all the way up to the void of space beyond. It was a fairly beautiful sight, and the thought of flying once more became quite a cathartic feeling for the lone pilot.
Anderson shook her helmeted head, inhaling deeply to gather herself for a moment, "Starting launch sequence in three—"
The Pelican's landing gears retracted back into the main body, "—Two—"
Each of the thrusters in the wing and rear nacelles whined even louder, "—One."
Anderson punched it. Bravo 029's engines roared to life almost immediately and the Pelican itself accelerated out of the hangar bay, soaring out into space for the first time in nearly thirty years. Anderson would have whooped at the rush of adrenaline she felt, but instead settled for a small grin as she gazed at the mystery planet below her. She tilted the controls with precise dexterity, and the pilot's long time friend had no trouble responding to her command when the Pelican quickly angled itself to the direction of their destination.
With the rear thrusters firing at full burn, Bravo 029 began to gain more momentum as the dropship rocketed towards the surface of the planet.
Within the troop compartment, the atmosphere between the occupants was more or less impassive.
The ODSTs spoke amongst themselves, seemingly excited at the prospect of the new mission, while the members of Red Team chose to have their own way of discussion. At least, if the clicks of their weaponry were evident enough.
"How's your gear, Alice?" Jerome questioned, checking his C12-filled blowback with cautious care.
The sound of a chambered M6C magnum answered him back, "Everything's all good."
"Same here." Douglas finished inspecting the magazines of his M7 SMGs, "Though, my point still stands. I think the weapons we brought's a bit overkill."
Alice gave a dry chuckle, "Overkill? With the crap we've been through, you're going to wish you brought your rocket launcher with us."
"Oh yeah? Want to bet on that?" Came an amused snort from Douglas.
"Sorry." Alice gave a mocking shrug, "I got nothing to bet with."
"What about your HMG?" Douglas cocked his head in an almost hopeful manner.
In response, Alice let out a light huff of air through her nose, "I didn't take you for a joker, Douglas."
"It takes one to know one, Alice."
"I'm almost dying from laughter."
Jerome rolled his eyes, nearly amused by his teammate's banter when he heard a sudden crack of static through his helmet's speakers.
"Red Team Leader, this is Spirit of Fire actual. What is your status?" The voice of Captain Cutter blared through their COM system.
All of the Spartans stiffened and immediately rose from their seats. Even if Cutter himself wasn't present, years of training and ingrained protocol dictated that they stand at attention. From the corner of his vision, Jerome could see that the ODSTs proceeded to do the same, obviously aware of the officer's presence.
"We're currently on our way to the surface, sir. Sorry for the delay." Red Team's leader responded attentively.
"No need for apologies, Spartan. On the contrary, I have some interesting things you might want to see."
A small screen popped up on each of the Spartans' HUDs, displaying multiple dots on what appeared to be continents of different shapes and sizes.
"I took the liberty of deploying a few clarion spy drones to scan the planet before you left. Afterwards, this is what we got back from one of their sensors."
The screens began to zoom onto the biggest continent, and the blinking dots were replaced by a transmitting packet of data, a video feed from a drone's camera. At first, nothing of interesting note appeared on the feed, mostly in the form of passing trees, mountains, and frequent herds of wild animals. It was until the drone flew above the said mountains that something on the video quickly caught the attention of everyone in the troop bay.
"Settlements?" Jerome asked with some surprise.
"Small and primitive, yes." Cutter responded, "No evidence of modern architecture or electricity, but they all indicate to at least some form of civilization."
The voice of Major Vaughan piped up suddenly, "So does this mean that we're dealing with a First Contact scenario, then?"
"Quite possibly, Major. Whether or not they're a direct threat to our forces is unknown at the moment, so that's why there's going to be an additional objective to your recon."
"Additional objective?" Douglas turned to his teammates in slight confusion.
"An extension of friendship, so to speak. Head for the nearest settlement the moment you land on the surface, and make contact with the locals under the guise of traveling foreigners. No fighting or violence, if possible."
Jerome tilted his head, "With all due respect, sir. Is there a reason for the change in our mission? I was under the assumption we're to investigate the signal only, and avoiding contact with anything else."
"That was the initial idea. However, we are in a precarious situation as it is." Cutter explained firmly, "The Spirit of Fire is stranded in unfamiliar territory, cut off from the rest of the UNSC. If anything, the best course of action for all of us is to establish friendly relations with whoever's down on the planet. Any sort of open conflict would just drain the ship's resources."
"And what if the natives do become hostile, sir?" Vaughan asked the question in everyone's mind.
There was a brief moment of pause from the Captain, "Retreat, and do not engage unless it is absolutely necessary. Like I explained before, we're here to make allies, not enemies. Hopefully bring some sort of insight to our circumstance and make our search for the mystery signal easier. If friendly contact is not possible, then we'll have to adapt to the situation in some other way."
Jerome nodded respectfully, "Understood, sir. We'll get it done."
"I know you will. Report back to me when something begins to develop. Cutter out."
The transmission ended with a click of static, leaving the occupants to silently contemplate on the short briefing.
In all honesty, both the Spartans and the ODSTs were more than a little surprised at the recent turn of events. Moments ago, what was supposed to be an uneventful reconnaissance became a diplomatic mission within the span of a minute, a development that left some members of the recon team with no hidden reservations. Any sort of diplomacy more than likely would be at the barrels of their weapons than at the negotiating table.
Drifting thoughts of Harvest and Arcadia were evident enough.
However, they knew it would be practically pointless to question the Captain's plan. Cutter's reasoning made sense in many ways, and his actions in the past proved that any sense of doubt would be a futile gesture, considering the circumstance they were in. More than anything, putting faith in the Captain's decision was the wiser option if there was at least something to gain in the end.
Jerome just hoped it will be worth the effort in the long run, once said and done. He let out a silent sigh. Shaking his head slightly, the Spartan subconsciously established a COM channel to the Pelican's cockpit.
"Bravo 029, what's the ETA to the surface?" Jerome questioned.
A second later, the voice of Anderson answered back to him, "Momentarily, Spartan. One minute until landing."
"Copy. Standing by." The Spartan turned to each member of the recon team, "Prepare yourselves. We're about to arrive soon."
His two teammates merely nodded, holding their respective weapons out in front of them at the ready. Likewise, Sunray 1-1 prepared themselves for the eventual landing, the cocks and clicks of their own weaponry filling the troop compartment. The ODSTs eventually held their weapons in lowered but tense positions, joining Red Team as they all braced themselves with bated breaths. Nothing but total silence filled the blood tray.
"Stand by for drop!"
Almost immediately, the occupants felt a slight jerk of the Pelican slowing to a complete stop, and the rear door slowly split apart to reveal bright light that briefly illuminated the interior of the compartment.
"Move it!" Jerome yelled out.
The occupants wasted no time to disembark from the troop bay, their boots stepping on grassy soil for the first time in nearly three decades.
Moving around the Warthog still connected to the Pelican's aft section, Red Team began to form a defensive perimeter around the dropship, with the ODSTs proceeding to do the same. All of them didn't take the risk of lowering their guard, and they raised their weapons around the lush surroundings to scan for any potential threats. The Spartans especially watched the area with scrutinizing glares, often glancing at their motion trackers to detect any signs of movement within twenty-five meters out in front of them.
After a while, none of them found anything that would be considered hostile.
Jerome raised a fist into an all-clear gesture, allowing the rest of Red Team and Sunray 1-1 to lower their weapons. The sounds of thrusters directed their attention to the second Pelican that was landing near them, its tilted engines kicking up the grass and leaves of nearby trees. Underneath its aft section was a M831 Troop Transport Warthog, which the Pelican promptly dropped to the ground before taking off to the sky. In the same manner, Bravo 029 disabled the magnetic points that held its own cargo, allowing the vehicle to land on the grass without so much as a single squeak of protest.
"Spirit of Fire actual, I've dropped off my load. Returning home now." Anderson voiced over the COM channel.
Red Team watched the Pelican close off the rear door, angling its thrusters to climb higher into the air. Then with a brief burst of its engines, Bravo 029 shot off into the sky with a violent shockwave that disturbed the surrounding area. Their transport had fortunately picked a spot where it was bare of any witnessing locals, if only soured by the fact that the loud disturbance caused a pack of what appeared to be squirrels and deer to ran past them, all in evident states of panic. The recon team raised their weapons tensely. They watched the animals scatter frantically, hauling ass to the tree-lines and eventually vanishing out of sight.
Major Vaughan sighed, lowering his SMG, "Alright, Helljumpers. Let's get this show on the road."
He gestured to the rest of his team and the ODSTs began to pile up onto the passenger seats of the Troop Hog. Red Team, with quick nods towards one another, climbed aboard their designated Warthog. Taking their respective positions, Jerome sat in the driver's seat while Alice manned the rear-mounted machine gun. However, Douglas took a brief moment to view their lush surroundings. A rare feeling of peace washed over him.
He inhaled faintly before letting out a deep breath, "It feels good to have our feet back on real ground again, doesn't it, Alice?"
"If past experiences prove much, it'll be hard for me to see anything as 'real' ever again." Alice responded evenly, spinning the barrels of the M46 Vulcan.
Jerome looked over his shoulder, "Alice is right. There's so much we don't know at the moment. Keep your eyes out for trouble."
"Copy, boss." Once he was done, Douglas climbed into the passenger seat, "Where to now?"
Alice glared at her HUD, "According to the drone, the nearest settlement is about a few klicks east from our position. An hour's drive at a reasonable speed."
"Perfect." Jerome took notice of what appeared to be a narrow road a few feet away from them, cleared of grass and obviously man-made, "We'll use that road as our guide."
Once he made sure his teammates were strapped in, the Spartan ignited the LRV's systems. The hydrogen engine of the vehicle roared to life, and he stepped on the forward petal to slowly guide the Warthog towards the nearby road. Glancing over his shoulder to see Sunray 1-1's Troop Hog following right behind him, Jerome maneuvered the LRV onto the road, causing the large tires to kick up clouds of dirt and rock in the process. The distant rumble on his rear told him the other Warthog proceeded to do the same.
With a slight sigh of anticipation, Jerome punched the throttle to the maximum.
Almost immediately, the vehicle began to accelerate onward. The Warthog drove ahead without a care in the world, and its internal systems worked overtime to keep up the increase in speed. Not wanting to be left behind, the Troop Hog hastened its pace to catch up with the leading LRV. The loud roar of the vehicles' engines started to overlap with each other, nearly creating a strange sort of harmony that echoed throughout the surrounding area.
The Warthogs sped ahead, determined to reach their destination.
The one hour ride towards the settlement quickly proved to be quite an uneventful one.
An apparent fact that put the members of Red Team on slight edge. There hadn't been a single conflict, not even a single encounter with a living being, since their prior arrival, but the three Spartans continued to throw wary glances anyway. Even in a non-combat scenario, their training dictated that they keep careful at all times, in the event where the situation could go for the worst at any given time.
Obviously, Red Team wasn't going to let that happen.
Jerome kept his hands on the wheel steadily, unwilling to let the Warthog stray off the road at the risk of delaying the recon mission. Alice rotated her turret around, aiming the machine gun at the passing environment while Douglas served as the lookout to watch out for any signs of trouble. None of them had spoken a word since their departure, and the Spartans continued to do so at the excuse of a non-verbal agreement between themselves.
The silence would have gone for a lot longer, if anything else, had not been for the sudden appearance of distant fumes, catching Douglas's attention.
"Boss, up ahead." He called out and pointed, "Smoke."
Jerome looked to where Douglas gestured, "I see it."
It was time for a quick detour. The Spartan swerved the Warthog, moving the LRV off the road with Sunray 1-1's Hog immediately following their lead. The all-terrain nature of their vehicle eliminated the difficulty of uneven ground, allowing the Spartans to enjoy the comfort of a bumpy-free ride as they began to approach the destination of Jerome's improvised shortcut.
With the driver pressing on the brakes, the Warthog came to a complete stop by the edge of a cliff, overlooking a massive valley. The second Warthog arrived moments later, slowing down to a fixed position right next to Red Team. Vaughan popped his head from the driver's seat, and let his confusion known through the slight tilt of his helmet.
"Red Team, what's up with the delay?" He questioned out loud.
Douglas shrugged, pointing to the cause of their detour, "Take a look."
The ODST narrowed his eyes to where the Spartan directed, and took a moment to study the column of fumes with his gaze trailing down to the point of origin. However, it didn't take very long to figure out where the strange disturbance was coming from. Vaughan's body stiffened as realization began to kick in.
"Is that?"
Jerome nodded, his calm tone betraying a subtle sense of concern, "The settlement."
Down below, the mentioned settlement looked as if all hell was breaking loose. Multiple fires were burning down the foundations of what appeared to be wooden buildings, and the recon team could faintly hear the screams of the presumed residents, mixed with unsettling roars and laughter from some unknown entities. The latter especially unnerved the ODSTs, all of them giving each other perturbed glances. It was quite clear that the troopers didn't exactly like what they were hearing.
"I'll take a closer look." Douglas turned to Jerome, who gave a nod of approval.
The Spartan climbed out of the passenger seat, taking tentative steps forward until he was at a reasonable distance by the edge of the overhang. Activating his helmet's binocular function, Douglas reconnoitered as his HUD slowly zoomed onto the settlement. Surely enough, the camera began to discern the finer details of the commotion, and the Spartan could even make out the outline of multiple figures, some larger than most. Eventually the zoom stopped on its highest setting, and his HUD filtered a properly magnified image which Douglas wasted no time taking a look at.
After a moment, the Spartan felt his breathing hitch once he took in the image completely, "Humans?"
The rest of Red Team and the ODSTs glanced at Douglas with bewildered stares.
"What was that?" Jerome asked.
"Humans." Douglas repeated to his team's leader, shaking his head in slight disbelief, "There are humans down there."
All of the ODSTs were caught off-guard by the blank statement, and it was quite evident through the surprised and shocked jerks of their helmets. Red Team didn't physically show it, but each of them felt a smilier level of concern at the new information. There was a strange, quite obvious coincidence that the first group of people they would find on this unknown world were humans of all things, much less after waking up from three decades of cryo-sleep. It was a glaring fact that was almost hard to believe.
Douglas shared the image through his neural interface. Jerome and Alice studied it closely, noting the now identified human residents, all wearing primitive clothing. They also took careful notice of the clearly non-human creatures assaulting the unarmed people and the settlement's defenders, donning equally primitive armor around their large bellies. The things' movements seemed slow, almost mocking, and somewhat ungainly for their massive size.
"Those people seem to be in trouble." Alice stated matter-of-factly.
Jerome nodded in a silent agreement, clearing his thoughts to establish another comm channel, "Red Team Leader to Spirit of Fire actual."
"Cutter here. Status?" The stern voice of Captain Cutter came through the link.
"Sir, there's been a recent—" The Spartan paused for the correct word, "—development."
Cutter was curious, "Development? What sort of development?"
"We're overlooking the settlement right now, but it appears to under attack by an unknown force." Jerome reported back, "Not only that, the residents are human, sir. We're not just dealing with First Contact."
"Say again, Jerome. Did you say humans?" The Captain's tone came back almost incredulous after a few seconds of silence.
The Spartan nodded his head slightly, "Yes, sir. How do you want us to proceed?"
For a moment, Cutter didn't say a word over the channel, and the Spartan could imagine the Captain moving a hand up to his stubbled chin in thought. Jerome just waited, his patience nearly indefinite. Eventually, the Spartan heard a faint but clearly tired sigh from the older officer.
"This changes things. Exactly what sort of unknown force are we dealing with here?"
Jerome responded almost immediately, "All non-human entities. Large, fat, green-skinned, each equipped with crude weapons and armor."
"Then disregard my previous orders. When you arrive at the settlement, carry out many and all efforts to assist in their defenses. Try to limit the use of explosives or grenades."
"Sir?" Jerome blinked from under his helmet, "I thought we're supposed to avoid any conflict."
"Not anymore. Not after what you've just told me."
Cutter's stern voice turned even more rigid, "There's a human presence in that settlement, one that certainly needs our help. Thirty years of sleep be damned, we have a clear duty to help our fellow man, unknown or otherwise. We swore long ago to uphold the ideals of humanity, morals that'll be left in vain if we turn a blind eye to those people. Something we cannot afford to do."
The Spartan didn't hesitate to agree with the Captain. UNSC or not, these people were human, that much was clear as day. Leaving them to their fate would only serve to tug on Jerome's conscious, and he knew his two teammates and Sunray 1-1 would unanimously feel the same way.
One thing for sure, those people need help...and badly.
"I understand, Captain. We'll help them out." Jerome stated with a sense of resolve.
"Good, make sure you eliminate all hostile elements left in the area. Cleanup teams will arrive later when you're finished. Cutter out."
With that said, the transmission ended, leaving the Spartan to his own devices. Jerome frowned faintly, turning to the rest of Red Team. There was a lot of work needed to be done, and he didn't have any intention to start it off by twiddling his thumbs.
"Douglas, Alice, saddle up. We're heading down to help those people."
Whether it was divine intervention or from the devastation below, the other two Spartans didn't make an effort to question the new mission. Their subtle body language told him already that they were willing to follow him, no matter what the objective entailed. Jerome couldn't help but feel a rare moment of pride, if only for the briefest second.
"Can't wait." Douglas entered into the passenger seat, removing his SMGs from the magnetic holsters, "And here, I thought we wouldn't get to see some action."
Alice grinned lightly, bracing herself against the machine gun's shoulder guards, "Agreed."
Jerome stepped on the rear petal to reverse the Warthog, rotating the wheel to bring the vehicle right back around. Glancing behind his shoulder to make sure the ODSTs were following him, the Spartan punched the throttle once more. The Warthog rumbled to life as the tires crunched the grass underneath, and the backtracking LRV accelerated toward the main road with the Troop Hog not far behind.
The roars of mechanical engines filled Red Team's ears, and a tense atmosphere of anticipation began to permeate the air. Whether the Spartans were really aware or not, it didn't really matter. Things were going to change, for better or worse, no one really knew. Red Team tensed, preparing themselves for the eventual conflict ahead of them.
After all, they had a mission to complete.
To say Maia was experiencing a bad day would have been a gross understatement.
The red-haired mercenary snarled ferociously, hacking and slicing away at the monsters that dared to lay their dirty fingers on the innocent civilians. It became a rhythm of some sort, the swings and strikes slowly turning into a dance to the very death. One of the monsters attempted to catch her from behind, but a clean swing to the gut put an end to its pitiful attempts. Another went for a more direct approach, but a cut through the thigh caused the beast to kneel in visible pain before the mercenary sliced through the neck, separating the head from the body completely.
Maia flicked the blood off her weapons, watching the decapitated Orc fall the ground with a triumph glare.
Her broadswords were enhanced from the gifted hands of Luu-Luu herself, and the steel blades quickly began to prove their worth in the heat of combat. And yet, despite the plethora of Orc bodies that lay on the ground all around her, she knew in the back of her mind that it would never be enough. For one Orc that was taken down, two seemed to take its place, and her own forces were starting to become depleted from the sheer amount of the beasts alone.
The battle was slowly starting to turn against their favor.
Maia frowned somberly, gazing to the burning buildings around her.
Quite frankly, it was a losing fight even before it had begun. The war party sent by the Dark Queen numbered by the hundreds, maybe even the thousands, and the large attrition began to take its toll on both her own forces and the town's militia. Unintelligent and clumsy, the only real motivation that drove the Orcs forward was the lustful desire to force themselves upon women, no matter their age or species. No one knew exactly why, but the suffering of others seemed to be the only thought process for the lumbering beasts.
That pissed Maia off more than anything else.
Narrowing her tangerine eyes, the mercenary let out a war cry. She sprinted toward the nearest group of Orcs with her swords in hand, intent on showing no mercy to the vulgar bastards. The Orcs barely had any time to react before the mercenary practically pounced on them, ripping them to bloody pieces. Once she was done, Maia bent down and offered her help to the women who had been mere moments from becoming the monsters' play things. Their clothes were ripped to shreds, with bruises on their skin from being handled too roughly, but otherwise they seemed completely unharmed from the entire ordeal.
Maia gave them a warm smile before pointing toward the opposite direction, "Quickly head to the Mayor's estate. You'll be safe there."
The women gave their sincere thanks to the mercenary before taking off, leaving Maia alone with a circle of Orc corpses. The red-head sighed wearily, stepping over the bodies and ran to hunt beasts to kill.
It didn't really take long for her to find some more.
A few moments later, she came across a large group of slightly more armored Orcs, who were cornering a group of civilians to the wall of a nearby building. Shouting jeers at the men while sending lustful leers at the women within the group, the circle of Orcs started to become smaller as the beasts descended upon the defenseless people with their weapons raised intently.
However, the Orcs didn't take into account for a certain red-haired mercenary.
Three of the beasts fell to the ground as their throats spilled warm blood like fountains. The rest of the Orcs directed their attention to Maia, who positioned herself in front of the frightened civilians. She tightened her grip on the golden handles of her broadswords, legs shifting into a defensive stance. At the sight, the remaining Orcs began to roar in guttural laughter, confusing the red-haired mercenary and the people behind her.
"What's so funny, assholes?" Maia sneered coldly.
The answer came in the form of twenty more Orcs, who took their spots around the already existing circle. Adding to the fires that raged all across the town, the sight of the twenty-six Orcs was a more or less intimidating one. The fact that most of their lustful stares were directed at her didn't help either.
Maia felt her resolve falter for a moment before she shook her head vigorously.
She was the Queen of Mercenaries. A Princess Knight of the Seven Shield Alliance. She didn't get to where she was now from just twiddling thumbs. If she had gotten herself out of worse situations before, then she could survive this one for sure.
The choice was already clear to her.
With a face of pure determination, Maia stared down the surrounding Orcs silently, as if daring them to make a move. There was an air of tense silence, distant sounds of screams and fighting in the background. The Orcs snorted in amusement at her bravado, and they slowly began to advance closer to her. In response, Maia readied the broadswords for what seemed to be her final stand.
Then suddenly, she began to hear a strange sound.
"What the hell?"
It was far away, almost distant at first. Then as the seconds went by, it started to get closer. At that moment, Maia had very few words to describe the unusual noise. It sounded...inorganic, but somehow alive at the same time. It was akin to that of irate growling but more powerful and vicious, almost as if coming from something much more...feral.
The Orcs seemed to take notice of the sound as well, and a few of them disengaged from the circle to investigate the disturbance. Everyone in the circle, including Maia, waited with bated breath. It was until moments later that, to the mercenary's surprise, something came barreling down the street.
In all her life, Maia saw many incredible, even impossible things, but never had she seen anything so bizarre with her own eyes. It was massive, made of a seemingly metal material with a pair of sharp tusks at the front, and somehow was able to run on large black wheels without the need of a horse pulling on it.
The Mercenary Queen felt her eyes widening in awe. How such a thing even existed was beyond her, and her curious gaze drifted to what appeared to be people riding inside of the metal beast — two on each side and one manning a strange contraption at the rear. However, the thing was going too fast for her to distinguish any real features of the occupants. She bit her lip in anticipation, instead settling on watching the metal contraption race toward her position.
However, she certainly did not expect the moments that followed after.
The metal beast continued its path, the rumbling thrums becoming more like a roar each passing second. Then suddenly, the front and back set of the wheels began to rotate in different directions, angling the beast until it was actually moving sideways, not even straying off its original path. Complementing the bizarre maneuver, the person in the back aimed the contraption at the Orcs with an odd, almost foreign whirl filling the air.
What happened next would stay with her for the rest of her life.
The rear contraption flared to life, sending down volleys of what appeared to be tiny projectiles, streaks of fire that were too rapid for her to even see. Left and right, Orcs were suddenly cut down as if they were chaff from the wheat. Their hole-filled bodies jerked a bit before the beasts fell to the ground in bloody heaps, their collective screams of shock and pain reduced to nothing in a mere instant.
Maia would've felt almost sorry for the poor bastards, had she not been busy covering both her ears.
The sounds that followed were loud, almost unbearably so. Blocking out everything else, they rang through the air with alarming dissonance. It was absolutely terrifying, to say the least.
Letting out a startled grimace, Maia began to feel an emotion she hadn't felt since the beginning of her Black Dog years: Fear. However, she didn't fear the fact that the Orcs were slaughtered with such relative ease, nor when the cause of their early demise suddenly slowed to a stop right in front of her. No, Maia feared the sounds.
She feared the sounds of thunder.