Commander Simmons and Admiral Hawkins hovered over the security monitor, listening in on the Fireflys' conversation through the bugs installed all throughout the briefing room.

"It seems they have fallen back into their own roles already, even after being separated for two months," Simmons observed. Hawkins voiced a non-committal grunt.

"It looks like your handwork in the databases also was successful," the admiral returned.

"Oh that's nothing," Simmons said with a wave of his hand. "Any commander from HC has access to the UNSC mainframe. You would probably be surprised at the amount of resources a HC Commander has… Let me assure you, they will not discover Spartan Claver's identity, at least not through regular hacker channels." Hawkins remained silent for a moment as the two men continued to listen in on the Fireflys' internal bickering.

"And what does Spartan Claver feel about this mission?" Hawkins asked finally.

Simmons chuckled quietly. "Spartan Claver will follow my orders." Hawkins nodded.

"Your launch is in 16 hours, Commander. I suggest you rest up while you have the chance." Simmons agreed, giving the Vice-Admiral a half salute and walking from the surveillance center, leaving Hawkins alone amid the blinking data lines and light screens. He lingered a moment staring blankly at the live feed dial, then switched it off and exited the room.

A Commander direct from HC Hawkins thought to himself as he started down the hall. Though the position of commander wasn't a high designation by any means, being an officer within the ranks of High Command was something different all together. Nathanial didn't know if it should have been him saluting Simmons. Making a Vice-Admiral feel uneasy concerning proper rank protocol was a task that few people could accomplish. There was something about this Simmons character that Hawkins distinctly did not like.

The hallway to his office was nearly empty with only a handful of random marines and fleet officers littering the carbon steel alloy passage, each one snapping to attention as he walked past. With a smooth hiss of pressurized air the doors to the outer room, and then his office quarters, slid quietly open then shut, locking him in with only his thoughts for company. Hawkins walked up to his desk and gazed out into the darkness of space, a habit he had just recently realized he had been forming over the past years. Only the hulking mass of the destroyer Defiance was between him and endless black that wore a mask of glittering sequins. The guns on the capital ship twitched nervously about as they continuously scanned all the possible incoming vectors a Covenant surprise attack could originate from. Nathanial averted his eyes from the scene.

A smart array of plasma photo frames hung on the wall opposite the viewport windows, flicking through a preset album of pictures. Hawkins turned and walked up to them, wondering when the last time he actually looked at them was.

The current picture lasted but a moment, one of himself and his father standing outside their house in Old Spain. The house always needed a paint job but it was still home. Long tendrils of ivy had long since secured themselves to its face and hovered around the broad windows and front door. Hawkins' expression softened as the image slowly changed to one of his wife's sister's son. Jimmy, his wife's only nephew on her side of the family, couldn't have been older than twelve at the time of the picture. Little did the boy in the digital image know that a short eleven years later, he would meet his end. The next photo slid onto the screen, one that made Hawkins' hands ball up into clenched fists. It was a picture of Terry, his brother, from probably seven or eight years ago. Nathaniel accessed the digital album and erased it from the cycle.

…………………

Though the first mission had run relatively smoothly, Jason still couldn't force the knots from his stomach. Pre-launch always did this to him. The red numbers on the overhead counter ticked away. Ten seconds. Seven. Three. The gel dampeners cushioned the launch, but Jason's sensitive stomach could still detect the forward motion out from the bowels of the Artemis. Looking up through the cockpit side view panels, Jason could see the Crimson Star Battalion fleet. Over thirty capital ships floated through empty space, with smaller transport and maintenance craft skipping between and over them like small insects.

The V-class nova shuttle they were in had been refitted and specially modified for this particular mission. The cargo hold was now completely engaged, housing fourteen ODST "Helljumper" pods and the temporary Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Slipspace drive that allowed the ship to make small Slipspace leaps. Normally, Slipspace capabilities were limited to only the larger capital ships and transports, but research had been put into giving smaller craft jump capabilities. The only major problem was that the fusion core technology had to be miniaturized for the system to be able to fit on board, an issue that three years of research was finally beginning to solve.

Off to his side, Rachel punched Joshua in the shoulder, stifling laughter that was probably resulting from another one of Certa's smartly humorous antics.

"Focus," Jason glared. Both soldiers straightened up in their seats, giant grins still plastered on their faces. This mission was going to prove much more difficult than the last one which had, in essence, only been a simple clean up job. Jason knew that with the resources under Admiral N. Hawkins' command, sending in the Fireflys had been overkill. A single platoon could have cleaned out the remaining Covenant forces from the asteroid base easily. The admiral must have known this too and decided to not offer it as a counterpoint in their earlier skirmish concerning Jason's conduct during the operation. Jason reflected and silently admitted to himself that grabbing the rocket launchers from the armory had probably been a bit over the top.

Oh well, the other soldiers got a real kick out of it, he thought, remembering the hooting and hollering they emitted when Joshua had blown the final set of security doors to smithereens. The marines under Hawkins' thumb were strictly held to every line of military protocol in the book.

The pilot, flipping several switches on the dash, shouted back to his live cargo. "Clearing yellow zone now, get ready for jump in five, four, three…"

Jason looked directly forward. It was time to get his game face on. Cold nerves of steel. An iron shell formed around his mind, a mental barrier more useful than the plasma dissipating armor that covered his chest. Jason had been able to rise in the ranks due to this, his icy emotionless determination. Nothing could shake him now. Nothing could stop him until his mission was complete. The strong, defiant man who had just recently told the Vice-Admiral to shove it, returned in full force. Nothing could affect him. The image of his dead brother's face flashed before his eyes.

No, not even that could sway him now.