Chapter Four

1000 hrs, November 7th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
UN Building
New York, Earth

It hadn't always been this way, UN Secretary-General Alice Dennison remembered. Once, well before the UNSC was formed, Earth's military forces were headquartered with their civilian overseers. The Argyre Planitia Campaign of 2160 changed that. As outlying human colonies became increasingly hard to control, the military viewed the civilian government as a liability in the struggle to maintain unity. Several officials had been known to be sympathetic to the rebels, and often hampered the military in their efforts to quell the uprisings. So the UNSC decided to move their headquarters from New York City all the way to Sydney. The symbolism of the move was not lost on anyone. During the Insurrection—and even more so during the Covenant War—the UNSC effectively ruled the colonies.

Things were different now. The Clone Wars had been fought largely under a civilian government, and up until now the Imperial War was no different. Still, UNSC HIGHCOM refused to move their headquarters back to New York. It wasn't hard to understand why; those with power seldom gave it up willingly, and the UNSC had never liked civilian oversight. It meant that if she, arguably the most powerful civilian in the Colonies, wanted to see High Command face-to-face, she had to fly from New York to Sydney. It was annoying, but like every other annoying thing she had come across in office, she had to deal with it.

The other annoying thing was dealing with the senators when she returned. One Senator in particular, Kenneth Hikowa. His daughter had been a crew member aboard the legendary Pillar of Autumn, and he used that in his campaigns so many times one would think he'd been aboard too. "I still don't see why dealing with the New Insurrection should be left to the local Guard forces," he insisted. "They're drawn from the locals. The locals can't be trusted. We learned that the hard way with the CMA."

"The Colonial Guard isn't like the CMA," Dennison explained for what felt like the millionth time. "They're under UNSC oversight, and ONI assures me that their screening process is thorough."

Senator Hikowa snorted. "You trust ONI?"

"I trust ONI to prevent another Insurrection like the one in '94. And I trust Admiral Stanley."

"Why?" Hikowa said obnoxiously. To the sides, the blank faces on the usually statue-like Diplomatic Security Group agents cracked slightly as they threw annoyed looks his way.

"Because Fleet Admiral Hood trusts him." That, she saw, rocked the belligerent Senator on his heels. Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood had been, for all intents and purposes, Dennison's predecessor as the Colonies' leader. He had led the Colonies through their darkest hours. To say he was held in high regard would have been an understatement. "In any case, the Colonial Guard and the Army will deal with the New Insurrection."

"If it gets off-world—"

"The Colonial Guard forces and the Army will deal with it," she finished for him. "In case you haven't noticed, Senator, we're fighting a war here. My guess?" She folded her arms. "You're upset because your precious ODSTs aren't getting enough anti-Insurrection action, and its hurting the companies on your world. You know, the ones dealing with counter-insurgency technology." The flustered look on his face gave her all the answer she needed. "I love and respect the Navy as much as anyone else, Senator. And few have sacrificed more for the Colonies than the ODSTs. But you might consider telling those companies and corporations to market their technology to the Army and the Guard instead of the Marines."

"They don't have enough funding," Hikowa muttered lamely.

"Then the prices should be lowered. I could have Fleet Admiral Hood contact them…"

"That won't be necessary, Miss Secretary." After a few more minutes of small talk, Hikowa left.

Although anything would have been preferable to another minute of talk with Hikowa, the silence of her office was oppressive, even considering the presence of her security detail. As she walked over to her desk , holographic emitters winked on, projecting dozens of reports from all over the Colonies and beyond. One, she saw with distaste, was a letter from President Maria Esquival of the Union of Independent Colonies, an autonomous group of systems once belonging to the UN. The letter urged her to cease the war against the Empire and allow her government to mediate a peace, insinuating throughout that the war was unjustly started by the UN. The Secretary-General tagged the letter with a memo and sent it to an official whose sole purpose was to write a reply to other heads of state that she didn't want to talk to. She trusted that the man would find a particularly flowery way to say "kiss my ass".

Another, tagged as a priority, was from Governor Raul Rojas of New Madrid. Rojas's home world had the dubious distinction of being the birthplace of the New Insurrection, and was the only world where the primary counter-insurgency forces were regular UNSC Army personnel instead of just the Guard. He was requesting permission to declare martial law to curb the protests and riots that were quickly closing in on the capital city. This was the third time he'd asked, and she'd denied him before. But with the war with the Empire going on, she couldn't go on without doing something. She decided to put it off until her Chief Advisor came in.

The major one she wanted to see was the report on the ongoing war. Surprisingly, while the invasion had slowed down, it wasn't due to an Imperial counter attack as much as it was due to a lack of manpower on the side of the Allies. The Imperials had countered, but only in strategic places and only to deny the Rebels new sources of soldiers and other personnel… and, of course, to inflict enough casualties to make them think twice about another attempt. They could afford it. Even though the major shipyard at Fondor had fallen into Allied hands, the shipyards at Kuat were more than capable of providing vessels for the Empire's war effort. The Imperials had done everything short of a major counter attack only because continued Allied raids and interdiction efforts kept them on the defensive. Bottom line, FADM Hood had written, the war was quickly becoming a stalemate and he had very low expectations on the UNSC's ability to maintain it. Something major had to happen to turn the tide. The attached report detailing casualties only reinforced that.

The most powerful person in the United Nations of Earth and Her Colonies had no idea what to do.

000

0400 hrs, November 8th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
NOBLE Team
Imperial-Controlled Zone, Zeta Halo

The five Spartans moved quickly and quietly as they could manage. They were on an alien construct, behind enemy lines, looking for a mobile jammer that was guarded by walkers, tanks and a whole lot of stormtroopers. They were outnumbered and outgunned, with little intel to boot.

It didn't get any better than this, Daniel thought with a grin. A mission tailored for Spartans.

Carris was on point. Since she knew the territory better than anybody else, she was the logical choice to lead the way. Somewhere on a higher elevation, Jun scanned the area with his sniper rifle providing overwatch. To his side, Rosenda clutched her SMG. The machine gun was slung across her back, with strict orders not to use the loud weapon unless the situation called for it. Behind Daniel, Grey watched the group's six-o'clock, making sure no Imperial snuck up on them. It was by no means a typical Spartan team. They ran the gamut from Spartan One to Spartan Three; Grey didn't even wear the MJOLNIR armor typically associated with Spartans. Yet they moved as one.

"NOBLE Two reporting," Jun said. "Seeing increased activity. Imp patrols, regular stormtroopers."

"Spot anybody that might be NCO or officer-type?" Daniel asked.

"Negative. All of them lack rank indicators."

"Copy. Keep me informed."

Another voice came over the COM. "Anders to NOBLE, the sector ahead's dark to our sensors. You're nearing the jammer. Once you take it out, hustle to the primary EZ and contact us. Out."

"You know," Rosenda said thoughtfully, "for a guy who acts like he doesn't care, Commander Blade's checking in pretty often."

"The dark zone will take care of that," Grey said.

Daniel resisted the urge to look at Grey. He'd caught some tension between him and Blade—mostly on Grey's side—but he'd never seen the man take anything personally. Whatever it was, it seemed to be an old, deep wound. Hopefully the old man would stay focused.

Carris came to a sudden halt, one fist raised up. The whole group froze. "You hear that?" she said.

Jun reported in a second later. "Boss, I've got eyes on an Imperial hover-tank. 2-M series, big gun. Four stormtroopers riding on it. They're heading your way."

"Get down," Daniel said. "Active camo, now!"

The Spartans went prone. All of them went nearly invisible as they turned their active camo on. The effect varied; Carris's cutting edge MJOLNIR Mk VII armor could barely be seen, while Grey's Recon/SPI armor's outline wouldn't have fooled anyone who looked closely. However, at night the effect was the same.

The hair on the back of Daniel's neck stood on end as the hover-tank passed by. The thing was smaller than a Scorpion tank, but it had a large gun capable of wrecking a Warthog in one shot. The stormtroopers riding on the tank scanned their sectors, but they failed to spot the Spartans. Daniel didn't move his head, but he could barely see one looking right above where he lay. After what seemed like an eternity, the tank continued on. The Spartans didn't budge until the low rumble of repulsor-lift engines faded away.

"Let's move," Daniel said, standing up.

Rosenda glanced in the direction the tank had gone. "If we're seeing armor, we have to be close."

"Agreed," Daniel said. "That's why NOBLE Four has an M6 laser."

It took Rosenda a few seconds to realize "NOBLE Four" was Carris. "Right."

"Let's keep moving. The sooner we take out that jammer, the sooner we'll get reinforcements."

"Sir," Jun said, "we have to consider the possibility that Imperial reinforcements will arrive before the Navy gets here."

Daniel smiled, knowing that no one could see that smile; it was mostly to reassure himself. "If that happens, we'll pull a One-One-Seven and blow up the ring."

"Great plan, El-Cee," Carris said. "But how will we get off Halo before we 'pull a One-One-Seven'?"

His smile vanished. "Still working on that," he grumped.

Jun's voice cut in, clearly urgent. "Boss! Stormie squad, approaching at your twelve-o-clock."

Eight stormtroopers appeared seemingly out of nowhere, walking in a single-file formation. They seemed relaxed, almost casual, and were apparently just as surprised to see NOBLE as NOBLE was to see them. For a fraction of a second that seemed to stretch out for an eternity, neither side moved. Then a stormtrooper's helmet shattered, cracked by a round fired from Jun's sniper rifle. Another stormtrooper's head exploded from a second armor-piercing round as he and his fellows raised their blaster rifles to return fire. By that time, the rest of NOBLE had begun firing.

Within three seconds, they had lost the element of surprise. Red blaster bolts and FMJ rounds crisscrossed the night.

000

0430 hrs
UNSC
Oberon (FFG/S-139)

Captain Summers resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the armrest of his command seat. Any sign of nervousness could be immediately picked up by the crew, especially in a bridge as small as that of a frigate. A holographic image showed a visual feed from the ring below, focused on the star destroyer hovering over it. As the deceased Lieutenant Commander Takamachi reported, the vessel was almost exactly the same configuration as a Venator-Class vessel. Like most Imperial vessels, the star destroyer was no longer the red-and-white symbol of hope that it had been during the Clone Wars, but rather a dark gray that was more foreboding than anything else. Summers could see eight of the dozen or so powerful guns that gave the Venator its formidable firepower—no doubt the same guns that had destroyed the Akron. Oddly enough, he saw no fighters flying patrol.

The enemy commander couldn't know where he was. Oberon was running silent, with her reactors running at less than forty percent. There were no running lights, and though the ship had no active camouflage it was hard to see the dark hull against the background of space. But dropping the recon unit had to have told the Imperials that someone was here.

Summers tried to put himself in the Imperial commander's shoes. The Imps were probably just as much in the dark as the UNSC forces were, probably even more so considering this was likely their first time encountering something like Halo. Having encountered UNSC forces, the Imps knew that there had to be some kind of base on the ring. Based on what little information he'd gotten from NOBLE Team, the Imps knew the general location but hadn't nailed it down yet. The Imps knew they had the numerical advantage, and their morale was probably high following the complete destruction of that ODST company. Whether they knew that the ODST commander was among the dead or not was up for debate. But if the Imp commander was halfway competent, he would know that the UNSC forces knew the terrain better than they did. He would proceed with caution, saving his heaviest elements for the final push.

Whitcomb interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, we're detecting movement on the other side of the gas giant."

Summers leaned forward. "What kind of movement?"

"Multiple drive signatures, all consistent with Imperial vessels."

Summers scowled. "What types?"

"It looks like a standard Imperator Battle Group, sir."

The Empire loved symmetry and order, so Summers knew what an Imperator Battle Group (known in shorthand as an IBG) consisted of. Centered on an Imperator-Class Star Destroyer, the IBG had two Venator-Class Star Destroyers as escorts for the larger vessel. Each Venator had two Acclamator II-Class Assault Ship escorts, and each assault ship had two of the new Tartan-Class Corvettes. That made for about fifteen vessels, not counting the thousand or more fighters and bombers that the capital ships could spew out. That didn't include the ground forces. An IBG had more than seventy-seven thousand soldiers, not including support troops and their armor.

In short, there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"Are we still undetected?"

Whitcomb nodded. "Stealth systems are still running, sir."

"Can we contact the UNSC from here?" Summers asked.

"They'd detect us immediately," Whitcomb replied. "We could outrun them afterwards, but if that Imp commander knows his business he'll expect UNSC reinforcements."

"They'll set an ambush," Summers realized. "Or at least they'll take every precaution." He closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them again, he knew what to do. "XO, prep two encrypted burst communications: one for HIGHCOM and another for Anders Station. Detail the situation and then send it immediately."

Whitcomb's face was carefully blank. "Aye sir." She walked over to the COM station, tapped on the keyboard for a few minutes and then hit another button. "Encrypted transmission successfully sent" she said. She looked at the TAC screen. "Imperial ships moving on an intercept vector."

One of the Venators broke off from the formation, heading towards Oberon with an Acclamator and a Tartan trailing behind it.

"Evasive maneuvers, but keep it simple," Summers ordered. "With luck, they'll lose us."

The Imperial fleet began disgorging what seemed to be endless lines of troops and fighters as the Venator and its escorts began hunting Summers. The Oberon, for its part, did what it did best. It faded silently into the darkness of space, effortlessly evading the large predators that wanted to blow it to pieces. But Summers knew that if something wasn't done soon, the Empire would claim one of the deadliest weapons ever built.

000

2300hrs, November 8th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC HIGHCOM, Sydney
Earth, Sol System

Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood, fresh from the return trip from New York, sat down heavily at his desk. He was remembering what he had told Dennison hours before. His conclusion was only reinforced by the reports flooding his desk. If the Allies had any chance at winning the war, they had to do something major very soon before the tide turned. He knew what the Empire was like. If—when—they pushed back, they would push back hard. He didn't know how he would be able to stop them.

"Sir," said one of the "dumb" AIs that acted as one of his secretaries, "incoming message from Admiral Stanley."

"Senior or Junior, Meredith?" Hood asked tiredly.

"Senior, sir," Meredith answered in her cool, emotionless voice.

"Put it through to my desk terminal." No matter what the hour, he had to give time to the head of the Office of Naval Intelligence. At least he could trust Stanley to not waste his time.

The image of Vice Admiral Marcus Stanley filled the screen. "Sir, my apologies for calling at such an ungodly hour."

"Since it's an ungodly hour, Marcus," Hood said, lighting a Sweet William cigar, "drop the formalities. What do you need?"

Stanley looked nervous. "Sir, I see that you've prepared a substantially large task force to reinforce the defenses at Fondor."

Hood nodded. There had been rumblings of an imminent Imperial counterattack in that sector, with the shipyards at Fondor being the main target. "Why? Do you need it?"

"Yes, sir."

Hood blinked. "I was joking, Marcus."

"I wasn't, sir."

Hood pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I guess this explains why you're insisting on being formal. What's the situation?"

"We have reason to believe that the Empire may come into possession of a Halo installation."

Hood stuffed the rest of the cigar into an ashtray, leaning forward to give Stanley his undivided attention. "Explain."

"We've had an installation on Zeta Halo since late 2553, Anders Station. It went offline on October 25th. We sent a stealth frigate, Oberon, and NOBLE Team to investigate. They discovered that an Imperial stealth cruiser had stumbled on the installation and destroyed another of our stealth frigates, the Akron. NOBLE Team landed and discovered that Imperial troops had landed on the ring, but despite inflicting severe casualties on the ODST force stationed there, the Imperials have not discovered the station itself.

"We just received a transmission—sent at great risk—from the Oberon. An Imperial fleet in a standard IBG formation has arrived at Zeta Halo. It will only be a matter of hours before the ring falls completely under their control."

Hood leaned back, the impact of that statement hitting him forcefully. If the Empire were to find out what Halo did… "What about the Oberon? What's their status?"

"Current status unknown. They are most likely conducting evasion procedures."

"And NOBLE Team?"

"Unknown."

"What was the purpose of Anders Station?"

Stanley was visibly uncomfortable, an altogether rare sight. "To study the Flood."

"The Flood?!" Hood exclaimed, nearly leaping out of his chair. "Aw Christ, Marcus! You remember what we had to allow stopping the Voi infestation?"

"Yes, we let the Elites glass the area."

"And Delta Halo? We sent in a NOVA bomb. Destroyed the ring and the planet and its goddamn moon, for good measure."

"I know, sir."

Hood resisted the urge to slump. "Here's the thing, Marcus. I'm SAC—Supreme Allied Commander. I've got to look at the big picture. And the big picture says that we're spread dangerously thin. If that task force doesn't go to Fondor as scheduled, there's a good chance we'll lose the shipyards. If we lose the shipyards, the Rebels' chances at making a decisive push go down exponentially. If that happens, we'll lose what momentum we had and the Empire will gain the advantage. I know you want to retake Halo, but it would be safer to NOVA bomb the goddamn thing. I don't want to lose a war to save research on what we already know: Halo is dangerous."

"What of the people on it?"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Hood stood up and looked outside his window. As the senior-most officer in the UNSC, he had the best office in High Command's vast complex. It came with an excellent view of Sydney's harbor—along with the iconic and historic Opera House—and a view of the several hundred men and women in uniform going about their business. Everyone from E-2 to O-9 rank made the large base their home and place of business. It was the UNSC in miniature, a small fraction of the people Hood was responsible for. He would die for anyone of those soldiers, airmen, sailors and Marines, and he knew they would do the same for him. He couldn't let them down. "Consider Task Force One-Delta yours, Stanley. But let me make a few things clear. Your priority is to get our people off that ring. Regaining Halo is secondary. If, for whatever reason, you feel that you can't retake Halo without high casualties, you will destroy it. If there is no way to get our people off, you will destroy it. Understood?"

Stanley saluted. "Yes, sir."

00000

0200hrs, November 9th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
Imperial-Controlled Zone, Zeta Halo

"How are you on ammo and grenades?" Daniel asked.

Rosenda checked her belt. "I didn't use the two-fifty, so I'm good with that. Burned through half my M7 ammo; I've got two clips left for that. Two frags, one plasma. Good thing we decided to go in heavy. What about you, Boss?"

"Four mags for the carbine, three for the pistol. One frag, one block of C-12 that we would've used on the jammer."

Rosenda snorted. "Now it's a paperweight, since the Imps don't need it."

The attempt to find the jammer had resulted in disaster. After the initial firefight, NOBLE had attempted to continue on the mission but they were constantly waylaid by increasing amounts of Imperials, sometimes with armor. Carris had been forced to use up their heavy laser repelling a particularly vicious armor assault, only for the team to discover that the whole assault was a distraction from the real threat. There, in the early morning, the Spartans discovered how devious the Imperial shadow troopers really were.

Forced to disperse, the Imperials pressed their advantage and drove the team apart. Daniel and Rosenda had not heard from or seen the rest of NOBLE since the morning before, and they could not risk radio contact. But the worst was yet to come.

The Imperial reinforcements had arrived, and they were none too subtle about it. Brand-new TIE fighters screamed through the sky, and the imposing dagger-shaped profiles of Imperial capital ships were plainly visible above the ring's surface, day or night. At noon the day before, as Daniel and Rosenda scaled a large hill on the way back to Anders, they spotted All-Terrain Armored Transports stomping through the jungle. They, too, were heading to Anders. With the advantage firmly on their side, as well as the ability to intercept any outgoing messages from the UNSC ground forces, it seemed clear that the Empire would soon claim the ring.

"What do you think Commander Blade's going to do?"

Daniel thought on that as he used his combat knife to hack through the brush. "If he's smart, he'll get everyone to vanish into the environment and conduct guerrilla strikes. After destroying all the intel in the base, of course."

"And rigging it with enough booby traps to ruin anyone's day."

"That goes without saying." Daniel continued to cut a path, punctuating every other word with a swing. "Look, I can feel your frowny face. Say what you want to say."

Rosenda wondered how he knew, but put that aside for the moment. "What happened yesterday wasn't your fault, Boss."

Daniel swung a particularly vicious strike at a vine. "I was team leader. It's my job to make sure we don't get shafted. And we got shafted real good. Hell," he said, throwing his hands up in frustration, "I have no fucking clue what happened to the others. I was so excited to be NOBLE One, I didn't realize I wasn't ready for it."

Rosenda shook her head. "None of us knew what those shadow troopers were capable of."

As NOBLE had fended off the Imperial armor assault, the shadow troopers had sneaked around the Spartans' flanks. Without warning, they used EMP grenades. The Spartans' MJOLNIR systems were briefly scrambled, and the shadow troopers had opened fire.

Carris had recovered almost instantly—her state-of-the-art Mark VII armor rebooted seconds after the initial attack—but found herself under sustained fire. She was forced to fall back, pursued by the shadow troopers, and barely managed to evade them.

The rest of NOBLE scattered after thermal grenades were thrown in their midst, and the shadow troopers drove them apart. Rosenda and Daniel had managed to stick together, but the relentless Imperials prevented them from linking up with the others. Their only option was to rendezvous at one of their preselected points, the nearest of which was the very landing zone that they had used to land on Zeta Halo in the first place.

"What do we do once we link up with the others?" Rosenda wondered aloud.

"Simple," Daniel said. "Restock on ammo, and bring the fight straight to those bastards."

000

0326 hrs, November 9th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
Insurrection Camp 212, Iberia
New Madrid, Madrid System

First Sergeant Ashley Granger crouched by a large boulder, along with the rest of the fifteen-soldier team, plus a… guest from ONI. A UNSC Army Ranger, Granger had been fighting the New Insurrection since its inception in 2559. Her father and grandfather—ODST and CMA militia, respectively—were dismissive of the current iteration of the terrorist/rebel group; the New Insurrection had neither the scope nor the capabilities of the original movement, they said. In 2559, they would have been right.

Two years later, the new Insurrection had made frightening gains. As the UNSC pulled more and more assets off the planet to deal with what was being called the Imperial War, the insurgents took advantage of the reduced UN military presence to seize whole provinces, assassinate government officials and terrorize the capital city El Ciudad (literally The City) with frequent car bombings. Twice, the Governor of the planet had come under fire, narrowly escaping death at the cost of four or five of his security detail. New Madrid's Senator had refused to leave the relative safety of Earth, and so Governor Raul Rojas was the only UN leader willing to directly confront the New Insurrection. Part of his plan to crush the insurgents was to have the local Colonial Guard—including reserves—flood their forces into the most heavily affected areas, while squeezing the UNSC Army to send some special forces to assist in targeting the insurgent leaders directly. So far, the Army had sent the 74th Ranger Regiment. It was a sign that the brass was indeed taking things seriously.

The 74th Ranger Regiment was formed, along with several other similar Army regiments under the 1st and 2nd Ranger Divisions in late 2557 as part of the UNSC's Special Forces restructuring program. Each regiment consisted of one Special Troops Battalion and three light infantry battalions with specialized skills that allowed them to perform airborne, air-assault and direct-action missions, among several others. With the formation of the Rangers, the Army finally had a counterpart to the Marine Corps' Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Most Rangers were drawn from the Airborne and Air Assault units which were folded into the Rangers, so it eventually became a requirement for all Rangers to be Airborne Rangers, jump-wings proudly displayed on their Class A uniforms and BDUs.

Granger was from Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon. Her platoon leader, 1st Lieutenant Ronald Weber, was down with a broken ankle, making her team leader for this mission. ONI's field spooks had identified a cave in the region as a potential hiding spot for insurgent leader Miles Grady. While Grady was only one of several insurgent leaders, he was by far the most influential despite not being native to New Madrid. Without him, the movement would fracture. Grady had been in contact with known Imperial agents, and ONI suspected that the Empire was bankrolling the New Insurrectionists, or at least Grady's cell. They hadn't moved up to actually supplying weapons, else the UNSC and UNCG forces would have encountered blaster fire by now. Before that happened, ONI wanted Grady out of the picture. Alive would be fine, but they knew that realities on the ground changed like the wind. If the Rangers killed him, they would just try to capture another insurgent leader.

Granger didn't want that to happen. She wanted Grady alive, along with any potential Imperial agent. With Grady out of the picture, New Madrid had a fair chance of seeing peace within her lifetime. That made the mission worth it. And that was why she had no qualms about killing any Innie bastard—or bitch—that got in her way.

And there was the ONI minder along for the ride. That rankled, but the spook had not slowed them down. Evidently he'd also been Special Forces before he went off to play secret agent.

Granger peeked around the boulder. Outside a cave, two Innie sentries sat watch underneath a tarp and two floodlights. One, a boy no older than twenty, had an old MA3 rifle clutched in his hands, while the other, a young teen girl, had left an M392 Designated Marksman Rifle propped up against a crate within arm's reach. Both looked bored as hell; the girl was listening to music, headphones jammed into her ears, while the boy tried to get a good look down his comrade's blouse, trying—and failing—to do so subtly. Granger frowned. If these two kindergartners were standing guard, it was unlikely that Grady was inside. He would have put seasoned fighters up top. Unless this was the back door… she looked at one of her men, Corporal Dayton Bradley, and nodded.

Bradley nodded back and crab-walked to another smaller boulder. The heavy rain muffled his movements, and the two sentries failed to notice the shadow moving thirty meters away. He leveled his own DMR, a new M395 SOPMOD (Special Operations Peculiar Modification), at his target, centering the crosshairs on the boy's head. He clicked his COM once: Ready.

Granger put her sights on the girl's head. She was a little closer, at twenty-eight meters. She gave a signal to Bradley: Fire when ready.

Bradley waited till thunder crackled across the sky before he fired. The M395 SOPMOD had a suppressor, and the rifle's report could barely be heard above the rain, let alone the thunder. The boy's head—what was left of it—snapped back, and his body hit the mud with a splat.

The human eye is attracted to movement, especially in the dark, so it came as little surprise that the girl did notice her companion's sudden death despite her loud music. The impact of the event was slow to take hold, though, as Granger saw through her ACOG scope: the girl's eyes slowly went round and her mouth opened to utter a scream. Granger didn't give her that chance, sending a 6.8mm round center-mass. It would've been a headshot if she hadn't sat up suddenly, but dead was dead.

Granger's MA4A SOPMOD Carbine also had a suppressor, so no one other than the Rangers themselves knew that two people's lives had been suddenly snuffed out. As they approached the entrance to the cave, she paused to look at the girl. To her surprise, the insurgent was still alive. The teen fixed her eyes on Granger, trying to say something. Then the eyes glazed over and she stopped moving.

Granger supposed that she ought to feel guilty, but she didn't. It wasn't her fault that these two discarded their childhood to become terrorists. It was a shame, to be sure, but nothing to ruin a good night's rest. They had made the wrong decision, and that was that. Tough shit, she thought.

The Rangers divided themselves into three teams of five (not including the ONI agent, who stuck with Granger's team). One team would stay at the cave entrance with their heavy weapons: two M250 SAWs. Granger preferred the M739 light machine gun and its larger 7.62mm round, but the M250s were great equalizers nonetheless. Besides, one of the remaining three Rangers on the first team carried an MA37 assault rifle, and that reliable workhorse of Army firearms still fired 7.62mm Full Metal Jacket rounds. The team leader turned off the floodlights, plunging them into darkness. The other team went to keep their primary means of exfiltration secured.

Granger turned on her helmet's VISR mode and peered into the cave. More often than not the Innies had closed-circuit cameras operating, but this cave seemed different. No security of any kind, not even tripwires. That struck her as odd, and more than a little disheartening. If this was a serious Innie base, then there should've been more security… unless it was just a trick? She mentally shook her head. It didn't matter. She was there to investigate the cave, and that was what she would do. More often than not these expeditions resulted in an empty hole and a bunch of pissed-off SF operators sitting on their thumbs, so she had already prepared herself for potential disappointment.

She stepped into the cave quietly, followed by nine Rangers. Her boot-soles were flexible, designed to muffle footsteps, and they worked as advertised. The further they went, the more the cave seemed different: more regular angles, different texture. Clearly, this cave wasn't a natural formation, but Granger didn't recognize the architecture. The walls were of some metallic alloy, with strange grooves in the surfaces. Bits of the cave still peeked through here and there. Bright blue artificial lights soon forced the Rangers to turn off their VISR, and caution increased as they heard footsteps that were certainly not their own, as well as the sound of laughter.

"…he tried to hide it, but he's always trying to look down her shirt," said one, an older male by the sound. "When she sits in a chair, he's hovering behind her. When she's standing, he tries to get somewhere above her. It's freaking hilarious. I can't believe I was ever that young."

"Does she know?" said another, a youngish-sounding man, and Granger automatically assigned them identities of Oldie and Youngie.

Oldie chuckled. "Of course she knows. She told me how annoying it was, even though he gets a good look at 'em every night. Horny little bastard. When he's not trying to eye-bang her, though, he's one of the best shots I've seen. Took out a Guardsman at five hundred meters, neat as you please, even with that shitty old MA3."

"Well," said Youngie, "if he can keep it in his pants, we'll make a soldier out of him yet. What about Sandy?"

"Oh, she looks like a typical teenager, but that scary little bitch slit a cop's throat once, did it without blinking. She took that DMR off him. Saved my life in the process, so I've got no complaints."

"OK, so let's relieve the psychopaths so they can get back to playing games or fucking."

"Why not both?" said Oldie, as he rounded the corner. The last thing he saw was the muzzle of Granger's carbine. He took two rounds to the chest and a third in the forehead, as did Youngie; he was dropped by PFC Maria Rodriguez, who was two steps behind Granger. They caught the bodies before they could fall on the hard surface, policing up their weapons. Granger took a look at them: both MA2B assault rifles, one of many still used by local police. Either they had been taken off dead cops or the Innies had help from inside the police. Both were real possibilities.

They moved further in, keeping an eye out for any more sentries or booby-traps. As they proceeded, it became clear that this wasn't human architecture. Alien tech, buried for who knows how long? Granger didn't know, but she had a feeling that the spook did. ONI didn't send out its precious field agents on random raids, after all.

Granger stopped in her tracks, bringing the whole group to a sudden halt. They all heard renewed chatter. As they moved on, taking short deliberate steps, the voices came clearer to their ears: "…not even one goddamned inch. How the hell did they open the other end in the first place?" said one, a woman.

"Not a clue, and Grady sure as hell ain't saying," said the second, a man.

"Then how the hell does he expect us to open it?" A third voice, also male, higher pitched.

"I don't think he does," said the first. "He had a group of guys trying for half a year once he found the place, but they gave up. Guess he thinks we might open it accidentally, like he did with the other two doors. Well, as long as it stays closed, our backdoor's shut."

"So, that's good news, right?" said the third. "UNSC won't hit us in the ass, then."

"You dumbass," growled the second. "He wants it open so he has an escape route. Without it, there's only two ways in and out of this base, and those two lead toward UN-controlled territory."

A sigh from the first: "And that's how it's gonna be for a while, 'cause I have no goddamn clue how to open it."

"Where the hell are the two kids?" asked the second.

"Who?"

"The fuck-buddies. That horny asshole and the scary chick. Davies and Clint went to relieve them fifteen minutes ago."

"Goodman, go check on them," said the first. "I swear to God, if they're having sex in the hallway again I'm gonna cut his balls off."

The spook sent a brief text message to Granger's HUD: Goodman is inside agent. DO NOT KILL.

The young man known as Goodman had just rounded the corner, finding himself staring down the business ends of several guns. If Granger hadn't been told, she would have shot him. Goddamn spooks, she thought to herself as Goodman—if that was his real name—held his hands up.

The spook surprised her, making Goodman face the wall at gunpoint. He looked at her and said, "Kill the other two." Granger nodded, deciding to rip him a new orifice later. The two insurgents didn't have their weapons close by, and paid the consequences. The team checked every corner. There were no other insurgents.

It had been a little under twenty minutes since the first shot was fired, and six Insurrectionists were dead. Someone would miss them soon, which made their time here extremely limited. "Agent Perrin," Granger said, "with all due respect, you'd better hurry the fuck up."

Agent Doug Perrin made an impatient noise. "Later. Wally: God and the soldier all men adore…"

"…in times of war and not prior," Goodman answered in a clipped British accent.

Perrin relaxed and lowered his weapon. "Just had to make sure, Wally. Sergeant Granger, meet Walter North, our man inside Grady's cell. He's been in there for a little over a year." He gave a sly grin. "If he'd gotten the second part of the poem right, I would've shot him. He's the real deal."

"That's great and all," Granger said, "but we're running out of time."

"Yes, we are," said North, "but we've an unprecedented advantage. We can open this door, you see."

"Looks pretty damned closed to me," Rodriguez noted.

"That's because I've been delaying them," North said. "Surely you must have realized sending a single platoon of Rangers against a high-value target is unusual, to say the least."

Granger was caught off guard. "I—"

"A company of Rangers with APCs, plus Colonial Guard tanks and infantry, are even now moving to strike this base," said Perrin. "Not to say your mission is any less important. In fact, the other assets are here only to make your task easier."

"Saving a spook," grumped Bradley. "What a fucking worthwhile mission."

"Wrong," North replied, unaffected by the implied insult. "You are here because there is evidence—hard evidence—of Imperial collaboration with the Insurrection. In fact, there is an Imperial agent here now." He allowed that explosive statement to sink in. "His name is Detrix Hol. This is what he looks like." He sent an image to their HUDs of a rather ordinary-looking man with dark hair and brown eyes.

"ONI is comfortable with Grady being dead or alive, so long as his body is in our custody at the end of this operation," Perrin said. "However, Hol is to be taken alive."

Rodriguez snorted. "Great. Like it's that easy."

"Don't worry," North said, removing his Insurrectionist colors, putting on a balaclava and strapping on a combat vest. "I'm going to take you in. I've spent most of my time getting to know this base's layout intimately. If I lead you wrong, I'll be just as dead as you." He picked up an MA4A. "I had to watch them take this weapon from one of your fallen comrades as they… desecrated his body. I couldn't do anything because it would have blown my cover. Now, I can rectify that lack of action."

Granger still wasn't completely convinced, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Alright, then. Lead the way, Agent North."

North nodded. He moved to a rock face adjacent to the doors and used a combat knife to pry a large piece of rock away. Underneath was what appeared to be a panel of the same material the walls were made of, with a triangular piece of glass jutting from its surface. The ONI agent ran his left index finger along the edge, cutting his skin in the process. The glass triangle suddenly glowed bright red, then orange.

Granger and the others brought her rifle up in an instant as the doors suddenly opened. "Damn," said Corporal Keichii "Shiny" Shinichiro. "Secret Agent Man was right."

"Naturally," North said. "I'll take point, if you don't mind. The assault should be starting any moment, so let's not stay here too long."

"Right," Granger said. "Rodriguez, Shiny, Bradley, stay here. Watch both entrances. Anybody you see who ain't UNSC or Guard, waste 'em. Hooah?"

"Hooah!" the Rangers responded.

"Shall we?" North said. Without preamble, he went in. "Oh, and while we're in enemy territory, call me Beagle and my colleague, Icepick."

"Got it. Icepick, watch our six," Granger said.

"Understood," Perrin/Icepick replied. The three moved in quietly, and as Perrin stepped over the threshold the earth seemed to shake. The UNSC and the Colonial Guard had begun their assault.

North seemed untroubled, despite the fact that the Insurrectionists were surely in crisis mode. He explained why as they proceeded further into the complex. "They know there's only two ways in or out that they know of, and both those entrances are now under UNSC assault. They don't know the backdoor is open. So they'll engage our boys with all they've got, leaving this base nice and clear."

"Great story, Beagle," Granger said. "But what about our target?"

"Hol will be holed in the Secret Room, along with Grady, until they receive the word that there's a possibility of escape. I myself have no idea what is in there, as my cover did not allow me to go anywhere near the place. But I know where it is."

It did not reassure Granger much, but there wasn't much she could do.

A few minutes later, North said, "We're almost there. Just down that hallway—damn! Get back!"

"What?"

North didn't reply immediately, merely looking around a corner. "Bugger. He's got his personal guard posted."

"How many tangos are we talking?"

"Seven," North replied. "Two have SAWs, M739s they picked off your Rangers."

"Let me take a look." Granger moved into North's place. Sure enough, seven men and woman were outside a large blast door, set up behind barriers. "Those are shipping crates. Not strong enough to beat frags."

"Are you mad?" North hissed. "What if you break the damned control panel for the door?"

Granger was unconcerned. "Well, we'll know where the targets are and break our way in later."

"First Sergeant, I am ordering you not to do this!"

Granger grinned behind her reflective visor. "You can court-martial me later, then." Suck on that, you spook prick. She tossed the grenade at the guards, lobbing it over the barricades.

The M9 High-Explosive-Dual-Purpose Fragmentation Grenade has very few differences from its previous iterations stretching back hundreds of years. The current version was just as deadly if not more so, sending pits of shrapnel flying through the air to kill any who were not dead from the concussive blast alone. Despite his earlier protests, North fell back into step, moving in to eliminate any enemy still alive. The frag had done its work efficiently enough that Granger only heard two shots ring out. "Clear," North called out.

Granger and Perrin joined him, admiring the former's handiwork. "Not a bad throw, getting five of them at once," Perrin noted.

Granger shrugged. "It's an enclosed space. They didn't have much of a chance." She didn't look too long at the bodies, many ripped apart by shrapnel. The latest iteration of the M9 had been designed to go through the shields of an Elite Zealot. Unshielded enemies stood little chance against it. "Is the control panel broken?"

"No, thank Christ, it isn't," North said. "You almost cocked it all up, First Sergeant. But since it's working, I'm willing to set aside my anger." He nodded to either side of the blast doors. "Flash-bangs, then we storm them."

Granger and Perrin moved to their positions, and both took out a flash-bang grenade from their combat webbing. As soon as North opened the doors, the flash-bangs went in. They performed as their name suggested; the room beyond turned into a cacophony of noise and light for a split second. The three swiftly entered and subdued the four disoriented subjects inside. "Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear! Four targets secured." Perrin produced four flex-cuffs, binding their prisoners' hands and standing them against a wall. While he did that, Granger took the time to look around.

It was a truly marvelous room. In the center was a huge holographic display of the Milky Way, rendered in beautiful detail. It slowly rotated as it glowed brightly, mesmerizing the Ranger. She had never seen anything like it. "What is this place?" she asked, forgetting what she was here to do for a moment.

"Later," Perrin said brusquely. "Beagle, ID these guys."

North examined two of them, large men native to northern Iberia. "Bodyguards. Not a priority."

"Right." Without further ado, Perrin drew his pistol—an M6C/SOCOM, the preferred sidearm of the UNSC Special Forces—and shot both bodyguards in the head. Granger thought to say something; What Perrin had just done went against the rules for treatment of detainees. But then she remembered the many friends killed, maimed and tortured by the Insurrection over the past two years, and decided not to say anything. She did not feel an ounce of pity for these traitors. Neither did the spooks, evidently.

North pointed at the shorter of the two remaining men, a stocky man with bright orange hair. "That's Grady."

Perrin frowned. "That's what he calls himself these days. Beagle, this fucker's one of us."

"What?"

The man who went by the name of Grady ventured a smile. "You arseholes always think you're smarter than you really are," he said in a heavy brogue.

North gave the face a closer examination. There was some modification, but there was something familiar. "My God, is that you? Ned?"

The man inclined his head mockingly. "Yes, Eamon O'Donnell, at your service."

Perrin gave him a look of pure contempt before kicking him in the abdomen, causing O'Donnell to double over in pain. "What about him?" he pointed at the dark-haired man next to the traitor. "Is that Hol?"

"Yes."

Perrin tilted the man's head back. "Detrix Hol. You are now in ONI custody. You may not say anything now, but you will. Soon."

Granger had tired of the spectacle. Clearly, these men were having some sort of insider spook-talk. While they had jabbered on, she had checked on her platoon (everyone reported in fine) and examined the display. She stepped closer, resting her left hand on a nearby pedestal.

The hologram abruptly changed at her touch, startling her. Rapidly, it zoomed in on a system she had never seen before. There was an impressive gas giant and its moons, one of which dwarfed the others; it looked almost Earth-size to her eyes, though she there was no way she could really tell. Between that moon and the gas giant, however, was an odd object: a ring. Above the ring, a symbol Granger had never seen before flashed red intermittently. "What is that?" she asked no one in particular. She was surprised to see that Perrin had been standing next to her.

North had also taken notice, and like his colleague had gone deathly pale under his balaclava. "Bloody fucking blood fuck," he swore, losing all sense of decorum. "Is that…"

"It is," Perrin said. "Fuck." He turned to O'Donnell. "What else did you tell them, Ned?"

O'Donnell grinned savagely. "Ask nicely."

Perrin strode over to him and struck the turncoat a hard kick between the legs, eliciting a howl. "No time for fucking around, Ned!"

"Really?" Ned moaned, still grinning despite the pain. "I've got all the time in the bloody galaxy."

Perrin sighed explosively. "Oh, fuck this." He put the M6 to O'Donnell's head and pulled the trigger. The traitor's brains—and half his head—splattered the wall behind him, and O'Donnell slumped over. Perrin then turned to the Imperial spy and pressed the hot barrel against his upper leg. The Imperial screamed in pain. "Your turn, friend. And believe me when I say that if you fuck with me, you won't get the mercy of a quick death like these other guys. Now: what else did he tell you?"

Granger watched the whole spectacle with her mouth slightly open. She had worked with ONI field agents before, but had never, ever seen one lose control. What was it about that ring-object that had him so angry? No, she suddenly realized. Perrin wasn't angry so much as he was afraid. For some reason, that made her afraid as well.

Hol wasn't a trained field agent, despite ONI's intelligence to the contrary. In fact, he was a scientist, and very much out of his depth. The sight of the men he'd lived with for almost a month now dead on the floor shocked him in a way he hadn't expected. Nor had he expected torture. Before Perrin could do anything else, Hol nearly screamed: "Flood! We were looking for something called the Flood!"

Perrin was silent for what seemed like a long time. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "Flood. Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes! Please don't hurt me," he sobbed.

"What unit are you?" Perrin could now see for himself that Hol wasn't a spy.

"Imperial Bio-Weapons division."

And that was something even Granger could understand. "You're making bio-weapons?"

Hol nodded.

Perrin was standing up now, clearly agitated. "You fucking lunatics. You have no idea what you're dealing with. I was at Voi, goddamnit, I saw—"

"Icepick," North said loudly, "shut up." He looked pointedly at Granger, who understood immediately: she had just heard a few tidbits of need-to-know. North continued, directing his comments at Granger. "First Sergeant, everything you've seen and heard here is classified. You are to speak of it to no one. Not your soldiers, not your CO, not your lover, not even yourself. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Granger replied, pissed at the man's attitude. "I'm a Ranger, remember? I know the song and dance."

Perrin was shaking his head slowly. "Beagle, we have to tell him."

North nodded. "Bloody hell. Marcus isn't going to like this."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Pardon me for asking," Granger said, "but—without divulging classified information—how big is this?"

North raised one eyebrow. "If we don't get it sorted quickly, we're all buggered."

Granger shrugged. She still barely understood, and doubted she ever would. Besides, her job here was basically done now; all that was left was to take the prisoner back to Fort Bolivar.

She could be forgiven for such thoughts. No one in her position could have expected what came next.

000

ALPHA Priority Channel: To HIGHCOM from FFG/S-139 Oberon//triple-encryption time-stamped eyes-only: white whale white whale
/start file/
IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED
Item:
Imperial IBG-Class battle group moving to occupy Zeta Halo. Current UNSC assets insufficient to deal with threat.
Item: IBG flagship identified via intercepts as ISD Vector, Imperator-Class. Vector has been previously confirmed to house Bio-Weapon R&D facilities.
Item: ONI Research Facility Anders Station contains significant amount of research on the Flood parasite.
Conclusion: Imperial forces will soon seize Zeta Halo in its entirety.
Conclusion: SIGNIFICANT RADIOLOGICAL/ENERGY WMD THREAT. EMERGENCY CODE BANDERSNATCH NOW IN EFFECT.
Conclusion: SIGNIFICANT BIOLOGICAL WMD THREAT. EMERGENCY CODE HYDRA NOW IN EFFECT.
IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED
/end file/

00000