TITLE: Long Hard Times to Come

CHAPTER: 7, Hell Jumpers

A/N: DannyR: I will, as you request, do my best to keep this updated on a regular basis. My thanks and a Spartan smile to Xelako for the inspired idea of MREs (from her story Selfless), which in turn, lead me to a better angle on this chapter. I just discovered this. Never seen it before: youtube watch?v=wSy05OJhZ7M and this one too: youtube watch?v=FtCGCJ7GGqs


"Dear diary. Today I taught some aliens about the foolishness of messing with ODSTs!" —Dutch, HALO 3, ODST


"ODST! Commence Checklist now!"

The Gunny's voice battered her ears, and vibrated her helmet, or maybe that was just the sound of her heart pounding. Either way, she began her checklist.

Check harness

Secure Helmet

According to the United Republic of North America's calendar, today was April 13. Therefore, at 0000 hours or midnight ship's time it was officially her birthday. The Marine in question, a diminutive female with sable-brown hair and matching eyes had been born twenty-one years ago today on Luna. Her parents had wanted a boy, information they'd never actually revealed to her. She'd figured it out well before her fifth birthday.

Three hours ago, she was reclining on her bunk, enjoying the last hour of some rare downtime. At first glance, or if you didn't know her, you might wonder why such a pretty girl wasn't in college, enjoying the social aspects of campus life and the attention of her male classmates. Certainly, you'd expect her to be celebrating her twenty-first birthday differently than joining fifteen enlisted and five officers about to make their first real jump from an orbiting ship to a planet surface.

Check oxygen flow

After the terrors of Corbulo Academy, Palmer and the other three survivors had gone their separate ways. They hadn't been given the chance to say good-bye to the Spartans who'd saved their lives. Instead, they'd been briefed not to discuss what they'd seen and heard. Specifically, as the Pillar of Autumn's CO explained in blunt terms, they were not to discuss the Spartans, with anyone. Ever. Period. The four of them were herded into a Pelican and escorted to Earth.

Green light team

Lieutenant Palmer hit the light with her thumb. On her HUD, she saw twenty answering green lights.

The training never stopped for ODSTs. There was too much at stake. She understood this intellectually, but her gut was a different matter. Although, their mission briefing had been short and more than a little light on information, in her pack were enough supplies for three days. The mission scenario dropped them in a remote location. Their mission goal? Survive.

Listen for go countdown

"Listen up, FNGs! Your Mommy isn't here today, so first one of you fucks this up, buys ALL the beer. Prepart to Drop. Launch in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…"

The mechanical sound of the hydraulic mechanisms rattled her pod as it dropped them smoothly into launch position.

Tuck

As for college, Sarah Palmer had spent exactly 3.5 years in college, bored with the curriculum. Still, she graduated with a 4.0 average, and a degree in military science. After crossing that goal off her list, she headed for UNSC Marine Officer's training. She'd had little time or tolerance for the "boys" she met on campus.

Although they'd never approved her choice to join the UNSC Marines, her parents had sent their obligatory birthday wishes. Through diplomatic channels, no less. However, that was her father. And in many ways, she was her father's daughter: Bold, brilliant, and impatient with nearly everyone.

Fuck 'em, Palmer thought and grinned at her use of the expletive. It hadn't taken long for her vocabulary to shrink down to the ODST forms of communication. What would her straight-laced father say about hearing his one and only child talking like a Marine? Well, she was a Marine.

What had her parent's response been on the news their daughter had graduated third in her class from ODST School? Her mother offered a new ground car and a shopping trip and her father promised her a free ride to the college of her choice as long as it meant an advanced degree in engineering. An engineer, that's what they'd wanted for their brilliant daughter. For that to occur, she'd have to resign her commission and that wasn't going to happen. Besides, she had a college degree and she intended to put it to good use in the UNSC.

So, fuck 'em

Palmer flipped over on her narrow bunk to gaze at her new set of ODST Sniper Armor. It was beautiful armor, designed to give an ODST sharpshooter more freedom in combat. With the standard right pauldron removed, it allowed the sniper to aim better and move their arm with more freedom. While the standard left pauldron was replaced with a larger plate to protect the sniper's arm from counterattacks. This particular variant was issued with an optic device attached to the helmet, so an Oracle scope on the SRS99 can uplink to the user's HUD.

Although she wore the Sharpshooter BDUs as a regular uniform. The actual vacuum rated armor she'd only worn twice, once for uniform inspection and the other for sharpshooter training at the range. She hadn't worn it into battle. A fact she hoped to remedy very soon.

A shout from the corridor got her off the bunk. "Lieutenant Palmer! There are about twenty guys behind me out here. So if you're naked well… we need a birthday present too."

Palmer threw on her PT clothes and opened the door. "Twenty guys, huh? What's up?"

"Yeah, well. They ran away. Message for you, ma'am. Skipper wasn't too happy about it coming through the way it did. He said, no one is supposed to use that channel. Then he got even more pissed when he didn't understand what it meant. Made me scratch it down on a piece of paper and bring it to you personally."

After accepting the carefully folded paper from the Operations Specialist, Palmer closed the door in his face and returned to her bunk. What the hell could this be? Although the Comm officer's scrawl was barely legible, once she realized who'd sent the message; it came through loud and clear. She rattled the metal frame of her bunk when she landed.

'How's my favorite Spotter? SOMEONE didn't want to take credit for thinking up this gift. We insisted HE let us chip in. Soon as you can, check the armory. We never get a cake, so save us some, okay? Come to think of it, we never celebrate our birthdays either. Celebrate for us. Happy Birthday, LT! OOH RAH'

After carefully braiding her hair and coiling it at the back of her neck, Palmer straightened her uniform and pulled on her boots. She hurried down to the armory, ignoring the greetings of the crew. When the Gunner's Mate saw her, he shook his head and pushed a long leather sleeve across the counter toward her.

"Here you go, ma'am. Special Delivery."

"You mean it didn't come from the ship's stores," Palmer commented, running her fingers over the leather.

"No, ma'am. It was part of that last supply pickup."

Palmer found the brass zipper, which ran most of the way down one side. The sailor behind the counter watched eagerly, waiting for her to open the rifle case.

No, she thought, this was too special to open in public. Nodding her thanks to the sailor, she headed back to her quarters.

After she laid it on her bunk, she just stared at if for several minutes. When she finally allowed herself to touch the zipper again, her hands were trembling. Her fingers closed around the stock of a weapon.

Slowly she allowed the weapon to come into view. It was new. It was shiny, it was hers, and most importantly, it had come from the group of people she most admired in the world. They thought enough of her to send her a birthday gift. John, Kelly, Linda, and Fred, she recited their names silently in her head.

"… 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, PODs AWAY!"

The elegant and deadly weapon gleaming in her hands was a brand new Anti-Material, System 99-S5 Sniper Rifle. "SRS99-S5 AM, Palmer breathed. Thank you, John."

Against the bottom of the stock, she found a small piece of paper. In neat block letters, it reads, 'We know what we are, but know not what we may be. Stay safe. 117.'

Free fall

The mechanism released the teardrop shaped SOEIV Pod and Palmer's butt raised off her seat. Crap! Was this supposed to happen? Was her harness really secured properly?

The silence of space, only the sound of her own breathing to keep her company as the pods fell toward the planet's surface. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let that golden visor appear against her eyelids. The young lieutenant gained courage from thoughts of the Spartan. She didn't need to hang on to the man's armor to feel safe. Palmer began her sniper breathing and soon her heartbeat slowed and her over-excited breathing evened out.

"PREPARE for touch down in…"

She unclenched her hands, placed her armored feet flat on the grated metal deck of the pod. With a calmer mind, she watched the greens and blues of the planet below her sharpen to green trees, brown dirt, golden fields, and the turquoise blue of a lake. The planet's atmosphere greeted her with a showery display of sparks and the sound of air rushing past her small view port.

The pod landed with a fiery thump and rolled several feet. When it came to rest against a granite outcropping, Lieutenant Sarah Palmer was upside down, hanging against the harness straps. Shit! She'd never live this down. But the grin on her face lit up the up the inside of her helmet. The doors of the POD blew open and with a deft slice of her combat knife, Palmer cut herself free of the harness. As she rolled to her feet, she heard the cheers of the other ODSTs around her.

Best fucking birthday, ever. OOH RAH!


"Gunny" Gunnery Sergeant (GySgt) is the seventh enlisted rank in the United States Marine Corps, just above Staff Sergeant and below Master Sergeant. First Sergeant is a staff non-commissioned officer (SNCO) and pay grade E-7.

"We know what we are, but know not what we may be" —William Shakespeare. Hamlet. Act 4:5