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WARNING: This story contains some MATURE LANGUAGE
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN MEDAL OF HONOR OR HALO
ALL OC'S ARE MINE
Chapter 12: Special Assignment
5 years after Alpha Company indoctrination
Location: Aboard the UNSC Point of No Return- location classified
July 30, 2537
0900 hours
Lieutenant Armstrong, Lieutenant Ambrose, and SCPO Mendez had been escorted to this catwalk through a series of corridors and high-security biometric vaults into the bowels of the stealth cruiser Point of No Return.
The security officers had then left them standing at attention on the catwalk, and sealed the vaultlike door behind them. Below the metal grating of the catwalk, the shadows swallowed all sound.
Three meters to Matt's left was a slightly curved white wall. No door. Beyond was Odin's Eye, the high-security conference room where he'd first been told of the SPARTAN-III program by Colonel Ackerson.
"Think this is some Section Three test?" Mendez finally whispered. "Or maybe someone doesn't like getting news about the lousy selection results for the Beta Company candidates?"
"I don't know about you guys," Matt said, "but I have a bad feeling about this."
"I'm not sure," Kurt replied. "My requested upgrades for the Mark-II SPI armor were over budget."
Mendez raised an eyebrow. "Where did you hear that?"
"The new AI talks a lot," Kurt said.
"'Deep Winter,'" muttered Mendez. "I wonder if AIs pick their own names, or if some officer in Section Three does it."
Matt was about to offer his opinion when he noticed there now was a door in the curved white wall. Colonel Ackerson stood there. "Gentlemen, join us." Ackerson then retreated into a brightly lit chamber. When they entered, Matt had to squint his eyes for a couple of seconds because of bright light.
Matt noticed that he hadn't met their eyes. That was always a bad sign.
They entered, and as he crossed the threshold, Matt felt static crawl over his skin. The concave illuminated walls of the chamber were disorienting. Kurt focused on the center of the half-spherical room, on the black conference table. Two officers sat there, gazing at holographic screens that floated in the air over its surface.
Ackerson waved them closer.
A woman sat with her back to them; opposite her sat a middle-aged gentleman.
The man was gray and balding. The woman appeared older than regs permitted before mandatory retirement. Her osteoporotic slump, slender frail arms, and thinning white hair indicated extreme age.
Matt froze as he spotted the one- and three-star rank insignia on their collars and the three snapped off a salute. "Vice Admiral, ma'am," they said in unison. "Rear Admiral, sir."
The Vice Admiral ignored Mendez and scrutinized Matt and Kurt. "Sit," she said, "the three of you."
Matt didn't recognize either of these high-ranking officers, and they didn't bother to introduce themselves.
He did as he was ordered, as did Mendez and Kurt. Even sitting, though, his back was ramrod straight, his chest out, and eyes forward.
"We were reviewing the record of your SPARTAN-IIIs since they went operational nine months ago," she said. "Impressive."
The Rear Admiral gestured at floating holographic panes that contained after-action reports, still shots of battlefields filled with Covenant corpses, and ship damage-assessment profiles. "The insurrection of Mamore," he said "that nasty business at New Constantinople, actions in the Bonanza asteroid belt and the Far-gone colony platforms, and half a dozen other engagements—this reads like the campaign record of a cracking good battalion, not a company of three hundred. Dammed impressive."
"That was only a fraction of the SPARTAN-III program potential," Colonel Ackerson said.
His eyes stared at some distant point.
"I'm sorry, sir," Matt and Kurt said in unison. " 'Was'?"
The Vice Admiral stiffened. It was clear that she was not accustomed to her junior officers asking questions.
But Matt had to. These were his men and women they were talking about. He'd kept his eyes and ears open for news on Alpha Company, and had cultivated intelligence sources outside ONI, Section Three, and Beta-5. Being Commandant of Camp Currahee had its privileges, and he had learned how to use them. He had managed to track his Spartans during the last seven months, until his sources had mysteriously gone silent six days ago.
Only the AI Deep Winter had given a clue as to their whereabouts: Operation PROMETHEUS.
"Tell me about the selection process for the next class of SPARTAN-IIIs," the Vice Admiral asked Kurt.
"Ma'am," Kurt said, "we are operating under Colonel Ackerson's expanded selection criteria, but there are not enough age-appropriate genetic matches to meet the larger second-class target number."
"There are sufficient genetic matches," Colonel Ackerson corrected. His face was an impassive mask. "What's missing are data to find additional matches. We need to proscribe mandatory genetic screening in the outer colonies. Those untapped populations are—"
"That's the last thing we need in the outer colonies," the Rear Admiral said. "We're just getting a handle on a near civil war. You tell an O.C. they got to register their kids' genes, and they'll all be reaching for their rifles."
The Vice Admiral steepled her withered hands. "Say it is part of a vaccine program. We take a microscopic sample as we inject the children. Inform no one."
The Rear Admiral looked dubious, but offered no further comment.
"Go on. Lieutenant," she said.
"We have identified 375 candidates," Kurt said. "Slightly less than we started with for Alpha Company, but we have learned from our mistakes. We will be able to graduate a much higher percentage this time."
He nodded toward Mendez to give the Chief and Matt the credit they richly deserved. Mendez sat completely still and Matt sat ramrod straight in his seat, his face impassive. Kurt saw that the Chief wore his poker face. Matt's face was impassive
Every instinct Matt had screamed that something was wrong here.
"But," the Rear Admiral said, "that's nowhere near the one thousand projection for the second wave."
A brief scowl played over Ackerson's lip. "No, sir."
The Vice Admiral set her hands flat on the table and leaned closer to Kurt. "What if we loosen the new genetic selection criteria?"
Matt took note of the "we" in her question. There was a subtle shift in the power structure at the table. With a single word, the Vice Admiral had made Kurt, Matt, and Mendez a part of their group.
"Our new bioaugmentation protocols target a very specific genetic set. Any deviation from that set would geometrically increase the failure rate," Kurt said. The thought of dozens of Spartans being tortured and ultimately crippled as they lay helpless in a medical bay filled him with revulsion. He managed to contain the feeling.
The Vice Admiral raised one threadbare brow. "You've done your homework, Lieutenant."
"However, as our augmentation technology improves," Ackerson said, "one day we willNbe able to expand the selection parameters, maybe to include the entire general population."
"But not today, Colonel," the Rear Admiral said, and sighed. "So we're back to about three hundred SPARTAN-IIIs. That will have to do then."
Matt wanted to correct him—three hundred new Spartans plus those in Alpha Company.
"Let's move on to the review of Alpha and Operation PROMETHEUS," the Vice Admiral said, and her face darkened.
Colonel Ackerson cleared his throat. "Operation PROMETHEUS occurred on the Covenant manufacturing site designated as K7-49."
A holographic asteroid materialized drifting over the table, a rock with molten cracks that made a spiderweb pattern over its surface.
"K7-49 was discovered when the prowler Razor's Edge managed to attach a telemetry probe on an enemy frigate during the Battle of New Harmony," Ackerson said. "They then followed the craft through Slipspace, the first and only time this technology has actually worked, I might add, and they discovered this rock seventeen light-years past the UNSC outer boundary."
The image magnified, revealing midaltitude images of factoriesnon the surface that belched smoke and cinder, and showed that the volcanic fissuresNwere canals of flowing molten metal. A gossamer lattice surrounded the asteroid, tiny lightsNwinked on the filaments, and black specks drifted near.
"Spectral enhancement," the Rear Admiral said, "showed us what they're using all thatNmetal for."
The view shifted closer. The latticework girders were hundred-meter-wide beams, andMthe black specks appeared to be the bones of whales in orbit over K7-49—a dozen partiallyBconstructed Covenant warships.
Matt had a difficult time believing what he was seeing. So many ships. How large was the Covenant fleet? And only seventeen light-years from the UNSC frontier? It could be nothing less than a prelude to an all-out assault.
"K7-49 is one large orbital shipyard," Ackerson explained. "All the apparent volcanism isMartificial, created by these." He tapped his tablet once more. Thirty infrared dots appeared on the surface of the asteroid. "High-output plasma reactors that Hquefy metallurgical components, which are refined, shaped, and then transported via gravity beams for finalNassembly."
"The PROMETHEUS op was a high-risk insertion onto the surface of K7-49," the Rear Admiral explained. "Three hundred Spartans hit dirt at 0700, July 27. Their mission was toMdisable as many of these reactors as possible—enough so the liquid contents of the facilityNwould solidify and permanently clog their capacity to produce alloy." Colonel Ackerson then tapped the holographic display. "STARS system and TEAMCAM recorded Alpha Company's process."
A handful of the hot infrared points on the asteroid's surface flared and then cooled to black.
"Initial resistance was light." Ackerson tapped a button and a new window opened.
On this display, Spartans in Semi-Powered Infiltration armor systems moved, their camouflaged patterns shifting imperfectly against the molten metal and black smoke of the factory Kurt wished his suggested upgrades for the SPI armor's software had been implemented before Alpha had graduated. There was a burp of suppressed submachine gunNfire, and a pod of Grunt salve workers fell dead.
"After two days," the Admiral said, "seven rectors were rendered inoperative and a counterforce was finally organized by existing Covenant units."
A new video feed appeared.
The vulturelike Jackals moved in squads through large courtyards, and filed overNarchways. They were more organized than their Grunt counterparts, and they worked in fire teams, methodically clearing section by section. But Kurt knew his Spartans wouldn't beNcornered. They would be the hunters.
Thirty Jackals moved into a circular court, where Engineers tended a churning pool of molten steel. The Jackals cleared every hiding spot, and then started to cross, warily scanning the rooftops.
Flagstones exploded and sent the Jackals sprawling. Sniper fire took out the stunned aliens before they could get their shields in place.
"The Covenant counterresponse was neutralized," the Rear Admiral continued, "and over the next three days. Alpha Company destroyed thirteen more reactors."
The large infrared asteroid-wide view changed. Two-thirds of the surface had cooled to dull red.
"But," the Rear Admiral said, "a massive counterforce appeared in orbit and descended to the surface."
Colonel Ackerson opened three more holographic windows: SPARTAN-IIIs engaged Elites on the ground, trading fire from cover. Banshee fliers swooped down from buildingVtops—two Spartans fired shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles and stopped the air assault cold.
"On day seven," the Admiral said, "additional Covenant reinforcements arrived."
The video from a helmet camera showed a dozen SPARTAN-IIIs limping and falling on a smoldering landscape of twisted metal. There was no unit cohesion. No two-man teams covering one another. In the heat-blurred background, Elites took up superior positions with good cover.
"By now," the Rear Admiral said, "Eighty-nine percent of the reactors had been destroyed. Sufficient cooling had occurred to permanently shut the operation down. AlphaNCompany was cut off from their Calypso exfiltration craft."
The window showing the SPARTAN-IIIs tilted sideways as the owner of the helmet cam fell.
Ackerson rotated the holographic display 90 degrees to rectify the image.
Three Spartans remained standing, firing suppressing bursts from their MA5Ks behind a crashed Banshee flier; then they broke from the cover and sprinted—a second before the flier was destroyed by an energy mortar. IFF tags at the bottom of the screen identified theseBSpartans as Robert, Shane, and, carried between them, Jane. She had been the firstNcandidate to jump that first night of indoctrination.
TEAMBIO appeared in another window. Robert's and Shane's blood pressure was close to the hypertensive limit. Jane's bio signs were flatlined.
Seeing them like this... it felt like someone had driven a metal spike into Matt's chest. A pair of hulking Covenant Hunters blocked the Spartans' retreat. They raised their two-meterlong fuel-rod arm cannons.
Robert unloaded his assault rifle at them, which hardly made the pair flinch as it spangedNoff their thick armor. Shane switched to his sniper rifle and shot through one Hunter's unarmed midsection, and thenBpumped two rounds into the other's vulnerable abdomen. They both went down, but stillNmoved, only momentarily incapacitated.
Elite fire teams, meanwhile, popped up on either side and unleashed a volley of needles and plasma shot.
Robert caught a blot of plasma in the stomach—it stuck there, burning through his SPI armor like paper. Screaming, he managed to reload and spray his MA5B on full auto at theNElite who had shot him. TEAMBIO showed his heart in full arrest, but he still grabbed aNgrenade, pulled the pin, and lobbed it at the enemy fire team... and then he fell.
Shane paused to look at Robert and Jane—then turned back to the Elite fire team, and shot in three-round controlled bursts.
More Elites appeared, surrounding the lone Spartan.
Shane's rifle clacked, empty. He pulled out his M6 pistol and continued to fire.
An energy motor detonated like a small sun two meters away.
Shane tumbled through the air, and landed prone, unmoving.
"And that's all we have," Colonel Ackerson stated.
Matt continued to stare at the screen of static, his heart racing, half expecting the feed to go live again and show Shane gather up Robert and Jane, and together they'd limp off the battlefield, wounded, but alive.
Seven years Matt and Kurt had trained them, and grown to respect them. Now they were dead.
Their sacrifice had saved countless human lives, and yet Matt still felt like he'd lostBeverything. He wanted to look away from the screen, but couldn't.
This was his fault. He had failed them. His training hadn't prepared them. He should have rectified the flaws in their Mark-1 PR suits and fixed them faster.
Mendez reached over and tapped the Colonel's tablet.
The display mercifully blanked and faded away.
Ackerson shot the Chief a glare, but Mendez ignored him.
"Recent drone recon shows the entire complex cold," the Rear Admiral said. "No more ships will be built at K7-49."
"Just to clarify," Kurt whispered, and then he paused to clear his throat. "There were noNsurvivors of Operation PROMETHEUS?"
"It is regrettable." the Vice Admiral said with the slightest softness now in her voice. "But we would do it again if presented with a similar opportunity, Lieutenant. Such a facility within two weeks' journey of the UNSC outer colonies... your Spartans prevented the building of a Covenant armada that would have resulted in nothing less than the massacre of billions. They are heroes."
Ashes. That's all Matt felt.
Matt saw Kurt glance at Mendez. There was no emotion on his face. The man held his pain well.
"I understand, ma'am," Kurt said.
"Good," she said, all trace of pity had now evaporated from her tone. "I've put you in for a promotion. Your Spartans performed well above the program's projected parameters. You are to be commended. And you lieutenant Armstrong are also being given a promotion," the Vice Acmiral said.
Matt felt the only thing he deserved was a court-martial, but he said nothing.
"Now I want you to focus and accelerate the training of the Beta Company Spartans," she said. "We have a war to win."
Matt, Kurt, and Mendez got up to leave the room, but a voice called back to them.
"Lieutenant Armstrong, will you stay for a minute?" the Vice Admiral said.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.
Matt turned and mouthed to Kurt and Mendez, 'Wait for me outside. I'll come when I'm finished'.
They nodded and walked out the door. Matt walked back and sat down in the chair he had eariler.
"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "We have approved a request for you to particate on an extremely classified mission."
"What's the mission, ma'am?" he asked as he sat straighter in his seat.
"You will be going on a mission to assassinate an black arms dealer by the name of Vladimir Zemo," she said. "You will be leaving this ship directly after this talk and going to the hanger bay where an ONI Prowler is waiting for you."
Ma'am, how long will this mission take? And will I be back in time to meet the Beta Company candidates?" he asked.
"This mission should only take about 2 weeks, and yes, you will be back in time to meet the candidates."
Yes, ma'am," he said.
"All mission details will be sent to your datapad as soon as this talk is completed," she said. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"
"Yes ma'am," he said. "I was wondering who requested me?"
"The one and only Captain Jack Pravdin," she replied. "You must have made quite an impression on him for him to pick you over all the other ONI specialists trained in long-range combat."
"He picked me over everyone else, ma'am?"
"Yes," she said. "And his exact words were: 'none of these guys are good enough to hit a shot at this range. I want the best and I know exactly who that is.'"
Matt sat even straighter in his seat and he could feel his chest filling with pride. He would be able to see his old mentor again. Matt didn't have the heart to tell the Vice Admiral that Captain Prwvdin was his former mentor.
"If you don't have any more questions, then this talk is over," the Vice Admiral said.
Matt shook his head. "No, ma'am. I think that's all I need to know for now."
Good," she said. "Your dismissed. God speed and good hunting, lieutenant."
"Thank you, ma'am." He said as he stood up, saluted, and walked out the door. Kurt and Mendez were waiting outside.
"What did the Vice Admiral want to talk to you about?" Kurt asked.
"Well apparently, I'm being sent on an extremely classified assassination mission."
"Oh," Kurt said. "When will you leave?"
"Right now. I'm heading to the hanger to get on an ONI Prowler that's currently waiting on me," he replied.
"Good luck then," Kurt said. "Will you be back in time to meet the new candidates?"
"Yes I should," he said. "The mission should take about 2 weeks, then I'll be back at Camp Curahee."
"Well," Mendez said. "Good luck and God speed."
Thanks, Chief." He said as he shook Mendez's hand.
"Good hunting." Kurt said as he held out his hand.
Matt shook Kurt's hand and said, "I'll be back before you know it."
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-general ML