"What's the last thing you remember?" Trent asked.
They were trekking across the landscape, making for the structure. He could hear no engines, but was sure Black Ops was on its way. How did they know where he was all the time? Jorge kept shooting looks at N, which was making everyone uncomfortable.
"Coming up from Reach. Planting the slipspace bomb on the Covenant corvette," he replied. "Then it went off. Screwed up most of the electronics. Then crashing. Killing the rest of the Covenant onboard."
"I see...where do you think we are right now?"
"Looks like Reach."
"What if I were to tell you it wasn't?"
More silence passed between them. Jorge seemed to consider this quietly for a long moment.
Finally, he shrugged. "Weirder things have happened, I suppose. Where are we?"
"A planet called Core." Another silence.
"Core...I've heard of Core. It's...if my memory serves, it's quite a ways away from Reach."
"Yes, it is."
"Well, I've heard of some pretty weird things happening from slipspace malfunctions, I guess it's possible."
"I've got more bad news."
"Oh?"
"The current date is July seventh, twenty five fifty three." This time, Jorge stopped. They were about fifty meters from the structure now, which had slowly resolved into what appeared to be a lone military outpost. Trent hoped against hope that it was.
"A year?" he replied. "A year since I was on Reach...my god..." He started walking again and fell quiet as they made their final approach. Finally, he said, "I guess I just want to know one thing. Is the war over?"
"Yes. We won. The Elites sided with us. The Covenant is gone," Trent replied. Here, Jorge looked at N. Finally, he nodded.
"That explains a lot, I suppose. So what's what the rundown?"
"Some men are coming to kill us...we're going to kill them first."
The outpost did turn out to be an old Marine base. Trent knew that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of these, still scattered across dozens of planets, abandoned abruptly in the midst of the war and as yet to be reclaimed. He hoped they had left their armory intact. The building was two stories and just a single structure.
Now, Trent could hear the drone of engines. Black Ops would be on their ass soon. They hurried across a cracked instacrete landing pad and Trent opened the main doors. He entered the main lobby and surveyed the area. Definitely abandoned a while ago.
"We've got hostiles!" Blake called.
"Shit," Trent growled, spinning around. The others came into the lobby. Trent took quick assessment of the room they were in. Just the front door, two long windows along the front and two doors that led deeper into the facility.
"Secure those doors, then prepare to repel assholes!" Trent called.
They scrambled. The thrumming of the engines was loud now. Trent slammed the door shut and secured it, hoping it would hold, then moved to the windows. They were still intact. He fired a few rounds from his pistol, shattering the windows, and slid up against the wall next to them. He peered out into the area beyond.
A trio of ships, what looked to be sleeker, pitch black Pelicans, were riding low and fast towards them. The others joined him at the windows, weapons at ready. Trent kept the lead Pelican in his sight, staring down the zoom of his pistol. A moment of tense silence passed as the Pelicans settled themselves down on the landscape and disgorged two dozen troops in black armor. They immediately began opening fire and scrambling for cover.
Trent began picking them off as quickly as he could, putting two of them down with shattered visors from his battle rifle. He saw sprays of blood as bullets punched through armor, getting at the soft, yielding flesh below. Eight went down before they had managed to scramble into cover. The Pelicans lifted off almost immediately, probably to go grab more troops. Or to make room for a fresh batch.
Trent emptied his pistol and hastily reloaded. Around him, the others fired, picking their targets and taking them down as quickly as possible. Trent knew this had to end quickly. They needed time to search and secure the outpost, find some kind of way to get the comms working. He spied a black helmet peer from around a tree and snapped off a lucky shot, shattering his visor in a spray of blood and broken glass.
He got a good feel for the others. Jorge was grizzled vet, a consummate professional. Everything about him spoke of decades of combat, the training that the old Spartan Twos had. He picked his shots carefully, never wasting a round, never missing. Blake had only gotten better since their time together on the Flood-infested ship. Chips, Banks and N were all holding their own, too. It seemed the end of the war hadn't softened them a bit.
Time passed. Bullets flew. Blood sprayed. The last of the Black Ops troops were put down. After a moment of silence passed and Trent felt that Black Ops was pushed back for the moment, he began giving out the orders.
"Chips, Blake, head out there. Grab all the gear, guns and ammo you can find. N, head up to the roof, I want you on overwatch with that carbine of yours. Banks, Jorge, with me. We need to figure out what the hell we've got to work with before a second wave shows up," Trent said. There were a string of affirmative replies.
Trent felt an immense relief. He felt he could trust Blake to follow his lead without question, but the others? Especially Jorge? They were professionals, to be sure, but some of them were used to giving the orders, not following them. But they all seemed to have fallen right into line quickly enough. Trent began considering all the things they'd have to do. First thing was first. He walked over to the wall and hit the light switch.
Nothing. He moved through one of the doors and tried the switch in that corridor. Still nothing. The power was likely long dead. He wished he'd brought Eric along. They moved quickly through the outpost, checking every room and figuring out all the ways in and out. This would serve as their fire base for now.
There were two stories and a basement. The second story was nothing but living quarters, a mess hall and a rec room. The ground floor held the infirmary, armory, radio room and security center. The basement was storage and the generator room.
First on Trent's list was the armory. He was pleased to find it well-stocked. The Marines had left too hastily for a full inventory and extraction of their arsenal. Trent mentally saluted whoever had been here before as he stared over the crates of ammunition and grenades, the racked pistols, shotguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles...
Next was the infirmary. It was dusty, but also stocked up. After checking that out, Trent led them down into the basement. It was basically one large room full of dusty crates pushed up against the walls and stacked to the ceiling. At the back of the room was the generator, a large collection of dark equipment, lit only by their flashlights.
"I don't suppose either of you could see about getting this thing online?" he asked.
"I could," Banks replied. "I've picked up a lot of technical know-how down the years."
"All right, excellent. Get on it. Jorge, you're with me."
They headed back up out of the basement into the sunlit rooms. He moved back to the front to find Chips and Blake returning with a fresh armful of weapons. They came in and set them down on a pair of tables in the antechamber, where others were gathering.
"How's it going?" Blake asked.
"Banks is working on the generator. You done out there?" Trent replied.
Chips nodded. "Yup."
"Excellent. N?"
"Things are secure topside, though I do hear another wave coming towards us. Still far off, but we should ready ourselves," N replied over their short-range frequency.
"Can you provide support safely from up there?"
"Affirmative."
"Excellent. Stay up there-" He stopped as the lights abruptly flared to life. A moment later Banks rejoined them.
"Turns out they just turned it off before they left. We still have power," he reported.
"Excellent. We need to start closing of all the entrances, all the windows. This base should have shutters and security locks. Go now, quick as you can, then regroup here. N, keep us advised."
"Affirmative."
Trent took a deep breath, let it out and headed off. Already, he could hear the drone of the incoming second wave.
