Years ago
The War was an organic thing; it's whole, as well as it's parts.
Such as the Slaughter at Khem Kal.
Gedo Nar 'Kululee bellowed with all his might. "The Infidels shall feel our fury!"
The words echoed through a crescendo of mindless warfare. The slogan spewed from his mandibles as he plowed through a human marine through sheer strength and savagery. The creature exploded into bits as he fired his Type-50 into it's chest at point blank range. Gedo ignored the backblast damage bouncing off his energy shields, too wrapped up in the moment to even care for his own safety. Murky red blood spilled to the ground like a miniature waterfall. Gedo roared in triumph, slammed a fist to his chest, and continued his warcry, signalling for his troops to press forward.
"And the Great Journey hosts no heresy!" He fired more rounds from the concussion rifle, the explosions detonating like fireworks along the enemy defensive line. Few enemy bullets peppered his energy shielding, but the humans were too busy attempting to flee for their rounds to have much accuracy. Cowards and infidels.
He believed in the prayer that fell from his lips, of course. But it served a further purpose: to motivate the spirits of his troops. A wise commander considers and plays off of the fervor of his warriors. And such a prayer would solidify his troops' fervor.
With that note in mind, Gedo bellowed out loudly enough to hurt his throat. "Slaughter them!"
Numerous sangheili spread forth in synchronized formation, letting loose coordinated plasma fire along the human trench network. Plasma bolts vaporized humans and left behind messy remains. Supercharged needles sunk into the marines and exploded within seconds. Fiery detonations warped the nighttime scene in a mad kind of fireworks display. Energy swords severed limbs; whole heads were sent flying, leaving behind lifeless torsos and bloodies stumps. One of their defensive bunkers exploded in a bluish fire that evaporated the gun emplacement secured within it - as well as the team of marines that'd been placed there. The explosion was a symbolic nail in the coffin, signifying the ultimate fall of their first line of defense. Finally. From the left to right, more than a hundred yards in either direction, humans fled in a messy retreat. Exactly as Gedo had predicted.
But he didn't want his sangheili to pursue. Gedo held up a fist and pointed forward.
From behind, a wave of skirmisher kig-yar sprinted past. They launched themselves into the trench network ahead of Gedo's sangheili warriors, catching the humans in their retreat from behind and at close-range. At the same time, his sangheili pulled back, regrouping and reloading from just beyond the defense line and letting the skirmishers take control for the time being. One of them - his sub-officer Iytan 'Moripee - jogged over hefting a warm plasma repeater. Iytan took a knee.
"My lord, should we not follow the skirmishers? We have the humans at an advantage."
"No. Look," he pointed. Iytan's gaze followed his gesture.
Beyond the first defensive line, past a network of trench lines, foxholes and barricades, the ground rose at an uphill angle toward a ridgeline more than 80 meters away. At that ridgeline were more machine gun bunkers, their cannons angled in overlapping criss-cross fields of fire. A thudding crackaw-crackaw sounded out as the weapons began opening fire over the heads of retreating marines.
Iytan looked up, careful not to meet Gedo's eyes. "Are the kig-yar a decoy?"
"Indeed," Gedo whispered as he turned to glance over his shoulder. An nigh-imperceptible shift of light - the kind that one wouldn't notice unless they were actively looking for it... A telltale signature of active camouflage. With a slight gesture, Gedo ordered Spec-Ops Sub-Officer 'Netalee to execute. Almost instantly, the light flickered and shifted once again and the warrior was off. "This world will fall, Iytan. But there are wiser methods to see such a fate than reckless attack."
-Chapter 1-
Strategy, Tactics, and Preparation
0730 Hours - UNSC Military Standard Time
13 November 2550 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani II system. Planet Reach
Eposz, Reach FLEETCOM Military Complex
Mago Rictus stood at-ease with the other NCOs from across all ODST and special forces elements participating in Operation HELLZONE II; many of them were faces he'd never seen before. Some of them, he recognized - though some of them had been of a different rank last time he'd saw them. He'd seen several ODSTs from 2nd Battalion, including the legendary Tarkov. As well as one of Mago's longest rivals, Staff Sergeant Nyxine. Also joining the meeting were troopers from the more specialized scout sniper division of the ODSTs, including the famous sniper Sergeant Xiang Yu 'Dwarka', who was said to have more than 200 confirmed kills. Mago had also seen NCOs from his own battalion, the 34th Jump-Jet Legion; Sergeant Jain Zarr, and Sergeant Pall both, in fact. They'd arrived with a late crowd, and Mago hadn't yet gotten a chance to speak to them. It was the first time he'd seen them in months, and they were a sight for sore eyes. Even Pall... And they had a fresh set of bars, fitted onto pristinely pressed uniforms flowing with ribbons and decorations. There were NCOs from the 41st Elite Brigade, who were also a 'bullfrog' unit much like the 34th. A few grizzled veteran ODSTs of 7 SSEAL Cohort - Space, Sea, Air, Land - stood off to one corner. There weren't many SSEAL ODSTs left by this point in the War. When Mago looked at them, he was looking at the last of a dying breed. But not everyone here was experienced, despite all the NCO status. A lot of these guys had gotten their stripes off of pure necessity; a lot of them were filling in the shoes of someone who'd died. Mago was veteran enough to recognize rookies and newbies entirely off eyesight alone. All of them had that look: clean-cut hair, softer features, a proud gleam in their eyes, chins held higher than they needed to be. And the most telling attribute - their flaming skull metallic badges were always extremely well-polished and positioned above regulation point. Proud to be an ODST and proud to show it off. Too proud.
In spite of all Mago'd seen, he still hadn't seen Lucius. Last word was that Lucius was fighting a court-martial. Mago couldn't do shit about that except worry, and worrying was useless. So he put it to the side of his mind. Or, he tried to. The last thing Mago wanted was to deploy on this operation without his closest ally. And allies were in short supply these days.
Interesting on top of all the commotion though were the guys from the Protectorate. Mago had never seen FSDC members in person before and hadn't ever given them much thought. They weren't ODSTs, but they were the Defense Corps' equivalent. Based on information that'd filtered through the channels, they were specialist Tactical Strike Commandos: a high-level special operations force of the Defense Corps that also had extensive aerial and orbital space assault training. So, practically speaking, they were ODSTs as far as Mago was concerned. Their uniforms were weird, though. Small capes hung from their shoulders of varying colors, and elaborate shoulder pauldrons that just had to be hell to keep cleaned and pressed.
"Look alive marines, officers on deck!" Someone barked the warning, and everyone present snapped to a salute in unison.
A string of brass marched through a set of doors on the far right of the room, walking along a raised platform where they were seated behind a long table. There was more rank and experience among them than Mago's entire battalion put together. Of particular note was Lieutenant General Shesty, who walked along the table, shaking the hands of all the officers. He even dapped up Admiral Shepard before making his way to the head of the room. He stood on a raised stage where he could overlook the entire gathering. The man was imposing, and he had so many decorations on his uniform that it looked heavy.
A holographic display monitor kicked on right next to him, and he pulled out a handheld datapad.
"Well, at-ease Helljumpers."
They all snapped back into the at-ease position.
"Doing good?"
"Aye, sir!" the NCOs all shouted in unison.
"Ready to kill?"
"ALWAYS, SIR!"
"Good," he said with a smile. "Talk like that gives me a stiffy."
Everyone laughed. Shesty turned to the holographic projector and entered something on the datapad. A representation of the GH-5 star system popped up. Broken sections of space habitat floated in orbit around the star. Those were the remains of Garden Habitat-5. One of many UNSC space-based rotating colonies. One of many that no longer existed. Several astronomical units away from it was a single moon that stood out with it's dark-red hue. The orbital path showed that it rotated around a gas giant. It flashed twice to highlight its significance.
"This is where we're going to war. Some of you remember when the Covenant invaded this system. We lost a lot of lives. Now, it's time to return the favor."
"Oo-rah!" The ODSTs bellowed.
The projection homed in on the moon, where General Shesty tapped off another button on his datapad.
"This is Magma V, that infamous moon you all been heard about. Covenant have a shipyard that straddles along this continent here, with several elevators running up into low-orbit connecting to a sort of space fortress. Strategically, the idea is simple: this shipyard has to go. So we're putting our cards on the table to capture and seize control. We've run the calculations. If we take this from the Covenant, we can triple the size of the navy in a fraction of the time. We'll have a chance to single-handedly turn the tide of the War."
A large piece of Magma V's surfaced flashed white; it was the same patch of the moon Stanforth had shown Mago a while back.
"Those of you who are history buffs, you recall World War Two; you recall D-Day," Shesty said with a pause. Mago did a lot of reading, so he knew what D-Day was. He'd even seen holofilm re-enactments of it. The battle had stood as the largest scale landing invasion for a long, long time. And one of the deadliest.
"This will be our D-Day, ladies and gentlemen. Now, forget about what's gonna be happening up in space. Our fleet's going to handle that job," he said, before glancing to the officer's table where Admiral Shepard sat. He smirked. "They've got the easy job."
There was another round of laughter.
"Our job is going to be landings. That's phase one. ODSTs and TSCs are leading the way."
Shesty took a second to zoom-in further on the holograph. The groundside portion of the shipyard was situated within a region surrounded by extreme terrain; a small mountain range on the western end, blanketed by thick forests on either side. South of that was a sea than ran a significant distance before reaching a plateau that was directly south of where the shipyard facility sat. More mountainous and hilly regions surrounded the shipyard along it's eastern end.
"That means a hot-drop at 0200 hours, all along this north-western bank. It will be behind the main enemy lines, but you're used to that. All battalions will be dispersed along these locations here, here, and here," Shesty said. Symbols highlighted on the moon's surface. Mago counted 14 battalions that'd be spread along the drop zone. Mago's group, the 34th Jump-Jet Legion, would be deploying alongside the main ODST-TSC joint task force in that heavily forested area out west. With all the battalions in total, there would be almost 30,000 troops dropping onto that region. The terrain was noticeably rugged, with a number of sharp plateaus and hills running in concert for miles on end. And if Mago understood the projection correctly, they would be landing almost right on top of a Covenant army. It would be more than a hot-drop; it would be a hell-drop. Mago had only done a hell-drop once before, way back on his first ODST deployment.
Most of his platoon had died within minutes of touching the ground that day.
"A Covenant garrison force of several thousand infantry regulars will be located right by you along these hills we're designating as Sector 5. They're a relatively isolated group, but your primary goal will be a number of artillery cannons they have placed along the sector."
Shesty paused for a moment. His eyes focused on every NCO present, all at once somehow. "Let me be clear: You will destroy the enemy force occupying Sector 5. You will slaughter them. Is that understood?"
"Aye, sir!"
"You will destroy their cannons, and you will do so with extreme speed. Is that understood?"
"Aye, sir!"
There was a moment of pause.
"Very good. Because phase two will begin at 0700 hours, where we'll start landing our main Marine assault force to the far south here," Shesty pointed out. Thousands of marines would be deploying all along a mountain range just outside the shipyard. They were going to be in the thick of it; emblems highlighting Covenant forces were all over that area. If Sector 5's artillery cannons stay active by that time, the marines wouldn't stand a chance.
"We'll also begin landing the rest of the battle group, including our special Long-Range scout snipers. Their job will be to harass enemy targets in Sector 7 here," Shesty highlighted a sizable portion of the actual shipyard itself. The numbers on the projection estimated another several thousand Covenant troops along that one stretch, which was more than a few square miles. Mago was far back in the crowd, so he couldn't quite tell - but the 'shipyard' was beginning to look more like a whole Covenant city.
"By the time that begins, the Covenant will be responding in full to our invasion, and you can expect counter-attacks from the main defensive body, including aerial combatants. We'll coordinate with our Spartan-IIIs to identify and destroy key targets of opportunity. We'll push our way into the northern edge of the shipyard. By then, our marines will have made inroads on the southern stretch."
Mago flexed his neck muscles as Shesty went on. He already knew all of this from the briefing papers Admiral Shepard had given him, but it did feel good to hear it from the general's mouth instead of reading it from a datapad. He glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be attuned to Shesty 100%.
Everyone, that is, until he locked eyes with Jain Zarr. She smirked at him. Mago gave a wry smile and faced forward again. He was glad to see her. Hadn't seen her in months.
The reality of Mago's time MIA brought along a more pressing concern, however.
That was, Mago was out of shape. It'd been over 4 months he'd spent out of the action. That was 4 months too long. ODST training regimen was a constant and high-intensity thing. ODSTs had to be able to hike great distances, in extreme conditions, with heavy gear. And then fight. And Mago hadn't done that in a long time. ODSTs needed significant upper-body strength. Needed great pools of endurance and stamina. Needed refined skills in killhouse practice scenarios and elsewhere. ODSTs were top of the line, and were always training when not deployed. Aside from doing his own personal workout sets the past few weeks, he hadn't done anything resembling true, hardcore training. He was, indeed, out of shape. Worse over, Mago kind of felt as though he'd lost his drive to get back into the thick of it. To get back into the thick of ODST life.
He would have to get back into it next week, though. With the rest of the battle group now on Reach, including the 34th, Mago would be put through intense paces.
Mago felt a presence at his back suddenly. He resisted the urge to turn around. He didn't need to; the ODST slid into position on Mago's left.
"You're not supposed to be moving around," Mago whispered.
"Too bad nobody here has the balls to stop me," Jain shot back.
"I do. Move again, I'll floor you right here on the spot. In front of Shesty."
Jain elbowed him hard. "I see you ain't lost that big head of yours."
"Not when it comes to you. Almost lost it a few times, though."
"When this is over, you're gonna tell me about everything. Me and Pall."
"No. Not this time," he told her. Mago wasn't going to talk about Nihdarra to anyone. He was afraid of those thoughts.
Just the memory of it brought Mago back to Nihdarra, for the briefest of moments. His mind flashed back to when he'd first arrived, when he'd been packed into a tight room along with dozens of others. He suddenly felt nauseated, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. Mago realized his hands were shaking, and he forced them to stop. He forced himself back under control.
"You ohkay, Mag?" Jain whispered, a hint of concern etched in her voice. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah. Thanks," he said. Then he glanced at her for a second. "Stand back at-ease, before you get us both in trouble."
The briefing continued on.
All the other brass officers took turns explaining various stages of the invasion, and what everyone's role would be. This was shaping up to be one of the largest-scale conflicts of the entire War, and the sheer scope of UNSC personnel involved was a testament to that fact. Officers stood and spoke from elements of the UNSC Mago had never worked with before. One of the admirals present explained the landing procedure, and when he finished, the same doors that the officers had come through opened again.
This time, six armored figures entered the room. They moved with a sort of elegant deliberateness, and they moved silently. Inhumanly graceful and yet aggressive, all at once.
Spartans.
All of them filed into a vacant spot on the far side of the room, standing apart from everyone both literally and figuratively.
General Shesty nodded toward them. "As you know, we'll be working closely with these Spartans over the course of the battle. They'll be spread out among the battalions, and will be dropping in to help clear Sector 5. I take it you've all been briefed, Lieutenant Commander Rhynar?"
One of the spartans stood forward. "Affirmative," Rhynar said, his voice incredibly deep and modulated. "We're eager."
Mago knew that there was something unique about them. Like they weren't fully human. Like they were something else, something more; something different and dangerous. Of all the reports Mago had read about spartans, the only thing he knew for certain was that they were capable of superhuman feats. Such as taking out entire Covenant fortresses, alone. Even with all the stories that'd been made public about them, there were virtually no details on just who spartans were. Maybe they were just people given some new form of experimental training. Or maybe their specialized armor did all the work.
Or, if the whispers and rumors were to be believed, it was augmentations. A lot of augmentations. And that thought made Mago uneasy. He tried to imagine letting someone alter his body to such an obscene amount, and the thought was disturbing. But if it was necessary to win the War, then Mago figured it was worth it. Maybe Spartans were the key to victory.
General Shesty clicked off the holographic projector, then took a step down from the stage. He paced in front of the formation. "I'm going to speak to you plainly. We're planning on this being a long, brutal fight. We'll likely be on Magma V throughout next year, and possibly into 2552. Death will draw near to every one of you. Steel yourselves.
"Those of you who haven't already, make sure you sign for the life insurance policies we're offering. Your families will appreciate it." Shesty turned to the side then, facing the exit. Then he looked back at everyone for a brief moment. "Born to die!"
"Live to kill!" The ODSTs finished the chant.
Shesty gave a grim smile. "We have a War to win, people... Dismissed."
The crowd broke into chatter as the officers and spartans filed out of the room. It wasn't often that so many ODSTs from so many different units were together, and there was a lot of greeting and conversating to be done. Thankfully, the room was large enough to compensate for the crowd. And there were drinks on offer at a table to the far rear of the room. So Mago sidled his way toward the refreshments. He gave an occasional nod and handshake, until he finally got to the table. The drinks were some kind of lightweight stuff; not enough to make an ODST tipsy, but enough to hit harder than the everyday stuff. Mago took one and downed it. Growled in his throat as the liquid burned through his system. Then it cooled, and the flavor changed from something lemonade-esque to a smooth and sweet cherry. Nice. Quite nice, indeed.
He went to reach for another, but someone beat him to it.
"Heard you been missing, Magnum," Staff Sergeant Nyxine said. She gave a sardonic smile.
"What do you want?" he asked, eyeing her warily. Nyxine was a lot of things, but she wasn't a friend. Her and Mago were the same age and rank, and they were hardcore rivals.
"You've been... Hiding, for months now," she said quietly, her eyes boring into Mago's own. "Just wanted to make sure your head's still in the game. You haven't caught cold feet, have you?"
"Worry about yourself, Nyxine."
Nyxine watched him for a moment. Then she chuckled, took a sip of her drink, and leaned in close to him. "Training exercises begin next week," she whispered. "Hope you can keep up."
Mago put a hand on her shoulder. "Step," he said, looking her in the eye.
She backed off, smiled, and walked away, heading toward a small crowd of 2nd Battalion NCOs. Mago grabbed another drink and watched her as she disappeared into the crowd. Nyxine always managed to get under his skin.
This time, it was because he wasn't certain if she'd been wrong. Because the truth was that Mago simply wasn't looking forward to anything in the immediate future; training, going on tour, or anything of the sort. All he felt like doing was reading his history books. Mago sighed.
After the NCO-briefing had finished, Admiral Shepard made his way to another briefing room. It was a smaller room, with an array of holoprojectors and COM screens all along one wall. A series of tables spanned the length of the room, and there was a smart AI present, the androgynous avatar standing on a pedestal. The center of the room was a single large holotable, which was about 5 meters in diameter. This was where the attention was focused. Shepard made his way around the holotable and took an assigned seat located on the far side of the room, where he would be sitting next to a number of other high-command staff that would be participating in the battle. That was the present company of this meeting - command staff of Battle Group Zeta Echo. Everyone here would be involved in the operation. The officers, as well as the Spartans. There were the Spartan IIIs that'd been at the NCO briefing, but there was also a team of Spartan IIs. All of the spartans were seated across from the officers.
Standing out even more, however, were the three officers from the Faeris Stellar Defense Corps. The Protectorate officers. Everything about them stood out, in fact. They wore dark red uniforms trimmed in a crystal-blue hue along the seams. Distinguished shoulder pads with tassels hanging from them, along with very defined and classic collars around their necks. Thin and small capes hung from their right shoulders. The FSDC emblem of the flaming star was embroidered across their left arms. They sat apart from everyone else and were very quiet.
Shepard got to his seat, where a small datapad was waiting for him on the table. He activated it, then waited. Rear Admiral Gonzales sat to his right, and Colonel "Bricks" Johnson slid into the seat to his left. General Shesty sat down in a seat further down on the left.
Everyone was silent as they waited for the briefing room to fill up with the appropriate members. Given how many forces were partaking in the battle, it took a little while. There were dozens of officers that had to show up, and all of them were at least the rank of Major. All of them were commanders.
Shepard glanced over at the FSDC officers and met the gaze of System Admiral Julias Vaeto. Vaeto was the commander of the FSDC's 3rd Galactic Fleet. The man was about Shepard's age, and his rank was roughly the equivalent of Shepard's. The two of them exchanged brief nods.
After another minute, Shepard leaned forward in his seat and activated the microphone just beneath his collar. "Is that everyone?"
"Yes, admiral. We can begin," the AI, Roxet, said. Roxet vanished from the pedestal. The AI was very young and very eager. Or was their correct term AIs? They'd joined Shepard's 'retinue' after the Despair's Light's previous AI, Minerva, had begun the first stages of rampancy.
"I know this gathering was unexpected for all of you. But it's necessary," Shepard started. He had a lot of critical information to discuss; recent developments, and he had to share it with the command staff.
"First, we've just received a top-priority data packet from Exedis Prime. Roxet?"
"Got it loaded," the AI said from the overhead intercom. A second later, a detailed breakdown of Magma V's surface appeared on the holotable, as well as a flotilla of ships representing the Covenant's Magma V fleet. There was three times as much detail and depth to this projection as what was presented in the NCO briefing. And, more importantly, there were total enemy force dispositions... Including newly revealed information that Magma V was something more than just a shipbuilding location.
"What you're looking at here is exact Covenant force breakdowns; their numbers, their locations, their type, and more. This has me worried," Shepard told everyone.
"Yeah? And why is that?" The voice belonged to Rear Admiral Janessa Vette. She'd been a close friend of Shepard for a long time. But more recent events had seen somewhat of a falling-out between them. Despite that, Shepard was glad to have her onboard with the operation. Even in spite of Shepard's own recent fights within the UNSC, the truth was that personal problems would need to be set aside for the upcoming campaign.
Instead of speaking to her directly, Shepard stood up and addressed the room. "All of you are aware of the nature of the situation in Exedis Prime. Our... Inside source has, so far, proven reliable. But this," he gestured toward the holotable as he headed toward the middle of the room. "It's valuable. It feels too valuable."
"You think we could be getting played," Rear Admiral Gonzales said.
"It's possible."
Roxet spoke up then, the feminine voice filling the room from corner to corner. "We've run the calculations. It's a low possibility. But the possibility is there. The Covenant have the capability to perform such a coordinated strategy. But it's not their modus operandi. Personally, we don't think they're inspired enough to play us like this. They definitely lack the patience."
Shepard spoke up then as he slowly paced around the holotable. "Make no mistake; we're full-speed ahead. But our strategy changes. Before we get into those details, though, I've got bad news. And if you look around, you can probably tell what that news is."
There were murmurs and chatter for a moment. Shepard let it die down before he continued. "It's true. We're going to be deploying without Battlegroup 27 and Battlegroup 31; by extension, we'll also be deploying without the 17th Marine G.R.F."
"What kind of shit is that, Bren J?" Gonzales asked, anger etched into his voice. Shepard turned to him.
"That's Colonel Ackerson, is what it is," he said. Then he turned around and looked at everyone. "We're going into this with what we've got. But with this," he gestured to the holotable. "We can do it, and we will do it."
"You said there were strategic changes?" This was a new voice. Inhumanly deep and modulated. Confident. It was the Spartan-II, Will-043, the leader of Red Team.
"Yes," Shepard said. He leaned on the holotable. "First, the Covenant fleet. Their flotilla. With this intel, we know what to expect. I'm going to refit the Ninth Fleet to directly counter it. We're going to blitz them the moment we drop in-system. Full aggression, full speed, no stopping. They're mostly frigates and corvettes, with two super-destroyers. With us," Shepard started. He gestured toward the System Admiral. "...Our allies. Our combined fleet, we can destroy them, if we move with aggression."
"So that's why you moved the timetable up?" Will asked. Shepard couldn't see past the spartan's faceplate, but he could feel the man's eyes boring into him.
"That's right. And Spartans are the key to victory on the ground. The numbers here," Shepard gestured toward a stretch of land along the southern region of the continent. Where the main assault force would land. "They're greater than we originally expected. Will, I need Red Team in that fight."
"I see the facility. But I'm also seeing something else," Will commented.
Shepard nodded. "We originally thought this was just a mineral harvesting plant... But it seems to be more."
"A Covenant military fortress?" Will asked.
Shepard took a deep breath. "More like some type of Covenant city."
Voices rose in shock and excitement. Indeed, such a discovery was unique, and unprecedented. Which was partly why Shepard had been concealing the intel from HIGHCOM. Not merely because of Colonel Ackerson, but because of ONI. They would interfere with the operation, if not shut it down altogether. Likely try destroying the entire world - and thus costing the Navy, and the UNSC, a golden opportunity. Shepard couldn't afford to let that happen. Even if it meant his career.
"We're not capturing a shipyard, then. We're capturing a city? Is that possible?"
"This is the Covenant's staging area for their invasion route along several whole galactic sectors - an invasion route that's already broken into the inner-colonies. Taking Magma V has to be possible - it has to be done - if we want the UNSC to be around by the end of next year."
He looked at the FSDC officers. "This intel is new. Nobody's forcing you into this."
"We're committed, Bren J," Vaeto said. "Faerites don't back down."
Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. FSDC support was making up for the forces that HIGHCOM had blocked from the operation. Things were already hard. But without them, it would be quite onerous.
Another officer, Captain Burkhilov, spoke up then. "How does this change our ground strategy going forward?"
The original approach to phase one had been to include Red Team with the pre-invasion ODST-TSC drops, to help clear out Sector 5 up in the Northwest and magnify the attack force there. Because Shepard and the other officers were all expecting the Covenant commanders to divert the bulk of their forces toward that region. But without the 17th Marine G.R.F. - combined with the fact that more Covenant forces would be in the southern region than he'd anticipated - the best option available was to get Red Team involved in that main assault. The 17th Marine Ground Reaction Force was 25,000 marines strong. It was a lot of strength, and Shepard would need to rely on Red Team making up that difference now that the G.R.F. was no longer an option. The spartans were each a priceless, incredibly valuable asset, and Shepard had to deploy them wisely. He had ten of them to work with; the 4 Spartan IIs of Red Team, and the 6 Spartan IIIs. The Spartan IIIs weren't a singular team - they were all individual Cat-2s - but their 'leader' was Lieutenant Commander Rhynar-A217. With Red Team fighting with the marines in the south, Shepard needed the Spartan IIIs active and on the ground on the northern front. He wanted them spread out as much as possible, to try and maximize their presence across the battlefield at large.
"Red team will be deploying alongside the primary marine invasion force."
"Ohkay," Will nodded. "But if those guns aren't down by the time we begin, this entire operation will be over prematurely."
"They will be," Shepard said to Will. He nodded toward General Shesty. "Shesty will make sure of it."
Although Shepard was in overall command of the operation and the grand strategy, the tactical command would be diverted to a number of sub-commanders; both within the Ninth Fleet, the 3rd Galactic Fleet, and on the ground. General Ruller "Chess" Shesty was one of them. Shesty would be leading the pre-invasion army, and Shepard was confident the man would succeed. General Shesty was a man of few words, but he was also a tried and tested veteran of the highest caliber.
"More importantly, we now have intel on a high-priority target. Show him, Roxet," Shepard said as he gestured toward the holoprojection.
A moment later, the projection displayed a massive elite, decked out in golden armor that had many decorative elements and furs attached to it. A small, silver cape hung from one shoulder, running along the elite's back like fine silk. There was a deep cut that ran along the helmet adorning the elite's head.
"This is an elite general one of our Headhunter teams have identified as 'Iytan'. We don't know much about him specifically, but we do know that he's one of the ground commanders in charge of the their security. And his headquarters is located in that southern region, not that far from where the marines will be landing." Shepard looked toward Will.
"If he's down there, we'll get him," the spartan said simply.
"We don't know how many other commanders they have. But taking out Iytan will be a devastating blow to them. It'll give us leads as to who their supreme commander is. This doesn't need to be said, but the more of their brass we take out, the better our chances. One thing we've always had on the Covenant is we're smarter."
Officially, there were a handful of commanders leading the UNSC forces into battle, and they all had experience. The ODST-TSC joint army would be led by General Shesty, with Colonel "Bricks" Johnson and the Faeris officer High Force Captain Aketai serving as adjutant support officers. Command of the main marine force, which was upwards of 80,000 troops strong, would be broken up among Brigadier General A.L. Ayer, Colonel Spinks, and Will-043 himself. Across the five of them was dozens of battles' worth of experience, and they would need to draw upon all of it to crush the Covenant. For the space battle, however, Shepard would be in supreme command. Originally, he'd planned to lead the entirety of his fleet directly. But plans had changed.
"What about this flotilla?" System Admiral Vaeto asked, a worried expression on his face. He stood from his seat and pointed at the projection. "That's two super-destroyers. They can cripple our fleet before we can even get in range. The operation will be over before it ever begins."
That was true. But Shepard had a number of tricks up the sleeve. "You're right, Admiral Vaeto. But I've drafted a tactical roadmap for dealing with them. Let me explain."
Shepard spent the next several minutes going over all of the combined fleet's assets, and how they'd approach dealing with the Covenant flotilla. Covenant ships were vastly superior, and so superior strategy and tactics would have to carry the day. They outnumbered the Covenant ships, but that meant little.
The basic idea was to blitzkrieg the Covenant fleet with a four-pronged attack, along four different vectors, which meant that the fleet would be broken up into four distinct parts. Years ago, when the Ninth Fleet had first finished assembly, it'd been 135 vessels strong. But war and conflict had taken it's toll on that number, and now the Ninth Fleet was only 84 vessels strong. The 3rd Galactic Fleet was 40 vessels itself, which brought their total numbers up to 124. That was a very decent number. Shepard himself would lead 40 of those ships, while Vaeto would command his 3rd Galactic Fleet; the rest would be broken up into smaller, more mobile parts between Rear Admiral Vette and Vice Admiral Dennett.
Moreover, Shepard had recently secured several asteroids he planned on towing through slipspace. The plan was to bring out an up-scaled version of the strategy he'd used during the Battle of Macrag. Essentially, throwing those asteroids at the Covenant fleet at relativistic speeds, this time using XEV9 Lasers he'd retrofitted onto a number of special 'gun-vessels'. The Covenant fleet would have no choice but to react to such an attack, and a reaction was all Shepard needed. On top of the asteroids, Shepard had added a number of 'dummy-vessels' to the fleet. The dummy-vessels were essentially large, dumb ships that were mostly massive engine power. Nearly the size of a frigate, they contained only the most basic of functions found on standard UNSC ships, and were virtually empty on the inside. Shepard wanted Roxet to use the vessels as a screen for the main fleet, where they would take at least one volley from the Covenant. And if the dummy-vessels get close enough, Roxet would be able to ram the Covenant ships at full speed. Aside from that, there were a number of other... More specialized tasks the dummy-vessels could fulfill. But that'd depend on the Covenant's reaction.
At the end of the day, if fate proved lucky, they'd eventually capture the shipyard without it taking significant damage. In such a situation, the Navy would be able to produce three whole new 'Ninth Fleets' in a fraction of the time. That was enough of a swing to not only halt the Covenant's advance into UNSC space, but potentially reverse it. Which was unprecedented.
And the Protectorate was here. Shepard hoped that their participation would bring about a stronger alliance in the future. That this would kickstart them into a more direct and aggressive role in the fight against the Covenant.
Shepard looked around the briefing room. He wished his wife could be here. For the first time in years, Shepard was genuinely afraid - not for his daughter this time, but for himself. For humanity. Humanity needed this battle to be a success. So far in his career, Shepard had never suffered a defeat; he'd been checked, and he'd been forced into tactical withdrawals. But he had never lost a full-scale battle that'd been placed under his command. Before, that had never mattered. But now, he was genuinely worried about losing; he was afraid the battle would be a failure. He wanted to win, more so than any other time in his career. And although Colonel Ackerson had fucked him over, Shepard had the tools to make Operation: HELLZONE II the UNSC's greatest victory in the War. He had the troops, the tanks, the spartans, the ships, the officers, the intel, and the willpower. The only thing he needed now, was the victory itself.
Shepard slammed his fist on the holotable. It silenced everyone in the room, and their attention focused on him.
"I promise you - all of you: we will win this," he declared. Morale needed to be high in the coming weeks, and he needed his command staff at their peak. But Shepard wasn't sure if he was trying to convince them, or himself. "We'll win. I swear it."
The following week, Operation: HELLZONE II's entire battle group began an extensive preparatory training regimen across numerous locations on Reach, and in space. Early Monday morning, at 0200 Hours Reach - Northwestern Standard Time, a squadron of vessels from the Ninth Fleet conducted a HS-LOAD somewhere deep within the Highland Mountains of the Viery Territory. The Hyper Speed - Low Orbit, Aerial Drop was an extreme form of SOEIV Pod insertion, typically performed when the deployment ships were in the heat of combat and needed to drop their payload quickly and on the move. More dangerous than a standard insertion, the HS-LOAD put a hard strain on the insertion pods and usually resulted in a much wider dropzone than desired. Several ships of the Ninth Fleet performed the HS-LOAD that morning, including the flag ship Despair's Light.
Roughly 7,000 ODSTs were dropped in that first wave. They were equipped with the exact combat gear they'd be deploying with on Magma V, save for the fact that their weapons were traded out for Tactical-Training versions. Their target was a defending team of marines - over 14,000 of them, dug-in within a mountain range called Xulu Valley located on the edge of the dropzone. Marines, and all 10 Spartan commandos. The idea was to try and simulate various combat conditions that'd occur once the actual battle began. And despite their skill and tenacity, the ODSTs caught hell, which was chiefly due to the spartans active in the field.
By the time the second wave launched roughly 30 minutes later, the "surviving" ODSTs of the first wave had been dwindled to just over 5 thousand, and they were pinned within a vicious crossfire inside a large canyon.
That second wave contained the 2nd Battalion, the 23rd Space Assault Battalion, and the TSCs of the Alpha Starborne Legion, as well as the 'bullfrogs' of both the 34th Jump-Jet Legion and the 41st Elite Brigade. Thousands more troops deployed to the mock battlefield, and it was then that the Marine team was pushed back. The added mobility of the ODSTs in the 34th and 41st allowed them to maneuver into ideal firing positions, flanks and angles, while the 2nd and 23rd Battalion forces were able to lead a successful assault on the main Marine defensive juncture. Casualties mounted on both sides as dark early morning gave way to a bright, rising star.
The training exercise continued in a brutal tug of war for hours, which tested the conditioning and endurance of the troops present. All of them, save for the spartans. At around 0900 hours, the attacking side - who's numbers were at roughly 23,000, thanks to more reinforcements from the third and fourth drop wave - began suffering crippling counter-attacks at the hands of spartans. Small, coordinated teams of two to three spartans, bolstered by Marine regulars, would lay ambushes, set traps, setup ferocious crossfires, "assassinate" ODST officers and NCOs, and much, much more. It didn't help matters that the Spartan-IIIs were making full use of the active camouflaging on their SPI armor. The result was both devastating and decisive, practically ceasing the advance of the shock troopers to a standstill.
When the exercise ended at 1200 Hours, the attackers had lost; they'd failed to secure Xulu Valley in time, and had sustained unacceptable casualties. And not a single spartan had fallen.
The following day, the exercise ran yet again; though this time, a fresh group of 14,000 different Marines were on defense, and the ODST-TSC force rotated their drop waves. The 2nd-wave units deployed first this time, and although there was a stronger performance from the attacking side, the day ended at 1200 Hours with yet another loss. And yet again, not a single spartan had fallen. For the rest of the week, the mock battle was ran, starting at 0200 and ending at 1200 each day; each day, a fresh 14,000 Marines. The ODSTs lost every single time. It wasn't meaningless defeat, however. As they'd been trained to do, the ODST-TSC force had adapted and adjusted their tactics; they'd begun focusing their efforts on neutralizing the spartans, rather than simply gaining ground. And the change had brought success. By Thursday, they had begun consistently scoring kills on the spartans. On the last day of the exercise, they'd succeeded in taking out all of the spartans - though not without significant casualties on their side.
It'd been a valuable learning experience for all involved. And it wasn't over.
All troops had been given two-day's rest. On the following Tuesday, another set of training exercises kicked off. This time, the exercises took place within a flatlands region located to the immediate east of the Highland Mountains, known as Trapper's Way. The entire ODST-TSC force was on the defensive, including their scout snipers, and they were tightly dug-in along a series of makeshift pillboxes, foxholes, trenches, machine-gun nests, and so on.
At 0700 Hours that Tuesday morning, a swarm of M650 Mastodons approached Trapper's Way, each one packed with 20 Marine regulars. A further aerial swarm of pelican dropships encroached from above, these also carrying at least 20 Marines, as well as the spartans. On top of that was a final swarm of albatross aircarrier vehicles, each of which toting several dozen marines and light-recon warthogs. The offensive was colossal; half the entire HELLZONE II Marine force was participating. And nobody knew for certain, but word had it that there were Marine Chevalier 'Ghosts' participating in the action, though these rumors couldn't be confirmed.
The first wave alone outnumbered the defenders.
But the first shot was fired by the ODST sniper Xiang 'Dwarka' Yu at 0729 Hours, and it took out Colonel Spinks, sending him to the recovery area right off the rip. For ten more hours, the mock battle raged along Trapper's Way. Back in Xulu Valley, it'd been the Marine forces that were lying in wait and at the ready. But in Trapper's Way, the ODSTs had that advantage, and they were more accustomed to the advanced tactics and combat capabilities of the spartans. They scored a victory on Tuesday, and a pyrrhic victory on Wednesday. But they lost the rest of the week; they'd reached the peak of their stamina, while the marines had been rotating daily.
Another two weeks saw a series of more specific and concentrated training stints applied to all troops. Several-kilometer mountain hikes, weapons range exercises, calisthenics and traditional P.T., extended strength building, field marches, squad-based tactics competitions, battalion 'field trips', CQB, and so on. There was another rest period at the end of that week, where the first part of a gravball tournament was carried out between various units. Then, the 4-week training process was carried out again; one week of the ODST-TSC team attacking from drop pod insertion, followed by a week of the Marines attacking by land and aerial assault, followed by two weeks of specific and targeted training exercises. The final half of the gravball tournament was carried out then, with the 2 final teams scheduled to face-off against each other prior to the commencement of the operation.
0917 Hours - UNSC Military Standard Time
2 January 2551
Epsilon Eridani System, planet Reach
UNSC Region One Reach-CENTCOM Headquarters. Downtown Quezon.
Lucius Cain waited patiently as the officers reviewed his report, comparing what he'd just said to what he'd described in debriefing. There were 5 of them in total, and all of them were very high-ranking. They seemed to be taking the matter seriously. Lucius, for his part, mainly just wanted to get out of uniform and back into combat dress.
He was pissed. And that was rare; it took a lot to get Lucius mad, but he was infuriated. Missed the damned training 'cause of this mess. Over the past 8 weeks, Lucius had been embroiled in a legal conflict with ONI itself over the mission to Nihdarra. They were recommending a dishonorable discharge to Lucius's superiors, for "failures of conduct in the line of duty". Because of the situation, PERSCOM wouldn't allow Lucius back into the unit until his trial was officially over. Which meant that Lucius hadn't gotten a chance to participate in any of the training sessions he'd been hearing about. If shit didn't change, he might not make it back in time to deploy. He glanced across the room to the ONI spooks; there were two of them he hadn't seen before, and the third one was Lieutenant Commander Griggs - the same cat that'd recruited Lucius in the first place.
"In your report," one of the colonels said, the man's eyes still reading as he spoke. "You say that you had to make a decision; either go after Vexx, or secure the ODST and the STA." The man looked up. "Now, you're saying that you could have done both?"
"No," Lucius tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. "I'm saying that there was a chance we could've gotten both objectives done, but that I knew it was a slim shot at best."
"Protocol dictates you prioritize the mission. Sergeant, you know what that means - primary objectives come first."
Even from his peripheral vision, Lucius could see the ONI spooks watching him. Could feel the gaze. No matter. Lucius had one good card to play, so he figured that the time was now. He nodded toward the smaller datapad sitting at the edge of the officer's table.
"You've read the Internal Audit report from Chief Warrant Officer Kahraman?" Lucius asked. If her aid was going to do anything meaningful, then it needed to come through.
Another colonel answered this time. "I read it. And it's correct," the colonel said. Lucius fought back the grin that almost played across his face. And he was right to do so, because the colonel continued. "But, it's irrelevant here."
"How the fuck so?" Lucius couldn't stop himself.
"Watch yourself, Sergeant," the man said threateningly. "The IA report invokes UNSC Regulation 909/T, also known as 'Doubt's Edge'. That policy is a set of guidelines for clarifying order hierarchies within a field of operation. It doesn't apply retroactively to pre-op objectives."
Damn it. That'd been Lucius's final trick in the sleeve. Over the past several weeks, he'd tried a number of things and had relied on a number of favors; none of it had worked. ONI was always a step ahead. The bastards.
The game wasn't quite over, though. Not until Lucius said it was.
"I'm the Marine here. When it comes to the field, my call matters - not these," he gestured at the ONI staff. "...Clowns. That's why I got selected for the op, right? Huh? When I'm in the field, my word matters. My job is to adapt to the situation and make do with what I have available, and to be honest, they didn't give me much of shit and they threw us into a meatgrinder. I made it work; me and Palmer. You expect me to apologize for that? ... Come on. This is a waste of time and every one of you's knows it."
The officers frowned at his language, but Lucius needed to make a point.
A moment of silence stretched before the officers began conferring amongst themselves, speaking lowly to where Lucius couldn't make out anything in particular. They continued like this for at least 2 minutes.
Lucius was able to make out a few details. "Yeah, this week. Shepard's already moving..." one of the officers said.
"Oh hell," the first colonel said loudly this time as he stood up. "Sergeant Lucius Cain, get your ass out of here and report to your CO before you get left behind. Tribunal case 07-334NI is hereby dismissed. Got me missing the game 'cause of this bullshit."
0640 Hours - Reach NW Standard Time
8 January 2551 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani II System. Planet Reach
Temporary Training Depot 91
A bell rang out like a demented scream.
Zhaojun sprang into a full sprint, her boots sending dirt and grass into the air as she pounded forward. Three seconds had gone by before she reached the first obstacle. It was a series of ropes hanging from at least 18 feet up high. She made her way up the first one devoid of any technique, instead relying purely on her upper-body strength. After reaching the top, she had to sway back and forth to get enough momentum to reach the next rope. Zhaojun repeated that process several times. By the time she reached the final rope, her hands and arms were beginning to burn.
"GO!" Someone shouted from the sideline. "Show me what you're made of commando!"
A cloud of dust kicked up when Zhaojun touched down. She ran up on a pit filled with mud, insects and other filth. She hit the ground and crawled into it, moving just a few inches beneath razor-shock wire. Gunshots went off just overhead and bullets hit the ground around her, narrowly missing her by only one or two feet. And it was live ammunition. The rounds showered her with a constant rain of murky water. They wanted to disrupt her concentration, and it almost worked. She inadvertently crawled into a deep depression beneath all the mud. For a brief moment, she was submerged up to her neck. Nearly sunk under. But she managed to claw and scrap her way out the hole. Seconds later, she pulled herself out on the far end of the pit, her uniform soaked through.
Shit. Her socks were soaked as well. Zhaojun took a moment to remove her boots and take her socks off, then continued. She could move much faster like this anyway.
There was another series of obstacles Zhaojun had to tackle. All of them were physical in nature, requiring inordinate amounts of endurance and strength. But for the past few years, Zhaojun had lived this type of life. This was the best conditioning and fitness she'd ever been in. And it still wasn't enough.
Still too fucking slow and weak, Zhaojun cursed at herself. She didn't have a timer for this run, but she could tell that this run would be slow. It was her last chance to run the course before Battle Group Zeta Echo deployed. Her last chance to do something, and she wanted to win. Zhaojun hated to fail - and she felt herself grow frustrated.
The next major obstacle wasn't really an obstacle at all. Rather, it was a makeshift killhouse containing automated target dummies and hostages. Zhaojun would have to clear it for her run to even count.
Outside the front door of the killhouse was a table containing various small-arms weapons. All of the guns were UNSC weapons except for the PK-337 SMG, so she grabbed it and loaded it. Her hands were shaking, and it took longer than she'd like to get a fresh magazine locked in. When the gun clicked, she set up on the lefthand side of the door.
This wasn't her first time running the course. But the killhouse layout changed every time. So, practically speaking, this would be her first - and only - time to clear this killhouse.
She raised the PK in one hand and eased the door open with the other hand. Normally, Zhaojun would never clear a building alone; there were too many angles to check, too many sightlines to watch, too many zones to cover. But that was the point of the exercise - to make it as difficult as possible.
Zhaojun scanned the room as the door opened fully. When she stepped inside, she caught a glint of light out her peripheral vision. Instincts made Zhaojun drop to a knee and open fire. TTR rounds splatted the doorway just above her head; in turn, the target was painted with three clean shots on its chest. A red light flicked on just above its eyes, signifying it was 'dead'.
Another target popped out from an open doorway on the far side of the room. She shot it before the dummy could fire, and it fell back onto the floor with a bright red glow on its forehead. The machines vaguely reminded Zhaojun of the auto-mechanicals back home. Unlike the Protectorate, the UNSC rarely employed robots, if ever. The target dummies were the only thing resembling robotics that Zhaojun had encountered since arriving in UNSC territory.
After waiting a moment, Zhaojun got to her feet and pressed forward. Clearing the first floor took her at least two minutes; the process of checking from room to room was slow and methodical. One mistake, and her entire run would be over. And the target dummies were in unorthodox locations this time. One of them had been hidden away behind a life-sized statue and had nearly got her. By the time she reached the final room on the top floor, she had to reload.
Too much time was being lost.
Zhaojun gritted her teeth. "Move your ass," she whispered to herself.
This time, Zhaojun was impatient and decided to force the door open. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but she'd done it before. A few steps to build momentum was all she needed. Zhaojun stepped back from the door several paces, then charged the door and threw all her weight into a well-placed kick; it happened fast, and her footprint was left on the door just by the handle. She swept inside. In a split second, she processed just two dummies in the room - a target dummy, holding onto a 'hostage'.
A single round fired off.
The final target dummy dropped to the floor like a falling stack of logs. The hostage dummy still stood.
About three minutes in total. That wasn't good enough. Zhaojun ran through the room past the hostage dummy and shoved open a door that led onto a balcony. She vaulted over the railing and tucked into a roll as she hit the ground. There was one final test in the exercise - one specifically designed for sharpshooters, like her.
Overhead, the sun began to beam down as it crept in the sky. The heat rose, and it helped Zhaojun ignore the fact that her clothes were wet. Reach was warmer than her homeworld on average; though she hated warm weather, she presently appreciated the extra heat.
Up ahead was a gun range with one station at it. Zhaojun found herself breathing heavily as she reached it, her stamina nearly drained through by this point. There was a single rifle set up at the station; it was a UNSC rifle, the SRS-99, already set up on a bipod mount. Beside it was a single round. Zhaojun practically fell on the weapon, feeding the round into it with one hand and adjusting the scope with the other hand.
"Ohkay. One chance. Don't screw this up," Zhaojun whispered. She set scope zoom to maximum. The target was at around 2300 meters, which was extreme, dodging the SRS's maximum effective range by just under 250 meters.
Most sharpshooters in the Defense Corps couldn't reliably hit at 1800 meters; anything past that was largely a question of raw skill and a bit of luck. I've got the first. Don't need the second.
Zhaojun tried to calm herself as much as possible, lying flat and relaxing her muscles as she set to aim. It was a difficult shot, made even worse thanks to her fatigue. Forced her hands and arms to stop shaking, but the gun still swayed too much for her liking.
Far down field, a single target moved from the lefthand direction. Barricades littered the area around it, providing modest cover and protection. That made her chance to hit even lower, but the shot wasn't impossible. It was a matter of timing, more so than aiming. And it could be done. She'd done it before. Even without the usual equipment she'd bring if she was actually deployed in the field. So she paid close attention to the wind direction and had to judge the speed through pure experience and instinct. Then adjusted her aim accordingly and tracked the target. Time was steady ticking as Zhaojun looked for her window. But she was afraid it wouldn't come; not quick enough, anyway. She'd already wasted too much time this run.
When the target disappeared behind another barricade, Zhaojun held her breath and fired. A second later, the target emerged from behind cover and kept moving. And a second after that, the target's head exploded.
Zhaojun got to her feet and sprinted to the finish line. A bell rang as she passed the line, and she had to take a second to rest, placing her hands on her knees and heaving. Sweat poured off her. She resisted the urge to take a knee, and instead forced herself to stand upright, taking a slow walk as she looked for the water station.
There were a number of others in the training depot; some of them were armored, others weren't. All of them were either FSDC Tactical Strike Commandos, like Zhaojun, or UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Some of them doing calisthenics, some going on a jog, and others preparing for combat simulations. Days ago, the depot would've been crowded to the max. But over the past couple days, more and more troops had been ferried offworld to their assigned vessel up in low orbit. All of it to make certain the combined fleet was ready to leave by tomorrow evening.
"Nice work," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see a man about her age, holding out a water canteen. He was clothed in all black BDU pants. If that hadn't been enough to signify him as an ODST, the flaming '34th' logo on his shirt did. It was the emblem of the 34th Jump-Jet Legion of the ODSTs - one of the units Zhaojun had been training alongside for the past several weeks.
She took the canteen then took a swig, savoring every drop of water.
"Not really," Zhaojun said as she wiped her mouth.
"Ten minutes flat," he said. "That's a great time, better than most of the Troopers here."
"Not good enough," she insisted.
"Take your wins every chance you get."
Zhaojun took another swig then handed him back the canteen. "This wasn't one." She was angry with herself, and this guy wasn't helping.
"I designed this course," he said then, gesturing back toward the finish line. "So I set the base standard myself."
Zhaojun looked at him closely then. Looked him in his grey eyes. "Really? And what standard did you set?"
"Ten minutes. Flat. For riflemen, though."
She scoffed. This guy's lying. But the look on his face seemed serious. He glanced down at her feet. "I had my boots on, though."
"What'd you say your name was?"
"Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus," he said, holding out a hand.
She didn't shake it. Instead, she crossed her arms and nodded at the group of 'Spartans' emerging from the nearby armory bunker. They were clad in their specialized armor with the reflective camouflage plates. "Well, what about them?"
Mago followed her gaze, then shrugged. "You know as much about them as I do."
Which wasn't much. Over the past several weeks, numerous large-scale training exercises had been run pitting the TSCs and ODSTs against the Spartans and an army of UNSC Marines. All in preparation for Operation: HELLZONE II. Zhaojun had never so much as heard of a Spartan beforehand. They seemed more alien than human. As far as Zhaojun was concerned, they were all just one of the UNSC's freak experiments. Nobody in her legion liked them. And she got the sense that none of the ODSTs liked them either. So at least they had that in common.
"Well, maybe you should look into tweaking your course. Not that it matters at this point," she told him.
"Is that so?"
Zhaojun signaled for him to follow and walked over to the grassy field nearby; it felt better on her bare soles. And across the field was platoons of ODSTs doing various calisthenics and strength-building exercises. She analyzed it all, a frown growing on her face. "You Troopers do things too unrealistic. Too... Controlled."
She looked at him then to see his reaction. If he disliked her words, he didn't show it.
"A lot of these guys are new," he said. Then he lowered his voice a little. "Most of them are going to be dead this time come March."
"That's why we ran those mock-battle exercises. That was System Admiral Vaeto's idea - and your officers didn't think it was a good idea at first," Zhaoun told him. System Admiral Vaeto was the commander of the Protectorate's forces that'd come to Reach for the operation, and he'd made a number of strategic suggestions that the UNSC commander had agreed to, thankfully. In opposition to his subordinates.
Mago nodded. "And out of ten, we only won twice."
"130,000 of us are going to attack that moon; only a fraction of that number is gonna be alive by the end of the campaign." She turned to face Mago and continued. "That's why I push myself... Sergeant Ricto. So I'll decide when I've done a good enough job."
Mago took a step toward her, a hard look in his eyes. "You're wasting time."
She was about to say something but he held up a hand and cut her off. "Now, let me be up front - I need you to take a break from running my course, 'cause I'm the one who has to fix those targets." Then he looked back down at her feet. "And I have to fix that door." Then, he looked her in the eye. "So lay off. That gonna be a problem?"
"Yes," Zhaojun told him. They could be standing on Earth for all she cared; she wasn't about to be backed down by some UNSC drone. "I don't follow your orders."
Again, if Mago disliked what Zhaojun was saying, he still never showed it. Didn't seem to be affected by his emotions. In fact, he seemed utterly unperturbed; he had a lot of self-control. It irritated Zhaojun, and she wasn't nearly as good at keeping calm.
"Fuck off," Zhaojun said, throwing her shoulder into his as she walked past.
Almost immediately, she regretted reacting that way. She'd always had difficulty controlling her temper, and the sergeant hadn't really done anything wrong. But she'd die before turning and apologizing. Zhaojun had grown up learning about the FSDC's history. And the UNSC could hardly be considered allies. Were it not for the Covenant showing up, the two sides would probably be at war today.
Zhaojun marched across the depot to the nearest water station, taking a moment to gulp a mouthful of water from a fountain before sitting cross-legged on a crate. The break was much needed, and she let her eyes scan the perimeter. The depot was one of multiple dozens of temporary training stations constructed across the planet, designed to prepare Battle Group Zeta Echo for Operation: HELLZONE II. Months ago, back when the first whispers of the op were making the rounds of the Faeris System, nobody had known what to expect. Zhaojun, for her part, would much rather be defending the home system than playing cowboy with the UNSC, and she was still irritated about her legion being selected for the op. More so than that, Zhaojun was now worried for her own life in a way she hadn't been before.
For the past few years, she'd served and participated in numerous conflicts and skirmishes - against Covenant forces, the URF, powerful crime syndicates, mercenary guilds, terrorist militias and otherwise. But this operation was the first time Zhaojun expected not to survive. Her own mortality felt tangible now; an abstract sensation that she found difficult to articulate. It was an expectation of death, more so than a fear. And she couldn't shake that feeling. No matter how many times she looked at the briefing.
In spite of that, Zhaojun unzipped a pocket on her pants leg and pulled out her datapad. A new headline buzzed on the screen the moment she opened it up. Ever since arriving in the Epsilon Eridani II System, she'd been getting swamped with UEG news articles and stories, many of them several weeks old. This new one was about a successful refugee fundraiser event hosted by some famous pop-musician named Taylex. Accompanying video appeared on her datapad - a zoomed-in shot of the androgynous musician singing some song that Zhaojun had never heard before.
Zhaojun thumbed to her 'PERSONAL FILES'. Most of the files were old artwork, from way back when. She couldn't remember the last time she'd drawn anything; it would've been some time before leaving Beliese. So long ago that Zhaojun doubted she had those skills any more. Even still, she sifted through the files slowly, as she did every single time. It reminded Zhaojun of a time that seemed incredibly distant; of a whole different life. One that she didn't particularly miss.
At the bottom of the list was 'BRIEFINGS/REPORTS'. Most of it was documents that Zhaojun had written over the past few years, detailing various incidents, after-action reports, debriefings, and her own personal journal. The most recent document was a detailed operation status file for HELLZONE II. She eyed the file quickly, and shut it off when she got to the section outlining expected casualty rates.
There were footsteps nearby, and Zhaojun looked up to see an ODST officer approaching. Some kind of lieutenant, by the look of it.
For a second, Zhaojun thought the lieutenant would make her get off the crate. But instead, the officer veered a few feet away to the water tank and began filling up a canteen. The sight made Zhaojun remember that she was still thirsty and didn't have her own canteen or bottle.
"Any more of those anywhere?" Zhaojun asked, pointing at the canteen. The lieutenant glanced over and nodded toward her.
"Beneath you," the lieutenant said.
"Oh."
"Comfortable?" the lieutenant asked before taking a sip from her canteen.
"Very."
Zhaojun didn't move from her spot, but she did put away her datapad. The lieutenant walked over and out of the shadow. Eyes the color of fire, and her gaze was just as serious. The nametag read 'J. SHEPARD'.
"You're the one running the course... Obsessively," Lieutenant Shepard said.
"I'm well within my rights."
"The staff sergeant might disagree."
Zhaojun stood, looking Shepard in the eyes. "Aw, damn. That's too fucking bad."
The lieutenant walked over to the crate and popped it open, pulling out a canteen. She handed it to Zhaojun. "And I won't stop you." The lieutenant smirked then. "I'd encourage it. Everybody needs a way to fight off their anxiety."
"What makes you think I'm anxious about something?" Zhaojun asked. She was slightly annoyed, but she took the canteen anyway.
Shepard didn't say anything. Instead, she just cocked her head to the side, her gaze never leaving Zhaojun's eyes. A skeptical look on her face.
"Ohkay. Yeah, we're about to invade a Covenant world. I'm uneasy," Zhaojun admitted.
"Me too. And everybody else. What's your name?"
"Zhaojun Wang."
"Well," Shepard said as she turned to head away. "Let's hope we both make it off Magma V alive."
Late that night, Zhaojun couldn't get to sleep. As usual. For months now, she'd been suffering from insomnia. A long time ago, she'd read that insomnia was symptomatic of insufficient self-reflection and analysis. That the body becomes restless during the late night hours. Forcing people awake in the dead silence of the night, where there was nothing to do but think on one's life and experiences. Zhaojun wasn't much of a reader, but she couldn't help wondering if that article had been onto something important. Her father had often talked about mastering the mind. Always make the best possible decision.
Presently, Zhaojun had no idea what that decision was. She didn't feel like thinking about abstract ideas and theories. It wasn't her cup of tea. Instead, she rolled onto her belly, then pushed herself to her feet and stretched.
Moonlight cast down on her and her surroundings.
She'd pitched her own makeshift campsite out far away from the main barracks, beyond the outskirts of the base. Technically speaking, it was against regulations to do so, but Zhaojun had more than enough audacity to ignore those rules. For as long as she could remember, Zhaojun preferred to be alone when possible; being on a foreign planet was no exception to that preference. Prior to arriving on Reach, her unit had been given the rundown of the planet's more dangerous wildlife. And even though Zhaojun had set up camp in a forested area outside the base's safety perimeter, she wasn't particularly afraid.
With little else to do, Zhaojun decided to go for a walk. Most of the area surrounding the depot was woodland. The terrain was predominantly just soft grass and soil, with a whole lot of bushes and flowers growing about. For some reason, there were a whole lot of some specific darker colored flower that littered the landscape. Enough so that their smell - which reminded Zhaojun of cinnamon - permeated the woods. It smelled amazing. And it clashed with her audible senses. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear an erratic and inhuman symphony of insects. As if they were in a verbal argument with each other. So much so that Zhaojun wondered if there were any dangerous insects in the area she didn't know about.
As she headed further, the noise gave way to what sounded like a river up ahead. Zhaojun picked up her pace a little, and before long, she came up on a shallow river that bent its way through the woods as far as she could see in either direction. Off to her far left, she could just make out the silhouette of some kind of animal. It looked like a wild Moa, and in this region of Reach, it was likely a 'wicker moa'. The sight would've been worth drawing, had Zhaojun been armed with any materials. If Zhaojun remembered right, wicker moas were more lethargic than their more common cousins. And they weren't as hyper-sensitive to predatory threats. So the wicker moa never raised its neck from the river, even when Zhaojun skipped a rock along the water toward it.
"Don't let a guta catch you..." Zhaojun said the words out loud, before sitting down on the riverbank.
Zhaojun let her feet rest in the water. It was slightly warm, and it felt amazing. She hadn't ever bothered to go back and retrieve her boots from the obstacle course, and they were probably still sitting out there. She relaxed on the riverbank, lying on her back in the soft grass and looking up at the treeline above. Immediately, she spotted the awkward camera nestled within the tree, slowly scanning back and forth.
There were probably a lot of those automated security cameras hidden throughout the trees, likely designed to monitor extensive disturbances. Zhaojun doubted that anyone closely observed those monitors. From what she'd seen, there were too many little animals about to make the systems decidedly useful.
Or, so she thought. That belief changed when she caught just the faintest flicker of a shadow, moving off in the distance. Someone approaching. Still, she didn't bother rising from her spot; she was comfortable right where she was.
The dark figure approached from shadow, and a hint of moonlight caught the metallic sheen of an M6 pistol. The figure paused in the shadow, probably unsure if Zhaojun had spotted them, but the M6 was never raised. After a moment, the guard stepped out of the shadow and slowly walked toward her. She was a bit impressed. Whoever it was, they moved in silence. Moved with the grace of someone with years of experience.
It wasn't until the guard was a few feet away that Zhaojun decided to look directly. When she saw who it was, her respect vanished and she could barely keep the frown off her face.
"Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus," she said wearily, facing the sky once again. "If you're here to bring me in, then you know what you can kiss."
He ignored the jab. Instead, he holstered his gun then pulled out a small datapad, thumbing with it. A few seconds later, a light came on from the camera that sat overhead, illuminating Zhaojun and the immediate vicinity.
"Got a ping of an unidentified, wandering just outside our depot. Somebody had to go check it out," Mago told her as he put away his datapad.
"Where I'm from, we usually send two new guys to handle those kinds of jobs."
"Can't sleep," he told her. "And I move better on my own. So it might as well be me."
Hm. Zhaojun looked back at him, examining his features closely. His eyes were grey, and looked as if they hadn't rested in a while. In fact, he looked quite tired, which was stark contrast to how he'd appeared earlier today. Or maybe she hadn't noticed it earlier. And his hair was cut short. Small scars over his face in various locations. Otherwise, Mago was a banal and homely man, at least by her standards.
Overhead, a trio of dropships swooped by, their lights blinking against the star-lit sky. UNSC dropships. Massive rotary cannons hung beneath them, as if they were ready to fire at a moment's notice. Both Zhaojun and Mago watched them pass by.
"The security here is suffocating," she told him.
"After the Reach Assault, UNSC stepped the security game up threefold. Even licensed some PMCs."
Back home in Faeris, private military companies - mercenaries - were outlawed entirely. That hadn't stopped various groups and cells from trying to employ them, and Zhaojun had fought against PMCs on several occasions. The fact that the UNSC actively used them made her uncomfortable. For Zhaojun, it was like sleeping with the enemy.
"Protocol states I can't let you roam around out here," he told her then.
"Ohkay..."
He knelt down. "Personally, I can leave you alone, no problem with me. I disabled this camera," he said, pointing at the camera above them. "But it'll come back online in an hour. If our monitors catch you again, it won't be me looking for you. They're going to send out a hunter team to track you down. With orders to shoot first, and ask questions later."
Zhaojun scooted back from the riverbank and sat cross-legged. "They won't find me."
"I found you."
She looked him in the eye. "They won't find me."
There was a brief silence. "Ohkay," Mago said. He stood and pulled his datapad out, tapped a few buttons on it. A moment later, the light from the camera overhead turned back off.
"You know, we leave for Magma V tomorrow. At least try to get some sleep. We definitely won't be getting any when we deploy," he said before stalking off, his form disappearing into the dark shadow of the forest.