1214 Hours, 20 October 2552 (Military Calendar)
Onboard Cairo Station OWP-142 in orbit of Terra
T-Minus 2 hours till contact
Master Gunnery Sergeant Alban Morin wasn't a particularly tall man, but he had a bulky build. More than that however, he had an air about him that made it clear that when you entered Armory F-25 who was in charge. An air that made people shut up, listen, and do whatever the hell he needed them to do. He had been in the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps for thirty-five years and had fought the Covenant on some fifty different worlds. But one thing that the Marine Corps had taught him was that discipline was needed, particularly when surrounded by various implements that could do various things like making them bleed, lose body parts, scream, and die - usually in that order, usually.
This attitude had earned him a posting onboard Orbital Defense Platform Cairo, the primary Command Platform for the entirety of Terra and the Lunar Perimeter. Given that it was going to be an eventuality that the Covenant were going to show up and that they were going to send boarders to knock out the platforms. That meant you needed a crack, well-armed complement of UNSC Marines as well as some ODSTs to protect the station. Thus you needed someone with the discipline along with the know-how to keep this armory safe. Particularly considering the contents of the armory, M52M4 Marine BDUs, MA5Bs, MA5Cs, MA90s, BR55s, SRS-120s, M99 Stanchions, M247s, M247Hs, among other quite nasty weapons, along with more mundane stuff.
But then there was what he really most concerned about, mostly the large wardrobe Crate that had arrived in Songnam that was covered in ONI Markings, along with a smaller crate that according to the manifest of the shipment, the wardrobe contained the Mjolnir Mark VIB armor that was going to be issued to a Spartan today while the smaller crate contained the remains of a Mjolnir Mark VB armor set, the one that had been issued to Master Chief Petty Officer 1st Class SPARTAN-117. Along with all the damage that the suit had suffered over the course of just a few months.
Sweet Mary, Jesus, and Joseph; what the fuck did this Spartan do to this suit? Not even SPARTAN-062, ONI's designated tester for the new Mjolnirs had managed to do what SPARTAN-117 did to this suit. Alban thought and he was tempted to give the Spartan when he arrived a tongue lashing for wrecking one of the most expensive pieces of equipment ever used by mankind. But then again, the Spartan was quite possibly the most decorated man in the history of the UNSC and quite possibly pre-UNSC times.
But as he looked over the specifications of Mjolnir Mark VI, he had to admit it was potent as all hell. Vastly more potent than the previous generation Mjolnir Mark IV or Mark V suits. Improved energy shield systems, integrated weaponry, along with a myriad of other features. He just hoped that Spartan-117 didn't wreck this suit like he had his Mark V suit. He had long known that the Spartans had always gotten the best toys but for once he wished that he was a Spartan so he could use this damn suit. But to his knowledge they weren't recruiting.
Sighing he looked over what the Chief had done to Mjolnir Mark V and was shocked. In many areas the plating was about to fall, the gel layer for all intents and purposes had failed, and that didn't even begin to go into what happened to the Micro-Fusion Reactor. To be frank, it read like the thing was running on hope and prayers, considering that it had crapped out after Operation: FIRST STRIKE and not before or godforbid during.
The Master Gunnery Sergeant put those thoughts aside and strode to the Crate, he had to wheel the bitch over to one of the machines designed to suit a man up in armor. But he knew that the machine would take it from there, once he got it setup.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to load the suit into the armoring machine except for the helmet which he kept on the primary table next to some of the parts from the Mark V Mjolnr armor. He already had an idea of what to tell the man.
With a hiss, the heavy armory door slid open and a surprisingly deep voice said. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Morin, Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117 reporting as ordered."
The Master Gunnery Sergeant looked over the man, he was big and imposing with surprisingly broad shoulders. Yet also surprisingly pale, probably from too much time spent in his armor. He knew that was something that veteran Marines also had from spending too long in their M52 BDUs. Despite that however, he couldn't help but feel awe, this was a man whose day job was making the Covenant cower in fear when he took to the battlefield.
"Good to see you Master Chief, here for your BDU?" he asked.
The Spartan nodded. "Yes sir, Sergeant."
Morin nodded. "Alright, I am assuming you already received the new undersuit for the Mark VI Mjolnir?" he asked and again the Spartan nodded.
"Okay, I've got you setup in Station Three, head over there and don your BDU." Morin replied and the Spartan went over there, quickly doffed his uniform and stepped into the machine which sprang to life. Manipulator arms mounted each individual iridescent green plate with razor sharp precision before securing said plate to the bodysuit. The appearance of the armor was similar to Mark V, however the plates were closer in thickness to the Mark IV armor.
The process took only about two minutes and then the Spartan stepped off the rig and started heading towards the table. "I am sure you've read the report about what you did to your Mark V armor."
The Spartan said nothing beyond nodding and the Master Gunnery Sergeant assumed he had just skimmed it. "Well you fucked the suit up beyond bad. The plating was battered to the point that it was about to fail, as for the gel layer in the body glove it for all intents had failed since you had viscosity throughout it," he dropped a piece of equipment that had been in the Mark V's helmet "the optics are totally fried," and then he picked up the fusion cell, a device about the size of his forearm "and let's not even begin to talk about the power supply."
He then gestured to the Spartan as he picked up his helmet while he was still holding the old fusion cell. "You do know how much this armor costs, right son?"
The spartan slipped his helmet on and looked at him with that reflective gold visor. "Tell that to the Covenant." he said simply.
Morin was tempted to roll his eyes, he really doubted that the Covenant would care about how much Mjolnir Powered Assault Armor would cost. Instead he just sighed and told the Spartan. "Mjolnir Mark VIB Powered Assault Armor is the most advanced and expensive BDU ever devised by mankind, it costs as much as a FQ-99 Dagger UCAV, in other words, please don't break it."
The Spartan shrugged and Morin had to resist the urge to sigh. "Anyways, I guess the Mark V was obsolete anyways. The variant you got is Mark VIB, same as the old Mark VB, which means in addition to all of the other bells and whistles it can interface with an AI. Let's get the integration tests going, meet me by tracking station to run diagnostics." he said and he headed over to the tracking station.
The Spartan followed, his footsteps now that he was in Mjolnir being surprisingly light despite the weight of the armor. The targeting array was a star-shaped cluster of lights, the objective here was to see how well the armor tracked the movement of the Spartan's eyes. He had a feeling that it would work.
He tapped several controls on the device and the nine lights flashed amber. "Alright, Master Chief, let's run the diagnostic. Look up at the top light for me please."
No sooner had he finished the sentence then the top light flashed from amber to green. Morin nearly whistled at the sheer speed that the Spartan reacted with. It usually took Marines a moment to react to his order with what to do.
"Alright, that looks good. Now look at the middle light, then the bottom, in that order, please." he said and this time it took the Spartan slightly longer, but he was still amazed at the speed of which the Spartan did it. He looked down at the screen and nodded, the tracking was still looking good. "Now look at the middle light."
Again the words had barely left his mouth when the light flashed from amber to green. "Alright that looks good, now meet me over by the zapper and power up your shields."
And so the tests went, they were about to commence the weapon diagnostic when he heard a pneumatic hiss as a door opened behind him. He turned and recognized Master Sergeant Avery Junior Johnson. A tall african-american man with dark hair cropped short and a trimmed beard, he was wearing dress whites. "You done with my boy yet Master Guns?" he asked before looking around the room and saying. "I don't see any training wheels."
Morin had to fight back a bark of laughter at the Sergeant's remark. "Just about Master Sergeant, he's armor is working fine. So shut your chili-hole." he barked at the older man and then he glanced at the Spartan. "You're free to go son, just take things easy. If you manage to wreck this Mark VIB suit in the same amount of time as you managed to wreck your Mjolnir Mark VB suit, I'll have your ass on a silver platter."
The Master Sergeant had a curiously timed coughing fit at that remark before he replied for the Spartan. "Don't worry, I'll hold his hand."
The Spartan nodded and began to walk out of his armory when he remembered something that he wanted to know about. "So Johnson, I've been wondering how the hell did you get back from Reach?"
He could have swore that Johnson cracked a faint smirk. "Sorry Guns, classified, you know how it is." he replied as he began to walk away with the Spartan in tow.
Huh, well shit. I am not having any of that! Morin thought as he snapped. "My ass! You can forget all about the adjustments to your A2 Scope," the door to his armory began to hiss shut as he continued his rant "and your sure as fuck not getting one of the new M20s if I have anything to say about it!"
The door shut with a hollow clang and after a moment Morin took in a deep breath and sighed. He just wanted to know what sort of escapades the Master Sergeant had gotten up to after he got off Reach. Dammit, it just wasn't fair either. Why the hell hadn't Lord Hood given him an invitation to the award ceremony. It was something that everyone needed to see, after all, they had just lost Reach, hundreds of ships, millions of soldiers, some of mankind's greatest orbital works, and they were still fighting tooth and nail in the system.
Despite that however, he still had an uneasy feeling about something. He couldn't help but shake the feeling that something big was about to happen. Looking at the various weapons secured firmly in their racks, he sighed and went over to one of the racks. There he grabbed an MA90 Close Assault Weapon System along with several 32-round magazines of FRAG-8, signed the paperwork for them and then filled out the paperwork for his armor then went and donned it.
He had learned to trust his instincts and right now those instincts were telling him bad things. With all of this in mind, he then went to the Armory's range and began to put the heavy explosive slugs through the full automatic capable combat shotgun. Ballistic gel dummies were blasted apart, pieces of gelatin were sent flying in all directions as the rounds hammered them.
1244 Hours, 20 October 2552 (Military Calendar)
Onboard UNSCN Say My Name CAG-942
T-Minus 1 Hour 30 Minutes to contact
Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck was not a happy man at the moment, Alpha Company in the 11th ODST Shocktroop Battalion had taken one hell of a beating at Reach. In fact, it had been so bad at Reach that it was easier to list who had survived the battle since it was a shorter list. Which meant that in all of his infinite reasoning, the Lieutenant had decided to make him a squad leader. Putting him in charge of Alpha-Nine, the ninth squad in Alpha Company, and had it still existed, the third squad in 2nd Platoon which would have made the name Alpha-2-Nine. However, 2nd Platoon, Alpha Company, 11th ODST Shocktrooper Battalion didn't exist anymore, the Platoon had been so badly shattered irrevocably at Reach that the current Alpha-Nine had been put together rather slapdash with survivors from the Platoon's four rifle squads, the mech squad, and one of the sniper teams.
And they still needed a fucking replacement, otherwise they would have five men in the squad nominally instead of six. As it was, Alpha-Nine was awkwardly balanced with a Heavy Weapon Specialist, a demolition specialist, a Sniper, a Mech Trooper, and counting himself and the FNG; a pair of riflemen. He had heard more than one joke from the other platoons that Alpha-Nine was trying to do everything a Platoon could do with one squad. It was something that he frankly hated.
He looked down at the datapad in his hand, it contained the file for the squad's rookie. A Lance Corporal James "Rook" Dunn, he was from a light-world, in essence a planet with less than .8-gravity, to be specific he was from Luna itself. It had resulted in the man having a thin, frail, elven appearance, something that wasn't uncommon for lightworlders like the Lance Corporal. But it meant that he needed augmentations just to survive in 1-g environments. The man wasn't exactly green, no ODST really was, indeed in order to just be eligible for the ODSTs, you had to spend either ten years as a conventional GROPO or at least two years as a Spec-Ops operator in one of the other UNSC Special Forces formations. He had joined the ODSTs out of the Marine Raiders, it seemed that Rook though had gone to "Superman School" and become a Pararescueman.
What he wouldn't give for this war to be fucking over. He sighed and shook his head before glancing at his watch. Rook would be here anytime and bring his squad to full strength. But the 11th ODST didn't have a Garrison Planet anymore, instead like a number of units these days they had a Garrison Ship. For the 11th ODST that ship was the Marathon class Heavy Cruiser, UNSCN Say My Name; an odd name for a Cruiser all things considered. He also knew that it was a sign of just how bad things were becoming for the UNSC, all but one of the ODST units had lost their Garrison Planet when Reach had fallen, for Buck it was a bitter pill to swallow.
He still didn't know how he had made it off of Reach, that Spartan had certainly played a big role. But most of the men in his Platoon had been killed during the damn classified op that the Spartan, Noble Six, had bailed them out on. He didn't know what had happened to the man, hell he didn't even know the man's name, but he was grateful enough.
There was a chime and he looked up at the door for the barracks section they were in. Each barracks section now that the 11th ODST was permanently stationed on Say My Name could hold a platoon, with each section being further subdivided into pods for individual living space for each squad. It wasn't easy and indeed, Say My Name had needed an entire module swapped out to make it happen. Buck pushed those thoughts aside and put the pad down. "Come in." he barked.
"Excuse me." came a faint, Lunar Creole accented voice and with a squeal, the hatch slid open revealing the man. Like Buck expected he was tall, almost seven feet in height with a thin, elven like appearance. He had short, black curly hair and sea green eyes.
He walked in and the door slid shut behind him with a silent hiss and a faint squeal. Buck frowned and made a note to go and acquire sprayable silicone rubber in order to fix that damn squeal. Then the tall man in front of him spoke. "Lance Corporal James Dunn reporting as ordered Gunnery Sergeant." he said, the man didn't salute since they were "indoors" but he did come to attention.
Buck blinked but nodded. "As you were Lance Corporal." he replied before gesturing to the common area. "Have a seat." together the two men walked to the central table and sat down. "I've been looking at your Career Service Vitae Lance Corporal, very impressive. Five years in the PJs and roughly six months in the ODSTs. But I have to be honest, how the hell did you survive that Shiva on Mount Haven, the variant detonated was a 300-megaton device."
To his surprise, James shrugged. "I honestly have no idea Gunny, but I do know that blast tore the heart out of one of the main Covenant armies on New Haven."
Buck had to admit that sometimes you just didn't know how you survived some encounters or battles. Particularly when the genocidal alien alliance known as the Covenant was involved, since survival often involved more luck than skill. Even with all the technology that they had, particularly in the ODSTs. "That's alright, I was on Reach. God only knows how I managed to escape." he said and the Lance Corporal in front of him winced in sympathy.
"I wasn't on Reach, but I heard some of the horror stories about what happened there. The Fall of Reach HIGHCOM, the Siege of New Alexandria, the Defense of the ODGs, etc." the man said and Buck winced.
"Bad memories, Gunny?" he asked and Buck nodded.
"I was at Reach, Rook. My platoon got handed a classified op in New Alexandria, the Banshees jumped all over our Falcons before we even made it to the LZ. Had it not been for a Spartan in a Hornet, my Platoon would have been wiped out before we even made it to the LZ and as it stands we lost our Mortars and Mechs before he intervened. Then there was the Op itself which was to be frank hell. That same Spartan, still in the Hornet had to make a reappearance to give us air support since there were Covenant cruisers glassing the city and occasionally zapping evacuation transports which meant no strike craft could hope to get in and save our bacon." Buck explained and he sighed tiredly.
The Rook winced. "I heard it was just as bad in orbit, I have a friend whose a Navy fighter pilot. She flew Broadswords off UNSCN Whomping Willow." he said. "At least she did up until Whomping Willow was destroyed covering the escape of Pillar of Autumn."
Buck had never heard any stories about how bad it had been in orbit around Reach, but he could imagine how bad things had been in orbit given he had seen several orbital bombardments. "If she's still alive, she has my sympathies."
Rook brightened. "She is to my knowledge, sir. I'll pass that along to her, to a naval aviator their ship is essentially home. She'd been aboard Whomping Willow for years."
Right, now that they had a bit of small talk they could get down to business. "I am going to tell you right now Lance Corporal, Alpa-Nine is about as far from standard as you can get for an ODST squad, it was put together from what was left in the second platoon in Alpha company of the 11th ODST. Which didn't amount to much, hell, I am usually the Platoon Sergeant for 3rd Platoon. But given that no one above Corporal survived in the 2nd Platoon, I was made squad leader since I have the requisite experience." he explained.
Rook tilted his head. "Yeah, that much I gathered. A regular ODST Squad typically doesn't have a sniper attached, let alone a Mech."
"That about sums it up, Alpha-Nine for all intents and purposes is the only squad in Second Platoon of Alpha Company and were at the bottom of the list for getting replenished. So we're stuck with our odd formation." Buck said, shaking his head.
Rook tipped his head. "Sarge, with all due respect. I actually think we might have a bit better chance of surviving battles against the Covenant due to our disproportionate amount of firepower we have in our squad."
Buck blinked but then grinned. "I like the way you think Rook, if we can leverage that to our advantage then we will most certainly be doing good." he said.
Rook sighed. "The big question is when will our next deployment be?"
"I am no expert, but I would say not until January 2553 at least. Barring the 101st Shocktroop Division, all of the ODST formations lost their Garrison World, which means the ODSTs as a whole are going through rebuilding." Buck said as he shook his head and Rook sighed.
"Figures, doesn't it? So who else is in Alpha-Nine?"
"We have our Mech driver, Specialist Gretchen Ketola, she's a good girl if somewhat jaded and cynical. She's also good friends with our sniper, Lance Corporal Kojo Agu or Romeo as his nickname goes. Really lucky with the ladies if you'll hear him tell it, but all I care about is his aim; his luck with targets at long range. The next man in the squad is Corporal Taylor Miles. Dutch. Death's head slapped right on his helmet. Heavy weapons specialist. Time on Mars tends to give a man... perspective on life in general. The last man besides myself and you is Private First Class Michael Crespo—Mickey. Smart enough to be a pilot, but trained to blow stuff up. He's never seen a planet get glassed, I hope he won't be seeing that anytime soon." Buck said and blinked when James recoiled in shock.
"You alright rook?" He asked.
"Mickey's alive? Shit, we have to catch up." The words took Buck by surprise and he blinked. "You know Mickey, Rook?" he asked.
James nodded vigorously. "Damn straight, Gunny. Michael, myself, and Kunika were thick as thieves when we were growing up on Luna in Crisium City. We all ended up going different paths, Kunika became an airedale, Michael went and joined the Marine Corps, and I became a PJ. But we tried our best to stay in touch over the course of all these years."
Well that was news to him, but he just hoped that Rook and Mickey didn't become Romeo in stereo because that was the last thing he needed was having three smart-alecs on the squad. He honestly didn't like Romeo's shenanigans to begin with and having three of them, two of which apparently knew each other. He held back a sigh, just great.
Welp, things could have been worse Buck supposed. He shook his head and answered. "If you and Mickey become like Romeo, I'll have both of your asses."
"I take it Romeo is a prick?" James asked.
Despite himself, Buck laughed. "No, he's more of a smartass. But despite being a smartass, he has on multiple occasions hit targets at ranges in-excess of 5,000-meters. That's why I care about his luck with targets at long-range, because he very rarely misses at those sorts of ranges."
Rook smiled and tipped his head. "I see, still no promises sir."
Buck grumbled something incoherent, but privately he was thinking. Yep, I might have to deal with Romeo in stereo. In other words, I might be in hell.
1314 Hours, 20 October 2552 (Military Calendar)
Onboard UNSCS Charles de Gaulle
T-Minus 1 Hour to Contact
Lieutenant Commander Kuroda "Witch" Kunika, Squadron Leader for VFA-666, Gramr Squadron, sighed as she gazed down the catapult track for the electromagnetic catapult that her F/A-41C Broadsword was currently hooked up to. Today was the day that her squadron would be on Alert Ten with her element on Alert Five for the air wing of Charles de Gaulle, a rarity among the UNSC, a "Wet Navy" aircraft carrier. How long had it been since she'd been on one of these? She honestly didn't know, but after Reach there seemed to be a frantic tempo to how everyone worked.
She didn't mind it, most of her friends hadn't survived Reach. Her squadron had been butchered from its usual twenty-eight planes to a mere six, they had only recently come back up to "Wet Navy" Carrier strength of ten aircraft. The only reason they weren't getting put back together faster was because literally every single unit that had managed to escape the Fall of Reach had needed rebuilding to some degree or another.
The radio clicked and the tinny voice of her wingwoman came through the radio. She sounded American and as Kunika knew, unlike her was actually from Terra rather than Luna. "Lieutenant Commander, how long do we have to sit in our aircraft on these damn catapults?" Lieutenant Carla "Huntress" Luksic asked.
"For several more hours Lieutenant, you know that." Kunika replied, but she had a sinking feeling that she knew the problem.
"But Lieutenant Commander, I need to go to the bathroom." Carla replied and Kunika smirked inside her helmet, it sounded like the poor girl really needed to go.
"Sorry Lieutenant, but you know the regulations." Kunika was thinking back to the first time that she had this conversation. She could already picture the next sentence forming in her wing woman's mouth.
When Carla came back onto the radio, she had a pleading tilt in her voice. "But I really need to go ma'am!"
Oh well, time to be the bearer of bad news. "Lieutenant you do know that our suits do have the ability," she began.
"Oh for fucks sake ma'am! Are you telling me that if I need to take a piss I need to do it in my flight suit!? Come on, that's not fucking fair!" Carla whined, but she managed to put a fair bit of heat in her voice.
Eh, no fucks given. Besides she went through this unique hell herself. "I know how you feel Lieutenant, I went through this myself."
She could just imagine Carla pouting in her cockpit at her. "It's not funny." she said irritably.
It was a little funny actually, but Kunika had to admit that she actually didn't know much about her. "So Lieutenant, I have to ask. Where are you from?"
There was an audible pause, one that went past significant and came screaming into awkward. "Why do you want to know El-Cee?" she asked.
It was a good question and one she already had an answer for. "To build trust between us, otherwise we're no good as a wing pair." She replied.
There was a poignant pause. "I understand ma'am."
Okay she was really getting sick and tired of Carla constantly calling her ma'am or Lieutenant Commander or El-Cee. "Huntress, you can just call me by either my first name or call sign if you want to." she said, using the Lieutenant's callsign for the first time, to Kunika's knowledge, Carla had gotten it because she followed the religion of Olympanism, a follower of Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, to be precise.
"I, err, yes ma'a-, gah, I mean Kunika." Carla said and Kunika snickered, that brought back memories of her previous wingman, a man who had died over Reach and had the callsign of Dancer. He had reacted in much the same fashion to being told to be so informal. "What's so funny?!"
Not much. She thought but she smiled as she replied. "Nothing Huntress, it's just my last wingman had the same reaction when I told him basically the same thing."
She could hear Carla's smile through the link. "Oh, I see ma'am. I am actually curious though, what was it like at Reach?"
Reach. Kunika paused as horrible memories came over her, hundreds of UNSC ships having a vicious duel with nearly five times their number of Covenant warships, as ODPs, Attack Satellites, and older Star Forts constantly flung missiles, torpedoes, kinetic slugs, lightspeed lasers, and relativistic particle beams into the uncaring void as the Covenant retaliated with their pulse lasers, energy projectors, particle beams, plasma torpedoes, plasma cannons, and energy torpedoes. Of literal swarms of Covenant fighters, fighter-bombers, bombers, and attack craft marauding through Reach space and pushing the UNSC fighters to their limit as they frantically tried to do too many things: covering their own asses, covering warships, covering the defense grid, covering the evacuation ships, intercepting enemy bombers, and intercepting enemy torpedo salvoes. Of the Polar Regions of Reach burning from Pulse Lasers, Plasma Torpedo, and Energy Torpedo bombardment, of the glaciers vanishing in a matter of hours as the sea levels rapidly rose, of the great forests erupting into fire as the planet burned.
"Artemis to put it simply, it was hell at Reach. Count yourself lucky that you weren't there, I saw several of humanity's four-digit aces fall at that battle. That's how terrible it was, people who had over a thousand confirmed kills under their belts died at Reach, I don't even want to know how many nuggets died. My wingman, Dancer, he'd been by my side for seven years bought it over Reach. There probably wasn't a soul in the UNSC who lost someone at Reach." Kunika said, tipping her head in her cockpit.
"Oh, I am sorry to hear that ma'am." Carla really, truly sounded sorry. It wasn't the sort of fake sorrow she got from some chump off the street back in Crisium City. But the sort of heartfelt apology one might get at a funeral from a friend. It brought a true tired smile to her face.
"Thank you Huntress, I have to say, you're not bad for a militia transfer." she said, and she truly meant it. Carla was easily one of the best pilots out of the various militia transfers that she had seen, no combat experience to speak of. But unlike most militia pilots who put in only the bare minimum of simulator time against the Covenant, she had put in as many hours possible. Not quite as many hours as some of the other militia pilots, but given that UNSCN Matador Fury had been one of the first ships to leave Reach to return to Terra with the battered VFA-666 in her hangars, it meant they had gotten some first picks. After the fucking Longsword and Greatsword Squadrons had stolen basically everyone else, she'd been the one good pilot that she would have wanted flying her wing left.
But she also knew that simulator time didn't mean shit compared to actually fighting the Covenant, the fucking alien bastards and forget bailing out around those fuckers. They considered a helpless pilot dangling from his parachute to be target practice, it was the reason why the UNSC had developed the crew escape pods so that way a UNSC pilot at least had a chance of making it to the ground.
But there was also the fact that Carla was one of the most innocent girls she'd ever met. She hadn't seen the horrors of this war, she'd been sheltered by the fact she had joined the Terran Defense Militia. Something that once VFA-666 was back to full strength she knew would change.
"Thank you Witch!" Carla replied, sounding gleeful at the compliment, then there was a pause. "Uh, how did you even get the callsign 'Witch' in the first place if you don't mind me asking?"
That was a really good question and one she wasn't too pleased about when it came to the answer. "I have on several occasions brought back Broadswords that according to the mechanics shouldn't have even made it back to the base. Eventually they decided I was quote-unquote 'magic', next thing I know someone called me a witch and you know how callsigns are."
Carla laughed openly over the link. "Alright, I know that I shouldn't laugh, but goddamn that's funny. They're calling you a witch just because of the fact that you have a knack for bringing home fighters that shouldn't be brought home."
Despite everything, Kunika allowed herself to crack a thin smile. She had to remind herself that there were people who hadn't become cynical bitches or jaded bastards. That there were people who were once again still pure to themselves and asking others innocent questions.
"That's good to hear, though how are you feeling otherwise?" she asked.
The pause this time went past significant, screamed through awkward station at full speed ahead, and made the non-stop journey to 'oh fuck me' land. "Good news, I don't need to go to the bathroom anymore." Carla said, sounding utterly embarrassed.
This time Kunika gave a hearty belly laugh as Carla began protesting that it wasn't funny in the slightest. Something that only made Kunika laugh harder as Carla began protesting more vehemently about it, which only made her laugh harder.
1314 Hours, 20 October 2552 (Military Calendar)
Onboard UNSCN Pioneer DDG-2070, on patrol in the Jovian System
T-Minus 1 Hour to Contact
Measuring at just over 500-meters, UNSCN Pioneer wasn't the largest ship in the UNSC Navy, she wasn't even the largest destroyer or most powerful DDG in the UNSC fleet, that distinction went to the new Cole class Destroyers that had entered service. Indeed UNSCN Pioneer was one of the oldest ships in the entirety of the UNSC Navy and her class by all accounts was one of the least effective against the Covenant as far as the Navy had been concerned tonnage wise. Most of the ships that hadn't been lost against the aliens had been retired and had their materials recycled into newer ships.
But Pioneer preserved her myriad of battle scars marked her armor where she had taken many a penetrating hit over the course of her career. For Lieutenant Commander Ori Nepe, he quite frankly didn't care that Pioneer was old and crap, mostly because she was his. He was a tall man, hailing from New Zealand with olive skin and a minorly foul mouth. He was also a Maori and knew the Maori language like the back of his hand.
Right now he was sitting in the command chair in CIC, buried deep within the DDG's citadel. "Ops, how much longer till the award ceremony on ODP Cairo begins?" he asked.
Lieutenant Inna Saner turned to face him, her strawberry blonde hair was nearly five centimeters longer than regulation permitted and she fixed him with a steely gaze with her beady black eyes. "It's going to start in roughly thirty minutes, sir." she replied.
"Very well, when the time comes I want the broadcast put up on the big board here in CIC and on various screens throughout the ship." he ordered.
"Aye aye, sir." The Skopje native replied, unlike other members of his crew, Saner still had a homeworld, but thanks to the Covenant seeding the system with mines after failing to get a significant foothold. It had effectively cut-off the system from the rest of human space.
"Captain, you do know that broadcasting a news feed throughout the entire ship, let alone putting it up on the big board here in CIC is against several UNSC Navy regulations?" The shipboard AI, Uzziah, said.
He knew that, but to be frank he didn't really care. Not after the UNSCDF had been effectively kicked in the balls with the disaster that had occurred at Reach. "I am well aware Uzziah, but you have to look at the big picture for a change. The morale onboard the ship is effectively down in the dumps, we just lost what was probably our most important planet outside of Terra itself. If anything, folks need heroes, they need to be reminded that we still have them after what occurred there." he said and took mild satisfaction when the damn AI didn't respond for several seconds.
Then after the silence from AI had gotten awkward, which when talking with an AI was really less than five seconds, it did the electronic equivalent of a sigh. "Your right sir, after checking the efficiency reports from the crew over a thousand times, I have to concur that your decision is sound." Uzziah replied, his navy blue form rippling with code.
That gave him a small measure of satisfaction, which went away when Uzziah scowled. "Another report from RSO Newton, sir. There was another Slipspace Whisper in the Jovian System, near Io."
That caused Nepe to frown, Slipspace Whispers were often the herald of ships entering the system. But the fact that it was doing so nowhere near either of Sol's Interstellar Jump Points, it had him on edge. He could tell by the way his crew shifted that it had them on edge too. The frown deepened as he remembered some of the naval battles against the Covenant that he had gone through. Better to be safe than sorry.
"Weps, arm our Fusion Archer pods but do not open the pod doors. Just in case we're about to get some unexpected company." Nepe ordered and he could feel every eye in CIC turn to him. "Look ships, even Innie ones have been arriving all week, but they've always been using the IJPs, these whispers aren't at either of Sol's IJPs. So it's more than likely not friendly, although I would feel sorry for them if they intend to jump into Sol with the intention of shooting up the place."
That was a fact, the Home Fleet was so massive that it was a Navy onto itself. If a Covenant fleet of similar size to the one that had attacked Reach, attacked the Sol System. The ensuing battle would be such a one-sided massacre in favor of the UNSC that it wasn't even funny, there were nearly 1400UNSC Navy ships in orbit of Earth alone, of those a solid 300 of them were of Capitol Ship tonnage, which meant ships of at least Heavy Cruiser tonnage. This was supplemented by nearly 150 UNSCAF ships of all tonnages and didn't even begin to get into the ships stationed at Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, etc. The Home Fleet was the largest formation in the entirety of the UNSC for a very good reason and yet, the Covenant had proven that they had no issue taking a human fleet that numbered in the hundreds down to size. They had done so at Psi Serpentis, Epsilon Eridanni, Actium, and Skopje. They could probably do it again, but the main issue was how long would it take the Covenant to do so?
"Aye sir, arming Fusion Archers." Lieutenant Rodney Veitch replied as he tapped in commands on his console. "Archers are primed sir, only need to remove the final set of safety interlocks and then open the doors, then we can ruin someone's day!" he said eagerly as he finished tapping in commands.
The words brought a thin yet grim smile to Nepe's face, indeed. The question was, whose day would they be ruining. His money was on a particularly stupid Innsurrectionist fleet, the Covenant didn't know where Earth was.
At least he hoped.
But if the Covenant had figured out where Earth was located, they would need a big damn fleet to pose a threat to the Home Fleet. But having faced the Covenant before, he knew how potent they were. The UNSC of course had gotten really good at space combat due to fighting the Covenant over the course of nearly thirty years, but the Covenant had also improved. The only up side was that the Covenant hadn't advanced much in terms of technology, they too had made improvements sure but not to the extent of the UNSC.
"Coming around onto the next leg of our patrol route, sir." Lieutenant Reynold Flowers said as Pioneer rumbled and she swung around.
"Aye, conn." Nepe replied as the ship continued her slow turn. The one thing he was worried about for the Pioneer was the setup of her MACs, unlike every class of UNSC Destroyer after the Pioneer class, she had an odd layout, using a spinal Light MAC and a spinal Mini-MAC, the logic behind the configuration was that the Mini-MAC would recharge faster than the standard MAC allowing the ship to pump shots into the battle space. Against the Covenant, this layout had proven flawed for killing the big ships, but was effective for killing the smaller vessels.
Still why was he so damned nervous? He quite frankly didn't know why, but maybe the fact that the UNSC had lost Reach was the biggest reason why he was feeling the way he was. He shook his head and sighed.
1344 Hours, 20 October 2552 (Military Calendar)
Onboard Cairo Station OWP-142 in orbit of Terra
T-Minus 30-minutes to contact
The Maglev Tram came to a halt, having traveled from the outer habitat ring to the inner habit ring in a matter of moments. Here was were CIC for Orbital Defense Platform Cairo, located in the station's heart, any boarders would have to fight their way through the tight winding corridors, the various Fireteams and Security Teams along with the station's various internal defenses. As the doors slid open, Master Chief Petty Officer John-117 was greeted by the sounds of cheering from UNSC Marines, Air Force personnel, and the odd Navy crewman.
The Master Chief knew what this was all about, ever since the UNSC had declassified the Spartan-IIs in 2547, in order to help with sagging morale. They had events where UNSC Spartans were to be decorated highly televised to the public so they could see the various heroes of the UNSC earn decorations for courage under fire. But in the Master Chief's opinion, he honestly didn't deserve all of these various citations, he had been made to do the impossible. He didn't deserve any more citations, if anything these decoration ceremonies needed to be dedicated to the real heroes of the Human-Covenant War, the various service men and women of the UNSCDF; the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard; along with the Planetary Militias, various Insurrection groups who would fight alongside the UNSC, the police groups. They were the real heroes, not him.
He marched towards CIC with Master Sergeant Avery Junior Johnson by his side. He had to admit that he was slowly building a friendship with the man and while he wasn't one of his brothers or sisters, he certainly had the spirit and tenacity of a Spartan. They marched into one of the two passageways that led to CIC, it was just barely wide enough for two fully armored Spartans to march down side-by-side. He could see the slideback panel near the door, his armor identified it as a location for one of the various internal defenses, a 30mm coilgun loaded with flechettes. The thought of that defending this passageway, in addition to the squad of ODSTs, just that weapon alone could turn this passageway into a charnel house. But today, there were no barriers or active weapons, just a few scattered personnel cheering and clapping.
Not for the first time, the Master Chief had to admit that the various defenses that Station Ciaro had were nothing but impressive. Yet he also knew that these internal defenses if they weren't supplemented by Combat and Security Teams, that the Covenant could overwhelm them. He pushed those thoughts aside, the Master Sergeant had implied during the trip from Armory F-25 that there was something special in store for him.
The only decoration that came to his mind and indeed, one so rare that he could count on both hands how often it had been awarded. But that was impossible, right? What could he have done to earn himself a Star of Terra? An award that needed the unanimous approval of the Chief of Staff of the Army, Chief of Staff of the Air Force, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, the Chief of Naval Operations, Chief of Void Operations, Commandant of the Coast Guard, the United Earth Government Congress, and the President of the United Earth Government. It was an award above even the Colonial Cross. Then it hit him, the reason he was getting a Star of Terra was more than likely because of Operation: FIRST STRIKE and its results. Successfully infiltrating the Covenant Battle/Refit Station Unyielding Hierophant, engaging the security forces, and rigging the reactors to blow which when they did resulted in the destruction of a Covenant fleet containing nearly 300 capital ships.
Johnson looked at him just before they passed through a hatch that would take them into CIC. "Nervous Chief?" he asked.
John shook his head. "No, Master Sergeant, I am not."
Johnson sighed. "Chief, when we are in informal situations like this, you can just use my name." he said.
The Chief paused and then nodded ever-so-slightly, causing Johnson to smile. Then together they entered CIC for Station Cairo. The compartment was designed like a two-tier amphitheater, Fleet Admiral Lord Terrance Hood stood near a Holotable in the center that portrayed the Terran System which was composed of 16 Psyche, and several O'Neill Cylinders at the various Lagrange points and the various battle groups. The various stations would relay information tiered around the holotable would relay information to the Admiral who would then send out his orders. The holoprojectors along the far wall were active showing Luna and stars.
There were also people, Marines and Sailors in their dress uniforms all clapping and cheering. Nearby however, the Master Chief picked out a couple of civilians with ID badges that clearly read "Press". Judging by the emblem they belonged to several different broadcasting networks: NBC, TNN, and BBC among others. Sure enough the camera drones came in and began filming as they buzzed around the pair. The Master Chief frowned under his helmet, he had been assured that there wouldn't be any cameras.
"You told me there wouldn't be any cameras." He said softly to Johnson and the Master Sergeant rolled his eyes.
"And you told me that you were going to wear something nice. The folks need heroes Chief, considering that the UNSC is going through one of its worst campaigns in history with Reach partially glassed. So smile, will ya? While we still have something to smile about." The Master Sergeant replied and underneath his helmet, the Master Chief did crack a faint smile.
Together the two strode up to where Lord Hood was waiting, in addition to a young woman wearing the pips of a Commander within the UNSC Navy. The ID for her neural lace was squawking: Commander Miranda Keyes, CO: UNSCN IN AMBER CLAD FFG-1420.
That information caused the Chief to blink under his helmet, he hadn't known that Captain Jacob Keyes, quite possibly one of the most brilliant tacticians within the UNSCN had been married, let alone having had a daughter. It was something that honestly surprised him, but it was also good to know that there was at least someone to continue the legacy of Jacob Keyes.
Due to the holographic projectors displaying the view of the uncaring void, they were technically "outdoors" which meant as the Chief and Johnson came in front of the Lord Hood, that both of them came to attention and saluted. A salute that the Admiral then returned.
The voice of Admiral Hood was almost grandfatherly as he spoke. "Gentlemen, we're lucky to have you back. After what happened at Reach, we had immediately assumed the worst." he said as another Officer came up to and whispered in his ear.
The sensitive audio receptors in the Chief's armor picked up what the man was saying. "Sir, RSO Newton has detected another anomaly near Io."
The Admiral frowned and then shook his head, waving the officer away and then he turned to the holotank. "Go ahead Cortana." he said, the Chief knew that Cortana wasn't Cairo's usual AI, but when the station had two AIs, the man obviously knew that the two AIs would work to delegate tasks.
With a flash of purple light, Cortana's avatar appeared, she had data streaming across her form as she spoke with a soft feminie voice that reminded the Master Chief of his 'mother' Dr. Catherine Halsey. "Another slipspace whisper, sir. Near Io, RSO Newton has launched probes to investigate."
The Master Chief frowned, a slipspace whisper was in-essence something that often heralded the arrival of a ship or a group of ships. Depending on the size of the vessel or vessels, you could easy see slipspace whispers for roughly half a day before the slipspace wave front, which was sort of like a bow wave for ships traversing slipspace could be detected, which could easily be minutes before the ships get close enough for sensor probes to get an identification. At least, those were the extreme basics as he knew them and indeed, that is what he had been taught some 30-years ago back during training.
Lord Hood sighed. "I apologize, but were going to have to make this quick." he said as he turned away, attending to the various boxes that contained the various decorations to be given out. He picked up the first one and turned, presenting a medal that had a blue, red, and gold ribbon, with a bronze cross pattée alisee that had been polished to a high sheen superimposed over a red, white, and black square that had four bronze forked crosses reaching out from the center to the edge of the white paint, with a Lion standing above Earth with the inscription of "Pro Valor".
"In the absence of the Commander-in-Chief of humanity's military forces, President Lanakila Malana. I hereby present Sergeant Major Avery Junior Johnson with the Colonial Cross. For singular selfless acts of daring and bravery that go well above and beyond the call of duty that is demanded by the soldiers of the United Earth Space Corps, partaking in the rescue of trapped UNSC Personnel on the enemy occupied world of Reach at great risk to his own life for apparent little gain." he said as pinned the medal to Johnson's chest.
The two exchanged salutes, with in accordance to Protocol that started with the Legion of Honor, Lord Hood saluting first followed by Sergeant Johnson returning it. The Master Chief couldn't help but smile behind his polarized visor as he remembered the first time he had been awarded a Colonial Cross which had been leading Spartan strike teams in the capture of the Covenant CRS class Fast Attack Ship Unrelenting.
He turned to accept another medal, a second Colonial Cross. "Commander Miranda Keyes. Your father's actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of military service. His bravery in the face of impossible odds reflects great credit, upon himself, and the UNSCDF. The Navy has lost one of its best."
1404 Hours, 20 October 2552
Near Io, onboard Remote Sensing Outpost Newton
T-minus 10 minutes to contact
Remote Sensing Outposts were wonders of human technology, equipped with highly specialized sensors that allowed them to see into the depths of slipspace in order to detect oncoming slipspace wave fronts. In addition they had a number of specialized probes and a special slipspace drive to facilitate the two-second journey into the slipstream that the probes needed to undertake. In addition they had the very best in computing in order to calculate such procedures involving the probes and to make estimates on an incoming target's mass just based on its slipspace wave front.
Yet they still needed to be manned. Which was why Lieutenant Jaxson Wellington was sitting behind a console just waiting for something interesting to show its ugly mug and if anything, he knew that something would be showing its ugly mug soonish. Given the damn Slipspace whispers that they kept on detecting not quite halfway between Io and Europa.
But despite his console also demanding attention, he was also half listening to the broadcast coming from station Cairo, another Star of Terra, the forty-second one to be given out during this damn war was being awarded. But the fact remained that it was being awarded to a Spartan, more than that it was being given to the legendary Master Chief, the leader of the famed Blue Team.
His console pinged an alert. "Que diable?!" he whispered dumbfounded before speaking. "Captain Grant, we got an incoming Slipspace Wave front!"
The captain looked up sharply and then swore. "Aye, I see it too. Working with RSO Democritus and RSO Shaw in order to triangulate its position. Get me a mass estimate."
Wellington's hands flew across his console as he tapped in the numbers. Whatever the fuck that was coming, it had to be absolutely titanic for them to be detecting a Slipspace Wave like this. "Working!" Someone called.
"Cycling probes; launching the Delta, Epsilon, and Zeta probes!" Wellington called out and a moment later, there was a soft humming as the hyper advanced slipspace drive that could send the probes into the slipstream and get them back out again began charging. This was followed by three heavy chooms as the launch tubes fired the probes into the uncaring void.
Seconds passed as the probes reached minimum safe distance from the RSO. "Got a mass estimate! Lord in heaven, the computer thinks that whatever incoming this is, it displaces nearly a trillion metric tons!"
You could hear a pin drop in the ensuing silence. A trillion metric tons was not a small mass by any stretch of the imagination and the terrifying part was that there were Covenant ships that indeed got that big, if not bigger. But Captain Grant was nothing but sharp for he barked quick commands.
"There's nothing that big scheduled. Send out an alert, I am declaring probable Case Zulu and Winter Contingency." He said, the RSO's AI immediately began compiling a report.
"Probes jumping." Wellington said as with several flashes of light heralded the probes leaping into slipspace. Two seconds later they returned to realspace and transmitted their data. Wellington's board beeped and he turned sheet white.
"Baise moi! We got contacts, multiple matches! Covenant Frigates, Battlecruisers, a Grand Cruiser, an Assault Carrier, and a Super Assault Carrier." He cried, fear very audible in his wording; that fear quickly spread.
"Well shit." Captain Grant said. "Confirm with the other RSOs." he ordered.
Wellington's hands flew across the board, he had done this in drills dozens of times. But now? Now it seemed all too terrifying, all too real. The boogeyman of humanity had found its cradle and was now coming to burn it all to ashes. Within moments he had the connection to the other RSOs and was working furiously to get a match. He hoped it was just a set of glitches on their end.
The text that scrolled across his screen made that hope die. "Confirmed sir! Covenant forces inbound!"
"Wellington! Get a believed exit vector!" someone ordered as everything began to go to hell.
Wellington's hands flew across the board with a speed that they never had before. "Got it! Captain Grant, transmitting to your station!"
Captain Grant nodded and then he flicked open a plastic panel and hit the panic button, immediately klaxons howled. "This is RSO Newton! Covenant ships approaching through FTL, Case Zulu! I repeat Zulu, Zulu, Zulu; all UNSC Forces enact the WINTER CONTINGENCY contact report as is a believed exit vector is attached to this message!" he roared as protocol demanded, his voice was booming and commanding. Wellington paused, Case Zulu meant only one thing in the UNSCDF: Invasion of Sol imminent. Its use was forbidden in drills, to prevent crying wolf and as far as Wellington knew, it had never been used before. Until now. He thought darkly.
"Battle Group Starry Skies responding and moving to ambush position!" Someone called.
Battle Group Starry Skies was one of the three Heavy Battle Groups of the Jovian Defense Force, if there was anything that could handle what was about to be thrown at it, they could with incredible ease. All throughout the Sol system, the calm was being replaced by panic and fear at the fact that the Covenant had found Sol and they were coming.
AN: Why yes, that's the sound of imminent mayhem and destruction.
For those of you who don't know, the MA90 CAWS isn't a pump-action shotgun in this universe, instead, it's based off the MA5B, it's a bullpup, 8-gauge, full automatic capable combat shotgun that fires from magazines containing 8-rounds, 16-rounds, 24-rounds, or 32-rounds. The rounds it can fire are Buckshot, Explosive Buckshot, Slug rounds, FRAG rounds (essentially explosive slug, the rounds are fin-stabilized too), and Flechette rounds and it can do so to the tune of 425-rounds per minute in full automatic. The FRAG-8 rounds are particularly devastating for it turns the MA90 into a 20mm automatic grenade launcher.
Lunar Creloe is the local language of Luna, its essentially this bastard combination of Japanese, Chinese, Hindi, and English, it results in an accent that's odd to say the least.
The UNSCN Pioneer is indeed the same UNSCN Pioneer that ferried Blue Team to Eridanus System for Operation: TALON which resulted in the Capture of Colonel Robert Watts.
16 Psyche is one of the largest asteroids in the solar system and its unique among asteroids, for its M-Type but believed to be the exposed core of a Protoplanet and contains enough ores like Iron and Nickel that we could literally stop mining on Earth because this asteroid has enough ore to set mankind literally for more than 40,000 years on the stuff. In this universe, 16 Psyche is located at Lagrange Point 1
An O'Neill Colony Cylinder is a type of space station composed of two counter-rotating cylinders, 8-kilometers in diameter and 20-kilometers long. An example of a much smaller O'Neill Colony Cylinder would be the station Babylon 5, which is a mere 8-kilometers long and at its widest point is 1.61-kilometers, its 2,500,000-tons of spinning metal. There's one Lagrange Point 3 and another at Lagrange Point 4.
The final point, John-117 doesn't consider himself a hero, to him he's just doing his job. As a Spartan-II he was made to do the impossible. Yes, he even considers waging one-man wars against the Covenant like he did on Installation 04 to be just his duty.
I tried to emulate the Colonial Cross as it appeared in Halo 2 originally, not the Anniversary variant.
Also, the Fleet of Sacred Consecration really did exit slipspace near Io, according to Terminal 15 in Halo 2 Anniversary.
Home Fleet is also a lot bigger than in canon. The Home Fleet is composed of various Defense Forces which are in order: Terran Defense Force, Lunar Colonial Defense Force, Mars Defense Force, Jovian Defense Force, Saturnian Defense Force, and Neptunian Defense Force.