UNSC Dominion, War Room
October 10th, 0334 local Time, 2552 UNSC Military Calendar
By the time that the Dominion was back in the air, the sun had long since set over Menagerie. They left the Relay Station fully manned, as Richard did not foresee a need for large-scale actions in the future. No matter what their next move would be, it would involve smaller units, meaning he could spare the staff. Keeping the Relay Station in Menagerie online was also critical to their relations with Remnant, and that meant keeping it crewed.
Richard was painfully aware of the strategic vulnerabilities of the CCTS. The whole system was disabled whenever a single host tower went down for maintenance, which made him wonder what a freak accident or terrorist attack would do to Remnant. Of course, they had the technology and knowledge to fix the issue, but it would likely be months before they could even start fabricating basic satellites, let alone deploying them for global communication.
I guess I should be thankful for what we have. Richard thought as he sealed the bulkhead to the War Room.
"Hello, Commander." Bradford acknowledged, looking up from what he was typing on his datapad. "Lieutenant Oswald said he's going to need another minute, he's wrapping something up with the Council of Mistral."
"Well we're not exactly strained for time anymore, we can afford to be patient." Richard replied, happy that he no longer had such awful time constraints weighing on his shoulders. "In the meantime, I would appreciate a formal casualty count for Operation Bismarck... just for the logs."
"Aye Sir, I've already made one." Bradford wearily replied. "Civilian deaths currently rest at fifty-six, with four still in critical condition. Every single civilian we rescued was either wounded or walking wounded."
Fifty-six. Richard silently mouthed. When measured against the standards of the Human-Covenant War, the losses were small, but for a counter-terrorism operation, it was appalling.
"I'm afraid it gets worse, we didn't get out of that unscathed ourselves," Bradford said. "Twenty-one Marines are currently classified as walking wounded, fourteen are formally wounded..."
Bradford visibly took a deep breath and let it out unevenly. "...twelve KIA, all Marines, save for a single ODST. All of their remains have been moved to cryopods."
Even if they're unlikely to return home. Richard bitterly thought. "Enemy Casualties?"
"Hard to say, but we're looking at anywhere between four hundred to six hundred. If we account for the enemies killed during our naval engagement, that number skyrockets to over fourteen-hundred." Bradford answered. "We took forty-six prisoners of war, and we estimate anywhere from seven to twenty hostiles managed to escape."
At least the ratio is in our favor, even if the MAC is skewing the numbers a bit. Richard thought. "We cannot do that again, not without good reason."
Bradford nodded solemnly. "We did have a good reason, Sir. We pulled over three-hundred souls out of hell, and the mass grave we found at Point Guderian only proves that we saved their lives. Reports from the survivors were... disturbing, we're going to need more psychologists."
For the millionth time, Richard cursed his inability to share the true extent of the SDC's crimes with Remnant's civilian population. The media was ablaze, calling their operation an act of war against Atlas, while the Atlesian Government and a few of the more intelligent journalists defended their actions as a Joint-Operation with the Atlesian Military.
I suppose that's actually true, isn't it? Even if the contributions of their military extend to one person and some intel. Richard bitterly thought.
"...Sir?" Bradford nervously asked, interrupting Richard's thoughts.
I must've missed something. Richard thought, before awkwardly clearing his throat. "Sorry Lieutenant, can you please repeat your last statement?"
Bradford sighed, Richard could tell he was as tired and frustrated as everyone else on the ship. "Lieutenant Oswald is on his way, he says he has some reports to make."
"Let's hope he has good news." Richard replied, although he was less than optimistic. "For future reference, just call him Thomas, I'm pretty sure his last name bothers him for some reason."
"Everything bothers him for some reason." Bradford cheekily grumbled.
Richard gave a brief chuckle, it was nice to laugh at such a stressful time, even if Bradford wasn't intentionally joking. "Yes, but I have given the man a very important job. Some quirks in his behavior are certainly forgivable."
As if on cue, the bulkhead to the War Room cracked open. "Sorry I'm late, I was kissing the ass of a bunch of politicians whose egos stretched further than their vocabulary."
"Give them some credit Lieutenant, their education system is catastrophically decentralized." Richard said, watching as the man dropped enough paper to fill a bookshelf onto the holotable in the middle of the room.
"Busy day?" Bradford jokingly asked.
"Almost as busy as your's," Thomas said, his dry expression unwavering. "Still, all of that PR bullshit I picked up on in Section-Two must have some meaning, as I've secured travel rights and aerospace access from every Nation on Remnant. In return, they're all receiving updates of Grimm movements from our Satellites."
"Well, that's... good." Richard said, not expecting such dramatic results. "Very nice work Lieutenant."
"Well apparently Remnant's international borders were already rather loose, so it was more of a formality. Save the congratulations for when I actually accomplish something." Thomas explained.
Still, getting them some military intel against our universal enemy, that's a good thing. Richard thought, wondering just how much the Dominion's sensor suite could be put to use.
"The council over in Vacuo finally replied to my goddamn emails. Unfortunately, they're not the real government, the local Huntsmen Academy is." Thomas continued. "Shade Academy has yet to respond to any of my requests for diplomatic contact, but I admit, I haven't given them very long."
"So, it's under Martial Law?" Richard asked, not sure if he understood the situation.
He still wasn't really sure what the Huntsmen would really be classified as under UEG law, or even UNSC regulation. Currently, he decided to classify them as "Soldiers of Remnant", despite the lack of a global governmental structure. An exception was made for the Altesian Specialists, who were pretty clearly under Atlas's command.
Thomas shook his head. "It's like Gao down there, only with less murder, thankfully."
"Wild-west laws." Bradford confirmed. "So we can officially reduce the number of major powers on this planet from five to four."
Richard gave a mental sigh, humanity did not need to lose any more strength, and it certainly couldn't lose more organization. Nevertheless, ignoring the situation on the ground was practically begging for disaster, so he reluctantly nodded.
"The Kingdom of Vale has been the most cooperative of them all. Their Council even offered us all citizenship once I explained that we're effectively marooned out here." Thomas continued. "Naturally, I declined as politely as I could, but it's still worth mentioning."
"Good god, ONI's going to have our heads if we ever make it back home." Bradford muttered.
"Well, they probably won't like all of the Medical advances that Lieutenant Chase insisted I distribute." Thomas added. "I compromised with her, stating that I would not hand over knowledge on how to produce any form of military stimulant or biochemical augmentation agent."
"Or chemical weapons." Bradford added.
Thomas tensed up slightly, barely enough for Richard to notice. "That was never on the table, the last thing we need is to give these people nerve gas. Thankfully, Curie volunteered to package all of the relevant data and sort out anything that we don't want to be sharing... in fact, she did it even before I asked her too."
"I'd rather have a sympathetic A.I than an apathetic one." Richard said, noting his subtly worded concerns.
"Well, I'm afraid I do have one last bit of bad news." Thomas unhappily reported. "We've received a pretty much universal condemnation for our "reckless actions towards the global Dust supply", their words, not mine."
Richard nodded in recognition, General Ironwood had been making the same complaints to him for some time. The Schnee Dust Company controlled so much of Remnant's Dust mining and refinement operations, that the UNSC's intervention posed the very real risk of causing a Dust shock. "I'm well aware, their concerns are valid."
"I was hoping you would recognize that. I have, of course, prepared a counter-strategy." Thomas said, picking up a single piece of paper. "Now, we have two major options here. Either we negotiate with individual mine owners to renounce the SDC..."
"We do not negotiate with Slavers." Bradford interjected. "They made their choice, and we made ours when we took our oaths."
"Commander?" Thomas asked, looking to him for his judgement.
Richard considered it for only a moment but swiftly discarded the option. It would be a great disgrace those Marines who had been killed, and show Remnant that the UNSC was willing to bend the knee to any sort of wrongdoing. "No, we intervened for a reason, there's no backing out now. We're finishing this, all of the way."
"Yeah, saw that coming..." Thomas said, discarding the one piece of paper and gesturing towards the rest of his stack. "This right here is what myself and Lieutenant Chen have dubbed Operation Red Cross."
"Red Cross?" Bradford asked, apparently not recognizing the reference.
Thomas gained another layer of irritation on his facial expression. "It's a reference to the old humanitarian organization, back before the Interplanetary Wars rendered them a bit obsolete."
Well, I suppose with everything that got nationalized around that time, the Red Cross probably got rebranded. Richard thought.
"Regardless, the name was fitting, given the nature of the operation. Its goal is deceptively simple, stop Remnant from suffering an economic downturn, or at the very least, nullify it." Thomas explained.
"This is going to be really expensive, isn't it?" Richard wearily guessed.
"Well, let me put it this way. If we diverted all of the Lien that we've siphoned out of the SDC's bank accounts, which I do not suggest we do, we would cover around half of the cost." Thomas said, painting a pretty vivid picture of the monetary costs.
Richard involuntarily flinched, followed swiftly by Bradford. Thomas gave them both a look of rare sympathy as he continued. "Curie has not given me an official number, but we're looking at around a half a trillion Lien."
"Well, I suppose we are overhauling an entire planet's economic structure..." Bradford commented.
Thomas gave an awkward chuckle. "No, that's simply not going to happen for the foreseeable future. This plan is to keep Remnant's economy afloat and functioning while the Dust Industry recovers, which, by my estimation, will be about six months. All that funding is going to get delivered in the form of a very complex economic plan that Curie's cooking up, she'll need at least another day."
"...I don't suppose there's anything we could do to help reduce the cost?" Richard asked, although he was afraid he knew the answer.
"Actually, there is, and it's fairly simple. We stop destroying Dust, and the tools to harvest it, we'll bring the whole industry online a lot faster if we don't have to rebuild all of that." Thomas proposed.
Richard was surprised by his answer, but also doubtful. "You want us to give the SDC some breathing room?"
"Absolutely not." Thomas answered. "If anything, we need to put on the pressure, cut off their head while they're still stunned and knock them out of the fight before this situation gets any worse."
Well, so much for easing up on the time constraints. Richard thought bleakly. "What did you mean, in that case?"
"What I'm proposing is that instead of destroying the enemy's assets, their airships, their mining equipment, all that rubbish, we capture them. We've already been capturing equipment, but we've been passing up on some civilian gear would be just as expensive to replace, and if we can snag it, we can just hand it back to Remnant's people once this is all over." Thomas explained.
Specifically, the people who don't want to shoot us. Richard silently finished. "That certainly sounds reasonable, but it doesn't solve the issue of gathering the funds we need. You said we'd need to practically double our existing budget, and we're going to need a lot of that money just to keep ourselves running out here."
"You're certainly correct, we shouldn't use all of it." Thomas conceded. "But we should certainly put a good chunk of our new funds into this, given the potentially disastrous consequences of handling this poorly. The Kingdoms of Remnant should also be more than willing to help out, especially once they realize all of their ammo is irreplaceable, at least for a time."
Richard's stomach dropped, he hadn't thought about ammo. The Grimm activity would skyrocket if the Huntsmen weren't able to stifle them, and the Huntsmen subsequently wouldn't have the ammo to fight them off. The Dominion and her Marines could certainly help, but there simply weren't enough people under his command to defend an entire planet at once.
"What about our propellant?" Bradford pointed out. "Can't we share the manufacturing process, bring Remnant's weaponry a bit further in terms of technology in the process?"
"Well if you're willing to rechamber every gun on the planet to account for the dramatic increase in pressure and muzzle velocity. And also build half a city's worth of chemical plants to make enough to supply everyone, all while handing our potential future enemies a major advantage, then yeah, I guess we could use it." Thomas replied in a dead serious but blatantly sarcastic tone.
Bradford waved his hand in resignation. "I believe I understand, Lieutenant."
"We do have a solution, right?" Richard asked, hopeful that Thomas had delivered once again.
"As it turns out, our enemy found one for us." Thomas answered, withdrawing a piece of paper from the stack and handing it over. "What they called "Synthetic Blast Dust" is what the French called "Smokeless Powder" back when they invented it. Unlike our propellant, we can feasibly expect the people of Remnant to make this stuff, due to how simple it is to produce."
Ah, so they did develop it... kind of. Richard thought as he read the captured document, apparently, the SDC had recognized the hazard to their profits and snuffed the project out. Well I suppose that makes some sense, especially given their ties to Atlas's R&D sector. Maybe they pose a greater threat to humanity's future than we initially thought, stifling innovation like this...
"Curie has proposed that we make some kind of new mixture, a combination of Dust and simple smokeless powder. We'll increase the lifespan of Remnant's stockpiles, and give their weapons an upgrade, whilst also retaining our advantage over any potential enemies." Thomas explained.
"Why mix it with Dust?" Richard asked. "What's wrong with just using the propellant as it is?"
"Remnant's existing supply of weapons cannot handle the internal-pressure, not without extensive retooling. By mixing its ballistic properties with Dust, hopefully, we can give most weapons a boost whilst also remaining safe to use. This also allows the operator to continue to use the more... eccentric abilities of Dust." Thomas answered.
"I don't think we have any chemists." Bradford pointed out. "Or chemical plants, or scientists, or workers..."
"We don't, but Remnant does." Thomas pointed out, continuing to lay out his strategy. "We'll put together some kind of development coalition, headed up by Curie, and hopefully some local experts. Hopefully we can put something together that's cheap and effective enough that we can hand the recipe over to the people of Remnant."
Richard nodded, clearly the man had thought this through. He couldn't pick out a fault in Thomas's plan, although only time would tell if it would work. "I assume this is all still in the planning phases?"
"I'm afraid so." Thomas confirmed. "I'd need funding, and preferably the war to be over, before I get this truly underway."
"Take whoever you need off the roster and a quarter of our funds. Put together a team and get this done." Richard instructed, well aware of the consequences of failure. "In the meantime, we'll finish the SDC, and start trying to make sure the rest of this planet doesn't hate us."
Thomas let out a breath that Richard hadn't noticed he'd been holding. "Aye Sir. And please, keep in mind, if you find any assets that might be useful to all of this... try to steal them, not blow them up."
"We'll keep that in mind." Richard reassured him. "But right now, I think we could all use a bit of rest, we've had a very long day. You're all dismissed Gentlemen."
UNSC Dominion, Sickbay
October 10th, 0945 local Time, 2552 UNSC Military Calendar
It was downright unnatural to see Fairfire so quiet. Ever since she'd been admitted to sickbay, in one of the beds directly across from his, she'd barely said a word. She'd barely moved either, only touching her datapad once or twice.
Of course, Nathan wasn't totally in the dark, he knew that something had happened on the mission, something that had gone horribly wrong. He could also deduce from the distant expression in her eyes and the frustrated glares she received from the medical staff that she had made some kind of major mistake.
She wasn't like this even after Concord, what the hell happened? Nathan thought, although he knew better than to ask.
So he did his own investigation, searching the B-net and the squad roster for any information. He found two critical clues that offered him some additional context. Firstly, one of the Helljumpers that they had gained after Concord was dead. Nathan couldn't claim to have known Kilo particularly well, but losing another ODST couldn't be easy. Still, Fairfire had led them through heavy losses before, and she'd never looked like this afterwards.
By my count, that's seven Helljumpers still alive, plus Ben and Jorge. Nathan thought, somewhat gruesomely. I can't imagine what that's got to be like, knowing that you might be the only Spartans in this universe. Sure, we can train more Helljumpers, but Spartans?
The second clue he found disturbed him considerably more, Fairfire had been demoted all the way down to Corporal. Nathan himself had been demoted before, but never so dramatically. A million possibilities ran through his mind, maybe there had been some sort of friendly fire incident?
"You've been staring for fifteen minutes, Private."
Private, not Nathan. He noted that was a telling sign as to what she was thinking.
Fairfire sighed, prompting him out of his thoughts. "They didn't tell you what hap... what I did, did they?"
"Uh, no, they did not." Nathan awkwardly replied, still somewhat surprised that she had raised the subject so willingly.
"I tried to shoot a prisoner in the head. Yu… Yu tried to stop me, and she took a bullet meant for me, and now she's on death's door." Fairfire's voice was cold, calm, but most of all it was empty. Ditched in a way that felt unusual, it was clear that she wasn't all there and judging by the hazed look in her eyes she was reliving the moment.
It took him a moment to digest what she had said, and once she did, he found himself just as confused. He had absolutely no idea how to reply to what she had said, so he opted for a simple response that he hoped couldn't come across as too horribly insulting. Obviously what she had done was wrong, but she'd clearly already been through hell for it, so he didn't see a point in throwing any more shit her way. "...why?"
She looked at him with an expression of frustration. "You're going to have to be more specific than that."
I suppose that's fair enough. Nathan thought, before trying to string together a better question. "Uh... well, start at the beginning, I guess. Why did you shoot a prisoner?"
"I don't…" Fairfire grated her teeth. "Let me bring you up to speed first."
He already knew about the civilian casualties, but as Fairfire explained, it was a grand deal worse than people getting caught up in the crossfire. They had found two mass graves, and Fairfire had a part in discovering both of them. From the way she described it, it had been weighing on her quite heavily.
"But it's more than just that." Fairfire continued, her voice somewhat strained. "It's this whole fucking planet! The Grimm are a fucking nightmare, the Slaves, even Menagerie..."
"It all got under your skin?" Nathan guessed, although he sounded a lot more unsure than he intended. He immediately mentally kicked himself, noting the defensive look that she quickly blinked away.
"Of course I-" Fairfire took a deep breath. "...I guess so, as wrong as that sounds..." she answered, although the uncertainty in her voice was rich. "I just felt so... angry, like I couldn't do anything else, like I had to do it."
Nathan found answering that exceptionally difficult, he'd never been great with people. "Like, there wasn't any thought behind it, you just-"
"Oh no, there was thought behind it alright." she interrupted. "It was like... some kind of brutal logic, not good logic, just... like it was perfectly natural."
"An instinct?" Nathan offered, to which she nodded. "Well shit, I don't really know what to say to that..."
"There's not much to say, at least, not that anyone else hasn't already." Fairfire wearily said. "But don't get me wrong, I deserve it all, for certain."
Nathan took a deep breath. "Well, we all make mistakes-"
"Nathan, I tried to shoot a fucking prisoner, in the head, with intent to kill." Fairfire clearly stated in the same dead-serious tone he rarely heard off of the battlefield. "If Yu hadn't tried to tackle me, I would have ended that man's life."
Nathan gave a sad nod. "You know she's gonna live, right?"
"Yeah, I know." Fairfire confirmed, her voice sounding even more weary than before. "But she's just a kid, and she nearly died because of me..."
"She's twenty-five." Nathan pointed out.
"Yeah, but as far as ODST's go, she's... I just don't want to see her die like that." Fairfire said, her voice straining. "You know what she's like, I don't want this to shoot down her spirit. If she was angry at me, I could stand that, but if she's just lost her nerve..."
"She's a Helljumper." Nathan bluntly said. "Meadows has pulled himself out of worse wounds before."
"After three months off the frontline in a shrink's office, sure, he did." Fairfire countered, before letting out a heavy sigh. "Look, I just... I don't want her to wake up and be a different person, you know?"
"I think I get it." He confirmed, now understanding what she was afraid of. "For what it's worth, I think she'll pull through in the long run, even if she's a bit thrown off in the short-term."
Fairfire gave a bleak nod. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
As much as Nathan wanted to offer some words of comfort, all he could do was nod. She was right, and lying to her was meaningless. "I guess so."
Atlas Academy, General Ironwood's Office
October 10th, 1058 local Time, 2552 UNSC Military Calendar
Ironwood stared at the paper on his desk for only a moment, before realizing it was yet another request for an interview. Sadly, Ironwood's response was already dictated for him, as between running a Huntsman Academy, his position on the Council, his role in the Military, and trying to manage the ongoing conflict between the UNSC and the SDC, he was simply too busy. He wrote a brief but hopefully polite letter declining the request, marked it to be sent to the respective news agency, and moved on to the next paper in the stack... another request for an interview. He took a glance at the paper under that, it was asking for a statement regarding the UNSC's recent operation.
Ironwood sighed. Maybe a press conference is in order, but there's no way I would have time for it. Perhaps one of the other Councilmen- He thought, before a series of harsh knocks on his office door snapped him out of his thoughts.
He set aside the paper, knowing full well that he had no scheduled appointments, but also knowing that security would have stopped anyone with malicious intent. "...Come in."
The doors swung open to reveal a battle-dressed, middle-aged Huntsman, one that he had not expected to see again.
"Sorry Sir, but I wasn't about to wait in line, I've got intel that you need to hear." Garrett dryly said.
The man looked like he had been through hell, his face sported a few new scars, and he had large bags under his eyes. He clearly hadn't even finished dusting off his uniform before coming to Atlas, and more interestingly, it was his older-model uniform from before he retired. His former eyepatch had apparently been replaced by a synthetic brown eye, which was just unnatural enough to not blend with his remaining biological eye.
"Close the blinds, this is sensitive material!" he demanded, as he slammed the doors behind him. "I would not have just risked barging into your office with no good reason, and you damn well know it!"
Ironwood slowly eased out of his shock, before reaching for the button on his desk, and closing his Office's shutters. Garrett came from a different era of the Atlesian Military, one that favored a swift response to a problem over a thorough one. As such, he was willing to forgive the old Huntsman's habits, especially if he had valuable intelligence. "It's been a little while, Major."
"Don't call me that!" the man snapped, with a surprising amount of venom in his voice, although he seemed to quickly regret it. "I'm sorry Sir, it's... it's been a rough few days."
That's not like him. Ironwood noted. Garrett was rather infamous for being a bit cowardly, what's given him a spine?
His curiosity gave him enough reason to hear the man out, Ironwood moved the stack of papers on his desk out of the way, and gestured to one of the chairs in front of him. "Alright then... Garrett, have a seat. Talk to me, what's happened that's so important?"
The man took a seat, but gave a nervous glare over his shoulder, like he was seeing something that Ironwood wasn't. "Well, originally, I was going to come up here and say the conspiracy theorists were right, and that the Schnee Dust Company is actually a bunch of slaving monsters. But I realized about halfway here that you probably already know that, don't you?"
"I'm well aware of the crimes of Jacques Schnee and his enterprise." Ironwood confirmed. "There is a reason that we've allowed the UNSC to keep running their operations."
"Well, you really should get to telling the rest of Atlas, and especially Mantle!" Garrett angrily said. "A PR statement is one thing, but everyone on the ground... they think you're full of shit, Sir."
Vulgar, but he got the point across. Ironwood unhappily thought. "I believe the rest of the Council is more than capable of handling public relations regarding this crisis, I have my hands full enough with the Grimm."
"Well, maybe you wouldn't have so many Grimm to deal with if you made it clear why we're fighting!" Garrett argued. "Maybe then idiots like me wouldn't go signing up to fight unwinnable battles."
Ironwood raised a hand, noting a critical detail, one that might explain why the man looked so ragged. "Stop, were you at the mines yesterday?'
Garrett grimaced. "Yeah, I'm afraid I was. As far as I know, I'm the only survivor from the whole crew at the Selfoss Strip Mine. I know the UNSC took a bunch of the Faunus, but I...don't know what happened to them."
He sounds worried, does he think the UNSC were trying to kidnap them, or worse? Ironwood thought, although he knew otherwise, the man's insight could still prove valuable in some manner. But first, he needed to gauge where Garrett's loyalties were. "Do you mind describing what happened, and maybe shed some light on why you were there in the first place?"
"That's why I'm here, you need to hear this. The rest of Atlas would just sit with their thumb up their ass all day, but you actually try to get things done!" Garrett answered, before taking a deep breath. "I had just shown up the previous day, I had no idea what those bastards were doing... I would have never been fighting for them if I knew!"
"And I have no reason to doubt that. But, of course, I will have to look into that." Ironwood stated, which he truly believed. Garrett's cowardly habits meant that he would be less likely to take risks of such a high caliber, and he had no history of any sort of discriminatory beliefs. "But for now, please, continue."
Garrett gave a thankful nod. "The attack started with every electronic in the base going nuts, I mean androids, the loader mechs, the lights, and even the defense turrets. It was when we were changing shifts, they must have known somehow. Within half a minute, anything electronic was dead, and the soldiers on watch did the only thing you'd expect a bunch of half-baked volunteers to do."
"Panic." Ironwood finished his sentence, to which Garrett nodded. Immediately, Ironwood understood why the battle was such a slaughter.
"The Grimm were on us even before the UNSC were. They came in these small vehicles, like those new rocket lockers the kids get these days, except they're designed to hold people." Garrett said, inadvertently confirming one of the earlier rumors Ironwood had heard. "They dropped out of the sky and tore our defense to ribbons. We never had a chance to even assemble a frontline, let alone hold in."
"Did you fight them?" Ironwood asked, curious as to how a trained Huntsmen would stack up against the UNSC.
"Only one." Garrett answered, his voice betraying extreme discomfort. "It was this person in powered armor, eons ahead of whatever your eggheads have cooked up. Do you remember how my Semblance works?"
"Powered armor..." Ironwood muttered, mulling it over. It was a technology that Atlas had experimented with in the past, to mixed results. When it came to actually making it combat-capable, the best example Atlas had was the large and unwieldy, but still powerful, Paladin. "...yes, I'm familiar with your Semblance, what of it?"
"Good, that'll make this easier to explain." Garrett said. "It took two rounds just to break the damn thing's energy shield, and I was putting all the effort I could into those. He managed to dodge the third shot... with no Aura, or a relevant Semblance, while wearing heavy armor. He dodged it like I was throwing rocks, and he ran so fast that he kept pace with me, easily!"
"Can you describe it?" Ironwood asked, unashamedly eager for what intel he could get.
Garrett nodded. "Oh, I can do you one better."
In a slightly unnerving manner, Garrett removed his cybernetic eye, before removing a small green chip from the artificial organ, before placing the eye back in. "Here, everything I saw, all inside this. I uh... don't care to see any of that again, you can keep it."
Ironwood took the device from his hands and looked at it, immediately recognizing the technology. Doctor Polendina's robotics advancements had made their way to the civilian world in the form of artificial limbs, far in advance of what the world had previously. He had extensive cybernetics himself, a result of grievous wounds from early in his career, so he knew that they were made with a great degree of care.
Finally, something with a decent resolution, not to mention a first-person perspective! We might genuinely be able to figure out more about how they fight now! He thought, happy to have the first piece of reliable intelligence he could think of.
"Thank you... Garrett." Ironwood said, still somewhat thrown off by Garret's discomfort with his former rank. "We've been struggling for intel, and as you may have guessed, the UNSC is quite reluctant to share information about themselves."
Garrett narrowed his eyes, as if doubtful. "About that, if you want my take, I wouldn't trust them. They seemed a bit too eager to solve their problems with firepower."
Ironwood nodded in reluctant agreement. "I agree, a dialogue would certainly have been preferable... but I suppose it's too late for that now."
Garrett seemed to think something over for a minute, before speaking. "General... you should know, they took some of the Guards prisoner."
Ironwood nodded. "I'm well aware, the UNSC has taken prisoners previously."
"There's more to it..." Garrett continued, with a bit more effort than before in his voice. "...I saw one of them put a gun to the head of one of the prisoners."
Ironwood's immediate reaction was dread, not just at the brutality that was implied, but also of the inevitable ramifications of the revelation. "...You're certain?"
"Well, I didn't give them a chance to prove whether or not they really meant it. I still had my rifle... so I used it." Garret said, before gesturing to the datachip in Ironwood's hand. "You can see for yourself, but I didn't stick around for long afterwards, I was too badly outnumbered to make a meaningful difference."
Ironwood grimly nodded, knowing that Garrett likely wouldn't lie only to hand over contradictory evidence immediately prior. This made his situation considerably more complicated, and the only place he could look for answers was with the UNSC themselves.
That kind of "Justice" is not tolerable on Remnant, I will make sure of it. Ironwood thought, a sense of determination within him. "Thank you, I... I will address this situation as is necessary."
"That's all I ask." Garrett said, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "And General... if things turn for the worst, you're willing to do what's necessary, right?"
The image of three Atlesian Cruisers being utterly obliterated flashed inside his mind as he answered. "I always have been."
Garrett stood up from his chair. "Then I believe we're done here. Unless, of course, you had other business with me."
Ironwood recognized the unspoken question. "I'll talk to the other Councilmembers, but I'm sure they'll be more than willing to agree on a pardon, your loyalties are clearly in the right place."
"With Atlas." Garrett confirmed.
Ironwood gave a nod of respect. Garrett might've been a different breed of soldier from a bygone era, but his duties were the same as Ironwoods. "Until next time, Specialist."
"Hopefully there isn't one." He replied, before taking his leave.
Ironwood leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep breath of frustration. He only allowed himself a moment's rest, before plugging in the datachip, dreading what he was going to see more than he expected.
UNSC Dominion, Lieutenant Jorge's Quarters
October 10th, 1604 local Time, 2552 UNSC Military Calendar
Jorge was still having trouble getting accustomed to the nuances of his new rank. Personal Quarters were something he found greatly unusual, even somewhat discomforting. He also had more downtime than he would have liked, and despite the infeasibility of it, he wished he was back on the frontline, fighting whatever enemy he was needed to defend humanity from.
We're the only ones who can stand toe-to-toe with those Specialists. We should constantly be striking, never giving them a chance to breathe. Jorge stubbornly thought, even though he was well aware of the faults of the strategy.
To avoid boredom and to keep himself productive while he waited for Ben to arrive, he spent his time familiarizing himself with his armor's new oddities, namely in the new micro-fusion reactor. Ben had donated the spare reactor from his maintenance kit, and it was fairly different from the heavily modified variant of the Mark IV power supply he had previously been using. Ben had found a way to tie it into the bulky prototype shield generator in his chestpiece, permitting his shields more strength than ever before.
His helmet carried some new oddities after it was repaired. The replacement visor was slightly discolored, duller than his previous one by a small amount, which was a side-effect of replacing it using material meant to fix Ben's visor. It served as a reminder that he wasn't invulnerable, something that he had accepted some time ago. It also reminded him of Reach, and the death of the armor's inventor, Doctor Halsey.
Hard to believe she's gone... Jorge thought, unable to forget the sight of Reach's surface being burned by nuclear fire as he floated around Anchor Nine, prior to the execution of Operation UpperCut. She had her faults, no doubt about that, but she cared for us in her own way...
He'd avoided looking at the casualty reports from the battle at Reach too much, only checking to confirm his team was still alive. Unfortunately, all of them were listed as MIA, including him, which told him nothing. Dr. Halsey however, was quite clearly listed as KIA. Although a small part of him wanted to believe it wasn't true in some way, he couldn't come up with a reason why HIGHCOM would falsely list her as dead. But she was far from the only person who fell during the defense of the planet.
He'd watched colonies burn before, more times than he could count, either by plasma or nuclear fire, they all had the same result. Watching Reach go through the same process... it hurt him in ways that he didn't fully understand. It didn't take a genius to guess that Reach had been lost, or that it was in the slow, bitter process of losing, like Harvest had been during the start of the war.
The biggest warning sign was how everyone tensed up when he mentioned it, especially Ben, which amplified his concerns considerably. He didn't know for certain what condition Reach was in, but he couldn't bring himself to look. It was an unmistakable fault in his will, something that would've earned him a harsh smack around the ears back in training.
I wish Sam was still alive, or Kurt, they would know what to do. Jorge solemnly thought, thinking about some of his fallen brothers.
He didn't get many updates on what the main unit of the Spartan II's had been doing throughout the war, but the stories spoke for themselves, even before ONI had made parts of the program public and added their own spin of propaganda. The Spartan II's were a nightmare for the Covenant, a unit that they couldn't effectively counter, no matter what they did. Even in Space, his siblings had torn apart more warships than most UNSC Battlegroups.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distinctive metal-on-metal knocking that he was all too familiar with, Jorge placed his helmet back on his desk, and stood to open the door to his Quarters. When he opened the door, he found Sergeant Ben standing outside. "You asked to see me, Sir?"
"I did, come in." Jorge instructed. "What kept you?"
"Lieutenant Clark wanted to know if I was squared away, Sir." Ben answered, his posture stiffened even though he wasn't at attention.
Jorge gave a huff of amusement. Apparently, Lieutenant Clark didn't understand just how bored the Spartans were without a mission. "I see. Have a seat, and bring Curie out as well, I need to speak with both of you."
Ben did as he was commanded, pulling up a more durable chair for himself and letting Curie's chip rest on Jorge's desk, giving her a place to display her holographic form.
"How are you feeling, Curie?" Jorge asked. "I know adjusting to Dot's data must be difficult, so I just wanted to check-in."
Curie took a deep "breath". "I have finally catalogued the last of Dot's personality matrix, which has helped me somewhat. Although it still would've been preferable to save her, her sacrifice was not in vain."
"I see." Jorge said, careful not to press her. "Did you finish your examination of the crew? Does anyone have any experience with A.I, at least, enough to help you with the information she collected?"
"I did, and I did find one person." Curie answered sheepishly. "...Corporal Yu Sato, she has a minor's degree in A.I studies."
Just our luck. Jorge thought, well aware that it would be days before she could breathe on her own, let alone help Curie with Dot's data. "I understand, we'll get her assessment as soon as she's well enough to assist you."
"Please, don't put any unnecessary pressure on her, let her recover. I am more than capable of handling this issue myself, I will just need some time." Curie answered.
"I understand, if any of that changes, let us know." Jorge offered, before turning to Ben. "But I'm afraid that I have something I need to brief both of you on, we have a new assignment."
"What's the mission, Sir?" Ben asked. Jorge noted the eagerness in his voice, apparently he was just as bored as Jorge was.
Good mindset. Jorge noted, although he hadn't finished his assessment of the Spartan just yet. "We have a scheduled meeting with the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, the man that Mags suggested we talk to, Ozpin."
"Ah yes, him." Curie noted, with a degree of annoyance. "The one man on this whole planet who had a decent cybersecurity setup... not that it helped him, obviously."
Jorge hadn't known that, and judging by the surprised tilt of Ben's helmet, he hadn't either. "What's different about it?"
"Multilayered firewalls are nothing rare here, but the good Headmaster is a very paranoid man. Unlike Atlas, the systems at his Academy are totally isolated from each other. And I don't mean that he has security partitioning, I mean that his systems are quite literally physically separated, with explicit protocol not to link them." Curie explained. "The most startling thing to me was that behind most of that security is absolutely nothing, not a single bit of information. His personal terminal revealed some basic paperwork, but that's about it."
Jorge frowned in suspicion. "It sounds like he has something to hide."
"Well if he does, he has the common intellect to not store that information digitally, meaning it's out of my reach." Curie said, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Not to say that having a body would help much in this case, because breaking into a school where they train Special Forces is pretty universally considered a bad idea."
It's hard to find a fault in that logic. Jorge thought. "Well on the note of taking a visit, we'll be making notes of everything we see while we're there. If you spot something out of the ordinary, make sure you get it on camera. Any questions?"
"Sighting, got it." Ben said. "Will we be trying to secure any information about what the Headmaster is hiding?"
"No, we've been expressly ordered to abide by any requests to the best of our ability." Jorge answered. "Our primary objective is to investigate our Auras, we cannot jeopardize the mission just to potentially collect additional secondary information."
"Understood." Ben replied. "And Sir, what if he starts asking some... uncomfortable questions?"
Jorge gave a morbid chuckle. "The man trains child soldiers for a living, he doesn't have a lot to complain about in the moral department. As for classified material, that has not changed, understood?"
"Yes Sir." Ben answered. "When do we head out?"
"Twelve-hundred tomorrow, by Darter." Jorge answered.
"That soon?" Ben asked. "What about the SDC, aren't we needed here?"
Excellent question. Jorge thought, with a hint of frustration.
"The idea is that by the time we know whether or not we can fix our Auras, the Bridge Crew will have a plan drawn up." Jorge explained. "Was that all?"
"I believe so, Sir." Ben answered.
"Just one." Curie interjected. "What about me?"
Jorge mentally kicked himself for forgetting to mention such an important part of the mission. "You're coming too, and we'll see about getting your Aura activated. He might not be an expert on A.I, but when it comes to Aura, he might be able to give us some answers."
"I understand, thank you." Curie said.
"Did you need us for anything else Sir?" Ben asked.
Jorge thought, wondering if it was the appropriate time to bring up the nervous topic that was Reach. However, he decided that the two of them already had enough to worry about. "That was all. Go make whatever preparations you deem necessary, you're dismissed."
Authors note: Chapters three and four were merged following rewrite, as they were both short enough and featured similar plot structure to justify it. The total chapter count has been reduced by one, but the actual plot and content of the story has not changed, please do not be alarmed. I apologize for all of the false notifications, I had hoped that by not actually submitting a new chapter the system wouldn't send those out.