Disclaimer: I do not raise claim to the Halo universe, Halo equipment, or any references to the games or franchise. I do own the characters in the following story.
Jonathan Hall leaned against the bulkhead at the back of his Longsword fighter, as he watched the engineers patch together the hull breach in the forward compartment created by a plasma explosion in space from a Covenant fighter. That event occurred three days ago. He'd lost his co-pilot that day. Hawk never saw the explosion coming, and neither had Hall. It completed destroyed the forward weapons control, and blew a five foot wide hole right under the pilot seats. They'd been blown right out into space. Hall was lucky. At least, he considered himself lucky. Regulations required that pilots always wear their zero-G gear while in space operations. Hawk didn't wear his that day. The damn man said he'd miss the launch sequence. Hall hadn't, and he'd taken the time to put the suit on.
They'd found the fighter derelict, but still flyable near the moon. It had drifted away from the Orbital Defense Grid after the fighting stopped. Ten of the Platforms, two squadrons of fighters, a couple cruisers, and a destroyer were all lost in the battle. The Covenant came with only two Assault Carriers and their escorts. Should've been easy pickings for the defense grid. So why are so many men now a landmark of a military fiasco?
"Hall!" He turned to face the voice, at the access hatch next to him. The first thing Hall saw was an empty eye socket. The scar mark of a Covenant energy sword was unmistakable. Nothing burned a man's face quite like that did. And somehow it looked like it just dug the man's eyeball right from its socket, almost as if they were simply torturing the man. But the Covenant didn't keep a 'heretic' alive long enough to do that.
The owner of said voice and face was Base Commander Robert Doyle. He was the man who sent the fighters up half-loaded with their payloads. He was the man who didn't brief them on the enemy deployments. He was the man who sentenced Hall's entire squadron to death.
"Come with me." Doyle's voice required obedience, even amongst the most rebellious of soldiers. And Hall was no different. Dissenting, but submissive, Hall exited the fighter behind the footsteps of a man he considered a murderer.
There was something about Doyle that just set Hall off. Was it the unnatural click of his boots on the steel plating of the launch deck? Or the unseemly sheen on his shaven head? Or perhaps the gritty tone to his voice? Whatever it was, Hall seemed both drawn to and forced away from his commander. On the one hand, Doyle's excellent war record in the early years of the war fascinated him. There was so much to be learned from one of the first men to see a Covenant Elite up close. On the other hand, Doyle, himself, was repulsive. The man simply did not enjoy other human beings. He was fascinated by the enemy, and many called him a sympathizer. Hall had not joined in that crowd, knowing full well that Doyle wanted to personally retrieve his eye from the Covenant trooper that burned it out.
Doyle led Hall down the length of the massive launch bay. It had once held over two dozen Longsword fighters, many never having seen space before. Now, the four remaining were in shambles. Two were unfit for flight detail, and only one was even capable of combat. Hall's wasn't even in position to be called a fighter anymore. It was more like a junkyard on the deck,
At the far end of the massive room, there was a wide door. Hall had seen this door many a time, as it was the door that led directly to the briefing room. As he passed through it, he saw the faces of the dozen or so pilots he'd had breakfast with that morning, all charging off to go save the world from a menace they didn't understand. All of them were dead. Dragon flight would suffer greatly with their loss. So would Hall, and he knew it.
The long, wide passage further opened up into a darkened room. Set into one wall of the room were many rows of chairs, specifically placed for the Dragon squadron. They had the insignias of the squadron on the back of the seats. On the arm rests were the personal symbols of the individual pilots the seats belonged to. Front row, third seat from the left was a brown hawk head, it's eyes flaming. That was Hawk's seat. Hall did not have an insignia yet. He had not 'earned' a call sign amongst the squadron. He'd been transferred to combat duty from the Academy only a week ago. Pilots rarely have their own call signs by then.
In the middle of the room was a holo-projector. The three-dimensional image presented would display the mission parameters, navigation points, and area of operations for all pilots in the briefing. Corresponding colors of red and blue would signify enemy or friendly targets, respectively. While the actual engineering of the projector was a mystery and a fascination of Hall's, he probably would never understand it. When the pilots had come in for the briefing on the sudden call for fighters in high orbit, Doyle had never activated the projector, or given a verbal low down. He had just sent them on their way. Now that bastard had over thirty coffins to fill by nightfall. Some chore for him. A nightmare for Hall.
It took Hall a moment to even realize the other presences in the room. There were three individuals sitting amongst the seats. Two men and one woman. The woman wore the black and gray garb of what Hall called a 'grease monkey', also known as an engineer, but the gold and silver bars on her chest inferred some kind of a command. Her black hair was dazzling with its brown highlights and it fell across her face in a disorganized fashion just enough to hide some of her eyes in an inexplicably sensual way. She held her head high, but had it cocked to one side as she worked furiously on a piece of paper in front of her. Paper was hard to find. She must have either some good contacts, or she makes it herself. And as an engineer, the latter wasn't too unbelievable either.
The first man Hall locked eyes with appeared to be the most cocky, over confidant man Hall had seen since the Academy. Deep green uniform, strong build, and the depth of his eyes indicated a marine stationing. Though not of high rank, this man had undoubtedly seen his share of battle, and judging by the way he held his left arm, he'd probably paid the price. The arm hung in a way the human arm was not intended to, flexing backwards against the elbow joint. That was no organic arm, but most likely a cyborg one. Replaceable limbs was the army's newest brain child, and it appeared that this man was a guinea pig for the project. Short, crew-cut black hair was mostly hidden under a cap kept half on his head. The dark brown eyes were set deep in his head, and entranced Hall for a second, until the two broke their antagonistic stares.
The final occupant was somewhat of a paradox. Head low, suspended off a giraffe's neck, this man wore a long lab coat of a civilian scientist. He typed at blinding speed across his keypad, writing something down for his journal. He was young. Hall knew this by the boy's eyes. He still had a tan line across the bridge of his nose from when he wore glasses, before he had his vision fixed. It hadn't been too long either. A pair of sunglasses were still stashed in his shirt pocket. Along with half a dozen digipens. Long, unkempt blonde hair fell across his blemished face, and his youthful exuberance was contained in the tenseness of his muscles, especially his upper body. The man looked up just enough to acknowledge Hall's entrance, then went back to his work.
Doyle walked to the front of the room, and pressed a button on the wall with one finger. The hum of the projector coming to life startled Hall for a moment. The sound seemed strangely alien to his ears. Ironic.
The base commander looked at the small group assembled in front of him. Hall and the engineer were paying attention, the marine was slouching and looked ready to fall into slumber, and the scientist boy was oblivious. Doyle cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. The marine let out his breath with a disgusted huff.
"Hey!" Doyle was immediately on him, "That kind of attitude gets you flushed into space, Corporal!"
"Yes, sir," The mock, southern accent of the marine grated on Hall's nerves.
After maintaining control of the room, Doyle commenced his briefing, "I suppose congratulations are in order. Standing before me are four of the best crew the UNSC has to offer.
"You are all likely wondering why you are here. Well, I'll tell you." As if on cue, the projector displayed its image. A bright three dimensional picture of the galaxy surrounding Earth was displayed. Among the various charted systems were several numbered ones, but in highlighted green was the system Reach. This generally signified an objective, so Hall paid much attention to this large dot in the grid. Doyle paused before continuing, "Three hours ago, our deep space probes detected a large surge of energy, generally accompanying many slip-space drives powering down, just inside Reach. This means that a large fleet is massing in this system, and it begun over a week ago."
The marine raised his head, "That long?" His normal, gruff voice was a welcome sound to Hall's ears.
Before Doyle could speak, the scientist chimed in, "It takes time for energy to transfer through space, even at the speed of light. This is as quickly as you can get information at this range."
"Getting back on topic," Doyle interjected before the boy could open his mouth again, "this means we have a critical situation."
"We have a critical situation here." the Engineer said, "Half our Longswords are down, five destroyers crippled, and a couple cruisers damaged. You want to hold off a Covenant fleet with that, now half-assed, defense grid? We need time to get it fixed."
Doyle smiled that evil smile that told Hall that the main point had been reached, "And so I call you here. You'll all find this interesting, so pay attention."
A video feed brought up in place of the map. It called up from Reach, so it was safely assumed that it was coming from that system. The video feed was sketchy, but the unmistakable look of a Covenant fleet in debris form was present. Blue explosions, green sparks, and smooth hull panels littered the field of view. Not a single Covenant ship was intact.
"Jesus H. Christ," Hall whispered softly.
Doyle leered at Hall, letting him know that taking the 'Lord's' name in vain would not be tolerated, "This fleet was what we detected. Or what's left of it."
The marine inched forward in his seat, the video feed piquing his interest, "What kind of weapon would do something like that.?"
Doyle's lowered head lifted for a moment to point out the next image, "Computer: zoom ten times on grid square 5B." The image was pulled up.
The whole room seemed to gravitate away from the picture before them. The ship must've been over ten kilometers long. Ship design was similar to the assault carriers, but nothing was that big. The sleek, off-white color of the hull remained, and was even more stunning at the impressive size of the vessel. What caught the eye even more were the two cylindrical, open-ended tubes centered in the middle of the ship, dividing the port and starboard sides. It almost looked like a direct connection to the power core. Even better, they looked like no Covenant design Hall had ever seen.
"What the hell is that?" Hall nearly lost his footing with amazement, and settled himself in the nearest seat.
Doyle's vision seemed to falter for a moment, as he leaned forward and back. Or was it him being nervous? "We don't know. But Command wants you to find out; identify the craft, and if necessary…terminate.
"You'll be hooking up with a Midway class Cruiser, the Exeter, for your trip to Reach." The map pulled out and moved a star over from Reach. "You'll meet them here, around this barren neutron star in Delta-Five-B. Link up with the ship, and they'll carry you the rest of the way."
The woman sat back in her seat ,taking a moment away from her notes, "How is a Midway class gonna stand up to something that big?"
Doyle shook his head, "It won't."
"Oh, great!" The marine had a fit, "That's just great. One marine, one tech, one pilot and a lab goon against a stand-alone ship fleet?! You're nuts!"
"And guess what?" Hall said, staring at the marine. The crazed man shifted his gaze to the ace, "We're gonna kick it's ass."
