HALO 3
written by James A. Bass
Chapter 1
As Corporal Jeremy Shultz watched tbe battle unfold before him via the multiple external monitors in the bridge, he pulled out a pack of cuban cigars and shook one free, he slid the empty box back into the pockets of his white marine dress uniform. He pulled down his hat to hide the his short gray hair and brought a lighter to the tip of the cigar. He clicked the trigger and lit the cigar, putting the other end to his lips. He inhaled deeply, and relaxed.
He looked around his bridge and felt immense pride as his crew worked without pause. There was Lt. Danniel Borgir at the weapons system. Lt. Borgir was a young soldier, but had more battle field experience than any other of the junior officers, on the ground at least. His fingers held some kind of unmatched elegance that showed clearer than ever when he was behind keyboard. Doing the navigation work was Lt. Stefan Forest. Forest was all business, he rarely interacted with his fellow soldiers, and followed orders strictly, he was a very respectable soldier. Stationed at the ops counsel was Lt. Mark Sinclair, he had all the makings to become an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, but was more comfortable on the bridge, or so he had told Corporal Shultz. Piloting the Pericles was Lt. Jennifer McComb, she was disciplined and honest. Shultz couldn't have asked for a better crew in the UNSC.
Corporal Shultz knew that his men could do their work without him even being on bridge, but he felt comfortable here. He looked back to the monitors. This battle was done, the single Covenant destroyer still intact was badly damaged, he could see that easily. One of the UNSC Magnetic Acceleration Cannons had cut a hole clean through the ships bulbous mid-section. Metallic debris floated in space, it looked like a huge sea of silver. The Covenant destroyer lurched forward, and rotated so its aft was facing the Pericles, plasma turrets aglow with red light.
"Borgir, what's the status on our MAC?" asked Shultz cooly.
Without turning to face him, Borgir replied, "MAC is charged at one-hundred percent, targeting solution has been compiled, ready to fire on command."
"Fire!" barked Shultz, he heard the loud snapping crack as the MAC gun fired the huge high explosive projectile towards the doomed ship. "Goodnight Gracie," whipsered Shultz as he exhaled a breath of smoke.
The MAC round tore into the ship's hull, an explosive cloud of blue plasma erupted from its innards splitting the ship into a billion pieces of shrapnel.
That was it. That was the last of them, they had won. The crew was feeling rather celebratory, they were all smiling and cheering until the monitors all went black, than returned. Admiral Whitcomb's face looked serious on all twenty of the bridge's monitors. Shultz raised up straight in his seat, and his crew was suddenly quiet and motionless.
Whitcomb nodded his head on the screen, "Good work Corporal."
"Thank you sir," said Shultz, "Orders, sir?"
"You and the Pericles can return to MAC station Frantic. I'm sure your crew needs some R and R, your ship can also be repaired."
"Thank you sir." He was definately due for a nice long rest, he was tired of those hour long "naps," cramped up in a frozen cryo chamber, it had been a long time since he'd seen an actual bed, and had a nice drink of red wine, yes things were looking up. After the second HALO had been snatched from the hands of the Covenant, it seemed that humanity had a very good chance, considering that a couple years back the Covenant had been crushing them in every battle they had fought. In fact, they couldn't even be called battles respetively, they were more like massacres.
"Lt. McComb, you heard him. Flank speed to Frantic MAC station."
"Yes sir."
The ship slowly spun a 180 degree angle, engines were running at fourty-seven percent effeciency, "Lt. Forest, ETA?"
"At this course and speed, ETA in 0200."
"Thank you Lt."
Corporal Shultz relaxed in his commander's chair and put out his cigar. He rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes. Yes, some rest would be great. "Sir!" shouted Forest, "We have Covenant ships exiting slipspace, destroyers escorted by single ships."
"Shit," muttered Shultz to himself, "How many destroyers?"
"Eight destroyers, single ships ranging in the sixties."
"MAC status?"
"Sir," said Borgir, "20 percent, recharging at four percent per minute."
"Ready Archer Missile pods A10 throuh A30, target the leadship at 20-17-84."
"Yes sir, firing solution ready."
"Fire at will, Borgir."
The missiles rocketed silenty towards a Covenant destroyer that seemed to be leading the others. The missiles detonated in fiery explosion on the ships shimmering blue energy shield, but the ship was undamaged. The Covenant fighter ships spread out like a flock of mosquitos they buzzed around the UNSC starship, spraying plasma fire from their energy cannons as they passed. Some were met with Archer missiles, and they exploded in brilliant bursts of flame. A Covenant fighter dived towards the Pericles dousing the view port with burning plasma scorches, it turned sharply, coming around for another attack. The little basturd was trying to blow in the view port and take out his bridge. It came out of its turn spitting plasma, but it was cut down by a stream of 50mm gunfire from the Pericles' auto cannons.
Deep within the armored hull of the Covenant Iconoclast, surrounded by bright floating panels and holographic images stood Zealot Noguchee. The alien warrior stood 8'6" tall, it wore gleaming gold armor over its dark gray hide. The "elite," as humans called him and his species, had a quadruple hinged jaw and four mandible-like lips lined with razor sharp teeth, strong double jointed legs, and large hoofs for feet. When he spoke, he did so with a deep-throated, serious voice, "Our brothers have not spent their lives for nothing, do not embarass them or you will suffer a similar fate." This did not make any of his subordinates feel any less edgey. Noguchee's blood pumped an unforgiving and merciless rage through his body, he slammed a four fingered hand onto a metal counsel and continued to pace around his command area. Humans, so damn ignorant of everything, but the humans would soon be gone, Noguchee swore to make sure of it.
"Sir, decks four and five have lost atmospheric pressure. Battle Plate armor has been melted away in section twenty-eight through thirty-six."
"Push engine output to one-hundred percent, give them our starboard and arm the Shiva nuke, wait for that ship's shield to die." He didn't feel like waisting anymore of UNSC money by letting the nuclear missile detonate harmlessly on the shield. Not to mention they were nearly out of Archer missiles, and the MAC cannon wouldn't recharge for another ten minutes at least. If they didn't land that missile, they would be defenseless. Than, a huge cyclone of super-heated plasma impacted upon the ship's front, the crew was almost blinded by the intense blue light magnified by the transluscent view port. Even through the multiple layers of titanium Shultz and the crew could still hear the screams from above. Shultz tried not to think about the casualties, but found it harder than usual. A screeching silen rent the air, red lights strobed.
"Sir!" yelled Forest over the alarm, "Our fleet, their all jumping!"
"What!" shouted Shultz, why were they going into slipspace now, it just didn't make sense. Unless there was a miracle, they would all be seperated. Coughed out of slipspace in random places across the universe, stranded without help.
Admiral Whitcomb's voice broke through the bridge speakers, "All UNSC vessels enact the Cole protocol. If your ship is unable to jump into slipspace, all onboard computer files are to be erased, backup files are to be destroyed along with all dumb AI systems. Triple check to make sure all files are destroyed, Whitcomb out."
"Lt. McComb, revert all energy from the MAC to the engies, all other energy systems to be put on minimal output until further notice."
McComb typed in commands, sweat beading down her face collecting on the collar of her gray uniform. "Done, but sir after the jump we'll only be able to run the engines at fifteen percent, and even that will be pushing it."
"We have no other options, Lt." He would have preferred to stay and fight, hopeless as it was, he just couldn't see the point of running away in slipspace, because his ship was doomed, he and his crew all knew that. If the Covenant wanted a fight he would, but orders were orders, live to die another day he thought.
"Ready to make the jump,Corporal," said Forest, a hint of nervousness in his tone.
"All hands strap down," ordered Corporal Shultz pulling the safety belts across his chest.
"Everyone's ready, sir."
"Than get us the hell out of here," piped up Shultz.
The lights in the bridge went dark, leaving only the red strobe light to illuminate the large circular room. The Corporal gripped the arms of his seat tight and gritted his teeth. He was thrown against the back of his seat as the ship accelerated into the split-dimmension of space. The stress was taking its toll on the ship. The battle armor was being ripped from the skin of the Pericles. And than, it stopped. Shultz's body was wrenched forward by the continuing momentum, his safey harness held strong, but he felt like his arms and legs were being pulled out of there sockets, his neck snapped forward and pain shot down his spine. His head was throbbing, but he shook the aching away and looked up at his crew, they were all silent, breathing deeply and covered in sweat, excpet for Lt. Borgir who's body had almost slid out of his chair. He was dead.
The harness had grabbed him around the neck, blood flowed from a deep slash mark clean across his jugular. At first nobody said anything, Corporal Shultz cleared his throat, unclamped his own safety belt, and said between heavy breaths, "Take Lt. Borgir's body... set it out to space... will you Sinclair."
Sinclair nodded solemly and removed himself from the chair. Nobody dared to look as he pulled the blood-stained belt over Borgir's head. Poor basturd he thought as he brought the limp corpse to bear over his shoulder.
Silence followed for several more minutes, when the lights on the bridge turned on, and the monitors winked back on. Two of the cameras had been knocked out in the jump, the others showed nothing but distant clutters of stars and dust. Than, on the fore monitor, Shultz saw a dark circular shadow silhouted against the stars. "Forest I need you to zoom in on that object in fore monitor ." The object grew larger in the camera, a huge hollow sphere floating freely in space, metallic on the edges, but there were also small blue patches of sea, and greenish brown patches of land along the inside of the ring."
Corporal Shultz gasped, his fingers were white on the arms of his chair, "It, can't be." HALO...
Sinclair entered the bridge and looked around wearing a grim expression, but none of the crew was focused on him, in fact they were all staring at the monitors, he looked up at the screen and saw it. He had heard all about the two previous HALOs, their destructive power could 'nuetralize' entire galaxies, and it almost happened both times, because of the Covenant, but they did not know its true, and terrifying purpose.
The Forerunners, an ancient alien race had created HALOs all across space to stop the flood. A parasetic, disease-like race that could infect any sentient beings of life, and take control over their bodies, while slowly purging their memories. HALO was made to kill all sentient beings, human and alien alike, within a radius of several lightyears. Both HALOs had been destroyed by the UNSC before the Covenant could utilize the weapons, but both times had been extremely close.
Corporal Shultz's mind was numb with fear, he saw Sinclair out of the corner of his eye, but none of them could do anything but stare.
Roughly three lightyears away, hovering dead in space, was the UNSC Shinto and Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb seated at his captain's chair in the bridge. What a day he thought. Thirty UNSC ships lost, thousands of casualties, and now he was seperated from his army in space. "Sir," said 1st Class Lt. William Barrett turning to face the Admiral, "Receiving a top priority encrypted message from the Pericles."
The Admiral spoke calmy, "Put it up on the monitors, Lt."
"Yes sir."
United Nations Space Command Priority Transmission
10485D-45
Encryption Code: Black
Public Key: file/excised access Bravo/
From: Corporal Jeremy Shultz
UNSC Carrier #C-122 876402 Pericles Location: Unknown
To: Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb
UNSC Carrier #C-122 876411 Shinto
Subject: None
/start file/
Admiral Whitcomb,
Our ship, upon exiting slipspace, is now dead in space. We have come upon the startling discovery of the third HALO ring. No Covenant forces have been detected nearby, it seems we are the first to discover the ring. We are requesting permission to land on the ringworld, to set up repairs and possibly scout the area for life.
reply ASAP,
Shultz
Whitcomb was shocked at the message, had humans reached the weapon before the Covenant. If so, maybe they could destroy the ring before the damned Covenant even discovered it.
Unfortunately for Vice Admiral Whitcomb, Zealot Noguchee felt differently as he scanned the translated message on the bridge of his ship. These humans thought they could outwit him and the Prophet. He would beat the humans to HALO and destroy them, and than he would be the hero. Time to find the prophet and inform him, He will me very pleased.
"Chief, Chief are you okay?"
Jon heard the voice, but couldn't see anything. The inside of his mask was pasted with thick blood, somebody rolled him over so his back was against the steel floor, his head was freed from his helmet, and he saw Private Owen's worried face swimming before him in the sea of blurred colors. Then everything faded into clarity, and he saw the private's short black hair, his piercing blue eyes, and his pale face. He wore standard issue marine battle armor that consisted of a thick chest plate, green BDUs, and armor over the knees, shoulders, and forearms. The master chief sat up slowly, his body racked with pain.
During slipspace, the Chief had been forced to grab hold of a large ammo crate that seemed to have disengaged itself from the fastenings holding it to the floor, tossing the Chief a clear ten meters before he crashed into a wall. His energy shield had taken the brunt of the force, without them, he'd just be a bloody collection of broken bones. Not everyone else in the armory had been so lucky.
Pvt. Kimmich was lying on his side surrounded by two other marines, blood dribbled from his mouth and a two inch long gash above his eye. His body trembled uncontrolably, his eyes were wide, he spoke, his voice was weak, "Am, Am, I gonna die?"
"No Kimmich, don't worry man we're gonna fix you up real good."
Kimmich coughed, blood spattered onto the deck, his breathing becoming more erratic. "Shit, one of his lung's collapsed, must be broken ribs. Somebody get this man a fucking mask!"
The Chief stood on wobbyly legs and walked over to them, he squatted down next to Kimmich, the other marines took a small step back, except for the one wiping blood from Kimmich's face. In small black letters, the name "Pvt. Moore," had been printed on the marine's steel helmet. The Chief leaned over to him and whispered to Private Moore, "He's done for."
Kimmich had a far off gaze in his hazel-brown eyes. His chest fell, and he gave one more breath tainted with the scent of blood. Moore closed his eyes and bit his lip, he brought one of Kimmich's hands across his chest and pushed his eyelids closed. For several moments they sat frozen in time, until the COM system broke the silence.
"Master Chief," said Admiral Whitcomb, "Report to bridge on the double."
The Chief left the armory and went down a small corridor. An elevator took him up to the bridge, he saluted the two guards, both in black dress uniforms and holding M7 sub machine guns, they returned his salute crisply. The Chief looked around the bridge, crew members clad in red and yellow fatigues were all seated before their councils. At the front of the deck stood the Admiral. The Chief stiffened and his hand shot to his forehead, "At ease son," said the Admiral dryly. The tone of Whitcomb's voice was different, it lacked the customary bark of command, he sounded like a part of himself was gone. He turned his back, looking out into the deep never-ending blackness of space.
"I've got something to show you, we received the following distress call from the Pericles, take a look here," said the Admiral gesturing to one of the monitors.
"My god," said the Master Chief, completely in awe. The message was replaced with a picture of the huge ring, so innocent looking, but its looks housed immense power. The Chief was feeling incredibly tired of them, he wished the Covenant realized what would happen upon activation of the weapon. This was prevented by their religious devotion to both their High Prophet of Truth and the ancient forerunners.
"This video was shot from the Pericles just after the distress signal, but we haven't been able to get in touch with the Pericles. Their position is approximately 195,752,094 kilometers, and this time their's no Covenant."
"None?" said the Chief.
"Not even a single grunt, Chief." He paused, "For once we have the edge. We need to destroy HALO before the Covenant find it. Every UNSC ship in the system that made the jump safely is inbound to HALO. From their we can simply destroy the ring from space, it will take no time at all."
"So the filthy vermin have discovered HALO? Vile human scum."
The three unit high holographic prophet shimmered, it straighted up against its gravity throne, inclining its long leck, its bulging eyes agleam with fury. It wore a large ornamental head dressing encrested with jewels and a red robe trimmed with gold.
The harsh edge in the prophet's voice made Noguchee uncomfortable, it was hard to keep one's composure when speaking to a Prophet. Noguchee gripped his shaking wrist and gulped, fawning was for grunts, and he could not afford to embarrass himself before his soldiers.
"You," said the Prophet extending a hand into the air, "Shall garner your fleet, find the humans and destroy them immediately before they destroy another holy relic of the Forerunners.
"Of course, the humans shall be delt with quickly."
"I shall take your word Ship Master Noguchee, but be warned, your head can be easily replaced if you know what I mean. Do not underestimate them."
"Never, Exalted."
The prophet's image faded, Noguchee faced his bridge and shouted, "Take us to where the humans are, and ready all plasma weapons, they shall not escape again."
"Whats the status on the repairs, Sinclair?"
"Decks 5 and 6 have atmospheric pressure, the MAC is still down, and engines can only operate at fourteen percent, and we've lost all archer missile pods."
"So were pretty much nothing more than floating scrap metal, we have no chance against any Covenant like this, terminate engines and put all other systems on sleep."
"Roger that sir." The bridge lights dimmed and the Pericles froze in space.
"Sir, we've just received a message from Admiral Whitcomb."
"Sinclair, put the message on monitor 4." Sinclair typed in a quick command, and a text file scrolled across the screen.
United Nations Space Command Priority Transmission
23358B-22
Encryption Code: Red
Public Key: file/excised access Bravo
From: Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb
UNSC Carrier #C-122 876411 Shinto
To: Corporal Jeremy Shultz
UNSC Carrier #C-122 876402 Pericles
Subject: None
/start file/
Negative Corporal, keep your ship in orbit around HALO. All UNSC ships are inbound on your position so hold tight. If Covenant arrive initiate Cole Protocol immediately. Take as many of them with you as you can.
Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb
"Well," said Jeremy, feeling somewhat sick, "I guess we just stay here." He had expected reassurance, but this was not the remedy for his problems. How many ships had even survived the battle, he was sure not many could make it. And it could take days for some UNSC ships to arrive, and by that time Corporal Shultz was sure they'd be shrapnel and debris, but orders were orders. A corporal dared not to contradict a Vice Admiral, it simply wouldn't pay off, and if anything it would damage his reputation.
"Sir, UNSC Shinto is in sight!" To Corporal Shultz it was the greatest thing he'd ever heard come out of Sinclair. Shultz looked at the monitor showing the aft of the ship, a large gray space ship loomed closer.
"Corporal Shultz, this is 876411 Shinto, do you read?" Shultz recognized the flat voice of Lt. Weinland.
"This is 876402 Pericles, Shinto good to see you."
"Ditto sir."
"Lt. can you put Vice Admiral Whitcomb on the line?"
"This is Whitcomb, go ahead Shultz."
"Whats the plan sir, do we wait for the other ships?"
"Yes we have three other UNSC ships inbound,ETA in 7 hours."
"And, the rest of them?" asked Shultz who was pretty sure he didn't need to guess.
Their was a short pause, "None of the others made the jump," he sighed. Shultz leaned back in his seat. All of them, dead. I probably knew alot of them, damn the covenant!