++July 22nd, 0200 Hours++

It's entirely silent as I sit inside my " Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicle. " What a dumb name. Everyone I know just calls it a drop pod, or the egg, if they're feeling clever. The weight of the brace bars pressing down on my shoulders ironically makes me feel more grounded as I hover some two thousand kilometers above the planet. It won't be long now. I've checked that the M7 Caseless is magnetically locked in position beside me a dozen times already, but I'm compelled to check again anyway. Since I can't turn my head while secured in the drop pod, something about neck injuries, I run my gloved fingers along the large silencer attached to it. The weapon's familiarity eases my nerves. I have this fear that somehow I'll get planetside only to find out I've managed to leave without a weapon. It's an irrational fear – It wouldn't be possible to get into the pod, go through the three stages of checks, have the SL perform the final check, and everyone misses it. Logic doesn't help placate my nerves though, and I still check again and again.

We're almost in position now. The timer in the upper right corner of my HUD shows a countdown till the UNCS Minotaur is over the area of operation. 1:30. 1:29. 1:28. I tap out the seconds with my boot, since it's one of the few parts of my body I can still move with any degree of freedom. The pod's multiple displays start coming online. Each is a live-feed from the other pods launching with me, and they show a headshot of my helmeted squadmates. In the center is Sergeant Chance, the bold red stripe running along the top of his helmet clearly marking him as the squad leader. There are five of us in total, myself included, considered full strength for us; Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. I can't help but laugh when I think about how I ended up in the ODST. It's the biggest joke. A whole uniform consisting of nothing but insane, halfcocked, over-committed and under-educated jarheads. All things considered though, I don't think we could be anything else. After all: what kind of sane, smart person would willingly be shot out of a cannon into a planet? None. We are Helljumpers and none of us try to hide our pride about it either. Yes, we're insane, but when something needs to get done you send the ODST. We're not just good at our jobs, we're the best.

Chance's voice breaks over the helmet's comms. It's open to the entire squad, and I can see the readout of his transmission strength and each of the receiving squaddies on the left side of my helmet's display. I say their names in my head like I always do at the start of an op, a small ritual for good luck. Sargent Chance, Corporal Glasgow, Private Jostad, Private. Ifedi, and Private Ellis. James Ellis. Me. Still alive.

"Where are we going?" Chance asks.

"Hell!" We all reply.

"And how are we getting there?!"

The timer ticks down. 3… 2… 1…

"Feet first!" We roar back.

The pod drops. Immediately the altitude reading on the pod's display starts flipping down through numbers faster than I can track. The various feeds also show the rotation of the planet, the pod's heading, and a bunch of other navigational data which blend together in my mind. I've seen it before, forty-seven times before to be exact, and this will be number forty-eight. I'm almost to the fifty drop mark, an achievement that only a fraction of ODST can boast. I try not to think about it, but it makes me excited anyway. The estimated time to impact, or ETI, is 90 seconds.

Jostad is howling over the mic like he's on a roller coaster, and Ifedi joins him. Glasgow and myself stay quiet, though as I white-knuckle the armrest, I don't think it's for the same reason. She seems calm and collected, the visor of her helmet staring straight ahead. Truthfully, the drops terrify me. It's easily the worst part of the job, being stuck helpless inside a small metal tube hurtling towards the ground. The entire process is automated too, so you're not in control of when the chute deploys. If the descent is cocked up by an undiagnosed computer error, buried deep within some caffeine-addled programmer's butchered code, you'll only know when the pod slams into something it shouldn't. Hopefully it's painless. The UNSC doesn't share the numbers with us either, of how many drops end up with one pod plastered alongside a cliff face. They say it's safe, but I think safe is relative.

Flames begin to lick the outside of the pod now that we're starting to hit the higher levels of real atmo. I check the temperature readings on the pod's exterior with another glance, and it says thermal variance is within "normal ranges." I don't see any red flashing lights so that can only be a good thing. There is a camera mounted in the hull of the pod, and with a few taps on the keypad below my right hand I pull up the view on the main monitor. Chance's face moves off to one of the leftmost displays. I can't see the ground yet. It's dark, and the cloud cover is dense. That's a good thing, as it means we're less likely to have a hot drop - combat right after the doors open. Hopefully we'll have time to get on task before things go sideways. I look at the altitude reader again – we're about half way down.

Jostad cracks over the coms channel again. "Wink, why were the Vikings such good sailors?"

Glasgow, who we all call Wink on account she's the squad's sniper, responds in her usual blasé tone. "I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Because you can lead a Norse to water, but you can't make him sink." Jostad laughs. It's a deep, rich sound, a full bodied boisterous laugh that's comforting in its own way. Wink just groans in response.

"That shit was horrendous." Ifedi adds, though there is definitely humor in his voice.

"Impact in twenty seconds!" Chance cut across the comms, reminding the two to stay focused on the drop.

My jaw tenses up. I'm ready for the crash. I hear a loud bang as the latches on the top of the pod blow. The quad finned chute which they contain is quickly caught by the wind. It deploys, and the pod yanks backwards in violent protest as its descent is arrested by the added drag. The pod is basically one giant impact compensator, with crumple zones and heavy duty compression systems being the bulk of what I'm surrounded by. Still, you're slowing down 1,300 pounds of equipment and meat. No matter what, you feel it.

I slam into the ground and for a moment my helmet's HUD goes dead from the impact. It's only a brief flicker though before it's back up. Four explosive pins detonate and send the pod's door flying some thirty yards forward. A heartbeat later and my training kicks in. I detach myself from the crash harness, and remove the M7 from its position. With my weapon in hand, I put boots on the ground then drop into a crouch inside the deployment zone. A quick scan of the surrounding area shows me the squad's spread is good this time; Our pods have all landed within a hundred yards of each other, and more importantly I haven't been shot at. Yet.

I flick my helmet over to VISR mode and suddenly the word is covered in a green-yellow tinge. This doesn't just provide better vision at night though, it also highlights targets of Interest, such as equipment and personnel, and outlines them in bright green lines. It's also able to quickly mark friendly units so long as they have a properly coded RFID beacon, which you definitely need in the middle of a chaotic combat drop. As I get a better look at the landing zone, we're fifty yards from a tree line, and thirty from a cliffside. A tight by any definition, but we all made it. I don't want to waste time. I'm on my feet as soon as I see Ifedi is out of his pod to my right. Both of us start jogging towards Chance's impact site, weapon's raised and at the ready. As we pass the others, each falls in alongside us and the four of us arrive at Chance's pod and form a defensive circle. He already has his Sat Pad out.

"Clocks at zero three-hundred twenty-three. Position… Grid KJ, zero-six seventy-two, by forty-four eighty-three. Confirm."

I double check my sat nav as he's speaking, confirming the position and chronometer. It's green across the board. "Confirm." We each say one at a time.

"Alrighty then... " Chance pauses and stands up. "Objective is a little over eight klicks to the North-West, but looking at the topography here…" He trails off. "What a mess."

"Welcome to Reach." Wink remarks dryly.

We chuckle, but Chance doesn't. We've been making drops here for over two months, and every drop is a nightmare of topography. Reach is a collection of large valleys and treacherous mountain ranges, and as a result it's the perfect place for insurgent forces to hide. Villages dot the surface, small collections of rural workers that provide for a booming colony that still relies on a large, interconnected highway network to transport goods. Mining, specifically titanium I've been told, is a massive export.

"Scratch, what do you think?" Chance asks.

"We're probably going to have to proceed North till we can find a way down. If we aren't unlucky we'll arrive on the outskirts of the village within two hours I'd guess." Ifedi, or Scratch as was his nickname, is a local. To Reach anyway. Generally he knows the terrain well, and is easily the best trailblazer in the squad. He joined the UNSC trying to get away from his home, and the Innies have brought him right back.

"Then that's what we do. Scratch, you're on point."

"Roger." He replies, and moves out accordingly. He chambers a shell in his M45 as he takes point and starts making his way through the waist-high, wild grass and scattered bushes that are the dominant feature of Reach's mountains.

"You running buck or slugs today?" I ask.

"Buck." He replies.

"Is that because of last time?" Jostad remarks. I snicker, and even Wink chuckles. On the last mission Scratch had been firing at an Innie eighty yards off with slugs. It was near the tail end of a firefight, and he missed. Three times. Wink had taken the shot to finish the fight.

"The sun was in my eyes." Scratch responds, half joking. I can almost see him smiling through the silver mirror of his helmet's visor.

"Oh, right. Nevermind that our visor's filter out glare." Jostad taps the side of his helmet.

"Mine was broken. Don't worry though, it's fixed now."

The chronometer ticks over another minute. One hour and twelve minutes have passed, all of it spent navigating the hillside and picking our way past thickets. I look towards the horizon, but at four-thirty in the morning it's still pitch black without the night vision from my helmet. We're in no danger of losing the light, if we can get on task soon.

"Sergeant, eyes on the objective." It's Wink who spies the village first. She is standing a few yards off on the edge of a sheer drop. I moved to join her, falling in behind Jostad. At the edge, a few hundred feet below, is the tell-tale yellow glow of electric lights. The village is on the small to medium size. Probably houses a few dozen families, with local farmlands and such being spread out across the nearby steppes. All of us remain quiet. We're all making the same mental calculations and looking at the approach.

"It'll take another ten to get down to that ridge bearing three-thirty." Chance points to a spot where the cliff face mellows into a gentle slope. It looks like a water run off point, or maybe a natural river bed. "We enter from the North side of the village. The target's house is third in. Right there. The one next to the compound. Simple breach and clear and we exfil the same way we came in. We'll be out of there before anyone knows what's up."

"We hope to be out of there before anyone knows what's up." I correct.

Chance nods. "Right. Assuming shit gets fubar we push out to the West, using the compound as cover and break radio silence to ask for Pelican extract." He pauses, letting us absorb the plan.

"As a reminder," He continues. "The target is this man here." On my helmet a picture of a middle to late aged male appears. The same picture that was used in the briefing aboard the Minotaur. He has a dark complexion, brown eyes, strong cheekbones and a firm brow with thin eyebrows. Black hair, cut to a respectable length. "Doctor Amari Shuls. Wanted fugitive, Innie spy. You know the drill. Worked with ONI for years so be prepared for anything. The man is smart."

"Is this a blank op or what?" Wink asks. Blank ops is slang for missions that violate rules of engagement. Typically it refers to the ability, or lack thereof, of a team to accept the surrender of an unarmed enemy.

Chance doesn't hesitate. "Confirmed. In and out. No extra luggage."

"Great." She remarks, with a barely hidden edge to her voice. She isn't a fan of these ops. None of us blame her. Fighting the Innies has been less clear cut than any of us would have liked. No prisoners. I take a breath and clear my mind.

"Fall in. Heads in the game and lets get this done. Ginger, you're on point" Chance's tone is authoritative. It's time to work. We all nod in turn and fall in. I check my M7 once more and take position leading the squad down the rest of the incline.

"Can't ONI handle its own dirty laundry?" Jostad says with a grunt of annoyance.

"Let's be clear, this isn't some sketchy cover op we've been shoved into by ONI higher ups. This man is a traitor to the UNSC. He's a fugitive and we're bringing him to justice. We've done this before, so stop acting like rookies and get your shit wired. Double for you, Viking."

Jostad grunts once more but I can see him nodding his helmet. "Yes Sarg."

It's four fifty-eight in the morning when we make it down to the village through what turns out to be a natural river spring coming off the mountain range that flows down into the village reservoir. I turn on the laser sight of my M7 and push through a concrete alcove attached to a larger structure that must serve as the village's main shipping and transportation hub. Around us are forklifts and large semi-trucks, currently unloaded and awaiting dawn's light to start their work.

"Target building ahead." I say, and stop short of crossing the street, still hidden in the alcove's shadows. I feel Chance's hand on my shoulder, letting me know he's in position and ready. Ahead is a two-story building. There is an entrance on the bottom floor, a main door next to a garage and drive-way. I pull up the floor plan we were given during the brief. I know Chance is doing the same.

"Viking, Ginger, you're on the bottom floor. Push in and up. Stay alert. Anyone makes a move, ghost 'em. Everyone else get them face down and kissing the floor."

"Roger." I say.

"Roger." Viking echoes.

"Myself, Wink, and Scratch have the second floor. There are three rooms. First is the kids, second is guest, and third is the target. Wink, you've got the guest and the kids. Me and Scratch press for the target. When we're all done we move to exfil through the garage. Wait for my go to breach. Clear?"

"Clear." We all respond.

Chance taps my shoulder. We're a go. I cross the street, and the split happens mid stride. Me and Viking obsessively scan the area as we move towards the side of the building. We hit the door and stack up on either side, Viking with his hand on the handle, and me with my rifle aimed at the entryway. The electric lock acknowledges our clearance and blinks over to green. We wait for the Sergeant's signal.

"Go."

Viking opens the door and I'm first through. First room is a kitchen. It's an open floor plan with an island that spills over into a living room, dining room combo. To the right are ceiling high windows that look out onto what would normally be a lovely courtyard and well manicured courtyard, but right now just represent potential risk. The stairwell is visible to the left, through which I catch a glimpse of the second team entering through a side door from a stairwell in the backyard. I focus on my objective, a door near the rear of the building. Behind it is a large office room and the perfect place for targets to hide – bodyguards maybe. My finger moves to the trigger as we approach.

Just as I'm about to breach there is a crash and thunderous boom from above, but it isn't the sound of Scratch's shotgun. I look to my right just in time to see a dark shape through the window. An armored figure, a full foot taller than myself, comes through, rifle raised and broken glass showering down around it. I pivot, and drop my knee out from under me to try and get my barrel on target fast enough to fire. The M7 recoils in my hand as I preemptively open up, but the figure is faster than I imagined was possible.

"Viking!" I cry out, as the assailant grabs hold of my weapon and pushes me back against the wall with a thud. I struggle, but there is nothing I can do. It feels like my weapon is being held by industrial clamps. I look over and see Viking sprawled out, face down onto the floor with another of our attackers atop his back.

"What the fuck?!" He says, and kicks his feet helplessly.

"Stand down." The figure says.

"You're Spartans?" The realization hits me now that I have a good look at the helmet staring back at me. I've only worked with two Spartan teams before, and even as ODST that's pretty damn rare. They are the heroes of humanity: Huge, legendary warriors of impossible skill, strength, and speed, who beat back the alien force known as the Covenant on Harvest almost twenty years prior. I see the Spartan's orange helmet turn to his partner and then back to me.

"Yes. Now stand down."

"We have orders." I reply, not exactly sure what else to say.

"And they're being overridden."

"Fine. We'll stand down - just let me up!" Viking puts words to how I'm feeling.

I nod to the orange Spartan. I feel the man's grip on my M7 ease, and the pressure pinning me to the wall vanishes. The other, in blue armor, pulls Viking to his feet as effortlessly as one would pick up a bag of groceries. I breathe a bit more easily and look around. The readout on the rest of the fireteam is still green across the board, but they're off comms.

"I'm Spear Three, that's Spear Five. We're here to retrieve the package."

I look at the man who I confirm is almost a full head taller than me. "But we have orders to..." I stop speaking when the Spartan simply turns away. I look at Viking who just shrugs. I doubt even if I got off a full mag into the Spartan's back he wouldn't just turn around and smash my face in. There isn't anything either of us can do.

Chance's voice comes over the radio. "Kilo-Five, report status. Ginger, Viking, you two alright?"

I respond. "All clear down here Sir, just got some sudden company. Same upstairs I assume?"

"Same here. Doctor Amari is under ONI custody. We're to aid Spear Team transport Doctor Amari to an ONI facility South of here called Sword Base."

"The Major know about this?" Viking asks.

"It's the Major's orders." Chance replies.

The rest of what I assume is Spear Team descends the stairs, each a hulking figure of armor and armament. Between them is the target, wearing a white coat and pale blue slacks. He looks quite put together for someone who should have just woken up. Following them is the rest of Kilo-Five. The Spartan at the head of the pack, who I assume is the leader, speaks first. "We have two transport Warthogs on the edge of the village to the South. Get ready to move."

I see movement on the rooftop across from our position and squint. Suddenly the lead Spartan's armor flares a bright gold and the unmistakable sound of a sniper rifle echoes across the village.

"Contact, contact! Roof at sixty!" I point to the building and move for cover.

The Spartans are lightning quick, and two with teal and a white armor respectively erupt with suppressing fire from their assault rifles. Chance and I grab the Doctor and shove him down behind the kitchen island for cover.

"They won't let me go without a fight!" Amari declares, a statement I imagine we're all already keenly aware of.

"My team will cover you. Get the Doctor to the garage and move South to the extract. One of my team is there. We'll be right behind you." The lead Spartan doesn't even turn as he speaks, marching forwards through the broken window and out into the courtyard. The entire village is awake now and innie's are taking positions in every window and alcove they can find. Through my NVs their movements are as clear as day, and the numbers wouldn't normally bode well – But we have Spartans.

"You heard the man!" Wink says, and dashes across the room, kicking open the garage door before wheeling around to cover us.

With the doctor between us Chance and I move towards the garage. I hear the sound of bullets impacting around us, and see a chunk of the door near Wink's shoulder go missing. She returns fire, the big caliber rifle seeming to suck the oxygen from the room as she discharges two rounds before we've got the doctor through to the garage. Viking and Scratch are right behind us.

"My children!" The Amari cries. I hear him, but pretend not to.

"I've got point!" Scratch shouts, smashing the garage door button with his fist before moving into position. Slowly it rises, and we see the extent of the damage. Innies are everywhere, gunshots fill the air, and the village is officially a hot zone. It's fubar.

Three blocks go by with us under constant incoming fire before we finally see the pair of Warthogs. A Spartan in bright yellow armor is wielding two assault rifles, one in either hand and standing on top of the lead vehicle. A bullet impacts my shoulderguard and I stumble, letting go of the doctor. Viking takes my place instantly.

"You good!?" Chance radios in.

I check, patting my shoulder. I don't know if the armor absorbed the shot, but it doesn't hurt, and I can still move. "I'm good!"

Fifty more feet go by with Scratch leading the way, his shotgun barking angrily at assaulting innie combatants the entire time. I see one come around a nearby corner carrying a rocket launcher. With all the speed I can muster, I put three rounds into his chest before he can get off a shot, and the silencer of my M7 smokes in the cool night air. I try not to think about how wrong that could have gone and keep running, when I see Viking and Chance stumble. I pump more rounds into a nearby building, hitting one and suppressing two others.

"The Doctor's hit!" Chance says over coms, firing his rifle and dropping a target taking position on one of the balconies. With the target dealt with the pair are back on their feet, and move to the lead Warthog where they start to load the doctor into the flatbed. I see Viking grab the railing and jump into the back with the injured doctor, already removing a FAK from the hardcase on his leg.

"How bad?" Chance asks.

"Not sure yet. I don't think it's bad." Viking replies.

Chance wastes no time. "Ginger, Wink, and Scratch, you're on the second Warthog. Ginger, take the wheel. Viking, stay with the doctor."

As I come around the side of the vehicle I ditch my M7 into the back seat and dive into the driver's position. The Warthog's engine is already on, and its tires angrily dig up gravel as I floor the accelerator to follow the other Warthog. As we pass more and more of the village I look down at the speedometer and realize we aren't slowing down. "What about the rest of the Spartans?"

Just as I speak I see them running out of the village. Two of them are carrying children under their arms, wielding weapons in their other hand. They run up alongside both Warthogs, effortlessly keeping pace and grabbing on right after they shoulder their weapons. The leader sits in the passenger seat next to me.

"Don't worry, we're here." He says in a calm voice that isn't even a little bit winded.

A few moments later and we're tearing ass down a narrow cliff-side road. My eyes are fully focused on tracking the lead vic. I yank the steering wheel from left and right, following the contours of the mountain, and trying not to send us careening off the edge to our deaths a few hundred feet below.

"And that's how it's done." I hear Scratch shout from the back of the Warthog. He's laughing, and I realize so am I.

The blade-like structure juts out from the surrounding terrain, stabbing at the sky with an unsettling, angular construction. Its exterior is cold grey metal, plain and intimidating. It's everything I'd expect an ONI secure base of operations to look like.

"Sword, hu? The name certainly fits." Viking remarks and I have to agree.

The lead Spartan, who I've learned is predictably called Spear One, points along the road. "Drive around the next bend and head East. You'll see the entrance there."

"Should we radio ahead?" Chance inquires.

"Already done, Sergeant."

We start to slow down as we approach. Amari's wounds turned out to be nothing more than a graze. He is very lucky, and truth be told we all are. I keep replaying the events in my head, and the holes are making less sense. Why were the Spartans sent to intercept us? Why are we bringing the Doctor, who is an Innie spy, to the center of a hidden ONI installation? I assume it's probably interrogation but the Spartans don't seem to be treating him and his family like prisoners. I doubt I'll ever get answers to any of these questions. I expect we'll drop the Doctor off and be aboard a Pelican shortly thereafter, ordered never to speak about the mission again.

I see the lead Warthog come to a stop. A man, not a Spartan, dressed head to toe in a black ONI combat uniform approaches them. In front of us is the entrance to Sword base: two large, angled blast doors that look like they could withstand a direct hit from a MAC canon.

"What the hell are they keeping in there?" Scratch remarks. He's standing up in the back of the Warthog, and now leans forward onto the roll bar above me.

"I doubt we're going to find out." I respond in good humor.

"True, true. You right."

"I hope you weren't under the illusion you're special." Viking comments before Chance cuts us off amidst a series of childlike giggles.

"We're clear to proceed. Keep it tight people."

He's telling us not to get into trouble . I depress the accelerator and gradually ease the Warthog forwards. There is a hiss and a smooth mechanical rumble as the blast doors lower, allowing us entry. I drive in, passing an additional checkpoint just inside, and heading up a curved ramp into what looks like a staging area. Another set of blast doors open and we drive down into an underground garage before stopping next to a clean, white structure which I assume marks the entrance to Sword base.

Nobody says anything now. My mouth is dry, and while I'm tired of breathing recycled air, I'm not removing my helmet just yet. There are a lot of rumors about ONI, and plenty of those rumors I know for a fact are true. How they do things, and what they do are generally very closely guarded secrets, and that just leads to talk. At the end of the day the UNSC is an organization, and they know certain things are better left unsaid. It's hard not to acknowledge that it's gotten worse though, since the uprising; Since the insurrection. Nowadays you can't get a straight answer from anyone, and security clearance and classifications have become the norm. It doesn't stop people from talking though. Disappearances, and rumors about abductions just add fuel to the fire. The Spartans too... The Spartans especially.

The Warthog in front shuts off its engine. Spear team is already jumping off, and helping Doctor Amari and his two children towards the facility door. I don't move, and keep the engine running.

"We'll just… wait here then?" Viking asks.

Nobody says anything. I'm not sure what there is to say at this point. A few moments go by and we watch the Spartan team, as well as the three civvies, have a conversation with someone over the base's comm system. After a few minutes the doors into Sword base open, and then they are gone. All except the Spartan leader.

"Kilo-Five, disembark. Your presence has been requested by Doctor Halsey." Spear One says over our channel.

"Who?" Wink asks automatically. I don't think she meant to say that aloud.

Chance clears his throat. "Sorry, but we should radio Major Horn and-"

"Doctor Halsey is expecting you. Leave your weapons." This time his voice makes it clear this isn't really up for debate.

I shut off the Warthog and awkwardly hop out. I look at the others and see they're just as uncomfortable as I am. Somehow that makes me feel better.