Author's note: Happy to see a familiar face so soon after posting the first chapter. I didn't wanna say anything about uploading a sequel just in case my brain and motivation jumped into traffic, but I worked on it for a while and didn't get very far until a sudden burst of inspiration hit and, well… here we are. I did get a few questions in reviews though. I'll try to answer them, and any new ones as time goes on, at the beginning of each chapter without making too much author note clutter.
To Qrs-jg: Welcome back, and I'm looking forward to that scene more than I'd like to admit, but you can't keep giving me ideas or I'll have to spin them to make them work!
To nliochristou: Unfortunately, I didn't play through Spartan Ops, and I don't plan on going through them. It wasn't really something I was interested in.
"Audere Est Facere" (To Dare is To Do)
- Motto, UNSC Infinity.
Three weeks had passed since Morgan Bailey had stepped back into a suit of Mjolnir and took on her Spartan title once again like regaining a championship belt. The days had passed with her growing familiar with the workings of an actual command position, meeting her new staff, learning all of the different fireteams and their roles, and merely trying to get back into touch with life as a soldier.
She had spent several days each week, randomly picking times and days to join in on War Games scenarios with each team that was operating at the time, taking the time to learn their strengths and weaknesses, showing ways to improve, and then getting her stride back by beating them into the ground as she had once been on Onyx during her training.
More than once, a fireteam member had made jokes or been a tease, before being shut up by their leader. Morgan was always keen to play along, as if she was worried they might best her. That was always when she pulled no blows, broke out every trick and cheating strategy, and reminded the Spartans that they were still soldiers, still fallible, and arrogance would only breed defeat.
Rumor had spread by now that she was all that her personnel file had stated and leagues more. There was nothing in the files about the Ark, about the Flood, Halo, any of it, but the words 'Hyper Lethal" were enough to grab their eyes and attention. She was fine with letting them believe what they wanted about her, but she wouldn't let them step onto the battlefield from this point on without knowing at least some of her old tips and tricks.
Sitting in her office in only a tech suit, she was going through another report on Fireteam Horizon, and their recent runs of the War Games simulator against Fireteam Pleiades. There were a few kinks to work out, but ultimately a solid showing that left the two teams at a draw more often than not. She would need to work through them soon.
Sitting back in the chair she had claimed as her own, she stretched and grunted, her eyes glancing over at the digital frame that she had picked up from the onboard assemblers and commissioned Monsoon's help to fill it. Inside, a picture of Hocus sat, the pilot giving a surprised, confused look. Monsoon had said something or another that had caught the woman off guard and quickly snapped the picture. It was far from flattering, but Morgan smiled all the same.
The sound of a ping signaled someone at her door, and she called out to enter. Sarah Palmer stepped in, though she was wearing her armor this time. The white armor was a stark coloration to the rest of the Spartans, and the red symbols on it only highlighted her, making her stand out from the pack when gathered.
Morgan brought her fingers together, entwining them as she remained leaning back in her chair. "Palmer, what can I do for you?" She asked. Ceremony and formalities had been tossed out the window quickly, the two Spartans having formed a working relationship and what might have been a shallow friendship so far, and found that they worked better together without worrying about the formality that others, like Del Rio, clung to when it was unnecessary.
"Wanted to see if you were up for a little wager, commander. Fireteam Tequila said that you wiped the floor with them and hearing that, well… Vegas was looking for a proper fight. See if you were all that and more for themselves."
Morgan snorted, her eyes narrowing. "And you didn't let them in on the secret?"
Palmer's eyes flashed as she stopped at the front of the desk, crossing her arms, her helmet hung on her belt. "You've proven everyone else wrong, why let Vegas miss out on the surprise?"
"Fair point." Morgan's lips turned up into a shallow smile. A glance at her terminal, and taking in the time, she nodded. "I can spare a few matches, but we'll be doing things my way. When you get to the simulation field, requisition four chambers, interlaced, my authority. I'll get suited up and be down there in… fifteen."
"Yes ma'am. Arsenal restrictions?"
"Free. Vegas is one of the best, right? We'll see if that's the truth or not." Green eyes looked up, meeting brown. There was a fire in those green eyes that hadn't been seen in ages, and Palmer's smile faltered for only a moment, before she concealed the hesitation.
"Alright, wanna make a bet on it then?"
"A bet? Palmer, I'll take your money, but is that a good idea?"
"Maybe, maybe not. It might sting a bit more to lose some money, but nowhere near as bad as their pride if we lose. Are you bringing any of the other teams with you?"
"Negative. Just me. I'll brief you when I get down there. Until then, make sure to use your time wisely."
Palmer nodded and turned to leave, stepping out of the office and making her way off towards the simulation area, already calling her team as her helmet slipped onto her head.
Alone, Morgan sat for a few moments, before she called out. "Monsoon."
The AI was quick to pop up on a small pedestal on her desk, rain droplets pattering off of her coat. "Yes, commander."
"Push back my meetings by about two hours. Inform Spartan August he's up until I return."
"Yes, ma'am." With that, the little AI disappeared, but she wasn't gone.
Standing from her desk, Morgan made her way down to the armor rigging area, and stepped into her rig. Techs had her up and running in just a few minutes, and she stepped out ready to go with her helmet on her belt. Bypassing armories and other locations, Morgan made straight for the simulation chambers.
Entering the first, where Palmer was waiting with the rest of Vegas, Morgan got an eyeful of all of them. All wearing white armor, but only Palmer had the red symbols. Four team members stood next to her, all wearing some variation of the scout or recon helmets, all GEN2 designs. Vegas was a pathfinder team, meant to be forward deployed to clear the way for friendly forces, and doubled as intelligence and recon, or overwatch if needed.
Her eyes passed over their loadouts. At least one of the recon helmeted Spartans was holding onto a sniper rifle, a pair of magnums on Palmer's hips, another wearing a scout helmet was holding a shotgun with an SMG on their hip, and the last two were carrying battle rifles, one each wearing scout or recon. Otherwise, their armor was all the same.
Palmer gave Morgan a look, one that was transmitted through her visor. "Ma'am? You gonna grab a weapon?"
"Negative, Palmer. I'll be getting mine on site. Briefing is coming so listen up." She moved over to a nearby terminal that controlled the simulation, already linked by techs as she had asked. On it, she started inputting commands to fix the scenario as she wished. "I'll be playing OPFOR for all of you. You'll need to make it through five klicks of heavy forest and into a waiting dropship. Native flora and fauna are hazards, and can slow you down or be used as bait or traps. You'll have an hour and a half to get from the start to the finish line. Only one of you has to make it there. Any questions?"
She could see helmets turning and almost feel the confusion radiating off of them. One Spartan, the one with the sniper, spoke up That was O'Hara. "Ma'am, if you're going in without weapons, are you going to find them in the forest?"
"You could say that," she responded, a smirk coming onto her lips.
The Spartan nodded slowly, unsure of whether to ask another question. One of her comrades spoke up. "If we have an hour and a half, five klicks isn't all that much, even in a heavy woodland."
"Are you sure about that, Spartan?"
"Uh… yes, ma'am. Positive."
"Good, if you had said anything else, I'd have been worried."
Once again, nothing else came out, and she could almost see the minute movements as they spoke to each other inside of their helmets. Palmer was the only one left. Even she seemed confused, and a little on edge now.
"Still interested in that bet, Palmer?" Morgan asked, green eyes settling on the white armored Spartan.
"No, ma'am. I think I'll try another time."
"Understood. If there's nothing left, get ready to begin. You have five minutes to get a plan sorted out inside of the simulation's start point. Only rule in this simulation is you can't leave the starting area, ten meters by ten meters squared, until time has begun. I'll be starting somewhere within a square kilometer around you, with your starting area being the center of that zone. It can be behind you, to your sides, or even above you, so don't rule anything out. I expect your best out there, Spartans. You've only gotta avoid me and get to extract, and I don't even have a weapon. Shields and armor are standard levels. Dismissed."
With that, Morgan slid her helmet on and stepped out of their line of sight, disappearing into one of the corridors that led to another location. Moments later, the simulation began with a loud beep, and a simulated forest surrounded them, before the sounds of the ship were taken away and replaced by the sounds of the forest.
Spartan Sarah Palmer grimaced as she realized her time had already started, and she started to regret taking this challenge. "Fireteam Vegas, form up. We don't have much time, but we've been through this before. Maybe not this forest in particular, but we're no strangers to the woods, right?"
A chorus of no ma'am. "Thought so. We'll be moving together, loose formation. Point man's dance, we'll be going off of Manning's tune." With a point, she pointed out Manning, the Spartan holding one of the battle rifles and wearing a scout helmet. "After will be Gordon, myself, O'Hara, and then Rani in the rear. Staggered column, ten meter spacing."
One of the Spartans holding the battle rifles, wearing a recon helmet, spoke up. Her accent was an older British one. "Are we really all that worried about the commander? I mean she doesn't even have a weapon to use against us. How does she plan on stopping our whole squad?"
Palmer frowned. "Honestly? I have no idea, I don't like it one bit. She stomped a mudhole in the other teams that have gone up against her in normal scenarios where it's just a take and hold. This is new, and I have not a single doubt that she's got something really sketchy planned, so stay on your toes."
Once again, they all shared looks among each other, muttering quietly into their mics about something that may or may not happen. Palmer's frown deepened. Just the situation itself was putting them on edge, and they were never like this. Doubts were creeping in.
"Alright cut the chatter. If it's not an idea of how to move forward, stow it. I don't need second guessing. This is our chance to shine and show up the rest of the teams. If we fail, not too big a deal since everybody else that's gone up against her has, but if we win, then we'll have bragging rights for months."
They all nodded. She spent the rest of the time going over possible situations, but even if she had an hour, it wouldn't be enough to prepare against the commander. They had seen her in action before, but never gotten the chance to face off against her themselves. She never made a habit of using the same strategy or tactics, no patterns. Even if she had went in with a shotgun every time, sometimes she used it for bait, sometimes for fighting, sometimes to bludgeon people with it, and sometimes not at all.
The simulation room sent a large chime through the air, and Palmer's heart rate spiked for a second. "Time's up, Vegas. Let's move!"
Taking her two magnums in hand, she took up her position in the center of the formation, eyes already scanning and her motion tracker active. In the distance, she heard a flock of birds take flight and knew that they were being hunted already. Eerie silence filled the forest, and she took in the details of the time and weather.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was creeping through the trees in just a way that meant plenty of places were lit up by an amber ray of light, and others were shaded, or even completely dark. There were no clouds that she could see, no rain, no fog, just purely clear air. That was almost worse. Their clean line of sight just meant that the commander would have the same benefits. The only advantage they had over her was that they would be carrying weapons and capable of fighting back immediately, while she would be trying to sneak up on them and capture or 'kill' them.
Still, that didn't mean it was a walk in the park, and none of them were truly prepared to fight her, a hero of the Human-Covenant War in more ways than one.
Their journey through the forest was without fanfare or events, outside of the random animal scurrying into the undergrowth, but it kept them all on edge. Every sound, every movement, could be the commander, ready to come down on them all like a sack of hammers and cave all their skulls in.
Even then, they still made good time, and within ten minutes, they'd cleared a kilometer with no sign of her. Their guards stayed up, none of them speaking or breaking the silence in any way. Motion trackers were set to fifty meters, looking for the telltale signs of a red icon that would point her out to them.
Another half a kilometer, and Palmer felt that sense of dread in her gut. Glancing to her left, she looked into a clearing through the trees, and for an instant, she thought she saw the reflection of light on a golden visor, and her weapons came up, only for a ray of light to be seen through her sights.
Her breath was in her throat, and she still felt that sense of dread, felt a pair of hostile eyes on the back of her helmet.
"Palmer? What's going on?" Manning's heavy voice in her ear, his words worried as he halted his forward momentum at the sound of her turning.
"I'm seeing things. Keep moving. The less time we spend stopped, the less time for her to hone in on us."
Manning sent a green status light and started moving again, but something came that had them all pointing their weapons up and in that same direction. A loud crack sounded, and in the area where Palmer had seen something, parts of a tree's bark came off in shards, having been turned to shrapnel by a stone that had been hurled at it hard enough to ricochet towards them and land at their feet.
"Shit." Palmer breathed the words out loud, her comm not picking them up as she made a circular motion with one of her hands, Vegas fanning out and choosing their sectors in an instant to prepare for contact.
A flurry of movement and Rani shouted out. "Contact!" Her battle rifle fired into the bushes, but the sound of rounds pinging off of a shield never came, instead hissing into the underbrush and bringing a squeal. She had killed an animal, the animal in question being little more than a realistic representation as it disappeared from the simulation to respawn elsewhere in an instant.
Palmer's breathing had picked up as she scanned the area quickly, even pushing her motion tracker out another fifty meters, but still there was nothing. No red dots among the small yellow ones.
"Get it in gear, she knows where we are, and we can't stay her. Cover every few seconds, make sure to check for each other just as often in case she grabs one of us somehow."
A group of green lights and they were in motion again, Palmer scanning their left occasionally, waiting for another rock to come sailing in and-
There it was. Another loud crack, and she started scanning for shrapnel and an incoming rock, but she was too late. In the rear of the formation, a thud came. O'Hara had been hit in the helmet with the rock, impacting against the rear hard enough to collapse her shields. She grunted and stumbled, going to the ground and taking a knee before collapsing. Rani was quick to bend and grab her as the rest of the squad fell back at Palmer's shouted order, firing at whatever movement they saw in irregular staccato bursts.
Another rock came sailing in from further to the right, this time hitting Palmer's gauntlet hard enough to cause pain and send her magnum flailing into a bush. There was no time to search for it. "Grab O'Hara, break contact, now!"
She gave the order and Rani picked the downed team member up and threw the other Spartan over her shoulder before taking her own weapon in one hand and leading the way out of their ambush.
Palmer and the rest fell in behind her, covering their retreat while moving quickly. She wasn't too worried about losing the magnum. It only had a single magazine and that wouldn't be enough to finish them, but given that she'd just hurled a rock hard enough to break O'Hara's shields and drop her, Palmer worried that it might be the end of them.
They made a quick getaway, and no more rocks came sailing in. This time, Palmer took up the rear, watching behind them for movement or for the commander to move in and try to find the magnum if she had seen it go flying.
Eventually, the ambush site disappeared behind them, concealed by trees and foliage. Turning around, she checked their route. A waypoint in the distance showed there were only three kilometers left to go, and they had an hour left. O'Hara still hadn't recovered from the impact. She was likely concussed. It wasn't really slowing them down, but nobody wanted to carry a whole Spartan for this long. They would need to switch out eventually. Even if she hadn't 'killed' O'Hara, the commander was slowing them down even more than if she had done away with the woman.
They continued on for a while, once again without contact, and it made Palmer's heart race as she led her squad through the forest, being hunted by their greatest challenge so far. They were used to doing the hunting, but now they were the biggest game, the prey that fought back.
Even now, they were capable of traipsing through the woods without making a sound, perfectly good at stealth and concealment, but they were fighting against a woman that knew everything they did and more, and had years of experience under her belt as a Spartan in some of the hardest fought battles in Human history.
A crack in the distance, a stick breaking, likely an animal, but could just as well be the commander trying to cover her tracks. Palmer watched, and they kept moving, until she turned her eyes away. Rani had taken up the second position, and switched off carrying O'Hara with Gordon before moving to the rear behind Palmer, and Manning kept point.
Another crack, and a boar came running out of the woods at them, grunting and squealing as it charged at one of the Spartans. A curse, and Palmer pulled up her magnum, unloading into the beast. It took several rounds before it went down and slid to a halt.
"Sound off, we all good?"
Green lights from Gordon and Manning, O'Hara was still on Gordon's shoulder. She waited for Rani's light to shine, but it never did, and looking behind her, the Spartan was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had vanished, save for the twin trails where heavy armor had been dragged through the underbrush.
Palmer cursed and followed them, only for the trails to disappear after ten meters without a trace. A drop of sweat beaded on her forehead, wicked away by the helmet, and she grimaced before running back to her squad. "Commander got Rani, we need to move, now. She has access to a battle rifle at least, likely tapped comms, and whatever load Rani was carrying on her. Switch to status lights only, hand signals can be seen and interpreted."
The other two sent amber lights back, but kept moving. Palmer kept up the rear, Manning leading, and Gordon was carrying O'Hara. Palmer dare not leave the downed woman behind. That would look even worse than failure, and personally, she wouldn't do it. It was against everything she knew. Even if she was downed, better to be dead weight than dead.
While O'Hara had definitely been taken down by the impact, the simulation shutting down her armor as a method of immersion, Palmer was worried that she might actually have gotten injured after such a hit. But it wouldn't be the first time any of them had been hurt in a simulation or exercise.
They were halfway there, and the timer was ticking down, reminding her every second that there was only so much time for them to escape and claim their victory, but with how quickly two of her Spartans had been taken down by someone they hadn't even seen, she was rapidly losing confidence in their odds. They wouldn't give up, but she doubted they would win at this rate.
Once again, some time went on without an attack or even a sighting of the blue armored Spartan. How she could blend into the green foliage in blue colored armor and a reflective golden visor, she had no idea. They were all taught to be concealable in any terrain, regardless of their armor color or equipment, but she was like a damned ghost, and a big one at that.
There wasn't much to the challenge, she had thought. Just skirt through the woods and shoot the commander whenever she appeared, but she had been so very wrong. A knot in her gut was coiling up, and she hated the feeling. She hadn't felt like this in years, always confident in her abilities and that of her team. It had always been a face to face fight against the Covenant, and they were easy enough to take down with a squad of veterans. Even other Spartans were a match, only slightly better or worse depending on the situation, and capable of being felled. But this was a whole other experience, one that worried her, but reminded her that the commander had earned her title completely.
A snap and her head whipped around, spotting Manning falling forward onto his face. His hands came out with the shotgun on the ground, bracing himself and already starting to come back up when a staccato burst came from their right, several rounds impacting the Spartan's side. Their rifles were burst fire or single fire only, but it sounded like this rifle was being fired on full auto, and she whipped around to cover, already giving the order to fire at the figure that had been spotted finally, little more than a shadow in the foliage, highlighted by the muzzle flash of her stolen rifle.
As soon as a round hit her, the commander's shield flashed and she dropped one hand from her rifle's stock, snapping the hand to her hip, and then back up with a pistol in hand, firing as fast as the slide would rack and slot a new round into place. The heavy slugs came in like hail, hitting Palmer in the face and head and snapping it back before she dropped and tucked into a roll for cover.
Her shields wailed loudly in her ears, and her breathing was heavy. That had been close. It had almost been like a laser had turned on her and put rounds on target without an issue in an instant. The deedle deedle of her shields finally stopped and hummed back to full strength before finally beeping as it reached full charge. Popping out again, her magnum was up and she searched for her target, but the commander was gone.
Her Spartans moved into a circle around her, O'Hara being left in a bush to keep her safe from more direct fire as they all went back to back. Manning was favoring one side, showing he had been hit. Palmer glanced back for a second, before looking back to her sights, scanning the forest. "Manning, status!"
"She got me good! Right side, abdomen, at least one round penetrated." There had been no actual penetration, and the armor was still perfectly fine, but the simulation had caused the gel layer to stiffen as if he had actually been hit, and lock up to simulate a wound that would make it harder to move.
Another curse under her breath and Palmer glanced at O'Hara. "O'Hara, you up yet?"
There was no response. She had been wounded, of course, and knocked out from the hit earlier, but Palmer had no idea if the other woman was considered 'dead' yet or not. Moving forward, she dropped low to the ground and checked the other woman, shaking her to see if she would respond, even triggering a stimulant to see if she would get back on her feet, but nothing worked. Checking the squad vitals, O'Hara had been flatlined and was now considered KIA.
"Fuck!" Palmer scurried back to her squad, flashing a red light twice, an amber once, and a green twice. Their status was plain to see. The commander was picking them apart piece by piece, letting them relax ever so slightly, going longer periods before engaging again on her own terms, ambushing them any chance she got. At this rate, they might make it to the end point, but only one of them would be able to make it, if that. Even if she didn't outright drop all of them, she could slow them all down and force a time out, ending in her victory, or cripple them in some way.
Her breathing was coming faster as she tried to picture how to go about this. There was no way to properly entrench in the forest with the commander coming from any direction, no way to set up fields of fire and survive to the end while succeeding, all they could truly do would be to make a sprint for it and hope to outpace her, but that was careless. It would be easy to ambush them in a sprint. No matter how prepared she thought she had been, there was nothing that could be done to the commander. But she wouldn't surrender or give up.
Turning on her helmet speakers, she kept the volume low. "We need to leave, now, or she's going to hit us again very soon. We keep up our forward momentum, fighting retreat. We can't keep stopping every time she attacks or we'll get grabbed like Rani did. We keep taking hits and she'll cripple us."
Gordon grunted behind her. "Not like I had any better ideas. What about O'Hara's body?"
"We leave it. Nothing to be done. Trigger the failsafe and see if she goes for the sniper rifle. Set a trap and see if it catches her while we haul ass out of here."
There was a failsafe in all Mjolnir armor that was to be used in case of a Spartan casualty that couldn't be carried or evacuated. When a Spartan was killed, the reactor pack was set on a runaway process that would cause it to go up like a small nuke, vaporizing anything within 30 meters. It would be set by a timer, usually, but there was no telling when the commander would come. Either she came too early and got the rifle and survived, came too late and ignored it, or was just in time and got vaped. In the simulation, it would cause an explosion, but wouldn't outright cause any damage.
"Cover." Palmer sent her order and dove for the body, dragging it a little further out. "Sorry, O'Hara, gonna have to nuke you." The woman in the armor was forced to be limp until the simulation was over, or the techs pulled her out manually. After the detonation, she would be pulled out when all participants were a certain distance away. While she couldn't respond, Palmer knew the other woman heard her.
Setting the timer for 120 seconds, Palmer ignored the sniper rifle in the bushes, as if she hadn't seen it, and stood. "Move!" She took up the rear of their formation, Gordon and Manning moving ahead as they spread into a staggered wedge formation, Palmer taking the right side, a few feet back from Gordon, who took the left, a few feet to the rear of Manning. It would prevent them from getting trapped in one go.
She counted down the seconds in her head as they closed on their objective, the meters ticking down quickly as long, augmented legs ate up the distance. 30 seconds. 15 seconds. 5 seconds. Zero.
The detonation shook the trees, and a flash behind them was bright enough that it cast their shadows ahead of them, even with trees in the way for the most part. When the light faded, Palmer waited for the simulation to end, but it never did, and she cursed again. The commander had escaped her trap, and they were still forced to be on the run. Two klicks left, and 45 minutes remained on the timer. They had plenty of time left, theoretically, but the attacks would only get worse from here on out.
Their journey continued on for a time, all of them scanning their sectors and waiting for that ghost to come out and haunt them again, waiting to be picked off by a well placed barrage of rounds from a battle rifle or the single high powered sniper round that would drop them. But before anything came, Manning slowed for a second, flashing his red status light rapidly.
Ahead of them, directly in their path of movement, a stick was shoved into the ground like a mount, and on it, O'Hara's helmet was mounted on it.
A sharp intake of breath, and Palmer flashed her own red light back in response, before flashing the amber three times. Carry on, show caution.
It was like the commander was toying with them, using not only proper strategy and tactics, but screwing with their minds, letting them know that she had managed to get to O'Hara in time to not only take her helmet, but likely find the sniper rifle too. Palmer continued on past the helmet, making sure to keep a wide berth, in case it was booby trapped, and they made it past without any issues. Still, no fire came in on them, no explosions, no traps, nothing. The helmet disappeared behind them as if it had never been there in the first place, and Palmer still felt that sensation she was being watched.
Not even Brute Stalkers or Elite Special Ops had ever made her feel like this, and they had been actively cloaked. The difference was that she could deal with them. They had established doctrines, had patterns and technological weaknesses that could be exploited. The commander, on the other hand, only had her armor and whatever she had managed to steal off of their casualties.
This wasn't even a real combat operation for Christ's sake! She needed to control herself. If the commander got her on edge, she would make even more mistakes, slip up again without a doubt, and that would be the end of it.
Taking a deep breath, Palmer sent out another series of status lights, giving the command to pick up the pace, but keep themselves ready for anything. Manning checking for traps, with Palmer and Gordon glancing between their sides and the front to make sure nothing was dangling down or ready to clothesline Manning. They would be ready for her next time.
Another half a kilometer of travel and Palmer tensed up. It was about that time again, and she sent an amber status light out, getting two green lights in reply. They were feeling like she was, and she prepared to fight.
50 meters passed by, then a hundred, and nothing, causing the Spartan to frown, and she felt frustration creep in again. No attack, no traps, no signs that the commander had been anywhere near here.
"Palmer, isn't it about time she tried something?" Gordon asked, not looking back at her as his weapon swept the area again, ready to open fire at the drop of a hat.
"Quiet, don't jinx us anymore than we already are. Less chatter, more looking." Palmer was quick to order his doubts down, and Gordon didn't respond. Looking to the right again, she made a full circle, looking to the rear, and then the trap was sprung.
The vapor trail of a 14.5x114mm round passing through the air was visible to her heightened eyes, and time slowed down as Palmer watched the round sail in from the rear and impact on Gordon's helmet, sending him down in slow motion. She reacted without thinking. "Sniper!"
Time sped up again, and she dove behind a tree as another round was fired, ricocheting off of the tree and sending splinters and large chunks of wood through the air as it bounced off and screamed into the dirt with a large puff. Looking over at Manning, he had tucked into the cover of another tree, several bushes blocking his line of sight. Gordon still lay in the dirt, crumpled from the deadly hit that he had taken. Had it been a real situation, the man's helmet would have been turned into a soup bowl. Not even GEN2 shields could take a hit and stop all of the energy of a high caliber weapon like that. A shot to the chest would hurt like a bitch, but you'd survive, usually. A headshot was an instant death sentence.
"Gordon's gone!" She called out to Manning and saw his helmet, a scout model, look back at her, the blue visor emotionless, but she could feel the question behind it. "We're gonna have to split up and haul ass, hope that she can't catch both of us in time. That's the only way we're getting out of this with a victory," she called, more than aware of the eerie quiet that followed the twin sniper shots.
"We don't have much of a choice!" He returned her sentiment, and dropped the shotgun, taking his SMG and making sure it was loaded and ready. "Trade me!"
She was quick to oblige, and her pistol went sailing over to him with the mags she had left. The SMG went across next, and she was locked and ready to go with more than just her magnum. Two was a party, one was a bad time.
"Ready?" A nod. "Break!" She gave the order and she was up and moving to the right of where they had been heading, scattering into the forest, but no fire came in while she displaced. Manning went in the other direction, likely moving just as fast as she was and trying to cut down the distance on the objective as much as he could. If either of them were attacked, they would try and distract the commander as much as possible, hopefully let the other get away in time.
Her heart was starting to race now, as she picked up speed and moved around trees, jumped over roots and stones, and ducked under low branches. There was no other option. All of her training and strategies had been exhausted with the commander's assaults, and her Spartans had been taken out like rookies. They were all trained veterans, former special forces operators, and with more than one battle under their belts. But nobody was ready to see the tactical prowess of a real Spartan turned against them. Marines had always made jokes about being glad that Spartans were on their side, and Palmer had thought that becoming a Spartan would make her just as good, if not better. Now she could see she had been naive in the face of what was a Greek God, and she was merely the likes of Achilles. Powerful, well trained, and capable in every sense, but the commander was a whole other league.
In the distance, as the objective loomed only a kilometer away, she heard the crack of a battle rifle, and the return fire of a shotgun. Several exchanges went past, before the end of it left the forest in silence once more. A shot from both weapons had come simultaneously. There was no telling who had won.
"Manning!" She called out to him on their channel. "Manning, status!"
Nothing came for a time, until she heard the sound of the commander's voice, emotionless and cold, different from what Palmer had known so far. "One left."
Palmer grit her teeth and cut the channel, slamming her chin against the helmet controls to turn off all of her transmissions gear, from the GPS-analogue to the radar and comms gear. All that was left was the passive method that the motion tracker used to look for enemies and allies alike.
She came to a break in the trees, spotting a Pelican sitting in the middle of a large clearing. She had two hundred meters to go, and she grunted, pushing herself as hard as she could, giving it everything she had left, and then the red blip appeared on her motion tracker at the rear.
Struggling to bite back a whine, Palmer knew she'd never make it across that much open ground, no matter how evasive she got. With her victory all but disintegrating in her hands, she turned on her heel and dug it into the ground, sliding a short distance while she brought the SMG up, and she barely had time to come face to face with the demon that had been chasing her and her team for the last hour, wiping them out one by one.
The rattle of its report went up, echoing off of the trees, and the reflection of its muzzle flash appeared in both visors, for only a moment, before a blue armored hand came up quickly and pushed it away, the shields on the commander flaring as her other hand came up in an open palm and struck Palmer's chest plate.
Morgan was quick to push the advantage, now finally out in the open and being taken in by Palmer's eyes as she was pushed back. The blue armored Spartan had a shotgun and a battle rifle strapped to her back, but neither would be all that useful here. Stepping forward, Morgan continued to strike at Palmer's chest plate, trying to knock the wind out of her or even knock her down for a finisher.
Palmer was able to dodge most of the strikes, but there was no chance to pull the SMG back up for any meaningful amount of fire. Leaping back and dodging as far as she could, she reared back and hurled the SMG at the commander, hoping to distract her long enough for an opening.
Morgan's left hand came up and swatted it away, the weapon going careening off into the bushes before she ducked low and pushed off the ground as hard as she could, tackling Palmer and grabbing her by the midsection before charging forward and slamming her into the trunk of a massive tree.
Palmer started to beat at Morgan's back with her elbows, both of their shields flaring, before one of Morgan's arms came up and blocked the next blow, rapidly shifting to hold Palmer's arm in her armpit, and then she pulled.
Palmer felt white hot pain fill her skull as her shoulder was dislocated. Her free arm struggled, grabbing at the shotgun that was on Morgan's back and yanking, but it was too long, and she had no way to get it into position to fire, so she grabbed it by the pump and slammed the stock into Morgan's back.
A grunt came from the blue armor, but Palmer didn't hear it. Trying again, Morgan released her, and backed up just in time to avoid the second strike. Yanking the battle rifle from its place on her back, she pushed forward again, jamming the barrel into Palmer's midsection, close enough that the shields were unable to cover, and pulled the trigger.
Palmer felt the armor seize up, and more pain filled her gut, but it was gone as soon as it'd come, and with a blaring alarm, the simulation ceased and fell apart around them.
Morgan and Palmer stood transfixed, two visors glaring at each other, before Morgan pulled the battle rifle back and slung it on her back. Without a word, the other woman reached up and grabbed Palmer's shoulder, resetting it and causing Palmer to hiss in pain, before Morgan backed up and pulled her helmet off.
Her hair was messy, her eyes were wild, and her chest plate was rising and falling quickly, as if she was out of breath. Palmer dropped the shotgun, removing her helmet and dropping to the floor in a seated position.
Neither said anything for a while, only the sound of their rushed breathing coming for a time. Palmer broke the silence. "Looks like- like you win- Commander."
Morgan chuckled, the sound more like a hurried series of breaths than an actual laugh. "Told you- I would," she replied, taking a seat herself and raising her arms above her head to get a lungful of air.
Their lungs finally started to slow down, and their breathing went back to normal, leaving the two sitting on the ground and looking each other over. Palmer spoke up. "Didn't expect all that, honestly."
"What, being tracked like that?"
"Not exactly. I knew you'd track us no problem. Not hard for any Spartan to track, but being able to steal Rani out from under us with that boar acting as a distraction. How'd you even manage that?"
"Rocks are my friend when it comes to scaring things. I wasn't very far from you when I threw it. Thermals let me spot the boar, threw the rock behind it, and it came charging at your group thinking it was being penned in. After that, I made my move. Hit the underside of her helmet below the neural interface and knocked her out." Morgan looked back towards the observation area overlooking the place. "Techs dragged her off after that. She might still be unconscious, but she'll be fine."
Palmer frowned, humming. "I didn't think we'd be that easy to take down. We didn't even see you until you engaged us the third time."
Morgan gave a grin. "Only because I let you see me. You're unlucky in that you didn't challenge me my first few times back. Took some time to really get used to the flow of combat again, but… it's all muscle memory and instinct at this point."
Boots sounded on the deck, and Palmer looked up at the approaching Spartans, all with their helmets by their sides. None looked too happy at their first loss of the tour, but they would live. Only O'Hara was absent, being looked over by medics most likely. Palmer would be next to ensure that her shoulder was set properly, and it wouldn't be too long. A pair of them followed closely behind the gang of Spartans, looking far too small compared to the heavily armored soldiers.
A deep breath, and Palmer rose to her feet, feeling at her shoulder. There was no pain, but that wouldn't matter. The two medics closed and one reached for a tool from the bag hanging from his waist, pulling out a small handheld terminal that he plugged into her neural interface port.
After a few moments, he scanned the diagnostics readout that came from the armor and nodded. Putting the tool back in the bag, he pulled a small packet from a pocket inside the bag and held it out to her. "For the pain. Shoulder's fine, no problems. Report to medical if anything comes up."
It was almost like he was reading off of a script, the injury had been so minor for her. Spartan healing, even on the IVs, was still more than capable of dealing with any injuries with ease. Palmer started to pocket the packet, but she glanced over and saw a disapproving look from Morgan, who raised an eyebrow.
Frowning slightly, Palmer ripped the packet open and dumped the contents into her hand, taking a pair of capsules and looking back at Morgan, receiving a nod this time. Finally, Palmer turned toward her fully and gestured to her. "So, how'd we do overall?"
Morgan took a moment to think. "Good, all said and done. You almost made it. Had you split up in the beginning, it would have been far easier to take you out. Less trapping. One question though, Palmer: You ever lose a subordinate in the field?"
Palmer frowned, looking over at her squad, and saw that Manning's face had darkened, but the others looked to her. "No, ma'am, not one that was still breathing."
"You'll have to one day, and you'll have to get used to it, because it never lets up after."
Palmer's face contorted into one of confusion, and a little bit of anger, but Morgan's was emotionless, showing that same shadow that covered Manning's, but the lights were on and covering her face. "What, are you implying that I should have left O'Hara behind?"
"Yes."
It was as if she had been slapped, and the goodwill that had been between them felt like it evaporated in an instant. Palmer started to respond, but Manning spoke up.
"She's right, Palmer. Much as I hate to say it…"
Palmer whirled on Manning. "Why? All of our time in the Corps and we get it beat into our skulls 'no man left behind', now I'm being told none of it matters?"
Manning was more controlled in his response. "No, ma'am. Just that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. O'Hara slowed us down, kept one of our guns out of action. Only purpose she served in the entire simulation was as a trap that didn't even work."
"Manning has it right, Palmer. A mission where you have a wounded Spartan, or even a wounded Marine, is fine if you can break contact and reach friendly lines. This mission was not one of those. If you have a deadline, are being hunted and constantly harassed by superior forces, and you've got a Spartan that's ineffective, they're dead weight."
Morgan's eyes were locked onto Palmer's, and Palmer started to say something, only to have her teeth click together when she shut her mouth. No matter how wrong it felt, Palmer ran through it all and realized that the other woman was right, and she hated that.
Even as an ODST, Palmer had never just left someone behind until they were confirmed dead. Even then, tags and ammo were taken if nothing else, and a trap set. She had done exactly that, had tried to get all of her people out, and even used O'Hara as a trap to hopefully survive and deny the enemy access to her body or her armor.
But it still stung.
Morgan's face seemed to lose that darkened shade, and she took a deep breath. "Good work, Vegas, for what it's worth. Use this exercise to grow as a team and cover any weaknesses you see in the playback. We'll do it again some day and see if you win next time. Until then, use the rest of the day to go about business as usual. You're dismissed."
The rest of Vegas started to break up and return to the rigging facility, but Morgan called out to Palmer. "Palmer, stay here for a minute."
Palmer turned, her expression schooled, but her anger still simmering inside.
"You did good too. You did everything right." The other woman gestured to follow, and started moving. Palmer did as she was told. "But think about what I said. Talk with Manning about it. He seemed to understand where I was coming from. It's never easy to leave a comrade behind, alive or dead, but it has to be done sometimes or everyone gets wiped out and then it's all for nothing. Five people die instead of one."
Palmer was silent for a time, and Morgan let the silence hang as they walked back towards the rigging facility at a sedated pace. When she spoke up, the fire had left her words. "We shouldn't have to do that anymore. We aren't at war with the whole Covenant, worlds aren't getting glassed every other day. We're Spartans. We have the armor, the augmentations, the numbers to make a difference! We should be able to make it out of every mission with our comrades, and if not that, then their bodies too!" It was almost like she was pleading for it to be true.
Morgan started to respond, but sound never came out of her mouth, flooding into her mind instead as she stopped in place, eyes staring but not seeing.
Spartans never die, Jorge. They're just missin' in action.
"Hey!" Morgan's eyes refocused, and she saw Palmer's face in front of her, the woman's eyes searching, as if looking for something in the Spartan III's stare. "You alright?
Morgan nodded slowly, before nodding again, quicker, as if trying to lie her way through. "Yeah, I'm good. Just… thought of something familiar is all."
"You sure?"
"Positive." Morgan wasn't sure if she was positive. Were the old wounds threatening to reopen again? Scars being ripped apart and forcing her to relive her worst memories that she had tried her best to bury? Again, she tried to speak, but a chirp from her armor grabbed her attention, and she looked down at the TACPAD on her wrist. She had a message on her terminal, priority one, classification way above Top Secret. Frowning, she started moving again. "We'll talk more later, Palmer. Until then, get with your team, do a proper debrief, and take some time to mull it all over."
"Yes, ma'am."
With that, Morgan left the other woman behind and jogged for her office, shutting and sealing the door behind her. Moving to sit in the chair, she called out to Monsoon again. "Monsoon, cut all surveillance to the room, including your own, until I've come out."
Monsoon didn't respond, but Morgan knew by now that the AI wasn't going to mess around and try something sneaky. The Navy, and ONI in particular, didn't want a snoopy AI on their flagship.
Waiting a few moments to ensure that everything had been done, Morgan opened her messaging system on her terminal, and opened a message at the top that was average and merely referenced Spartan training schedules and minor issues reported up from her chain. Leaning forward, she dropped her head to sit parallel with a small camera in the top of her terminal's monitor.
With a red scanning beam coming out of it, her eye was given a pass and she frowned at the discomfort. On the screen, a message that had been piggybacked and hidden deep within the code that had carried the letter, was pulled up on the screen.
The pyramid eye of the Office of Naval Intelligence stared back at her, and she swallowed. Nothing was there besides the symbol, and it slowly started to rotate as she waited. Something was happening.
After a moment, the symbol disappeared, and a woman came up in its place. Her hair was pulled back in a savagely tight bun, and not a single hair was out of place. Her features were strong and sharp, as if her facial bones and muscles had been put in place by a master sculptor. Keen eyes stared back through the camera, looking at Morgan as if she was a hunter, and Morgan felt that sickly feeling in her gut, even before her eyes caught sight of the ONI badge on the woman's uniform.
Admiral Serin Osman sat at her desk, in a nondescript room, with her hands on her desk, fingers interlaced, and grinned at Morgan.
"Commander, welcome back."
