Cyrus VII

November 9, 2557

The Spartan-IV Thirty Seventh Special Shock Division had a straightforward and streamlined method of getting information from their superiors to the operators themselves. Bowman and every other member of Eon knew that intel could go moldy in a day, hour, minute or second. To that end, one of the unit's founders, callsign: Tyrant was in a video chat in Bowman. The warthog was an open vehicle and drops of rain pelted on the tablet computer, but it maintained focus, despite the weather. Beside Bowman, Pine steered the wheel right behind the lead vehicle.

Not much light had been shed on his past, but Tyrant had an exceptional record in his time against the Covenant. He had become a Spartan-IV due to his concept of the 37th, a need for a multipurpose elite unit that was above the elite. The 37th was truly the best of the best Spartans, but Tyrant's influence was the reason they were feared and respected by everyone.

"Hello Tyrant." Bowman kept his tone curt.

"Good to see you too Eon Lead." Tyrant used Eon Lead as the call sign, "Our sat drone needs about another five minutes to reposition, although I don't know if we'll get any results from that."

"We'll get a check on that."

"I've got some bad news. This came about five minutes ago."

"Is this about the op?"

Tyrant shook his head, "When we're done here. Our unit hasn't been hit this hard before. Jaguar has been killed."

Bowman saw Pine's breath go short. Jaguar was Eon's fellow fireteam in the unit and their primary wargame rival. Something didn't stick when a team was all killed, especially by surprise.

"When you're back, we're going to have a quick memorial service. Plus I have letters to write to families that their son, daughter or whatever isn't coming back."

"Are they marked MIA?"

"Affirmative. Once you're done on Cyrus, we're going after those sons of bitches. We need to focus on the task at hand. Refrain from telling any of the others until the op is complete."

"Pine knows. He's driving next to me."

"Keep it from Fowler and Austal then. I know he can keep his word."

"And I will." Ross said.

"Good. I'll get back to you for any updates. Tyrant out."

"Jaguar man."

Bowman nodded, "You would have made great MTSFOs. All of you would."

Pine laughed, "I don't fancy that."

"So how was Jaguar?"

"Jaguar? Oh they were great people. You know, operators who have families and friends outside. But they're hardcore in combat and deadly opponents. They're really the only guys that we struggle against in combat. You know, virtual combat."

Bowman nodded.

"Listen, I heard about it."

"About what?"

"Never mind."

Bowman's gaze iced up, "Pine you better tell me now or I'm going to dwell on it the rest of the time."

"It's just, Tyrant told me about your ex-wife."

"I don't talk about it. I wish he hadn't told you."

Ross looked back out to the front, "Me too."

Eon Lead shook his head and activated his comms. "Austal, what do you have for me?"

In the lead warthog, Fowler was at the wheel while Austal remotely controlled their scout moth drone. Rain was pooling in the bottom of the warthog, running down their C7DF man's boots as he stood vigilantly, looking ahead with the vehicle's M41 LAAG. Austal wished that there would be a closed door warthog variant, because soon enough he was going to be ankle deep in water in the vehicle. He never was really much of a swimmer.

Just at the fringe of his sight, the drone zoomed over the treetops like a heron over a grey lake. The feed from the sensors went back to a datapad on the Spartan's lap. A datapad that was getting wet nonstop and Austal had to frustratingly wipe it off constantly. Still, nothing appeared on his display. The battery was beginning to deteriorate and the wind gusts were nearing forty miles an hour.

"Eon Lead, Austal. The backup battery on the moth is down to ten minutes. I've got to reel her in before the storm hits."

"Roger that. Before you do, get her as high up as you can."

Austal complied, thumbing his pad once more. The feed became a little more grainy as it went upwards. Winds began to buffet the machine, causing him to temporarily fight the controls. In the distance, Valdez's prediction of a storm rang true. The dark clouds loomed to the left like a giant invading mothership.

"How you liking the new boss?" Fowler asked from the driver's seat.

"Good."

The older Spartan snorted, "Yeah, what do you mean by good?"

"I like him."

"Think he's better than Lusana?"

"They're two completely different leaders."

"To hell with that. Really?"

Austal thought about it for a moment.

Captain Anthony "Tony" Lusana was a thirty seven year old African American hailing from Houston of the URNA. He formed a deep bond with them leading some of the highest risking missions Eon had undertaken through Ariel, Flint and New Corsica, where they had put down a devious radical group attempting to overthrow the current UEG body. He was a family man with two kids, a third on the way and was married to a school district superintendent. He was easily the most level headed and ice cold guy Austal had never known, not to mention a bit of a father figure since the young Spartan had no immediate family himself.

The bullets could be flying everywhere, explosions going off meters away or even the lives of thousands on the line, but never had Austal or any others of Eon see Lusana put everyone at east. He was currently enjoying an extended leave to spend more time with his family. Seeing his happy life made Austal want to model after his Eon Lead.

The 37th had put their four-man teams through various leaders. The leads would rotate through various teams until natural selection put them into a good set of operators they worked best with. There was one team on hold which Lusana had been rotated to. News surfaced of a new Eon Lead scheduled to take them out had unnerved Austal, even when they said he was coming from the Navy. He was put at ease when Cardinal…now Tyrant had spoken highly of a Captain Jacob Oliver Bowman. Even better was that Bowman had told Marcus that he had two uncles on his mother's side who were born in Ville de Lombard of New Corsica.

It was unsurprising that Fowler had an issue with the new Captain, who was a member of what he dubbed "The Space Canoe Club"

"I get the idea that Bowman thinks he's above us. You know, the special forces ODSTs. The better ones than normal who get all the holo movie hype. Arrogant bastard, using us to throw in his time and record."

Austal looked over at Fowler, "When did you get that idea?"

"First time I saw him."

"Why you afraid of trying something new?"

"Right so we watch the Marines vs Navy game. Who the fuck you think he's going to root for?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Aw hell. I'm talking to the wrong guy."

"Well I think Ross likes him and if he does, then I'm good to go. Besides, when we're out here, none of this really makes a difference."

Brett muttered something under his breath and rolled his eyes, "Are you in awe of him?"

"Who wouldn't be? Colonial Cross, Legion of Honor and two Purple Hearts."

"We ain't here for a medal."

"Then what are you complaining about? That's pretty much legit enough for anyone. Well, except for you."

Fowler shook his head, "You're just another one of those fanboys."

"At least give him a chance."

"Oh I'll give him one all right." Austal looked over as he tapped the button to call the moth drone back to him. "I'll show him how we get shit done. He may look all preppy, but I want to know all of his weaknesses."

"Well that's great. I guess."

"It is. I'm not done training you yet."

"You amaze me."

Fowler grinned, "One day little brother, you'll amaze me too."

A movement on the drone feed caught Austal's eye. He continued to pilot it, ignoring the warning signal that the battery was nearly depleted.

"We got movement."

"Where at?"

"About a kilometer to our eleven. Three vehicles heading in the same direction we are." He switched on the radio, "Eon Lead, we have contacts about a kilo up about eleven. Could be our guys."

"Affirmative. Keep pace and we'll close to intercept."

Austal looked back at the display and seeing the screen made him do a double take.

"Boss, you might want to see this."

Bowman gave a perplexed look at the relay feed. "Zoom in."

When he did, his eyes widened in success. "Oh, now I see it."

Underground smuggling was much of a past thing, having started as early as when bad people walked. From then it was used to evade detection for everything illegal. Drugs, weapons, people. When it came a breakthrough in the twentieth century of satellite coverage, many smuggling routes were discovered and it seemed it was all an end to this illegal transport with eyes in the sky.

However, now the underground tunnels were the one thing to still avoid detection. Sensors placed above could sense vibrations and pinpoint their sources, but then someone invented a lining that could be placed around the walls of the tunnel to minimize them and make any detection obsolete.

It seemed as if every breakthrough in trying to snuff out smuggling meant there was always something to counter its never-ending activity.

The tunnel was wide enough to drive a scorpion tank through and Bowman saw that an enormous tarp colored in a similar shade of green was piled nearby. Once the smugglers had left, a crew would place the tarp back over the hole and cover it with vegetation to make it nearly invisible.

The nexus of tunnels ran for miles until they ended near private fields where smuggling transports would take them off world to colonies with the demand for illegal stuff.

The passageways could take countless money and time to construct and in all, was enough to supply the colony of Ariel with contraband for three months, depending on how many vehicles would be involved.

Austal brought the moth atop a small tree branch and steadied the view. The tunnel was opened and he saw a handful of trucks, one of them already cleared to head inside.

To the left, there was a small convoy of warthogs, battered ones with armor patched and their chainguns removed. Instead, there were smaller fifty caliber pea-shooter light support weapons.

About two dozen men were moving about, loading and unloading, but Austal's eye focused to the right.

There, he saw the distinctive shape of the N6 Spartan Laser as one of the smugglers hefted one into the closest truck. The weapon held a devastating laser beam capable of cutting straight through armor, flesh and shields. It was the most expensive small arm weapon fielded by the UNSC, but its cost was dwarfed by nuclear weapons.

In the wrong hands, a few Spartan Lasers were enough to decimate an entire column of scorpion tanks or swat pelicans easily out of the sky. Without a doubt, these weapons were among the most closely guarded in the arsenal. How rebels got their hands on some was unknown. All that mattered was getting it back.

Austal recoiled when he saw the display go blank again. "The hell?"

"What's going on?"

"I lost the signal!"

The battery die? Or did something else happen?

Thank you very much for reading and reviewing. You give my writing purpose.