Chapter 12

0600 Hours, April 05, 2525(Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Atlas, on patrol in the Lambda Serpentis system

Doctor Halsey entered the Spartan's barracks on the Atlas escorted by the ODST Fred instantly recognized from their training field on Reach. "Attention." John shouted to the group as he noticed Halsey.

"You know that's unnecessary John."

"Yes ma'am, I do."

"Any way, I would like you all to meet someone. If the UNSC were your father and the SPARTAN program were your mother, this man would be your older brother."

Fred thought about this. Doctor Halsey was the closest thing any of them had to a mother, and if this ODST was from the SPARTAN program, then, maybe the Doctor was his mother too. Clearly they all shared the same father. This man had probably been in the UNSC since the Spartans were born. But did that make this man their brother? Fred just didn't know.

"CPO Mendez informed me you have seen what Lieutenant Simmons can do, and since you have just undergone the same augmentation he already received, you'll find you can achieve similar results, if you're willing to listen. The Lieutenant has agreed to help you overcome the side effects of the augmentation process during the coming weeks."

So that's how this man had beaten Kelly. He was a Spartan like them. No, he wasn't like them. He was just one man; they were a team. Still, if he could help them get over this awkwardness they had been going through, then Fred was willing to listen to him.

Over the next few weeks, this ODST was there every morning to help with the calisthenics and though he didn't say much to the Spartans, he would occasionally whisper something to CPO Mendez who would then alter the normal exercises to better suit the augmented Spartans. Fred found that calisthenics was the only time he could actually think coherently, so he decided to spend the time analyzing this new, threat wasn't the right word, snag was more appropriate. John said anything they hadn't trained for was a snag, and they had never trained for people to hover around their activities. The only person who took an interest in them and wasn't on their team was Dr. Halsey. After the first day, Fred had only managed to categorize the man. He was not a threat, and he was not one of the team, but he was a superior officer. As such, Fred extended him every courtesy. Though Dr. Halsey clearly wished them to think so, this man was not a member of the Spartan family. He was a help, and he seemed to like them, but he was not their brother. During sparring, this was the only person who could fight with a Spartan without suffering serious injury. He would teach them moves as Chief Mendez yelled out orders and counter moves. For two weeks, nobody could touch the ODST, but one day Fred actually got a hit on the man. He then succeeded in getting his rear end handed to him, but it was a start. One day, the Chief began the day with and announcement. "Lieutenant Simmons will no longer be exercising with us. Otherwise, we will continue as we were. Now, jumping jacks. Begin." And with that the ODST was gone again from their lives. What they didn't know, is where he had gone.

UNSC Priority Transmission 09906H-98

Encryption Code: Green

Public Key: le/excised access Omega/

From: Major James Ackerson, Research Officer, UNSC HighCom

To: Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey M.D., Ph.D., special civilian consultant (civilian Identification Number: 10141-026-SRB4695)

Subject: You Know

Classification: ACCESSABLE (BGX Directive)

Catherine,

Let's get down to it. You want to test your gear and I want to take out the installation. It benefits both of us. The brass will be pleased with both of us and we'll probably get a nice grant each. I bet you think I'm trying to scam you, but remember, even if I am, you can't lose.

Ackerson

1200 Hours, April 27, 2525(Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Atlas, in orbit around the third planet in the Lambda Serpentis system

"All right Lieutenant, here's the plan. You'll insert via drop pod and proceed as quietly as possible to the outskirts of the settlement. You'll meet a contact there named Matthias. He'll direct you to the explosive cache we planted a while back. All you have to do is keep the contact to a minimum and plant the charges on the installation's fuel deposits." With that the General turned off his pointer and the holographic maps disappeared from view automatically. The ONI Captain in the corner shifted in his seat. Why do all the ONI spooks I meet seem nervous all the time? Simmons thought. Do they know something I don't, or are they just paranoid?

"General, if you don't mind me asking, why are you doing it this way? Wouldn't a team of troops be better suited to this mission? What can one man do?"

Marines don't like the idea of being alone in enemy territory.

"Now listen here son. I've seen my share of action and one man can do a lot. We're doing it this way because it's the only way to convince their scanners down there that we haven't sent any troops downside. We're gonna drop you during a trash dump. The debris will cover your landing and convince the rebels we're about to jump system. The ruse should last three hours, but then time's up. A Pelican and two Longswords come in guns blazing to the LZ and get out in minimum time. If you're not there, you're a permanent resident of the Thatcher colony. Now, I know I'm missing something…let me see…oh yeah the suit. Now everyone in this room knows you're not just an average ODST. As such, HIGHCOM has chosen you to test the new ODST Drop-suit Mark VIII."

While the General continued the brief, the ONI spook became increasingly edgy and a Private with a box in his hands entered the room. After the General finished, he said apologetically, "I'm sorry sir, I musta got the wrong box. This one says 'Mah-jol-ner'."

The spook Captain wiped his hand across his face and the General exclaimed "Private, if I want you to read something, I'll tell you what it says. Just put the box down on the table and return to your duty station." As the Private left the room rather quickly the General picked up the box and beckoned for Simmons to follow him. They went to the ship's port hangar, which was being used as a warehouse for the food and other supplies being transported to the UNSC-controlled section of the Thatcher colony. Boxes lined the area, but a fair space had been cleared out. The General put the box down in the middle of the open space and then the ONI man appeared from the shadows and started unloading the box.

In aside to the General, Simmons asked, "How did he get here before us, sir?"

"When it comes to ONI spooks, it's best not to ask." The younger officer took the advice and nodded slyly. Then the unexpected happened. The ONI man actually came over and talked to Simmons.

Shaking his hand the man said, "I'm Captain T. Aaron from ONI research. I'm not really a spook, more of a technician. In the unlikely event that you survive and we need you again for further testing, I'll be right here to hold your hand again." He made a sweeping gesture towards the now out folded suit. "This is the ODST suit, Mark VIII. Chances are it'll never see service again. It's a might expensive. As you can see it's much different from the suit you're used to. It is sealed from vacuum completely and can recycle air for 20 minutes if necessary. It consists of a body glove, some armor plates, and the helmet. In a minute, you're gonna put it on and try it out before they shoot you out into space. Any questions?"

"Why are the plates green and reflective?"

"It's a new armor we've been working on. Trust me, it's great."

"What's on the backpack? It looks like a small reactor…"

"No, no. Don't be silly. Just a big battery. Suit uses a lot of power. Whatta you say we get started, ok?" In fifteen minutes, Simmons was set up in the "ODST Drop-suit, Mark VIII" though he now doubted that's what its real designation was. When he first moved around, he realized it was as if he were moving in double time. He also noticed the HUD was considerably better than his current helmet's. Ammo counter, health meter, aiming reticule, and a circle with yellow dots. "What's the cir…?"

"Motion tracker. I figure it'll come in handy on this op." Aaron had apparently heard him, though Simmons didn't remember opening a radio channel… "The suit is kind of in your implant interpreting your thoughts. That's why you're moving so fast and the radio channel opened on its own. It's complicated, but you'll like it. Now move around a bit and then we'll get you in that poorly designed entry vehicle of yours."

"Why do you hate the Drop Pods so much?"

"My design was second place for that contract. None were ever made. That was my first project, and I was sure mine was better. Now I just take it out on you Rocket Jockeys. Now get going."

The newly enhanced Simmons moved faster than he could have thought possible. He leaped way over the boxes scattered about, and on a whim, punched one. It sailed across the hangar, but that's to be expected in zero gees. But this hangar was on the rotating section, operating at one gee. Before Simmons had a chance to think about it, he was ushered to the HEV pods and crammed in. Before he was jettisoned he heard Aaron's voice saying "Good luck, you're gonna need it." Then all he could hear was the firing of the positional rockets, and then later, the whistling of reentry.

1507 Hours, April 27, 2525(Military Calendar)/ On the Outskirts of the Thatcher Colony

The headache from the rough landing was finally going away. Some idiot techie had forgot to compensate for the weight of the new suit and Simmons had run out of retrorocket fuel seven second early. That may not seem like a lot, but it meant the drop pod hit the ground 20 feet per second faster that normal. As any ODST who's been shortchanged retro fuel will tell you, that hurts. For the first thirty seconds after hitting the ground, Simmons was in a daze, but Aaron's voice over the radio brought him back to reality. "Wake up sunshine."

"I'm up, I'm up."

"Sorry about that hard landing, those drop pod techies are idiots."

"How'd you know about that?"

"Aside from the satellite feed, the radio monitoring, and the health monitors in the suit? I realized we never compensated for the extra weight."

"Thanks."

"Anyways, proceed South-Southwest for two kilometers and you'll be at the meeting spot."

"Why are we using a contact? Why not just tell me where the explosives are?"

"I don't know. I think this guy has some UNSC contacts and he wanted some excitement. You know what, I'll find out for you. Let's see…ex-Marine, Special Forces, intelligence. Whoa, this guy's seventy years old! What does he want to get all caught up in this stuff for?"

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about this?"
"I didn't. I hacked his file."

"You hacked a file in the UNSC database that fast?"

"Yeah, I've been doing it since I was fifteen."

"Interesting, anything else?"

"Yeah, the suits doing fine. I think you'll really enjoy trying it out. We've got…seventy four seconds until radio silence, any more questions?"

"No, I'm good here. I'll report after I've been recovered at the LZ."

"If you make it to the LZ."

"Thanks for the optimism."

But Aaron didn't reply. The satellites had moved out of range and now, aside from Mathias, Lieutenant Matthew Simmons was the only UNSC friendly entity for a couple hundred kilometers.

After proceeding the prescribed two kilometers southwest, Simmons came upon a house resting on a hill with plenty of tress providing shade. It seemed an oasis in the barren lands that surrounded it. Having visited the deserts in New Mexico, the Lieutenant was forced to note how similar the two were. As he marveled in the odd beauty of the plateaus, a voice rang out beside him.

"Quite beautiful, aren't they?" In a flash Simmons had drawn and leveled the silenced MA2B he was issued for this operation. Aside from the knife sheathed to his calf, it was his only weapon, and he was hesitant to expend any of its precious ammo. Instead of an enemy soldier, a man of considerable age stood before him with a cane. He was clearly at one time a man among men, easily six and a half feet tall and his frame showed signs of having once been stacked to the brim with muscle.

"Who are you?" Simmons asked, though in his heart he knew the answer already.

"I'm a lot of things to a lot of people. To the General that sent you here, I'm that old pain in the ass. To you and the people of the Thatcher colony, I'm ol' Mathias the hermit. To Dr. Catherine Halsey, I'm a friend."

"You know Doctor Halsey?"

"I'm the one that first put the idea of a pinpoint strike force into her head. Which brings us back to business. If you've got half a brain this whole op's been weird to you. Here's why. I wanted one more op before I die, Doctor Halsey wanted to test her suit and get you a teacher, and Major James Ackerson wants this installation destroyed. What I'm supposed to teach you in three hours, I don't know, but Catherine never does anything without something in mind. As for Ackerson, it was his assignment to get rid of this place without making it an obvious UNSC job, and he figured he'd try to kill you off in the process."

"What do I have to do with it?"

"Kid, you're in this thing up to your eyeballs. Your best chance is to do this thing well, so the brass gets used to the idea of a one man strike team blowing crap up."

"Ok, we're getting off track, where are the explosives?"

"I've got 'em right here." With that he opened up his overcoat and revealed some 15 kgs of plastic explosive. "Don't worry, if you know where to put 'em, it'll be enough to do the job."

"I suppose you know the place?"

"Yep. Lets get started."

The pair walked another three kilometers southwest to the fringes of the rebel base's security. "Now, a history lesson. In 2517, the commander of the UNSC Thatcher colony turned tail. He woke up one day, changed all the flags and said that was that. His second in command, along with half the people here didn't like that, and they fought until the colony was split down the middle. Four years ago I was commissioned to observe the rebel faction of the colony and find a weakness we could exploit. We wanted to make it look like they crumbled internally instead of being brutally put down, you see. Well, a month ago I found the spot they were looking for and they dropped me the explosives and told me to expect you. Now, all you gotta do is sneak past one hundred and thirty four guards between you and the fuel cache. I've done a lot of ops in my day, but none so crazy as this. I hope that fancy suit is as good as it looks. This is where we part company. Good luck kid."

And then Simmons was left alone again. The idea was to not get seen. The brick wall was about eight feet tall, so Simmons hoped to jump up and see what he could see. He jumped up and soon realized he had actually jumped clean over the wall. He scrambled for cover on the other side and soon he was up against a shed. His motion tracker recorded one contact maybe two meters away, making his rounds. Simmons readied himself and as soon as the man rounded the corner of the shed, a green flash of lightning had pulled him in and before he had his neck snapped his assassin realized the force of the blow had already done the job. Since he realized his position was secure, Simmons tried to recall the layout of the base. Even as he racked his brains, the very map appeared on his HUD. This new suit was looking better all the time. After surveying the map for a route, he decided the best course of action was to take out the sniper in the guard post and make a run for the fuel depot. His bag contained an optic probe that connected to his helmet, and even linked to his firing reticule. After snaking the probe around the corner he fired a silent three round burst. Simmons had shot a man two hundred meters away, without ever setting eyes on him.

He immediately pulled out the probe and secured it in his bag. Then he ran faster than any human being had ever run, thanks to the suit and the augmentations, and reached the depot in a time that would make an Olympic sprinter ashamed. Regretfully, the sniper in the post fell forward rather than backward, falling five meters out of the tower to the ground. This called attention to the green flash running amok and one guard managed to get a three round burst off. Simmons realized he'd been hit, and waited for the pain, but it never came. The new armor totally absorbed the shot, which was more than Simmons could have hoped for.

As soon as he reached the fuel tanks, Simmons deployed the explosives, and ran for the nearest stretch of wall. He jumped clean over the gates and fired a few shots to cover his escape. An old M-10 LRV 'Pig' came blazing around the corner to chase the intruder. Simmons considered this a secondary concern to the eminent explosion. Only the guards who were eager enough to chase Simmons escaped the fireball that engulfed the majority of the base. Three of them were rewarded in their efforts with bullets from the MA2B the lone Marine was firing. Now it was just Simmons and the two men in the LRV. The old machine gun fired just as the ODST took a square position and fired his weapon. Both the gunner and the Marine were hit, but only one was wearing an experimental suit of body armor. The driver bugged out, which left Simmons free to turn tail before reinforcements arrived. A quick six-kilometer jog put Simmons in the LZ and, as promised, a Pelican and two Longswords flew in fast and hot to the LZ, only to find there was nothing to shoot. It was a fast ascent and the expected anti aircraft fire never came.

Once safely on board the Atlas again, Simmons expected to have the clumsy suit taken off so could sleep. He couldn't have been more wrong. The suit was taken off by a more than excited Tlumack, who couldn't help asking numerous questions about the suit's function. Then there was a lengthy debriefing and the General demanded that Simmons smoke a cigar with him. By 0200 hours, Simmons was just making his way back to his bunk. As he was changing into his PT shorts and looking forward to the forty-eight hours of liberty he was promised, a voice behind him startled him into falling over and knocking his knee.

"You did well Lieutenant."

"You don't have much in the way of social skills, do you doctor?" he said with a grimace.

"I don't find it a problem. Your performance today was better than expected, since most of the people involved expected you to die. Still, you did manage to get shot. Twice. Though the armor took the hits. You may have realized everyone here in the world of black ops has an agenda, and I came to assure you that mine is to ensure your safety. Well, at least I'll do what I can. My prime objective is to 'secure the stability of the UNSC', and that's why I started the Spartan program. The Spartan II's will be an ideal strike force and hopefully they can prevent civilian casualties. You, on the other hand are one man. I didn't plan it that way, but it may be for the best. Your successors are young, and they operate best as a team. Only John and Linda seem to have the capacity for operating at full effectiveness alone. You, however seem to savor your solitude. With your success today the brass will, in all probability, want you to conduct similar missions from time to time. Just think about what you learned today, and I have faith you'll be fine. Goodbye Lieutenant."

"Goodbye ma'am." And with that, the good doctor made her exit. Simmons noted, for perhaps the thousandth time, how elegant Dr. Catherine Halsey could be when she wanted to. With that thought, the tired Marine was allowed to drift to sleep.