"Com-check, Outpost Two-Fourteen to Control, are you receiving?"
"Control here, go ahead Two-Fourteen."
"No signs of target, repeat, no signs of target."
"Ten-four, Two-Fourteen, log is noted and updated. Keep your eyes peeled, Control out."
Com relay recorded from SIREN training exercise, April 2557 (retrieved 2561)
The patrol trooper switched off his helmet-mic and turned away from the cliff's edge. He took a moment to hawk some phlegm out over the sheer drop, before ducking back into the meager shelter offered by the sentry post's heaped sandbags.
Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed the drop of spittle hadn't been stolen away by the howling wind, nor had it been lost to the rising mists below. Viktorya reached up and wiped the smear from her visor, before cautiously resuming her climb, gingerly bypassing the gun post inset into the cliff face. Beneath her, clinging to the sheer rock wall by little more than their fingernails and toe-caps, the other members of Chimera pulled themselves upward, constantly buffeted by the slapping gale.
They carried no weapons. SIREN was strictly an infiltration exercise. Discovery would mean certain capture, and - with it - an instant fail.
Their choosing the plateau as a point of ascension had been a calculated risk, but one that had been borne out of sheer necessity. Seven hours in, The Gauntlet had lived up to its name. They had bellied down in scratching reeds as mechanised assault walkers stalked past, the ground quaking with each stomping footfall. They had barely dared to breathe as the boots of hostile infantry squished down in the sucking mire around them. The terrain was open, and only the ragged bog-like marsh had provided them with the cover needed to pick their way through the layered patrols sweeping the open countryside.
Kaizen had saved them countless times. Even with all of Viktorya's sharp-eyed instincts and Damien's astute tactical judgement, the patrols were too numerous, their training too sharp. More than once, the A.I. had told them to hold still when the coast was seemingly clear, only for a Falcon assault copter to thrum overhead, the chop-wash of its rotors beating steady, pulsing waves through the untamed grass.
Armoured columns trundled past on the simple dirt roads, announced by the hissing-scrape of tyres on wet asphalt. Checkpoints lay at every junction, where sentries, bored from a hours of watching a quiet landscape, joked and smoked as they stamped their feet against the damp cold. It had rained solidly for three days prior, and their breath misted in front of their faces. The weather on Laconia was temperamental the best of times. Sealed within their armoured skins, Chimera watched them from the shadowy undergrowth and picked their moments. They slipped by unnoticed, their creeping silence entirely at odds with their muscular plating.
Six hours later, Viktorya's fingers found the top of the cliff. She hauled herself up, rolling onto the damp granite and helping the others scramble up after her. The plateau was a long stretch of hard stone, thatched with patches of dew-damp grass. The stony spine spanned a full kilometre along the Pen Y Fan's central ridge line. No sooner was Luke pulled up onto the plateau when the Spartans broke into a full sprint, the soles of their armoured boots slapping against the hard rock. Air patrols were everywhere, and the risk of detection remained a constant, unwelcome companion.
On Kaizen's advice Chimera had maintained radio silence for all but the most urgent of communications. The OPFOR would be scanning for the type of short-wave carrier bleed emitted by the Gen2 systems. Chimera's systems were masked with the latest in stealth shielding, but the defending patrols were practiced professionals. While the strong winds at the height of the plateau were enough to play havoc with any infantry based detection software, any orbital surveillance would be quick to pick out unauthorised transmissions. For now, squad communication was strictly limited to hand signals.
The terrain began to descend into a craggy pathway leading down along the spine of a larger mountain, falling away into the pooling mist. Large boulders and jutting plinths of rock rose up along the ridgeline, like the spines of some monstrous dinosaur, or the grasping fingers of some eerie mist-shrouded giant.
Damien raised a gauntleted fist. Chimera crouched low amidst the comparative shelter of the rockery, instantly coming to a full stop. The stone plinths made for a welcome wind-breaker.
The Spartan checked the tac-readout hard-mounted onto the cuff of his suit. The approach from here to the signal tower was as treacherous as their previous ascent. Only the threat posed by the terrain had been replaced by a military one.
Heavy mechanised patrols circled the target area: Mantis assault walkers, paired in twos. A Scorpion Main Battle Tank sat in the middle of one of the main roads leading to the height of the next summit. It was little more than a blurry smudge in the far distance, but Viktorya pointed it out; her sharp eyes picking out its distinctive silhouette amidst the gloom.
The mountains themselves accommodated a warren of subterranean rat-holes; designed to ferry infantry from one part of the range to the other. The Spartans had little doubt that the majority of the OPFOR's special forces were concentrated here. Not to mention the guaranteed presence of at least one hostile Spartan deployment.
Damien risked the com as he studied the three peaks looming out of the blanketing mist. It was six kilometres to the main objective. They had already traveled forty klicks south of the academy. Just another eighty to go, he thought.
"Kaizen, need a threat assessment."
"Calculating."
The tac readout spread out to show the approach from a crow's eye perspective. The map became an angry mess of red blobs, interspersed with dozens of tiny crosses. On his visual display, a veritable blizzard of hostile target indicators lit themselves across the humped spine of the mountain range. Damien's eyes narrowed as he took in the detail. He'd been wrong. Those weren't infantry targets at all.
"P-33 Anti-personnel mines, scattered all across the valley." Luke's voice echoed his own thoughts, "They've seeded the entire goddamn slope."
The overlapping patrols had been bad enough. The mines would slow their progress to a crawl.
"Alternatives?" Damien asked the group.
"Underground, through the tunnels." Viktorya said. She had zoomed in on a cave mouth yawning out some five hundred metres ahead. "Avoid the air-cover, bypass mines entirely."
"Negative, Chimera Two." Kaizen answered, switching the display to show a trembling electrostatic radio signal, "negative void space on my scanning software shows a disguised carrier signal not dissimilar to Chimera's own."
"Spartan transmissions?" Damien queried, turning about to half-face Rashid.
"Rather a conspicuous lack of Spartan transmissions." Rashid clarified, tapping the readout "You can see it in the gap that's not there. They're running dark, waiting for us."
"Fireteam Jackal." Chidinma ventured. A keen tactician herself, Chidinma made a study of the tactics employed by the rival fire teams. "They called our bluff; figured we'd try and take the sheer slope to avoid the mountain patrols. It's exactly the kind of stunt they pulled on Trident in the Mars Scenario."
"And we know how that ended." Damien agreed grimly, "That rules out the caves. We can't stay here, but one thing's for certain."
"And that is?" Chidi asked.
Damien tapped the data pad. A waypoint appeared, centered on their objective.
"Getting in there is going to be an absolute pain in the hole."
"Hole?" Viktorya enquired, still studying the approach to the cave.
"A saying from Hibernia. Nevermind, Vee."
Abruptly a warning bleat cut through the com. They shrank into the meager cover offered by the surrounding rockery. A Falcon buzzed past, its twin turbines whooping. Not for the first time today, Kaizen's early warning system had saved their Titanium-A hides.
Damien flashed a hand signal. Stay down!
Four steady green acknowledgement lights answered him.
The Falcon buzzed overhead. Its rotor blades whipped the air. A door gunner panned its machine gun over the rock formation. Suddenly there was snap as a search light sprang to life, washing through the rainy mist and picking out the contours of the craggy rock. The Spartans tensed. Chidinma looked over at Damien. Instinctively, he knew what she was thinking. They were pinned on a hillside. Trapped like rats. Going tactical wasn't an option. After all, he had no weapon.
Damien held his clenched fist in the air. Hold fast.
Three green acknowledgement lights answered him. Damien did a double take. Three lights, not four.
One had dimmed to a russet orange. Damien spun about.
Rashid had stepped out into the open.
Being a door gunner on the Falcon Oedipus Sex was a rather unsubtle experience altogether.
The beating whoop of the rotors was deafening. The red warning light within the transport's troop hold cast everything in an angry crimson light. As the main crew chief, Specialist Hopkins had to rely on his helmet com simply to hear, and his very best squint to see through the targeting monocle over his left eye.
"Uh, Control, are you seeing this?" Specialist Hoskins roared into his helmet mic. He racked the charge handle on the mounted .50 caliber machine cannon. It made a suitably meaty clack sound.
"Reading you five by five, Super Six Three. Do you have a visual?"
"Confirmed, Sir. Armoured target, height profile matching that of a tier one operator, Spartan class."
"What's he doing?"
"He's, uh…"
Hopkins looked up from the .50 cal's gun sight. He made an adjustment to his targeting lens, giving it a scolding tap as though it were deceiving him.
"Super Six Three, you still there...?"
"He's... well. He's waving at us, Sir."
There was a moments pause. All Hoskins could hear was the steady keening whine of the engine core, the whooping judder of the twinned chop-blades. The piercing spot-beam caught the rain, picking it out like wispy strands of sleet in a snowstorm. Controls voice crackled back into life. The line operator's voice was incredulous.
"Say again, Super Six Three, did you say he was waving at you?"
Up in the cockpit, the pilot frowned at his instruments. Lieutenant Marley joined the com-line.
"Sir, we're receiving an incoming transmission, ground sourced."
"From who, airman?"
"The Spartan, Sir." the pilot's frown deepened, amazed, "... he's hailing us."
"Rashid!" Chidinma's voice was an outraged hiss. "What are you doing?!"
Rash didn't reply. He was too busy stabbing a series of manic commands into the interface pad hard-wired into the datapad crudely sutured into the skin of his suit's forearm; another one of his unorthodox modifications. He gave another wave for a good measure.
It was then that Chimera Four disappeared. He didn't activate an optical stealth field, or mask himself through any cruder means of subterfuge. Physically speaking, he was still very much there: standing out in the open, rendered alone and vulnerable under the piercing spot-lamps of the hovering Falcon. Waving like an idiot, Damien thought, incensed. But on the visual display relayed by Chimera One's helmet, his Spartan Tag blurred, fizzed, then vanished altogether. Chimera Four simply ceased to be.
Replacing it was a new Spartan ID. Jackal One, Spartan Gabriel Headey; a notoriously bellicose Spartan by anyone's standards. Damien opened his channel to the wide band, intercepting Rashid's transmission mid-cast.
"- is Jackal One, requesting immediate pickup. Targets sighted moving along the northern ridge line. Repeat, targets sighted moving along the ridgeline. We've gotta move now, airman!"
"Jackal One we're getting some interference on your IFF responder, can you-"
Damien blinked. That wasn't Rashid speaking at all. For one it was far too gruff. The voice Rashid was speaking with was a pitch-perfect imitation of Jackal One, his modulated seamlessly through the filters of his broadcast emitter. Kaizen was data-squirting source code from the nearby hostile Spartan team, piggy-backing the appropriate IFF codes on the enemy's own inert communications network. Transmission logs recorded during previous ops was being pumped into the voice modulation software of Chimera Four's helmet mic. The result was uncanny imitation.
'Jackal One' was beginning to lose patience now. Damien got the feeling that Rashid was enjoying himself immensely.
"Do I need to quote regulations to you son? Spartan Field Regulation 220-2423-AE-14; subsection C-3, paragraph four; 'Any Spartan field request immediately supersedes that of the COC in a designated combat area'. Now pick us up before I have you scrubbing latrines with your tongue until all you can taste is urinal cake!"
There was a pause; an awkward, pregnant, monstrously tense pause. For a moment Damien was convinced the ruse wasn't going to work. That a dozen more Falcons would emerge from the misty gloom, and fast-rope in a small army of hostile shock troops, ending Chimera's SIREN ambitions right there and then. Visions of his fledgling career as a Spartan Fireteam Leader going up in flames swam up before his eyes.
Instead the com line crackled alive once more.
"Uh, Ten-four, Jackal One, Super Six Three is on station and will assist."
The Falcon spun about as it moved closer. Drooping, spooling coils of rope fell down toward them.
Rashid turned around to where the rest of Chimera lay skulking in the rockery. Even silhouetted by the blinding back-light of the search lamps, Damien could hear the grin in the Rashid's false voice. For once, the most cautious of them had taken the biggest risk.
"Well c'mon, Jackal." Rashid smiled, "What are you waiting for?"
"Strictly speaking, that was not how the SIREN Exercise is meant to go down."
It was twenty fours later. Chimera had been summoned to Director Carter's office. The Director himself barely came up to chest height. Even so, Chimera stared straight ahead, petrified. Over the past six months, they had broken bones, spilled blood and crawled through mud. They had visited grievous damage upon their enemies, and endured the hardest toils. Even after all of that, and more, Carter's displeasure terrified them.
Chimera were still dressed in their armour; mud-splattered and entirely at odds with the utilitarian elegance of the master study. Kaizen had been summoned as well, and stood to one side, emitted by a projector plinth. She too was being chastised.
Eric stood at the back, dressed in a formal but under-stated sleeve-suit for a change. The expression on his scar-mangled face was, as ever, unreadable.
Carter had his back to them, his arms folded at the small of his back.
He was staring out at the landing fields below.
Troop patrols were still trudging back from patrol. The men were in high spirits, glad to be out of the constant rain and cheek-pinching wind. The weather wasn't due to clear for another two days: that they had been recalled fully twenty four hours ahead of schedule was a welcome relief. Their jovial disposition was a stark contrast to the atmosphere in the room, which could at best be described as funereal.
"You understand the purpose of the exercise, Chimera One."
Damien nodded solemnly, his Recruit-Pattern helmet clicking with the gesture.
"Yes, Sir. Infiltration and evasion against overwhelming odds, Sir."
"Overwhelming odds." Carter tested the phrase on his tongue, weighing it like a fine wine. "I understand each of you have some experience in that department. You're still here, after all."
He turned to face them, a stern frown knitting his brow tight.
"Nevertheless, what happened out there was not acceptable. You undermined the rules of the exercise, hi-jacked UNSC Naval equipment and ultimately subverted a training exercise designed to test your own limitations in the face of vastly superior odds. Worse still, you violated FLEETCOM security protocols to do so."
Rashid stepped forward.
"Sir, permission to speak free-"
"Denied." Damien answered quickly before Carter could respond, "Sir I was in command. I gave the order to board the Falcon. The responsibility is mine and mine alone."
Four red acknowledgement lights had lit up on his HUD in silent protest. Damien smiled behind his opal visor despite the tension in the room, but killed it quickly. Carter was glaring at him, to a point where Damien was amazed his shield system hadn't started sparking.
"You've learned some form of responsibility. That's good. But can you follow orders? This isn't the first time you've thrown the specific purpose of an exercise to the four winds. And you, Kaizen," he rounded on the A.I., "I'm surprised at you; you know better than to subvert the training protocols of this academy."
The A.I. simply bowed her head in acknowledgment, saying nothing.
"We were playing to win, Sir." Damien gave a slight shake of his head, "I offer no excuses."
Director Carter pursed his lips for a moment. The silence draped the room. Eventually he looked up at the Eric.
"Spartan-Instructor, your thoughts?"
Eric didn't blink. He was stood behind the Spartans. All they could hear was the gravely rasp of his voice in their ears. The veteran Spartan cleared his throat before speaking.
"Chimera are unconventional fire-team, Sir. They routinely flout regulations when it comes to armour modification, and are known for an abrasive and borderline mutinous relationship with their non-augmented handlers. Their relationship with Fireteam Platinum in particular is a matter of record, and their escape attempt twelve months ago led to a number of long-term hospitalisations of active service personnel. That they have been assigned a full-time psycho-therapist is indicative of an underlying instability when contrasted with comparative augmented units currently serving across FLEETCOM space."
Damien swallowed.
"Anything else?" Carter pressed.
Damien winced, bracing himself for more.
"Yes Sir. Their marksmanship records are excellent, their combat lethality scores are among the highest we have, and - as of this latest exercise - they remain a top-tier Spartan unit. They fight dirty, yes, they break rules, certainly, but they fight smart. As the Candidate-Leader said: they play to win."
Carter simply raised an eyebrow in surprise. Damien didn't quite believe his own ears.
"Your recommendation?"
"Active field duty, effective immediately. There's little more they can learn here without being put out into the field."
A note of pride entered Eric's voice as he continued.
"They're war dogs, Sir. Frontline operators. It's time we used them as such."
Damien didn't quite get a moment for the shock to subside. There came an abrupt bleep from Director Carter's communicator. He turned aside, raising a hand to his earpiece. There followed a terse, urgent exchange of words. An order was given. Finally he looked up at them all.
It was disquieting to see a man as redoubtable as Idris Carter unsettled. Even so, he addressed them calmly and clearly, looking at each member of Chimera in turn, Kaizen included.
"Under normal circumstances I would temporarily suspend you from this program, pending a comprehensive disciplinary review. Under normal circumstances, you would see a mandatory deduction from your combat score, and a subsequent punishment detail pending satisfactory re-evaluation. These are not normal circumstances."
Director Carter didn't get a chance to elaborate further. At that moment, a siren began to wail across the base. The Laconia Academy exploded into activity. A planet wide alert, full mobilisation.
"Armoury! Double time, Chimera!" Eric barked.
Down on the concourse, marine instructors hollered at their charges as troopers streamed toward Pelican dropships like army ants marching out to war. Mantis assault walkers tromped out of their hangars, weapons unfolding as they moved to the assembly area. Broadsword and Sabre Fighters lifted up from the starport. Kite Squadron had been deployed in full. Eric watched it all through the wide viewing window. The klaxons brought him back, to a time of churning smoke and shark-like wraiths, lurking and snarling in the shadows. He blinked his eyes to clear his vision of the vivid, unwelcome memory.
As the two men stood alone at the window, shoulder to shoulder, Idris Carter looked up at Eric, a grave look on his face.
"You wanted to put them in the field, 239? It seems that time might be sooner than we realised."