HALO: HELLJUMPER

By M. Cartwright

A/N: Hey guys, I want to sincerely apologize for the ungodly long period of time its been since my last update. I kind of went on a vacation and had no way to get to my files to update. Needless to say next time I'll be coming prepared.

That said, since you guys had to wait so painstakingly long for an update, I have decided to upload four chapters instead of the original two I had been planning to put up here. It's my way of apologizing to you guys and giving you guys something to hold you over until my next update, whenever that may be. Hopefully soon, right? Well, anyways, enjoy the next few chapters and don't forget to leave reviews! :)

CHAPTER VII: A FAMILIAR FACE

1100 Hours Local Time, July 6th, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \

Living Quarters, Delta Barracks, ONI Installation "Dagger Base,"

Planet Crystal

An alarm blaring from somewhere inside the room pierced into his dreams and dragged him out from his slumber. He had to resist the urge to jump up and grab his rifle, as he realized it was only the alarm clock he'd set before he went to sleep. Groggily, Jon shut off the damnable device and attempted to sit up. Lances of pain shot up his spine and it was in that moment he realized he had a throbbing headache.

He blinked a couple times as he tried to bring the world into focus. The Staff Sergeant found himself lying in the bed of a small, almost dorm-style room, and spotted the door to the squalid bathroom in the right corner of the room, near the door to his room. He swung his legs round and stood up, immediately regretting doing so as his feet met with the cold, metallic floor. He ignored the sensation as best he could and yawned while stretching his neck, back, and shoulders. Pain caused his to grit his teeth as he stretched his right shoulder.

The memory of earlier that morning flooded back to him. He had been manning the M41 LAAG on the back of a Warthog when a lucky shot had gotten him in the shoulder. After the battle, Doc Cooper had taken a look at his injuries and had given him MediGel and bandages for the wound. Fortunately, the burns were relatively superficial. His skin would heal eventually. Jonathan walked over to the bathroom and was about to step inside and get ready to take a nice, warm shower, when someone knocked on his door.

Jonathan sighed and stared longingly at the shower for a moment before approaching the door. He pressed his index finger to the panel beside the entryway and the door slid into the wall. Standing on the opposite end of the threshold was none other than Gunnery Sergeant Stone. Though, as opposed to last night, he was no longer in armor and wore the infamous NCO cover atop his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the Staff Sergeant with an unreadable expression.

"I'm here t' take ya t' see th' head honcho," he said, his tone as flat as his expression.

"I was just about to get a shower, Gunny."

Stone sighed with a shake of his head. "Go on 'n git it. Just don't take thirty mikes tryna make yerself look all prettified. Ya can leave the make up off."

Ward said nothing as he gestured for the Gunnery Sergeant to step inside, to which he declined, and he simply shrugged. He pivoted on his heel and casually made his way into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. It took him less than five minutes to strip, jump in the shower, and wash off. In the back of his mind he cursed Stone for knocking at his door. He'd really been hoping to lean back and enjoy the shower.

But now he was pressed for time. If it was one thing he remembered from his days as a regular Marine, it was that Thomas Stone didn't like to be kept waiting. By anyone.

He killed the shower once he was finished rinsing himself off and hastily toweled off. Jonathan picked up the clothes he'd draped over the sink—a pair of black skivvies and urban camouflage utility trousers—and began getting dressed. He pulled on the black skivvie shorts first and then pulled on the shirt and tucked it into his shorts. The letters 'ODST' were stenciled across the chest of his shirt in big, bold white lettering. Then he pulled the camouflage pants over his legs and buttoned them and slipped on his boots. It took him less than a minute to blouse his trouser legs into the boots and lace them up.

And then he was finished dressing.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, he debated with himself momentarily over whether or not he should wear his camouflage blouse over top his shirt. But, he decided against it, but did grab his web belt and put it on. With that done he stepped out of his room to find Stone leaning against the wall beside the door outside.

"Ya finished dickin' around in th' Head? Or did ya forget somethin'?"

Ward nodded his head. "I'm good now, Gunny."

Stone said nothing as he pushed himself from off the wall and started on his way down the hall. The Staff Sergeant followed close behind him. He led Jonathan through a network of corridors before reaching a set of double doors. He watched his former platoon sergeant punch in a code into the panel beside the door and undergo a retina scan before the AI he assumed helped run the base would admit him through the doors.

As they stepped through the doors, he found himself standing along the edge of a huge, circular courtyard. Situated around a fountain in the center of the courtyard were trees and bushes strategically placed alongside concrete footpaths. Each path led somewhere, though where, he wasn't exactly sure. As he looked up towards one of the buildings to the left he noted a single large window that overlooked the whole courtyard. If he had to take a guess, he assumed that was where the base commander's office would be.

He became aware of the fact that he had been standing still as he inspected the area around him… and that Stone had continued on his stride without checking to see if he was still following him. The Staff Sergeant quick-marched through the courtyard until he spotted him, and then rejoined the Gunnery Sergeant as he came to a door. Yet again he had to input some kind of code and undergo a retina scan before the door let out an amiable chime of acceptance. Stone continued walking again as if he'd never stopped, Ward right on his heels.

Jonathan noted that the senior NCO opted not to take the elevator and instead took him up a flight of stairs to reach the next level, and then they marched through yet another network of corridors that all looked the same. How do these ONI guys ever find where they're going? I'd be lost in ten seconds if I worked here, Ward mused, but pushed the thought out of his mind as they finally arrived at a door with big bold letters over top that read "BASE CMDR'S OFFICE." Stone rapped his knuckles against the metal door three times.

"Enter," echoed the reply through the door. The Staff Sergeant thought he recognized the voice, but dismissed the thought as the door slid into the wall to admit him.

The office before him was long, rectangular in shape. To his left along the wall was a couch with a coffee table situated in front of it. To his right were drawers and cabinets full that Ward assumed were filled with classified documents and… well, whatever else an ONI base commander kept in his office. In the back left corner of the room was a small olive drab cot that looked like it seen a lot of use. Mounted on the back wall were commendations and medals encased in wood with glass covers. And, like he had guessed, in the right corner was the large window he'd seen from the courtyard. Finally, in the center of the room towards the back was a long mahogany desk.

On the right corner was a cup full of writing utensils and a picture facing away him from him. On the left corner was a stack of manila folders with "CLASSIFIED – TOP SECRET" stamped in bright red ink across them. Resting on the center of the desk was a datapad, the screen dim. Behind the desk was a comfortable looking desk chair that was facing the back wall—away from him. The Staff Sergeant marched up to the desk, stopping roughly a foot away from it, and snapped to attention and rendered a crisp salute.

"Staff Sergeant Jonathan Ward, reporting as ordered, sir!"

"At ease, Staff Sergeant," rang the disembodied voice of the base commander. Instead of relaxing, he froze. He recognized the man behind that voice before he'd even turned around. After spending the majority of his military career serving under the man before he volunteered for the ODSTs, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. As if to confirm his suspicions, the chair swiveled round and his eyes met with widened as he saw him.

Anthony Durant, his former platoon commander, sat in the chair of the base commander, smiling warmly up at him. It took Ward a moment to regain his composure. He relaxed and Durant gestured for him to take a seat. He obeyed and sat down in the rather uncomfortable metal chair in front of his desk. Ward's eyes fell on the silver oak leaf of a Marine Lieutenant Colonel. He's been busy lately. He was a Captain the last time I saw him.

"Good to see you again, Staff Sergeant," Durant said, still smiling at the former subordinate sitting in front of him.

"It's good to see you too, sir."

"I suppose it's by the grace of Oden that you're here," Durant said. Ward said nothing and kept his face unreadable. He suspected that it was more than the grace of the deity to a long dead religion that caused so many coincidences in a short amount of time.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe that, sir."

The Colonel's smile widened. "I'd consider you a fool if you did, son."

If there was one remark that came to Ward's mind to describe Durant, it would be that he was a very unusual man; teetering on the borderline of bat shit crazy. Unlike the majority of the human population who either was agnostic, atheist, or prescribed to the "mainstream" religions, Durant was neither of those. He believed heavily in the tales of Norse Mythology; believing that when a great warrior passes into the next life, he would enjoy a blissful eternity among fellow warriors in the realm of Valhalla.

Jonathan vividly recalled the speeches that his former commanding officer would give them before going into the field. "Fight with honor and never surrender… for those are qualities that Valhalla never turns away." Ward, believing in prophesies foretold in the Bible, always scoffed at his ramblings. But, that had been a time when he'd clung heavily to his beliefs. Now, he wasn't so sure what he believed anymore. Could there really be a God after all that he had seen? Colonies transformed into wastelands and innocent people slaughtered by the millions? And an alien hegemony that was bent on their total annihilation?

Why hadn't God intervened? Why would he allow such bloodshed to happen? These were all questions that raced through his mind when he thought about religion and the Bible. Could he really judge Durant on his beliefs when he couldn't make sense of his own?

It was something to think about.

What struck Jonathan as surprising was the fact that the Colonel would have accepted employment with the Office of Naval Intelligence. He had never been inclined to sit on his ass behind a desk and push paper around. The Staff Sergeant remembered him as a man of action; always ready to roll his sleeves up and get dirty with the men and women under his command. Did he feel that he would be of more use where he was right now? And that also brought the most important question to mind: what was he doing now?

Durant studied him for a moment. Then, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. "I know what you're probably thinking."

Ward tensed and leaned forward just an inch. "Oh?"

"Mmhm," he replied nonchalantly. "You're asking yourself what a seasoned warrior like myself is doing sitting behind a finely crafted desk when he should be outside with the rest of the grunts in the thick of the fighting. Well, son, I've got news for you. It was the toughest decision of my life. You could say I had a moral crisis on my hands. I was approached by this man in a Navy uniform, totally absent of rank denominator and identification. He looked at me and asked me a whole lot of personal questions. He tried to get a rise out of me."

Ward felt himself leaning forward more as he became lost in the Colonel's story. He was very interested to hear what the man had to say. "I must've passed because the next question he asked me when it was all said and done was, 'How would you like to work for ONI?' I stared at him and pondered over the question for a long moment. Hell, I felt like time had frozen around me. But, I suppose in the end I felt like maybe I would be more valuable to the war effort as a Spook. And after my training and my official induction into the Office of Naval Intelligence, I found out how right I was."

"I can't disclose the details of what I've seen. The security clearance necessary is way above your pay grade. But, I can say this: if I had known back then the things that I do now, how much my job can save lives and influence the very outcome of entire campaigns… I probably wouldn't have believed it. Sure, I miss the high I got off the adrenaline and the satisfaction I felt of smashing some poor split-lip's head into a pulpy mass… but I enjoy what I do now greatly. And that's more than what a lot of my colleagues can say."

Ward was utterly dumbfounded. The only word that his mind could muster to describe what he had just been told, however stupid it sounded, was "Wow." Lieutenant Colonel Durant merely chuckled and sat up in his chair, the contented smile he had never going away from a second. In a way, Ward envied the officer. He no longer had to see the suffering and the death that was so regularly a part of his life. The anguish of watching your comrades' fall in the heat of battle. All he had to worry about was keeping up with the administration of the base and making sure he didn't let the UNSC's secrets slip from his lips to the wrong person. He was happily disconnected from everything that went on around him.

The look on his superior's face told him that he was being read. Durant was mentally taking notes about him, his expressions, his body language, everything. Reading every minute detail about him as to get an idea of how he felt and what he was thinking. It was then that he fully realized that Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Theodore Durant was a Spook. And once you became a Spook, you never could go back from it.

A pleasant chime resounded from Durant's datapad and he picked up, the light from the screen covering his face in bright luminescence as his eyes skimmed through the contents of what Ward could only assume had been a message. After several moments of awkward silence, Durant carefully placed the datapad back on the desk with the screen off, and looked back to the Staff NCO in front of him. "I'm afraid I have to cut our reunion short. There's some… business… I must attend to."

"Yes, sir," Ward replied. He started to stand up when a thought crossed his mind. "Sir?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant?"

"May I ask why you requested my team be sent here?" Ward scrutinized his former CO carefully, determined to see if there were any indications in his eyes or his demeanor that there was some ulterior motive behind the move.

Durant offered him a mock expression of innocence. "I never-"

"Don't play games with me… sir," Ward said, keeping his voice dangerously calm. "It couldn't be a coincidence that my CO tells me my team, and only my team, has been ordered to head to an ONI base run by my former commanding officer and the unit I served with for more than half of my career before I volunteered for the outfit I'm with now is here too."

The Colonel sat there and appeared to be considering everything that he had said. Then, as before, his face contorted into a soft smile. "I think someone should have offered you employment with ONI, Staff Sergeant. You're very perceptive."

"Don't patronize-"

"Watch it, Staff Sergeant," Durant growled, his demeanor suddenly changing. "I may be ONI but I still am a superior officer. You will honor me with the respect I deserve."

Ward sighed, knowing that he couldn't argue with the man. "Yes, sir. I apologize."

"Don't. It's a sign of weakness," Durant said, his smile returning. "And to answer your rather blunt question; I requested your team because of you." Ward stared at him, eager for him to give an explanation. "Being that I am now graced with the power and privileges bestowed upon an agent within the Office of Naval Intelligence, I have access to all classified documents pertaining to your team's activities as well as your detailed after action reports. I knew the Covenant would be standing on our doorstep trying to kick down our doors. So, I wanted a team that I could have defending the base one moment, and taking the fight to the enemy in the next. Most importantly of all, I needed someone I could trust to hold such a responsibility."

"And you chose me," Ward said, more so as a statement then a question.

"Precisely," Durant affirmed. "You were the best candidate for the job. Someone else may not have been as… trustworthy… as you."