Chapter 1: The Final Act of Tom Cat and Jerry Mouse
[4 April 2548]
[UNSC colony Agricola, Hydra System]
[11:55 Hours]
It was a bright cold day in the abandoned city. The pale sun beat down without care, illuminating the gray buildings and black streets. Even under the harsh blue sky, everything seemed colorless.
Atop one building, a sparrow sat in blissful ignorance of the deathly silence around it, simply enjoying the faint sunshine on its feathers. It was startled as a hawk, large and deadly, landed on the concrete railing next to it. For a moment the sparrow looked as if it was about to take flight, but then it stopped, eyeing the much larger scavenger bird with something like curiosity. The hawk, as if realizing it was under scrutiny, ruffled its feathers importantly, and eyeing the ground below it, searched for prey. The sparrow hopped a bit closer to the hawk, and the hawk, tired of the game, lunged toward the sparrow. The sparrow, startled again, did not take flight, but stared at the hawk levelly.
Suddenly both birds, spooked by something only they could sense, took flight, and all was dead silent again. A moment later, however, a human voice broke the silence.
"De-cloak."
Out of thin air, a dozen individuals appeared. They were human soldiers, most short and small in figure, clothed in sleek dark green body armor with large wraparound visors and lightweight padding. The only exception was the leader, an imposing seven foot warrior in a heavy armor suit, black as midnight. His helmet was rigid and bulky, with a small boomerang shaped visor.
This terrifying soldier walked to the edge of the roof and picked up a handful of crumbs, shook them in his hand. One of the smaller soldiers walked to his side. "What do you think sir?"
The leader crushed the crumbs in his palm and wiped his hands. "They were here alright."
"Thought same, sir." The soldier raised his rifle arm to the east. "Looks like they went in a big circle, stopped here, and doubled back."
The leader's hand sought the back of his head. "Yeah. Why?"
"I can't tell, sir."
The leader laid a gloved hand on his scout's shoulder. "Then get back in fucking formation, Sergeant, and stay there awhile. I need to think."
The scout nodded slowly. "Yes sir." He moved back to converse quietly with his teammates while the squad leader looked up to the sky.
He spoke, seemingly to nothing. "So, Celsius, what do you think?
The voice that answered, emanating from his helmet's own speakers, was clear and cool. "Do you want my tactical assessment or personal opinion?"
"Both."
"…Well, my tactical assessment says that they're moving in incoherent overlapping "pattern-less" patterns."
"And your personal opinion?"
"They're playing with you." The AI in his helmet finished half grimly, half ironically.
"Hmm. Wouldn't be the first time."
"Yes, but if you keep like this, it might be the last."
"Spoken like a true fatalist."
"Spoken like a true realist." She retorted. "Normally I wouldn't be against you getting ambushed by them, but considering you've got a squad in you care and an AI in your head, I'd rather you not take that chance."
"Noted. But we're not going to find them up here." He turned back to his team and made a twirling motion in the air, signaling them to move out.
"Sergeant Lee, take point."
"Yes sir." Lee-G139, a SPARTAN-III, and a platoon of his brethren "mass produced" SPARTAN-III's had been commandeered by ONI to conduct covert operations under the direction of various squad leaders. Most had been ONI operatives, some ODST's, a few NAVSPECWAR veterans, but this current one was special. This one was an anomaly.
Some people said he was a Spartan rejected by Dr. Halsey for the II series and was subsequently taken in by ONI. Some said he was a clone that beat the odds and grew into a fully developed Spartan. Some said he was a Marine so badly scarred from plasma burns, he had joined ONI and got a hold of a MJOLNIR suit to keep him alive. Some even said he was a soldier declared legally dead, then somehow came back to life with all the strength and skills of a Spartan super soldier.
David let the rumors circulate. On a subliminal level, he loved them. Even Spartans have a certain ego, and these rumors of ghosts and clones fed David's.
He would never tell anyone the truth: that he was a street rat from the slums of Reach, chosen by a flip of fate's coin to become a Spartan. And not even a true blue "Halsey" Spartan. No, he was the jet black "Bristow series" Spartan. Gordon Bristow, who after Halsey's funding was cut by HIGHCOM, secretly adopted the plans and the equipment needed, and began to select and train Spartans of his own, for ONI use.
The David who stared at the cold blue sky was not the same person from sixteen years before. His emaciated child's body had matured, strengthened, grown, from both puberty and augmentation. He was now six foot six out of his armor, two hundred twenty pounds even, with a proper bulge in his muscles and broadness in his chest and back. He was leaner, rangier, a little less imposing than other SPARTAN-II's, but in turn he was more agile and had more endurance than his contemporaries.
His mind too had matured, grown. He saw things as they were, and then some, not just because he was an adult, but because he had an edge over other SPARTANS.
He was educated.
It had all been Bristow's doing. As soon as David was twelve, as soon as he knew how to read, write, do basic algebra and geometry, Bristow had begun giving literature to the fledging SPARTAN. He had started easy, with To Kill a Mockingbird and The Art of War, then steadily progressed until David saw not just black and white in life, but gray. A lot of gray.
The source of this gray lay in David's duty at ONI: being the leading field operator of its "Asymmetric Warfare" Department. It was a dirty tricks division, headed by Bristow himself, which specialized in one thing: killing and demoralizing Covenant.
The project began nearly twenty years before, around the time Bristow joined ONI. Its purpose was to conduct covert operations against Covenant forces. Its real purpose was to use unsanctioned methods to spread terror throughout the Covenant ranks. Assassinations, sabotage, shock and awe, genocide- all of that was fair game. And David was at the forefront of it all.
At fifteen he had sniped an Elite artillery commander during a tank battle, disrupting the Covenant tanks. At eighteen he had used broken Covenant vehicles and false radio traffic spread by his AI partner Celsius to draw out and kill patrols on an occupied planet. At twenty-three he had booby trapped old human frigates and detonated them when curious Covenant patrols came nearby.
Now, at twenty-four, David was leading a group of SPARTAN-III's on a hunter-killer mission. The target was an elite Spec-Ops commando. David knew the bastards name: Iras Peccamee.
He and Iras had been hunting one another for nearly five years. The situation was this: David was a killer, Iras was a killer. Everything David had done, Iras had responded in kind. He had orchestrated the successful artillery strike against a crowded human city, he had killed a ranking Marine general during a prolonged moon campaign, and he had executed human prisoners and sent footage to the UNSC. He and David had confronted each other three times, both surviving all three encounters.
The last occasion had been close. David had walked away with broken ribs, a broken jaw, one less pinky, and a badly burned shoulder. Iras had limped away with one less mandible and one less eyeball.
Probably came out on top that time, he thought as he examined his four fingered left hand.
Now Iras was here on Agricola, a farming colony with a metropolis at its center. The metropolis had been evacuated weeks ago, thanks to some crafty intelligence decrypting on Celsius's part. Iras was prowling around, and so was David.
Two clicks signaled on David's HUD. Lee the scout had spotted something. They had emerged into a small public square, five entrances, and five exits. David sent a signal to the rest of the team, ordering them to halt, then opened a comm. channel with Lee. "What is it?"
"Big squad. At least half a dozen Elites, twice more Grunts, plus change. A lot of tracks."
"And?"
"Tracks have doubled back on themselves."
"Right." David responded. Doubled back on themselves. What are you doing Iras? What game are you playing?
That's when the twelve Elites and eighteen Grunts de-cloaked in front of the squad, spread out in a parade style line. All were garbed in the space black armor of the Spec-Ops. A deep guttural voice called out in broken English, "David. Show yourself."
David gave the second signal, and he and his twelve SPARTAN-III's also de-cloaked. David stepped up to the front of the formation, motioning Lee to move back. He called out to the gang of Covenant Spec-Ops, "Iras?"
A larger, older elite emerged in the middle. Even from a distance, one could tell he was one mandible short, one eye shy from a full set. His massive powerful frame bore a whole menagerie of scars and wounds. An inactivated energy sword was grasped in his right claw. He smiled the terrible Elite smile. "David. Is this what you brought to die? A handful of runts fresh off the teat?"
Several of the Grunts on the Covenant side shifted and muttered to themselves.
David responded calmly, self assuredly. "C'mon Iras. We said the next time we'd meet, it'd be on a battlefield full of warriors." He waved an arm grandly to his row of SPARTAN-III's. "My warriors all measure up. I hope your nipple sucking peons can say the same."
Several Grunts and Elites growled angrily. Several of the S-III's giggled on the public comm. channel.
David switched the channel to Lee. "What do you think Sergeant?"
Lee's voice was cold and emotionless. "I say that if this is where it ends, we ought to take down these shits with us."
"Good boy."
Iras analyzed the meager line of humans versus his own platoon of Covenant warriors. Finally he nodded. "Good." He activated his sword. On cue, all of the Elites activated theirs, and he addressed them. "All Elites, use your blades. The sub-Spartans you can have, but leave the tall one in black for me. Grunts…"
David had checked his suits HUD, and switched the primary function to armor lock. He muttered rapid instructions to his team. "Switch to close quarters weapons now. Elites will charge with swords, Grunts will throw grenades. Lee, Deacon, Tobias, focus on the Grunts. Everyone else drop those Elites before they get within kissing distance. Toss frag's at any opportunity." He paused. "Good luck everybody."
"Good luck." They whispered back.
"David?" His AI Celsius whispered.
"What?"
"Good news is that I detect no other Covenant in the area."
"Bad news?"
"A Covenant fleet detachment just arrived. One capital ship with a few smaller cruisers. They're already deploying landing parties."
"Doesn't matter." David said shortly.
"I'm just saying, if you survive…"
"You know the odds better than I do." David drummed his fingers on the two SMG's holstered on his hips. "Celsius?"
"Yeah?"
"It's been a pleasure."
"Ditto."
Iras was calling. "David?"
"Yes?"
"Before we start, I have a question."
"What is it?"
Iras was no longer grinning. His single eye held nothing but curiosity. "If you win, kill me, what will you do?"
The question didn't register. "What do you mean?"
"I'm dead, you live, what will you do? We've hunted each other five years, all of it a game. I'm your last worthy enemy. When I'm dead, how will you live? Kill nameless Covenant, no other reason to live? Fight for people who hate you, fear you?" The Elite smiled smugly. "I understand you; now, game's all over. What will you do?"
His English is getting better, David thought. He also thought, deep down, that the squid headed bastard was right.
But all he did was roll his shoulders, and face his visor squarely in the Elites direction. "Me, I don't know what I'll do," he said truthfully as he un holstered one submachine gun. He pointed directly at Iras with the muzzle of his gun as he drew the second with his left hand. "You, thank whoever it is that you pray to that you don't have to share my fate." Arms akimbo, weapons in hand, David stood in the middle of his SPARTAN's, and tightened his trigger fingers.
Iras smiled, sadly. "Good." Then he uttered a roar and hurled a bright blue glowing object at David. Cries of "plazzy!" and "disperse!" erupted as David knelt down and activated the armor lock. Instantly, the shields on his custom MJOLNIR armor flared to five times their normal strength. The plasma grenade stuck, detonated, and knocked David to the ground. A second later, he had flipped to his feet, raised his submachine guns, and fired into the crowd of charging Elites.
[4 April 2548]
[UNSC Colony Agricola, Hydra System]
[12:00 Hours]
Sergeant Claire Avalos stopped in her tracks and glanced up to the sky. Through her ODST VISR, she noticed two birds taking flight suddenly, about a quarter of a mile away. She motioned for her squad. "Hey, Atwood?"
The short ODST next to her shifted. "What's up?"
She aimed her rifle. "You see those birds? They were startled by something."
The ODST aimed down his sniper rifle, shrugged. "Probably nothing.You okay, Sergeant? You seem a bit tense."
More than you know, Claire thought to herself. Outwardly, she growled, "No more than usual, Corporal. Now keep moving."
Truth be told, Claire Avalos was tense. Tense, and tired of being tense. The root of this tension wasn't one singular thing, but was a whole number of things, spread out like the roots of a big ass tree of tension.
First there was her mother. At six Claire had promised her mother she wouldn't join the Marines and go off to die in a losing war. At eighteen she had broken that promise and joined the Marines, and she hadn't spoken to her mother since then. That was four years ago- six years since her father had been declared MIA.
The reason she joined the Marines was the root of her second point of tension: Matt Keller, her former best friend and even one time boyfriend. They had dated steadily throughout high school, then came graduation, where Matt decided to become "Hero of the UNSC" and join the Marines. Two years later she had followed him, right into the 105th ODST division. They had exchanged a few heated words- a lot of heated words- and three months later Matt had disappeared. Transferred out of the Division and dropped off the face of the galaxy. Claire, on her part, was too pissed off to chase after him.
That brought her to tension root number three: turns out, after getting over Matt, she had turned out to be a highly competent ODST. So competent, HIGHCOM saw fit to make her Sergeant and giver her command of her own squad. The composition of this squad was this:
Claire Avalos, 22, reluctant squad leader and rifleman
Corporal Dax Atwood, 20, motor mouthed sniper
Private First Class Wolfgang Schaefer, 23 hulking and somber grenadier
Lance Corporal Pierce Vinson, 19, taciturn newcomer and medic
Private First Class Katy Rawlings, 21, chatty rifleman, tough as nails lifer, and…
"Jeez Sarge, no offense, but, what's up your butt?"
Claire's new (potty mouthed) best friend
Underneath her helmet, Claire grinned. "You mean, besides your usual brand of rainbow and sunshine vomit?"
Besides being chatty, Katy was regarded as the most good natured of the squad- which was not saying much.
"You still twisting over that jackass Keller? Forget about him, Claire, there's a million other fish in the sea."
"I don't want a million, I just want one." Claire frowned as another bird took flight. "And once upon a time, I thought Matt might be 'the one'."
Katy was silent for an unusually long time. "You're serious?"
Yes, thought Claire. "Nah, just fucking with ya."
Both soldiers started cracking up until Schaefer, at the rear of the squad, growled, "Hey, no offense Sarge, but you want the entire Covenant advance force on our case?"
Katy snorted. "With respect, Schaefer, we haven't seen a single thing since we arrived. The city was abandoned weeks ago. Why would the Covenant come here?"
"Doesn't matter." Schaefer said shortly. "They're here now, which means we have a job to do. And that job doesn't involve laughing like a bunch of ditzy high school girls, Sarge."
"At least our panties aren't in a twist." Claire said aloud.
"My panties aren't in a twist. I made sure to use fabric softener.
The squad laughed. Katy giggled and Claire sighed.
"Alright guys, shut your mouths, open your eyes, and keep moving."
"Listen to you," Katy muttered. "Trying to make yourself out to be the big bad squad leader."
"Yeah, I'm a slave to appearances." Claire muttered back. She scanned the area ahead of her and above her but spotted nothing but air. Why would the Covenant come here?
They had not gone fifty meters when birds of all shapes and sizes took flight. In the distance, gunfire echoed through the abandoned streets.
The entire squad dropped to one knee, weapons up and heads cocked to listen. "What the hell is that?" Katy said to no one in particular.
"Beats me." Claire couldn't make out any individual weapon, but she heard the distinctive whine of plasma weapons.
"Sounds like somebody ran into some Covenant." Atwood murmured
Claire growled. "You're grasp of the obvious is inspiring." She keyed his comm. "Bravo 2-A, this is Bravo 2-B. We have shots fired in sector…Kilo One-One. Do you know of any friendly units in that sector, over?"
There was a burst of static, and then the gravelly voice of their company commander, Captain Ross, responded. "Negative 2-B. I didn't send anybody to Kilo One-One. What does it sound like, over?"
"I hear human and Covenant weapons, sir. Sounds like a big firefight."
"Roger that. 2-B, haul ass and check out the situation. We are en route and will meet you there. Keep your eyes peeled. Over and out."
"Understood, 2-A. We are Oscar Mike." Claire shut off the channel and turned back to her squad. "You heard the man. Let's get over there!"
The team broke into a run and began moving quickly down the side alley ways. The gunfire got louder as they closed in on the sector, so that Claire could begin to make out the staccato of Battle rifle fire and steady grating of SMG bursts. Strangely, there was little plasma fire to return. "Sounds almost like…"
"Yo, friendlies on your six!"
Claire whirled around and tripped.
An ODST with a red band on his shoulder helped the Sergeant up. " Hello, Sergeant Avalos. Glad you could join us."
Claire shifted, then saluted. "Captain Ross, sir!"
Captain Anthony Ross depolarized his visor, revealing calm blue eyes and a neatly trimmed brown beard. Among ODST veterans, he was known for his laconic, almost lackadaisical way of leading his troops. He commanded respect and authority through self assuredness and brutal wit. "Fights on the other side of this brush." He motioned forward. "By your leave, Bravo 2-B."
Somewhat embarrassed, Claire motioned her squad forward. They crept through the thick overgrown hedge and emerged on the other side of the hill, with a clear view into the city square below them, and a clear view of the square below.
The gunfire had ceased.
"Oh my God…" Katy gasped. Several ODSTs murmured agreement.
"Is this for real…?"
"Jesus, it looks like a goddamn massacre…"
"Anyone recording this…?"
The square was indeed the scene of a massacre. Bodies, both human and Covenant, littered the ground, red blood mixing with cobalt fluid and bright blue gel. Grunts lay in mangled heaps, Elites and humans lay where they fell, locked in death grips even as rigor mortis began to set in. Everything was dead, everything except two combatants in the middle of it all.
Struck dumb, the ODSTs watched as two figures, one a massive hulking Elite, the second a slightly smaller human, grapple in a brutal hand-to-hand battle. They traded blows amidst the blood pools of their fallen comrades, oblivious to the carnage surrounding them or to the soldiers watching them on the hill. They were panting, wounded, locked in a grim death struggle.
"Sergeant, why are you standing there like a tree stump…?" Captain Ross and his squad pushed through and saw the two gladiators in the square below them. "Oh my."
Claire motioned dumbly. "Sir, what the hell…?"
"Your guess is as good as mine Sergeant. For once, I'm struck speechless."
The soldiers could only watch as the Elite and his human opponent fight back and forth through their little cage in the square center. The Elite grabbed the human by his helmet, and slammed his knee into his chest. He reared back and twisted the humans arm, but the human squirmed and landed two kicks in the alien's abdomen, then knocked him away with one blow. As he straightened to continue the onslaught, the light caught him, and the ODSTs let out a collective gasp.
"Jesus, is that…?"
"No way, that can't be…"
"I'm dreaming this shit…too many painkillers damn it…"
Claire couldn't believe her eyes. "Helljumper's," she murmured, "I believe that is a Spartan."
David was mad.
He had tried to aim for Iras in the opening moments of the fight, but the charging Elites had hindered his aim, and so he settled his sights on the first squid chinned mother he could find, and hosed the alien until his shields broke and his body fell, riddled with bullets.
The SPARTAN-III's roared battle cries, chucked grenades, and met the Elites head on. Lee and two others stayed back, using their Battle Rifles to pick off Grunts and weaken shields. The rest hurled themselves into the Elites.
It was gruesome.
One S-III was sliced in half as he tried to shoot an Elite. The Elite who did the slicing was rewarded with an 8-gauge shotgun shell to the face by another Spartan. One Spartan lost an arm to an Elite, and was stabbed through the chest. Two Spartans tackled an Elite, wrestled him to the ground, and stabbed him with his own sword.
Another Elite beheaded a Spartan, then was attacked from behind by a Spartan who climbed on his back and began yanking off his mandibles. A severely wounded Spartan primed a frag grenade and leapt onto a group of Grunts, blowing them all sky high. Blood of all colors rained down like a hideous storm.
David saw all this, but it barely registered as he waded through the crush. He sprayed an Elite with SMG fire, wounding him, and allowed Lee to finish him with a BR burst to the face. He dodged a sword swing from another Elite, slammed the SMG butt into the creatures chest, knocking him to the ground, and slammed his boot into the aliens head, crushing the skull. He fired full auto into a crowd of Grunts, bowling them over with sheer firepower, then when his guns rang empty, flipped them in his hands and used them as clubs to quickly maim and kill a young Elite who swung his sword like a madman.
His shields flared as a glancing blow from a plasma pistol depleted them by half. He turned and punted the offending Grunt away, feeling satisfied as he heard the little aliens spine snap. That's when he saw a blur of black, and his shields dropped completely as he barely dodged Iras's blow. Alarms screaming in his head, he charged at Iras, ducked as he swung his sword, and rained down a series of blows using his SMG clubs. The Elite grunted and burned the air as he swung his sword again, cutting through one of the clubs. David grunted as the alien punched him in the stomach, the blow registering even through the armor. He dropped his SMGs, grabbed the Elites sword arm, and snapped the wrist.
The alien screamed and swung his hind leg, tripping David. Unfortunately, he was still holding Iras, so both fell. Immediately, Iras rolled on top and bore down on David, crushing him with three hundred pounds of scarred muscle. David head butted the Elite, rolled to his feet, and charged.
What had started as a duel degenerated into an all out brawl to the death. And both fighters were just getting started.
Claire could still not believe her eyes. Below her an Elite and a Spartan were fighting to the death, oblivious to the humans above them. Faintly, she could hear the grunts and curses of pain as they tussled.
A goddamn Spartan…
Truth be told, Claire didn't know much about Spartans. Until last year, they had been officially "non-existent". Then all of a sudden, the military comes clean with a secret program that produced genetically altered commandos armed with advanced technologies. These commandos's quickly became poster boys for the entire war effort. Any time one showed up, the odds of winning went up significantly.
The only part that Claire cared about was the last part. The rest of that stuff about Spartans…inconsequential.
The Spartan in question was strange looking. Most Spartans Claire had seen fought in small groups, wore bulky olive green armor, and were on the frontlines, where they could be easily seen.
This one was alone, on a deserted colony, fighting hand to hand with an Elite. His armor was space black. He looked a little slimmer, a little less bulky than other Spartans Claire had seen. Somehow, this made him seem even more dangerous.
She was startled out of her thoughts by Atwood, who was lying prone, aiming down his rifle scope. "Captain Ross. I have a shot!"
The Elite had straddled the prostrate Spartan, and was bashing his head against the pavement. Suddenly, the Spartan slammed a hand into the creature's jugular, and knocked him aside with a brutal right hook.
Captain Ross growled. "You miss, you hit the Spartan- and I don't want to even imagine what kind of court marshal you'd get."
Claire broke in. "Well, sir, we can't just sit here and do nothing!"
"You're abs-i-tively right, Sergeant. Take your squad and my squad and help your poor human brother down there. Atwood, you stay here with me. You even think of shooting, and I'll cut off your trigger finger so fast your ring finger won't even have time to say good-bye."
Claire motioned to the two squads and led them towards the duo still grappling below them. She shouldered her rifle and moved quickly.
As the two teams closed in on the combatants, the Elite decked the Spartan with a vicious blow to the abdomen. He then grabbed the soldier by the throat and used him as a meat shield, trying to hide his bulk behind the black armored warrior. The Spartans head lolled. He seemed to be unconscious.
"Drop him, squid chin!" Katy roared. Schaefer chambered a shell in his shotgun.
The Elite didn't respond. He seemed to be whispering to the Spartan.
David rolled again to his feet, dizzy and disoriented. His head ached, his ribs felt cracked, and somehow his mouth was bleeding. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he swung his fist into Iras's mandibles, feeling a satisfying squash. The elite responded with a punch that knocked the wind out of the Spartan.
Hoisting him upright, Iras wrapped his claws around David's throat, trying to jerk his head up. Through fading vision, David saw a dozen soldiers in black armor start to surround him. A voice yelled, "Drop him, squid chin!"
Iras leaned close to David's head. "What do you see, David?" He whispered.
Three soldiers aimed their weapons at him. David could see one, an ODST smaller than the others with feminine curves showing through her armor, cock her head at him, as if studying him. "Elysium," David gasped.
"What?"
"Warrior's paradise." David responded weakly.
"Hmmm, sounds nice. Let's go there. Both of us." The claws tightened around his throat.
David didn't respond, but grit his teeth. Fighting the blackness eating at his vision, he summoned the last of his strength, then brutally elbowed the Elite in his belly, doubled over, turned one-eighty degrees, and hurled the heavy alien away a good five feet. The ODST's surrounding him shifted their aim.
David held up his hand and tried to speak.
"No! Don't! He's mine."
The Spartan's voice sounded choked but was clear. Schaefer and Rawlings glanced at him, unsure, but he shoved roughly past them. Claire moved closer too.
The Spartan, when the Elite had been holding him, had sensed her staring at him, even though her visor had been polarized. He had looked up to stare back, and Claire almost wished he hadn't.
Painted over the boomerang visor and layered faceplate of the Spartan's helmet was an evil looking smiley face. The sweep around chin guard had a crooked jack o' lantern smile, complete with bared white fangs. The visor had no eyes painted on it, but the entire faceplate was painted an eerie golden-yellow, distinctive and terrifying.
It looked a bit like one of those "Smiley" faces that were all the rage back on Earth.
The Spartan walked over to the Elite, but the Elite suddenly sprang up, a Marine's Combat Knife in his claw. He darted out, and the Spartan clutched at his shoulder. Blood began spilling.
The two fell to the ground, scrabbling for the knife. The Elite got the upper hand, the knife was poised, but just as Claire, Schaefer, and Rawlings were about to fire, the Spartan rolled over, the knife disappeared, and the Elite roared- a dying roar of defeat.
David reached Iras just as the latter sprang up and sank a combat knife between the plates of his MJOLNIR armor. He bore down on David, trying to stab him again. His face was inches away from the Spartan's faceplate, his breath clouding his visor.
Then David head butted the elite. As the alien reared back, David grabbed the combat knife, rolled over, and jammed the knife deep into the Elite's belly. As Iras's eye bulged and he roared in rage, David angled the knife up, and stabbed deeper. The roar tapered off into a dying groan, then silence.
The Spartan detached himself from his opponent, and rose to one knee, panting. He looked down at Iras's face. The Elite's eye was glazed, he already looked dead, but as if he sensed something, he shifted his gaze. David depolarized his visor, and locked eyes with his dying opponent.
The Elites claw shifted, scrambling for something. Instinctively, David grasped the bloodstained claw in his own armored gauntlet. The elite bared his mandibles in a smile. "So…the game…is over."
Behind his visor, David smiled sadly. Below him was a squid headed alien bent on humanity's destruction. Below him was also his last worthy opponent, one of the few beings that understood him, accepted him even, for what he was.
He gave the claw a squeeze, even ran his second hand over the Elite's battered helmet. "It'll soon be over."
"For me, yes." Iras coughed painfully, spurting blood. "For you, no."
"You're right." David agreed. "Go; go to Elysium, the warriors' paradise." He could feel the Elite's life force fading. "I'm only sorry you'll have to make the journey alone."
Iras nodded. "Finish it."
David started, then didn't move. The hand that held the combat knife was trembling.
Iras laid his claw over the knife's hilt. "If you are true Spartan, then you will…" His sentence was cut off with a sudden intake of breath as David yanked out the knife and stabbed him again, this time through the heart.
In his armored hand, the claw went limp, then fell to the ground. David shut the single staring eye, and stood up. In his head, the AI Celsius was saying something. He shook his head, and listened.
"…arrived on scene about two hours ago, David. I don't know how I missed their chatter. They heard the gunfire and moved in to investigate…"
"Whoa, whoa, Celsius, slow down. What's the problem?"
"The ODST's, numbskull." Celsius concluded dryly. "Try looking behind you."
David looked back.
As the Elite lay dying, the Spartan knelt beside it and seemed to speak to it. He even held the beasts claw, stroked its head. Then he swiftly stabbed it through the heart, shook his head, and turned back.
Claire started. The Spartans visor was depolarized, and sharp brown eyes analyzed the ODSTs spread out before him, before finally settling on her. Embarrassed, she was grateful that her own visor was polarized, so he couldn't see her eyes.
Then the Spartan sort of shrugged, re polarized his visor, and folded his arms across his chest. The ragged wound from where the Elite had stabbed him bled freely. His jet black armor was stained blue, red, and cobalt. He looked terrifying and untouchable. And he was waiting for them to make the first move.
Everyone jumped as Captain Ross began clapping. The veteran ODST stepped forward, slapping his hands together slowly, ironically. He spoke, his voice cool and gravelly. "Impressive show, son."
The Spartan didn't move. "Thank you, sir." His voice was low and calm.
"What's your name and rank, trooper?"
"Chief Petty Officer First Class Spartan-009, sir." The Spartan rattled off the ID as if he had done it a million times before.
"Hmmm. You're a long way from home, Petty Officer."
"Aren't we all, sir?" This statement had a faint touch of irony to it.
To everyone's surprise, the Captain laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Spoken like a veteran campaigner." He stepped forward and offered his hand to the Spartan. The Petty Officer accepted the hand cautiously, and shook slowly. The laughing cut off suddenly, and the Captain depolarized his visor, scrutinizing the soldier. "Spartan-009? We haven't heard of you, son."
"I'm not surprised sir. I operate under ONI jurisdiction. Most of my operations are covert."
Every ODST tensed up at the mention of the Office of Naval Intelligence. Claire stiffened. Intelligence was generally known to be both devious and cold blooded. What the hell is ONI doing here?
Captain Ross seemed to share the Private's thoughts. He scrutinized the Spartan again, and then took a step back. "ONI. Humph. I'm only surprised that I'm not surprised."
The Spartan seemed confused. "Sir?"
The ODST Captain folded his arms across his chest. "You're probably used to shooting first and answering questions later, Chief, but right now you're facing a ranking soldier. And this ranking soldier would very much like to know what in the pluperfect hell ONI is doing on this planet?"
The Spartan also folded his arms. Face covered by his visor, the only answer he offered was in the grotesque smile painted on his chin.
"Spartan," the Captain said quietly, "now I'm gonna ask you one more goddamned time, and if you maintain your disrespectful silence, me and my Helljumper's are going to incapacitate you and knock that fucking smile right off your face."
"You couldn't do that even if you tried sir." The Spartan retorted coldly.
Claire noticed that the Spartan's arms dropped to his sides, and that his feet shifted, half entering a combat stance. The ODSTs half raised their rifles. Claire's finger tightened around the trigger of her MA5. She held her breath.
Then Captain Ross smiled. "You know what? You're right, Chief. You're right as fucking rain. But your pugnacious statement has put my Helljumper's on edge, and when they get on edge they tend to start shooting. Now, I think we need to defuse the situation," he said, holding up his arms in a sign of peace. "We need to cool down. We all need to be a big bunch of ice cubes right now. And what are ice cubes, people?"
"Cool?" Rawlings piped up.
"Correct-uh-mundo, Private Rawlings." He turned back to the Petty Officer. "Are you an ice cube right now, Spartan?"
"Yes sir." His voice sounded as cold as an ice cube.
"Good. Now, then, I want you to be cool, and humor an old, weary ODST. What were you doing here, on ONI's orders?"
The Spartan turned back and nudged the Elite's corpse with his toe. "Hunter-Killer operation. We were looking for this… one Elite. Spec-Ops veteran, a real hard liner. He's the one responsible for General Krieger's death back in '46, and a lot of other stuff besides."
Captain Ross moved over to examine the hulking cadaver. "Ah, so this is the fucker. Or what's left of him. Looks like you did a number on him."
"This isn't the first time we've met." The Spartan took a long look at the Elite before turning away. "Intel said he would be scouring this planet looking to stir up hell. I put a team together and tracked him down."
"'Tracked down', might be putting it lightly." Ross said. "This place looks like a goddamn massacre, Chief."
The Spartan observed the carnage that was once his team. "Yeah." He picked up the combat knife from where it had fallen, and holstered it. "My squad was made up of SPARTAN-III's. You might have heard of them."
"Yeah, sure, I have." Captain Ross examined the disembodied head of one such Spartan. "Mass produced suicide troops, if memory serves correctly."
"Yes sir. ONI commandeered a platoon from one company to serve under my command." He paused as he looked down at the disembodied head. "They were willing to serve. They liked the way I described this operation."
"Oh? And how, pray tell, did you describe it?"
"A suicide mission."
"Well I'd sure as hell agree!" Schaefer broke in. Every ODST looked at him, startled; this was not his style. He barged dangerously close to the much taller Spartan. "From what we see, big guy, you led your entire fucking team into a goddamn ambush, and got the whole fucking lot of them killed…"
The Spartan silently took the verbal abuse, but shifted when one of the medics called. He was examining one of the SPARTAN-III's lying on the ground. "Not all them. This one's still alive."
"Ditto on this one over here," another ODST called from a short distance away.
The Spartan brushed past Schaefer, shoving him aside with enough force to knock him on his ass. Beneath her helmet, Claire couldn't help but smile.
David knelt beside Lee's bloody form and grasped his hand. "Lee?" he whispered.
The smaller Spartan stirred weakly. His shoulder was a bloody mess. "Chief?"
"Yeah?"
"Did we get the bastard?"
"Yeah, Lee, we got him."
"Good." His hand relaxed, and the medic began tending to his shoulder. "I'd like to take my shore leave now."
David smiled. "You'll have to settle for a MED EVAC." Then he moved to the next wounded S-III, this one cradling a left arm that was missing its hand. David recognized the petite form as Private Jennifer-G089. He laid a hand on her shoulder. The Private looked up, then using her one good hand, traced a smile on her visor, the Spartan Smile. David responded by tapping his chin, returning the smile.
"You okay?"
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"After this, you and me should get some R&R. You know, I'm just saying."
David laughed. It sounded like the cough of a sick dog. "Let's get you out of here first." He glanced over his shoulder. "Is that possible, Captain? Can we get a MED-EVAC?"
"Maybe, if I can contact our ship." Ross keyed his headset. "Bravo Company to Wolfs Sun, Bravo to Wolfs Sun, do you copy?"
There was a burst of static, then nothing.
"That's not inspiring."
"Hang on sir." David stepped up. "I have an AI locked into my hard suit. Maybe she'll have better luck."
"An AI? ONI has really pulled out all the stops for you, haven't they?"
Only the best for Admiral Bristow's baby boy, David thought. Outwardly, he said, "Yes sir." He spoke inside his own helmet. "What do you say, Celsius?"
"Gee, I don't know, David," she said sweetly. "Maybe if you said the magic word…"
"Please, Celsius."
"Right, hang on." Celsius hummed to herself as she accessed the public battle net and sifted through thousands of reports in nanoseconds. After a moment she stopped. "Oh no."
"What is it?"
"According to the Covenant assault groups radio chatter, they encountered the UNSC Wolfs Sun about twenty minutes ago."
"And?" Captain Ross cut in.
"Apparently, she initiated a Slipspace jump and left the system. A few cruisers were sent after her, but the main body is still orbiting Agricola. They've deployed roughly…six hundred ground troops. And in about ten minutes, they'll be landing all over this city."
There was silence over the public comm. channel as Celsius's words sunk in. The ODSTs glanced at one another. Their fear was evident even through their visors.
Captain Ross ripped off his helmet, running hands through black hair that was already going gray at the temples. "Helljumper's! School circle, now!"
The twenty-four or so marines, save those who were tending to the two wounded S-III's, gathered around their leader. David backed off and stood behind the captain.
"Alright boys and girls, we have a situation on our hands. The Wolfs Sun has gone AWOL, Covenant are closing in, and we are right in their path."
Rawlings spoke up. "So, Captain, you're basically saying we're the definition of 'Fucked'?"
The ODST's laughed nervously.
"No, Private Rawlings, we are not the definition of fucked. We are, in fact, about to prove that an immovable object trumps an unstoppable force."
The laughter cut off. Ross dropped his helmet and faced his troops.
"We are in the right place at the right time. The right place and right time for what? To give the Covenant every kinds of hell that we can." He glared squarely at his troops. "Don't tell me that none of you have spent your precious winks of sleep dreaming of friends, family, lovers you lost to the Covenant, and didn't wish that you had the chance to show those genocidal motherfuckers the kind of pain you felt?"
The ODSTs murmured agreement.
Ross continued. "We all have at one time or another dreamt those dreams, and today, I tell you, we will all get a chance to give the Covenant some of that payback we've been dying to give. And we will give it in spades." His glare grew stronger. "Soooound…good?"
"SIR YES SIR!" The ODSTs bellowed.
"That's what I thought." Picking up his helmet, Ross replaced it on his head. As an afterthought, he added, "Besides, boys and girls, we have nothing to worry about. An honest-to-god Spartan is among us. The Covenant will all aim for him."
That brought a hearty laugh out of the entire platoon, except for Claire. She only watched the Spartan…David, was his name? as he stood back. He had quickly found two SMG's and a Battle Rifle, and was now standing apart from the group, arms folded across his chest, the perpetual grin etched across his helmet.
Poster Boys.
Most Spartans Claire had seen were awe inspiring. Not this one, not this Spartan in his black armor and his hideous grin. Claire wasn't inspired.
She was afraid.
But at the same time, she found herself feeling something else, something far different.
She was interested.