I cannot believe I got this one up so fast. I'm happy my writing isn't as shit as it was in the first chapter, (Which, until I re-write, we can all just forget about - Holy shit the writing was bad.) Anyway, Chapter 3. Here you go.

Also, the Pelican launch procedure is closely based on how a real carrier launch works. (I think I'm pretty accurate with it, I may not be.)

Before I forget, Thanks to that one guy who reviewed, I really improved with the speech of characters since that first chapter


Carolina turned to Four-Seven. "We got another one of these types of pelicans on board?"

"Yeah, on the other side of Montana's fighter."

"Okay, Montana, I trust that you can fly one?"

"Yeah, I can."

"Okay, we'll split up. Simmons, Grey, Wash, and Donut, go with Montana to the Federal army's deployment base, or wherever the commander is. Grey should know. I'm only sending a few of you there because I want you to fly the commander and whoever he wants to accompany him to the New republic base, to negotiate with Kimball."

"Copy that. You guys, with me." Montana walked off towards the other modified pelican, with his "team" close behind.

"Okay, I'll need the rest of you with me and Four-Seven. They'll need some verification that we really ARE UNSC, and not just mercs with stolen gear."

York stepped into Angel 479. "Alright, so are we waiting for?"

As Four-Seven and the others stepped into the pelican, Carolina turned to Warbird.

"Alright Warbird, first, I'll need you to help us get launched. Once we're clear, wait 20 minutes, then start to bring the Invention along the route we took, I'd like you to get low once you near the New Republic base, but keep a reasonable distance, don't be right on top of it."

"Copy that, now I suggest you get in, you know Four-Seven doesn't like waiting."

"You got that right, now prepare to launch us."

"On it."

As the ramp closed behind Carolina, Warbird hovered out of the hangar and up a set of stairs to the flight deck control room, with a set of large windows overlooking the hangar.

"Angel 479, status?"

"Angel 479, standing by."

"Copy that."

Four-Seven looked out of the canopy at the two men dressed in green - the catapult/ arresting gear crew, locked the aircraft catapult at the rear position.

She looked up at the man in yellow standing slightly to the side of the catapult - the plane director/catapult officer, or "shooter", waved her forward towards the catapult. the pelican rolled slowly up to the catapult, where the shooter signaled her to stop. The two green shirts ran over to the nosewheel of the pelican, pulled down the connecting link and attached it to the shuttle, before both giving the thumbs up to the shooter and running clear of the bird.

There was an electric whirr of the backblast deflector raising behind the pelican, and then the shooter sharply raised his closed right hand up above his head - the signal to run up the engines to full power.

Four-Seven pushed the throttle up to full, using the stick to test all the control surfaces of the aircraft.

The shooter gave a thumbs up, signalling all looked to be working right visually, with Four-Seven responding with another thumbs up - all clear on her end, too.

"Catapult clear, all good, stand by for launch, Angel 1-1."

"Copy. Standing by."

Four-Seven turned in her seat. "Hold on to your teeth people, we're going to start moving REALLY fast."

She looked forward again, looked at the shooter, and gave a salute -the signal that she was ready to launch-, which the shooter returned.

The shooter raised his hand above his head, before dropping to a sideways crouch and touching his fingers to the deck, with his left hand behind his back, before raising his hand to point straight ahead, which was the launch signal.

The technician crew member at the controls to the catapult flicked off the safety on the control panel, and hit the button.

Angel 479 raced down the deck at full afterburner, the tiny rough surface shaking the bird like a pinata, and then - airborne.
Four-Seven pulled the gear the second she felt the deck leave her behind, and gently rolled the pelican from side to side a few times to get a feel for the controls again.

"Angel 1-1 is clear."

"Copy Angel 1-1, good launch."

"Moving to target, get Montana up quick."

"Already on it, good luck."

"Copy."

As the pelican banked away from the frigate, Montana was just done getting ready to launch.
"Stand by Angel 477."

"Copy that, Warbird."

"Montana turned around slightly. "Yeah, I'd buckle up if I were you, Because in about 15 seconds, we'll be going from zero to airborne very, very fast.

"Oh god."

"Suck it up, Wash."

Wash groaned. "Up yours."

"I'll take the compliment."

Montana turned back around, saluted the shooter and sat back in his seat.

Up, up and away. He said to himself.

The shooter gave the signal and Montana left solid deck, ascending into the clear sky around the ship.

"Good launch 1-2, now, You best be going to that base...wherever it is.

"Yeah. Hey, medic? I need you up here."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Okay, if you know where your CO is, I'll need you to enter that on the nav screen."

"Okay. Hey, How come your callsign's Angel now too? I heard the other AI calling you Pheonix."

"It depends on the aircraft. On this ship, all Broadswords are Pheonix, I'm the lead Broadsword pilot, so 1-1.

All modified transport pelicans are 'Angel', Four-Seven's their lead. Pelican Gunships are 'Bowler', standard pelicans are 'Grizzly', Falcons are 'Kingfisher', and Hornets are 'Dragonfly'."

"Cool."

"Yeah. You got those coordinates in?"

"I think so, the interface seems basic enough."

"Looks like you got it, It's showing up on my HUD navigation system."

"Great, now what?"

"You can return to the back now, if you want. Or you can stay up here."

"Okay, I'm out." Grey left the cockpit and returned to her seat.

Simmons waited until she sat down, before entering the cockpit and standing behind Montana.

"Hey, uh, Which variant is this? I mean, the pelican. It looks like the older D77s, but seems to have a much sleeker profile, and is wired like the D79."

"This one's a new model, but old ones can also be overhauled to have this configuration, Four-Seven's is one example of that. It's a special build designed for fast extraction and insertion. If need be, it can even be used as a heavy fighter or attack aircraft, as you evidently experienced firsthand today. It's designed for special forces in mind, such as the UNSC MARSOC, ODSTs, and SPARTANs. Not only that, but we were the first unit to get them, and as of today, the first and only unit in the entire UNSC to use them in live fire combat."

"Whoa. Cool."

"Sure is."

Simmons looked at the backseat screen. "Huh, the UI on this looks a lot like the ones on the D77s."

"When did you get to fly up front on a pelican before now?"

"You obviously heard about the giant clusterfuck where we ended up 'killing' the Meta, right?"

"Yeah."

"You hear about a pelican crashing in the area?"

"Ah."

"Yeah. That. In my defense, I wasn't the one flying it! Grif was."

"Which one his he, again?"

"He's the one you smacked back there."

"Brilliant."

"Yeah. Oh, do you mind, uh, if I stay up here?"

"Not at all, take a seat."

"Awesome."

Simmons sat down in the rear cockpit seat, looking down as they passed the shore towards an ocean. "So, ETA on this place?"

"I'm guessing ten minutes."

"Sounds like enough time...I mean, I hope it's enough."

"Okay, Simmons, that's your name, right? Why exactly is there a war we need to stop?"

"It's a long story."

Montana keyed his Radio. "Carolina-"

"Alright, When we got to the Director's hideou-"

"How did you fuckin' know."

"You left your radio on."

"Ah, fuck me. Go on."

"Well, as I was saying-" Carolina's voice came over the radio from Four-Seven's craft, a thousand kilometers away.

"When Epsilon and I got to the Director's hideout, we found an army of failed Texas clones between us and him."

Tex cut in. "I'm actually surprised that I'm not surprised. How many were there?"

"About a thousand."

"Good lord."

"No shit."

"Oh yeah, one of them sounded like a man!"

"Cockbite."

"Jesus, Tex, take a joke!"

Carolina cut him off. "Anyway, back to the explanation. Once we passed all of them, with the help of both teams, Epsilon and I found him in a room on his own,
watching a...video."

"Did you kill him? Right there?" CT asked.

"It wasn't us. I've never seen so much regret and sadness in someone's eyes. The last thing he asked for before I left was my handgun. So, I left, him alone with the video, and a handgun."

There was a brief silence.

"I never thought that's how he'd bite it." CT said.

"No one did. Well, after the UNSC found us, they credited us for it, gave the Reds and Blues a pardon, and sent them back to their home on a supply ship.
I went off with Epsilon hunting after some military grade stuff in the wrong hands. Naturally, when the Reds and Blues were on the ship home they acted like their usual selves, and ended up having a UNSC heavy supply ship crash in a canyon with them being the only survivors. And, because everyone knows their luck, the planet they landed on is in the middle of a civil war. Both sides tried to take the crash site, the group was split, With both sides believing that they rescued the ones with them, and the guys on the other side had been captured.
Meanwhile, I tracked some high-tech weapons, like the one Montana took from Grif, to this planet. I soon found out that the war was prolonged by some space pirates, who wanted to make a population wipe itself out just for money.
There were two mercenaries, seemingly on opposing sides of the war, but of course, in reality, were under the same leader.
The situation where those two mercs revealed themselves was today, and exactly what York, North, Four-Seven and Montana pulled us out of. The thing is, the two sides of the war don't know that it's a fake, not even their leaders know it, and what we're doing right now is making those leaders aware, stopping the war, and bringing both sides into an alliance, which will help us a lot in the weeks to come."

"Wow." Montana responded. "So, case in point, shit's about to get real?"

"Real fast." Carolina replied. "All of the reds and blues have proof, in the form of their helmet recordings. We can just get one for each group on the pelicans, and show it to them, hopefully they believe it. The Fact that many of you have UNSC markings on your armour helps too."

"Got it. I'm approaching my destination, so good luck."

Four-Seven Turned to the back. "Same here, let's not fuck up."

Montana switched off his radio, and called to the back of his bird. "Uhh, medic? Get ready, you're up soon."

"Got it. Also, It's Dr. Grey."

"Got it." Montana started descending, and lowered his gear and flaps. A grey cloud appeared before him as he descended.

"Snowstorm. might be slight turbulence, nothing bad."

"They're contacting us." Simmons said.

"Okay, I'll take it from here."

Montana keyed his mic to the Feds' radio channel.
"This is UNSC Transport Angel Four-seven-seven, request permission to land, over."

A static-y response was heard "UNSC? Come on. Who are you, really?"

"I think you can verify it when we land, if you're really that skeptical."

"I don't think so."

"This is urgent."

"You sure...?"

"Trust me."

"...Fine, Angel Four-Seven-Seven, pad 3, permission granted, over."

"Thank you."

The base came into sight at the shore line of the ocean, as Montana dropped through the bottom of the cloud cover. It was a bit larger than what Montana had expected, fully functioning, but obviously low on resources.

Montana dropped back on the throttle, and rotated the engines up, slowing to almost a stop before perfectly touching down on the helipad, and unlocked the ramp.

"Grey, go out first, they don't know who we are, but they know you."

"Okay." As the ramp opened, Grey stepped out, the soldiers on the platform half lowered their rifles, showing uncertainty.

"Yeah Guys, they're really UNSC, we're good."

"Grey? You're alive?" the soldiers lowered their weapons completely.

"Where's Doyle?"

"Uh, Command building but-"

"Would you like to send him over here?"

"Doctor, you're not authorized-"

"This is EXTREMELY fucking important. If you don't get him out here, we are going to have a very, very big problem. Aren't we, Sampson?" Grey said, with a rather terrifying false tone of cheerfulness.

"Okay! Fine! I'll see what I can do."

The soldier turned and walked off the helipad, across the snow-covered tarmac, and entered a small building.

"You sure this will work?" Grey asked as Montana, simmons, and Donut stepped out of the pelican.

"It better, and unless your commander is a complete nob, it probably will."

"Well, he's not an idiot..."

"Take what you can get." Montana said. "Hey, uh, pink guy?"

"First of all, you can call me Donut! Second, It's lightish red, not pink."

"Okay, just let me see your helmet."

Montana moved over to Donut, and pulled a chip out of the side of his helmet, and held it up for him to see. "This thing is what your visual from the past few days is recorded on. I'll just load it up here...and we're good." Montana inserted the chip into a small circular device he had stored in one of the soft pouches on his SOLDIER-class chestplate.

"Hologram projector. Self explanatory."

Grey gestured to the other side of the tarmac, where a soldier in gold-accented white armour stepped out of the building with one of the soldiers from earlier. "Well, here he is."

"Okay. Here we go."

Doyle stepped forward on to the helipad.

"So, er, I heard there's a rather um, urgent matter that's come about?"

Montana stepped forward and saluted Doyle. "Commander."
Doyle hesitated, before somewhat nervously returning the salute, and Montana lowered his arm. "The name is General Donald Doyle. I see you are rather a rather well disciplined individual, but who are you, may I ask?"

"They didn't tell you already?" Montana responded.

"All they told me was some hogwash about the UNSC. Can't be true, of course. UNSC forgot this planet years ago."

"Well, it's far from 'hogwash', sir." Montana gestured to the markings on his shoulder, and on the pelican's gear leg and wing."

"Well, I'll be damned. I take it you came here to claim your ah...friends?"

"Originally, yes, but as of about...two? Hours ago, we've discovered a FAR more pressing matter."

"I find that rather hard to believe."

"Here." Montana pressed a button on the hologram projector, and set it on the tarmac. A giant image of Donut's helmet footage appeared in the air before them.

"What's this?"

"An explanation for a great many things that you want answered. Watch."
Everyone on the helipad watched the footage, as Donut moved up the hill with the rest of both teams.

"Is that outpost 37?"

"Uh-huh."

The recording continued, as Donut crested the top of the hill, everyone in the video was looking around, wondering why it was still so quiet, before they saw a federal soldier- who was promptly hit with a orange bolt, collapsed, and was disintegrated alive.

"GOOD LORD! What was that?" Doyle said, visibly shaken.

"Oh, I think it's going to get real 'better'." Montana said.

Doyle kept watching, as he saw a laser land on the head of everyone in the recording, prompting everyone to look up, revealing Locus standing over them.

"Locus?"

All the mercs decloaked around Locus, as he stood smugly over the teams. "Like lambs for the slaughter." He said.

"Alright, what in hell is this?"

"Exactly what it looks like." Montana said.

"I don't know what it looks like!"

"Let's keep watching, then."

In the recording, Donut Glanced at Tucker, holding the grenade behind his back, before looking away quickly. The sound of Locus' rifle going off made Doyle jump, even through the recording. He watched as Donut looked towards Tucker, seeing Felix had blocked the shot with his shield, Tucker tossing him the grenade, and the moment when Felix turned to face Tucker, laughed, and tossed the grenade to Locus.

"Wait, they're working TOGETHER?" Doyle asked.

"I guess so."

Doyle watched in shock as Felix and Locus explained how it was all for money, before the moment of truth; Felix turning to Wash, and saying "I'd rather just nuke the planet, but that raises suspicion. The best way to kill off a planet, is for the population to kill of each other. Like, in a civil war."

"Bloody fucking hell. Is this what I think it is?"

"yes."

"IT WAS ALL A SETUP? For half this war, there was someone pulling strings, right under our noses!?"

"That's what it seems to be."

"Good heavens. Grey, is this true?"

"Having experienced it firsthand as well, I can guarantee that the probability of it being an crazy hallucination is extremely low, sir."

"Oh yeah, also, here's where it gets fun." Montana said

"What? Fun? I'd like you to explain to me precisely what part of this would qualify as- oh." Doyle trailed off as he watched Carolina leap off the platform, dropping a grenade, and causing everyone with a weapon to start shooting.

"The one that dove off the platform is also a former Freelancer."

"Nonsense! If memory serves, they're all dead. You sure she's not lying to you?"

"She can't be, Considering that I'm a former member myself, I know her personally."

"Wait, YOU were in the project?"

"Yep, One of the agents."

"Well...but...Didn't they do horrible things? How can I trust you? How does the UNSC trust you?" Doyle said, his voice wracked with uncertainty.

"I ditched and went to the UNSC when I found out what was going on."

"Well, I...guess that's...believable. Good on you, chap."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Montana looked down slightly as he said this.

"Alright, I've seen enough. Now what?"

Montana picked up and switched off the projector. "There's another, larger UNSC team at the New Republic base, doing pretty much exactly what we just did here. If we fly you out there, I think you and their leader can make an agreement."

Doyle was incredulous. "FLY ME OUT THERE? That's the heart of enemy territory, I'll be shot on sight!"

"They won't shoot one of their , who is Mr. Simmons over here, and much less a UNSC member."

"Well, that sounds...agreeable. When might you expect to leave?"

"Soon as you're ready."

"Oh, alright then. I'll just need a moment..." Doyle turned to his soldiers. "Locus will more than likely be coming back here. If what we just saw was true, and he did kill everyone else at the outpost, we can only pray that he doesn't know that we know he did it. If he tells you the reds and blues are dead, play along. Fabricate some lone wolf scout mission -or something of the sort,- for him for some big money, just make it look believable. Just try and keep him out of here, but be subtle."

"Yes Sir!" the soldiers ran off the tarmac. Doyle turned to Montana, "Oh, my sincerest apologies, but I don't believe I've given you the chance to introduce yourself by name, have I?"

"Montana, sir."

Doyle stepped into the pelican, sat down, and lowered the restraining device. "Alright Montana, I'm ready, I guess."

"Alright, general, let's move." Montana said as he started the pelican and closed the ramp.

"Tower, Angel 477 on departure."

"Roger that, Angel 477."

The pelican's engines ascended into a roar as it lifted vertically off the helipad, and down to a whine as it transitioned to level flight.

Simmons got in the rear seat and entered the New Republic base coordinates. "Location entered, let's go."

"Afterburner?"

"On a pelican? I really want to see that." Simmons replied.

Montana opened the throttle all the way, and a few seconds later,a sonic boom was heard as the pelican broke the barrier.

Simmons opened the nav system. "ETA is...whoa. 15 minutes."

"Brilliant." Montana replied.

45 minutes earlier

"Here we go. They don't have an air control, at least, not one that I can raise on the radio, so you'll probably have to do some fast talking on the ground." Four-Seven told Carolina, as the pelican descended on the New Republic base.

"We'll make it work."

"Is that a 'We'll make it work just like we planned', or 'We'll make it work, but it'll end in a firefight, because I-"

"We'll be fine. It's not like you'll get your precious pelican scratched, anyway."

"With all due respect commander, fuck you."

"Acknowledged."

"Now, back to things that are actually relevant, we're wheels on the dirt in 15 seconds."

"Good." Carolina turned left the cockpit, walking through the group to stand in front of the ramp as it began to open

"Okay, do not draw your weapons, do not act threatening, and DO NOT do anything stupid."

"So I guess that means that we keep Grif locked in the pelican? No, no, he'd probably break it. Ooh, what if we lock the cockpit? Wait, he'd still eat the emergency food."

"Oh up yours, Sarge!"

"Shut it. Both of you." Carolina looked back at them.

There was a small bump as the pelican settled onto the dirt out side the base, atop the hill it was on.

Carolina and the others stepped out of the pelican, and were greeted by five New Republic soldiers pointing DMRs at them.
In the middle of the line of five soldiers, stood Vanessa Kimball, the Leader of the New Republic.

"I'm giving you 30 seconds to start explaining yourself. Starting now." she leveled her DMR, aiming at Carolina.
Carolina raised her hands. "General Kimball, we're UNSC."

"First, how do you know my name, second, The UNSC forgot us since the covena-Wait, Tucker, Grif and Caboose? Where the HELL were you? Felix told me you'd died!"

Caboose answered first "Well, we went in the jeeps to a snowy place, we found Agent Washingtub, Sarge, Donut and the spanish robot named Lopez, and then there were disintegrating people, and then there were the bad people in black, and then Caroline showed up, and then there was a plane, and another plane, and explosions, and-"

"...Thank you, Captain Caboose, but does anyone else want to give us a more detailed answer?"

"Okay, first off, yes, we're UNSC, and I've been individually gathering info for the last two weeks. Second, here."

Carolina pulled a holographic projector, much like the one Montana used, but this time with the recording from both her and Tucker on it.
She turned it on and tossed it on the ground.

"This should do some explaining."

The recording started, and much of the same scene Montana had shown played again, but this time from Tucker's perspective.
Everyone watched apprehensively. When the part with the disintegrating man happened, the new republic soldiers all blinked in confusion.

"I can't decide whether that's fucked or cool." Palomo said, as it WAS the enemy being destroyed.

"It's not the second one." Carolina said.

As the recording got to the part with Locus revealing himself, the Republic soldiers were visibly confused. "Isn't he killing his own men?" Kimball said. "And who are those people in black?"

"Mercs. Like Locus."

Felix appeared on screen in the recording, blocking the sniper round, and telling Tucker to give him the grenade. A few of the soldiers grinned at Felix being seemingly heroic as usual.

"What's so strange here?" Kimball asked.

As Felix caught the grenade, tossed it to Locus, and turned to Tucker. the Republic soldier's grins vanished. "What the hell?"

As Felix gave his explanation of the war, and got to the part where he confirmed it was a setup, the soldier's eyes widened.

"No... There's no way. You're messing with us."

"Trust me, we're not." Carolina said.

As the footage continued, a second part of the projection opened up, displaying Carolina's footage, as she revealed herself dropped the grenade, and the shooting started.

"Who's that? They're fucking good." Bitters asked.

"That's me."

"Cool."

The recording got to the part where Four-Seven gave them cover, and Carolina switched it off.

"I think that explains enough."

Kimball, for once, was speechless.

"I...he-THEY goddamn used us. Half of this war. Half of this war was a fucking setup!?"

"I think you better start negotiating." Carolina said.

"How are we supposed to get the feds to believe us?"

"Talk to them."

As if on cue, Angel 477 descended to the entrance to the cave, the pelican touching down next to Four-Seven's.

The engines spun down, and the ramp opened, with Montana, Donut, Simmons, Grey, and Doyle stepping out.

The soldiers started to raise their weapons towards Doyle.

"Stand down. For now." Said Kimball.

"Kimball." Doyle said.

"Doyle."

"I trust that we're both in the same situation."

"We're looking for a truce."

"Is there a problem, Vanessa?"

"General Kimball, to you."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, but my question still stands, general."

"Nothing, nothing, it's just..."

"You feel Betrayed, perhaps?"

"And you don't?"

"No no no, I mean yes, no, I, er, I certainly do feel betrayed, I just was trying to...relate, I guess."

There was a silence.

Kimball finally spoke, her voice, as always, was confident as ever. "Give us ten minutes. We should talk in private, you probably know you aren't very popular around here."

"Well, alright then, let's get on with it."

"Great." She turned to the Reds, Blues, and Freelancers. 'And you guys can go in and do whatever you need to do to set up. Caboose, Grif, Tucker, and Simmons already know their way around."

Montana watched Kimball and Doyle walk towards the cave.

"So, where should we start?"

"First of all..." Carolina said, keying her radio. "Warbird, cloak the Invention, bring her around to 2 clicks northwest of our position, and drop to 1000 feet."

"If it doesn't sound like you're being shot at, does that mean things are going well?"

"So far."

"Copy that, I'll bring her around."

"Thank you, Warbird."

"So, now what're you guys going to do?" Palomo asked, turning to the team.

Tucker turned to Palomo. "So, now that we're all here, after I did most of the work saving our asses to get here-"

"Ten bucks says you didn't do jack shit." South said, her arms folded, and head cocked to one side.

"C'mon, can't I have my moment here?"

"Well, your 'moment' is crashing and burning, jackass."

"Wow. You're a special kind of asshole."

"Yeah, it's a gift."

"Who treats douchbaggery as a gift?"

"Well, she's kinda right." Palomo said.

"Aw, fuck you all."

Carolina cut in. "That's enough of that, now let's grab what we can, and move it to the base. Montana, Four-Seven, what's in the pelicans already?"

"A bunch of medkits, a few repair kits, two ammo crates, and a crate full of rifles are in each bird." Four-Seven said. "They're required to be stocked on every pelican, but we can just get more on the Invention."

"That's good for now, let's take some to the base."

Four-Seven and Montana stepped into the back of their pelicans and lifted up part of the rows of seats, revealing the supplies beneath. The others started picking up crates and carrying them through the gates of the base.
Carolina tried to pick up one of the weapon crates, having difficulty due to its length and weight.

"Need some help? Here." Carolina looked up to see York pulling up one side of the crate. "Anytime now."

"Thanks." She took the other end of the crate, and they stepped out of the pelican and onto the dry desert sand outside the base.

They walked in silence for a minute, before York spoke. "So, you had some variation of Epsilon with you."

"Yeah..."

"And he was like, a combination of all the other A.I.s?"

"Well, he had copies of the others, yes, but I'm not entirely sure where you're getting at..."

"What did he show you?"

"A lot, why?"

"More specifically, what did the Delta part of him show you?"

Carolina slowly grinned under her helmet.

I see where this is going.

"A lot of things, nothing too important."

"Well, okay, like wha-"

"He said you wanted to ask me something."

York looked at the ground. "Of course he did."

They reached the armoury building at the base, where everyone else had set down their stuff, put the crate on the ground.

"You know, York, if you just asked me the question, then I may decide on my answer much faster."

"Goddammit, don't do this to me."

"You know you want to."

"Fine, I think your armor looks good on you."

"I'll hold it against you."

"Fuck."

Carolina put a hand on York's shoulder. "Don't worry, You'll get your chance soon, just you wait. Now I'm gonna find the others." She walked off towards where she last
saw the others go.

York watched her walk off. 'she's doing this on purpose, that's for sure.'

"You know, nothing's stopping you from following me."

"Right, right, just...lost myself for a second."

He jogged to catch up with her, and they started looking for the others.
York walked in silence, before an idea came to his mind.

"So, if Delta showed you a lot, there must not be a lot you don't already know."

"Yeah, such as?"

"Well, just the little things, you know, what I did after I left the project, top secret files that I managed to hack on my way out, the fact that I always had a thing for people with, you know, blood-red hair, and like, proficiency in hand-to-hand combat, yeah, little things."

"Nice delivery, but that may have actually been cornier than mine."

"All according to plan."

"Which probably doesn't exist."

"For now."

Carolina laughed. "You're a complete nob, you know that, right?"

"I take pride in it."

"I hope you always will. Well, here we are." Carolina said as they found the others around the main command building.

"Glad you finally showed up. Tex and Wash are in there with Kimball and Doyle. They'll probably be done in a few minutes."

"Thanks North. I'll go in anyway."

Carolina opened the door and stepped into the building, with York staying outside with the others.

Carolina saw Kimball, Doyle, Wash and Tex standing around a Holotable.

"Fill me in, how far have you gotten?"

Kimball looked up from the table "We've gotten all the peace agreements signed and out of the way, so now we're figuring out logistics and coordinating resources."

"And how're you both doing for resources?"

"It could be better, but it could barely be worse."

"Meaning?"

"We're screwed for supplies."

"We can help them out with that, right?" Wash said.

"Well, somewhat, I don't actually know the full stock of the Invention, but I don't think it will be enough."

"We can just call in a support ship, a cruiser, or even one of the newer frigates, they have a TON of space on them." Tex said.

"I didn't know you guys had authorization to do that."

"Oh sure, just tell HIGHCOM our situation, tell 'em what we need, they send a ship, and it'll arrive in about 3 hours with all the stuff we need."

"Oh, I, uh, That's brilliant! I assume your mates will also send more men to help us out?" Doyle said.

"Of course. They'll probably send an entire Marine MEU, along with some ODST units, and a few armoured columns and mechanized divisions."

"Excellent. Now, Kimball, I think it's high time we each told our men the news?"

"Yes, let's do it."

Kimball opened a channel to all her forces. "Servicemen and women of The New Republic."

"Alright, here we go, You reeeally set the bar high there for me, Kimball."

"Glad to hear it. Now don't be shy."

Doyle turned on his radio, "Jameson? I want to tell your men that- Jameson?"

He turned it off.

"Bloody thing won't get through."

"you need a new one?"

"No, no, the radio's working, I think someone's interfering."

"I think we might be able to sort that out in the morning."

"Let's hope so."

The four started to walk out of the building. "So I heard you saying something about supply ships, don't you have some form of your own?"

"Yeah," Carolina said, and quickly muttered something on a radio channel. As they stepped out of the building, she raised her hand to the sky in the distance behind her.

A large chunk of air flickered in the sky.

"Paris-Class frigate, Mother of Invention." She said as the giant mass of titanium appeared only 2 kilometres from the base, turning side-on, and opening its left side hangar doors.

Doyle stared at the ship before speaking.

"Most impressive."

"That's...one way to put it." Kimball said.

"Sure is, now I should probably take my team back up there, and get our stuff together. We left some stuff from our pelicans near the armoury, help yourselves."

"Okay, thank you."

"Doyle, you coming with us so we can take you back to your men, or staying here for the day?"

"I think I'll stay, if you don't mind, I'll be back there tomorrow, they'll be fine."

"Alright, see you. Grey, you coming with us?"

"Sure."

"Alright. Everyone, let's Go!"

The group made their way out of the base and onto the pelicans sitting on the desert sand, the bodies being hot to the touch from the sun beating down on them.

As the team split up and got on, Montana and Four-Seven ran up the engines, before taking off with the gear and ramp down and staying in VTOL mode because of the short length of the flight. Some stayed standing, others sat.

Two minutes later, the pelicans hovered into the Invention's left hangar, and slowly settled onto the deck. The arrestor wire was only for landing at speed.

As The teams stepped out of their pelicans. Warbird met them in the Hangar. "Nice to see you back, now let's get settled, To get to your rooms, go left out of the Hangar, to
the end of the hallway, go right, then next left. There should be more than enough rooms for each of you, claim whichever vacant one you want, there are a lot. You can pick up a set of clean things in the rooms, there's an automated system that will give you the clothes you want. When you're done, feel free to explore, ask one of the Freelancers for help if you need it."
The Reds and Blues started heading towards their own rooms, with the Freelancers staying behind.

"Are you sure these guys are going to be an asset to us, Carolina?" CT said.

"Positive. Sure, they may be total knuckleheads on their own, but when they actually work together, they fight outstandingly."

"You sure about that?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but just go with it."

"Well, we always have ourselves to back them up, and there's always time to train them to some extent." Montana said.

"They don't listen to well, but it's definitely doable."

"One can only hope."

"Well, it's nice to have the whole team back, isn't it?" North said

"Yeah."

There was a brief silence.

Montana pushed off the side of the pelican he was leaning against, and started to leave the Hangar.

"Welp, I'm gonna go get out of this armour, maybe show the reds and blues around a bit, then I'm going to go shoot things."

"Where would you do that?" Carolina said.

"We had a shooting range configuration installed on the training floor."

"That'll be useful."

Montana left the hangar, and headed back to his room. He didn't see any of the Reds and Blues. Must be off somewhere else. He thought, as he opened his door.
He pulled off his MK V helmet, before turning it around and examining his reflection in the blue visor, and readjusted his glasses and fixed his brown hair, sticking up from being in his helmet for a while.

After he washed up, he changed out of his Red and white armour into a Red T-shirt with Black shoulders, red and white sleeves, and with the words: NAVY TACTICAL FIGHTER SQUADRON VFA-237: FIREFIGHTERS, his squadron, printed on the back, along with a set of marine BDU pants, in a digital MARPAT-D marine desert camoflage pattern.

He picked up his sidearm he carried when not in armour: A SIG P226 Combat, with a threaded barrel and a flat-dark-earth coloured frame, a 500 year old weapon, but excellent nonetheless. He checked the mag and chamber on the weapon, and shoved it into a drop leg holster on his thigh.
He left his room and started walking towards the range, coming across Simmons at an intersection of hallways, looking at a holographic floor plan on a handheld device.

"You lost?"

"Huh? No, not really, just looking around that's all."

"I'm going to the firing range, want to come with?"

"Ok, I'll come."

"Nice. So, where'd the others go?"

"Hell if I know, probably searching for the mess or something."

"They'll be fine on their own, I assume?"

"Yeah, only worry is they might break the ship's...everything."

"Eh, she's fallen from orbit and clipped a mountainside, she can take it."

"Even so, I'd watch out."

"I'll see what I can do. Aaand we're here." Montana opened a door and they stepped into a room filled with weapon racks and worktables, with a window looking on to the range.

"This obviously, is the armoury. You've got all you're standard issue gear - MA5D assault rifles, BR55, BR55HB BR85HB and BR85N battle rifles, M395 DMRs, and the like,

But HERE..." He said, sliding a wall rack out of the way to reveal a second one in behind the first. "Is where we keep our non-standard weapons. Here's mine."

He picked an assault rifle off the rack.

"That's an old one. Some sort of AR15, it looks like." Simmons said.

"Yep. M16A4 MWS assault rifle. Three round burst, direct impingement gas system, 20 inch barrel, 30 rounds of 5.56X45mm NATO ammunition. This one's a current reproduction by FN Herstal and Misriah Armoury. I like mine the way the US marines would've had them way back in the 21st Century. That is, with an ACOG combat optic, AN/PEQ laser, and a vertical foregrip."

"Awesome! Can I take a gun from the rack?"

"Pick one, I'll tell you if it's taken."
Simmons thought for a second, before picking up a rifle. "I always liked this type."

"Kalashnikov AKM."

"The updated AK47 rifle, right?"

"Yeah. Nice choice. You can keep it."

"Really?"

"Yep, We all have weapons like these of our own, we were going to give everyone a chance to pick one out tomorrow. You, obviously, have the first pick."

"That's really fucking cool."

"You can choose a sidearm and some attachments for your AK tomorrow, but let's actually get to shooting." Montana handed Simmons some AK mags and ear protection, and picked up some mags for his own rifle.

"Alright, let's go." Simmons said.

They crossed to the other side of the armoury, where Montana opened a second door next to a large window looking on to the range, and stepped out.

Simmons followed and closed the door behind him. "Woah, it's a lot...bigger than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, and it can be made bigger. we can have, like 600 metres on this range."

"What? Seriously, how the fuck?"

"It's, like reverse-engineered forerunner tech. I haven't got a clue how it works,...I guess it's like the TARDIS, On the outside, it's small, but on the inside, It, like...makes shit Big."

"Oh, okay."

"Anyway..." Montana said, stopping at a range table, and putting on his hearing protection. "Let's get shooting."

Simmons put on his hearing protection after setting his rifle and mags on the table. "So, where are the targets?"

"Here." Montana hit a switch, and a set of ten steel targets flipped up out of the ground

"Range is hot." He said.

Montana inserted a mag into his M16, reached back and racked the charging handle, tilted the gun over to make sure the bolt was closed, and switched the selector from SAFE to BURST.

"Me first." He put his hand on the foregrip and raised the rifle, taking a second to get a good sight picture, before putting his finger on the trigger, pulled, and held.
There were three explosive cracks, as the 5.56 caliber rounds flew out of the barrel and into their target on the other side of the room, putting two clean hits on its chest, and one to its head - a technique known as the "Mozabique drill".

He took less than a second to readjust his aim to the next target, and another three-round burst landed on it, the spent casings spraying out of the ejection port.

Montana continued with eight more targets, on the 30th round, the bolt locked open, and within a second, Montana grabbed a mag off the table while dropping the other out of his gun, rammed the fresh mag home, and hit the bolt release, all while keeping the gun leveled at the targets.
He switched to safe and lowered his gun, some smoke wafting off the barrel, and hit a switch on the table to raise the targets again. "Your turn."

"Okay. I got this."
Simmons picked up a mag, putting it in tilted so only the nose was in the magwell, and rocked it backwards until it locked, slid the safety lever to full auto, pulled the charging handle, and released.

"Aaand, firing."

Simmons took his finger off the trigger guard, and let loose a few bursts of automatic fire. Most of the rounds found their mark, but some still flew wide and impacted on the backstop of the range.

Simmons kept firing until he was empty. Although he hadn't managed the perfection of accuracy of Montana, all targets had been downed nevertheless.
He rocked the empty mag out of the AK, picked up another, and inserted it, before turning the gun on its side and pulling the charging handle, before putting the safety back up, resting his finger on the trigger guard, and lowering the weapon.

"So, how was that?"

"I'll admit, my expectations weren't too high, but you did a lot better than I expected."

"Really?"

"Yeah, while your accuracy and control weren't great, and your reload technique could use a faster method, I will admit that you showed a lot more discipline than I expected. You maintained proper trigger discipline when not firing, shortened your bursts for control, and knew your way around the weapon pretty damn well."

"Yeah, the trigger discipline is me being a stickler for rules, (I even read the entire UNSC rulebook) and the knowledge of the weapon comes from me having way too much time on my hands and an internet connection when I was still a sim trooper."

"Well, first of all, you applied your knowledge well, second, The ENTIRE rulebook? All of it?"

"Like I said, stickler for rules, too much time on my hands."

"I'm not going to lie, that's actually an accomplishment."

"Haha. Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, let's empty the rest of these mags, and I'll give you some tips."

"Okay, like what?"

"Well, first of all, when you reload, try and keep the gun pointed at your target. The reload you did was good, but one of the most basic. You can do pretty much the same thing, except when you go to chamber it, keep it upright and reach under the gun to the right side, rather than tilting it to reach over."

"Okay, got it, anything else?"

"Well, there is a faster technique where you get a new mag before removing your old one, and use the new one to kick the old one out of the gun, It's the fastest technique, but if you do it in combat, you shouldn't mind possibly being unable to recover your old mags."

"Okay, I think I've heard of that one before, now how to I control my accuracy more?"

"Well first off, don't slap the trigger as hard, second, either use semi or keep burst consistent, third..."

Montana gave some more instruction, they both fired off a mag, Montana gave instructions again, and the cycle repeated as the spent brass and empty mags piled up, and the dents in the steel targets multiplied, the sun began to set on the Invention, and the desert below.
The bolt on Montana's M16 pushed a round into the chamber, and as the round fired, was shoved backwards, and locked to the rear as it ejected the last round of
Montana's last mag of the day.

Montana checked the open port, removed the mag, released the bolt, and engaged the safety as he waited for Simmons' rifle to fall silent as well. As Simmons dropped the mag, racked the charging handle to check the gun was clear and raised the safety. Montana picked up his empty mags, and headed back to the armoury, with Simmons doing the same.

"I'm impressed. You improved a lot in the last hour, and now you're shooting 2-inch groups at 30 metres. You'll probably blow away everyone else on your team tomorrow, when you get a scope."

"Wow, uh, thanks, didn't expect to hear that...ever." Simmons said as he put his rifle back on the rack and took his earpro off. "Anyway, I know we bring the empty mags back here, but what about all that spent brass?"

"There's an automated system that will funnel it through a hole in the floor. It'll get reloaded with new rounds, primers, and powder."

"Cool, and I'll just leave the mags...Where?"

"There should be an empty rack for your mag type next to the rack you took the full ones off of. There's an automated refiller in the wall behind it. Also. just hang your earpro headphones over your rifle on the rack for now, They get dirty, so no need to share. We'll get everyone a box for their equipment tomorrow." Montana said, as he dropped his mags next to full ones of the same type, put his gun on the rack, and put his ear protection into a box, which he locked up and put on a shelf with a bunch of other boxes under the table below the gun rack. He waited until Simmons took care of his stuff.

"Okay, I suggest you get something to eat, the mess hall is just two floors below the bridge, so you could just take the steps up to the training room observation deck, go out the door leading onto the hallway, and first room on your left, can't miss it. Your friends will probably be there, as they're probably starving by now."

"I bet Grif already ate half the shit there."

"The orange guy? Eh, seems like he'd do that."

"He's done that before."

"Jesus, really?"

"Yeah."

Montana shook his head. "Wow. Anyway, I trust you know where to go, I'll be there in a few, go on your own." Montana said, as he started to go down the hallway.

"Okay, but where're you going?"

Montana spun around and walked backwards to talk as he walked off. "I'm going to go bug Four-Seven."

"The girl who flew us in?"

"Yeah."

"That seems suicidal."

He shrugged. "Hey, I'm bored."

"Okay, I'm not going to feel sorry for you if she shoots you off the catapult."

Montana turned back to face the direction he was headed. "As long as I don't hit on her, I should be fine. should."

"You're gonna get your ass beat, aren't you?"

"Most definitely."

Simmons watched Montana walk off, before turning to the stairs and walking up to the observation deck. He looked down at what was once the training room, where so much of the Freelancer's pivotal moments had been spent.

Well, these next few weeks are either going to go really well, or history's going to repeat itself. Then we'll be in deep, deep, DEEP shit. But I guess now's not the time to worry about that. He thought, as he turned and exited through the deck's door, onto the hallway. He looked to his left, and sure enough, the large mess hall was right there. He saw the Reds, Blues, and some of the Freelancers all sitting together, with Marines, crewmembers, and pilots occupying the other tables. He got something to eat, and made his way over to his friends, joining in on their conversations and jokes, and almost forgetting the coming storm outside the ship's hull, if only for a little bit.


First of all: Yes there will be 21st century weapons in this story. Because I like them. Second, Four-Seven's going to be a much more major character in this story. Also, I feel obligated to do the copyright shit, so RvB - Roosterteeth. Halo - 343i. AKM rifle - Kalashnikov concern. Sig handgun - Sig Sauer. M16 rifle - FN Herstal, Armalite. I won't do this for every chapter, but I just feel like doing it for this one.

Also, Hopefully I can get another chapter up soon. 'Soon' Meaning 2-3 months. No promises.