Southeastern Colombia

100 miles from the Tri-nation border of Colombia, Peru , and Brazil

2545

12:00, local clock


" Recruit ! Recruit, what on God's Green Earth is taking you another ice age ?! "

...It really was the cherry ( bomb ) on the ( corrosive ) cake of discomfort, wasn't it ?

Yeah...yeah, it was.

First of all...both feet felt like there'd been nails driven through them. It wasn't that the jungle boots covering them were tight-fitting, or badly made ( they weren't, even by military standards ), but having been forced to carry him for over 20 miles straight, though 20 straight miles of some of the most sauna-like humid jungle terrain on the planet, it hadn't exactly been kind on the feet-or the rest of him, for that matter.

It seriously didn't seem anywhere even remotely close to just 20 miles- more like 100. Except it wasn't...because just barely a yard away stood the 25 mile marker !

25 !

...How on God's green ( and humid ) Earth was that even possible ? He'd been rucking for at least 2 hours...except he hadn't, because-

" I asked you a question, Recruit ! Am I gonna have to crack open your skull, and find out what you were thinking that way ? You're about 3 seconds away from that happening ? Is that it, huh ?! "

How the heck can you even talk, after hoofing this hard ?!

...God only knows...'cause I don't..

Wast' that the truth- that, and how his lungs were practically disintegrating like sand castles on a stormy beach , which was kinda hampering his ability to give a coherent response. Failing to do that, though...would get him killed by the fire-breathing NCO standing so close on his right flank that he was pretty much filling his whole field of view over there ! It was absolutely a rock and a hard place kind of fix he was dealing with right now...

And, as always...there was only one way out of it.

" Sir...this recruit won't stop, sir..! "

...My God...

Voice cracked at the end there. I am so freaking dehydrated...

Doesn't matter. He'll kill me first, though. He will.

" Sir, continuing on task, sir...! ", he croaked out, vigorously willing both legs to keep moving. The Colombian mud underneath his boots wasn't helping him with getting traction, seemingly swallowing each one with every step, but it wasn't like he had a choice either way.

Maybe that will save me...

Worth a shot, anyway..

" What else did you think you were gonna do, huh !? March, Recruit ! "


Present day

New Mombasa

One city block from NMPD HQ


March, Recruit...!

Those exact words...

...They were still ringing through the head of the young ODST, all those years later. As loudly, and as clearly, as if it was happening right here and right now.

But, it wasn't. Not even close. What was going on right now, though, probably would've actually impressed that crusty NCO back there- or at least stopped him from giving out another tongue lashing...

...And, that was the Rookie now actually pulling off that old forced march: moving fast, moving long, and moving with the knowledge that you couldn't just sit down and rest. Well, technically, you could, but it'd cost you badly. And not from some NCO viciously chewing you out , then forcing you to nearly die completing dozens of pushups. Which was a welcome change, but..

..It was still pretty much just trading sideways, because on this go-around, the Rookie was having to deal with the fallout of what-on-God's-Green-Earth had just happened about a block ahead of him. Specifically, an absolute cacophony of chaining, runaway explosions and wrenching metal-and all of that preceded by some roaring, howling sounds that'd seemingly been coming from the sky itself !

Glancing around that way, James hadn't actually spotted anything- but it was enough to motivate him, as if there was, again, another NCO standing there beside him, barking orders and yelling threats. He was moving now, and quickly...spurred on by how just moments after he'd heard all that weird noise, the world had just about completely detonated , with nearly 20 seconds of nonstop explosions that overlapped one another as a cavalcade of thunderclaps at ground level. For them, there wasn't any confusion as to where they were ( unlike the sky sounds ), because the sky just over the tops of the buildings on the way to the HQ had suddenly turned the shade of a sunrise/sunset: burnt orange, tomato red, searing white...etc. Turning around to find where all that racket was coming from ( just as he had for the sky sounds a moment later ), James had quickly stopped as he watched the formerly darkened night sky getting lit as it it was the Las Vegas strip itself..

It was a total beacon. A beckoning hand, and it was calling to him. To any ODST, really, and the message couldn't have been clearer:

Something's going down over here. Something big.

You're an ODST. This is where you belong, so hoof it !

...Great.

That NCO was still around, wasn't he. Maybe not literally, but mentally speaking, which was worse.

But, at least it was all still serving a purpose, because James was definitely doing exactly that now. Beneath the Baobab and palm trees of this sunken plaza all around him ( one who's name he hadn't found out...yet ), he was running fast enough to satisfy any sergeant. Not a spring, but still moving with purpose.

Speed and purpose, that is. There was a hard middle ground, there was, between a dead Olympic sprint, and just walking. You had to get some of both, so that you could cover ground quick, but not tire yourself out. Getting wrapped with all the toughened layers of the armor plating of an ODST suit only added to the equation, but...thankfully it'd been solved over 100 years ago.

Hard-earned knowledge, which'd been forcibly ( and loudly ) given to many a recruit. Like James, for one.

That was how he was traversing the terrain ahead of him now: if the winding, pebbled, paved path that was snaking through , past, and under the hanging tree branches counted as " terrain ", that is. He was still moving over it, though, with both legs hammering out a constant clacking, cracking pattern on the rock-solid surface beneath. His visor, still turned to opaque mode from the outside, was pulling double duty to filter out the heaviest of the brightness of the distant detonations, as well as what glimmering sources of light that still burned from the scattered still-online streetlights, neon billboards, and traffic light posts..

It had to deal with the rainfall, as well. All that stuff was still coming down...coating everything with a glistening sheet of silver- or at least it looked that way, glowing via the visor's most optimized NVG setting ( automatically taken care of, thankfully, courtesy of the ODST's standard armor design ) . But, it did so beautifully, and James had 0 trouble navigating his way through the park, even at a rapid jog.

Some primal animal urge was yelling at him to go at a dead sprint, but...that old NCO's strict training held him back. Pacing himself, and taking things just fast enough to count as hurrying, but not so much that you were spending valuable energy was the way to go, they'd drilled to him-unless he was literally running for his life.

Otherwise...

Always save something for emergencies, they'd told him. Always..

They were right about that, but the thunderous , Earth-crackingly-loud explosions that'd been chaining away just one block over from him still seemed pretty urgent. Enough so that James knew that even those NCOs would approve of him putting on some speed, as he finally began nearing the end of the urban forest...

Getting there..

Getting there...!

Where " there " was, though, was still an unknown. Anything could've happened over there with all those explosions, and with the Covenant having begun to stomp their ugly feet all over the planet, any explosions these days probably had something to do with them. Just for that alone, James reflexively double checked that his M7S SMG was still on off-safe mode...and a rapid glance down showed that, yes, it was.

Perfect...

..As long as there aren't any Brutes ahead, that is, he amended, as he finally reached this end of the sunken park. Directly ahead of him lay the exact way out- a flight of stairs, soaring nearly a hundred feet over a gentle slope that led back onto street level.

Lined by brilliantly red-flowering trees ( ones who's names and such were listed on signposts at their bases, though needless to say, James couldn't stop to read them ), and some actual Baobab trees ( which needed no explanation...though they still got signposts ), said stairs were even still lit- one of the few stretches of pathway/roadway around town that hadn't gotten their lights shot out yet. Not that it'd have been much of a problem for the ODST, what with his NVGs still online, but it definitely helped out, as he finally reached the base of them, and began to dash.

clak !

clak !

clak !

clak !

clak !

clak !

...Went his boots, as they hit the duracrete surfaces of the stairs. His field of view bobbed from the motions, but he kept it fixed on the target- that " crease " of orange light that marked where all the detonations had gone off. It was still his destination...

...Though, that was a bad second fiddle for, well...actually having a comms link with Gunnery Sergeant Buck so they could actually get Alpha-9 back together, and then actually get back to whatever skullduggery, morally sketchy, and probably pointless " mission " that the pretty ( but kind of mean ) ODST lady from the Say My Name had tasked them with. Then again, it was still an ONI mission, and every ODST worth his/her salt knew that anything with ONI's fingerprints on it was outright tainted by default. Any of them would take a regular mission over that any day of the week- and by " regular ", that translated as dropping deep behind enemy lines, with heavy hostile presence, limited supply, and low chance of reinforcement- but a high chance they'd get to slag/terminate something/someone important.

The usual stuff. The familiar stuff..

But, that wasn't here or there, James reluctantly acknowledged, as he jogged over the top of the last of the stairs, at last back on level ground. Nothing about today had been " routine " by ODST standards. ONI, with their usual playbook, had screwed them all over once again, and as much as ODSTs liked getting surrounded by danger, uncertainly, and just plain craziness, that shouldn't come from their own side, God bless it...

Yeah, yeah...you weren't born yesterday, even for a rookie !

Beat on them later ( even though they deserve it ), ok ?

You're on the clock now...! Deal with it..

He slowed his pace now, coming down from a borderline run to a cautious jog. As he did so, he scanned his surroundings, out of good ground-pounder habit.

Unsurprisingly, what with the Covenant having paid this town a visit, things were kinda hot- literally. From what he could see with his NVGs, most of the surrounding buildings- mid-rise structures that looked kind of commercial- sported the telltale charred pockmarks from energy weapons...along with some decorative bullet and shell holes and divots.

Things hadn't been one-sided around here recently, at least...

But, even as he panned his view around the neighborhood, weapon braced with both hands, safety off, and ready to fire on any xeno who dared to show himself.. with only a handful of seconds having elapsed...

..What the- ?!

...Is that...a...Good lord,it is !

...What ?!


" ..Maintain spread, Marines ! And scan the rooftops and windows ! "

The bellowed orders from the ODST cracked like a bullwhip...easily heard over the woooshing and pattering sound of raindrops battering the Earth from the still-ongoing rainstorm. That, and the even louder crackling snaps of the burning Scarab wreckage , which was still giving off flurries of sparks and embers all over the place.

Billowing clouds of white-ashy smoke as well. It was forming a column high over the carcass of the alien death machine, who's fires were actually doing a pretty good job to keeping the whole square ( or at least most of it ) well lit, as Trooper Miles' squad fanned out across the area to secure it properly. Such a thing had been questioned by the greener Jarheads/ GIs present ( " Scarab's dead, ain't it ? Why don't we just leave it ? " ), but that'd been stopped cold real quick by the ranking NCOs...and especially the ODST.

A mangled, utterly twisted pile of smoking metal or otherwise, the Scarab's death site still needed a good sweeping. More of its escorts could've survived the hellacious rain of missiles from above, even with as savagely damaging as they'd been. They could've scattered back to the ( relative ) safety of the outer admin and security buildings that served as the frontage ring for the NMPD HQ, and if so...they were going to need eliminating.

Finally- protocol was protocol. You didn't just leave an AO behind without crossing your Is and dotting your T's, so to speak. You conducted your sweep, cleared the corners, and then you moved on. That was SOAP, for all UNSC ground-pounders for centuries, and it wasn't going to get compromised now.

Maybe even more so, with a destroyed Scarab littering the place...probably could see that freshly-made scrapyard from orbit..

" Kivec ! Hey, Kivec ! You're drifting, Private ! Get it tight ! "

..Oh, right.

There wasn't any escaping the notice of a veteran NCO- that was another lesson harkening back all the way to the days of Kivec's stint at Basic. Except, it was coming from an ODST on this go-around, and that just amplified it times 4. At a bare minimum, as well...

Some things didn't change. Demolished Covie machines burned as white as snow, NCO's liked to yell...

Business as usual, basically. Especially when it came to the only thing you could say back-

"..On it, Corporal ! ", he responded, re-wrapping his fingers even more securely around the grip of his MA5C.

...Should've got myself some of that coffee back at the Firebase..., the Canadian admonished himself, as he double-checked the way he was going. Sure enough, just as the ODST had observed, he was actually veering off a bit from the rest of the sweep line...

The nearest other member had glanced his way again...probably alerted because of the Corporal's loud reprimand. He was one of the Army guys, with the American football-style obsidian bars beneath each eye, and an M90 shotgun ( loaded with long-range slug shells ) as his weapon of choice ( or issue, more likely ).

Mark Ukela was the name, if Kivec remembered right. From Nebraska. He wasn't much of a talker, and even though this moment would've been a prime moment to call Kivec out, and say something alone the lines of " Getting spaced ?!", or " Head outta the clouds !"...he didn't.

It was much appreciated, frankly. Why, exactly, Kivec couldn't say- let the chain of command do its job, a dislike of stating the obvious- but he wasn't going to question it. There wasn't any point, after all. Just a vortex of thinking, that.

None of them had that luxury right now, anyway. They still had to double check everything- every nook, every cranny, and every alcove of the plaza. It didn't matter that most of the buildings around here were mostly undamaged ( a rarity around town )-that was even more of a reason to clean them out. More likely they'd be harboring some Xenos, with all that extra cover for them...

The mixed squad carried on with it then, glancing though windows, opening doors ( always without silhouetting themselves, as that would be a potential death sentence ) , and generally scrubbing the area to get sure it was clean of Covenant...like a sticky baking tray. They moved quickly-but methodically, fighting to stay on that sweet medium between going too fast, and going too slow-

" Hey...hey, Squad ! Rally on me ! "

" Squad ! On. Me ! "

Again,the bullwhip cracked, and it was just as abrupt and jump-causing as the last one. Well...mentally jump-causing, needless to say. Nobody was a child here- they wouldn't literally jump...

But, it was close enough. Kivec had just finished poking his muzzle through a freshly opened doorway on one of the low-slung buildings' front, and found nobody there, xeno or otherwise ( just like everywhere else ), he now had the ODST assigned to run quarterback on the mismatched squad yelling at him again...

Well, technically everyone. Seemed personal, though...

Probably wasn't, but anyway...

Pivoting sharply on one boot, Kivec was just quick enough to watch Ukela already jogging off, along with those two other guys from his fireteam- the heavily scarred South Africans, who were both rocking more slug-firing shotguns. They were just a couple feet away, but that was widening fast, as they gathered speed..

Geez...!

Go ahead and ditch me, why not...

Kicking things to gear by reflex, Kivec accelerated to join them, splashing through a few surprisingly deep puddles along the way. Overhead, the lashing rain actually seemed to have gotten even stronger...though the burning Scarab wasn't dampened at all. Or least it didn't look like it...

Weird alien metals, and stuff, he momentarily reflected, as he wove his way around some shallow, but still smoldering craters, and sidestepped a few dead Grunts lying facedown surrounded by fields of shredded metal fragments. Just ahead, the rest of the unit was getting back together, with the unmistakable sight of the tall ODST with that armor of their standing at the center...

...But., as he got closer..

Wait...what's going...?

Wait- it wasn't just them ! Well, mostly it was, but there was still a trickle of other members of their " unit " that'd just emerged from the two-story building opposite the HQ that they'd been using as a makeshift pillbox against the Scarab ( Until the missile barrage had slagged it, that is ). There were just a few of them, but standing out among that number was..

...Hey, its the Lt !

...What's she doing out here, anyway ?

The question sparked like a matchstick though his mind, but Kivec didn't voice it- there wasn't anyone around to hear/answer it, anyway. Besides, he was pretty sure he'd find answers soon enough, if he just stuck with it, so...

" The heck...?! "

...It...it just burst out. It wasn't a shout, just a loud whisper that echoed through the capsule space of his helmet, but he couldn't stop himself from expressing at least some surprise at what he was seeing right here.

It wasn't an illusion, or a trick of the eyes- he knew what he was looking at , however shocking and unexpected it was, and without a doubt, it was.

But, the truth was the truth...

There was another ODST standing there.


" Trooper ! State your rank, unit, and number. "

The female officer standing before James unmistakably looked like she'd been saddled with an acute case of frazzled nerves- breathing was coming a tad quicker than normal ( enough so that her whole chest was visibly heaving, even beneath the layers of body armor plating ) , pupils were kinda dilated, and she kept biting her lower lip over and over again.

A psychologist he might not have been, but James had seen this at least once before, and he hadn't forgotten. He didn't think he would for this, either...

Some things...just stuck with you.

But, none of that was here and now. Responding to the question was, so the young Trooper squared his armored shoulders, stood straight, and spoke with as much respect as he could muster. " Ma'am..! Private First Class James Masis, Orbital Drop Shock Trooper detachment Alpha-9...45373. "

" At your command, ma'am ", he quickly added.

Not protocol,sure...but it can't hurt.

Might calm her down...maybe..

Actually, maybe it really did. Or not- the Lt just nodded briskly, without saying a word, and while glancing momentarily off to one side with hands freshly planted on hips..

Like she was distracted by something. Or...by a memory.

" Good, Trooper... that's good ", she finally remarked, biting that lip again.

Letting it go, she turned back to him, and then gestured at the tall, burly ODST standing just on her right. " Ok...this is Corporal Miles here. Says he's also a member of Alpha-9, just like you. "

A well-put together little opening, but...it was completely pointless. James wouldn't have said so, but there was 0 chance he'd forgotten what that skull-painted chest plate signified:

Corporal Taylor Miles, Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Giant of Alpha-9, and their resident spiritual man, more or less. James had spotted that skull from practically over the horizon from out of the mixed bag of armored Marines and Army soldiers that'd begun approaching from the ring of buildings surrounding the dead Scarab. It'd been, pretty cleanly , the strongest morale shot he'd gotten all day..

Thank God for any favors, at this rate...

Huh...they were probably saying the same thing..

" Been shaking this city out like a dirty rug to find this kid ", rumbled the big Trooper beside her.

He depolarized his faceplate then, revealing that rugged, square jawed face of his- sporting the rare feature of a slight smile. This was a reunion after all, even if it wasn't how either of them had planned it. That didn't count for much, though, because finally...

...Finally, at least some of Alpha-9 was glued back together. You had to at least show your mug for that..

James did the same, and then proffered a closed fist. " Corporal. Thank God you made it. What about the Gunny...or anyone else ? Found a trace of 'em ? "

The other ODST returned the traditional greeting gesture, those his expression and tone now reverted to its former stoniness. " Negative, Private. Captain Westfield-he's the head honcho around here. Expect to meet him soon- and the LT have been asking me the same thing all day- haven't found anyone else from our unit. "

He tipped his helmeted head at the gargantuan edifice of the NMPD HQ, looming over them like a literal mountain made of metal. " Only thing we got even resembling a lead is over there- this Scarab was busting its way trough when some missiles took it out. You know the Gunny, though. He's exactly the kind of guy to cause so much heat, the Covies would pull out the big guns to stomp us out. "

...Now, that was a lead, actually.

It might've seemed otherwise to some, but if there was one thing that ODSTs were renowned for all across the UNSC, it was their knack for causing total and complete chaos wherever and anywhere they went. Even with the city as polluted with Covenant as it was, who had their own rep for outright leveling whole aforementioned cities, it was still a pretty convincing path to follow.

A whole Scarab, and accompanying escort unit ? No UNSC heavy armor around ? What else could justify that except for an ODST- led wrecking unit ? Not much, that's what.

..Still wasn't much, as both James and Dutch were all too keen of, but it beat nothing by a country mile.

And, they were already taking it ?

More small favors- but they're worth their weight by gold

That's for sure.

Flickers of fire began burning at the center of Jame's ribcage, and a wolfish grin of his own began to gently tug at his mouth. Was that wrong ? Maybe, but he didn't care...

" Sounds like a plan, Corporal. "

He glanced at the officer standing there. " Ma'am...that what we're doing ? "

There was a momentary pause, and then the Lt. slowly nodded. " Soon as I get the clearance from Captain Westfield- "

Thoom...!

Thoom !

Thoom !

Thoom !

What is it with this whole AO ?

Thing exploding, raising an unholy racket outta nowhere...!

Hot-pot-on-a-stove reflexes activated, nearly as fast as those thoughts, and as a fresh tidal wave of adrenaline roared through James' veins, he craned his head back and around to where the distant- but still loud- booming sounds had come from...

"...The heck was that ?! "

" ..They shelling us...?! "

Exclamations rose from the other assorted Jarheads and GIs, and they were presumably scanning the overhead night sky themselves for where all that thoom-ing had come from-

Was it Wraith mortar impacts, actually ? Those hulking things came with a lot of ( equally ) nasty flavors, and each wasn't the same as the next.

"...ODST Drop Pods ! "

Dutch's roar couldn't have alerted them more strongly if he'd tossed a frag grenade among them- that might've been more subtle. Not that there was any point of subtlety now, though...

Besides, he was right. James had just spotted them as well...

...and...and there was a lot of them ! Dozens of gleaming, salt-white, tangerine orange streaks arcing down from out of the sky...leaving long, wispy trails behind them. From the looks of it, they'd just busted through the stratosphere, and were about a minute away from actually hitting the deck...

Specifically...right here, where they were all standing.

Right. Here.

"..Lt. Rahman ! ! "

A static laced, baritone voice boomed from somewhere close by. Kivec turned away from the oncoming pods, to find one of the Marines that'd been sticking close to the officer- the one with all the comms gear carried on his back- was now urgently offering her the two-way Comms unit.

Wordlessly, she grabbed it, as the shouting of who was pretty obviously the aforementioned Captain thundered from it-

" Lt ! Move them clear ! Move them clear, now ! We got ODSTs coming hot ! Copy ?! "

The officer's mouth opened, but nothing came from it for about a split second...before finally:

"...Roger that, sir. Moving ! "

Shoving the comms unit back , she spun ( slightly jerkily , though ), and addressed the taller of the ODSTs. " Corporal Miles-! "

But, the skull-armored Marine was way ahead of her. " Fall ! Back ! Fall back ! ", he ordered, pointing back the way they'd come. " Hustle, people ! Let's go ! "

That alone was enough to spur everyone right through the flank. There was an explosion of movement, as the entirety of Xiphos squad ( and the other members of the airlifted contingent that'd found their way here ) launched themselves to a run. It wasn't the most organized withdrawal ever...but it could've been much worse.

Besides, at least they were moving at all. Away, that was, from the spot where all the pods were about to land...

Talk about irony...geez..

Cut off from other Troopers all day, and now more are about to land on my head !

...Seriously...!

The sheer absurdity of it all wasn't lost on him...but he had to dwell as he ran, because those pods were booking it. Couldn't be more than 30 seconds out by now...!

So he ran, along with the others. Head down, pushing off the soaked ground, and just hauling it along, at a ful tilt. They dashed past and over the wildly scattered corpses of the Covenant who'd accompanied the Scarab, past mini-ocean of their spilled ichor-

Wrooooooshhh !

Wrooooooshhh !

Wroooooooshh !

Wroooooshhhh ..!

ThraKKLL !

ThrakkLL !

THRAKKLL !

THRAKLL !


Close.

Freaking.

Call.

An extremely close freaking call, exactly. And, an absolutely sinful breach of anything even resembling proper drop protocols ! It wasn't event the same galaxy as them !

Having just barely dived behind a car parked on the curb that ran across the front of their improv command building, it was still all that James could focus on, even as the shockwaves from the pods slamming through the pavement began to fade away. It was...maddening. Just...maddening, that they would do something like that !

What 2-days-out-of-OCS butterbar on whichever ship they'd launched from had green-lit this ?! What green-as-a-cucumber officer had said this could go ahead ?!

Anger was now knifing slowly but resolutely though his legs, headed higher- the way it always did. It just didn't...it didn't compute, what had just happened..

At all. What had they just done...?!

" Jerks ! ", yelled some random ground-pounder, over the patter of the still falling rain. " Do we look like Covies to you ?! "

" Easy, Marine..", commanded the distinctive gruff vocal tunes of the skull-armored ODST. " Easy ! Save it for the aliens, understand ?! "

James could count on one hand the number of Marines who could resist the charged force of an ODST telling them what to do, and whoever this guy was, he wasn't one of them. Seconds later, that was confirmed with a tense, but accepting-sounding , " ...Copy that, Trooper..."

" Dang, though...! "

"...Y-you heard him, Marine ", reinforced the nearby Lt. " Keep a lid on it. I won't repeat myself..! "

...Good God, she sounds rattled.

Seriously.

..For real, though. She did. James wouldn't guess why, but something about recent events ( probably that Scarab ) had tipped her over some kind of edge, and it was showing more and more. It'd been pretty clear when he'd first meet her just minutes ago, but it'd already seemed even stronger...

Not good. Not good at all...given they were all well outside the wire, and-

BANNGG !

BANNGG !

A un-heralded volley of katana-sharp banging sounds derailing that convoy of thought- the sounds of a SOIEV's doors getting knocked off by the explosive bolts.

Pivoting that way, James beheld the sight of a cluster of freshly-planted drop pods, all rammed hard and deep through the drenched asphalt of the square from the momentum of their orbital drop. Resembling a vegetable patch of some kind ( a true hayseed would know, which he wasn't ), the pods were now doing a pretty good impression of what happens to ripened fruit when you squeeze it- specifically, they were bursting open all over the place now.

But, rather than kernels of corn or grapes...heavily armored, obsidian-painted, and armed ODSTs came spilling out.

Emphasis on both the first and last of those things, the ODST who'd nearly been smashed by them observed. And...and the last as well, actually. These Troopers didn't look like most of the others he'd seen, with their ash-grey armor as the dominant color. That was he was most used to, but these Troopers were rocking some government-goon dark paint, which even lacked any logos or rank marks- extremely odd.

And foreboding. Still, they at least at the required signature feature of any ODST armor set, and that was decoration...which for them, was a set of matching Reaper Scythes.

...Ok...

Edgy, but that's kinda what we do, so...ok.

Still doesn't forgive nearly piledriving us through the Earth, though...!

True as that was, though, they weren't the enemy ( rebel terrorists, or Covies ), so James let his rifle's muzzle stay lowered, and his finger remained resting beside the trigger, as the new arrivals began to leave their smoking pods behind...

What'cha doing, strangers...?

What'cha-

" Troopers ! Troopers ! "

From over James' shoulder, that same voice that' scome over the comms unit sounded again-but now, it wasn't over a comms unit at all. It was definitely the same guy, but..

The ODST's head and torso rotated, and found an SMG-carrying Marine, with the glow of the still-burning Scarab wreck lighting the flowing rainwater coming off his un-shaven face and armor plating, as well as that of the two other Marines running alongside him.

The fabled " Captain Westfield ", evidently. James had been wondering when he'd arrive Rahman hadn't been kidding when she said he was close...

Hoo boy...

Great. ODSTs outta nowhere, and another officer on top of 'em. Plus the one who looks like she needs a week at a luxury spa..

Ugh...better to just stay a ghost for this one.

" Troopers ! ". The extra officer had finally gotten on scene proper, and was now calling them out as directly as humanly possible. " Identify yourselves ! "

The bulk of the brand-new ODSTs hardly seemed to react clearly to any of it...oddly enough. They just ran right ahead with checking their gear, and adjusting their weapons trim from the shock of the drop..

But, not all. A few, nearest to the front of the pack, did turn around to face Xiphos squad and their compatriots. They strode ahead, but stopped a few yards short.

One was clearly taller, and as that particular faceplate de-polarized, it revealed a stern-faced man with the features of a Mongolian steppe raider- complete with a trimmed goatee. As for the second Trooper, who was also clearly less bulky, that faceplate reveal led to a surprisingly pretty female face, with a set of striking green eyes- and freckles.

Actual freckles...! Gene therapy was supposed to have done away with that for most colonials of the early days of the Domus Diaspora ( Not really for the Outer Colonies though...even before most of them had gone rebel ), but...either she was from out there, or had opted out. Either which way...it was proof that girls didn't have to sacrifice hotness for their careers...

...Just wanna say: Thank you God, the ODST reflected, as he found himself abruptly standing- for seemingly no reason. He was still gripping his weapon with both hands, and with the muzzle still down-

Oh. Sit back and watch..

Right. Got it..

" Major Zumas Junhei ", the tough-looking man stated, with a naturally gravitas-laden voice. He tipped his head slightly at the woman next to him. " And this is Staff Sergeant Alica Jackson ".

The green-eyed beauty tapped a section of her chest plate- and now, James noticed that she didn't have the scythe paint like everyone else. Actually, hers was a tomato-red jackhammer, with drops coming off the end.

Unorthodox...

But..I approve.

" And before you ask any deeper...our operation is classified. ", the Major clarified , clearly speaking like a man on a schedule. " ONI, Section 1. "

Wait- ONI ?!

ONI ?! What the-?!

Here James thought he could just spectate this whole encounter, and hang back as a witness till the whole routine clashing of the top brass on scene was over and he got his new marching orders...but after that lighting-shock reveal-

Could he even, anymore ? How could he ?! ONI had slaved him to their own backdoor schemes as well ! Alpha-9 wouldn't even be all more tossed than a Caesar salad ( with plenty of croutons ) if it hadn't been for them...!

Bafflement and annoyance ( at ONI, as if that wasn't obvious enough ) now added themselves onto the sundae of mixed reactions that James had to deal with. As a man and an ODST, though, he would handle them, but-

" Well now, sir...what a coincidence..."

Confident as ever, Dutch- Trooper Miles- opted to speak out. Glancing around for him, James found the big Trooper stepping past the loose perimeter of men that'd from when they'd dodged the pods, his weapon firmly slotted to a spot on his leg's armor.

He stopped, and canted his own head now...

... at James.

" You know... that's the same reason we're here as well. "