Chapter 2 – Greto Retro

January 4th, 2552 - (04:30 Hours - Military Calendar)

In Slipspace, aboard UNSC Sevastopol

7 Years after Operation TROJAN

:********:

The galaxy had become a much more dangerous place than it had been 7 years ago, namely because there were far more planets around back then than there were now. Scratch that, Duncan thought. The galaxy had become a much more dangerous place for humans specifically. The Covenant were making sure of that almost every other week.

There was Sargasso in 46', Skopje in 47', First Meridian in 48' and that nasty business that played out on Paris IV for what seemed like forever back in 49'. All of that was followed up with two more years of service on planets whose names he was starting to forget, the battles of which his memories were beginning to blur together into a minutia of loss after loss. Defeat after defeat was piling up so much that he had grown numb to nearly any concern beyond his battalion, his company, his squad and his rifle sights. Defeat or not, a job was a job and the incessant loss-streak only served to sear that conviction into place. Just as the Staff had told him all those years ago, the one thing he set his mind on once the hatch on his pod popped away was any job he could do that would help his guys right then and there. After all, what more could any one man ask for? And since everyone in Epsilon shared that same focus, it enabled them to be among the most veteran and long-enduring squads of Bravo Company. They hadn't lost a man yet. Or woman.

Nova was giving him second thoughts about that though as the squad moved down a corridor within the UNSC Sevastopol with half of Bravo Company's personnel in tow. Far ahead lay the doors that led to the frigate's briefing hall where, according to Garrison, they would finally be told where in the galaxy they'd been travelling to for the last two days.

"I'm gonna kill that beefy Santa Claus for keeping us in the dark for so long." Nova growled. "And if I don't, somebody else will."

Duncan side-eyed her from his left. She was seething. Her red bangs were swaying against her emerald eyes as she stared straight ahead. Her old pony-tail was cut closer to the nape of her neck over the years, and though she didn't exactly look it, anyone familiar with her could tell she was about to skip into her 30s. It was thanks to her increasing air of a more mature woman that naturally accrued with age. Of course, the feel of a coiled-snake ready to pounce, of a shock trooper ready to kill was undiminished, as was the case for everyone.

"Neptune Actual's probably not to blame here." The Staff said as he came up on Duncan's right. "If anything, it's the situation that's to blame."

Duncan glanced his way.

While Nova was soon to hit 30, the Staff was approaching 40. While his hair was shorn to its usual buzzcut, the first few gray streaks were beginning to appear around his temples. The old scar running from his left ear over his face and down to his neck was joined by several more changes: burns from plasma discharges and fresh cuts from his morning shave. He looked as stern and sturdy as ever though.

"To be fair, we didn't get much time to think about this whole thing before they pulled us off the saddle." Duncan added. "It's been like what, two days?"

"He should've been able to give us an update in two days, don't you think?" Nova shot back. "That's more than enough time. So I don't get what's up with this delay."

"Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter as much as us hearing what the problem is." The Staff said and nodded at the upcoming door.

"Let's start the betting pool up. My bid is 30 cred on us giving the business to the Covies at the start. Then some rear echelon types will order us to pull out because everyone else is."

The braggadocios tone of the voice right behind him helped Duncan identify the speaker immediately. He didn't have to turn back to connect the face to the voice; curly brown hair faded along the sides with an arrowhead-cut at the base of the skull, like he was some kind of cyborg. Still, he glanced back to see his comrade, just as baby-faced without his visor as he was with it on. There was a little more hardness to it however. Yet the faint bags under his eyes from his constant laughter remained, disappearing as those eyes widened playfully. His scraggly goatee beard, one he'd been growing over the last few months after being inspired by Garrison's, stretched out as he grinned.

"How about you, D?" He asked. "Wanna match that bet?"

Duncan scrutinized him for a moment. "I'm banking 50 cred on us winning this thing and keeping whatever rock or home we get sent to pull a DA on."

Zack winced at the bet. His grin widened maliciously. "You're a real sucker for pain, aren't you ole' boy?"

"Pull out the whip and he'll pay you a tip. That's the way D's mind works. "Deaks pulled in next to Zack. The mop of hair atop the head of Epsilon's sniper was perpetually shaggy, his eyes ever a vivid brown. They were almost predatory with a hint that his spirit animal would be a raccoon thanks to the dark circles that always surrounded them. Of everyone in Epsilon, Duncan suspected that Deaks had changed the least over the years and perhaps had simultaneously grown the most. It was subtle, but for a man who loved forced dentistry he had become a bit gentler and more understanding. That didn't stop him from going out of his way to regularly disguise it as sarcasm.

"You're not tired of getting proven wrong yet?" Deaks asked.

Duncan shook his head with an equal sarcasm. "No. You?"

Deaks cracked a smile. "No."

"Then let's do it." The Staff said as the door sensor detected their approach and slid open. Epsilon was at the head of the stream of Bravo Company ODSTs. They headed into what was a spherically enclosed, amphitheater-like briefing space. The domed roof along with its descending rows of seats lay at the midship of the Sevastopol. It was easily big enough to fit the entire battalion. However, the bulk of the 7th were currently dispersed aboard other ships of the Battlegroup Indigo detachment, a quick reaction force which had been pinched off from the rest of the Epsilon Eridani Home Defense Fleet days earlier. The other four companies would also be trying to figure out what was going on, or at least wondering who was in danger of being glassed next.

The half of Bravo that was onboard filtered down the aisles to the ten lowest rows. Epsilon, always at the head of things, found their way to the front row at the bottom of the chamber. Duncan took a spot between Nova and Zack. He set his gaze on the large projection screen mounted to the front wall which was separated from the main seating area by a crescent of open flooring.

Colonel Garrison was already waiting for them there.

His arms were folded over the 'ODST' letters of his casual Helljumper wear. His snow-white hair and goatee, unlike Zack's, were full and well groomed. Even while well into his 60s he was just as solid as ever with death's creeping grip of feebleness having been scared off by his sheer grit. His steely gaze sifted through his troopers. Once they settled down, he held up a hand. A series of holographic recording icons appeared at the edge of his fingertips. He pressed each of them. Nine indicator lights flashed an active blue on corresponding camera devices mounted to the ceiling.

Garrison tapped an ear-piece to make sure the mic was active. Hearing the echo over the room's PA system, he cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, ladies, listen up. We've got a developing situation on our hands. Information is still coming in. For that reason, we weren't able to give you any specs on this op. Not until today. I won't be the one doing the breakdown this time though. I'll be stepping aside for the voice you really need to hear. Time is of the essence so listen closely. Once this brief's done, there won't be much time left to reexplain everything." Garrison stepped off to the right of the screen and tapped his ear piece. "You're good to go, sir."

Two seconds later the screen switched on. Of the image of the person that appeared, what immediately registered to everyone in the room was the white navy uniform, the golden insignia patches and wrinkling but stoic countenance of the highest-ranking man any of them would ever meet.

The entire half of Bravo stood at attention by the time Fleet Admiral Hood opened his mouth, speaking from his position on what Duncan presumed to be the bridge of a ship, possibly the Sevastopol.

"At ease." He said in that genuinely earnest way he had of addressing crowds. The ODSTs returned to their seats. Duncan was quickly made aware of two glaring facts that chilled him upon realizing them. Catching the shocked and worried glances of some of the others in his squad made him certain they were thinking the same things. One: if it wasn't some obscure vice admiral running this show but the fleet admiral himself then this operation would only possess the direst of consequences for the UNSC. Two, Hood had to be addressing the entire battalion since the colonel started an in-slipstream broadcast, meaning that Hood's plans would require a simultaneous deployment of over 1,250 ODSTs; the rough equivalent of an entire Army or Marine division. Long story short, things were about to get very serious very fast.

"It's an honor to have a battalion like the 7th with us. It won't surprise you to note that we have significant need of your services for what's about to unfold. Please pay close attention."

A projection emitted out from a pair of projectors onto the open space before his display. The initial rough collection of light and pixels coagulated together. What they created was a spherical image of landmasses jigsawed apart in various places by cratering seas and oceans. A standard eastward rotation as well as the blipping appearance of dozens of UNSC frigates assured everyone that they were looking at a colony. Then a pair of satellite moons appeared. The first was closer to the world and at a more acute angle relative to the second; a sign that the nights on the surface were probably bright.

"This is the colony world of Ballast located in the Daedalus system. On January 2nd at approximately 0200 Hours, UNSC orbital relay stations Raglon and Canrobert in orbit over the planet's moons detected a Covenant cruiser entering the edge of the system. While being closely monitored, the cruiser remined in Daedalus for several minutes before returning to slipspace. Multiple electromagnetic and radiative signals were emitted during that time, suggesting that it undertook scans of the planet and its defenses before it withdrew. We've reasoned that it was a scouting ship. It most likely went to inform the rest of the Covenant fleet its attached to of what it's found here. Be advised that Ballast hosts a population of 93-million local colonists and serves as a production hub for a wide range of vital UNSC assets. As a result, evacuation orders have and are being carried out as I speak. However, we have reason to believe, due to transportation constraints combined with the current evacuation rate, that more than half the planet's population won't be evacuated before the first Covenant forces arrive. And as to when that's expected to be, the projected date for their arrival and ours is estimated to be the same; today."

A general unease settled upon the briefing hall. Duncan saw ODSTs, usually the most disciplined persons in any room, start fidgeting. Looking around. Foot tapping. Whispers and murmurs. The light cacophony of noises indicated what the rest of the battalion was probably thinking too. Even Duncan felt his own chest tighten. This was anything other than an ideal situation. Having 45 to 46-million people yet to be evacuated from what was soon to be a combat-rich environment was a more than worrying prospect.

"Ugghhh, so is anyone else getting some serious Paris IV vibes from this right now?" Zack asked as he leaned over. "'Cause I'm hoping it's not just me."

"Nah." Nova replied. "That was different. We only got 3% of the population off before the Covies made their blockade air-tight. In comparison to that hot mess, here we've practically won already."

"I like your optimism." Deaks commented from a seat further down. "Let's hope it holds up."

Duncan tuned out their conversation and listened in to Hood's announcements.

"Presently, reinforcements are still on the way. I've ordered a 93-ship strong garrison from several other defense fleets to rendezvous over the north pole in order to preempt the invasion. Ground forces will be deploying to the major settlements and cities to assist those already present in accelerating civilian defense and extraction protocols. That's where you all come in."

Ballast's image zoomed in to show 10 different spots on varying regions of the surface that were highlighted by pulsating blue blips. Secondary projections appeared as lines that led out from the highlighted spots before ending at the creation of 10 discs with sticks seemingly jammed through them. The resolution on the new projections increased until Duncan was able to recognize them as orbital defense platforms.

"These ODPs you see here are new constructions. Their build rates were already sped up to the point where they would've been able to deploy later this week. Because of our new conditions, however, we've arranged for the Vosper Engineering developmental divisions to both finish and deploy the platforms today under protection. Your protection."

The projection showed a new battlegroup of 10 ships slipping into the planet's local space. They each deployed a cascade of friendly yellow contacts onto the surface. These drop-pod stand-ins landed around the highlighted ODP sites. The friendly contacts then gathered around the sites and formed solid perimeter lines around them.

"The reason that each of the 7th's companies are split in two is to provide a security detail for each site. Your job is to reach the outskirts of the city or settlement where each platform is located and to form a defensive perimeter around the installations. Your individual detachments will be operating with the goal of staving off any Covenant forces that may make it past the navy's security net. The Covenant are no strangers to these weapons. They've encountered them before and even learned how to outmaneuver them, such as what happened at Camber. They know to target either the stations themselves or their groundside generators. Our advantage here is that these ODPs are experimental. They're the first versions of the Moncton class to use subterranean generators that are set kilometers below ground. With that, your only concern will be to protect the stations themselves."

Large quantities of red, hostile contacts materialized around the sites and converged on the yellows. They bashed against them in crimson pulses. The yellow contacts inevitably withdrew into the ODPs which then took off into the atmosphere. They stabilized in the exosphere within a staggered lineup. Together they formed the rearguard of dozens of human ships already in a similar formation. As materializing groups of Covenant vessels advanced forward, the UNSC naval forces and platforms unleashed an overwhelming barrage of magnetic accelerator rounds at the enemy.

"Once the engineering crews finish the setup, you are to withdraw into the ODPs prior to their launch. At that stage, you're to act as additional security against any potential boarding parties. The rear support of these platforms will be the key to our strategy in space. It goes without saying that we cannot afford to lose Ballast under any circumstance, especially with such a sizable civilian presence still at risk." Hood fixed the gatherings with a firm glare that emphasized the seriousness of his every syllable. "Keep one eye on your weapons and another on those stakes, troopers. Your job is to hold your ground, to hold those platforms. I have no doubt that you'll be more than a match for anything sent your way. Prove here today that you're the best we have to offer, because the Covenant know how important your objectives are and they'll undoubtedly be sending their best against them. Good luck 7th Battalion. Godspeed."

Hood's feed winked off. Ballast's rotating projection remained.

Colonel garrison stepped back in front of the display. "That's all for now, troopers. Head down to the armory on Level D of your frigates and start gearing up. You can discuss the finer details of your individual squads' and platoons' positions within the op as you prepare. We'll be arriving in-system in two hours so be ready with your final pre-checks finished. Risk any slack and you'll feel it when they attack, you copy?"

The group in the Sevastopol, and most likely the rest of the battalion stood to speak in practiced unison. "We copy, sir."

Garrison put a hand to his ears. "What was that? I think I heard some slack in there."

They shouted. "We copy, sir!"

Garrison smiled. "Now I can hear you. Alright people, get moving."

:********:

The armory on Level D was a labyrinth of hallways and five interconnected chambers containing weapon racks galore. Amidst the dispersion, Epsilon found its way to the edge of Chamber-4; the assault weapons room. They melded in with the other squads in moving to the clusters of locker units in the middle of the room. They pulled out their black and often scarred battle dress uniforms out of their personal lockers. The number of scars and external dents was usually a solid indication of who was who. The shinier, less damaged ones belonged to the rookies while those that were beaten-up were as grizzled as the veterans that wore them.

Pulling open his own locker, Duncan got an eye-full of his own armor. His gear had a few cracks here with some plasma scoring there. He liked to think it was because he was either too good to get hit or wasn't worth shooting to anyone. Either one was a good deal because it kept him alive.

He took out the lower leggings first to strap them into place. From there he worked his way up until his chest piece was secured. He grasped his helmet with both hands and pulled it free of the containment socket. He brought it close so that he could see his reflection in the old blue visor. Staring back at him was a face with a handful of more scars than it'd started out with, a regulation-buzzed head and those same blue eyes nearly the exact color of the visor. The youthful fire of his earlier days was still there. That said, it had dulled from his initial rookie optimism. What was there now was a steely professionalism hammered down into smoothness by years of war.

No, he reconsidered.

They hadn't dulled.

They'd matured.

He pulled his helmet over his head and twisted the seal into place. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see Rico waiting off to his right. He was already geared up with an M319 grenade launcher on his back. He was only missing his helmet which he held in the crux of an arm. His caramel complexion was slightly paler than normal because of how much time he'd spent behind the visor. Regardless, his mohawk was always there, accentuated by the improvement of a low fade and a connecting stubble beard that a navy barber had introduced him to during their last op. His other hand held up a DMR in an offering gesture. "There's plenty of ammo left but not a lot of variety in terms of weapons."

Duncan eyed it. He looked around but saw that the weapon racks were already empty. He groaned at his own slowness. "There wasn't anything else there? No ARs? Hell, I'll take an SMG if there's any left."

"You took too long staring at that pretty reflection of yours. You should know it's first come first served by now."

"I can't help if I'm that beautiful, Ricky. You know that."

Rico shrugged. "I don't know jack. What I do know is that you've got no other options. You're lucky I even saved this for you. Captain Eddies' niños were getting real antsy about that long range life back there." He held out the DMR to him again. "So?"

Duncan gave a reluctant sigh as he swiped the weapon out of his hands. "Maybe I can pawn this off to Heck for his-" He stopped the moment he spotted the '0' on the ammo counter and turned back to Rico. "Wha-"

Rico held up a hand. "Hey, don't come at me, D. I just got you that out of compassion. You want me to tow that line over there for the ammo, that's gonna cost you a little extra cred for a little extra compassion, you catch?"

Duncan looked to where there was a growing line leading to the ammo-lockers on the other side of the chamber. Like always, Gunnery Sergeant Singh was there with two more of his guys. They were managing who got how much of what kind of ordnance. With a table in front of them hosting small munitions boxes and scattered shells, they almost looked like they'd set up some kind of extortionist monopoly scheme for ammo.

At least 20 troopers were waiting on the line. Duncan groaned again. "How much is it for that little extra compassion?"

"Slap me 60 cred and it's a goodnight hug. Slide me 100 and I'll throw in a big, wet bedtime kiss. How's that sound?"

Duncan laughed as did Rico. The former shook his head. "Never go into sales, Ricky. Your two-for-ones are god-awful."

"Copy that."

Duncan sucked in a deep breath and made his way to the back of the line. The dealings at the 'front desk' got a little faster every minute. There was on average a 20-second turnover rate for each 'customer' where they got the magazines, explosives and other equipment they needed.

Eventually he was just 10 persons from the front of the line when he spotted Hector reaching the very front. The big man of Epsilon was just as much a mountain of muscle and height as ever. That wasn't to suggest he hadn't made a few gains. Over the years he'd mastered the art of the right dietary and exercise routines that kept him walking the tight rope between a lean gymnast's physique and the bulky form of a gym bro. Even so, what remained the same was his characteristically unkept, dark hair. It straddled on the borders of order wrought by a military fading that the Staff had forced upon him. Before all that he had started to grow the longest hair in the squad in what Zack had coined as his 'Hippy Samson' phase. Now said phase was long gone and so was his flowing mane.

Hector held out a hand for Gunnery Sergeant Singh to pass him clips for his SMG. That irony was never lost on Duncan that the squad's biggest fighter also happened to be a fan of some of the UNSC's smallest guns. Hector slid the clips into the magazine pouches on his utility belt. Once he had everything, he tipped the gunny with a two-fingered salute and got off the line. Duncan shared a nod with him as he passed.

"Don't be late." Hector grinned.

"I won't."

Duncan set his attention on the front of the line, then to the person ahead of him. It took him a few seconds to notice that the ODST right in front of him was sporting a sheathed katana. He tapped the hilt of the sword. The trooper-samurai turned to him so that his most notable traits came into view. There was that old scar from his duel with the Field Marshal all those years ago. It ran diagonally from his forehead above the right eye, cut across his nose then stopped at the cheek just beneath his left eye. Though time had gradually faded it as Duncan figured it would when he first saw it, the mark hadn't lost any of its capacity to intimidate most new ODSTs and non-Helljumpers. Intensifying that effect were the infamous red-inked Japanese kanjis that he'd fought hard enough to earn. The symbols for 'Bad' were placed right above his right eye where the scar began while the symbols for 'Ass' were placed at the end of the scar beneath his left eye.

Mito squinted at him. "And you touched the piece because?"

"What if I told you it's because I wanted to say hi?"

Mito stared at him with a Zen-like focus only capable of a man that had practiced his meditative asanas with convicted consistency. "The first and surest measure to enter into communion with the divine is through sincerity as sincerity is the mother of knowledge."

"Nice proverb but are you saying that you can tell I'm lying?"

"Pretty much."

Duncan chuckled. "Listen, make sure you don't pull this out, alright?" He rasped his knuckles against the sheath of the Yamamoto Murasakino. "You know how the Staff gets whenever you do it and don't need to. It's difficult enough to keep COs from calling you out for a non-regulation blade as is, okay Hanzo?"

"Hanzo killed without anyone realizing what was going on. If you're saying I should do it when no one's got an eye on me then sure thing."

"No, I'm saying-"

"Next."

The two of them looked back to the line, not having realized that they'd reached the front. Singh and his men were waiting at the table.

Mito walked over holding up his MA5C assault rifle, a sleeker, shinier improvement of the ubiquitous MA5B. "Care to spare a few 7.62s with a humble beggar like myself?"

Singh sized him up as well as his weapon. "How much you willing to hand over?"

"How does 40 cred for 40 clips sound?"

The gunnery sergeant grinned. "You're bargaining below the price line, son. Besides, how are you supposed to carry 40 clips with gear like that? It's like you're trying to drop out of the sky or something."

The two of them shared a knowing cackle as one of Singh's men passed their customer a handsome sum of magazines. Mito walked away contented. "Thanks for the charity."

Duncan eyed his comrade's MA5C enviously as he stopped at the table.

"Need something for that?" Singh pointed at his DMR.

"Ugh...yeah, four should do."

Singh nodded to the man on his left who pulled out four magazines from a crate labelled 'M118'. "I thought the tooth fairy was the marksman in your crew. Didn't know you had a pref for long sights too."

Duncan shrugged as he took the clips and smuggled them into his ammo pouches. "It's an acquired taste. I'm open to new things, you know?"

"You got stuck with the scraps, didn't you?"

Mito's proverb about sincerity slipped through Duncan's mind. He gave a humbled exhale. "Yessir."

"Figured. Well, get moving trooper, you're holding up the line."

"Got it." Duncan had to mentally shirk off the old flashback that flew into his attention at the gunnery sergeant's last comment. He headed out of Chamber-4 into one of the corridors that arced over to Chamber-2. On his way over the passage's gentle incline, he spotted an exit door off to his right. Passing through it, he headed down a flight of stairs and out into another corridor on Level E.

'E' for Eviction or so he remembered the Staff having said about the drop bay on his very first mission.

The bay area of the Sevastopol with all its metal gray walls and glimmering consoles was comprised of two parts. The first, the outer section was actually comprised of two outer standby areas to either side of the actual exit. The transitory markers between the two sections and the central exit were signified by three key features: more vented flooring, more railings and more HEV pods hanging over drop tubes. Upon first entering, the place looked like the inner grounds of some three-story hotel with dozens of single occupant exoatmospheric insertion vehicles lining the 'balcony' of each floor. To him they looked like bats ready to fly out of the cave at the first sign of a disturbance. The inner bulkhead door below the bay itself was sealed shut and would inevitably be pulled open for their drop. Until then, the air of the place would remain as a makeshift lounge for the ODSTs of Bravo Company.

Most of the squads were gathered around the table-like tactical planners on the more raised section of the standby areas. He moved along a railed walkway close to the pods on the portside of the ship. Halfway down, he spotted the squad gathered around their own planner. They spotted him too. He got more than a few 'your late' looks on the way over.

He jogged up a short staircase onto the raised area. He settled down on the last free spot on the benches surrounding the planner.

Standing up in front of the device, the Staff didn't look amused. "Think you took long enough?"

"He was too busy checking himself out in his visor to watch the time, sir." Rico chimed in from the opposite seat. "Sorry to tell you but he had more important things to deal with than whatever we've got going on, right D?"

"Is that true?" The Staff asked seriously.

"Yeah." Duncan shot the demolitionist a semi-smirk of irritation. "Yeah, that's it."

From an adjacent bench on his right, a certain ODST leaned in to inspect him with fist pressed quizzically to chin, giving him the guise of the Thinker statue come to life. The only difference was that the Thinker had more of an Anglo-Saxon jawline rather than a pronounced Slavic one. Moreover, it didn't have buzzed hair with tiger stripes that had evolved overtime into lightning bolts the closer they got to his forehead, then changing into a fire-like design at his hairline. Tiger stripes, lighting bolts and fiery hairlines were out of the sculptural equation. And one more thing; Duncan was pretty sure that the Thinker was based on a calm and contemplative westerner, not a short-tempered Russian.

"You look just as ugly as when you first touched down at Falchion." Yuri said with the ease of a man accustomed to insults himself. "I don't get what there is to see. Do you?" He turned to the trooper on his right.

The ODST in question looked bored out of her mind. She was the best example of what can happen when Mediterranean femininity merges with Helljumper ferocity. Olive skin just as poignant, brown eyes striking, hair cut to ear-length and tied into a neat bun at the back. She had a few more blonde streaks amongst her black strands than there were when she first joined Epsilon. Unless he was mistaken, he thought he spotted a few lightening patterns in the mix of blonde and black strands that hadn't been there just days ago.

Renni shirked off Yuri's question altogether. "You were saying, Staff?"

"Hey, don't ignore questions of my own." Yuri insisted.

Renni sighed. "You can simply say 'my questions'. God, I thought I taught you this already."

"Maybe it's because you're piss poor language teacher."

"You forgot your 'The' again. And hey, what does that make you then?"

Yuri started laughing. "Piss poor language student? Or maybe I'm just lazy."

Renni rolled her eyes as he cackled at her expense.

"Alright, let's focus people." The Staff said. "We can do all that back and forth once we're away. Right now, we've got less than two hours to figure out what our place is in this whole thing so pay attention. Zack, you especially."

Zack tensed up defensively. "Wha-, what'd I do?"

The Staff touched a hovering function on the tactical planner, activating the entire device. The projector nodes immediately emitted the familiar rotating image of the planet of Ballast. The flocks of ships gathering over its northern pole were an impressive force to behold even considering that the full reinforcements had yet to arrive.

A secondary simulation played out over the planner with the arrival, or anticipated arrival of Battlegroup Indigo. The ships of the force burst through into normal space scattered above different regions on the surface.

"This will be us right here." The Staff tapped on the projection of a Paris-class frigate hovering over a region to the northwest, one a few hundred kilometers shy of the equatorial latitude. Tapping it caused the ship to maximize in size to the point where the squad could see the HEVs shooting out from its drop bay.

"Our deployment orders are from the Sevastopol to the city of Vallejo located here." He pointed and the planner's sensors reacted, bringing the image closer to the surface. Slowly Vallejo resolved into clearer view. The best way Duncan thought to describe the sprawling city was a place that was probably planned out when it was two thirds its current size. Then the urban jungle grew outward, devolving into smaller structures with less densely packed properties the further out it expanded from the center. The high organization in the city's heart compared to the disorganization of the outer areas was a key characteristic of new settlements. Not new in the sense of comparable age to people, but new in that they hadn't been around long, likely falling below the century-mark. Despite looking to be in need of some more stringent urban planning in the next few decades, much like a bush nearly ready to be hedged, Vallejo was surrounded by a ton of green. The locale was encased within a region of plains, shallow valleys, low rolling hills and abundant forestry. The taller hills and deeper valleys were to be found ringing the southeastern to northeastern outskirts. Beyond that was something that immediately caught Duncan's eye. The Staff continued before he could focus on it.

"It's 3 kilometers between the city and Vallejo station so we'll be landing about midway between the two as a precaution. Command doesn't want to risk us hitting something important on the way down." He pointed at an area between Vallejo and the object that caught Duncan's interest. Their landing zone would be in a shallow valley at the mouth of a deep mountain pass that ran between two of the largest hills on the scope. All of it was a little under a kilometer and a half to the southeast of the city itself. Duncan scanned a few valleys further eastward from their LZ where the land flattened out into nothing save for gradually sloping plains. The stretches of open ground encompassed the south of the two hills then expanded out east towards squad's main objective.

"The second we're on the ground, we'll move east to Vallejo station. Then we'll help setup a proper perimeter near the starboard space-dock here."

He pointed to the construction site within the open plains to the southeast of the city. There, in the center of the collection of polycrete structures and prefabricated buildings, was an orbital defense platform. The one they would be sent to defend. Because of its immense height, its key feature, the giant naval artillery piece that was more skyscraper than cannon, allowed it to easily tower over everything else in the area. Even the two large hills were nearly overshadowed by it. The Staff tapped on a series of structures on the west side of the ODP that came right before the platform's U-shaped space-dock.

"We'll settle in this area with 4th platoon as back-up to a small detachment of local MPs there. Be advised, our air support will be limited since the bulk of the navy have to tango with the Covenant in orbit. What we do have to look forward to are gun-runs from Longswords and SkyHawks."

Zack suddenly perked up, armed with a hopeful glint in his eyes. The Staff nodded affirmatively at the unspoken question. "Yes, air combat control has been authorized."

Zack pumped his arms victoriously. "Hell yeah."

"You know how to direct a SkyHawk?" Nova questioned unbelievingly.

"Hell no. I'll figure it out though. It's been a while since I've worked with one. They're not too common outside special security and recon ops so it's hard for JTACs to really get any kind of solid experience with them in the field."

"You better get that experience quick because from what I've heard, we'll have to share what limited air support there is with Marine forces operating out of Vallejo." The Staff said." Resources are being stretched to account for the needs of the ODPs so make good use of their time. Next to us, the most valuable defense assets down there will be those pilots. Make every run count."

Zack patted the advanced radio equipment on his back, a lighter but improved variant of his old model capable of capitalizing on longer radio distances without the excess bulk. "No worries, sir. I'll send them where we need them."

"Copy. The MPs are currently setting up positions for us in advance. The little work we'll need to do will revolve around ground-pounding our way to the site and adding some finishing touches. Our individual posts will be decided the moment we get through those gates. We hold that position until command tells us otherwise. We withdraw from a post without orders only if there's no other option. Things are bound to get chaotic down there. Taking matters into our own hands might have to be our modus operandi at least if we're hard-pressed. We'll see what's what from however long it takes the tech-heads to finish this thing." The Staff turned about to face them all. "That's it. You've got the basic gist. Now, any questions?"

A short silence later, Deaks raised his hand while the other cradled the SRS-99 on his lap. "Think there's a chance we'll end up leaving people behind?" He pointed Silver Buddha at the construction site which glinted in the projected light. "That's a pretty big location. There's a chance, isn't there?"

"Not really." The Staff said. "Most of the elements of VOSPER's development division that will be present are going to be either concentrated inside or around the main internals of the station. The only persons in any immediate danger will be everyone else outside."

"Us." Nova said thoughtfully.

Zack glanced confusedly between her and the Staff. "Wait, what do you mean 'us'? There's no immediate danger if the Covenant aren't there yet."

"I'm surprised your high school on Luna didn't teach you this, Zack." Nova teased. "Think about it. Back in the 20th and 21st centuries, the average space shuttle required a propulsion force equal to 760 tons of TNT simply to reach a stable orbit, close to 320 kilometers of altitude. Vallejo station has to reach somewhere in the realm of that same distance in order to achieve a stable geosynchronous orbit. But those shuttles back then were about a quarter of the size of a Paris-class like the Sevastopol, and Vallejo is about three to four times the size of this ship alone." She leaned closer to Zack. "How much TNT do you think it would take to launch that monster into space?"

Zack tensed up under her increasingly intensifying glare. "Ugh-, I-, ugh-, wait, do they seriously still use TNT for this kind of stuff?"

Nova's right eye twitched. "Theoretically speaking."

"Ugh, well, maybe times 760 tons by...8?"

"Bingo, and what's that equal to? Get that right and I'll give you a gold star."

Zack was visibly shivering under her stare though more so under the pressure of the sudden mental mathematics. It never ceased to amaze Duncan how someone who could convey the specifics of actively changing enemy grid-locations to air forces was basically being tripped up by 5th grade arithmetic.

Zack finally answered. "I think it's...6,080?"

"It's 6,080...what?"

"...Tons?"

Nova backed off to finally gave him some breathing room. She spared him a pleased smile. "Good boy. You're learning. It's actually better to think of it as 6 kilotons of sheer explosive energy; a small fraction of a fraction of what you'd see from a HAVOK or FENRIS nuclear warhead. That's not to suggest the power isn't still there though."

Zack swallowed. "Then what does it mean that-"

"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait." Rico intruded, pinching his chin as he made his own deductions. "Don't gravitic principles apply here? That thing will have to do a lot just to not drop out of the sky for the first few seconds since gravity's stronger the closer to the surface an object is. To overcome the balance force of Ballast's gravity well, the take-off rockets will have to expend the most energy there since the station will only stay in place after the launch, cancelling out the fuel deductions of a cruise flight. That-….that means..."

Nova nodded as he trailed off into his thoughts. "And the construction site hasn't been cleared yet either." She looked again at Zack. "Have you put the pieces together?"

Zack shook his head incredulously.

"It means we're looking at a blast radius of more than 14 square kilometers." Rico remarked in awe. "With a thermal radiation radius more than a quarter of that and a moderate blast damage radius a seventh of that."

Zack's eyes bulged. "Hey, hold up. That's how much power this thing has?"

"Could have." Nova corrected.

"If it explodes." Rico added, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "They better not botch that take-off procedure or we're screwed."

"But Vallejo's too far for that, right? The techs must have thought that part through, right? Come on, somebody say something."

"Yeah, they did. That's why there's so much distance between the site and the city. Vallejo will be safe but..."

"But we won't." Nova finished. "If we're outside that thing when it takes off, we're dead from the initial exhaust output of the ascension. If we're outside that thing and it blows up full force, we're dead. If we're inside that thing and it blows up full force, we're double dead. No matter what we do to defend that site, it'll be obliterated the second that station starts going up. For all intents and purposes, we'll be fighting both in and for an incidental nuketown."

"Which is why our secondary job down there will be to not get obliterated with it." The Staff said. "You got that, radioman?"

Zack swallowed down his growing nerves. "Ye-, yea-... yessir. I think so anyway."

"Any other questions?"

Yuri raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Do we get to watch fireworks once this thing goes up?"

"The fireworks." Hector insisted. "Come on, Match, you promised you'd work on that."

"Oh shut-up. What are you, my mother?"

"Yes, because I raised you and expect you to know better by now young man, right Ren?"

Renni shot the larger ODST a 'don't get me involved in this' look.

"Yes, Match." The Staff relented, cutting the exchange short. "We'll get to see the fireworks."

"If we don't end up being the fireworks." Mito sighed.

"That doesn't sound like a bad way to go to me." Yuri affirmed.

Hector snickered at him. "Famous last words of a suicidal hot-head. I expected no less. Thanks for not disappointing."

Yuri smiled back toothily. "You're welcome. I'll be the one laughing and you'll be the one screaming like little girl on rollercoaster."

"A little-"

"I know what I said."

The Staff tapped a function on the tactical planner. The projection winked off and the device deactivated. "Alright, no more questions. You're dismissed. Do your final equipment checks and make sure to be in place by 0610."

"Copy." The squad replied. Together they rose from their seats and dispersed around the bay to attend to other business.

"Fire in the heart sends smoke into the head, Match." Mito warned.

"And iron sharpens iron." Yuri replied. "But that doesn't seem to stop you from trying to replace last one with plasma. One fiery maniac to one sword-wielding maniac, watch what you try to cut out there 'cause it might try to cut you back."

"Thanks. I'll make sure not to keep that in mind."

:********:

Duncan maneuvered his old Harvest rock around in his hands. His fingers pressed on its hard surface as if to squeeze out whatever sense of comfort it could offer. He liked to hold onto it whenever he had the time. He almost felt luckier when he took it out before a mission. His gaze would often pass over the writing on it, lingering on the last part; 'Love you, be seeing you real soon – Dad'.

He was thrown from his reminiscence at the sharp jostling of the Sevastopol as it exited slipspace. He quickly stashed the rock into a pouch on his belt. He made certain he was secured in his seat as his pod rotated 180 degrees counter-clockwise, much like a toy in the grip of a claw machine. The pod was pushed forward then down into the inner section of the drop bay. The lower bulkhead door was already open so that he got an uninterrupted view of Ballast's mesosphere. There was a misty yet glowing blanket of polar mesospheric clouds or 'night shiners' as ODSTs liked to call them. The clouds were slowly giving way, pulling apart before the morning light of the system's star, Daedalus.

Minutes before, he'd gotten to talk with the others about how this was one of the rare times that they got to prepare for a Covenant invasion well in advance. It was for certain this time too, a greater rarity. This would be no false flag deployment. No sitting around at a defensive post for three days just to find out some ORS officer pulled a false alarm on a misidentified asteroid. No. This was a real deal preempting of humanity's greatest enemy. Some outside of Epsilon voiced their opinion that this could be a victory, one the UNSC has been in dire need of recently. Some said that it would in all likelihood turn into another evacuation and asset-extraction mission. Duncan was neutral on the matter. He only wanted to focus on the small part of the war that was his. Someone else like Hood could have the bigger picture.

However, a part of him wanted to believe that they could win that bigger picture too. That was a distinct possibility given how important these ODPs might prove to be.

Maybe.

He watched other pods being lowered down through the drop tubes to hang over the atmosphere. The Staff appeared on his left display and Nova on his right.

"How're we feeling, Epsilon?" The former asked.

"I'm having some serious deja vu right now." Duncan said.

"Oh, and why's that?'

Duncan noted the countdown display in the upper right corner of his pod's crash cage as it began dropping from a lengthy red. "The last time I was ever on an ODP it was for my graduation. This feels closer to a trip down memory lane honestly."

"More like memory's entry burn." Hector chided. "Why don't you get your head out of the clouds Ep-8, and get it into these ones instead."

"Ay, sir." Duncan mocked. "Will do."

The countdown continued.

Colonel Garrison's voice came in over the battalion's comm frequency. "Let's show them how we take care of business, troopers. On three. One...two...THREE!"

Multiple ignition sparks lit up the drop bay. A split-second later, the pods burst out of the bay on trailing pillars of exhaust.

Duncan's head slammed back into his seat. He forgot to brace himself. He tightened up the muscles in his neck to maneuver his head back into place. His view of the Sevastopol expanded to the completeness of the rifle-shaped frigate. It rapidly fell upwards and away into little more than a black dot framed against the stars. Then nothing at all.

The early morning light combined with the remaining shine of the polar mesospheric clouds to temporarily consume his viewport, completely illuminating the interior of the HEV. His visor automatically polarized to compensate. After five seconds the light sufficiently diminished for him to see.

There were dozens of pods plummeting around him. Many were below, many above and a decent number were racing down to get ahead of everyone else. From the excited 'yahoos' over the squad comms he could tell Yuri was among them.

In the distance he saw the faint outlines of three other ships at varying distances to where the Sevastopol would be. There were small traces of exhaust racing out of their underbellies as well. There were no signs of any Covenant ships though. Not yet.

The 7th were moving down to their different objectives in full unity.

The descent was swift.

At one minute the mellowness of the stratosphere gave way to the pinkish dawn clumps of stratocumulus clouds. Far below, the land itself became visible. So did the city of Vallejo. There was little if any distinction from what they'd seen on the tactical planner save for the greater proportions. The city was bathing in the pinkish-purple beginnings of the day. Nevertheless, Vallejo didn't look like it had slept the previous night whatsoever. In fact, its airways were busy with private starship transports going to and froe, many heading up in the opposite direction of the ODSTs.

The sight of it triggered Duncan's first thought when Bravo deployed to Montague square back on Miridem. The job of ODSTs was always to run to where everyone else was running away from. That life philosophy gave them a good chance of not getting to run away themselves. That was fine. 'First in, last out' wasn't a great creed for no reason. The goal of every Helljumper was to make sure that the enemy were the ones worried about how they were going to escape, not them.

The Staff suddenly perked up. "Hold on, Epsilon. I'm getting new orders."

"From Neptune-Actual?" Nova asked.

"No. Its 4-Actual."

"Baelson!?" Zack whined. "Oh come on, what's he want with us now?"

"Hold on a sec." The Staff maneuvered through his HUD to patch the others through to his private conversation.

The voice of a young officer cut through a burst of static, a voice they all recognized. "That's the new priority for now, Ep-1. Neptune-Actual's given permission for the split-off."

"Can you repeat that for the squad's sake, 4-Actual?" the Staff asked.

"You're being reassigned to a new objective, Epsilon. Marines manning a major evac site in Vallejo need assistance for additional security. I need you to make your way over to provide them with what they need. There's going to be an MP platoon on the interstate that'll be 200 meters to our north. Link up with them and make your way to the city. We'll hold down the western position at the station until you return."

"...Time constraints?"

"Two hours max. We'll need you back soon so don't let them overuse you. Try not to stay late, copy?"

There was a round of silence on the squad comms.

The Staff answered for them all in a tone that perfectly encapsulated their reluctance. "We copy. We'll get the job done, sir."

The inter-platoon comm-link switched off.

"Think he's serious?" Rico hissed.

"It is what it is." Nova lamented.

"I hate what it is." Yuri sighed. "Still, orders are orders, right?"

"Orders are orders."

The passive aggressive change in the conversation's mood wasn't lost on Duncan. Everyone wanted to be where they thought the most danger was bound to come. This new mission felt closer to a side-quest despite that the assignment was arguably more direct as it related to saving lives. The rationalization couldn't cut out the fact that they all felt equally slighted of their piece of the action.

The ground came up quickly while the surface expanded out into greater detail. Soon their drag chutes were deployed. Shortly thereafter, their braking rockets assisted them in the last 50 meters to their earthy touchdown.

Duncan grabbed his DMR, let the door automatically eject out of his way and leaped down onto a grassy field. To his left and right the valley walls of their LZ loomed high. The two hills to the north were massive in person, though they couldn't match the height of Vallejo station's MAC gun which the valley failed to hide.

HEVs were landing all around, pounding the ground into earthy paste beneath them. Doors blew off. ODSTs hopped out. Most of them immediately regrouped with their squads and platoons before heading eastward towards the valley wall and Vallejo station beyond.

For Duncan, a single '200' meter Nav point drew him north to a distant asphalt highway that dipped into the valley. He spotted the rest of Epsilon jogging in the same direction. They were bound for a small convoy of Warthogs waiting for them at the center of the highway. The squad moved against the general flow of their fellow troopers, albeit begrudgingly.

They reached the convoy in under thirty seconds. A middle-aged MP officer comm'd the Staff from the driver's seat of the lead-Hog. "You guys Epsilon?"

"That's us." The Staff said as he leaped into the shotgun seat beside him.

"We'll take you to the dealership where the Marines are. Things are getting pretty hectic around there."

The Staff glanced back at the rest of Bravo. "I can imagine."

The rest of Epsilon found seats in the troop carrier sections of the Hogs in the rear. Duncan settled in with his rifle at the ready. He took one last look at their half of the company. The troopers were already cresting the valley walls and moving down into the next. The image of Vallejo station stood tall over them, its pinnacle taking on a blinding shine as Daedalus' light came to rest over its peak like a king on his throne.

The Hogs took off towards Vallejo. Duncan's attention stayed on the station. "Yeah." He echoed. "I can imagine."

Greto Retro – Welcome Back

(Author's Note: My apologies you guys, I initially put 2545 when its supposed to be 2552. My bad.