Chapter I

Lightning and Thunder I – Hunters on High

0300 Hours, April 11, 2563 (Military Calendar; Planetary Night)

Spartan Team LEVIATHAN

Hestia System, Planet Meridian

Grid 44Px26 - Target Area MOHAWK

"Well-", Pentecost's voice trailed over TEAMCOM as he scanned the Banished armor base below. As his view swept across the mountainside encampment, his MJOLNIR armor's onboard Visual Intelligence System (VISR) identified two-dozen Wraith armored mortar carriages sitting in the service yard, marking each with a bright downward triangle on his helmet's heads-up display (HUD). He then repeated the process for the neighboring yard of Chopper fast-attack vehicles, then again for the lot-full of Shadow personnel transports.

Home to an army's worth of vehicles and warriors, the massive depot sprawled out wide below. Its brutal steel walls and flat slab-buildings jutted out from the land like dozens of steel-wrought bone spurs, and the night was lit with the eerie glow of plasma welders and industrial cutter-beams. With those buildings came vehicles, at least a hundred in all; tanks, troop carriers, and light assault vehicles. All of this was surrounded by a dark, durasteel wall more appropriate for protecting a medieval castle than a forward-operating base. At least three-hundred combat-ready alien warriors of various species. And at the very center of it all, a single Scarab fortress-breaker; a towering four-legged war platform, bristling with firepower.

The burning, beating heart of the enemy. Pentecost mused silently.

The question: how best to crush it?

He demagnified his visor, smiling as he turned back to face his companion. "-at least they weren't hard to find."

A meter behind Pentecost, Spartan Sage G-064 knelt over the buckshot-riddled body of an Elite warrior, cleaning and maintaining her weapons. The Menachite-pattern helmet of her MJOLNIR powered assault armor didn't move a centimeter at his quip, but he could almost hear Sage's eyes rolling behind her mirrored gold visor.

"A hundred armored vehicles scattered about a yard as long as a frigate. Enough small buildings to house a hamlet. All of the subtlety of a grenade, Captain."

Pentecost chuckled.

"A 'Hamlet'? You never struck me as one for the arts."

Sage simply stared at him; her obscured face was as flat and expressionless as her visor.

"I take no joy whatsoever in theatrics."

Pentecost's stare lingered on the beetle-shape of the Wraiths. The fingers in his prosthetic left arm twitched as the sight stirred memories of his fighting on Algolis. The sensation of a plasma mortar strike flash-vaporizing his arm down to a stump of blackened bone. The slip into shock as he was dragged back behind the line. His last conscious memory being the sea of Covenant vehicles bearing down on the Marines' shallow trench. Surviving only by the skin of his teeth. Pentecost had never truly managed to shake his fear of the alien war machines.

But suppressing that fear, pushing it deep and doing what was needed; that came to him easily enough. Pentecost's eyes refocused. He mentally re-ran the operation, occupying himself by considering contingencies and planning solutions to unlikely problems.

For some time, the two Spartans simply remained in professional silence, diligent in their tasks. But it was Sage who eventually broke that silence with a needle jab; part-question, mostly-statement.

Sage hummed quietly over TEAMCOM as she mounted her weapons and began scanning the alien corpse beneath her.

"You are nervous."

It was like ice water in his face. Pentecost smiled a tired smile. "Maybe a little."

One of Sage's armored boots toed against the Elite's prone form before a swift kick knocked it over onto its back. Finding what she had been looking for - an intact dataport - she pulled a thin datalink connector from her armored gauntlet, and attempted to electronically wire to the Banished local battlenet.

Sage's head tilted, and she made no attempt to hide the confusion in her voice. "We've done this before - several times."

Pentecost waved a hand, brushing off her statement. "I realize that. I'm not worrying about myself. Or you."

Instead, he pointed at the damaged plates of his armor. At the burrs and gouges and scorch marks. Each scar was a brush near death at alien hands. It had been 12 days since Pentecost, Sage, and the rest of their team had made an inadvertent landfall. 12 days, and only a slim chance of rescue that hinged on this mission's success.

"I'm just beginning to wonder how long we can keep this up."

Sage nodded once. "That is a fair concern. Our supplies are limited. Our strength is immense, but it is not boundless. We tire slowly, but we still tire."

Sage paused for a moment, carefully considering her words before continuing.

"I've never known you to be one subsumed with such worry."

Pentecost shrugged.

As she so often did, Sage verbally cut to the proverbial bone. "Your worry is oil at the water's surface. Beneath that, you are fearless."

Sage lifted her M90 combat shotgun from the grass at her feet, inspecting it one-handed. She press-checked the large-bore weapon, the sharp sound of the racked slide punctuating the end of her sentence.

"Just like me."

Since fireball crashing onto Meridian's planetary surface twelve days ago, the members of Spartan Team Leviathan had barely so much as stopped to catch their breath. Five weeks ago, Leviathan had been given a direct order to immediately redeploy to the Hestia system and conduct surface reconnaissance of the planet Meridian. Naval Intelligence had inferred that recent disappearances near Meridian were the result of Jackal pirate activity - the same pirates that Leviathan had aided in destroying in orbit of nearby New Jerusalem.

What Leviathan discovered on arrival was only technically accurate to Naval Intel's assessment. Exiting slipspace, the Spartan's prowler detected the expected pirate vessels. But, the pirates were no longer solely pirates. Instead, Leviathan discovered that they had recently been absorbed into the Banished - an alien conglomerate of warlords, pirates, and mercenaries united by their genocidal hatred of humanity.

Despite Leviathan's inconspicuous exit from Slipstream space, their ship was detected by the magnetic anomaly detectors the pirates were using to search for reusable salvage.

Put simply: they'd been found by little more than plain bad luck.

Leviathan managed to bring their ship into Meridian's surface largely intact, surviving anti-fighter missiles and scrambled Banshee interceptors. After crash landing, they managed to link up with members of the 25th Marine Reserve: the last vestige of the human military that'd held out against the alien's ruthless invasion.

All knew that survival beyond a few weeks was only possible if the survivors could signal their allies for assistance. Complicating this was the fact that the nearest UNSC naval presence - the carrier that Leviathan Team had initially deployed from - was at least 25 lightyears away. Added to that, the only station that existed on-planet capable of linking to distant faster-than-light relays sat in Banished hands: a powerful signal-emitter facility captured by the Banished during their initial planetary invasion.

And so, the UNSC forces had determined that the only option would be to seize it from the aliens, and phone home.

But that attack was still days away; no operation of such scale could be conducted without missions specifically aimed at improving their odds of success. Planned by Spartan Captain Edward Pentecost, this shaping mission called for a two-man cell to conduct an audacious raid of a Banished surface installation to cripple Banished response time, and give a larger attacking force a chance of success.

Of the dozen Banished installations spread across this battle scarred valley, this mountainside armored vehicle depot acted as the beating heart of the invading legion's operations and force projection. Its primary role was to rearm, repair, and coordinate the movementions of the occupying force's armored ground power. But it also serviced the plethora of logistical support vehicles and personnel the aliens dearly needed to keep their armored spear sharp.

Without this base, any local Banished attack would be rendered toothless; any attempt to redeploy in number would be determined by how fast the Banished could run on-foot. And - most importantly - any attack on the communications facility would have a snowball's chance-in-hell at success.

But even for Spartans, two versus three-hundred was more than bold - suicidal would be a more apt description. If mismanaged, failure meant certain death - both for the Spartans, as well as the remainder of the survivors at large. But as the ancient adage went: Who Dares, Wins.

Sage's voice crackled to life over TEAMCOM. "Captain, what do you see?" Even while focused on her attempt to break into Banished electronic systems, notes of curiosity filled her otherwise impassive voice.

Pentecost dictated, rising from his reverie, "Starting with the obvious: a single Scarab. Barukaza Workshop-pattern. I can see the crew and service teams onboard."

Pentecost highlighted each of the dozen Brute and Elite warriors manning the rapid-fire plasma cannons and missile launchers spread across the vehicle's armored carapace. The massive, ursine aliens were observing the work of what appeared to be service crew; Grunt peons, all dragging the ends of massive flexible ducts behind them, or checking said ducts for leaks.

Pentecost continued. "Looks like they're loading up plasma carrier gas with heavy umbilicals.

Sage chimed, disappointment barely masked. "It is a shame the carrier gas is non-reactive."

Pentecost shrugged. "True. The good news, though, is that they can't fuel on the move. So my smart-money still says it should be there when the time comes to plant our charges."

Pentecost's raid plan had called for the complete usage of the survivors' stockpile of high-explosive charges. C10 High Explosives were the middle-man of the UNSC's explosive arsenal: a balance of relative stability, production cost, and raw thermochemical power. Pentecost would've preferred the destructive certainty afforded by FURY tactical nuclear devices, or even a pack full of octanitrocubane sticks. But seeing as the human survivors had none to speak of, and the alternative was waiting for nonexistent reinforcements, the C10 would be more than sufficient for the job.

The type of explosive was a relatively small part of the operation. The Scarab, more than any other vehicle present, was the priority target of the Spartan team. To that end, any sufficiently powerful explosive could cripple one, if planted on its lightly-armored reactor housing. Pentecost knew that a single block of C10 would be enough for that; the majority of the C10 demolition blocks would be used to turn the vehicle lot into an impromptu minefield. Each one, placed under a fuel canister or exhaust vent, could turn a dangerous Banished war-chariot into a death trap for its crew and anyone nearby.

Pentecost reset his view to encompass the army of vehicles present.

"Plan's still to work outside-in; work towards the Scarab rather than starting from it. They've got all their vehicles out in the open, so sticking them shouldn't be much of a challenge on approach."

On their shared HUDs, Pentecost placed downward chevrons on each of the Banished pilots and vehicle crew. Crews being so close to their vehicles oftentimes meant that they expected trouble. Proximity ensured short-response times: a setback for the Spartans.

"Goes without saying, but non-detection is going to be key - they'll be able to mount a response before we have a chance to book it."

Edward could hear Sage's shrug at that. "We expected that, neh?"

"True -", Edward hummed, " - but it bears repeating. Once they hop in those Wraiths and Choppers, they'll be coming after us with a lot more than plasma pistols."

Sage replied simply. "We will manage."

Pentecost continued, marking what he'd inferred to be garages, barracks, and a small supply depot. Much of the base couldn't be seen from their current vantage, so guesswork would need to suffice for now.

Sage hummed to herself as she unplugged her datalink from the Elite corpse. Pentecost watched as Sage initiated a remote data-transfer on his HUD. Accepting the handshake protocol, he watched as Banished access codes were transmitted via datalink and stored in his armor. Sage's flat expression belied a proud smile. "Their security is as fragile as ever, Captain. Slow work without an AI, but easy enough. We will have door and energy barrier controls."

Pentecost nodded. "Polite of them to leave the door ope-"

Pentecost felt his body react before his mind seemed to catch up, as a dull roar began to carry on the wind. By the time he was about to give the duck-and-cover order, Sage's visor was already pressed into the dirt. Without more than a thought, both of their their MJOLNIR armors automatically activated their photoreactive coating; matte grey and olive green Spartan battleplate shifted to the mottled browns and yellows of the dying earth beneath him, camouflaged splotches forming like bruises on skin.

Nearly a full minute later, both Spartans watched as what looked like an enormous pair of armor-plated cockroaches roared overhead: Blisterbacks, high-mobility rocket artillery vehicles that could lob a dozen bunker-busting missiles, and be airborne thirty seconds later. They circled the base once before descending clumsily near the base's center. Pentecost felt his tension slacken somewhat; if they'd seen either Sage or himself, they wouldn't have landed so casually.

Flying artillery-craft were common compliments to Banished armored assaults. Still, aerial recon hadn't spotted any on their ill-fated flyovers. Pentecost had admittedly hoped not to see any Blisterbacks here; their missiles were more than capable of cutting a Spartan down - MJOLNIR or no. Sage, lying on top of the Ranger to cover its bright red armor with her own, grimaced.

"Active air assets complicate things.."

Both Spartans rose to their feet as the sound passed, and watched the insectile shapes take off, flying ungainly paths over the base and out of sight. Sage moved first, her shotgun's suppressed muzzle jabbing down towards the base. "They will not get any more relaxed than this. It is time to move."

Pentecost half-shrugged, half-nodded. "True enough. I think we can agree that we've done enough jawing." Edward plucked his own weapon - a sound-suppressed BR75 Battle Rifle - from his back mag-mount. He admired the weapon for a moment, before hefting it in both hands. He thumbed the fire selector SAFE to AUTO.

"Let's get to work."

Slipping down the ridge and towards the base was simple enough for the Spartans. Though separated by a generational gap, both had managed to acquire exceptional skill in skulking earned through lifetimes of war-time wetwork. The two commandos carefully slid and hopped their way down the steep rock face of the mountainside, relying on their armor's passive photoreactive systems to keep them hidden from potential observers, keeping them as no more than distant smudges moving through the night.

They'd begun their insertion during a known lull in the Banished patrol-cycle, pushing in during a ten-minute window when tired warriors were exchanged for fresh replacements. This did little to counteract the numerous biosensors and sentry turrets that dotted the base, but those systems were typically easier to fool.

Sage pushed ahead, ducking low into a rocky crevice fifty meters from the perimeter wall. There was nearly no cover. The Banished had torched or bulldozed away anything that could cover or conceal a threat from sharpshooters. Thus, Sage had to wedge herself flush against the rock to make room for Pentecost to share the dug-out. Even then, part of his armored bulk was still exposed to the dusk air.

The two were only marginally worried about the exposure, knowing it would be brief. Under previously agreed radio silence, Pentecost swiped out a series of sharp one-hand signals at Sage, who watched intently. On Pentecost's HUD, Sage's status light winked green once - affirmative . Then, at once, both Spartans' energy shields shimmered with diffracting light.

Then, both Spartans disappeared completely.

Pentecost and Sage had both opted to incorporate STARDUST active camouflage modules into their GEN3 MJOLNIR armor systems - the latest variant of reverse-engineered Covenant stealth technology. Each module drew greedily from their armors' onboard microfusion reactors, but in return, they completely shrouded them in a gravitic lensing bubble that rendered them invisible to all common forms of observation; visual, thermal, and even radar systems failed to pick up a target under cloaking. Still, the intense energy demand of the systems meant that each could only run for a minute before compromising their thermal profile or cannibalizing energy shield strength. Nonetheless, both Spartans had grown used to such limitations.

Both rose silently, forms masked beneath shrouds of invisibility. They were careful to move at the correct pace: walking fast enough that they wouldn't be caught in the open when their camouflage capacitors needed to recharge; slow enough that the motion-sensitive imperfections of the system would not glimmer or shine, revealing the intruders to the base's occupants and defense systems.

The two stalked towards the massive, towering perimeter wall. Solidly constructed of Banished steel, ten-meters high, and half that in thickness; the wall might've been reasonably effective against an army of medieval footmen, or a deterrent for less gifted saboteurs and commandos. But it was an inconvenience to the two Spartans.

Pentecost took the lead, planting his feet near the wall's base before dropping to a squat and cupping his hands. Sage tensed, drew a breath, then launched herself into a full run, springing into the assisted bound. Together, they propelled Sage nearly eight meters vertically up the wall's side. As she rose, Sage drew, then drove her ultradense alloy combat knife into the wall, dangling from it like an ice climber from their axe.

Pentecost clambered up the wall unassisted, just managing to rise high enough to clasp tight onto Sage's outstretched hand. Using their combined bodyweight like a pendulum, and knife as a fulcrum, Sage swung her teammate's armored bulk towards the top of the wall, hoisting Pentecost upward, relying on her armor's strength amplification to keep from dislocating her shoulder.

By the time Sage pulled herself up the rest of the wall, she got a clear view of Pentecost's handiwork; splayed about the walkway in heaps were the crumpled forms of four Jackal marksmen. Each avian body was broken and twisted, mangled like a child's toy smashed in tantrum. At the center of the carnage was an uncloaked Pentecost, clinging to the back of an armored Brute watchman. Pentecost's legs were wrapped vice-tight around the alien's ribcage, with one arm locked in a restraining hold under an alien armpit, the other knifing the alien's throat. Pentecost didn't stop stabbing until the alien had ceased any movement, well after both had sunk down to the floor.

Rising, Pentecost nodded to Sage as he flicked his combat knife clean. Wordlessly, the two Spartans stripped each alien corpse of their plasma grenades, before unceremoniously dumping them beyond the wall's perimeter.

Walking to the inner parapet, Sage lowered to a crouch. She allowed her camouflage to recharge as she observed the base from up-close. Automatically, her helmet's onboard hardware parsed her view. It marked points of significance, then assembled a composite map of the base onto her HUD, overlaying it on her motion tracker. Still, Sage mentally noted each point-of-interest and footpath, despite her armor already having done the same. She trusted her MJOLNIR well enough, but Spartans were trained never to rely on their hardware. " Machines are easy to break" , as the Camp Currahee adage had gone.

Well-trodden paths wove throughout the base, connecting the myriad of repair facilities for the vehicles garrisoned in the yards. Scattered Banished lances walked those paths, each a combat-ready team capable of reporting and responding to a threat. Mostly were standard groups composed of Jackals, Grunts, and either a Brute of Elite at the lead.

Most roads spread out from the center of the base, where the command center and reactor were the tallest structures. The former was marked clear by the pincushion appearance of signal-intercept radio aerials; the latter by the columns of dirty smoke curling from massive, coolant-dripping vents. Placing them adjacent to one another was an odd decision, but not unsurprising; the Banished generally had little care for occupational dangers, like passive radiation exposure.

The entire base was encircled by the perimeter wall, which sported five black-iron watchtowers. Each tower had a commanding view of the mountainside, as well as all ways in and out of the base. The Spartans had discerned that each tower was manned with a full lance of marksmen, each equipped with electrolaser Shock Rifles and long-range Stalker Rifles. Though their initial entrance took full advantage of a rotation of watch, the sentries would be a problem once in-place; Sage would need to work quickly and stick to the shadows - at least, until Pentecost had the chance to do his job.

The two had agreed to split into single-man cells. As the more close-quarters oriented of the two, Sage would drop into the base's perimeter and attach demolition cubes on vehicles and targets of opportunity. Pentecost, the subtle marksman, would ring the base perimeter, eliminate all sentries on each tower, rig demolition charges to prevent tower reoccupation, and provide Sage with much-needed overwatch.

Sage motioned to Pentecost to break radio silence. Given the thumbs-up, she whispered softly through her voice emitters - safer than radio. "The Scarab is loading live munitions aboard. They will likely finish preparations soon."

Pentecost replied just as quietly. "So they're getting it ready to move, or they're running some sort of test". He shook his head. "Neither good for us."

Another look at the base, and then at the Scarab. Sage hummed, before placing a downward triangle on the Scarab, flashing two green status lights, followed by an amber. Pentecost interpreted: request to engage ?

Pentecost replied: three green status lights.

Then he was gone, active camouflage activating as he skulked down the walkway, moving with rifle raised towards the first tower entranceway. He stood by the doorway for a second, transmitting the door activation code from his armor into the local security net. When the door slid open with a metallic rasp, a now-invisible Pentecost slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

Sage smiled as she imagined the violence Pentecost was enacting behind closed doors. Then she slid down the interior guardrail, dropping into the base below.

She hit the ground with a thump, rolling to mitigate some sound from her armored fall. As she rose, her active camouflage generator hummed to life, enrobing her armor in invisibility.

Sage knew it wouldn't be long until she ran into her first patrol. Her M90 Shotgun and BR75 Battle Rifle were stowed on her back magmounts - either weapon too loud or unwieldy for her style of infiltration. Instead, she led with her combat knife and suppressed M6D Magnum. Firing subsonic solid-core rounds, the pistol would be whisper quiet, but still a hard-hitting threat at close range.

She looked up at the Scarab again, watching the distance-counter tick down out of the corner of her eye. When her motion tracker showed a handful of scarlet blips - hostile - at 50 meters, she reflexively checked her active camouflage timer; still with plenty of time.

She stilled herself as she watched the Banished lance inch towards her on her motion tracker, scarlet dots blinking closer and closer.

Her grip tightened on the magnum. The enemies moved slowly, lazily. Easy targets .

Another glance at the timer revealed ten seconds of camouflage remaining. Enough time .

The first contact slipped around the corner: a Grunt, loping along as passively as one would expect at shift change. The low-ranked alien stopped as it rounded the bend, chittering absentmindedly through its methane mask. When it stopped, a second Grunt behind bumped into it, drowsily rear-ending his ally.

It would be the last thing either ever did.

Sage's unseen gauntleted hand drove her combat knife square into the first Grunt's forehead, causing the alien to jerk and spasm bonelessly. Then her magnum came up, hammering a drumbeat of suppressed gunfire. The second Grunt fell with multiple fatal wounds, as did an unshielded Jackal behind. A Brute - the lance commander - toppled over last. But downing it had cost Sage the rest of her magazine, the subsonic rounds struggling to pierce the alien's dense helmet.

As the leader fell, Sage's camouflage timer hit zero. She felt a jolt of lightning through her heart when Pentecost - apparently watching the events unfolding - blinked out a pair of scarlet lights on Sage's HUD. She saw a group of red blips - new contacts - wink on the edge of her motion tracker. Immediately, she parsed Pentecost's message.

Incoming. Fast.

Sage was fast. At once, she holstered her weapons, free hands grabbing and dragging the squad of corpses out of the road. As she swept loose dirt and gravel over the luminescent blood of the fallen, Sage knew that she'd bought herself a handful of seconds. Still, the bodies would need to be either hidden or brought with her. She paused to think a moment, and - after seeing the edge of a nearby rooftop. Heaved one corpse up by its shoulders, before tossing it up and out of sight. She repeated the act for each corpse, one after the other, the thumps masked by the sounds of nearby vehicle assembly.

The second lance passed the ambush site without incident, Sage's form melded with the shadows behind.

'Close', she thought, 'but an improvement over detection '.

Camouflage recharging, Sage moved under cover of darkness alone. Ducking low, she crawled into the undercarriage of a methane storage tank - needed for the breathing of Grunt soldiers, and a conveniently flammable target. Nestled beneath, Sage removed a sling bag from her back. From within it, she withdrew a 10-centimeter wrapped plastic cube. Peeling the waxy cover, she stuck the pre-fuzed C10 demolition block onto the methane tank above, linking the detonation command to her HUD.

She looked down at the full satchel; 19 cubes remaining. Each represented a vehicle she could permanently knock out of the fight, or a Banished lance she could transform to a pile of limbs and alien casualties.

She granted herself the luxury of a whisper. 'No time for wasting.'

She redrew her weapons, rising and darting out of cover the moment her camouflage was ready again.