!WARNING! I had no beta reader for this chapter. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: I do not own the franchises depicted in this fanfiction. They are the property of 343 Industries/Halo Studios/Microsoft and Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer/Amazon respectively.
Hey guys, ya, it has been three months since the last chapter, and I am sorry for taking so long with this one. I had a lot of stuff going on IRL, good stuff mind you, but still, very busy with various projects as well as college work. Enough about me though, while this chapter may be a bit shorter than the last one, I have high hopes for it and I was doing a little experimenting with how I did this one. I am interested in hearing what you guys think about it, and I hope this chapter has been worth the wait.
Spartan-076A signing off...
Chapter 4
"No man is left behind, and no enemy is left standing."
– General Douglas MacArthur
1300 HOURS, OCTOBER 28, 2526 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM, SURFACE OF REACH, FORT HATCH
General George Hammond stood in the command center, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the steady hum of activity around him. Monitors blinked with data streams and the quiet chatter of voices mixed with equipment's rhythmic clicks and hums. Despite the familiar busyness, Hammond's mind was elsewhere.
He glanced at his watch, noting the time. The recon team on Talara was due for their scheduled check-in, but a persistent unease gnawed at him. It wasn't uncommon for off-world teams to encounter brief communication lapses, especially in hostile terrain. But Talara was different—a wild, untamed world, where a moment's delay could spell danger. Hammond knew this mission carried heightened risks, and the silence was stretching too long.
His gaze shifted to the dormant stargate, looming like a massive sentinel in the center of the room. With a quiet sigh, Hammond glanced at his crew, seeing the familiar faces of his team—Master Sergeant Davis at the control console, technicians at their stations, all ready to bring that team home. Time was up. Hammond straightened, his expression set with a calm resolve as he spoke.
"Master Sergeant Davis, dial the gate."
Davis nodded briskly, turning to the console and deftly entering the coordinates. The room hushed as the familiar whir of the stargate's inner ring spinning filled the air. One by one, the chevrons clamped down with deep, resonant thuds.
"Chevron seven locked," Davis announced, his voice steady. "Establishing a connection now." As the seventh chevron locked, the gate burst open, flooding the room with blue light that rippled like liquid.
"Recon Team, this is SGC control, do you copy? Repeat, Recon Team, this is SGC control, do you copy?"
Hammond watched intently as the energy field on the screen flickered, indicating the transmission's connection across the vast expanse of space. Seconds ticked by, doing little to appease the tension that grew within the confines of the room.
Then, at last, a crackling voice came through the speakers. "SGC, this is Colonel Cromwell. Do you copy?"
Relief softened Hammond's face as he leaned forward. "Cromwell, this is General Hammond. We read you loud and clear. What's your situation?" His relief was short-lived, though, as he quickly added, "Where's Colonel Michaels?"
A moment's static broke Cromwell's response, but the urgency came through clearly. "General, Colonel Michaels is MIA. Freeman and Porro are KIA. The rest are MIA, possibly captured by a hostile force. Sergeant Brown and I are the only ones who managed to break away."
A stunned silence fell over the command center, the weight of the news settling heavily. Hammond's face tightened, shock quickly turning to determination. He steadied his tone. "Colonel, give me the full report. What happened out there?"
Cromwell's voice was somber but focused, each word underscoring the gravity of the situation. "Sir, we arrived on Talara and began our recon as planned. It was quiet until they hit us—ambushed us with overwhelming force. They had fighters in the air and ground troops flanking us. Colonel Michaels went down, and we were forced to retreat. Brown and I barely managed to get clear."
Hammond absorbed the grim report. "Stay put, Colonel. We're assessing the situation here and will work on extracting you safely."
Leaning closer to the microphone, Hammond's voice took on a sharper tone. "Cromwell, I need every bit of intel you can send. Recordings, scans, anything you've got. We need to understand what we're facing."
"Roger that, General. We've got helmet cam footage from both Brown and me. Sending it now." Keystrokes sounded faintly as Cromwell initiated the data transfer.
Hammond and his team watched as the files streamed in, video feeds and data filling the command center screens. The footage showed intense combat scenes: brief, chaotic glimpses of alien soldiers wielding advanced weapons and strange armor. The visuals cast an unsettling stillness over the room as the team processed the sheer scale of the threat.
As the last of the files came through, Hammond nodded, his face resolute. "Good work, Cromwell. Lay low and stay hidden until the next check-in. We'll contact you again in four hours with further instructions. Stay sharp, and stay safe."
"Understood, General. We'll be ready," Cromwell replied, his voice steady.
Hammond turned from the console, addressing his staff with renewed urgency. "Get this data analyzed immediately. I want a full report on my desk yesterday. And have Colonel Matthews report to my office ASAP."
1315 HOURS, OCTOBER 28, 2526 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM, SURFACE OF REACH, FORT HATCH
Colonel Matthews' boots struck the steel deck in crisp, measured strides, the sound echoing through Fort Hatch's main corridor. The scent of oil and metal lingered in the air, mingling with the ever-present hum of distant machinery. As he walked, he adjusted the cuffs of his uniform—nano-weave fabric smooth beneath his fingers—before tugging at his jacket to ensure its perfect fit. The brass insignias on his collar gleamed, polished to a mirror sheen, a testament to the discipline he demanded of himself. The rhythmic clink of his sidearm's holster punctuated each step, completing the image of a soldier always prepared.
With a sharp knock, Matthews announced his presence.
"Come in, Colonel," Hammond called, his tone even but edged with urgency.
Matthews entered, his posture straight as he stopped before the general's desk. Hammond's usual stern expression was set in deep lines, his eyes betraying the weight of command. Without hesitation, Matthews snapped a crisp salute.
"Colonel Matthews reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease," Hammond gestured toward a chair but didn't wait for him to sit. Instead, he slid a datapad across the polished surface. "We've got trouble on Talara."
Matthews picked up the device, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the report. His expression darkened.
"Colonel Michaels and his recon team," Hammond continued. "They've gone dark. Last transmission reported heavy enemy contact. Some survivors are attempting to regroup, but they're under significant pressure."
Matthews' voice was level. "Casualties?"
Hammond's frown deepened. "Heavy. We're sending you and your Rangers to retrieve whoever's left."
Matthews set the datapad down and met Hammond's gaze. "With respect, sir, this is a blind op. We've got dense jungle, minimal intel, and an enemy we barely understand. We could be walking into another slaughter."
"I'm aware of the risks," Hammond said, voice firm. "But Michaels' team has the intel we need. We lose them, we lose that advantage."
Matthews exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. "Understood, sir. But if they're holding our men in a fortified position, we'll need more than just boots on the ground. We need air support, drones—anything to level the playing field."
Hammond nodded. "We'll provide what we can, but we don't have time for a full-scale deployment. You'll move in fast and extract the survivors before the enemy can reinforce."
Matthews' frown deepened, but he nodded. "Then I'll need my best officers. The Rangers will be ready as soon as you give the order."
"Good." Hammond's tone was resolute. "Assemble your team. Briefing begins the moment the operation is greenlit."
"Yes, sir." Matthews turned to leave, only to find himself face-to-face with Colonel Maybourne just outside the door.
The intelligence officer's presence brought a fresh undercurrent of tension. Maybourne's faint smirk was practiced, smug—but his eyes were sharp, scanning Matthews with the detached interest of a man evaluating a tool rather than a person.
Matthews held his gaze, unreadable. Maybourne, as always, seemed to revel in the discomfort he caused.
"Colonel," Maybourne said, voice smooth, almost amused.
Matthews gave him nothing. He stepped past without a word, his focus already on the mission ahead. Whatever ONI was scheming, it had little bearing on the trust he placed in his men.
Maybourne watched him go, then adjusted the cuffs of his uniform and stepped into Hammond's office.
His salute was crisp, precise, devoid of warmth. "General Hammond."
Hammond didn't rise. "Colonel Maybourne."
Maybourne moved with the same measured ease as always, withdrawing a slim file from under his arm and setting it on Hammond's desk. "Admiral Parangosky has authorized a supplemental asset for this operation." He tapped the folder. "VALKYRIE drones. Fully autonomous. Precision-engineered for scenarios just like this."
Hammond's brow furrowed. "VALKYRIE? Those are still experimental."
He focused his thoughts, recalling a report that had crossed his desk some months ago. The UNSC Air Force and Army had been developing a new series of combat drones for close air support. He had also heard whispers—unverified rumors—that ONI had its own models in the works, tailored for more discreet operations. Until now, that was all they had been—rumors.
"Not anymore." Maybourne's tone was smooth, assured. "Their combat trials have been… accelerated. Talara presents the perfect proving ground."
Hammond leaned back slightly. "And if they fail?"
Maybourne's smirk didn't falter. "They won't."
Hammond folded his arms, unimpressed. "ONI's assurances aren't worth much when my men are the ones bleeding on the ground."
"The drones aren't a replacement, General. They're a force multiplier. An advantage against an enemy that already has one."
"Convenient," Hammond said. "But I won't turn this mission into a field test."
Maybourne's voice dropped just a fraction, taking on a conspiratorial edge. "This isn't a test, General. It's evolution. These drones represent the future of warfare. If they succeed, they'll save lives. If they fail…" He shrugged slightly. "We learn."
Hammond exhaled through his nose. "And why now?"
Maybourne's gaze remained steady. "Because the Stargate Program, by its nature, is exploratory. The further we go, the more we'll need tools like these—adaptive, autonomous, capable of operating where we can't. Talara is an opportunity to prove them in real combat."
Hammond studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod, masking his frustration. "Fine. The drones will be integrated into the mission plan. But let's be clear, Colonel—this is already a high-risk operation. If these drones complicate matters on the ground…" He let the sentence trail off, the weight of unspoken consequences heavy between them.
Maybourne's smirk remained. "ONI understands the stakes, General. The drones will perform as intended."
Hammond didn't respond immediately. He knew better than to challenge ONI outright. Their reach extended far beyond his command, and resistance—however justified—would accomplish little. But Maybourne's presence meant layers of risk he couldn't control.
After a pause, he finally said, "I trust you'll ensure that confidence isn't misplaced."
Maybourne inclined his head in mock deference, then rose smoothly to his feet. His movements were precise, deliberate.
His salute was crisp. "Of course, General. I assure you—VALKYRIE will prove its worth."
With that, he turned and left, the office door closing softly behind him.
1518 HOURS, OCTOBER 28, 2526 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM, SURFACE OF REACH, FORT HATCH
A sharp, pulsing headache greeted O'Neill as he regained consciousness. His HUD flickered erratically before stabilizing with a dull BEEP, the ODST tactical display flashing a harsh amber warning:
[WIA – UNCONSCIOUS]
The system awaited his acknowledgment. He blinked, flexed his fingers, and inhaled sharply. Another BEEP.
[IFF REBOOTING…]
[VITAL SIGNS STABILIZING]
His HUD flickered, stabilizing with a dull beep as new alerts filled his vision.
[SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS: MINOR TRAUMA – SEEK MEDICAL EVALUATION]
The message lingered before his acknowledgment dismissed it, shifting the alert to INCAP – ACTIVE. Then, a worse notification appeared:
[NON-RESPONSIVE UNSC PERSONNEL DETECTED]
That wasn't good.
With a slow, measured breath, he took stock of his situation. The weight of his armor pressed him into the muddy riverbank, grime caking every joint. His rifle—gone. He reached for his pistol, relieved to find the familiar weight still holstered. A quick pat-down confirmed his combat knife was secure against his chest plate.
Satisfied, he drew the pistol. A press-check—round chambered. He ejected the magazine, counted the rounds, then snapped it back in place. His HUD confirmed the connection. Functional.
His helmet display flickered, stabilizing with a dull beep as more system alerts populated his vision.
[TIME UNCONSCIOUS: 2 HOURS, 14 MINUTES]
Too long. His suit should've hit him with stims long before now. He frowned, running a quick diagnostic—several secondary systems were offline. An EMP burst from the explosion had likely triggered a power-saving mode, shutting down anything non-essential.
He dismissed the thought for now. He'd bring it up with the techs when (if) he made it back to base. No sense worrying about it here. First things first.
He activated his comms, briefly considering whether it was a good idea. He didn't know much about the enemies they'd encountered yet, and there was no telling if they were monitoring communications. But he had no other options. He pressed ahead anyway.
"O'Neill to UNSC forces, anyone copy?"
He switched frequencies, casting a wider net. "Any UNSC personnel, this is O'Neill, requesting a status update."
The comms didn't respond. Instead, an alert flashed across his HUD.
[COMM INOPERABLE – SYSTEM MALFUNCTION]
His brow furrowed. "Clarify," he muttered under his breath, voice a mix of irritation and curiosity.
The suit complied with a quiet hum, updating his HUD with a diagram of his armor. It rotated to show a view of the helmet from the right side, where a section of the plating blinked red. A small, jagged crack appeared on the surface, a visual marker for the damage sustained during the blast.
"We'll ain't that just perfect."
He shook his head and refocused, dismissing the frustration for the moment. He needed to check the essentials. His next instinct was to check the motion tracker. It flashed to life on his HUD, a small green icon in the corner, and after a moment of static, it settled.
Nothing.
No movement, no life signs—nothing but static interference, likely from the dense jungle surrounding him. But that was still something.
No friendlies. No hostiles. Just him.
With a deep exhale, he forced his mind to calm. No panic. No assumptions. First things first—find some answers. The river could be the key. If anyone else had been swept away, they might have followed the flow.
Holstering his pistol, he pushed himself to his feet, feeling the weight of his armor settle over him with a dull thud. His limbs ached with the reminder of the blast's force, but they still worked. He moved forward, heading upstream, his eyes scanning the dense foliage for any sign of UNSC forces.
He wasn't alone out here. He just had to find them before something else did.
The last thing Carter remembered was the explosion—the shockwave tearing through the air, the ground buckling beneath her feet as she was hurled backward. The impact was instant. Her body slammed into something hard, her armor absorbing most of the blow, but the force still knocked her unconscious.
Everything after that was fragmented—a blur of scattered images and sensations. Rough hands gripping her. The drag of her armor scraping against stone. Voices, indistinct and distant, merging with the throbbing in her skull. She tried to fight her way back to awareness, but her body refused to respond.
Pain flared as she attempted to lift her head, a sharp, blinding spike behind her eyes. The world spun, tilting sickeningly before settling into a heavy, unfocused haze. Her limbs felt sluggish, distant, as if they didn't belong to her. Exhaustion pressed down, an unbearable weight keeping her pinned in place.
Slowly, awareness returned. The sting of debris embedded in her armor. The lingering ache from the blast. The suffocating stillness of wherever she had been taken. Carter forced her eyes open. Even that felt like a battle.
The room was dim, its edges blurred and shifting. Shadows swam at the periphery of her vision. The walls—dark, smooth stone—looked unnatural, like something engineered rather than built. A faint hum vibrated through the space, a sensation that settled in her bones, setting her nerves on edge. She blinked hard, trying to focus.
Then, a voice cut through the haze.
"Well, well… look who finally decided to wake up. Sleeping Beauty's back from her beauty rest."
Kowalsky. The familiar bite of his sarcasm was unmistakable.
Carter exhaled a low, weary breath. She wanted to fire back—something dry, something sharp—but the words wouldn't come. Her body was still sluggish, her mind muddled with pain. Instead, she grunted in acknowledgment.
Her vision sharpened slightly, revealing Kowalsky and Ferretti slumped against the far wall. Their faces were drawn, exhaustion etched into every line. ODSTs were scattered around them, equally weary but still alert. Some sat in tense postures, others stared into the bleak space ahead, their eyes distant. Their armor, though battered and scratched, remained on—but their weapons were gone.
Then she noticed the restraints.
At first, it felt like something unnatural held her in place—an invisible grip locking her down. But as she forced herself to focus, the truth became clear. Thick metal chains bound her arms, anchored to the wall behind her. The others were secured the same way, their movements restricted but not entirely immobilized.
She tested the chains, straining against them. They held firm.
Kowalsky met her gaze, his expression grim. A silent exchange passed between them before Carter rasped out the question clawing at her throat.
"Where's Reilly?"
She barely recognized her own voice—hoarse, thick with exhaustion, scraping out of her throat like something broken.
Kowalsky's jaw tightened. He didn't answer right away, and that silence spoke louder than words. Finally, he exhaled, voice low.
"They took him." A pause. "He was bleeding pretty bad… it didn't look good."
Carter's fingers curled into fists, metal cuffs digging into her wrists. Anger flared hot in her chest, coiling around the helplessness she despised more than anything. They'd been taken. Captured. Stripped of their weapons and locked away like animals. And Reilly—
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus.
Her vision steadied, though the dull throb in her skull remained. She scanned the room again—small, enclosed, thick with tension. A soft glow pulsed in the air, a force field sealing them in. No visible controls. No seams in the stone walls. The energy itself was the lock.
Carter shifted slightly, her muscles stiff and sore. The ODSTs remained mostly silent, lost in their own thoughts. Her mind worked quickly, despite the lingering headache.
Kowalsky leaned in, voice low. "Take it easy, Carter. The Colonel's still out there somewhere. He isn't the type to abandon us."
His words cut through the fog, steadying her. She exhaled slowly, letting the tension settle into something firmer—something she could use.
"Think." The word was quiet, meant more for herself than anyone else.
Her fingers curled slightly, testing the restraints.
1637 HOURS, OCTOBER 28, 2526 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
DUNOPE SYSTEM, ON THE SURFACE OF TALARA, UNKNOWN CAVE
The world swam back into focus for Dr. Daniel Jackson, his head throbbing as he blinked against the dim light filtering through a circular opening high above. Beams of sunlight illuminated sections of the cavernous room, their golden glow contrasting sharply with the flickering warmth of torches set into the stone walls. A damp, earthen scent filled his nostrils, mingling with the acrid tang of burning wood and something herbal, almost medicinal. He groaned, rolling onto his side with effort. A searing pain lanced through his lower back, forcing a sharp hiss between his teeth. For the moment, moving any further was out of the question.
His first instinct was to reach for his weapons. His hands patted at his sides, searching for the reassuring weight of his pistol, but his holster was empty. His rifle? Gone. Even his combat knife was missing. A chill that had nothing to do with the cave's temperature crawled down his spine. He was defenseless. Swallowing down the rising unease, he exhaled slowly and forced himself to assess his surroundings with a clearer mind.
The cavern was larger than he'd initially realized, its walls shaped not just by nature but by deliberate hands. Symbols, rough but intentional, had been etched into the stone, their meanings obscured by time. A narrow tunnel led away from the main chamber, shrouded in shadow. A sudden noise—a faint rustle of movement—drew his attention to the passageway. He tensed, watching as a figure stepped cautiously into the room.
The man was lean and weathered, his tanned skin glistening in the firelight. Wild hair framed a face marked by both curiosity and wariness. He was clad in animal skins, a simple tunic tied with a rough cord at the waist. In his arms, he carried a wicker basket overflowing with plants, roots, and what appeared to be strips of dried meat. His dark eyes flickered toward Jackson, his grip subtly shifting on the basket's handle as though preparing to bolt.
"Easy, buddy," Jackson muttered, his throat dry. "I'm not gonna—"
The man spoke, his voice low and uncertain. "Ni thuigim."
Jackson's breath hitched. The phrase was familiar—an ancient dialect, one he knew well. Carefully, he formed his response. "Dia dhuit."
The man's brows lifted in surprise, his stance relaxing slightly. Encouraged, Jackson continued, the words halting at first but gradually gaining fluidity. After several exchanges, the man nodded and set his basket down at the center of the cave.
"Cad is ainm duit?" (What is your name?) Jackson asked.
The man hesitated, then answered, "Aonghus." (Angus.)
Jackson nodded. "Aonghus. Is ainm dom Daniel." (Aonghus. My name is Daniel.)
Aonghus moved to a fire pit, kneeling to arrange small branches and dried leaves. With practiced ease, he struck a stone against metal, sparking the fire to life. The flames grew steadily as he retrieved a clay pot from his basket, filling it with water and adding crushed leaves and berries. He worked methodically, the firelight casting shifting shadows along the cave walls.
Jackson watched in silence before speaking again. "Cén fáth go bhfuil tú anseo?" (Why are you here?)
Aonghus didn't look up as he answered. "Tá mo mhuintir i bhfolach sna pluaiseanna seo." (My people hide in these caves.) He paused, then added, "Ó na fir óir." (From the golden men.)
Jackson frowned. "Fir óir?" (Golden men?)
Aonghus gestured sharply, his expression darkening. "Tagann siad gach cúpla bliain." (They come every few years.) His voice took on a grim tone. "Tógann siad ár muintir. Imeoidh siad go deo." (They take our people. They are gone forever.)
Jackson exhaled slowly, his mind racing. "An ndearna sibh iarracht iad a stopadh?" (Have you tried to stop them?)
Aonghus gave a bitter chuckle. "Rinneamar. Ach tá ár n-arm lag." (We have. But our weapons are weak.) He looked Jackson in the eye. "Tá do chogadh difriúil." (Your war is different.)
Jackson's brow furrowed. "Cén chaoi?" (How?)
Aonghus pointed at him, his tone shifting. "Chonaic mo mhuintir na comhraic ar an talamh." (My people saw the battle on the ground.) A faint light flickered in his eyes—hope. "Bhí sé dochreidte. Rud nach bhfaca muid riamh cheana." (It was incredible. Something we have never seen before.)
Jackson hesitated. "An gceapann tú go bhfuil siad ar ais?" (Do you think they will return?)
Aonghus's jaw tightened. "Fillfidh siad i gcónaí." (They always return.)
For a long moment, neither spoke. The fire crackled between them, its glow reflecting in their wary gazes.
Then, Aonghus reached for the clay pot, lifting the lid. Using a wooden ladle, he poured steaming broth into a set of clay bowls and handed one to Jackson. "Seo duit. Déanfaidh sé dochar duit." (Here. It will not harm you.)
Jackson accepted it with a nod. "Go raibh maith agat." (Thank you.) He took a sip—and immediately coughed, eyes watering. "Tá sé... láidir." (It's... strong.)
Aonghus chuckled softly. "Maith duit." (Good for you.)
As Jackson composed himself, Aonghus gestured toward the cave's entrance. His tone turned serious. "Caithfimid dul áit éigin. Ach ar dtús, caithfidh tú scíth a ligean." (We must go somewhere. But first, you must rest.)
Jackson exhaled. "Tuigim." (I understand.)
For now, there was no choice but to trust his host. The mission wasn't over. Answers lay ahead. But for now, he had to gather his strength for whatever came next.
1700 HOURS, OCTOBER 28, 2526 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM, SURFACE OF REACH, FORT HATCH
The lights dimmed in Fort Hatch's control room as the Stargate began to spin. Hammond stood behind the operations console, arms folded tight across his chest, his eyes fixed on the sequence of chevrons locking into place. Each one echoed through the chamber like the toll of a bell, amplifying the tension hanging in the air.
The gate flared to life, its event horizon erupting into a burst of chaotic energy before collapsing inward into the shimmering blue surface.
"Re-establishing contact with Colonel Cromwell, sir," the comms officer said, his voice clipped.
Hammond gave a curt nod. "Let's get them on the line."
A second later, the speakers crackled with static, and a familiar voice broke through.
"This is Cromwell. Go ahead, Fort Hatch."
"Colonel," Hammond said, leaning into the mic. "What's your status?"
"Still in position, General," Cromwell replied, his voice low and measured. "We're about 300 meters southwest of the gate, concealed in the tree line. Hostile forces have reacted to the gate's activation. They've moved into defensive positions around the perimeter, focusing their attention on the gate itself. Several squads are patrolling near the barricades, and I count at least two Jaffa stationed at the heavy energy weapon emplacement east of the gate. They're scanning the area but haven't spotted us yet."
Hammond frowned, exchanging a look with Matthews, who was studying the holographic terrain map. "Understood, Colonel. What's the status of the area surrounding the gate?"
"The clearing has been expanded, likely to deny cover for any assault force," Cromwell continued. "The dialing device has been repositioned about thirty meters behind their barricades. They're reinforcing the area as if preparing for an attack but seem uncertain whether the gate activation signals reinforcements or an enemy approach."
Hammond's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information. "Maintain your position and continue observing. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. We'll proceed as planned. Fort Hatch out."
The gate deactivated with a low groan, leaving a faint static hum in its absence. Hammond turned back to the display table, where the operation's details glowed in crisp blue and red lines. Matthews stood waiting, arms crossed, while Maybourne loomed over the hologram, his expression hard.
"Let's get this done," Hammond said. "We'll stick to the original plan. The lead infantry squad secures the gate and establishes a perimeter. The rest of the unit reinforces them immediately afterward."
"And the ONI team?" Maybourne asked.
"They come in with the second wave," Hammond said. "They'll deploy ARGUS drones to pinpoint enemy emplacements and scout for survivors. Once the gate is secure, the other squads fan out toward the ruins. Same objectives: locate the recon team, gather intel, recover what tech we can."
Maybourne tapped the edge of the display, bringing up an expanded view of the gate site. "Cromwell's intel changes things. We'll need heavy ordnance to take out that emplacement."
"We've got it covered," Matthews said. "Rangers are outfitted with M41s and charges. They'll clear the way."
"And if they can't?" Maybourne asked, his tone sharp.
Hammond's gaze didn't waver. "They will. We don't leave people behind. The Operation will commence at 0100 hours tomorrow. Dismissed"
The assembled officers saluted before either returning to their tasks or promptly exiting the room to tend to their duties.
UNSC DATABASE FILE: UNSC ARMY RANGERS OVERVIEW
Classification: Restricted Access (Clearance Level 4)
File Number: UNSC-ARMY-RN-00456
Last Update: 2525-04-22
INTRODUCTION
The UNSC Army Rangers are an elite cadre of infantry within the United Nations Space Command (UNSC), specializing in long-range reconnaissance and counter-insurgency operations. Rangers are deployed on high-priority missions requiring precision, stealth, and advanced knowledge of the terrain to aid in intelligence gathering and direct action against enemy forces. They play a pivotal role in defending human settlements, conducting sabotage, and organizing resistance movements on occupied worlds.
PRIMARY RESPONSIBILITIES
Long-Range Scouts:
Designation: Ranger Scout Team
Primary Features:
-Deploy specialized sniper teams to gather intelligence from deep behind enemy lines.
-Utilize advanced sensor systems to monitor enemy movements and relay critical information to allied forces.
-Operate in isolated, hostile environments with limited support, relying on stealth, precision, and fieldcraft.
Counter-Insurgency Operations:
Primary Features:
-Specialize in long-term operations to dismantle enemy control over occupied worlds.
-Organize and train local resistance groups, providing them with necessary resources and tactical guidance.
-Focus on destabilizing enemy influence while minimizing civilian casualties.
Historical Role: Delta-6 Division:
Designation: Delta-6 Division
Primary Features:
-Exclusively recruited from Rangers, Delta-6 operatives undertook high-risk, covert missions beyond the scope of conventional warfighters.
-Operated under the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), Delta-6 was tasked with assignments requiring advanced combat skills, including infiltration, sabotage, and strategic influence.
-Before the establishment of Spartan units, Delta-6 handled some of the most sensitive and dangerous operations within the UNSC.
KEY CHARACTERISTICS
Elite Training:
-Rangers undergo intensive training focused on survival, stealth, and precision, often operating far behind enemy lines for extended periods.
-Their training includes advanced marksmanship, camouflage, explosives handling, and unconventional warfare tactics.
Tactical Flexibility:
-Rangers are equipped to operate in a variety of environments, from urban sprawls to dense jungle terrain, and possess the skills to conduct operations ranging from direct combat to deep reconnaissance.
Stealth and Precision:
-Known for their ability to infiltrate enemy positions without detection, Rangers use cutting-edge technology and fieldcraft to remain unseen.
-They are trained in sabotage and using environmental advantages to neutralize threats without engaging in open combat unless necessary.
WEAPONRY
Primary Loadout:
-M7S Caseless Submachine Gun: Compact and suppressed for stealth operations.
-BR55 Battle Rifle: Standard issue for mid-range engagements.
-MA5C Assault Rifle: Versatile for close to mid-range combat.
Secondary Weaponry:
-M6C/SOCOM Pistol: Suppressed with a smart-linked scope.
-Combat Knife: Titanium-coated blade for stealth kills and utility tasks.
Specialized Equipment:
-Explosives: M9 Fragmentation Grenades, M84 Stun Grenades, M90 Thermite Charges for sabotage operations.
-Heavy Weapons: M41 SPNKR Rocket Launcher, M247H Heavy Machine Gun (detachable turret).
UTILITY AND SUPPORT GEAR
Field Kit:
Includes med packs, ration packs, water filtration units, and signal flares for survival in hostile environments.
DISCLAIMER
This document is classified at Restricted Access level and is intended for authorized personnel only. Unauthorized access or distribution is a direct violation of UNSC Security Protocols and will result in immediate disciplinary actions, including possible termination and legal proceedings under UNSC Military Code 117-14B.
End of File
Author's Note: Minor edit between Carter and O'Neill's POVs. I thought I had placed a divider line to indicate that they were two different sections, but I must have missed it. As of 4-8-25, that issue has now been rectified.