AUDACITY

I wish he would reel his audacity in the field back about 24%. His behavior makes it difficult to field him against insurrectionists; it's hard enough dealing with the stories of UNSC excess manufactured by the civilian media without S-239 providing them with hard evidence of said excess. That being said: It's an odd feeling to be relieved that you are sending your people out against hostile aliens.

-SPECWAR/GROUPTHREE/NOBLE Performance Reports, citing file N-63732/S-III/A239 (WARNING-ACCESS LOGGED; BYPASS SCHEME "OPEN SESAME" VERIFIED)

1428 HOURS, 18 MARCH 2550 (UNSC MILITARY CALENDAR)

NARROW BAND POINT-TO-POINT TRANSMISSION; ORIGIN: NAVSPECWAR CENTCOM; TERMINATION: SECTION THREE/REACH HIGHCOM/UNSC ARMY/"NOBLE ACTUAL"

/TRANSMISSION RECEIVED/FIREWALL PASSED/EMERGENCY DELETION LOGARITHM: STANDBY/

TRANSMISSION SEQUENCE; CRUISER DESIGNATION "OSIRIS" (DEPLOYMENT ORDERS SEE ATTACHED FILE); SS PROBE SERIAL F547729R; FERMION RSO/REACH MILITARY COMPLEX, SECTION THREE

ENCRYPTION SCHEME: HAMMERHEAD/BETA/FOXTROT (CLASSIFIED HIGH SECURITY-INTRUSIONS TO BE LOGGED)

FROM: GENERAL EBENEZER ASHTON, 126TH MARINE REGIMENT (CSV ATTACHED)

TO: COLONEL URBAN HOLLAND, NAVSPECWAR/GROUPTHREE/COMMANDING

SUBJECT: NOBLE TEAM MISSION LOGS/SPARTAN A-239/"NOBLE FOUR" PERFORMANCE/INCIDENT DETAIL

CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, CODE-WORD /-CLASSIFIED- DECRYPTION ERROR/, TOP SECRET (SECTION THREE X-RAY DIRECTIVE)

/MESSAGE COMMENCING/

Colonel,

As I'm sure you are aware, your Special Warfare group "Noble Team" was heavily involved in the civilian riots occurring on the 13/3/2550, in the city of Dramus, planet Esvorl VI. Got the deployment orders, I'm sure-but even ONI doesn't have eyes in the heavens; not ones that see all the way to Reach, anyway. Doubt you've received word of what took place. Thought I'd do you the favour of sending the mission logs and battle reports early. Paperwork's turning out to be a real bitch. Makes me wonder if having Spartans on hand is worth it.

You asked me, mission prior, to rate and review Noble's team cohesion during the op. Data packets marked LIBERTY, SEVERE and CRYSTAL contain my reports-dig through the encryptions and you'll have them. An AI would go a long way, believe me. Suggest referring to I-MUT-328/B for any problems.

Rerouting all outsider reports and witnesses through the usual channels. You'll have as much privacy as is possible.

As an aside, Colonel, that team of yours is really something. And that's not a full-blown compliment. I've worked with Spartans before, during the campaigns on Jericho VII and Draco III, and they were everything I expected. Flawless, up to the mark and ruthless in their execution. These ones, well, I couldn't say the same. Your man S-259 knew his way around it-and that bigger one, George?-but those others were not to my satisfaction. I know that you spooks get a high level of leeway, but there's no point in sending me half-baked goods. I've learned that looking a gift horse in the mouth can be beneficial.

Confused? Well, take a look at the logs, specifically the ones pertaining to S-239. I won't spoil it, but I'll say this-I hope you enjoy horror stories. We've been dealing with this sort of thing since Section Two went public back in '47, but it was just the media getting themselves into a fuss. Now they've got actual fodder. I don't care about bad press for Spartans-they've probably never even seen a news program-just about how this will affect their usage in the war. Things have been bad enough since that entire ODST platoon was court-martialled, and the last thing we need is limitations on our ability to deal with threats. Genocidal aliens are bad enough.

Best,

E.A.

/MESSAGE ENDS/

/REFERENCING FILES/DATS STREAMS NOTED/PARTIAL REMNANT ARCHIVED/DELETION COMMENCING/

0736 hours, 13th of March, 2550 (UNSC Military Calendar)

Kappa Indus System, Planet Esvorl IV

Dramus City, Halicarna

The city was burning.

Or so it looked from a distance. Sooty red light illuminated the nighttime scene, casting lurid shadows against the walls and ground. This effect was created by the innumerable spot-fires burning across the metropolis. Some were mere embers-blazing contentedly on the corners of rubbish-choked streets-but others were far bigger. A few, burning on the top floors of office buildings, were getting out of hand. No emergency firefighting drones were responding-the entire grid was down. Cinders cascaded downward like liquid fire. The sky was lit up like a giant Christmas tree, glowing amber with ragged taters of black smoke.

Dropping through the acrid haze were a pair of fast-attack UNSC Falcon dropship, their rotors cutting swathes through the filthy air. The running lights-red and green-flickered fitfully, and brightened as the respective ships angled downward, changing course. Normally, they would have to check in with Dramus' City Aerospace Administration for verification of flight details, security codes and the like-but the rules had changed. Anarchy was the only authority now.

Unless they did their job.

Inside the open-cabin craft, three to each bird, various men (and one woman) sat. They were completely unremarkable, aside from the fact that they were easily larger than any human, wore full-body armor and face-concealing helmets. To any member of the UNSC (and quite a few of the civilian population), there was no mistaking them.

Spartans.

As the Falcon hit an air pocket, Commander Carter-A259, Noble One and team leader, made his final preparations. His sidearm, a powerful M6G pistol, was already secured, but he wanted to check his rifle for any problems. A Designated Marksman Rifle, it combined power with accuracy and was a versatile weapon. Carter refused to run an op without one. He'd heard that it was being slowly replaced by a new weapon, the Battle Rifle, but that was a Navy thing as far as he was concerned. He'd stick with what he knew.

Now that that done, he performed a standard armor diagnostic. His HUD came to life, glowing a pale blue. Ammunition and grenade counters, biosigns, motion tracker and targeting reticule snapped to life, standing out in his vision. And in the top right-hand corner, a small blinking icon-signaling a recent transmission. Final instructions from Colonel Holland, most likely. He'd get to that in a moment. Next, he wanted to check his newest armor component-the Integrated Suit Lockdown Mechanism, or simply, "armor lock." It was designed to channel all of the power inside his suit into a current that would occupy his armor plating, rendering him invulnerable. The only catch was that the electric current immobilised his suit's motors. Only time would tell if the trade-off was worth it.

Recent forays into captured Covenant tech had yielded breakthroughs in methods of harnessing power within smaller units with independent power sources, the MJOLNIR armor they had been issued being an example. A day before they'd been deployed from Reach, new tech had arrived from the higher-ups at ONI Research and Development. New armor components to be swapped out, including what were colloquially named "armor abilities." The entire squad had received them. Jorge-052, the heavy weapons man and the lone class-two on the team, shared the armor lock, but there had been others. A component that momentarily disabled the movement inhibitors, and small jet-packs that could be implanted into their suits. It would be interesting to see how they would work.

Sure enough, the icon for his armor lock AA-a small man in a crouch-was pulsing a cool blue. It was good to go. Satisfied, he turned his head to survey the other members of Noble Team. Inside his particular Falcon were Jorge-052 and Thom-A293. The pair of bulky, armored men were busy making their own methodical preparations. Jorge was loading ammo belts into his M247H machine gun, while Thom was inspecting his new jetpack.

A Spartan-II, Chief Warrant Officer Jorge had come to them in 2544 after Yuri-A162, an alumnus of Carter's old unit Team Hydra, had been killed by energy mortars on Inolius. At first, he had been equal parts resentful and reverent of the Reach-born Spartan, a man with far more experience than him and with every right to question his authority. Instead, Carter found him to be quiet, soft-spoken and devoted to Noble Team. That didn't stop him from pounding the crap out of any Covenant that crossed their path. He was the definition of a "gentle giant", easily capable of interacting with marines and civilians. Carter had wondered what would happen when Jorge found out about the existence of other Spartan classes, but the big man had been unconcerned. "More of us the better, I say, "he had said.

Warrant Officer Thom, apart from his second-in-command Catherine "Kat" B-320, was the last surviving member of the original team. Whereas Carter was no-nonsense, and Kat could be remote-cold, even-Thom was always laughing and joking. One moment he would be setting charges to trigger a firestorm of metal, the next he would be taping Jorge's gun shut. A few times he would have to be pulled back into line, but Thom would stand for any member of Noble until he fell. However, he was-and Carter winced at the thought-rather naïve for a Spartan. Thom believed that the war was simply human versus alien, red versus blue. It wasn't like that at all, but he wouldn't see sense, no matter how many counterinsurgency ops they ran.

Carter turned his gaze to the right, where the second Falcon was flying. Its whirring rotors created a gale that blew right into their cockpit. It was a good thing they were wearing harnesses on this mission. Like their aircraft, the Falcon carried three Spartans.

Warrant Officer Jun-A266, a native of the glassed New Harmony, was busy making minute adjustments to his prized SRS99, turning knobs and fiddling with levers. Carter had seen snipers zero their instruments before, but Jun took it to extremes. He was like a fierce terrier around his rifle-when Carter had ordered him to "step on it" during a hit-mission on a URF leader, the dome-headed Spartan had shot him an icy look and told him to mind his own business. Normally, he wouldn't brook that kind of behaviour, but with a 93% kill rating-in a Spartan unit-it was a small price to pay. However, Carter had seen one of Jun's psychiatric evaluation reports-the author had stated the Spartan "had an unhealthy emotional detachment in regards to the consequences of his actions." Carter would have liked to give Jun the benefit of the doubt, but he'd only been on the team for six years-and his demeanor hadn't noticeably improved.

Clad in midnight blue armor, Lieutenant Commander Kat-B320 was trying to interface with the local marine COM channels via a remote transceiver. Carter imagined that her aquiline, sharply angled face was screwed up in concentration under her helmet. In all his years of soldiering, he had never met a more stubborn individual when it came to cryptanalysis and intel. Still, Carter couldn't help but have a soft spot for Kat, who had been fiercely loyal to him and the team since she arrived. The woman would give her right arm for the sake of the mission, and he was well able to appreciate such an attitude. Deadly with a pistol, her razor-honed mind was even deadlier.

Carter's gaze swept to the final occupant of the second Falcon. His feet were up against the bracing block between the seats, and his arms were folded. Unlike the other Spartans, his armor was a drab steel grey and was not covered with attachments or utilities. There were a few odd parts, though. An Assault/Sapper chest piece, complete with grenade pockets and bandolier, encompassed his middle. His right shoulder pauldron was a rusty red colour, and sheathed upon it was a wicked-looking kukri knife. To complete this barbaric scene, his helmet-a standard EVA-had carved into it a monstrous skull visage.

It could be nobody else, of course, but Emile-A239.

Emile had come to them late in '47, when Marcus-A132 and his prototype Longsword had been shot down by a corvette. Carter would never forget their introduction. There they were, sitting in the base on Reach, when through the door marched a young Spartan with midnight skin and the most arrogant eyes he'd ever seen. He looked at them up and down, then said:

"This that team full of rejects?"

Jun had chuckled (of course he had). Jorge had frowned. Kat had been expressionless. Thom had been indignant. Carter had just given a razor-thin smile and said, "Welcome to Noble Team. You must be Emile."

Emile had given a sloppy salute. "I sure hope I am, boss. Now, where's something I can shoot at?" He patted the M45 tactical on his back. "My shotty needs some lovin'."

Things had deteriorated from there, with Emile turning the local shooting range into his own free-fighting zone. Thom and Carter had been forced to restrain him, after he started unloading shells into the walls. When he heard this report, the psych-man who had reviewed Emile added "Tendency to become rebellious and aggressive" to the report. Carter preferred to go with axe-crazy.

He had smoothed out over the years, tempered by mission after mission involving high-risk and danger. In the field, he was ruthlessly competent, alternating between cold-eyed precision and ballistic carnage. Carter had seen him throw himself at Elites, snarling through his helmet, his kukri slashing back and forth. Undisciplined. Unorthodox. Unpredictable.

Carter had petitioned Colonel Holland for a replacement for Emile, when he learned about this mission. The few operations he had been on when there had been action against Insurrectionists had been…interesting to say the least. Emile, already possessed of a burning hatred of Covenant, seemed to take an equally strong approach when dealing with rebels. From what Carter had been told during training in Alpha Company, the members of the Insurrection had been underhanded, dirty fighters. The skull-faced Spartan seemed to think that a similar attitude was needed. Giving absolutely no quarter, he had gunned down more than one surrendering Innie. Once, back on Reach in 2548, when a small group of freedom fighters had staged uprisings across the Viery territory, Noble had been sent to put it down. After a few days, the last of the rebels had been rounded up and arrested.

Noble were left to guard the ten-or-so rebels they had captured. When their encampment had been hit by a surprise air assault from repurposed UAVs, the team-except Emile, who'd been left to watch them-had been mobilised. When Carter and the others had returned, they'd found their prisoners lying dead on the ground, killed where they had stood. And Emile had stood off to one side, nonchalantly wiping the barrel of his shotgun.

Carter had been bewildered and furious. "What the hell happened, Spartan?" he had bellowed, striding over to Emile and tearing off his helmet.

Emile had not removed his helmet. He never did. Instead, he simply shrugged and said, "They tried to escape. Sir."

After that little incident, Emile had been kept under close observation. Nobody believed that the rebels had tried to escape. The Spartan had learned to toe the line after that, but he hadn't learned to back off completely.

No-one on the team had any sympathy for those who tried to destablise humanity in its darkest hour. Jorge had always been condemnatory of the URF and similar movements, but the man was inherently compassionate. Emile…Emile was a loose cannon.

Carter decided to end this line of thought, which would have no satisfying ending or resolution. Emile was audacious, but an effective member of the team. If he stepped out of line, then Carter would put his foot down. There. Be content with that. Now, focus on the mission.

Accessing his COM, Carter found the message from Holland. It was audio only, the sound choppy and static-filled. It had obviously been sent via Slipspace probe. Meaning it had only recently arrived. Meaning something that hadn't been covered in the briefing. Meaning unforeseen…complications. He frowned.

"Noble One, this is Noble Actual. By the time you receive this transmission, you'll be on the mission. There's new intel regarding the purpose of your mission. Your orders to assist the 126th in defusing the civilian riots still stand-however, there have been new developments. Our ONI satellites in the atmosphere picked up a secure transmission from rebel-first elements in the population. Innies are most likely responsible for stirring things up planetside, although reports are unconfirmed on that. In any case, be advised; there are hostile forces in Dramus, and they are in all likelihood aware of your approach. Expect a rough welcome. Holland out."

So, the rebels were aware that Spartans were being deployed. He opened a COM channel to the pilot. "Pilot, we have reports of hostile forces groundside. Expect flak fire."

"Roger that, sir." The pilot, trained professional that he was, did not bother to ask questions. Instead, he guided his Falcon into a steep dive, minimising his target.

Carter looked down on the tall buildings, in varying shade of white, black and grey. A few were on fire, and others had massive holes or scorch marks on their sides. In the few high-rise apartments to the east, muzzle flashes could be seen in the upper windows. Looters had evidently assailed those places.

The streets weren't much better. Some were deserted, filled with only wreckage and burnt-out cars, but others were roiling, violent, screaming masses of humanity. The mob ruled the city, torching and looting at will. Many had already been killed as the madness spread its cloak over the metropolis. The CAA and Dramus Police Department were silent-they had been the first places targeted. What few members of those organizations remained had fled to the UNSC perimeter around the city. The warships on patrol in the system had dropped their complements of leathernecks, who had been trying for a straight week to defuse the situation.

It wasn't exactly known what had caused the debacle. The ongoing war, the tight restrictions the UNSC had put into place, Insurrectionist propaganda, or just simple rage. It didn't matter. Noble would help clean it up. Carter checked his NAV system built into his helmet, and nodded. The LZ was only a few klicks away now. Suddenly a bright flash appeared on one of the lower rooftops.

Something whooshed past them, and it took Carter a second to work out that it had been a rocket. The party had begun. "Evasive manoeuvres!" he yelled, and the Falcon began jinking from left to right. "Jun, get on thermals and nail the bastard."

"Copy that, "the sniper said tersely, and pulled back the charging lever on his rifle. Sighting downwards, he tracked his target for a few seconds and then fired a single, jarring shot. "Neutralised."

He couldn't see through the smoke and flames, but Carter took Jun's word for it. The man was uncannily accurate. "Double-time, pilot. Let's not risk another attempt." He then turned his attention to the reclining Emile. "Noble Four, weapons check-we're not waiting around."

"We've got a few minutes, "the Spartan said dismissively.

Carter gripped the side of his seat. "Now, Spartan."

Without another word, Emile began prepping his shotgun, loading it with shells. Flashes inside his reflective helmet told Carter that he was performing a suit diagnostic. His expression couldn't be read, but the Commander was sure that it consisted of a glare directed his way. "Fix your face, Emile, "he called above the noise. "Or it'll stay that way." He wasn't quite sure, but he thought he heard a chuckle, and Carter relaxed. For the moment.

Kat's voice came over the COM. "Commander, I've got that link with the marine HQ set up." Her voice had a strong Russian accent, the last remnants of the Koslovic settlers that had made up the majority of New Harmony's population.

"Sitrep?"

"Not pretty, sir. They need us on the ground ASAP."

"Alright." He switched to the SQUADCOM. "Listen up, Noble Team. Dramus City is going to pieces due to possible rebel activities from URF elements in the population. The UNSC Marine Corps have set up at the city limits and are trying to make inroads into the whole mess. We're going to lend them a hand. Do this right, we'll be back to Reach and fighting the real enemy in no time."

Jorge cleared his throat. "Sir, why would rebels want to incite a whole city to riot?" Despite his Hungarian descent-Palhaza, in fact-Jorge had a definite British twinge to it. Even he didn't know why.

Carter shrugged. "Be sure to ask them if we cross paths, Jorge."

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, save for the whirring rotors and the roaring from the streets below. Then, after a few minutes, they passed over the wide, blackened strip that more or less made up the perimeter. Dramus had always been a very open city-there was no river, bridge or other formation that set it apart. Down on the strip, Carter could see figures moving about. Marines on patrol. A few others were stringing up razor wire and motion sensors. There must have been around two thousand of them altogether.

Which didn't leave a whole lot for any kind of offensive or push into the city. Then again, what was there to fight against? All they could hope to do was calm things down.

The 126th had commandeered a massive Genet industrial complex as a staging area. The large open spaces, warehouses and convenient geography made it a choice location. The roof of the main building was being used as a makeshift airpad. Pelicans and Falcons were a constant stream, dropping fireteams into the city.

Their Falcons came to rest upon the concrete and glass structure, and the steady hum of the engines dissipated. "Move out!" Carter shouted, and the six-man team of Spartans disembarked as one. Boots rang out upon the roof's surface, and the glass trembled. Hopefully it would support their combined weight. Moving together, tightly knit, Noble Team headed for the trapdoor that led down to the lobby.

The vast space, once filled with cubicle workers and administrators, had been converted into triage. Groaning marines lay on stretchers, their wounds being seen to by grim-faced medics. Cut by broken glass, burnt by firebombs and beaten by enraged mobs, they were a sore sight to see. A few noncoms, their injuries far more serious, were being treated in makeshift surgical sections. Blood-slicked curtains hastily thrown around the individual tables showed the desperation.

As the Spartans trooped past, heading for the main doors, many marines looked up in awe to see the armored figures. A few even cheered or held up clenched fists. Others, however, simply looked away or looked even more defeated. Carter understood their thinking: if Spartans were being deployed, then the shit was about to hit the fan.

The doors burst open, and a knot of freshly wounded leathernecks stumbled through. One, a burly corporal with fresh plasma burns on the right side of his face, spat on the ground with contempt. "This is fuckin' ridiculous, mate. It don't matter 'ow many we send into that hellhole, we's always gonna be comin' out bruised. And with what to show for it, eh?" His cohorts murmured agreement. "That bloody Semoln district, blessed Lord above…"

He looked up to see Carter at the head of the team and did a double take. "Wow-ee. Spartans, eh? Maybe we'll get a change o' pace, now. You boyos come to sort things out?"

Jorge chuckled in his deep voice. "Wouldn't be here if we weren't, corporal. We go where they tell us."

"Aye, "the man agreed, "that's God's honest truth, cully. I 'spect you'll be wanting to see General Ashton?"

Carter nodded. "Point us in the right direction?"

The corporal pointed out the doors, to a square of bright halogen lights about one hundred metres away. "CP's out thataway, Commander. Ashton's big bloke with white hair and such, can't miss him. Now, beggin' your leave, I'd like to get this burn seen to." He winced and slapped a dressing on it.

"How did that happen?" Kat interjected, depolarising her helmet. The man raised his brows-evidently, he hadn't guessed that there was a woman beneath that armor.

"Some of them crazies running 'round in the city are equipped with Covie weapons, "he scowled. "Don't ask me how. 'Spect some goddamn Innies are seeding the crowds. Not 'ard to do, all thing considered." Kat nodded simply-Carter could tell that she had already taken this information and added it to her mission analysis. Facts were churning through that brain like soup.

The corporal excused himself and Noble Team moved outside. Jun lagged behind. The corporal nudged him in the arm, a brave act in itself. Most people who nudged Spartans ended up dead or severely inconvenienced. "Fair lookin' woman you got there, "he murmured. "She taken at all?"

Jun punched the man in the shoulder amicably-restrained, of course. "Afraid so. Real jealous sort of man. The sort you wouldn't want to cross." The corporal, bewildered by this friendly gesture, shook his head. "Ahh, war's full o' disappointments, "he sighed.

The team moved out across the lawns. Once well-kept and trimmed, they had been trampled by the feet of the marines and numerous vehicles. To the west, the sun had begun to sink through the smog and clouds, colouring them lurid orange. The lack of daylight wouldn't make this op any easier. Another snag in an already dicey mission.

The CP was a large, polycrete building about the size of a small house. Inside, the space was crammed with computers, monitors and holo-boards, showing city schematics and force deployments. The squawking of radios, the barking of orders and the humming of machines created a massive din.

Carter gestured to the MPs standing outside. "General Ashton?"

One of the marines nodded. "Follow me, sir." The man went inside, and Noble followed, to a large holo-table at the forefront of the room.

General Ebenezer Ashton was a stout, bony man well into his sixties. His cropped hair was white as a bone, almost silver. His hands looked like they were chiseled from stone, all lines and edges. He was extremely tall, only a head shorter than Jorge, who stood at over seven feet tall. His posture was rock-solid; however, his eyes, red-rimmed and sunken, spoke of his exhaustion.

As Carter strode up to him, Ashton was barking into a long-distance radio. "-don't care what kind of guns they have! Any armed civilians can be considered as threats and treated as such. But for the love of God's green fields, do not open fire unless fired upon first! Understood? Good, now get to work, lieutenant." He broke off the channel and sighed heavily, kneading his eyes. Abruptly, he turned to face Carter.

"So. You must be Noble Team." It was a statement, not a question.

The team saluted as one. "Commander Carter-259 reporting for duty, sir. This is my second-in-command, Kat-320, and Jorge-052, Thom-293, Jun-266 and Emile-239, "he said, pointing out each member in turn.

Ashton smiled briefly. "Whole lot of numbers there, son. Funny that there should be so many. Last I heard, from a group of other Spartans on Jericho-" he idly stretched his arms-"there was only a class of seven-five." He looked at them steadily. "And their armor wasn't all gussied up like yours. Strange thing, don't you think?"

Carter stayed silent, and made a subtle gesture for the others to do the same. The existence of other Spartan classes was top secret, at class-five security. Only those in the Beta-Five sub cell and certain other high-ranking members of Section Three had access to information about the Spartan-III's.

Seeing he wasn't going to be getting an answer, the general shrugged. "Well, no matter. Not my business to pry. Besides, Spartans is Spartans, doesn't matter if they're wearing pantaloons or armor. Step this way, Commander." He moved to the holo-table, ushering a few other members of the command staff away. This was going to be classified.

Ashton waved a hand over the glowing surface, and a 3-D model of the city hissed to life, coloured purple and blue. Small patches of green dots marked the positions of marine advance teams. Most of them were on the periphery. As real-time data was fed through via drones and satellites, the hologram changed. A residential building on the west-side slowly toppled in minute death. It even made a small breaking sound.

The inner city swirled with more dots, indicating the civilian crowds. Carter was only slightly disturbed that they were coloured red.

Ashton pulled up battle reports and mission logs from the marines that had returned. "Here's how we stand. Dramus is separated into five different sections-four quarters, arranged around a central district. We've managed to get a foothold on the north and west sections, but the south and east are still packed with those dead-heads-"

"How can you be so sure they're all dead-heads? Sir." Jun, true to his nature, had interrupted.

Ashton glared at the truculent Spartan. "Because, Warrant Officer, the first thing we did after making landfall was assist with evacuations. If any civilians are still in the city, it's because they want to be there. And for that, we have to deal with them." He turned back to the briefing.

"The central district, known as Semoln, isn't big, but it's a goddamned rat's maze full of streets and cul-de-sacs. Most of the riff-raff in there isn't exactly street trash-we've got city gang members, rogue cops, and probably more'n a few Innies. I've already lost two platoons to the bastards. They're wearing us down slowly. Hell, there's one street where I've lost a full dozen. I can say with surety that we'll nab the surrounding areas with time-but we'll do it a hell of a lot sooner if Semoln is brought under our control. However, we don't have the manpower or resources to strike through. That-" he eyed Carter beadily-"is where you come in."

"I'll be drawing elements of the 8th Division around the border of Semoln. Kick up some dust, make some noise. Get our rebellious friends on their toes. I want you Spartans pushing through, eliminating anything that resembles a threat. Cut off the head, and this snake will croak. You'll be light and swift, but skilled enough to do some serious damage." His face assumed a bleak smile. "Or so Colonel Holland assures me."

Rifling through a desk packed with hardware, he held up a data pad and handed it to Kat. "This will be our secure line. I've got my finite AI keeping it safe from hackers or eavesdroppers. I can almost guarantee it to work. Keep this in mind, Noble-you will have no other support. Marines in the city might lend a hand, but don't expect anything else. You'll be on your own, until I decided to pull you out. Clear?"

Carter nodded, already processing these facts. Kat would be able to keep their line to Ashton watertight-she was as good as an AI-but the lack of backup could be an issue. It wouldn't be a Noble mission if it were easy, he reminded himself. "How long will we be in the field, sir?"

Ashton shrugged. "Sun's just setting now. I reckon we can have you out by dawn-if you ain't done much by that time, then I reckon you can't do a lot more. Get to the motor pool we've got set up on the complex's east side. Grab some Mongooses and fast-track it to the coordinates on that pad. It's show time, Noble."

Carter straightened, and threw off a salute. "Sir! We'll get it done."

The general nodded dubiously. "I sure hope you can, son. Dismissed." He returned to his contemplation of the holo-table, his eyes scanning new reports just in. On the outskirts of Semoln, a small group of green dots winked off. More explosive traps. They had claimed the lives of good men. Too many. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

He was getting too old for this. Riots, attrition-and now, a group of Spartans. More of Section Three's pet reapers. Demon slayers and heroes all, undoubtedly, but they were synonymous with ONI-to him, anyway. The few times he'd crossed paths with spooks had not been pleasant. Hell, there'd even been an inquiry into his personal affairs eight years back. He'd dodged it only barely, with help from Lord Hood. Now there was a man after his own heart. He had no love for those creeps.

Maybe it was all irrational. Maybe this "Noble Team"-he scowled at the irregularity of that name, it should have been a colour-would solve all his problems. But if experience had taught him anything, it was that if the worst could happen, it would. Now that would be an interesting wager. A riot in a small city on a backwater planet not even under Covenant attack, how much trouble could ensue?

With a group of Spartans, anything was possible. Particularly a group with one that had a skull on his helmet.