Chapter Five

0600 hrs, November 10th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC Texas (BB-04), Task Force One-Delta, Home Fleet
Reach, Epsilon Eridani System

The Texas was one of eight battleships in the UNSC Navy. Each one was a powerful force by itself, but the Texas was unique. Iowa-Class battleships were supposed to have two 600 ton MAC guns and one 1200 ton main MAC gun as their primary armaments. Instead of the "twelve-hundred" gun, as it was called in the fleet, Texas had Mk7 DEW, the largest directed energy weapon in the entire UNSC. Powerful enough to destroy a Covenant supercarrier in one hit, it made Texas the deadliest vessel in the UNSC Navy. It was originally intended to be a technology demonstrator—Texas had actually been an unfinished battleship, destined for the scrap yard before ONI took custody of it to test the Mk7—but Fleet Admiral Hood had it pressed into service. That meant making sure it was up to standard for an Iowa-Class battleship, including the two 600 ton MACs and the plethora of cannon batteries, point-defense weapons and missiles. Half of the point-defense guns were Mk2 DEW guns like the ones on Oberon and ran off their own generator, as did the Mk7. Space once meant for fighter bays was reallocated for the large generators, meaning that the Texas didn't have her own fighter squadron. She could never operate on her own; at all times, she was to be accompanied by a cruiser, at the very least.

VADM Marcus Stanley admired the vessel, but could not claim it as his flagship. One of the conditions Hood had set for giving him access to TF1D was that the task force's commander, VADM Sergey Vatutin, would remain in command. Stanley's role was to read him in (that is, allow him access to the need-to-know information) and point the way.

Vatutin had asked Stanley—politely, which surprised the chief of ONI—to stay in his cabin while he checked on the status of the fleet, leaving Stanley alone with his thoughts. He wished that he had something to distract him, but the news from New Madrid was too important to ignore. Eamon O'Donnell. The man had been an above-average field officer, and the New Madrid branch had him infiltrate the Insurrection with Stanley's blessing. All of a sudden, he had vanished. It was not unusual given the nature of his mission, so no one knew that O'Donnell had gone from merely posing as an Insurrectionist to actually being one. He had displayed talents that had gotten noticed in Section One, and so he had transferred there. What was worse was O'Donnell's knowledge of Forerunner technology. One of the many ONI agents sent to the wrecked Ark Installation as well as Zeta Halo, O'Donnell had evidently also discovered what ONI was now calling the Prime Cartographer, a map of the galaxy marking—among other things—the locations of the five remaining Halo installations.

And he had willingly given Zeta Halo's location to the Empire.

Why? Stanley asked himself. There was nothing in O'Donnell's background that suggested he would betray the UN. Why would he give information on the Flood to an enemy who would be only too willing to try and harness it? They would likely never know the answer, thanks to Agent Perrin. Stanley couldn't fault the man—Perrin had seen firsthand what the Flood had done to the UNSC forces at Voi—but had advised his senior to remove him from the field temporarily.

In the end, why no longer mattered. The deed had been done, and now Stanley had to deal with the aftermath. He had to find out if the other deep-cover agents were still loyal (not an easy task), and he had to find out what else the Imperials knew about Forerunner technology. With O'Donnell dead, there was no knowing exactly how much had been compromised. The only thing to do was assume that everything that O'Donnell once had access to was now known to the Empire.

Vatutin entered the cabin after a knock. Without preamble, he sat in his chair and sighed heavily. "And off we go to fight again, da?" He reached into one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out what Stanley immediately recognized as a bottle of vodka. "Would you like some, Vice Admiral?"

"No, thank you," Stanley replied. "And you can call me Marcus."

Vatutin grinned. "And you can call me Sergey." He waited for Stanley to say something, but when Stanley refused to break the silence he continued instead. "It is odd for the chief of ONI to personally request an entire fleet for one endeavor. It is even stranger for him to accompany this fleet. Therefore, this… errand of yours must be an extremely vital one."

"It is, most certainly."

"Worth more than your safety?"

Stanley looked at him evenly. "It's worth more than my life. It's worth trillions of lives, and that's how many will be lost if we fail."

Vatutin raised an eyebrow. He leaned back in his chair, muttering something in Russian. "I've told my people that there is a change in plans. They know that we're not going to Fondor, and they know that we're to expect at the very least an IBG. That's all they know, because that's all I know." He poured himself some vodka in a shot-glass and downed it in one gulp, smacking his lips. "Ah, I do love the taste of the old country. But, tell me, Marcus: what is our mission?"

Stanley was silent only a moment. He had already decided what to tell Vatutin an hour ago. "Sergey, many years ago ONI took possession of an ancient alien artifact, a ring-shaped construct we call Halo. It was built by the Forerunners, a race that the Covenant worshiped as gods. In conjunction with six other rings, the Halo installations have enough power to wipe the galaxy clean of all sentient life."

Vatutin was visibly shocked. He poured more vodka, downing this glass in one gulp as well. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"It was a last resort weapon. The Forerunners were fighting a particularly virulent parasitic life-form called the Flood. They were losing badly, so they triggered the rings. That was one-hundred thousand years ago."

Vatutin was silent a long time. "I think there is more to these… Forerunners."

"It would take me a year to try and fully explain everything we know." Which wasn't exactly true, but Stanley didn't want to tell him everything.

"However, what does these Halos have to do with our new mission?"

"An Imperial force is on the ring, IBG-strength. The assets we have are vastly outmatched."

Vatutin nodded, understanding. "Hence the need for my task force."

"Yes."

Vatutin shook his head. "One-Delta is equipped to conduct a fleet action, but not a ground war. I can drive off that IBG, but it will not mean anything unless we have boots on the ground."

"What do we have?"

"ODSTs, to fend off boarding parties and to conduct some boarding of their own if need be. A few light vehicles. Not enough to fight an entrenched enemy."

Stanley sighed. "That is a problem."

"Very big problem, yes, when considering the other side has seventy-seven thousand soldiers, at the very least. Not to mention armor, support, so on."

"Marines?"

Vatutin shook his head. "Most are deployed to the front, and the divisions in Colonial space aren't conveniently close enough for the time we have." He suddenly snapped his fingers, as if an idea had popped into his head. "Ah! We can call on the Army."

"The Army?" Stanley repeated. "Are they even capable of something like this?"

"It shouldn't be too different. The ODSTs deploy as usual, secure a landing zone. Army Airborne/Air Assault rides in on Goshawks to reinforce them, engineers deploy right behind the Airborne and set up a base… you can see where I'm going."

Stanley gave a tired smile. "And where are we going to get all those Army units?"

"New Madrid."

"The colony currently undergoing an insurgency so violent the primary counter-insurgency forces there are regular UNSC instead of UNCG. How would we get anything from there?"

Vatutin laughed. "You only saw the bad news, didn't you?"

It had somehow leaked that one of the top Insurrectionists had been an ONI traitor. Stanley still had several enemies within his own organization, he remembered, and he made a note to find out who was leaking and ruin their lives completely. "A high-ranking agent defected to the Insurrection. Of course that has occupied my mind."

Vatutin brought out a datapad with a flourish. "Well, since your people killed the stukach, the Insurrection has been heavily hit. The Guard got enough intel to wipe out several insurgent camps. It's probably too early to say, but I believe the end of the Insurrection is imminent."

Stanley stood up. "Sergey, I believe we need to have a face-to-face meeting with New Madrid CENTCOM."

"Oh? When?"

"Now."

000

0825 hrs, November 10th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
Contested Zone, Zeta Halo

Jun scanned the valley below. It was beautiful, even more so than the Longhorn Valley on Reach. A river ran its length, flowing from its source in the hills. Jun had posted himself on the largest of these hills, as it gave him an excellent view of the Imperials' most likely approach. It was also a possibility that he would even see someone from NOBLE. But for now, he was alone.

Daniel's advice to go in heavy had been good. He still had plenty of ammo for his sniper rifle, with differing varieties of ammunition. The possibilities are endless, he thought with a grim smile. It was his first jovial thought since the shadow trooper ambush.

Something caught his eye, and he slowly moved his scope to scan the area. There was a bend in the river, shadowed by a large tree. It was a shallow point; Jun had used it himself to cross the flowing water, though he had first carefully removed his boot-prints from the river silt. Had someone else just attempt to cross the same point? He moved the scope slightly.

Nothing.

Jun suppressed his frustrations. There was nothing to be gained by being angry. It would throw off his accuracy, and he needed to be operating at one-hundred percent. Patiently, he moved the scope pack and forth, looking for whatever it was that had caught his attention. It was on his third pass that he saw it.

The water seemed to be flowing around one or two objects in the middle of the shallow crossing. Zooming in, he saw the faint but familiar outline. It was a shadow trooper, almost waist deep in the river, and his armor's active camo system was having trouble compensating for both the water and the glittering sunlight reflected off its surface. He zoomed out and spotted two other ghostly shapes on the other side of the river. There had to be more, he knew. That he had noticed their movements just under two miles away would be astonishing for anybody else, but not for Jun. He was a Spartan, one of the best snipers in the UNSC, and he had his pursuers in his sights.

"Persistent bastards," he said to no one in particular. He debated firing on the shadow troopers. It was unlikely that they would pin down his position after the first shot, and being two miles away wouldn't help them. Two shots without detection were doable. A third shot would be pushing it. Two shots it is. He knew without having to check that he was loaded with 14.5x114mm Armor Piercing Fin Stabilized Discarding Sabot rounds, and he worked the SRS99 AM Sniper Rifle's action, chambering a round.

The barely discernible shape of the first shadow trooper was three quarters of the way across the river. A second was in the middle of the river. Jun settled his crosshairs on the first trooper, breathed out slowly, and pulled the trigger.

The sabot hit the shadow trooper center-mass, punching through the chest-piece and perforating his heart. He sank to his knees just as Jun fired his second shot, taking the second trooper in the helmet. The kinetic energy turned that target's brain into a gooey mess, and he flopped into the river unceremoniously just as the crack of the first round reached his comrades' ears. The third shadow trooper dove to the ground behind the tree.

Two seconds, two shots, two kills. Not bad, Jun thought to himself as he low-crawled away. He didn't think that the remaining Imps had pinpointed his sniper's nest, but he hadn't survived the fall of Reach and the Clone Wars by being careless.

Ten minutes later, his caution was justified. A familiar warble from the distance grew louder and louder until he could see the Multi Altitude Assault Transport flying through the air. The MAAT was an upgrade of the LAAT, taking some design inspirations from the ARC-170 fighter/bomber. It had better armor and with its four wings it was more maneuverable at high speeds than the LAAT, but it was an expensive platform. Therefore, it was only used by the elite of the Imperial Army. ARCs or Imperial Commandos, or in this case, shadow troopers. Eight of them fast-roped down nearby the abandoned snipers nest, approaching cautiously. They were looking down, searching for tripwires. They hadn't thought of looking straight ahead, and in the low light between the tree branches it was hard to see the fine plastic wire.

The thermal detonator Jun had taken off a storm trooper the previous night exploded with tremendous force, incinerating everything within a three-meter radius.

Jun smiled grimly. He didn't think he had killed all eight of the shadow troopers, but at least three of them had been in the blast area. If they wanted to pursue him, fine. But the Spartan-III would bleed them every chance he got.

His smile faded as he realized the MAAT wasn't leaving. The warbling was constant, changing pitch slightly as it moved back and forth. It was scanning the area, Jun realized. If it was a thermal scan, he was in luck. The MJOLNIR armor masked heat, making him invisible in infrared. If it was a motion tracker, it wouldn't work either; he was motionless, lying face-down in the dirt. Life-sign scan? It was possible, and if it was, he was screwed.

The engine pitch went higher and faded away as the MAAT left.

Jun finally dared to breath. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath, but he supposed that it was a survival instinct hardwired into every human being. Still, he counted himself lucky. Foot-soldiers he could deal with, and he had the munitions to take on light armor. He wouldn't even think about taking on a gunship without at least a scoped ARC-920 railgun.

The RV point was now only seven miles away. If he ran, he could make it in minutes. But snipers don't run, unless something has gone terribly wrong. He moved slowly and carefully, a hunted man. What the Imperials were learning, however, was that a Spartan made deadly prey. They would pursue at their own peril.

000

0825 hrs, November 10th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
ISD Vector, Imperial Task Force Blackwing
Zeta Halo

Commander Julian Grey, ORION-019, reflected on the number of times he had been captured by the enemy. He had never been captured by Covenant, since they had rarely taken prisoners. He'd been captured once by Insurrectionists, and they had beaten him almost to the point of death when they realized what he was. He had been rescued by a group of Beta Company Spartans, though he did not know the difference between the Twos and the Threes at the time. The second time he'd been captured by Insurrectionists, he had intentionally let them grab him so he could gain access to their base. He'd then broken out easily, killing several guards and allowing a backup team inside the base to kill the rest. The third time was during the Clone Wars, when a UNSC op against the Death Watch had gone belly-up. That time, he'd been rescued by none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi.

This would be the fourth time, he realized, sitting in a cell inside a Star Destroyer. There were no bars or doors for the cells on this ship, merely a thin but impermeable energy barrier that had a pale red glow. He had tested it, pushing on it at different points to test for weakness. It might as well have been made of titanium. He had also, to his displeasure, discovered that the guards could send a powerful electric charge through the barrier if he maintained contact with it for too long. In the ceiling, a tiny vent recycled the air. In the corner, a commode-sink combo welded to the deck was his only option for freshening up and going to the bathroom.

There was no way he would escape this cell on his own.

Across from his cell, Grey saw several other identical cells. Eight were occupied, four of them by captured ODSTs. Despite being stripped of armor as he was, they still wore black-grey camouflage BDU pants and black shirts with the Helljumper logo on them. The other four cells were occupied by several different aliens and humans, whom Grey assumed to be either Rebel Alliance or criminals of some sort.

One of the ODSTs, a woman with close-cropped red hair, sat up when she saw Grey looking at her. "You're awake?" she asked in a distinctly Canadian accent. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit over the head," Grey replied. He remembered rolling to the side to dodge a grenade, then falling into a hole that he hadn't seen in the dark.

"I saw them bringing you in. You were out cold. I thought you might be dead."

"Not yet."

"Hey, you're the guy who landed three days ago with those three Spartans, yeah?"

"Yes." Something clicked in Grey's head. "When were you captured?"

"Day before yesterday. Imps brought in some serious reinforcements, surrounded our outpost. We held them off for a while, but we ran out of ammo. Once they figured that out, they just ran up and stunned us." She shook her head. "Doesn't figure. They didn't take prisoners before."

"They didn't have enough people to spare to guard prisoners before their reinforcements arrived," Grey said.

The ODST didn't look convinced. "That's one way of looking at it."

"What's your name, Marine?"

"Sergeant Alex Delacroix. You're Commander Grey, right? I've gotta say, you're pretty ballsy for an old-timer."

The corners of Grey's mouth quirked into what might've been a smile. "Some things don't change."

"Yeah?"

"ODSTs have always been rude. It's a comforting constant."

Delacroix laughed. "We'd lose our reputation if we started being soft on swabbies." After a pause, she asked, "You got a plan to get our butts out of here, Commander?"

"No."

Delacroix was visibly disappointed. "Should've seen that one coming," she muttered.

"My apologies. I meant to say that I've yet to formulate a complete plan."

"That's better. What's the part you've completed, if you're OK with telling us?"

"Killing any Imperial that gets in our way."

"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

"You asked the question."

"He got you there," said another ODST.

"Shut up, Warren," Delacroix snapped.

After a while, Grey asked, "Have they tortured you?"

"No, and that's the odd thing. We've been well-fed, and the day they brought us in they had a doc give everyone a physical. You must've been out cold for yours."

"I could always try to break out when they take me to the physical," Grey noted.

"There's no point trying to escape."

All eyes locked onto the source of the last statement: a Zabrak woman with light-red skin. "Why not?" Delacroix asked.

"If you try to escape, they'll just lock down the whole cell block and gas us."

Grey stood to try and get a better look at her. "You're Rebel Alliance, aren't you?"

The Zabrak nodded, a proud look on her face. "Alliance Ninety-Eighth Special Operations Battalion, based out of Iridonia. Captain Sana Sazen, at your service."

"Do you know anything about this ship?"

Sazen nodded, a grim look on her face. "Vector. It's an appropriate name, since its role—"

"Biological warfare," Grey finished. "We've heard of this ship before, but no one from our side has actually seen it until now." He frowned. "Considering our current location, this could prove to be a disaster of cataclysmic proportions."

"And where is that?" When Grey didn't answer, she said, "I think you're Special Forces, like me. I know the drill: need-to-know and all. But if this affects you, then it affects the Alliance. We need to know what's going on here."

"Let's put it this way," Delacroix said. "If the stuff on the installation gets off said installation, we're all royally fucked."

Zabraks don't have eyebrows, but the expression she made was instantly recognizable. "That's certainly bad, then."

"You think?"

"What kind of gas do they use?" Grey asked.

"Null gas," Sazen answered. "Neutralizes the oxygen in the air."

"And will they release the gas if their own people are in the area?"

She nodded. "Stormie helmets have filters, and the Empire's more than willing to gas its own people to get something done. Friendly fire's not really much of a concern for them."

"And is it likely they'll release the gas if a high ranking officer is present?"

"That's a different scenario. The crew won't want to gas their superiors."

"I see." Grey sat back down. A plan was beginning to form, the pieces were becoming clear. All he needed was a little time to put them together.

000

0825 hrs, November 10th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC-Controlled Zone, Zeta Halo

Carris-137 had been in a lot of scrapes since her augmentations over thirty years ago. Insurrectionists, Covenant, Flood, Separatists, and now Imperials had all given their level best to kill her. Through quick-thinking, relying on her training and no small amount of luck, she had defeated all such attempts. She'd even fought Asajj Ventress in hand-to-hand combat and survived.

Now, she was on a Forerunner installation, fleeing from a massive Imperial invasion force into a rapidly-shrinking UNSC-controlled area. She had to get back to Anders Station as soon as she could in order to get the Index and return it to the Library… which was on the opposite side of the ring. There was no time to waste. The Imperials were on the move, and if the Index stayed where it was there was a chance the Empire might accidentally set off the Halo Effect.

That wouldn't happen while she was alive. Carris had sworn that to herself.

The weapons she had originally set out with were gone. She had stumbled across the area where, weeks before, Alpha Company had been slaughtered. The Imperials hadn't bothered to police the UNSC weapons, instead dumping them into a large ditch—a bad move. Carris was now armed to the teeth, wielding a BR85 Battle Rifle. A trusty M45D Tactical Shotgun was strapped to her back, and she also had an M6H and an M363 Remote Projectile Detonator on her right and left leg, respectively. Aside from that, she also had four grenades clipped to her belt.

The Spartan-II moved through the trees, careful to stay away from any clearings. Even here, behind UNSC lines, she had to be careful. The Empire had more than enough numbers to force their way through, and they weren't big on subtlety when they had such an advantage. She had seen such tactics during the Clone Wars, on a backwater world whose name she had forgotten. Against the pitiful few thousand defenders, the GAR had fielded an entire Corps. To call what had followed a one-sided slaughter would have been understatement. The Empire hadn't changed those tactics much.

Her COM crackled to life. "FOB Cobra to Sierra-137, is that you in the trees?"

Carris relaxed a fraction. Forward Operating Base Cobra was one of the perimeter FOBs, part of a defensive ring within the UNSC Zone. It, like the other FOBs, was manned by ODSTs and outfitted with an array of weapons for any situation. It meant friendly soldiers and ammunition. "Affirmative, FOB Cobra." She realized she hadn't changed her call-sign to NOBLE Four yet.

"Well, hustle up in here, Spartan. Imperial forces are almost on us, and we could use some extra hands."

"Copy. NOBLE Four is Oscar-Mike."

Two minutes later, she saw the steel and permacrete barriers and walls surrounded by a ring of barbed wire that was FOB Cobra. Two M247H machine guns flanked the entry point, which was sealed by a blue energy shield. An M68 Gauss Cannon sat on the wall above and to the side of the entry point. Beyond, Carris knew there was an M79 MLRS rocket turret. Inside an armored shed would be a rack of flamethrowers—odd equipment for any other similar base, but they were useful against the Flood. All this firepower was meant for a Flood outbreak or a Covenant assault, so it would be very useful in fighting an Imperial attack.

The shield vanished and two ODSTs waved her in. One of them threw a rough salute. "Lance Corporal Brian Dodd, ma'am. We engaged the Imps an hour ago. Lost a 'Hog, two guys and the Gunny, with nothing to show for it."

"You drove them off," Carris noted. "That counts for something."

Dodd shrugged. "They're coming up for round two, or leastways that's what the perimeter sensors are saying."

"Did you see anyone from NOBLE?"

"You mean that other team of Spartans?"

"I'm on that team now. Did you see them?"

Dodd shook his head. "We heard that your op got fucked, but we're just focusing on staying alive."

Carris didn't say anything. All of those Spartans were good, even the old-timer from Project ORION. To think they might've been captured or killed…

"I see 'em!" said another ODST. "Two fighter tanks, 2-M type; thirty-six infantry, stormtrooper type; four AT-RTs."

"Dammit," Dodd muttered. Including the Spartan, there were only ten UNSC personnel in FOB Cobra. "Ma'am, you any good with a Gauss?"

"Fairly." She was a certified expert with the M68.

"Then get on it. Ma'am."

Carris did just that, bounding over to the M68 and charging it up just in time to see the first AT-RT sprint into the kill-zone.

The All-Terrain-Recon-Transport was a one-man bipedal walker, used by pathfinder and scout units. It was armed with a laser cannon and a mortar, and thanks to its light construction it was incredibly fast. It could even leap a significant distance, making for a very maneuverable platform. However, it was only lightly armored and the driver was completely exposed. Neither of these drawbacks concerned the Empire. Soldiers and walkers were cheap for them. There was always more.

In this particular case, however, the advantage was for the UNSC. The M68 fired, sending a 25x130mm slug through the air at 49001.76 kilometers per second, or just under Mach 40. The report was deafeningly loud for those without hearing protection. The slug struck the AT-RT head on, blasting it and the pilot apart. Bits of stormtrooper and durasteel pin-wheeled through the air. The next AT-RT fared no better.

Carris ignored the infantry; the M68 was too powerful to waste against mere stormtroopers, and in any case the ODSTs had it covered. The two M247s at the entrance were pouring fire onto the enemy infantry, supplemented by ODSTs on the wall firing their own weapons. Two of them had M739 SAWs, while the rest had MA5Ds, M7 SMGs and BR85s. It was an impressive racket.

One of the 2-M tanks appeared, firing almost as soon as it came into view. The blast struck the upper portion of the wall, killing two ODSTs and injuring a SAW gunner. Carris silenced it immediately. Another AT-RT bounded into view, blasting one of the M247 emplacements before Carris destroyed it as well. The second 2-M tank appeared, but it didn't get a chance to fire; one ODST fired an M41 rocket launcher, emptying both tubes and destroying the tank. He had to stand up to take the shot, however, and even as he dropped the launcher a blaster bolt struck him in the center of his face. The ODST fell to the ground like a pile of bricks, a smoking hole in his visor. Another died with a shout as a blaster bolt struck him square in the chest. Carris was forced to wield the M68 against the stormtroopers, blasting them to bloody chunks… but not before destroying the last AT-RT.

Just as it seemed that they would be overrun, however, the remaining Imperials retreated. It was clear that they couldn't stomach losing six vehicles and several infantry enough to push the attack. They would regroup, get reinforcements and try again. They had killed at least five of the ODSTs.

"Sound off," Dodd said. Carris was wrong; two more ODSTs had died without uttering a sound, one being the injured SAW gunner.

"We can't take another assault like that," one ODST said, panting. She had been running around to collect the dogtags off her fallen comrades.

"Agreed," Carris said. "Dodd, you have any more 'Hogs?"

"Two more, a Gauss Hog and a Rocket Hog."

She turned to the other two ODSTs. "Either of you certified for an M79?"

"I am," said one. His IFF tag identified him as PFC Hunter Ross.

The other one was a PFC Lana Drake. "I can drive a 'Hog pretty good."

Carris turned to Dodd. "Does this place have a self-destruct?"

Dodd nodded. "Whole place is wired with charges. To authorize it, you have to input the code on a laptop in there." He pointed to a large tent. "But the codes were with the Gunny."

"Don't worry about that. You three, warm up the Hogs. Ross and Drake will go in the Rocket Hog, Dodd and I'll be in the other. Let's move, people."

As they prepped the vehicles, Carris moved to the laptop. She input: ACTIVATE SELF DESTRUCT.

The screen flashed: CODE REQUIRED.

She smiled. OVERRIDE AUTHORIZATION SIERRA-137. She input a few more commands

The screen flashed again. OVERRIDE ACCEPTED. DETONATION IN 00:00:30.

The 'Hogs roared to life. Without wasting a second, Carris dashed over to Dodd's vehicle, jumping into the turret. As soon as her boots touched the foot-rests, Dodd gunned it. Drake followed close behind, and both were well away when the Imperials entered the base. The base promptly blew up in their faces, burying several stormtroopers with the dead ODSTs. The Battle for FOB Cobra was over.

000

0900 hrs, November 10th, 2561 (Military Calendar)/
Anders Station
UNSC-Controlled Zone, Zeta Halo

"You are a failure of a Spartan!"

Blade's voice echoed throughout the Control Room, drawing the attention of the scientists working within. They stared at the Commander and the Spartan in black armor, the target of his wrath. The Spartan was impassive, as far as they could tell. His silver visor hid his face.

Nobody could see that he was gritting his teeth.

"We just intercepted a message that confirms Commander Grey's been captured," Blade continued. "How the fuck did you become the leader of a team of Spartans?"

The Spartan didn't say a word. Behind him, another Spartan in white armor stepped forward. "The situation changed, sir. We were overwhelmed. We had—"

"Shut the fuck up, I wasn't talking to you!"

At that, the first Spartan stirred. "If you have a problem with me, you talk to me."

"What was that?"

"I said, don't fucking scream at my people. You may not approve of my leading a team. I don't care; the chief of Section Three gave me this job himself, so take it up with him. Until such a time as he says otherwise, NOBLE is my team. Back off."

A third Spartan in dark green armor walked in, standing behind the first. "We could show you our HUD playback. We didn't have much of a choice."

Then the fourth Spartan ran in. This one all the scientists recognized: Lieutenant Carris. "Commander, FOB Cobra's gone."

Still rankled by the way Blade had treated Rosenda, Daniel was nonetheless concerned. "We passed through Cobra on the way back here, early today morning."

"What happened?" Blade asked, momentarily distracted.

"Imps hit it in force. I helped out with the defense, but they killed most of the ODSTs there. We blew it up behind us, and that slowed them down." Carris shook her head. "They caught up with us. AT-RTs and fighter tanks. We fought a moving battle all the way to the Tube. Checkpoint Three took care of the rest."

"Not good," Blade said. "With Cobra gone, we have a gap in our defensive perimeter."

"Then we have to plug the hole," Daniel said.

Blade shot Daniel a look that could cut steel. "I won't take advice from a fuck-up like you."

"What's your plan, then?" Daniel asked. "Hunker down here? Stick your head in the sand? We have tanks, don't we? A company of four Scorpion MBTs, right outside. How maneuverable do you think they'll be in that little area outside? We'll take the fight to them, hold them back until reinforcements arrive."

"No."

"I wasn't asking your permission."

Blade's eyes narrowed. All eyes in the Control Room were completely focused on the group of Spartans. "You don't have the authority." The two Navy Commandos guarding the door entered at his signal, aiming their weapons at Daniel.

"Was it tough, cooped up on this ring?" Daniel took one step forward, ignoring the commandos. "How long since you've actually gone into the field? Five years, maybe even ten, I'm guessing. You've lost touch. Without Colonel Han, you don't know how to deploy the ODSTs effectively."

"And you do?"

"Yes."

"And what do you propose to do?"

Daniel crossed his arms. "I thought I'd start by removing you from command by invoking the authority granted to me by SPECWAR/Group Three."

Blade didn't move for a moment. Then his right hand twitched slightly toward the M6 in his holster. In the blink of an eye, Daniel drew his own pistol, leveling it squarely at Blade's forehead. Jun and Rosenda moved between the commandos' weapons and NOBLE One, shielding him from harm.

"You're not fast enough to outdraw me," Daniel said. "Even if you did, the armor could take the one shot you'd get off."

Blade had a whole new look in his eyes now. "You really are a Spartan, aren't you?"

"Damn right."

Blade nodded, as if confirming something for himself. "I hereby transfer command of all UNSC forces on Zeta Halo to NOBLE One. Authorization Zero-Five-Alpha-Tango."

Daniel was visibly taken aback. "I didn't expect that to be so easy."

"I'll explain later. Now you have a job to do." He nodded to the commandos, who lowered their weapons.

"Where's the Index?" Carris asked.

Blade walked over to an armored box, punched in a code and withdrew a T-shaped Forerunner device. He handed it to Daniel. "This is the key to set off the Halo Array. We kept it here for the science types to study, but now that there are hostiles on the ring it's best to return it to the Library."

"The Library?"

Blade tapped a console, bringing up a holographic image of an odd building. "A Forerunner structure used to house the Index. Once it's returned there, it should be safe enough."

Daniel nodded. "Carris, Jun: take a commando team and get the Index to the Library as fast as humanly possible."

"What about us?" Rosenda asked.

"We're gonna take a company of ODSTs and one of the Scorpions to retake what's left of FOB Cobra. It seems the most likely route for their ground forces to take. Who's the senior ODST commander after Han? Get him up here. We need to talk."

Blade shook his head. "The battalion XO was killed in a… an incident with the Flood."

"There's got to be a Captain among them that's up for the job."

One of the commandos approached them. "I think that would be Captain al-Khouri, Charlie Company. Veteran of the Covenant War and the Clone Wars. He commands a lot of respect."

"Get him up here. Now."

"Aye aye, sir."

A minute later, an ODST with a HUL module attached to his helmet walked in. "Captain Mohammed al-Khouri, reporting as ordered."

"Captain," Daniel began. "I'm promoting you to Major. You're in command of the battalion now."

Al-Khouri cocked his head to one side. "I'm not sure you can do that."

"You'll have to talk to your division commander to make it official, but right now, you bet your ass I can promote you. Can you run the battalion, Major?"

"I won't be able to go into the field, can I?"

"That hardly matters with a foe like this. Most likely they'll try to attack you directly."

"Ah, now that is something I'm familiar with. I can run the battalion, Commander," al-Khouri said. "What do you need me to do?"

"Coordinate the defense. Deploy the Scorpions as best you can. I'm going to take one to FOB Cobra to plug the hole there."

"Understood. I'll lend you a platoon from Charlie as well." He paused for a moment. "The men guarding FOB Cobra were from Charlie Company. The survivors extend their thanks to Lieutenant Carris, and say they're ready to head back out should you need them. We'll do our part, Navy."

"I know you will," Daniel said. "Which brings me to you, Commander Blade. You know how to deploy your commandos. I want sniper teams locking down any point of approach that's not guarded by ODST snipers. Have the rest of the fireteams as QRF. Any target of opportunity is yours."

"Understood," Blade said.

Daniel turned to the door, grabbing his carbine as he did so. "We've all got our jobs, people. Let's make it happen."

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