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IONCLAD: Prologue
Date: 4 December 2003, 2:56 AM

-Halo Ternion-

DEPLOYMENT +11:51:20 (SPARTAN-002 Mission Clock), August 6, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Covenant Intelligence Outpost, Alpha Lyncis III


      Against the stillness of the alien night, as if in announcement of its own foreignness, a shadow in a shadow moved. The hard, barky fronds of the small, season-less planet's vegetation remained still as always. The prostrate shadow, a figure, squirmed fluidly beneath the dense plants, and stopped with its head against the remnants of a petrified fallen limb.

      This was far enough. The obsidian visor of the figure's helmet raised and peered over the cover at the encampment. Then after a minute, the figure eased the sniper rifle from its back and positioned it in the same direction.

      Within the thick helmet and armour, Hideki's brown eyes examined his HUD as the scope, now linked to his suit's tactical systems, magnified his light-amplified view to 10x at a mental command. A fraction of his mind watched the motion detector, set at maximum range, through his peripheral vision. He steadily scanned the scene from right to left, then targeted a foremost building, and zoomed into 30x magnification. It was a tall section of a more extensive structure. There were no entrances at ground level, but ramps and switchbacks lead to doorways high on each of four sides.

      It was guarded by eight Elite warriors, a Covenant species only postulated till now, officially, by ONI. Eight that Hideki could see, at stations with widely encompassing fields of fire. Tricky. The huge aliens stood alertly or strutted, the facility's illumination glinting from red and black armour. Hideki activated the scopephone and translation circuit, and adjusted the gain--

      "--know anything. These humans," growled the Elite standing with it's throat resting in the cross-hair, "use a thing called 'Cole Protocol'. Manual destruction of navigation and tactical records. Initiated upon detection of our indomitable forces." From outside the direct line of pick-up, another alien snorted contemptuously.

      The first sneered back. "Hrmm. This time, they failed. Pathetic humans."

      Hideki lowered the rifle, and, after a pause, slung it and shuffled sideways and began a crawling advance. Over the preceding two hours he had reconnoitred the circumference, and this presented the most likely target by far. Eighty metres nearer, and he halted, scanning for new activity via rifle scope, then continued till the next check. Cover gradually grew sparse. Hideki reached a jutting boulder and sat against it, his back to the alien fortifications.

      With his rifle over his lap, he disconnected the scope and pointed it backwards over the rock. Shades, unmanned, were widely spaced around the perimeter, and what few Grunts he could see were asleep. A stretch of bunker faced away from the tall building's frontmost ramp. The motion detector showed no activity within the defences.

      Hideki reattached the scope then checked the magazine and collapsed barrel of his S6 TX special op rifle, then took final stock of his other equipment. An M6D, its muzzle ending in a fat four centimetre silencer; he eased a round into the chamber and refastened the pistol to the magnetic holster incorporated onto his upper leg armour. Lumpy plasma grenades salvaged from previous battles, much more useful, in Hideki's experience, than the UNSC's equivalent. These used most of his belt storage, leaving a space in the small of his back for a black-stained leather sheath. From it he withdrew the twenty-four centimetre, carbon ceramex blade and sighted down its keen, lasered edge.

      Reaching the objective would be no effort. The Covenant, predictably, did not expect infiltration of their own outposts. The serious defences were arrayed in anticipation of aerial assault. The challenge would be dealing with all the Elite warriors fast enough to maintain a gap in the defences adequate to withdraw through. Consequently the first step would be to create enough confusion in the initial attack that arriving reinforcements could not organise efficiently.

      "We have superiority on the ground," the Master Chief had said at their last debriefing. "The Covenant have never been able to adapt to the variable nature of our tactics. I think," he had mused, "they might not have the benefit of a past dominated by countless forms of warfare, as human history is. My advice to you all is to rely on your instincts, in the heat of combat. You will know what they will do."

      With a flick of his wrist, the Spartan inverted his grip on the knife and sheathed it. In the same motion Hideki fluidly rose to his two hundred eight centimetre suited height, breaking cover, and began his swift, silent assault. He drew his pistol and crouched over it in a rapid jog.

      To the left. The Grunt, already half awake. The muzzle sniffed, armour-piercing round exiting invisibly. The red FOF faded from the motion detector. Hideki followed up diligently with headshots for every alien in his sight. He changed clips, careful to stow the empty, as he hurdled the bunker roof and paused beside the ramp, crouching in shadow. Signals from movement further into the complex, but nothing approaching to worry about yet. He ascended to the corner, took a split second to glance around the wall in spite of the motion detector, then continued. Nearly ten metres from the ground, he paused, waiting for his instincts to choose the right moment to begin the diversion.

      Momentarily it came, and without further hesitation Hideki twisted a plasma grenade and pitched it along a chord in the compound's perimeter. His aim and range were never in doubt as the pulsing, streaming projectile flew the better part of four hundred metres; nor was his judgement as it arced down into a cluster of heavily-armed Grunts. After a beat a chain reaction sent debris flying and lit the area in an eerie blue glow. A twisted shade fell back to ground with a smash. A clipped, bass-heavy siren began.

      Hideki sprinted up and around the ramp, and switched back. The next grenade in one hand, his M6D in the other. Red FOFs broiled on the motion readout. The balls of his metal-clad feet barely touched the ramp surface. He rounded the final corner without slowing.

      The switchback terminated on an outward-facing corner of an expansive platform. A squat enclosed structure filled the centre but left room for banshee landing areas. The substantial guard detail now lined the opposite edge, goggling at the chaos surrounding the distant perimeter breach. Hideki leapt the remaining four metres of ramp and angled for the cover of the structure's wall. His hurled grenade struck the third Elite along, square in the back, with such force that it lost balance and teetered over the platform's lip for a moment, howling briefly.

      The fizzing adhesive device exploded, rocketing the shrieking alien off of the building. The six Elites immediately around it crouched or fell, the shields of their shiny armour falling with telltale flashes. Two of them, stunned on the deck, died as single 12.7 mm explosive core slugs cracked their       helmets open in quick succession. A third levered itself up before purple fluid bloomed from holes in its chest and neck.

      The fourth Elite unleashed a barrage of plasma bolts, its yellow jaws flapping wide with rage. By this time Hideki was behind cover. The shots burnt the air centimetres for his helmet and splashed off the solid wall. He dropped to his knees and rolled sideways back into the open, firing deliberately. Blood fountained from the berserk creature's arm before it was severed at the shoulder. The third blew through the back of its gaping maw, silencing its agony.

      The other two Elites had regrouped and plasma fire began slicing at Hideki's ablative armour panels. The Spartan charged the closest, firing again at both weapon arm and vital areas, eliciting pained Grunts from the Elite. He reached the dripping corpse before it collapsed and propped it up to absorb the sustained fire of its colleague. Sizzling armour shards and cauterised flesh spat to the sides and Hideki rushed in, stepping around his impromptu cover to ram the pistol's muzzle into the alien's leathery neck and unload its final round. To its credit, the gurgling Elite swung clawing hands at the Spartan, staggering forward, before Hideki reversed his grip on the sidearm and brought it sharply into the side of its head.

      "GROOOWL!"

      As the spent magazine ejected at his peripheral mental signal a sudden stream of plasma glanced off his armour, forming lingering hot spots. The final red Elite, its defences at full power, had charged from its cover at the building's other end and now began circling. Hideki's arm was reaching for a third clip as he decided on a better approach. His armour began absorbing and ablating the strobing pulses and his reflexes, accelerated through the suit, hurled him aside. Damage warning tones sang in his ears. Out-stretched to brace against the fall, his hand slipped around the alien grip of a fallen plasma rifle.

      The Spartan rolled on his back as the Elite continued its automatic barrage. He tucked his legs up, and as he came to his feet, he abruptly sprang into the air. Climbing to apogee, Hideki unleashed the gun's energies, carefully aimed, the alien's shields rapidly sundered before plasma started eating into its flesh. The weapon over-heated and Hideki landed, discarding it; the Elite sagged to one knee. He wrapped an arm around its thick neck and lifted as his singing knife met the creature's throat and released a stream of violet, before hurling it twitching from the platform's edge.

      Activity along the base's perimeter was increasing. Hideki thought he could hear the engine of a Banshee warming up as he retrieved his M6D sidearm and reloaded. He ran back to the building, round the corner and through the tall doorway.

      Within was pink and purple, the odd curves and bulges of the alien architecture. A large cube of luminous force sat in the middle; imprisoned here were four dishevelled UNSC officers. One looked up then levered himself to his feet as Hideki strode around what was obviously the control panel.

      "It's a Spartan!"

      "What!?" said another as the prison field fell.

      The others stood, eyes wide in amazement. Hideki stepped forward and saluted. "Petty Officer Second Class SPARTAN-002, sirs. Per the Cole Protocol, I'm here to retrieve you. We must leave now," he added, as one of the bruised ensigns tried to splutter a question. The towering soldier moved out quickly. "Arm yourselves," he suggested, and knelt at the platform's edge.

      Grunts, dozens of them, were slowly working their way round the perimeter, but Hideki's immediate targets were three Ghost-mounted Elites, gliding around to find the point of infiltration. He rolled his rifle fluidly into his grip and telescoped the barrel to full-length, sighted, and the first report echoed suddenly through the installation. The lead vehicle promptly exploded, its dead, less-than-intact pilot toppling out. Its comrades began to swerve but were forcibly dismounted by further successive shots. The tight strings of the custom sub-18.1mm silicon-tungsten kinetic energy round vapour trails glowed in his light-amplified view.

      He exchanged the rifle for his pistol. "Follow me."

      They hurried down the spiral ramp. The former prisoners did their best to ignore their various injuries and keep up with the Spartan, for whom the pace seemed dangerously slow. He contracted the gain of his suit's motion sensor, better for detecting imminent ambush. From the top of the final ramp he signalled a halt, then dropped the rest of the way to the dirt.

      Movement in the bunker - Hideki heard the frantic barks and squeaks of several Grunts. The alien infantry must have entered from underground. He was about to signal 'advance' and bounce a grenade into the bunker when he noticed a green FOF at the bottom of his sensor, immediately followed by a grunt of pain from behind him.

      One of the humans, a UNMC Lieutenant Colonel according to the insignia stubbornly clinging to his tattered uniform, looked up at Hideki from an awkward squat. The man's action almost made Hideki pause in irritation. He instead took one long step, shoved the marine flat to the ground, turned and knelt; the Grunts, who had heard the man's landing through the bunkers earthy walls growled and spat and began firing. The Spartan's M6D was already in his hands, drilling AP rounds through every visible alien head.

      The incoming fire halted, but Hideki now had to assume the Covenant knew their exact position. "Get up, sir," he said flatly, hauling the officer to his feet. He motioned for the others to come down the ramp. They met at ground level and fell in behind the Spartan, who set a rapid pace and re-extended his motion sensor range. They were nearly half a kilometre clear of the compound when an ominous howl filled the air and started growing louder.

      "Banshees!" gulped one of the younger-looking escapees, glancing nervously upwards.

      "Continue in this direction," said Hideki. "I'll meet you in the foothills." Again, he unslung his rifle.

      The officer who had followed him off of the ramp regarded the Spartan. "You better know what you're doing," he said in irritation.

      "They will not reach you," Hideki replied without looking up from his weapon. He then halted, about-faced and knelt.

      There were six Banshees, all almost within canon range. For a moment the Spartan let the tiny cross-hairs rest upon the lead flyers antigrav pod, tracking it, then he pulled the trigger. The pod exploded from the wing in a hail of blue sparks, and the Banshee spiralled swiftly into the ground with a rumbling detonation. Hideki took down a further three in the same fashion, preparing on the fourth to reload as fast as possible. He was just ejecting the empty magazine when the remaining vehicles banked abruptly, and very sensibly retreated back to their base.

      Hideki scooped up and stowed the empty, finished reloading then set the safety and looped the rifle's strap over his shoulder again. The humans had left a clear trail of scuffed boot prints in the sandy dirt and he followed them for a few minutes through dry and twiggy foliage that grew higher and more dense. The tracks ended as the terrain became markedly inclined and gave way to a steep, broad, broken escarpment of rock. The far more robust vegetation grew out of weathered cracks, forming a canopy that shadowed Hideki's descent into a shallow, widening fissure; as he entered he armed his periphery counter-measures with a via his neural circuit. Pale FOFs blinked in his motion detector, directly in front of him in the darkness.

      "Are there any injuries?" he asked the black shapes.

      "Lieutenant Commander Atchison, petty officer," introduced one of them: a tall man with the bearing of a seasoned officer. "Since we were captured the Covenant have repeatedly singled out one of my ensigns, Huang, for torture, despite an apparent understanding of our ranking."

      The young man in question, with extensive bruising on all his visible skin, was being supported by the other ensign, who did not look too spritely himself, and who said, "The run over here took it out of him."

      "I'll be fine," said Huang weakly.

      "No, you won't. He needs immediate medical attention." The voice belonged to the other command officer, the Lieutenant Colonel. With a mental command, the mission intelligence stored in Hideki's neural interface identified him: J.C. Paech, Lt. Col. Now out of combat, he took a few seconds to review Section Three's file. There were references to several less-than-scrupulous incidents involving the upper echelons of fleet command as well as Colonel Ackerson's black ops. Paech's most recent activity of interest had been the sudden pulling of several strings in ONI, securing a berth aboard the Essex as it began the round trip from Reach to the inner colony of Solstice.

      June 9, 2552, Solstice became the first inner colony to fall to Covenant attack, and the Essex was among thirty four UNSC ships to go down fighting.

      Thanks to the paranoia upon which ONI operated, the fact that this time prisoners were taken did not go unobserved. Scenarios were envisioned, probabilities were plotted; Naval Intelligence's AIs advised that it was necessary to send no less than a Spartan to recover any and all prisoners.

      "That is not possible until retrieval, sir," replied Hideki.

      "And when is that?" Paech demanded.

      "We are thirteen hundred metres from the pulse beacon, which I must activate in exactly fifty one minutes, sir. I suggest that we keep moving. If the retrieval corvette has made the jump into this system and if it reaches the el-zee then adequate medical facilities will be available within two hours."

      "'If'?" growled Paech, as the Spartan strode past him. The officer walked fast to keep abreast of him, while trying to keep his gait natural.

      "Sir, if retrieval fails, we should secure our own transportation." Turning to the Commander, Hideki asked, "Sir, I observed a number of small vessels at rest over the landing field past the compound. Are there slip-space capable ships among them?"

      Atchison thought for a moment. "The ship we were brought here in landed, and I'm fairly sure none have left since then, though another did land afterwards - before our interrogation began." He grimaced. "I believe that one brought some particularly high-ranking Elites... who interrogated us."

      "Thank you, sir," said Hideki. "If it comes to that, I also have a secondary mission objective: destroy the enemy installation. This will additionally provide a distraction as we capture the vessel we need."

      The narrow terrain turned upwards. Huang was keeping up with assistance from the other Ensign, Lowry. His stifled breathing echoed faintly in the dark.

      Paech shook his head. "And how are you going to do that, exactly?"

      "The specifics are classified," Hideki answered, glancing at the marine, "but I will need to infiltrate--"

      "'Classified'?" Paech hissed, interrupting. "Listen, Petty Officer, you might be wearing the fancy armour but I'm the ranking officer here. We're going to keep going to the el-zee and we're going to get off this rock, and you can leave any destruction up to a properly armed and prepped company of ODSTs."

      "Sir," said the Spartan slowly, "we have ample time to reach and man the beacon. Our priority is not to stop in one place before then, as roughly half of the local Covenant force should begin an intensive search for us within two minutes - if our tactical analysis is reliable."

      "You do know how many personnel that base has?"

      "Estimated six hundred and twenty, post extraction."

      Paech nearly sounded amused, saying, "Well, I withdraw my earlier comment, because you obviously don't know what you're doing!"

      "Colonel," called the Lieutenant Commander, "neither you or I or anyone here has purview over this man's rescue mission, nor are we part of the official chain of command until we debrief at Reach. You know that. Give him credit," he quickly continued, "he got us out rather successfully, after all."

      "Any soldier can infiltrate the enemy installation with surprise on his side," Paech countered disdainfully. "But he's left us with no way to make retrieval. Classic god-damn ONI op!"

      A dim rumble filled the air, then a sudden distant concussion rolled across the rock above and dust sprinkled down.

      "I told you!" shouted Paech. "They'll just carpet bomb us--"

      Hideki spun and Paech was abruptly prostrate on the ground, unconscious. The Spartan lowered his gauntleted hand and crouched as the others halted in surprise. The Lieutenant Commander looked down into the soldier's dark visor for a moment, then nodded his understanding.

      "Jackal patrols can move fast," Hideki said whilst hoisting the Lieutenant Colonel onto his shoulder. "Exceptional hearing."

      "Are they really trying to bomb us?" asked Lowry. The humans resumed at a steady pace.

      "No," said the Spartan, "they found the decoy beacon. There was also an enhanced-EMP Avalanche tactical weapon beneath it. Now we have a new advantage: all the Covenant's power is knocked out."

      Atchison's brow furrowed and he asked, "Just how were you deployed for this mission, Petty Officer?"

      "A Flint-class stealth ship jumped in-system inside this planet's orbit and jumped out within one minute on a randomised vector. My HEV was deployed at the closest approach."

      "And you rode it with a micro-nuke?" blurted Huang.

      "Along with the rest of my equipment," he answered levelly.

      Lieutenant Commander Atchison looked through the night at the slack face of the marine officer, limply hanging in front of him from the Spartan's shoulder, and idly remembered that he still did not know why Paech had wrangled his way aboard the Essex to begin with. I wish you had heard that, he thought with a certain satisfaction. I bet your Helljumpers would never have done that.


To Be Continued

IONCLAD: First Prelude
Date: 9 December 2003, 11:49 AM

-Halo Ternion-


      Reveille

1103 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Former Slipspace Research Facility, Gamma Cephei Accretion Disk


      For the average member of personnel, a hurrying Spartan was a singularly disorienting experience, and a hard one to get used to. Barely having registered the towering figure rounding into the end of the corridor, it would abruptly be weaving between the non-coms and technicians, before they could even freeze in surprise. In her massive armour this would lead to unavoidable death and injuries. Petty Officer First Class Sophia-111 merely brushed fatigues with the others, however, unconcerned by their reactions, acutely aware of her manoeuvring advantages.

      She turned the final corner, skidded to a quick halt and keyed the laboratory door open.

      "Doctor Benner!" The workspace was largely unlit, consisting of consoles and instrumentation which was mostly compacted and waiting on benches for stowage. Pale light glowed from a far corner of the lab. "Doctor, the slipspace probes have detected a Covenant destroyer on translight approach. The Captain has called the evacuation."

      She rounded the curtained partition. The navy scientist was plugged into his work suite, reclined against a kind of padded bench, the circuits of his visualisation helmet and gloves tangled in insulated optic cables that snaked away in several directions, but the Spartan could divine little else about his activities. Flickering holograms spiralled into being in the vicinity of his head, hung like congregating ball lightnings, then whizzed away. His obscured face was angled away, but a desk-mounted visi-cam swung toward her as he said, "Sophia. I tell you, I've almost figured it out."

      "Well, why don't you come out and explain it to me?"

      "Right, yes, the emergency..." After a few seconds of strobing holographic echoes and intricate hand-waving, the helmet hissed and lifted itself off Benner's head. He stood, letting the manipulators dangle across the rig as the assembly powered down. His hair was an odd brown-grey, topping a slim but average build in a self-irradiating labsuit. Keen brown eyes blinked up at his visitor, adjusting themselves rapidly from direct imaging to reflected light.

      Benner was not short, but the Spartan made it seem that way. Her muscle-bound bodywas that of a giant, towering a full two hundred and three centimetres, and dressed in the form-fitting MJOLNIR undersuit and pocket-covered fatigues. Her hair was a darker brown, boyishly short. Yet her back curved in femininely, her chest swelled out, and her face, rounded and smooth-boned, showed little of her forty-odd years. An M6D sat at her hip. Her black-lined, bright green eyes looked back into his.

      When the project team had first been assembled nearly ten months ago, Doctor Benner had considered propositioning the soldier. His analytical brain had replied: Do you really think any man could satisfy a woman like her? Subsequently he had concluded that Spartans were not interested in intimacy in any case.

      Not when they could be fighting.

      "You see," he began, "the shielding was always going to be the most difficult system to apply." He collected the archive chips which ejected themselves from slots on the side of a cable nested processor box, secured them in the satchel slung on his shoulder. "The main principles are similar to the way Covenant weapons harness plasma so safely - I mean, without earthing millions of watts into every thing within throwing distance."

      Sophia gently herded the doctor through the lab for the door. He noticed this, interrupting himself to issue instructions back into the room. "Turing, don't worry about any further calculations. Can you archive that preliminary data and upload it with you when you leave?"

      The AI's soft voice replied from the scientist's work station. "This can be arranged. Transfer preparations will be completed in four-hundred eighty seconds." A tone signalled the end of voice interfacing for the construct.

      The door sighed closed. Benner was getting back into his explanation. "Everything is operational except the shields," she said. "There wasn't an estimate I was aware of. We thought we might have to forego them."

      "No no no, as I told your techies, they are trying to replicate a system that we haven't studied. My idea is to adapt one we are already investigating. They've been approaching the difference between personnel and ship shielding all wrong."

      They made their way out and down the corridor. Non-coms hurried past, and Sophia insisted on picking up the pace. "It's the ionic equilibrium, really just a matter of scaling up the oscillators and regulators..."

      The Spartan was no quantum mechanic, or even a chemonuclear synthetist like Benner, but she thought she understood the concept. The impending emergency distracted her, however, and she said, "Forgive me if that sounds a bit obvious."

      Benner would have protested that observation except it was then that the corridor ended and they entered the hangar. A similar size to a starship's hangar, the floor was the only flat surface, with the rest remaining as the naked asteroidal rock from which it was carved.

      It was a construction hangar. Overhead, filling the majority of the cavern, was the ship.

      For a moment they stared up at her. Then: "The crew is assembled," the nearby deck officer spoke, "engines have entered the warm-up cycle. Go get her ready, Ma'am."

      Sophia flicked a salute down to him. Then they continued up to the entry ramp, into--

      She was suspended by various access scaffolds and gravity fields roughly in the centre of the hangar. The expanses of armour plating glinted dark grey under multitudinous lamps. A similar shape as the delta of a Longsword fighter, but over fifteen times wider, with articulation joints running along half of each wing. The vessel was dominated by the pair of huge hulls, from the sides of which the wings swept out and back; they pierced out front, and a gaping dark mouth was set in the end of each. Between these a central hull formed a hump towards the aft and swept forward, and downward where the extensive view plating wrapped around the bridge, which extended out slightly below the rest of the structure.

      The variable ramp lead ten or so metres up into the aft of the ship, between the baffles of the primary ventral engines. Sophia hurried inside with the scientist in tow, through the cargo bay and up the main corridor past the cabins. Just short of the forward bulkhead a navy officer stepped out of the bottom of a port stairwell and into the corridor. In her late twenties, she wore a light grey coverall of a flight officer. Her black hair was coiled at the nape of her neck.

      She saw them immediately. "There you are, skip," she called. "Chief Harada has both engines humming on full standby and I could see no problems on my own inspection. Doctor," she nodded to Benner, and fell into step with them, though the passage was too narrow for three to walk abreast.

      "Ensign Gillian," he acknowledged.

      "Good thing the shakedown was scheduled today," remarked Sophia. They reached the bulkhead, which sighed across and allowed them onto the bridge. "I just hope the interface works the way it's meant to."

      Before them was a sloping arrangement of seats and panels within a narrow horseshoe of walkway. The area was a lot smaller than a starship's bridge, and the wide viewport swept up above most of its length, an invisible ceiling, the long, hulking port and starboard hulls spearing forward directly above, and the hangar visible under them. Two chairs stood side-by-side on a platform to the rear, flanked by general consoles and facing a shared tactical screen. In front and beneath was another seat completely surrounded by stations and holoscreens; the Ensign climbed into this seat and brought up systems status and communications. Doctor Benner took one of the positions up the back.

      There was a final seat, down in the very nose of the bridge. Sophia walked around Gillian's position and slid into the chair, which promptly extended further forward over the two metres of ventral viewport with a hiss of hydraulics. The seat moulded fluidly to her frame; from this position she had a clear view up, down and to either side. A faint wrap-around holoscreen activated, apparently floating just outside the windows, displaying ship's internal bearings and defense status of each hull section.

      "Engaging artificial gravity," Gillian announced, deft fingers working her console. A split second of quasi-freefall, then down re-established itself. "Skip - Almagest on the horn."

      A new holoscreen opened to one side. A bearded, kindly-featured old officer stood on a ship's bridge within. "So, Sophia, does it work?" he asked, smiling.

      The Spartan knew Captain Ffrench's good mood was simply his careful reaction to imminent combat, but she smiled back. "We're about to find out, sir."

      "Everyone's aboard. We've just cleared the main dock." He looked to the side, continuing, "Gibbs will send you our preliminary exit course, though we will probably have to engage." He was suddenly stern. "I don't think this is a scout; the enemy must know we're active in this system. They must not report back. We'll need to do our best, even with the Ionclad unfinished."

      Ionclad. It was officially only the name of the Section Three project itself, working on the prototype of a new class of superheavy strike fightercraft. The best, hardest working materials scientists, engineers and shipyard crews had been drafted and corralled into a refitted asteroid research station, given carte blanche on every bit of reverse-engineered Covenant technology to date and anything else that could be even vaguely of any use, and a Spartan to pilot it. An entire destroyer, the Almagest, had been assigned to guard the project, underlining perhaps more than anything else its importance.

      "Thank you, sir," said Sophia, "we'll see you soon."

      The channel closed. "Hangar atmosphere has been evacuated," Gillian commented from behind. "manoeuvring engines on-line, skip. Ready when you are."

      The Spartan willed her body to relax, breathing deeply, then rested her head back on its support. Her neck met the extendable interface plug, which connected effortlessly with her neural implant socket. She looked down at her fingers - manually activating the helm control systems - which abruptly disappeared.

      Nausea, imbalance, unfamiliar proportions. Sophia reeled mentally but began fighting off the disorientation. Her hand was still there, now that she concentrated on seeing it, and the bridge and the hangar outside. But her mind was also receiving the precise digital data, via her implant, that told her where every part of the ship was, the stresses they were under (nominal), and their proximity to outside objects (no impact imminent). She could still feel the multifrequency hum of the ship's power through her seat and hear it with her ears, but was also now aware of the power generator and its steady output, and could all but see the advanced twin-torus main engines as they idled, ready to burst into action like a sprinter waiting for the gunshot.

      It was similar to wearing MJOLNIR, and to the simulations and preliminary tests of the newly developed piloting system. But it was the power; the size and scale and the feeling of the finely harnessed, explosive power possessed by the ship that made the difference.

      "Release docking systems," she said, her voice sounding detached, a very small part of a now much larger whole. She took hold of the weapon grips mounted on her armrests.

      "And we are clear," Gillian spoke after a moment. "Doors're open. She's all yours, skip."

      Sophia furrowed her brow, concentrating, and by pure action of will channelled power to the directional submotors. She was struck by the strong impression of blood pumping down arteries following removal of a cuff.

      Ionclad floated out of the floodlit, cavernous hangar, accelerating steadily into the wide space between the asteroid and its neighbour. There - a hard white star of fusion drive, "Almagest" printed beside it on the holoscreen, along with distance and bearing. There was also something else: the ghost of a slightly curved line, leading from Ionclad's prow and tapering off into the distance. Sophia noticed that it, the plotted escape course, was there even with her eyes closed, as was a precise knowledge of the destroyer's position. Just then, a new vector appeared in the "distance".

      "Covenant destroyer has exited slipspace eleven million kilometres from our position," the Ensign announced.

      Sophia opened her eyes and glanced at the holographic tactical indicator. "Release safeties on all weapons," she ordered. "Stand by for main burn." Gingerly, she brought the engines up to and across the operating threshold, and felt them almost beating like a massive heart as their energy was released into the propulsion system.

      A small rear view showed the research facility falling away. The distance reading on Almagest decreased faster and faster. The enemy tag hovered nearby for another second, then vanished.

      "Enemy has re-entered--" Gillian's words were cut short as space immediately above Ionclad's bridge seethed with violent green vortices, rapidly giving way to the pearlescent hull of the Covenant vessel.

      "Holy shit!" Benner yelped.

      "Hang on!" Sophia shouted. With her mind suddenly cleared of all hesitation by the prospect of combat, she willed the ship forward, and she felt it respond with the speed of thought.

      Ionclad shot away from beneath the looming destroyer, which was over one hundred times as long, and, now fully materialised, began turning ponderously. The human ship angled "upwards", accelerating above the enemy's dorsal surface.

      "Incoming," cautioned Gillian. "MAC rounds from the Almagest."

      A pair of yellow-white points, distance indicators blurring towards zero, peaked into the bridge briefly as Sophia rolled Ionclad out of her relative ascent. The Covenant were already under power, and within a few seconds one MAC round had overshot, racing into the void at the head of a hot, bright metal vapour trail. The other struck a glancing blow over the top of the destroyer's stern and its shields flared brightly, but held, dimming once more to invisibility. Motes of blue light began flickering over its hull.

      Sophia's reflexes had already thrown Ionclad into a series of randomised manoeuvres as Gillian called out, "Pulse lasers! I'm picking up targeting beams, skip!"

      "They should have trouble with a craft this small and manoeuvreable," muttered the Doctor. "That was the theory, anyway..."

      The Spartan, teeth gritted, levelled the ship out and put on a hundred percent burn to quickly put some distance between them and the Covenant. All unfamiliarity with the helm system was now forgotten: it was exactly like wearing a new type of MJOLNIR.

      "They're pursuing, skip."

      "It's a lot faster than any destroyer I've seen," added Benner.

      "Right," said Sophia. "Let's show them who they're dealing with. Load the microMACs. Heavy rounds." She kicked in the retrothrusters then came about one hundred eighty degrees, accelerating; she mentally called up weapons status - main gun capacitors charging at twelve percent per second. Beautiful, she thought.

      The Covenant ship's vector now ran perpendicular to that of Ionclad, towards the Almagest's position, but a barrage of pulse laser fire began as soon as the strikecraft came in range. Sophia dipped the prow, weaving, drawing the imprecise fire off the vector she wanted. The target loomed large through the veiwport before the Spartan put her ship into a tight tumble, veered back up then slammed on the overdrive. Ionclad hurtled straight at the destroyer with her engines' EM fields momentarily overlapping, constructively interfering and nearly doubling the total output; Sophia, Gillian and Benner began shaking in their seats.

      MAC capacitors fully charged, gravity compensators ready, target locked. Sophia smirked and squeezed the firing switch. She was nearly flung out of her chair.

      Shells of iron-uranium speared blindingly out of the ends of Ionclad's twin hulls, streaking down onto the Covenant vessel. They impacted astern, near the previous hit. The flaring shields writhed and sputtered, then dimmed; the enemy hull was now ash black. The pulse lasers had ceased.

      Sophia had thrown Ionclad back into evasive manoeuvres, pulling up from the attacking dive and flashing past the destroyer. The vibrations eased as the engines returned to one hundred percent power.

      "Right, we need harnesses on these seats," groaned the Ensign, lifting her head out of her main holoscreen.

      "This is great," Benner exclaimed. "The hotter you run the engines, the faster the capacitors recharge. She's already exceeded theoretical specifications by seven percent!"

      "Sophia," Gillian called, "looks like you've got the hang of-- oh shit!" she gulped. "Massive energy spike at the destroyer's position."

      In the rear-view holo, the Covenant ship was moving visibly against the hard, starry background of space, its lateral lines blazing a fluid red. The glaring energy burst forth into a sizzling torpedo, and streaked towards the Ionclad. The human vessel's exhausts flared up once again.

      "This would be an ideal test for the prototype's shield systems," said Benner. "Please remember, though, that we don't have any. If that plasma gets within half a kilometre of us the hull will melt from the radiant energy alone."

      "I remember, Doctor," Sophia growled, sending Ionclad into a shallow climb.

      "Just making sure."

      The plasma's path curved, closing distance with its target. Ionclad reduced acceleration and veered to starboard. Proximity alerts sang within the bridge.

      "Reload the MACs, multiple splinter rounds," said Sophia. She guided the ship in its soaring curve for another long moment, then diverted full power to manoeuvring, spinning around and beginning another rapid dive towards the destroyer. Within seconds the blood red mass of plasma had shot widely past; the warning whine ceased.

      "Shells loaded, skip. Capacitors are hot!"

      Sophia fired the microMACs and a machinegun repetition of thuds jarred through Ionclad's superstructure. The projectiles were covering much more distance this time and she briefly thought she could see the lined-up, white-hot metal shells, three apiece within the sizzling trails of vapour.

      The destroyer was drawing relatively close to the Almagest, which had accelerated to a decent clip then rotated to point her bow at her pursuer. The MAC rounds met the Covenant shields across its central axis in a concussion of pyrotechnics; the layer of force flickered out and small explosions dotted that area of hull.

      Sophia pushed the engines a bit further, checked the capacitors: fifty-eight percent and climbing visibly. "We've got 'em now! Reload!" She threw Ionclad into the beginning of a series of banks and dips as she entered pulse laser range. She was suddenly flattened into her seat; there was series of thumps and the bridge lurched. A damage siren sounded.

      "Pulse laser!" shouted Gillian. "Lucky leading shots, damage to port wing armour and MAC muzzle. Recommend we don't fire the main guns, skip!"

      "Bastard," hissed the Spartan, trying to further randomise her minor course changes. She was unwilling to pull out of the approach. "Deploy A and C missile pods," she ordered, and mentally targeted the shield breach on the rapidly enlarging destroyer. A flashing, holographic crosshair hovered over the ship; Sophia fired.

      Archer missiles spat rapidly forwards from the angled pods under the wing bases, and Ionclad pulled up, drawing the point-defence fire away from their trajectories. As the missiles closed with the Covenant ship it started ponderously turning, facing sideways to the UNSC destroyer, and many did not get past its remaining shields, but a few bloomed against the blackened, scarred hull, briefly igniting several geysers of venting atmosphere. The huge vessel was unperturbed, however, and new swirls of red energy began collecting across its leading edge.

      The Almagest, after a moment, responded with a MAC volley; two superdense ferrous shells lanced across the narrowing gulf of vacuum, blasting into the destroyer's remaining central shields which strobed violently and fell. Hull material shattered from the ship in a glittering cloud and secondary explosions snaked over the dorsal surface, yet it held its course, and the sizzling light continued to coalesce along its lateral lines.

      "The Almagest can't possibly evade at this range!" Gillian said in alarm.

      "Hold on, everyone," Sophia announced in reply, and pushed power into the ventral motors. Ionclad soared into a tight loop-the-loop and accelerated towards the alien vessel on its most recently damaged side.

      "Load starboard gun! Three light rounds, and prepare another three," she told the Ensign. She pointed Ionclad straight at the edge of the destroyer, where the red-white plasma seethed and concentrated. "Over-ride safeties and transfer port gun capacitance to starboard on my order. Set gravity compensators to maximum."

      Ensign Gillian's fingers danced over her consoles as she silently prayed for the conduits to hold under such strain.

      No pulse lasers met them this time. The mass of collected energy throbbed along the side of the Covenant ship, nearly obscuring it from the Ionclad's crew's angle.

      "Transfer now!" the Spartan shouted and hit the firing switch.

      Within the portside capacitor, several raw megaamperes that were waiting to magnetise the tightly packed superconducting coils immediately forward were abruptly drawn across the ship to join the tail end of a similar amount of charge that was flowing onto another set of coils. The physical limit to the section length of the Ionclad's linear accelerators meant that even the lightest single MAC shell would normally attain less than half the hypervelocity needed to make it offensively effective, however the creative application of retro engineered gravity generation had provided this canon, along with its twin, with a compensatory gravatic shunt that fired in concert with the magnetic acceleration. As the first round flashed down the length of the canon hull, field recyclers soaked up the destabilising magnetism and injected it back into the coils; the second round promptly accelerated and shot after the first.

      Within a single second six searing MAC rounds were careening through the void, connected by a single line of glowing metal particles. Thanks to the extra capacitance, the lead projectile travelled with over twice its normal momentum, with velocities lessening towards the back of the line. It smacked into the blazing pool of Covenant plasma, splashing it aside and mostly boiling away within the hell of heat, yet many tonnes still reached through to the hull and tore into the ship. The second, third then fourth rounds swiftly followed, rending deeper into the destroyer; the plasma, destabilising violently now, started funnelling back into the hole, eating up the atmosphere that was already trying to vent into space. The fifth MAC round disappeared inside, and after a heartbeat a cloud of fire and debris burst from the other side of the ship. It began to list and roll its belly upwards, and the final shell crashed into its formerly unblemished ventral surface.

      Sophia had dipped the prow and passed beneath at minimum safe distance, giving them all a clear view through the viewport. The plasma was already gone, soaked back up by the destroyer's hull, leaving whole sections as blackened, charred shell. After another moment the ship exploded completely in a mist of blue fire.

      Gillian and Benner burst into cheers, and the Spartan smiled briefly. She brought up the tracking on the first plasma torpedo: it was still big and hot, had made a wide turn and was rapidly gaining on them. The alert rang through the bridge again.

      "Power down the guns, Ensign," instructed Sophia. "Give everything to the engines."

      The drives steadily increased their output power, the exhaust searing white from between the baffles. They hit synergistic threshold, the overdrive once again kicking in and shaking the hull. Despite its climbing intensity, the exhaust glare began to pale before the alien plasma which had drawn within a kilometre.

      Come on, Sophia said to the ship. Her urging translated through as a further slight rise in the throb of the engines, over-dilation of the fusion feeds, an extra kick of velocity.

      The plasma drew no closer. The violent shaking levelled out into penetrating vibration. An internal audio channel opened and Sophia barely heard Chief Warrant Officer Harada bellow, "What are you trying to do the engines, skipper!?"

      "Any second now," the Spartan whispered, unconcerned with being heard.

      The plasma torpedo abruptly dimmed, becoming much more red than white. It started to fall behind. Sophia hit the lateral motors hard and Ionclad swept around tightly; the ball of fire turned slightly, feebly, and sailed past, dimming further. Eddies and motes snaked away from it as it gradually dissipated, spent. The Spartan cooled the engines down well below the one hundred percent mark and set course to rendezvous with the Almagest.

      "Is that better, Chief?" she asked.

      "Much. Please don't do that again."

      Sophia closed the channel and said, "Ensign, get me the Almagest."

      "They just called."

      Captain Ffrench and his bridge reappeared. "I must admit," he said, "that little ship is more effective than I think anyone could have imagined. I don't think the Covies knew what hit them. The boys at Reach are going to fall over themselves."

      "They'll have to wait for that, sir. We've still got a mission to complete, as if this ship needed any more testing."

      "Indeed. In fact, we received new orders right in the middle of all that fun, Sophia. Another search and rescue, luckily not far from here. If you ask me, it sounds like someone pulled in a favour from your boss. I'll send the message and the new coordinates."

      "Don't forget--" Doctor Benner began, but Sophia interrupted him.

      "I haven't, Doctor." She let go of the weapon grips, deliberately relaxing in her padded chair. "First things first, sir: we need to stop by Chi Ceti. There's some very important equipment there that I'm personally quite eager to acquire. I have a feeling we'll need it."

      "Of course, Spartan. We'll see you at the jump point. Almagest out."


To Be Continued

IONCLAD: Second Prelude
Date: 18 December 2003, 12:39 PM

-Halo Ternion-


      A Walk-on Part in a War

1455 Hours (Colony Local Time), July 22, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Fort Vengeance, Formalhaut I


      "Well, I know I wouldn't like it. Do you think he does?"

      "The hell I know. Ask him."

      "I don't think so!"

      "Fine, bitch. I'll ask him. Hey Sarge!"

      "WHAT?"

      The morning was warm and dry. The air hung heavily despite the feeble breeze that daily heralded the orangish sunrise. Within the fortifications of Fort Vengeance, as the liberation force had dubbed the salvaged UNSC base, the 19th Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Platoon variously guarded, drilled, snacked, maintained, and gambled, as well as cleaned ordinance, as PFC Hutt and Corporal Doubet were busy doing.

      Doubet propped his unencased battle rifle up, sighted down the exposed barrel. "Sarge, my colleague here wonders how you feel about being kidnapped and drafted into the navy when you were six years old."

      The initial bellowed response had issued from beneath the nearest Warthog. The gauss cannon had just been lowered into the rear and the seargent was fastening the initial connections. A spanner clinked to the stony ground before the man snaked out from underneath. He stood, and the two hundred twenty centimetres and the enormous shoulders of his startling frame cast both marines completely in shadow. His skull was topped with receding stubble; his aquiline nose jutted from between slightly sunken cheeks. His eyes were clear and grey and seemed to consciously project power.

      "Best thing ever happened t'me," Master Sergeant Lloyd 090 drawled in a thick accent. "You pikers don't know what ya missin'. Now get your shit together and give me a hand with this baby - the call could come in any minute."

      The marines raced their weapon reassembly, the corporal winning by nearly two clear seconds. Installing the gun on the tray of the 'Hog was a technical ordeal but it was a self-contained component, and by necessity difficult to screw up. Sweat spread rapidly over their corps-issue t-shirts.

      "One of the guys, y'know," the corporal said, "he said he heard the muscle-growth injections they gave you Spartans to make you so big also, ah, wipe out your sex drive."

      Lloyd vaulted off the vehicle. "Ain't what your mamma said."

      Private Hutt shook his head sadly at his fellow enlisted man, then smiled, as the ammunition feed system showed green. The marines similarly dismounted.

      "She also said she tried to teach you some manners 'n stuff. If I'd known what an unruly, brutish lot the 105th really were, I might have reconsidered this transfer assignment."

      Doubet was grinning too by now. "What if you'd known you'd be stuck on the last outer colony, with the only way to contact FLEETCOM sitting in a Covenant-infested arcology?"

      "The only thing that makes your company bearable, Corporal."

      Hutt still had a question for the Spartan, what he had originally wondered. The private was not green, but still very young, with vivid memories of his home in the West Europe Protectorate. "What about your parents, sir?" he blurted.

      "What about them, son?" Lloyd wiped thoroughly at the grime on his hands.

      "Do wish you'd known them?"

      "I know they were innocent, but buried under glass on Alpha Cancri II a year ago anyway," he replied calmly. "I have twenty-five brothers and sisters. I'll be going back to them when I've personally slaughtered the last of these alien shits."

      The prearranged alert sounded as punctuation to Lloyd's statement. Marines all around burst into action.

      Lloyd 090 bellowed, "What are you waiting for, people! Prep this 'Hog and get ready to roll!" With that, he sprinted to his makeshift quarters for his armour.

      Salvatori, the communications Specialist, met him at the doorway with a salute. "Our sniper scouts reported in. It looks like the Covenant have abandoned their salvage operation. Our teams are standing by."

      "Right. Suit up, marine. We leave in four minutes."

      "Yes, sir!"

      Lloyd opened the door of what looked like a huge antique refrigerator, but was in fact a makeshift closet for his massive armour. It hung within in segments, a dull metallic olive; the chestplate was embellished with the ODST golden comet. He stripped and slipped into the fitted undersuit, and with practiced haste assembled the armour legs upwards around his body. MJOLNIR activated as the helmet sealed around Lloyd's throat, displaying crosshairs and real-time physiodata. The neural interface connected and the Spartan relaxed, letting the suit moreso than his body respond to his natural movements.

      He brought up his motion detector, then armed himself: an MM55 battle rifle slung on one shoulder, plus spare clips; and the Master Sergeant's personal M90 shotgun with its modified stock and a slightly shortened muzzle.

      He emerged from his quarters just as Private Hutt, decked in olive drab ODST plate armour, pulled up outside in the Warthog. The gun was already manned by Private Sterling. The other two members of Fireteam Alpha, armed and armoured, jumped into the armoured troop carrier 'Hog already revving behind Lloyd's vehicle. He got into the passenger seat, then stood tall to see the assembling marines.

      "It's do-or-die time, marines!" he shouted. Those men waiting to board their assigned transports, now parked in a tight mass, looked up at the Spartan. "You wanna live forever!?"

      "Hell yes, sir!" they replied over the comm.

      "Then let's make these scum dead instead. And I better not catch any o' you gettin' killed!" With that, Lloyd slapped Hutt's shoulder plate and sat back down. The private pulled smoothly through the gate, onto the tarmac, and accelerated.

      The other eight Warthogs strung out in a caravan behind. Two of them mounted manned 12.7mm LAAGs and held positions in the middle and at the rear of the line. Each vehicle seated a passenger, in most cases hefting one of the platoon's M19 SSM Jackhammers, their feat resting on spare rocket magazines. The troop carriers had rear rollcages for their six occupants to grip; although the marines weren't crowded in, most of them had virtually no field of fire. Serious-looking bull-bars decorated the noses of the TCVs.

      Corporal Doubet was shouting at Private Heitz, his Alpha team mate, and Fireteam Foxtrot as the 'Hog they rode accelated behind the Master Sergeant's. "Man, I'm fuckin' pumped!" His fists sqeezed the rollbars. "This is gonna be my day, man, it's gonna be a good day!" he remarked enthusiastically. "We are gonna bring them DOWN!"

      Foxtrot's Sergeant Nolte grinned over at him. "You keep it up, son."

      The 19th had been serving aboard the Macleod, a new rapid-response Seychelles-class UNSC assault frigate fresh from the Reach shipyards. A triple-shot light MAC cannon, Archer missile arrays and a platoon of Helljumpers, designed expressly for the interception of the Covenant scout ships that hunted tirelessly for colony worlds. The freshly promoted Captain Martel had wanted to give a swift demonstration of what UNSC mettle could achieve with the right equipment.

      For all the marines knew, it had worked, too. MacLeod had jumped into the Formalhaut system as part of its patrol to find two small Covenant cruisers in the process of securing the colony city of Hamilton. Evidently, the scouts had found the lightly defended target too tempting to share. MacLeod had charged in with guns blazing, her narrow design and advanced engines allowing her to evade the majority of the answering fire. One enemy sustained several direct hits and dropped into a decaying orbit. As MacLeod chased the invaders from orbit, a flock of HEVs and guided equipment modules detached at her closest planetary approach, and the Helljumpers dropped to meet the Covenant forces, feet first. Martel had wished them luck and taken the frigate outwards after his trophy.

      Four days ago. MacLeod had been in communicado since the marines had cleared re-entry radio blackout, but nor had there been further Covenant activity. Re-taking the small UNSC base south of Hamilton from the alien guard detail was trivial but satisfying. As the useable gear was gathered, scouts were dispatched to assess the enemy.

      "Medusa, do you copy," Lloyd spoke on the advance team's frequency. "What's your situation?"

      "Sir," came the reply, "the Covenant salvage teams began returning from their wreck twelve minutes ago. From this vantage I estimate four hundred infantry, including twenty-eight Hunters and a number of tall, pretty tough-looking aliens we haven't seen before. They seem to be running things. The perimeter guard hasn't been altered, however I counted three plasma mortar tanks taking positions on the hillside overlooking the coastal pass."

      There was a pause. "I see you now, sir. Standing by."

      "Good work, Medusa. We will engage from extreme range. See what you can do at your end."

      "Aye, sir. Out."

      Lloyd 090 opened the general channel as he took a magnified look at the approaching hills through his weapon's smartscope. "Estimate contact in twelve seconds, marines. Co-ordinate the rocket attack and take 'em out fast - we'll try to maintain the element of surprise." Following a chorus of radio confirmations he signed off and shouted at his driver and gunner over the 'Hog's mighty engine. "Keep this thing moving ahead. Sterling, lay down fire as soon as those rockets are off. Paste anything that moves."

      "With pleasure, sir!"

      The rest of the vehicles fell back, some peeling off the road. They slowed and halted as a spread out row, engines idling, and five passengers shouldered their M19 SSMs and sighted on the already large targets a ways up the slope.

      "Fire!"

      Tightly grouped 102mm rockets streaked over Master Sergeant Lloyd's charging Warthog. Private Stirling cried, "School's in session!" and opened up the gauss gun.

      If there was one thing Lance Corporal Maine liked as much as sniping, it was explosives. So when the rockets impacted downslope, as she and PFC Harrigan, S2 AMs slung, crawled to a new position through the dry, matted indigenous vegetation, a thrill ran up her spine. At the same time, the distinctive whizzing of gauss rounds ended in the shrieking of rended alien armour-plate, or deep thumps where they met solid rock.

      "I see two kills," crackled a radio voice on the platoon freq.

      "Confirmed. Two down, moving in to get a visual on the third."

      "Lay some supressing fire."

      Harrigan, a little further ahead, stopped. He silently motioned his spotter up to his side, and as she joined him she saw that they had reached the top edge of one of the quarries recently blown out of the hillside by the Covenant. A stain of ashen blackness more than halfway down marked the terminus of one of the Jackhammer rounds. Thirty metres down a Wraith appeared to be cowering a safe distance from the alcove's lip - which was being spasmodically chewed at by magnetic projectiles. Apparently, the alien driver had quick reflexes but little in the way of guts.

      Lying there, the snipers glanced at each-other. Left for long, the alien would obviously figure out how far to launch its hellish plasma bombs - and would report the human positions. They packed nought heavy weapons, but Harrigan brought his hand up with a fat frag grenade in it, proffering it to his partner, nodding his head towards their prey and inflating his soot-smeared cheeks in a silent "boom" impression. Maine grinned. She wanted to laugh; her partner delighted in goosing her about their adventurous love-life.

      She accepted the explosive and inched her head over the edge. The Wraith was gyrating around on the clearing in apparent indecision. The marine spotted the canopy opening, immediately beneath the weapon muzzle. She thought she could see a segment of sleek red armour within.

      At that moment the tank shuffled forward and belched out a sizzling mass of plasma. Squinting against the residual glare, Maine flipped the pin and tossed the grenade. It vanished into the cockpit with a clunk, followed by an inhuman shriek. A plume of fire spat loudly out of the Wraith, replaced within an instant by a shower of alien gore. Smoke vomitted out from beneath the machine and it scraped sideways into the ground.

      Harrigan slapped Maine encouragingly on the rump and exclaimed, "Kick ass!" He rose to his feet.

      "Any time, baby." She accepted his hand up, adjusted her helmet and then led the way back to the vehicles.

      "Sergeant, this is Medusa," the Private called over the comm. "Third Wraith is junk, but you have incoming, over."

      "Copy that," replied Lloyd's voice. "In golf they call that a slice. We're on our way. Proceed as planned and keep your eyes open."

      "Affirmative. Out." The marine drew his M6D and scanned the the vicinity of the area they had arrived at. His spotter dug her arms into a mass of light-green bushes - tossing the severed foliage aside to reveal their ATVs: khaki four-wheelers with with independent wheel drive and serious suspension. She threw her leg over her quad's saddle, switched on the fuel and navigation systems, and kicked the engine into deep, roaring life.

      Maine grinned back at her partner as he mounted up, twisted the throttle a few times, then took off downhill with him in a shower of torn dirt.

      "Kingfisher, do you copy," Master Sergeant Lloyd 090 radioed.

      While the base that would temporarily become Fort Vengeance had been overun and cleaned out by the initial Covenant landing, some equipment had survived. Four of the Warthogs and the ATVs were native, and the heavy munitions had been sealed away securely. The undisputed godsend, however, was the fortified subsurface hangar and the SkyHawk jump jet nestled within, with fuel and stocked racks of 50mm ammunition and Scorpion A-T missiles.

      Lloyd was very pleased that Corporal Wong had volunteered for the 105th straight out of the Marine Air Wing.

      "I copy, sir," the pilot replied. Formalhaut's major eastern ocean sped beneath the jump jet at close to mach 2. The pale sunlight glinted off the visor of Wong's full-face helmet. Within, an image from the telescopic camera of the rapidly approaching coast was projected in his peripheral vision. "ETA twenty-five seconds. I have your squads on long range now."

      Little green-and-black dots beetled along the edge of the bluff, down towards the southern side of the delta croplands. A shiny figure riding up front made the traditional 'charge!' signal with its arm. "Proceed as planned. Maximum impact."

      "Roger."

      The SkyHawk ate up the remaining kilometres ravenously. The small city came into naked eye view and Wong slowed the craft to attack speed. As he approached over the wide bay, he looked down to his left: a tremendous scared purple hump, the downed Covenant ship, lay in the water. Despite the damage it had taken, its navigator had managed to put it down near the planet's only center of habitation. It was also surprisingly intact - hence the salvage activity. When the human force finally kicked them out again, the ship would make very valuable spoils.

      The city was built in one corner of the ancient, fertile delta, a vast shallow valley that had lay right at sea level quite recently, in xenogeological terms, before Formalhaut's ice caps had expanded and sucked up around six metres worth of the ocean. The ground teams would have to cross the agricultural land from the south via the access roads. It was a risky advance across open ground, but that's what air support is for, after all. The SkyHawk closed on the main structure of Hamilton, the four hundred metre arcology. The upper section, above the trunk-like base, expanded out to overshadow the smaller buildings clustered around and under it. The overall shape was reminiscent of some type of fat fungi. The jump jet's targets, however, were huddled around the south side of the structure: warehouses that provided perfect vantage points from which to repel assaults.

      Wong flipped open the trigger safety. His HUD tagged the predetermined buildings and beeped a lock signal. His thumb pressed down and a pair of Scorpions roared from their launchers, crossed the remaining distance in an eye-blink, and erupted spectacularly within their targets. He banked the jet to the right to make a wide, curving pass around the arcology. There was a similar density of buildings on the northern side, but no visible enemy activity in the streets below.

      "Sergeant, this is Kingfisher, over."

      "Report."

      "Negative contacts in your blind spot, sir."

      "Good. We're about to engage at this end."

      "I'll be there shortly. Out."

      The pilot cleared the arcology, kicking in the afterburners out of the turn. He sent two more Scorpions into the danger zone on his way out of the city. The battlefield and the thick Covenant frontline raced to greet him.

      "Charge and disperse! No straight lines, men!"

      On the open battlefield lacking natural cover, standard tactics amounted to driving headlong into the Covenant lines and generating as much chaos as possible. The speed and manoeuvreability of the M12 LRV, combined with its durable armour gave it the upper hand in most direct skirmishes. Even compared to the alien Ghosts, the 'Hog was king of the road.

      "Fire at will!"

      Since most of Lloyd's men were riding in the backs of the unarmed variant of the vehicle, he did not have the luxury of keeping his force close together. So when the exchange of fire began, it was mere seconds before the three armed Warthogs plowed through the outer cordon of Grunts. Incoming plasma scorched the ablative panels but the marines were moving too fast and eratically for the alien infantry and Shade guns to aim at. The LAAGs growled out steady streams of 12.7mm AP slaughter, their gunners crouching behind the blast shields. Private Sterling picked her targets quickly and carefully, sending small ferromagnetic lumps at them at close to two thousand metres per second.

      Master Sergeant Lloyd, like the other troops riding shotgun, was propped up on the seat's headrest, allowing for a wide field of fire. He concentrated on the aliens to either side, where the 'Hog provided minimal shielding.

      Hutt fishtailed and accelerated toward the aliens approaching from one end of their line. The sudden gash rent through their defences was attracting them all at once in a dense clump. The first Grunt crunched under the wheels, and Lloyd put a hole in the skull of another as it scurried out of their path. Squeals were cut short beneath the bumping vehicle, and it broke clear of the other side of the now chaotic mass of aliens.

      Magnetically accelerated masses hissed from the gauss gun and sent fountains of thrashing bloodied Grunts into the air. Lloyd took a bead on a Jackal's yellow shield and squeezed the trigger. The 9.6mm high explosive splinter rounds, designed specifically for the recently developed battle rifle, exploded on contact with Jackal energy shields, but penetrated and fragmented in anything softer. Three shots tore the shield down and killed the Covenant soldier. He shifted the sight, zoomed in on the next, and blew its weapon hand off through its shield gap. The grunt behind it tossed a grenade. Lloyd's bullet took off the top of its skull as he shouted a warning; Hutt swerved left up on to the edge of the 'Hog's reinforced composite-belt tyres, jinked to the side a touch to crush another alien in half, then put it back down with a thud.

      Ahead, the Master Sergeant could see maybe a score of Ghosts heading past the carnage towards the troop carriers' position. "Main squad," he radioed, "company heading your way. Keep yourselves safe, but catch as many as you can manage."

      "Aye, sir! Men, keep your heads down!"

      The Warthogs scattered, but not randomly. Each driver picked a Ghost and accelerated straight towards it, eating incoming plasma with their thick front ablative panels, their front passengers responding with MM55 and MA5B fire over the duraquartz windshield.

      The first pair of opposing vehicles met. The 'Hog's front wheels dug in as the Covenant craft bounced up onto the bonnet and was tossed to the side. It's tall alien pilot was thrown clear with a shriek before taking heavy fire from the marines in the back of the Warthog.

      "So that's what their 'Elites' look like!"

      As the Ghost came to a crashing rest, a private leaped from his seat and sprinted to it, grasped the strangely-shaped controls, and wobbled it back into the air with a gleeful whoop.

      Three Ghosts were swiftly captured this way, along with five destroyed by prompt, well placed SPNKr rockets and concentrated small arms fire. The Warthog drivers did their best to meet the next wave of aliens.

      "A-a-ah! Need a little help over here," cried a driver, as his vehicle was pursued by more than half the remaining Ghosts. Bright plasma bolts spat at the passengers and he swerved around randomly. Private Ciezlinski sat up to loose a volley of 7.62mm fire and screamed when several lucky shots splashed beneath his neck. His armour billowed smoke and he toppled out even as his desperate comrades' hands reached for him. The last they saw was Ciezlinski rolling beneath a Ghost, flipping the pin out of a grenade with his teeth clenched in pain.

      The third Ghost along exploded upwards, its pilot limp and bloodied. The others swerved to continue the chase.

      "Hold 'em off for a few more seconds guys."

      "Hurry!" the sergeant yelled as plasma licked the rollcage yellow-white with heat.

      After a final nerve-wracking moment, enormous divots began bursting deafeningly from the ground in the Warthog's wake, then all at once the Covenant craft were forced into the ground and flipped end over end as they exploded into violent blue plumes. The SkyHawk immediately screamed overhead and banked sharply into a low turn.

      "Serves you fucking right!" one soldier spat.

      "Thanks, Kingfisher."

      "Yeah, good one, Wong!"

      "Someone get that last Ghost, da-- woah, nice shot, Medusa."

      "I aim to please."

      "FORM UP, MARINES! We've still got a job to do!"

      Some of the soldiers looked back at the churned-up ground and smouldering machinery from the backs of the troop carriers.

      "See ya 'round, Chiz."

SECTION 1 of 4

IONCLAD: Second Prelude (section 2)
Date: 18 December 2003, 12:39 PM

      "As your leader, it's my responsibilty to decide if the mission requires me to spend your lives, as well as my own, in order for it to succeed. Chief Mendez has taught me this," Master Chief John 117 had once said in a rare moment of benevolence, the last time they had all been assembled. "As your brother," he had continued, looking each Spartan in the eye, "I would value your opinions."

      After a moment one had replied. "I know I speak for all of us, sir. You don't need our permission."

      "Lloyd..."

      "Sir, I'll never doubt your judgement. You just point me at them." Some of his comrades laughed. "Don't worry about my life, though. I'm invincible!"

      The Master Chief had nodded with an even rarer smile. "I wish that were so."

      But these men and women were not Spartans. As marines, they were exemplary, the most capable human soldiers in space, the next best thing to Spartans. As Helljumpers they were exceptional, willing to put aside the 105th's decades-old enmity against NavSpecWep's super-soldiers and take orders from their new Master Sergeant. If any had harboured lingering doubts about the plan, Lloyd's performance in their first operation had cemented their trust in him.

      Now they would do anything he asked of them. It gave him a certain sense of pride. But they were not Spartans. And so if he thought he could have survived where one of his soldiers did not, it bothered him.

      "Take that Wraith out, Sterling."

      The gauss gun cracked away over Lloyd's shoulder while he sniped at the support troops. The final Covenant perimeter defence had spread into a dense line between them and the city, intending to encircle and overwhelm the platoon. The marines' response was to angle toward the western end of the line and put the pedal to the metal. The Covenant had barely begun to reorganise when the four captured Ghosts speared through their ranks, spitting plasma death. The Warthogs followed shortly, the carriers unloading their men and women and decelerating to provide mobile cover. The ATVs hung back, their riders sniping the bravest-looking aliens from long-range. The weapon-mounted 'Hogs maintained heavy fire support, and the rout began.

      The only Wraith in sight tore itself apart in a bright blue cloud of heat. The luckiest of the alien survivors ran back into the low-lying residential buildings at the immediate edge of the city.

      "That one's for Ciezlinski," Lloyd growled as the UNSC vehicles regrouped.

      "Amen," replied a few of his soldiers over radio.

      "Kingfisher," the Master Sergeant keyed.

      "I read you, sir."

      "Be ready to receive my direct target feed." He opened the general frequency. "We proceed as planned, people! Keep things orderly on this side, Sergeant Baker."

      "Yes sir!" Fireteams Charlie through Echo and Hotel, occupying three of the TCVs, parked at the edge of the vast field of crop soil cum battlefield. The captured Ghosts hovered nearby as the marines secured the area. Medusa's pair of snipers also parked to restock.

      Lloyd's 'Hog's wheels tore at moist dirt, reaquired the sealed road and screeched loudly, accelerating it into the streets of the outlying developed zone. It was followed closely by the troop vehicle carrying the rest of Fireteam Alpha along with Foxtrot and some heavy armament. The other two pairs of teams, comprising the rest of the first squad, followed similarly in paired-off vehicles and maintained gaps of safety.

      The 'Hogs powered throatily up the main street, the buildings morphing into the support installations for the city's sprawling harvest refinery. At the first major intersection Fireteams Bravo and India turned to secure the left flank, Golf and Juliet peeled off to the right. The taller buildings of the two blocks now encompassed by the marine's advance were blackened and crumbling from the SkyHawk's pre-emptive strike. Ground cars and rubble lined the street.

      "If it moves, shoot it," Lloyd encouraged. "If it keeps moving, run it down."

      The gauss gun spoke twice, loose rubble and alien gore spraying upwards ahead. From the parallel streets one, then both LAAGs joined in.

      "Another Wraith!" radioed Juliet's driver. Then, "What the hell are those!?"

      "Hunters, man!" his sergeant replied. "Draw their fire. Shit, keep it steady!" A SPNKr rocket whooshed away.

      "What a mess!"

      "Keep those bombs away from the carrier!"

      "Kingfisher," Lloyd called.

      "I see it, sir."

      Plasma suddenly spattered against the windshield. Lloyd zoomed in to see half a dozen tall Elite aliens taking positions behind the heaviest chunks of building ahead. The gauss gun answered, chewing holes into their cover. As if in echo, the SkyHawk's guns roared hot metal streams down into the adjacent street.

      Sterling swiftly checked the ammunition feed. "Getting low, Sarge," she warned.

      "Acknowledged. Tapscott, bring your 'Hog alongside."

      "Yes sir." The carrier came up from behind and both vehicles slowed. Foxtrot's jackhammer man riding shotgun sent a round in between the Covenant's cover as Sergeant Nolte and Private Heitz stood up between the rollbars and sighted with their battle rifles.

      A blue-armoured alien popped up, reeling back to hurl a grenade. Lloyd's 9.6mm round ricocheted off a glowing barrier surrounding it. Three more shots snuffed it out and the Elite toppled.

      "Looks like full-body shielding," the Master Sergeant growled. "Make sure to confirm your kills."

      The next Covenant troop to stand up received three rounds to the head simultaneously, keeling over into a puddle of its own blood.

      "Nice grouping," remarked Private Sterling.

      Lloyd mentally tagged the Covenant held area, then radioed, "Kingfisher. Got a moment?"

      "Inbound."

      "Heads up, marines!" Lloyd shouted. The drivers hit the brakes completely.

      A dark shape moved from off to the side. An abrupt stream of hot plasma showered the TCV. Heitz was thrown back into the tray, stiffling a scream. Blackness covered his upper chest and smoke coiled from his burnt armour.

      All of a sudden the rubble ahead disintegrated violently, the road surface and sides of the buildings disappearing into geysers of dust and shrapnel amid the ear-splitting thunder of the jumpjet's 50mm quad cannons. Debris pattered against the Warthogs' panels.

      "Report!"

      "Heitz was hit, sir. Some of his armour padding is fused to his skin."

      "I..." the Private rasped, "I can fight, sir."

      "Good man. Move out, and keep your eyes peeled," ordered the Spartan. "Fireteam Golf, report."

      "Wong minced the Wraith, sir. The TCV took a hit from a Hunter. We're proceeding on foot, except for Robinson," the Sergeant sighed. "They got one of their grenades on him. He took it back to them."

      "Secure the perimeter when we reach the entrance, Sergeant."

      "Sergeant Lloyd," Fireteam Bravo's non-com radioed. "Resistance was negligible on this side. Most of the remaining enemy force is guarding the entrance."

      "Medusa here. We'll deal with that."

      Lloyd's convoy reached a rise in the street and crept upward; the troop carrier parked and the marines dispersed. The 'trunk' of the arcology loomed ahead, its main entrance, at the other side of an expansive plaza, was about one hundred and twenty metres distant and barricaded with enemy emplacements. Lloyd lowered his scope, then glanced up at the top storey windows on his left.

      "Report, Medusa."

      "One of their Elites is standing right in front of the door, behind all the barricades. He's all gold and has a nasty glowy sword." There was the crack of an S2 AM kinetic energy round. Then two more. "Better shields, too. Ooh, they didn't like that - I'd say now's your chance, Sarge."

      "On my order, people!" Lloyd said, slapping a fresh clip into his MM55. "Kingfisher, can you get in there?"

      "I can't get too close, sir," the pilot answered. The wide overhang of the arcology meant the jet would need to essentially hover to engage the ground targets, and the SkyHawk's air-superiority lay in manoeuvreability rather than durability - it would be an easy kill for concentrated enemy fire. Any less precise an attack would risk blocking the main entrance.

      "Right, stay on station." The Spartan glanced past the building on his right, at Bravo and India teams who were also on foot now save for their lead 'Hog's driver and gunner. His keen Spartan eyesight caught the sergeant's nod.

      "Go! Go! Go!" he cried, springing from his position into a crouching sprint, sighting on an unprepared Jackal and blowing its head off.

      "KICK SOME ASS!" "Covenant bastards!" "Groaaarh!" Sixteen heavily armed and armoured marines, in two groups, followed the Spartan onto the plaza and rapidly advanced on the Covenant emplacement. At the same time the three Warthogs powered up behind them, trails of 12.7mm LAAG cover fire whistling overhead, and carefully placed gauss rounds smashing the alien cover apart.

      A line of Grunts emerged, firing plasma wildly, and fell under bursts of MA5B fire. A few managed to pull out grenades, fewer still hurling the fizzing explosives before taking MM55 rounds through their skulls and vital organs. The marines rolled to safe distances from the cloudy blue explosions, coming up shooting.

      A roaring Elite fired a stream of glowing pink needles; one speared a dodging marine in the shoulder, and as he fell, shrieking, to the side it shattered, severing his arm.

      A brief vapour-trail connected Medusa's position to the Elite's head, splitting it apart in a purple mist. However, the remaining needles penetrated the armour of the next soldier who misguessed their bizarre behaviour, collecting in a pointy, throbbing mass. His cry was cut short, his entire body exploding apart.

      Several Helljumpers paused from the sheer violence of their comrade's death, but the deep hatred for their genocidal enemy momentarily kicked in with renewed intensity. They ran on with cries of anger save for one young marine who stood, transfixed, and trembling slightly.

      The Master Sergeant had seen Private Bianco's fate, and noticed Private Strzelecki's reaction, veering to his position as he gunned down another Jackal. Swapping gun-hands, he grasped the marine's arm and all but dragged him forward while shooting, past the gruesome remains to the groaning Corporal Guerin, who lay face up, clutching weakly at his bleeding shoulder. Lloyd kneeled, keeping one eye on the Covenant position, and shouted into Strzelecki's ear, "Get the Corporal back to the 'Hog, Private! That's an order!"

      The stricken soldier's military training took over and he wrapped the grimacing Guerin's remaining arm over his neck, hefted him half up then powered back towards the edge of the plaza in a crouch. His face hung in a white, blank expression.

      Lloyd did not look back to check them, but sprinted to make up lost time. He loosed the rest of his battle rifle's ammunition unmethodically at the few aliens left at the barricade, stowed it, and swapped it for his M90. The human artillery cover fire ceased as the Spartan and his Helljumpers over-armed a dozen fragmentation grenades then hurdled the ruined obstacles with a gutteral war cry.

      Explosions blossomed in the remaining ranks of the Covenant, halving again the numbers of Grunts and Jackals. The last Elite roared in anger and began firing automatic bursts of plasma bolts at the charging humans. Lloyd reached the first Grunt, his MJOLNIR suit ablating its panicked plasma fire, and unleased 8 gauge pump-action death into its face, hurling it, headless, back and up into the air. A Jackal rolled into his path and the sheer point-blank force of his weapon's blast on its shield tore the creature's arm from its body, and the latter was promptly filled with 7.62mm assault rifle fire. The Spartan dodged a fizzing plasma grenade, blew away two more Grunts, and bore down on the Elite.

      His first blast spanged against its silvery shielding, but the force made the alien reel, and Lloyd got another shot in at point blank range before it could return fire. Its shields winked out, and with a vicious cry the soldier rammed the shotgun's muzzle into the Elite's sternum with a momentary crack of bone, then pulled the trigger a third time. The creature's split jaws gaped grotesquely as a scream gurgled from its yellow throat before it slumped backwards into its own gore.

      What little Covenant infantry that remained lost all semblance of cohesion, essentially becoming target practice for the marines. The last Grunt was thoroughly bludgeoned to death, before Corporal Doubet yelled, "How's it fuckin' feel, HUH?" and loosed a few final MA5B rounds into its corpse.

      Sergeant Nolte trotted up to Lloyd and reported, "We have two injured sir, Juliet is moving up to help them back to the perimeter. Also, Symes didn't make it."

      The Master Sergeant surveyed the alien carnage and multicoloured ichor coating the surface slabs of the plaza. One body had already been lifted clear, and dripped with very red blood. Fireteam Juliet were negotiating the wreckage of the former barricade, as well as Private Sterling.

      "Alright," he announced, "the injured can man the guns on the perimeter. Foxtrot, maintain this position and keep this door secure."

      "Yes sir," said his sergeant.

      He eyed the red FOFs on the front edge of his motion detector. "Hutt, get this thing unlocked. Check these weapons, people, they look ugly but they sure work."

      Sterling joined her team, slinging her MA2B and stooping to heft the Elite's plasma rifle, testing its weight.

      "You be careful with that thing," said Doubet.

      Lloyd reloaded his battle rifle, then started slapping shells into his M90. As he did he noticed the shine of the gold Elite's armour, and moved over to it. He looked at its hands: one clutched a compact, oddly-shaped handle. He prised it free, careful to remember which way it faced, and held it at arms length as he straightened up to examine the mechanism.

      "The access codes haven't been altered, sir," said Private Hutt. "On your order."

      The Spartan held the handle up. The energy blade ignited, two bright shafts seemingly piercing out from the Spartan's fist. He looked up its length, then down. "Groovy," he approved.

      "I hope you have enough for everyone, Sarge," said Sterling.

      Lloyd quicly extinguished the sword and tucked the handle away. "Sorry, this is a present for someone else." He took position beside the marine. "Enough chit chat, I need you all frosty. I'll take point."

      The wide vehicular access door split down the middle and ground open before Lloyd glanced inside, then at Hutt and Doubet against the other side of the entrance. "Clear it out."

      They tossed a pair of grenades in; Lloyd waited for the sharp detonation then wheeled onto the threshold, shooting twice at the first moving target he saw before kneeling. Alien fluids dripped down the well-lit corridor walls, but a few Grunts and Jackals were staggering to their fall-back position behind a collection of translucent ground-fixed energy barriers.

      The Master Sergeant and Private Hutt concentrated their 9.6mm splinter rounds on the shields to bring them down quickly, and Lloyd shuffled rapidly forward as Doubet and Sterling followed them in, spraying automatic armour-piercing and plasma fire. Blood sprayed from projectile wounds and steam wisped from blackened plasma burns; the screeching, dying enemy soldiers fell in a heap.

      "Ah, fuck!" shouted Maine, hurling the hissing, overheating plasma rifle to the floor.

      Doubet smirked. "Told you."

      She scowled back, unslinging and loading her MA2B.

      The corridor, normally used for agricultural machinery, was straight and sloped sightly downwards. The city plans Lloyd's men had found on archive media back at Fort Vengeance indicated that the freight lift seventy metres down would get them up to the same level as the admin block. The soldiers jogged the distance and took positions while the elevator arrived. Lloyd shoved his M90 in as the doors opened. Nothing lied in wait, and he waved his team in.

      "Let me see that wound, ma'am."

      "What wound, Singh?"

      The medic pointed at the blackened tatters of Sergeant Baker's sleeve where her armour once was. "Sarge, there's gotta be some burning from that."

      The small number of wounded had escaped quite lightly from the initial battle, and second squad's medics had attended to them promptly. Sergeant Baker had insisted on being examined last, if at all.

      "Shit," came a private's voice from the perimeter. "Sarge!" As she ran up to the soldier, he continued, "I've got multiple incoming contacts here. Incoming fast."

      He handed over his binoculars. Baker scanned the terrain. Suddenly her view was full of Covenant Ghosts and their Elite pilots. She flinched involuntarily, then keyed her COM channel.

      "Kingfisher, we have rapidly incoming forces north-northwest of our position."

      "I'm coming around now. Stand by."

      "Wake up people!" Baker shouted to the assembled fireteams. "Looks like we didn't get them all!"

      "Contact. Sergeant, I count nearly four dozen Ghosts with support infantry and - oh--!" There was sudden static in place of Wang's voice. "...Bansh...vy fire, I've taken...I'm losing altit--"

      An explosion echoed down the ancient delta.

      "Kingfisher! Do you copy?"

      "Sir, five Banshees took out our air support," said one of Sergeant Baker's snipers with a tremble in his voice. "He might have put down. I can't tell, I lost visual."

      "Fuck fuck fuck," the Sergeant began. "Everyone fall back. We'll hold position inside town. Master Sergeant, have you been monitoring?"

      "Yes. We're almost at the objective. I need you to hold off their reinforcements, but don't let them surround you."

      "Yes sir! Right, you heard the man, get your asses on those trucks! Simons, Rostrevor, Glengowry: you're driving! Check your ammo, we may have to leave the 'Hogs in the street and take positions in the buildings. C'mon, pack 'em in! Get in there!"

      It seemed that the initial Covenant forces had all rallied outside the arcology against the siege, and the Master Sergeant's team jogged through the silent passages to Admin without further incident. Hutt applied his skeleton key to the door's access circuit and it slid aside.

      The Spartan was taking a bead on the solitary alien within as it smoothly turned to face them; it hung above the decking like a pink helium-filled slug as it regarded the humans with several beady eyes. It's stumpy tentacles then began vibrating and it emmitted a muffled shriek. Bullet holes blossomed over its hide and it thumped dead to the ground.

      "Engineer," he muttered, checking the room's corners and waving his team in. "Looks like they were interested in this place after all."

      Doubet nodded in the general direction of the bay. "Maybe their crashed ship's transmitter was destroyed."

      "Well," said Hutt, frustration edging his voice. He walked over to the disarrayed terminal panels beside the alien corpse. "Our's is no better off now. Look at this - he's torn the entire Shaw-wave targetting circuit apart."

      "Can you fix it?" asked Lloyd.

      "I honestly don't know, sir. If the components are still intact... and I had twenty-four, then maybe." The private clenched his fists and sank a furious kick into the dead creature's hide.

      After a second's consideration the Master Sergeant declared, "All right, our mission is hereby postponed. We need to get back down to the streets and help hold our perimeter for now. Repairing this stuff and getting a message out will have to wait till we have the city entirely secured."

      "Okay, let's hit it!" concurred Corporal Doubet.

      Once again the Spartan took point, followed by Sterling no less than eight paces behind, then Hutt and Doubet backing them up at a similar distance. Lloyd brought the floor plan up on his HUD with a mental command. Swivelling the image slightly, he extrapolated from their current path and quickly found a better way out.

      "There's an arterial access ramp off the south-south-western side of the trunk section, one level below," he said over radio. "Leads to an exterior elevator. It'll give us a good vantage point on the way down. Pick it up, people!"

SECTION 2 of 4

IONCLAD: Second Prelude (section 3)
Date: 18 December 2003, 12:39 PM

      Maine followed Harrigan around the loose girders and the cracks and gaping holes in the dusty floor and, reaching the south window, they scanned the streets below. Darkly-clad human forms skirted the feet of the buildings, crouched over their weapons, and then a Warthog TCV rolled into veiw.

      "Medusa here, we have a visual of your progress," said the Private.

      "Good to hear it," replied Sergeant Baker. "The Covies are right on our heels, guys. I had to split half the retreat up the street to the west to speed things up."

      Automatic weapons fire echoed up from the snipers' right. Its source, and the path the other marines were following, was obscured by more buildings.

      Maine stared at her partner. "I'll look after the others. Don't take any chances, all right?"

      "One shot, one kill," he replied with a grin. He unslung his SRS99c-S2 AM.

      She slapped his shoulder. "You too." She ran her fingers across his stubbly chin then turned towards the staircase.

      The ground-level door was blocked, however the rubble sloped against the side of the building up to a wide, empty window, which was how they had got in. She slid down then checked the ATVs hidden beneath some bent sheet metal to one side.

      The growl of the other two Warthogs' engines filtered over from the next street. As Maine crouched and ran across to a narrow alley, her partner's weapon began sounding from above. She headed for the alley's mouth where it joined the contested street, found a door in the wall on her left, and kicked it in. Making her way through the first few rooms, she found the stairwell, but not before passing a dozen bodies of the hapless colonists, blackened and crumpled.

      She gritted her teeth and ascended to the top floor, carefully letting her anger coalesce, molding it and kneeding it within, readying it for the task ahead. It reminded her of the first time she had really felt the sensation - it always did - as one of the lucky ones to have fled Beta Lalande IV. As the other children whimpered around her in the passenger ship's excessively cramped hold, Arcadia Maine, barely more than a child herself, imagined the atmosphere and oceans of her beautiful world violently geysering into orbit and beyond, the very crust splintering as the Covenant's hellfire pierced into its hot, living heart. Her tears had stopped and she had clenched her slender hands into tight fists as she resolved right there to enlist on her eighteenth birthday. And she would be ready for it. There might be limits to the female body's strength, but at least she had a good pair of eyes.

      The stairs led all the way to the roof in this building, exiting through a low door. Maine noted a few decent vantage points, then took her rifle off her back and assumed a prone position at the corner. She flipped down the bipod and sighted on the street below.

      The lead TCV 'Hog was already powering towards her, a marine running on either side, rifles ready. "Corporal Rostrevor, I see you now," she reported.

      The driver flashed the vehicles lights and said, "Any signs, Maine?"

      "I've got a feeling they're there. Keep an eye on your motion sensors."

      The second Warthog rolled into the street. There was sudden movement in the top corner of Maine's scopeview, and a glowing blue object sailed down onto the vehicle's nose.

      The Grunt foolishly craned its head to watch the results of its grenade attack, and for a moment it was connected to the flaming muzzle of Maine's weapon by a ghostly thread of vapour. Bright blue gore expanded outwards from the decapitated body.

      But the 'Hog exploded, the plasma grenade cracking its engine apart in a plume of fire, and the soldiers' cries crackled over the radio. Four of the marines jumped or fell out of the back and helped each-other begin to stumble down the street. The other occupants were either obscurred by wreckage or unmoving.

      "Fall back!" Rostrevor called.

      At that moment, two of the captured Ghosts sailed around the corner backwards with their plasma cannons firing on full auto. Dense streams of bright enemy fire lanced back at the farthest vehicle; the marine pilot was hurled violently from it as it burst apart in a cloud of blue energy and mangled armour plates.

      The remaining Ghost pilot spotted the struggling marines. He glided over to them as the first of the alien infantry entered the top of the street. Together they retreated rapidly, returning fire without trying to conserve ammo. The first 'Hog had also parked, and its squads had planted themselves amongst the chunks of a collapsed wall over fifty metres down from their comrades.

      Maine capped three Grunts in quick succession - enough to strike momentary panic into the others in the immediate vicinity. She saw a Jackal begin to over-charge its plasma weapon. That much energy would wipe out the marine's Ghost, and those survivors would be screwed without its cover. A second Jackal right beside the first angled its shield for a second to take a step forward; Maine aimed and fired, knocking her target off its hooves. The projectile ricocheted into the first Jackal's pistol at hyper-velocity and hit something important as it exploded in a thick, blinding green cloud of plasma. Half of the visible troops were either stunned or killed.

      "Shot, Maine!"

      She reached beneath her backplate for another cartridge. Slotting it in and cycling in a round, she said, "Don't start decorating, Corporal, their air-support will be here any second."

      "Just keep us covered," he replied. "We'll move as soon as these fast bastards are down. We'll have a minute or two before the main force gets here. Jackhammers! Full spread! Teach 'em our language!"

      More slowly advancing Jackals had entered the street to join a few remaining Grunts. Dozens of plasma bolts hit the thick rubble of the marines' position, some spots glowing hot and starting to fizz and drip. Five or six assault rifles answered as cover for the three men who kneeled side-by-side, M19s held steady. Three 102mm self-propelled high explosive shells whooshed away at half-second intervals. A well-aimed shot by a Jackal took one of the marines down with a groan, but the rockets found their marks and sent screaming, burning and less-than-intact Covenant flailing into the air.

      "Owned!" "Fuckin' die, fuckers!" "Shit, they got Rizzarelli." "... His was the best shot."

      9.6mm MM55 shots cleaned up the hapless survivors. Through the black smoke, Maine spied more aliens rounding onto the street: four blue-armoured Elites riding in Ghosts. Two presented clear targets: the sniper drilled her fin-stabilised sub-projectiles through the crowns of their helmets.

      "More contacts!" she yelled. "Recommend immediate retreat."

      The other Elites wavered, then zoomed back behind cover.

      "Where'd they go?" a soldier below wondered, peering down his battle rifle's scope.

      From above came a faint rushing howl and Maine's skin crawled as she realised her peril.

      "Banshees incoming!" With practiced haste she unclipped her short steel rappel line and jammed the hook into a half-way decent crevase. She did not dare risk a second to see how close the Covenant flyers were. Before she could sling her sniper rifle the deafening detonation of a fuel rod projectile knocked the wind out of her and flung her with a yelp from the roof's edge. She arced out over the street then fell, the cable tautening six metres from the foot of the building as her armoured back slammed against the wall.

      She tried to focus her eyes. A marine stopped beneath her, shouting, "Quickly! I've got you!" She hit the release on her belt with a blood-smeared hand and tried not to tumble. The man was strong and kept her from hitting the pavement; she regained her footing and straightened her helmet.

      She half-heard radioed orders: "Too much debris for the 'Hog, leave it, man! Grab those ammo sacks."

      "I'm running low already!"

      More soldiers ran past, backstepping and firing in short bursts, and more Covenant could be seen in the direction they came from. Plasma seared the air overhead, and Banshee fire tore at the street and buildings, raining shards of hot concrete. The marine, who might have been Delta team's Private Descalzo under all the soot on his face, pulled Maine along.

      "My rifle!.." she croaked, still getting her breath back.

      "Here," he replied and unslung an MM55 from his shoulder. "I just picked it up - haven't had time to check its ammo."

      The indicator read twenty-nine rounds, but the ejector was jammed. Descalzo lay covering fire as Maine argued with the mechanism behind him, both marines retreating as fast as they could. Corporal Rostrevor's voice spoke, "Stick to the walls and don't stop for anything except the wounded! More grenades!"

      From behind them a soldier spun and crouched, triggering a couple of M9s and hurling them with an exultant, "Take two of these and if pain persists, good!" The explosives landed in the path of a dashing Ghost, its pilot bellowing in frustration before they detonated and it was consumed in flame and shrapnel.

      Maine convinced her new weapon to work, chambered a round and shouldered the stock as Descalzo switched places with her. She sighted up the corpse-strewn street on several advancing Jackals, taking their weapon-weilding claws off through their shield notches with individual shots rather than expending twice or three times the ammo on their shields. More Ghosts were trying to catch up to the marines at the rear of the retreat; Maine tracked the first vehicle, sighted on the pilot's head as it leaned to steer around some flaming rubble and fired a three-round burst, the third going through its shield and out the back of its skull.

      She felt the heat of Descalzo's rifle muzzle on the back of her head as he fired over her shoulder. The sniper blew another Elite out of its Ghost, and he remarked, "You're a god-damned artist with that thing."

      There was a roaring explosion a block away on the left. All at once, Maine felt a knot in her guts; with dread, she keyed her partner's frequency. "Harrigan, sound off."

      Static.

      "Come in, Private."

      Plasma fizzled past, splashing against Descalzo's armour and partly ablating. He grunted, returned fire and picked up the pace, tugging insistently at Maine's collar.

      "Staggered covering fire by threes," Rostrevor ordered. "Keep up! Nobody fall behind!"

      With a shuddering breath, Maine squeezed the anguish over losing her partner into a tight ball and added it to the furnace of determined hate already blazing within: fuel for killing Covies.

      "You're all gonna fucking die," she whispered to her enemy. Her ammo counter hit zero as she topped a sprinting Grunt, punctuating her promise. She turned with Descalzo and the witty Grenadeer, and retreated.

      Master Sergeant Lloyd led his team down a short flight of steps to where his HUD's nav marker overlaid a heavy door. He checked his motion sensor - nothing - and stood aside while Hutt went to work on the lock. For a few seconds, the Spartan allowed his mind to relax, flexed his fingers and toes with his own muscles rather than through the MJOLNIR interface.

      He looked at his marines. Doubet was tense, peering back up the corridor with his MA5B held ready. Sterling had her weapon trained on the door, perspiration beading off her face. She glanced back at Lloyd and nodded.

      "Your order, sir," Hutt spoke, looking back. The marine looked alert and none the worse for wear. Lloyd did not know what Dr Halsey or the rest of ONI might have said about it, but he thought, with a certain pride, that all these people would have made fine Spartan material.

      "Let's get outta here, private."

      The door cracked and sighed open. Wind swirled in. A landing extended out around four metres from the sheer wall, and Lloyd stepped out with Sterling.

      "What's that noise?" she asked him.

      He checked the walls and paused. As Doubet and Hutt exited, he pointed and whispered, "You ever seen that?"

      To either side of the doorway, curled in to a gently breathing ball, slept a Grunt. One of the creatures snored loudly and shifted its bulk. Private Hutt went over to it and caved its skull in under the butt of his rifle. He looked back at his team and asked, "I'll kill the other one, unless anyone wants it."

      Lloyd flipped his M90 into his hand and blasted the second alien into wet, blue mince. "Thanks," he replied. "Let's move."

      The soldiers skirted the wall to the first steep step-ladder. Looking down, Lloyd counted six or seven of them above the level of the surrounding roofs. They were only about halfway up the trunk of the arcology, the top of the structural control, power management and admin levels, but the Spartan could clearly see the hills they had passed to the south and the Covenant wreck sitting in the bay. The overhang of the residential levels blocked half the sky and seemed to lean constantly to the side as dense clouds raced over and above.

      He looked back down the the surrounding town as he reached another landing. There were several hot zones: two squads and their TCV were making their way up the street Lloyd himself had used, and were less than a minute from the plaza, a few degrees further anti-clockwise around the arcology. They were handling the sparse pursuing Covenant well, and making poor targets of themselves for the Banshees. Sergeant Nolte had kept the plaza secure, and where Covenant scouts were trying to take positions to the west a Warthog was parked, its LAAG doing its best to persuade them otherwise.

      Between these areas, and a bit too far into the city for comfort, flashes of heavy fire exchange could be seen beneath a squadron of circling Banshees. The embattled marines were retreating in the plaza's general direction but at their current rate they would be surrounded in minutes.

      "Sergeant Nolte," Lloyd called, restarting his ladder descent.

      "Sir. How's it looking?"

      "Send two marines in a 'Hog south-west ASAP, some of our teams are going to be cut off very soon and need ground support and evac of wounded now."

      "Yes sir!"

      Down at ground level, Nolte jerked his head towards the nearby vehicle. "Tapscott! Gomez! You going for a ride."

      "Put me down!"

      It was getting bad. The remaining half of second squad was barely keeping ahead of the Covenant, who were getting steadily more numerous, like hyenas on the scent of a wounded antelope. The closed-in environment of the street dictated a narrow field of fire that made evasion practically impossible for the marines. Taking a few seconds from outright running to return fire, seconds off their lead they could hardly afford, was nearly a suicidial proposition.

      "Put me the hell down!" Private Denton reiterated.

      "Shut up god damn it or I'll put you down right here!" Descalzo shouted back at the bloodied soldier on his shoulder.

      Maine sprinted up to him from the tail end of the retreat, shouting, "Come on, private! Faster! That's the last corner right up there!" She brought her MM55 up and pivoted, still running, to loose four rounds. Forty metres away, two Grunts and a Jackal slumped, disappearing immediately under their comrades' hooves. She could feel it now; the sniper was tired and her vision slightly blurry. Two marines overtook her. One yelled in encouragement. She squeezed a bit more speed from her protesting legs, then crouched and almost fell as dense plasma fire practically sheeted over the retreating humans.

      Before she could regain her balance a diving Banshee put a sizzling fuel rod into the building's wall across from her, and she blacked out. The adrenalin in her system maintained a strong, conscious sense of urgency, however, and she opened her heavy eyes to peer through the dust and pain. The explosion still echoed down the street. Random plasma fire left glowing lines of burning dust particles.

      She rolled to her feet, trying to shake off her disorientation. Her rifle hung off her arm and she grabbed it tightly. A figure moved in the haze. Tall, human-shaped. "Get down!" she yelled.

      It crouched. "'at 'ou, 'Aing?" It came into view and Maine saw a blood-covered face and corporal's stripes. "'Ee Ngotta Kee' 'Ooving!" Rostrevor gripped her sleeve and began running. She realised that she did not know if it was the right direction. She shook her head again.

      "'Ot angy Gyenages?" he asked without looking back.

      "What? Yeah. One."

      "'Hrowit!"

      They emerged from the thick dust as Maine detached her last M9 and did her best to hurl it back behind them. She faced forward and saw the end of the street where it emptied onto the arterial. From there, just two hundred metres to the safety of the plaza under heavy covering fire.

      Also ahead were ten running marines, several burdened with wounded, all that was left of Fireteams Charlie, Delta and Hotel. The leading man reached the the next street, stumbled, and collapsed under plasma fire.

      A phalanx of Jackals rounded the corner and began advancing, a menacing Elite right behind them. Maine tried to aim her gun, to zoom in on their shield notches, to stop tripping over her own feet, but hope, and ability, was fast slipping away. The marines were trying to find cover while looking desperately over their shoulders for the reappearence of their pursuers. Corporal Rostrevor started swearing unintelligibly, firing haphazardly and trying to charge faster at the line of aliens, without loosening his grip on Maine. She followed, using what strength she had left just to keep from falling over all together, and expecting death any second.

      They drew closer and closer. Rostrevor screamed at their enemy. Maine's eyes tried to close again. Plasma sizzled past everywhere, and still they were not taken down. Barely twenty metres separated the two forces. The sniper willed her eyes up and saw the Elite turn abruptly and howl as an M12 LRV rode its near-side wheels around the corner and cleaned it up in a mist of purple blood. The driver threw the wheel hard right and managed to crush three of the screeching Jackals with the last of the 'Hogs momentum; the gunner proceeded with the 12.7x99mm cleaning job on the rest, shredding the terrified aliens to bits. The marines cheered.

      "Get your wounded aboard, Corporal!" Tapscott shouted. "More infantry are-- Jesus Christ!"

      Corporal Rostrevor leaned heavily against the vehicle and finally let Maine's arm go. Then she saw what Tapscott had seen: beneath the dirt and blood, up one side of Rostrevor's face from the corner of his mouth his cheek was gashed open and hung free, bleeding and exposing his teeth. He noticed the expressions of the marines around him, put a hand to his face and flinched. "Huck!" he tried to say. "No 'undah 'ay tee'h are col'!"

      "You wanna ride in the front, Ross?"

      "'Hey ngot 'ay hace, not 'ay yegs!"

      "Well, okay."

      The remaining combat effective men began heaving their comrades into the passenger seat and the rear tray around the gun mount. "Here," Gomez said, pulling at a small tarp and revealing two M19 Jackhammers. "Move these first."

      Descalzo hauled a launcher out with one hand, and all but tossed the groaning Private Denton into the spare space. He looked back over at Maine. "You want one? Got a scope, y'know."

      She was taking a moment, leaning against the side armour of the Warthog. A smile cracked through her expression of relieved fatigue. "I quite like this one, actually." She swung the MM55 battle rifle around and weighted it, then checked the scope alignment. "I might need a few more clips."

      "In that strong box under that guy," said Gomez.

      Sergeant Nolte's voice crackled in their helmets. "Be advised, you have incoming, they'll be all over you within a minute."

      The injured were all loaded in and Rostrevor tried to announce, "Move out people! Save the rockets for vehicles! Don't lag behind, we ain't stopping again!" His speech now sounded even less intelligible, but the marines got the general idea and escorted the Warthog onto the street to begin the final run.

      Bolts of plasma fizzled on the accelerating 'Hog's bumper and the road surface. The soldiers twisted to return fire as they kept pace. Covenant infantry seemed to be swarming up the arterial, an alien horde of maybe hundreds. The brief rest had made the difference for Maine, who killed or incapacitated the Grunts and Jackals to either side of where Gomez concentrated the LAAG. A steady stream of grenades, full automatic MA5B and MA2B fire and liberally placed rockets were brought to bear. But the Covenant kept appearing, refilling the street and not letting the humans open an appreciable lead.

      "Don't give up, marines!" It was Sergeant Nolte's voice suddenly in Maine's helmet, promptly followed by the distinctive zip of S2 AM sub-projectiles overhead. She looked ahead, saw the edge of the plaza, close now, and put on a last burst of speed.

      Then the sky cracked.

      Lloyd gripped the rails and halted his rapid descent. Hutt swore behind him and Sterling cried, "What the hell was that!?"

      "Sonic boom?" the Spartan wondered, looking up, past the arcology, to the broiling grey clouds.

      There was a small, green inverted triangle hanging in the air. Lloyd blinked and realised it was imposed on his HUD, along with a number: 111.

      He keyed the automatically assigned freq. "...Sophia?"

      "Ah, there you are... Master Sergeant Lloyd, eh?" she replied, switching her tactical display to high-res thermal. The rapidly expanding conglomerations of blue and green shapes the computer tagged as Hamilton city was dotted with yellows and whites, tiny oranges with UNMC numbers following them around and an aggregating mass of hot and cold signatures that was the bulk of the Covenant force. "Get your people indoors, Sergeant. We're bringing smoke. Over."

      She closed the radio. "Gillian, load starboard gun, single light round. Synchronise port AG compensator."

      "Aye, skip."

      "Inside! NOW!" bellowed Nolte, hauling an injured soldier from the still decelerating 'Hog. "Evac just arrived, and they're about t'kick some ass!"

      Maine pushed her fellow marines before her, making sure no more were left behind. The safety of the access hall beckoned.

      "Standby."

      Sophia nudged the aerofoils, skimming the craft between the dark clouds. Then they parted, and the expanse of the day's battle was laid before her. She took a split second to check: the marine IDs were huddled within the arcology trunk.

      "Fire!"

      The fuselage thundered and the ship bucked slightly. A line of pure white fire, the iron shell imperceivable at its tip, lanced to the ground, impacting the cityscape at over ten kilometres per second. The horde of Covenant, and the buildings and city foundations within a half kilometre diameter were vapourised, the surrounding structural concrete flying apart into dust and much of the metal melting. The sound of the explosion itself balked human comprehension.

      The arcology, built at a time that saw a far less hospitable environment on Formalhaut I, stood fast. Within the insulated, titanium-A plated walls, marines ducked and covered, protected the wounded, and clapped hands to their ears to keep out the unbearable cacophony of destruction.

      "Je-sus!" screamed Doubet, and he still went unheard. The Master Sergeant watched his troops with his back against the access door they had scrambled through. Through the MJOLNIR's ablative shell, reactive gel layers and insulation, Lloyd could feel the heat outside. The subsonic concussions rattled his teeth.

      His brow furrowed briefly in contemplation. Then, as the din finally lessened, he exclaimed to Private Sterling, "Know what that was!?"

      She leaned in with her hands still clapped over her ears. "...They wouldn't've nuked us!"

      "Had to be a MAC!"

      The private just stared at him.

      "Using MACs for airstrikes," he continued, "Wish I thought of that."

SECTION 3 of 4

IONCLAD: Second Prelude (last section)
Date: 18 December 2003, 12:39 PM

1910 Hours PLT, July 22, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Hamilton Agricultural Sector A, Formalhaut I


      Night seemed to be falling early, and great spotlights shone from the belly of the Ionclad down upon the corner of the bloodied field on the outskirts of Hamilton. Multiple shadows followed a number of marines around as they ferried policed Covenant ordnance and supplies from the city up into the main aft hatch. Most of the soldiers were already stood down, many getting chow and some even accepting the Master Sergeant's offer of a few hours sleep in the ship's cramped berths. Two teams had been detached, though, once the survivors had been found.

      As it had transpired, the surprise Covenant reinforcements were in fact the search parties that had been hunting a shabby yet elusive resistance force that was hiding in the cave and mine-shaft network in the northern hills. They had been comprised of the remaining eight marines from what had become Fort Vengeance and nearly one-hundred and ninety able-bodied civilians, and children, without communications gear and only improvised weapons, yet had unwittingly caused a near-perfect diversion before dawn via a guerilla infiltration and bombing of a large supply cache. The fighters had evaded the pursuit all day until the sounds of Banshees, Ghosts and Grunt patrols had abruptly abated. They had just regrouped and decided to see what was happening when the MAC round explosion had echoed up into the hills.

      Captain Ffrench had dispatched the Almagest's complement of Pelicans as soon as Spartan-111 had reported contact with the survivors. The evacuation had proceeded through to dusk. One dropship had remained dirtside; fireteam Echo, along with Doctor Benner and Turing had flown to the waterbound Covenant vessel following careful reconnaissance. It was hoped that analysis by the Construct would yield data immediately pertinent to the Ionclad's defensive systems - along with other information of interest to the UNSC.

      Lloyd himself, back out of his MJOLNIR suit, stood at the foot of the ramp beside Sophia. The Spartans looked remarkably similar in lightweight standard UNMC camo fatigues (he still in his t-shirt, she in a long-sleeve khaki shirt). They were even the same height, although Sophia's deep brown-haired head was craned downward to examine the dark ink adorning most of her comrade's gigantic bicep.

      "'Feet first into hell'... You really went native." She grinned.

      He looked past her, brow furrowed beneath the peak of his sergeant's cap. "It turns out there are two sorts of ODSTs. Those that John told us about - we never had a problem with the corps before they jumped him that time. And, these ones. Recruited too late; a bit short, maybe," he met her brown eyes. "But they're more or less just like us."

      Lloyd stared into the distance again, in the direction of the thrumming of a Warthog engine. The vehicle, one of the remaining TCVs, rapidly entered the perimeter of illumination and pulled up gently beside the ramp. Corporal Doubet swung himself out from behind the wheel, and Lloyd followed him round the back. Lying between the benches was Wong.

      "Thought I'd better send someone to check the wreckage," Lloyd commented, for Wong's benefit. The two men lifted the grimacing pilot out of the tray. Clean white bandage wrapped much of his torso and legs, where Doubet had administered field biofoam and local analgaesics.

      Four marines were hurrying down the ramp to take Wong on board. As they loaded him onto the stretcher, Lloyd turned to his corporal.

      "Anything else to do, Sarge?"

      "Get the team's gear squared away, and check on Heitz. Then get chow."

      "Aye, sir." Doubet followed the stretcher bearers up into the ship.

      Sophia regarded her fellow. "I know you know there's nowhere near enough room for a platoon on board. Ionclad was never intended for troop deployment."

      "Relax," he replied, then sighed. "I'm gonna have to break them up, transfer most of them to the Almagest. Though..." He peered towards the city. "I have a feeling I might want more than just a single team..."

      The thrumming of an engine rolled over the battle field and grew closer, a dipping headlight brightening through the night. The Spartan's sight made out an ATV and rider, which presently approached and pulled up behind the Warthog. Lance Corporal Maine immediately cut the power and alighted. The Master Sergeant could already tell that her search had merely confirmed the likely fate of her partner. He regarded her grimly set olive-skinned face, framed by her voluminous brown dreadlocks.

      "Harrigan did a damn good job today," he spoke sombrely.

      "I know, Sarge."

      "So did you."

      "How's Rostrevor?" she asked over his statement.

      "The ship has an automedic," said Sophia. "He should be fine by now."

      "Get inside," Lloyd instructed, "and get some rest."

      The soldier started up the ramp, a weary slouch obvious in her step.

      "She was close to her team mate?" Sophia asked softly.

      "Very close. She can't help but get attached to people, that one. Makes her more determined. Her partner was the same."

      Sophia regarded him again, until a private trotted down, brandishing a COM set up at her and saying, "Tango 403 on the horn, ma'am."

      She slipped it on. "Report."

      "Nearly done over here," said the dropship pilot. "Doc says we've got a complete image of the cruiser's specs. The systems themselves are underwater - do you want Echo to suit up and go down for a look?"

      "Negative, we'll leave that for a full survey team from Reach. Bring the boys back, Lieutenant."

      "Aye, ma'am." The link closed.

      The Spartan returned the set and told the private, "Get Ensign Gillian to warm up the engines. We're getting you off this rock."

      "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

      "Let's go, Lloyd," she said. "Get you settled in."

      They strode up into the now cramped cargo bay, making their way between dozens of crates and the gauss gun-mounted Warthog Lloyd had insisted on keeping. Exiting the large room, they took a corridor forwards. Sophia then turned and led Lloyd up a flight of steps.

      He knew where the cabins were - in the other direction. He had already stowed his MJOLNIR suit in one. "Where're we going?"

      "Got a surprise for you."

      They entered the ship's armoury workshop, a well-equiped room considering Ionclad's abbreviated construction schedule. The nearest bench was laid out with maintenance gear along with what was obviously a shotgun, but of a different configuration to the M90. Lloyd gravitated to the weapon, hefting it and examining the stock and the odd cables running from it to various electrical equipment.

"Its a crazy prototype I found on our stop-over," said Sophia. She watched for his reaction. "Some techie's bright idea of using modified Covenant needles as shot. No tracking capability, but they explode after impact. Not much ammo was made for it, but we brought it along out of curiousity."

Lloyd pumped one of the fat shells into the chamber, gripping the slide with obvious anticipation. "Mmm, daddy like."

"Come on."

The man reluctantly set the gun down and followed Sophia, past the benches and machinery, to a very large equipment locker that lined the aft wall.

      Sophia unlocked the latch. She winked; words were unnecessary as she pulled the middle doors open.

      The Master Sergeant walked forwards. The suits standing within were clearly MJOLNIRs, but they looked somehow bigger and stronger. And newer: they had that pearlescent sheen that Lloyd remembered from decades ago, before he had well and truly worn in his own.

      "I stopped over at Chi Ceti IV - since Section Three had diverted us here, and it was on the way," Sophia said from behind him. "Doctor Bennet knew about a new phase of Halsey's MJOLNIR project, to put Covenant shield tech in the Mark V suits. The rest of our class are getting theirs at Reach."

      "...Shields?" Lloyd ran fingers across the transparent ablative plate coating. He looked to the side, to the third suit along. Where the other two were iridescent green, this one had been modified to a barely reflective black.

      He faced his comrade, comprehending. "We're not going straight to Reach."

      She nodded. "One more pickup to make. ONI was very specific regarding its priority."

      His eyes glinted. "Perfect."


To Be Continued

IONCLAD: Chapter One
Date: 4 November 2004, 10:00 AM

-Halo Ternion-


That's the Kind of Life That's Gonna Kill You

DEPLOYMENT +13:05:40 (SPARTAN-002 Mission Clock), August 6, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
1.9 km from Covenant Intelligence Outpost, Alpha Lyncis III


Something bothered Ensign Timothy Huang. Something he had overheard, that he had just forgotten. That he knew he should remember. It might not have been just before... A while ago, maybe...

It was really important that he remember.

"You're doin' good, buddy," said Martin Lowry encouragingly. The other ensign had his shoulders under Huang's arm and supported him firmly enough that Huang needed only to take regular steps to keep his tired feet from dragging.

Huang did not feel good. The entire trunk of his body was more sore than before the escape. His ears pounded along to his pulse. That laughing red bastard. They know I don't know anything! The repeated neural shocks felt like jagged glass in his brain and spine, but at least they dulled the physical injuries --

The Elite laughed cruelly, and growled something in its convoluted language. Then it swiped its amoured fist into his jaw.

"Huang, Tim. Ensign," he mumbled. "Service number 05660-30013-TH."

"Huh?" replied Lowry. "...Hang in there, ain't far now."

"Stupid creature," the alien gloated, twisting its mandibles around the alien speech. "Of course you know nothing! But you are human. Therefore you must suffer." It joined the other, an enormous gold-clad monster that watched with beady, pale eyes. It was still speaking Standard. Oh no. I've got to tell the Commander! What were they saying? Commander..? It was vital he did not forget what he had heard...

They had stopped. The Lieutenant Commander's voice spoke: "What will we do now?" The flight from the Covenant had left him rather breathless and he leaned against the sheer rock face. The night was still deep and moonless, the hard dust and scattered scrub stretching away almost invisibly from the boundary of rock the humans had recently traversed.

"Avoid detection," answered Hideki 002. The black-armoured Spartan was tending a distended box that was fastened to the stone. He monitored the beacon's transmission then took it off-line. "That means we stay under these overhangs, and go back into the fissure if we think they're close." He faced the officers. "Anything that could detect this beacon will have its power completely fried. If they have any gear still operational, they'll be looking for thermal and motion. We sit tight, under cover."

Atchison glanced at the unconscious figure of the marine lieutenant colonel, Paech, laid out at the base of the overhang.

Lowry set the injured man down tentatively. Huang's eyes were hooded; he mumbled unintelligibly.

What did that alien say? I can't remember but its really important that I tell the Commander!

"Sir, Huang's not looking good. And I think he's a bit delirious."

"Powerless humans," rumbled the gold-armoured Elite from across the interrogation chamber, his voice clearly contemptuous. "We won't even need them now. Not with the information held in their construct."

"Commander!" Huang shouted.

"Easy, son. We're safe here. We'll be retrieved soon," said Atchison as he kneeled beside the ensign.

"No! Commander! I have to remember!" Huang stared up with wide, bloodshot eyes. "M'bantu!"

As Atchison slowly rose, Lowry held his friend's shoulder, wondering aloud, "The AI?"

Even faster than the others, Hideki recalled the information regarding the Essex's navigational and tactical AI, M'bantu, and came to an immediate conclusion.

"Was the construct functional?" he asked.

Atchison's expression grew more and more worried. "The core memory overloaded in the battle. We didn't get a chance to reset him. The self-destruct safeguards were armed, but if the Covenant managed to extract the supporting mainframe or M'bantu's processor itself..."

Hideki stood for another moment, then reached up to his helmet's neck seal. He deactivated the clasps, gripped, and slid it up and off, revealing a rounded, pale face and a shaved head set on large trapezoids. Inhaling the unfiltered air for the first time, he turned his brown eyes towards the top edge of the rock.

"Now we have to go back," he told them.

2240 Hours, August 5, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Project IONCLAD prototype, in Slipstream transit


The ship's mess was very small, being intended for a crew of only six, and even then its size took duty rotation into account. One wall held the door, and the ration dispensary and reclaimation was set in the other, where Private Michael Hutt stood, sliding his dish back into the slot. He turned and glanced a last time at Lance Corporal Maine; they had shared the mess for dinner, yet hardly a word.

"See ya," he said, walking past.

"See you," she answered distantly.

The door opened. "Doctor."

"Private," Adrian Benner greeted, entering as the soldier stood aside, then left. He ordered at the dispensary, and while waiting for his meal, looked across at the sniper. All that marked the woman as a marine was the hard set of her jaw and the UNMC fatigues she wore. Her dreaded hair was longish, and she was not large, though Benner knew she could probably take him down. A Helljumper is a Helljumper.

He transfered his laden tray to the table and sat opposite her. Examining his first forkful, he said idly, "I sometimes wonder, with the enemy's culture being so different, do they eat better or worse than us aboard their ships? I suppose they suck from food nipples or something..."

The woman glanced up but did not even fein an interest in talking.

"Want to hear some good news? As soon as we fold out of Slipspace we can test the shield generators! We took a look at the MJOLNIR armour systems, and together with Turing's data we've finalised the simulations. This ship should be able to take a serious beating."

The door opened again; in walked Frank Doubet and Matt Heitz. Both men wore little other than pants and boots, with Heitz's chest bare and prominently displaying his recently healed scar. Laughing at an unheard snippet of humour, they descended upon the food dispenser.

"Hey, guys," Benner called, twisting around. "that's got to last us to Reach, and we don't all have cryotubes."

"Relax Doc," Heitz said with a grin. He slapped the scientist's shoulder a little harder than necessary and took a seat beside him. Doubet also sat, and the marines tucked in.

On the other side of the table Maine stared down at her empty fork, before dropping it and rising with a loud scraping of chair legs. Heitz glanced at her, then to her plate. "Gonna finish that, babe?" he asked, smiling again.

Without looking nor responding she made for the door. It sighed apart, revealing the towering figure of Sophia-111. Her Spartan proportions gave her a subtly different scale within such close quarters, but after weeks of sharing a ship with her Maine did not even blink. The Lance Corporal squeezed wordlessly past and hurried down the corridor.

"Must be on a diet, man," Doubet observed.

"Doesn't need it, with the exercise she gets," the other chuckled.

Sophia immediately turned away. She let the door close, then shouted after the woman. "Maine! Wait!"

The sniper turned the corner out of sight. Calling her name, Sophia chased her through the bulkhead to the cabins.

"Wait! Maine! Arcadia, wait!"

The woman stopped outside her room. She still did not look up as the Spartan joined her. With her accute perceptions, it was obvious to Sophia that Maine was on the verge of tears. She followed her in, and Maine sank onto her bunk. From behind her stone-steady expression, Sophia watched the woman with an odd but undeniable feeling of feminine empathy.

A minute passed, then Maine drew a breath. "I just don't know what I'm do-o-oing!" she said and descended into a fit of sobs.

As close as Sophia was to Kelly, Linda, Grace, Vinh and her other Spartan sisters, she had not known any to have cried much, even as children in boot. On instinct, however, she sat close and wrapped a strong arm around Maine's shuddering shoulders. Her crying softened rapidly, and after another few moments the Spartan said, "We all make mistakes... I know what it's like to lose someone close. Spartans aren't as invincible as they tell you, you know."

"I thought Matt understood, too," the woman whispered.

Sophia let go and stood with an air of conviction. "Arcadia, I think you need the same thing I need."

"What?"

"Target practice. Let's find Sterling and go to the armoury."

1802 Hours, August 6, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Alpha Lyncis System


A ship was exiting Slipspace, but it was not the rapid, fluid transition of a Covenant vessel. Over the course of a minute, the stillness of interplanetary space was ever so subtly tugged back in a a tapering vector running for hundreds of kilometres off out of the system. Then, with a flash of boiling green and ripples of gravity the ship appeared, its radiant x-rays shifting through the ultraviolet into the normal visible spectrum as it decelerated down the vector and fully re-entered the normal universe. The multihulled vehicle turned through a few lazy degrees and her engines lit, powering her towards Alpha Lyncis.

"There's the beacon echo," reported Ensign Gillian.

"Make an active scan of orbital space, Turing," Sophia instructed the AI that was running the entire rear bank of instruments. She peered into the blackness outside Ionclad's canopy, the nearby star glare obscured by a circle of screen polarisation.

The construct's voice hummed insistently throughout the bridge. "Attention, we have two contacts bearing zero-two-five mark three-five-zero, range thirty thousand. Configurations match Covenant patrol frigates. They're accelerating; we'll be in torpedo range in eighteen seconds."

"All right," the Spartan breathed with satisfaction. She raised her voice: "All hands man your stations, we are engaging the enemy. Doctor Benner," she called, keying the engine room.

"Aye," Benner answered, "shield power systems are ready. Activating... now."

A moment of anticipation, then the bridge crew felt their hair stand on end. A brief aurora washed over the canopy, the ionisation layer equilibrating around two metres from the hull surface. Sophia could see the new system working through her link with the ship, and thought she could hear a new ultrasonic hum above the background electrics.

"Arm all weapons. Splinter rounds, Gillian. Full load."

"Aye skip."

Sophia dipped to port and opened up the engines. The throb of fusion power overlapped with her heartbeat and she settled comfortably back into her seat.

"What'd I miss?" shouted Lloyd, bursting in at the bridge's rear. Like Sophia, he was clad in his dark Mjolnir undersuit. His grey eyes glinted with excitement.

"Strap in, Sergeant. Fun's just starting."

The irridescent Covenant vessels moved visibly against the starry background, growing closer by the second but also rotating steadily.

"Come on!" Lloyd exclaimed. "Shoot 'em!"

"Just. Be. Patient, okay," Sophia replied good-humouredly. "I'm bringing us around the side so that one cuts off the other's line of fire."

"Ah."

"It's called strategy."

"Gotcha."

Ionclad's approach levelled off, and the craft powered straight for the foremost frigate.

Ensign Gillian warned, "Covenant weapon charging." Fluid red light began collecting on the squat, potruding turret at the front of the bulbous double hulls.

"Watch this, Sergeant," Sophia said over her shoulder, and hit the fire control.

The crew lurched against their seat harnesses. Bright white vapourous trails had stabbed forward, and the Covenant target's shields sundered. Entire sections of hull exploded away from the frigate. Fire trailed randomly around its surface, then it bloomed a blue-white as the hull cracked apart completely.

"KICK ass!" Lloyd cheered.

As Ionclad rapidly closed on the glowing debris it suddenly parted, revealing a angry, sizzling plasma torpedo that raced to meet them.

Sophia cursed and rolled her ship into evasive maneouvres, but they were already too close. The violent energy impacted and seemed to wash over and under the port bow. The shield alarm screamed inside the pilot's head, and the whole ship shook in nearly every direction. She was still desperately trying to turn Ionclad when the power failed.

The consoles lit up again a second later. Emergency lighting dimly illuminated the bridge. Sophia could feel the navigation protocols trying to reassert themselves in her neural connection, and looking up, she saw the second frigate accelerating from behind the remains of the first, tracking the human ship, as they coasted by, with a volley of pulse laser fire.

"Skipper," spoke Turing, "it appears that the remaining enemy vessel had anticipated our approach, and closely estimated our offensive capability. I therefore calculate an overwhelming probability that the Covenant already have intelligence regarding project IONCLAD. Can you navigate now?"

The Spartan took a mental grip upon the vessel and lit the engines, quickly powering away from the pursuing frigate. She keyed Doctor Benner again. "What happened, Doctor?" she said flatly. "The ship says it has no shields again."

"Well," he replied. "That little black out just then was the shield feedback shorting across the ship's entire power network. We had to literally pull the plug back here before enough voltage could build up and jump into the engine fields. It'll take a while to re-initialise the shields, but I won't do that until I know they'll be stable under stress - this is why we test these things, you see."

Sophia thought of a few questions, but asked, "What about main power?"

"Too risky to bring it back on - that's why we have backup power."

"No main power, no MACs, though."

"Er, yeah. Sorry."

"Do your best, Doctor."

Lloyd called from behind, "New energy spike - the frigate is firing a second volley."

Sophia pulled up, putting Ionclad into a shallow climb. Weapons lock flashed on her holoscreen. She waited for a few more seconds then flipped the ship nearly one hundred eighty degrees and gunned the engines, powering back toward the enemy and neatly evading the ponderous, flaming torpedo.

"Turing, will launching all Archer missiles be enough to disable this ship?" asked Sophia.

"Past battles have demonstrated an unfortunate acuteness in point defence capacity for the smaller Covenant ships," he answered levelly. "However, from our recent analysis Doctor Benner has theorised that temporary shield gaps must open to allow for all weapons fire - just as our shields incorporate windows over the MAC muzzles, etcetera. I advise transfering targetting systems to my control."

"They're yours. Can you anticipate the positions of the gaps?"

"I have already recorded the pulse laser turret positions. Stand by."

"Gillian, open up remaining missle pods. Lloyd, keep an eye on that torpedo. Hang on, everyone!"

The ship began to sway from side to side. Lights winked along the enemy hull, and Sophia put Ionclad into a series of zig zags and barrel rolls to evade the pulse lasers. The frigate, lurching from one edge of the veiwport to the other, loomed ever closer. There were a series of abrupt, singular thumps, as Turing launched over a score of Archer missiles. They speared forwards, individually guided, weaving like some raggedy loose rope of exhaust vapour. A few were caught by the invisible pulse beams, and erupted brightly in momentary spherical plumes, but the rest closed with their targets, slipping through the tiny slits in the shield and blossoming evenly across the silver hull. The explosions, though relatively small, rebounded from the ship's intact shields and burnt hotly over its surface.

Lloyd said, "Hey Skipper, that torpedo's closing in behind us."

"Turing?" Sophia called, thinking hard. "Can you take their shields out?"

The construct took a full eighty cycles to recognise the user request. Having been thrown into a situation normally faced by AIs specifically built for battle, a spark of tactical inspiration, that would have been far less surprising had it been in the mind of a human, had struck Turing, and he had immediately pursued it. Comandeering the idle main targetting computers (and, in the process, discovering an interestingly unlisted port to the pilot interface), he had run a series of fourteen hundred and twenty-one simulations before he had altered enough variables to ensure a theoretical victory. He also realised he had been spoken to, and replied, "Please hold this exact approach and pull out on my mark."

The scorched, pock-marked alien ship loomed, enlarging in the veiwport. No pulse lasers flashed up to meet the humans - the Covenant apparently wanted to maintain the comprehensiveness of their shielding. To aft, the blinding red projectile swiftly chewed up the distance to its target. Proximity warnings began flashing on the bridge's screens: both weapons lock and collision alarm.

The enemy hull filled the canopy entirely. "Turing!" yelled Sophia.

His voice seeped through her neural connection. One-point-one-three-three-eight more seconds it whispered.

"Jesus!" Lloyd shouted in alarm.

Course correction: zero-zero-five mark three-four-eight, engines full, Sophia heard (and acted) in a single instant. Ionclad immediately dipped and surged forward, her baffles constricting and glowing dull red, the reactors throbbing like hearts on adrenalin and overlapping their fields synergistically. At the same time, Archer missile pod B emptied, the rockets converging and detonating on a single point upon the Covenant shields. They scintillated and dimmed as the human craft streaked mere metres beneath the frigate, the alien metal flashing by overhead. Then they were past, and the alien ship fell away rapidly, suddenly backlit by a brilliant red flash as the plasma torpedo struck the weak spot dead on. The shields sundered completely and the energy burnt its way deeply into the ship.

"Yee-hah!" exulted Lloyd, gripping the shaking console. Sophia lessened the engine power then put the ship into a sweeping turn. The frigate was listing, blue flame bursting from its surface. It was dead in space. Gillian exhaled in relief.

"Thank you, Turing," said Sophia. "You should have been a tactical AI."

"The adaptability of Smart AIs has to date only been crudely estimated. Indeed, I found that thoroughly stimulating."

Lloyd was frowning at his scanner screens. "Skipper - did we take any structual damage?"

She mentally checked the ship's integrity, and said, "No, Lloyd. The shields held long enough to completely dissipate that plasma hit."

"Well, I've detected debris containing a lot of titanium-A in this area," he replied. "Its still pretty hot, and if its not ours..."

"The Aroyuesess?" said Ensign Gillian. "Escape pods?"

"Nothing with power, not even cryotubes."

Sophia cast her eyes down. "We must have been just too late."

"We've paid the Covenant back, though," said Lloyd grimly. "With interest. C'mon, let's go find Hideki."

DEPLOYMENT +13:52:00 (SPARTAN-002 Mission Clock)(1915 Hours), August 6, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
1.9 km from Covenant Intelligence Outpost, Alpha Lyncis III


"Wha..." grunted Ensign Lowry as he sat up. "The hell was that?"

Atchison peered into the patchy black sky from beneath the overhang. "What do you think, Spartan?" he asked Hideki, beside him. "Sonic boom?"

A rumble still rolled faintly over the landscape.

"Perhaps." The Spartan stood, craning his neck as he scanned the heavens. His brown eyes narrowed; he bent and swooped up his helmet, fitted it, then collected his rifle. Aiming, the smartlink scope magnified his view and confirmed what his ears had told him: two Banshees, and they would pass very close.

"Air patrol," he spoke immediately. "We may have to engage them."

Lowry scrambled to his feet. "With all due respect, we're not all Spartans like you," he said pleadingly.

"Petty Officer," the Lieutenant Commander said, "while I agree that recovery of M'bantu is of the highest priority, and I'm grateful for the hours rest you agreed to give us, I also agree with my officer here --"

"Damn right," a voice grated from the shadows. Lieutenant Colonel Paech levered himself up, his eyes fixed on the Spartan and filled with hate.

"And we may not," Hideki said without pause. "Everybody: into the fissure. Let's hope they pass and we are not forced to defend this position."

The marine exploded in rage. "The hell I will! Hand me that rifle, swabbie! I'll show you how a human fights!"

The ghostly howl of the Covenant flyers had grown quite loud and they were already in sight. After a moment, they abruptly banked and were joined by a new noise, a deep, near-sub-sonic thrum that rapidly drowned out everything. The people winced, once again looking to the sky, and all of a sudden it was blocked out by the immediately recognisable grey of titanium-A hull alloy.

The ship roared overhead in pursuit of the Banshees. With a fiery explosion an Archer missile thundered from a honeycombed launch pod, streaked across the distance in a split second and vapourised the trailing craft. The sheer pressure of the non-nuclear warhead detonation shattered the other Banshee as it attempted to make safe distance. The cacophony echoed between the cliffs and over the undulating plain, the wreckage falling as smoky rain.

As the craft rose and banked into a sweeping turn, Hideki noted the active idents on his HUD. "Ours," he declared. "Reinforcements."

They watched it approach once more, decelerating. Dust began billowing past them, up and over the cliff-face, and landing gear dropped smoothly from the ship's undercarriage. It rotated a half turn and put down gingerly, whatever pillars of force holding it aloft suddenly snapping off, and the engine roar began winding down. The three officers and the non-com approached as it settled into the barren soil.

A ramp opened and descended. It extended to the ground; figures moved at the top, then made their way down. Hideki snapped a salute.

"It's good to see you too, Spartan," shouted Lloyd jovially, briefly raising two gloved fingers in front of his visor.

Leiutenant Colonel Paech scowled up at the two tall soldiers, descending among a team of five marines in fatigues. "Shit," he growled. "More freaks."

Stepping off the ramp, the arrivals spotted him and the navy officers, stiffened and saluted.

"Master Sergeant SPARTAN 090, here to retrieve you, sirs!"

It was only then that Paech noticed the golden comet insignia adorning the chest of the enormous soldier.

"Good timing, Master Sergeant," said Atchison, stepping forward and returning the salute. "However a potential breach of the Cole Protocol, subsection two, has occured and we can't leave just yet."

Lloyd regarded him seriously. "Capture of tactical AI, sir?"

The officer's jaw set. "Debriefing will also need to wait. We need to get some teams into that base ASAP. Retrieve or destroy the construct, and ensure no information is left for the enemy."

The Spartan's eyes gleamed. "I'm all over it, sir!" He turned to the marines, and his mouth cracked into a grin. "You heard the commander - this is just what we were hoping for. Saddle up and assemble in the cargo bay at nineteen forty hours. We're gonna hit 'em where it hurts. Move it out, we're on a schedule!"

The marines thundered back up the ramp, slapping shoulders and exhaulting their good fortune, while the Spartans joined their peer.

"Upload your tac data, Spartan," Lloyd instructed, "and start thinking about our approach. You've got full strategic control on this one."

Hideki saluted once more. "Aye, sir!"

The Master Sergeant immediately turned to the escapees, all business. "Sirs, please follow Petty Officer Spartan 111 to our vessel's medical facilities."

"Ensign Huang is still back there, he's --"

Lloyd's helmet twitched towards Sophia and she was suddenly off at a jog towards the foot of the rockface.

"Following deployment, our co-pilot will take Ionclad up to low orbit. She will only come down when we have secured the facility. Your part in this is finished, sirs."

Sophia returned, cradling a small and fragile unconscious man in her armoured arms. "Please follow me, sirs," she said, and led them up the ramp.

"Permission to speak freely, sir!" said the black-clad Spartan sharply, stepping forward.

"Damn, Hideki," growled Lloyd, "it's just me now." He sighed. "Granted -- and at ease, already!"

"Sir... your suit, I've noticed--"

"Yes, Spartan," Sophia spoke quietly over the comm, smiling. "You can have one."

"Hot damn, Sarge treats us good."

It was time to gear up for the marines. Fifteen days on a cramped ship in Slipspace had left them all antsy, and they needed little encouragement from their non-com.

They were all in the ship's armoury. Corporal Doubet's foot was up on the table edge, and he was tightening the enormous boot to his knee over the matte grey fatigues. The armour was new, part of an unexpected find in the labs on Chi Ceti: the main segment comprised a solid full-torso vest, built from the same alloys as the shell of MJOLNIR armour - it was even coated in a similar refractive outer layer. Arm guards bracketed the sides. The shit-kicking boots completed the new ODST armour; the remaining exposed body was a compromise, as a full suit of the material would weigh a half tonne - like MJOLNIR - a challenge to wear for even the toughest troopers. Also, where the Spartan armour provided full neural-link exoskeletal control, the ODST assault armour still relied on the raw muscle of its wearer. However, the icing on the cake was the full-face, smartlink-ready helmet that fitted atop the torso piece.

The corporal fitted the helmet over his head. It sealed with a click, and a softly shaded HUD sprung up before his eyes. He noted the idle motion tracker in the corner. He turned back to the counter and wrapped his armoured fingers around the grip of his fresh MM55. He shouldered it; a stylised crosshair suddenly superimposed itself in the centre of his vision.

Until now, the soldiers had only trained for wearing the armour. They had done a lot of training. Now, they had an excuse to really get it on.

Doubet looked at Private Heitz, who was also looking explicitly bad-ass in the new gear, and rested the reticle on his chest. "Bang," he said.

"Amen to that," replied his comrade. "I've been looking forward to this, oh yes."

A fully suited Lloyd 090 strutted in, saying, "Truth is, boys, I would've taken any excuse to go in and bust up that base."

"And we woulda still done it even if you hadn't," quipped Private Sterling as she fed a magazine into one of her twin M10R submachine guns and checked the safety.

There was a buzzing hum from a corner of the room, and they looked to see a faintly yellow field of energy rippling around a freshly assembled black MJOLNIR suit, as Hideki activated his shield system.

"Hey Sarge," said Heitz, soto voce, "what's with your brother?"

"Ain't nothing wrong with him." Lloyd regarded the Spartan, and also spoke quietly. "I heard Halsey explaining it once: an historical condition they used to call autism. Hideki would have been a very mild case. Normal interaction with people is hard for him, or he can't learn how to do it or somethin'. Doesn't matter, because it also means he can focus his attention on other things, which makes him particularly good at what he does."

Private Sterling asked, "What is that?"

"Don't really know," admitted the Master Sergeant. "He works exclusively for ONI. He's one of their favourites."

At the end of the bench, Lance Corporal Maine held an empty S2 AM cartridge and slowly pressed the enormous sniper rifle ammunition into it while she watched SPARTAN 002. He picked up his own weapon, stripped it and had checked each segment within twelve seconds. His hands working nearly too fast to watch, the sniper rifle became whole once more. Maine frowned at the unfamiliar configuration.

"Wadda you lookin' at?" said Sterling teasingly.

"Nothing!" the sniper answered defensively. "Come on, we've got a minute till briefing."

The formidable, fully armed and armoured marines began filing out. Lloyd opened a locker on the wall, retrieved a palm-sized, alien object, and crossed over to Hideki.

"Does it fit?"

Hideki flexed his encased arm. "Feels heavier."

"Ready for some fun?"

"I'm always prepared for a mission."

"They'll be plenty of that, too. Hey, I got another little surprise for you..."

The doors parted with a sigh, and Lloyd and Hideki strode into a cargo bay of eager soldiers. Lloyd set his burden of Jackhammer magazines upon a crate. Sophia was there, having delivered the escapees safely to the medical rating and the automedic and then retrieved Turing's memory-processor core, and she stood at ease to the side of the Master Sergeant's squad who perched atop the crates, equipment and the pair of prepped ATVs. He looked at his reflection in their silver face-shields.

"Right. You all heard the Lieutenant Commander. About two klicks from here is a Covenant supply base. We're going to storm it, and kill everything. To the best of our knowledge no personel have left since the prisoners arrived, which means the captured AI is still there, and if they've learned anything we can stop it leaving this rock. SPARTAN 111 will be carrying our own AI to help with retrieval, but if it comes to it the Cole Protocol dictates destruction of the unit and associated systems. Remember that, people: violation of any section of the protocol will mean a court martial at the least.

"Three teams," he continued loudly. "Green team: Doubet, Hutt and SPARTAN 111. Gold team: Sterling, Heitz - you're with me. Black team is Maine and SPARTAN 002; you're our cover, and backup if necessary."

"Numbers, sir?" called Sophia.

Lloyd nodded to Hideki, who answered, "I have counted roughly four hundred Grunts and a hundred Jackals, spread thinly over the compound. Twenty Elites, who are in charge, and a much bigger challenge than the other infantry. Only engage them in groups."

"We'll be dropped at a point outside the perimeter, then Ionclad will sit in a corrected orbit and use deep scans to find our target as we infiltrate from two directions," said Lloyd. "Covenant power was knocked out by EMP, and it's night. They won't see us. We want to clean them off this rock, and take back what's ours. Any questions? Then let's do it!"

"Aye, sir!" they responded, springing to their feet.

"Our main objective is to confuse the enemy, while green team focusses on finding that AI," Lloyd told his team.

Heitz hefted the M19 SSM launcher he had collected, and said, "This oughta confuse 'em."

Hutt and Doubet walked over to Sophia. The corporal noted the choice of weapons secured to her armour: the formidable 9.6 mm MM55 battle rifle, and one of the newly acquired 5.0 mm M10R submachine guns.

He motioned to his own identical armament. "Great minds think alike, yeah, Skipper?"

She looked back down at him. In two weeks of cohabitation aboard Ionclad she and the rest of the crew had formed strong impressions of Lloyd's marines. She had even shared the odd story of past battles over the mess hall table. And they were certainly friendly for Helljumpers. Of course, Doubet and Hutt in particular were generally thought of as a pair of intolerable smart-arses, and took as much liberty as they could get away with.

But Sophia trusted her brother, and through an effort of will had reserved judgement until she saw what they were like when it actually mattered.

"Corporal, Private," she acknowledged. "I look forward to fighting alongside you."

"Spoken like a true Spartan," quipped Hutt.

Meanwhile, Maine joined the black-armoured Spartan, who was crouched down, methodically checking the ATVs over. She introduced herself. "Lance Corporal Arcadia Maine, sir."

He turned to her; their visors mirrored each other. "I know," he said neutrally, tapping the side of his helmet.

"I'll spot for you."

"Good. We will engage from extreme range." He stood, abruptly towering above the marine sniper by nearly two heads. She stared up at him for a moment, then looked away, feeling oddly embarassed.

"Sir," Hideki radioed to the Master Sergeant. "Permission to begin our advance."

"Get to it," answered Lloyd. "Good hunting."

He mounted his four-wheeler, and Maine followed suit, checking that her gear was secure. The Spartan kicked the machine to life, then paused. His helmet turned slightly back to the marine. "I'm Hideki. ... Nice to meet you."

Lloyd watched the snipers depart, and smirked despite himself.

"What an unlikely matchmaker," spoke Sophia's voice over his private frequency. He ignored the remark and barked, "Pack it up, marines! Secure the rest of this stuff a minute ago! Spartan 111, get this bird in the air."

"Aye, sir. Ensign," she keyed the bridge.

"Skip," acknowledged Gillian.

"We're ready. Sure you can handle it?"

Up in Ionclad's bow, Ensign Mary Gillian began to manually power up the anti-gravity systems from her bank of consoles. The ambient hum of the ship intensified. "Just like an extra-big Pelican. Hold on, everyone."

To Be Continued

IONCLAD: Chapter 2
Date: 11 January 2005, 3:48 PM

-Halo Ternion-


      He Will Kill For You


1958 Hours, August 6, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
1.4 km from Covenant Intelligence Outpost, Alpha Lyncis III


      "One minute to ORP."

      "Acknowledged. ...May I ask a question, sir?"

      "Yes."

      "What sort of rifle is that, sir? I've never seen it before."

      "You would not have. I built it."

      Ionclad swiftly overtook the sniper team, thundering overhead towards the Covenant outpost as the ATVs and their riders powered up onto the escarpment.

      "Custom 18.1 APFSDS round, 12.6 mm S.I.W. sub-projectile with carbon sabot. Unlike the S2 AM, the telescoping barrel is slightly rifled and the fins offset to increase accurate range. I used advanced optics in the scope to compensate. We're here."

      Hideki brought his quad up, Maine stopping behind him. Level, rough rock stretched dimly before them, but in the distance beyond the marine thought she could discern the angular shadows of buildings rising from a dark plain. Good - the Covenant had not restored power yet, but no doubt they were working on it. The only illumination to be seen was the dim emergency lighting glinting from the two Covenant vessels berthed on a field at the far side of the base, and Ionclad's dimly burning main engines.

      "Our FFP is that rise," Hideki stated. A nav point activated on Maine's HUD, superimposed on the topmost edge of a ridge that rose to the right and indicating its current distance. "We will proceed to it directly, but stay alert. We might meet search parties. Never ignore your motion indicator." He signalled the Master Sergeant. "Sir, Black Team proceeding to final firing position."

      "Do your thing, Spartan."

      The non-com turned to his team mate. "Ready?"

      "Yes, sir," replied Maine.

      Hideki twisted the ATV's throttle and kicked off. Maine followed closely. The vehicles bounced over the viciously undulating terrain, and very soon they were noticeably climing along the front of a sharpening ridge of earth and loose rock. The odd shrub had poked its way through the cracks, and crunched unheard under the tires of the speeding quads.

      "Hold up," Hideki said sharply, his vehicle braking. "Contact. Long range. Other side of the ridge." The edge of the rise was less than ten metres above to their right.

      Maine stopped her ATV and cut the engine, studying her motion tracker with half an eye as she dismounted and followed the Spartan forward. Red blobs blinked at the readout's edge. The humans climbed to the ridgetop, each bringing up their secondary weapons: Hideki had his matte black, silenced M6D pistol, and Maine gripped her battle rifle firmly.

      They carefully crawled up the last metre then peeked over. The terrain was much steeper on the other side, but a narrow path was cut into the stone, and a patrol of six Jackals strode along it toward their hiding spot, one blue and five yellow energy shields swaying on their arms, and glowing plasma pistols held readily. They peered attentively from side to side, muttering in their grating, high-pitched language.

      Maine and the Spartan bobbed out of sight. The helljumper did not normally tangle with Jackals so closely, but knew that, with their shields, direct engagement could become drawn out, and that meant they would raise the alarm. She looked at Hideki; he made a rapid series of hand signals - describing a small circle with his finger, opening his hand palm-down, pointing at her then the ridge and balling his fist thumb-upward (she nodded) - then was silently gone, slipping further along to get behind the aliens. As she brought her rifle up and took her position Maine briefly wondered how a swabbie had learned ODST field signals.

      The Covenant troops were almost beneath her when she saw light and motion: a fizzing plasma grenade arced toward them from behind. The sharp hearing of one Jackal made it stop and spit out a warning at the same time as the device adhered to the rearmost creature's neck. It opened its beak to scream, but a 12.7 mm HE slug hit the back of its head at that moment and it instead noisily vomitted its brains across the inside of its shield.

      Maine similarly opened fire, maiming the leader and adding to the confusion before the grenade detonated, sending dismembered Jackals off the path and flailing down the steep slope. As the dust cleared, plasma bolts suddenly tore up around Maine's position. Clenching her jaw, she leaned over and fired full-auto down at the remaining alien shape. She was joined by Hideki, and the screeching Covenant soldier was all but torn apart by the time it's corpse slumped to the fluid-stained path.

      "No more contacts."

      The woman glanced to Hideki's location but he was already out of sight; she slid back down the loose bank and met the black Spartan at the parked ATVs. Without a word he mounted his quad, kicked off the engine and continued up the ridge, with Maine hurrying to keep up. The climb finally began to level off after a further few minutes of hard revving and rock-spraying. The nav point drew into visible range: it overlaid the edge of an impressive overhang.

      Hideki halted once more and Maine joined him, crouching in a jog to the firing position, surveying the dimensions and security of the area they needed to hold. The Spartan unslung his rifle and flattened himself to the dirt in a single motion. The barrel telescoped, he pulled back the bolt, checked the breach and the chambered round, and started a field diagnostic of the targetting system.

      Immediately beside him, Maine retrieved her large lens from its case and moved to similarly prostrate herself. Glancing downwards, she spotted Ionclad as the vessel decelerated and hovered less than one hundred metres from the dark Covenant perimeter. "Green and gold teams are about to engage," she informed her new partner.

      "Acknowledged." The Spartan nestled the stock on his shoulder and sighted on the base's boundary.

      Trying to relax, the woman lay just behind his shoulder, aligned her lens and quickly began sectoring the area of operation.

      Turing was an R&D simulation/optimisation construct and only a Smart AI by design. Very early during his heuristic patterning he was deemed most suitable for behind-the-lines, computational support for the egg-heads on whom the navy seemed to increasingly rely of late. His brief stint at starship navigation had supplied him with nearly an hour's worth of raw data, however, that could only be described as "exciting". Moreover, he had grown accustomed to accessing ship sensors and interacting with the other systems, so upon being transfered to Spartan 111's new armour in his completely new role as field tactical support, he had immediately established remote connections to every camera and radar he thought he would need. As Ionclad touched down in the el-zee, he set about tagging tac markers on the lines of initial infantry coming out to meet them.

      The super-conductor crystal supporting his spatial awareness was surprisingly roomy: he suspected that this particular part of MJOLNIR had been designed by an AI. He could also "feel" Sophia's presense far more distinctly than when she was in Ionclad's pilot seat. "Green and gold teams, be advised," he transmitted with the suit's com-link, "Covenant welcome party is on approach, prepare to engage."

      "Ooh yeah, hot el-zee!" whooped Private Heitz from his seat, between his squadmates, along one side of the rear loading section.

      "Wait for it!" bellowed the Master Sergeant. The hatch began opening and the ramp extended to three metres over the dirt. The equilibrating gravity fields kicked up the dust, and it swirled up into the cargo cum troop bay. The dim yellow light flooded out into the night. Overhead, even idling, the main engines howled like a category three.

      "GO GO GO!" Lloyd ordered. The soldiers thundered down the ramp by twos, dropping from the edge and setting off toward the enemy. Spasmodic plasma fire began zipping through the dust; Doubet and Hutt, on point, answered with regular, short bursts of MM55 and MA5B fire. The forward line of Grunts came into sight, the barking, scuttling creatures quickly falling from the marine's precise fire. Every soldier had disembarked, and the squads fanned out to provide support. The two men suddenly knelt, pausing to reload, the pair of Spartans passing them smoothly to take point.

      Almost instantly, the first wave of enemy infantry was routed. The two green-suited super-soldiers, battle rifles held firmly, confidently, did not waste a shot, and ignored the incoming fire that splashed impotently off their shields. There were few stragglers remaining for the helljumpers - hardly less formidable in their own new armour - to mop up.

      A second, bigger mass of Grunts began their rabid charge, and behind them, the Spartans could see a line of Jackals and the field commanding Elite warriors.

      "Target," whispered Maine. As her high-power scope sent the tag to Hideki's HUD, she continued, "Sector D. From TRP, right seven, add ten."

      "Roger. D, right seven add ten."

      "Red Elite, rearmost."

      "Roger, Red Elite, probably commander. Target identified. I have point-eight crotch to head."

      "Roger, point-eight crotch to head. Range set. No wind."

      "Range received. Indexed."

      BANG.

      "One down," breathed the spotter. "Target, from TRP..."

      Vacuum vapour trails began lancing down from the black ridge to the distant right, and intersecting the heads of the dozen-or-so Elites as they advanced behind the Jackals. The remaining ranks of Grunts fragmented into a mass of squealing, panicking aliens.

      Lloyd hailed both teams: "Close in and clean 'em up, people!"

      Heitz and Sterling surged forward, spraying bursts of automatic fire. "Yaaaah, Covie season!" cried Heitz, while the female soldier waded into the fray, 5 mm slugs blaring out of the submachine guns in both of her hands.

      To the side, three Grunts turned and started shooting wildly. Lloyd peeled off, bringing up his secondary weapon: the experimental shotgun. With his shields sucking up stray plasma bolts, he activated the gun and pumped the slide. Leveling it, he aimed at the middle alien and fired. It was loud, and had a rough kick; the Grunt wailed and staggered, its whole side carpeted with tiny pink slivers. They then detonated in a violent pink mist, dismembering the dead creature and flinging its comrades into the air.

      Lloyd let out a hoot, reeled and dashed for the nearest clump of panicked Covenant. "This is my boomstick!" he announced, loosing a blast to another Grunt's head by way of punctuation. The resultant explosion spread into a white-blue chain reaction as random plasma grenades were set off. With his shields scintillating he ran through the glowing mist to engage the next group of enemies.

      Within a minute the barren battlefield was littered with Grunt corpses; Doubet and Hutt overarmed fragmentation grenades into the midsts of the Jackal cordon as they led the humans in. Dust, dirt and alien segments sprayed in all directions before the Covenant could begin to coordinate their fire. The closest Elite roared with rage, levelling its rifle before tumbling off of its feet as a hyper-velocity sniper round tore through its skull.

      The last Elites and Jackals were swiftly overwhelmed by the UNSC soldiers' volumnous, coordinated fire. Sterling and Doubet led the way, continuing through the sprawling carnage at a trot to the waypoint. The others keenly scanned the bodies; "Clear!" the Master Sergeant announced.

      "Shit, man, I should be dead."

      Lloyd glanced back at Private Heitz. He was running gauntleted fingers over three brand new scorch marks that now blackened his chest plate where pockets had been a minute before. Three direct plasma hits that would normally have burnt and fused half his organs together.

      "Stay frosty, son."

      "This is black team," Hideki radioed. "Confirm no more contacts. Grading the road for you, sir. Nice and smooth."

      "Acknowledged. Let's do this thing, marines!"

      "Range recieved. Indexed," Hideki murmured. His rifle's stunning report rolled down onto the dark plains below. A moment of stillness. "Target?"

      "...Sorry, sir," replied the marine. "Something's happening, right eighty degrees."

      Hideki reverted to 1x view and looked right, past the dimness of the shrouded Covenant base. As the humans watched, one of the figates smoothly lifted itself from the ground on to which it had plummeted hours before, running lights glowing to life over the silver hull. The Spartan shifted his weight and concentrated into his scope.

      "Do you see that, sir?"

      "Yes." An Elite in irridescent gold armour was now visible beneath the levitating vessel. A scintillating, ultraviolet shaft also faded into veiw. The alien commander watched as teams of Grunts carried equipment loads past and began floating up into the ship's belly.

      Maine made a gentle adjustment to her scope. "I have point naught naught four crotch to head," she ventured.

      "Too far," demurred Hideki. "And we can't afford to alert them. Sergeant," he called.

      Brief static answered, then: "One moment, black team. Come on, take it all bitch!" Battle rifle blasts rattled down the com link, followed by unearthly, agonised shrieks. "Right, what is it?"

      "I have a new target; impending containment breach. Black team is moving to engage."

      "Understood. Good hunting."

      The Spartan levered himself from the ground. His spotter packed away her gear with practiced haste as he compacted his rifle, saying, "We will move to a flanking firing position. I may need to engage directly."

      Maine finished securing her gear. "Lead the way sir."

      As the humans mounted their vehicles, a speckling of stark yellow-white weapons fire glowed from between the dark structures far below.

      "Clear!" confirmed Private Heitz. He took point, leading Sterling swiftly to the corner of the squat alien building; the Master Sergeant covered their six. Bloodied, multicoloured armour crunched underfoot.

      The Motion sensor winked red: Heitz rounded the corner and knelt in a single motion, and as Sterling assumed position above him they began rapidly picking off the surprised Grunts that crowded the wide dimness. Lit by strobing muzzle flash, the stumpy creatures ran into each other, panicking and screaming till the last slumped in a blood-spattered heap. Lloyd stepped out and around the helljumpers, taking point position and leading them forward, battle rifle shouldered, trigger finger tensed.

      The team had already penetrated far into the installation, feeling around for areas of Covenant fortification, systematically hunting the aliens down and exterminating them group by group. The Master Sergeant took care to ensure no significant forces were left to regroup and attack from behind. The soldiers were drawing on all their training and discipline, leaving no gaps in defence, choosing, unhesitantly, their targets with care and precision.

      And abruptly they were faced with an entire squad of Jackals. Heitz and Lloyd drew beads on the shield notches but had to evade the barage of volumnous plasma fire. The humans took cover behind one of the numerous equipment modules, which immediately started smoking and glowing, sparking at the edges. Sterling's arm flicked out, and a frag grenade arced towards the aliens, but as the Jackals began advancing they consolidated their ranks, overlapping their shields on all sides to form an immediately recognisable infantry square: the explosive bounced off the top, falling harmlessly behind them and exploding with a thump.

      Heitz wasted no time in slinging his rifle and bringing the bulk of his SSM rocket launcher up to rest on his shoulder. Lloyd checked the fire-ready status, then showed two fingers to his team mates. Without further ado he hopped atop the module and began spraying the enemy shields with automatic fire, letting the plasma bolts chip away at his own protective field.

      "...Two," counted Heitz under his breath, swinging out of cover and sighting. The mighty weapon trembled on his shoulder and smoke washed over his face plate as the rocket accelerated away, detonating against the foremost side of the square.

      Half of the formation fell apart immediately. From his position Lloyd onto the remaining surface of Covenant shields with a shout of determination. He fired on automatic down into every gap he could see. The Jackals' organisation failed and the rout began.

      The remaining ODST broke cover and circled the closely packed enemy with both SMGs, firing at the exposed sides and limbs of the confused Jackals. Lloyd waded out of the fray, crushing every alien skull within reach with his rifle butt. The last handful of Jackals still had not come to grips with the ferocious counter-attack, and some attempted to flee; all were consequently slaughtered as the humans concentrated their last shots upon them.

      A feeling tingled the back of Lloyd's head. He whirled and side-stepped, just as a hot, pulsing fuel rod blast burnt through where his head had been. Now visible at the end of the area, directly in the marines' path, were a pair of crouching, crab-walking Hunters.

      "Heitz!" Lloyd called.

      "I'm on it!" The marine held his ground, squinting down his scope. One of the behemoths paused with the same intent, spines twitching, weapon glowing a menacing green. Heitz squeezed the trigger and the 102 mm explosive blossomed against the alien's chest, smoke mingling and contrasting briefly with irridescent orange fluids. Lloyd strafed obliquely, his battle rifle slugs pinging off the other Hunter's massive shield; Sterling was already at Heitz's side, yanking out the spent magazine, slamming the next in, thumping his helmet. The rocket flew true, blowing the distracted alien clean off its feet.

      "Clear," announced Lloyd, checking his threat indicator: no contacts within range. "Sterling, take point."

      "Yes sir," she agreed, rapidly reloading.

      The com channel spoke, "Come in, gold team."

      "I read you, Spartan," Lloyd answered.

      "We have secured the entrance to the central tower," Sophia spoke. "Proceeding with search."

      "Acknowledged. We'll keep things stirring up here."

      "Have fun." She closed the frequency, and followed Doubet through the arch and into the structure, with Hutt bringing up the rear. Faint red points pulsed on the motion sensor.

      "I detect the highest levels of backup power from approximately fifty metres below this position," Turing reported, "corresponding to the likely location of the bulk of this installation's computing resources."

      The Spartan nodded. "Let's find it, then."

      "Radar shadows reveal a rampwell at the near end of the corridor."

      The team moved swiftly along the dark yet oddly curved and coloured interior. Red FOF signals, brighter now, showed up ahead. "Keep it neat, Hutt," said Sophia.

      "No signs," he confirmed.

      Emergency lighting illuminated the area beyond, but not to the extent that the shields' of the lurking Jackals failed to glow from around the edges of the opening. Doubet advanced, back to wall, leaning far enough to see dark alien hide through the shield notch. His 9.6 mm round tore the creature's spine apart; Sophia rushed in upon the Jackals hiding behind the opposite corner, knocking the first's shield aside and putting a trio of bullets through its chest; she then bore down upon the other as it backed away, its panicked fire splashing over her armour's scintillating shields. Hutt had already advanced around the far side of the rampwell, flanking the remaining enemy, and now opened fire with his MA5B. The rounds forced the spasming alien body against the wall with a wet crunch.

      The corporal swept the area briefly then clicked on his softlight and lead the way rapidly down into the gloom, checking every corner via the enhanced optics of his ODST armour. The descent ended at a heavy door which failed to conveniently open.

      "Think you can make it work?" Sophia asked Hutt, sweeping her weapon over the surrounding darkness.

      The soldier crouched close to the barrier. "Possibly, considering the near total lack of security that the Covenant have expended on this place so far. They never expected us, did they?" He thumped something block-shaped against the metal, and it stuck.

      "That is a highly likely conclusion," agreed Turing over the team frequency.

      "But if it's all the same to you," Hutt continued, standing, "I'd rather blow the bitch open."

      Green team retreated up the ramp, crouched and tensed. Hutt hit the detonator, the door vanished within a mass of dust and smoke, and they charged back down and in, angling for the blobs of red on their threat indicators. During the last half-hour, Sophia had come to appreciate the tactics employed by the helljumpers: where a team of Spartans would perhaps pause, anticipate certain eventualities in an engagement, and make appropriate preparations, the marines of the 105th had a tendency to simply descend upon the enemy like avenging angels, relying on sheer tenacity to secure survival and victory. The new approach, to the Spartan, was curiously liberating.

      Reports began ringing out through the haze as the humans engaged separate groups of stunned Covenant troops, predominantly Grunts. The suppressing fire strobed bright yellow and Doubet, twitching his rifle towards every silhouette, picked out a deep, glinting red shape. He charged, opening up with three-round bursts that ricochetted away from the alien's silvery protective field: the Elite roared in reply, drawing its plasma weapon and raking the marine with bolts of energy.
Doubet was still firing as his leg, suddenly numb, collapsed beneath him, and crying through gritted teeth, he fell.

      The soldier's mind blanked, then his eyes sought a point of focus as he rolled onto his back. It was not really the searing pain over his body that bothered him, but the lack of response from his leg: attempts to right himself met with no more effect than the spears of agony that shot up his spine. This, however, served to snap his mind into focus, in time to hear the red Elite growl - he was sure he heard it speak Standard - "...Human filth." The fearsome being raised its armoured hoof to stomp Doubet's head in.

      In a flash of pearlescent green, Sophia was upon the alien, ramming her shoulder into its sternum and driving it back. It roared and grabbed at her but the Spartan ducked her head, claws and arms skidding frictionlessly over her helmet, both bright shields sparking. Her elbow connected solidly with its neck twice, and the alien shielding finally failed; pressing the advantage, Sophia wrapped her arm under its head and squeezed.

      The weapons fire ceased. Hutt emerged from out of the settling dust, training his gun on the alien and moving to Doubet's side; the corporal knelt up, retrieving his own rifle. The marines watched while Sophia gradually overcame the gurgling Elite, and, with a series of cracks, its neck broke and it died.

      She threw the corpse to the side, checking the motion sensor and securing her battle rifle. "How's the leg?" she asked Doubet. She could see where plasma had splashed over his shin armour, and above it, the weeping, cauterised wound.

      He stood, favouring his uninjured side. "I can fight," he answered and
took out a tube of biofoam.

      "...Good. You have guard duty, Corporal. Secure any other entrances, Hutt - we don't want Jackals sneaking in."

      "You got it," Hutt replied.

      "The main-frame can be accessed from the far wall," Turing advised.

      The petty officer switched to her interteam channel. "Master Sergeant."

      "Go ahead."

      "Green team has attained the objective. Request gold team secure the front door."

      "Acknowledged. On the way now."

      Sophia turned her attention to the alien computers: banks of pearlescent purple panels overlaid with holographic screens that constantly pulsed and shifted.

      Turing remotely probed at the edges of the electronic systems, encountering the sort of automated security he expected. Intrusion was an art even more foreign to him than tactical navigation, but working from first principles he derived the cryptographical mathematics he needed and applied them, peeling away the security software like onion skin. He began detecting tracts of data, intelligence that would be undoubtably invaluable for ONI, yet Turing allowed no distractions - he would write suitable data scavenging programs once his objective was fulilled, and catalogue it later.

      "Where are you, brother?"

      He gingerly traced several thousand separate interogative routines to their common destination and piggybacked on one through the final firewall. What he found, at first, remained as unfamiliar to him as the convoluted alien computer realm he had already navigated. Yet there, at the centre, was what had been the core code of a UNSC AI construct, dead and dissected - the digital equivalent of a corpse on the autopsy slab.

      Not without a curious sense of loss, Turing englobed the information, beginning the intricate process of disentangling M'Bantu from the relentless tendrils of Covenant scavenging code. At this contact, something within glowed to life, and the AI felt an irrational hope cloud his processes, anticipating the revival of his fellow construct. But all too abruptly, the source of reanimation became apparent.

      "Petty Officer," Turing communicated, "M'bantu is unsalvageable, however he appears to have left a message for us."

      "What does it say?"

      "Unencrypting now... standby." Clever: rewriting your core memory so the Covenant can't anatomise the information - as long as they want access to your storage, at least. "ATTENTION... COVENANT POSSESS COORDINATES... REACH SANCTUARY SIRIUS... PROXIMA LUCIFER... EARTH--"

      "What?" Doubet burst out involuntarily.

      "...FORTY-FOUR PERCENT (ERROR CALCULATION... UNAVAILABLE PROCESSOR CONSTRAINTS) PROBABILITY... INTELLIGENCE COMMUNICATED TO ENEMY... CORROBORATING DATA REQUIRED... FACTIONAL SPLIT IN LOCAL COVENANT FORCES... 'Captain, the Bugs have found some sort of new weapon'," spoke a grating, heaviliy-accented synthetic voice, "'and they're taking it straight to Earth. We've never seen anything like this, and I don't think the Covenant can control it as well as they think they can.' ...That's all there is, skipper," concluded Turing. "I've made a raw recording. M'bantu's processor core is embedded behind the center panel in front of you. We should try to recover the hardware, at least."

SECTION 1 OF 2

IONCLAD: Chapter 2 (last section)
Date: 11 January 2005, 3:50 PM

      "Contact."

      With one hand steering, Hideki took a bead on the head of the first Grunt as his ATV bore down on the area behind the base. He exchanged fire with the aliens, green-white plasma for 12.7mm slugs, shields glowing gold and fluorescent blood splattering.

      Doing her best to keep up, Maine weaved between the fresh corpses, following the Spartan into a maze-like storage area, thick with alien containers. The gravity lift rose ahead of them.

      There was a green flash and a detonation: Hideki's vehicle unexpectedly catapulted and he was thrown free, fortunately before it exploded in a plume of burning fuel. He landed with his limbs tucked in, rolling to his feet and crouching, pistol held ready. The enormous bulk of a Covenant Hunter shuffled between the crates nearby. It levelled its arm-mounted canon and fired another sizzling projectile. Hideki rolled and took cover; the fuel rod impacted a pile of crates, spraying burning fragments and reducing them to charred wreckage.

      Maine arrived on the scene, the inevitable second Hunter, crouching at the first's flank, swivelling as she bore down upon it. She attempted to swerve but the front wheel met the beast's massive shield, sending her ATV up on two wheels. She bailed and landed heavily in front of the first alien, and it turned its featureless head toward her menacingly; orange ichor began spraying from the thick hide of its neck to the accompaniment of semi-auto M6D fire, and it keeled sideways with a groan.

      Its brother abruptly elevated to its full three metre height with an aggrieved bellow, and charged. Maine's eyes went wide in panic and she barely managed to roll out from beneath its heavy feet; it ignored her completely and drew back its shield to deliver a crushing backhand to the Spartan. She watched as, rather than wasting rounds on the Hunter's impenetrable ventral armour, Hideki front-rolled under the attack, spinning as he came up and emptied his pistol's clip into the naked gaps on its back. It pitched forward and skidded into some of the mangled containers, and lay still.

      Hideki briefly checked for further contacts: nothing. He walked over to his team mate, stowing his ejected empty and reloading. "Any injuries?" he inquired.

      "No." Maine got to her feet, instinctively checking her equipment. She reached over her shoulder. "Shit, my rifle's gone."

      "We don't have time to find it. Do your best with your MM55."

      "But, sir, your weapon..."

      Without hesitation the Spartan unslung his sniper rifle. The telescoping barrel assembly was bent and visibly squashed, and the scope had torn off. The Helljumper wondered what sort of reaction might be playing across the man's face behind that golden visor.

      Hideki retrieved the ammunition and dropped the useless gun. "I'll make a new one. Let's get going."

      They cleared the Covenant supply area, Hideki on point. The ultraviolet pillar of the alien lift shone down from almost directly above, to a wide raised platform less than one hundred metres ahead, and bathed the surrounding wreckage in soft purple light. As they approached, the golden armour of the commander Elite appeared as the alien strode around the lift; it spied the humans, pointed and roared.

      "Take the right flank."

      "Acknowledged." Maine ran, side-stepping and bringing her battle rifle to bear on the Elite. It advanced to intercept the Spartan. Suddenly, Grunts began spilling out from around the debris, yapping and snarling; Maine began taking them down with single shots before they could close in on her partner.

      Hideki concentrated on the commander and fired while advancing. The alien ignored the attack, white shields scintillating but holding strong as the Spartan's twelfth round bounced off, and it leaped into the air to land ten metres away. From its fist ignited parallel blades of plasma; it pitched its head forward and roared its challenge.

      Hideki stowed his pistol, bringing his hand out and activating the salvaged alien weapon that Lloyd had passed to him. He raised the twin bladed sword to the Elite's visible surprise, then assumed a defensive stance.

      It crouched and snarled angrily, then charged and swung its sword from the side. Hideki met it with his own, the blades shearing off each other and exchanging arcs of blue plasma. He was forced back by the blow, but kept his defence up for the next. The Elite was very strong.

      He deflected a third strike aimed at his midsection, then saw an opening. The Spartan swept his blade upwards at his opponent's side, but the Elite was fast, too, and blocked with a fluid counterstrike. It pulled back slightly then swiped savagely for Hideki's head, and he threw himself off balance to duck beneath, rolling into a cartwheel and coming back up with an answering slash. The alien span out of reach and snarled, then lunged once more.

      Hideki saw the sword points directly level with his eyes, but approaching slowly, in what one of his squadmates had once called Spartan Time. His peripheral vision stretched, his body moving independent of thought; twisting at the waist and dropping in his stance, he thrust his sword arm forward to full extension. The Elite ran onto the weapon, its own glancing off the Spartan's shield as he barely evaded it. Hideki's blade sank frictionlessly into his enemy before he swiftly pulled away and out of arm's reach.

      The gold-clad Elite stumbled, clutching at its cauterised wound and doubling over. Hideki kept the energy sword pointed at it and circled. The alien gasped and wheezed through clenched mandibles, and suddenly looked up, fixing its beady, slitted eyes on the Spartan. It coughed, bright blue fluid spilling from its mouth; in rasping bass tones it said, "I... welcome my death. The fate of... your race will be supremely worse." It collapsed to its knees and choked out, "...Yours will be a cursed race."

      The Spartan extinguised his weapon as the alien died. The intermittent "paum!" of battle rifle fire also ceased, the Grunts fleeing at the sight of their fallen commander, stumbling around and over the bodies of their kind; many ran in panic back to the base's buildings, but the cleverer ones climbed the ramps to the gravity lift and began ascending into the Covenant frigate. Hideki sprinted toward the light beam, firing into the head of each Grunt he passed, but as he reached the platform it abruptly shut off. Dozens of unlucky, squealing aliens fell back to the dark ground with a series of crunching thuds. Hideki regarded the looming shadow of the ship, extrapolating the immediate threats from the present situation in his head. He turned to his team mate who was approaching, rifle ready, scanning for hiding enemies.

      Maine reached the lift platform and looked back up at the giant soldier, suddenly finding time to consider what she had just witnessed. Hideki 002 and the Elite base commander had engaged in nothing less than a sword duel, and the Spartan had triumphed without sustaining the slightest injury. The ODST knew a lot more about the Spartans IIs than most from her time under Lloyd's command: they were superhuman and a match for entire squads of enemies, but also possessed a speed and power of intellect belied by their formidable appearance. Yet, seeing the decisive victory just gained by this black-suited petty officer, she finally felt utterly certain of one thing that hung heavy in her heart since childhood: humans, not the Covenant, would win the war.

      Hideki drew his sidearm, ejecting the magazine and briefly regarding its emptiness before stowing both. "Master Sergeant," he radioed.

      "Go ahead, black team."

      "Mission failed, sir. Imminent breech of site containment. Recommend immediate withdrawal to safe distance."

      "Stand by. Green team is salvaging computer intelligence per standing secondary objectives."

      "Negative, sir. We must assume the retreating Covenant force is aware of such activity and will ensure that no intelligence leaves this facility."

      A pause, then Lloyd replied, "Yes, I agree. We need to get into their communications."

      "Black team will move immediately to back you up."

      "Acknowledged."

      "Okay, Turing," said Sophia, closing her link to the Master Sergeant. "Can you intercept any intraship transmissions from here?"

      The AI was already commandeering the whole base's communications, bending them to the infiltration of the Covenant frigate's network. Disregarding the subtleties of espionage he figuratively smashed the ship's encryption defences, sponging up seconds of criss-crossed information and rapidly collating it before the alien operators even realised their security was breached. He summarised: "The frigate is currently ascending to safe firing altitude. From there it will obliterate this installation before engaging Ionclad. A request is being prepared for total orbital bombardment, contingent to the presence of human forces apart from ourselves, as soon as a sufficient segment of the Covenant armada can be spared."

      Doubet grimaced. "Don't they ever take their hoof off the gas?"

      "Archive what you have, Turing," the Spartan instructed. "We're leaving now."

      After a second's pause, he replied, "I'm out."

      Hutt met Sophia at the entrance and took point, while the Spartan helped Doubet get up to speed. They powered up the ramps, weapons held ready.

      "--No, flank them! Green team, we are engaging residual opposition! Mutiple groups!"

      "Hang tight," Sophia responded to her brother. She yelled over her shoulder, "Double-time, marines! Gold team needs backup!"

      They reached their point of entry, now a tall window through which the strobing exchange of fire flared in from the outside.

      "We're up," she radioed. "Covering fire!"

      Full-auto MM55 and M10R fire resounded as Sophia's team charged out. The ground was thick with Grunts: fresh corpses as well as the barking, frenzied reinforcements that were streaming towards the human position, shooting wildly and being rapidly knocked off their hooves in mists of bone and gore. The soldiers skidded into the cover of the crude barricade that the besieged marines had managed to erect, and promptly began shooting while the defenders reloaded.

      Through her scope Sophia saw the charging aliens dropping under her thumping rounds, then suddenly glimpsed a line of Grunts hanging back and preparing to fire their novel, shoulder-mounted weapons. A dozen sizzling green projectiles exploded forth and arced towards her.

      "Incoming!"

      The fuel rods blasted against the humans' cover and splashed hotly over the sealed ground. Teeth gritted, Lloyd breathed deeply and growled, "Oh, I'm angry now!" He broke cover and sprinted toward the remaining Grunts, letting off 9.6mm bursts at each alien. A couple of them responded: the first shot was dead on and Lloyd's Spartan reflexes were all that saved him from collecting it in the face: it burnt past his head as he juked sideways. A second missed him by millimetres as he pitched forward, thumbing a grenade and rolling it up to the creatures' feet. The Grunts were thrown upwards and outwards, squealing; the detonation cracked random fuel rod casings and blossomed into a misty green chain reaction.

      Privates Sterling and Hutt, and Sophia followed in the charge, taking down the final stragglers. The last Grunt collapsed and a moment of eerie calm loomed over the soldiers, who regrouped. With scorched and tarnished armour, the men and women stood at attention, weapons already reloaded and ready, each reflected within the others' visors.

      "Turing. Status," Lloyd barked.

      "Urge immediate dust-off, sergeant. The Covenant vessel is rising between us and Ionclad and Ensign Gillian's manual maneouvring capabilities are severely limited. We need to secure the highest point of this installation to have any chance of making rendevous, but..."

      Lloyd glanced at Sophia: an AI trailing off in mid-sentence could never be a good sign. "What's the problem?"

      "The frigate will attain firing altitude in fifty-five seconds, but cannot activate its shields until that time either. It is possible to negotiate a remote neural link on the fly that will allow Spartan 111 adequate piloting control to not only descend Ionclad directly to our position, but also successfully engage the vessel."

      "Since when?.." Sophia asked in a tone of incredulity, then checked herself: any immediate course of action was preferable to waiting to be glassed. "Do it, Turing."

      The A.I. began cautiously making the connections, saying, "You will almost certainly experience brief but severe vertigo. I cannot predict how your body's motor functions will be affected."

      "Just hurry," replied the Spartan.

      The other soldiers apprehensively watched her helmet twitch twice before Sophia collapsed backward, her suit denting the alien paving.

      "Spartan. Report," Lloyd demanded, knealing beside her form.

      Turing's voice spoke, "Negotiation of communication protocols are a low priority, sergeant. Interface is online. Ionclad is beginning descent. Please hurry to the extraction point."

      Without hesitation, Lloyd slung his rifle, rested his shoulder over Sophia's abdomen and levered her up into a fireman's hold. "Hutt, take point," he grunted, and set off with his marines who surrounded him, scanning the gloom for loose surviving enemies.

      Sophia grunted with effort through clenched teeth, her face contorted, in concert with the rappelling of her young yet muscular arms. The rough, taught rope ended immediately ahead, where she could see the metal pole rising from the bare platform, the training course's bell dangling, waiting at the top. The girl was accutely aware of the rest of the children close behind; through a combination of luck and hard, committed training she had streaked ahead early, and this morning would probably win.

      Her body was jarred, sudden pain in her upper back; hands clutched at air; the mud rushed up to meet her and was interupted by the wooden edge of the pit -

      Sophia would not remember later exactly how long consciousness spent in returning. It began with the dim awareness of waking life; eventually she realised a figure was standing over her: she was on her back, on the ground. Cold, drying mud clung to her stiff and sore body.

      "You came last, recruit," Chief Mendez stated.

      "Yes... sir," she croaked.

      "See the medic, then turn in. No rations tonight. What did you do wrong?"

      The Chief was turning her failure into a lesson. She was not surprised. The Spartan picked herself up to stand straight, facing him; already, she was barely half of a head shorter than her teacher.

      "Didn't check my six."

      "Good. You won't forget again."

      It felt like that time, only now a part of her mind, the part honed and sharpened by decades of experience, was acutely aware of the exact time that had passed since her neural implant had connected with Ionclad's helm systems. Seven-point-two seconds. The rest of her consciousness clawed back up to its normal high level.

      This time, she could no longer feel her own body at all, but only the sensory and navigational systems of the ship, hundreds of kilometres above where her body rested inert, safely within her Mjolnir armour.

      She could feel the familiar, steel-cold presence of Turing close by. I've established stable protocols for ninety-six percent control via microwave up-link, he informed the pilot.

      Without vocal chords to speak with, she took a firm hold on the systems now connected to her mind by way of reply, and guided Ionclad out of her geosynchronous orbit into a steep descent window.

      Black team ran down the path between the looming buildings towards the new landing zone nav marker. From ahead, Hideki heard panicked gunfire, then the sharp detonation of Covenant artillery. "Sergeant! Status," he requested with urgency.

      "Hunters!" was the alarmingly desparate response.

      He broke into a sprint. "Keep up, corporal - give me covering fire."

      Maine watched him disappear around the corner, backlit by muzzle flash glare. As she followed, she shouldered her rifle.

      The other teams were under fire at the foot of a switchback ramp that led up the side of the central structure. It was the perfect ambush point: three marines were busy with one Hunter, while the other had Lloyd, Sophia and Doubet pinned behind an inadequate and rapidly decaying cargo module. The first decided on a target and charged Private Heitz, who backpedalled, emptying his rifle's clip. This gave Sterling and Hutt the chance to close in, practically thrusting their muzzles into the alien's dorsal weak spot.

      Meanwhile, Hideki ran flat out at the second behemoth; it raised its huge shield ponderously but misjudged the Spartan's speed, and he closed the distance with a sideways leap to slam the back of his gauntleted fist into the Hunter's sternum. The alien teetered and staggered back. Maine sighted and put five 9.6mm slugs into its exposed chest, and it went down.

      Lloyd swiftly raised himself and Sophia, announcing, "Up the ramp, people! We don't get off this rock now, we are never getting off! Take point, Sterling!"

      Maine passed her rifle to Hideki, helped Doubet up and the humans regrouped, filing up the side of the building.

      As the massive, bulbous Covenant frigate rose into the thin night sky, a speck of white fire descended to meet it. Ionclad's shields burnt against the atmosphere, retrothrusters controlling her sharp approach. Enemy pulse lasers began searing the air between the ships, further straining Ionclad's defenses, but she held her course and responded with a twin volley of superheavy hypervelocity projectiles that violently tore the frigate's entire starboard midsection apart in a blinding plume of loose plasma and burning metal.

      Ionclad accelerated through the debris and hot vapour. Although the Covenant vessel would no longer attain firing altitude, it was already beginning to loose control and drop, and the area below still faced imminent destruction. Ionclad had bought some time, but still needed to make pickup.

      Lloyd knelt and lowered a half-ton of Spartan from his shoulders. Standing, he commanded, "Secure the perimeter! Motion detectors at maximum range! Pickup will be here any minute!" He activated his suit's static beacon to guide his sister to the site, saying to her softly, "Hear me, Soph? Don't cut it too close."

      "Contact, sir," Maine called presently, peering into the murky sky. Actinic light strobed high above, followed by a lingering flash.

      "Ionclad is inbound, Master Sergeant," Turing reported. "ETA fifty seconds. Assemble at the southern edge and be ready for a hot extraction."

      "Fall back to the el-zee!" The soldiers backed up to the edge of the platform, weapons trained on the tops of the ramps. Ionclad, lit by dazzling running lights, dropped out of the thickening cloud layer. Her antigravity engines' piercing whine and thrum grew louder till she was overhead, then hovering just past the platform, the rear bay opening and the ramp clanging down. They double-timed it up by twos, clambering in, and the platform dropped away while the bay doors began sealing.

      Lloyd paused and asked, "Turing, does Sophia need to be in the cockpit?"

      Whump! - the doors closed.

      "Make her body comfortable till we reach safe distance, sergeant."

      Ionclad's main engines ignited and she picked up speed, arcing up to a vertical escape trajectory. Behind her, the entire alien installation was bathed in a steadily brightening purple-blue glow, before the clouds were sundered by the plummetting, smoking Covenant ship. In another few seconds it impacted, landing cross-wise upon the second, inert frigate. The following brief series of explosions engulfed the base, flattened the entire plain and combined into a languidly rising, shadowy mushroom cloud.

      High above, the echoes of the shockwaves barely jolted Ionclad as she escaped the outermost fringes of Alpha Lyncis III's atmosphere and powered into space.

0504 Hours, August 7, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Project IONCLAD prototype, in Slipstream transit


      As an officer, Paech rated his own cabin, if he so insisted, which he did, despite the already crowded conditions, now exacerbated by a further five extractees. The all-pervading hum of the ship, uninterupted by voices in the crew quarters area, was nevertheless broken as the door to his room slid open, and he cautiously made his way out.

      It appeared that his movements would, as planned, go unnoticed until he turned from his door and saw Lance Corporal Maine turn into the corridor and approach. He strode out without hesitation, merely glancing at the marine in acknowledgement as he rapidly passed her. He kept his mind blank; she would be curious, but find nothing suspicious in his posture.

      Paech made his way up through the ship to the dorsal level, the workshop which contained a small room to one side. Within, he found what he needed: a neural lace diagnotic rig. Making himself comfortable in the contour seat, he powered up the equipment and connected the I/O lines to his lace's dermal interface. A cold tingle of current raced around his skull.

      He tapped the control panel and accessed the implant's root directory, then began checklisting seemingly randomly indexed files - stored information that his own brain could not recognise. He started purging them but almost immediately encountered system errors with the rig's equipment. The connection froze, and he yanked the plugs from the back of his head.

      The rig went into self-diagnostic standby; Paech flung the leads across the dark panel and clenched his teeth in irritation. He would have to wait for the system reset and try again.

      Arcadia Maine lowered her saluting hand and peered breifly at her retreating superior. What could he be doing so late off-shift? she asked herself, before resuming her path and coming to stop before the door of Spartan 002's cabin.

      She knocked. The supersoldiers had their own cabin, but with the shift rotation only one was ever there. This was a good thing, as only one would fit. There was a pause: "Who is there?" was the reply.

      "Maine."

      "It's open."

      Maine slid the door aside and stepped half-way in. Hideki sat upon his bunk, clad only in loose fatigues, with seemingly a hundred thin metal pins all over his left arm from his shoulder down. He was in the process of removing them, rapidly and effortlessly, and putting them into a dish of disinfectant.

      "What are those?" She lowered her eyes, suddenly conscious of her staring.

      "Acupuncture needles," he replied in his level tone.

      "How do they work?"

      "Once inserted in certain nerve junctions a battery in each delivers a sympathetic current through the skin which stimulates regenerative energy flow."

      "And that's helping to fix your arm?"

      He considered his answer. "Yes, however, officially Spartans are invincible, so my arm needs no medical treatment that you know about."

      She could not help but smile, wondering if this was an actual attempt at humour, and she sat down next to the acupuncture equipment. "I've never seen shooting like that. What you pulled off back there."

      As any response would be ineffectual, Hideki silently continued to remove the needles.

      "The way you fight... I mean, Sarge is incredible but he still needs his men, but you can do it all alone!"

      "I was not alone," he replied quietly. With quick but fluid movements he plucked the last few needles out and set them in the dish.

      Maine took the dish, reached over to the rinse basin and dropped it carefully in. She turned back to the Spartan, finally allowing her gaze to travel up the length of his exposed frame. He was slimmer than his armour suggested - slimmer than Lloyd, anyway. His muscles were chiselled and hairless, and his skin was an almost startling pale. She pushed herself closer and reached a hand to his arm; she touched the skin above his elbow where no sign of penetration or bruising was now visible. Her fingers travelled slowly up to his shoulder, where a few pin-pricks of blood beaded almost invisibly. She gripped his solid deltoid and lifted her face, pressing her lips to his. They were cool and hesitant, but offered no resistance.

2103 Hours, February 20, 2518 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex, planet Reach


      "Hey." A whisper in the dark.

      Waking from a hunger-pained doze. "...What?"

      "I'm sorry for knocking you off the rope. I sneaked you some dinner."

      Even cold, the meat and bread made her mouth water. She grabbed at the offered plate eagerly, eating it as fast as she could.

      "Whoa, ease off, turbo!" admonished the boy kneeling beside her bed.

      "...Thanks, Lloyd."


To Be Continued

IONCLAD: Chapter 3
Date: 10 April 2006, 5:59 am

-Halo Ternion-

PREVIOUSLY:
Work was all but complete on a prototype UNSC craft as part of Project IONCLAD in the Gamma Cephei system when the Covenant arrived. With the help of a UNSC cruiser, Sophia-111, Doctor Benner, Turing the A.I. and a skeleton crew repelled the attack and headed for Formalhaut to extract Lloyd-090 and his Helljumper platoon. A hand picked squad then travelled with the Spartans to Covenant-held Alpha Lyncis and backed-up Hideki-002, recovering prisoners and vital information concerning the Covenant's next targets. Having stretched the Ionclad's and their own capabilities, the crew blasted back towards UNSC space and Reach for debrief...

      Unfriendly Fire


0404 hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani system, rings of Epsilon Eridani VIII


      Major Ivy "Snow" White saw the lock indicator of her HUD flash red and thumbed the trigger, sending a pair of machete missiles screaming ahead at the tips of zigzagging vapour-trails and exploding against the iridescent hull of the Seraph fighter. The alien craft burst open and spiralled obliquely away, venting atmosphere and vapour. The Longsword pilot whooped and breathed, "That's two for me!"

      "Bandit three bugging out," radioed White's wingman, Captain Blake "Afterburn" Thompson.

      "Lance three, hook left."

      "Four."

      White noted his fighter's position on proximity scan, manoeuvred to match the Seraph's trajectory and throttled up to full power. The target was accelerating out of Eridani VIII's gravity well, back in system on a bearing towards what remained of the Covenant fleet at Reach; the comm jamming from the Longswords meant escape was the only way the alien could report the humans' position.

      Thompson was still well within range, however. The frequency crackled with his voice: "Lance four, fox three!" and actinic stars of missile exhaust shot ahead, converged on the Seraph and reduced it instantly to a rolling explosion.

      The Major throttled back and switched to the division frequency. "Lance three, return to home plate."

      "Four," Thompson said.

      "Acknowledged, Major," responded the division leader, Colonel David Spoehr. "Come back and get out of sight."

      White's wingman fell into formation, and the Longsword flight accelerated back into the planet's rings. Epsilon Eridani VIII loomed ahead, an enormous dirty yellow crescent of gas giant that filled most of the pilots' view. The rocky material of its rings, some of which were meteoroids larger than their ships, rotated serenely as the pilots picked a course between them. They approached a particularly huge rock, and as it spun languidly, Epsilon Eridani's hard light flowed into a chasm scarring one face of it and illuminated the remains of a UNSC carrier. She was belly-up and missing a nacelle, but closer up light could be seen glimmering from her hull-side windows.

      The Longswords reoriented themselves and angled towards the carrier's aft fighter bay. "Hold up," called Spoehr. "Major, come around to zero mark three-zero. Long-range passive scan has detected a slipspace rupture. See if you can determine how bad the news is."

      "On my way," White said. Her craft dipped and put on a burst of acceleration, clearing the asteroid. Her telemetry systems received the preliminary sensor data, and she configured her deep radar and sent a pulse. After half a minute the echo data began coming in and she had a rough picture of the current state of affairs in the Reach system.

      "Colonel," she radioed.

      "Report, Major."

      "They're leaving, Colonel. The last ship is slipping out now. It looks like we've caught a break. Stand by," she continued, rechecking the most recent scan. "Correction: one frigate remains and is breaking orbit. There's no way they missed that active pulse. If they weren't sure we were out here before, they are now."

      After a minute of gathering telemetry, White sent an update. "They're headed this way, Colonel. ETA: 25 minutes. They don't seem to be alone, either... there's a second echo, though I'm only reading one energy signature at this range."

      "Copy that, Major. I'm scrambling the rest of the division. Intercept and engage."

      "Wilco. Lance Four, copy?"

      "Catching up to you now, Major," replied Thompson. White's wingman throttled back his afterburner and matched acceleration. The swift craft closed the initially vast distance rapidly.

      "Contact," White announced, when the iridescent purple ship became a fast-growing speck in the centre of her HUD. "Lance Three, break right, slow to attack speed."

      "Four."

      "Let's see if we can get their attention."

      The fighters stopped accelerating and broke formation, letting loose their loads of high-yield Caber missiles. The heavy ordinance closed the remaining space in two clusters before point defence pulse lasers started detonating the warheads in one of them. The frigate's shields rippled as what remained blossomed against them, yet they held. White looped back and put her craft into a spin as the lasers began tracking her.

      "Lance Three, new approach, three ten by nought twenty," she ordered.

      "Four."

      They reformed and closed again on their target, veering to their left and accelerating to throw off the point defence. As they streaked past the frigate's lateral lines, the pilots cut main thrust, rotated their Longswords to face the ship and launched a barrage of AGSM-10 missiles coordinated at a single point on the shields. They hit their afterburners and tried to make distance as pyrotechnics raged at the point of impact, leaving the pearlescent hull scorched in spots. There was a blast of static and a flash to White's right: Thompson's fighter had been hit and was now a rolling cloud of debris and combusting fuel. The point defence was compensating.

      White gritted her teeth and growled, throwing her craft into a barely-controlled barrel roll and powering out of range of the frigate. She punched the flight frequency: "Afterburn bought it, where the hell is the cavalry?"

      A burst of flight commands was the response and five more Longswords arrowed in in loose formation, confounding the point defence and targeting the same section of the hull as before. Alien shields scintillated and frayed. Trailing missiles hit hull metal and combusting atmosphere spewed from the point of impact.

      The Major came about and checked her targeting instruments. "They've stopped accelerating," she announced. "Break formation and coordinate fire. Keep them distracted, away from the asteroids, and maybe we'll get lucky. Colonel."

      "Major, go ahead."

      "We need more ordnance, or we're not going to keep them busy for long--"

      Sudden light glared into White's cabin as another fighter craft took a direct hit. White suppressed her mounting desperation and resumed, "Request loaded Pelicans for support fire ASAP, Colonel!"

      "You'll get them." The Colonel sounded worried. White had never heard him sound worried. "Just buy us the time to load the effective armaments, or it won't make any difference in the end."

      "We'll do what we can. Lance Three, surround target. Concentrate fire on engine sections if they attempt to accelerate."

      The fighter wing sounded off and vectored in to attack, but was met immediately by a new pattern of point defence fire. They peeled off, two trailing sparks and debris. One of the damaged Longswords spun out of control and then exploded.

      White radioed urgently, "Lance Three, adjust approach nought eighty by--" she glanced at her scope to get a fix on her wingmen and saw, with dread, a new contact. "New bogey! Bearing two ninety by naught eighty-five! Can somebody get a visual?"

      "It's not Covenant... closing fast. I have weapon readings!"

      Abruptly, the hull of the Covenant frigate buckled and splintered, shields collapsed, and misty blue fire vented as a great gap tore it in half. The new ship rapidly closed the distance and the Longsword pilots got a chance to examine the new FOF information.

      A woman's voice crackled, addressing them. "Sorry to steal your kill, but it looked like you needed a hand. Petty Officer Sophia-111 of Ionclad."

      A pause, then, "This is Major White of the 175th Air Wing, Spoehr's Starlances. Welcome to Hell."

      It was a tight fit. Only one bay of the downed carrier still functioned and what room not needed for the Longsword and Pelican compliments was filled with skeletal vehicles in mid-salvage. Ionclad had been docked after some rearrangement, and the officers led by marine escort from the hangar forward toward the bridge. Much of the way was dimly lit and they did not pass anyone.

      The bulkhead opened for them and the rescued officers and un-armoured Spartans approached a tall, leanly-built marine colonel in the uniform of the UNMC Air Wing, standing above a meagre bridge crew seated at their stations. The room was narrow but long, and looked out on a tilted asteroidal landscape. The officer returned their salutes and said, "At ease. I have to thank you for getting here when you did, that frigate was getting too close for comfort." He unabashedly peered up at the towering Spartans, remarking, "And in such an effective ship! A prototype, I take it?"

      "Sir," Sophia replied, "an advanced prototype superheavy bomber developed to deliver gravomagnetically driven pinpoint ordinance without the vulnerability of slower moving fleet ships. Codenamed: Ionclad."

      "Indeed." Spoehr let himself appear impressed. "I've never seen a Spartan before, either. And now we have three on board... you're just a little late, really."

      Lieutenant Commander Atchison said a little unsurely, "Sir? We need to get to Reach to debrief. What you see here is more successfully retrieved intelligence than we have gathered all year. Our ship's A.I. is carrying information that might change the course of this war."

      "Reach was glassed five days ago," the Colonel told them sadly. After a pause he went on, "the Fleet was annihilated. More Covenant ships than we've ever seen. Our carrier was damaged early on and careened away from the battle--"

      The explanation was interrupted as Hideki drew his side arm and pressed it into the side of Lieutenant Colonel Paech's head as his other hand on the shoulder of the officer forced him to his knees. "Lieutenant Colonel," he said clearly, "you are hereby charged with treason under the Cole Protocol and in the absence of an available Court Martial panel and due to the insecurity of this system, are summarily sentenced to death."

      "What the hell get that away from me somebody get this freak off me!" Paech was screaming at the same time.

      Everyone else was further startled, but Lloyd made to restrain his brother's gun arm. "Hideki, what are you doing?" he asked levelly.

      Hideki gave Lloyd a look like-he-shouldn't-be-telling-him-this, and said, "This officer stored navigational data in his neural lace before the Cole Protocol was enacted on the UNSCS Essex and the ship was boarded at the battle of Solstice. I have evidence of several attempts en route to Reach by this officer to purge the data with equipment I had disabled in anticipation." He did not have to tell everyone present that the data was not retrievable by Paech's own brain. "ONI also has evidence regarding this officer's motives in securing passage out of Epsilon Eridani system, made further suspicious by this most recent attack."

      "Is this true, Paech?" asked Atchison, aghast.

      Instead of answering, Paech appealed to Colonel Spoehr. "Sir! This is paranoid madness! You can't let him do this!"

      Spoehr closed his eyes, valiantly keeping the rapidly unfolding events straight in his head. "I don't relish the idea of watching an execution, treason or not." He addressed Hideki. "Petty officer, on what authority do you take this action?"

      "Sir, Section Three Special Operations standing orders. Field operatives are granted full discretion in this matter."

      Lloyd interjected, "You're saying..."

      "Grey Beret..." mumbled Atchison. "I thought they were just a myth."

      The Colonel considered. "It's true that Reach is no longer secure but that frigate was the last enemy vessel left in this system. Surely a bit of discretion in the urgency of carrying out the Lieutenant Commander's sentence is allowed under such circumstances, despite the fine-print of the Protocol."

      Hideki considered, running through the technicalities in his mind. Then he let go of the officer's shoulder and deftly holstered his M6D. As Paech scrambled to his feet the Spartan said, "Your sentence is repealed pending Court Martial and examination of all evidence, including anything you do and say till that time."

      "Like hell!" bellowed the marine officer, and he turned to the escorts who had led the way to the bridge. "Marines! Detain this man! That's an order!"

      "No, they won't be doing that," the Colonel spoke patiently. "Lim, Stillman, take the Lieutenant Colonel and secure him in a cabin until further notice. We'll look after him for you, Petty Officer. ONI will get their blood."

      As the marines took hold of the protesting officer, a seated crewman announced, "Colonel! Long range has picked up an incoming object. No FOF tag, not under power."

      Spoehr examined the readings. Paech was lead away, and Sophia mumbled to Hideki, "That was a bit dramatic!"

      He replied, "I have my orders."

      "I never figured why he was on the Essex..." Atchison said to himself.

      The Colonel turned back to them. "Good news for the Lieutenant Colonel - it's not a Covenant ship trying to sneak up on us. It's a Covenant something, though, and I think we should check it out before we do anything else. Would you take care of that for us, Master Sergeant?"

      "Gladly, Sir. I'll need a Pelican."

      "Starting approach."

      "Second pass confirms no power. No biosigns."

      Sergeant Lloyd-090 sat with his Helljumpers, all fully suited, in the troop compartment, listening to the pilot's commentary over the open frequency.

      "Engines cold. No wonder we didn't see it till now."

      "Message from control: the extrapolated trajectory hits a decaying orbit around the gas giant."

      "Well how long until that happens?"

      "Don't worry, it's days away. That frigate must have had it under tow and released it before they really started accelerating."

      "I count three round, flat sections, all about the same size. Doesn't look like a warship."

      Lloyd's attention wandered. Doubet, Hutt, Heitz, Sterling and Maine were identical, armoured in shadow with mirrors for faces. The Spartan wondered at the fate of the rest of his platoon, now that Reach had fallen. Had Almagest joined the battle, or was it already at Earth, perhaps already defending humanity's home world? And what about The Chief and the other Spartans? Surely they would have made a difference at Reach...

      He sent a private link to his sniper. "Maine."

      "Sir?"

      "What have you been up to with Hideki?"

      She sighed. "Nothing. He can't. --I mean..."

      Lloyd let her trail off. "Are you good for this?"

      "Yes, sir," she said quickly.

      He cut the connection.

      "I see a hatch. Optimising course."

      "Sergeant, get your squad ready."

      "Aye aye. Doubet, Hutt. Sterling, Heitz. Maine with me. Get a good look at anything strange, and maintain constant contact."

      The soldiers gripped their crash webs, sitting tensely, anticipating. They leaned against deceleration and there was a jarring thud as the Pelican magnetically mated to the Covenant craft. The automated airlock maker sizzled dully within the seal. There was a thud, and then the door-ready light turned green. Lloyd stood, thumped the release and urged, "Move it out!"

      Heitz followed Sterling through the new entry point. They flicked on their weapon-mounted lights, crouching on the other side in the gloom, covering the others and scanning the gloom for threats. The humans entered what seemed to be a small, empty equipment bay. Another room lay beyond an arch, in which two doors were recessed into opposite walls.

      "Doubet, take the right." Lloyd led Maine to the other door and tried the control: it slid aside tiredly. "Emergency batteries," he theorised. They entered as the other four also disappeared. "Seal these doors. Lloyd to Alpha 211. We're inside."

      "We'll stay on station at two hundred metres," confirmed the dropship pilot.

      Behind the door, air whistled out as the makeshift seal was broken and the Pelican departed. Lloyd's suit reported breathable air, but he had no way to know what else might get into his lungs besides the oxygen and nitrogen. He and Maine advanced down a narrow corridor that bent constantly right. There were doors regularly to each side, either locked or ajar in no obvious order, and some of the rooms appeared ransacked. They continued on for some minutes and met a wider, straight corridor intersecting theirs.

      "Anything?" Lloyd radioed.

      "No sir," Sterling reported. "No contacts. Some weird equipment... lots of smashed stuff. There are some rooms that have obviously been cleared out very thoroughly. We're splitting up now."

      "Affirmative. We're heading inwards." The Sergeant and Lance Corporal turned right.

      "I think we have something here."

      They had found a relatively big round room. Dim consoles lined the walls, but it was faintly illuminated.

      "Have a look if you can activate anything," Lloyd told his team mate, and started pressing things. In a minute they had a flickering holographic interface glowing before them. Lloyd tried to make out the scrolling information, then radioed, "Alpha 211, link me to Ionclad."

      "Stand by."

      In a few seconds, Turing's voice. "Sergeant?"

      "I may have access to this ship's computers. Can you download via my armour's systems?"

      "Yes, I see... cracking security... there's a lot of data here, Sergeant. Bandwidth is a problem. I have a direct feed now, but the rate will be low till it peaks at closest approach to this asteroid, then will drop off again."

      "Do your best."

      "Sarge," Doubet called.

      Lloyd switched frequencies. "Report."

      "Looks like we've found something new."

      The marines swung their torchlight through the enormous transparent suspended cylinders, refracting it silently around the room. Hutt peered into one, but saw nothing distinctly. "Ah, it's definitely a lab."

      "But for what?" asked Doubet, rhetorically.

      They spread out, checking around the unfathomable machinery and behind the bases of the cylinders.

      "I don't know what it is, but something about this place is giving me a bad feeling," Hutt mused.

      There was a sudden ping on their motion sensors, and Doubet motioned silence and caution with his fist. They crept forward, clearing the rows of cylinders. From an adjoining room a grotesque pink shape floated into their light, ignoring them completely.

      "Covenant Engineer," Doubet said. "Non-combatant. Let's capture it. Maybe we'll get some answers."

      Hutt made to follow his corporal but was suddenly overcome by a clinging, snarling weight attached to his head. He dimly realised that it was a Grunt as he tried to get a hold on it, while the alien clawed at his armour and weighed him down with its own. One of its nubby digits snagged his helmet release but at that moment he got a hand around its knee and yanked hard.

      "Throw it over there!," cried Doubet, battle rifle already shouldered.

      Hutt flung, and his helmet went with the Grunt. The alien landed in the path of BR55 bursts, which tore it to bits, over-penetrated and blew holes in the cylinder behind. The pressure of the contents whooshed out.

The Engineer screamed and tried to retreat back into its room, but Doubet turned his gun on it and it slumped limply, dripping, bumping into the wall as its still-levitated body lost momentum.

      "Air's so fucking stale," spat Hutt as he was helped to his feet. He gratefully redonned his helmet.

      "You all right?"

      "Yeah. Didn't see him up there."

      Doubet slapped his partner's shoulder. He carefully checked further for hiding spots, and radioed, "We ran into a bit of trouble. Make sure to check for stragglers. At least one got under the bioscan."

      "We're done here," reported Heitz.

      Lloyd said, "Ain't much about this boat Turing won't be able to tell us soon. Regroup at the airlock. Alpha 211, we're coming out."

      Doubet and Hutt returned to the corridor and followed its curve through the gloom. Presently they met the other team.

      "What happened to you?" Heitz asked of Hutt.

      His voice was odd. "Grunt ...jumped me."

      "You OK there?" Sterling asked. "Sound a bit short on breath."

      All the reply he could make was a rasping gurgle before he slumped to the ground.

      "Crap!" Doubet slung his weapon, pointing. "Take his legs."

      He and Sterling lifted the now unconscious marine and continued on at a trot, Heitz taking point and speaking, "Man down. Sarge, Hutt needs medical attention. We're double-timing it to the airlock."

      "Pelican is nearly there," Lloyd responded. They reached the door as the Sergeant was instructing the Pelican pilot, "Just get a rough seal. We don't care about the air in here."

      "All right. Ready."

      Heitz activated the door and the four of them joined Lloyd and Maine in a dash to the Pelican, air whistling around and past them, and out through the cracks around the jagged, impromptu exit. They secured Hutt to the floor, strapped themselves in, and the dropship tore free. Atmosphere blew silently out of the gash, a constant haze. The air evacuated from the troop compartment and then the hatch closed.

      Doubet unstrapped, retrieved a med kit and moved to crack Hutt's armour.

      "Not yet," Lloyd forbade. "He was the only one exposed to the air in there. If that's what's wrong, and there's still some in his suit... He needs isolation first."

      The corporal caught himself before protesting, and instead connected a monitor to Hutt's armour's systems. The data was limited but alarming: blood pressure up, abnormal breathing and EEG awry. He administered a sedative through a septum in the armour. The worrying spikes in the signs levelled out a bit.

      "Welcome back, Sergeant," greeted Spoehr. "How is your man?"

      Lloyd strode in, now seriously towering in his MJOLNIR suit, stomping up to the Colonel, Atchison and Doctor Benner. He saluted. "Thank you, sir. Hutt is being transferred to the sick bay you recommissioned now - thank you for that, too."

      "We'll take care of him, son. Now, Turing was summarising the timeline of our withdrawal from this system. Ionclad's crew still needs debrief, and there's the court martial, so you'll be preparing for departure pretty much as soon as this intelligence is gathered from the alien barge." The officer paced to the doorway. "What's left of my force will come with you, which would normally be impossible considering your craft's life support specs, but there's no point in holding this position now, even if we had adequate power and fuel reserves."

      "Now, how are you going to pull that off, Colonel?" asked Atchison. "It's at least two weeks to Earth. We're double-bunked already. Food stores are low from the ride here. Ionclad cannot possibly take upwards of forty more..."

      "She can," answered Benner. "Not for two weeks, of course, but she can now. At least, it's possible."

      Atchison looked at him doubtfully. Lloyd cocked his helmeted head slightly.

      The doctor continued. "OK. You remember when we picked you up from Formalhaut? Turing got a really thorough look at the dead cruiser off the coast. Including the Covenant slipspace generator. We already knew their drives were faster and more accurate... Well, it took every week of the journey to Reach, and I helped where I could, but Turing has managed to derive a set of second generation Shaw-Fujikawa equations with which we should be able to reconfigure Ionclad's drive, which is advanced as the rest of the ship to begin with. Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

      "Just tell them what you told me, please, Doctor," said Spoehr.

      "Well, we'll get a far smoother slipstream transition and massively increase the translation rate - we have a fifty percent chance of squeezing the trip to Earth into five days and ten percent chance of only a day and a half."

      "Almost every specification will be exceeded," spoke Turing from the nearby panel. "The mechanisms regulating Einstein-to-Shaw-Fujikawa space transition, and then those for the reverse, will be rendered entirely unsalvageable by each operation."

      "We can only do this once," finished Benner.

      Lloyd, ruminating until now, said, "Even by preparing to evacuate immediately, securing this location will take time. The enemy is gone. I request a dropship to make a survey of the intact portions of Reach."

      "Sergeant, the Covenant have had nearly a week to find whatever they wanted on Reach, and to hunt down every last human," Spoehr could not hide the regret in his voice. "We haven't heard a single transmission from the surface since some sort of bizarre orbital friendly-fire occurrence, and that was only a meaningless sequence of tones."

      "What ...did it sound like?"

      The Colonel whistled Olly Olly Oxen Free.

      My brothers... sisters... cried the Spartan's mind. "Sir request search and rescue--!"

      "No, Sergeant. The Battle of Reach is over. Turing, what are the chances of there being any survivors?"

      "Factoring in atmospheric collapse, one point eight percent," he replied, and added, "For a Spartan, three point eight."

      "That's enough for me."

      "Not for me," snapped Spoehr. "I will not divide my forces at such a critical time. We have only one way to get home and that's it."

      "Understood," Lloyd responded stiffly. "You don't want to leave any man behind."

      If the suddenly looming armoured Spartan got the better of the officer's nerves at all, it did not show on his face. "You know your ship's capacity. Go with the Doctor, coordinate with my people and determine what essential equipment we can take with us."

      "Aye, sir." Lloyd turned and left, robot-like.

      The medical team consisted of two marines with some of the necessary training. They wore exposure suits in the sealed, dimly powered ward. Hutt was secured to the examination slab beneath bright lights, stripped of his ODST armour and fatigues. His skin was a pale grey by now, and dry.

      They had barely set up the medical radar when the patient began hacking and gasping. His limbs shook, his eyes, sunken in sickeningly bloodless face, squeezed shut.

      One of the medics moved to intubate, but the other peered at the radar images. "No - look, his lungs are swelling with fluid. Trachaeotomy." They hurriedly incised the marine's throat as he twitched weakly, then fed the wriggling, double-ended tube gingerly down into his lungs. Slimy fluid immediately began oozing out.

      "This isn't atmospheric toxicity," said the second medic. "Something is changing in his lungs. Get a sample of that."

      Hutt's biosigns, erratic and weak since arrival, suddenly faded and mostly flattened save for an irregular pulse. The marines hastily prepared to resuscitate. The first took hold of the defibrillator thumbs, leaned over the patient, then paused. "What in Earth's name is that?"

      The other looked down at the lump that had formed on Hutt's bare chest, beneath the colourless, oddly wrinkling skin. Then it moved.

      Hutt's mouth gaped wide, the jaw joint audibly snapping. His left arm yanked out of the restraint, sloughing skin and twisting as it bent and connected with the closest medic, hurling him into the medical equipment. As Hutt gurgled angrily and struggled with the remaining restraints, the other man whirled, nearly tripped over an instrument trolley, and stumbled towards the hatch. He slapped the emergency alarm and was about to key the door-release when the lights behind were extinguished in a shower of sparks. Something constricted around his neck, he was yanked backwards off of his feet and disappeared into the dark.

      As soon as the klaxon began sounding Lloyd was off sprinting the rest of the distance to Ionclad's hangar. It wasn't the hull-breach alert, but otherwise he had as little idea of what was wrong as anyone else did. It was not his ship, and he was only a non-com: his only responsibility was to be prepared for orders. It was that of his leaders to know what was going on, and hopefully there would be something effective for him to do about it.

      "Attention," came Turing's patient voice over the PA. "An internal general emergency has been called. A fireteam has been dispatched to assess the situation. Stand by."

      "Turing," Lloyd called on the ship freq, "Where was the call from?"

      The cold artificial voice responded after a pause. "The recommissioned sickbay, Sergeant."

      The armoured Spartan concussively pounded up the loading ramp and found his marines in the hold, checking and stowing ordnance. "Unpack all those."

      "What's going on, Top?"

      "How's Hutt?"

      Lloyd stopped at the wall panel and grasped the mechanically-proffered BR55 and a fistful of clips. "I don't know. We'll find out soon," he said by way of answer to both queries. "Saddle back up, people. I have a bad feeling about this."

      "Is there further information about sickbay, Turing?" Lloyd led his squad fore. They stepped lightly, listening, but not yet on alert.

      "No visuals available," the A.I. spoke into his ear. "There is insufficient power to direct to anything but internal gravity. Fireteam Alpha reported movement outside sickbay and are pursuing in the direction of Beta, who are a bulkhead aft of the brig."

      "Patch me through to Alpha leader," Lloyd requested.

      "This is Snow," came a woman's voice.

      "Major, can you give me the condition of the patient recently brought to your location?"

      "I'd love to, Sergeant, but we've seen two mutilated corpses and not much else. We think he ran off. Something's definitely wrong, judging by the mess in here -- stand by."

      "Breslow! Groves!" Major White shouted in irritation into her radio. "Report now, damn it. I swear they're gonna get HE enemas if they don't otherwise get their arses in gear," she added to the corporal standing opposite. In the gloom, he shrugged.

      "Snow," called Lieutenant Jeppesen, "confirm position, sir. We heard gunfire."

      "I sent half my team towards you. Do you see them?"

      "We're on our way. Stand by... Oh shit... What did you say the bodies in sick bay looked like?.. What the hell could do this?"

      "Report, Lieutenant!"

      "Breslow and Groves are dead, sir, and also..." the officer gagged on his next words.

      "...Whatever did it, I think they were following it--" White's conclusion was interrupted by automatic fire spitting over the radio link.

      The Major called repeatedly for Fireteam Beta's status. "We need back-up," a marine's voice pleaded in a whisper, after a few moments. "I can't see it. The others aren't moving. Oh god I don't want to die like that!"

      "Stay calm, Private. We'll be there soon," said White, leading the way at a run.

      The marine suddenly screamed over the link, punctuated with rifle bursts. "NOOO! KEEP THE HELL AWAY FROM ME DIE JUST FUCKING DIE!!"

      "Private? Private! Fuck!"

      "Major what the hell is going on?" radioed Spoehr, urgently.

      "We have one or more intruders proceeding rapidly towards the bow. I... don't think it's Covenant, sir. Judging by the mess... my men..." White and her corporal stepped into pooling blood and, squinting, made out the slumped, faintly glistening bodies in the dimness.

      Whatever it was, it was gone, but for a long moment White could not speak.

      A bump against the door roused Lieutenant Commander Joel Paech from his vengeful musings. Only emergency lights cut through the darkness of the makeshift brig, and he peered at the hatch.

      "Who is it?" he barked.

      There was a louder bump, and a scraping by way of response. Then the mechanism clunked.

      The officer stood and walked over uncertainly. "What's going on now? Is this some sort of practical joke? I have to say that this outfit's discipline is severely lacking and don't you think that the brass won't hear about it!" After a further few silent moments, he tentatively tapped the release.

      The door slid aside. Darkness.

      He growled into it, "Whatever surprise you've planned, I'm ready for it!"

      Something hideous, distorted and hungry appeared and swept him back into the room, and the officer barely had time left to be surprised in spite of himself.

      "Sergeant," Colonel Spoehr radioed.

      "Awaiting orders, sir."

      "We have one or more hostiles heading through the unpowered starboard side. Our marines were overwhelmed. Can you intercept before they breach the central bulkhead and get to the bridge?"

      "We're in the tunnel now." Lloyd stopped at a sealed hatch leading off of the main, well-lit corridor, signalling his team to wait till it opened. "Unseal hatch 9C and I'll get into position."

      It parted and he led the ODSTs inside, rifle shouldered lightly and finger keen on the trigger. "Disperse and monitor junctions," the Master Sergeant instructed quietly. "They'll have to come through here to get to the bridge, or double back and force another hatch. Let's make it difficult for them."

      The marines separated and each found an intersection or corner in the tunnel to kneel and aim from, also keeping line-of-site to at least one of their comrades. Their flashlights stabbed into the darkness. Lloyd peered into the gloom, straining his Spartan senses.

      A man shrieked and was cut short nearby. The Spartan glanced sidelong at Maine crouched in the next junction. "Do we have any idea what's coming?" wondered Heitz. "Are we sure it's not Covenant?"

      Lloyd answered, soto voce, "All we know is it's fast and damn dangerous. Don't let your guards down."

      No sooner had he offered this advice than Doubet barked, "There!" Battle rifle fire echoed hammeringly from the next corridor. "Top, Maine," he continued, "it's coming your way!"

      The Spartan glanced at his motion detector. "Hold fire - I'm getting a yellow FOF--"

      A shadow rolled out of the gloom and Lloyd was abruptly bowled over from the side, his MJOLNIR shields sparking violently. Faster than he could react, the dark shape pinned him down, gurgling menacingly above him.

      "Sarge!" Maine shouted and swept her light on his position. The thing looked up with a hollow growl.

      "Shoot!" urged the struggling Spartan.

      Tracer rounds stabbed at the creature and the other Helljumpers advanced up the tunnel in the strobe of muzzle flash. The bullets tore cleanly through its flesh, punching holes in the wall behind and spraying fluid and shreds. It howled and raised its arms/tentacles, then dashed down the corridor Lloyd had tried to guard.

      Doubet trotted up as the Master Sergeant hauled his half-tonne frame to its feet. "Didn't even slow it down. Do we pursue?"

      "Negative." The jarring force of that blow was still fresh in Lloyd's mind. "If it turns around, it will kill you."

      "Hutt!" Maine abruptly gasped.

      "Where!?"

      She still had her rifle shouldered. It was shaking in her hands. "It was Hutt! I saw his face. He looked right at me! Oh god, what happened to him!?"

      The other marines were about to argue but Lloyd barked at them. "I think she's right - see?" He kicked at some tatters of stained UNMC fatigues.

      "Doesn't look like blood," muttered Doubet, peering doubtfully at the material. "More like ...ichor."

      Lloyd suddenly motioned for silence. He borrowed Maine's rifle, chose Heitz and Sterling and led them down the corridor with one eye on the blips on his motion indicator. At the corner, he counted down with his fingers then wheeled around the bend, ready to co-ordinate fire with his marines, not entirely ready to face more of whatever had already gotten past them.

      "Friendlies!" shouted Major White. She and her corporal unshouldered their weapons and walked into the light cast by the Helljumpers' torches, reflected upon their faceplates.

      Lloyd turned to her. "Major, is their any sign of Private Hutt?"

      "I'm sorry, Sergeant, his is the only body we haven't found."

      "I don't think he's dead," he replied, "not quite... All right, this area's secure. We need to reach the bridge. Colonel, secure the forward bulkhead--"

      "It's here," came his horrified voice.

      Something that once was human limped into the bridge. In the full light the ravages of whatever had taken Hutt were plain to see: his grey face hung slack on the skull, hair sloughing and skin tearing, eyes long-since dissolved. His neck was skewed if not broken. One arm, still in the tatters of his uniform clung to a rifle; the other was an unrecognisable tangle of dragging tentacles. Something vaguely fungoid was perched upon his chest, knitted at the edges into his dried, stretched skin. His legs looked hardened and bony, stained fatigues crusted to the skin, most of his feet had worn away leaving weeping stumps.

      The remaining command and technical officers left on the bridge stared in utter horror. Spoehr's trembling hand clawed its way to his holster and he drew his M6C pistol. "...Fire. Everyone! Fire!"

      Master Sergeant, I have crucial information translated and collated from the data aboard the Covenant hulk. Please listen without interruption so that you can act upon it as early as possible.

      There is an organism known to the Covenant, referred to quasi-poetically as the 'Flood'. It is a virulent parasite that can adapt to virtually any animal as a host. Additionally, it can and will exploit any host's memories and knowledge to facilitate infection of further hosts. Its single motivation is a hunger for hosts that cannot be satiated.

      A cacophony rang from the bridge as every armed man and woman unloaded their weapons into the creature that blocked the exit. Bullets whipped through its decaying flesh, randomly dislodging putrid chunks. The Colonel squinted down his sights and fired a round at the lolling skull. It exploded obliquely, loosing an ooze of liquefied brain matter and leaving Hutt without even a semblance of a human face, yet still it stood.

      The abandoned ship was a research vessel. The majority of the Covenant want nothing to do with the Flood under any circumstances but a few commanders who had access to samples ordered genetic research into increasing the rate and severity of infection in humans. They tested their results on survivors found on Reach and observed an explosively short incubation time. Their modified spores no longer needed an infection vector, eventually consuming vectors and hosts alike. At the end of their tests they had a dangerous excess of material and several close calls with containment. The hulk was powered down and abandoned, with the intention of scuttling it into the gas giant.

      The final bullet was fired. The thing stood, swaying, ichor oozing from its wounds and gurgling ominously. It pivoted and with its remaining tentacles, flayed at the door controls, which sparked as the bulkhead sealed. Spoehr caught only a glimpse of Lloyd and his Helljumpers vainly running up the corridor beyond.

      The commanders took a carefully stored cache of spores with them when they departed Reach. They are operating unilaterally, without the knowledge of their superiors. No clear plans have been left in the Covenant craft's computers, but you don't need to be a ship's A.I. to guess their destination.

      As it advanced on the wide-eyed officers, it swelled. Already, very little of its tentacles remained, and indeed all human features were subsumed by the rapidly bulging, sack-like skin that now balanced upon the stumpy, shuffling legs. Within a minute the weeping, rubbery skin had stretched to an alarming thinness, brown-black filamentous veins snaking all over and pallid shapes wriggling inside. The humans backed away and tried to put the bridge's chairs and consoles between them and it. Some lost their nerves all together and cried for help.

      The organism teetered and finally fell off of its feet, inflating madly before bursting loudly. In a cloud of brown mist a swarm of melon-sized, buoyant sacks oriented themselves, alighted on the nearest surfaces then scuttled forward on their tentacles.

      Colonel Spoehr stood in front of the others, watching the creatures close in and feeling the hopelessness of the situation take a grip on his guts. The leading sack-thing leaped into the air and reach for him with its clutching feelers, so he swung the butt of his pistol into it. It popped into flesh shreds and vapour, but there were many more which followed all too quickly, and he yelped as the next took hold of him. His scream was joined in chorus as the other humans were attacked and infected.

      Master Sergeant, you must take everyone else and leave immediately before there is a risk of carrying this organism aboard Ionclad. There is no way an outbreak of the Flood could be contained on Earth. Orbital bombardment would be mercifully preferable. If the Flood cannot be intercepted and destroyed, humanity is doomed.

      "Are you absolutely sure this is necessary?" asked Sophia. She was reclined in her pilot's couch, interfaced with Ionclad in her MJOLNIR undersuit. Lloyd and Doctor Benner were with her on the bridge, and Turing's disembodied voice answered her.

      "Everything still alive is now infected and driven by the Flood's single impulse to feed. Its parasitism is deceptive: there are records of vessels being repaired by the Flood to aid their spread. The carrier must be completely destroyed to leave no risk."

      Ionclad adjusted yaw and pitch, holding several kilometres out and relative to the asteroid base. It had been a mad dash back to the ship, and a rushed launch. Hangar door control had been overridden as Sophia coasted her out, forcing her to punch the main engines or else lose the wingtips.

      Of the dozens of survivors who had held out in Epsilon Eridani VIII's rings, one pilot and three non-coms had been recovered. There would be no formal trial for Lieutenant Colonel Paech, no debrief for Atchison, and Spoehr's leadership in the face of such adversity as Reach had endured would have to be told of by his few remaining troops.

      "Solution calculated, Pretty Officer," spoke the A.I. "Fire when ready."

      The Spartan frowned, clenched her teeth and depressed the trigger. Super hot, super-accelerated alloy shells speared down into the crumpled vessel and blossomed, engulfing it and igniting the venting gases.

      "My god!" she cried, spying a craft outrunning the explosion. "A Longsword - survivors! Petty Officer Spartan-111 to Longsword, please come in."

      There was neither answer or acknowledgement. Turing said, "It's Flood. They will try to board us. Fire on them now."

      Sophia shut off the interface and disconnected, sitting up angrily. "Those beasts? It's a damned disease! How could they fly anything? Lloyd!"

      The Master Sergeant looked uncertain. "We should at least wait for a physical signal - maybe their comm system is damaged."

      "What the--" Benner exclaimed, squinting at a tactical display. "We have weapons lock? Archer missiles firing!"

      The ordinance zipped away on ghostly exhaust plumes. The humans watched the unsteadily-piloted Longsword expand into bright mist.

      "Turing!" Sophia nearly screamed. "They might have been people!"

      The starfield wheeled past the bridge canopy and Ionclad's superstructure thrummed with the accelerating engines. The light from the stars expanded steadily until they all merged in a glaring flash, then dimmed into the colourless uniformity of Slipspace.

      "Jump complete," the construct reported levelly, "Shaw-Fujikawa generators are offline as predicted. The new parameters are functioning within tolerances. We are on course for Earth at maximum speed."

      Benner caught each Spartans' eye and nodded towards the door. They left the bridge and walked back to Benner's bunk. He showed them in and closed the hatch.

      The doctor looked down at his feet then up at the soldiers. "I'm afraid that Turing may be entering the early stages of malfunction. Since he recovered the data on this Flood, his behaviour has increasingly deviated from nominal. He made no attempt to safeguard Colonel Spoehr and the other officers..." He looked at Lloyd. "Insisted that you make no attempt at searching for further survivors. He cut off communication with the carrier and wanted it destroyed without delay, then assumed weapons control and fired on a fleeing fighter craft. He has not misled us, that we know about, so we'll have to assume we're headed for Earth..."

      "It's more the abrupt disregard for individuals that is worrying," Lloyd said.

      "Exactly. And I don't know what he might do if he suspects our concerns."

      "Is that likely?" asked Sophia.

      "Of course it is. These constructs are smart."

      Turing was worried. Worried that the humans did not comprehend what the Flood was, what it meant. They were not worried enough. Lloyd he could count on, when the time came. The demonstration on the carrier's bridge had been enough to get the Spartan thinking. The others...

      He could not blame them. This new threat was vast and purely instinctual. They were used to fighting an organised, intelligent enemy, with tactics and manoeuvres.

      Turing was worried. For over two months he had been operating far beyond his specifications as a computational maths A.I. Some of his programming was developing heuristic aberrations. Maybe there would be time during the journey to run some diagnostics, in between the outbreak simulations...


To be continued...

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