Halo: Defiance

By Alexander Furman

April 2539. It has been more than a decade since the beginning of the Covenant War that has seen billions dead and colonies falling like dominoes. Humanity is spread thin and running out of time. The Office of Naval Intelligence and their Prowler Corps, a collective of secretive stealth ships, have found the ruthless Fleet of Particular Justice and their next likely target, a planet called Boundary--a rare stroke of luck for the battered United Nations Space Command.

With little time to prepare or plan, task force commander Captain Alastair Fulton and his small fleet have been dispatched to meet the Covenant head-on. With the help of the hastily formed Teal Team--Arthur-079, Solomon-069, Sheila-065, and Cal-141--Captain Fulton and his crew must meet their foe head-on to buy time the citizens of Boundary so desperately need to evacuate. An unlikely group of militia and political figures come together with the brave men and women of Task Force Lima to defy the Covenant in what they so desperately seek: the utter annihilation of humanity. Boundary's spirit is tough, but will it be enough?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887315478

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

About the Author

cover.jpg

Halo: Defiance

Alexander Furman

Copyright © 2023 Alexander Furman

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

The following story is a work of fiction and is not intended to infringe upon any rights or trademarks of the Halo franchise. The author does not claim ownership of any characters, settings, or plot elements from the Halo universe. All such elements are the property of their respective owners and are used here for creative purposes only.

ISBN 979-8-88731-546-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88982-154-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88731-547-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Historian's note

This story takes place in April of 2539, two years after the successful deployment and subsequent destabilization of the asteroid known as K7-49, which saw the Pyrrhic victory of Spartan-III Alpha Company as they stopped the vital production of enemy war materials on the edge of human-controlled space.

Chapter 1

0217 hours, April 12, 2539 (military calendar) \ Slipstream Space en route to Metrome System \ aboard UNSC Punic-Class supercarrier Nepheris

Arthur-079 made his way to the bridge of the UNSC Punic-Class supercarrier Nepheris , unsure of where the day would take him. Just twenty-four hours ago, Arthur was reassigned from search-and-rescue operations with his longtime squadmate and, for all intents and purposes, his brother, Solomon-069. The Spartan, donning his standard Naval working uniform consisting of a smart khaki uniform and close-cropped blond haircut, looked more like a walking tank than a sailor that belonged as part of the complement on this impressive ship of the line.

Being the apex of scientific and military technology, the super soldiers known simply as Spartans were genetically disposed from birth to be the best. The men and women of the Spartan-II program were engineered from childhood to be better, faster, stronger, and smarter than any other humans in the history of mankind. He often reflected on the path Dr. Halsey's program had taken him and his squad. His earliest childhood memories were those running around the crowded streets of a backwater planet named Herschel. He had glimpses from time to time of exploring the market square with his father or visiting his grandparents in the outskirts of the city. It was a humble apartment, lush with flora native to the world, and always smelled sweet. A stark contrast of where he was today. The telltale flutter in his stomach signaled the end of the elevator's trip up to the command deck, and he stepped out, his shoes ringing out into the empty corridor of the sterile environment. Two sentries flanked the bulkhead beyond, signifying that he was in the correct location.

He approached two Marines, each wearing light utilities with MA5B bullpup assault rifles. It was a standard issue for Marines across the United Nations Space Command. As he approached, their stoic expressions cracked for the briefest of moments as he came to a stop. Arthur, like his squadmates in the Spartan-II program, stood well over two meters tall, even without his powered assault armor. One Marine craned his head and cleared his throat.

Sierra-079 requesting permission to enter the bridge, Corporal, he said crisply. He began to reach into a breast pocket to produce his identification when the soldier lowered his chin, an indication he was conversing with somebody inside the bridge beyond.

You're clear to enter, sir.

No sooner had the sentry finished his statement than two hulking bulkhead doors clicked open to reveal yet another corridor fixed with holographic projections flanking his path. On his left stood the Roman commander Scipio Aemilianus, a hero from the brutal Punic Wars millennia ago. On his right, the embossed bronze nameplate read Diogenes of Carthage. Both were brilliant tacticians in their own right, with the Roman legionnaire recovering from an embarrassing defeat early in the war but returned for his retribution at the battle of Nepheris. It's an appropriate allegory for what humanity was experiencing now, almost three thousand years later. Arthur was always a fan of history, gleaning wisdom from the triumphs and failures of leaders' and pariahs' past. As interested as all Spartans were with combat tactics, astronavigation, or the art of war, for some reason, history had always piqued his interest.

He brushed the top of his sandy blond hair and exhaled, reflecting on his own history. It had been a long time since he saw his father or grandparents, and he sometimes wondered where life took them. At first, he resented Dr. Halsey, his drill instructions, and most of all, Senior Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez. A man of modest build, hair tinged with seasons of gray to accompany his tanned skin, he was as tough as nails and sly as a fox. But over time, he came to admire the man and became proud of what he had accomplished. Over the years of training and a war on two fronts, he was glad to have instructors as hard-core as Chief Mendez and his cadre. Now Arthur-079 was about to embark on a new mission. One that he had done time and again in face of insurmountable odds: intercept the alien conglomeration known simply as the Covenant and buy the citizens of a new planet enough time to evacuate.

He raised a hand at chest level to a palm reader and raised his gaze two meters off the deck. A microfine needle protruded from the device and obtained a blood sample with the retinal scanner passing crisscrossed over his cornea to verify his authenticity. Seemingly satisfied, a subtle click of the pressured bulkhead revealed a cool deck of bridge officers busy at their stations.

Permission to enter the bridge, sir, Arthur requested and hung at the threshold of the bridge. He snapped to attention and produced a crisp salute.

Granted, at ease, son. Come to the main display, responded Captain Alastair, a relaxed but formal British nod in his voice. An older gentleman, the captain of the supercarrier they occupied was a tall and slender man, standing almost two meters in height with silver-streaked, close-cut brunette hair. He sported a clean-shaven face and a piercing gaze that could cut through Titanium-A battle plate. Educated on Earth and accelerated through Luna Officer Candidate School, Captain Fulton spoke in a subtle posh accent, speaking to his professionalism and by the book attitude of leading his crew.

The captain and a select few bridge officers were studying the table before them. Displays projected atmospheric readings, telemetry readouts, probe scan data, and a myriad of other things that only the trained bridge officers could read. One sensor operator was conversing with an avatar in hushed tones across the bridge.

It had been over a decade since Arthur had graduated his accelerated Spartan training on Reach at the age of fourteen. He quickly recalled his lessons in astronavigation, planetary physics, and other essential courses pertaining to spacefaring Naval protocol by the Spartan's teacher, Déja. A dumb AI by the scientific community's standard of artificial intelligence, she had been Dr. Halsey's assistant and chief academic instructor during his time on Reach.

You're even bigger than the rumors, Fulton said and appraised the looming square-jawed man standing before him. The holovids from Harvest didn't do you guys justice, did they? Fulton mused, referring to the very cryptic and top-secret Office of Naval Intelligence battlefield footage distributed from Admiral Cole and his Battle Group X-ray during the struggle to retake Harvest from 2526 to 2531. I was one of the lucky ones to make it out of that campaign in one piece. The man glanced at the deck and frowned before returning his attention to the preliminary intelligence set forth.

Arthur had a dozen questions racing through his mind and made his way to the holodeck, an image of a lustrous planet blown up on the tactical display. Every monitor surrounding the exaggerated detail of the planet was focused on different readouts. Everything ranging from available government schematics to planetary topography, climate pattern forecasts, and even the celestial astronavigation data was shown. An ensign in the corner began running calculations on the planet's relative velocity based on the elliptical orbit of its nearby satellite.

I wouldn't know, sir, but wait until it's time to insert. With our combat suits on, we're a few inches taller yet.

Petty Officer First Class Arthur-079 had always been one of the most quick-witted of his Spartan brothers and sisters. He enjoyed cheering up his fellow Spartans with banter to fill the time or defuse a dire situation, but things were different for this operation. Before their transitional jump through the multidimensional tear in space, know colloquially as Slipspace, he was informed by the ship's captain that he would be leading a team of Spartans for his next assignment. He needed to remind himself that he's now a direct representative for the highly classified Spartan-II project and had to be mindful of his interactions. He'd become so accustomed to being a part of other teams that he wasn't used to being a part of mission briefings on the command deck anymore. Since he and Solomon had begun operations against both the insurrectionists in the Outer Colonies and the Covenant in tandem, he had grown familiar to working under the charismatic leadership of Spartans like Kurt-051, Joshua-029, and in a few instances, a few overly confident ODST commanders.

I don't doubt it, son. Fulton nodded thoughtfully. Here's the situation. Three days ago, transitional space remote Slipspace probes returned from the edge of the Metrome System near Battle Group X-ray's position. Admiral Cole and his intelligence corps estimate with 79 percent confidence that one of our breadbasket worlds, Boundary, will be discovered and attacked by the Covenant.

Fulton took a moment to walk around his command deck, outlining the projected path of a ruthless covenant leader and his fleet of warships now known as the Fleet of Particular Justice.

"With the latest translation software patches coming via Waypoint Slipspace buoys, the Nepheris and the rest of its parent fleet, Battle Group X-ray, were able to translate an intercepted transmission during the pyrrhic victory at a Covenant materials refinery at an asteroid deemed K7-49 in July of 2537.

"With this in mind, Admiral Cole has deemed the evacuation of Boundary a vital necessity to protect and assist. Unfortunately, not vital enough that it warrants the entire battle group to mobilize. Thus, Task Force Lima was established and immediately dispatched. I know this is pretty sudden, so I apologize for the quick pickup."

The edges of Arthur's eyes crinkled with a subtle grin because he was itching to get back to it. In his most recent deployment with Solomon, they had both been wounded severely enough that it warranted some R&R at a hospital ship for several weeks. During a similar campaign conducting search-and-rescue operations on yet another backwater planet, he and Solomon had run into more than just your run-of-the-mill Covenant warriors. Arthur, going back to secure the departure of a cargo truck of civilians, was strafed by a Jiralhanae charging his flank while he was dispatching a group of Jackals.

Jiralhanae, or colloquially known as a Brute to UNSC personnel who have faced them, were bipedal simians nearly three meters tall and weighed over five hundred kilograms. Most of the shots from the combatant's Type-25 spike rifle glanced off his breast plating and left-shoulder pauldron, but two lucky superheated rounds managed to embed themselves under a soft spot in his armor's shell where the nanolaminate carbon-composite weave was vulnerable. The resulting pressure of the seal breach, coupled with the impressive temperature of each round fired from the weapon, caused his hydrostatic gel to reach critical temperature levels and scorch his flesh through the tech suit underlayer.

To add insult to injury, the spikes embedded themselves in the tech suit, nearly puncturing one of his lungs, cracking two ribs, and causing third-degree burns on a small percentage of his torso. Solomon, thankfully, was standing by to support on a nearby Pelican drop ship, providing overwatch for the civilian convoy below. In the prolonged withdrawal toward a safe zone established by local militia, Solomon's Pelican valiantly held off several Banshee attack craft until an untimely barrage of plasma knocked his bird out of the sky.

As fate (or luck, depending on who asked him) would have it, Solomon's craft landed belly down into a meadow of scorched earth. As Arthur and the rest of his platoon of local militia soldiers struggled to reach the site, Solomon emerged, battered and uneasy but still standing. After managing to secure his favorite weapon of choice when it came to ground-to-ground engagements, the M41 SPNKr rocket launcher, he was able to quickly dispatch two of the three pursuing craft before being picked up by Arthur and the convoy. Upon return to their temporary operating base, it was discovered that he had suffered a subdural hematoma, a half-melted shoulder pauldron causing third-degree burns, and had nearly nicked his carotid artery in the process. Now back together on their next assignment, he was standing by in their temporary birthing aboard the city-sized supercarrier.

Upon returning to full duty status just a few days ago, Arthur had received a communiqué from ONI Section Three with a new assignment to lead a new team of Spartan commandos. The fragmentary order was received from none other than the Spartan's long-standing squad leader and friend, John-117; it was brief but clear. He would be reassigned to a new task force and would assume the role of Teal One, squad leader of the newly formed Teal Team. He recounted the message received from John and let it play in his mind once again.

///Transmission reroute UNSC ship reg-95266 via Battle Group X-ray///

Encryption Code: Bravo

Public Key: N/A

From: Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117

To: Petty Officer First Class Sierra-079

Subject: Deployment Fragmentary Order

Classification: Top Secret, code word Mitis

XXXX Top Secret (Section Three X-ray Directive) XXXX

Effective immediately, you are to attach to the UNSC Nepheris and assist with the planetary defense of UEG colony world Boundary. Secondary objective is to assist in the delay and denial of friendly assets to hostile forces, including civilians, designating Spartan-079 as Teal One. Sounds like highcom also has a surprise for you. More to follow. Good hunting, Spartan.

/End File/

/Scramble-Destruction Process Enable/

Press enter to continue

Arthur continued to study the world in front of him and leaned forward to rest his hands on the metal girder securing the podium in place. A lush planet with hundreds and thousands of kilometers of cereal crops and other popular staples that fed several other worlds lined up in rows below. Boundary was known for its high yields and prosperity due to its residual atmospheric composition. Several decades ago, Boundary was experiencing a runaway greenhouse effect. Its toxic mixture of carbon dioxide, methane, and oxygen made its soil fertile over the millennia at the cost of a breathable atmosphere. When the UEG began colonization efforts in 2419, the colonists were forced to develop a tunnel network system while their terraforming efforts scrubbed the air of methane and reduced carbon dioxide emissions.

Arthur pushed off the metal girder and looked at Captain Fulton.

Not an issue, sir. Spartan are always ready. So how do Sierra-069 and I fit into all of this? The fragmentary order from fleetcom was pretty cryptic, Arthur said, genuinely curious why such a hasty assemblage of a new force was created with almost no time to prepare.

Ah, I'm glad you asked, Petty Officer. Due to the extremely short timeline, Task Force Lima won't be able to conduct much in the ways of forward reconnaissance, patrols, or electronic warfare on this mission, Fulton stated. "So we've acquiesced you and your partner, as well as Spartans Sheila-065, Cal-141, and a dedicated platoon of ODSTs to assist in your efforts groundside while the Nepheris and our modest fleet attempt to destroy the enemy in space to buy you time from the inevitable invasion. The ODSTs are vacuum-rated and space assault-qualified as I'm told. If things go sideways in a hurry, might be a good asset to leverage."

Sierra-069 and 141 are here, sir? Arthur asked expectantly. He didn't like being kept in the dark when it came to fellow Spartans joining a mission. There were so few of his comrades left. At its inception, the Spartan program had seventy-five candidates, and after several years of intense training and their augmentation process, they numbered in thirties. Now after so many years of tackling both the Covenant and the internal threat posed by the insurrectionist movement, he had no idea how many were left. Every reunion was a welcome one, and now he had the chance to ensure they all came back home safe.

He began again, I assume they'll be joining me on the planet then, sir?

Correct. Captain Fulton reached into his crisp service uniform and pulled out a thumb-sized data crystal. Here, take this back to your quarters. The rest of the regular pomp and circumstance will have to wait. Please excuse me, I need to finish some final planning with my bridge officers. In the time being, prep your team. You have twenty-four hours until we reach the Metrome System. Dismissed.

Aye, sir. Not wanting to question orders, Arthur promptly secured the data crystal, snapped off another smart salute, and about-faced toward the crew quarters.

As Arthur wandered back to his temporary quarters, he pulled the data crystal out of his utility pocket. He began to thumb it over and again between his index finger and thumb, pondering what could be so sensitive that the captain didn't feel comfortable viewing it in front of his staff.

Best get back to Solomon and tell him the good news, Arthur thought to himself. Knowing better than anyone how resourceful and restless Spartans were, he was confident that his comrade had already pieced together much of what Captain Fulton had told him. But, as always, it was best to confirm your intel when able.

He placed the data crystal back in his pocket, careful to mind the myriad of sailors hurrying up and down the passageways, occasionally jogging past him, spouting orders, or simply blocking the way with a sidelong glance. It's not every day a Spartan is out of his armor, let alone wandering the decks of a UNSC supercarrier, but here he was. Even without his powered assault armor, Arthur stood well over two meters. It led to a lot of odd looks with a mixture of awe, suspicion, and caution.

After several wrong turns and a few pesky interruptions from the shipboard smart AI Aretes, Arthur managed to find his shared temporary quarters. Even before the hatch finished opening, Solomon was standing impatiently at his rack, waiting for his partner's arrival.

Well? Solomon stood from the workbench he was slouched over just a moment ago. Back to work then, team leader? He chuckled as he set down a piece of unidentified material, presumably an explosive of some sort. He had a pension for that sort of thing ever since they were children.

I figured you'd stuck your sticky fingers in places they didn't belong, Arthur replied, confirming his suspicions with a smirk. But yes, time to stretch out that shoulder of yours and get back to work. He chose to needle him a little, if anything, to keep his mind at ease and getting a good jab in to boot.

Arthur, like the rest of the Spartans, didn't show much in the way of affection or conversation, so the sentiment had not gone unnoticed. If he was to lead this new team, especially on such short notice, he'd need everyone at 100 percent.

Ha ha. Solomon laughed dryly and rolled his shoulder, silently swallowing a wince. The wound from the Banshee's twin plasma turrets hadn't quite healed up all the way, but the nanolaminate carbon weave inserted into and around his shoulder's ball joint assisted his already impressive healing rate as a consequence of their augmentations. Wounds that would take a Marine out of the fight for days or weeks only took Solomon and his compatriots' mere hours or days to do the same.

At the tender age of fourteen, Arthur, Solomon, and the rest of the candidates of the Spartan-II program underwent a series of chemical and biomechanical augmentations. Their already pristine genetic predispositions were further enhanced as a result, making those who survived the grueling procedures more advanced than any other human living or dead.

They were groomed by the infamous Dr. Catherine Halsey and her team to fight the growing insurrection in the Outer Colonies initially. However, their advanced training and offensive operations against the insurrectionist movement were quickly curtailed by the discovery of a genocidal alien race over ten years ago. Since that time, Arthur, his team, and the collection of Earth-controlled colony worlds known as the United Earth Government had tirelessly fought the alien behemoth nearly nonstop. Witnessing world after world devastated by plasma bombardment or entire fleets of ships turned to molten slag would break the mind of weaker men but not the Spartans. With minds as sharp and tough as their altered bodies, the new leader of Teal Team did not balk at the specter of yet another planet in the Covenant's sights.

While Solomon was putting his kit away, Arthur moved over to the shipboard comm station, which was integrated into a series of displays mounted on their makeshift quarters.

Here's the next surprise, Arthur said as he keyed in his credentials. As he did, an interface displayed in front of them, complete with a current roster of personnel aboard the Nepheris, her sister ships, and her attachments. As he scrolled through the data, his neural interface, standard issue for not only Spartans but all Naval personnel throughout the fleet, was triggered. The simple action of a thought brought up the desired data: a narrowed list of one ODST platoon, as well as two code names highlighted in a cool blue.

Well, well, well. Solomon grinned. "Getting part of the band back together, huh?" He moved over to the display with Arthur, once again fiddling with what could only be an obscure weapon's part or explosive's component.

Pity, looks like they're not scheduled to arrive until our next Slipspace junction. I was hoping to catch up before our deployment, it's been a few years.

Solomon was referring to the intermittent stops most UNSC vessels typically took for efficiency of movement around deep gravity wells. These stops had another more important function, however. Admiral Cole, the de facto hero of the UNSC's efforts to thwart the Covenant, had submitted to the Office of Naval Intelligence a proposed set of laws back in 2535 which outlined the necessity for strategic Slipspace jumps from all vessels, both of war and otherwise, so the Covenant could not ascertain the location of Earth or any other major settlement.

Unfortunate, but we've got plenty to keep us busy in the meantime, Arthur said. That'll give us some time to go over the topographic analysis and preliminary reconnaissance from the local militia and get acquainted with our new platoon commander. Looks like we're getting paired up with First Lieutenant Connor Green of the Second Shock Troops Battalion. Arthur trailed off for a few seconds to read through the young officer's service record. Seems the admiral was kind enough to lend us a space assault platoon. A nice change of pace from what we normally have to work with.

All right! Solomon grinned with excitement. Looks like the big man is throwing me a bone for a change. I think the lieutenant and I will get along just fine.

Solomon, along with Frederick-104 and Grace-093, were always the instigators during training when it came to anything that went boom.

Good, Arthur said. Because I'm designating you Teal-Two for this op. Now let's see what this data crystal has the captain all bunched up about. Arthur pulled out the data crystal once again from his service utility pocket and inserted the thumb-sized device into the display port.

The screen flickered to life. A grim-faced older gentleman presented itself on the monitor; Admiral Preston Cole's hologram filled the display. The admiral, dredged up from the Office of Naval Intelligence back in 2525, was well past his mandatory retirement date. He was unceremoniously pigeonholed into returning to active service in light of the Covenant's emergence. The seemingly unstoppable group of aliens were considered the single-most eminent threat to extension the human race had ever experienced. Now the withered old man was the commander of humanity's most prolific battle group, having the highest win rate of any UNSC fleet.

The legendary commander stood up from his chair, muttered something to one of his subordinates, and returned his icy gaze to the Spartans.

Welcome to Task Force Lima, Spartans, Cole said. As I'm sure Captain Fulton has outlined, you will be assisting with a critical role in delaying and denying the Covenant the planet of Boundary. I apologize for the hasty deployment orders, but our Prowler forces' intelligence was a bit behind on this one.

He had declined to include the fact that the detachment of Prowlers he'd assigned to the northern 18 Scorpii System were all but eradicated in a coordinated and vicious ambush by a flotilla of Covenant stealth corvettes last month. Only the Widow's Grasp and one of her escorts had escaped relatively unscathed to go through the necessary Slipspace jumps before returning to friendly territory. The Widow flight of Prowlers was one of many in the ONI arsenal tasked with discovering Covenant supply routes, logistical hubs, or planets with a substantial population, or simply put, any and all opportunities to gain the upper hand.

This feat was, in itself, impressive due to the frayed morale of the crews from sustained fighting. Scars of plasma weapons were etched and mangled into the hull of the ship; a tiny projection of a single Winter-Class Prowler hovered in a second display monitor. Carbon-scored hull plating flaked and scattered and fell like black snow falling to the earth. Prowlers weren't designed for ship-to-ship engagements, let alone a bout against a superior Covenant force. It was nothing short of a miracle the vessel took a near direct hit and lived to tell the tale.

Let's get down to brass tacks, I know your planning period is limited before your boots are on the ground. Admiral Cole glanced down at the control panel integrated into his chair and typed in a series of commands. Several maps, intelligence reports, and AI-generated battlefield assessments scrolled past his view. He flicked a finger, and the local cluster of a nearby star system came into focus, lines outlining a cluster of planets interlinked by Slipspace routes.

"As you know, Boundary is only a hop, skip, and jump away from both the Inner Colonies and Reach. We cannot allow the Covenant to establish any logistic depots in the Metrome System."

With a swipe of his index finger, the displays slid front and center in front of Arthur's and Solomon's perspective.

As you can see, it's almost a certainty that they will be arriving on your doorstep. Due to the tight timeline on this one, I've reassigned an additional detachment of ODSTs detailed to you and your team. And the behest of our esteemed colleague Dr. Halsey… He chuckled softly to himself and cracked a twitch of a smile.

It was no secret that the good doctor was always pushing the boundaries of her authority, often going toe to toe with the admiralty and the Office of Naval Intelligence themselves. He had even heard of a time when she got into a shouting match with the legendary head of ONI himself, Admiral Michael Stanforth. For the past two decades, Dr. Catherine Halsey, de facto head of the Spartan-II program and the overprotective mother of a platoon of augmented super soldiers, had been instrumental in the research and reverse engineering of Covenant weaponry and technology. It gave her an uncomfortable amount confidence in the Naval community as a civilian. I have pulled Spartans 065 and 141 from their current assignments to assist you.

Cole pursed his lips and took on a more serious tone. His brow furrowed to show stress lines folding over his paper-thin skin. "Son, I don't need to remind you of all people the importance of this planet, and I've seen firsthand what you all can accomplish. I'm asking for more this time. Stop the Covenant wherever you can. If you can't dissuade them to tuck tail and run, then stall them long enough to get those civilians out of there."

He muttered under his breath, almost imperceptibly, We need every damn able-bodied person we can in this war.

Arthur didn't know if he was meant to hear this, but with his augmentations, he and his fellow Spartans could hear a pin drop across a room.

Last thing. The battle group commander perked back up in his chair, snapping out of his brief moment of reflection. His battle group had, time and time again, engaged with the Covenant since its formation in 2526. Continually reinforcing his strength, he was recognized as having the most confirmed Covenant ship-to-ship kill count of any fleet in the UNSC. The weight of that sacrificed was etched onto his stoic face.

I've stocked a small supply fleet with additional base building supplies and vehicles for your team's use. Take your team and use them at your discretion. I'm leaving the details up to your attachment commander, Lieutenant Green. I've been told he's a very capable young man, maybe you could even learn a thing or two from each other.

Admiral Cole continued to key in commands, intermittently leaning over one side of his chair to issue orders and request updates. With his final interruption, he started once again to flick left and right, a calm calculus to his actions, closing displays and rearranging others.

Good luck and Godspeed, Teal Leader. You know what's at stake. Give 'em hell and get out of this mess alive. Cole out.

With that final grim order, the display snapped off. Silence filled the cramped Spartan quarters, leaving Arthur and Solomon to digest what they've just been briefed.

Arthur pulled out the tiny chip and crushed it in his hand, mindful that the sensitive crystal situated within the titanium alloy housing was also cracked to prevent any future usage.

Well, you heard the man, he said with a cool demeanor. Let's go find Lieutenant Green. Grab your bag, we've got work to do.

Chapter 2

Fourth cycle, 54 units (Covenant battle calendar) \ Metrome System (human designation) \ Heliopause \ aboard CCS-Class battle cruiser Undiminished Entelechy

Fleetmaster Thel ‘Vadamee paced the bridge of his flagship, the Undiminished Entelechy , with roiling frustration. It had been several cycles since the destruction of the Covenant ship foundry Steady Opulence , known to the humans simply as K7-49, and his intrusion corvettes had yet to find their next target of opportunity. Thel had secretly cursed himself at the hubris of leaving such a light complement of troops stationed on the asteroid for this had cost him dearly. Not only had his fleet not been in system to support the brazen raid on the Steady Opulence but also had been stuck spending the last half solar cycle, roughly sixteen months according to the human lexicon, either supervising the training and armament of his growing fleet, paying lip service to the ever-frustrating San'Shyuum council members requesting progress reports, or quelling petty squabbles between the many races his ships' complement housed.

It had been known to the junior fleetmaster through his previous campaigns that the humans had made it a point to harass their supply lines and undefended targets in a vain attempt to slow their progress over the years. In what he could only imagine was sheer, dumb luck, the humans had stumbled upon one of many of the Covenant's lesser mining operations, taking ore and precious metals from the asteroid to be used to refine and shape and to be shipped away for final assembly at one of a dozen shipyards scattered throughout the system. This had been but the first step in his career as fleetmaster of the Fleet of Particular Justice and had caused a ripple effect of dissenting opinions of his new status.

Many of the San'Shyuum, the highest-ranking species of the pact that comprised the Covenant empire, had used this catastrophe to nearly strip him of his fleet before they could even begin operations. There was a steady group of minor ministers and political opportunists who pushed the agenda that he wasn't ready for this honor, but the High Prophet of Truth himself had bestowed this honor upon him several