Chapter 2. Enjoy!
ODST Captain Jeffery Hommes surveyed the campsite. Soon after landing, the soldiers had unpacked their shields and discarded them. There had been a clear spot without the wheat-like-plants that filled the prairie, so they set up camp there. as far as supplies went, they had three decent-sized tents, plenty of food rations, Medkits, some flares, a bunch of computer equipment, a non-regulation wooden desk, a long-range radio, (so they could call for evacuation after completing the mission) a pistol and assault rifle for each man, plenty of ammo, and most importantly for the success of their mission, lots and lots of explosives.
The discarded shields were put in a ring around the camp. A scanty protection from flood or sentinels, but hopefully the former would make so much noise moving them that everyone would be awoken.
The Halo had passed behind the gas planet it orbited relative to the sun, so a strange equivalent of night had fallen. The three tents were erected, the equipment safely packed away, and someone was passing out food. Jeffery was about to join them when he heard someone shout, followed by a shot from a pistol. Someone else bellowed angrily.
Jeff turned around, already drawing his own magnum as he ran to the perimeter. A figure was approaching, and the private who was on first watch had a gun pointed at it. Jeffery turned on his flashlight, and the figure was revealed to be a tall, white-armored, EVA-helmeted Spartan.
He turned to the private. “Son, don’t shoot him. It’s a waste of valuable bullets.”
The younger man trembled slightly at the sight of the armored figure. “Um… sorry, sir. I thought you were flood.”
The Spartan just nodded once in his direction. “Very wise. Keep on guard. Don’t trust anyone until you’re absolutely sure they’re safe.” He reached the barrier of shields. “Now, would you mind helping me move these?” he had an Earth American accent, with a touch of New Australian thrown in.
“You’re a Spartan. Jump.” Jeffery grunted, holstering his gun and turning back to the camp and his ration of peanuts.
* * *
The Spartan shrugged, not wanting to start a fight before the mission really began.
Once the captain was gone, he easily lifted a heavy shield like it was as light as a feather, moved through the gap, and gently set the shield back down. “Keep doing a good job, and stay paranoid.” He told the wide-eyed private before following the captain.
One of the tents had somehow become the temporary HQ, so after snagging a bag of peanuts too, (causing more wide eyes among the other soldiers) the Spartan headed there. It was rather big, the size of a pair of warthogs put side-by-side, and ten feet tall. It was a golden color to blend into the stalks of wheat-like-plants from a distance. Inside, an artificial light hung from the ceiling and illuminated the scene. A non-regulation wooden desk had been set up near the back, which the captain now stood behind. Some radio equipment sat in the corner and was operated by a private, and a third ODST was locked in silent conversation with the captain.
Since no one seemed to notice him yet, the Spartan sat down in a corner and took off his helmet in order to eat his peanuts. He popped one in his mouth and grimaced. Too salty.
He had extremely pale skin, a result of wearing the armor most of the time, and his hair hadn’t been cut in at least a year and a half, leaving him with a scraggly mess that frizzed everywhere. He had mud brown eyes that took some time getting used to the uneven light after the polarized vision of the visor. He had some freckles on his nose, which was broken in one place and had never healed properly. There was a scar on his chin where someone had tried to cut his throat and missed by a few inches. That person had only had a few more seconds to regret it.
But that incident was about the only real-life combat he had experienced. By Spartan standards, he was a mere beginner. Heck, by normal military standards, he wasn’t terribly experienced. He began to sink once more into a melancholy state when a voice brought him back to reality.
The ODST who had been talking to the captain now stood over him. “We’re going to start figuring out where to go next.”
“Ah.” The Spartan stood up and joined them at the non-regulation wooden desk. The man who had been operating the radio had packed up and left the tent, so it was now just the three of them. There was a quick awkward silence, then the apparent second-in-command spoke. “I’m Lieutenant Phil Norris. This is Captain Jeffery Hommes, and he’ll be heading this mission. You are who?”
“Spartan Henry 586, sir.” Henry decided to leave out the fact that he outranked the Captain; again, he didn’t want to start any fights.
Jeff butted in, already angry. “You mean Spartan Commander Henry 536.”
“586, sir, and yes.”
“What were you thinking? Play along, and then pull the rug out from under my feet at a crucial time?”
“No, sir. I simply didn’t want to start any troub-”
Jeff interrupted again, but quickly broke off into mumbling. “A Spartan. Commander. What were they… doesn’t deserve it…”
Henry had to agree with that last one; he didn’t deserve such a high rank. But before he could once more begin to wallow in self-pity, Phil shrugged and tried to make peace. “Hey, guys. We’re stuck here, potentially surrounded by enemies, with low supplies, and this isn’t helping. Let’s just try to get along right now, okay?”
Henry nodded, and after a few tense moments, so did Jeffery. “Well,” he said, “now that’s decided, let’s get down to business.”
He pulled a holo-projector out of one of his pockets and set it on the desk. Immediately, a three-dimensional map of the ringworld appeared. “The ONI spooks who set this up planned everything out in advance,” he explained, not without a patronizing tone, “so I’m just telling you what they told me. They probably told you already, but I just want to make sure.”
He tapped a section of the ring, and the map suddenly zoomed in on that part. Now they could see the plains with a red dot in the middle, signifying the position of their camp. “There’s where we are” he said unnecessarily. Then he slid his finger along the side, and suddenly the view shifted over to the mountains. He tapped a particular peak, and it enlarged. On one side was normal mountain, but the other side was a flat face, with a zigzagging path leading to a door at the top.
“This mountain apparently matches the outside appearance of the control room on oh-four, so we assume this is the one for this place,” he continued, “It’ll be a few day’s drive, but nothing we haven’t handled before… right, spartan?”
“With all due respect, sir,” butted in Phil, “why didn’t we just fly into the mountains?”
Jeffery frowned at him and zoomed out so the entire mountain range was visible. “I asked the same thing. Apparently, the ONI spooks think it’s ‘too dangerous.’ I think that’s crap, but they don’t care… Anyway, more pelicans will arrive tomorrow and drop off a bunch of warthogs. We drive to the control room, capture the monitor, set the explosives, and get the hell out of here… you got that?”
Henry nodded as Jeff zoomed in on another section of the map. In the foothills leading up to the mountains, there was a hole in the ring.
Henry did a double take at that. “Is that…?”
Phil shook his head. “No. If it was, we’d all be dead. Well, everyone except you… Anyway, something was messing with the radio and sonar, and it had heavy cloud cover, so satellite images wouldn’t work, either. In fact, since it was on the way, ONI asked us to stop there and check it out.”
“Ah.” Henry said.
* * *
A short while later, Jeffery, Phil, and the spartan (once more wearing his helmet) walked out of the main tent. Jeff walked to the center and addressed all the other ODST’s who were eating their peanuts. “All right, men! you know what we’re doing and how. tomorrow, the warthogs arrive, and we get to go for a drive. But you better settle in, because until then, it looks like we’re camping.”
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