Halo-Son Of Sparta: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

BLACK INK

”The Spartan IV’s represent a return to acceptable morality in our operations…..now we just need to wait for ONI to catch up…"

An unknown member of UNSC High Command.

Northern Snow planes
New Inkerman
Hydra System
19th August
2555

The howling blizzard lifted the snow that had settled in a thick glaze on the rocky surface. The temperature was particularly low, freezing the freshly spilled purple blood of a Sangheli warrior that laid, mortally wounded, already half buried beneath the snow. Its wheezing sounds invisible against the blistering wind that stole any sounds, a metaphor for the force of nature on the Northern frontier. Determined not to give in, the warrior lifted its arm from the snow that was slowly swallowing it, grabbing and activating the ice blue energy sword that sat on its upper leg. About as soon as it activated, a burst small calibre round tore way its fingers, causing the warrior to let out a howl as the sword fell to the ground. The exposed, bloody bones were its fingers once sat already began to freeze over. Then, from the blizzard, appeared a towering human, the darkness made the soldier appear as a mere silhouette, but it was clear he wore extensive body armour, a short cloak waving behind the soldier back in the wind, which was attached to a hood that covered its helmet. The human soldier advanced through the snow, before the Sangheli warrior could react, the humans armoured boot was on top of its head, the metal of its helmet buckling under the pressure, the cracking of metal, turned into the cracking of bone, its skull gave in, crushing the life from the warrior.

“….Now, you are seriously suggesting my militia is neglecting duty?” Militia Captain Ronald Page said, standing from his desk, he kept his eyes fixed on the man stood before him. He’d met with ONI operatives before, but nothing like this guy. The operative was a lean, modest build, average height, wearing purple ONI recon armour under a blue long coat. There was a thin, blood red strip of light from his helmet tucked under his arm. The semi-long, swept back dark brown hair of the agent suggested he was not a standard military operative. From Page’s view, his clean shaven, slightly rounded face and rigid posture spelled out Private-school-boy to the captain, added too by his well-spoken, old-fashioned English accent. Despite this, the agent did not look phased by the six soldiers stood along the wall behind him, it was hard to tell what the agent was thinking at all, there was an unreadableness, a focused looking that was oddly familiar.
“Of course not, good Captain,” The agent said. “There is no suggesting here.” The Agent spoke calmly, cooly. Page slammed his hand n the desk.
“How dare you!” The Captain roared. The Agent didn’t even flinch.
“In fact, it would appear several of your men are actively aiding insurrection activity on this planet.” The Agent spoke again, not breaking eye contact. Those words hit the captain like a brick. “What is of interest to me is the apparent links between the very insurrectionist group your men seem oh-so-friendly with, and the amount of Sangheli, Unggoy and Kig-Yar that appear to have illegal asylum…” The Agent took a step forwards. The Captain had heard enough, people like him, was why he hated the UNSC.
“You think I am going to stand for these insults in my office?” The captain spat between his teeth.
“No, I believe you are going to go for your standard-issue side arm your keep in the top-right hand drawer of your desk…” The agent said, still making no visible response. “I would not advise that, good captain.”
Before the captain could responded, the reality hit him like a brick. He had seen this agent before, although last time, he was not an Agent, he was a ‘concerned citizen’ that had visited the previous week. The fact that he knew about his side arm means he had been snooping around. Page reacted, he reached for the desk. In what seemed like no time, the agent threw his helmet, knocking the captain back. Page turned to respond as the Agent vaulted the desk. The windows behind him smashed, silenced gunshots ringing out either side of him from thin air, dropping the soldiers on the other side of the room before they could react. He swung for the agent, he ducked under the punch, grabbing his arm with his right arm. Page went to react, before a hiss sent a sharp paid up his arm, from the Agents gauntlet had appeared a light blue, energy blade, like Elite warriors during the war. He let out terrible scream, then was thrown over the desk by the agent, who picked up his helmet and put it on. Materializing around him from thin air, were four black armoured Spartan IV’s, silenced M7 Sub-Machine Guns in their hands. The Agent appeared above him. One of the Spartans spoke. “Sir, we have an alarm, more are on their way.” He said in a soft Scottish accent.
“Understood Spartan Winters, it seems a hot extract is tonights special.” The agent said, he then activated his communication link to command.
“This is Agent Pentagon, we have him, moving to extract.” He said. Page was still reeling. The Spartan he picked up as named Winters turned to another Spartan, a female.
“Baker…” He said. The Spartan nodded, then grabbed page by the jacket, and with one swift punch knocked the Captain out-cold.

“That was a bit much, Spartan.” The Artificial Intelligence program Athena said, looking though the helmet feed at the crushed head of the Elite, unmoving in the snow.
“This is the fifth one this week…” Chief Petty Officer Spartan-204 Cyran said, in his rugged, but well-presented English accent, as he crouched down next to the body, resting the butt of his Squad Automatic Weapon on the ground. “Didn’t see you as the squeamish sort, Athena.” He remarked. The A.I’s figure, a slender, long haired women clad in ancient Greek hoplite armour, appeared in his helmet.
“His communication log indicates his scouting group was sent to investigate the redoubt on the reverse side of the Northern canyon.” She said, apparently ignoring his comment.
“That must have been where those other Ghosts were heading, lucky we had a straggler.” He said, he reached out his robotic right-arm picking up the carbine that laid next to the body. It’s usual purple panels were now grey. “I assume this weapon decoration is the mark of one of our Covenant splinter groups?” He asked, looking it over.
“Nothing we have encountered before…” Athena said. “I’m setting a waypoint, we should get moving.” Cyran nodded, standing up and gripping his S.A.W, he then started walking deeper into the blizzard. He had been active for six months without respite, tracking Covenant movements, and keeping the re-expanding frontier of humanity secured. As one of the few Spartan II’s still operational, he was an asset the United Nations Space Command were very keen to deploy. Like most Spartans, he opted to join the newly formed Spartan branch of military, under Spartan Commander Palmer. Her brash, hot-headed nature was to be admired, but after being raised under a leader like in his days in boot camp Master Chief Petty Officer John-117, it was very hard to compete. As a former team leader, he often sought Chiefs guidance. He didn’t get the same vibes from Palmer. Either way, Cyran was just happy to be in the fight, this is where he belonged, as the vanguard for his race. This was where he belonged, where every Spartan belonged, in the field. After several hours on the move. He looked ahead, seeing the surface rise up sharply, cutting through the blizzard.
“We wait for the storm to pass and this will be an excellent vantage point. So, get climbing.” Athena said in his ear. Cyran looked up, but didn’t move.
“Athena…” He started.
“Do not tell me you have a fear of heights.” She jumped in, an almost scolding tone in her voice.
“No….” He said. “Just…not overly keen on falling.” He muttered. Athena’s hologram appeared.
“You’re known as the ‘Son of Sparta’ and have fought countless battles and only now do you mention a fear of heights?” She asked, looking genuinely surprised. Cyran grabbed hold of a rock, pulling himself up.
“Never stopped me before…” He said to her, as he started the climb.

ONI Agent ‘Pentagon’ took cover behind a car, as a round impacted just next to him. He held a hand out to Spartan Winters, who threw him his M7, unslinging his assault rifle. ONI used Pentagon to make the assess threats, and make a few of his own, and the Spartan IV team to follow up on them. Spartan Fireteam Vanguard consisted of team leader Spartan Gabriel Winters, their Scout Spartan Louise Baker, tech expert Spartan David Crenshaw and team sniper Spartan Elizabeth Locksley. Assigned for ONI’s use, they preferred the more direct approach of Pentagon to other operatives. The next phase was simple, steal a car and get out of the city to meet with the Quick Reaction Force, Winters signalled to Locksley, who fired sighted her sniper rifle and fired, taking out a soldier that was setting up a machine gun turret. Crenshaw was in the security office.
“We need that power gone Crenshaw…” Winters said over the Comm.
“Stand by, auxiliary failsafe…..sorted….going dark.” He said in his light American accent, as the lights flickered off. The team activated their night vision, as the Crenshaw ran to a car, getting in the front and setting to hot-wire the car. Pentagon threw the unconscious militia captain in the boot, then went to get in the front.
“Shortest in the middle at the back.” Winters called out, as he put a round through the head of a soldier sneaking through the dark.
“Seriously? Again?” Pentagon questioned.
“Yep, Spartans get the window seats.” Baker chimed in with her Australian accent. Pentagon did a mock huff.
“Fine…” He said, getting in the back seat, in the middle, as Crenshaw started up the car.
“We’re set boss.” Crenshaw reported. When the team piled in, he hit the accelerator hard. Pentagon sat in the middle, very…snug between the two armoured ladies either side of him.
“So…are we stopping for food or…?” He said rather awkwardly, raising a laugh from the team. A group appeared on their right, Spartan Winters and Locksley sprayed them down with automatic fire as they went by. They turned out of the parking complex onto the main street, the high rise structures.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the militia are sending air support…” Pentagon said, checking his data pad on his gauntlet.
“Understood.” Winters said, bringing up his Heads Up Display. “Take a right up ahead, swing around and head underground.” He said to Crenshaw. Crenshaw took a hard right, spinning the wheel into a drift. Pentagon was thoroughly held in place by the Spartans either side of him.

Cyran watched as the phantom dropship landed, joining the three Elites in the redoubt.
“I’m picking up an IFF tag from the Phantom, Spartan IV.” Athena said announced. Cyran enhanced his zoom, as two Elites jumped down, a Spartan between them, in blue and white armour, she was a young woman, pale skin, with storm grey eyes and brown hair. He wrists were handcuffed in front of her.
“Athena, I.D” He said.
“Spartan Allyson Stevens, went missing two weeks ago, while chasing down Kig-Yar raiding parties.” Athena responded, as two more elites followed.
“So, these guys are taking prisoners…” He said, standing up from his prone position, his cloak blowing in the wind. With the blizzard gone, he ripped it from his shoulders. “But I don’t.”