2nd Marine Division,
Infantry Group Matilda
256th Marine Expeditionary Regiment
4th Battalion
Southern Afghanistan



In a dust storm kicked up by harsh mountain winds flowing through the north, the bulk of 4th Battalion had launched its spearhead invasion of Halo territory early, on an unprecedented surprise attack to the north from built up marine fortifications and firebases situated outside of Kandahar, Sagin and Shindand. Their advance had brought them across the low laying plains and expansive pastureland of the southern regions, the speed and precision of the motorised elements, airborne cavalry units and armored detachments unchallenged as the heavily equipped Coalition spearhead carved into Halo territory. In the rear hold of the Claymore, the ride over the inhospitable Afghanistan terrain passed by in a myriad of booming noises and the ping of bullets hammering the ablative armoring. Corporal Costella was seated on the farthest jumpseat from the door, a simple fold-down metal fixture; Master Sergeant Harrons, commander of Delta squads' 1st fireteam, was seated near the door with an Aschen cigar locked tightly between his lips. The rear hold was choked with a thin layer of smoke as the gunner unleashed a blast from the Claymore's dual 30 millimeter cannons. Costella looked over his shoulder through a small carbo-glass port and saw the target across the pasture.


A Halo anti-tank cannon was churned from the gunfire, the entire convoy of four Claymore's and six GV-70 Leopard's focusing its concentrated firepower on the lone Halo installation. Smoke was rising high into the clear sky as the armored convoy neared Qalat, a provincial capital and one of the most dense Halo concentrations of equipment and resources in souther Afghanistan. In the past years of international neglect, the entire country had become the primary location for the consolidation of entire divisions of Red Halo mercenaries on Terra. The Council had authorized Operation Dragoon, a complete blitz of every known Halo concentration on the entire planet.


The first thing Costella realized as the Claymore, called Jaguar, rolled off the highway and onto the sandy topping of the southern Afghani plains was the constant crackle and report of weapons fire. Occasionally a stray round would richochete off the side of the Claymore and fantail into the dirt, but it wasn't until the Claymore ramped atop a hedgerow made of dirt and the door hissed open. The Master Sergeant rapidly exfiled from the AFV, his weapon raised before he crouched to one knee and allowed the eight-man fireteam to disembark.

"Let's move marines, keep your eyes open. Go go go!" Costella was the sixth man out, behind Sergeant Mikens, the teams MR-18H heavy-gunner. The noises of war were magnified tenfold as his boots stabbed deep into the chalky dirt and grime of Afghanistan. Overhead a Coalition Annihilator gunship idled at the edge of a small farmhouse; the chin-mounted dual-linked 30 millimeter cannon unloading nearly a thousand rounds-per-minute into a complex of light infantry fortifications. Crates of ammunition and supplies must have been hidden in the sandbag and creteblok bunkers, because spouts of flame and black fists of smoke reached above the ground from the impact of the cannon fire.

"They're knockin' the righteous hell out of Halo -- Let's kick their fuckin' teeth in!" The Master Sergeant shouted as he directed the team of marine skirmishers through a small paddy field and to a farmstead similar to the one nearby. Besides Costella himself, Sergeant Mikens and the Master Sergeant, Private Lanson and Specialists' Clatt and Parkers were assaulting the farmstead while the two remaining skirmishers held their position alongside the Claymore.

"Might be Halos in there, stay frosty, Corporal." Sergeant Mikens grumbled as the four-man team rushed the mud-bricked house and blitzed the door with one powerful kick. Costella was first in, his DMR swinging from left to right in the dusty entrance of the hut. The ECR-10, normally a rifle utilized with a powerful scope, was outfitted with an advanced battlesight to increase medium and close-range lethality; with the activated IR sighting the rifle served as Costella's eye as he moved toward what appeared to be an assortment of sleeping maps laid along one wall.

"We've got sleeping quarters, think this mighta' been one of their relay stations for supply crews." Costella replied with a clear conviction as Specialist Parkers entered the door behind him, his MR-18 poised leisurely. The Specialist disappeared through the door into a secondary room, the noise outside suddenly increasing as the first of what Costella could only assume would be many orbital striks collided with their targets far in the distance. The ground shook furiously in a brief moment before being replaced by a dull rumble; Parkers was out in the main room at a moment's notice, following Costella quickly as the door opened to the three remaining marines staring off toward a high mountain peak in the distance.

"What'd they do -- what'd they do?! Holy ... shit." Parkers' voice died in his throat as the skyline shifted from view. Costella watched in shattered amazement as a mountain crumbled from the punishment of the orbital strike, a crater now formed a permanent scar across the land, and the sounds of fighting and dying grew silent for one moment as a gust of wind blew across the plains. Costella had to hide his face for a moment as the wind rushed over the team.

"Damn ... I shoulda' joined the Navy." Costella remarked plainly, his voice announcing the return of combat as a pair of M88 airjets passed overhead. Parkers was next to move, gripping his rifle tightly with a shaken look on his face as Sergeant Mikens checked his MR-heavy.
"Master Sergeant, whatever they just dropped cracked the Halos wide open -- I think we should head for that impact zone." Costella remarked he pointed to the sky, the Master Sergeant identifying the two pairs of VTOLs with his eyes and nodding.

"Jaguar this is Element, we're gonna' get oscar-mike to the impact zone to the north, over."