UNSCDF June 6, 2554 Onboard the Shadow of Dusk
A Black suit of ODST armor walks onto the command deck. Visible through the observation windows, Reach sits quietly in the distance. It's surface now scarred and green. A man wearing a commander's uniform walks in front of the view.
"Spartan 666, Ethan Hunt, Codename Hell jumper." The commander's rigid face looks longingly towards the planet.
A black glove is raised to a dark helmet.
"Sir." Comes a gruff response.

"I've seen your file sergeant, Delta Halo, New mombassa, High charity, and Killamanjaro. You've been in all of those conflicts am I correct?"
"Yes sir" Came the response.
"I've got to say, that's pretty impressive." The commander turned with a grin. "You used to be an odst am I right?"
"Yes sir." Came the same disciplined response "Impressive or not I just did what I had to. Sir."
The commander chuckled to himself. "You've turned down every promotion you could, on the bases of 'I don't need to be rewarded for doing my job.' Am I right?"
"Yes sir."
"That's pretty admirable, if you hadn't i'm sure you'd be at least captain."
"I'm fine with SFC sir."
"I'm sure you are. Anyway enough with the small talk, time to talk buisness. UNSC command has decided to take back Reach. Intel has the brutes dug in deep, and our target drop zone is covered in anti air gun batteries. Your squad is going to be orbital dropped into New alexandria to secure a drop zone for our birds. Now the area is filled with anti air defenses so we can't risk the pods. you'll have to go in bare back. Assets include another spartan, several ODST's, and the arbiter himself."

"Yes sir, My squad will take care of the guns."

"Then go get ready sergeant, dismissed."
The black armoured spartan turned and walked out of the control room. He kept up a brisk pace as he walked down to the barracks. The door slid open as he approached. When he walked in he turned his head too look at the soldiers under his command.

Amongst the soldiers assembled was Corporal Damien Hollus, dressed in his forest green and grey battle outfit, stood to attention with his helmet beneath one arm. His eyes stared straight ahead, only flickering briefly to the side to glimpse the spartan that walked in, and his face was set in a look of stony determination. He had been stood waiting for some time, unable to sit idly by and kill time as many other soldiers found so easy. His drawn features gave him a tired look that was characteristic of the recently bereaved whereas in actual fact he was in the best shape of his life. This showed through in the broad chest and shoulders of his armour and, should anyone look at it, his recommendation. Since being suggested for the team he had undergone more intense training than he'd ever endured before; all under his own order and discipline, and was stronger for it, both physically and mentally.

Since the death of his family during Earth's invasion Damien had dedicated his life completely and utterly to his job and this was the highest point in his career. To serve beneath the watchful eye of a spartan was an honour that many soliders could boast, but to be teamed with two as well as some of the finest ODSTs in service and even The Arbiter himself, unnerving as he was, was something he'd never thought he'd see. He hoped that somewhere his wife and son were watching so they could be proud of him.

Despite his lengthy service record, commendations and battle experience Damien found himself feeling nervous as the squad leader walked into the room and was unsure how to react other than offering a lingering salute. He also expected the squad leader to be nervous. Every soldier had heard the stories of the spartans on Reach and that was a hell of a reputation to live up to.

Another of the assembled soldiers was Corporal Jericho Cross, already in his ODST BDU's, his helmet sitting beside him on the bench that he had taken up sitting on, rather than already firmly planted onto his head. He was running what seemed like the thousandth equipment check on all his gear. He was running through his helmet's diagnostics, wrapping up the checks on the polarization in the visor lens, and satisfied with that, he mentally sighed. Soldiers always found time to kill, but even so, he was going to go stir crazy if he didn't get in a pod and drop soon. Training could only take up so much time in a day, and he had been regular in that. He was ready for the combat drop, but it seemed the drop hadn't been ready for him. So when it was finally time to suit up, he had taken to it with a relish, and to appearances, eager to return to the battle. He wasn't, Cross couldn't name one soldier who wanted to return to the battlefield, at least not one he had run into during his career as an ODST. He held himself with a reserved confidence, running his hand around the interior of the helmet, feeling for anything abnormal, already knowing there wouldn't be anything.

Marching orders were he was serving under not one, but two Spartans and that Arbiter elite. The elite was important, if the reports were to be believed, and Spartans always dragged all sorts of wild rumors and stories with them. Almost as much as they were bound to attract fire, if the marines that had indeed served with Spartans were to be believed. He was more comfortable with the fact that there were fellow ODST's heading in with him, that would make things easier. Spartans and Elites were all fine and well, but he would take a good ODST at his back over a Spartan or elite any day, and there was no such thing as a bad ODST. You either knew your job, or you were dead.

So when the Spartan walked in, one of them, he stood up, the man would outrank him, it was practically impossible for it to work otherwise. Helmet was under his left arm, right arm saluted. Clean, professional, and his neutral face gave nothing away thus far. Reputations and stories were nice and all, but until he saw them in action, he wouldn't give the Spartans or this Arbiter more respect then was demanded by their rank. Let them earn it, his opinions on the two groups were already well founded.

Scott Samuals was sitting on another bench directly across from the ODST. He sitting on the bench longwise, with an armored boot hiked up on top to better support the rifle he was checking. His Grenadier helmet sat behind as opposed to on his head. The skin on his cheeks, forehead, and all that wasn't covered by his beard was paler than normal soldiers thanks to the armor. Also, he had a short hair cut, allowing the fiery mess that was his hair a better fit in his helmet. The Spartan's own unique emblem sat on his armor, right below the neck-line. A Fleur-de-lis inside of a iron cog. It matched well with his grungy white and maroon armor.

A loud mechanical sliding noise and a resulting crack of the breech emanated from the sniper as Scott checked over the weapon thoroughly. He had given the MA5 assault rifle the same treatment moments ago, which now sat leaned against his bench by his helmet. Another slide and click, and he was satisfied with the mechanisms. He nodded to himself and held the sniper up to his eye and began to inspect the scope.

The entrance of the other Spartan had interrupted him. Yet he didn't stand to attention, only turned his head slightly and acknowledged the Spartan with a nod and a lowering of the weapon. Then he pulled the weapon back to his eye and gave it a few quick adjustments before returning it to it's lowered position for good. He didn't want to miss a brute at a mile a way. The others might laugh.

He finally began to survey the room. ODSTs, Hell Jumpers surrounded him. He shook his head slightly, the Spartan versus ODST rivalry coming to mind. Plus, the way he saw it, Reach was the Spartan-III's battle, not the Hell Jumpers. It was the Spartan-IIIs that gave their life to try and protect it. It seemed only poetic to have them retake it. Then he sighed, that thinking was flawed. There were hardly any Spartans left, thanks to the suicide missions and expendable soldier's crap. Spartan-II's may not die, and only labeled with an MIA. But they had no problem slapping a KIA tag on the IIIs before they even left for the mission. And it will take time to rebuild them. For now, he was the best chance at any "Poetic Justice" at all. Then a sense of pride welled up in him. All of the "Certain Death" missions he survived, and now he was finally being rewarded by participating in the reclaiming of Reach. As far as he was concerned, it was his Reach, and Brutes are not going to keep it from him.

He sat the butt of the sniper on the ground and grasped the middle of the barrel, making it seem almost like a walking stick. The combination of letters and numbers on the butt were finally revealed. They read "B147 Luck"

The Arbiter was reviewing tactics of how the brutes made the defenses on reach, occasionally giving a small mocking "Ha". All elites knew how pathetically stupid the brutes were, although they had set up plenty of AA guns. A common elite joke that had spread among the elites and humans was "The Easist way to tell the difference from an Elite and a Brute is their intelligence". The arbiter was however slightly curios on why the brutes had began drilling into the planet. Maybe for materials, maybe to look for Forerunner tech.

The arbiter looked at the Master Chiefs dogtags. He remembered the last talk they had...

"You are leaving?" The Arbiter asked, walking in on the master Chief and Cortana getting into a pelican. "I have a few more things i need to do, its important for both of us....." he replied. He walked over and gave the Arbiter his dog-tags. "You will be quick to know when i get back. But for now, i must go. Make sure they see the dog-tags though. This is important....." he told him, nodding. "Understood, i wish you luck". "Same. You probably have a lot of Covenant to finish up." The Arbiter looked up at him. During the time they had worked together, they had started counting to see who could get most kills. Of course, by lighting the halo ring, the Chief was winning. "I plan to beat you however..." he added. "May the best warrior win" he replied. "Agreed".

He looked up as the ODST came in. He had already been told his name. Ethan Hunt. He was to be leading the assault. He looked to his new equipment. The elites had mentioned a new tool for him, but he didn't expect a Jet pack. He looked back at Ethan. "So have we received acceptance to approach the savages stronghold?" he asked, notably making the word Savages sound as disrespecting to the brutes as possible. Long has there been a rivalry between Elites and Brutes. Almost every human knew by now that if there were brutes, the elites would more then gladly assist. And since grunts or Jackals cant do anything by themselves, brutes were pretty much on any world the covenant was. The Elites gladly killed any covenant, but brutes more then anything....

He contacted the orbiting Elite Supercarrier, which was here to take care of any problems they faced from any supposing Covenant ship that was unlucky enough to come here....

The armor let out a deep sigh as both hands reached up to grab hold of the ODST helmet. After pulling it off he used the back of his glove to wipe the sweat from his brow. Helmet tucked underneath one arm, the Sergeant returned the salute.
"At ease troopers." He paused to let the men resume whatever it was they were doing. He took a moment to breathe and lookaround once more, each of the soldiers here had been hand picked for this squad. His squad.
"My name is Ethan Hunt, I am not going to bother with my service record, everyone here has seen their fair share of combat I'm sure. So I'm going to sum it up with I've been through alot of shit, from punching a brute in the face to shooting your combat budy in the face with a shotgun because some parasite is making him try to kill you." He looked at each of the troopers. "I'm a former ODST, I was chosen for the spartan program about eleven months ago. I've been a spartan for two months. I respect each and every one of you. I may have been trained more, I may have better armor, but I am still a man like all of you. So I don't want to hear and resentment from you all just because I'm a spartan. That being said I don't want you doing any heroics, no lone wolf shit on my watch understand. We are a squad and will act like one. Now." He pulled a folding chair off the wall and sat down. "Mission details. Were jumping into New Alexandria, LZ is hot with anti aircraft fire so were being sent in to clear a path for our birds. First squad will be me and the ODST's, Seccond squad is the other spartan, he's called Luck, Arbiter, and a few elites. They'll drop in the pods after we take out a couple of guns. First squad is doing a low orbit gravity drop, Bare back, we can't risk the pods. You guys will have jetpacks. Now any of you who got problems with elites leave em at the door, I served with a few. They watched my back just like any human would, maybe even more. I shed red and blue blood with them, I respect them. So will you. That being said the brutes are another story feel free to take a piss on a corpse after the shooting has stopped." Ethan grinned. "Area is hot, so expect a fight as soon as we drop, keep in mind how to work covy weapons, they work well when your out of ammo." Hunt Stood up holding his helmet in his hand. "Any questions?"

He looked at the other spartan, Scott Samuels was what his file had read. He noticed samuel's emblem. Hunt instinctivly touched his right shoulder, The wolf made from the black armor and the white moon. The wolf was a testemant to his history, he'd gone on many missions, and almost always returned alone. Looking at this squad he was determined, Not this time. He turned and took a BR55HB SR Battle Rifle (He called it a BR)out from a nearby weapon locker and held it against his shoulder.

As Ethan was talking, Scott let the Sniper slide past his shoulder and lean against the bench near the helmet and assault rifle and began to input something into the TACPAD located on his wrist armor. Seemingly, he was taking notes. Imputing the area of touchdown as well as minor notes. "Useful for snipers, helps plan bottle neckin' maneuvers." He mentioned under his breath for anyone curious. He tracked the mission and details as well, plus the immediate crew. Apparently, he was to be with the Arbiter. He paused from his imputing and glanced at the golden Elite, he simply nodded in approval and returned to what he was doing earlier.

After the Spartan was done with the mission details and asked if there were any questions, Scott spoke up, voice grizzled and guttural as one would expect. "So, me an' the Arbiter are goin' to wait until you guys get done muckin' with the AA 'fore we get to drop? Ha, a nice change of pace from bein' thrown in ass first at the problem." Scott said with a rough chuckle. Usually, he was the one the superiors chucked at their problems. Nice change of pace indeed.

"Any thin' else, Ethan?" Scott said, calling the Spartan by his first name. They both were Spartans, different branch perhaps, but they still had a kinship. He then tilted his head until a pop came from his neck and repeated the act for the other said, he then flicked a sniper round that hung from his shoulder. "Either way, I'm plannin' on puttin' a couple of these bad boys down some throats today." Scott said. Then he finally spun around on the bench, no longer laying across it long-wise and sitting on it the correct way.

He then looked at the ODSTs and with a cocky half-smile, said, "Don't you boys screw it up, ya' hear? I don't want to drop in and find out you boys done messed up the mission already." He said, prodding the ODSTs. Finally, with a last, authoritative, press of the thumb on the TACPAD, the light on the deviced dimmed.

The Arbiter could not help but smile a little with a chuckle at what had been said by the spartan, also nodding back. However, this notion alone had also given him another chuckle and a moment of realizing something. He felt more relaxed. Was it that the prophet and the flood were dead? He looked at his hand, holding the dog-tags, and thought to himself "Look like you changed me more then i thought". And he thought this with pride. His rage and constant thinking to fight had been forced upon him by the prophet. Now, he felt as the last bit of the prophets influence on him had faded away. He looked up at the spartan. "With Brutes, if their aim was as bad as their intelligence, we could drop right in front of them and they would shoot the other direction...." he noted. And that was probably true too. None the less, some of the marines in the back couldn't help but chuckle a little to that.

He opened a comm channel to the Elite supercarrier. The Arbiter was highly suspicious. Everything was going as planned. When does that happen? Nothing ever goes exactly as planned. Look at the whole day the Arbiter and Chief spent together. They had like 5 things go wrong. Thats when an alert went out. Construction of a Orbital AA gun was on reach. If it finished, it could shoot at the Supercarrier and frigate. The arbiter opened comms to the captain of both ships, as well as including the comms in Ethan's Suit.. "Iv noticed the detection of a Orbital AA gun. We will need to hurry to stop the savages from getting it up, or Reach will become a covenant stronghold....."

The Elite commander nodded. "We will have to speed up our plans. We are also detecting a Supercarrier heading this way. The Arbiter sighed. He knew it was too good to be true. He nodded to both Ethan and Luck. "We should begin quickly, or else they may gain a tool that will prevent our revenge and justice" he told them. However, he felt something when he said Justice. This was real Justice, unlike what the Prophets had said. What they did was mass murder. This, this was Justice. The Arbiter knew it was war, but still Justice. More Justice then the Prophets, thats for sure.

Revealing himself from the shadows, David just shock his head. "Looks like everybody forgot about little o' me." He chuckled as a few of the marines were caught of gaurd, spinning around. "Relax guys." He said holding up his hands. "So an O-AA. Looks like you Squad 1 should hurry up and get a move on. Me and Squad 2 will take care of that enemy Supercarrier." He said patting Ethan shoulder. He walked over to the weapons locker and took out his M7S, remembering how it had saved his life in New Mombasa. Smiling he also took out a Grenade Launcher, straping it to his back, and walked over to the table. Siting down, he started to peform matance on his weapon.

[Sorry for the short post, computer is dieing]

Damien had not yet fought beside a Spartan, barely even glimpsed one in passing, and he had been expecting... Well, not quite what he got if he was honest with himself. Far from the insightful, inspiring warriors of legend he found them to be cocky and arrogant. Boasting about better armour and training? Bullshit was the first thing to fly through Damien's mind, they were genetically modified; that didn't mean they were better trained. He himself devoted every hour of his day that wasn't spent fighting to training and prided himself on it. And his armour might not be as good but he was still kicking and screaming after all this time. Maybe the Spartan stories were just that; damned stories... he thought, keeping his composure perfectly. If there was one thing he could do above all else it was keep any and all emotion showing on his face.

He let his gaze drift casually from one Spartan to the other, standing at ease, as the conversation flowed on around him, finding himself ever more eager to get down and start the fighting to show that him and the other ODSTs would not mess things up down there. They may not have the skills of a Spartan, but he'd pick being an underdog over an asshole any day of the week. Thouroughly disappointed with the 'super soldiers' attitudes, he let his mind play out what he imagined the defenses to be like on the ground as their friendly exchanges took place.

Damien Hollus was far from the type of man to judge what he didn't know but his instant vibe from the Spartans was one that he couldn't help but take a disliking to. Regardless, they were his superiors and he'd had to deal with taking orders from people like them before so he could do it again, so long as they just gave their orders and left the talking at that.

Dragging himself away from his thoughts back to the matter at hand, Damien found he did have a question. "What about reinforcements Sir?" he asked. "Not for us, but are we expecting phantom drops on the ground? And for that matter, what else of resistance in the air?" There were many things about the covenant that he couldn't stand but those banshees were a real pain in the hole if you weren't ready for them.

The Arbiter watched as the ODSTs and the Spartans rivaled each other. He sighed, fighting each other this much would not work out well. He decided to take a stand to this. He remembered something the Master Chief had once said, and decided it would be best for this time. "We should not keep fighting like this, we are a team, not enemies. 'It does not matter what armor or medals we wear, but the person inside, and our ability to get the job down right....'". Hopefully, that would end this dislike between them if nothing else. A good competition is good, but hate for each other isn't.

He walked over and leaned against the wall Damien was on, knowing what he was thinking. the Arbiter had become very good at reading people. He silently told Damien "Maybe some, but what he..." He noted, he referring to the Master Chief, who was the only person he referred to as he without any Clarification. "He did more then a whole army. What he did was real, that is a fact" He finished.

He decided on another noted silently "And i don't plan on losing ether...." he noted, in which most people would guess this one. Most kills Wins. Let the games begin. "Is it time now?" he asked, looking to Ethan.

Hunt looked from one soldier to the next, each one bore the face of experience and pride. "Lock it down now. Squad one will handle the AA guns, and two will land as soon as they are clear as I said before. When everyone is planetside we'll hit the Orbital gun. The Shadow and elite super carrirer will deal with incoming contacts. Now enough of this rivalry, you want to prove whose top dog let your shooting do the damned talking." He put on his helmet. "Squad one suit up, were dropping now. Meet me in hangar one." With that said he turned and walked out of the room. "Hope this squad can keep themselves from killing eachother to handle the brutes." He thought to himself as he quickly made his way to the hangar where a pelican was standing by. He hopped onto the rear platform and into the cockpit. Both pilots made a gesture of Acknowledgment as he entered. "Where's the rest of the squad sir?" One of the pilots asked.

"Probably with their hands around eachother's necks." Ethan sighed as he sat in one of the seats. "They should be here quickly."

The pilots chuckled into their comms. "Good ol rivalries eh sergeant?"

"Good ol rivalries." Hunt sighed again into his comm. He performed a quick check on his Br as he waited for the ODST's to show up.

"Aye sir," Scott said, finally standing up from the bench, though clearly sluggishly. He grabbed the sniper and used heavily it to push himself off of the bench with a bit of effort. It was clear that the Spartan had been through a lot and had a lot of stories to tell. The effort shown in his face as well, the stolid expression shifting to a one a of grimace for only a moment. Once on his feet, he bent over awkwardly, and still using the sniper to keep balance, and picked up his assault rifle and placed it on his back.

"Sorry fellas for the show of weakness, but you get thrown at a number missions where you aren't expected to live, they start a takin' there toll on you. It's jus' the stiffness though, I'll get over it on the ground," Scott explained. It was true, once in combat, the stiffness would vanish and only a strong Spartan-III would remain. Still, he stood, leaning on the Sniper. "Well, I'm all for a good pissin' contest." Scott said, talking about the "Rivalry" mentioned by both the Arbiter and Ethan, "but I don't it's bad as you think. We're soldiers sir, we know our mission, and we know how to 'complish it. What's the lil' harm in lightin' the fires with a friendly rivalry?" Scott said, again with the cocky half-smile.

He bent over for the last time, and grabbed his helmet under his arm. "I just expect you boys to get the job done quick. I don't like waiting with my thumbs up my ass. I'm droppin' as- Wait, I'm droppin' in a pod?" Scott said, just realizing that fact. "Dammit, I hate pods..." He said. As a sniper, Scott enjoyed the long open ranges he had grown accustomed to. Not a box. "Like a damn coffin they are... Don't see how you Hell Jumpers can stand 'em." Scott said, moving and making his way towards the Arbiter. It seems like they were paired up for this mission. So might as well get acquainted.

Yet, he wasn't done talking to the ODSTs. "Like I said, I'm droppin' as soon as enough guns are down. Don't miss one please, 'cause that's all it takes for my Luck to run out, a shot to the pod. It would also really ruin my day and my track record and I doubt it's pleasant."

Cross was dead silent once the order to be at ease was given, and he resumed sitting, helmet in his lap and his hands crossed on top of the helmet. He was looking at the information they had on where the two teams would be going in. Not a lot of close quarters until they reached the guns themselves, he would be relying on his magnum early on, the shotgun didn't have enough range. That was assuming the best case scenario, the apes didn't berserk once and stayed their distance. Which wasn't going to happen, so he would have to keep his shotgun ready for that. He kept his face neutral as possible, considering the well known rivalry between the Spartans and ODST, most CO's would have done their best to keep the two as split up as possible. He didn't get himself too involved with the subtle bickering about the rivalry, letting Hunt speak for his outlook. Whoever did their job best, would prove they were best. He plucked up his helmet, smirking at the one Sniper's commentary on the drop pods. That he would offer return comments towards. "What's wrong, going to miss the in flight movies the Pelicans so gracefully give to their privileged guests? Jokes aside, its not the Drop you should worry about. Its the landing, I swear, lost more ODST to landing in lakes, environmental hazards, or dying on impact than being shot down, let alone being potentially caught in a firefight thick enough to swim in."

Cross pulled his helmet on, the polarization set as such that the others could still see the calm and determined look on his face, and right before walking out, one last comment was said. "Besides, at least then you don't know what happened until your before the pearly gates. Imagine trying to drop onto a carrier, and having it jump and send you tumbling, no power, god knows where. That's fun. But you concentrate on being ready to drop, the guns will be dealt with."

Assuming it was a clean shot, that killed the occupant instantly. But that wasn't something he brought up, it was the one thing that he did not want to happen in a drop. Getting shot out of his pod, enough damage to rupture it and throw him out. He did not want to hit the ground as fast as a pod with failed landing protocols. That wouldn't even leave enough armor to try and make a mock burial. He would of much preferred to be in a Pod rather than go in bare back. Regardless, he made his way to Hanger one, offering a salute as he boarded the Pelican. "Corporal Cross, reporting. Would of preferred a pod, but if we got what we preferred, the Covie would of never even existed."

Damien locked eyes with the Arbiter as he spoke to him and felt a slight shudder down his spine. It wasn't what he was that caused it, it was what he said that did it. As if he'd been read as easily as an in flight magazine. Which, of course, they would not be getting. He held the gaze and nodded once in acknowledgement. The Arbiter had worked closely with the Master Chief and if there was anyone that could speak well of a Spartan if would be him. Still, he did not doubt the Spartan's ability, just their ego. He gave a quick "Thanks..." in an unusually sombre tone that surprised even himself. It wasn't like him to get like this before a fight, he usually just took his orders and got to it. "Then you'd better work your ass off" he added (In a somewhat less serious tone) slipping on his helmet and grabbing his assault rifle, readying it with a crack as it loaded. "'Cause we ODSTs don't like to lose either. See you on the ground." He gave a two fingered salute on his way past, content in the knowledge that he at least had the Arbiter to keep the peace.

There was yet more comfort in hearing his fellow trooper talk at length about the dangers of the drop to the Spartan sniper who was not in command. He stopped and chimed in his two cents worth to Scott as he passed. "You'd be right in saying that Mother Nature has claimed more of us than the Brutes have. Best of luck on your journey down." Behind his opaque visor Damien grinned as he gave Cross a clap on the shoulder before continuing his way to the Pelican. He climbed aboard without a word and sat himself down in a seat closest to the exit. It was his job when drop time came to lay down some covering fire as the others hit the ground.

Despite his new-found compempt for the Spartans Damien found himself perhaps not looking forward to but ready to embrace the rivalry that would come along with it. His own Covenant kill tally had been long lost as he assumed was the case with all included in the mission but that was not to say he was going to make things easy for the 'super-soldiers'. We'll show you who's just another bunch of squadies he thought to himself. The further thought occured that perhaps the entire cherade had been put on to encourage this rivalry and give a little more awareness to the task but he doubted it.

Hunt nodded as the odst's piled onto the pelican. He banged against the wall twice and signaled the pilots to take off. The pelican's engines fired and the ramp was sealed. As the ship passed out of the hangar and into the void of space all seemed quiet. Besides the low hum of the engine, there was no noise. No one spoke, the ship didn't maneuvar, no useless clattering of metal. Only soldiers deep withing their own thoughts preparing for the battle they faced ahead. As the Pelican floated through space closer and closer to the planet Reach, Sergeant hunt reviewed his enemy in his head.
Brutes: Big, hairy, beastly strong, apes.
Jackals: Calculating, strategic. Sheild's are annoying. Watch for snipers.
Drones: Annoying bugs that fly, watch out for swarms.
Skirmishers: Like a hybrid of Jackals and Drones, fast bastards with sheild gauntlets.

That was all that was in the intelligence report. At least in their New Alexandria drop off. He looked over at his Tac map/gps on his wrist. The pelican had entered the atmosphere.

Hunt Stood up and turned to face a panel. After pressing a few buttons the panel slid down revealing several jet packs. Hunt took a few off and began tossing them to the ODST's.

"Get ready to jump, this is where we get off." The ramp began to lower and the air began to suck at them. Hunt just stood, BR in hand.

Entering a new day. We enter a new era. What lies ahead? Only the blanket of darkness that the future has cast over itself, just waiting to surprise us. We know nothing of the form it will take. And so, we must be prepared for anything. We head into that black. Out of the darkness, these blades will light our way.

The glow from the Seraph's console provided an eerie illumination in the dark cabin of the Seraph. Ripa had piloted one of these before, but, this time, he was not in control of the ship. He merely acted the role of co-pilot for the moment. The craft pulled away from the carrier, a ship so large that even as they flew away from it, it still swallowed up all the space above them. Roughly twenty-seven miles in length, by human standards, not to mention immensely powerful. He remembered the first time seeing one of the awesome ships. He recalled the incredible feeling of wonder at it. The sheer show of strength expressed by the single vessel. He had, at the time, thought that no other ship could possibly defeat it.

Now that he was older he knew better.

He examined the console in front of him through the eyes of his helmet, "They must know we are here," He said to the pilot, breaking the silence. "The Covenant."

"Mm," The Pilot grunted in response. "They may not be smart, but they are not too stupid. They would not miss the super carrier."

"Then let us hope that the humans have a worthy plan of attack. Otherwise this campaign will be all for naught, lest they decide to send in an army." Ripa replied solemnly.

"They will. And even if they do not, or if it fails for some reason, they will improvise." The pilot turned his head a fraction, glancing at Ripa for a moment, "They are good at such things."

Ripa nodded, remembering such things from the War, "Yes. And it cost us many a battle on the ground. Not to mention a number in the void." As they closed in on the Dusk the pilot decreased their speed.

The pilot hailed the ship, "Shadow of Dusk, we request permission to dock." He glanced once more at Ripa, though he pretended not to notice. "There is a package for you."

A moment's pause.

"Separatist seraph, permission is granted. We have a pelican departing at the moment, we suggest you wait for it to clear before docking."

"Understood." The pilot severed the connection.

Ripa took a slow, shallow breath, "'Package'?"

The pilot chuckled, "Something the matter?"

Ripa shook his head, "No. Nothing important." Silenced washed over the cockpit once more, and the two Sangheili watched as the pelican dropship departed for the planet below. Once clear, the seraph moved in, entering the Dusk's hangar bay. It settled down in the center, which was cleared of personnel for the landing. Ripa nodded to the pilot before exiting the craft. Once at a safe distance, he turned to watch as the seraph lifted and backed out of the hangar. He redirected his attention the ship he was now in. Some of the crew were giving him odd looks, some of them less than friendly. A crewman approached him and directed him to a barracks where the rest of his "team" would be waiting. Ripa had been informed he would be working with the Arbiter on this, an honor, given how Thel had been instrumental in the dismantling of the Covenant.

Following the directions he had been given, Ripa navigated his way through the ship. Most of the crew that he passed still gave him those odd, sometimes hateful looks that he had received moments ago. But he paid them no mind. He would not start a fight over a glance. He reached the barracks and entered, finding that there were two people already present: The Arbiter, and a human who was easily recognizable as a Spartan.