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| - "Well, I'll be damned," the Pelican pilot's voice crackled over the troop bay's intercom. "Is this a peacekeeping mission or a goddamn occupation?" "From what I heard back up on the Dauntless, the guy who's in charge of this whole deal's a real hardass," his co-pilot replied. "Apparently, he's some desk jockey who thinks the UNSC hasn't been taking this frontier shit seriously all this time." "But still," the pilot said as they banked and began to pass over New Madrigal's eponymous city. "Just look at the damn place. If I didn't know better, I'd say there was a real war going on down there." Standing before the dropship's open troop bay, Felix-116 had to agree with the pilot on that point. With the enhanced vision vision offered by his MJOLNIR helmet and augmented eyesight, he could see everything that was was going on hundreds of meters below in exhaustive detail, and those details weren't pretty. Columns of smoke were rising from wrecked buildings and vehicles in nearly ever part of the city, branching off into smaller plumes to form a ghastly forest in the sky. Fires were raging unchecked everywhere, and some had even consumed whole blocks and were continuing to spread. Even the ones that had been seen to were grim mounds of ash that made Felix wonder if the fires hadn't been even worse than they were now before he'd arrived here. And everywhere, covering every debris-strewn street and charred corner, were the bodies. A few wore the uniforms and body armor of several different kinds of UNSC personnel, but most were garbed in battered civilian dress and looked like they'd been lying huddled in pools of blood for days. And then, on top of it all, was the army. Even if it wasn't technically part of the UNSC's army branch, there really was no other word to describe the force that had descended on the city. ODSTs, regular Marines, and even what looked like colonial militia were combing the ruins of urban sprawl, checking every building and car, wrecked and intact alike, with their weapons at the ready. As Felix watched, a squad of ODSTs hustled a trio of civilians--one man and two women--out of a burning building before roughly restraining and searching them as a platoon of Marines formed a tight perimeter around them. A building several blocks away suddenly spat gunfire at a group of Marines and militia soldiers, sending them scattering for cover. Less than ten seconds later, a barrage of high-caliber autocannon rounds tore the building to pieces. The militia and even some of the Marines cheered as they rushed to breach the building under the watchful gaze of an aerial guardian: a Vulture gunship. If the carnage of the street war had been the start of Felix's amazement, then the Vultures finished the job. The SPARTAN-I counted no less than twelve of the assault gunships in the air above the city, with several more hovering at distant points further off. Each one was more than twice the size of a Pelican--large craft in their own right--and sported ten times the firepower. Essentially the UNSC's version of a flying tank, they were all heavily armed and armored--and incredibly expensive. Felix had heard of only a small production line meant mostly for Inner Colony defense being carried over after the end of the Great War, and yet here was a whole fleet of them, spread out over a mass deployment like any of the UNSC's mainstream war machines. Felix had seen Vultures in action less than a handful of times in the past, but never more than one at a time and never in anything short of a massive, pitched battle. Now they were everywhere, providing support for a gang war suppression and the hunt for a fugitive. Smaller Hornet and Falcon VTOLs flitted around their hulking brethren, occasionally stopping to deposit troops on rooftops or to spray suppressing fire down into troublesome buildings. Felix shook his head as the Pelican began to descent. This was one of the largest single deployments he had ever seen, and their targets were a single assassin and a few thousand criminals. Couldn't this amount of firepower have been put to better use on the new battlefronts opened up by the Path Walkers? As they passed over more Vultures, Felix could see that the gunships actually had Marines positioned on their armored backs. These odd passengers ranged from two man sniper teams to entire squads of troops, all of them ready to rain even more firepower down on the outmatched gangs. "Coming in on the F.O.B. now, Lieutenant Commander," the pilot reported over the intercom. "It's right in the center of this shit, real easy to find." The Pelican banked again, and Felix reached out for one of the troop bay's handholds. A wise decision, as it turned out, because the dropship immediately jerked back and nearly sent him tumbling out of the bay. "Shit!" the pilot snapped as the Pelican jerked away again. "We've got contacts on rooftops... damn! Three, no, four guys with RPGs! What the hell?" Felix saw them immediately as the Pelican twisted to dodge another rocket. The moment he glimpsed some dark shapes on the rooftop, he tore his assault rifle off of its clamps on the back of his armor. Bracing himself against the troop bay's wall, he opened fire, doing his best to compensate for the Pelican's erratic evasions. The closest rooftop attacker crumpled, followed swiftly by a second who darted in to snatch up the rocket launcher. His clip ran dry, and as he was reloading a trio of Hornets soared forward, raining machine-gun fire down on the offending rooftops. Felix slapped the new clip into his weapon but didn't fire; the Hornets had already finished off the poorly-laid ambush. A Falcon glided in to hover amidst the Hornets, and Felix saw one of its door gunners wave at him. "Nice shooting, Spartan!" the man yelled. "Don't worry about anymore assholes taking potshots at you; we've got things covered up here." Felix raised his hand in acknowledgement as the Pelican began to settle down in what had once been the city's town square and was now the UNSC's forward operations base. Clipping his rifle onto his back, he banged on the troop bay's wall. "Thanks for the lift!" he told the crew over his helmet's radio. "No problem, sir," the pilot replied. "Got a good view of all that taxpayer money at work. Could've used a little less excitement, but we saw it through." Felix jumped out of the troop bay, landing nimbly on the paved ground. As the Pelican lifted off, he took a look around the hub of all the UNSC activity in New Madrigal. The square was bustling with activity. Strings of mobile command bunkers had been laid out around the perimeter, covering flimsier aid stations and vehicle depots from enemy fire. Dozens of Marines milled about the area, some checking their weapons while others formed up to head out into the war zone of a city. A few lounged about in New Madrigal's sunlight--or what little sunlight could punch through the clouds of smoke hovering over the city--but most seemed to be busy with some task or another. Felix watched as a squad of Marines marched a ragged line of battered gang members away towards an awaiting Pelican. The captives' hands were cuffed behind their backs and they looked as if they'd been through hell. What interested Felix even more were the militia soldiers. There were even more of them than there were Marines, and they all seemed eager and even excited as Marines or ODSTs gave them instructions or directed their activities. A crowd of militia congregated around several large trucks, where a warrant officer in an ONI uniform was handing out assault rifles. A closer inspection revealed that these were new-model, top of the line MA7-series weapons; not the handed down scrap that colonial militia usually got. A massive task force? Felix mused as he strode towards a Marine lieutenant. High grade gear for the militia? What's going on here? The lieutenant straightened when he saw the armored Spartan approach--a common reaction, even when the Spartan in question wasn't an officer. "Sir?" the man asked. "You need something?" "Where's the commander?" Felix asked. "I was ordered to report to him directly." "Oh, the commander?" The lieutenant pointed off towards one of the command buildings. "He's briefing a platoon over there." Felix nodded his thanks and headed in the direction the Marine had pointed. As he neared, he saw a platoon of ODSTs, all armed to the teeth, staring intently at an officer who stood in front of a holographic projection of a series of buildings. The officer jabbed his gloved finger at one of the buildings, and the special forces troopers nodded in what looked like approval. "Another sweep," the officer was saying. He spoke in curt, clipped tones as he paced before the projection. "You'll coordinate with the 332nd Armored to cordon off the entire block while the Altas Torres militia regiment provides support. You'll have full air support during the entire hit, and I expect you to use it in full. No more of this division pride, and that's an order. The Marines, the militia, and all the air units hare there to coordinate with you, and you will do the same with them. I will not be losing any more of you because you won't ask the militia to cover you." The platoon's lieutenant nodded. She indicated her troops with her helmet, which she held in one hand while gripping a suppressed submachine gun in the other. "Understood, sir. This bastard won't be taking out anyone else on my watch." "Make sure he doesn't." The officer raised his hand. "Dismissed." The ODSTs filed away, heading for one of the vehicle depots, and the officer turned to face Felix, as if he'd heard him approaching from behind. The first thing Felix noted was that the man's hair was perhaps the worst violation of military protocol he had ever seen. Heavy bangs fell down on either side of the officer's head, framing the clean-shaven face of a man who couldn't have been older than thirty. The hair had grayed prematurely, giving the man an austere look belied by his odd hair style but matched by his emotionless demeanor and eyes that seemed permanently narrowed. His skin was pale and smooth, save for a thin scar that ran up the length of his forehead. Felix hadn't seen a picture of his new commanding officer beforehand--he rarely did with ONI types--and stopped to stare at the odd amalgamation of military norms and flagrant regulation infraction, an easy thing to do while wearing his helmet. The officer nodded and approached him. He wore a large dark overcoat over his ONI uniform, with even darker gloves covering his hands. Everything about the man screamed spook to Felix, yet he extended his hand as if he were a regular Marine or Naval officer. Felix looked down at the gloved hand in mild surprise; few non-augmented humans were quick to trust their hands to the grip of an armored Spartan. "Yuri Rosch," the officer said by way of introduction. "Section Three." Felix blinked inside his helmet, and mentally braced himself. ONI's Section Three, the branch responsible for most of the navy's special and black operations, had always despised him for his suspicious entry into the SPARTAN-II program's roster. What infuriated them more was the fact that he'd gotten away with it completely clean, with no records of his deception ever getting caught under their tight-assed radar. Every Section Three officer he'd ever served with had made their contempt clear, and while he could handle the worst of their spiteful anger, he had to admit that it had gotten old very quickly. "SPARTAN-116, reporting for duty, commander," he said quickly. Just as he'd anticipated, he saw Rosch's eyebrows flick upwards for a moment at the number "116". "I'm told by my Section Three colleagues that you're a deceitful show-off who enjoys thumbing his nose at the system to no end," Rosch told him. "It only seems fair that my request for a SPARTAN-II officer would get you assigned to me." Felix gave a small shake of his head. If this man was going to use his authority to make things difficult on him, then they might as well level with each other as quickly as possible. "Sir, you've heard what you've heard," he told the commander. "I know I can't change yours or anyone else in Section Three's opinion, but you'll get my very best results regardless of how you put me to work." But Rosch raised his hand, lifting it slightly higher than normal to compensate for Felix's abnormal height. "That's what my colleagues think," he emphasized. "However, I plan to reserve judgement until I can get a good look at you in action for myself. Anything else is disrespectful to your abilities and, quite frankly, obscenely unprofessional." Now it was Felix's turn to raise his eyebrows, though Rosch couldn't see the motion behind his helmet. "You're quite direct, sir," he said after a moment. "I don't like beating around the bush," Rosch told him. He gestured at the bustling activity around them. "This city is proof enough of that. Besides, you aren't the only one with a bad reputation in Section Three." Felix was beginning to wonder if Rosch had missed his calling in the military. The man was the most frank ONI officer the SPARTAN-I had ever met, and if the New Madrigal operation was anything to go by he would have been better suited for the Army or Marine corps. "Who exactly are you talking about, sir?" he asked as Rosch began to stride towards the command center. "Let's just say Section Three was wary about my assignment as Task Force Watts's commander," Rosch replied. "There have been... questions raised about my methods in the past." From the carnage around them, Felix wasn't surprised. "This all does seem very direct for an assassination mission, sir." he noted as they walked into the command center. The single-room pre-fab was adorned with a few computer monitors and screens detailing the operations and assignments around New Madrigal. Several officers wearing ONI uniforms were engrossed in directing communications between patrols and aircraft while others analyzed maps and lines of data. "That's because it's not simply an assassination mission anymore," Rosch told him, waving a hand at a large holographic projection of the city. "When our intelligence on Kahn brought the task force to this planet, we discovered a breeding ground for crime and insurrection. All I needed to do was explain it to my superiors in an appropriately dire fashion, and they were handing me more reserve units than I knew what to do with." "So you turned a hunt for Kahn into a war on crime?" Felix asked. What kind of officer would do something like that when faced with the risks failure would pose to their career? "Weren't you worried about the collateral?" "After first contact was made with Kahn, I launched an immediate evacuation," Rosch explained. "Normally, the gangs would take one look at a UNSC task force and go underground, but we didn't give them enough time for that. They were all so busy defending their territories from each other that only a handful tried to slip out with the civilians. With them gone, I was able to bring the full brunt of our firepower down on New Madrigal." "And what about the property loss?" Felix wasn't sure whether to be shocked or awed by Rosch's handiwork. "Aren't you afraid this'll just turn the regular civilians into rebels?" "Normally, yes. But once Section II gets done with them, the evacuees will be convinced the UNSC saved them all from a miserable hellhole." "Section II's involved as well?" Just what was going on here? "You've been busy on the front lines, Commander. But there's a war going on here in human space as well. It's been nearly twenty years since the end of the Great War, and we're no more stable than we were a century ago. ONI's finally doing something about these frontier worlds, and cracking down here is just the first step in a much bigger game." Felix frowned. "You're worried about another civil war. Like what happened with the Insurrectionists before the Covenant showed up." Rosch nodded. "Precisely. Frontier worlds like this one could turn into rogue states if allowed to grow fast enough outside of UNSC authority. The Interspecies Union has enough problems without one of its core members splintering. The Mamore revolt should have been a wakeup call, but it wasn't. Now we need to reassert control over all human planets, or our species will be permanently weakened in the galactic arena." Their was a fire in Rosch's voice, one that Felix had rarely heard from UNSC soldiers before. It reminded him of other rhetoric, something that he had heard long ago. The source of it all was at the edge of his mind, but he just couldn't reach far enough to grab it. Felix gritted his teeth. His amnesia, a problem since his recovery fourteen years ago, was a constant source of annoyance these days. Everywhere he turned, there were more clues winking at him, daring him to recover what he'd lost, but he was rarely able to act on them. "We had some opposition to all this from the local governor, of course," Rosch was saying. "After he was evacuated, he wanted to have a hand in how we ran the operation." "And how'd you deal with that?" Felix asked. "I ran an investigation on his office. It took us less than a day to find incriminating evidence linking him with multiple local crime gangs. Those gangs happened to be associated with known rebel groups, and that was enough to have the colonial authorities arrest him and most of his staff. The entire planet's under temporary martial law until a more stable government can be put in place." "And are you sure Kahn is even in the city anymore?" Felix asked carefully. "Oh, he's here," Rosch assured him. "He manages to kill more of my men every day--" As if on cue, one of the communications officers waved them over. "Sir!" she yelled. "Lieutenant Yendel has made contact with the target! She's on the line now!" Rosch darted over to the officer's console, Felix at his heels. "This is Commander Rosch," he barked into the mike. "What's the situation?" "We had him," panted a voice; Felix remembered it as belonging to the ODST from earlier. "But he made a run for it. Killed two of mine and three of the militia." Rosch's brows narrowed in anger. "But do you still have visual?" he demanded. "Negative, sir, he left us in the dust. But a whole wing of Hornets still has him in sight. He ran into one of the neighborhoods we haven't locked down yet--" Rosch cut her off and rounded on another communications officer. "Rajeed, patch me in to those Hornets. Now!" The man scrambled to obey, and Rosch grabbed the mike as soon as it was offered. "I want you to contact all units--I don't care if they're on the ground or in the air--and coordinate with them. If we have to bring everything we have down on him, fine." He took a breath, then continued. "And ignore all fire zone restrictions. As long as you won't hit our units, fire at will. Whatever it takes to bring him down. I'll be joining you shortly." Thrusting the mike back at the communications officer, he turned to Felix. "He only killed five this time; he usually takes down twice that many. We've got him on the ropes now, Lieutenant Commander." He reached up and activated a communications earpiece. "Wesley? Is Jian occupied?" A pause as someone on the other end answered. Rosch nodded. "Good. Have them report to my Pelican and have Wisla prep it for launch." The commander turned back to Felix. "Come on, Commander. Time for you to meet the other Spartans."
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