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What Once was Ours, chapter 1
Date: 27 August 2009, 11:05 pm

What Once was Ours
Chapter One
1300 Hours, July 11, 2553 (Military Calendar)
Somewhere in the Trojan Asteroids
Day One of the Admiralty Insurgency

      "Lord Hood, the El Alamein and her task force have entered the asteroid field."
      Fleet Admiral Sir Terrence Hood turned his aged wrinkled face away from the vista of hurtling rock to face his senior naval NCO. "Tell me something, Chief Grath, why on Earth does the media insist upon portraying asteroids as so tightly packed? Granted, they are a navigation hazard...but not nearly as dramatic a one as in the movies."
      Senior Chief Petty Officer Donald Grath, heart-shaped face looking somewhat distressed as always, blinked. "I'm sorry, Lord Hood?"
      The Admiral shook his silver-maned head. "Never mind. Inform the El Alamein that Lord Hood gives Fleet Admiral Harper his compliments, and that he may board when ready."
      "Right away," responded Grath turning to address the Elite manning the comms station.
      Hood sighed. The forces that had pledged their loyalty to him had all arrived, now it was time to plan strategy. Although what strategy would work against the full might of the UNSC and ONI he had yet to determine.
      "We knew it wasn't going to be easy, Terrence," said the figure standing behind the Admiral.
      Hood cocked a small smile. "I know, Marcus, but that doesn't do much to ease the apprehension."
      Colonel Marcus Easley of the UNSC Air Force gave a grim smile. "Terrence, I'm a UNSCAF officer commanding a naval task force. Believe me, I know apprehension. I might not have an O-9 paygrade, but..."
      "Old prejudices die hard, Marcus, to say nothing of old inter-service rivalries."
      Easley, a trim, somewhat pale man below average height like most fighter pilots, smiled. It was considerably closer to a rictus. "I think it says something that I managed to earn the respect of my task force."
      Hood chuckled, something he hadn't been able to do for some time. "Coming up with the tactics to defeat two-to-one odds will do that for a man. Do you know how Ted feels about this whole thing?"
      The ex-fighter jock shook his head. "Ted knows what we're up against, knows why Parangosky has to be defeated. All the same, the defection of the Terran Home Guard to a renegade Admiral...even a renegade ex-Chairman Admiral...it's gonna be a blow to morale, for both Parangosky...and Ted. He had what was basically the most important posting in the Fleet."
      Lord Hood nodded. Were it not for Hood's eminent parents, it could've been Harper who would have been UNSC Chairman. "I know...but he's on our side, that's what matters."
      "Are you sure about that?" Easley pointedly inquired. "You know Harper, duty comes first for him, for all we know he could be having second thoughts about---"
      The tension between the two could have been cut with a knife and served on crackers. Fortunately, Senior Chief Grath chose that moment to interrupt. "Lord Hood, the Admiral's gig from El Alamein is inbound."
      The UNSC's ex-Chairman shot a look at the Air Force O-6. "Very good, Senior Chief. Send Ted my compliments, and that he may board when ready."
      Grath nodded, looking put-upon as per the norm.
      For his part, Hood had already executed a crisp about face and had begun to double-time to the Assault Carrier's hangar bay. Just as he had approached the blue-lit threshold of the bridge, he paused to shoot a look at Grath. "Senior Chief?"
      The naval NCO, currently discussing docking procedures with the Sangheili Landing Signals Officer, shot a weary look at the Admiral. "Yes, Lord Hood?"
      "Tell Stacker to get an honor guard together."
      "Will do, Sir."

***

      "This is unacceptable, James."
      Colonel James Ackerson, absently fingering the scars he'd received as a Brute captive, looked up from his spot in the corner of Parangosky's office, where he was leaning against the space-black wall. "I know that, ma'am."
      The commander of the Office of Naval Intelligence slammed the datapad showing the hunt's progress down on her desk, breaking it in half. Ackerson had no idea whether to be amazed that the ancient Admiral still had that strength within her, or scared shitless that she could apply the same amount of force to his neck.
      "I'm serious, James," growled Parangosky. "Hood might only have gotten two of our units to come over to his side, but one of them was the Terran Home Guard. Can you try and get it through your thick skull what that means for Earth's defences, not to mention morale?"
      "Yes, ma'am," was the meek reply.
      "You'd better," replied Parangosky, "because I need all the help I can get. Not only have we lost Easley and Harper, but now I have the Arbiter breathing down my neck about getting his cruisers back, and HIGHCOM is getting---"
      The Admiral's tirade was interrupted as the intercom on her desk beeped. "Parangosky here."
      "Ma'am, this is Master Sergeant Byrne. I have someone out here who would like to see you."
      "Who is it?"
      "Ma'am...it's the Master Chief."

***

      The officer stepping into Shadow of Intent's stateroom wasn't wearing dress whites. In fact, he was wearing a battledress-style uniform, with the now-considered obsolete digital camoflauge pattern in blue upon it. The nametape on the uniform read "Harper", and three golden stars glinted on the collar. He was a slim man, wearing an almost unheard-of accoutrement: a pair of glasses. He might have been a smallish man, but his voice more than made up for it.
      "Terrence! Marcus!" the man boomed as he walked in, snapping off a salute. "A pleasure to see you both!"
      Hood and Easley looked at each other---Fleet Admiral Harper had saluted, but whom saluted back first? The Colonel or the ex-UNSC Chairman?
      The confusion lasted for a few seconds until Harper dropped his salute, laughing fit to burst. "Ha ha ha! You guys always were far too heavy on formalities and shit like that."
      It occurred to Hood, not for the first time, that it might not have been Hood's eminent parents that had knocked Harper out of the running for the Chairman's position.
      But for all that, Harper was a loyal friend and comrade, and his tactical skill had kept a significant portion of the Terran Home Guard alive during the final actions at Earth and the Ark. It had gotten him to flag rank---but his insistence on unorthodoxy ensured he would go no further.
      "Where in God's name did you dig up that old museum piece?" asked Easley, motioning to Harper's battledress.
      "My grandfather's," Harper replied quite proudly, "I'm feeling traditional today. Didn't you notice the other tape?"
      The two other officers shot a look at the nametape above Harper's left pocket. It read, US Navy.
      Hood blinked. "You have an artifact of the United States of America, and you wear it on active duty?"
      "I said I'm feeling traditional," replied the other Admiral.
      "OK, can we get down to business," growled Easley, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette, a rather unhealthy nervous habit of his. "I dunno if you two are too busy to remember, but we are supposed to be plotting an insurrection."
      "Indeed we are," remarked Harper, producing a lighter from one of his uniform's myriad pockets and gallantly offering it to Easley. "Well, Terrence?"
      Hood looked outside of the stateroom. "Senior Chief!"
      The omnipresent Senior Chief Petty Officer Donald Grath hurtled into the room, carrying a projector and a datapad. He set the two down onto the conference table, saluted the three officers, accepted Hood's salute, and raced back out, looking miserable all the while.
      "So help me God," observed Harper, "I have never seen a more miserable-looking naval NCO."
      "He didn't realized what being the Admiral's aide would entail," Hood drily observed. "If you'd be so kind, Ted?"
      Harper pulled out a chair, collapsed into it, and motioned for Hood to proceed.
      Hood plugged the datapad into the projection unit. Immediately, a chart appeared on the stateroom's screen. "These are our forces," Hood simply stated, waving a hand at the numbers.
      Easley gave a grim nod. "Two task forces and one fleet. Against the full might of Margaret Parangosky. Been nice knowing you two."
      "It's not that bad," said Harper, shaking his head. "Terrence's task force is made up of Elite ships, which are far superior to any of ours. This Assault Carrier alone could take out an entire task force."
      The Air Force officer, either not hearing or ignoring Harper's reasoning, took another look at the charts. "I don't see a list of ground forces here, Terrence."
      "That's because we'll only be using our Marines and ODSTs for harrying actions, or hit and run strikes. We can't afford to get into a protracted ground battle with Margaret."
      Harper stared intently at the data. "On paper it sounds as if we have a fighting chance at this, Terrence, but there's one element you seem to be forgetting."
      The old Admiral gazed at his comrade. "And what would that be, Ted?"
      "The Chief. Last I heard, he was ready to take you in to Parangosky."
      Hood smiled. "Ted, I know he's entering this conflict. In fact, I'm counting on it."
      Now it was Hood's turn to receive Easley's scathing stare. "You're counting on humanity's greatest soldier joining the fight against us?"
      Hood's smile did not falter. "Indeed, I'm counting on Margaret sending him to find me. And when he does, he'll deliver something that will change the tide of this war."

***

      "Welcome aboard the Rodger Young, Master Chief! She ain't the biggest boat in the Fleet, but..."
      The young naval rating's enthusiastic greeting tapered off as the Spartan simply walked off, massive MJOLNIR armor pounding the deckplates. As the young crewman stared after him, a man in UNSC Marine Corps armor with Captain's bars on the chestplate stepped up next to him. "It's a bit jarring, isn't it, son?"
      "Yes Sir," replied the crewman, taking in the Marine's appearance, which was essentially the stereotype for someone in his branch: bronzed, thick, built like a body builder, and a face that didn't speak of much intelligence within.
      "I'm Captain Snyder, UNSCMC," said the Marine. "I'm in command of the team being assembled here."
      "Gunner's Mate 3rd Class Thompson," replied the Navy crewman. extending his hand to shake.
      The Marine Captain looked at it as if were a venemous eel. "Just get me and my team where we need to go, squid."
      "Well, you'll have to talk to the skipper about that, but---"
      But Captain Snyder had already walked off.
      Gunner's Mate Thompson watched him go. When he was sure he was safe, he hurtled to the bridge. The skipper would need to know that the little rogue's gallery of ONI operatives had been assembled, and that they could get to work on their mission.
      Thompson was rather curious what it would fell like to succeed on this mission. He'd certainly never killed an Admiral before.

What Once was Ours, chapter 2
Date: 11 September 2009, 11:28 pm

What Once was Ours
Chapter Two
1600 Hours, July 13, 2553 (Military Calendar)
Somewhere in the Trojan Asteroids
Day One of the Admiralty Insurgency

      "Y'think Lord Hood's got something up his sleeve? We've been sitting here far too long if you ask me."
      Lieutenant Sara Anderson, better known by her callsign of Hocus, looked at her co-pilot sitting next to her at the mess hall table and shrugged. "Frankly, Dan, I don't give much of a damn. After the action I've seen I'm happy to take a break."
      Warrant Officer Daniel Shilds, fellow Kilo 023 crew member, shook his head. "We have to move as fast as possible. We're dealing with ONI here, Sara. ONI. The sooner we neutralize their capabilities, the better."
      "I'm sorry to interrupt the armchair strategy session," interjected a voice with a twang hailing from what had once been the southern USA, "but is this table full?"
      Hocus and Shilds looked up. Above them stood Master Gunnery Sergeant Pete Stacker, who had somehow managed to bull his way through the crowded Shadow of Intent mess hall to sit with them.
      Stacker looked back, grinning, an expression that turned somewhat sheepish when he realized Hocus and Shilds were holding hands. "I'm...not interrupting anything, am I?"
      "Not at all, Gunny," replied Shilds, "take a seat."
      The Marine availed himself of the offer and clattered down. "I'm surprised Hood didn't invite me to the meeting," he said. "Seeing as how I'm the senior enlisted man here on this ship."
      "Or this fleet," remarked Shilds.
      Hocus shook her head. "It's officer stuff, Gunny, don't take it personally. Us junior officers aren't much better off."
      Stacker and Shilds exchanged glances. "Maybe," replied the Warrant Officer. "But Warrant Officers and enlisted men don't get swimming pools. Just gonna leave it at that."
      The sole officer present at the table smiled. "Maybe, but---" Hocus's eyes abruptly widened. "Admiral on---"
      Fleet Admiral Theodore Harper, smilingly amiably around a cigar, waved her down. "At ease, before the whole mess hall realizes I'm here."
      Stacker eyed up Harper's old US Navy uniform, which was made in the now-obsolete blue digital camoflauge pattern. "Wearing that, it's not gonna take too long."
      The flag officer grinned, and pulled up a chair. "Now, I know you're enjoying your R and R after what happened on that Halo ring, but we need your help."
      Kilo 023's crew glanced at each other. "Sir?" asked Shilds.
      Harper leaned in close to Hocus and Shilds. "Lord Hood wants to know what ONI is up to, and to do that, we need a recon mission. And to do that, we need the best Pelican crew we can muster."
      "Don't we have fighters for that purpose?"
      The Admiral withdrew a lighter from his pocket and lit up. After a few contented puffs, he fixed Hocus with a piercing stare. "We do, Lieutenant, but they don't have the gear we need. Not enough room. A Pelican, on the other hand..."
      Shilds' narrow face contorted. "You want us to recon Earth?"
      Harper chuckled. "Seeing as how we all lived there and fought for it, I don't think we need much recon. No, we just need you to sit in orbit for as long as you can, intercept comm chatter and data, then bang out once you've outstayed your welcome."
      "Uh, Sir," put in Hocus, "Pelicans don't have slipspace drives."
      "Don't worry, Lieutenant, we have your back on this. The frigate Adriatic will be dropping you off in far Earth orbit. After a day or so, we'll have a ship pick you up."
      "Sorry to interrupt," put in Stacker, "but why d'you need to talk to me?"
      Harper's grin grew wider. "Well, Lord Hood thinks that at some point we might need to take the fight to ONI..."

***

      The corvette Rodger Young plowed her way through space, roving forth on her voyage to annihilate Admiral Hood and his command.
      In the ship's conference room, Navy and Marine personnel stood at attention behind the round table. The conference room had been painted a soothing blue, intended to call to mind the UNSC Navy's seagoing heritage and put at ease the room's occupants. It didn't help much.
      Nor did the entrance of the corvette's senior Marine officer. The burly Captain Snyder spat out "seats", and then sank down into his chair.
      No one had noticed the black-uniformed officer who had entered the room behind Snyder. The man was pale, with bulging eyes, and his uniform bore no insignia, rank or branch, nor nametape. "Good morning gentlemen."
      The assembled officers and senior enlisted men mumbled back something that might have been a greeting.
      "Where the hell do you think you are, Parris Island?" spat the corvette's skipper, the bear-like Commander Sergey Arkeyvich. "We're trained officers and enlisted men waiting for a briefing, not recruits needing moto nonsense."
      "My apologies, Commander Arkeyvich," said the officer. "Captain Snyder, shall I commence the briefing?"
      The Marine officer, a grim look on his pugnacious face, motioned to begin.
      "Gentlemen, as I'm sure you know, Admiral Terrence Hood, former Chairman of the UNSC, has gone rogue. Fleet Admiral Harper and the Terran Home Guard, along with Colonel Marcus Easley and the Rapid Response Task Force, have defected to his cause. ONI has given us orders to locate them."
      Arkeyvich fished around in his uniform tunic's breast pocket, grabbed a pungent Sweet William cigar, and rammed it into his mouth. "That's all well and good, but what do we do when we find them?"
      The unidentified officer gave the almost-smile again. "Send word to Earth...we'll take care of the rest."
      [Rodger Young]'s skipper furrowed his brow. "We?" growled Arkeyvich. "We who?"
      The officer's smile disappeared. "You don't need to know. Are there any other questions?"
      A thin, rather rat-faced blond-haired officer raised his hand. The unidentified officer nodded. "You, Lieutenant-Commander---"
      "Tranton, Sir," replied the other with a rather strong British accent. "I'm the XO---"
      "You had a question."
      Arkeyvich grinned at Captain Snyder upon hearing Tranton getting knocked down a peg; evidently he did not much care for his second in command.
      "Sir, who will be backing us up on this?"
      The officer didn't even miss a beat. "Admiral Stanley Hackett, commanding officer Third Fleet."
      "Thank y---"
      "Any other questions?"
      There were none.
      The officer looked at Snyder, who stood. "Alright, dismissed. Commander Arkeyvich, please stay here."
      As the briefing room emptied, the senior Navy officer approached the senior Marine officer. "What is it, Captain?"
      "You and your XO...we're not going to have a problem there, are we?"
      The hulking skipper spat, the tobacco-stained fluid staining the conference room's blue carpet. "He's the goddamned epitome of a goddamned career officer. He's ambitious beyond belief, and with just barely enough talent to counterbalance it."
      Snyder frowned. "He seems competent to me."
      "He's got his eyes on my oak leaves, you mark my words."
      The Marine Captain's patience abruptly ran out. "Look, I don't give a damn how you squids feel about each other, or the politics you wankers play. So long as you do your job, and he does his, I don't give a damn what rank isnignia he wants. Alright?"
      Arkeyvich angrily clamped his jaws down on his cigar. Around it, he growled, "so be it, Captain. But when he trades our lives for his career, just remember that I warned you."
      And with that, he departed, leaving a very irritated Snyder.

***

      The Arbiter's office in the UNSC High Command building had intitially been constructed to human levels of comfort. According to legend, upon seeing the furnishings, the Arbiter had proceeded to hack them to smithereens with his energy sword. He had then given the terrified technicians the specs for his ideal working space.
      It was now a spartan room, sparsely appointed, with only a utilitarian desk and chair. The only concession made to decoration was a helmet hanging on a stand---the age-old helmet that had been worn by the first Sangheili appointed as Arbiter, and now worn by the current one.
      Surveying his computer's messages, he came across one from an unidentified sender. It was rather cliched, if the human spy novels he had tried to read were accurate: "Package en route."
      Growling, he clicked his intercom online. "Major Domo 'Taham, this is the Arbiter. Report to my office."
      A few minutes later, the red-armored warrior, fresh scars from the action on Installation 06 gleaming on his face, entered the room and snapped his fists to opposite shoulders. "Major Domo 'Taham, Arbiter."
      The Arbiter raised a finger, and put on his helmet. Adjusting something on his HUD, he swept his head across the room. Upon laying eyes on the stand for his helmet, he growled.
      "Arbiter...?" asked 'Taham, cocking his head.
      Still growling, the Sangheili leader approached the helmet stand. In one fell swoop, he drew his sword and sliced it across the stand.
      'Taham looked quizzically at his leader.
      The Arbiter closed the door. "Spying devices...sometimes I believe that the humans will never come to trust us."
      "Yet we persevere..." said 'Taham in a resigned voice.
      "Take heart," replied the Arbiter, "for there are those who still have faith in us. And it is those people that I require you to help."
      'Taham spread his mandibles. "I am listening."
      "A human ship under the allegiance of Lord Hood will be arriving in Earth orbit shortly to perform an intelligence mission. As this ship is not Slipspace capable, they have requested one of our corvettes extract them. This will be done under the guise of a routine patrol."
      "And the corvette's crew?"
      "Handpicked and completely loyal, and sympathetic to Lord Hood's cause."
      'Taham smacked his hands against his shoulders once more. "It will be done, Arbiter."

***

      Stacker walked into the wardroom in Shadow of Intent that had been adopted as the Admiral's Quarters, halted, and executed a parade-ground perfect salute.
      Sir Terrence Hood, bald head bowed over a laptop, looked up at his senior enlisted man's entry. "At ease, Pete."
      As Stacker snapped to, a chuckle sounded from the room's second occupant. Admiral Harper was reclining in Hood's office chair, booted feet up on the desk. "Stop being such a tin soldier, Master Guns. At rest."
      Stacker relaxed, and Hood turned to face the room's third and final occupant. "Senior Chief, close the door."
      The omnipresent Donald Grath, looking slightly less put-upon than usual, did so.
      "Gentlemen," said Hood, "I've called you here to find out how the enlisted members of my...fleet, for lack of a better term, are doing."
      Senior Chief Grath frowned. "Sir, what about the Elites."
      Hood's face hardened. "Senior Chief, if there's one thing I've learned since the war, it's to not meddle with the affairs of Elite crew members. Now report."
      Grath stiffened to the position of attention. "Crew morale is good, Sir, but it'll be better once we've taken the fight to ONI."
      The ex-Chairman nodded, and turned to face his senior enlisted Marine. "What about you grunts, Pete?"
      Stacker snapped to attention, armor plating clacking. "The Marines I've tocked to are locked, cocked, and ready to rock, Sir!"
      Harper, feet still up on Hood's desk, actually fell over backwards laughing. He hit the floor with a dull thud, still laughing fit to burst. "Jesus, Terrence, I thought you told me this guy wasn't one of the tin-soldier types!"
      Hood quirked a small smile. "I think having two Admirals in the room might have him a bit on edge. Pete, at ease."
      The staff NCO relaxed. "Yes Sir. Although that is the situation...my men are raring for a fight, Sir."
      The two Admirals exchanged glances. "You might just get that, Pete, and sooner than you think."

What Once was Ours, chapter 3
Date: 2 December 2009, 2:30 am

What Once was Ours
Chapter Three
1040 Hours, July 14, 2553 (Military Calendar)
Approaching Earth
Day Two of the Admiralty Insurgency

      "We're here," said Hocus, her voice tinged with awe.
      "Gimme a second!" came the shout from aft, punctuated by a loud metallic clank.
      Hocus shook her head exasperatedly. "Shilds, if you wreck the comm gear, we might as well just defect to ONI and save ourselves the trouble of what Lord Hood will do to us!"
      "Have some faith, babe, I know my way around a Pelican!"
      "Call me that again, I dare you. Remember one of the conditions of this relationship?"
      There was another clank before the Warrant Officer's voice wafted up from the troop bay. "No pet names, I know."
      "Good. Now get up here so we can get to work."
      The door to the cockpit hissed open, and the trim co-pilot clambered in like a flight-suited monkey. "Way you were talking, I thought we'd been dropped off."
      "We haven't," replied Hocus, her voice still reverent. "But look."
      Visible through the Pelican's cockpit was a blue and green sphere, streaked with white, a small grey moon orbiting it. Even from the far orbit Adriatic was currently holding, small streaks of light could be seen heading towards and away from the planet.
      "Earth," said Shilds, nodding.
      "And the new defence grid," noted Hocus. "Look at that. Fifty Orbital Defense Platforms for the near hemisphere alone."
      "This ought to be fun," said Shilds. "Hope they don't decide to take a closer look at us."
      "Then hope that the transponder Harper's techies rigged up works. The LSO wants us deployed in---"
      Appropriately enough, the cockpit speaker picked that moment to crackle to life. "Hotel Six-Niner, this is Adriatic Landing Signals Officer. Drop in five."
      Hocus got to the comm first. "Copy, LSO. Dropship Hotel Six-Niner standing by for drop."
      Shilds shot his co-pilot and erstwhile romantic interest a sly look. "Our dropship's number is---"
      "Don't even say it," said Hocus.
      The Warrant Officer chuckled. "What, LT? You don't want me to propose that we---"
      Fortunately for Hocus's sanity, the LSO chose that moment to break in. "Hotel Six-Niner, drop in five...four...three...two...one...mark."
      That last was accompanied by several dull thuds as the Pelican was jettisoned from the frigate's hangar, plummeting relative down towards Earth. In the cockpit, Hocus and Shilds were thrown against their restraints like sardines in a can, the former gritting her teeth, the latter bellowing obscenities into his helmet.
      Then the Pelican's pre-programmed thrust sequenc took over, and the shaking came to an abrupt finish.
      "Engines online," muttered Hocus. "Shilds?"
      "Transponder online...plus the codes that'll let us get into Earth orbit."
      "All right, then. ETA to Earth orbit...five hours, give or take a few."
      Shilds' visor depolarized, revealing a half-grin and a cocked eyebrow.
      "No," said Hocus, answering his unspoken question.
      "Fine," replied Shilds, making the word sound like an extreme concession. "I'll be asleep. Agathon, wake me when we're in Earth orbit, alright?"
      "Yes, Warrant Officer," replied the AI operating the electronic warfare equipment. "Lieutenant Anderson, would you like me to do the same?"
      "I think I'll stay awake, Agathon."
      "Yes, Lieutenant. We'll be in Earth orbit within...five hours and twenty minutes." The AI's voice changed subtly as a conversation subroutine clicked in. "Are you sure you would not like to rest?"
      "Fine."
      "I'll be turning of the speakers, it'll save us power."
      "Fine."
      "If you need me---"
      "All right, Agathon."
      "Yes Ma'am."
      Hocus stared out the viewport at the blue-green orb as it slowly increased in size, wondering if it would be the last thing she ever saw.

***

      "Anything?"
      "Ma'am, if there's one thing I've learned during my tenure here in ONI, it's that space is big."
      Admiral-cum-UNSC-Chairwoman Margaret Parangosky glared daggers at Colonel James Ackerson. "Again, your insights prove astounding, Colonel."
      "Just doing my job, Ma'am," replied Ackerson, wondering if he'd finally crossed the line with the ancient woman who could have him killed with a single gesture.
      Parangosky spat. The results looked like something from within a bird's gizzard. "I know, James, I know. Is it time?"
      Ackerson nodded. "HIGHCOM would like to meet now, Ma'am."
      The aged Admiral almost let a weary expression flash across her face, a slight tightening of the wrinkles and skin, but it was soon banished by the iron-hard discipline that had kept her going all these years. "Then let's go give the masses their opiate."
      As his superior hefted herself into a standing position, Ackerson frowned. "Show due respect, Ma'am. These people could still turn against you."
      Parangosky's bark of laughter sounded particularly harsh set against the smooth hiss of her office door sliding open. "I doubt it. Strauss, McDonald, Pershing's replacement...they're all as complacement as neutered dogs."
      It didn't take a genius to note the exception. "And the Arbiter, Ma'am?"
      Now a grim look did cross Parangosky's face, and for a few minutes the clatter of the bootheels of the two most powerful people in the UNSC were the only sound in the hallway. Then---
      "I do think," Parangosky slowly hissed, "that he could be a problem. We've learned the hard way what happens when we...anger...his kind."
      "Not only the Elites," warned Ackerson, "but he also represents the Grunts and the Hunters. The last thing we need is a Hunter rebellion."
      A slight widening of her space-black pupils was the only sign Parangosky gave that she did not much care for the possibility that she had mentioned. "Yes, I'd have to agree with you there."
      By now they had reached the entrance to the HIGHCOM conference room. The clack of the two immaculately attired Marine guards snapping to attention echoed through the hall as the two approached. Ackerson eyed one up. "Top Byrne?"
      Master Sergeant Nolan Byrne nodded. "Sir."
      To the other: "Gunny Griggs."
      "Sir," the Gunnery Sergeant tersely grated out.
      Ackerson looked at Parangosky. "ORION veterans. Wouldn't they be more useful against Hood?"
      "Who better to guard our lives?" Parangosky countered.
      I'd feel safer if they were guarding our lives by taking Hood's, thought Ackerson. But he kept it to himself.
      "HIGHCOM's waiting for you, Ma'am," said Byrne, opening the door.
      Parangosky didn't even spare the senior enlisted man a nod as she blew through the entrance. Ackerson nodded acknowledgement at the two ORION troopers, then hurried off in Parangosky's wake.
      The corridor leading to the conference room was cramped, and oppressively decorated, and Parangosky didn't help matters. "They're not going to be happy with us."
      They're not going to be happy with us even after we overthrew one of their most respected peers? Amazing.
      Out loud, Ackerson said, "I would never have guessed, Ma'am."
      They were standing outside the doors to the conference room, now, and Parangosky shot Ackerson a look. "Just try to avoid irritating the Arbiter."
      Then they walked in.
      General David Dack of the UNSC Air Force, idly shuffling some papers, was the first to look up and call the staff to order. "ROOM TENCH-HUT!"
      The chairwoman of the UNSC took a second to survey the table, then nodded at the Colonel. "All right, take your seats," said Ackerson.
      Parangosky took her seat at the head of the table, Ackerson standing at her side. Both took a minute to survey the room.
      The conference room was a circular affair, with a circular table to boot. Both table and room were painted a glossy black, a color that matched Parangosky's office, and the plush velvet carpet was black as well. The circular table had place settings for all of HIGHCOM's members, save one: Ackerson, as Parangosky's adjutant, was expected to stand.
      "Gentlemen," said Parangosky.
      The Arbiter coughed.
      "Gentle...beings," she amended.
      Don Hanson, a tough-looking black man in his fifties with a carefully groomed mustache, snorted contemptuously. The General of the Army had made a statement by choosing to wear battledress to this meeting, and no doubt was rather nervous due to his predecessor's method of departure. The bloodstains of the deceased General Daniel Pershing were still on the table.
      "Respect the rank, Sir, if not the person," said Command Sergeant Major Bill Duke, the senior enlisted man in the UNSC, a tough-looking man of Asian descent who had refused numerous commissions.
      Ackerson coughed. "If you gentlemen are finished...?"
      Silence reigned once more.
      "Thank you, Colonel," said Parangosky. "General Dack, I believe you called this meeting?"
      The blonde haired General David Dack, commander of the UNSC Air Force, stood. A man born to wealth and privilege, it was a common joke that the Air Force's dress blues were colored such so that, were the General shot, no one could tell if he were bleeding.
      "Yes Ma'am, I did. You've requested that all of the Air Force's drones be deployed to hunt for Lord Hood...Ma'am, how do you expect us to police former Insurrectionist and Covenant space?"
      Parangosky's iron-hard gaze speared the General for a second, then took in the rest of the command staff. "Any other complaints?"
      Lieutenant General Nicolaus Strauss of the UNSC Marine Corps slowly got to his feet. "Ma'am, who exactly is in charge of the hunt for Lord---"
      Parangosky gave a dangerous look.
      "---Sorry, former-Admiral Hood. Chain of command is pretty blurred now. Rodger Young's skipper outranks the Marine detachment commander, but the Marine commander is in charge of the op, then there's one of your spooks floating around---"
      "Enough," said Parangosky. "The chain of command is perfectly understandable."
      Strauss frowned. "Umm...no, it's not, Admiral. That's why I'm---"
      Parangosky shot Ackerson a look, and the Colonel's hand started to stray towards the butt of his sidearm.
      Fear blossomed in the General's eyes. "---But, I suppose it's perfectly understandable to someone in the thick of the action. My apologies, Ma'am."
      General Hanson and CSM Duke somehow managed to snort in unison.
      The Arbiter, sitting at the far end of the table from Parangosky, shook his head. "Two potentially civilization-destroying conflicts later and you humans still have not changed..."
      "Is that all the business you have for me?" asked Parangosky.
      Admiral Tim "MAC Gun" McDonald, Chief of Naval Operations, leaned forward. The CNO's caggy face and lantern jaw masked a keen intellect that had thrived---some would say a little too well---in the politics of Generals and Admirals. "Ma'am, some planets with former military personnel in their government have expressed their...wariness at having the head of ONI becoming the new Chairwoman of the UNSC."
      Parangosky's lip curled. "Admiral McDonald, you will send the following message, exactly as I tell you."
      McDonald's already-grim face grew even more so. "Yes Ma'am."
      "Tell them if they do not like the protection of the UNSC...that they are free to join Terrence's rag-tag fugitive fleet, and then they will see just how well the UNSC takes care of its own. Do you have that?"
      "Yes Ma'am."
      "That is all I have for you, gentlemen. Dismissed."

***

      "Admiral Harper? Signal from the Adriatic, recon team deployed on schedule."
      Fleet Admiral Theodore Harper, hands clasped behind his back, Eridanian cigar clutched in his mouth, shot a nod over his shoulder at the comm station. "Very good, comms. Keep monitoring all frequencies. If something happens, I want to know about it five minutes before it occurs. Understood?"
      "Yes Sir."
      With that, Harper resumed staring off into the void. Long ago, as a young Ensign aboard the corvette Assegai, he'd memorized the constallations shining out there in the pitch-black of deep space as part of his duties as navigation officer. Those stars were bright and full of hope for me. Now they pretty much are me...bright pinpricks of light trying to keep the darkness at bay.
      The Admiral gave a slight snort at his introspectiveness. "XO, I'm going to be in my quarters. Let me know if anything turns---"
      "Excuse me, Admiral Harper?"
      The flag officer turned to face a fairly short enlisted man, whose heart-shaped face seemed best-suited to mournful expressions. It was Hood's omnipresent aide, Senior Chief Petty Officer Donald Grath.
      "Senior Chief, what can I do for you?"
      "Lord Hood has news, Sir. If you'll follow me..."
      "Sure thing," replied Harper, following the NCO off of the bridge. "And when the hell are you getting your stars?"
      Something in the Senior Chief's face froze.
      Seems I hit a nerve...seems our good little automaton of a chief has feelings after all...
      "Lord Hood..." Grath slowly grated out, "has determined that in order to preserve equilibrium amongst our fleet and maintain the current command structure, that all promotions amongst naval and marine personnel are frozen for the time being."
      Harper shot a wry look at Grath. "Translated from pogue-speak, son?"
      A brief grin shot across the naval NCO's face. "I'm Force Master Chief in everything but name...but that doesn't give me the status I need amongst the other senior enlisted personnel. I've got Master Chiefs on other ships completely ignoring my orders because I don't have the stars."
      "Don't worry son," said Harper. "I always take care of my own...I'll see what I can do to get Terrence to make an exception."
      A relieved expression, so different from his of being constantly harried, broke across Grath's face. "Thank you, Sir," he said softly. "That'd mean a lot to me."
      "We're here," said Harper.
      The entrance to Sir Terrence Hood's stateroom was identical to that of any other crewman or officer's quarters on board the Shadow of Intent, if not for the fact that it had wood panelling embedded within the metal, the Hood family coat of arms carved upon it. One Sangheili Major and a Marine NCO stood at attention in front of it, carbine and battle rifle taughtly held across their chests.
      Harper cocked an eyebrow at the Marine. "We've got business with the Admiral."
      The other executed a crisp right-face and slapped the door control. The wood-panelled entrance hissed open with startling speed.
      Grath glanced at the Admiral. "Flag officers first, Sir."
      Harper grinned. "Chiefs run the Navy. After you."
      The two entered the room, Grath first. The Senior Chief immediately snapped to attention and snapped off a parade-ground-sharp salute. "Admiral, Senior Chief Grath reporting as ordered."
      Admiral Harper cocked an eyebrow, and waved a hand in Hood's direction. "I'm here too, Terrence."
      Lord Hood sat behind a computer terminal, the light from the monitor throwing the many wrinkles on his face into sharp relief. But rather than making him look wearier than ever, a look of intensity that Harper had only seen when his long-time comrade was engaged in the thick of battle permeated his face. "At ease, the two of you. Come over here."
      "What is it, Terrence?" asked Harper. "More certain doom from ONI about to come crashing down on our heads?"
      Hood shook his head. "No. It's a message. From the governor of Sigma Octanus IV."
      Grath and Harper exchanged confused looks. "Pardon, Sir?" asked the Senior Chief.
      "I'll just play the message," said Hood, punching a button on the console.
      The hologram of an aged man in his late sixties appeared, clad in clothes of a vaguely military cut, but devoid of any insignia or award, save for a pair of golden medals glittering over his left breast.
      "The Colonial Cross..." muttered Grath. "Two of them..."
      "Quiet, Senior Chief," said Hood.
      The figure spoke. "This is Governor Ysionris Jeromi of Sigma Octanus IV, to Admiral Sir Terrence Hood." The man's face split in a wry grin. "I have no idea why I'm bothering with all these formalities seeing as how we've worked together for so long now, but I digress."
      Harper shot an accusing glance at Hood. "You never told me old Jeromi went into politics after the war."
      "He preferred to keep it private," said Hood.
      "As I'm sure you know, seeing as how it was the reason you and your buddies went rogue, that Margaret Parangosky has become the Chairwoman of the UNSC. I've had more contact with ONI than most, so I don't think I need to point out just how bad of a fix this puts us in."
      The hologram leaned forward. "That's why I'm offering you my support...you can have the natural resources of Sigma Octanus at your disposal, our militia, our political support. And we're not alone. There are other politicians who were former service members who've had dealings with ONI, and they feel no differently than I do."
      An almost manically intense expression filled Jeromi's face. "We can create a coalition, Terrence, a group of peoples who can take the UNSC back and make it into what it was supposed to have been. We---"
      Hood switched off the hologram. "I do respect Ysionris, but he does have a tendency to be rather long-winded at times. In any event, you get the general idea. Thoughts?"
      Grath frowned. "Pete's not here."
      "Stacker's a groundpounder, Senior Chief...he just goes with the flow. Us Navy personnel, we like to know what it is that's being done to affect the situation."
      Harper looked at Hood. "Terrence...you realize what this means. The allegiance of a planet may very well give us legitimacy...but it'll also make Margaret twice as focused on taking us down."
      The weariness had returned to Hood's face. "If that's the risk we have to run to win this war, so be it. Dismissed."
      Grath looked at Harper, a mute plea for Harper to make the appeal. Harper made a slight nod, and the NCO exited the room looking slightly less discomfited.
      Harper swivelled sharply to face Hood. "Terrence, why in hell has that man not gotten his Command Master Chief's stars? He's doing the work of a Fleet MCPO, at least let the poor guy have the dignity of a title and rank to go with his duties."
      Hood shook his head. "I've already shaken things up amongst my own task force, not to mention Easley's rapid-response unit and your Home Guard, by going after Margaret. Changing up the command structure would only make things worse."
      "Dammit, Terrence, there's Master Chiefs on other ships who aren't listening to your own aide because you won't pull your head out of your ass and promote the guy!"
      That did it. "Get at the fucking position of attention, Harper!" barked Hood. "I've put up with your complete ignorance, no, sorry, disdain for regs and military discipline because you're one of the best fleet commanders I've ever met. And I've put up with that "oh, look at me I'm such a front line grunt I don't have to wear the right fucking uniform or salute" act for that same reason. But questioning my decisions is going too far. I'm in command here. You and Easley are next on the chain. Am I understood?"
      Harper had snapped to attention at the beginning of Hood's tirade, and even more impressively stayed in that position. His cigar had fallen out of his mouth, leaving a slight dark trail of tobacco juice on the otherwise gleaming deckplates. "Understood, Sir!"
      Hood relaxed somewhat. "Good. Look...Ted...I understand your concerns, I really do. But I can't afford to put the needs of one man before the needs of an entire task force."
      "Yes Sir," said Harper.
      "Dismissed."
      "Yes Sir."

What Once was Ours, chapter 4
Date: 11 December 2009, 1:28 am

What Once was Ours
Chapter Three
1560 Hours, July 14, 2553 (Military Calendar)
Sydney, Outside UNSC HIGHCOM facility
Day Two of the Admiralty Insurgency

      The two seniormost men in the UNSC Army stalked out of the underground complex that housed the High Command. Both looked miserable.
      General Don Hanson, clad in the All Environment Camo battledress of his service, tugged off his beret and ran a hand through his head. It came back sweat-soaked. "Son of a bitch. Why'd we have to wear our berets again?"
      Command Sergeant Major Bill Duke shot a wry look at the General. "Same reason we have to send our lads to hunt down Hood."
      Hanson chuckled. "Because Margaret said so, right?"
      "Count your blessings, Sir," said Duke. "At least she didn't have her lapdog shoot us for wearing our AECs."
      The General shook his head. "I will never understand why he went over to ONI, poor Pershing never told us why."
      "Must've made him an offer he couldn't refuse, Sir..."
      "No, I don't think so," replied Hanson. "I worked with Ackerson on several different occasions, he never struck me as being in this for the money. He seemed like quite the idealist, actually."
      The Sergeant Major gaped. "Well something must've happened to him, Sir. The Ackerson I know certainly isn't an idealist."
      "Agreed. Margaret must've shown him something."
      Duke shrugged. "While this amateur psychology is rather interesting, Sir, I'm more worried about what she's going to show to us."
      Hanson tapped the unit patch on the shoulder of his AECs: it was shaped like skull with red filling the inside, the number 66 on the center. "Before I was getting swivel-chair spread, Sergeant Major, I was an officer in the 66th Shocktroopers."
      Looking suitably impressed, Duke nodded. "The Bloody Buckets."
      "Indeed. And if there's one thing the Bloody Buckets don't do, it's go down without a fight."

***

      On the bridge of the carrier Magellan, Colonel Marcus Easley gazed out the viewport, hands clasped behind his back. Slipspace certainly made for an interesting sight. "Navigation, how long until we reach Chi Ceti IV?"
      "Five minutes, Colonel," replied the nav officer.
      Easley nodded. "Captain Manoro."
      The skipper of the carrier advanced up to the task force commander. "Sir?"
      "Poll the task force. I want our first strike against ONI to go off without a hitch."
      The normally buoyant officer looked suitably serious. "Yes Sir. Will do."
      Easley resumed staring out at the chaos.

***

      "Commander Arkeyvich? All units are refitted and onboard, Sir."
      Sergey Arkeyvich, commander of the frigate Rodger Young, shot a look at his XO. "So that spook got what he needed, and we got some more guns and ammo to boot. Understood, Lieutenant Commander," he grunted around the gnawed stub of a Sweet William cigar. "Begin preparations to depart Chi Ceti IV."
      "Already on it, Sir," replied Lieutenant Commander Tranton in the clipped tones that so irritated his skipper. "We'll be ready to depart in around five to ten minutes."
      The bearlike naval officer spat on the deck. "Good. Dismissed."

***

      "Two minutes to realspace entry!" sang out the nav officer.
      "All sections, report," barked Easley.
      "Nav, ready."
      "Tactical, ready."
      "Engineering, ready."
      "Fighter ops, ready."
      "Ground ops, ready."
      A smile slowly spread across Easley's face. "I read the call board as clear, then. General quarters. Good luck."
      "Slipspace tunnel fragmenting!"
      Several ONI refitting stations and ships---frigates and corvettes for the most part, which the combined units of the Rapid Response Task Force were more than a match for---resolved themselves against the background of deep space, silhouetted against a white planet: Chi Ceti IV.
      "Have the commanders break by groups and engage at their discretion," said Easley against the background of alarms that had sounded. "Have our guns and fighters target their refitting stations."
      Like a cobra unveiling its threat display, the RRTF split up into several disparate units: one frigate group, one corvette group and the Magellan and her two corvette escorts. Guns and missile pods roared to life almost immediately, their deadly payloads shooting through the void.
      At the tactical officer's station, a visual from the refitting station cluster showed several objects floating away from them. "Stations are deploying mines, Sir!" shouted the tactical officer.
      "All ahead flank speed," barked Easley. "Get us inside their perimeter. Hit it, helm!"
      Fire lept from the carrier's engines and she surged forward like a bullet.

***

      "Contact, contact!" cried Rodger Young's tactical officer. "It's the RRTF!"
      "Easley," growled Arkeyvich. "Sound general quarters. Spin up our Slipspace drives...get us out of here before they target us."
      His XO nodded. "Yes Sir."

***

      On the bridge of Magellan, the tactical officer blinked surprisedly. "Colonel! A frigate is fleeing the battle!"
      "Not standing to fight? Curious. Let's see what we can find out from them, Hinrichsen. Fighter operations, order all fighters to pursue."
      The officer of that vocation tapped a few quick commands into his console. "Fighters are away!"
      Easley nodded. "Good. Tactical, report."
      "Group One's corvettes have engaged an enemy frigate detachment, they're in trouble. Recommend we send some bombers to help. Group Two's frigates are engaging an enemy corvette-frigate combined group, they're holding their own."
      "Dispatch some bombers to help Group One," said Easley, concern etched all over his face. "Gunnery, target those refitting stations---"
      He was interrupted by a large explosion wracking the carrier's hull. "Report!"
      The engineering officer spoke first, after a brief coughing fit: "Archer missile impacts off the starboard bow!"
      Tactical was next: "Enemy frigate group in that direction, Sir!"
      Easley was in his element now. "Bring us about. Retarget our bomber squadrons---have them take those thumpers out. Gunnery: arm Archer batteries Alpha through Delta, let 'em fly."
      "Archers are away, Colonel! Tracking now," replied the gunnery officer.
      "Sir, report from the fighters!" called the figher ops officer. "They're having trouble getting through the anti-fighter defenses that retreating frigate has!"
      "Retask a bomber squadron to help them out," declared the Colonel. "That frigate is running. I want to find out why."

***

      Wave after wave of fighters hurled themselves at the Rodger Young like so many flies, dashing themselves against the flak barrier the frigate had erected.
      "Commander, antifighter defenses are holding but we have a bomber group incoming!"
      Arkeyvich wheeled on his XO. "Have gunnery intensify the forward batteries, I don't want anything getting through!"
      "Done, Sir," replied Tranton after nodding at the indicated station. "Shall we trigger Archer pods?"
      The animalistic naval officer considered it. "Go ahead, we can rearm later. I want pods Alpha through Zulu emptied!"
      The face of the gunnery officer, who had been listening in, went pallid. "Sir, if those cruisers come after us we're screwed!"
      Arkeyvich stomped over to the station, snarling, and slapped the man across the face. "Give the order!"
      The other, shaken, punched several commands into his console. "Done, Sir."
      "Tactical, give me an update."
      "Multiple bombers still incoming...we have to get out of here now, Sir."
      "Navigation, lay in the coordinates for Earth. Get us out of here!"
      Two seconds later, Rodger Young disappeared into the depths of slipspace.

***

      On the bridge of Magellan, the tactical officer winced. "Colonel Easley, the frigate has jumped into Slipspace."
      "Acknowledged, Taggar," said Easley. He turned to face the carrier's commander, Captain Manoro, who had been stolidly standing by his side for the entire engagement, keeping his ship running while Easley handled the big picture. "Captain, the rest of this is a mop-up, I'll let you handle that."
      The other was practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "With pleasure, Sir."
      "Tactical, transmit everything we have on that frigate to Shadow of Intent. I think Terrence will be very interested in that..."

***

      The Shadow of Intent's Sangheili comms officer blinked. "Senior Chief, we have a transmission from the Magellan...apparently the RRTF has found something interesting."
      Senior Chief Petty Officer Donald Grath advanced on the comm station, but the Shadow if Intent's senior enlisted Sangheili, an Ordained Major Domo wearing the rarely seen purple armor of that rank, beat him there. "Elaborate."
      "Visual data, Ordained Major Domo. Apparently a frigate decided to flee Easley's strike rather than stand and fight."
      Grath, who by then had reached the console, nodded. "I'll see to it this gets to Lord Hood."
      "Permit me to handle it, Senior Chief Petty Officer," said the senior Sangheili. "You can square away the paperwork."

***

      Two men sat in the Rodger Young's conference room, both royally pissed off. A third man stood in the background, saying nothing.
      "Lemme get this straight," growled the pugnacious Captain Snyder. "Not only did you not take the opportunity to do some damage to Hood's forces, you were the only ship to flee the battle? Why not just slap a goddam paint job on the side of the ship that says, 'Super-Secret ONI ship'?"
      Arkeyvich angrily chomped on what was left of his Sweet William. "I determined it was best for our assets onboard to save ourselves."
      The Marine Captain gave a sharp bark. "Let's see what those assets have to say for themselves. Master Chief?"
      Spartan-117 had been standing against the conference room wall, stock-silent. At the Marine officer's question, he snapped to attention like the well-oiled machine most military personnel saw him as. "With respect, Sir, you're both right. Both of you are making good points."
      The Navy officer eyed up the green-armored warrior with disdain. "That's all we're likely to get out of him," he muttered to Snyder. "Chief, dismissed."
      The Spartan nodded and departed, making sure to shut the door behind him.
      Snyder and Arkeyvich watched him go. "He's nothing more than a weapon," growled the Commander, his favorite mode of communication. "Once we find Hood, we can point the Chief at him and then stay the hell out of his way."

***

      But Commander Arkeyvich was wrong; John was fighting not only his conscience and his sense of duty, but the inflections of a woman who knew him too well.
      "Chief, are you going to go through with this? What about everything you and Hood have been through together?"
      That did it. "Cortana, I'm a soldier. I follow orders. When someone betrays his oath, I make sure he doesn't live to set a bad example."
      "Even if you know that the traitor in question is right?"
      The Master Chief shook his head. "Why do I keep you around?"
      "Because you wouldn't have anyone to talk to if you didn't," the AI purred.
      The last Spartan-II grunted. "Maybe. But one thing I do know is that Hood wouldn't send you back with me unless you and him have a plan."
      Had Cortana manifested in herself in hologram form, she'd have been grinning ear-to-ear. "Maybe. But what makes you think I'd tell you?"

***

      "The Rodger Young," sighed Terrence Hood. "I wonder if Margaret knows what that ship means to me or if this is just the most unhappy of coincidences."
      Fleet Admiral Theodore Harper frowned around his cigar. "It's just a regular frigate, right?"
      Hood flashed a weary grin. "Tech-wise, yes. But she was also my first posting as an officer, back during the early brushfires of the Insurrection."
      Recognition sparked in Harper's eyes. "You got boarded, right?"
      Hood nodded. "I was actually the Master-At-Arms, and it fell to me to repel the boarders."
      Always eager for a war story, Harper leaned closer to his longtime battle buddy. Hood winced slightly at the smell of tobacco on his fellow flag officer's breath.
      "Don't tell me," said Harper. "You heroically held the line, starting your meteoric rise through the ranks?"
      "Hardly," snorted Hood. "I actually made the mistake of charging the Innies, pistol in each hand."
      "It's a wonder you didn't shoot yourself," said Harper, who was quite familiar with the recoil of the M6D sidearm.
      The other snorted again. "I didn't have the chance. An Insurrectionist hit me with a flashbang and gut-shot me."
      "It's a wonder you're still alive."
      Hood nodded. "It's thanks to Master Chief Loryt I'm still here."
      "The deck chief?"
      "Indeed. He pulled me out of the firefight, saved my life, and took down several Insurrectionists in the process. He got a Colonial Cross for it.
      Harper nodded. "Sounds like one hard-core NCO. What happened to him?"
      "Dunno. He went into SPECWARCOM; haven't heard from him since."
      "Alright," said Harper. "So your first command is being used as Margaret's primary operator against us. Will that be a problem?"
      Hood shook his head. "She's already taken everything else I've held dear...this'll just be one thing more."

What Once was Ours, chapter 5
Date: 18 December 2009, 12:48 am

What Once was Ours
Chapter Five
1755 Hours, July 14, 2553 (Military Calendar)
Earth Orbit
Day Two of the Admiralty Insurgency

      Inside Pelican dropship Hotel 69, tension was the order of the day.
      "Entering orbit now," said Lieutenant Sara Anderson, better known to pretty much everyone in uniform as Hocus. "Triggering maneuvering thrusters. Agathon, have the ODPs sent us an interrogative?"
      "Negative, ma'am," replied the AI operating the Pelican's electronic warfare equipment. "I have the transponder online and ready to broadcast."
      "Here's hoping those techies did their job right," muttered Warrant Officer Daniel Shilds, from his spot in the co-pilot's seat.
      "I've quadruple-checked the transponder's frequencies and data," replied Agathon. "It is a perfect match for those of the ships permitted into Earth orbit and---"
      "That wasn't a rhetorical question, Agathon," retorted the co-pilot. He shot Hocus an irritated look; since his visor was polarized, it lost much of its effect. "I swear, conversational programming is getting worse and worse, LT."
      Hocus shrugged. "I wouldn't be so sure about that; Cortana could be quite eloquent back on the first Halo."
      "Yeah, but she was a smart AI...these guys..." Shilds made a masturbatory gesture.
      "So long as he does his job, we don't have anything to worry about," said Hocus, grinning behind her visor. "Besides, Agathon frees us up to do...other things."
      "Whoa there," said the Warrant Officer, rather unfamiliar in his role as the restrained member of the relationship. "We're not even---"
      "Interrogative received from Cairo Station," interrupted Agathon, "answering now."
      Silenced reigned in the cockpit for three minutes. Then---
      "We are approved to enter Earth orbit, Lieutenant Anderson. Activating electronic warfare gear now. I believe I can take it from here, ma'am," came the voice of the AI.
      Shilds' visor depolarized, revealing an ear-to-ear grin. "Is that offer still available?"
      Hocus did likewise with her helmet, revealing a more solemn expression. "Whoa there, flyboy," she replied.
      The other chuckled. "Looks like the dynamics of this relationship have been restored to normality."
      "Quiet, you. Agathon? Are you sure you can handle things?"
      "Yes Ma'am."
      Hocus swivelled to face Shilds. She was now wearing the same grin as her co-pilot.

***

      On the bridge of the carrier Magellan, Colonel Marcus Easley stood gazing out at the wreckage of one of the ONI refitting stations in orbit over Chi Ceti IV and shook his head disgustedly. "How the hell does that thing still have power, let alone lifesigns aboard?"
      The tactical officer looked up from his console. "She got schwacked early on by a salvo from Group One; they then came under fire from a frigate group so they decided to leave it be."
      Easley nodded. "Well, now we have to mop this up the hard way."
      The sound of bootheels clicking against the polished metal deck became audible, and a man of average height walked onto the bridge. His goateed face bore a sharply defined scar over one eye, and his rifle and armor bore the scratches, grit and scarring of innumerable campaigns. The man came to a halt in front of Easley and snapped off a parade-ground sharp salute: "Master Gunnery Sergeant Pete Stacker, reporting as ordered Sir."
      Easley returned the salute. "At ease, Gunny. It's been a long time, Pete."
      "Yes Sir, it has," said Stacker, grinning. "I think the last time we saw each other was when I saved you from that Elite boarding party."
      "I had hoped you wouldn't bring that up," chuckled Easley. "I think I have another mission for you."
      The grin disappeared from the Gunny's face as he stiffened back to attention; he was once again the all-business NCO. "I'm listening, Sir."
      Easley jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the viewport, where the wreckage of the refuelling station was still visible. "See that station? There's still lifesigns and power aboard. I want you to get in there and ransack the computer systems, dig up whatever dirt you can on ONI."
      It didn't take a genius to note the exception to the battle plan. "And if we encounter any UNSC forces aboard, Sir?"
      A small exhalation was all Easley could do to indicate the distaste he felt for this; he was locked behind the mask of command, and he couldn't afford to let subordinates see him second-guessing himself. "Try and get them to stand down...if you can't---"
      Stacker nodded. "I can guess the rest."

***

      Magellan's Marine complement was already suiting up by the time Stacker entered the ready room. A pimply PFC, bent over his helmet, saw him first: "Attention! Sergeant on the deck!"
      Stacker waved the men down. "As you were. Who's senior NCO here?"
      "You are, Gunny!" shouted some wag on the far side of the room.
      "Besides me," replied Stacker, after the ensuing laughter had died down.
      "I am," said a Staff Sergeant with bronzed skin.
      The man looked vaguely familiar. "Were you on Zero-Six?" asked Stacker.
      "Yes, Gunny. Staff Sergeant Sanchez."
      "Right, you were Reynolds's man." A brief flash of pain crossed Stacker's face as he remembered his fellow veteran of the last battles of the Covenant War who'd died during the action on Installation 06. "How're we doing?"
      "We're locked and loaded, Gunny. Just point as at the enemy."
      "All right, then. Listen up. We got an ONI refitting station that's been hit hard by our forces, but it's still got power and lifesigns. We're boarding to get intelligence---electronic and otherwise."
      "Prisoners, Sir?" asked Sanchez.
      "If we can," said Stacker. "If not...we're weapons-free to begin with, so use appropriate force."
      "Understood, Gunny."
      Stacker nodded. "All right people, we're boarding in five. Move like you got a purpose!"
      The ready room echoed with the chorus of, "Yes Gunny!"

***

      The frame of the station creaked as the Marines set foot aboard, loud enough for the sound to carry over the comlink. Darkness loomed all around; whatever sections of the refit platform still had power, this wasn't one of them.
      "What was that?" crackled Easley's voice over Stacker's headset.
      "Structure's a bit unstable, Sir," replied Stacker. "She did get hit by a MAC gun salvo, after all. Worst comes to worst we seal our buckets and call for Pelican evac."
      "Very well," said Easley. "Proceed inside."
      Stacker turned to face his ten-man squad. "All right, First Squad up and online. Second will cover the rear. Chief?"
      The Marines hadn't boarded alone; a naval Visit, Board, Search and Seizure unit had accompanied them to remove the data and any tech Hood's fleet could use. "VBSS has your six, Master Guns. Just point as at the consoles and keep the spooks---"
      The rattle of an assault rifle sounded, and the VBSS Chief collapsed with several holes drilled through his armor. Over the cries for a Corpsman, Stacker shouted, "First Squad, get suppressing fire in there! Second stand by with flashbangs!"
      The Marines' assault rifles rattled to life. Cries sounded from the darkness, as did the sound of bullets impacting on metal.
      "Second Squad, get some flashbangs in there!"
      "Flash out!" cried the squad leader as the boarding crew averted their eyes.
      More shouts sounded from the unlit area.
      Stacker yanked a pair of optics over his face. "All units, switch to NVGs and get in there!"
      The Marines and VBSS team members moved quickly without carrying out what was disparagingly referred to as "banzai tactics." It wasn't long before they found their first ONI crewmember, a man in Navy coveralls with a panicked expression on his face.
      "Don't kill me, please!" the man practically sobbed. "I'm just a pawn in all this."
      Stacker's neural lace had the man tagged as a Crewman First Class, an E-3. Poor sod probably was telling the truth.
      "Down on the floor!" barked Stacker. "Hands on your head, drop that sidearm now. Chief?"
      "Dead," said one of the VBSS crewmen.
      Stacker winced. "Whoever's next on the chain, deal with this guy!"
      "Yes Gunny."
      The Gunny abruptly raised his hand. "Hold it a second." He slowly advanced on the ONI crewman, bootheels clicking against the deck in the intimidating stride that all senior NCOs have perfected. "Son, I need to find a working terminal on this wreck of a station, and I know that there are working terminals aboard. Can you tell me where one is?"
      The ONI crewman shook. "You---you're looking at one," he stammered, motioning to a terminal behind him. "J-just turn on the screen."
      Stacker motioned at the VBSS team, who immediately swarmed the station. "Thanks for your help, son. Don't worry. We'll see to it ONI can't do anything to---"
      He broke off midsentence: blood was streaming from every orifice of the crewman's face, the man's eyes and mouth wrenched open in a silent scream that only served to draw more blood. The man shuddered twice, let out the faintest of moans, then collapsed.
      Stacker had been in the UNSC Marine Corps for most of his adult life; of that career, the majority of it had been in combat against the Covenant and the Flood. He'd seen some of the most horrible things aliens could do to humans.
      It seemed he'd just seen how far humans could go against other humans.
      A corpsman hurried up to the corpse, and removed something from the spill of fluid that had puddled around the crewman's body. "Suicide device."
      Stacker jerked himself out of his horrified reverie. "What?"
      The corpsman motioned at some grey in the puddle of bodily fluids. "It was in his brain matter; this thing was loaded with a neurotoxin. Looks like ONI doesn't want their people talking."
      Stacker shook his head. "This data had better be worth it."

***

      "Lieutenant Anderson?"
      Hocus stretched, rubbing the sleep sand from her eyes. Shilds, grumbling, had to shift himself to permit this movement. "Yes, Agathon?"
      "You asked me to alert you if I encountered any unusual or important comm traffic."
      Shilds lifted his head from its resting position on Hocus's chest. "Get to the point, Sparky!"
      "It appears that the Governor of Sigma Octanus IV has lent his support to Admiral Hood. It also appears that Admiral Parangosky is sending the army's Shocktroopers to occupy the planet."
      That got the attention of the two aviators. "An occupation already?" said Hocus. "Not good."
      Shilds was already putting on his flightsuit. "Agathon, send the extraction code."
      "Transmitting now...received. Sangheili Corvette Glorious Ascendancy is inbound."
      Hocus, by now tugging on her helmet, shook her head. "Elites are rather pompous when they name their ships, aren't they?"
      Shilds shrugged. "They're a dogmatic culture; what did you expect?"
      "I have a visual on the Corvette," noted Agathon.
      Shilds gave a nod. "Can they handle this?"
      "Affirmative," replied the AI.
      "Good," said the Warrant Officer. "Lieutenant Anderson and I have some business we should be getting back to."
      Hocus slapped her co-pilot.

***

      "Lord Hood?"
      Terrence Hood, hands clasped behind his back, face bathed in blue light, turned away from the Shadow of Intent's tactical plot table to face his aide. "Yes, Senior Chief?"
      "Signal from Colonel Easley, Sir."
      "Very good, Senior Chief." Hood turned to face an officer standing behind the Elite manning the communications console. "Ted!"
      Admiral Harper, still obstinately clad in his blue digi-camo relic of the US Navy, looked up. "Yes, Terrence?"
      "Easley's cleaning house."
      Harper was already walking over. "Where at?"
      Hood raised an eyebrow at Grath, who didn't miss a beat. "Bringing it up on the tactical plot now, Sir."
      "Excellent, Senior Chief. Dismissed."
      Grath shot Harper a look as he departed; it was not a pleased expression. "Maybe he should stay, Terrence," Harper gently chided.
      Hood flashed a warning look. "Negative, Ted, this is officer's business only."
      The hologram flickered to life, promptly disproving that point: Easley and Stacker, the latter looking grimmer than he had ever been during the Human-Covenant War, both snapped off crisp salutes.
      "At ease," said Hood. "Report."
      "One ONI battle group engaged and destroyed---except for that frigate," Easley recited. "And Stacker here got some good intel off of a refit station."
      "Talk to us, Pete," said Harper.
      Stacker swallowed---most unlike him, Hood noted---then spoke. "ONI's gotten word of Jeromi's defection; Parangosky's sending in the Shocktroopers."
      Harper shook his head. "We'd expected something like this, Pete. What's got you so spooked?"
      The senior NCO swallowed again. "ONI's putting suicide devices in their agents. They talk, they die."
      Hood slowly lowered his head. "I had thought Margaret would be above that...it would seem I was wrong. Good work getting that intel, Pete, this corroborates what Lieutenant Anderson has procured for us. Colonel, have the RRTF regroup with the main force."
      "Yes Sir." Easley and Stacker both saluted once more, and the hologram crackled out of existence.
      Harper glanced at the superior Admiral. "Now what, Terrence?"
      Hood inhaled. "Now, we try and stir up a little trouble of our own. Communications! I want you to contact this frequency..."

***

      In the General of the Army's office, the phone abruptly started ringing.
      General Don Hanson, lounging back in his reclining chair, dreaming of the frontline special forces man that he had once been, jerked awake with a startled gasp. The caller couldn't be identified, but it had been a boring day. "Hanson," he said, picking up the phone.
      "Hello, General," said a voice. "Are you aware of your old unit's new assignment?"
      "Who is this?" growled the General. "And what the hell do you mean?"
      "Who else would have this number?" countered the voice. "You were a sharp man once, General, do me a favor and confirm for me that you still are. And please check the 66th's new tasking."
      "Hood..." breathed Hanson. His first reaction, he knew, should've been to let ComOps know that they had been hacked, but he hadn't exactly been too happy about the change of command. "Alright, I'm looking."
      Here we are...the 66th Shocktrooper Regiment...current tasking: suppress treason on Sigma Octanus IV.
      Hanson suddenly was short of breath. "Hood...I think you and I---"
      But whoever had been speaking on the other end had ended the transmission.
      The General of the Army slapped a button on his desk, one linked to his senior enlisted man's comm. "Duke?"
      The cultured tones of the Command Sergeant Major soon drifted through. "Yes, Sir?"
      "Get in here. We need to talk."

What Once was Ours, chapter 6
Date: 21 February 2010, 6:04 pm

What Once was Ours
Chapter Six

      The CIC of the UNSC cruiser Sundown was abuzz with activity within its dimly-lit bowels, the hum of voices and machinery echoing off of the dull walls. In the center of the room was a tactical plot, red-lit in deliberate contrast to the room's muted blue, showing the symbols representing various ships of the line within the UNSC Navy approaching a planet. Surrounding it were three senior officers and one enlisted man.
      "Never thought I'd see this place again," murmured a deeply scarred man whose AECs bore a Colonel's eagle upon their collar.
      "Indeed, it's been too long," said another man in the uniform of a Fleet Admiral of the UNSC. "It's a shame we're here for less heroic purposes this time."
      The Colonel shook his head. "We do what we must, Admiral. Orders are orders, after all."
      A glance between the final two observers indicated their skepticism regarding such philospophy.
      "I'm not sure I agree with that," said General of the Army Don Hanson. "If an order is immoral or wrong, you don't have to follow it."
      Standing next to Hanson, Bill Duke nodded but held his peace, a wise choice for the senior enlisted man.
      The ONI Admiral and regimental commander of the 66th Shocktroopers shot the two men a look that a motorist normally reserves for a particularly disgusting piece of roadkill.
      Hanson eyed up the Colonel, his former XO while he had commanded the Bloody Buckets. "Miles, you know that using you guys to put down protestors is overkill."
      Colonel Miles Davis shrugged. "Treason is treason, General. So long as it's put down, I don't care how that happens."
      The General briefly remembered a vibrant young officer, wanting only to do his job and keep his men happy, not giving a damn about politics. Davis had changed a lot in the intervening years.
      ONI Admiral Jackson intervened to end the embryonic dispute. "General Hanson, the fact remains that these orders come directly from the top, and there's nothing we can do about that. Colonel Davis here has orders to use baton rounds only, and only if it proves necessary."
      The General and his senior enlisted man exchanged another skeptical glance, but the General of the Army nodded. "Very well."

***

      It wasn't long before the task force had taken up orbit over Sigma Octanus IV. A full company of the Bloody Buckets was already on the ready line, geared up and ready to roll.
      Colonel Davis and his senior officers and enlisted men stood in the CIC of the cruiser, receiving a last minute briefing from Admiral Jackson, who had transferred his flag over to the cruiser Iwo Jima prior to arrival.
      "You wanted to speak to us," asked Colonel Davis.
      Jackson nodded, the brass on his uniform faintly clinking as he did so. "Admiral Parangosky has informed me that you are ordered weapons-free."
      Davis furrowed his brow in confusion. "Ordered? You don't mean authorized?"
      "Negative. You see protestors, fire on 'em."
      The way Davis gritted his teeth spoke eloquently about what he thought of his new orders, but he gave a choppy nod. "I copy. We're the best in the Army, Admiral. My men and I won't let you down."
      The ONI officer nodded. "Good. Best of luck to you. And do me a favor...keep this from General Hanson."
      "You sure that's a good idea?"
      "He's here as an observer, not your CO."
      "Very well, Sir," reluctantly replied the Colonel.
      The Regimental Sergeant Major, however, had a feeling that CSM Duke would want to hear the news. It wouldn't be too hard to pass it on; enlisted men were always on the lookout for gossip.

***

      Dawn on Sigma Octanus IV brought with it a dramatic blood-red sky. As the crackle of automatic weapons and the screams of civilians began to fill the air, this was all too apt a coincidence.
      On the bridge of the cruiser Sundown, General of the Army Don Hanson stormed onto the bridge, Command Sergeant Major Duke following in his wake. The bridge crew looked up and executed a beautiful double take as the two senior Army staffers walked on. One, the comms officer, was the unlucky target of Hanson's irritation.
      "Get me the Colonel, now," growled the General.
      The crewer was too scared to reply, stammering a reply as he punched a command into his console.
      A grizzled face pitted with scars swam into existence on the bridge's vidcomm. "Davis here."
      "Colonel, this is General Hanson. Would you care to tell me what the hell is going on down there?"
      The regimental commander of the Bloody Buckets set his jaw. "Following our orders, Don."
      Hanson restrained himself from spitting on the deck. "Whatever happened to not killing civilians, Miles?"
      Davis shook his head. "Baton rounds only. Nonlethal, but they'll hurt enough to make a point."
      "Those can still kill someone!" exclaimed the General.
      "I'm sorry, Don," replied Hanson's former XO, "but we have our orders."
      Hanson gritted his teeth. "Miles, I am ordering you to stand down."
      The other shook his head. "My orders come directly from Admiral Parangosky. You're not in the chain of command here. Sir."
      Hanson inhaled sharply. "So be it. All UNSC Army units, this is General Hanson. I am initiating Directive Seven. Give the bastards hell."
      Command Sergeant Major Duke coolly yanked his pistol from its holster and shoved it into the face of the startled looking captain of the Sundown, who had emitted what sounded remarkably like a bark of anger at the news. At the same time, a squad of UNSC Army troopers in the red livery of the Bloody Buckets charged onto the bridge, levelling their weapons at the crew. One crewer was foolish enough to go for his sidearm, which earned him a dispassionately delivered headshot for his troubles.
      With a nod from his General, the CSM slapped a hand to his headset. "All callsigns, this is CSM Duke. Confirm Directive Seven is a go. Take, take, take."

***

      On the bridge of the cruiser Iwo Jima, the task force's ONI Admiral gaped in disbelief at his comms officer. "Directive Seven? Hanson can't be serious, he wouldn't go rogue---"
      "Admiral!" exclaimed the bridge's operations officer. "Security detachments report being fired upon by Shocktroopers!"
      Shock was plastered all over Jackson's jowled face. "You have got to be kidding me."
      "No Sir," said the ops officer, worry lines thrown into sharp relief by the light of his console. "Fireteams X-Ray and Zulu report hard contact...and casualties."
      "Shit," spat the Admiral. "Get the Master At Arms up here, tell him to mobilize all security units. And tell all ships to be prepared for an uprising."
      "Will do Sir."

***

      Robert Darrow wiped his sweat-stained brow, making sure his men didn't see him doing so. Around the corner was a fireteam of naval security personnel, supplemented by a squad of Marines.
      On Darrow's side of the corner was his Shocktrooper company. For once, the odds were in favor of the Bloody Buckets.
      "All right," said Darrow, turning to face his men. "We'll do this the old fashioned way. First, Second and Third Platoons will proceed through the side routes to Engineering. I'll take Fourth and head up the main corridor. Any questions?"
      The officer commanding Second Platoon raised his hand. "What if you guys run into significant resistance via the main route?"
      Tink Carter, a former Marine who'd transferred into the Army at the end of the Human-Covenant War, snorted. "We're the Bloody Buckets, Lieutenant Aki. Squid security will be child's play for us."
      Aki chuckled. "Right you are, First Sergeant. Ready when you are, Captain Darrow."
      The company commander nodded, brow furrowed in the grim expression typically seen fixed upon his face. "Good. Let's hit 'em."

***

      "Admiral Jackson! Hard contact near Engineering!"
      "Fucking piss-shitters," growled Jackson, swivelling to face the grim-looking operations officer. "How many?"
      "Standby," replied the other, his jaw working as he tapped keys on his console. "A platoon, at least."
      Beneath his service cap, the Admiral's bald head had turned beat red. "Order them to fall back. I want as many security personnel as possible defending Engineering. Copy?"
      "Yes Sir."
      Jackson ponderously turned on the next victim of his frustration. "Comms, poll the fleet. Has the Army taken any other ships?"
      The man muttered a few words into his headset, then gave a grim nod. "Yessir. Sundown, Midsummer Night and Do Ya Feel Lucky have all been taken. Custer's Last Stand and Rolling Thunder are holding them off, but just barely."
      "Admiral!" called the ops officer. "Shocktroopers are attacking our gunnery stations now."
      "Mobilize all Navy and Marine personnel," snarled Jackson. "This ship will not fall."

***

      In the barracks block of Iwo Jima, a young ODST was rather annoyed at being kept from falling asleep. Gunfire will do that to a man.
      Nor was he alone in these thoughts; the other members of his squad, all asleep in their armor just as he was, were all grumbling. Finally, the senior NCO sat up and pressed a hand to the comm antennae bolted onto the side of his helmet, muttering as he flipped through the channels. "Gorram. We're not gonna be getting any sleep now."
      Another squadmate, this one with a death's head slapped across his scarlet chestplate, snorted. "No kidding. What is it, Gunny?"
      "Army's gone rogue...I guess they don't like working for ONI."
      A third trooper, distractedly flicking his helmet spot-lamp on and off, chuckled. "Can you blame them?"
      The final member of the squad, blue striped armor glinting in the dim light, shook his helmeted head. "No. So where does that leave your girlfriend, Gunny?"
      "Stow it," replied the NCO. "We have a job to do, troopers."
      With that, the five men grabbed their silenced SMGs and filed out, panning their barrels across the hall.
      "So what do we do if we run into the Army, Gunny?" asked the trooper with the spot-lamp.
      "I think we just did," retorted the death's-head-adorned Marine, coming to an abrupt halt.
      A platoon of Shocktroopers had rounded the corner and quickly formed into a skirmish line upon spotting the ODSTs, coaxing as many metallic noises from their rifles as possible in a somewhat futile attempt to intimidate the ODSTs. The Helljumpers did likewise, minus the obnoxious yanking of charging levers.
      The ODSTs held their fire.
      The Shocktroopers held their fire.
      After several seconds of awkward silence, the senior grunt amongst the Bloody Buckets, captain's bars on his collar, frowned. "I think this standoff is counterproductive."
      The ODST gunnery sergeant nodded. "Agreed. So if you gentlemen would be so kind as to lower your weapons..."
      Several more seconds of awkward silence ensued, then the senior Shocktooper shrugged. "Ah, what the hell...our fight ain't with you anyway. Leave the troopers alone, boys. We've wasted enough time here."
      The Bloody Bucket platoon smoothly resumed its advance up the corridor. The ODST NCO watched them go, then called out, "Hey, wait a second! You guys could use some help!"
      "What the hell are you waiting for, then?" called back the Army officer, not pausing his advance. "Fall in. We could use another CQB section."
      "Come on, boys," said the Gunny. "We've got a date with some spooks."

***

      "Admiral Jackson, we're getting reports from security personnel indicating that Marine personnel are aiding the Shocktroopers," said the ops officer.
      "You have got to be shitting me," exclaimed the Admiral. "Master at Arms?"
      The senior enlisted man bearing that rating stepped forward. "Sir?"
      "Call all security personnel to defend the bridge and Engineering."
      "And the gun banks, Sir?"
      "Gunnery, reroute control to the bridge. That'll take care of that. Master Chief, call back the security personnel."
      The Master at Arms frowned. "Sir, are you sure about that?"
      Jackson abruptly decided to forgo Navy protocol and grabbed the senior enlisted man by the collar. "You listen to me, Master Chief, and you listen good. I am not about to lose this ship to some groundpounding scum who think they can betray everything they swore an oath to defend. And I know how best to do that. So carry out my orders."
      The other had served on Iwo Jima for the majority of his career in the UNSC Navy, and had seen battle fatigue take many a man. It wasn't hard to see that Jackson was walking the knife edge between sanity and the slippery twilight of the shell-shocked sailors that the Master at Arms had seen in the infirmary. "Yes Sir. Will do."
      But the Admiral had already turned away to bark new orders at the ops officer. The Master at Arms gazed at him thoughtfully, then nodded at the comms officer to relay the Admiral's orders.

***

      Dan Hadley had never put much faith in the promise of an easy op. Long years of experience as an officer in the Shocktroopers had taught him that most special forces missions were long, tiring slogs through muck, mire and multiple hostiles.
      Thus, as the Lieutenant Colonel and Alpha Company of the battalion under his command advanced through the cramped corridors of the Iwo Jima, he found himself more and more concerned over where in hell the ONI security personnel had gone.
      At his side, the battalion's senior enlisted man looked up at him. "No patrols, Sir," he said, voice echoing off the walls as if to accentuate the silence, "and we're right on top of the bridge. Something's not right."
      "No, Sergeant Major," replied Hadley. "It most certainly is not."
      That, of course, was when a skirmish group of no less than twenty ONI security crewers double-timed around the corner, formed up into two firing lines, and commenced volley fire.
      As the rounds slammed into the deck and bulkheads, the Shocktroopers threw themselves to cover. Two enlisted men didn't move fast enough, shrilling cries of pain as lead pellets drilled through their armor. Their cries for a medic were abruptly cut off by another round of volley fire from the security troopers.
      Hadley grimly checked to make sure the magazine of his sidearm was full, leaned around the corner he had taken cover behind, and shook his head in disbelief.
      The ONI crewers were leapfrogging forward, continuing their volley fire like rolling thunder. Pre-Interstellar War tactics thought the Colonel. Hell, pre-Second World War. Idiots.
      Ruminations complete, Hadley issued a burst of comm data to the company. Two seconds later a veritable hailstorm of fragmentation grenades were bowled towards the ONI skirmish line, who might very well have been able to hear the incoming explosives had they not been triggering their rifles all the while.
      The dull thuds of the grenades detonating drowned out the screams of the security crewers. Hadley gave a small grin, then turned to face his Sergeant Major. "Let's dance, Jack."
      The other nodded, then turned to face the company. "All right, boys and girls, on your feet! ONI's throwin' us a party on the bridge, and we are all invited!"

***

      Thunder rumbled on the bridge from the multiple detonations, and Admiral Jackson wheeled on his men, fear prevalent in his eyes. "Ops, report!"
      The operations officer's hands frantically danced across his keyboard. "Stand by, Sir," he muttered. Jackson glared at the man, then:
      "Sir, contact lost with all hands defending the bridge, recommend we---"
      But the Master at Arms had already sprang into action. "Forget your stations!" he shouted. "Grab whatever weapons you can, seal the security doors!"
      Sidearms were yanked from holsters and shotguns removed from their racks. Admiral Jackson drew his nickel-plated M6F, staring at the Master at Arms like a deer caught in headlights.
      The other gazed back. "Sir, you might want to get to cover."
      Jackson's jowled face jerked up and down in a ponderous nod, and the Admiral scurried for cover behind the comms console.
      Behind him, the security doors slammed shut.

***

      On the other side, Lieutenant Colonel Hadley chuckled. "We're the goddamn Bloody Buckets, Sergeant Major. Do they really think this will hold us?"
      "No idea, Sir," the senior enlisted man replied. "Orders?"
      A somewhat maniacal grin spread over the battalion commander's face. "Det cord. That'll burn through it like a hot chainsaw through butter."
      The Sergeant Major cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't it like a knife through hot butter, Sir?"
      Hadley grinned. "I didn't think that conveyed the intensity of det cord, Sergeant Major. Now let's go."

***

      A faint line of red snaked across the frame of the door to the bridge, and Admiral Jackson's expression grew even more worried. "The hell is that?"
      "Det cord," growled the Master at Arms. "Look away, they'll be blowing it---"
      That, of course, was when the bridge door blew in with something very much akin to the thunder of the gods, and gunfire poured in.
      Jackson winced, ducking for cover behind his console. The Master at Arms, on the other hand, stood firm, pistol held in his hand, striking a heroic pose. "Hold the line, boys! Don't let any of 'em on the bridge."
      Sidearms and shotguns cracked to life in response, ONI crewers emitting roars in a somewhat futile attempt to intimidate the Shocktroopers. From behind his cover, Jackson stared in amazement as two crewers broke cover, and with nothing more than M6 sidearms, charged the Shocktroopers, howling with the red fury of battle. They were dispatched within seconds.
      Steadily, the Shocktroopers advanced onto the bridge; no roars of fury were heard from them, no howls of battle frenzy. They methodically took up positions behind what little cover there was and continued pouring fire onto the bridge.
      Tears were now pouring down Admiral Jackson's face, his body jerking with fear every time a round from a Shocktrooper rifle slammed into the deck or a console near him. His crewers were dying left and right, he was doing nothing to protect them, and he hated himself for that. Hated himself for slaving himself to what he knew was a corrupt government and taking the orders of a corrupt leader, rationalizing it by saying he was following orders, uncaring of the cost to his soul.
      Dull thuds were more common now; the sound of the ONI crewmen's corpses dropping onto the deck like puppets with their strings cut. One of them, shot through the femoral artery, managed to gain a bead on a Shocktrooper long enough to open fire from his enforced prone position before falling; another, flat on his back, cracked away with pistol, pleading for Jackson to get into the fight and help the men who had laid their lives on the line for him.
      And then there was only one man left, sidearm in hand, blazing away at the invading soldiers. The Master at Arms was like a bat out of hell, dropping more shocktroopers than all of the bridge crew combined, howling all the while:
      "Admiral! I can hold them with your help! You gotta help me, Admiral! Jackson? Jackson!"
      This last came as a round from the Shocktrooper Sergeant Major slammed into his thigh, sending the senior naval crewer crashing into the deck. Roaring, he took aim once more with his left pistol, dropping the Sergeant Major with a shot to the head. Once more, he was screaming for Jackson's help, and once more, the Admiral cowered in terror.
      The Master at Arms started crawling, crawling back towards the Admiral's shelter. He managed to poke his head around the corner, and his eyes gazed into Jackson's, accusing and grim. Then his forehead erupted in red, and the light left his eyes.
      ONI Admiral Jackson stared at the corpses of the men he had respected and admired, men who had trusted him to get them through the mission alive.
      There was no way he would be able to live with himself if he ignored their sacrifice.
      He shoved the barrel of his sidearm against his temple, and pulled the trigger.

***
      Dropship Tango 49 hurtled through the atmosphere of Sigma Octanus IV, engines wailing like something from beyond the grave. In the red-lit troop bay, General Don Hanson let the chatter of his unit leaders wash over him.
      "General, this is Lieutenant Colonel Hadley, reporting from Iwo Jima. We've taken the bridge and all critical areas. The Marine complement was rather sympathetic to our plight; we had some of them help us out."
      "Good," replied Hanson. "Let them go if they want to, but they're more than welcome to stay with us."
      "Solid copy," came the reply. "Hadley out."
      Hanson turned to look at Bill Duke, who was sitting across the troop bay. "That's that. Four ships under our control. Just one more to go and the task force will be ours...plus the loose ends we need to tie up down here."
      Duke winced. "Davis didn't comply?"
      "No, he did not. So we're rolling in. We're weapons-free if they fire on us."
      Duke nodded. "Roger that. And you think a squad of Shocktroopers will be enough to force down Davis's contingent?"
      "They can't all be happy with their orders," said Hanson. "All we need to do is capture the command post, and the rest will take care of itself."
      Duke swept his grim gaze across the Shocktroopers in the troop bay. "I hope you're right, Sir."
      The voice of the dropship's pilot crackled over the comm. "Ten to dirt."
      "Copy," said Hanson. "Ten to dirt. Praetorian Squad, stand to!"
      "Praetorian?" murmured Duke.
      Hanson grinned. "These guys are my personal guard, just like the Romans had. The name fits them."
      "We're on the ground!" cried the pilot. "Have fun, Sir!"
      The Shocktroopers piled out of the troop bay. They did not roar, they did not shout battle cries. Instead, they fell into formation, and, on a command from Duke, advanced.
      "Contact ahead, Sir," warned Duke. "Prefab command post...two sentries outside. Orders?"
      "Keep moving, Sergeant Major," said Hanson. "They're not going to fire on us."
      "I hope you're right, Sir," said Duke. "I think they see us."
      "Hold it right there, General!" cried one of the sentries, raising his battle rifle as Hanson and his contingent approached.
      "Son," said Hanson. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
      "Sir, I have orders from Colonel Davis to detain you---"
      "And your brothers have orders to fire on civvies; just because it's an order doesn't make it right, son."
      Sweat glistened on the man's face. "General, I---"
      "Take a walk, son."
      The man bit his lip, shot a terrified glance at his comrade. "Sir..."
      "Do you really want to fire on your brothers, son?"
      The sentry relaxed. "No Sir. Stand down, Specialist."
      A grim look on the other's sentry's face showed that he wasn't so sanguine about disobeying orders, but he lowered his rifle. "Where do you want us to go, General?"
      "Just stay here," replied Hanson. "But don't signal the Colonel we're coming."
      Both men nodded.
      Hanson turned to face his men. "Sergeant First Class Danson, take your Praetorians, get on the command center's catwalks. If Davis doesn't stand down, take him down."
      "And if the other personnel decide to fight?" asked the grizzled sergeant.
      "If they fight, disabling shots only, copy?"
      The other nodded, issued a series of hand signals to his squad, and departed.
      Hanson turned to face Duke. "Let's go."
      With that, the two strode into the command post, bold as the brass on Hanson's collar.
      Overhead, the faintest clanking sound could be discerned as the Praetorians took up positions on the catwalks. A quick click over the headset let Hanson know his men were in position.
      Colonel Davis looked up from the tactical map in the center of the rectangular building, the scars on his face thrown into sharp relief by the faint light from the computer. "You're braver than I thought, Don. But the Chairwoman now knows what you've done. And she's issued orders accordingly."
      "Miles, you don't have to do this," said Hanson.
      "Yes, I do!" snapped the regimental commander. "What was it you taught me, Sir?" he asked, sneering the word. "An Army that disobeys orders is a threat to those it's supposed to protect!"
      "But not if its orders are to harm those it's supposed to protect!" cried Hanson. "Dammit, Miles, order the boys to stand down!"
      "I can't do that, Dave."
      "Colonel, I am not going to repeat myself."
      "I will not give the order."
      "Fucking hell, Miles, I don't want to see anyone else die today, give the order!"
      "I will not give the order."
      "Miles, as an old comrade---"
      "I will not give the order."
      "Colonel, as a superior officer---"
      "I cannot do that, Sir."
      Hanson nodded at Duke, who issued a single comm click over his headset.
      Praetorian Squad loomed out of the shadows shrouding the catwalks, yanking the charging levers of their rifles. The low mumble of the command post's personnel abruptly stopped.
      Duke cocked an eyebrow at the Davis. "Your call, Colonel."
      "See some sense, Miles," said Hanson. "You're covered from above, and outgunned. You want to make a last stand...I can only hope you choose not to."
      Davis's response was to draw his sidearm and point it at Hanson. "You're a goddam traitor, Don, I should've shot you as soon as you walked in here. My mistake."
      The Praetorians' assault rifles rattled to life, spewing bullets down into the command post. Cries rang out as the men manning the consoles drew their own weapons and returned fire. Like the stoic battlefield veteran he was, Duke had dived for cover behind the nearest console, but Hanson stood strong amongst the inferno, watching with a sickened expression on his face as the men he had once commanded were killed on his order.
      Eventually, the cries ceased, and so did the fire from Praetorian Squad. Hanson strode through the carnage, feeling disgusted, looking for one body in particular.
      Hanson looked at Duke. "Sergeant Major, message to all hands: I'm in command now, order a ceasefire."
      "Will do, Sir."
      The body of Davis lay spread-eagle on the ground, an M6F clutched in his hands. A look of shock was pasted on his face and a ragged hole was drilled hrough his armor.
      Hanson knelt over the man. "I'm so sorry, Miles. You never were one to surrender."
      "No I wasn't."
      Davis reared up, sidearm coming into line with Hanson's forehead.
      Were this a movie, Hanson thought, Duke or someone would sacrifice himself to save me. Fortunately, this is reality.
      The General blasted a hole through his former protege's head, restraining the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf him.
      "Done, Sir?" asked Duke.
      Hanson swallowed. "Yeah...yeah..."
      "I'm sorry you had to that, General," said Duke. "But you knew he wouldn't surrender."
      "You're right," replied Hanson, swallowing again. "Contact Governor Jeromi, and get the Regiment consolidated. We have a war to win."

What Once was Ours, chapter 7
Date: 6 May 2010, 7:55 pm

What Once was Ours
Chapter Seven

      "What?" said Admiral Parangosky.
      "The Bloody Buckets have mutinied," repeated Colonel James Ackerson. "And they've taken a whole battle group in the process."
      Parangosky did nothing for a few minutes, staring into space, and Ackerson knew this was going to be bad.
      "Get me Commander Arkeyvich and Captain Snyder," whispered the aged woman. "Now."
      The vidcomm in the Admiral's office soon flared to life, revealing the two senior officers of the anti-Hood expedition, both at the position of attention. Both seemed to know what was coming. Even the notoriously belligerent Arkeyvich had something very much akin to worry in his eyes.
      Captain Snyder, as expedition commander, took the intitial brunt. "Captain Fred Snyder reporting, Ma'am."
      The Chairwoman of the UNSC did not waste time. "Captain, I've received some troubling news regarding the loyalty of our Special Forces men."
      The two officers exchanged glances. This time, it was Arkeyvich's turn to risk the wrath of Parangosky. "What do you mean, Ma'am?"
      "General Hanson and the 66th Shocktroopers have gone rogue," said Ackerson. "And it seems they've joined forces with Jeromi."
      Snyder got it first. "And after that, Hood?"
      Parangosky nodded. "You are to see that this does not happen."
      "With respect Admiral," said Snyder. "What exactly do you expect us to do? Our orders are to scout; once we locate Hood we were to call in the Fleet."
      "But you do have an offensive capability," said Parangosky. "A very potent and deadly one. And I want you to send him after Hanson."
      Arkeyvich's eyes narrowed. "You mean the Chief."
      "Yes. I do indeed mean the Chief."
      The expedition commanders shot each other a glance, then---
      "All right," said Snyder. "We'll do it. But Ma'am, we could be throwing away our best asset---"
      "Then it's on my head," said Parangosky.
      Everyone stared at the Admiral.
      "Ma'am..." began Ackerson.
      "Gentlemen, I am still head of NAVSPECWAR, which the Chief is a part of," said Parangosky. "The blame does indeed technically fall on my head."
      Perversely enough, the others relaxed. Parangosky hadn't changed.
      "That will be all," said the Admiral. "Dismissed."
      The comm transmission flashed out of existence.
      Ackerson looked askance at Parangosky. "You're not going to take responsibility if they get the Chief killed, will you?"
      The scorn in her return glance could've melted a bulkhead. "What do you think?"
      The Colonel shrugged. "It was worth a shot." His datapad beeped with the signal of an incoming transmission. "Oh, one more thing..."
      "Yes?"
      "It seems we have an informant within Hood's ranks. One who's been kind enough to provide us with the rendezvous point for his fleet."
      "What?"

***

      "I don't understand, Sir. My mission is to stop Admiral Hood and put down his rebellion."
      The cavernous conference room of Rodger Young was currently occupied by only four people: Snyder, Arkeyvich, the ONI operative, and the Master Chief. The ONI representative was currently laying into the Chief, with the Fleet and Marine officers looking quite uncomfortable.
      "Orders change, Master Chief," said the spook. "You still obey orders, don't you?"
      The remark hit home; the SPARTAN had locked his back up into a parade-ground straight position of attention. "Sir yes Sir."
      "Good," said the spook, his expression better suited to that of a predatory cat than a man. "Very good, indeed."
      Snyder motioned for his Navy counterpart to join him in the hallway. "I don't think this is a good idea, Sergey."
      The other cocked his eyebrow. "You want to oppose Margaret?"
      "She's had her view clouded by revenge," replied the Marine officer. "This isn't good tactics in the slightest."
      "'Clouded by revenge'?" sneered Arkeyvich. "You're not a poet, Fred, you're a Marine. We obey orders."
      "And when those orders throw away the best goddam asset we have?"
      "They're still orders."

***

      Two soldiers stalked into Cote d'Azur's capitol building; neither looked happy. The taller, a black man bearing a trim mustache and a shaved head, shook his head. "Politics. No matter what the hell you do, it all comes down to politics."
      The second soldier, a shorter man of Asian descent, gave a bitter chuckle. "General, even when you're leading a government against the UNSC, there are still political considerations. There are always politics."
      General Don Hanson chuckled. "Good point. Since when did you become so good at politics, Bill?"
      Bill Duke grimaced. "Probably after I was posted on HIGHCOM."
      "Doesn't matter if you're a Command Sergeant Major like yourself or a General," murmured Hanson. "If your paygrade ends in the number nine, you're deskbound."
      By now, the two had made it into the cavernous entrance hall, decorated with mosaics and paintings. "How very pretentious," Duke observed. "They do all this after the Covie war?"
      "Lock that up," said Hanson. "We don't want to offend our host."
      "No need to worry," said a new voice. "I try and avoid coming here as much as possible."
      Both soldiers turned around to face a man, greying, clad in clothes of a military cut but devoid of any insignia or award save for the two Colonial Crosses pinned on his breast.
      Hanson managed to restrain a salute, noting with some amusement that his senior enlisted man had done the same. "Admiral Jeromi."
      "Governor now, actually," said Jeromi, a wry grin spreading across his face. "But I know how hard military habits die, I'll keep the title for you two."
      "Thanks Admiral," said Duke, who actually looked rather relieved.
      Jeromi fixed his gaze on Hanson. "So, Don, welcome to our little insurrection. Have you any plans to give us?"
      "Not really," replied Hanson, "this was a spur-of-the-moment thing. All my men and I want is to take down ONI."
      "Good thing Hood and I have made up both of those," replied the retired naval officer. "Follow me...we've got some talking to do."

***

      "I call."
      "You sure?"
      "Yeah, LT, I'm sure.."
      Hocus shot her erstwhile boyfriend Shilds a sad look. "You know, Dan, beating your girlfriend isn't the best way to get a relationship to advance."
      "Hey," said one of the other two officers in the poker game over Shilds' squirming, "quit flirting and play!"
      Hocus shot an arch look at her fellow competitors. It wasn't easy: the rec room was typically dim-lit, and the cigar smoke emanating from the final card player's position wasn't helping matters. "I'll play when I'm goddam ready, Caveman."
      The pilot bearing that callsign crinkled his swarthy brow. "Yes Ma'am. Sorry."
      The final cardplayer grinned around his Eridanian-made cigar. "Relax, son," said Admiral Harper. "Hocus here is trying to get us distracted."
      Caveman, never one for subtleties even under the best of circumstances, frowned. "Distracted from what?"
      The Admiral grinned. "From the fact that her boyfriend's hand, although seemingly rather intimidating, is simply running cover for her own. Lieutenant?"
      Hocus grimaced. "I call."
      "Bet's to you, Caveman," Shilds put in.
      "I'm out," rumbled the other.
      All eyes turned on Harper.
      "That," he said, relishing the air of drama as he stared at the pot, "is a collossal sum of cash. Far higher than we played for when I was a lowly Lieutenant..."
      "So you're out?" said Shilds, not even bothering to conceal his hope.
      "Hell no, son!" exclaimed Harper. "It's just more cash for me to win. I call."
      Groans greeted this pronouncement, and not just from the other three cardplayers. A game involving one of the senior officers of the renegade fleet and Shadow of Intent's senior Pelican jock would inevitably attrack spectators; the entire rec room was watching.
      Shilds showed his hand first. "Two pair, ace high."
      Hocus sucked in a surprised breath. "That good, huh?"
      "Can't beat it, LT? Maybe I can make it up to you afterwards..."
      "Keep it down, Shilds. Three pair, jack high," Hocus announced to appreciative cheers.
      The Warrant Officer made a sound remarkably akin to a deflating balloon.
      "Your turn, Admiral," said Hocus, relishing the moment perhaps more than decorum allowed.
      Harper's face fell. "Three pair jack high, right?"
      Caveman was also more than a bit happy to see the flag officer taken down a notch. "That's right. Sir."
      Solemnity still etched across his craggy brow, Harper laid his cards on the table.
      "Royal flush," remarked Shilds.
      Harper nodded. "But me being the very definition of magnanimity..." He turned to face the somewhat put-upon looking Elite tending bar. "Barkeep! Another round for everyone in here! My treat!"
      Cheers resonated off of the rec room walls.
      "Another hand?" Hocus asked of the four.
      Harper spotted someone on the edge of the rec room's crowd, someone looking a little hesitant to join in the unbridled camaraderie. "Later, Lieutenant. I think someone's looking for me."
      Senior Chief Grath belatedly saluted as the Admiral appraoched. "Sir."
      Harper shot a glance at the other's collar. "I see Terrence decided not to take my advice."
      Grath's face, heretofore relatively relaxed, hardened. "No Sir," he grated out. "He did not."
      "I'm sorry to hear that," growled Harper. "I'll see what I can do."
      "Don't bother," replied the other with more than a little bitterness. "What's done is done."
      Harper eyed Grath, then nodded. "Very well, Senior Chief. What can I do for you?"
      "Lord Hood told me to get you...command conference on the bridge."
      The Admiral nodded, then turned to face the card game. "Duty calls, people. Keep what's left of my winnings."
      "Really?" asked Caveman.
      "No," said Harper, scooping up what cash was left over from his generosity. "Coming, Senior Chief?"
      The naval NCO shook his head. "No Sir. I have a call to make."
      Harper shrugged. "Tell her I say hi," he replied, and took his leave.

***
      Master Gunnery Sergeant Pete Stacker was en route to Shadow of Intent's bridge, when someone stalked out of the comm center and ran smack-dab into him. Looking down, Stacker saw the perpetually put-upon face of Senior Chief Donald Grath, Lord Hood's aide. "Late for an illicit rendezvous, Senior Chief?"
      Grath looked up at Stacker. "You might say that," he replied.
      Stacker frowned; his naval counterpart seemed grimmer than usual. "Everything alright?"
      The other shook his head. "Admin work just piles up a lot, is all."
      "Don't I know it...if I'd known becoming a senior NCO meant less of getting my hands dirty and more desk jockeying..."
      Grath snorted. "Roger that. If you'll excuse me..."
      Stacker placed a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "Hold on a second. Lord Hood called for a command conference; I'd imagine that includes you."
      The Senior Chief's face clouded at the mention of the Admiral. "Of course...let's go."

***

      "Commander Arkeyvich! Incoming transmission."
      Sergey Arkeyvich shook his head wearily, trying to get rid of the last vestiges of sleep, then abruptly blinked as he realized just how unproffessional he'd been to fall asleep in his command chair. "Source?"
      "Relay from ONI, original source unknown," replied the comms officer. "No voice or vid data either...it's just numbers."
      Arkeyvich hefted his hulking frame out of the command chair to lumber up behind the other. "Numbers...Navigation!"
      "Sir?"
      "Run the numbers comms is giving you."
      "Yes Sir."
      Silence reigned on the bridge, then---
      "Sir, they're coordinates."
      A grin spread across the Commander's face, one that more than adequately highlighted the link between humans and feral apes. "Relay these to the Fifth, and make sure Admiral Hackett knows what they are."
      The bridge officers emitted what sounded very much like a collective "huh?"
      "Gentlemen," said Arkeyvich, still smiling, "these are the coordinates of Hood's hideout. We're going hunting."

***

      On Shadow of Intent's bridge, Hood and Harper were in animated discussion, while Easley, present via hologram, stared out into the void from his flag's bridge, looking a little more preturbed.
      "So, gentlemen," said Hood, "it seems that we have some new allies, of sorts. General Hanson and the 66th Shocktroopers have rebelled against Parangosky, and have joined up with Jeromi. It also seems they've managed to acquire some Marine and Navy allies; they have their own task force."
      "I don't give a damn if he's against Parangosky or not," growled Harper, "the man's a goddam mad dog! An alliance with him would only increase the chances of an intel leak to Parangosky and ONI."
      Hood raised a hand. "I understand your reasons, Ted, but the fact remains that it'll be better for us to have Hanson as an ally rather than, as you so bluntly put it, a mad dog obssessed with hitting back at Parangosky."
      Easley, still staring out into space, chimed in at that point. "If anything, it'll give our little task force some more striking power. They managed to commandeer a whole ONI battlegroup, after all."
      "At ease, please, gentlemen," said Hood, as Stacker and Grath marched onto the bridge. "It seems we've acquired some new allies."
      Stacker exchanged a look with Grath. "Some rather brutal ones, if what I've overheard is true."
      "It is," said Easley, finally turning away from the viewport through which the assembled forces of the Fleet of Righteous Retribution, the Terran Home Guard, and the Rapid Response Task Force could be seen hurtling through the void. "With the support of the General of the Army and Jeromi, this gives us some definite political capital."
      Grath nodded. "Which means we have a chance of forming a legitimate counter-government, with a fully capable military force rather than one that can just make hit-and-run raids against ONI."
      Harper shook his head. "But that's only if we decide Hanson is worth the risk. I still say he can't be trusted."
      "It's a risk we have to take," said Hood. "We need his help."
      "And," said Easley, nodding out the direction of his bridge's viewport, "I think we have traitors closer to home."
      Outside the Shadow of Intent, the void boiled with light as UNSC ships decanted from slipspace, their guns already swinging to bear on Hood's fleet.

What Once was Ours, chapter 8
Date: 28 May 2010, 2:16 am

What Once was Ours
Chapter Eight

      Rodger Young, of course, was the spearhead for the fleet group. On her bridge, Commander Arkeyvich laughed, a guttural sound. "To think," he chuckled, "that Hood thought he wouldn't have any dissension within his ranks. Comms, what are our orders?"
      "Signal incoming now from Admiral Hackett now, Sir," came the reply.
      The bearlike skipper chomped down on his cigar. "How convenient. Put him through."
      Within a few seconds, the voice of Admiral Steven Hackett was rasping over the ship's comm system. "All ships, this is Admiral Hackett: the leashes are off. All ships are free to search-and-destroy at their leisure."
      Arkeyvich grinned. "Helm, you heard the man! Flank speed! Gunnery, arm all cannons, and Archer pods Alpha through Delta! Fire as you bear! This is it!"
      Rather unproffessional whoops of joy filled the bridge as Rodger Young hurtled into action. From the security foyer, Captain Fred Snyder shook his head. "Sergey, my Marines will be locked and loaded if you want to initiate boarding action."
      A dismissive wave was all the answer he got. Shaking his head in disgust, Snyder took his leave."

***

      On Shadow of Intent's bridge, Easley's hologram wheeled on Harper and Hood. "How did the hell did they find us?"
      "Speak for yourself," said Harper, turning to face Hood. "I'll be on El Alamein, Terrence."
      "Go," said Hood, already peering over the the tactical officer's shoulder. "This is going to be a slugging match...we'll need all the firepower we can muster."

***

      Shadow of Intent's ready room was a spirited morass as Hocus and Shilds stepped through the door, the chatter of the pilots gearing up washing over them. One of them, a thickset man with a blonde crew cut, stiffened. "ROOM TENCH-HUT!"
      "Carry on," said Hocus.
      Shilds scanned the room for their crew chief. "LT, where's Sergeant Nomuri?"
      "Couldn't make it," said a new voice from behind him.
      Shilds cocked his eyebrow. "Isn't this forbidden turf for you?"
      Hocus swivelled around to see Pete Stacker leaning against a locker, suited up in full marine battle armor. "Maybe so, but Hood wanted me to come in here anyway. I got some bad news."
      Kilo 023's flight crew looked at each other. Hocus spoke first. "Oh?"
      Stacker nodded. "No need for Pelicans in this slugging match. Haul ass to the bridge, he wants you to help oversee the fighter offensive."
      Shilds frowned. "What about you?"
      A hardness spread over the face of the veteran NCO. "Ordinarily," he said, his Southern USA twang growing more pronounced, "I'd be commanding security units in case we're boarded. But this being an Elite ship, I'm in charge of reserve forces."
      "So you'll be on the bridge with us, then?" asked Hocus.
      "That's right. Let's move."

***

      "Helm, bring us about to heading zero-three-three, all ahead flank speed. Comms, contact the rest of the RRTF and tell them to standby for the Stanforth Slash."
      Both Magellan's helmsman and chief communications officer nodded. "Will do, Sir," said the latter.
      Easley nodded, then rounded on the tactical officer. "What in Hell are we looking at here, Taggar?"
      The other danced his fingers across the keyboard, a stricken look spreading across his face. "Five corvettes, three frigates, one carrier, three cruisers. Looks like ONI really wants us dead."
      "Hold your opinion unless asked for it," said Easley. "Captain Manoro, how's my ship?"
      Magellan's thickset master, standing at parade rest by the tactical plot, grinned. "No damage so far. We're in position to commence the Stanforth Slash."
      "Good," said Easley. "We'll take the point. Hinrichsen?"
      The comms officer looked up from his console. "Sir?"
      "Send a message to the RRTF," said Easley, submitting to the urge to light a cigarette. "Stanforth Slash: execute."

***

      On the bridge of El Alamein, Harper snorted. "Easley's got more balls than I thought," he growled around his omnipresent cigar.
      His XO snorted. "Give the Air Force credit, Sir, they don't make 'em better."
      "Indeed...well, we'd best be ready to exploit their victory. Comms, signal the Home Guard to break into attack formation. Helm, I want us on point. RRTF's not gonna leave much but what they do miss is ours."
      "Admiral Harper," sang out the tactical officer. "RRTF is executing the Stanforth Slash."
      The RRTF had formed up into a single massive line, surging forward towards the enemy formation. The narrow cross section of Easley's formation made it less likely for hostile fire to hit multiple craft, and their course---right through the center of the enemy fleet---made it collateral damage amongst the ONI task force a practical inevitability.
      "Sir," said the tactical officer. "New contacts on the tactical screen...Shadow of Intent has deployed her Seraph squadrons."
      The XO cocked an eyebrow at Harper. "Seems like Hood's got a pair too."
      Harper wheeled on his second. "Seems like we'd best prove that we possess some as well. Gunnery, arm our Shivas, firing solution on the Rodger Young...let's remind ONI that we know where they live."

***

      Rodger Young shuddered as the last of the RRTF hurtled past her viewport. Commander Arkeyvich braced himself against the tactical officer's console, spitting out the tobacco juice he had swallowed from his cigar. "Sitrep!"
      The XO, Tranton, had somehow managed to retain his annoyingly upper-class British accent even amongst all the stress. "All Archer pods have been expended. Main batteries down to sevent-five percent ammo, point-defense down to sixty-five. We've taken hits all over the hull---"
      "Give me the important parts!" Arkeyvich spat, mentally damning his second in command.
      Tranton, amazingly, complied. "We're still in fighting shape, Sir."
      Arkeyvich nodded. "Good. Communications! Has the Admiral issued any new orders?"
      "Yes Sir, he's ordering us to stand off and trade blows. We are not, repeat are not to take the fight to Hood."
      "What? That's ridiculous!"
      "Sir," broke in the tactical officer, "we're about even in terms of numbers and some of Hood's contingent are Covie ships. The Admiral knows what he's doing."
      The corvette's bearlike skipper snarled. "Maybe, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Helm, station-keeping thrusters, hold us here. Gunnery, hit 'em with what we've got left from our Archers and MAC guns."

***

      On Shadow of Intent's bridge, Hood surveyed the tactical board and shook his head. "We can hold them, heck, we can probably beat them...but what's the point?"
      Senior Chief Grath, brooding melancholily over the tactical plot, shook his head. "Seems to me, Sir, that we'll have given ONI a bloody nose at the expense of power, fuel, ammo, and lives...and all we'll have accomplished is to make Parangosky madder at us."
      "Good thing our opposing commander decided to stand off and slug it out, then. Comms! Relay jump coordinates to Harper and Easley, instruct them to slip out as soon as they can."
      "Yes Sir."
      "Hocus, report."
      The senior Pelican pilot, who had been quietly observing the tactical plot, looked up. "All birds are aboard."
      "Good."
      "Sir," broke in the comms officer. "RRTF and Terran Home Guard confirm reception of jump coordinates...RRTF is slipping out now."
      Hood nodded. "And Harper?"
      The tactical officer nodded. "Slipping out by groups...El Alamein has not activated her slipspace drives yet."
      Grath frowned. "Covering his men's retreat...sounds like Harper."
      "Yes, but he's got something else in---"
      "Radiological alert, Sir!" exclaimed the tactical officer. "El Alamein's arming Shivas, Sir!"
      Grath's face was an eloquent study in dismay. "Oh shit..."
      "Dammit Ted," said Hood, "you just took this over the line."
      "El Alamein has fired, Sir!" said the tactical officer. "Jumped as well, Sir."
      "Helm," said Hood, "get us the hell out of here."
      "Aye Sir...executing jump."
      Hood and Grath braced themself against the sudden acceleration, then---
      "Sir!" shouted the engineering officer. "Catastrophic failure of our Slipspace drives!"
      Hood stared. "You have got to be kidding me."
      "Enemy ships are standing off," said the tactical officer.
      Grath shook his head. "Admiral, they're waiting for something..."
      "Indeed," said Hood, "but damned if I know what."

***

      In the troop bay of Longsword bomber Delta 49, the Master Chief surveyed his squad. The lot of them were ONI, clad in the reconnaisance armor of Section One operatives. There was none of the ribald pre-mission chatter so endemic amongst the UNSC Marines; each and every one sat, weapon in hand, all grim purpose.
      The pilot's voice crackled over the ship's intercom. "Cortana's false transponder signal worked; we're approaching the hangar now. ETA less than one minute. Best of luck to you, Chief."
      A comm click from the Chief was the only response he got.
      One of the ONI troopers, a Petty Officer 1st Class according to the data Cortana superimposed on the Chief's HUD, stirred himself. "Any last minute orders, Master Chief?"
      The Chief shook his head. "Negative. We land, smash our way to the bridge, capture Hood."
      "Not subtle," said the other somewhat reflectively, "but simple. Less can go wrong that way."
      "Ten seconds!" cried the pilot.
      "Stand to," said the Master Chief, yanking the charging lever of his assault rifle.
      The ONI troops hefted their armored figures out of their drop seats, loading their submachine guns and prepping their armor systems. Inside his helmet, the Chief frowned: the tilt of their helmet indicated they were talking to one another, but he couldn't hear anything. A private comm frequnecy. "Cortana?"
      Her honeyed tones confirmed his suspicion. "Lots of comm traffic on local ONI channels, Chief."
      "Let them know that we need to be on the same frequency...we can't complete the mission if they're expecting a shot in the back."
      "Will do, Chief."

***

      A grim look spread over Stacker's face. "Unidentified Longsword landing inside the starboard hangar, Sir. Security teams engaging now. I'm gonna put 'em on speaker if you don't mind."
      "Do it," said Hood.
      A brief pause, then---
      "The demon! It's the demon!"
      Silence abruptly fell on the bridge, save for the chatter of the Elite security units.
      "First, Second and Third Lances, concentrate fire on the Demon! All others, suppress the remaining humans!"
      "He is too powerful, Commander, we cannot---agh!"
      "All units, fall back. We will trap them in the corridors."
      "Grenade! Grena---"
      The speaker clicked, then went silent. Stacker winced.
      Hood inhaled a long, slow breath, then turned to face his two senior enlisted men. "Senior Chief---Don---I want you to hold here." The stricken look that had blossomed in the man's eyes at the use of his first name went unnoticed. "Pete, take command of the counterboarding units. Scramble every Marine and Elite warrior on this ship. If the Chief's aboard, we'll need them."
      Stacker drew his pistol, racking the chamber. "Roger that, Sir."

***

      "Clear!" announced the ONI point man.
      The Chief waved his men forward into the purple-lit hallway. "Stay sharp...there has to be more."
      One of the ONI troopers, the PO1 who'd been bold enough to address the Chief, waved his men into an arrowhead formation. Panning their submachine guns across the corridors, each and every nook and cranny was swept for a threat.
      "Cross-corridor ahead," muttered the point man. "Blast doors are open. Orders, Chief?"
      "Cortana?"
      The AI's voice sounded slightly strained. "I'm not picking anything up...it looks all clear, at least."
      "My armor sensors aren't getting anything either," said the PO1.
      "Alright, then," said the Chief. "Advance."
      The ONI squad moved up, their boots clanking faintly against the deckplates. The point man leaned towards the open blast door---and let out a yelp as it hissed shut.
      Two seconds later, a background noise disappeared from the Chief's perception.
      It took him precisely a second longer to realize that the hangar's magcon field had been deactivated.
      It took him no time at all to realize that the shit had well and truly hit the fan.

***

      "Venting atmosphere in the vicinity of the starboard hangar bay, Sir," announced Grath over the howl of the decompression alarm.
      "Deactivate those alarms," growled Hood. "Good work, Don. Pete?"
      Stacker's voice crackled over the speakers. "Standing by. No problems on our side."
      "Stand fast," said Hood. "I doubt the Chief will be going down that easily."

***

      Cortana moved fast; as soon as the MJOLNIR armor's sensors had detected the decompression, she had magnetized his bootplates, just as the Chief had grabbed hold of the nearest stanchion.
      The ONI troopers weren't as lucky; the talkative PO1 was first out into the void, screaming horribly over the comm, with five more following in close order. The remained six followed the Chief's example, howling for dear life.
      The Chief was not pleased with the lack of proffessionalism. "Belay that noise! Cortana, can you seal the hangar?"
      "Standby," she replied. "Penetrating security layers now..."
      "Hurry it up," growled the Spartan. "We don't have much---"
      "Got it!" she announced. "Hangar sealed."
      The Spartan and the remaining members of his ONI squad clung to their respective anchors until the rush of escaping air had completely died away. "Check your gear," growled the Chief.
      "We're good, Master Chief," said one of the ONI troopers. "You?"
      The Chief reached to unclip his assault rifle from his backplate. "Assault rifle's gone, but that's alright. I've been trained in hand-to-hand."
      If the ONI troopers' faces were visible, their looks would've been rather scared-looking. "Uh...roger, Master Chief."
      "Move."

***

      Pete Stacker had never been one for literature, but he knew irony when he saw it.
      I've been with the Chief on two Halos, the Ark, and now he's going to kill me. He probably won't even recognize me...he never really cared for any of us besides Avery...
      His thoughts were interrupted by a banging sound from the other side of the corridor junction.
      Turning to face his squad, he made sure his vacuum suit was secure. The thing was damned bulky, but it certainly beat sucking vacuum. "Alright boys and girls, you know what we're up against, but you also gotta know he's human like the rest of us! That fancy armor of his only has enough air for 90 minutes, so we just have to hold him off for that---"
      That was when the door imploded and gunfire poured through.
      "Weapons-free, light 'em up!" barked the Gunny. "Don't let 'em through!"
      The rattling of the Marines' submachine guns was strangely muted through the vac suits' facebowls, but the comm relayed every sound Stacker's team made:
      "I'm out, reloading."
      "I still can't see anything, Sarn't!"
      "Put on your IR Marine, switch to IR!"
      "Suit breach, suit breach! Sealing---gah!"
      Stacker slammed a new mag into his submachine gun and punched his comm online. "Hold the line, dammit, hold the line! Anyone gets a suit breach, fall back and let your buddy take your place!"
      "No good, Gunny! There's too many!"
      "Marine, our orders are to hold, so we hold!"
      That was when a green-armored figure charged through the door, gold-tinted visor gleaming malevolently in the light of the muzzle flashes. The Master Chief barrelled into the foremost Marine like a freight train, lifting the man bodily and hurling him into the bulkhead. The man hit face-first, his facebowl shattering. A horrific cry sounded over the comm, one that Stacker was quick to squelch.
      "Alpha Team, Bravo Team, target the Chief!" cried the Gunny. "All other units, suppress those ONI troopers!"
      Submachine guns rattled to life once more as the initial shock of the Spartan's charge dissipated. Then the Spartan hurled another vac-suited Marine into the bulkhead, this time simply breaking the man's legs and puncturing his suit.
      Stacker clicked online his suit's speakers. "Dammit, Chief, I know you can hear me! Stand down! None of us here want to have to---"
      The Spartan didn't bother with something as theatrical as a throw for his next victim; the Marine valiantly tried to dump his entire 48-round magazine into the armored giant. But the Spartan didn't even flinch as he smashed his gauntlet through the man's visor.
      Pete Stacker had seen battle rage take many a man, and he had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near a Spartan when it happened. "Platoon, fall back, now! Grath, seal the door behind us!"
      Senior Chief Grath's voice crackled back over the comm. "Roger, got you on the cams now."
      "Alright boys," cried Stacker, "fall back on the bounce and swinging."
      The Marines fell back in good order, maintaining suppression fire. About three-quarters of the team made it through the door.
      The survivors of Charlie Team were bowled over by the body of their team leader, helpfully hurled into their midst by the Chief, who set to work taking care of the rest.
      "Gunny!" came the cries over the comm. "Help!"
      Stacker stared in horror at the men just on the other of the blast doors; the vac suits that had saved them now kept them bogged down. The ONI troopers and the Chief were working their way closer.
      He punched the door control.

***

      On the bridge, Senior Chief Grath muted the comm feeds from the trapped marines, a stricken look on his face. "Sir, the remainder of the platoon has fallen back."
      Hood braced himself against the tactical plot; he'd suddenly gotten week-kneed. "Thank you, Don. Pete?"
      Stacker's voice bore an unfamiliar emotion amongst the Southern twang: fear. "He just tore through one of my teams, Sir, I'm not sure how much longer we can hold him."
      "Well, Cortana?" said Hood. "Any suggestions?"
      The AI's voice contained a hint of dismay. "Of course I do, Admiral."
      Grath's patience was wearing quite thin. "Then what the hell are you waiting for?"
      A bit of strain had replaced the dismay. "Chief's asking me questions...I can multi-task, but it isn't the easiest thing in the world to do."
      "Do what you can, Cortana," replied Hood. "Don, pull back the Marines and send up the Elites."
      Grath nodded, hand already punching the 'send' button on his comm headset.

***

      The Master Chief was grimly aware of the horrified gazes of the ONI troopers fixed on him; pummeling your way through a numerically superior force will do that to a man. But the Chief had his limits too: his shields were down, the generators shot to all hell, and he had no idea if his armor could take another firestorm like that.
      Cortana's voice soothingly whispered in his ear, "Don't be too hard on yourself, Chief...they went down like Marines would want to."
      Ah, she's mistaking my halt for some misgivings on the op. Even AIs aren't as good soldiers as me, it would seem...
      "I'm fine, Cortana. I have my orders, and I'm going to execute them to the best of my ability. You there, Petty Officer."
      One of the ONI troopers, a PO2, looked up; Chief could practically see the fear blossom through the visor. "Y-yes, Master Chief?"
      "Which one of those corridors leads to the bridge?"
      "Th-that one, Chief."
      "Move."
      "One last thing," interrupted Cortana. "Chief, your armor's air tanks took a hit; you're going to have considerably less than 90 minutes to get to the bridge."
      "So we move faster. Get in position to breach."

***

      Stacker had refused to fall back with the Marines; when the replacement security unit had arrived, a full twelve-alien-strong lance of Sangheili warriors, he'd taken command. Their silver-armored Ultra commander hadn't been happy, but had handed over his men nonetheless.
      A banging sound came from the blast door. Half the Elites armed their plasma pistols, the others jammed mags into their carbines.
      "You'll only have one shot at this," warned Stacker, prepping his SMG.
      "We'll be ready," said the Ultra.
      That was when the door imploded, and a hail of gunfire and a green-armored freight train poured through. The hailstorm of plasma pistol rounds didn't so much faze the Chief as they did irritate him. The Spartan, however, did not have nearly as much of an edge in terms of hand-to-hand that he'd had with Stacker's Marines.
      The Master Chief's sparring opponent suddenly let out a horrific cry and collapsed, a knife protruding from his back.
      Stacker swore. "Everbody, fall back, now!" Still muttering curses to himself, he switched frequencies. "Admiral! We might hold him for a little longer, but not much. Any more tricks up your sleeve, Sir?"

***

      Grath looked at Hood. "Sir, we're in trouble."
      The Admiral made no argument. "Cortana; any help?"
      Silence, then---
      "Do you have an EMP explosives?" asked the AI.
      "We issue them to the security units, yes," said Grath.
      Hood frowned. "Cortana, if we try to neutralize the Chief's armor with EMP weaponry...won't that kill you?"
      "That's the point."

***

      Stacker clapped a hand to the side of his vac-suit's helmet, then swore as it bounced off of his facebowl. Old reflexes die hard. "Say again, Sir, I thought you said---"
      "You heard me, Pete," came Hood's voice. "Execute your orders."
      The Gunny spat one last curse, then turned to face his men, now a gaggle of Elite and Marine security personnel. "Get out your EMP grenades, boys. Time for plan B."
      Something slammed into the door. Various degrees of fear blossomed on everyone's faces, even the Elites. Stacker moved to squelch the rising panic. "Stand fast, gents, get those grenades ready. I'll take the door."
      "Gunny, wait---"
      But Stacker had already strode forward and slapped the door control. On the other side, the Master Chief had already prepared to deal a second kick to the entrance, stopping at the unexpected opening. He wasn't caught off guard for long, though: his shoulders squared off against Stacker's, and both hands came up in a fighting stance.
      Stacker raised his hands. "Sir, I'd stand fast if I were you."
      But the Chief would have none of it. Growling, he took a swing at the Gunny.
      Stacker would forever be keenly aware of the fact that the ORION project was the only reason he managed to dodge the blow, and even then it still managed to get him in the arm. Recovering his balance following a somewhat embarrassing spin, he gave a shout: "PRIME YOUR EMPS!"
      That got the Chief to halt. "Stand down," he growled to his troopers. Then he locked his visor on Stacker. "What did you just say?"
      "My boys are all packing EMP grenades, Master Chief." Stacker's eyes narrowed. "You'll be able to survive them, but what about Cortana?"
      The Chief stiffened. "You wouldn't."
      "What's the matter, Chief? Getting a little too attached to your gear?"
      The Spartan remained silent.
      Stacker stood his ground. "It's your call, Chief. Your call."

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