Halo: The Interlopers

Jason and his team of ODSTs were in a large aircraft hangar and wearing their armor. While the silver-gray of his armor was fine for this mission, the ODSTs had been given winter camouflaged armor with improved insulation systems. The plates featured a white and gray splinter pattern, and the underlying bodysuit was a standard black. Their visors were their normal blue, the same as Jason’s.

The ONI officer from before brought them to a table covered in weapons, ammunition, and equipment. All of it was laid out and well-organized. None of the weapons had any camouflage paint on them.

“Gentlemen.” The officer nodded at the team. “You’ve been given a lot of toys for this op. You can already tell your armor is different, with better insulation and an improved oxygen-recycling system to aid breathing in the thin air. It also has a bomb built into it to destroy your corpses if need be.”

The spook walked to the left-hand side of the table, where there were weapons and ammunition.

“Your M6Gs are standard, no modifications. Some of the ammo you’ll be issued is special, though. They are subsonic, self-suppressing rounds that contain the excess gas, reducing the noise level to that of an M6/SOCOM. All of you have two suppressors for each rifle, meaning you’ll get a spare; that means that your M392 DMRs, MA37 ARs can be used as stealth weapons in addition to your sidearms when loaded with the subsonic rounds.”

He moved to the middle of the table. On that section lied segments of the ODSTs current armor, ration bars, canteens, and survival equipment.

“You’ll be subsisting entirely on nutrient bars to save space. Biofoam canisters are in each of your backpacks, and the SPARTAN here already has extra in a thigh attachment. You will be eating and sleeping in your armor, and using the waste-management function to avoid exposing yourself when excreting bodily waste. Your urine will be recycled into clean water to supplement your existing supply.”

The officer then walked to the right-hand side of the table. They had odd-looking pistols arrayed out.

“You will be given grappling hooks, modified from the M363 Remote Projectile Detonator. These will be vital for scaling walls, cliffs, buildings, etcetera. After firing them, they can be hooked onto your belts, and set to shorten as you climb, or to simply give some resistance to downwards motion. Basically, they provide all the essentials for scaling and descending any sheer face.”

The officer began to walk towards the B-2 Spirit they’d be dropped in, and beckoned the soldiers to follow. The seven of them marched behind him.

“You’ll be dropped from this aircraft. AV-20 Spirit of Ponnysylvania. The flight will be several hours, and you will deploy by jumping from the modified bomb-bay. You will open your chutes immediately, and upon landing you will activate a disposal mechanism which will incinerate the chutes. Once you are on the ground, you will advance to the base and begin accomplishing your objectives. You leave in two hours.”

***

Twelve hours later, the SPARTAN and his six teammates were over the southern reaches of the Arctic Ocean, on the other side of the world. The air on the interior of the bomb-bay, where the operators were located, was negative twenty degrees Celsius, and their suits showed it as they frosted over. Outside, it was negative forty degrees, and at the low altitude they were flying, that wouldn’t change much when they parachuted in.

The co-pilot spoke over the radios tp wake the sleeping passengers.

“Thirty to drop zone. Get prepped,” The co-pilot announced, stirring the sleeping troopers.

The troopers all began a final series of checks to ensure they were good to go. Bolts were pulled back as they made sure their weapons were loaded. Chutes were checked to ensure no-one would fall to their death because of a dud or poorly packed chute.

“Two to drop zone!”

The bay doors hummed as they opened. Below them, the snowy peaks of the Unikrainian mountains reflected the moonlight in the perpetual darkness of the Arctic night; it was night now, and it would be until spring.

“Ten seconds to drop!” The pony shouted.

“Five, four, three, two, one! Hit it marines!” Jason blared over their comms.

The team leapt out of the bay and into the white abyss. Within the first five seconds, all of them had opened their parachutes. Half a minute after, they had all landed.

A few hours were spent regrouping. Another few hours were spent travelling to a secure enough area, which they could use as a rest area and base camp of sorts. By the time they’d reached the snow-cave and assured themselves that there were no hostile fauna present, they were exhausted.

They set up two shifts to watch the area while the other group took a four hour nap. Eight hours later, they were all well-rested and ready to begin moving. They exited the cave slowly in a single-file line, cautiously watching for aircraft or patrolmen of any sort.

They moved south towards their objective.

***

“Yeah, that’s real funny, Private. Now if I catch you fucking around on duty again Koontz, I will tie you to a pole, knock out your teeth, slather your balls in honey and let some of the lab boys’ pet fire ants go to town on your impotent dick!”

Private Koontz stared at Major Sobec. Or rather, his visor. He was a very intimidating man, and in a suit of VANITY armor, he was exponentially more so.

His armor was the dark red of a Mamba Major. His EVA helmet had a blue polarized visor with a skull carved in the front. His torso seemed even bigger as a result of an armor permutation, and his shoulders were well-protected. His entire appearance seemed meant to be protective and inspire fear.

Most Mamba officers had unique armor that suited their personalities, and Sobec was no exception. The wide view of his EVA helmet signified his paranoia, the skull representing his ferocity. His bulky armor further inspired awe and provided more protection. For a skilled and feared security professional, it seemed perfectly representative of him.

“Dismissed!” He roared. The soldiers he had been straightening out ran to their posts. None of them wanted to incur his wrath.

“Major, the radar boys have something for you. Head on over to the command center,” Sobec’s assistant said over the radio.

He exited the barracks and greeted the snowy arctic night. Around him he could see the various buildings that made up OKB-512. The trams hummed as they ferried troops, supplies and scientists between buildings. Mambas and ponies clad in heavy coats patrolled the area, weapons perpetually ready.

The snow beneath their boots was a few inches deep, and each step was left in the material to be filled in by the end of the “day”. The whole base was pockmarked with such holes. Icicles hung from rooftop overhangs and tram rails, frost clung to the sides of structures and the uniforms of the guards.

It took a few minutes to get to the command center, most of which was spent waiting for transports to pass him. When he reached the center, a pair of Mambas in white VANITY armor saluted him outside the entrance. Their armor was modified with add-ons to increase their efficiency in an arctic climate; a ghillie hood to put over their helmets in heavy snowstorms, a small display on the hood’s harness to aid teammates assessments of their allies’ condition, a winterized tactical softcase for extra ammo, thick Grenadier kneepads, a reinforced buckler on the left wrist to use for shattering ice and mounting devices, as well as Grenadier shoulder pads and a matching helmet.

A brief scan confirmed the Major’s ID and opened the door to an airlock, which promptly sealed. A second scan ran over him to make sure he was free of contaminants, and after it ceased the room pressurized to match the rest of the command section.

He weaved through a dense mix of ponies and people, his goal being the radar specialist at the end of the room. Finally, he reached his man. Or rather, stallion.

“What is it, lieutenant?”

“Sir, we picked up a radar ghost a few hours ago. We were scanning with long wavelengths like you suggested, and we got something. Faint at first, but the sig got stronger for a minute and a few objects appeared on radar as well. They were small, but still…”

Leo Sobec had expected this. The Unikrainians were getting too damned obvious, and it was only a matter of time before the Equestrians launched a pre-emptive strike. A review of the log revealed that the signature matched best with a B-2 Spirit, which had been rumored to have modified versions designed for covert insertion. It looks like those rumors were right. The “objects” falling out were probably special ops.

With haste, Sobec marched to General Neighgovich’s office and opened the door.

“Sir,” He began, wincing under his helmet as he addressed a fairy-tale animal as his superior. “Radar logs indicate an REAF B-2 dropped a payload in the mountains north of here. I believe their payload was a strike team based on the radar signatures. About seven men or ponies, possibly a mix. I’d recommend bringing the base to yellow alert.”

The unicorn stared at his visor coldly, almost disinterested. “I will raise the base to yellow alert within the hour. Make sure our defenses are ready, I’d hate to leave our guests to wander aimlessly in the cold.”