UNSC High Command Facility Bravo-6
Sydney, Australia
Earth
(3rd Pov)
Sitting at a desk deep within the UNSC headquarters, a middle-aged woman of African descent reviewed an array of files through the thin screen of her computer.
FFG-199 "Seal the Deal" /// STATUS: L.W.A.H
FFG-232 "Erebus" /// STATUS: L.W.A.H
FFG-543 "Smooth Operator" /// STATUS: SCUTTLED
DDG-059 "Terror" /// STATUS: Minorly Damaged
DDG-521 "Home Sweet Home" /// STATUS: Crippled
DDG…
On her screen, the light from an after-action report reflected the wrinkles on her face while her eyes remained emotionless. She shifted in her seat as she began typing her own remarks regarding the report. The insignia of an Admiral reflected in the dull blue light of the monitor.
It wasn't the first report she had seen where 70% of the ships involved were destroyed, but it was the first time she had the luxury of reviewing three in a row.
But it was to be expected.
This new enemy continued to show in new ways how they utterly outclassed the UNSC in every possible metric of study. And as such, with any threat of this nature, the Admiral did as she did best.
Cut her losses.
/// WAYPOINT /// ENCRYPTED.parangosky
Pull back from Mesra and regroup with Battle Group X-ray under Admiral Preston Cole at Harvest.
Admiral Margaret Parangosky
The message was short and to the point, offering no explanation. That was because an explanation was not needed in the woman's thoughts. A fact of the matter is that in order to be the head of the Office of Naval Intelligence, one needs to know exactly how much information must be given in order to complete a task.
In this case, a simple command will suffice. The leader of the remaining ships was the type to fall in line despite the undertone of what the order represented.
That being the abandoning of the colony of Mesra from space. Not something that the admiral would have considered ideal, but sacrifices had to be made. Cole had lost 12 ships in a single battle against a lone ship, a super destroyer. He was so far the only one to achieve any form of naval victory, and since he was already planning a counteroffensive, the man deserved every spare ship that the UNSC could muster at the moment.
But did the choices weigh on Parangosky? Of course, she would answer. But someone had to make them, to choose who lived and died, to attach a quantifiable value to lives. No one ever wants to make those hard choices and live a life in the grey, but for survival, it had to be done.
Some would most likely call her a devil if they ever learned what she had done….
Unfortunately for them, she was a necessary one.
Ding!
A notification flashed in the corner as a new report arrived at her metaphorical desk. A single glance at the sender told her that this was the report she had been awaiting.
With a few clicks, she navigated to the short report before reading:
OPERATION: GLASS HOUSE.REPORT /// CLASSIFIED /// HIGH COM EYES ONLY ///
The report from the informant was a bit long-winded for Margaret's taste, but it was still adequate information. Her eyes narrowed as a few bits of information were more important than the rest.
S-003: Survived with minimal casualties. Demonstrated adept leadership capabilities but outclasses every other Spartan surveilled in independent action. Though one has to ask whether this mission was worth it in the grand scheme of things.
Sierra zero zero three, an asset she had monitored for close to a decade at this point. When one of her many agents reported that during a research expedition, she returned with a young boy who just so happened to be in the perfect age range to take part in her upcoming Orion-II program, the admiral was immediately intrigued. Her interest only grew as his development strayed ever so slightly from the rest of the Spartan company.
'There is also the matter of his distinct genetics, but that is a topic for later,' the admiral considered.
S-003's Mjolnir Mark IV was also damaged during the fight on Circinius IV and was promptly issued a replacement by Dr. Catherine Halsey, head of ONI Section 3 (R&D).
The name of the current head of ONI section 3 caused the blank unemotional expression of the admiral to develop a slight scowl. The memory of a betrayal and of a past argument she'd had was still fresh in her mind.
'He's no savior; his talents lie elsewhere.' She vividly recalled the words she spoke.
But still, there was not a need to nor a justification to disrupt the Spartan company and Alpha team by plucking what could be considered unripe fruit. She would continue to monitor and watch his actions while simultaneously poking and prodding in the right spots.
Parangosky had found that a nudge here and there often was enough to cause the avalanche she wanted.
The people wanted heroes; they wanted to win simple battles.
But one Margaret Parangosky wanted to win wars, and for that she was only interested in machines…
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(3rd Pov)
The skies of an outer colony glowed orange from the fires that scorched the crust, blackening cities across its surface. Just a few days ago, it had been in pristine shape, a shining example of humanity, and now it was reduced to rubble and ash. Ruins of cities and infrastructure were infested with invaders.
Even now, a sole survivor sprinted through the wreckage to find safety.
"Huff Huff, I gotta get out of here," he whispered to himself as he ran, trying to avoid any stumbling blocks. Rare blood stains caused him to avert his eyes and remain fixed on his path to safety.
Ducking behind an outcropping, he stopped to catch his breath. A quick peek from behind the cover gave him relief, spotting nothing in pursuit. Though he had not noticed a motionless shimmer watching him from a distance.
"Wah Puta zo!"
His breath quickened as he heard the deep growl of a Brute issuing commands. Ahead of him, he saw the distant wobbling walk of a Grunt leading a small infantry patrol.
The patrol hadn't seen him yet, good. He still had the chance to get away-
Swish
Only a step into his stride, his eyes nearly exploded as the shimmer that had closed in on him moved, and he felt a warm, sharp stab erupt in his chest. Slowly active camouflage gaveway to a 8 foot tall alien of muscle wrapped in silver ornamental armor. His eyes were drawn to the glowing blue blade of plasma that protruded from his chest.
"Cowardly and incompetent just as the rest of your race," the Arbiter said as he brought the blade up, lifting the human he'd impaled with it.
Then, with one quick motion, he jerked his arm, tossing the now-corpse onto the various rubble piles. The Arbiter didn't spare the creature another look, instead opting to return to his command center.
"Arbiter, the hierarchs request your presence," a Sangheilli major in red armor bowed as Ripa Moramee entered.
A small nod and the elite walked into a temporary building, immediately bending down to a knee in front of the holographic image of the three prophets of the Covenant.
From left to right, the High Prophet of Regret, High Prophet of Truth, and the High Prophet of Mercy sat in their gravity thrones, staring down upon the Sangheili. The three San Shyuum appeared decrepit, their many generations of inbreeding due to low reproduction rates evident in their incapable frames.
In comparison, the Arbiter in front of them was far more athletic and full in appearance. The difference was striking, like comparing a chicken to a coyote or a jackal. Yet, the Prophets did not have an expression of fear or hesitation; instead, they appeared confident and in complete control.
"Hierarchs," Ripa greeted, still in prostration, keeping in the tradition of honor.
"Rise, Arbiter," the Prophet of truth spoke, his voice sounding venerable with an undercurrent of charisma.
The Elite stood up as now the Prophet of Mercy began to speak, "How goes the artifact retrieval, Arbiter?" his voice sounded ancient, like a creaking chair.
The Arbiter's expression did not change as his low voice spoke with a sharpness, "We have successfully secured all located relics on the planet. Currently, my teams are loading the last of them aboard our ships for transport," he said succinctly.
"And the adversary?" Regret asked with a voice reminiscent of a medieval jester.
"Devastated, their world shall be purged shortly," the Arbiter delivered as if it were a verdict before a judge.
"Excellent," Truth nodded at the news, "Once you are finished with your work and the sacred relics are successfully sent to the holy city, proceed to the world where the filth was first discovered."
The Arbiter paused for a moment. "You mean the world the humans call Harvest, your excellence?" he asked to clarify.
"Indeed," Truth replied, "The new Chieftain of the Jiralhanae, Tarturus, has taken it upon himself to conquer the planet, but is experiencing fierce resistance from our adversary. Therefore, your assistance may prove invaluable to the young leader."
"By your words," The Arbiter bowed, accepting the task. He shifted slightly, assuming that the meeting was finished.
"One matter still remains, Arbiter," Mercy spoke suddenly before glancing for Regret to speak.
Regret's gravity throne seemed to come in front of the others, "The humans have begun employing a weapon unlike their others," he said mystically, "They have created an anathema to our Holy Covenant, rumors have spread among our fleets concerning "demons" wrapped in green and grey armor,"
A flicker of recognition lit in Ripa's yellow eyes as he was reminded of the destruction of one of his corvettes the previous year.
A small murmur was let out as the Prophets discussed.
"Several Commanders have alerted us of their presence," Mercy added, "Their numbers are few, but they have disrupted our operations on many occasions."
Mercy's expression was clearly evident of caution, "Be on guard, and do not underestimate the wickedness of the humans. Though they are from the enemy, they have shown to be resilient in the engagements so far. If you are to come across them, you are to give them high priority of eliminating them. A priority just below the importance of liberating sacred artifacts,"
"I understand, High Prophet of Mercy," The Arbiter bowed once again, "I shall double my efforts in routing out these new blasphemers."
Both Regret and Mercy nodded, pleased with what they had heard, but Truth remained… guarded, "Remember, Arbiter, a thorn does not stop the hand that grasps it, but enough thorns may draw blood. See to it that you pluck the thorns before you hold it."
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A/N: Yo just a quick note this will be the last chapter before the next arc, which I will have a time skip of a couple years.