Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Stargate, Halo, or Battlestar Galactica movies, books, or games. They belong to their respective creators and/or copyright owners. This story is not created with a commercial purpose. It is not for sale or rent!
Prologue Part 1: Hard Contact – Earth
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Part 1
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Long ago, in a time before myth and legend, an alliance of Four Great Races existed. It began with the Nox, immortal, kindest, and fairest of all. Next came the Furlings, noble and honorable warriors all. The Altera came next, proud, relentless, dauntless, yet kind to their friends. And finally, the Asgard, a curious species of peerless scientists and explorers from another galaxy. They joined together for the betterment of all, kindling the light of knowledge and guaranteeing safety for everyone they encountered.
They brought a Golden Age that we may never see again.
Then Darkness rose from Altera's ancient past. They were the Ori, the Altera's twisted brethren, led by Ascended beings believing themselves gods. They fed on worship like vampires, draining the very essence of those worshipping them. Their countless thralls were bound by the sweet lies and promises of Origin. They were ready and willing to die for their false gods. The Alliance fought with all they had. Yet the Darkness met them blow for blow, bringing endless suffering to all it touched, determined to dominate and devour all life.
The Furlings fell first, their domains laid to waste by the eternal war. The Nox fell next, and how terrible their fall was. The war twisted and broke them, turning them into bloodthirsty monsters who fought to the bitter end. Only the shattered remains of those who were the light of the galaxy managed to find themselves again in their darkest hour. The Nox remnant retreated to their home world and concealed it behind a veil of shadows, doing their best to heal their souls.
Yet, some still resisted. One last alliance between the Altera and the Asgard met the twisted hordes of the Ori, sacrificing everything they were, their principles, and their very souls to vanquish the enemy. They fought across three galaxies and in the Heavens themselves, rending them asunder. Self-proclaimed gods bled and died when faced with Ascended Altera.
The Heavens burned, torn asunder by the Altera in their desperation to end the war. The Ori fell, yet not before they brought their enemies to their knees. The Altera were a tiny, pale shadow of themselves, ravaged by plagues released by the enemy with their dying breath.
The Asgard suffered catastrophic damage in the last days of the war, leaving their scattered remains to rebuild their civilization from the ruins.
The Altera fled the Milky Way so the ravaged galaxy could heal, but not before seeding the seeds of their kind's second evolution.
Eons passed. The War in Heaven became a myth that faded into legend and was eventually forgotten. Younger races rose in a galaxy that had finally healed.
First were the Forerunners, seeded by an ancient species known as the Precursors. Perhaps they were remnants of the Great Alliance or one of their forgotten acquaintances. It could beger species grew in the aftermath of the War in Heaven. Only dead gods know the truth for sure.
Legend has it that the Juveline Forerunners turned on their creators in their hubris and jealousy, wiping them out and claiming a Mantle of Responsibility for the galaxy. In the aftermath of that ancient conflict, the Forerunner Ecumene reformed and attempted to live up to said Mantle…
Second to rise was appropriately Humanity's second evolution, the heirs of the Altera – Ancient Humanity. They rapidly advanced through reverse engineering and utilizing Altera and Precursor artifacts. The Ancients met an alien species they eventually allied with, the San'Shyuum, rising to prominence as a rival galactic power to the Ecumene.
At this point, the Forerunner's sins came back to damn the galaxy, or so the tale goes. Or was it perhaps a last, rogue weapon unleashed by the Ori eons ago, at the end of the War in Heaven? No one alive, flesh and blood, or machine intelligence knows the truth.
The Shaping Sickness fell upon Ancient Humanity, igniting a war that brought the alliance low. Despite all odds, the Ancients and their allies prevailed, though the price of victory was terrible. Yet, the worst was yet to come. In the last days of the war, a Human fleet tracked fleeing infected ships to a Forerunner colony. There was no time for proper negotiations or explanations. The threat of the Shaping Sickness was that great, and the Ancients were traumatized by the conflict. They saw no other option but to burn the disease in its infancy before it consumed yet another world.
The last remnants of the Flood in Human space fled towards the Ecumene, ensuring that even in defeat, they would bring Humanity down with them. This sparked yet another war, and the Ancients lacked the resources and industry to win it just after defeating the Shaping Sickness.
It was a long and bloody conflict that saw the Forerunners triumphant. They had upheld the Mantle of Responsibility and were not the sole custodians of the whole galaxy. And their vanquished foes? The Ancients were defeated and condemned, for the price they extracted in defeat broke something within the Warrior-Servants that fought them.
The Forerunners broke and devolved their foes, confining them on their homeworld as a primitive species, forced to claw its way forward once again.
Little did the Forerunners know that their victory and security were fleeting. The Shaping Sickness returned from the abyss between the galaxies and found the bearers of the Mantle lacking. For all their might, vast industry, and advanced technologies, the Forerunners lacked the weapons and knowledge used by the Ancients to triumph. Those tools of war were now gone, and the people who made them were no more. The same was true for the knowledge to develop such weapons.
Slowly and implacably, the Shaping Sickness ground down the Forerunner armadas and consumed system after system, becoming more powerful with each victory.
In desperation, not so different from that of the Altera, the Forerunners constructed Seven Great Rings, forging their very spirits and determination within those constructs. At the end of the last Age, the Forerunners sacrificed all they were or might become to uphold the Mantle. The rings ignited, their merciless light bathing the whole galaxy in death.
The age of the Forerunners was over. The Shaping Sickness was vanquished a second time at an even more terrible price.
Yet, even in death, the Forerunners upheld the Mantle of Responsibility. Their constructs breathed life back into the galaxy, giving a second chance to countless species, one of them being their old enemy, the Ancients.
incomplete translation of
Second Verse, Book of Remembrance,
Declared High Heresy by the Prophets
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11 February 2525
Ford Storage Complex, Arizona, United Republic of North America
Earth, Sol system, UNSC Space
It was still relatively cool and pleasant in Arizona in early February, for a desert, anyway. For Kenny Clark, these were some of the best days in the year – not too hot during the day and pleasantly cool during most of the night. That was important for someone working as private security in the desert. Most of the year, it was a deadly oven outside during the day and freezing at night. Despite many air-conditioned places to take shelter, it was an unpleasant location to guard. Kenny often wondered what possessed the UEG or the Republic's government to build a large storage facility in the desert. Then, he had to remind himself that his job was usually easy because of the location. Clark and his colleagues had to deal with only three intruders since he began working at this place, and all of them were kids who came here on a dare.
All other alerts turned out to be odd desert critters looking for shade pining overly sensitive sensors. A few were cute; they even had a tiny fluffy fox as a mascot!
The same couldn't be said about the damn snakes, scruffy coyotes, and the scorpions. Oh, God, those critters, he hated them with a passion!
At least his protective clothes made him virtually immune to those things, which made working here bearable. The pay was excellent because most people wanted to be stationed closer to civilization or in places with better climates.
Kenny had more excitement on the job in the last few days than in the past few years combined. Instead of a bunch of dumb programs and a few others spread all over the place, they had a bunch of historians squatting on the property, all working for the UEG. Their leader was a blond professor, one Sara Gardner, who was excited by pockigning her nose in ancient containers that might have been here before the Republic became a thing centuries ago. Kenny had to concede that some dusty things in storage might have been here or forgotten in another facility before that, long enough to be considered history.
The best thing was that the historians came with their own good coffee and were willing to share as long as Kenny and his buddies were willing to act as guides through the labyrinth-like storage facility.
Early that morning, Clark was sipping a steaming cup of tea and watching how the scientists were losing their minds in excitement. That was prime entertainment he didn't have to pay for, so it was all good. Besides, Kenny was curious to determine what they found this time. A few days ago, they stumbled into a container containing an ancient tank from before the UEG was ever a thing! That got them a visit from the military, who picked it up and brought it to the nearest depot for examination and refurbishment. Kenny heard it was some kind of Abrams going straight into a museum. They might even get mentioned in the news, which might not be good. The last thing anyone needed was for curious fools to stumble all over the desert and need rescuing afterward!
Kenny took another sip of his coffee and hummed at the bittersweet taste. Meanwhile, Gardner's people were swarming around a tall, thin metal crate, carefully working to
open it safely.
Arizona did have its share of earthquakes, so when the ground began to lightly shake, Kenny wasn't particularly worried. They were in a well-built warehouse that would likely survive intact, with much harder tremors than he could feel below his feet. While most historians scampered like headless chickens, Clark kept sipping coffee and enjoying the show. That happy state of affairs continued until he heard something breaking into the crate everyone was fascinated by. This was a spot of utterly shit luck, Kenny decided.
He had no idea how right he was. A moment later, a blast of energy, like rippling, boiling water, exploded from the crate, annihilating a large part of its front.
Kenny stared at the spectacle before warily looking at the cup in his hand as if it had transformed into a giant scorpion. Did one of those jokers spike his drink with something?!
The security guard looked up at the crate to see a circular hole in it, illuminated by what looked like the surface of a lake rippling from light wind. He was still gaping like a fish out of water when a small golden drone flew out of the "water" and began buzzing around the warehouse. Everyone had long forgotten the tremors and was staring at the unfolding history.
Kenny's mind rebooted, and he thought he might better call the security center when two spheres flew out of the rippling surface and bounced off the concrete floor. Afterward, only light and pain existed before the world went mercifully dark.
=IFF=
11 February 2525
UNSC Vigilant, Halcyon class cruiser
high orbit above Earth
Sol system, UNSC space
People said that Colonel Jack O'Neill, the commander of the 2nd Shock Trooper Battalion, 11th Marine Infantry Division, had a knack for being at the right time and place. Or at the wrong time and place, as the case might be. Jack would firmly state that it was the second if someone ever managed to get an honest confession out of him. He always seemed to end into troublesome situations, usually not out of his doing. That was partly why his record against the Insurrectionists was stellar and why he was contemplating early retirement. It was one thing to be fortunate enough to be on the correct ship when the terrorist bastards decided to make trouble groundside so you could jump down from orbit like an avenging angel to put an end to their madness. It was pretty different from being at ground zero of a surprising attack and mass uprising that ended with all units decimated before the dust settled.
Jack got a locker full of medals and lost many good friends—not a good bargain, in his considerate opinion. At least during his current deployment, he was back home, overseeing training exercises for a reconstituted and mostly green unit. The odds of a meaningful enemy presence in the system were virtually zero.
Instead, Jack had to worry about young, dumb, gung-ho kids bouncing off the walls in anticipation of their first orbital drop as part of the unit. It was excellent that they would be doing it as an exercise on Earth, of all places. From what Jack got from the grapevine, this was partly some PR stunt, so there would be more cameras and sensors than usual watching the exercise.
"Sergeant Anderson, you're my senior NCO. Congratulations, you are on babysitting duty today. I do not want any avoidable fuck-ups. Triple-check everyone's gear and that they know how to use the damn things, then recheck it! I'll be joining you shortly with Major Kawalsky."
"Yes, sir. I'll also have experienced people looking after the green LTs," Anderson saluted and left Jack's ready room.
"Good man," Charley nodded without looking up from a data pad he was engrossed in reading from.
"Are we done with all the paperwork, including the actual paperwork?" Jack glared at his desk with disgust.
The UEG, in general, and the UNSC, in particular, might have gone primarily electronic regarding record keeping and the bane of his existence. Yet, there was still a concerning amount of memos and reports that, by regulations, had to have a physical backup. Some days, Jack was convinced the Navy's ships were built so large to have space for all the paperwork people had to do daily…
"Mine is done unless more have spawned from the ether. Yours, on the other hand," Charley raised his head and gave Jack a knowing look.
"Mine grows exponentially and even faster the moment I look away!" O'Neill didn't whine. He didn't do whining, especially over paperwork! "Whoever thought it was a good idea for us to get promoted so much? One more, and we'll be a permanent desk fixture!"
"A bit more for me, Jack. You, on the other hand? Has command decided to drag you kicking and screaming to get you your first star? You're a genuine hero of the UEG, after all!"
"Charley, do you want me to drop you in the desert without the courtesy of a drop pod? You know, you're making it mightily tempting!" Jack warned half-heartedly. "Besides, that way, I won't be getting a star, much less get bolted to a desk permanently!"
"Weren't we supposed to be jumping at hills?" Kawalsky perked up at that. Such deployments, alongside drops at ice shelves, were the most dangerous as far as the terrain was concerned. Dropping at small islands, you could feasibly miss was a close third.
"Someone in command apparently has two brain cells left to rub together and decided not to throw such a green unit on the deep end with all the cameras that will be watching us," Jack explained. "We'll be dropping at a desert in North America, Arizona. We'll get a final briefing from command soon…"
An alarm blared, followed by a terse announcement:
"Set Tactical Condition Three throughout the ship! I say again, set Condition Three throughout the ship! Colonel O'Neill, report to Briefing Room Alpha. This is not a drill!"
Jack and Charles jumped from their seats and raced out of the door.
"Get everyone ready for combat deployment. I'll join you as soon as I know what just happened!" the Colonel ordered.
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Part 2
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11 February 2525
Ford Storage Complex, Arizona, United Republic of North America
Earth, Sol system, UNSC Space
Bra'tac of Chulak walked on the sand of the First World and looked at the heavens for guidance. The advanced Goa'uld 'magic' in his helmet automatically brought what he was looking at closer, allowing the Prime to see glittering metal shapes in orbit. The Tau'ri had advanced in their long isolation, yet it might all be for naught. Bra'tac knew his duty to Apophis and, more importantly, Ra himself. He was to secure as much information as possible and bring back as many prisoners and technology for study. After that, one of the Goa'uld would decide the fate of this world. With the Great War ongoing, they would likely send a great bomb to lay waste to the planet. Yet another world and countless innocents were about to die.
Bra'tac looked away from the sky and focused on the distant, glimmering city. Massive roads stretched from the settlement, illuminated by countless machines racing in both directions. The Prime's eyes focused on a few distinct ones with blinking red and blue lights on top of them. More local guards would be coming to investigate after the advance Jaffa party dealt with the first to respond – just two humans in a sleek wheeled machine. They were now dead, of course, with their equipment and bodies sent through the Chapa'ai.
It was painfully clear that these people were unaware of the Chapa'ai and the galaxy at large. Bra'tac saw a recording of the surprise of those near the portal when it activated. Despite that, their world was surprisingly advanced. Neither the First World nor the Tau'ri deserved to die without even knowing why. Bra'tac's fist closed hard around his staff weapon, so hard he heard metal grinding against metal.
The Prime looked around. They were in some kind of old storage facility, which was a boon. There were many things to recover for study, giving him a good reason to linger around. That bought him time to decide what to do and, more importantly, how to do it.
Bra'tac was an old man. Because of the Great War, any dreams he once had about Jaffa rebellion were now dead. Who would dare upend the cart when the Covenant menace was out to kill them all?! All he could do for years now was spread the truth of the False Gods as he knew it and hope that one of his students would live to act upon it in the distant future. At least, this state of affairs made things simpler for Bra'tac. He was going to die relatively soon, anyway. He might be able to carry one more Prim'ta to maturation before his body was too old and the next parasite rejected him, condemning him to inglorious death. More likely, he would die fighting the Covenant.
The prime looked at the objects in orbit, barely visible even with the aid of his helmet. Or he could die trying to buy more time for the whole world and its people. There would be honor in such an end….
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11 February 2525
UNSC Vigilant, Halcyon class cruiser
high orbit above Earth
Sol system, UNSC space
Considering the size of many UNSC ships, running to meet people face-to-face during an emergency was often impractical. Getting up to speed in one of the many briefing rooms spread throughout the vessel was much more convenient.
All the screens inside were already lit up, showing images of distinguished persons like Captain Hood, the Vigilant's "Dumb" AI, Copernicus, Colonel Konrad Schmidt – the CO of the regular marines stationed on board, and a General Jack wasn't familiar with. Another screen came online, showing the bust of a middle-aged stern woman in an ONI uniform.
"Colonel O'Neill, we've got a situation in Arizona," Hood began, not bothering with introductions or pleasantries. That was never a good sign.
"Two hours ago, sensors all over the hemisphere lit up with a massive power spike centered on the Ford storage facility in the Arizona desert near New Phoenix," The ONI woman explained. "Local law enforcement lost contact with a patrol dispatched to check on a report about intrudes in the facility. They dispatched more local police units and a SWAT team before we could figure out there was an issue and react," she made a gesture. Shaky helmet camera footage replaced her on the monitor.
Jack could see four standard police cars used by law enforcement all over the North American Republic and a black up-armored van – SWAT's vehicle of choice under most circumstances.
"Contact!"
"Freeze!"
People shouted. The camera angle swung, capturing tall figures in decidedly odd-looking dark metal armor. They were armed with unwieldy-looking staffs… The bulbous heads at the end of those strange weapons glowed, and yellow bolts of what had to be plasma shot at the camera. The image shook as the SWAT member went to the ground, smart cookie, that one. The cops returned fire with submachine guns, and Jack could see their bullets glance off the enemy's armor. More armored figures emerged from the shadows of nearby buildings, and within moments, the firefight was over.
Images captured from other cameras came to life one after another, showing plasma bolts picking up fully armored SWAT members and throwing them away while burning through them. The police cars and the armored van proved little protection – a few shots were enough to melt through walls and doors, with only the engines holding a bit better.
Despite the one-sided slaughter, Jack had to scoff at the attackers' arrogance. Were they that confident in their armor to show themselves in the open like that? Or was that a requirement because, for all their power and unlikely accuracy, their weapons were unwieldy like hell?!
"We have unknown hostiles holding a facility near a major population center on Earth. They obviously have advanced weapons and armor," the General ground out, clearly disliking the situation and all the implications Jack didn't have time to consider. "We're mobilizing military units all across the North American Republic. The nearest bases have had dismal reaction times so far. Colonel O'Neill, you are positioned to deploy before any ground-based units can get there. Your task is simple – drop at the facility and contain the enemy. Colonel Schmidt's marines will deploy in a blocking position between New Phoenix and the enemy's position before advancing to assist you. Air support will be on station and at your disposal by the time you hit the ground. Ground-based quick reaction forces are currently two hours out," the General spat.
Earth might have been at peace for a long time, but that kind of reaction time wasn't ideal, especially when they were talking about quick reaction forces. It might have been acceptable before the Insurrection became a thing, but not nowadays. Now, mobilizing regular forces at peace-time deployment was another matter altogether. However, that wasn't what the General was salty about.
"We'll be going loaded for bear, then," Jack concluded. "Rules of engagement?"
"We would like prisoners fit for interrogation. However, considering what we've seen, it is understandable if you cannot get us any alive," The ONI woman elaborated.
"Use of heavy weaponry is authorized. Neutralize the threat and call in air strikes if you can't feasibly take them out conventionally. If needed, fall back and link up with the regular marines and their vehicle support. A mechanized unit will be in the area in two hours. A Scorpion tank platoon with IFV support will be flying in within three hours, not accounting for Colonel Schmidt's force," The General informed Jack after glancing at something off-screen. "That said, there were supposed to be civilians on site, looking over items of historical significance stashed in the facility and forgotten. If at all possible, and if they're still alive, you are to attempt to extract them. You should receive a list of the civilians and local security on-site before you drop off. God's speed, Colonel."
=IFF=
Part 3
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11 February 2525
UNSC Vigilant, Halcyon class cruiser
high orbit above Earth
Sol system, UNSC space
After a brief detour to don his armor and pick up his gear, Jack stalked into the drop bay. He paused to take stock of his busy troops. Everyone was checking equipment or busy loading heavy ordnance into drop pods. He was glad that his warning to Charley and Sergeant Anderson had everyone swapping their standard weapons for the heaviest-hitting guns they had on hand. After what he saw during the hasty briefing, Jack knew that most of the silent and covert options they had were out, and they would be dropping right on top of the enemy, so stealth was a moot point today.
"Listen up, Apes!" O'Neill bellowed, going with the classics. Really, you couldn't go wrong with quoting Starship Troopers when your job description had jumping at the enemy from orbit as a significant feature. "This is not a drill or me being a mean old bastard to our newbies."
Jack was glad to see that while everyone was listening to him, they kept checking and loading gear. They were good men, even if the kids looked too eager to get into action.
"We are going in with limited intelligence. Copernicus is uploading area data to our gear as we speak. Our target is an extensive storage site in the Arizona desert. Unknown hostiles with advanced weapons and armor have taken over the facility. They've cut to pieces the response of local law enforcement, including a competent SWAT team. We are looking at the opposition that somehow got their hands on honest-to-God plasma guns. We can't rely on cover to keep us intact, and our armor is unlikely to hold up to a direct hit from what little I've seen. We are going in fast and hard; use concealment, and don't stop moving. Focus your fire on the enemy until they go down for good, and watch your fire. There were civies on site. Their status is unknown. If practical, we're to secure and extract them. Company and platoon leaders, gather with me. The rest of you, make sure everything is squared and ready for a drop."
Lieutenant and Captains barked orders before quickly gathering around Jack, with Charley falling beside him. O'Neill noted the disbelief on the faces of some Helljumpers who didn't have their helmets on yet. In others, it was evident in their bearing. He couldn't really blame them. Who the hell had plasma guns, and why were those things designed in such an impractical manner? Jack had trouble believing what he saw, too.
"For the veterans among us, this is on brand – the situation is all fucked up, and we are jumping down to unfuck it. For our new friends, let this be a learning opportunity. We are Helljumpers! We are the first to enter the fire, which often meant limited or wrong intelligence…" While speaking, Jack input the necessary commands into the holographic projector in the center of the bay. It came to life, showing a live satellite image of their target. "Major Feretti – your company will drop behind these dunes here," Jack pointed at the only natural cover around the complex. "We're dropping pods with additional heavy weapons and medical supplies in the area. You'll secure us an exit route and use the dunes ridge to provide fire support. Get a triage area set up ASAP."
"Aye, sir," Louis nodded without showing a trace of his usual upbeat and happy personality. He knew how wrong this op might be if the enemy had even more nasty surprises. Because why wouldn't they?
"Captain Mason, your company is dropping near the entrance. I want the compound's security post secured and access to all sensors. Even with constant orbital surveillance, tracking all enemies and avoiding traps in that maze down there will be a pain. Ger, you combat engineers on the job. I want information on enemy movements and any still alive civies ASAP. You'll leave a platoon to hold the fort and begin clearing the front of the facility. Captain M'Butu, your unit will drop to the west here and set up behind this roll of warehouses, using them as concealment before pushing deeper…"
=IFF=
There was no adrenaline rush like an orbital drop over an enemy position. The feeling was addicting, though going for it in the first place required a particular brand of functional crazy. After all, most people didn't want to even think of jumping from perfectly functional planes, much less warships in orbit. Others did it merely for the thrill and fun.
Jack was somewhere in between. Every time he settled into his drop pod, his hands shook with anticipation, fear, and spiking adrenaline. Part of the thrill for him was going on with it despite the fear he felt, or perhaps because of it.
"Colonel, all units are green and ready to deploy," Charley's armored bust appeared on one of the screens in Jack's command pod, while Captain Hood's was to the left.
"ODST, you are green for a drop," Captain Hood's voice echoed within Jack's pod.
Hydraulics hissed, and pumps drew all the oxygen from the drop bay. Clamps rotated the pods with dampened metallic clangs, carefully aiming them at the target. Armored panels slid open, revealing Earth in all her glory. The sun illuminated half the world in blue and gold while spiderwebs of light shone from the line between day and night.
Jack couldn't hear the pods of his Battalion launch. However, he could feel the rumble of each reverberate through the launch bay and the clamps holding his pod in place. Protocol dictated that the command personnel would jump in the middle of the pack, mitigating the odds of enemy fire singling and taking out the units leaders.
A brief sense of shock and acceleration washed over Jack, and his pod hurled away, joining hundreds of others in a metal rain. Just like that, Jack's arms ceased shaking, and he felt a jolt of adrenaline surging through his system. The sensation of free-fall was incredible and liberating.
They hit the atmosphere almost immediately. Friction heated up and shook the pod, though internal guidance systems kept it on track. Paint would soon begin to peel off, creating metallic flakes to help confuse radars. Dummy pods released decoys and acted as bait due to their better sensor profiles. While Jack didn't expect anti-air fire in any meaningful amount, he was glad that no one even thought about skimming on support during the drop to save a few bucks.
O'Neill's command pod had additional neat features, allowing him to watch the drop zones of his whole unit while in the air. He was glad that there were no nasty surprises in that regard. Soon after they tore through high cloud cover approaching their target, the drop pods separated in clearly noticeable clusters before decelerating with a nasty kick. Everyone was about to reach their designated zones, so no fuck ups in that regard, Jack noted with relief.
There was, in fact, anti-air fire, and more plasma shit, too, though it was light and not remarkably accurate. Jack designated the AA positions for particular attention. He did note that they were not in sight before his Helljumpers headed for their pods just a few minutes ago.
That was all the Colonel could do before his pod entered the final descent phase, and he braced for impact. Retro-trusters kicked into full power, shaking O'Neill like a rat caught by a dog. This finally bled enough velocity to make the hard landing survivable and leave Jack intact if shaken to the marrow of his bones. Explosive charges blew out the front panel of his pod. Mechanisms slammed into place, cutting off the restrains holding Jack in place, finally setting him free. He jumped out of the pod and, in a long-practiced motion, picked up his rifle from its place across his chest and aimed, seeking targets. His HUD illuminated friendly silhouettes nearby – the rest of his command unit and its attached security detail.
Jack could hear odd snapping noises almost drowned by short bursts and the loud crack of snipers. Explosions shook the compound, indicating that his ODST was already heavily engaged.
"Sergeant Anderson, push forward to give us breathing space. We're setting up CP in the shadows of those warehouses before us," Jack ordered and jogged behind his troops. His job wasn't to shoot the enemy beyond securing an LZ and space to work. Well, that or when things went to hell, he had no more reserves.
He had a Battalion to command, and to do that effectively, he needed to know precisely what they dropped into ASAP.
To do so, Jack trusted his staff and security detail to keep him intact and focused on the flow of information through the Battalion's tactical net.
=IFF=
Part 4
=IFF=
11 February 2525
Ford Storage Complex, Arizona, United Republic of North America
Earth, Sol system, UNSC Space
Encountering and crushing what appeared to be proper local warriors was disheartening. With showing like that, Bra'tac wasn't sure there was anything he could do about the First World and the Tau'ri. The humans' armor was worthless, and their weapons could not hurt Jaffa in the new war plates created by Ra's scholars. Still, this engagement was a reason enough to remain and gather more information without fearing an overwhelming enemy response. If such came, all the better. If not, the Bra'tac had more time to decide if dying here might achieve anything or if he should call the raid off and let the Tau'ri to their fate.
"Bem'Tok set up the heavy staff weapons on buildings, giving you good fire lines!" Bra'tac paused his musings when Jaffa, with heavier weapons, arrived.
The storage place was a good enough defensive position to allow them to fortify their positions while scouring it for anything of interest. More importantly, what they've recovered until now would ensure no one would question Bra'tac's decisions as the Prime in charge of the raid for the time being.
Shouting encouragements, Jaffa picked up the heavy weapons they had just brought in and went out to deploy them. Bra'tac looked at them and sighed in the safety of his helmet. Why couldn't the humans have left the Chapa'ai buried or figured out what it was, thus defending it properly? Checking up on the First World was supposed to be a mere formality to confirm that the Chapa'ai here was still buried!
Bra'tac walked out of the building, making a show of encouraging his Jaffa to work faster and better while giving encouragement where appropriate. He used this as one last opportunity to find something; anything that would prove to risk it all here might be more than an empty gesture from a tired old warrior. He looked at the blue sky, now well-lit by a rising sun. Deep down, Bra'tac wanted to see a sign to guide him.
The Prime saw one, all right. Many signs, in fact, burning through the atmosphere in a painfully familiar way. Did the Covenant find this world?! Why would they be dropping their demons here if they did instead of burning it all from orbit?!
"Jaffa, prepare to fight! Demons are coming for us!" Bra'tac shouted and pointed at the sky.
Gasps and curses told the Prime that everyone who heard him was looking up and seeing what he was seeing.
"Order the Chapa'ai shut down so we can dial out and retreat! There is no honor in fighting a pointless battle!" Bra'tac ordered. His eyes focused on the descending pods. His helmet did what it was meant to do and gave him a likely estimate of the time before they landed.
Those things were closer than they appeared to be and coming in damn fast.
"Brace! The demons come!" Bra'tac roared. While a few Jaffa ran towards the Chapa'ai, the rest sought cover. Bra'tac did the same. He was responsible for this raid and would be the last Jaffa to leave First World. If he died here, then so be it.
The pods screamed through the sky and slammed into the ground, shaking it. Jaffa, who were too far out scouting the facility, couldn't get back fast enough.
"Those aren't demons!" One of Bra'tac's Seconds exclaimed through the magics linking their helmets, allowing them to speak over distance.
Bra'tac could hear exchanges of fire, and those weren't typical Covenant weapons. The loud crack of primitive projectile weapons, similar to what the local warriors had echoed all over the place, was answered by staff blasts. Surprise slowed down Bra'tac's reactions. He looked up at the last pods slamming into the ground while a handful of staff cannons tried to shoot them down. Then the Prime looked at the heavens and the traces of orbital facilities he glimpsed before the sun rose, hiding the stars from sight. Bra'tac was suddenly sure that these weren't Covenant demons but Tau'ri, who operated similarly. If that was so, then he had his answer.
"Speak to me, Second! What are we fighting?!" Bra'tac demanded.
"They appear to be armored humans," Explosions drowned whatever else the Second tried to say.
A symbol blinked before Bra'tac's eyes, indicating that the Jaffa he was speaking with was wounded or dead – either way, they were incapable of talking anymore. The Prime smiled grimly. He had his answer. Now, he had to figure out how to contact the Tau'ri and ensure the Goa'uld couldn't send a bomb through the Chapa'ai.
=IFF=
"The Area is secure. We are setting up a triage center and unpacking heavy weapons. The ETA for heavy weapons teams is two mikes." Louis reported some good news.
The rest of Jack's people were faring somewhat worse, undoubtedly due to encountering resistance.
"Enemy infantry at the security center. We are moving into flank and breach. I can't guarantee that we will be able to use the sensor net in a timely fashion, sir," Mason reported over the nearly deafening volume of gunfire.
That could have been better. However, by all accounts, the enemy's armor was damn tough, taking many repeated hits in the same area for Jack's troopers to have a prayer of breaching it. At least the snipers had it easier, though they were using anti-material rifles with ammo meant to gut lightly armored vehicles. Those things had more in common with autocannons than infantry-portable weapons.
A flash of light chased the shadows all over Jack's position, followed a moment later by the sound of a thunderous explosion.
"Scratch one heavy weapons position. Command, be advised, our missiles can lock on those things…"
"Rely that to all units. AT teams and snipers focus on the enemy's heavy weapon emplacements!" Jack ordered and continued to follow the flow of battle and look for opportunities or traps.
=IFF=
Captain Mason cursed when he saw one of his soldiers literally fly away from the door of the security center. Despite suppressive fire, smoke, and flash bangs, the enemy dug in there seemed undeterred and unaffected by anything used to distract them. A second Marine fell with their head missing, taken out clearly by a plasma blast as they moved to shoot through the window.
Shotgun-totting Helljumpers blasted at the enemy next, followed by two fire teams. Two more marines died in the resulting exchange of fire before the shooting at the security center finally ceased.
"Area secure!" Mason's senior Sergeant barked. "Those bastards take a lot of killing, sir. I recommend we take them at range, using heavy firepower when applicable."
"Secure the enemy and our dead, and get engineers in there," Mason ordered.
"Captain, we've got eyes on three tangos. They're pulling a fighting retreat. There is no trace of other hostiles in the area," the CO of Mason's Second Platoon informed him.
"Shadow them, but don't get too close. See if you can hammer them with indirect fire or bait them into a sniper kill zone," Mason suggested to the green lieutenant.
When he got a confirmation that the area was reasonably secure, the Captain jogged towards the security center. The place would make for a good command post and, if the engineers got it operational, would offer a wealth of actionable intelligence.
=IFF=
Part 5
=IFF=
11 February 2525
Ford Storage Complex, Arizona, United Republic of North America
Earth, Sol system, UNSC Space
Despite first impressions, the Tau'ri were effective warriors. Bra'tac didn't know if they had encountered the Covenant and been inspired by their Demons' insane tactics or came to the same idea by themselves. The old warrior wasn't sure which option would be more impressive and disturbing. He led a small raid to gather information, not forces meant to take on Demons and survive much less triumph. While by all accounts, the Tauri weren't as deadly due to their inferior weapons and armor, they could kill Jaffa in short order. Only a few of Bra'tac's warriors were left holding the building with the Chapa'ai, and he doubted many more could make it and retreat. The Tau'ri converged on their position and were guaranteed to storm it soon.
Bra'tac knew he was out of time. Wasn't that a grimly amusing idea for an old warrior contemplating his coming end?
"Jaffa, go home! I will hold them until the last of us is either back or dead before following you!" Bra'tac made his choice, and it felt right. It was sad how easy it had been to think of simply leaving and condemning yet another world and people. When did honor become so easy to dismiss, the Prime wondered? How many massacres ago did he begin to pay lip service in exchange for survival under the Goa'uld?
Jaffa saluted Bra'tac and ran through the Chapa'ai. He calmly walked to the rippling gateway and put his staff weapon down, half vanishing into the water-like surface, while the rest rested on the floor. He turned around and pondered how to communicate to the Tau'ri that they had to block the Chapa'ai before the Goa'uld decided to send a bomb through. It was clear that the people of the First World weren't speaking Goa'uld anymore, and in hindsight, that wasn't surprising. They have been isolated for so long that this world and its people were little more than a legend, if not a myth, told around fires late at night. Bra'tac looked around, keeping an eye on various containers that were already here or his people brought from nearby warehouses. A few of those stacked into the Chapa'ai's ring should be enough to prevent it from activating.
Bra'tac saw a Jaffa run into the building as if Demons were on his heels. That wasn't so far removed from the truth. Figures in dark armor followed him, firing with loud cracks. The warrior stumbled, picked himself up, and tried to sprint towards the Chapa'ai. The Jaffa looked at Bra'tac for salvation, which the Prime simply couldn't give him. More shots rang, and the warrior stumbled again, falling to the ground. This time, he didn't get up.
"Such a pointless, stupid waste…" Bra'tac grumbled, voicing his feelings at the senseless death. He raised his hands and waited.
Tau'ri warriors approached warily, pointing weapons of various sizes and making at the Prime. They shouted instructions at him, but Bra'tac had no way of understanding. He slowly and deliberately pointed at the Chapa'ai with his left hand. He began gesturing, hoping he wouldn't get shot for his trouble.
More Tau'ri poured into the building. They spread through it, and while many kept their weapons pointed at him, others covered the fallen Jaffa and began a competent sweep for other threats.
Bra'tac ignored them and kept gesturing at those focused on him, hoping beyond hope that they would figure out his intention.
=IFF=
"Command, Colonel O'Neill, we have most of the facility secured. My people have located the source of the power spikes, and I am moving in to investigate. You should be seeing the same camera feeds I am looking at." Jack spoke to Captain Hood and everyone else, listening while jogging towards the warehouse with an honest-to-God portal. Did he awake into a science fiction novel this morning without noticing?!
"We are seeing it, Colonel," Hood's steady voice sounded in Jack's helmet. "Copernicus concurs that this is almost certainly the source of the detected power spikes. "ONI is also happy that your people have managed to secure a prisoner."
"By all accounts, the prisoner remained behind willingly when he could have left before we breached the building. The portal is still active, Captain. You can see it as well as I can. I don't like what our new friend is trying to imply with their gestures."
"Me neither. Everyone looking at the feed agrees that they're trying to warn us about further attack or a bomb coming through," Hood didn't sound happy at that. "In the former case, reinforcements are on the way, and we can provide orbital fire if you can't contain whatever comes…"
"If it is a big enough bomb, we are right at ground zero, and a strategic weapon can at least gut New Phoenix," Jack concluded. "We need a way to block that portal for now."
O'Neill raced into the warehouse and was glad that his people hadn't shot their willing prisoner for no good reason. ODST surrounded the armored stranger, watching him make the same gestures again and again, pointing emphatically at the glowing portal and some of the crates nearby. Others had secured the gear of a dead enemy and were carrying the body outside to join the other enemy casualties.
Captain M'Butu was on the side, directing his unit to set up defensive positions. A heavy weapons team from Charley's unit came running, hauling a heavy machine gun and grenade launcher with a lot of ammo.
"Good work, Captain. I'll take it from here. Anderson, with me. The rest of you folks, keep your distance and don't shoot our new friend unless he actually attacks us," Jack ordered." He gave his rifle to one of his marines and unsealed his helmet before attaching it to his belt. O'Neill smiled disarmingly and raised his hands to hopefully show he wasn't up to no good before strolling towards the stranger. "Hello there!" Jack pointed at the portal. At least the thing looked damn cool. "Danger, yes?" He asked before gesturing back at their guest. "Big boom?" Jack mimicked an explosion.
The stranger looked at him and nodded, or at least O'Neill thought it was a nod. It was hard to say with that serpent-shaped helmet. The stranger raised one hand in what appeared to be a forestalling gesture before slowly pressing a spot near his helmet with a finger. The cobra-like helmet flowed away really coolly, revealing a man old enough to be Jack's grandfather. The stranger had short, greying hair and quite an impressive, well-maintained beard.
"Big boom," the prisoner repeated as if unsure of how to pronounce the words. He slowly mirrored Jack's gesture before pointing at the portal and making a gesture that might be interpreted as something coming out of it.
Jack was happy that a trigger-happy greenhorn didn't shoot their new buddy here. Sadly, it was clear that unless he was facing it very convincingly, said buddy didn't speak a lick of English or any language anyone in the Battalion could speak or even understand. What the man spouted while gesturing sounded like damn gibberish.
Jack put his helmet back to use its comms.
"Captain, does Copernicus or anyone listening know what language we are dealing with here? I don't think that look of frustration and incomprehension he's showing us when we try to talk to him is faked," O'Neill inquired.
"We have multiple AIs analyzing the conversation, Colonel," That was the voice of the ONI woman who had yet to introduce herself. "We concur; your prisoner appears to be both frustrated and genuine in his incomprehension, which is odd, to say the least."
"As odd as plasma guns or that portal behind him?" Jack quipped.
"The best guess we have right now is a form of Ancient Egyptian or similar dead language. There are only a handful of historians and perhaps a few civilian dump AIs at universities that can help us in that regard."
"I believe that attempting to block the portal, locking down the area, and finding a way to communicate properly would be our best short-term course of action," Jack noted.
"We concur, Colonel. Lock the place down," Captain Hood ordered. "Colonel Schmidt is moving to the facility to reinforce you. You remain in operational command until further orders."
"Aye, sir. I'll see it done," Jack responded and looked around. "What are we supposed to do? Just shove crates in the portal until it chokes on them? I don't think it will be that simple…" Jack pointed at the crate, then the portal, before looking questionably at the old man.
Their willing prisoner pointed at one of the enemy's staff weapons halfway through the portal and gestured at it, then away. He then pointed at the portal and made gestures that Jack had difficulty figuring out.
"Captain, does that look like a door closing to you?" Jack asked M'Butu. The big native of New Mobmassa walked to join the Colonel, staring intently at the old man.
"It might be. You know that the same gestures might differ among different cultures, right?" M'Butu asked.
"Yeah, they made sure to hammer it in our heads in officer school until all we knew was the marine way," Jack confirmed. "Do you think the portal will shut if we pull that thing away or shove it through?"
"It is worth trying, sir. We should have people with crates ready to shove in place if it works."
It did work, and the unmistakable look of relief on the old man's face confirmed they were on the right track.
