The group huddled under a large tree, receiving temporary relief from the rain which hammered against the ground around them. Most of the Marines were seated, checking the condition of their equipment and supplies, while Gunnery Sergeant Faulkner stood over them. In his hands was a small data-pad, its dim light subtly reflecting against his polarized visor, the man's finger scanning over the screen.
As Jackson approached, his footsteps broke the uneasy silence lingering among the men. Faulkner's head shot up, locking onto the Private. Jackson felt a chill run down his spine, the colour draining from his face, as though he were thrown back to basic with a look... Faulkner muttered to himself, the disgruntled murmur impossible to make out over the weather, though his head soon turned back to the data-pad.
A pair of hands bore down on Jackson's shoulders, causing the Marine to near jump out of his skin. His eyes shot to the rear, scanning for the source of his panic, landing on Alya. The small woman, having quietly followed behind, took notice of Jackson's distress—or more accurately exploited it.
Jackson feigned a punch at the woman, causing her to jolt back, her muffled snickering wearing on his patience as they sat with the squad.
"Break's over, Marines, listen up!"
Faulkner's voice was enough to catch the attention of all the Marines, their heads quickly fixating on the man. Alya fell silent in an instant.
"Naval Intelligence tells me there's a black site four miles north from our position. A few hours ago the bases distress beacon was triggered, then cut abruptly. ONI wants to know why. So, they've chosen you lot to check up on their toys. I bet you feel honoured. Naturally, our luck means we'll be walking into a dark zone so command won't be joining us on this one."
Jackson shared a concerned look with Alya, who sat beside him. New Caledonia wasn't the most peaceful planet; Attacks from insurrectionists were a common occurrence but on this scale? They fought from the shadows, hiding among the cities and deep in the forest, using terror and guerilla warfare to strike UNSC positions. Forcing their way into a military base, cutting it off from the entire planet? That wasn't their style.
Did they even have the tech? He wasn't a computer guy but cutting off such a large area couldn't have been easy, or cheap.
"I thought Innies preferred fighting from holes in the dirt. What's got them riled up?"
Alya called out.
"I know about as much as you do, Corporal." Faulkner said. "All I know is ONI's decided we're their best choice for this one—probably because our kind don't look before they jump! So stop feeling sorry for yourselves and get your asses ready! We're moving out!"
Several faces in the group looked dissatisfied, Jackson's included. They probably weren't the first team to get shafted by ONI, nor would they be the last. Though, If Faulkner wasn't confident in the mission, Jackson thought, he'd surely have kicked up a fuss with command. Unless this was what they got from Faulkner twisting arms for more intel.
Within minutes the team was back on the move, their objective a fair walk away. The rain seemed to come down harder than ever, the mud beneath their feet turning to slush as they waded between the trees. Jackson couldn't shake the pit in his stomach, his eyes fixated on the treeline. A prickle went along his nape, as though something were watching him... Perhaps he was being paranoid. His motion sensor was silent.
"Ey, boet, I 'eard something you might wanna hear..."
A voice called out from behind, rhythmic and gentle, Jackson was surprised it could be thrown far enough to carry over the rain. It came from Private Marais, the youngest Marine in the squad; Surely no older than nineteen. He often kept to himself, not the type to partake in squad gossip, and his inexperience often drew the ire of Faulkner—who was particularly harsh on him.
"What? Sweetheart Gunny playing with puppies and kittens?"
Marais paused for a moment before shaking his head.
"That spook, talking to Valearian, saying Harvest's gone dark. Sounded like it's been that way for some time... They were talking about rebels."
The Insurrection on Harvest was violent and sporadic, much like the rebels on New Caledonia, but surely not capable of cutting off a colony from the UNSC for more than a few hours. That said, it would explain why his messages home had gone without any response. Why hadn't the UNSC curbed the rebels yet? What was stopping them?
"I wouldn't go assuming anything, don't wanna make an ass out of yourself." Jackson wondered if he was speaking more to himself than Marais, his mind already running through a dozen worst case scenarios. "Besides, it's probably nothing interesting—just faulty tech."
"That's taking this long to repair? Nah, something's up. Maybe it's all linked. I mean, when's the last time you heard of Innies cracking secret bases?"
"Drop it, Marais. I ain't interested in conspiracy." Jackson snapped. He wasn't wrong, this whole operation stunk bad. Though, in his eyes, linking it to Harvest was probably a stretch. It didn't matter either way, snooping around in the business of spooks was a surefire way to end up on a milk carton. He just hoped Marais knew that too.
"Really? You don't find it odd?"
"I ain't paid to think, now quit blabbering. What if they're listening in? ONI ain't known for their transparency, I bet they'd wanna know why you're sniffing where your nose don't belong."
Marais went quiet, shrugging dismissively before dropping back in the patrol. A frustrated sigh left Jackson's lips, who doubted his words had gotten through to the young Marine. Perhaps he'd even invigorated him to dig deeper. Whatever the case, as long as the whole team weren't thrown in lock up, he supposed it didn't matter.
"Yikes, if vibe was the enemy I think they'd give you a medal."
Alya, after having noticed the conversation between Jackson and Marais, had dropped back in the patrol—not one to be left out of a good chat.
"What was that about anyway? Wait, don't tell me! Someone got a crush? You turned him down, didn't you?!" Alya gasped mockingly, placing a hand over her mouth in shock. "Liam S. Jackson, Howheartless!" She gently pushed Jackson, causing him to stumble slightly mid stride.
"What, sad he chose me? It's okay to be jealous, I'm sure you'll get your own strong silent type one day."
Just as Alya opened her mouth to respond, a voice blared over the radio. "Quit your yappin', Marines, this ain't a daycare! Unless you wanna see how well you can speak with a boot up your ass!" It was Faulkner, sounding as though he were about to blow a gasket. Not surprisingly the conversation soon died out, Alya returning to her position in the patrol.
The rest of the walk remained uneventful, all too afraid of invoking the Gunnery Sergeant's wrath. Every step closer to the black site made Jackson's unease grow, his eyes carefully scanning the treeline. Yet the silence remained.