The bar was mostly empty when Franklin Mendez entered it. He could see maybe six or seven people inside, counting the bartender, and almost everyone was keeping to themselves.
It hadn't changed in the past three months. It still had remnants of a thousand conflicts, known and unknown. Battered weapons on display racks, ragged remains of old unit flags hanging from girders overhead, and dusty medals pinned on the wall with name plates beneath them – Colonial Crosses, Silver Stars, Distinguished Unit Citations.
"Frank," the bartender said, nodding as the CPO approached the bar. "Beer?"
"Octanis, if you have it," Mendez asked.
He didn't bother with a wallet or a card. The cost would be charged straight to his UNSC account, because this bar wasn't in New Alexandria or any of the other cities. Mendez had stayed behind after the first staff meeting of the Orion-II project.
The Highland Military Complex had dozens of bars spread across it, within the numerous recreational facilities that catered solely to active duty personnel. Mental recuperation was just as important as physical, and drinking in a soulless cafeteria was bad for morale. Most of the bars were open to anyone, since you needed a Secret clearance just to set foot in the Complex, but they were unofficially claimed by different branches and sub-groups.
This nameless bar was one of the few exceptions. This wasn't a place for line troopers, desk jockeys, or fresh-faced officers. This bar was for special forces, and them alone, isolated from everyone else. It was a place where the sharpest men and women in the UNSC could lower their guard, and relax among their peers. The trigger pullers, the door kickers, the tip of the spear. You needed to have gone through at least one tour as the bleeding edge of the UNSC's knife to be allowed in.
It wasn't solely an ONI operation, no matter how much his superiors wished. The Army's SPECWARCOM, the Air Force's pathfinders, the Marines' black-suited ODST's, people like that. The best of the best, not just the basic level of Rangers, or PJ's, or Force Recon. The top ten thousand, and nothing more. The bar had room for about a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty at any given time. Given that they were always scattered around the Colonies, either on missions or at regional stations, that usually wasn't an issue. The most he'd ever seen here was fifty-five, after what he'd guessed was a HIGHCOM op.
"You know we do," the bartender said, with a nod, as he started pouring the drink. "How's work?"
"Can't complain," Mendez said, speaking literally as he picked up the pint glass.
The bartender smiled slightly at the old joke. It didn't matter that you needed to show your ID to get into the building alone, much less the bar. It didn't matter that everyone in here had a Top Secret clearance. It didn't matter that you could trust them to keep their mouths shut. At this level, everything was compartmentalized, and best practice was to never tell anyone anything, for any reason.
Mendez walked over to the side of the bar, away from the larger bench seats, the pool tables, the dart boards, and the like. The walls were ringed with private booths, and it was quietly understood that if you were sitting in one of those, you wanted to be left alone. If the place was more full, he might have gone in one, to be left alone with his drink and his thoughts. As barren as the bar was, he didn't see the need.
A sigh slipped out as he sat down. The first crack in his self-control since the project had begun all those months ago. It was the tiniest of things, but it still felt like a failure to show any signs of emotion at all.
Mendez resolved to schedule some more physical activities for the coming week of training, assuming that he could talk Doctor Halsey into adjusting her normally ironclad schedule. Hikes, bouldering, perhaps even swimming lessons in one of the lakes, now that it was warming up.
Did the children really need the extra physical training? No. They could use the emotional side of the excursions, just as his trainers could. To be away from cramped hallways and in the vastness of nature, alone with their thoughts and Reach. To be reminded of practical matters and their own growing capabilities. To learn new skills in new environments, and apply them.
He was halfway through his first beer by now. It wasn't the heartiest brew, not the most refined concoction. It was a reminder of his homeworld, a familiar taste that could ground him no matter where Section Three sent him in the galaxy. It was like touching the soil after a cryo-nap.
This was the first 'leave' that he'd had since the project had started. He'd been warned, before he'd agreed, that he was in for the long haul, and even now, he'd only managed to schedule a few hours of quiet time. He'd take a ride in the back of one of the supply Pelicans filled with tomorrow's food, and help Wentworth's staff with unloading them. A little less sleep, but that wasn't the worst thing to sacrifice. Maybe if this worked well enough, he'd repeat it after the other staff meetings, at the risk of falling into a routine.
Small things, he reflected. That's all that was needed. The cadets, as Halsey insisted on calling the candidates, were observant enough to pick up lessons far faster than he'd thought they could. It was a double-edged sword. They were adapting well to the lifestyle, and better to the idea of learning skills in the first place, discovering how to best memorize the knowledge that his trainers could pass on… but that observation might turn against him, somehow spotting the routines of his trainers, of the supply Pelicans, of Doctor Halsey herself.
"Long time no see," a voice called out softly, as a man approached.
Mendez looked up from the table, and saw an Army man walking up. Unlike Mendez, he wasn't wearing a working uniform, but the lighter day-dress intended office work, and he was carrying a stein with a frothy German-style beer.
"Terry," he said, nodding to the man. "Doing well?"
"Mix of good and bad," Master Sergeant Terry McDowell said with a scowl, as he sat down across from Mendez. "Good news, I hear we'll be working together soon enough. Bad news is what we'll be working on."
Mendez's eyes narrowed. That was awfully close to breaching the unofficial ban on work conversations.
They'd lost a few trainers along with Captain Wilson's abrupt departure, after the mess with that training exercise. Lieutenant Commander Stanforth had been sending him names of potential replacements, almost all of which Mendez had approved for the Orion-II project, and almost none of which met Doctor Halsey's increasingly high standards. She'd been reviewing every single serviceman's history, pouring over mission records to filter out anyone that she deemed unacceptable for the trainees.
Terry McDowell had been one of those names, he recalled, but he'd been rejected by Halsey. Had she reconsidered? Or was this something else, as impossible as that was? There was no way that ONI would have reassigned Mendez with the Orion-II project ongoing, but it might just be a smokescreen. Put his name on some project that never existed, to make sure there wasn't a suspicious seven year gap that might draw attention from other black ops professionals.
"News to me," he replied, keeping his voice bland.
"You'll want to check your mail," Terry told him, taking a sip from his stein as he leaned in, speaking much more quietly. "Just got it myself, on the way out of the office. Nothing immediate, don't worry about that. It's a paperwork job. Preference surveys. There's near a hundred people CC'd on it, including you, so you're gonna hear about it sooner or later. It's got reps from the Army, Navy, Air Force, even the Marines."
Mendez lifted a single eyebrow, and didn't bother saying anything. His expression made his disbelief clear, and Terry chuckled at the unspoken request for him to continue. At least the CC list explained why Terry was willing to discuss it here. If this list truly was that large, then there was no way that it could possibly be Need-To-Know only.
"I think it's the first steps of a new R&D push," Terry said, lowering his voice even further. "They're asking what kind of improvements we'd want on our gear."
"Which gear?" Mendez asked, frowning.
It seemed odd for an overhaul to come in right now, when ONI was spending so much on the Orion-II project, and when the Insurrection was still steadily grinding away without any meaningful change in their effectiveness against UNSC equipment.
"Armor, mostly," Terry said. "There's all sorts of questions in it. Armor comfort during extended field operations, mobility issues, equipment loads, plate effectiveness, better environmental protections, all sorts of stuff. It's not just ONI fluffing up the damn ODST's, either – all terrains, all environments, every potential mission profile."
"We just went to the new system a few years ago," Mendez pointed out.
He didn't say that they'd gotten a new armor system thanks to the Orion-I project, since almost nobody knew about that. He himself hadn't even known it until today, when Doctor Halsey had mentioned it.
Mendez paused, as a thought occurred to him.
Doctor Halsey had said that she hoped the Orion-II project would benefit the rest of the UNSC. At the time, he'd taken her at her literal words: that in the coming years, ONI would be able to repurpose some of the scientific progress made by her science teams to benefit other branches. That Halsey herself would only focus on this project, and any such improvements to the other branches would be incidental. Even with that, there hadn't been any major progress this early in the program, and it seemed impossible for that to be happening right now.
Had he been wrong? Had she instead been planning to reach out to other branches directly, even before Admiral Keeler had approved her requisition request? If so, it didn't seem like a smart move to Mendez… but then, Halsey had also been the one to convince Section Three that she could give them supersoldiers. Perhaps what seemed like a pie in the sky dream was merely a slightly more difficult goal, in her books.
But if it had been Halsey behind this new email, then she had made a mistake. Convincing ONI just required convincing ONI's leadership. The source of any incidental improvements could be easily camouflaged by classifications. Both of those things were much smaller scale.
Sending out mail to a hundred black ops personnel across all four branches was like doing a cannonball into the murky pool of military politics. Halsey was announcing her presence as a potential competitor to all of their own R&D projects, dropping a gauntlet on the table for them to challenge.
And she probably had no idea what she had done.
Terry looked at him, waiting patiently for Mendez to finish his musings.
"What's up?" the Army man asked, sipping from his drink.
"Every branch is involved," Mendez repeated the man's earlier words. "Sounds… ambitious."
The man laughed.
"Frank, you have no idea," Terry told him, with a wry grin.
"Who's the organizer?" Mendez asked, ignoring the small sinking feeling in his gut that told him that Terry was wrong, and that Franklin Mendez knew exactly how ambitious the woman was.
It shouldn't be Halsey. It wasn't impossible, but these actions, so quickly, were uncharacteristic of the Doctor. In every meeting he'd had with her, in every lesson she'd taught to the trainees herself, she had demonstrated exceptional patience and caution.
He'd only seen her act this fast a single time, and that was when Wilson had drawn her ire. But that had been a response to a clear threat to her, though Mendez still didn't know what the exact trigger for her rage had been – Wilson usurping her authority at all, the change in the training plan's philosophy and methodology, or the potential danger to the children.
There was no reason for this to have been Halsey. There had been no incidents in the last few weeks, no obvious problems or mishaps. If she kept to pattern, then it should have taken something major to provoke such a quick reaction from her.
Mendez had only been in the bar for half an hour, at most, meaning that if it had been the Doctor, she must have sent out this email within minutes of their staff meeting with the science teams and Lieutenant Commander Stanforth.
Yet at the same time, something in his gut told him that it had to be the Doctor. Perhaps he'd misunderstood what she meant earlier.
"Some ONI scientist," Terry McDowell told him. "A Doctor Catherine Halsey."
Mendez closed his eyes for a moment, and took a sip of his drink to distract Terry from his reaction.
"A survey," he said, as if he was thinking about it. "That doesn't sound like too much. Answer a few questions, never hear from her again."
"Except she's offering funding," Terry countered. "Nothing specific, no numbers yet, but she's saying if the branches can reach an agreement, she'll cover half the project's total cost. You and me both know that everyone's gonna be excited about that. New gear without having to spend the budget on it?"
"She's throwing out red meat," Mendez murmured, his heart rate picking up slightly.
"Exactly," Terry nodded, not realizing what Mendez had truly meant.
If Doctor Halsey was offering to fund this broad and expensive of a research project, she was about to draw a lot of attention in a hurry. Forget the survey, that was nothing. Halsey would only have done this if she had an actual goal in mind. Maybe this new armor system was going to be an incremental step towards the exoskeleton systems – better materials for future armor plating, or better HUD systems or something like that.
Mendez hoped that she'd at least discussed this with Stanforth in private, but he suspected that the ONI officer was going to be just as surprised as he was.
"I'd better go check this email out," he muttered, before draining the last of his beer.
He was disappointed as he stood up, nodding in thanks to Terry. He left the empty pint glass on the table and moved towards the door. He'd been hoping to get at least two drinks, but his desires had run into the brick wall of Doctor Halsey's latest move, and he was a professional.
It was time that he got back to the compound. He needed to figure out what his role would be in this new, unexpected twist to the program.
It was 2205 by the time he'd gotten back to the Orion-II compound and finished helping Wentworth with the unloading of the night's Pelican.
Wentworth didn't ask any questions about his late stay at the Highland Military complex. All it took was handing over a small box with a bottle of Japanese whiskey, and the quartermaster looked the other way.
Normally, this kind of thing would have been a problem, but Wentworth had served ten years in NAVSPECWEP with the ODSTs. He'd been one of the best, right up until an Innie bomb-maker had taken out half his squad with a booby-trap. The man understood both morale and morals, and he allowed minor breaks in protocol in order to ensure his men were well taken care of.
It was a fact that Mendez appreciated right now, because he didn't particularly want to talk to Wentworth about why he'd come back earlier than anticipated.
With Captain Wilson out of the picture, Mendez was technically the new military head of the program, and both Wentworth and the mess sergeant, Swanson, reported to both him and Halsey jointly. In practice, the shuffle had merely cemented Doctor Halsey as the undisputed dictator of the program, and she used him as a liaison to the others.
He turned on the reading lamp in his office, but decided to keep the main lights off. If he was lucky, he could read this email and go to bed swiftly, so that he wouldn't be too tired during the morning PT. Missing it was, of course, completely out of the question. He had an example to set for the trainees, and the only way to do that was with consistent demonstrations of what a soldier was supposed to do.
The computer-desk booted up, and a holographic screen sprang to life before his eyes. He navigated swiftly to his mailbox, and found the email that Terry had told him about. Mendez took small sips from a water bottle as he read. The dim light of the hologram was brighter than the reading lamp, but his eyes quickly adapted.
All,
You are hereby granted temporary, eyes-only access to Project GUNGNIR. Unauthorized distribution of any of the following classified information is punishable under UNSC Military Security Code 447-R27.
The goal of this project is to develop new battlefield technologies for the aid of UNSC special forces, both for the replacement of standard issue gear and the creation of supplemental gear for special use cases. Specifically, GUNGNIR will focus on armor, weapons, C3 systems, and experimental vehicles.
Our starting focus will be the development and production of two new sets of protective gear for the UNSC's special operations units. With the introduction of the revised ODST armor (BDU rev. 2506) nearly a decade ago, the UNSC has seen a steady decrease in casualties during special operations. In order to continue this current trend, ONI is gathering data on the non-measurable performance factors for further improvement.
However, as the BDU rev. 2506 functions both as a stealth-capable infiltrator suit and as direct action protective equipment, it was a compromise of functionality. Armor was sacrificed for stealth, and vice versa. This has resulted in a noticeable drop in stealth performance compared to its now-defunct predecessor (SCS rev. 2458), and armor that is barely superior to standard UNSC Army and Marine armor systems (BDU rev. 2490) despite significant cost difference.
As such, ONI will create two replacement armor systems that will excel in their specialized mission roles.
The new stealth-capable infiltrator suit is intended to be as protective as the SCS rev. 2458 that BDU rev. 2506 replaced, while enhancing communication, mobility, and comfort, as most use of these systems is on longer missions. C3 improvements will include point-to-point laser communications for secure coordination without the weaknesses of broad-spectrum radio.
The new enhanced armor system is intended to increase protection compared to the BDU rev. 2506, notably on the previously unprotected upper legs and arms, via use of advanced ceramic-titanium composite plates, as well as increased ballistic fiber. These plates are to be mounted on the exterior of the fibrous layers for increased coverage and ease of replacement as needed, compared to existing plates located on the interior of the BDU rev. 2506's torso.
Both systems shall utilize a common helmet system, with improved protection, HUD, and C3 systems, with the starting point of the BDU rev. 2506's helmet. Potential improvements being weighed at this stage include pattern recognition software, increased utilization of UNSC standard neural lace for IFF systems, and various visual enhancement systems (low-light, infrared, thermal).
The data we require from you will require the completion of an information gathering survey, to gather feedback on areas that should be improved with the next generation armor systems. Notable areas where ONI wishes to gather feedback include the above proposed additions, as well as any other areas which you consider to be notable.
In summary, additional ablative armor plating, increases in combat mobility, better integration of combat webbing, and extension of combat lifespan via decreased discomfort during extended operations. Each category will require answers for both the proposed armor systems.
Due to the suddenness of this communication, inquires on clarification and coordination may be directed to myself, to CPO Franklin Mendez, and to LC Michael Stanforth (adj. VADM Keeler, Section Three Head), with mailing addresses attached.
ONI is prepared to cover fifty percent of the final development budget for the new armor systems. As well, ONI is offering a multi-branch testing and evaluation process for further refinements to the prototypes, including field deployments. The remainder of the budgeting costs will be split equally between all branches that sign on to the project.
In return, ONI will require the two following conditions:
1) ONI shall maintain final authority over the refinements in the evaluation and testing phase.
2) Each special operations unit (not each branch) that participates shall be required to participate in one specialized training session with ONI operatives at a future, unspecified date.
Estimated completion time for the prototypes will be no earlier than 2523, and no later than 2525.
Doctor Catherine Halsey,
Section Three
With a frown, Mendez leaned back in his office chair, folding his hands over his stomach as he regarded the glowing hologram of the email.
He hadn't been sure what to think of Terry's words back at the bar, and he'd defaulted to withholding judgement until he could evaluate the email himself. It was a rational way to go through life. Assumptions were an insidious enemy, with the human mind encouraged to make them.
There was no point in trying to determine the life story of Doctor Halsey, or her core philosophical belief, or anything like that. He didn't have truth. He had data points, nothing more. He knew that Doctor Halsey was a scientific genius. He knew that she had written the original proposal, including both the training and tactical doctrine.
And now, he knew that Doctor Halsey understood how the sausage was made. He knew that Doctor Halsey could handle the politicking, the office politics.
Just as he'd said to Terry, she was tossing out fresh meat with the promise of funding. But this email wasn't the rookie mistake that he'd feared. There was nothing in here about the Orion-II project. No breaches of security. And given that she'd added Lieutenant Commander Stanforth on it, she'd either told him or Keeler in advance, or she was confident she could get them to sign off on it.
Moreover, the conditions were a good leash, keeping this from being so generous that it was suspicious. The Army and Air Force would be reluctant to trust ONI giving them a brand new armor system and paying half the cost – but tell them that ONI would be insisting on total control of the final product, and it was just enough to make them lower their guard.
But the real trick was the second condition. He'd wondered if Doctor Halsey was doing this as a step towards the exoskeleton armor that Doctor Sullivan's team was working on, and perhaps that was part of her objective. Regardless, it was less important. The real gain for the Orion-II project, as Mendez saw it, was to guarantee the cooperation of other special operations units in cross-training.
Mendez and his trainers were some of the best, but they were generalist soldiers. They were deployed for missions that involved regular infantry work that had additional complications, such as covert infiltration, or heavy resistance, or covering a vast areas of rough terrain, or going in alone with no support. For instance, his men weren't pilots, or pararescue, or combat controllers. Those roles were controlled by the Air Force, and the project would need the Air Force's help in order to teach those skills.
Some specialties were simply too niche, too demanding, for them to be cross-trained in those areas… yet the Orion-II project required that the trainees gain many of those specializations. That was part of the point of conscripting the children, in order to give them the years needed to learn those skills.
Stripped from all the bureaucratic speak, Doctor Halsey was offering to do R&D for the myriad collection of special operations groups. In return, those groups would train up the Orion-II trainees, handling that issue for her.
Yet even that was underselling her gambit.
SPECWARCOM was a tight-knit group, and it didn't welcome outsiders so easily. Mendez himself had no idea how long Halsey had been with the Office of Naval Intelligence. He'd never heard of her before three months ago, and that automatically made him suspicious of her. He'd buried that natural reaction under the professional competence that was his preference, but he knew that some of it would leak through inevitably.
The same suspicion of outsiders was even more commonplace with other units. The ODSTs were infamously prickly and arrogant, combining the aggression of Marines with the ego of the Rangers. The Air Force's combat controllers preferred to keep to themselves, after suffering years of budget cuts and insistence that their role was obsolete. The Army's SPECWAR groups had an institutional dislike for the Navy and Marines both, seeing them as usurpers of their rightful role.
Halsey, and by extension the Orion-II project, were going to face heavy scrutiny when the trainees finally became combat ready and began their deployments. It was inevitable that they'd run into other special forces based on their limited numbers alone. The surprise of finding out there was a new, fully formed task group of strangers wouldn't be a happy one.
Simply put, the trainees weren't part of the special forces community. They had no common ties, no shared experiences. Even lacking the boot camp experience that was universal in all other UNSC soldiers. They couldn't talk about where they received basic training. It didn't matter if they had all the same skills.
The rest of the UNSC special forces could react negatively and refuse to cooperate with the Orion-II's, forcing them to operate without the benefit of truly combined forces. This was a potential problem. It was still years away from becoming apparent, but when it did rear its ugly head, it would be too late, and too difficult to easily remedy.
But if Halsey called in those favors, then the trainees would be a part of the community. They would have relationships, if small ones, with people like Terry McDowell, Nolan Byrne, Jack Kawalski, or James Ackerman. It might not be enough to overcome the worries that those men would have, but it would be better than springing the sudden shock on them without any warning.
Did Halsey know about the land mine that she had potentially defused? Or was she starting Project GUNGNIR solely for the training advantages it offered, along with the technological aid and deniable cover?
Mendez mulled the question as he shut down the computer, and then discarded it.
It didn't matter if Halsey knew or not. They would gain the advantages of those decisions no matter what the original intention was. The final execution would be important, but that was a task for Mendez to handle when it came up.
He stepped out of his office and sealed the door behind himself with a press of his hand on the biometrics.
Tomorrow would be another day of training, albeit a lighter one, as all Sundays were, so that the trainees could recuperate. He should get some rest himself. They were in for the long haul, and Mendez intended to be there until the day the children graduated.