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New Harmony, the name stuck out like a fish out of water. Harmony was that supposed to be ironic right? A civil war was brewing, unpleasant like bad coffee. The military presence, Winter suspected would have created the opposite effect that it had. Perhaps they were easily bribed soldiers tired and devoted to greed. Maybe the soldiers wanted something for the wife or the mistress. Maybe a few beers and enough money to pay off some pretty girl to spend the night with them. Gun running had access to stores of weapons from the human Covenant war offering a new business venture. Rebellions need guns. Rebellions that had somehow survived the Covenant’s scourge of humanity and made it alive with the will to fight. Winter had received the reports and frankly, they were dull and impassive. Of course they didn’t explain what ONI was truly up to. They were hush, hush about the upcoming operation, and yes he knew there was an operation. Just nothing about it, yet.

“Sarah the reports please, thank you.” Winter commented to himself, the driver paid no attention and drove on. There was no need to speak but he wanted to avoid contact with the driver. It was best to distract himself and the driver by making the appearance of work and or insanity, on Winter’s part.

His fingers intertwined the glasses frames. He brought the pair of half transparent red spectacle up the ridge of his nose and like an invisible switch being flicked on the glasses transformed. From a simple pair of shades the sunglasses started to project through small projectors implanted around the glasses frames information, more specifically the report he was given.

A document scrolled swiftly across Winter’s HUD implanted into his glasses. There was no scent to follow and so few trails to follow it seemed almost like a dead end. Sure there were smuggled weapons, apparently a tradition on New Harmony. A smart seller left no receipts and kept their trails swept. Following the leads of sellers would have been a waste of time arrests a plenty wouldn’t bring him one inch closer to the source.

You’ll just have to wait told a voice behind Winter’s forehead.

Sadly that voice was right, patience was the only path.

The black vehicle moved from the throng of traffic zipping off on an elevated exit ramp looping north towards the military base. Winter watched half interestingly at the cars zooming past creating a rainbow of traffic all around him as they crossed onto another bustling road. Truthfully Winter almost detested the cities sterile appearance wanting a change of color from the concrete blandness. The only touch Winter could construct within his mind was a few explosions bursting overhead flames trickling across the cities surface. War, battle, blood, the images flowed before his eyes stretching on for infinity. The dreams weren’t bad the war hardened b*****d cared little for the past but drove forward. You could either keep on walking or lay and die. Winter chose the latter.

“Sir I will need identification.”

“Oh, yes sir.” Winter groped for his ID reading, Master Gunnery Sergeants Winter Charnock ONI. In short Winter was a spook.

“Very well sir move on.” The armed guard waved the vehicle through the main gate. The base was overlooked by high walls and armed guards moving with remarkable purpose eyes ever watching armor clinging to their chests.

The driver brought the slick black vehicle into the compound.

Swiftly Winter was rushed past what seemed hundreds of soldiers behind a Colonel Welsh into a room packed full of ODSTs. ONI had worked diligently to bring to surface the information playing before them. The soldiers in this room were perhaps the most trustworthy and best equipped for this ‘retrieval’ mission.

The briefing ran smoothly Winter commented to himself. As the informative speech wrapped itself up he crossed his arms across his chest moving away from the M6A handgun clipped snuggly to his waist. He enjoyed the M6A’s comfort verses it larger brother the M6C. With 12.7mm armor piercing rounds it proved itself for self protection. As the meeting came to halt Winter crossed outside the briefing room following the blank concrete halls and following the sign, ‘the armory.’

A soldier standing behind a bullet proof shield eyed the ONI operative with curiosity but with a swipe of Winter’s identification he crossed through the large metal doors. His fingers wanted to clutch the grips of the hundreds of black plated weapons. Battle riffles to assortments of handguns, sniper rifles, and shotguns. The prospect of being confronted by enemy forces was slim but you could never know and something more than a sidearm at his side would add comfort. Selecting a M7 submachine gun Winter felt the comfortable weight against his forearms. He threw a ballistic assault vest around over his chest stashing two M7 magazines into one of its many assorted holders. The hardened nylon vests would not protect him from anything but projectile weapons but hopefully that was what they were facing. Winter finished the transaction by giving a nod of thanks to the armory’s watchmen before heading to the departure vehicles.

He would be riding with the 301st allowing the ODSTs to do their invaluable work. This moment brought a momentary sadness to Winter. How he earned to slip on his old armor and move with the rest of the soldiers. Yet those days had past remnants of them pinned against the black beret upon his head and the combat knife dangling from his left hip.

“Sir?” Asked a middle-aged Sergeant from the 301st. He seemed slightly annoyed by this ONI operative intruding on the operation.

“I need a warthog. And a gunner but don’t waste your best for me. I think my driving with suffice.”

The soldier eyed him for a moment before noticing the iconic ODST blade hanging off Winter's hip and the symbol pinned to Winter’s beret. This man used to be a ODST and he deserved respect.

“Yes sir. This way sir,” he said. The soldier moved through the throng of soldiers. The ceiling was lit by a canopy of overhanging industrial lights and bellow it dozens of warthogs laid out across the concrete floor. Soldiers moved around as the sound of the mechanics of weapons with the snapping back of bolts and the sound of magazines entering the chamber.

The private left Winter with a Corporal Rodriguez , a man with a Spanish bronzed face and striking features. A salute passed between the two before the Corporal hauled himself onto his M41 Anti-Aircraft gun.

He found the seat comfortable if a bit large. Snugging himself into his seat belts he took a breathe as his fingers ran against the steering wheel. Oh baby, this was a sweet ride.