Location: Western Farmlands, Virek
Date and Time: May 15, 2553 – 1500 Hours
The landscape shifts from the crumbling city outskirts to rolling farmland, the air heavy with the scent of damp soil and wild grass. The Western Farmlands are a patchwork of fields and small, isolated homes—places that once thrived, now barely hanging on. It's peaceful in a way, but the kind of peace that feels fragile, like a calm before the storm.
We've been sent here to root out a URF cell that's been harassing the local farmers, stealing supplies and threatening anyone who cooperates with the UNSC. But this isn't a full assault. Our orders are clear: minimize damage, protect the civilians, and neutralize the enemy without escalating the conflict.
I can feel the weight of those orders as Bravo Fireteam moves quietly through the tall grass, our footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath us. The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the fields.
"Stay sharp," I murmur into the comms, scanning the horizon. "We don't know where they are, but they're here."
The farmlands are deceptively open, with wide expanses of land that provide little cover. But the URF has been using these fields to their advantage, hiding in plain sight, blending in with the locals. It makes our job that much harder.
"Movement up ahead," Santiago says quietly, crouching low as he points toward a cluster of small farmhouses in the distance. "Could be civilians. Could be URF."
We close the distance carefully, using the tall grass as cover. The farmhouses are small, old but sturdy, with wooden walls that have seen years of weather and wear. A few animals graze nearby, oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air.
As we get closer, I spot them—three figures moving near one of the houses. They're not armed, at least not visibly, but they're moving with purpose. One of them is carrying a large sack, likely filled with supplies.
"Hold position," I whisper. "We don't know who they are yet."
We wait, watching from a distance as the figures move closer to the house. I can't tell if they're civilians or URF. They could be farmers, just trying to survive. Or they could be part of the cell we're looking for, using the guise of civilians to hide their true intent.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Dash mutters from his position beside me.
"You're not the only one," I reply, my mind racing as I weigh our options. We can't engage unless we're sure. Not with civilians potentially in the line of fire.
As we watch, one of the figures suddenly turns, spotting us in the grass. For a split second, time seems to freeze. Then, without warning, the figure drops the sack and bolts toward the farmhouse, shouting something I can't quite make out.
"Hostile confirmed," I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. "Move in, but keep it clean. No shots unless absolutely necessary."
Bravo Fireteam springs into action, moving quickly but carefully toward the farmhouse. The remaining two figures scatter, one running toward the back of the house, the other ducking behind a nearby shed.
"Split up," I command. "Santiago, take Dash and circle around the back. O'Neill and I will handle the front."
We move in fast, weapons ready but pointed low, keeping our fingers off the triggers. As we reach the front of the farmhouse, I catch sight of the first figure—the one who ran—just as he disappears through the door.
"Cover me," I say to O'Neill, moving up to the door. I press my back against the wall, listening for any sounds from inside. It's quiet. Too quiet.
I take a deep breath, then push the door open slowly, stepping inside with my rifle raised. The interior is dim, the sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows casting long shadows across the floor. The house is small, cramped, with simple furniture and a few personal items scattered around.
And then I see him—the URF operative, crouched behind a table, a rifle in his hands.
"Drop it," I say, my voice firm but calm. "We don't want to hurt anyone. Just drop the weapon and come out."
For a moment, there's no response. I can see the tension in his body, the way his hands tighten around the rifle. He's scared. Desperate. But that makes him dangerous.
"Look, we don't need to do this," I say, taking a cautious step forward. "There are civilians here. Let's end this peacefully."
He hesitates, his eyes flicking toward the window, as if he's considering making a run for it. But then he does something I wasn't expecting. He throws the rifle to the ground and raises his hands.
I exhale, feeling the tension start to ease. "Good choice. Step out slowly."
As he rises to his feet, I motion for O'Neill to secure him. The situation could have gone bad fast, but we managed to defuse it without a shot fired. For now, at least.
"Santiago, report," I say into the comms as O'Neill cuffs the URF operative.
"Back's clear," Santiago replies. "No other hostiles. Looks like they were using the farmhouse as a supply drop. We found a small cache of weapons hidden in one of the sheds."
With the URF operative secured and the weapons cache neutralized, we turn our attention to the civilians. A family—an elderly couple and their young granddaughter—emerges from one of the nearby homes, their faces lined with fear and uncertainty. They've been living under the URF's thumb for weeks, too afraid to reach out for help.
"We're not here to hurt you," I say softly, lowering my rifle as I approach them. "We're UNSC. We're here to stop the URF."
The old man nods slowly, his eyes wary but grateful. "They… they forced us to let them stay. We didn't have a choice."
"I know," I say, trying to project calm and reassurance. "You're safe now. We'll make sure they don't come back."
As we secure the area and prepare to move out, I take a moment to reflect on how close we came to a different outcome. The tension, the uncertainty—it's all part of this new war we're fighting. A war where every shot fired, every decision made, has the potential to shape the future of this planet.
We're not just fighting the URF anymore. We're fighting to win the trust of the people who live here. And that's a battle we can't afford to lose.