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No Place For Heroes by DevilsInjector
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No Place For Heroes; Ch 1 - Outpost 1
Date: 6 May 2009, 11:32 pm
~ Digital Log
UNSC ID; 77856-34256MS
~ Personal Computer #6MS9 @ Outpost 2
The Covenant wiped out Outpost 1 today. They didn't stand a chance. I managed to pull it together and force a retreat, but we still lost more than half of the men at O1. They had Wraiths. Now I know why they call 'em that. You only get one look at 'em before your gone.
Private Clark*[reminder]; the company clerk was one of the one wounded. He's going home. Poor bastard went and lost a leg. Maybe they'll give him a parade. AS IF. Last parade I saw for a solider was when they brought back Johnson from Harvest. He deserved that. But don't we all deserve it?
What seperates us from any other man or woman. Few thousand light years if you ask me. Oh, speaking of those, saw a Covie cruiser rip through today. Just over the city. Had half of it glassed in a hour. Left the rest for the ground troops to scope out. Captain wants us to go in tomorrow. I'm against it but what can I do? I'm just a sergeant.
Got a new shipment today, some new MA5Cs. Lack the punch of our MA5Bs but they make up for rounds per minute.
*[reminder] Send Silver Star citation to command ship orbiting.
The bunker shook. Dust fell in loose spirals down from the ceiling. Lying flat on his back Sergeant Michael Skrim blinked the dust out of his eyes. He shook his head. Where's my helmet? More dust crumbled down from the ceiling. God dammit.
His fingers curled around the faceplate on his helmet. Its amber glow lightly emitting through his fingertips. Sliding it back onto his head, he turned the polarization back to clear.
"Squad, report." He rammed a fresh clip home. No sound came over the COM. Turning, he slid back into his quarters. He walked around the back of the desk and pulled the data chip out of the computer. Don't want to forget this. Might be a bad mistake.
Stepping back into the hallway, he shouldered his rifle and walked down the hallway. "Squad, report!" Nothing. He broadcasted again. Nothing.
"Where the hell are they?" He snapped his rifle up and around the corner. An Elite stood over the body of a Marine. Michael pulled the trigger and drilled a five round burst into the alien. It turned and warbled as its sheild sparked, and flickered off.
Michael crouched and fired again. The aliens head pulped in on itself from the fire. It sprawled to the ground. Kneeling down, he checked the Marines tags. No use... melted to his chest. He pulled the Marine into a room and walked on.
The stattico of rifle fire ripped down the hallway. Breaking into a run Michael came across his squad (or what was left anyway). Two of the new guys were laying dead on the ground. Pete Rauns was pulling a wounded Marine behind a barricade. Jake Creery (another newbie) snapped up and fired a burst. And Opus "Dai" D'Antoni, hands covered in blood, was staunching a minor arm wound on another Marine.
The volume of fire in this hallway was withering. Michael crouched next to Opus, "This is it eh?" He fired a burst around the corner and turned back to the medic.
"Yeah, we got hit pretty hard. The two new guys got it in minutes. Jake is holding up well and Pete... well he's Pete."
"Okay, get any news from these guys?"
"Not much other than the fact that all the forces are congregating here. They want the officers quarters. For obvious reasons."
"Alright, well we're pullin' out. Get Jake and Pete ready to move, these two will tag along as well."
Michael tapped the wounded man on the shoulder, "Whats your name?" The man lifted his good arm and fired two pistol shots down the hallway. A grunt spiraled and fell to the ground. " Names Larke McCreary." He shifted and felxed his hand, "Feels good doc'."
Standing up, Michael ran over and pulled Pete and the wounded man over to Opus. "Pete, get em out of here. You know the fallback point right?" Pete nodded." Okay, get there. Jake and I will be comin' along."
Michael looked at the other Marine, "M'names John Smith. Friends call me 'Cliche'." Nodding, Michael looked around. "Dai, Larke, Cliche. Listen to Pete, he knows what he's doin'." They nodded. Michael turned and clapped his hand in Petes. "G'luck."
He watched them jog down the hallway, take a turn, and vanish from sight. "Jake, we gotta give 'em a bit of time. Drop a claymore and pop a grenade down the hall. I'll keep the fire up,when I stop, you haul ass back to the supply room okay? I'll be right behind you." Jake gave a shaky but confident nod and rigged a claymore up with a sensor trip.
Michael leaned out around the corner and sprayed fire down the hall, just as jake tossed a grenade. Michael heard a squawk and the plasma fire ceased – for now – and he stopped firing and turned.
Right behind Jake, they turned the corner and barrled down the hall. An explosion rocked the pair. That'd be the claymore... anytime now. A plasma bolt struck the wall next to Jake, spraying him with melted concrete.
Jake turned and backpedaled, firing from the hip. Michael ran by and slammed through the door to the storage room. Jake stumbled back through, and landed on his ass, screaming. "Plasma grenade, right outside the door! Close it!"
Michael lunged and slammed the door shut, the metal dented and warped as the grenade went off. Luckily, it fused the frame to the inner metal walls of the room. They werent trapped, but the aliens outside would have a hard time getting to them.
"We're safe for now. Lets get the hell out of here. Grab a duffel bag, and load it with extra clips and ammo." Jake nodded and went about his business. A rustle behind some boxs caused Michael to spin around and snap up his rifle.
"Oi, take it easy. Its me, Clark. I took it as a... moral choice to hide in here. Now you brought the bastards to my spot. I was holdin' em off pretty good till you showed up." Michael looked around, two Grunts were slumped into a corner, one to many bullets wounds in their bodies. He shook his head and turned, "Get some extra shit Clark. No matter how full of it you are."
Michael removed his ear from the door. "They're gone, lets go." Moving across the room, he quickly opened the back door and started at a run. Clark and Jake followed. "Jake glanced sideways at Clark, "Careful with that shit man, all you got is explosives." Clark ignored him, and focused on a large figure rolling through the mist.
"WRAITHS!" Clark screamed and jumped into a large patch of boulders. Michael wheeled around and dove in. Jake, a good distance behind, dropped to his stomach and crawled over.
Michael looked over the top of a boulder at the three Wraiths hovering near a guard post. "We need a plan. We dont have any launchers, or high powered explos –" He stopped talking. Clark hefted his duffel off and dropped it on the ground. "Oh yes we do." A smile cracked across his face.
Michael looked Clark over. Thirty eight years old, joined the Marines two months before they decided this place was worth keeping. He moved to an outpost as a company clerk and stayed there for the duration. A run in with a sergeant in a pub got a chevron torn off. Busted down.
Slumping down, Michael looked at Clark, "Okay, what the plan?"
"I say, you guys haul fuckin' ass out of this ring of boulders. They'll zero in on you sure, but make it to that bunker, why hell, your good for a few lobs of plasma." He hauled off his bulky gear as he said this, and slung the duffel in a backpack style. He flexed his burly arms. "I should be able to make it."
Jake looked at the man in suprise. "You'll get killed." Clark shot back, "They need you more than they need me." Michael spoke up, "Okay, sounds good. On three Jake, we haul and get to that bunker. On four... Clark, you get up there, drop the stuff, and get back. Understand." Clark nodded. "Okay, on three."
"One." Jake leaned forward, Michael heard Clark take a deep breathe.
"Two." Michael slung his rifle over his shoulders. Clarke got into a crouch position, ready to run.
"Three!" Michael burst out of the boulders with Jake, and shot in the direction of the bunker. A Wraith tank tracked them. They dove into the door as the bolt struck outside. Looking through the door, he saw Clark sprinting towards the tanks. The man was like greased lightning.
[hr[
Clark watched as the soldiers ran off. Four. He jumped up and sprinted in the direction of the behemoths. I don't remember, did I tell Mary to tell the kids that I love them in that letter? He was ten meters from the tanks now, he primed a grenade. Skidding, he turned and peeled the duffel off, throwing it in the direction of the tanks.
Two seconds. He turned and ran for the bunker. The explosion rippled through the ground. The first Wraith rolled into a ball of flame, taking the others with it.
Clark was lifted off his feet and thrown against the bunker. He looked down. Shocked, he looked at his severed, burnt leg. The burning had stopped any bleeding, and he thanked God for that. He'd be going home, the next damn ship of this shithole, he'd be going home.
Michael dragged Clark into the bunker and snapped on his COM. "Pete, get em down to Bunker Delta. We'll regroup here.
Jake pulled Clark further into the bunker and dropped in on a camp bed. "He'll be alright. Dai will take care of him.
Pulling a chair up and sitting next to the bed, Michael pulled out his COM pad, inserted his data chip and brought up the holo keyboard. Muttering to himself, "Personal Computer #6MS9 @ Outpost 2."
No Place For Heroes; Ch 2: High Ho. High Ho. Its off to work we go.
Date: 27 May 2009, 11:55 pm
~ Digital Log
UNSC ID; 77856-34256MS
~ Personal Computer #6MS9 @ Outpost 2
Its been two weeks since the Covenant wiped out OP1. Havent had much of anything happen around here. Got a new company clerk, and Clark went home.
My citation got approved and he went home with a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. Promised us that if he was able to move around enough on a fake leg, he'd come back. I don't doubt him.
Well, we went into the city and pulled out in about an hour. Nothin' bad happened, there just was not alot to look at. Couple people persistant enough to stick around. And a few came back with us.
In all honesty I don't know why the people stayed, I mean, its not like they'd live very long. Gotta admire their determination though.
Petes in a pretty bad mood. His telephone company actually sent him a bill. Apparently he's gone and not paid a few heavy bills. It'll do for a good rib. Maybe a bit of heckling. Photocopy, paste every etc etc.
Well... I'm signing off.
"Those fucking bastards!" Yelled Pete, throwing the bill down on the table again. "The nerve!" He slammed his fists on the table and glared at McCreary, "What the fuck are you laughin' at you pikey?"
McCreary suppressed a snort, "Aint nothin' laddie, aint nothin'." He slid back his chair and pulled a cigar out of his pocket. Sticking it between his teeth, snipped the end off with a pair of scissors and put a lit match to it.
Michael looked McCreary over. A mountain of a man, and an Irish man at that. He wasn't large in height, he was broad shouldered and bulky to boot. An artist with a shotgun as well as a MA5B. One of the units best and brightest.
Smith shifted and turned his adult-only magazine sideways. "Y'all have any idea how someone can do that?" Dai stood up and walked over, looked at the page, cocked his head.
"No, I dont. I wish I did. But I dont."
"Well your no help!"
"Sorry, I just don't have the caliber of mind to explain how a woman can bend and contort that much."
Pete snapped out of his rage and walked over, he too looked and cocked his head. "Is her... wh-... it looks like she dislocated something." At that note, McCreary jumped up.
"Lemme see, I have much exper–." He stopped mid-sentence. "Thats wrong." He turned and started to walk away, then turned back. He looked again. "No."
His interest piqued, Michael stood up and walked over. He gazed dumbfounded. "Thats not right y'know. Thats unhealthy."
Smith looked up, "Oh, the good sergeant has a weak stomach?" He pushed on jokingly, "Still have your hands on the coveted 'V-Card'" He closed the mag and leaned forward.
Michael smirked, "Careful Cliche, I'll bust you down to Private." He leaned back and laughed, "You'll end up like Clark. Dont mess with a sergeant."
Dai looked at Michael, "How is your savior anyways?" He stood up and threw a med-pack on the table, "From the sounds of it, he did quite a thing two weeks ago."
"He's doin' good. Got him on a leg. Sayin' he's movin around well. I'm getting updates." He leaned forward, "I promised him a spot in our squad and a promotion to Corporal when he gets back. Commander Yurik has agreed."
Nodding approvingly, Jake clapped his hands together, "So, anyone hungry?" He stood up and walked over to the microwave. Pulling out a package he threw it in. It started to whirr. "I gotta be careful here," Jake started to say, "I heard about this one guy, a twitchy guy. Always had trouble with fire. Met him once, good guy. A bit off if y'know what I mean. But anyways, he just goes and grabs whatever was in the microwave. I dunno how it happened, but it just went all over his hands. Wasn't to fun for him as I hear."
Dai was looking at Jake, mouth half open and his head slightly tilted to one side. "What was the point of that?" he proclaimed. "I dont... your a idiot."
Jake laughed and shook his head. "Just figurin' this out now are ya?" The microwave went off and Jake slipped on a mit and pulled the ration box out. "Yum. Beef, Potatos, Carrots, Corn and Carrot Cake. I never understood that. You can't make carrot cake. A vigable can't be made into a cake.
Smith looked at Jake, "A vigable?"
"Yeah, like brocolli, cauliflower, beans."
"You mean vegetables."
"Yeah, thats what I said. They're full of vidamens."
"Vidamens?"
"Yeah, as in A, B, C. All the way to Zanc."
Mouth open, eye twitching, Smith couldn't believe his ears. Michael patted Smith on the shoulder. "Don't bother." Smith just nodded, apparently speechless. Turning on the spot Michael looked in the door. He gave a rather lazy salute. "Hey Capitan, what ya got for us?"
Captain Nashua flipped his clip board over and looked at Michaels squad assignments. "Just a patrol. Not much. Scout out the local area."
Michael nodded and turned to the squad. "Alright boys, its muggy so go light." He pulled on his helment and slipped on his gloves.
Jake, just putting his fork to his mouth, dropped it in a huff, "Yeah, yeah." He stood up and slipped on his duty cap.
McCreary picked up his shotgun and muttered something under his breathe. High ho, High ho, Its off to work we go.
"Its muggy".
The squad slogged through the swampy, buggy terrain. Again. A large dragonfly flew by and Jake jumped. "Did you guys see the size of that thing?" He shuddered, "Fuckin' huge."
Michael looked back over his shoulder. "Keep it down will ya?" He looked forward again, "You'll give us away." He pushed a clump of branches aside and froze. So did the Elite on the other side.
Pete walked up and started to talk, "What is i-?" He blinked. "Hi."
Opus snapped his rifle up and drilled a three round burst into the Elites chest. It snarled and lunged at Michael. Ducking and pulling his rifle up, he caught the Elite in the stomach with a sustained burst. It folded at the stomach and crumpled to the ground.
Smith cocked his head at a 85 degree angle. "Did you say hi?!"
"Yeah, why?"
"What did you plan on accomplishing?"
"Maybe it was... friendly."
"Are you serious? Are they ever friendly?"
"I like to try."
"Well you just failed? See your buddy? Yeah, he's dead. You hear me? Dead!"
"Yeah... he's either dead or a vigable." Jake nudged him with his foot. A smile on his face. "Guess he didn't take his vidamins. If he had more aron he'd of survived that barrage. But he's Finnish now."
Smith scowled and looked up. "You are a dick."
No Place For Heroes; Ch 3 - Beef Jerky, Canned Goods, and Ass Kicking
Date: 25 July 2010, 7:50 pm
~ Digital Log
UNSC ID; 77856-34256MS
~ Personal Computer #6MS9 @ Outpost 2
Not a lot has happened lately. Recent patrols have come up clean. Nothin' big. We got another mission into the city today. So we're heading in.
I got word in from command today. Clark has been all fixed up. And they're shipping him back into circulation. They say he moves better on his new leg than his old one. It's funny. I always thought he was a bit of a wimp.
Nothing else is new. Uhh... Opus broke his finger. Yeah. The medic broke his finger. And he had to fix it, himself. Doc's wouldn't help him out. Said it wasn't high priority enough to require medical attention.
In other news. We got some new armour. New body plates. The plates are strong enough to stop small arms fire. Which is good considering the lasting rebel factions in the city. Oddly enough they are still around, even after the Covenant occupation.
Oh well. We're loadin' out with some new equipment as well. Some compact SMGs. Pack a punch, and push the rounds out.
The Pelican dropped down a kilometre out from the city. And the squad hopped down. Pete was on point, MA5C clutched tight to his shoulder. Opus came next, SMG pressed to his chest, eyes slowly scanning across the field. Michael, Jake, Smith and Larke jumped down last. They spread out into a staggered line formation, and started at a slow jog towards the city.
Michael was near the back and clicked the radio twice. Two bursts of static spread through the teams COM; the signal to thread their silencers onto their weapons. Pete's voice clicked on over the COM. "Yeah, we got two Covies ahead; a Grunt and a Jackal. It just looks like a patrol, permission to engage?" Michael flinched then flicked on his acknowledgement light. He wasn't expecting contacts this early on.
He moved up and dropped to a knee next to Pete, and pulled his SMG up to his shoulder. Pete fired a single shot. It entered the back of the Jackals head, blood and pulp splattering the inside of its glowing shield.
The Grunt jumped back spinning, and Michael pulled the trigger. Two bullets smacked into the aliens chest and it stumbled back, letting out a yelp as it pulled up its plasma pistol. Michael fired a single shot, the bullet entering at the base of the neck, killing the Grunt.
"Alright guys, that was smooth," Michael said, moving up and checking the bodies "Keep it frosty, there's bound to be more of them."
The squad moved on, with no contact for the next kilometre. Reaching the border of the city, Larke crawled up to the fence and slowly cut his way through the wire. On the last cut, he pushed the man sized hole through to the other side, and waved the squad through.
Michael moved through the squad, tapping Jake, Pete and Smith on the shoulder three times; the signal to move out, and scout out the objective. Their mission objectives were to deploy into the city and scout out a small courtyard, 2 kilometres into the city. Establish a small base of operations, and wait for reinforcements. ONI were also going to send in two small infiltration units, within the first 4 hours of UNSC occupation. To put it bluntly, the UNSC were establishing a functioning forward base within the city.
While Jake, Pete and Smith moved into the city, Michael took Opus and Larke towards a dilapidated service station to look for supplies. Upon reaching the door, Larke took position to the left, Michael to the right, and Opus crouched to the front left.
Michael nodded, and Larke pushed the door open. Opus moved in first and did a quick scan of the front room. "Clear, they're open for business." Larke chuckled and walked in, pulling an empty duffle bag off his back and dropping it in front of a dry goods display case. He began filling it with canned corn, peas, bags of beef jerky and the like. Michael moved towards a cooler, and started to pull bottles of water out, dropping them in his own duffle bag.
"So how long are we supposed to wait at this camp, considering we MAKE it there?" asked Opus, picking through some candy bars on display. Michael turned, and grabbed a chocolate bar off the display, putting it in his pocket, "Until we clear it out. Could take a few minutes, could take a few hours. Hell, it could take a day."
"And if it gets to that point," said Larke as he put some beef jerky in his mouth, "We're dead." Michael nodded, "More or less, yeah." Opus shook his head, and muttered something under his breath about a waste of time and ammo. Their helmet radios turned on, and Pete's voice came through.
"Heavy contacts, repeat, heavy contacts!" Pete sounded panicked, and explosions and gunshots could be heard in the background. "Get your asses over to the courtyard! We're not gonna last much longer here." Michael tossed the duffle bag over his shoulder, and ran out the door, Opus and Larke not far behind.
An explosion ripped through the ground and tossed a car into the air, and through a nearby shop window. Pete ducked as glass and metal showered down onto them. He turned to Smith, and yelled, "Smith! Get a fuckin' grenade out there, try and drop that Brutes shields!"
Smith nodded and ran out from behind cover, moving towards a burnt out car. He lobbed a grenade in the Brutes direction, and it landed close to its feet. The explosion rocked the alien, and its shields sparked and died. Turning, he yelled to Jake and Pete, "Fire! Open fire! His shields are down!" Almost as one the three men opened up, fully automatic fire peppering the Brutes armour and flesh.
It roared and lifted up its Carbine, firing a flurry of shots towards Smith, who swore and ducked behind cover. Pete, seeing an opportunity, rolled from behind cover and grabbed one of a downed Brutes grenade.
Turning, he sprinted towards the alien, primed, and tossed the grenade. It stuck firm between the Brutes shoulders, who let out a ferocious roar. The alien turned, and fired two shots at Pete. One entered his calf, and he fell to the ground screaming. As the Brute rose, it brought its Carbine up for a kill shot, and the grenade exploded, separating the shoulders and head from the rest of the body in a beautiful, gory fountain.
Jake ran over and dragged Pete behind cover as a small group of Grunts entered the courtyard. "That was fuckin' close brother. One hell of a kill though. Hope your mission recorder picked it up." Pete laughed and propped himself up behind a thick concrete planter, and tied a rag around his leg to stop the bleeding. I pulled his spent clip out of his MA5C and replaced it with a fresh one. Pulling the charging lever and leaning around the planter, he fired a short burst towards the group of Grunts.
One sprawled to the ground belly down and Pete aimed another burst at its methane tank. It ignited, and burst, taking three more Grunts with it. Smith yelled from his spot behind the car, "God damn! You're makin' us all look bad Pete!" His slight "Texan" drawl came through, and he sounded like a cowboy from an old movie. Smith leaned out and fired a quick burst into a Grunt. It stumbled forward a few steps and then crumbled into the ground.
At that moment, Michael, Opus, and Larke entered the courtyard firing on the group of Grunts, and within seconds they had used surprise and overwhelming firepower to finish them off. As soon as the fire stopped Opus ran over and crouched next to Pete. "Not too bad. Can't exactly say it went through, but I can patch it up." He injected Biofoam into the wound, and Pete groaned in pain as the substance filled the hole in his leg.
Pete stood, and limped towards the raised centre of the courtyard, and set a relay beacon on the concrete. He turned it on, and within seconds a link was established back to HQ, and the coordinates were sent. The squad formed up on Pete and started to set up a perimeter, and started the short wait till the reinforcements showed up.
The CO of the base was Lieutenant. Jerome C. Robb. Known to his troops as "Lumberjack"; due to the fact that he spent two hours, every morning, out in the woods chopping down trees to keep in shape. He was a mountain of a man, and a strict field commander. He'd earned his worth in countless battles and wasn't afraid to get into combat with his troops.
Other than Michaels squad, Robb was the first UNSC soldier to step into the secured courtyard. Michael and the group saluted the Lieutenant, who saluted back, "At ease soldiers. You did a good job today. Once we get the tents and bunks set up, you fella's can get some of that shut eye we've all been hearin' about." Michael chuckled, as the rest of the squad dropped their packs and propped their weapons on the sandbags they'd set up. It looked like the UNSC would be taking this city back. And they were going to be here for a while.
No Place for Heroes; Ch 4 - This Aint No Football Team
Date: 31 August 2010, 12:51 am
~ Digital Log
UNSC ID; 77856-34256MS
~ Data Pad Entry #6MS9 @ Forward Base "Hornets Nest"
The forward base has grown, and we now occupy close to one whole block of the city. The centre of the courtyard is large enough for two Pelicans to sit, and four Warthogs are parked on the road adjacent. We have a field surgeon station, mess hall, and barracks.
We've been here for a week now. It's safe and secure. We have over 100 men and women stationed at what we've dubbed "Hornets Nest" due to the constant buzzing from the Pelicans.
Right now we've got two engineers welding extra plates onto a 'Hog, and welding seats in as well; creating two heavy duty transport and attack vehicles. The ONI teams showed up and scouted out a lot of the surrounding area. There's no Covies securely stationed within a mile and a half radius. It feels good knowing we can operate without any disturbances.
The CO has his command centre set up in a sturdy two story building line with machine guns and soldiers. We're still waiting to get out hands on a couple Scorpion battle tanks.
This place is locked down tight. Nothin' is gettin' in here. I have a good feeling we're gonna' be takin' this city back. Hoo-rah.
Michael pushed open the door of a nearby shop and walked in. His squad was huddled around a table, cards in hand. Pete nodded when he walked in, and tossed two cards on the table. "Gimme two." Larke chuckled, "Alright, what ones do you want?" he asked as he tossed two cards towards Pete, who glared at him.
Smith laughed and turned to face Michael, "Dumb fucker told him what cards he wanted, and gave away his whole hand." Pete punched Smith in the ribs, who in turn fell out of his chair laughing through wheezes. Michael on the other hand, walked over and patted Pete on the shoulder. "Way to be bud. Next time think before you speak."
Shrugging his hand away, Pete stood and walked over to a terminal on the wall, and turned it on, inserting a data chip in. A mix of dubstep and hardstyle loudly pushed through the tiny speakers.
Opus stood and walked towards the terminal. "Turn that shit off man. We're gonna get in deep. I don't wanna clean the latrines." He pushed the off button, and Pete sighed, plucked the chip out of the terminal and put it back in his pocket. Muttering something about a "fucking buzzkill" he stepped outside, pulling a small, filtered cigar from his pocket. At the same moment, a runner jogged into the room.
"You guys better lock n' load. We're lookin' to expand the base a bit, but a couple squads we sent out encountered some resistance. They're pinned down two blocks from here, and you guys and 2nd Squad are going in to reinforce 'em."
Michael nodded and turned to face the squad, "Alright guys. Get your shit together, Larke, take the shotgun 'cos we're gonna be gettin' up close and personal. Combat knifes, each of you. Dont try to take a Brute on with one, because I don't feel like sending a letter back to your mommas. Hoo-rah?" The squad returned the hoo-rah and jumped into action, clipping on vests and loading weapons. Pete came in, and picked his helmet up from next to the door, and grabbed his MA5C from the locker. "Mike, we goin' in on a new 'Hog?"
"More than likely Pete, we're bringin' some people back, so 2nd Squad is gonna be bringin' one too. We'll be handing the 'Hogs over to the pinned down squads and humpin' it back here." Michael answered, as he and the squad jogged out of the shop, and towards the Warthogs.
2nd Squad were already loaded up, with a man on the gun, a driver, a passenger and the rest of the squad sitting in the back; assault rifles and SMGs poking out the slits in the metal plates. The sergeant of the squad hollered from the passenger sheet, "Ya'll better hurry yer asses up; we got word that a group of rebels moved in on the Covies and our fellas; looks like we got ourselves a Mexican stand off!" He let out a booming laugh, and shoved a cigar into the corner of his mouth.
Michael and the squad climbed into the 'Hog. Opus sat in the passenger seat, Michael sat in the driver's seat and Jake climbed behind the gun, and the rest of the squad piled into the seats. Michael hollered up to the other jeep, "Let's roll people, we have people to save." The engines roared to life and the two squads sped out of the base.
The jeeps smashed through craters and pot holes, and flew over road bumps. The sergeant in the lead 'Hog let out a whoop as his jeep flew off a rather large crater and Michael scoffed. He knew the sergeant was a good fighter, he'd heard stories. But he was also known for being gung-ho, and brash.
His name was Jessie Pates; an honest to god cowboy if there ever was one. Born in what was once Texas, he worked on one of the last ranches on Earth. Knew how to shoe a horse and tan cow hide. Tough as nails, and there was even a rumour that he ate one once.
His squad was solid, and they'd only ever lost one man since they were enlisted. Michael had lost four. He turned the jeep and it skidded around a corner. A flash of blue light burst from the next block down, and the two Warthogs sped towards the street.
Pates and his squad turned onto the street and flew down the yellow lines, guns blazing. They pulled up next to the two squads, and piled out. The gunner stayed on the .50, pumping rounds into the Covies across the street.
Michael on the other hand, sped towards the next street. He turned and barrelled down the middle of the road. He planned on circling around and taking out the small rebel group that had showed up, taking pot shots and hoping to pick off the survivors. He turned the corner and Jake opened up with the .50.
One rebel turned and brought his rusty rifle up to his shoulder. A .50 calibre round tore the man nearly in half as it ripped through his stomach. The other four rebels turned and opened fire on the jeep. A bullet skipped off the barrel of the gun and grazed Jakes face, who roared in anger and thumbed the triggers on the gun. The rebels crumpled and fell apart as the heavy rounds tore through their thin clothes.
Michael pushed the pedal to the floor and flew down the street. Everyone in the vehicle laid into the group of Grunts, Jackals and Brutes. Bits and pieces of alien covered the streets, and blood started to pool underneath the growing pile of mutilated bodies. Within minutes the Covenant were wiped out.
Michael and Pates squads helped move the wounded and dead into the 'Hogs. Only about one and a half squads worth of men remained. The others were dead or too wounded to fight again. In ten minutes they'd loaded the men onto the jeeps, and waved them off.
Pete knelt down, and looked at Michael. "Guess we didn't need those combat knives did we?'
Michael and Pates stood side by side and watched as the Warthogs drove around the corner, back in the direction of the base. "Y'know, I'd rather not hoof it back to that base. I'm not too keen on runnin'." said Pates as he lit his cigar, taking a long drag. He held it out to Michael, who accepted and took quick, but deep puff. He inhaled and let the smoke sit in his lungs; savouring the oaky taste of the tobacco on this planet. He turned towards the squads.
"Let's move guys. We either start moving now, or it gets dark and we're stuck out here with the Covie and rebel patrols. And I don't want to tangle with those bastards right now." Michael started running, and the two squad's followed, full sprint. It would take them about ten minutes to get back to base.
Michael slowed. And he heard the one thing he was hoping they would avoid. The low, monotone hum of a Covenant drop ship. To him it sounded like vultures, come to pick at the dead. It appeared over a low building, and opened up on the two squads.
They scrambled like mad; running full tilt towards the base. They were 100 yards away, and their legs were pumping, breath heaving. Plasma struck the road and glass windows. Melted blobs of glass and asphalt sprayed on their helmets and faces. It looks like a beautiful, red hot rainstorm, save the rainbow.
At about 30 yards Pates got hit. The plasma cut clean through his legs at the knees. Michael (who was behind him) watched the man almost float to the ground. The squads stopped, and opened fire on the drop ship before Michael waved them towards the base.
Michael bent down and picked Pates up, draping him over his shoulders. He stood and forced his legs to run the last 30 yards. He ran. He felt the plasma blister his back, and the blood from the wounded mans legs soak his clothes. Pates was screaming, but he didn't hear it. He only heard his feet hitting the pavement and his own heart beating in his ears.
The gates opened. A Warthog sped out with a mounted cannon. It was too fast for the drop ship. Within seconds, it out manoeuvred and overwhelmed it and the drop ship burst into flames, crashing into a shop front.
Michael stumbled through the gate. The two squads were keeled over, panting, some throwing up. He handed Pates over to two medics with a stretcher and stood still, looking around.
Half the base was gathered, watching in awe as the two squads rose. Pates' left, concerned for their friend. Michael's squad stood and gathered around their blood soaked commander. They panted and pulled off their helmets. Their brows soaked with sweat. They'd survived a 100 yard run from a Covenant drop ship.
Larke shifted his weight, and shook his head, putting his hands on Pete and Smith's shoulders. He stood between them for a few seconds before finally lifting his head.
"Bloody 'ell."
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