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The Best of the Best by CoLd BlooDed
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The Best of the Best Part 1 of 3
Date: 28 June 2004, 5:18 PM
The Best of the Best: Part 1 of 3
It was a fine winters evening, the black clouds were scattered, tiny flakes of snow drifted down slowly and landed on the ground, and the air was amazingly humid; courtesy to the air-conditioning built into the Forerunner structure that Alpha Squad was walking around in—it was a piece of crap as you could probably guess. The air-conditioning, surprisingly, was just as bad.
Alpha Squad, however, was considered the best of the best in the UNSK; they had been trained to perfection—well, almost—and were the toughest in the Corps. This, however, wasn't saying much.
"Why do Elites stand at twelve-feet? Isn't that kinda big for one of them... uh, Covies?" stupidly asked Joseph Leech, he wasn't the brightest on the squad, but he stood behind them all—that's what counted.
After a momentary silence, one of the others—Daniel Burk—responded. "Those are Hunters, you dumbass, and it doesn't matter, they're of a different species, we just kill 'em." He was one of the smartest, but there was only one thing that defective about him—Burk didn't have the guts to fire a weapon (even at a wall, which had proved disastrous at Boot, which he had just managed to pass, by the way), or have the wit to outsmart the enemy. He'd scream and squirm at the sight of blood (which had also proved disastrous at Boot, a Warthog had run over a stray ferret in front of Burks' cabin), then pass out. Still—he was the best of the best... again, not saying much.
They all moved down the narrow hallway, the lights flickering mournfully overhead. A dull klaxon echoed in the background, something that usually happened every day, every hour, every minute—it was faulty, and the personnel in the UNSK couldn't do jack shit to stop it, although they were the best of the best...
"Okay, we're needed at the briefing room." said Sergeant Andrews, the CO of the squad, "Let's go."
Scottie Downsman snickered from behind the Sarge.
"What is it, Private?" Andrews said lamely without bothering to turn around.
"You said 'briefing room'!" this caused Downsman to burst into hysterical laughter.
He's insane, Andrews thought, he's simply insane.
"No I'm not." said the Private, the Sergeant wheeled around and glared at Scottie, who stared above at nothing.
"How do you know I was—"
"You are," Downsman said into the air, his eyes were glazed over, "you stupid pixies."
Oh, he's insane alright. I think he's been taking Leech's prescription drugs.
"Scottie, quiet down."
"Sir!" the Private replied, he snapped a crispy salute and walked away.
"Uh, I'm not sure we're going to need him." Corporal Insurance said.
"Right, Insurance; you've always been on the money."
Everyone burst into sudden laughter, and this caused the Sarge to reminisce.
He had been the leader of Alpha Squad before he had even realized it. The training he had done back in Boot with the other members had been exceptional; truly the best five days of his life.
They had done weapon shooting, obstacle courses, gift wrapping, and house building... the works, everything a Marine had to do when sitting at home, watching T.V and getting a laugh out of 'Everyone Hates Mort', God, how the Sarge loved that show. Any-who, the UNSK had provided all the necessary programs directed for their Marines, and they had been trained thoroughly.
Corporal Insurance had been his favorite trainee, mostly because he got to poke fun at his last name; everyone else was a nobody to him—except PFC Joseph Leech, he had become known due to his accident-prone-ness and stupid-ness. There had been the cafeteria incident, where all the waffles had been poisoned because Leech had forgotten how to make them—he had stuck them in the radiation-emitting boiler because he couldn't fine the radiation-emitting microwave. There was also The Accident, where nobody wanted to visit the Men's lavatory... it is self-explanatory—but again, Leech's fault. How had he managed to drink that much washer fluid? the inner voice still asked to this very day.
He didn't know.
He also didn't know how the blue washer fluid hadn't poisoned him—but The Accident had been the result. A big blue, messy result which had made all the janitors millionaires, how the UNSK (which was a very poor corporation) paid for the cleanup Andrews didn't know either.
Anyways, back to reminiscing.
All the others had been successes, in retrospection from the UNSK high-ranking personnel, the... Technicians. Andrews shuddered at the thought of them. Wait, did he think that all of them had been successes? He was wrong, let me correct.
All were successes except Private Scottie Downsman, the soldier who had just walked away—again, self-explanatory (talking to the pixies? Right, extremely sane, that one). He hadn't caused as many accidents as the infamous Joe "Washer Fluid Drinker" Leech, but he was still pretty damn mad—and that, unlike anything else in the UNSK, was saying something.
The elevator at the end of the hall opened suddenly, expressing its arriving with a mediocre ping-pong! The Sarge stopped and waited for a pair of Marines inside the lift to get out—they didn't.
"Do you mind if we come in? Or are you just going to stand there?"
"We don't know, sir, we have a lot of spare time."
"I see." Andrews replied, "So—can my squad come in?"
"Sure—" the closest soldier said, and then the second Marine cut him off.
"No, you can't, not enough room."
"Yes there is!" blurted out Burk, "The area inside the square elevator is three meters in diameter!"
Everyone glared at him, the Privates' eyes shifted, and then he responded.
"Oh, right, sorry—three meters in circumference."
Everybody smiled and turned to look back at the second Marine.
"What's your name, son?" asked Andrews toughly, he edged closer to the soldier and they stared eye to eye. "I'm going to report you for not letting us into the elevator."
"It's Second Marine," he replied, almost amiably, "and if you don't report me, I'll let you in."
"Okay, fine—" and the members of Alpha Squad attempted to step in.
"Suckers!" Second Marine yelled, he pressed a button repeatedly that was on the wall.
The elevator doors didn't close, leaving Second Marine and his embarrassed friend inside, but the trooper kept pushing at the unseen button, almost frantically. Then he stopped, looked at the frowning Sergeant, and crossed his arms.
"So, how's your wife doing?"
"Great," Andrews replied sociably, "thanks for asking."
"No problem, but hey; I gotta get going, see ya around."
"You too, Second."
The door shut on him, leaving nothing but metal for the squad to stare at—it was truly disappointing.
Then the Sergeant realized he had just let that man get away with not letting his squad on.
"That sonofawhore! Wait 'til I get a hold of the General!" he began, practically in rage, "That bastard is going to give—"
"Sir, I suggest we use one of the other ten—operational, I might add—lifts, they're all open." interjected Burk.
"Ah, right."
They walked off into the next elevator.
"Sir, I believe that is the best course of action, me and my squad will be heading out in less than an hour."
There was a silence in the briefing room, and the General just looked at him blankly.
"Sergeant," he said, "you just came in here and sat down, I haven't said anything."
"Sure you have."
"I am General Vananabanana, and I am to be taken seriously!"
"Sorry, sir, my mistake. It won't happen again; but please, do tell us what you were going to say."
General Vananabanana was a fairly sensible man, with a great sense of responsibility and principles—but sometimes; the guy could be an ass, or even better, an old guy trying to act young.
"Word." Vananabanana said, he curled his hand into a fist, brought it down on his chest, choked, then continued to bring his decrepit old monkey-fingers together to make a "peace" sign, everyone stayed silent. "Peace on dat, bro."
"Please, General, we need to get to business." one of Vananabanana's associates said from behind a curtain with a Scottish accent, "We're recording this meeting to make sure Alpha Squad is still fit... if they aren't, they'll all be hung in front of the Queen while she eats tea and biscuits."
"Ahem." one of the other associates coughed, making a slitting gesture with his two fingers across his neck.
"Oh, right, forget everything I said," the first accented speaker said, looking slightly embarrassed. "But Vananabanana, we need to get started."
"I feel you, dawg—"
"General!"
"Sorry." he apologized quickly, then he set his hands down on the shiny blue surface of the table that Andrew's squad was seated at. "Alright, let's get to what I wanted to say... we're sending you on an operation."
"I figured!" shouted Leech, almost sounding smart, "I guessed that and I'm right! We're going on a mission, and I was right!"
"No—you're going on an operation, you idiot, big difference." snapped the General, Leech stared at him for a second and then frowned.
"Oh." the dimwitted Private said sullenly, "I never would've guessed."
Vananabanana kept on talking like Leech had never said anything at all: "You're traveling to the dug-in structure nearby, roughly around twenty kilometers east of here. We just need you to eliminate the Covenant forces around there, but since we figured we don't want to waste half the already-dying men in the UNSK, we decided to send you guys. You ARE the best of the best, after all."
The Sergeant winced at this remark.
"Anyways, I'm here to show you a small slideshow, courtesy of UNSK Slideshow Incorporated," then he quoted: "The only goddamn slideshow company in the Universe!"
It was funny, actually, because that was truly what the quote was; word by word. The General began the presentation with an old 21st century projector, beginning it with muffled curses rhyming with "Bucking Niece of Mitt" and "Fuckin' UNSK can't afford a fuckin' up-to-date projector"—oh, wait, forget that last one.
Vananabanana held up a device, pressed on it, and the vacant blue screen at the end of the room flashed a picture, one after another after another.
"This is the compound, this is where you'll enter, this is the main area where the sentries patrol. This is a cheetah, this is a mongoose... and this is my wife when we went to Hawaii—man, compared to then, she's really let herself go."
"She's still alive?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know."
The General pondered for a moment, then looked back at the Marine (the Sarge had forgotten his name, so let's call him, Thomas Jefferson) with a proud look on his face. "Oh! You mean is she still alive?" he winked at Jefferson and said: "Nah, she's kind of a deadbeat, doesn't move much, it's like making love to a frickin' marshmallow."
All of Alpha Squad groaned.
"Yeah, and the morticians told me I could see her everyday at the morgue. Right!" Vananabanana scoffed, everyone winced and tried to block the image out of their minds.
"So," Buck said with an acrid expression, "she's dead."
"More or less, but I can do a helluva ventriloquism act with her, she's lost a lot of weight over the last few months. Well, enough about my personal life, how about yours, knockin' boots with any hotties?"
Buck stared at him.
"Well, we better be hittin' the ol' dusty trail..." the Sergeant began, stretching his arms. He rose from his seat, "Say, when do we get a Pelican ride to the location?"
"Oh, shit!" the General glanced at the first associate; then the other. He glanced quickly at the watch he had drawn on his paper-white skin and said, "You have five minutes to get suited up and leave."
"Pile out Marines!" barked Andrews, "Go, go, go!"
There was silence, no one was moving.
"Uh, Sarge?"
"What is it, Burk?"
"We haven't even left yet, we missed the flight, and we're walking."
"Ah, damn," the Sergeant replied, "must've slipped my mind."
After much struggling to get over the hills and far away, the Sergeant and the others figured out that the information given by the General was false, the structure wasn't dug in, it was actually the opposite. The structure was located at the top of an overhang, looming overhead, casting a humongous shadow over the mountainside that Alpha Squad now occupied. It was snowing even more heavily than down below, which made sense, but according to Private Leech... well, nothing, actually, Leech was just an idiot. He was almost (keyword is almost) as smart as a monkey, he had been taking tests given to the mentally retarded, but—he was getting there.
"Come on, we need to get inside." Andrews waved forward with his left hand and ran forward, not bothering to see if anyone following him—even though he knew they weren't. "There are no patrols, we need to hurry!"
"...why? They're just going to pop out and scare us..." the long, drawling complaint was none other than from Downsman (who they had found hiding in the furnace. "It's nice and toasty." he had said before they doused the flames out that had ignited in his hair).
"Just come on!"
"No, actually, Scottie made a point." responded one of the others, his name was... Shnoodle? No. Jarsnick? Nah. Pickadilee-Rhyoming? 'Course not.
Oh, right, it was Jerry, but Andrews had been close.
"Is that so?"
"Oh, almost definitely, sir."
"Are you questioning my authority?"
" 'Course not, Sarge."
"Would you do anything for me?"
"You bet, sir! You can test my loyalty and courage anytime!"
"Alright..." Andrews looked around, thinking of something he could do for him, something that would benefit the rest of the squad; it had to be constructive. "Go jump off that cliff for me."
"Yes, sir!"
The Marine went at full sprint across the snow-trodden ground with bare-feet—something that the Sergeant just realized—went into a dive-like motion once he jumped off the massive overhang.
"...I have no regretssssss...!" the Marines' voice rang out; what had his name been? The Sergeant knew this one, but decided it didn't matter. He had to move on.
"Alright, troops, if any of you want to prove your loyalty and courage, go jump off the cliff."
All of Alpha Squad immediately started to run, but the Sarge held up his hand and yelled at them, then told him he was merely joking. Then he told them that the only way to prove themselves was to carry out the mission—sorry, operation.
They moved slowly towards the structure, with the Sergeant not thinking about what was going to happen... but what the General had said about doing his wife who he believed wasn't dead, but obviously was.
He shuddered, and didn't know whether it was the cold, crisp air or the visual image--then he pressed on with the Marines behind him.
The Best of the Best Part 2 of 3
Date: 31 August 2004, 5:11 AM
Just a note: I know this series isn't the best of my writing ability, but it's just a fun thing I've done to make me laugh, and hopefully you too. It doesn't matter if you actually do find this funny, it just means you have my extremely warped sense of humor. Oh, and to anyone confused out there reading this, THotB is a comedy. Enjoy!
-CoLd BlooDed
The Best of the Best Part 2 of 3
The screen flickered violently, signaling the Field Master, Bob Knickers, or in Covenant, Bob 'Knickersee, that hostiles had shown up.
"There they are." he reported to his associate, Ivanna 'Bettername. "There they are."
"Where are who?"
"The hostiles."
"What hostiles?"
"Humans!"
"What? Where?"
"See? They're right there!"
"Where?"
"Right there!"
"I still don't see them, Excellency."
"How can you not see them?"
"See who?"
"Argh! Just shut up!"
There was a long, irritated silence, and then Ivanna spoke.
"Oooohhh, there they are!" he laughed.
"Show me."
He pointed at the screen; almost cautiously.
"That's not it, you imbecile." Bob replied, "That's the famous painting of the Mona Lisa."
"It sure is beautiful, isn't it, sir?"
"Indeed, it's one of the seven most important artifacts created by the Forerunners."
There was a silence, and then Ivanna pointed to another thing on the massive screen.
"Yes, there they are."
"Aw, they're so cute!"
The semi-naked babies in the picture looked around with wide, adorable eyes and cooed babyishly. 'Knickersee and his Covenant associate sighed as the diapers around the baby fell off, Ivanna's mandibles drooped and he spoke out.
"What is that?!"
"That, I believe," the Field Master replied seriously, "is the mouth."
"Wow, very interesting."
A three character word popped up on the screen, white in color with a dark blue box enveloping the human text, it said
GAP
"What the hell does that say?" asked Ivanna in awe.
"I have no idea; this television reception is shot to shit. Picks up human signals, I think." Bob said angrily, and then added: "But, get some troops to send some other troops, and then get them to send some other troops, and we can all get drunk off some cold fusions while those troops take care of the other intruders."
"Yes, Excellency," Ivanna replied loyally, "they will be out in less than five minutes."
"In five what?!"
"Sorry, Excellency, I meant units. After all, I am fluent in human language."
"Right," Bob said, "now get out of my sight, now."
'Bettername walked obediently out of the room with his head high, he quickly disappeared into the shadow under the doorway and was concealed due to the poor amount of light that filtered into the room. Bob sighed, only able to listen to the footsteps outside of his enclosed room. The screen in front of him switched to a man holding some kind of human food, stuff that was packed between two loaves of what looked like Grunt meat and green Jackal wings, the Field Master sighed frustratingly and hit the holographic diode frustratingly. The man disappeared only to be surrounded by the text
M
i'm lovin' it
"Piece of infernal creation!" cursed Bob, "This crap must be at least five-hundred light years old."
They followed Sergeant Andrews down the hall, slowly and unaware. Best of the best my ass, thought the Sarge grimly, these tenderfoots don't even know how to hold a frickin' gun.
He looked behind him and rubbed his free hand—his other clung to the Battle Rifle—into his face, sighing. Burk was holding his Pistol out like it was a bomb ready to detonate with any sudden movement... or like it was crap concealed in a diaper—Andrews laughed but no one noticed. Leech was holding his rifle backwards, with the muzzle of the weapon pressed into his shoulder and the trigger being awkwardly held with his twitching fingers ("This is one weird ass gun," Leech had said earlier, "Must be a Covenant make or somethin'."). Private Thomas Jefferson, the Marine he had named earlier in his mind, had his Sniper Rifle held upside down—troubling him greatly when the soldier tried to look through the scope. Hey-ho, let's go, off to Hell we stroll, he chanted in his mind, but the voice was serious, hey-ho, you know, these Marines suck.
"Maybe an assist, here, Lord?" he asked, looking up towards the ceiling. "I'm gonna need one big ass assist, please."
"Who you talkin' to, Sarge?" asked Scottie.
"No one you'd know of, soldier. You talk to his brother, I'm sure of it."
The Private didn't say anything further, and the UNSK squad moved forwards, continuing to hold their weapons in uncomfortable locations. The footfalls of the doomed Alpha Squad echoed off the narrow corridor that they had just recently entered; the presence didn't seem at all welcoming. In fact—it was even unwelcoming.
Andrews gasped at this thought. It was all so clear! Everything fit together like a jigsaw puzzle—no, not one of those two-thousand piece ones, the really fancy, 3-D versions, but one of the old school, 2-D, 5 piece versions. It clicked together in his mind.
"Colonel Ackerson is gay! The uniform, the haircut, the use of the English language... it's so obvious!" he shouted aloud. Everyone gasped. "Now take up positions in this hallway!"
They did just as heavy metallic footfalls began clanging down the hallway. The Sergeant turned to look at his troops who were covered behind large purple crates and hidden from the glow cast by the exuberant blue lights fixated into the ceiling—the only thing wrong was that Downsman wasn't where he was supposed to be.
Don't ask any questions, just smile and nod, smile and nod. And everything will be okay.
But this wouldn't help; it wasn't like his old interview to join the UNSK.
So ask—
"Leech!" he hissed, "Where the hell did Scottie get to?"
—a question, and get—
"I don't know, he just said he was goin' to the washroom."
—a stupid answer.
"What?! While we're on a fucking operation in a Forerunner structure?!"
"Yeah, he said it was an emergency... number two."
"Goddamnit!"
Large blue orbs whizzed down the hall in bright sapphire flashes, most went stray and exploded into the wall at the other side. Charred fragments of metal torpidly trickled down the groove that had been hastily formed—they stopped on the floor in a pile of crudely lacerated steel. The Elites at the far end of the hall didn't stop firing until the cores of their plasma rifles overheated, and they stood there. Waiting.
"Who is there?" an Elite asked, its voice was garbled slightly due to the translator attached to its armor.
The Sergeant put his plan into action; a grenade pin was extracted and tossed, then the frag was sent down the hallway.
Three, two, one, zero, minus-one, minus-two...
There was an explosion.
"Maybe you should've thrown the grenade at the Elites!" yelled Burk over the blast.
"I knew that!" Andrews replied, he slapped himself both mentally and physically. "Just... just fire at the fuckers!"
And as Alpha Squad engaged the enemy that had them pinned down, Scottie Downsman had just finished up on his business.
Downsman opened his eye and looked at the sleeping Grunt he was standing over, glistening brightly in the orange light. Its armor casting strange shapes upon the aliens face and body, which heaved up and down in relaxed breaths—it awoke suddenly and looked with fear at the Private. He backed away as it shouted at him.
"STOP PEEING ON ME!"
The Grunt ran away from him, waddling with its overgrown legs and fancy methane tank. Downsman sighed, pulled up his pants, and frowned.
"Why can't I make any friends?" he asked rhetorically, but an answer came anyways—well, not really an answer, but a voice nonetheless.
"Hey, Scottie, over here." a happy voice spoke. "Come on, don't be afraid!"
"Who are you?"
"I'm The Wall."
"What? Walls don't speak." the confused Private said childishly, "This is all a drug-related hallucination."
Yes, it was true, Scottie had been wandering the barracks this morning before everyone was up; which was around 1 o'clock in the afternoon. He had gone into Alpha Squad's personal belongings, found a bottle of prescription drugs containing Valium and SmartPills—he had taken both, swallowing one of each before heading out. So yes, it was drug-related, but yes, he was going to go along with it.
"¿Sabe usted c"mo hablar espa-ol?" asked The Wall.
The high Private scratched his head carefully so he didn't burrow into his skull with his finger.
"Enough of your gibberish," he said, but his voice seemed far away, "I don't understand what you're saying."
"Seguro usted hace."
In his mind the translation was: Sure you do. And funny enough, it was. Scottie had taken Spanish—or in unreality, Covenant—back in Boot, it was one of his electives. His subconscious was just revealing it, but he didn't know that.
"So, are you going to say something relevant?"
"There's pie in the refrigerator." the voice was deep and rumbling.
"Really? Where?"
"I was merely joking."
"You were Merely Joking?"
"No." The Wall replied, "I am The Wall."
"Oh, right."
"Now let me show you the path to enlightenment."
"Sounds good!"
The Wall made sounds that Scottie could see, and made colors that he could feel. Scottie would be damned if he hadn't taken some fucking PCP. But then he remembered hours later that these were Leech's drugs—and that definitely was going to be a hit to someone who didn't need them.
"Come, Junkie, come."
Junkie went.
Then Scottie.
"Retreat!" yelled Andrews over the staccato rip of assault weapons fire. "Retreat, damn you!"
His team dashed out of cover smartly, covering each other carefully. How they managed to shoot straight and professionally still remained as a mystery to the Sarge, especially Leech who held his Battle Rifle backwards, the soldier was turned around but firing normally. They retreated expertly, but there was only one thing.
"Other way, other way!" shrieked the Sergeant; he waved his hands madly to express himself.
They all stopped, looked at laughing Elites in front of them, and turned back. But the aliens were laughing too hard to fire at them.
"Alright, so you're telling me that the way to find eternal enlightenment is to play poker upside-down with a midget who has no eyes but a really keen sense of smell?" Scottie asked once more.
"That is correct." The Wall replied softly, "So I suggest you get crackin'."
"Are you coming on to me?"
"No."
Scottie shifted his eyes, blinked twice, laughed, coughed, cried, ate, and then stopped. He noticed The Wall was closer.
"Wall..."
The expression of The Wall went from flat and boring and grey to happy and joyful and grey. "Yes?"
The Marine stuck out his arm with a serious look and spoke: "Arms length away!"
The Wall's reaction was quick, he backed up. "Sorry."
Downsman looked around at the assortment of colors that continued to swirl around his body in a mist of fine fog. He felt himself lifted off the ground, and before he could react, The Wall pulled him into a room. Large glowing blue shapes rolled back and forth like balls, and the noises that came to Scottie's ears was off—it was as if he was stuck inside a jar and people were trying to communicate to him.
This is all a dream, he thought, I might as well make some fun with it.
"Hey, everybody!" he called out, the shapes moved towards him, yelling gibberish.
"Yeah, right!" scoffed a Grunt, conversing with a veteran Elite who looked anything but happy. "I'll believe you when a human barges into this very compound intoxicated... and singing, and without a weapon—and when that happens, I'll cut off my paws and paste them on my forehead to make it look like I have very big—and pointy sharp—ears."
"I tell the tru—" the veteran began, but was cut off at the sound coming from nearest corridor.
"Sinnnnngggiiinnnggg iinnn the rainnn..."
The metal access door that separated the room from the hallways opened suddenly, and there stood a swaying enemy soldier—without a weapon, and singing. Ivanna, who had overheard the outrageous conversation between the Grunt and Elite, looked back, and saw that the lesser ranking Covenant soldier had already glued his own hands to his head, sulking.
Ivanna 'Bettername looked at the shaking human which had come through the hatch—he grinned savagely as the other Elites in the room aimed at him. However, 'Bettername looked at the enemy, and realized immediately he wasn't a threat.
One of the Grunts moved towards the human and growled.
"Are you the midget I'm supposed to be playing poker with?" the enemy soldier said stupidly. Ivanna interpreted what he said perfectly. "You know, I've heard you can't trust a midget—they're due to backstab you... in the knees."
'Bettername stood suddenly and ordered the other soldiers to halt, calling out: "This human is not a threat! Look at him; he's obviously tripping on acid."
One of the higher-ranked Elite soldiers looked back in a confused manner, and asked: "'Tripping on acid'? What in the Prophets name of Oggledorf is that?"
"Drugs."
"Ah."
The human suddenly spun and jumped, and then he yelled: "Let's go streaking!" Soon he had his military pants down by his ankles, and was running around in circles.
"With haste, soldiers of the Covenant, capture that human and his little dog too!"
"Not Toto!" screamed the hostile, but it was too late, he was already being dragged into his cell.
The human soldier was crouched in the far-right corner, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. Bob 'Knickersee clicked his mandibles and growled, turning quickly to Ivanna.
"Good job, 'Bettername. But I have to ask..." Bob motioned to the locked-up hostile with his right hand, "how in the name of Oggledorf did you get him so easily?"
"I don't know. He just kinda... stumbled into the room, shouting oddities."
"Wow," spoke Bob, "that must've required some major talent."
Ivanna ignored him and suggested: "We should contact the other humans in this structure—maybe threaten them... then telling them to leave the structure unless they wish for their comrade to be slain."
"Very well, 'Bettername." the Elite Commander spun around, his eyes narrowing to evaluate the situation. Everything was calm again; they had a prisoner, Covenant soldiers patrolled silently around the perimeter of the room, and all the equipment that had been placed in his room was fixed. He spoke again, "Take a note; I want you to get in touch with the human invaders and tell them this..."
"Yes, Excellency." Ivanna prepared to take the orders, scrambling to take out a plasma pen and a metal plate.
"Tell them that if they wish to see their fellow human again," 'Knickersee paced, his hands behind his back, "then they must evacuate the structure immediately. Otherwise, we will kill the captive, and then them, and procure whatever technology we could exploit to our benefit. They will suffer a horrible death, beginning with cruel and bloody torture, and they will surely suffer the consequences of ignoring our subtle intention for them to turn back safely. Nothing—and I mean nothing—will rid the world of these inferior slobs, or their civilization, and that's why it is up to us to stop them before they create something completely revolutionary to the way this war is happening. We will kill them swiftly, brutally, and easily, without a doubt." Bob paused, and then turned to Ivanna with a heroic smile. "Got all that, 'Bettername?"
"Got it, Excellency." Ivanna clicked his mandibles and left the room, looking cautiously at the tablet he held in his hands, containing the interpretation he had written down from Bob's glamorous speech.
Get out of structure, assholes!
Yes, that would do fine.
"Okay," Andrews spoke, panting, "Let's take a breather."
Alpha Squad had managed to penetrate the bowels of the structure, and surprisingly, it didn't stink—which is exactly why they had set up a small defensive perimeter, perfect for resistance against the Covenant soldiers. It was a small room with only one entrance, a purple light casting its glow upon the patterned floor. His troops rested, and for a moment, everything seemed sane—right until a holo-panel, one installed into the wall, snapped on beside his face. In the flickering image was an Elite, and it spoke perfect English, basic American.
"You human fellow are captive, name... Scott Downsiemans, he wander into us room and take way to cell. You see him live, get out of structure, assholes!"
Andrews picked up the scent of what the Elite was really trying to say. He wanted them out, in order to see Scottie, who had somehow managed to survive an encounter with the enemy by himself.
Great.
The holo-panel went back to it's original state, immediately darkening the section it had brightened. The Sergeant turned to his troops.
"Well," he said, almost unbelieving, "it seems Private Scottie has gotten wound up with the Covenant—and they expect us to leave the structure in order to see him alive. It's just the enemies luck we are the best of the best, and that we don't leave any of our men behind. So let's go, Marines, and save Downsman. Whaddya say?"
Silence, the troops ignored him.
"Hello? Am I talking to myself?" Andrews asked to the quiet room.
Joe Leech looked at him, eating something, and spoke in a garbled tone, but his expression was serious.
"You could be..." he turned, grabbed a juice box, put the straw in, and drank until the cardboard liquid holder was empty. Then he looked back at Andrews. "If you were clinically insane."
"Leech," he said in hidden frustration, "you just plain suck."
"I needed the money."
Andrews stared at him blankly, and then spoke, trying to ignore Joe's last statement.
"I'll contact Vananabanana, then we pack up, soldiers, and we're out of here."
A message came in through the communication network that had been successfully linked through the ONI satellite—it was like getting free cable; you just had to find the right plug. The UNSK was especially good at this task, considering that everything they had electronically was being processed through another organizations power. It was funny, really, but that's for another time. Funny, that is. No funny in this story.
One of the General's informants called for him, and after Vananabanana got to the desk, the message had finished, telling him that a Private had been captured, unscathed, and they were going to rescue him. They also requested backup and an immediate evacuation—but Vananabanana had a much better idea.
"Watson?" he beckoned.
"Sir?"
"Send out the seagulls!"
"But sir—they're running low on ammunition!"
The General pondered over this for several seconds, his chin being caressed by his hand, then he turned to his informant and spoke.
"Bring out the beans..."
And with that, havoc ensued upon Alpha Squad and the Forerunner facility.
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