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Together We Stand by CoLd BlooDed
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Together We Stand (Part 1 of 2)
Date: 8 May 2004, 7:11 AM
Together We Stand (Part 1 of 2)
Frigate Yorktown
The ODST's of Alpha team stood in a silent, motionless row. The shadows of the room ceased to exist as the sun broke out over the planet below, its pale-orange glow rebounded from the window onto the walls and soldiers. Staff Sergeant Dean Riley stood in front of the loyal Helljumpers, unblinking, his chest heaving up and down in excited breaths. They were going in on a mission—a mission in which they were going in as reinforcements. Not an assignment the ODST's were known for, but an assignment nonetheless; they would use caution in their every action, it was the ODST trademark.
Corporal James Bennett was only one of the nine Helljumpers that stood in the row, his hands were folded behind his back, and his chin was up. He was a serious type, never one to joke around, and luckily, he was the teams' only marksman, nothing that entered his crosshairs were left alive. Bennett, however, didn't hold the usual ODST bravado, and never really talked, but what he lacked in outgoingness he made up with his sniper.
"Alright, soldiers." Sergeant Riley began. "You all know that New Morrison is currently under attack by a large task force, the UNSC is holding up fine for the moment, but once again they need us to bail 'em out."
The Helljumpers laughed, and then stopped as quickly as they had started. A UNSC related insult was all it needed to break the ice. The Sergeant continued.
"We've been receiving telecommunications every few minutes, each one informing us of worse news than the last." the Dean looked around with a calmed expression, "No other orbiting ships are as near to New Morrison as us, and that's why we have decided to send in a Special Insertion—an ODST team at that."
Private Thomas Fletcher, one of the heavy weapons, raised his hand. Riley nodded in his direction, "Yes, Private?"
"Are we going to be the only team going?"
"Affirmative," the Sergeant replied easily, "As for the mission, I want you guys suited up and ready to leave in ten minutes. However, we won't be taking the usual routine down to the planet. We're a small fire team of cocky Helljumpers; we wouldn't stand a chance if we walked right up to the Covenant and began an attack."
The ODST's laughed again, although this time quieter. The team didn't mind if the Sarge talked about them being arrogant, besides, they all knew that they were.
There was a sudden groaning sound, and the Yorktown lurched—it was turning. Stars disappeared from sight, the light cast by the sun was replaced by shadow, and the planet edged into view. The Sergeant, despite the load moan of metal and rumble of engines, continued on.
"We'll meet on the bottom floor of the bay," he said gravely, "dismissed, Helljumpers!"
"Sir!" they responded simultaneously and left the room.
They were all in one of the side-passages of the hangar, and it would take only several seconds to reach the bottom floor by the elevator. This gave them enough time to load up with the proper equipment; armor, weaponry, grenades... everything the hardcore Helljumpers would need for their trip to the surface.
Corporal Bennett looked at all the familiar faces of the Special Insertion team, they were larger than most teams would normally be, but they were an exception. He was the only sniper; the others piggybacked Battle Rifles and Frags, referring to themselves as heavy weapons. Bennett had always found this humorous. The regularly calm faces caught the light reflected off of the planets' atmosphere that came through the large windows every few moments, and then quickly disappeared into shadows, only to reappear again.
The Corporal looked at Private Bill Connors, one of the best men that the ODST's had to offer. The man was skilled with a Pistol, and could throw a grenade farther than anyone else in Alpha team—plasma or otherwise. He didn't look that tough though, because if looks could kill, the Private would be dead. His pale skin, his small build, his false appearance to be shy and timid; it was all part of his personality... but he still held the regular ODST daring, however.
Lance Corporal Howard Storm, on the other hand, was nothing but muscle. He could shoulder two Jackhammer Rocket Launchers if he had to, and use them to his efficiency. He had a normal Helljumper attitude, yes, but only towards the Covenant, his teammates were most important to him.
The others all were the same, Privates First Class Chris Richards, Maxim Steenkamp, Damian Knewles, Thomas Fletcher, and Logan Hart; they could work together, had an ODST persona, and worked well with the Battle Rifle. None had outstanding traits like Storm, Connors, or the tough-guy Staff Sergeant Riley. But that didn't matter; they were in the same Special Insertion team and worked together.
The Helljumpers approached the dark end of the hallway, entered the lift that would carry them to the bottom floor of the hangar, and moved tighter. Lance Corporal Storm spoke, "Alright, Helljumpers, don't fuck up on this one. Once we get to the surface, we're gonna kick some ass!"
The ODST's cheered before the elevator lurched and began its slow descent. They were once again going to accomplish another mission.
Outer edge of New Morrison
They were trapped, hours of relentless attack, and what happened? They got fucking trapped.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Nick Jameson sheltered his head with his hands as another explosion rumbled through the remains of fallback-point Beta. They were pinned down in a bunker, big enough for three or four Marines, but they had managed to get the survivors of his squad in. There was only one door, and at least a dozen Covenant were shooting at the entryway to keep them inside; for the most part, it was working.
"We need some goddamn reinforcements, command!" Jameson yelled into his earpiece, there was an eerie silence on the channel. "Does anybody read me? Over!"
"We hear you, Tango squad; reinforcements on their way." replied a voice, "Should be there in a few..." a sudden explosion rumbled in the background over the COM network, the same voice—although much more panicked than before—spoke up in ragged shouts. "Keep them pinned down! Don't let them through! I said keep them PINNED DO—"
The COM channel snapped off, but the Sergeant knew that command would still be up and running. They had the biggest military station in this sector, after all.
Nick looked out and looked at the skyscrapers behind the ruined defensive walls, they were on fire and great plumes of black smoke billowed out of the flames. UNSC Marines kept pouring out of the broken fortification in formation, but over and over again they would scatter, dive for cover, and be picked off one by one. But reinforcements were coming, one way or another, reinforcements were coming, and they'd be headed straight for them; it would be their primary goal.
"Sir, Jordan isn't looking so good! The shot he took the chest must've really put him out of action." one of the Privates announced in fear, the Sergeant didn't look back.
"It's okay, Private, he'll make it."
"But sir, he's not—"
"He'll make it! Do I make myself clear, Private?"
"Sir." Nicholson replied quietly, Nick didn't like yelling at his men, but what had to be done had to be done.
"Sergeant Jameson, this is command, do you copy? Over." a different voice broke in through the network, screams, gunfire, and explosions echoed in the background.
"I copy, command, go ahead."
"We've contacted the Yorktown, it's an affirmative that reinforcements are on the way. Just sit tight, and you should do fine. Over and out."
"Roger that, command. Staying on station." his heart flipped, barely. They still didn't know when the backup would arrive, sooner would be perfect. But later would be better than never.
Would they be ODST's or other Marines? Maybe it would be a Pelican, and they could just charge into the back while they were lifted off. Another explosion cut off his thoughts, and the Sergeant realized they would have to wait—without any cover or way to protect themselves—until the reinforcements arrived.
He peeked out again without so much as a centimeter of metal from his helmet emerging, and once again surveyed his surroundings. The Marine's had stopped coming, the large, crumbled gap established in the wall stationed Scorpions and artillery. The surviving soldiers, on the other hand, were crouched behind flipped cars, Warthogs, and rubble that had found its way onto the freeway leading out of New Morrison.
The Sergeant looked farther to the right, exposing most of his face and chest. Nothing shot at him.
He was looking directly at a Covenant Cruiser, one that hovered fifty-feet above the surface, troops inexorably—in the dozens—floated down the grav-lift, landing roughly on the pad and moving out. The clouds behind it were orange and black with small sections lighting up drastically in blue or yellow flashes; most likely a squadron of Longswords battling a fleet of Banshee's in midair flight.
More gunfire erupted, and Jameson quickly turned his attention back to a trio of Marines hiding behind a fallen LTV—a light transport vehicle. They were firing at a Brute which had managed to make its way ahead of its own race; it took shots in the chest, blasts from grenades along with the shrapnel, and still managed a slow, menacing walk. The Sergeant immediately raised his rifle, he could assist the Marines, but it would be a far shot. He clicked the magnification, aimed at the back of the closest Brute, and fired thrice.
The alien turned around in sudden anger, blood poured out of its hairy back in greasy, glistening knots—it gave the defending Marines their chance to fight back. One of them—one that made such an incredible, yet idiotic move—brought out a long, silver knife and drove it forward into the Brute. The blade pierced the bowels of the alien, and the brave soldier lifted it upwards, slitting the Covenant soldiers' stomach open in a spray of fetid gruel. The other two Marines kept firing at it, and in seconds, the death-machine lay on the ground in a bloody heap. The other Brute had been taken care of, thanks to a well-placed sniper round from a nearby marksman stationed on the wall surrounding Morrison.
Nick Jameson emerged from the doorway, and was immediately brought back in by the tug of his armor; blue orbs of plasma singed the metal barrier bordering the entrance.
"Look, sir." Nicholson said and pointed at the sky directly above the Covenant Cruiser. The Sergeant looked up, and right away he was filled with anger. Blue streaks of flame protruded from the clouds, only ten, but Jameson knew what they were almost instantly. Covenant drop-pods.
"Goddamnit!" he said aloud.
The stretched mark of the azure-hue flare following the descending pods materialized in an instant, and the Sergeant knew they had landed already. It was most likely that Elites were in the pods, but Brutes were possible too... or Hunters. Maybe the Covenant had eavesdropped on his call for reinforcements; maybe they had decided to send a Spec Ops team to finish a trapped squad stuck in a tiny bunker. Maybe he had made the mistake of making the call for reinforcements in the first place, maybe he should've just ran with his men across the field to the road and enter New Morrison from there. The Sergeant gulped, and then spoke with resentment.
"Sorr-ee command, my mistake for thinking you were sending us the backup."
"Tango squad, is that you? Stay where you are, we've already said—" the same voice as before spoke with concern before Nick cut him off. He was tired of this shit. He didn't need it.
He smiled bitterly and turned to his Marines.
"Nicholson and Jerry, get ready to carry Jordan across to the freeway. Everyone else, follow me. Stick together, work as a team and we'll get through this alive." he said. "We're not leaving just yet, though, still gotta wait for the perfect moment..."
The Sergeant trailed off, looked outside again, and shouldered his weapon. Fuck HQ, he could get through this without them.
Stay aware and awake for part 2.
Together We Stand (Part 2 of 2)
Date: 13 May 2004, 3:41 AM
Together We Stand (Part 2 of 2)
Outskirts of New Morrison
Isna 'Ornamalee looked up to see the white flash of an explosion behind the city walls. He smirked.
"We are on a continuous advance, no stopping!" yelled a voice over to the Elite, his grin disappeared and he marched forward.
New Morrison, the name of the human city that they were attacking, didn't hold any significance; it was merely an obstacle for taking over the last remaining planet. Universal domination was almost theirs, almost.
Another explosion rumbled through the uneven grass, shaking Isna's legs and almost causing them to buckle, he was stronger than that, though, they all were. The Elite surveyed the landscape, the city loomed directly ahead of the approaching Covenant army, cliffs off to the right sloped off to become beach, and the ocean followed immediately after. On the soldier's left, however, were military bunkers used by the humans. An inferior creation, but useful in different scenarios, that's at least what Isna thought.
The Deathly Reception hovered above the surface a kilometer back with its gravitational lift activated, for every section of Covenant soldiers killed; another two would float down and take its place. A different tactic used among the Covenant, one that had hopefully confused the primitive humans in thinking that they killed everything and anything. Dying for honor. Dying for justice. It described Isna and every other trooper among them, but wasn't exactly true. They also fought, and died, for each other.
But why? he thought, Surely there is another reason, one that makes more sense.
'Ornamalee fired at a human soldier that lay in the dirt, wounded. The enemy was already bleeding, and bad, but the Elite finished him off with a clean shot to the face. The soldier didn't even yell as his skin bubbled and his appearance swelled, his eyes rolled—even though they were half-melted—and he died painfully.
Isna took no notice as another Elite was tossed by a brilliant grenade explosion over him, the dead body toppling over itself leaving blood-splatter where it landed.
Neither did anyone else.
It's true, we die for each other, but no one notices.
Ironic, sort of.
The Covenant soldier raised his Plasma Rifle and aimed at another wounded infidel, and shot twice. The first shot impacted into the man's face, melting the skin over the eyes and lip and causing him to scream. And the second tearing through the soldiers' torn armor and eating at his chest, more specifically where the man's heart was. Isna guessed it was like lighting yourself on fire, but he had only been shot at with the projectiles fired by them. It hurt, yes, but not badly...
Getting a bullet through the helmet, however, did.
There was a sudden sound, a relaxing but sharp one, which tore through the battle quite suddenly. Isna looked behind and up and saw blue streaks painted across the sky, they came from the clouds, and he smiled.
Reinforcements.
They were coming in drop-pods, unnecessary, but helpful. Anything that brought more troops to the battle; more is always better. Everyone looked up, putting a pause to the march for a moment.
The flare following the pods disappeared, but left a faint, sparkling trail of pale blue behind. One of the pods, however, was heading straight for them. A miscalculation, he thought, a simple miscalculation that was overlooked.
He was wrong, couldn't have been more than wrong.
"Keep moving!" the same voice as before said, "No time to look, we have a city to destroy!"
Isna kept moving, but kept his eye on the pod that moved towards them. It came closer, and closer.
There's no way that was a mistake of velocity that was meant for us. Run, Isna, run.
Don't be erroneous.
I'm serious, look at it! Run!
It was too late, whether or not he would've actually run, the drop-pod landed in the ground where the Covenant soldiers were forced to separate. They created a wide circle around the deployment casing, and they stared at it.
The door of the pod opened suddenly, and the light-blue vapors escaped, rising and disappearing like steam or smoke. That wasn't the important thing, though, because when the mist cleared, all the soldiers looking inside gasped. Tons of human explosives had been stockpiled inside, there was no room at all, none. Black, brown, and grey metal shimmered in the ghostly sunlight, Isna blinked.
No!
Too late to run.
The doomed Elite raised the hand holding his Plasma Rifle and yelled triumphantly, "Don't bother running! We go down proud! Together we stand!" Behind him the drop-pods were still speeding towards the ground.
And after he finished speaking, a low humming sound emitted from the inside ceased, and a red light—among one of the large bombs stored inside—shone. A gorgeous, yet intimidating, explosion was created, a fresh wave of heat washed over Isna and he felt himself succumb to the force of the blast.
Traveling to New Morrison Hills
"There," Corporal Bennett said gracefully and pressed the button on his arm. A muffled blast came from far away, and he felt himself grow with pride. Whoops from the other ODST's echoed over the COM.
"Great job, boys!" hooted Lance Corporal Storm. "Now let's let 'em have it!"
They had come in the drop-pods from behind the Covenant, a risky choice but one that would catch them off guard. They could sweep through from behind, killing every single enemy soldier at a time.
James felt the G-forces wear off, and the sudden halting of the moving landing pod. He checked the display, watched a burst of Covenant characters scroll across the screen, and knew they had landed. It was about time.
"Exit in three, two..." the Sarge announced, "One!"
He pressed the button on the hatch, watched it open, and was greeted by the battlefield. The city towered in the distance, the ocean licked against the cliffs on the right, and a NAV point blinked into existence on his HUD.
"Advance towards the NAV point, fire at will." Sergeant Riley ordered sternly, pulling the trigger at a nearby Grunt.
Bennetts' drop-pod had landed behind the Sarge's, and watched in awe as the other ODST's broke out of their pods and exit the blue steam, their guns flashing immediately.
"Come on, damnit! Come on!" yelled Storm as he fired his Battle Rifle, the brains of an unsuspecting Grunt exited out of the back of its head in clumps and clots.
The Covenant still hadn't caught on, and Bennett observed in hidden happiness as secondary blasts from the explosive-filled drop-pod erupted, creating minor fireballs that threw enemies everywhere. The Corporal fired at the back of a Jackal, watched as the bullets ripped through the skin and exited out the other side, the alien fell to the ground with a pool of blood forming around its sides.
The other PFC's were firing nonstop, and as the Helljumpers marched on, the more bodies they left behind. It was easy until the Covenant finally figured out what was going on.
"Frag out!" yelled Private Bill Connors enthusiastically, James smirked behind his reflective visor at the ODST's sudden happiness.
The grenade's pin was pulled with Connors' index finger, causing the metal to pop off; the Private threw it with ease. The frag went straight ahead, curved quickly, and landed under a Brute. It exploded, sending shrapnel, dirt and chunks of Brute everywhere. Grunts and Jackals were thrown free, but landed in heavy thumps; they were killed without any trouble.
Eight Jackals turned around, overlapped their shields, and created what humans would call a Delta formation. They fired, but the ODST's found cover behind the glowing, purple shields that the Covenant set up and rocks.
"This is Sergeant Dean Riley of the Helljumpers to UNSC command, we require you to send out men immediately!" the Sarge's voice broke out; the channel was silent for only a second.
"We hear you, Sergeant Riley, troops dispatched, enjoy. Command over and out."
"Thanks, command, we owe you one."
James gave a thumbs-up to Private Fletcher, the ODST returned it.
"I need covering fire, moving out!" yelled the Corporal, he rose up over the rock and tossed a grenade with precision. It landed behind the Jackals, exploded, and as the bodies were sent out he moved forwards. Bullets zinged by him in yellow streaks, and slammed into the chests of dazed Grunts or undefended Jackals.
The running Helljumper grabbed a plasma grenade off of the ground as he sprinted, pushed the button, and stuck it to a Grunt that raised its weapon. He pushed the soldier towards an Elite, shot the Grunt, and dived backwards. The blue explosion washed over him, and the Corporal was tossed to the ground, he was luckily unhurt.
"Come on, ODST's, help out the Corporal!" barked Riley.
James rolled right, watched as green orbs of plasma washed against his armor, and fired at the attacker. Bullets knocked the Jackal off his feet.
An explosion rumbled from afar, and the Corporal stood up without bothering to brush himself off.
"Welcome to the party, boys!" a tough, Texan soldier said over the COM, "Let's show these punk ass sonofawhores how it's done on Earth!"
Another explosion, more screams of Covenant. Blood, whether it was human or Covenant, sprayed his face. James smirked evilly, and fired at whatever moved.
The ODST's continued the fight, killing Brutes, Grunts, Jackals and Elites. Purple and blue blood painted the grass, it was sticky and coagulated. The UNSC helped from far-off, shooting at large masses of Covenant with Scorpion Tanks and Rocket 'Hogs. Snipers guarded the large wall of New Morrison, and they managed to take down many. Many being an understatement.
"Together we stand, boys. Helljumpers or UNSC, we both live on this planet, we both fight for the same cause. Together we stand." the same person said thoughtfully, the statement touched the Corporal, but he was in the middle of an operation. Battle just wasn't a time for thinking. It was either act or die.
Or both.
The Covenant were dropping like flies, they began to dwindle in numbers, the Spec Ops team hadn't taken any casualties. The military of New Morrison, on the other hand, was a different story.
A bloodthirsty howl echoed over the battlefield, but the Elite who had made such a cry was finished off with a loud crack! crack! emitted from the Battle Rifles.
James fell behind a rock, he frantically, but smoothly ejected the empty clip and shoved a fresh one in place. He paused. Nobody was making any noise on the other side of the boulder he used as shelter. The Corporal calmly looked above the granite.
They had won.
No enemies remained standing—except the ones that had fled, only wounded aliens twitched on the bloodstained ground. James listened in on the public network.
"Evacuate the survivors of Tango team." one voice said calmly.
"That's a no-go, command, we can't raise them." another voice replied worriedly.
"I don't care, send out a Pelican, a Warthog, anything! We don't leave anybody behind."
"They were only a few klicks from the city, in a bunker or something—" someone else was put into the conversation, but was interrupted.
"Command, we found Tango..." one of the speakers said grimly, "No survivors."
"Goddamnit, comb the perimeter, make sure no enemy is alive."
"Roger that. Major Devon over and out."
The Corporal shut off the network; they had won, but lost in an entirely different matter. Tango was dead.
"Good job, Helljumpers, another operation completed. Let's haul ass to New Morrison, we'll discuss later."
Corporal James stood up, shouldered his rifle, and marched on with the others. The NAV point winked out of existance. They had won. But the statement made by the Texan soldier still lingered in his mind.
Together we stand.
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