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Soldiers at Play (Chapter One)
Posted By: StevieTopSiders<StevieTopSiders@gmail.com>
Date: 23 March 2009, 12:06 am
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1700 Hours, February 10, 2535 (Military Calendar) /
Lambda Serpentis System, Jericho VII / Western Shore of the Main Continent
4th Squad Leader Joseph Grant sat at his computer station, monitoring the air traffic entering and leaving Jericho VII's Main Continent. He was filling out his hourly report while looking out the window lazily. The Covenant had not yet landed here, which was quite a lucky thing for the civilians being evacuated. The murky waters swirled beneath the bluff upon which the radar station was positioned. Small fishing boats stood abandoned on the horizon.
Joseph had been stationed outside the planet's capital, City of Palms, since the UNSC had been warned of the impending Covenant attack. It had been about a month now, and the action had just started. His platoon of Marines had been stationed aboard the UNSC Justinian, a brand new cruiser. They belonged to the 10th Marine Recon Battalion, Echo Company, 2nd Platoon.
Joseph had snuck away from his comfortable home in New Constantinople just a couple months ago. He was only seventeen years old and imagined an exciting career defending his race against the alien aggressors. So far, it had been rather dull.
A siren shattered the thick silence of the afternoon; an electronic bell began to ring loudly, and strobe lights started flashing. Two red blips were approaching the mainland, and another, faster blue symbol was racing towards the outpost. The objects had no IFF. They were Covenant!
Joseph looked at the display in disbelief. I thought the Covenant were only supposed to be landing out on the Western Continent where our UNSC base is!
"Mortar!" Joseph yelled into the base's intercom. He searched the room frantically for an exit, his eyes darting back and forth. There wasn't one close enough to him. Adrenaline pumping, Joseph picked up his M6G pistol and squeezed four shots into a box, wide enough for a casket, in the window. He shot another round into the middle of the cracked square and dove through, headfirst. His helmet kept most of the glass from cutting him, but some jagged shards sliced into his cheek. He screamed in pain as he descended in a free-fall, headed for the water below.
BOOM! The outpost exploded in a fiery blue cloud behind him. The structure was razed almost instantly. Searing plasma melted the concrete and the men inside like metal beneath a blowtorch. All that was left was a field of scorched earth with occasional parts of the foundation jutting into the crisp air. Not one of the two squads inside survived. The only remaining structures were the garage and the latrines, which were located further away from the outpost. Two M12-LRV Warthogs, a couple of M274 Mongooses, and toilets were all that was left of the City of Palms radar post.
Joseph clumsily prepared his body for impact with the churning ocean below. The splash his body made was barely discernable within the maelstrom of waves crashing on the large, sharp boulders of the bluff. His body knifed many yards into the water; he was dazed and confused from the lack of oxygen. The waters were pressing against him, yearning to enter his lungs. Then Joseph saw sunlight, reoriented himself, and kicked for the surface. His lungs raked in the air as he surfaced in the icy British Channel. He surveyed his surroundings and swam carefully to shore, making sure to steer clear of sharp rocks that he knew would shatter his body had he been thrown into one of them.
Grant finally arrived, panting heavily, on the beach and ran low to the ground in a beeline toward the latrine complex in the woods near the outpost. There he met up with First and Third Squads, who were rapidly erecting sandbag barriers. Two Marines were assembling a tripod for a M247 GP Machine Gun turret. Three others were parking the Warthogs and Mongooses on the road to Carentan in preparation for a quick retreat.
Joseph reported to First Sergeant Daniel Kelsey, the leader of their platoon. "Sir, Joseph Grant reporting, UNSC I.D. Number 014-287-012! Requesting a weapon, an update, and a med kit for my face," Joseph reported, flustered.
"Your face may hurt, soldier, but it's killing me," the First Sergeant looked up smiling, but the look quickly turned somber. "I have no clue why you survived. The rest of your squad, as well as Second Squad, weren't so lucky."
"I'm sorry to hear that sir."
"Well, just make sure you remember them when we kick some Covenant ass in a minute. Here's the update. The Covenant are trying to make a beachhead for an attack on a population center. They're going to need a base, so here sounded like a good place, though I'm not sure that those little Grunty bastards enjoy moonlit walks on the beach. Our job is to make sure they don't succeed. We have two Phantoms inbound, and it looks like they're carrying Brutes, not Elites. But we gotta kick their asses right back to where they came from anyway!" Kelsey barked. "I'll have two Third-Squaders help you out. For the med-kit, go see Corporal Lange over there. Dilinkov will outfit you with a weapon."
Joseph walked over to a small copse of trees and sat down on a supply crate. He was patched up by a young Marine with an S2-AM Sniper Rifle slung over his back. They made small talk as the biofoam sealed the wound, and a bandage was applied to the cut. The medical marvel seared as it saved the cheek from infection. The Corporal, named Jacob, waved goodbye as Joseph ambled over to the makeshift armory.
A Russian Marine, also carrying a sniper rifle, swore as a rack of M90 Shotguns fell over with a crash. He muttered darkly under his breath as he set out to rectify the damage.
"Excuse me, sir, I'm here to pick up a weapon. A Battle Rifle or MA5C would be nice," said Joseph.
The Marine stood up and was suddenly all smiles. "Of course, sorry about that. Making an armory on sandy beaches is somewhat of a lost skill these days." The man laughed. "My name is Will Dilinkov, Lance Corporal." He held out his hand, and Joseph took it and shook firmly.
"Thank you, soldier."
"No problem! Now, you said you wanted a BR55? Well, lucky for you, I have the newest model, a BR55 Battle Rifle, Series Two!" Will exclaimed triumphantly, hoping to impress Joseph with his tag reading skills.
"What makes it better than the Series One?" Joseph asked.
"Absolutely nothing! It's just from the second batch out of Misriah," responded Will.
Joseph laughed too and thanked him; he took the weapon, three clips of ammo, and some shooting glasses. He walked away to get familiar with the new armament. His platoon had not been called out for active duty yet, and his measly amount of time in the Corps, therefore, weapons, wouldn't shoot him any tangos. The normally heavy rifle felt light in his hands. His training, though, had prepared him for this. Joseph blindly loaded and reloaded the gun twice. Then he raised the medium-range rifle and took aim at what use to be his bunk, the wall was still standing. He fired three bursts and watched proudly as they drilled one after another into a circle approximately ten centimeters in diameter.
That's about the size of an alien head. He though, satisfied. I'm ready.
Argor sniffed the air expectantly as the Phantom dropship neared its destination. The sunlight reflected dazzlingly off of his crimson armor, and his leather buckles glistened brightly in the light, recently polished. He wielded the hammer in his hand with authority. It had the power to throw a human vehicle twenty-five units. He had taken it from his father after defeating him in single combat, the primary method of Jiralhanae inheritance.
His pack was similarly adorned, though in less magnificent teals and blues. They were eager for bloodshed, as they had missed all previous engagements with the humans. Many checked their Type-25 Carbine Spikers, searching for another reason to clean the weapon. The guns' deadly shards would easily eat through human armor and flesh.
Argor grunted at the Unggoy pilot. The puny creature nodded in acknowledgement and activated the forward turret. His pack prepared for landfall, their killing scent rotting the air in the Phantom.
"For the Prophets!" roared Argor as the Phantom's gravity lift activated and the pack leaped into the void.
The energy pulses from the first Phantom's forward turret began to char the forest that was blocking the showers from view of the ocean and its beachgoers. The Marines huddled behind sandbags and waited anxiously for the barrage to end.
"Blow out the candle, Marines!" screamed Kelsey as two marines with M19 SSM Rocket Launchers stood up and launched a salvo at the first Phantom. Both SPNKr rockets hit, and the plasma gun fell out of its clamp below the alien troop carrier. The Marines repeated the process on the second Phantom.
"Clear!"
The Marines let out a cheer, thinking that the battle may already have been won. They were wrong. A group of large, ape-like aliens and some Grunts exited the enemy troop carriers.
"Is this Animal Planet, or when did the Covenant get rhinos?" shouted a Marine, using humor to hide his fear.
"Crap! ONI didn't want people to know that we have another alien species to fight against, but, for the record, they're called Brutes," answered Kelsey. "Either way, they still die from bullets like everyone else, so start firing!"
The .30 caliber rounds from the turret, as well as the LAAG's on the Warthogs, activated and began to eat away at the Brutes' shields. The Brute pack, consisting of ten fearsome specimens, was momentarily stunned, but they soon began to move up the beach, ducking behind dunes as they went.
A group of Grunts had been dropped from the second Phantom and were in a panic on the beachhead. Corporal Dilinkov stuck his rifle into the crook of his shoulder and tracked one of the little aliens in the center of the group. He fired once with and explosive-tipped round. The Grunt's methane pack burst into flame immediately. He ran around, screaming, in a circle. The fire zipped down the stubby suit and reacted with the alien's plasma grenades. A bright blue explosion lit up the beach as four of the twelve Grunts were taken out in a flash of gore and fire. Their spirits broken, the rest of the dinky aliens scurried forward to get behind their shielded counterparts.
"All mine!" shouted Dilinkov triumphantly. He pulled out his Combat Knife and proceeded to make four notches on the butt of his rifle.
Meanwhile the Brutes were about ready to charge over the top of the hill. All of the Marines' weapons were trained at the drop-off.
"We won't be able to take them all out by the time they charge us. I want you three," he pointed to a group of soldiers manning one of the Warthogs, "To drive behind those bastards and soften 'em up with the gun, so we can take 'em out once they climb the hill. Go on three. One… Two… THREE!"
The driver hit the accelerator, and the tires of the LRV screamed as they dug into the wet sand of the beach. Dirt and grime sprayed everywhere as the Warthog tore down the shore and rounded the dune, all three barrels blazing like a 4th of July celebration.
The gun was rotating at full speed, trained on the lead Brute. He bellowed, and charged at the Warthog with his hammer as the rest of the pack began to clamber up and over the hill. The crimson-covered creature swung the mallet and sent the M12 careening into a dune, splattering two more Grunts on the way.
Poor little guys. Thought Joseph sarcastically. Out of the frying pan and into the… Warthog?
The gunner was thrown from the turret, but she sped back to the UNSC lines unscathed. The driver was killed on impact; his helmet punched a hole in the LRV's windshield. The Marine passenger, however, survived. He got groggily to his feet and looked up. The ape-like creature stood above him, snarling. He cursed and brought up his sidearm, but too late; the mighty beast tore the Marine in two with its bare hands.
Meanwhile, the first two Brutes, wearing teal armor, cleared the dune and rushed forward. One received two 14.5 x 114 mm slugs to the face and promptly fell down. The other lobbed what looked like an ancient German potato-masher grenade at the defenders but was quickly cut down by fire from the M247 and the M12's LAAG. The grenade landed and stuck to one of the M274 Mongooses. The directional grenade detonated. The quad exploded and sent shards of metal flying through the air. A Marine was bisected by the exhaust pipe, but no one else was hurt. The remaining Brutes were dissuaded from going "over the top."
Grant raised his Battle Rifle and began to land shots on the pack leader's head, because he had relinquished his cover in favor of ripping apart one of Joseph's comrades. The bullets ricocheted off his shields, but Joseph could see them crackling, a sure sign of their weakening. The great hulk of fur and muscle turned to him and roared defiantly, but the macho act lasted only so long. He quickly motioned to his troops and retreated down the beach. They loaded into the Phantoms and quickly disappeared over the horizon.
The Marines cheered, but Kelsey was already on the radio. "FLEETCOM, this is First Sergeant Daniel Kelsey!" he said with surprising calm. "We've been attacked by Covenant and are requesting interceptors to end their retreat. Two Phantoms are leaving City of Palms with almost a whole Brute pack and s squad of Grunts." The radio babble rose and fell. "Okay. Yes, sir. Thank you."
He put down the receiver.
"Sir?" asked an orderly.
They're being escorted out by a squadron of Seraphs that just popped down in atmosphere. Command won't risk the attack," Kelsey replied.
"Who cares?" shouted a Marine. "Our Navy brothers will kick their asses in orbit, anyway."
"Ooh-rah!" replied the Marines, just recovering from their battle-induced adrenaline.
Kelsey looked at his comm and addressed the men. "Great job guys, that was some A-rate combat right there. We'll get our shiny medals and stuff soon, but, for now, Command wants us to go aid the evacuation of civilians. Pelicans are inbound. Grant, you're in charge of Fourth Squad, because Henley died on the beach. May he rest in peace."
"Amen," sounded the Marines solemnly.
"Eyes up! Evac is here."
The Marines gathered their equipment and trooped into the waiting Pelicans. Joseph set his rifle into the netting above his chair and strapped in. The Pelican's engines whined and pushed itself off the ground. The group flew in formation until it reached the city, where a crowd was milling about.
I can shoot aliens just fine, but now I have to convince people that they really shouldn't take their viewscreens with them. Joseph mused. I wonder which will be harder…
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