 |
About This Site
Daily Musings
News
News Archive
Site Resources
Concept Art
Halo Bulletins
Interviews
Movies
Music
Miscellaneous
Mailbag
HBO PAL
Game Fun
The Halo Story
Tips and Tricks
Fan Creations
Wallpaper
Misc. Art
Fan Fiction
Comics
Logos
Banners
Press Coverage
Halo Reviews
Halo 2 Previews
Press Scans
Community
HBO Forum
Clan HBO Forum
ARG Forum
Links
Admin
Submissions
Uploads
Contact
|
|
|
Strings Of Urban Warfare
Posted By: dom1<moberly6@pacbell.net>
Date: 26 May 2005, 5:07 AM
Read/Post Comments
|
The sun gleamed off the purple metal of the Phantom as it lazily arced to its dropzone. The engines whined in their faint protest of gravity, the azure blue of engine exhaust dissipating even before they left the engine nacelles.
The commanding officer of this one-squad venture, a white Elite named Shurma Hutamee, calmly walked into the cockpit."How long until we reach the designated target?"
The pilots looked at each other nervously, they weren't usually interrupted like this. The older one answered. "We are within visible range of the dropzone. We will arrive in approximately five dura-units."
Shurma nodded. The dropzone itself was a small grassy pasture surrounded by greasy brown buildings ranging from one to two stories. Human attacks had increased in the area in the past few ara-units.
The planet itself could not be, 'glassed', as the humans most affectionately put it, due to the fact that a Holy Relic resided upon it. To fire upon this planet would be an act of Heresy.
"Bring an image onto the screen, I want to see where we enter this den of beasts," Shurma's deep voice smoothly resonating within the cockpit.
The younger Elite nervously complied. The image appeared on a small terminal between the pilots, then appeared on a larger screen before him.
The field was mostly green foliage not over a quarter to a half a meter in height, with patches of yellow, dead plant life scattered about. "Perfect..." Shurma muttered to himself, and turned back into where the rest of his unit waited.
Shurma began speaking to them, shouting over the terbulence, which had been picking up more than usual as of late. "My comrades! What is our main purpose here?"
The deep voices of Elites answered. "To do thy Higher's Bidding!"
"Do you have any other purpose in your existence?"
"Not but to remain alive, so that our Higher's Will be done!"
"Very well! You must go forth, now, and for as long as you are capable of, to do your Higher's Will."
The Elites around him began growling triumphantly and banging on their harnesses. The Grunts cheered in jubilation.
Shurma clicked his mandibles enthusiastically, and walked to the rear of the Phantom bay. There, sitting quietly, was a quadret of Hunters. As he neared them, he preformed a bow from his hips, which they returned with a nod from their heads.
He began talking to them in a lower tone, with his arms folded behind his back. "My esteemed colleagues, I am overjoyed to have you along on our expedition. I would be most saddened to lose such a noble fighter as yourselves, so therefore, I wish the most determined of luck, wisdom, and skill upon you." He stood there quietly.
He could tell they were conversing, because their spines twitched in directly jerky patterns. Finally, one of them spoke in a series of grunts, growls, and body twitches. He understood him, due to his study of their language because he felt it to be an invaluable assett.
He translated, "We are happy you recieve us so well, and are flattered by your kindness."
Shurma grinned to himself. He had played his cards right. The way to earn a Hunter's respect was to flatter them.
As Shurma turned around, the comm. pitched a soft tone, indicating transmission. The speakers within the bay popped once, then emitted the older pilot's gruff voice. "We have arrived at the dropzone."
Shurma nodded, then turned to the Grunts. "You! Go now, and may your force be recieved quickly!"
The Grunts saluted, then merrily hopped down the small lift. Mere moments after, an enormas explosion erupted beneath the ship, and a small gout of flames came up the lift. The Elites did not move, since their shields eliminated any threat.
Shurma growled angrily, and looked through the lift to the ground below. Nothing remained but scorched and blood stained earth. He harrufed, and swore. "Mines! We must move to another dropzone!"
He ran into the cockpit. "Did you not scan the dropzone before choosing it?" he shouted angrily. The older pilot looked at the younger, who was shaking profusely. Shurma growled again, then delivered a solid punishment blow to the back of the youngers head. It's head smashed into the control board, which had wisely been disabled by the older pilot before the blow.
The older pilot proceeded to move the ship to a wide rooftop only a few hundred meters from the original dropzone. The younger pilot, rubbing the back of his head, activated the lift again.
Shurma walked back into the unit bay, and picked up his weapon: a carbine with a larger scope, and a higher recoil dissipation stock. Along with this, he checked his plasma sword it its slot on his thigh armor, and retrieved a small satchel of plasma grenades from a shelf.
He turned to the other Elites in their harnesses besides him. "Now, all of you, go forth!" He waited until all the Elites had exited, then waited for the Hunters. He bowed again, and was answered with another nod. The Hunters jumped down, and Shurma followed.
When he landed, he organized his team, and before he set off, signaled for the Phantom to leave. He turned back to his unit, and dismissed them amidst a sea of jet wash.
He and his men moved to the side of the building roof to where the stairs were. Upon descending to the bottom, he hand motioned for his men to proceed stealthily, then designated one of them to scout ahead. As he ran ahead, Shurma pulled up a hologram from his wrist emmitter. The blue static solidified into structures, and a read dot appeared at his current location, with a yellow indicating the scout.
Almost immediatley, a green dot appeared, indicating an important point. He gestured towards the rest of his unit, and the moved to the target in unison.
As he neared the scout's position, he could see him crouched behind a small wall. As he quietly moved next to him, the Elite pointed at the thing he was staring at so intently.
There, leaning against a wall corner, was a human dressed in a battle uniform a good five meters away. He had his helmets brow over his eyes, and was smoking a leafy substance wrapped in white paper. His rifle was slung behind his shoulder. They observed him for what seemed like two dura-units, but the human did nothing but smoke.
The human, what appeared to be male, spit out what he was smoking, drew another from his vest pocket, lit it, threw away the match, put it between his lips, and puffed it once.The unit tensed during the entire procedure.
Shurma looked at his men, and whispered, "I will attend to this." His men nodded as Shurma activated his camoflauge unit.
He slowly creeped the distance towards his target, intent on not making a sound. When he was with a half of a meter from the human, he removed his sword, deactivated his camo, and roared. He ignited his swoard when he brought it back to strike, but stopped in mid-stroke forward when he realized the human was responding in no way whatsoever.
Shurma lowered his sword, disengaged it, and slid it back into its slot. He growled and bared his teeth by opening his mandibles in a spread pattern. Seeing this also worked to no avail to derive any response from the human, he started speaking to him.
"Who is your commanding officer!" He said this more commandingly than like a question. The human spit out his cigarrete, again, and pointed upward with a black gloved hand. As Shurma looked up, he could see a burning Covenant Carrier scream through the upper atmosphere, and a human vessel move the oppsite direction above it.
Shurmas mouth hung open as four more human vessels moved with it.
|
