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HELLJUMPERS CHAPTER 9: DAY PATROL
Posted By: Havok<snayperskaya@hotmail.com>
Date: 18 September 2002, 2:59 am
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As we sped through the forest, I thought about our debriefing earlier this morning. We had captured the covenant's equivalent of a division's worth of weapons and supplies. Thousands of plasma rifles, pistols, fuel cells, and spare parts. At least one covie division would be hurting very badly without the much needed supplies. The captain had also updated us on the ONI's work on the control room that we had found. Apparently, the control room has the capability to activate a laser defense system. The new covenant capital ships had such a weapon, one that lances out toward the target ship. at the speed of light and wreaks havoc on the target ship. This one on the ring, however, was much more powerful. I got the feeling that the covenant got the technology for such a weapon from the ring constructs. When activated, the system can direct a devastating attack on any object with in 25 light years, enough to destroy any target in the solar system we were now in.
The hog jolted as we bounced over a fallen tree, bringing me back to the real world. With no real special assignments in the visible future, the 229th had been reduced once again to random search and destroy missions. Instead of groups of two, we now went out on patrol with three. My group was Rob, John, and I. I always wanted my demolition tech nearby incase we got into something nasty. For today, john had prepared something special for the enemy: blocks of C-12 imbedded with a few hundred heavy ball bearings. We sped by a covie patrol composed of five grunts and three jackals; john tossed out one of his "presents" with a ten second timer. We continued on until we heard a deafening roar. I hit the brakes and whipped the wheel around. We spun a quick 180 and headed for the blast site. The ground had blackened and most trees in a fifteen meter radius were completely splintered. We could find almost nothing of the patrol. Bits and pieces of charred grunt lay here and there. We climbed back in the hog, and continued on our patrol.
We stopped for lunch on an open hilltop. John and I dismounted, but Rob opted to eat and rest by his trusty LAAG. We had lunch ordered special from the cafeteria. None of that high protein shit that the regulars got. We had turkey sandwiches, soda, and ice cream. We ate like kings. The turkey was actually stegosaurus meat. Stegosauruses, commonly called "steggies," were "indigenous" to the ring. The Forerunner had placed them here. If the rumors were true, then the steggies actually came originally from earth. Everything else in our meals was synthesized from the food synthesizers in the galley.
While we were eating, another patrol rambled into the clearing, running from something. Rob spun up the LAAG and mowed them down. Then a huge stegosaurus broke into the clearing. They were normally docile animals, but they didn't like the covenant. I have seen countless grunts and jackals squashed flat in the bottom of their footprints. The huge animal stopped its charge and looked us over. We looked back. It eventually lost interest and started foraging in the tall trees.
We finished our lunch and saddled up to finish our patrol. I was anxious to get back to base. I wanted to take a swim in the pool and take a nap. With that to look forward to, we set off. The huge all terrain tires spit up twin sports of dirt as we exited the clearing. We hadn't been going for more than an hour when we got a call over the radio.
"CCHHSS.... any UNSC ground forces in the vicinity of coordinates 20-13-12, immediately proceed to Hill 289 immediately. We have met fierce covenant resistance. We have taken heavy casualties and cannot hold out much longer at this position. I repeat, 3rd Armored division requesting immediate assistance from any UNSC ground forces in the vicinity of coordinates 20-13-12, immediately proceed to Hill 289 immediately..."
I checked the holographic map set in between the driver and passenger seat and saw that our location was inside grid coordinates 20-13-13, the sector over from where the 3rd armored division was pinned down. I jerked the wheel around in the direction of the distress call, and notified Rob and John of where we were going. I floored the accelerator, and we hurtled through the forest at a good 100 km an hour to help out our fellow marines. The message repeated again, and I shut the radio off. I didn't need any distractions; I had to fully concentrate on the difficult task of keeping the hog from slamming into a tree.
As we drew nearer, we began to make out the sounds of battle. Without the howl of a normal hog engine to contend with, we could hear most things a long way away from where we actually were. I could make out the throaty roar of the scorpion tanks firing, and the lighter staccato of warthog LAAGs firing. Mixed in was the unmistakable sound of plasma weaponry firing. Between heavy and light covenant weaponry, there was almost no change in pitch. Without seeing the battle, you couldn't tell with any real accuracy what the covenant force was comprised of. There could be three hundred ghosts and banshees attacking, or it could just as easily be three hundred grunts charging and firing with plasma pistols.
We broke through the trees and undergrowth and onto a broad plain. The battlefield jumped into view. More scorpions and warthogs than I could count were lying immobile in the dust, little more than smashed and blackened framework. However , almost twice the number of banshees, ghosts, and wraith mortar tanks littered the landscape. But it wasn't over, thank god. The battle had now moved on to the other side of the plain. We were not too late. The 3rd division was stubbornly giving up ground. The covenant attackers paid in ghoulish fluorescent blood for every meter. Plasma flashed and bullets and shells filled the air. I heard a loud sound overhead and looked up. Several longsword interceptors screamed toward the covenant lines, they ejected several canisters each and swooped away. The canisters opened and ignited. Flaming napalm showered the enemy lines, scorching alien skin to a crisp. I watched as fifteen banshees made a desperate run for the interceptors. Ten dagger fighters screamed in just over the treetops, almost lost in the foliage. They popped up and loosed a salvo of ADCAP (advanced capability) Sidewinders at the banshees. The banshees tried to evade. Most failed, and they spiraled toward the ground, dead. A few got off shots at the new threat; even fewer landed hits. Two dagger interceptors fell toward the forest. Their cockpits exploded in twin orange fireballs as their pilots ejected from their stricken fighters.
I swerved a stray plasma salvo and entered the forest again to pick up the airmen. I picked up their emergency beacons, and headed for them. I spotted a camouflage parachute snagged in the trees. A man was dangling from it, frantically trying to cut himself loose before any covenant came looking for him. His instincts were right on the money. Two spec ops elites appeared out of the foliage, and headed for the airman. They obviously wanted him alive for questioning. I wasn't going to let that happen. I steered the hog directly at the elites, intending to run them over and smear their guts all over the forest. However, the elites heard the tires, and although they could not see or hear us, they somehow knew we were there. They bounded out of the way of the speeding all terrain vehicle and dropped in behind us, firing at the sound of the spinning tires. A blast whizzed by my ear. Too close. I hit the brakes and spun the wheel, bringing us around I heard John moan and clutch his leg. A plasma bolt had hit the dashboard and sent molten metal slicing through his combat fatigues and into his thigh. He shrugged off the pain and brought up his rifle one handed and emptied the clip into the first elite. The elite dodged the first few rounds, and they blasted past him, gouging out large holes in the trees behind it. The elite was a blur trying to avoid the bullets. But no matter how fast it was, the volume of fire from john's gun was just too much. A few rounds clipped it, taking its shields down. The remainder of the clip slammed the elite into the ground and chewed out huge portions of its body.
The second elite roared, enraged at seeing the death of its comrade. It bounced off of nearby trees, impossible to hit. Rob opened up with the chain gun, covering the area with suppressing fire. The elite fired also, spitting blue plasma from the end of its rifle. They plasma seemed to slow down, as it always did when it was directly at me. I hit the gas to try to get out of the way. There was no way that I could, but I had to try. Time had slowed to a crawl. The green orbs of fire floated into the side of the hog, disappearing under the protection of the cloak where they burned out sections of reactive armor. When the plasma hit, the first layer of titanium burst and vaporized outward, dispersing most of the energy. A shot streaked in at Rob and landed on his right arm. It seared the skin away, exposing muscle and bone. He didn't scream, only grunted in pain and kept firing. Hell of a tough bastard. The last shot landed on my headrest, melting the plastic. The plastic splattered onto my neck and the back of my head. It burned like hell, but I shut out the pain and stopped the hog. I jumped up in my seat and emptied my rifle at the moving elite. There was now was that it could evade the chain gun and the fire of my bullets. It got completely holed through, and collapsed to the ground, twitching.
I sat down, shaking from the adrenaline rush. When I got all my faculties back, I put the hog in gear and headed for the airman, who by this time had cut himself loose and was crouching on the ground next to the tree he had been caught in. I hopped out and saluted.
"You guys sure came at a good time. I was about to be fried when you showed up. Thank you. I owe you guys' big time. Again." He looked at me sheepishly. I just smiled. We had known each other for a pretty long time. I had saved his ass quite a few times. James was a great pilot, but somehow he always ended up on the ground. My reasoning was pretty simple though. Say there was a five percent chance of getting shot down on a mission. That is a very good percentage, considering he is up against machines hundreds of generations ahead of his own interceptor. But after ten missions, there is now a fifty percent chance of getting shot down. The percentages add up very quickly. There once was a saying that over time, everyone's survival rate drops to zero. This is very true. But James is the luckiest guy I know, besides me, of course. I doubt he will ever buy the farm during a combat mission. He's gonna die with his boots off, in his bed at a ripe old age. For now, he has to fight the covenant to guarantee that the bed will be there for him when he gets old.
I told him to hop in the back next to the LAAG chaingun. I hopped in the front seat, and turned around to se how Rob was doing. Rob's right arm was charred black and some bone showed. He winced in pain as he sterilized the wound with a squeeze bottle of hydrogen peroxide plus. Then he unwrapped a second skin bandage and wrapped up the wound. The wound would be almost completely healed in a week because of the healing properties of the bandage. The bandage would meld with the skin to form a protective layer so the skin and muscle would heal. John was in pain but not in as bad shape as Rob. His leg was bloody from the passage of the superheated metal projectiles through his thigh. He to slapped on some second skin and glued a patch onto his torn fatigues. My neck hurt like hell from the liquidated plastic that had seared it, but otherwise I was in good condition. I revved the engine and we sped away to the other downed airman.
When we reached the other pilot's landing site, we saw that he was on the ground and alive, he was busy constructing a hide so he could be concealed from any covenant patrols. I hoped out of the vehicle and narrowly missed being holed from a magnum bullet from the airman. He was startled from the sudden appearance of my figure from the cloaking device of the warthog. He slowly recovered and holstered his pistol.
"Sorry about that. I am a little jumpy. I have never had to eject over enemy territory before." The pilot explained.
"You shouldn't have got your ass shot down, you bum." James happily exclaimed as he saw his downed partner . "I thought you were dead for sure. I almost got roasted by a couple of spec ops covies before my pal here bailed me out...again"
"ok, partys over, lets get the fuck outta here before any more covenant come to see what happened to you two." I said as I jumped back into the warthog. Igunned the engine and we sped away. I got on the radio and notified HQ that I had picked up two downed longsword pilots and that I was returning to base. I also told them to send air support to the 3rds location immediately because they were taking a real beating.
"Roger Black One, air support is on the way. See you back at HQ. Command clear." The radio barked as the warthog hurtled silently through the jungle.
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