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A Series of Wierd Events - Sequel, Part Three[STERFRYE]
Posted By: Hunter_Killer<jlp8118@sbcglobal.net>
Date: 10 January 2004, 9:24 PM
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-- AS TOLD BY STERFRYE --
"Six. Of all the luck, we find the one canyon that's being patrolled by not one, not two, but six Banshees. Sarge, this is hopeless," one of the three Marines grunted.
I looked at my rank insignia, and it indeed identified me as a Sergeant. "Listen," I said as I quickly looked at his name and rank tag, which was half underwater (The Bumblebee had flooded fast). It read, "Lance Corporal, Jones." I instantly recognized it from Halo: The Flood. He was the sniper who had taken of Ado 'Mortumee's head during McKay's raid on the Autumn for her supplies...or rather, would take off the Elite's head if he lived to see that moment.
"We're either going to make it out of here alive or we're not, so shaddup. Shade, do you think you can knock the pilots out of the cockpits?"
He shrugged his shoulders; that wasn't the reaction I was looking for.
It had been about ten minutes since the Bumblebee splashed into the water. Corporal Jones had made countless complaints about the situation. I couldn't blame him; after all, if any of us got killed here, it would carry over to the real world. We were prepping for taking on the six Banshees that were patrolling the canyon. Shade had his S2 sniper rifle, and carried an MA5B for backup. Simpsons touted a Jackhammer and an M6D. He also carried survival and med gear packs, because his Flood body could take more weight and go longer. I still had my Assault Rifle and Plasma Pistol, and I was confident in my ability to wield them, though I was concerned about the Pistol. If I charged it, it would shoot a Ghost. I hadn't a clue as to the rounds it would fire normally."
"Okay, here's the plan, everybody. Take a breath and I'll pop the airlock. Get to the surface, but stay relatively submerged. Take out the Banshees before they know what hit them, got it?"
The two HBOers nodded, but the Marines gave me a look that said, "Are you nuts?"
"Ready?"
"No," Jones responded indignantly.
"Too bad. One...two...three!" I said as I punched the button for airlock release. Water flooded into what remained of the lifeboat. I pressed against one of the seats and kicked off; my legs thrashed madly. What surprised me was that I expected the depth to be around twenty feet, but the water pressure only registered in my head as about twelve. Perfect. I slowed my ascent as I came closer to the surface. I barely let my head break the water. I could only see...Wait a minute, the logic part of my brain grunted. There were six Banshees here, so why aren't any in the air? I lowered my eyes and saw not six, but four Banshees laying in smoking, smoldering wrecks. Where had the rest gone?
Simpsons popped up to my left, with his back to the tunnel, and his eyes were scanning for the aircraft. I tapped his shoulder and pointed out the crash sites. He glared at me.
"You idiot, There're only four of those flea flickers here!"
"I know I counted six, though..."
"Yeah, well you need to work on your math skills. If you were an A.I., I would not hesitate to blow you into smithereens!" He lowered the Jackhammer menacingly.
"Let's not be too hasty, now!" I said, alarmed. Then I noticed what was emerging from the tunnel. My eyes must have widened to the size of dinner plates and I let out a small, "Eek!"
Simpsonsrule frowned and followed my gaze. He too let out a small squeak. Shade surfaced in behind of us, along with the three Marines. Simpsons reached back and tapped Shade on the shoulder. Shade and the Marines rotated, and once again, they followed our gaze.
The only exception was Shade who managed to find enough of his vocabulary to say, "Oh...CRAP!!!" A column of Ghosts and Wraiths with row upon row of foot soldiers was advancing on us. Not only that, but ten Banshees emerged from over the hill. Several of the Lead Ghosts caught sight of us and shot ahead of the main group.
"Okay, Ster; JUST WHAT DO WE DO!?" Shade screamed.
"Run!" I said; it was the only thing to do. They were going to catch up to us eventually, though. Then, I was struck by divine inspiration; I pulled out my plasma pistol, overloaded it and shot. A Ghost appeared and the three Marines knocked us out of the way to get on it. They all piled on one-way or another, and immediately took off in them. I yelled in frustration as the pistol dumped waste heat (One would think the hackers had gotten rid of that annoying feature by now), and the lead ghosts caught up to us. I hit the deck and rolled as a Ghost tried to run me over. I came back up on my knees, fired a burst from my AR at him and yelled, "You are a cheese boy!"
Wait, cheese boy? I ran a hand over my face and felt a large scar. Yep, I had been forced into the body of Sergeant Stacker. But I still wore the helmet, which was weird. I was forced to dive back into the river as Simpsons nailed one with the Jackhammer, and the flying hulk whistled by my ears. I emerged back out of the lake and eyed a Ghost coming straight towards me. It was the one that had tried to plow me under earlier. I primed and threw a plasma grenade that lay nearby; it stuck to the Ghost, and the Elite driver bailed out a split second before it blew.
I drew my Plasma Pistol shot a normal round: a Grunt, as it turned out. It flew out of the pistol and nailed the Elite dead center in his chest. He was thrown off his feet and landed on the ground, dead. I charged my pistol again and shot. Another Ghost appeared, so I holstered my sidearm and jumped in the driver's seat. Simpsons immediately caught on and he jumped over the back end, straddling it. He let off another shot with the Jackhammer. I yelled at Shade, who was pre-occupied with nailing a Grunt in his...weak point. Simpsons ended up picking him up with one clawed arm and dropped him on my shoulders.
The control was strange. Two pistol-grip like devices jutted out of the panel with triggers on them, and there were foot pedals beneath me. Shade slammed down one of the pedals by accident while I pressed the grips into the panel, and the Ghost pulled a doughnut. I struggled to make the blasted thing move. I finally punched the two pistol-grip like objects forward (Without foot pedal infusion) and the Ghost shot ahead. It turned out that using the foot pedals caused the Ghost to sideslip. I experimented and found that I could drive backwards and shoot with Simpsons giving me directions.
So I did.
"Go left! Not your left! My left!" Simpsons yelled.
"What's up ahead—er—behind us!?"
"It's a hillside cave! With lifeboat...Crap! There's a dropship!"
"What!?" Our conversation was interrupted as a report of an S2 was heard. I looked up and saw an Elite be blown out of a Banshee cockpit. His bird spiraled down and slammed into a Wraith.
"You heard me, a dropship! FLOOR IT!!!" Simpsons resumed yelling.
I did, and the Ghost went even faster before I bothered asking, "Friendly or enemy?"
"It's one of ours! It's one of ours!".
"It'll have to wait, we've got company!" I announced as several Ghosts caught up with us. I squeezed two triggers under my hand, and the plasma cannons on the attack sled spat energy. The bolts splashed into the nose of one of them, and it exploded almost immediately. I tried raising the Pelican on my helmet radio, but to no avail.
"AAAAA! Turn right!" Simpsons yelled at me. I slammed on the foot pedals, and swerved to avoid the Ghost the Marines had grabbed. It turns out that, in verification of popular myths at HBO, Marines really are crappy drivers with bad aim.
They were busy bumping into a rock. Not too busy, however, as they began taking (What I hope were accidental) potshots at us.
Shade yelled an expletive as the bolts fried the air between my back and him. Forget this, I thought, and I spun the Ghost back around. Oddly enough, the Marines decided that we weren't very good target practice, so they followed us.
The Pelican lifted off and roared out of view. This time, Simpsons screamed an expletive out of anger. I agreed. There was a small pass up to the cave, and, without asking permission from the others, I gunned the motor and rocketed up the ramp. I brought her to a halt after getting behind the Bumblebee, which was essentially wedged in a cave opening.
Shade hopped off of my shoulders, and Simpsons slid off the back of the Ghost. I tumbled out of the seat and tried the radio again.
Still no response.
I growled and manned something that looked like a LAAG off of a 'Hog; it was stuck in the ground. It worked pretty much the same. I brought it to bear on a Jackal and pressed in a trigger button. Stray bullets kicked up geysers of dirt, and the Jackal's shield dissolved as a wall of lead hit it. Oh, and it also mangled the Jackal, too. Shade resumed sniping Grunts, Hunters, Jackals, and Elites in their...weak points, and Simpsons concentrated on vehicles with the Jackhammer.
"You know, I really wish this was Halo Two," Simpsons grunted. I assumed he was making light battlefield conversation, but I bit anyway.
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Well, in Halo 2, Marines have the power to call in air strikes, remember?"
"Yeah, that would be kind of handy now, wouldn't it? I can imagine...Tac HQ, this is Sergeant Stacker," I said into my helmet mike. "I've got hostiles on my doorstep, North-Northeast of my position. Bring smoke, over!"
"That was weak, man," Simpsons mocked. I opened my mouth to make a crushing retort, but was stopped dead by the voice that filled my ears.
"Sergeant, this is Major Steele. Hang tight, I'm inbound." Seconds later, the familiar shape of a C709 Longsword Interceptor roared overhead and dropped a pair of black ovals. The ovals had barely visible red stripes on them...My eyes widened; I abandoned the gun emplacement, and dove into the Bumblebee. My head landed on a helmet. It had a stenciled name on it, which I got a glance at. It read, Mainevent.
I couldn't see the napalm bombs hit, but I could sure a heck feel the results through the ground. My entire skeleton shook with the shockwave, and my teeth rattled in my head. Seconds afterward, all was quite.
I emerged from the lifeboat and both of the HBOers gave me withering glares, as did the Marine team (They must've made it up the pass just before the bombs lit up the canyon). The Longsword made a return trip and landed in front of the cave. My squad and I hiked, or in the case of Lance Corporal Jones, rolled, to the bottom.
The familiar ramp on the Longsword lowered itself, and out stepped Steele.
"Hey, fellas," he said by way of greeting. "Need a lift?"
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