 |
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
|
|
|
Archaic Incursion by CoLd BlooDed and Nick Kang
|
Archaic Incursion: Prologue Pt. 1: False Advertising
Date: 12 August 2004, 8:12 PM
0800 hours, September 23, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC High Command (HighCom) Facility Bravo-3,
Venice, Italy, Earth.
"...Reports from the AI Cortana indicate that these ancient 'Ring-Worlds' house an extremely old technology far superior to our own...and even the to the Covenant's." The man shrouded in darkness had a voice that was monotonous and droning, like a humming machine. His speech echoed hollowly in Captain Jim Prollis's ears. It was Colonel Ackerson, Prollis could tell by the deep, boring voice. Frankly, Prollis didn't care what the Colonel said...he had never cared about anything the man had ever spoken of. He was an outright lunatic. The Captain was having a hard enough time staying awake, let alone caring about anything the maniac said. Ackerson' boring way of talking wasn't helping much, either.
Prollis looked around at the other two ship Captains seated in front of the crescent-shaped ONI briefing desk. They were sitting up straight, their eyes focused solely on Ackerson. Suck ups. Prollis turned back to the Colonel, who was seated between Fleet Admiral Hood and General Strauss. Admiral Stanforth sat to the left of Hood, his hands folded calmly on the desk.
Ackerson had become so excited that spittle was starting to spray from his mouth, glittering like diamonds in the small amount of light. Prollis scooted slightly backward to avoid the malignant spray.
"This technology would be very valuable could we get our hands on it. It may mean turning the tide against the Covenant!" Ackerson held up his silhouetted fist and clenched it, as if mentally smashing the Covenant Empire. "Those alien bastards would get a run for their money once they see we have the better weapons and defenses! They would be forced to surrender or die retrea—" Admiral Hood cut off Ackerson's mumbling.
"What the good Colonel is trying to say," he eyed Ackerson, "is that if we got that technology from these 'Halos', we could boost our defenses at least three hundred percent. That should be more than enough to fight off the Covenant when they attack." His voice wavered with excitement. "It could mean the difference between defeating the Covenant...or the eradication of the Human race."
"Which is where you come in." General Strauss, who had been silent since the beginning of the meeting, suddenly piped up. "You three Captains will lead a search team for a new Halo, and extract technology from the ring-world. You will take this tech and load as much of it as you can onto your ships, taking it back to Earth for immediate and thorough implementation into our weapon systems. But be aware, strong Covenant presence is to be expected around these Halos, as the Covenant believes Gods built them. We, on the other hand, know better. Cortana downloaded a number of important files from Halo 04's Control Room stating that the rings were built by an ancient race called..." he flipped through a few notes on a clipboard, "the 'Forerunner'. Although we believe that the Forerunner are extinct, extraction of a live, or even intact non-living specimen would be greatly appreciated." He finished.
"Going back to the subject of Covenant presence in the area," Admiral Stanforth, the fourth and last ONI member seated behind the desk, growled, "we have integrated Prowler stealth technology into ordinary battle ships, making it much harder for Covenant radar to detect these vessels. Captain DeBlank?"
One of the two other Captains, a burly, barrel-chested man with big ears, stood. "Sir?" Was his only reply.
"You will be commanding the Prowler-class Destroyer Blitzkrieg. It will be your job to distract Covenant forces if the three of you get in a fight with them.
"Yes, sir."
"Captain Prollis?"
Prollis stood, his legs screaming in protest as they took on the unexpected weight. He said, "Sir?"
"You will be commanding the Prowler-class Carrier Sanction, which will carry ninety percent of the research team as well as a division of Marines lead by Lieutenant Colonel Kligovich," he gestured toward the back wall, where a tall muscular man stood straight and saluted.
"Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Golovki Kligovich, commander of Second Division, Marine Corps." His voice was heavily laden with a Russian accent. Prollis had a hard time understanding him.
"At ease, soldier," Stanforth said to Kligovich before turning to the third Captain. "Captain McDonald, you will be commanding the Prowler-class Cruiser Hiroshima. It will be your job to cover Prollis should the three of you come under fire.
The third Captain responded, "Yes, sir."
Admiral Hood began talking now. "However, Covenant vacuum presence is not the only threat. There is expected to be Alien ground forces that will do anything to stop you from extracting artifacts from the Ring. Your orders are to terminate these hostile forces on sight. But that is not the only threat." Hood's voice became grave. "Please turn you attention to the video display."
Prollis looked past the ONI members at the wall behind them, where a video screen had activated. It blurred, pixilated, and grew into focus. It seemed to be a video record from the cameras mounted on standard Marine ballistic helmets. The top back of a rifle took up almost the entire lower right-hand quarter of the screen. Prollis recognized it as an MA5B assault rifle. The ammo counter read: 60. At the bottom of the screen, in small yellow writing, were the words,
DIRECT VIDEO FEED: SPARTAN - 117: MASTER CHIEF PETTY OFFICER, 2347 HOURS, 9/9/2552
Prollis noticed that Ackerson cringed when he read the name. So this was video feed from the Master Chief on 04...interesting to say the least.
The screen showed a small rectangular chamber made of some metal. A large pillar had been erected in the center, and a small passageway took up half the wall on the far said of the room. It slanted upward into another room beyond. As the SPARTAN walked forward, a surge of yellow-green shapes rushed past the other side of the passage. The Chief stopped walking, looked around for a moment, and continued on.
Prollis leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin in his hands, eager to see what type of Covenant had just run past the doorway.
The Master Chief entered the tiny passage, and walked into the room beyond.
Prollis's heart quickly leapt into his throat.
Three Elites, one Blue armored, one Scarlet, and one Gold, presumably a Field Master, fired at a tide of writhing, pulsing creatures. Some of the beasts were large and bulky, resembling Elites, while others were lanky and thin, bearing more of a resemblance to Humans. They all had yellow-green, rotting flesh, and had batches of tentacles sprouting from random places on their bodies. Some of them held weapons: an assault rifle, and M6D, even a combat shotgun and a plasma pistol. The rest struck out at the Covenant with long appendages that had sprouted from their wrists.
The Elites fought bravely, killing three of the creatures, but they were soon overwhelmed. Having killed the Covenant, the monsters turned towards the Chief. He reacted quickly, and yellow fire sprouted from the muzzle of the MA5B, the ammo counter rapidly dropping. The hail of lead did little to slow the creatures. They charged, flailing their arms wildly, jerking from every bullet impact, and leaking vomit green blood. Two of them fell and the SPARTAN had already reloaded twice by the time they reached him. They lashed out with red-tipped tentacles, the camera jerking and shaking with each hit. The Chief fired blindly into the mob, the bullets cutting through flesh and shredding body parts. The creatures didn't seem to care. Finally, after several seconds of abuse, the Chief primed and dropped a frag grenade, sprinting back into the small chamber. There was a loud WHUMP! And the camera shook slightly. When the Chief turned around, the bodies of a dozen monsters were spread out from the black scorch mark in the floor where the grenade had gone off. The video feed abruptly ended.
Admiral Hood turned around in his chair to face the three Captains.
"That is an ancient race of aliens called the Flood. They are intelligent, parasitic, and extremely dangerous. They must be riddled with bullets before they fall. They have been known to play dead, so each 'dead' Flood must have at least half a magazine put into them. This wastes ammo, I know, but it is much better than having one of these bastards sneak up on you."
The meeting progressed for another hour, with the four ONI members explaining the tactics, strengths, weaknesses, anatomy, and reproduction. Finally, General Strauss ended the briefing with a simple,
"You leave within the hour.
1000 hours, September 25, 2552 (Military
Calendar)/Aboard UNSC Carrier, Sanction,
In Slipstream Space,
Guard Quarters C-5.
Two Days Later.
He awoke from his quiet sleep, suddenly and quickly sitting bolt upright on his cot. There was a sudden, loud CLANG! And pain shot through his forehead. He opened his eyes, and realized that he had hit his head on the support beam for the cot above him. Corporal Gregory Stanisforth rubbed his head and wondered what had made him wake up. He vaguely remembered a nightmare, though he couldn't remember what it had been of. Something of a horrible terror.
He looked around at the dark quarters, seeing the blurry shapes of bunks. The steady flow of breathing populated the air. Luckily, none of his four other teammates, or the other eight Marines in the quarters, had been awakened.
He looked down at his glowing watch, and was just about to register that it was his fire team's turn to go on patrol when the lights snapped on and a small klaxon sounded, the signal to wake. The dorm was immediately alive, as men and women hopped out of their bunks and donned their Titanium-A armor. Stanisforth shrugged his battleplate on and followed the rest of his team out towards the armory. First Sergeant Toni "Godfather" Fanguchi lead the team, a muscular, resilient, and good commander, Godfather had gotten the team out of many tight situations by using good leadership skills.
Godfather picked up an MA7B Battle Rifle, his favorite weapon, along with an M6D sidearm. Normally Godfather would carry a battle rifle and a shotgun, usually with one or the other strapped across his back, but a simple patrol didn't call for that much firepower.
Stanisforth itched to get his hands on one of the four S2AM Sniper's Rifles, but a ships corridor was too small to use such a long-range weapon. Stanisforth was the team sniper, a lanky individual who had a knack for headshots. He was smarter than the average Marine, but was terrified of death. The way he always hoisted his rifle up on its steadying bipod had earned him the call sign 'Props'.
He spotted an MA7B sitting in one of the rifle slots, and was reaching for it when a slender arm came out of nowhere and grabbed it off the rack before he could wrap his fingers around the handle. He turned, looking for the one who had stolen it from him, and found himself looking down into a pair of sparkling eyes.
"You expect to be a good sniper with speed like that?" Private Jessica "Sissy" Daniels gave him a playful smirk. "Gotta be quicker on the draw here, Props."
Daniels was a beautiful woman with a slender body and deep blue eyes. Her call sign 'Sissy' had come from when she had joined the group a year ago. Everyone, including Stanisforth, had though she would be too soft. She, however, had proven them wrong. She was a tough individual who would never let a teammate down.
Stanisforth was left speechless by her flirt and left to wallow in his own stupidity as she walked off to collect a magnum. He cleared his mind and picked up a Sub-Machine Gun, making sure a loaded magazine was in it before collecting an M6D. By then the rest of the team had gotten their weapons and were already waiting in the hallway. Stanisforth quickly grabbed an extra clip for the SMG before walking out to join them.
Jim Prollis kept his eyes on the bridge window, letting nothing escape his sight. The only blind spot he had was the area that the Hiroshima, about a mile ahead, covered. The pulsing blue glow of the cruisers thrusters cast eerie light into the Sanction's bridge. They had been traveling for almost three days in slip space, and the sensors hadn't yet picked anything up. Prollis was beginning to wonder how long it would take to find another Halo.
As if waiting for him to think on the subject, an alarm went off and bathed the bridge in red light. It indicated that a large object, roughly five billion miles in circumference, was about thirty trillion kilometers ahead of them. It would take approximately ten minutes to reach it in slipspace.
"I want a visual. Release a Clarion." Prollis said to no one in particular. Within seconds, the holo-tank next to the main view screen activated, and a dozen green squares of all sizes appeared in the air. They quickly formed into an old man wearing a light gray cloak with a knotty white beard that extended six inches below his chin. In one hand, he held a stone tablet. In the other, a knarled wooden staff. It was Damocles, the Sanction's AI.
"Clarion away, Captain. ETA to object is about six minutes. Scanners indicate high energy levels radiating from the site. Use caution when approaching." A timer appeared in the upper left corner of the view screen, counting down from six minutes. While he waited, Prollis toyed with the idea of destroying the Halo when he was done with it. It would wipe out the Covenant armada, not to mention the ships around it. He would just have to pull his people out of there fast.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of waiting, a soft buzz reverberated through the room, announcing the Clarion's arrival at the object. The screen snapped on, but it didn't display a Ring-World.
It was a planet.
It was covered almost entirely by water, or at least something that resembled water from space. Only about five percent of the planet was land. Small, perhaps twenty-mile islands broke the surface here and there. Bu what really caught Prollis's attention was the ships. His eyes widened. Dozens of ships. Covenant ships. Destroyers, Cruisers, Carriers, Frigates, Corvettes, and a single, huge Flagship orbited the planet. The Captain's mouth hung open when he saw the swarms of Seraphs endlessly patrolling the mass of water and land.
He was so captivated by it that he didn't notice that the UNSC ship had reached the planet. He was so caught up in its beauty that he didn't notice the two Covenant corvettes bearing down upon them. He didn't notice, that is, until the boarding alarm went off.
Archaic Incursion: Prologue: Part II: Outmanned, Outgunned, Outnumbered
Date: 18 November 2004, 1:22 AM
CoLd BlooDed
Archaic Incursion: Prologue: Part II: Outmanned, Outgunned, Outnumbered
Tenth Cycle, 21 Units (Covenant Battle Calendar)/ Aboard Covenant Boarding Craft, Cygni A System, heading for Human Carrier.
The boarding pod rocked unsteadily on a patch of turbulence, sending a Grunt down to the floor with a squeal. The craft rumbled again, and then the ride smoothed out and continued for its destination.
The Special Operations Elite in the back of the purple vessel, Trii 'Remoramee, lived for this sort of lifestyle. The team that belonged to him was highly trained, each soldier different... special; unique. That's why he had been chosen by the Prophet of High Reverence. The Prophet had chosen Trii to lead his soldiers to victory—and the SpecOps Commander would not disappoint.
His troops—two Elites, four Grunts, three Jackals, and two bulky, but loyal, Hunters—stood in rows of their own kind, silent, unmoving, unafraid. Trii was as proud as a born leader could be. Nothing could separate him from his men, nothing except death—something that would claim every life aboard this ship, one way or another, sooner or later.
The boarding ship hit a rougher trace of turbulence, and 'Remoramee consulted with the holo-panels flickering in a blue wake of color, his outstretched hand prodded the solid-like feel of energy. A screen came up indicating the crafts programmed coordinates, they flashed red on the abdomen of the massive human ship—which was a scanned, but accurate, diagram. Another display within the holo-panel showed the aft camera—the colossal sparkling blue Forerunner planet marked itself upon the view; beaches, islands, and forests indiscernible among the zoomed-in image. With a simple tap from his armored finger, the picture changed to the fore cameras. The flickering spectacle excited the SpecOps Commander immediately—he grinned ferociously.
Long fingers of cerulean-colored plasma traced itself along the hull of the large human Carrier, fired from Covenant warships off-camera. Hundreds of boarding ships came from all directions, some intercepting human missiles and exploding, clearing a safe path for others to venture through. Large, gaping mouths of smoke exhausted from floating wreckage, which was spinning, distorted, and bent.
There were three human ships in total, but the Carrier was the largest of them. On the other hand, it didn't supply the heaviest weaponry, opposed to the other two warships which were heavily laden with thick armor; massive armaments; and large, circular aft thrusters. They would be gone in due time, though.
"Excellency," one of the Grunts, Klakaw, turned to him, his black-armored body reflecting the dim purple lights installed into the curved ceiling of the boarding craft.
"What is it, Klakaw?" Trii asked distractedly, his face not turning to meet the lesser. His armored hands skimmed the holo-panel again, evaluating the schematics of the traveling space vessel—everything was untouched; no scratches, no dents, nothing to worry about entirely. They just needed to get to the ship and the team would work their magic.
"Well, I was merely wondering, is this invasion of the infidels' ships going to be enough to stop them from bringing their worthless civilization to the surface?" the Covenant SpecOps soldier continued to look at the team leader, his eyes cold with curiosity above his breathing apparatus—'Remoramee did his best to not greet those eyes with his own, he did not want to become vulnerable to the sick sensation which was sympathy. These troops, although his own, were expendable, and he'd send them to their deaths at the point of a finger if necessary—but, he'd also rather fight alongside a trained group of soldiers much more than he would with an amateur team... or by himself. He pondered the answer to Klakaw's question for meager moments; and then replied, still not looking at the lesser.
"If we succeed in our mission, that involving the death of their captains, then they won't have even have touched the surface before we're done with them." the Elite Commander said respectively, then slowly, he spoke. "We are the Covenant, we're stronger, and we win— no matter what the cost."
Klakaw looked unhappy with this answer, but came up with a "Yes, Excellency." and turned around again, not communicating with his peers because he wasn't permitted to. It was a weakness, Trii had taught them, if one needed to talk to commune; a silly rule, perhaps, to the untrained mind, but a strict and expectant rule to an expert—signals were the key to squad communication, but talking was tolerable for certain exceptions.
The holo-panel beeped, one low tone and one high, and Trii glanced at the screen. A mess of colorful Covenant characters appeared—red, purple, blue, green—all easily viable to the SpecOp Commanders eyes. They indicated that only one hundred meters (which was rapidly decreasing) left until they reached the human Carrier, which 'Remoramee had found out was named "Sank-chin", it was a hard word to pronounce for the Covenant leader.
There was another rumble that went pronounced among the boarding craft, making it seem as though it was merely an aircraft skimming the fields of an open plain, Trii didn't let his knees buckle as the turbulence got heavier.
"We let the Prophets Decree guide us." the Special Operations leader said patriotically, "Don't stray from the path."
And with that statement, the boarding craft groaned and came to a stop—the Covenant infiltration team fell silent. They had arrived at their given destination.
Time to kill.
The charges set into boarding ships doors exploded, sending the human ones on the other side to the other end of the airlocks hallway. Trii watched his team file out into the filtered light.
1037 hours, September 25, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ Aboard UNSC Carrier, Sanction, in the bridge, Covenant controlled sector, closing in on blue planet.
Captain Jim Prollis stood with his hands behind his back, concerned with how the situation was going. There was no ring, Intel had proved false, but there was a planet. Did they dare land on it? Would it hold those horrible creatures shown in the clip on Halo 04? They were carrying so many people on this ship... it would be a shame to let their lives go to waste, he could always escape from this massive Covenant-controlled space vector and report back to Earth... but what would the Admirals think of him then?
"Damocles, analyze the atmosphere to that planet. I need to know if it's suitable for us to land on."
The flickering green AI flashed a dull blue, faint white digits scrolling along its holographic body. Damocles didn't even have to wait more than five seconds to give a response.
"Like Halo's atmosphere—which Cortana scanned before landing with the rest of the crew from the Pillar of Autumn—this planet has a sufficient supply of oxygen and nitrogen; technically equal to that of Earth." Damocles returned to his calm green stature and turned away from the glass view screen to face Prollis. "Shall we begin an evacuation of the ship?"
"Not yet," the Captain replied easily, almost routinely, "not until things get hot. We're just getting lukewarm."
"Acknowledged, Captain. However, I suggest a scan of the entire system to see how many Covenant battleships are in the sector orbiting the planet."
"You can try," Jim responded, moving to check on how a nearby technician was doing with his tasks. Red warning lights flashed blatantly in the captains' face. "But I think we're going to engage these ships before we are able to calculate how many CCS battle-groups there are in this area."
Damocles merely nodded, thinking, when a technician called to Prollis.
"Captain, a transmission is coming through for you from one of the other ships... do you wish to receive?"
"Let it through, Walters."
"Aye, aye, sir."
A large image grew onto one of the main view screens, pixilated, and focused in on the shadowy shape. Then it brightened, revealing none other than the Hiroshima's Captain McDonald.
"We're waiting for our orders to attack." the man said respectively to Prollis, "What do you want us to do? Shall we return back to Earth?"
"Standby—we need accurate readings of those ships before we attack. However, if worse comes to worse, we can land on that planet; Damocles scrutinized the atmosphere already, it's perfect for us. We're not going back to Earth—Halo or no Halo, we're going to find something on this operation worth showing to the UNSC and ONI."
"Roger, sir—"
An expected explosion from the background of the camera, the lights faltered in the picture, and then reddened, making McDonalds face look strangely like a smooth orange. Prollis took action.
"McDonald! Are you alright?"
"We've taken a hit to the thrusters..." he huffed angrily, as if in pain. "Requesting permission to return fire!"
"Permission granted, Captain." Prollis said, not looking near as excited as he felt. "Relay the order of attack to the Blitzkrieg. I want you to find the weak spots of the ships and use MAC rounds to pulverize them."
"Acknowledged, Prollis," McDonald spoke, his moustache (which Jim just noticed onscreen) synchronized with his lips. "Over and out."
The screen went blank, leaving the Captain of the Sanction to ponder on his battle tactics. He wasn't exactly the best tactician, but he knew how to lead into a fight determined and unafraid. Fear was for the weak, and he needed to concentrate at all times—fear made you faulty and disaster-prone.
"Captain, I suggest you move towards the planet while the Hiroshima and Blitzkrieg cover you. We are carrying the most important equipment and people, after all—it'd be much better if we made it to the surface. There's a low probability for the survival of the other two ships."
"You've calculated this?"
"Affirmative, Captain."
"Don't focus on the negative—we can beat the facts and electronic devices, it's my right to make sure these people survive." Jim knew this wasn't true, but his effort would not go unnoticed. "We'll attack together before they know we're actually here. Remember—we have stealth technology integrated into our ships, half the ships here don't know that we occupy the system. McDonald, on the other hand, has been discovered, but it's most likely this ship hasn't been discovered. So we're going to give them a little surprise. Damocles..."
"Yes, Captain?"
"Charge the triple MAC cannons to 100%, we have plenty of time to surprise them—then I want you to take a reading of the largest ship here and inform me when you've done so. Find a weakness if possible."
"Aye, Captain, charging." Damocles eyes shifted rapidly as if reading an invisible document. "I've analyzed the largest vessel, a CCS-class Flagship, and found a frailty in the hull near the substitutes they use as generators. Thinner shields. It would trigger an explosion as soon as a MAC round impacted through the weakness in the metal, destroying the Covenant warship immediately. I've also analyzed that this is the vessel that is currently targeting the Hiroshima. I suggest we take action, Prollis."
"What percentage are the cannons at?"
"The first two are at 71%, but the third has sustained some damage over the trip through slipspace. I'm surmising the damage was from a traveling asteroid or comet that impacted into the MAC. It's unusable."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Damocles." He turned to the massive bridge window and said: "Now, I want you to target that hull fragility and fire once the two MACs are fully charged."
"Aye, sir."
Moments passed as plasma flew by the on the view screens, fired by the Seraphs that zipped around quickly in space. Stars—bright and faint—littered the black sky behind the massive blue world in front of them. A glittering haze shone off the planets surface and reflected the light from the nearby sun, creating a beautiful portrait in Prollis' mind that would be kept for years to come. He sighed, wishing for that moment to be back at home, when the Sanction rumbled tremendously. The viewscreens flashed red, and the captain witnessed a lance of searing hot energy burst forth from the cannons, then, with incredible speed, impact into the hull of the nearest Covenant capital ship; it lit up, electrical lines surging back and forth across the invisible barrier which protected it. The second MAC round fired, bypassing the shattered shield system and crippling the enemy vessel within seconds. Fires exploded from the crushed mainframe, atmosphere vented violently in an array of dark colors, shapes drifted aimlessly across the massive puncture, and the Captain of the Sanction felt a vague triumph.
"Good work—" Prollis began, but was cut off by a distant explosion; a bright yellow hue lit up the bridge, and something started to beep incessantly. "Damocles, report!"
"Analyzing..." the Sanction's AI said distractedly, then, once finished, turned to the Captain. He spoke gravely: "We've lost the Hiroshima."
"Already?" Prollis reflected on all the lives lost on that one ship, which seconds ago was a fully operational machine; a machine that took years to create and moments to destroy. "Damnit..."
"And on that note," Damocles stated clearly, his mechanized voice emerging over all the activity in the bridge, "the Blitzkrieg's hull stands at a healthy 74-percent; however, I don't think there's a good chance that both ships will escape alive—there are too many Covenant warships. Plus..."
"Plus what?"
"There are hostiles in the ship."
"Goddamnit!" he snarled, leaning towards the microphone; into it he spoke: "Radar shows incoming internal contacts, standby to defend boundaries. Combat teams, reform to nearest airlocks, decks four to six; you've got company."
Prollis buried his face in his hands, sighing frustratingly; hiding from the fact that he and his massive crew were screwed.
1120 hours, September 25, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ Aboard UNSC Carrier, Sanction, Guard Quarters, Outer Halls.
"Don't you think this whole thing is a bit quick? I mean, we don't even know what we're up against!" exclaimed Greg, holding his SMG against his shoulder-blade.
"I heard we're not even landing on a Halo... but some unchartered, backwater planet." Jessica, the female Marine said smoothly, her hands rested on her slender hips, she smiled. "Prollis is really taking a risk getting us down there."
The First Sergeant—Tony "Godfather" Fanguchi—spoke up, giving his two cents as he always did; whether he was being strict or relaxed, Greg knew, the Sergeant was always right.
"Don't even think of badmouthin' the Captain, Daniels, he'll get us out of this mess in a fix." He winked at her, jokingly, and turned to face the rest of his troops, "Don't underestimate Prollis; he knows what he's doing."
One of the weightier Marines stepped forward, an M9 HE-DP Fragmentation grenade clutched in his fingers, it being tossed from hand to hand. "One of them ONI spooks onboard saw what was happening on the bridge... they said it was Hell up there... explosions left and right... I think we've even lost one of our Cruisers to the hundreds of Covenant bastards out there."
The Italian First Sergeant was about to respond, but a bright flare of red and a familiar voice cut him off.
"Radar shows incoming internal contacts, standby to defend boundaries. Combat teams, reform to nearest airlock, decks four to six; you've got company."
Fire Team Foxtrot sprung into immediate action, being on the fifth level. Fanguchi began shouting out specific commands to his soldiers, "Lock and load! Keep your fingers on your triggers! Take out anything that isn't Human!" He paused, a flashing red light down the dim hallway, outlining his shadowed silhouette in a slash of crimson. "Follow me."
The five soldiers of Foxtrot trampled down the hall along with many other Marines, ready to take on anything that opposed them.
|
