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Drop Jet Jumpers: Feet First into Hell by Jarhead43
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Drop Jet Jumpers: Feet First into Hell Ch.1
Date: 23 August 2006, 6:42 am
Disclaimer: Ich bin sehr shön, und sie sind blöd. So I don't have to. lol, j/k.
The year is 2527. Twenty-five years before the Battle of Halo. The small human penal colony of Last Hope, where over 600 of the UNSC's most undesirable elements are imprisoned, is forgotten in the wake of the just beginning Human-Covenant War. Above it's forbidding, blackened sky, a mighty clash between a Covenant cruiser and a UNSC battleship results in the destruction of the UNSC Smedley Butler, but the downing of the Covenant Glorious Reclamation. With the opportunities presented by a captured Covenant ship, and the proximity of a Covenant fleet, it is imperative that the ship be captured at all costs. The UNSC destroyer Spartacus, the only UNSC ship in the area with an onboard combat force, races to recover the downed ship, and must wait for the reenforcing human fleet to arrive.
Drop Jet Jumpers: Feet First into Hell
DAY 00
16:02 HOURS
AUGUST 2ND, 2527
UNSC HIGHCOM, REACH
Captain Danforth Whitcomb rubbed his eyes and glanced at the half empty brandy on his desk. Right next to it, the source of his frustration: The last transmission from the Smedley Butler, as well as her mission recorder's last image. A pair of plasma torpedoes streaking towards the camera, but in the background, a flaming Covenant ship hurdling toward the planet of Last Hope. This image was solid gold to ONI, and, if handled correctly, the entirety of the human race. For three years, the Covenant Fleet had been using the UNSC as a dust mop, obliterating the human fleets unless outnumbered 3-to-1.
He could safely assume the Smedley Butler was nothing more than a floating hulk now, blasted apart by the mighty Covenant weapons. But if the image from the recorder could be trusted, then the UNSC might have a captured alien ship on their hands, packed with revolutionary technology. But a recent report from the scout ship Perseus revealed that a Covenant battle group was inbound to destroy the planet and the ship.
The Fleet's course of action troubled Whitcomb immensely. The closest UNSC ship with a large-enough Marine detachment to secure the ship was the destroyer Spartacus, but it was only the remnants of two ODST companies returning from a brutal deployment on Paris III. Reenforcement would take several days.
"Are two companies of Marines worth a chance to kick the Covenant's ass and save the human race?" Whitcomb asked his assistant, an aspiring young paper pusher fresh in from the Academy.
"Well, um.....yes sir, I believe so, if I may be frank. Two hundred outweigh two hundred billion and....—"
"Two hundred and sixty-two. Lucky for those poor bastards, UNSC HIGHCOM feels the same way. Send a message to the Spartacus. Give them the orders. And tell them God speed."
"Right away sir," Whitcomb's assistant said.
*******
Day 00
21:19 hours
AUGUST 2ND, 2527
ONBOARD UNSC SPARTACUS, TWO HOURS AWAY FROM LAST HOPE
CRYO 2
"SNYDER!"
PFC Justin Snyder's eyes snapped open as a gruff voice bellowed his name. It sounded like the Gunny. They must have been home at Reach. Seemed like an awful short trip, but it was hypersleep, and cryo tended to fuck with your head.
"WOULD YOU MIND TELLING ME WHY WE ARE AWAKE 16 DAYS AHEAD OF SCHEDULE?" Gunny Saunders bellowed.
Snyder looked around bewildered. "How in God's name would I know, Gunns?"
"YOU'RE PRETTY FRIGGIN RETARDED YOU SOMEHOW MANAGED TO FUCK UP PUTTING THE DATE IN THE COMPUTER AND HAVING A SQUID CHECK IT!" By now, the rest of 1st Platoon, Alpha Company was starting to regain motion from the Nap. Didn't seem to take as long as it usually did.
"But it wasn't even my turn, Gunny," Snyder said. "It was Renniger's."
"SO NOW YOU'RE A SQUEAL, EH?" Saunders sputtered.
"At ease, Gunnery Sergeant," Captain Rivera said from the Cryo Observation Deck above the Marines.
"Aye, sir. If you'll pardon my asking sir, but why are we out of the icebox? 'Cording to the charts, we have another 16 days." Saunders asked, turning to the COD.
"You'll be briefed as is seen fit. For now, get dressed, and limber up. I'll need to speak with you, Gunny Baxter, and Captain Muldoon then."
"Aye sir," Saunders said. He then turned and addressed the platoon in his usual manner."Well? Quit gagglefucking, ladies Get your goddamn cammies on "
Saunders bounded over to the lockers and ripped out a white undershirt, a set of skivvies, his boots, socks, and a pair of cammo pants. Butt-naked, he strolled out of Cryo 2, pausing only to growl "What are you lookin' at, squid?" as he bumped into a sailor making his rounds.
No sooner had Saunders left then a Marine burst out "Whoo-wee, Murphy All that bra-less time in the icebox is not helping your form." A wave of laughter went through the cryo area.
"Fuck off, Werzbowski," Cpl. Halley Murphy said as she tugged her pants on.
"Capital idea, my good woman Need to get warm after all that chilldown time," L/Cpl. Werzbowski hooted.
"Both of you can shut up," Cpl. Tom Orwitz grunted. "My team, on me. I need some chow.
"Yeah. Second fire team, with me," Cpl. Davis said.
"What a ya think crawled up his ass, Joe?" Werzbowski asked PFC Joe Carrigahn. They both finished buttoning up their fatigues and were joined by the third member of their fireteam, PFC Gary Jones. The three Marines followed Orwitz to join up with the two other fireteams of 3rd Squad, thirteen Marines total.
21:24 HOURS
BRIEFING ROOM, SPARTACUS
The two Company Gunnery Sergeants and the Company commanders of the ODST detachment stared slack-jawed at the recording Captain Rivera had handed them.
"I hope you gentlemen realize the supreme urgency of this mission, and how vital it is that it is completed," the Captain said.
"Chance to capture a Covie ship full of tech and let the R&D boys put some of those shields on our ships? Those torpedoes? Which way to the Drop Zone?" Captain Muldoon asked.
"Don't get all worked up just yet, Marine. The ship crashed on Last Hope."
"The penal colony ? ? We're supposed to hold off the Covies and disgruntled murderers?" Gunny Williams burst out.
"Don't worry about it, Gunns," Muldoon said, trying to calm his seething Gunnery Sergeant. "I'm sure the prisoners are under control."
"Yes, I'm sure," Rivera added. "Now. The DZ is five klicks SW of the target. Alpha Company will drop in here, while Bravo Company lands at the guards' barracks with the heavy equipment. There are only enough HEVs for half of Bravo, so the other half will be transported via Pelican. Air support will be limited to the Pelicans, and ground to the Scorpion and Warthogs. Further details will be downloaded to your individual Company areas. Drop will be in two hours. Good luck and Godspeed, gentlemen.
21:35 HOURS
CAFETERIA, SPARTACUS
L/Cpl. Mick Werzbowski held up the bread roll for all to see. His face was twisted into a look of triumph and of horror.
"THERE! You all see? This fuckin bread is moldy! I will not eat this piece of shit. I hold this as proof that the Navy is trying to get rid of the Marine Corps once and for all."
"Goddammit, siddown, Werzbowski," Sgt. Bartoni said. A grim little Italian man, Bartoni had a schizophrenic amount of mood swings, but because of his time around Werzbowski and Mickelson, he mostly expressed himself in a disinterested monotone and realist outlook. "You've accomplished your objective of looking like an ass. Now, can we eat our breakfast in peace?"
"NO! I will not stand for this insufferable negligence! A ban I say! A ban on Navy cooking! Who's with me?"
"Aye," Mickelson yelled from the back. Also part of Bartoni's squad, he and Werzbowski constantly pulled off hare-brained schemes and idiotic jokes.
"I'll second that," PFC Jones said. A lithe black man from Callisto, he and Werzbowski were lifelong friends. And partners-in-crime with Mickelson. To Bartoni's disbelief, a growing number of Marines started to show interest in Werzbowski's pitch and were getting worked up.
"First man who throws a full tray away gets a week extra-duty. Then laps," Staff Sergeant Sykes growled menacingly.
"Especially goes out to 1st Squad. Werzbowski," Bartoni added.
The Marines calmed down almost immediately and returned to their seats. PFC Carrigahn snatched the bread out of Werzbowski's hand and shoved it in his mouth.
"If you're not gonna eat it, then," Carrigahn mumbled through the roll. He tried to cram more eggs in his mouth, but only spilled them on his tray.
"How can you eat this shit?"
"S'not the quality. Quantity." He briefly hacked on a large hunk of hashbrown, then resumed his eating.
"Chew, for God's sake, Carrigahn," PFC Cooper said. "I know this is the Corps we're talking about, but seriously. Chill. It'll be there in five seconds."
"Eat fast, eat more," Carrigahn said, this time through an orange. His outlook on life expanded little further then the table.
"Can't argue with that iron-clad logic," Cpl. Dietrich muttered.
Two hours later, the Marines of A Company were armed and armored, awaiting the orders to board their HEV's.
23:00 HOURS
SPARTACUS DROP ROOM A
The order was passed down at 23:00 hours sharp, and to the Marine's surprise, Captain Muldoon didn't even make a wisecrack as they boarded, only filled them in on the complete and vital importance of this mission. Somber, they boarded their HEVs, which grew so dangerously hot that the ODSTs were referred to as "Helljumpers". It took a special kind of crazy to join up, a disturbed kind of crazy to survive Jump School, and a deranged kind of crazy to survive combat. Helljumpers were the airborne of the day, carrying only what they could fit into their HEV's, plus a week's rations.
And you couldn't fit an M-19 Jackhammer into one, or a Scorpion. That left only swift cunning and resupply drops to deal with enemy armor. Helljumpers who survived the descent and the first few hours of combat often developed a homicidal nature and adrenaline-induced temporary psychosis. Being in this state is referred to as being "Jump Happy."
Werzbowski had stopped Snyder just before he had entered his pod and warned him to watch his ass down there.
"It's only your second jump, Cherry, so watch remember to duck out if the shit gets to deep."
"Uh, sure Werzbowski." Werzbowski walked away to his pod, but stopped and turned around.
"Hey Snyder. One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"Catch."
With that, Werzbowski pulled the pin on a (dummy) grenade and lobbed it at Snyder.
"Jesus Christ " Snyder screamed when he realized he had a 'live' grenade in his hands.
"Calm down, rookie," Hospitalman 2nd Class Jill Nelson said as she passed by. She snatched the grenade out of his hand and shook it. "It's a dud. Werzbowski has his petty hazing rituals."
Werzbowski blew Nelson a big sloppy kiss, then quickly dropped into his pod to avoid the grenade she heaved at him. It hurled past, narrowly missing his helmet. The hatch secured, Werzbowski keyed a private channel to Mickelson and told him to 'play the tunage.'
Mickelson grinned as he removed one of the many micro-disks he and Werzbowski possessed for combat drops. This one was ancient music, but well suited for the task.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the 83rd Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Regiment, 105th Division, Radio Free Marine Corps is proud to bring you Paint it Black, by the Rolling Stones. Radio Free MC: Bringing you the best hits from 1965 on up," Mickelson said in a suave DJ's voice. He inserted the disk just as Lt. Goodhyme warned him not to play anything over the team freq.
The Lance Corporal grinned and hit 'Command Freq, All' to transmit the song to every ODST within six miles. Three seconds later, a number of resounding thumps announced the launch of the first wave of Marines.
"Let's shake, rattle, and roll," Jones yelled just before he shot out of his tue.
Mickelson clenched his teeth and braced himself for his launch. The launch clock read 0:01, and the next second, sixteen HEV pods blasted out of their tubes and screamed towards Last Hope.
The HEV was essentially a ceramic-skinned bullet, containing an ODST and his equipment. It was streamlined, to allow for maximum aerodynamics. Unfortunately, it still suffered an unbelievable amount of turbulence coupled with the near-fatal heat. The rattling of the tiny pod made the Marine think he was in the middle of an earthquake, albeit one in hell. The tiny thermometer he'd taped to the inside of the crash-cage read 119 degrees F.
The skin began to peel away at 65,000 feet, and by 50,000, the metal crash-cage had been fully exposed. Mickelson might have appreciated the pristine view of the ugly grey-blue rock landscape of Last Hope. Just before he hit 5,000, he saw a blur that was most likely the prison facility.
The chute popped out, unfolding into an airfoil. He winced as the harness dug into his shoulders, but his descent slowed. Finally, the crash-cage hit the ground with a jolt, and Mickelson clambered out.
********
Nelson had been waiting for Werzbowski as he climbed out of his HEV and cracked him in the back of the helmet with her pistol.
"OW What the hell was that for?" Werzbowski asked, rubbing his head.
"Sexual harassment," Nelson sniffed, and promptly walked off to see if anyone was injured in the drop.
"Alpha Company, on me," Capt. Muldoon said on the radio.
"He don't waste any time, does he?" Orwitz asked as he jogged up to Werzbowski. An M-90 shotgun hung from his shoulder. "I saw Nelson give you a love tap. What did you do this time?"
"Nothing Those friggin limeys are sentimental 'bout shit, man," Werzbowski proclaimed.
"Uh-huh," Orwitz said skeptically. He adjusted the shotgun and checked the safety.
"Not only that, but she's a women, and being as prone as she is to hormonal imbalances, it makes for a–" Werzbowski never got to finish. As they reached the company rally point, Cpl. Murphy flew out from behind a rock and tackled Werzbowski. Orwitz just looked at his watch like he was expecting it.
"Two minutes early, Corporal. Try to stick to the schedule."
Murphy gave him a funny look, then smacked Werzbowski in the face. She walked off, looking righteous and dignified.
"You reckon that was for the bra comment?" Orwitz asked, helping Werzbowski to his feet.
"What else?"
"What about the time you stole her undergarments, and strung them up in the Drop Room?"
"Ha, that was classic."
"Or the time you told her that Carrigahn wanted to go out with her, and she confessed her undying love for him right there in front of the entire company?"
"Oh yeah...."
"Or the time you put glue in her helmet right before shore leave and she had to wear it all R&R?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time..."
"What about when you rolled that damn training grenade into the woman's shower? That got Nelson and Kennedy too. As I recall, they dived out butt-naked right in front of the Gunny. Speaking of Kennedy, where is she? She's due in about ten seconds."
"What are you talking about Tom?"
Werzbowski was answered with a tap on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be chopped in the throat by PFC Kennedy.
"Awp. There she is," Werzbowski weezed.
"If you ladies could quit dicking around, we have a mission to accomplish," Saunders snarled over the radio.
The three Marines jogged to join the rest of Company A. Lt. Goodhyme and Capt. Muldoon were waiting.
"Excellent. Though I am slightly disappointed that all of you survived the drop," Muldoon joked. Everyone laughed. Can't beat gallows humor.
"Bravo will be landing in the Penal Facility in about four minutes with the Warthogs. But we don't have the luxury of waiting around, do we boys and girls?"
"NO SIR!" the Marines thundered.
"Good. 1st platoon, I want you to reconnoiter the ship's crash site, five klicks in that direction," Muldoon said, pointing northeast. If you see any Covenant, do not, I repeat, do not engage. This is recon strictly, got it?"
"I think we can handle it," Lt. Goodhyme said. "But by the time we get there, won't the Warthogs already be here? And waiting?"
Muldoon scowled. He'd forgot how fast those Navy pilots were, and the response of his ODSTs. Sloppy.
"Change of plans. Lt. Broudmyer "
"Yes, sir?"
"Set up a perimeter. Have a fireteam from each squad secure every scrap of usable equipment from the HEVs. Any drop of water, any bite of food, I want it, and I want it all. Lt. Goodhyme Give me a squad to recon that Covie ship, and have the rest of your platoon rotate watches with 1st. Lt.'s Norton and Volkert, have your men rest. I have a feeling this is the only brake we'll get in quite some time."
24:16 HOURS
(D-PLUS 00:24:16)1st PLATOON MISSION CLOCK, LAST HOPE
The four M-12 Warthogs that were driven to Company A's location were the first of 22 such vehicles that the Marines had with them; they had left the hulks of the other eight on Paris III. The Light Reconnaissance Vehicles had room for three, four if another Marine sat in the back, albeit quite uncomfortably. SSgt. Cabrera from B Company was in the lead 'Hog. Instead of a standard CH-252 helmet, he had a garrison cap, or cover, on. He glared at 1st Squad with a menacing stare.
"What're you maggots waiting for?" Cabrera growled. The Marines scrambled to get into the 'Hogs.
"Not you, numbnuts," he said, stopping PFC Baker. "Only got room for twelve.
"Sergeant?" Baker asked, turning to Bartoni. He waved him back, and boarded the second LRV.
"Move over," he said, pushing the driver out of the way. Mickelson boarded the LRV, as did PFC Kocher. The Marine yanked back the charging lever on the M-41 LAAG 12.7mm. "Just like New Constantinople, eh Sarge?"
"Just don't fall in any holes again."
"Hey I told you that was Frenchy's fault. His dumbassness distracted me."
"Do you even hear yourself talk?" Bartoni asked, putting the Warthog in gear and following SSgt. Cabrera.
"Every now and then."
"I don't think he knows how dumb he is," Kocher snickered.
"Aw, shut up, Frenchman, before I kick your ass "
Kocher only laughed harder, and received a swift kick in the ribs. The brunt of the blow was absorbed by his body armor, however.
"Will you two knock it off? Christ, you act like three-year-olds."
"Look There it is " Werzbowski said over the radio. Just past the lead vehicle, the sleek blue glow of the Covenant ship. It looked small and insignificant in the distance.
The four LRVs continued on until they were within a klick.
"Alright, kill the engines here, Bartoni," Cabrera said. He made to swerve around and head back to the temporary Alpha Company BOO.
"Where the hell are you going?" Bartoni demanded.
"Back to A Comp. I need to report this in."
"You can do that from here, Staff Sergeant,"Jones said. He was in the lead vehicle with Cabrera, and didn't want to abandon the squad.
"And risk the Covies picking up our position? Hell no. They don't know we're here, and I'm not gonna announce that."
"And cut me short a fireteam? You're busting my balls, Cabrera." Bartoni said.
"It's a recce. You don't need a full squad," Cabrera said. He spun the Warthog's tires and sped off.
"Great," Bartoni sighed, then huddled up his men by his 'Hog.
******************
24:51 HOURS
BRIDGE, UNSC SPARTACUS.
"Sir " Lt. Yah, Navigation, reported. "Inbound Covenant ships, 70,000 km and closing Pre-lim readings suggest four frigates, just exiting slipspace"
"Christ," Capt. Rivera whispered. His single ship wouldn't be enough. But he had to give the ODSTs down there a fighting chance.
"Lt. Gunkle, send out slipspace drone to REACH HighCom, and tell them our situation. Include Capt. Muldoon's check-in report. Lt. Schwartz, ready Archer pods A through K, and charge up the MAC. Let's give these bastards a fight."
"Yes sir!" the Weapons officer said, tapping away on his console.
"Lt. Gunkle, when you've finished sending the drone, patch me through to the Marines. They might want to know that they have one hell of a fight on their hands. Stand-by to evacuate all non-essential personnel."
"Captain, link established. Capt. Muldoon is standing by."
"Sir, what's going on up there?" came the Marine captain's voice. Static crackled in the background.
"Four enemy frigates just arrived in system," he said, cutting to the chase. "The Spartacus doesn't stand a chance. I want you to know that your Marines are going to have a long, brutal slog down there."
"Isn't it always, sir?" Muldoon laughed, trying to make light of the situation. "That's what Marines are good for. Just make sure you thin them out a little."
"Good hunting, Captain. Rivera out."
"Same to you, sir," Muldoon said. He worked the action on his rifle and signed off.
tbc
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