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Lost: Part 1- Headache
Date: 24 January 2005, 7:53 PM
Sergeant John Tedston opened his eyes wearily. It took a while for the haze in front of his eyes to clear, and when it did he found himself staring upwards, his head pounding. He lay there, unmoving for a minute or more then, slowly, he turned his head to the left to see a small lamp glowing in the corner, illuminating three hardy looking Marines. He sat up and realised he was lying in an instacrete bunker.
His memory was still obscure, but he recognized the fellow Marines to be part of his squad. His squad leader Staff Sergeant Larrower, Private Remsot, and a young women he didn't recognise, but the single chevron on her shoulder meant that she must have been a Private First Class.
"He's awake!" The young women looked happy, thrilled, and walked over to him. She sat on the floor with him and, to his surprise, clutched his hand. Then she leant over and gave him a kiss on the mouth. A nice gesture, but not one used often in the Marines.
"How are you feeling?" Larrower took several steps towards him and stood over Tedston, allowing the Sergeant to see his superior's gaunt countenance, which was a menacing one in the turquoise light that shone from what looked like a stolen Covenant light amplifier. He knew that his threatening features were the result only of war and that the SSgt was really quite soft hearted in person. Wait. A Covenant light amplifier? But that would mean-
"You are aware of our situation Sergeant?" Larrower looked stern.
"Um... No... I don't think I am. Well, maybe." Tedston dropped his gaze, trying to remember.
"The Covenant invasion. Do you remember?" Now Private Remsot stood just behind Tedston and gave an encouraging smile. Remsot was young and inexperienced but would easily go far in the Marines. Tedston felt a brotherly love towards Remsot, they had fought beside each other on many occasions.
"Yeah," replied the Sergeant, giving back a weak smile, "I remember." The ships. The battering their defences had taken. The sirens. Getting armed. Getting beaten. And hiding in here.
"And do you remember us?" Remsot looked positively at Tedston, still smiling.
"Yeah I remember... Apart from-" he turned to the women, "I don't recall your face." The women looked taken aback and her grip on his hand loosened.
"You don't remember her?" the SSgt also looked shocked.
"No. I'm sorry." The women looked hurt and turned her head away from him.
"I'm Private First Class Torren..." A pause "Amy." Tedston felt a burning guilt flourish low in his gut. Whoever this PFC was she was obviously meant to be deeply important to him. Seeing no signs of remembrance in the Sergeant's eyes, she carried on. Duty before desire. "So. What are we planning on doing?"
The Staff Sergeant saw the pain on Torren's face, but had to ignore it. "We'll leave the bunker and see what we can salvage. Maybe a vehicle, a 'Hog perhaps. Something we can use to drive quickly to a friendly base."
"What if their are no friendly bases?" Remsot's smile had disappeared, "What if there's nothing left? They could be about to glass us." There was a long silence, but Remsot's statement was put aside.
"What weapons do we have?" Tedston stood up.
"A few pistols and rifles."
"That's not to bad. How much ammo?" Larrower answered with a gesture towards a bunch of crates.
"Quite a lot. But we'll be on the move, so we can only take what we can carry." Tedston grabbed an M6D and as many clips as he could bear. "Right. Let's go."
Tedston moved out of the bunker into the open air. It was bright outside and there was no sign of enemy presence. He gave the others a hand onto the rubble and loaded a clean clip into the grubby hilt of the pistol. Each of them checked their weapons and then Larrower gave them the order to move out.
Two by two, half crouching, they moved down the deserted, war-torn street, using the debris as cover. A few cars were upturned and all were in bad condition. Their windows were smashed and wheels ruptured. One was crushed and another cloven almost clean in half. Many of the surrounding buildings were totally razed whereas some had lost roofs, doors or the entire front wall.
Soon the Marines came to a T-junction in the road. One half of the team took protection on the left corner of the street and the other pair took shelter on the right. Concealed they looked down the opposing streets on the 'T' and scrutinising it for symptoms of enemy troops.
Tedston spotted a single Elite patrolling up and down the street. On the other side of the road stood a group of Grunts quarrelling with each other. They wouldn't have been much of a problem, but that Elite would. Maybe they could sneak past while the Elite was facing the other way? Not without those Grunts spotting them. And if they shot the Grunts first they would surely alert the Elite.
"Take out the Grunts first. Then we can go at the Elite unchallenged," commanded Larrower. Tedston nodded and took aim, conscious of his pounding head and the young women who kept looking at him like some forgotten love.
Larrower pulled the BR55 Rifle's oracle up to his eye. The Elite was way down the other side of the road now. He aimed neatly at a small, grey face. He clenched the grip of the gun firmly and then pressed hard on the trigger. A rattle like that from a certain aggressive snake struck the air, as three 9.5x40mm bullets loosed themselves from his weapon. As the gun retorted against his shoulder, he heard his squad quickly follow suit. Then he saw his enemy's tiny heads snap backwards, their arms waving slightly in the air, and then their limp bodies fall to the dirty ground.
At the bottom of the street the Elite turned and roared. It bent over and charged at the group, its slavering mandibles staggering with the snarl that echoed from its cavernous maw. It raised its Plasma Rifle in its hands and targeted its prey.
Tedston and Larrower ran for their previous cover as the heated plasma shot towards them, Torren did the same but her leg was slightly burned by splashes of the abnormal bullets. Remsot however, seemed stunned.
The Elite carried on its battle charge, heading straight towards the stationary Marine, a small trail of plasma dump dissipating behind him. The weapon cooled down and the Sangheili raised its trusty rifle once more. Aiming straight for the Humans head. He would not miss. He could not.
Lost: Part 2- Ceramic Alloy
Date: 10 February 2005, 8:16 PM
Staff Sergeant Larrower gave a roar as, three by three, an army of bullets hurtled towards the startled Elite, accompanied by the load crack of an M6D. Distracted, the Elite fired the weapon clumsily, cursing at his accuracy. Too far to the left.
Remsot saw the opportunity and let his body go limp so that he would fall to the ground. A splash of plasma scorched his shoulder, a flaming wasp sting eating away, but he managed to avoid the full blast of it.
Remsot, scrambling for his life, dived behind a ruined car as the blue plasma shot towards him. A foreign pain spread over his back and he knew what had happened. Behind the car he felt around his back with his hand. His shirt was frayed all down his back and his skin was lumpy and wretched, parted by the heat of the plasma like the sea to Moses. As he fingered it, the pain grew to an excruciating agony but the adrenaline and fear gushing through him quickly dumbed it back down to a numbness.
Damn the Holy Rings! The Elite quickly prayed for forgiveness for his sacrilegious blasphemy, but he felt no other words could take their place. The Plasma Rifle hissed, dumping its waste and the Elite was forced to hide behind an number of rubbish bins under the hailstorm of bullets cutting into his grey tissue.
Shit! Larrower swore. He could no longer see Remsot or the Covenant bastard, and his team had to reload. Larrower saw the awkward position the bins were to the car. Remsot wouldn't be able to shoot the Elite, the Elite wouldn't be able to shoot Remsot and Larrower's squad couldn't see either of them.
Tedston wiped another filthy clip and slid it into the dented pistol. His breathing was heavy and he had cut his hand on a dark piece of metal on the ground. Just a scratch. But the blood kept flowing, dripping incessantly on the dark ground. He'd have to patch it up. But not now. Larrower was thinking. They were about to go for it.
He's bleeding. Amy looked across the road at John Tedston. Had he really forgotten her? Every time she looked at him, her heart sank deeper into her gut. Her muscles softened and she felt disturbingly unfocused. Helpless.
They had to make a move. Larrower glanced at Private First Class Torren. She could quickly become vulnerable on that side of the road, and they'd be more effective together. Maybe if they joined Remsot behind the car? Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Memories of his training flashed in his mind. He knew what they would do. Simple, but effective.
Remsot was scared. He felt defenceless on his own. He had never been the bravest of soldiers. It had been mainly his quick thinking and nifty shot that had got him into the Marines. Remsot switched gun hands and moved towards the left side of the vehicle. Poking his gun around the car, he leant around its shattered bumper. No sign. Where is it? he edged out of his cover, inch by inch, scanning his surroundings. Still nothing. Just a lamppost and a group of rusty bins. The bins! Remsot turned but it was too late. His shots echoed harmlessly into the sky as the Elite rushed from its cover, unarmed, and leapt at Remsot.
Remsot turned and fled, searching for cover. But it was futile.
The Elite reached towards the human and grabbed the Marine's waist. It lifted the human off the ground and smashed him, face first, into the car.
Remsot felt the eight fingers squeeze his waist. For an instant he felt a vertigo sensation as his feet left the ground but it didn't last long. Then came the crushing blow. His skin became stretched and punctured, blood flowed from a number of wounds. Luckily, the glass of the car had broken long before and Remsot's head was relatively undamaged. But what Remsot saw in the car he would never forget. A rotting and putrid head, twisted in a brutal way resting against the steering wheel. Flesh was peeling off it and a mouldering stench that could have been sent from only the Reaper himself filled the Private's nostrils. The chest of the figure was almost totally compressed, the ribs were harshly broken and several coarse bones jutted out of the body. There was no time for sympathy. Remsot awaited the killer blow.
The Elite withdrew from the Marine in surprise as three humans fired at him from behind the bins he had used for cover, firing blow after blow at his head. As they hit his helmet his personal energy shield flickered a lightning blue. Then the shower of metal drained away but for a repetitive crack of a scrawny pistol. The Elite leapt onto the bins and swept the Marine of his feet. The Marine dropped the weapon and flailed at the Elite to no avail.
Tedston dropped his weapon and flailed at the Elite to no avail. He quickly stopped.
The Elite swung the human into the nearest wall, gripping its neck.
Where is it? Tedston groped at his belt, trying to find it. Where is it?. He was pinned against the wall and air was escaping from his body. As the Elite squeezed harder, it became increasingly more difficult to replace it.
There! He found it. He clenched the rubber grip and pulled it from his belt. The ceramic-alloy blade flashed momentarily in the sunlight before being thrust into the right side of the Elite's abdomen. A dark, purple-blue blood spurted from the gash and the Elite's grip tightened, shaking now, its eyes narrowed. Then it spoke in flawless English. Its voice shaky and unstable. Pain entered the Elite's eyes. An unforgiving and relentless anguish coming from the wound in its side.
"No pathetic and trivial being can kill me." It winced, "Nor its blade." The Elite's grip tightened its tough fingers squeezing harder and harder.
"What about his woman?" the soft, female voice came from Tedston's left.
Amy clenched John's M6D pistol firmly in her hand and pressed it hard, unflinching, into the Elite's neck. Then she pulled the trigger.
There was a flash of lightning blue as the bullet tore through the Elite's shield and skin. A stringy web of shady-grey flesh flung out the other side of the Elite's neck escorting the bloodstained bullet through the air. The Elite collapsed to the ground and did not move anymore.
The dazed team rushed over to Remsot. Amy placed her fingers on his neck.
"He's breathing. Barely." They lay Remsot on the road beside the car and listened to his rough respiration, pondering their next move. Larrower moved further down the road. A Warthog? Anything? There was nothing. Not a single vehicle in sight. Or an enemy.
Amy looked up. John was staring back at her. Had he remembered her? No. But there was something else there. Something in his eyes. She glanced at his hand. "We better get you mended as well." She gave a weak smile and took his wrist.
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