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Souls of War. by Dark-NiTe
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Souls of War.: Part 1: Tides of Battle
Date: 14 February 2004, 6:47 AM
John's face was unreadable beneath the impervious and ominous gold sheen of his visor. He sat motionless inside the Pelican, the green of his Spartan armor radiating nobility. He held sternly his AR, finger resting on trigger as always.
A marine named Neal Anderson looked up at the Spartan as he sat next to him, and wondered what he was thinking. Did Spartan's not fear battle? Was it true? He could really only guess, dissmissing the thought of talking to a Master Cheif of such things. He looked around at the rest of the squadron inside the dark interior of the gently swaying Pelican, Gin Omanosuke, Charlie Newman, Jim Barnsworth, Miguel Rodriguez, Earl King, and Bill Williams sat shoulder to shoulder in the bench seats beside and in front of him.
"We're comin' up on the beach," Sgt. Johnson breifed. There was a vicious thunderstorm outside, rain pouring down in deluges. "Lock and load marines, we've got more riding on this battle than just OUR asses. WE can't let these SOB's fire Halo!" The squad shuffled quietly making once-overs of their equipment, loading up, or strapping a few extra clips on from the ammuntions crate. "Now, are you ready to send these bastards to hell!?" Johnson barked. He spoke not to the Master Cheif.
The marines resounded in an outcry of agreement. John said nothing, he looked down slightly to Neal Anderson beside him. The Pelican swooped down over a wet gray beach, the hull suddenly shook accompanied by the sound of a plasma blast. Fuel-Rod Guns...
"The ship's tak--too-fire! I'll---dro--" The pilot's southern accent was almost completely drowned in static. Neal's stomach flew up into his throat as another blast spun the Pelican violently.
"Shit!" Earl King blurted as he fell from his seat. A grenade klinked from his belt falling out of the Pelican's back hatch. The dropship fought for its bearings and stalled then at an upward angle. They were all going to fall out of the ship if this continued. The dropship was still about 50 feet over the swirling gray ocean below. Thunder cracked deafiningly.
"I can't hol---the sh---an-longer, I--" the intercom snapped off and the Pelican began a decent tailfirst toward the ocean. The squad held onto anything they could at that moment. John braced for the disaster. Sgt. Johnson let out a yell just before the ship plunged into the icy water.
Cold, and blackness were the only things identifiable to the marines as they hit water. The Pelican overturned allowing them to swim to the surface; they were lucky they weren't boxed in. Gin Omanosuke was the first soldier above water, and he wiped his eyes while treading water to see. The battle ensuing on the beach was simultaniously awe-inspring, and utterly terrifying to him. Marines rushed up the grey sand to a huge metal structure that had plasma cannons firing off it in every direction, shooting off green, purple, and blue streamers of death into the human forces. Sand plumes blossomed from explosions dotting the battlefeild, while screams were heard of human and alien alike. The golden streaks of bullets whizzed relentlessly in every direction as melee battles ensued between the dualing species.
It was sheer chaos.
John raised his head above the water looking for his squad. Luckily, they all survived and swam to shore as purple plasma seared by them in clusters of three from the turrets of the Covenent spire. They slammed into the water around them, heaving splashes of water inches beside them. They all grouped behind an overturned Warthog and Ghost that had collided hours ago.
"The Sargent! The Sargent!" Miguel yelled in a Spanish accent with concern while pointing to Johnson.
"Stay here and only fire if you need to! I'll see if the sargent's alright or not!" John yelled in a stony smooth voice over the gunfire that showed concern without panic or fear. He waded to the Sargent, who lay in shallow water just off the coast. The rain soaked all of them to the marrow of their bones as the wind whipped it insultingly in their faces.
"God, I can't do this!" Neal shouted. He felt ashamed in his cowardice.
"Hold yourself together man! Yer out here now and there's not a damn thing you can to about except shoot or get shot!" Jim Barnsworth told him as an explosion rained dirt over their bodies from behind the Warthog/Ghost-barricade. He was right.
John arrived at the Sargent's side, as he lay there in the water. "Damn, my side! What the hell is in my side?!" Johnson yelled in pain. John grimaced slightly at the sight of the huge shrapnel hunk lodged in the Sargent's right side. The wound was bleeding profusely, staining the water around them. John knew that Sgt. Johnson would probably die there.
"Hold still," John said, the only advice he could give. The rain swirled around the two men of war as thunder cracked in the distance. John had been through a lot of fights with Johnson, and didn't know what would happen if he, or the squad were to lose him.
"Master,ugh,Chief," Johnson grunted the adress in pain. "I know its not your job to run my company, but I don't know if I'll come back from this one to do it myself. John," (The Master Cheif actually felt a chill down his spine being it the first time Johnson had adressed him by his first name.) "John, if i really don't get back up...please do this for me. Go. Go back to the squad!"
Spartan's weren't supposed to get attached to someone, but John couldn't help it. They had been through so many battles together. He hesitated to leave. "GO!" Johnson pushed the Cheif off of him just as a plasma beam scorched through his armor and seared into the skin on his chest.
John got up with a splash of water droplets around his feet. Johnson...sacrificed his own life for him...
John's eyes then fell on the squad huddled behind the crashed vehicles on shore. Before he ran back to them, he put Sargent Johnson's AR close to his chest. The Cheif then ran back to his squad, and the waves of that grey sea on Halo, the tides of battle, swallowed Sargent Johnson and carried him away.
DUNN, DUNN, DUMMMMMM...TO BE CONTINUED.
Souls of War.: Part 2: Into The Fire
Date: 16 February 2004, 7:11 PM
The battle raged ferociously on the beach behind them, as the bewildered squad looked to see the Master Cheif wading through the sea's waters to them. It was still pouring rain, and had increased in intensity somehow.
"Sargent Johnson is dead," John said, no emotion was shown even behind his helmet.
"Oh God WHY?!" Bill Williams screamed. In a blind fenzied rage of unfiltered emotion, he rushed out into the battle flailing his AR and firing it randomly...even into the air. He was immediately cut down by plasma fire, falling face first into newly red sand.
"Goddammit Billy..." Jim said through gritted teeth.
What a terriffic squad I'm working with...,John thought to himself. "OK, moving on," the Master Cheif started, "you all know that our mission here is to clear the Covenent installation on this beach. First, we need to get to it."
An explosion made the ground quake, and more dirt rained upon them behind their vehicle barricade. "How the hell are we gonna do that?" Neal shakily asked. Earl King had the same look on his face.
'We'll find another squadron to ally with, and maybe then we'll be able to work together to get into the outpost...it might be better to attack the Covenent inside the base with a large fire team," John said.
"Sounds like a plan to me!" Jim said confidently. Neal still was nervous. He didn't want to die. He didn't even want to be here...WHY THE HELL DID HE ENLIST? He asked himself that question every night for 6 years...
"OK, stay behind me all of you, and watch all each other's backs. If one of you weighs us down, I will not hesitate to leave you behind," were the words of the Spartan. "One more thing, does this squad have any specialties?"
Jim took the liberty upon himself to tell the Master Cheif that Miguel was a Medic and Gin was a Sniper. "Good," John said.
There was a silence between them in which they heard explosions, cries of the dying, and grunts of their opposing aliens; all sounds of war.
...
"Go!" John shouted.
The squad, though half of them frightened, swung out from behind their sanction as one concentrated force of distruction, the staccato bark of the AR eminating from their formation. John stayed in front, while the marines behind arched in a semi-circle only un-filled at the rear.
Neal was horrified at what he saw around him, fellow marines were falling all around them on the rainy beachground, some he recognized...The muzzle of his AR strobed in golden light as he focused on a blue Elite rushing towards him. His heart dropped as it got even closer; his clip count was at 23 shells left on the screen, and he kept emptying it into the tenacious alien. Purple blood spattered out of its form, some of it onto Neal's uniform. It ran on still. "DIE, DAMN YOU! DIE!" Neal yelled in frustration, his bloodshot eyes wide as the blaze from his gun reflected on his face.
The blue screen on his AR read 0. The Elite was still alive.
"NO!" Neal cried out as the blood drenched elite came upon him out of the raging veil of rain. It raised its fist...
...only to have the Master Cheif grasp its arm, jam his rifle into it resulting in a compound fracture, and shortly after silencing its cry of pain by giving it a bullet to the face.
Purple gore splashed onto Neal's face which was frozen in shock, his AR still upheld.
John said nothing and lead the squad on.
They trudged on through the rain and sand for about 30 minutes taking out Covenent as they went, and then John spotted a band of marines huddled close behind a boulder laced with weeds and beach grass halfway to the outpost. A marine cried, "Medic! Medic! GODDAMMIT MEDIC!" over a thunder crash in the gray sky.
John's squad ran over to them, and sought protection behind the massive rock as well. "Here, I can help you!" Miguel shouted in a Spanish accent over the impossibly escalated thunderstorm; it was almost blinding. "Where's the wounded marine?"
The soldier answered, "Right here, behind me. He took 2 or 3 turret shots to the upper torso." He got out of the way to reveal the victim, and Miguel took off his pack.
"Holy shit," Jim said looking at the marine.
Miguel made some quick observations to see what needed to be done. The soldier had the charactaristic triangle clustered plasma burns from the turrets across part of his chest and right arm. He was loosing blood pretty fast, visibly in fact. He wasn't expressing much pain, only slightly moaning...he could've been in shock.
John saw that he was a heavy weapons specialist as well, noting the shotgun still partially clutched in his right hand, and the rocket launcher rested behind his back.
"Hold still," Miguel said taking a small, pistol-like object from his back. It was short, smooth, rounded, and black, and had a brightly lit green LED display on the side as well as a chunky trigger. Miguel held it over the marine's open arm wound and pulled the trigger. The marine felt a cold rush as the bio-foam secreted from the device and into his arm. It would harden to flesh-like consistency in maybe 5 minutes. Miguel repeated this on one of his upper chest wounds. The 4 others were in operable however, too close to the stomach and heart. Bio-foam couldn't substitute cardiac or digestive muscles, even for a short time, it would most likely end up killing the patient. "I've done all I can," Miguel said.
"WORT WORT!" A gold Elite plunged its plasma sabre into the wounded marine slicing right through him into the rock. The others fell back, startled, and John snatched the Shotgun out of the as-well-as-dead soldier's hand and pulled the trigger in the Elite's face. It fell back behind the rock, and the sabre died in a blue flash, the handle falling into the dead marine's lap. John got up, snatched the handle, and the energy pack on the gold Elite and shouted gruffly, "All of you come on!"
The stunned squadrons followed his order, and they proceeded in an all-out sprint to the installation. Their guns rang out through the storm, killing Grunts, Jackels, Elites all the same. They were only several strides away after about 3 minutes of running as fast as they possibly could, and were all thouroughly exhausted, excluding John, who had only started his exercise regimine for the day.
Gin prayed that the Cheif's plan would work, they all did.
John led them into the installation; he would save introduction time for the other squad accompanying them later.
The real battle was yet to come.
Jim shot a glance at the plasma sabre handle at the Master Cheif's waist.
DA DA DA DUMMMMM...TO BE CONTINUED...
Hey kids! Get ready for some super spectacular skillfully skillfull Samurai wannabe action in the next installment of:SOULS OF WAR.
Souls of War.: Part 3: Storming the Fortress
Date: 16 February 2004, 9:07 PM
Ok...ok...I understand that some of you are dissapointed by the apparent "death" of Sargent Johnson. I have one thing to ask you... DO YOU REALLY DOUBT ME THAT MUCH?! Of course Sargent Johnson doesn't die. He's SARGENT JOHNSON. Do you really think i would do that to you? Nawwww. I was trying to throw you for one, and now look what ya made me do...now I ruined my own plot twist. Alright, on with the show.
"Alright, how about you tell me who you guys are," John said to the 2nd squadron that had perviously joined joined them just outside the outpost.
"Tsu Omura." A heavy weaponist as well
"Alex Fredrikson."
"Joe England." A medic.
"Dex Freemond."
"Jack Daniels." He toted two pistols.
"Are you serious," John said.
"Yes, that's my name OK?!" Jack said. Tears welled up in his eyes.
"Gentlemen your presence is welcome," The MC started. "I would like to stand around and chat, but right now we have to get a plan together. Were any of you breifed on this outpost's schematics?"
"I was, sir," Tsu said. "It's pretty straight forward in design, it's a big defense tower," he said, his Asian upbringing apparent in his speech. "The tower has one long spiral path leading to the top, with each floor consisting of a circular balcony outside full of weaponry and turrets. It is highly probable that all the Covenent inside this building are outside on the balconies, manning the guns," he said.
"Good work," John said surprised at the marine's knowledge of this structure. Soldiers were breifed on so little nowadays. It was always, 'GO IN AND KILL EVERYTHING', John knew that they were usually told nothing more.
Tsu continued, "We were originally the demolitions squad sent to plant the explosives in this tower, be we almost decided to fall back after we thought that Harry would die back there, but now we can continue...I am honored with your presence Master Cheif," he slightly bowed.
"Never try to flatter m-," John started, but then paused for a moment, and bowed in return. "Follow through with your assigned mission soldier," John said, "and place those explosives. My squadron and I will have your backs."
Both squads of marines mumbled in perparedness and agreement. "We'll be placing one bomb on every floor," Dex Freemond informed.
"OK then. Move out mar-" John started but-
Exactly 6 Hunters and 4 gold Elites walked out of the shadowy abyss of the octagonal room they were in.(Walkway running up the side.)
"So I guess they aren't all on the balconies?" Tsu squeaked.
"ALL OF YOU GO, NOW! CARRY OUT YOUR JOBS!" John yelled looking to the aliens but throwing his hand back at the marines behind him. Some of them hesitated, others ran before the MC's words.
"But Cheif-" Earl started.
"Go," John growled. And so they ran up the walkway. Neal looked back one final time as he glimpsed John throwing down his AR (it was empty), and whipping out the plasma sabre. He then dissapeared from Neal's veiw under the walkway.
Go time. John let out a gutteral yell and lunged at a Hunter, jamming the sabre into its soft spot, jumping onto the blade's hilt, and then vaulting off of it while dislodging it making the huge beast fall in a fountain of orange blood. John landed, plasma blade in hand, and then looked up to see a Hunter charging its cannon......
"Do you think the Cheif's OK?" Neal asked Miguel.
"Dont be an ass, man, of course! The MC can do anything!" Miguel replied as they ran up the walkway. 1 floor bomb-armed, 29 more to go. It was going to take a while.
John quickly ran to the Hunter that was charging, and got off a slice to the neck in the fraction of a second before its shot. In a spray of gore, it fell to the side and its fluked shot obliterated a gold elite in a purple explosion. John tumbled across the floor, narrowly dodging a swipe from a gold Elite's plasma sabre. "Damn," he grunted, and threw the sabre toward his advirsary. It hit is mark right in its chest. John yanked out the blade, and the Gold fell.
Luckily, the band hadn't run into any fights on their way to the top, 10 floors had been set now, with 20 more to do still. Tsu worked hastily and feverishly with the bombs, but precisly as to preserve their working order. He had done faster before, though. He guessed it was just his nerves, without the Cheif there and all.
John felled another Hunter just as a white-hot pain hit his leg. He didn't realize that he had been knicked in the leg with a plasma sabre until after he decapitated the gold Elite that did so. Twas a costly mistake however. John knew it was a 'one false move and you're dead,' situation. A Hunter batted him in the back with its cannon, slamming him against the wall and cracking it. He slumped down, feeling that ache in his back and chest...
"Ah shit!" Jack Daniels yelled as a swarm of Jackels flooded into their position. "We got company!"
"Tsu keep working!" Jim yelled and opened fire on his Covie foes. Their firepower was astounding as they felled about 3 Jackels a second. But they kept pouring in... Damn, what's gonna happen when we have to reload? Dex thought as he took down another Jackel.
"Fuck!" yelled Jack Daniels, pistols blazing furiously. "FUCK THE FUCKING FUCKERS!"
John rose to his feet, pain radiating inside him. That blow was just a little hard. But no giving up now.
No giving up ever.
John ran forward, and ran a hunter through without flinching. It fell behind him as did a green explosion from a Hunter's cannon. With a dodge, then a slash to the throat, the last Gold fell.
And then the last to Hunter's were on either side of him.
With the Coupe De Grace, John spun a 360 with his sabre outstretched, and the two Hunter's twisted, then fell.
It was over.
John fell to one knee, his green armor dripping with orange and purple.
"They're dead..." Dex panted. "What floor are we on?"
"25. 5 more." Tsu replied.
"Damn," Jim shook his head. He didn't know if they could stand another fight like this.
It had stopped raining now, they grey sky was wisped with clouds. Mostly the dead lay on the beach, though a battle still raged on.
A body washed ashore.
The body was dressed in the gray military uniform, and was wearing a gray cap as well.
Sargent Johnson pushed himself up, out of his face-first position in the sand. And then he realized he was alive. He looked at his armor, still scorched. He barely felt pain in his previously impaled side...he had forgotten the shrapnel. But what he did now was that he had a second chance, although badly hurt. He limped feebly toward the installation, avoiding battle, and wondered if he would see John when he got there.
DA DA BA DUMMMMMMMMM...TO BE CONTINUED...
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