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Hero of the Day
Posted By: Steele<hoffmansteele@hotmail.com>
Date: 4 December 2003, 3:05 AM
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Hero of the Day
Captain Nathan Dixon stared out across the scorched battlefield. Smoke wispily drifted across the sky, obscuring the horizon. Bodies lay strewn all over the dirt, their blood creating a stark contrast in colors. He sighed to himself. This was not were he wanted to end his days. He had planned his life so carefully, so meticulously—and then the Covenant had come, sending his plans astray.
Growing up as the son of a business man, he had planned to inherit his father's company one day. At least he had planned. Then the Covenant had come. After the death of his family he had joined the military in seek of vengeance for his family, but he had come to understand that he shouldn't seek vengeance, his parents would disapprove of him.
And here he was now, leading soldiers to their deaths. A part of him knew it had to be done to save the human race, yet another part of him strongly disagreed. He had seen hundreds of Marines die, though few had been under his command at the time, he still felt terrible. Around him were over twenty dead Marines and all had been under his command. And he knew the remaining hundred or so were about to die too.
If he stared hard enough, he could just make out the thousands of Covenant troops through the smoke. They were coming this way. There was no doubting it. And there would be no stopping them. He would just have to try his very best. He'd called Command and asked for reinforcements, saying he couldn't hold this valley without them.
Command had, of course, denied his request, telling him that while the valley was important, they felt the major Covenant attack wasn't coming his way—that the main part of the Division's strength was needed elsewhere.
What an idiot, thought Nixon of General Van Dorkik. If we lose this pass, the Covenant will have a straight shot into the Division's rear—and that'll ruin us all. He smiled bitterly. But who was he to have such thoughts? He wasn't head of the UNSC or of the UEG. He was a mere Captain, inexperienced and wet behind the ears in matters of large-scale battles. It didn't matter that he had sent hundreds of me to their deaths, or that he had seen more combat than the head of the Division and staff combined, or that he had more combat decorations than he could count.
The Covenant are going to outmaneuver us again, and we will be slaughtered—again. And all because of the stupidity of our commanders. And they say we should be proud to die in service of the UNSC. What a load of recruitment bullshit.
He regretfully turned back to the battlefield. They were going to die here, he knew it, his Marines knew it, hell, command probably knew it. They were never going to be able to see their loved ones again, never be able to say bye, never even able to express their love for them. They would die here, no this alien planet, and the world would forget about them, remembering them only as another lost battle.
Nixon clicked on his COM, broadcasting his message to his remaining troops. "On October 25, 1415 near Calais, France, a small band of Englishmen under the English King Henry the Fifth faced the entire French Army. This battle was called 'Agincourt' and it occurred upon St. Crispin's day.
Although outnumbered by five to one odds, they inflicted terrific casualties upon the better-armed and armored French, thereby winning the day. Throughout the history of man, small forces facing overwhelming odds have been remembered. The small Greek force at Marathon that defeated a Persian force that outnumbered it a hundred to one. The Rhodesian SAS team that accidentally ran onto a regimental review of guerrillas and wiped them out. The Heroes of Thermopylae. The Alamo. The Seventh Cavalry. The Battle for Edina. The Keyes' Loop. Now.
"In years to come, men at home now in their beds will think of this day and do you know what they will say? 'Jesus, I'm glad I wasn't with those poor doomed ODST assholes in the Larkin Valley or right now I'd be dead.'
"But what the hell; that's why we're feet first into hell."
Silence greeted Nixon's speech, except to his right, where a sniper rifle fired, its sharp report echoing through the close confines of the valley, and he knew it had begun. The start of the end. His last battle. Maybe, if he fought hard enough, him and his Marines just might be remembered. They weren't ODSTs for nothing, after all.
He didn't need to shout orders. His troopers knew the drill. They wouldn't balk; they would stand tall and fight. Maybe, I'll do the same, he thought as icy fear wound its way into his guts. He lifted his rifle, jamming a shell home into the breach, and sighted on the nearest Covenant soldiers. He fired.
On and on the Covenant charged, as if they could defeat his Marines by manpower alone. Again and again his Marines valiantly threw the Covenant back, steadily but surely losing men. Soon the valley floor became clogged with bodies, so that the Covenant had their own dead troops as added obstacles.
Nixon had watched his Marines dying. On the last charge, the Covenant had actually reached the trench. He was down to twenty soldiers, whereas the Covenant seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. And that was when they ran out of ammo.
It happened quickly; ODST after ODST suddenly found themselves with an empty rifle and no spare magazines—some were even using captured Covenant weapons or their own personal sidearm.
Looking out, beyond the Covenant bodies stacked like cordwood, he saw the Covenant preparing for one last charge. Their elite warrior Elites were coming out, igniting their large cobalt swords.
He looked around at his few soldiers, now gathered together in the middle of the trench, a fatal tactical mistake, but one, which would allow them to stand united against this final assault. "This is it, Marines." He felt his throat constrict and he swallowed quickly. "I may sound a bit cliché, but I'm proud to have served with you. Now, let's show these Covenant motherfuckers just who they're dealing with."
He surveyed his group of Marines and gave the last order he would ever give. An order that the Covenant weren't expecting. An order that would end his Marines lives pretty quickly. An order that would let them die with the fiery knowledge that they weren't going to go down meekly, but would be fighting, kicking, and screaming the whole way. An order that was tactically stupid. An order that just felt good saying. "CHARGE!"
The Master Chief, or SPARTAN 117, led the counterattack that saved the Division. With proper vehicular support, it was relatively easy to drive the Covenant back out of the valley and resume the positions left open by the ODSTs. The Chief even took it a step further and pushed the Covenant completely back out of the valley, adding more corpses to the already impressive supply that littered the valley floor.
The amazing thing was how long the ODSTs had managed to hang on. He knew there had been only a company's worth of ODSTs, yet there was a division's worth of dead Covenant. It appeared as if the ODSTs had held the valley against insurmountable odds: at least ten to one.
He continued his search of the battlefield. He had no idea why, but it seemed as if he should. He came upon the body of a lone captain. Looking back, it appeared that the ODSTs had charged, in one last desperate attempt to surprise the Covenant. And it had almost worked. Here the lone captain was surrounded by at least a dozen dead Covenant soldiers, his own armor shredded to pieces by multiple plasma hits—yet that still wasn't what had killed him.
One of the golden Elites had run him through with its Plasma Sword, yet the mystery captain had taken him down with him; the Chief could just make out the remaining spoon of the fragmentation grenade in the captain's hands. He lifted the mangled and twisted Battle Rifle off the ground and pulled out the magazine. It was empty. He had run out of ammo.
The Master Chief wondered how a lone human could've made it that far against that many Covenant—and still take so many down with him. The Master Chief stood up. This captain—his HUD now told him it was Captain Nathan Dixon—had saved the Division. If he hadn't held on for as long as he had, then General Dorkirk wouldn't have realized his error in time and the Covenant would have flanked the 3rd Marine Division and rolled 'em on up.
The Master Chief sighed, stood up, and walked back to his Warthog, his warrior's brain swirling with thoughts.
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