Prologue: Feet First Into Hell
Spartans always get the credit. We ODSTs do more on one mission than they've done on one mission.
That's what flashed through Sergeant N. Miller's mind as he watched the Phantom land in the city square. The nearby plasma bombardment hit him with a wave of heat, but he pulled through "Squad, prep weapons." he motioned toward the marines next to him. One of them spoke up 'Who made you Dictator-For-Life?" Miller shook his head. "ODST's outrank regulars like you, Marine, end of the goddamn story. Now get ready."
The light dropship's bottom started to fizzle into existence. Two bipedal creatures appeared, knees backwards, with split chins. "What the hell are those?" another of the five marines asked. "Elites, but I'll take care those, you get those." he said, pointing to a shorter, stockier alien. "Begin…NOW!" he screamed, leveling his MA5 over the sandbags they had been hiding behind. The tip of the weapon started to flash, and shell casing fell out of the back. The other marines began to fire as well, a motley group of a M6D, a M90 CAWS, and a M7. The elites shields shimmered bright white before disappearing.
The beings were taking completely by surprise, the stockier grunts falling from the marines continued gunfire. One of the elites fell, body full of bullet wounds, blue blood splashing on the ground. The other began to fire, plasma hitting the sandbags, beginning to melt them. One shot broke through, hitting one of the marines legs, k nocking him down, screaming. Miller looked down, red blood contrasting with his black ODST armor. "SHIT! BREAK FORMATION, CONCENTRATE ON THE BIG ONE!"
He ran over to a palm tree, with tree's leaves melted away from the blast. He checked the LCD screen on his rifle
Ten rounds left.
Pulling out his M90 CAWS shotgun and ran up to the elite. "EAT THIS!" he screamed, pulling the trigger on the weapon.
Boom
Blue blood and pink brain flew out of the dead elite's head, splashing the ground. Two marines ran up to the sergeant, weapons ready. "Sir, Simmons is-"
"Phantom's back!" Miller screamed, running as the two men fell, dead from the many plasma weapons on the dropship, which now focused on Miller. Running over to the man who was hit in the leg (now dead from blood loss) and grabbed the weapon on his back- a Galileian Non-Linear Rifle, or Spartan Laser. Aiming it at the Phantom's cockpit, he fired both missiles in quick succession, killing the pilot. The now-headless enemy fell, screeching along the ground, erupting into flames.
Miller ripped off his helmet, and pulled out a pack cigarettes. Dropping his helmet, he stuck one in his mouth. Lighting it, he looked at the three dead marines, the destroyed dropship, and the dead elites.
It wasn't his job to drop feet first into hell, it was to make sure it's crowded when he gets there.
"Welcome to Reach, enjoy your day." he muttered, walking down the streets of the small town as the forests around him were reduced to ash.
