HALO: NEW CONTACT
If you are a halo fanatic like me, then you will recognize this as a prelude to the first scenes of halo3. I don't own any rights or characters in or about halo, and this work is entirely fictional and devoid of any real correspondence to the actual events in game or otherwise. Feel free to review or criticize, it's my first submission and real story and i am looking for input. Actually, PLEASE review it, i want to know that someone has actually read this. Thanks! (Ive gone ahead and edited most of the language to make it more suitable for readers, Hoepfully it will not take away from its effect."
Definitions for all you non-halo people (why would you be reading this if you are one? Most of you know this stuff, but i included it just in case.)
Marines: military force shipped around by the UNSC navy. Primary miltary forces of humanity.
Covenant: social cast of different alien races, all hostile to humans, with superior technology and manpower. Led by a Prophet(s), and formally commanded by Elites, now by Brutes. Other species mentioned herein include Jackals, serving as scouts and sharpshooters, and Grunts, which are almost comedic "cannon fodder", used as front line infantry, or living shields.
Seperatists: A former member of the Covenant, mainly Elites, who broke away and are sided with humans
Master Chief: UNSC soldier, specifically a Spartan, who fights inside an armor suit, with enhanced speed, reflexes, and strength. He is the character that the player controls in game.
Cortana: UNSC shipboard artificial intelligence, who can interface with the Master Chief's armor. She holds information crucial to Earth's victory.
Flood: Parasitic lifeforms that turn hosts into mutant zombies. Ahhh!
Pelican: nickname for UNSC troop carrier dropship
MA5-C: updated version of the Halo 1 assault rifle, fires automatic, more acurrate rounds, smaller clip size.
Particle Beam Rifle: Covenant sniper rifle. Carbine: Covenant medum-range rifle, fires green plasma shots. The Covenant have other assorted plasma weaponry, such as pistols and rifles, however.
The Arbiter: One of the Seperatist Elite's two commanders, who is seen and fought alongside with often throughout Halo2 and 3.
Anything else, just figure it out. There will eventually be approx. 3 parts. Enjoy.
PART ONE
"Crap!"Jimmy yelled, grasping futilely at the air were his helmet had just been. He was afraid to look, but he dared a glance over the edge. Christ, he thought. The green topper was gone already, falling towards the Earth. He pulled his head back inside the cargo bay, bent over, and vomited. He had forgotten that he was terrified of heights, but the view of a ten thousand foot drop quickly reminded him.
Sergeant Major Avery J. Johnson grabbed him by the gruff of the neck, and threw him back into his crash seat violently. "Can't hold your lunch, marine?!" He barked through clenched teeth. For a moment Johnson looked puzzled and stopped chomping his cigar.
"Were the hell's your helmet?" He noticed.
"It fell…Sarge."
"Well go get it! That cost the Corps a lot of money." Johnson said, with perfectly counterfeited seriousness. He was staring down the young marine. These greenhorns, they're not even eighteen yet, he thought to himself. We're sending boys to fight a man's war.
"Sarge, it fell…like really far. I'll be okay, I promise. I don't plan on getting shot."
"Dammit son, I don't care if you're alright, it's the tech in that helmet I'm worried about! And believe me; no one ever plans on getting shot."
The color drained from Jimmy's face, he stared in unspeakable horror at Johnson. Nothing was scarier than the infamous battle-hardened black marine staring you down. For a moment all was quiet, except for the wine of the drop ship's engines. Johnson's eyes were fierce. If looks could kill, Jimmy would have been six feet under. The rest of the squad was silent.
Sarge couldn't hold it in any longer, he collapsed laughing, almost losing his stubby cigar. Johnson liked to joke around and he wouldn't hurt a fly (assuming the fly wasn't an enemy). He knew that he was intimidating, but inside he cared for each and every marine like his own kin; he just had a strong sense of humor. But Jimmy didn't laugh: he was petrified.
"I'm pulling your leg, Private! Haha! Get it? A joke?" He tried to convince him, but Jimmy was still aghast. Johnson patted him hard on the back, tossed him a spare helmet and a rag, and told him to clean himself up. The duration of the flight was silent.
The Pelican was nearing the designated landing zone. The marines needed to gear up. Jimmy barely could find were to put the MA5-C's magazine, and the others weren't much better. Pvt. Ramirez couldn't even find the safety on his handgun. Holy Mary, these boys are going to get eaten alive down there, Johnson thought as he handed Ramirez's pistol back to him. The war had been going on for so long that there were barely any experienced marines left, and there weren't that many humans surviving in general. It scared him that in a few minutes he'd be fighting alongside them, while he was basically babysitting them. May as well have given a rifle to a kindergartener.
"Hey Sarge, turn down that crap!" Owens called out, referring to the heavy metal that began screaming through the Pelican's speakers. The others joined in the incoherent rambling.
"That crap is good music son; it's a part of your heritage as a human being!" He barked in response.
"Yeah well, I wouldn't mind it if the Covenant glassed over that piece of history. How can you stand that stuff? ...Sarge? Sarge!?"
Johnson had drifted, he wasn't there anymore. No, he was still in a pelican, but someplace else. Owens and Ramirez and James, Wayne and the others were gone; he was with another squad of marines. And Jenkins. Poor Jenkins, Christ. They were landing, and it was swampy. The marines were joking at his music again, but he ordered everyone to resort to radio silence. Hand signals only. They began moving, trekking through the swamp, towards a fate worse than death, towards terrifying, horrific, traumatizing pain…
He snapped out of it.
"Sarge, you alright?" The marines were concerned, all perceivably worried.
"I'm fine boys, I just drifted off there. We're gonna hit the LZ hard, make sure you got your guns in order." He played his prior trance off, simultaneously cocking his own MA5-C rifle. "Everyone geared up?"
The marines acknowledged, except for Owens asking for a second grenade.
"Let's review our objectives one last time." Johnson suggested. "Spartan 117, the Master Chief, landed somewhere in this god-forsaken jungle last night. We're tasked with finding him and bringing him back to Crow's Nest, our temporary HQ in this sector. We have his relative coordinates, but we are dropping in approximately a mile from his site in order to clear an escape route of any hostiles."
Johnson hated briefing his marines; it made the situation into a field report. They were really going to rescue the Chief, who was possibly Earth's last hope. He also happened to be Johnson's long-time friend. Johnson didn't tell his marines that the Chief was dead, however. The Spartan's GPS tracker hadn't moved in over six hours, which meant he was dead. Spartans didn't stay in the same place alive for six hours.
No, his platoon was really tasked with retrieving the AI construct Cortana. She held the secrets needed to finally destroy the Covenant and save humanity, and was in possession of the Master Chief, who was certainly dead. Johnson just wished that they were going to rescue Master Chief.
Johnson paused. "First squad, you're our scouts. Wayne, Owens, Ramirez, Caponi, and Connolly. That means you keep it quiet, total recon. Don't fire a single round until second squad, Sampson, Norton, Golding, Kohl and me, get into position. We've got a lot of ground to cover, so don't get separated. And we are coordinating with Bravo Team. They are opening up an escape route ahead of us. This mission is all about timing, every step has to go perfectly." They all nodded approvingly, and then sat anxiously in silence.
"Sir, what are we fighting? We've all heard about the Covenant, but really, what are we up against?" Jimmy inquired. These men were definitely green alright, but honestly Johnson wasn't sure of the answer himself.
The Sangheili, known as Elites, were now separatists. Their species had abandoned The Covenant and sided with the humans. But the rest of the Covenant was in turmoil; almost all of the species had their own separatists and loyalists, so really they could encounter anything. They would certainly come across Brutes however; the apelike aliens were ferociously loyal to The Covenant.
"We don't know. Keep your eyes open, anything that moves is bound to be hostile. Don't let your guard down, marines."
"Sergeant Major, I'm beginning the descent. Get ready." The pilot's voice crackled over a faulty comm. signal. Johnson re-cocked his rifle, shook the clip, aimed down the sights, and lowered it back down, satisfied with the weapon. They were expecting heavy resistance.
The Pelican lowered beneath the foliage, hovering ten feet above the forest floor. The ten marines piled out, jumping, or in Jimmy's case falling to the ground below. Johnson was out first with his rifle raised. He spun around, checking his fire zones. No contacts. The rest of the squads formed up, moved in a delta pattern out of the small clearing, and paced into the thicket.
The Pelican noisily lifted off. Then everything was silent, except for a few exotic birds. It was hot, dark, and foggy. Combined with the jungle's density, it was almost impossible to see. But Johnson was worried: they should be shooting by now. Where was the enemy?
"Sarge, where's the enemy?" Jimmy asked frantically, almost reading his mind. Johnson raised a finger to his lips and mouthed "shh" silently in response. The rest of the marines were watching him: his assault rifle was raised, tracking an invisible target. The marines were worried now; they all clicked off their safeties and peered into the clearing, searching for what the Sergeant saw.
"AHHH! Sarge!, where is it? Tell me!" Jimmy yelled. The others tried to quiet him, but he lost it! The suspense was eating away at him- he got up and ran out into the clearing screaming, doused with sunlight, and violently spun head over heels as a blue contrail of plasma slammed into his head.
The other nine sat quietly, horrified, one threw up. They were totally unnerved; a sniper had shot Jimmy dead.
"That's why you follow orders." Johnson whispered coolly to the men without lowering his sights. For another minute they all crouched silently, unmoving, with Jimmy's corpse laying in the sun. It was tense, the squad was terrified to even move, but they were antsy. The Covenant forces could be all around them, waiting for the marines to take one wrong step. They strained their eyes and ears searching for an enemy, but all they heard were crickets and squawking birds, and there was nothing to see aside from the green brush.
Then the intense tranquility was broken by an echoing squawk, but it was unlike any bird: it was unnatural and terrifying. Owens was just about to ask what it was, but his jaw dropped when he saw it: across the clearing a limp rag doll was ejaculated from the undergrowth. The alien carcass twisted unnaturally into a slump, dripping with purple blood. Then everything became still again.
"Lower your weapon, human." A deep voice commanded only feet behind the marines. All but Johnson wheeled around, and screamed in unison. A dark Elite hunched before them. Johnson sighed and was at ease.
"Boys, this is the Arbiter. He's on our side." Johnson grinned.
The marines were still petrified. They had never seen a live alien before, and suddenly an eight-foot-tall reptilian monster towered over them. He was adorned with futuristic medieval amour covering his purple body. In his hand was the distinct glowing shape of a Covenant energy rifle, which hummed slightly. His mandibled mouth glowed orange and surprisingly spoke in fluent English: "You are here for your Spartan, correct?"
"Yeah" Johnson replied regrettably.
"You go your own way, I will take the ridge." He pointed up to a mountainous outcropping in the distance. "We will meet up later. Beware of more Jackals; there are sharpshooters throughout these woods." And with that the Elite turned and ran off into the thicket, simultaneously turning invisible with his light-bending camouflage.
As soon as the Arbiter had disappeared Johnson ran out to Jimmy, but he didn't need to check him over. The boy was dead, no doubt about it. A helmet couldn't save him from that shot. A marine asked about the Arbiter and Johnson told him not to worry, just be happy that he was on their side. Most of them were just as confused; they had just met, and then seen off a friendly alien? They knew the Elites had sided with humanity but never expected to actually see one, let alone be saved by it.
They all regrouped, squad 1 headed off northward first, while squad 2 waited. They were to give first squad a three minute advance start. In the meantime Johnson commandeered the dead Jackal's particle beam rifle. It was lightweight, yet very strong, because of the alien metals that it was composed of. The battery cell glowed purple as Johnson tested its sights. Lately he had been getting accustomed to these weapons.
It had been three minutes. They radioed a confirmation signal and quietly headed into the jungle. Johnson was on point, occasionally pausing at moments to scope out the origin of a noise or sudden movement. The rest of the marines followed. After a minute or two they received an alert message from first squad, and they regrouped. Second squad was stopped only a few hundred meters ahead.
When they met up they saw why they had stopped: beneath their feet lay the bodies of a dozen dead Covenant. Strewn over the rocky forest were bodies of fat little Grunts, three more vulture-like Jackals, and even a large, scorched corpse that could only be a Brute. Splatters of multi-colored blood dripped from ferns and wildflowers, and the abandoned plasma weapons glowed on the ground. The carnage was so recent that flies hadn't even begun to swarm over the dead.
The marines took time to stare in awe at the remains, while a few collected plasma pistols as souvenirs. Pvt. Ramirez caught the attention and amusement of the others as he failed to brandish the Brute's unwieldy grenade launcher. He picked it up, trying to show off, and proceeded to collapse backwards onto its previous owner's body. He scrambled off, disgusted, as the others laughed.
Johnson, however, had a grave look on his face. Clearly the Arbiter had been through here: he must have used his active camo to get a surprise attack on the Covenant patrol. It looked as though he had used a plasma grenade to soften them up, and then shot up the rest. But patrols always carried a beacon, which meant there was a search party incoming...
END PART ONE