Year: 2251
If there ever was an iconic sound in the Human - Covenant war, it would be the sizzle of latent plasma binding to the skin of a soldier.
Morgan imagined it would be quite painful to die by plasma - he had seen other marines and even a couple of his own Spartan brethren fall to that fate, and he aimed not to follow suit.
His prosthetic legs clanked against the metal floor of the Ironside as he jogged to the hangar. Squads of soldiers, marine, ODST, and Spartan alike were being scrambled. The Ironside was preparing to deploy onto the planet titled FA-11, a lush, green planet rich in resources. Of course, the Covenant had gotten to it a few light years ahead of the Ironside and had already established a few outposts and mining operations by some of the more exposed coastlines. This was a no-no as far as the UNSC was concerned. These resources could potentially be vital to the war effort, not including the massive opportunity for colonization and thus rebuilding the already hedged human population.
As such, Morgan was being sent in to do the grunt work. Wonderful.
His and the other soldiers' mission was to secure a coastline (hereby referred to as Monca Beach) so the UNSC could gain a foothold on the planet. This was the first step in the capture of this planet, so they couldn't fuck it up. Resistance was expected to be about medium (assuming you consider a bit less than a hundred Covies as 'medium').
The Spartan III loaded onto a pelican with his chaingun in hand and waited for the others to settle. This trip should take around ten or so minutes, as long as they aren't shot down or something. How crazy would that be?
Eight minutes later...
Turns out, that isn't as far fetched as one would think. Morgan soon found himself clutching to the overhead bar while his pelican careened toward a jungle. One marine, a private, had already died from being flung out of the cargo bay (the door having been melted down by a Banshee's plasma missile), and a few others looked like they were about to succumb to the same fate.
Morgan poked a couple of holes in the floor with his metallic feet and dug them in to resist the G-forces threatening to end his life by a very long fall.
"Oh, just my fucking luck."
A/N: "Monca Beach" is spelled correctly. It is not to be confused with "Monica Beach".