Staff sergeant Martin Benson sat back in his seat in the troop bay of Pelican dropship Echo 379, and nervously checked the clip in his battle rifle, even though the ammo counter on his helmet's visor read it as full. Even so, Benson had to make sure. The ammo counter was right, and the Sergeant was satisfied.
Under normal circumstances, Benson and the troops he accompanied would've rode down to the surface of Delta Halo in human entry vehicles, or HEVs. In this case, the dozen and a half Marines were required to ride down in a Pelican.
The Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, affectionately known as ODSTs, or 'Helljumpers', by the other divisions of the UNSC would need the transport later, because of the particularity of the mission. The rest of the Sergeant's squad rode in another Pelican, along with a few engineers tagging along for the ride.
From the mission briefing that Benson had received, his two squads were sent out to look for something called 'the Monitor'. Benson had always considered himself to be a fairly smart person, but he couldn't help but wonder what the Monitor looked like. The sergeant currently envisioned it as some gigantic computer screen, maybe with some sort of AI plastered across it.
Each Pelican carried with it a Warthog LRV, one armed with a gauss cannon, and one, his own Echo 379,with a LAAG machine gun.
The callsign of Echo 379 was 'Chariot', and the other's was 'Divebomb'. Benson wasn't sure how the Pelicans had received these nicknames, but he was equally sure that he wanted to know. He thought they were lousy callsigns, but he couldn't come up with anything better, and he didn't plan on bringing it up with the pilots. Navy people were touchy about their rides.
Sergeant Benson wasn't highest in command on this mission. One Lieutenant Jamison, a levelheaded woman with a flair for strategy, took that job. Rumor had it that the El-tee had the type of tactical skill that would've helped keep the SPARTAN program alive. That was no small compliment, either, considering that the Master Chief was nearly buried in the awards heaped on him, and his Career Service Vitae was equally, if not more, impressive. However, talk was cheap, regardless of who said it.
The sergeant had never met the Master Chief, but he'd served under the SPARTAN's previous commanding officer, Captain Jacob Keyes, for a short time. Keyes had been the commander of the battleship Iroquois then. Benson thought Keyes had gone crazy, until he realized that the commander was beating the pulp out of the Covenant at Sigma Octanus IV.
Idly, Benson adjusted the settings on some of his battle suit's secondary functions. The armored suit that Benson and the other ODSTs currently wore was modeled after the MJOLNIR armor that the SPARTANs were supposed to wear. The battle suit didn't have shielding, like the Mark-V and Mark-VI, but it had the same vacuum-protection systems, energy and projectile weapons protection and radiation protection. The only differences were that the Marine version of the suit had a matte black paint job, which Benson liked much better, and it looked fairly different from the Mark-VI suit.
"Lieutenant, we have two Banshees and a Phantom closing at three o'clock. Preparing to engage." The pilot paused for a moment, waiting for Jamison's reply. "Acknowledged. We're ready."
"Roger that, Lieutenant. Echo Two-Eighty-Eight, cover our six." The pilot opened up the barrier that separated the cockpit from the troop bay, and spoke into his microphone, "If someone would be so kind as to man the machine turret, I'd be much obliged."
Benson moved to undo his harness, but a zealous private, who went by the name of 'Cookie', beat him to it. The sergeant shrugged, and locked his BR-55 into a socket between his seat and the one to his right. The ODST occupying that particular seat moved his arm to allow the sergeant to lock his rifle into place.
Benson could soon recognize the rasping call that the Banshees made when they flew. One flew past the open door of the troop bay, and the private let loose a withering blast of automatic fire.
Benson couldn't tell if the woman had missed, but if she had hit the aircraft, it hadn't gone down. Benson made a subconscious decision to put on his helmet, and three-point-seven-five seconds after he did it, a fiery plasma bolt smashed into the rear of the Pelican, heating the underside of the tail of the vehicle to a bright red, slagging the last four feet from the belly of the dropship, and taking Cookie and her mounted machine gun with it. The Pelican jerked once, violently, and Benson became grateful he had put his helmet on as chips of superheated metal bounced off of his faceplate.
One of the pilots yelled, "Fuck!" and the Pelican began to shudder. Benson almost got up, but he changed his mind when the belly of the transport began to glow underneath the toes of his boots. The Marine next to Benson laughed, and they both moved their feet backwards from the hot metal. "I always wanted a foot-warmer for Christmas!" The Helljumper quipped, grinning.
Benson might have laughed under some other circumstances, but the joke didn't seem very funny in the first place. He gripped a handle on the ceiling of the troop bay, and wished he were on the ground, where he could do something useful. For a split second, Benson wondered if the Covenant troops inside the Phantom felt the same as him.
The sergeant's thoughts were interrupted by a crackle of static, and the pilot of the first Pelican spoke, his speech only breaking up a little. "Echo Three-Seventy-Nine, we have detected an suitable landing spot directly beneath us. The lieutenant believes it could be the map room for the Delta Halo installation, over." The first pilot paused to hear the response. "Roger that, Echo Two-Eighty-Eight, begin your descent. We will follow shortly."
Benson began to smile underneath his faceplate. It was agony, sitting in the dropship, waiting for the Covenant to either blow them to pieces, or be blown to pieces themselves. He knew full well that the Covenant aircraft would probably blow them apart like any other air-to-air or space combat situation, but the result on the ground would be different. The Covenant troops were far less durable than their ships, and Benson took great pleasure in that fact.
The Pelican took another hit, this time from the plasma cannons on the underside of the Phantom. The dropship shook like a dying, angry beast, and a strangled scream echoed in Benson's helmet, followed by a loud bang. The partition between the cockpit of the Pelican and the troop bay was ripped free by the wind rushing past the cripple aircraft. At that moment, Sergeant Martin Benson's life flashed before his eyes. He saw himself, in his mother's arms, the image of him a four years old, running his plastic scooter into the wall, and banging his head against it. He saw everything in only a few seconds, and it was then that Benson believed with all of his heart that he was going to die.
He might've been right. Might have, but wasn't. What the pilot had failed to disclose was that even though the island was directly beneath them, it was still a good hundred meters forward. The mangled Pelican in which Benson now fell in had enough momentum and altitude to safely slam into the top of the cliff-like barrier that protected the interior of the island, and slide across it, stopping just at the edge of the inside cliff. Benson swore for several minutes, with a passion he did not usually exhibit. The other ODSTs didn't need to say anything, because their only present commanding officer had done it for them. And in their collective opinions, it was done quite admirably. Immediately, Benson sent a radio signal to Lieutenant Jamison.
"Lieutenant, the passengers of Echo Three-Seventy-Nine are all alright. Please proceed to regroup within the interior of the island, and we'll meet you there." Benson gave a thumbs-up to the other Marines, and as he reached for the button that would release him from his seat, the ground underneath the dropship groaned. The moist soil, which couldn't hold the Pelican's weight, collapsed. The ruined vehicle was sent nose-first into the pit that was the center of the island, and flipped onto its' back. It was then, hanging upside-down from their seats on the Pelican, that the ODSTs began to laugh, climbing down from their perches, and collecting themselves from the emotional shock of nearly plummeting to their doom. One Marine commented to Benson, "It's like some higher power intervened."
Benson couldn't know how much he would wish that to happen in the days to come.
Jama 'Marumee was happy. Not the type of happiness one feels when he wakes up one day to find that he has been reassigned to the frontlines, but a happiness not far from bliss. 'Marumee had just been promoted to Special Operations Commander, and he couldn't possibly be happier. It was the highest honor a member of his brood had received, and the many hatchlings he had helped produce would sing of their sire's achievements for many years to come. The Sangheili had spent many hours polishing his bone-white armor to a high opalescent sheen.
Of course, as his own had sire always said, the proud shall soon be vanquished, 'Marumee could not help but feel great joy for his achievement. Another added bonus was the small, oddly bent object at the Elite's waist. 'Marumee gripped the object in his right hand, but did not activate it, and kept his plasma rifle in his left. He stood in front of three rows of black-clad Unggoy and Sangheili commandos.
"The High Prophet has sent us on a most glorious mission, troops. What is it?" 'Marumee growled. The excitement was gnawing at the troops. 'Marumee could see it in their eyes.
"To fight the human vermin and to die for the Prophets." They said, in a ritual started by a small group of truly faithful Covenant commanders.
"The Prophets have blessed this mission, blessed you. Your victories shall be 0sung for generations in your brood's battle poem. Even those who fall at the hands of the human infestation shall have died honorably."
'Marumee paused, for something the humans would've called 'emphasis', and then continued.
"So brethren, no matter if we live or die, we will fight. For the will of the Prophets. For the great journey! FOR THE EXTERMINATION OF HERESY AND ALL WHO THREATEN THE COVENANT!"
'Marumee roared this last sentence, and with a flick of his right wrist, activated the plasma sword, and held it high about his head. The blade throbbed a bluish-white light, and hummed vigorously.
The Covenant troops roared their approval back twofold, and 'Marumee laughed. The pilot of the transport spoke over a comm channel, "Clear the exit hatch. Activating grav lift."
'Marumee shut off the plasma blade in his hand, and placed it on his belt, allowing him to wield the plasma rifle in his right. A hatch opened in the floor of the Phantom's troop bay, and 'Marumee pointed at the first row of commandos.
"Two at a time, and provide cover for the others." 'Marumee stepped into the grav lift's circumference, and a Sangheili armed with a particle beam rifle stepped in with him.
'Marumee and his companion were propelled downward by the grav lift. A burst of projectile fire alerted 'Marumee to the human presence below. A quick survey concluded that most, if not all of the humans had survived the crash.
He grinned, and fired back. The humans were vermin, but they were as stubborn and as die-hard and any Covenant trooper. That's why killing them was so much fun.
Benson fired one burst from his battle rifle, trying to hit the Elite in the white armor. He missed, and before he could take another shot, the bastard fired back. The Elite hit a Marine whose name Benson didn't know. The Elite was either a lousy shot, or the Marine was lucky, because the plasma made glass out of the sand behind the Marine. Unfortunately, the Marine's luck lasted all of two seconds, because he was treated to a blob of plasma to the right shin.
Benson returned fire, and blasted the Elite with the particle beam rifle right in the head. Apparently, the Covenant hadn't thought to strengthen the shielding around a trooper's head. Stupid move, but advantageous to the Marines. Benson took a moment to observe the two-meter tall corpse go limp in midair, but still gently float downwards.
He decided to stop when a fuel rod crashed into the ground at the feet of the Helljumper to Benson's right, vaporizing him instantly, and turning his skeleton into a lumpy pile of carbonized bone.
At the point, Benson opened a public comm. channel, by yelling to the ODSTs. "Everyone fall back! Get behind something, or the Covenant will treat you to a fuel rod, just like Private Patterson!" He was rewarded with a few scattered agreements before he moved behind cover himself.