Ahh Reach. Great game. R&R, enjoy.
"Well this ain't good," Spartan 177 said out loud. He pulled out his Sniper Rifle and began picking off Covenant before the order to fire could even be given. Spartan 177 loved kicking ass, and the Sniper Rifle was one of his favorite ways, especially from the Falcon he was currently riding in. The killing machine took a moment to calm his breathing, and fired again, watching an Elite's head pop of and fall to the ground, scattering Grunts.
Over the years, 177 had collected an armor set that most certainly complemented his fierceness in battle. The jetpack on his back whined as it went through a warm up cycle. He wore the paratrooper knee guards, UA Multi Threat shoulder patches, and a hard case. Data pad free of charge from command. The ODST styled helmet scanned the battle field for more Elites and Hunters through a black tinted visor. Top it all off with a steel paint job with blue highlights, you had Spartan 177.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and paused his firing to turn around. Spartan… D-183, was yelling at him to wait for the order to fire. 177 ignored him. The other Spartan still wore the generic grey armor, without a single upgrade on him. Not even so much as a kill scratch. 177 brushed him off and fired off the last two shots in his Sniper magazine in quick succession; using the recoil from the first to line up the second. An Elite and Jackal fell to the ground, both with rather large holes in their chests.
As 177 popped out the magazine, he used the corner and made 4 more small scratches next to the stock, where a growing collection was already taking residence. Only his Sniper Rifle earned such respect for kills, the rest of this Spartan's kills could be seen in the hard case. He carried a click counter so he could keep track with out having to slow down his reign of death on the Covenant. Sadly the counter stopped after 999, the data pad on his left wrist was never used for more than a place to record kills and make notes on the missions he was on.
The Spartan behind him was yelling at him to stop when 177 spotted something out of the corner of his eye when the pilot made a sharp turn. Something green and glowing was on its way. The falcon slowly turned, the added weight of the two Spartans made the copter a very slow and tasty target. Without thinking twice, he stood up and punted the second Spartan out, the grenade launcher mount falling out with him. He clipped the Sniper Rifle the his back.
"See you on the other side!" 177 yelled roughly to the pilot as he stepped out, one hand pinched over his "nose", the other high in the air. As he plummeted to Reach, he saw the Falcon barely dodge the Fuel Rod Cannon discharge. 'Thank Grunts for small favors.'
Right now more pressing matters came to mind. The grey Spartan had managed to hold onto the grenade launcher. It looked good with him, the gray of his suit that was. Even if he was a little short, for a Spartan that is. While not designed for two fully suited Spartans, 177 grabbed D-183's free hand, and kicked in the boosters. The jetpack complained, but it slowed the speedy decent enough that both had managed to recover quite well. 177 let his tough suit absorb the impact as he dropped to one knee. D-183 rolled it out, bringing the grenade launcher to bare. The two did a quick look around and stood.
"What the fuck was that!" D-183 yelled. That was all he got out, because at that moment a bean came between them, deadly and ready to turn them into human steaks. The two dived behind a large rock; 177 pulled out his Sniper Rifle once more and reloaded. D-183 ripped what remained of the mount off of the launcher and tossed it to the ground. 177 opened a channel to him. The stared at the visor and gave him a small little blip over the com channel. One blip came back, green.
The two peeled from behind their cover, to face more Covenant than the UNSC would ever want two Spartans fighting without any back up. To most, it would be a death sentence. But even to Spartans as green as D-183, this was the coffee to breakfast.
The sharp report of the Sniper Rifle sounded as all four rounds left in three seconds. All four found their mark, well before D-183 had fired off his first shell. 177 was already adding marks the the Sniper Rifle. It was however quickly switched out with the Assault Rifle on his right thigh, where a pistol normally was clipped. Something could be said for bringing out as much as you could when you can. He fired in short bursts, watching Grunts fall as the pair of walking death machines slowly made their ways forward.
D-183 was doing just as well. He had to angle the Launcher high in order to hit much, but more often than not it would hit a Grunt who had just pulled out a grenade, resulting in a plethora of explosions. It was an art really, to watch those shells sail through the air, and as they got closer, skip along the ground into a trio of Jackals. The Spartans took cover as several Fuel Rod Cannon shots flew by.
"I want that weapon!" 177 yelled. To anyone who didn't know 177, they would say he sounded crazy happy. But 177 was happy. Happy to have a chance to return some of the favors some Grunt was giving them. D-183 clicked blue once over the com; the two broke cover and split up, diving the fire between them.
The Launcher was on its last couple shells, and D-183 spent them as fast as he could. Bodies tore in half and flew around his, their blue blood splattering his helmet a little. He spotted an Elite and fired the final shell in his direction. The shields flickered, and the Elite charged at him.
With nothing more than a pistol on his hip, D-183 waited till the last moment and jumped, planting both of his heavy boots into the Elites face. The two felt to the ground, the Elite dazed and rolling in his heels. D-183 quickly scrambled over to the Elite, seeing his opportunity. He pistol whipped the Elite in the stomach, who gasped and choked for air. D-183 shoved the pistol into the disgusting creatures mouth and fired. Fired three shots, three holes appeared in the back of its head. D-183 didn't know if it was because his first real firefight was with a crazy that he himself felt like a lunatic, but he stood grinning, the Elites head still wrapped around his hand and pistol. He gave a half hearted punch and let the dead Elite fall down. The shields recharged; t was from the double kick to the face he had given only moments ago.
"Recharge that," D-183 said calmly. He noticed a rather odd shaped launcher that the Elite might have had strapped to him. D-183 recognized as an Elite Shot, as it was called amongst some Spartan teams. He picked it up and headed towards 177 to help out.
177 was in no rush to have help, nor did he need it. The short bursts had been changed to steady runs from the Assault Rifle. The tossed a couple grenades, taking only a millisecond to count in his head how many he had caught in the explosions. It was only moments later that the rifle had emptied. 177 dropped the empty magazine. He pulled out the last magazine he had for the rifle, but took a moment to use the broad side to slap a Jackal, sending the many toothed creature spinning, blood coming from its eyes. 177 fired of the last magazine in a long burst, leaving the deadly weapon empty and Grunts and Jackals alike deprived of life. A Hunter stepped around the corner and took a couple heavy steps towards him. The giant beast slammed its large thick shield into the ground, sending dirt and a couple Grunt parts flying.
177 almost sighed as he tossed the empty Assault Rifle to the ground. He drew out the Sniper Rifle lazily, like a child not wanting to do a chore. Without even having to sight the weapon in, he fired one round. The Hunter stood still as the bullet passed through the impossibly small space that could be termed the Hunter's face. It fell to the ground and 177 admired his handy work, taking a moment to use the dead Hunter's shield to scratch another mark into the Sniper Rifle.
His vigil was broken by the sound of a double yellow blip over the com. A 'drop what your doing and get over here' signal. 177 quickly grabbed the long barreled Needle Rifle. Using his jet pack he soared above the trees and rocks, he quickly spotted D-183 pushing back three Elites. Even though he was a Spartan, that only got you so far. D-183 was firing left and right, kicking up a lot of dirt but scoring much in the way of hits. It was right then that D-183 had to reload. 177 shot the closest Elite, firing straight down into its head, watching the shields flicker and die. The Elite never had time to look up, 177 had already pulled out his knife and shoved it into the head. The other two turned and fired their plasma weapons and roared. 177 picked up the dead body and using it for a barrier momentarily before kicking it at the next Elite.
"Tag!" D-183 called out, stepping in front of 177 and firing the Elite Shot at the Elite who was not distracted by a flying body. The grenades made quick work of the body, 177 was sure he saw the body crumble from the concussion long before the shields fell. As the remaining Elite tried to rise, the two concentrated their fire, the Launcher raining the grenades around it, the Needle Rifle surgically shooting the Elite to bits. Knees first, then three to the stomach, then one to the chest and head. Smoke and dust settled, the smell of cordite and burnt flesh in the air.
"You're pretty handy with that," 177 commented, tossing the spent rifle to the ground.
"Thanks," D-183 said, as if not knowing what else to say. 177 opened his Tac-Pad and totaled his kills, pausing at the last one.
"Dibs," 177 quickly said, and punched it in. He showed the total kills for the little firefight.
D-183 raised an eyebrow in his helmet, noticing for the first time just how many bodies now lay out there. "No way man. Last one was mine."
"You wish tenderfoot," 177 said, putting the Tac-Pad away. He pulled out a small thin rod. He mostly used it only to sharpen the combat knife on his shoulder, but 177 figured this was a special occasion.
"Whats are you doing?" D-183 asked as 177 walked behind him. Across the shoulder blades he carefully carved out the armor finish, leaving behind a couple words, and a rough but simple picture of an explosion.
"What did you write?" D-183 asked as he heard command calling them, telling them EVAC was on the way.
"They look better blown up," 177 said simply. He put away the sharpener and surveyed the carnage. He remembered the carnage from earlier, and the Hunter. Strange there was only one.
The Spartans turned to look across the field; to a Scarab, and a whole company of Covenant. And one very pissed off looking Hunter. This time, there was just too many. The Scarab was a lot to handle just on its own, but this?
"I think I have enough shells," D-183 said, loading a new canister in the Elite Shot. "What do you have left death dealer?"
177 took his Sniper Rifle and began to back pedal. Zooming in as far as he could, he finally saw the head of an Elite running for them.
"More than you!" 177 called out. The two continued their advancing retreat, secretly hoping reinforcement could get there before the Scarab got in range.
There you have it! Part one complete! Stay tuned for more ass kicking from a Spartan who laughs in the face of danger. For more awesomeness, read while playing 'I don't wanna stop - Ozzy Osbourne'. somehow it fits. And know for all you nuts like me...
You ever wonder why we're here?