Operation Archangel
Chapter 1
John checks the counter on his MA5B, 15 rounds left, more than enough.
He looks across the street to where Fred's crouching behind the demolished warthog that he, Fred, Kelly and Linda were riding in not 2 minutes ago, he pops his head up every now and again unleashing a torrent of shotgun rounds towards the line of jackals; not doing significant damage, but at least he's got them keeping their ugly, avian heads well and truly behind their energy shields.
John and the rest of Blue team had been riding to Rally Point Bravo to hook up with Yellow Team, who he left to defend the LZ. John knew Yellow team hated being stationary, but they drew the short straw. Besides, John-117 and the rest of Blue team had more experience collecting valuable items, and the one they now carry and protect, could save millions within the coming months.
…and now they were going to be late.
A Plasma shot scorches the edge of the wall that John is taking cover behind; melting the concrete like glue would polystyrene. Acting on reflex, John rounds the corner, levels his rifle and lets off a short burst of hot metal death. The rounds catch a scrawny, orange and red quilled Jackal off guard, the high explosive rounds tearing the back of its head off, before ricocheting into the methane tank of a Grunt taking cover behind the line of shielded Jackals.
The subsequent explosion is short and sweet; the Spartans visors automatically polarize to the intensity of the bright blue flash, the armour from the doomed Grunt fragging every living organism within a five meter radius. John smirks.
"Nice shot!" calls Fred.
"Lucky" replies John, but then, John has always been the lucky one.
The gap in the ranks is quickly refilled, much quicker than John expected. "C'mon girls", John says to no one in particular.
A thunderous, guttural roar bellows, which can only mean one thing: Reinforcements. John peers round the corner to see the hulking, drooling forms of Brutes, a Brute pack. Growling, they encourage the Jackals and Grunts forwards, beginning the slow advance towards the two pinned prey. The Brutes looked forward to gnawing on their bones.
"Things just got a whole lot more interesting Chief" says Fred.
John nods and checks the counter.
10 rounds left.
Still Kelly's and Linda's status indicators are red. As a series of grenade rounds from the Brutes grenade launchers, which the UNSC named "The Brute Shot", impacts on Fred's cover, rocking the overturned warthog, nearly toppling the three tonne machine on top of the Spartan II.
"Need to move" says Fred through gritted teeth as the pressure wave beats like a drum across his back.
"Get ready to move, I'll provide cover" - John preps his remaining two grenades, the pins fall to the floor with a jingle.
"On my count, 3, 2," – Time slows, John releases the striker leavers, they spin away from his hands in a graceful arc. The grenades are armed.
"1, GO!" cries John.
John tosses the grenades as a pitcher would throw a baseball, his super strength meaning they flew faster than any professional sportsman could ever dare hope for.
The first comes to rest amongst the jackals feet, the other smacking a Brute on the right flank square in the face, breaking its already flat nose an splintering several of its canine teeth. The grenades make a satisfying "CRUMP CRUMP" as they detonate a fraction of a second later, killing a half dozen of the grunts and jackals outright, wounding another half dozen more and effectively decapitating the brute, the roar it had begun to bellow in pain from a broken face finishes as a wet fart escaping from its now exposed wind pipe.
Fred is up and sprinting away from the Warthog before the enemies bodies have even hit the floor, bounding over the rubble from the dead city, mini explosions, spikes and plasma energy nipping at his heels.
Several rounds from those covenant not either not reeling or caring about the devastation wrought by Johns grenades manage to find their mark, flaring Fred's shield, slowly draining the protective charge, 70%, 48%, 22%. Got to move faster, but the incoming fire is heavy and relentless.
John rounds his corner once more and let's rip with the Assault Rifle. The Covenant soldiers are either focusing on Fred or are picking themselves up from the carnage the grenades had done. They're not prepared for him and suffer dearly. Every round impacts on something organic; limbs are torn off from the smaller species or become buried in skulls and chests. Several rounds hit the brute, just right of centre, tearing great chunks of meat out of the monsters throat; it releases a gurgled cry and collapses in a heap, clawing at the sky.
Click.
The analogue counter on the rear of the rifle flashes 00.
Out of ammo.
That's when it happens. Fred's shield continues whittle away: 8%, 1%. The shields dissipate with a pop of static. A spike, strikes Fred between his armour plating in the shoulder blade, sending him spinning like a Dreidel.
John watches on, eyes wide in horror.
"Fred!"
Fred manages somehow to regain his footing and stumbles behind the mass concrete barrier he was originally aiming for, which once would have served as a road block during the evacuation of the cities people.
"Gn...that's gonna be sore in the morning" Fred grunts.
Fred flashes his green light indicator several times to make the point that he's fine and not in need of immediate medical attention. The Master Chief, ducks as more rounds ping off the wall next to him. He attaches his rifle to the magnetic clips between his shoulder blades and unclips the pistol on his thigh.
As John turns the corner to put his remaining rounds down range time, once again moves in slow motion. Standing in front of him is the largest Brute he thinks he may have ever seen, the beast is easily nine feet tall.
A rookie mistake, John was too busy focusing on Fred and never even heard this juggernaut creeping up on his position, which by no means must have been an easy feat. His stomach turns icy and his heart skips a beat, as he looks into the deep, soulless black eyes of this new foe. The massive Brute roars, spittle and remnants of its last meal flecking onto Johns visor. John raises his pistol.
John saw it before he heard it. Before he can squeeze the trigger the Brutes eyes roll into the back of its head as the sniper rifle round tears out the base of the Brutes skull through its mouth, tearing out meat and bone through a newly formed hole the size of a grapefruit.
Linda.
Linda's and Kelly's status indicators shine bright green, Johns new favourite colour, as two explosions rock the street from Kelly's rocket launcher.
"You two took your time" sighs the Master Chief, standing over the crumpled body of the deceased monster, squeezing his pistol at the defensive line that has begun to break.
"You know us Chief, we like our dramatic entrances" quips Kelly.
The zip, crack of Linda's sniper rifle makes John smile. Linda doesn't miss.