Warning: This is a story of mature subject material and may move to the M-rating in the near-future.
Chapter 1
Skirmish at Gilterfig
Part 1: Like Simple Clockwork
Everything that happened that October afternoon was like a dream of military splendor, something like what you'd see some big shot movie star accomplish on the screen, only when the good guys when in the movie you cheer, but when you win in my reality you don't even say a compliment, or a "hoorah." Everything here was just so fucked up; even if you couldn't see that you heard it. I found every single second of these experiences so calm, so quiet, even with the sound of weapons going off in every direction, the moans of the wounded, or dying, human and not, they all came out, loud, but everything just seemed quiet. We acted like we didn't care, like what happened around us was nothing, except another day of life, but we did care.
Yes, this was all like a dream, but not my dream, or that of my friends. It was my father's dream, one that he would've loved to have lived through. What happened that day would've been his idea of a wet dream, with enough death and chaos to make the entertainment industry squirm in their pressed slacks and suits. Yeah, that's what it was like, and I wanted no part in this dream, because everyday someone dies, and no matter what you think about the person the impact is felt. The impact came from the increasing knowledge that defeat was inevitable.
They were beating us, and there wasn't a fucking thing that could be done about it.
-----
The sky was dark this October afternoon in the barren wastes of Progress; smog having concealed the sun of the industrious city of Gilterfig, painting the sky black, with blotches of red, creating a certain light which only distracted from the world below. Mighty factories had stopped spewing their waste from those stacks, but the damage had been done to the planet's atmosphere decades ago, and couldn't be undone. Even when the planet would burn, snap, and sputter it would still have does skies. These were the distinct skies of human industry.
Gilterfig was the largest colony of the planet of Progress (the capital), located in the outer reaches of Human Space. Progress had been established as a world where cheap, mostly machine labor, would supply the other outer worlds with goods such as plastic and iron, and each of its twelve cities, or colonies as the UNSC cataloged them, worked on processing different materials, which were shipped to them from the rural planets near the system; ones not worth mentioning on the UNSC catalog.
Here they could handle everything from food to steel, but they still weren't much a weapon manufacturer, and at this stage that was the only industry of real importance to the human race, who had been in bloody conflict for over a decade with a superiorly equipped alien opponent.
Progress was hardly worth much in the ways strategic value, but either way it'd become host to a skirmish between the alien forces of the Covenant, and a detachment of UNSC Marine Corps. Three of religious cult's ships had deployed on the planet (hardly a large attack force by Covenant standards), but since Progress had no stationed guard they didn't need much to begin destroying the planet. Only four cities stood at this point, and all production had come to a close. The planet could've been glassed by this point if it weren't for the nearby detachment of human forces, which were given the go ahead from command to engage their foe in combat above the, and on the surface of Progress.
When they engaged the enemy they soon discovered that the intent of the force was not to destroy Progress – immediately – but in fact it was to discover information on the human controlled systems. Command portions of the UNSC were alarmed by the notion, not wanting the battle to come knocking on their doorsteps on Reach or Earth, so the small detachment of five UNSC Frigates, and their marine personnel, which had originally been intended to assist the primary UNSC fleet in the area was sent to engage the enemy on the industrial world. Dropping their primary marine force to the surface by the use of 77-Troop Carrier Dropships (more commonly known as Pelicans) they soon engaged the small Covenant orbital force.
Since this planet wasn't of much value to the community as a whole the human media had yet to broadcast information regarding the battle on a universal basis, regarding it as another useless story which would only further drag down the hopes of the population. The defeats at the hands of their extraterrestrial adversaries were only increasing in number, and bringing up another loss would only further diminish the moral of the human forces back home in the key defensive worlds. If the general people didn't know a thing about Progress then they wouldn't be upset about its loss, so this is why the decision not to notify the people of the engagement was approved by all executives of the controlling government.
Two days into the conflict the Covenant orbital attack was beginning to waver, retreating from the well organized human frigate cluster, leaving much of their ground force behind. William Defoe, a veteran tactician of the UNSC fleet, had been the commanding officer, and this small victory was met with cheer by the crew of all five vessels. Soon after their initial retreat, of course, the honor driven species which commanded most Covenant military operations had wheeled back around to redeploy against the human ships, but Defoe had anticipated this, since everyone knew the Covenant Elites (as the marines liked to call the species) would never leave a force of their own kind behind in a hostile environment. They met again, and a human frigate, Hopeless Devotion, was lost, but so was one of the Covenant vessels and from there the enemy leader pulled back once again.
Now concerned about a large Covenant counterattack the UNSC has issued for the marines to evacuate all civilians on Progress, and the termination of any and all information regarding the whereabouts of the core planets, considering the likely outcome if the Covenant should get it and launch an attack on the human key worlds. Defoe agreed to this, knowing how lucky he was that he hadn't been forced against overwhelming numbers, or a single Covenant Capital Ship throughout the entire span of the fight. Soon he detached a force to start the process of evacuation and termination of core knowledge. By the time the Covenant returned they'd be met with their own dead and all useful date wiped clear from the planet; the planet would be a spent shell. It was shaping up to be a small victory for the UNSC, but a victory nonetheless. It was a good plan, but you could never tell the result until the end of the day.
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In Gilterfig, on this October afternoon a single Pelican travels across the sky, hovering a small distance from the rooftops and the s pipes of the factories below, which now no longer polluted the air with chemicals, and the machines that worked below all lay still and silent. A large Covenant strike force was within the city and it was a race against time to beat them to processing network and the endless streams of coordinates and data contained within. Only utter extrication of the enemy species would bring them piece of mind, and that's just what they intended to do.
This Pelican was entitled Bravo 012, and she carried fifteen of humanity's best, all having served a year or two in combat. They were set to be deposited near the enemy position on the road cutting across the city, the dropship being hidden behind the many large industrial structures. Once they'd landed they'd make their way into one of the processing plants overlooking the aliens' stronghold. From there the sniper teams could take position on the roof and balconies, where they could provide support for the primary assault, which would be arriving shortly after they'd deployed and secured the facility.
It was simple plan, but with the Covenant forces cut off from their frigates, and most of their own dropships out of commission they couldn't really counter the attack without outmaneuvering human forces, and that seemed unlikely to say the least. Their plans were to make quick work of their foes, and abandon the planet as soon as possible to rejoin the primary fleet. They mustn't leave any clues for the enemy fleet. The goal was to leave long before the enemy arrived, and they'd never be traced back to the central fleet.
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Inside the dropship a soldier sat, legs straight, and head tilted down in the direction of the plates which protected his thighs. Corporal Luke Gladstone wasn't the pinnacle of human fitness, and as he sat and waited in the cabin of Bravo 012 he wondered how it was that he ended up in the positions to begin with. He was tall, thin, and his skin was incredibly pale, even with the immense amounts of time he spent in the sun. His face was beaten down, flat and uninteresting, with his brown hair cut short and spiked in the front by trace amounts of grease. His father, a strong countryman and long serving veteran of the UNSC, had often referred to him as a ground dwelling individual, who'd much rather spend his time out of trouble and within the confines of his room, engaged in literature and theatrics than get out and play sports with the other kids. This wasn't true, but then again Lieutenant Harry Gladstone had never been one who visited his son on a frequent basis; a majority of the time being on tours of duty, or involved in campaigns against rebellions, and even a few campaigns at the beginning of the Human Covenant War. With his mother, Luke had led a very stationary, lonely existence, until the time he'd joined the UNSC at the start of the war. That had been one of the few times his father had actually seemed proud of him…and the first time Luke had felt depression course through his veins.
Carrying a BRR5 Battle Rifle, as opposed to the commonly used MA5B Assault Rifle, Luke made sure to go over his plan. He wasn't a part of the sniper team, but he was still important to this mission. Instead of supporting the main attack he'd be securing the bottom level of the factory, trying to find any refugees, if time permitted. A boring job, but one that had to be done; Luke would never complain about a job that kept him out of harm's way. Sure the snipers would get all the credit for this step of the operation, but Gladstone was perfectly content covering their backs, so long as he was mostly out of harm's way.
Gladstone was a part of one squad and worked with Privates Gomez, Quinn, Tate, and Sheen, and had done so for quite some time now, so this operation wasn't very difficult for them to organize. While the sniper's made their way up the stairs they'd make sure a Covenant counterstrike wouldn't make its way into the building, and they get a connection to the building's monitors so they could transmit all the data to the human flagship. They'd be out of enemy sniper range, and they'd be able to stay behind concrete walls, if there wasn't a better place to be they'd be hard pressed to find it.
Since they didn't know the strength of the enemy strike force located on the other side of the factory they didn't want to take any foolish chances; you never were to underestimate the aliens, even if the odds were in your favor. This enemy force could match, or surpass the marines in number, and that had to be taken into account during the planning stages of this operation. Actually, not so much their total number as much as it was total Elite numbers; every other species in the caste wouldn't provide much difficulty.
"ETA is two minutes, hope you all know what you're doing," Bravo 012's pilot, Johnny "War Hawk" Henderson, said over the com system.
Johnny was a good man, always got the job done right. Luke acknowledged this announcement by sliding in the first clip into his rifle with a solid click.
"I want this to by the book," Sergeant Ashton stated aloud, un-strapping himself from his harness, walking across the cabin eyeballing each marine intently. "Snipers, your priorities are enemy sharpshooters, stationary gun operators, and anyone of them that looks like they're of any importance. Until we have an idea of their numbers Command does not want is to waste ammo. That means don't get one of the little ones unless they're behind the controls of somethin'; leave those bastards to the ground teams. Look for bright colors and shoot to kill."
Kill, kill, kill them all. It's what they all had been trained to do.
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Bravo 012 set down on the street in front of the plastic processing plant at 15:23. It was only a matter of seconds before the entire group had hopped out, spreading out to clear the LZ. Wasn't long after the last one hopped out that Henderson wheeled his bird up and sped off down the streets again. The war hawk was now on the prowl. Once out of range of the nearby Covenant position he took to the skies, going off to connect with the other dropships, which would soon come to deploy the marine attack force.
Now alone the human force spread out. There were five sniper teams, being groups of two, while the five that Gladstone was a part of made their way towards the main entrance to the structure. Little pigs, little pigs…
Don't you want a pie? It's such a lovely day for fun, so come on in and join me.
Leading his squad forward Luke and his marines were the first inside, spreading out across the lobby, looking for any sign of an enemy presence within the vicinity of the compound. While he examined the surroundings, the sniper teams and two members of his command moved up the main stairwell to proceed with the operation. Go out, spread out, get out, die alone, that was always the plan, wasn't it?
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Once on the second floor the group consisting of Privates Gomez and Quinn moved out to a white hallway. Quickly they moved down this passage, knowing exactly what it was they were looking for, but keeping their weapons handy just in case a Covenant surprise was in store for them. After going down the hall for about thirty seconds they found a large, white, glass door which read: Security – Authorized PersonnelOnly. Using her rifle Quinn quickly bashed through the barrier.
The glass, the glass, it's in my eyes, mommy. Won't you pull it out?
Walking in they found a large layouts of monitors, all of which were connected to the surveillance cameras for the surrounding environment. Private Gomez was quick to approach the large computer, swift to crack open the outer casing and begin running steel instruments over the exposed wiring.
"Get ready to transmit," Gomez muttered to his companion as he ran his gloved fingertips across a series of outlets, which connected to the various wires running through the consuls
.
"Sure thing, Skippy," she replied idly looking out the door as she set down a large pack which had been slung over her shoulder with a clunk.
When Gomez found the right slot he plugged in a wire of his own into the console, which in turn connected to a tripod mounted device carried by Private First Class Quinn, who unraveled a long length of cord before running it out to the second floor's balcony. She worked at setting up the mount and spread out a transmission dish. She fiddled with the instrument for awhile before green lights flashed repeatedly, and Active Transmission shone bright on its side. Now all information, and camera feed from the station was being relayed back to the frigate Jamestown. Step Number One was now complete. Time to move on to their second step: securing the factory, and looking for refugees in need of rescue.
Tell everyone about the joyous news. It's just a party down here!
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While the connection was being established Gladstone, accompanied by Tate and Sheen inspected the lobby, which was at the entrance directly facing the street where they'd entered. Glass doors didn't help their defense. . They'd have to block up the door with something, and get a nice set of barriers near the windows. Not that the enemy would try pushing in, unless they'd grossly miscalculated the enemy's numbers. If they got this far and predictions were correct they'd be in full retreat and have no intention of engaging the facility.
"Let's get these couches up on the door and the windows," Luke announced, "we'll make a shooting gallery out of this and take them as they come out…if any make it here at all."
"Gladstone," Tate shouted from the receptionist desk, "what do we do when they come down the road, exactly?"
"We shoot them down as they run by, and make sure any counterattack doesn't make its way inside; the snipers are the priority, so we're here to make sure nothing gets them from behind. Until then, we wait and see if we can find any survivors."
So many places to hide, but only one where you will see me.
Moving behind the receptionist desk Gladstone shoved Tate aside and clicked the keyboard of the computer absent mindedly. The desktop came to life with a background of a flower covered field. Luke stopped to look at it, having not seen a peasant landscape in a long while. After a minute the screen turned black and Save me flashed across the screen. Below it waited for someone to reply to the text. A message, sent over the computer's connection. Someone knew they were here, but how? It didn't matter, someone needed help. You are required to save all refugees, anyone in need, but you need to do it now before you must fall back.
Save me, won't you, oh knight in shining armor. Oh, Luke, you shall come to me, I know you will save me, Luuuuuuuke.
-----
The Covenant force's place of refuge was a tire factory on the eastside of Gilterfig. Lackluster intel on the human production world had led them here on their search for knowledge regarding the enemy's home world, and the fact that there was nothing to show for it only angered their commander; who was a very proud Zealot. Of course it would have been easy to find another point of access on the human world, if it had not been for the arrival of a human force, which had beaten back their three frigates. It had been a bold move to lead such a small invading force in the first place, but they had little reason to believe the humans would have responded so swiftly, their sources reckoning that the humans would have this planet set as a throwaway world. Now they could only hope that the fleet would return to pull them from the surface of this filthy world, which stank of the native race's destructive tendencies.
While waiting for their evacuation the commanding Sangheili, Tor'Sala'Zis, had built up a defense around the front of the human factory. Information regarding the arrival of the human ground force had yet to reach him, but they had already anticipated the human presence, and their upcoming attack. If humans were present and the Phantoms didn't return it would be a suicide run to try and travel down the broad streets of the city. Either way the small alien force had no way out of this, unless air support was provided. Only issue that could possibly provide them with an advantage was that humans were always reluctant to destroy their own facilities, and if that was the case today then the proud Zealot would gladly exploit it. Let them come to me, for I shall show them true military might. By the honor of my ancestors, they will soon learn the fate of those who oppose the Holy Covenant.
This war had been going on long enough for him to come to the conclusion that the humans were an ignorant race, never willing to prove themselves as anything more than insects that were in need of crushing. They had no pride in themselves as a race, and only a minority of them were willing to go all out in a fight; how very pathetic. Having been a part of many victorious ground campaigns during the course of his life he would not despair over the situation which had been dealt with him. So long as he lived his force would not yield.
(Such an arrogant species these Covenant are! They don't seem to understand the importance of these humans. They will fight them as the humans fight cockroaches, or cancer, but in the end it will divide, eat, and destroy their entire standard. Heh, hah, ho, ha, he, hi, ho, hah, it makes me laugh that one as incompetent as the human race will be one of the galaxy's greatest empire's undoing!)
As Tor strolled along his front line of their defense, he managed to hear a distant sound, faint at first, but only grew louder as time progressed. It turned out to be the distinct hum of the humans' own dropships, which ran on louder engines than their own, technologically superior, Phantoms. The humans were making their move, and he could only hope that he held the upper hand. So it was destined that his hand would be forced on the edge of this disgusting facility, something that he thought with extreme distaste. Let them come to me, so I can give them a taste of what is to come to all who were unfortunate enough to be born into this dirty race.
(Don't concern yourself with the men of the sky. You're already taken.)
Roaring the commander awoke the camp, and soon chaos was unleashed as the races scrambled. The alien camp was in alarm at the word of an attack, all the races coming forth to fight for their very lives. It was a diverse race, from small to large, and all of them tried to work together as one unit, but their spirits were universally down, except, of course, for the proud Sangheili, who were ready to die at any given moment. Too bad there were only ten of them in total.
(Run, run, run, gingerbread men, run, run, run, into the valley of the milk.)
Getting word from his scouts the commanding Zealot learned that there were five of the human vessels coming at them in a V-formation, which was the standard formation of a human deployment. They probably intended to deploy behind the cover of the buildings, and move their way through them as they attacked. Perhaps they intended to hit the position with rockets and heavy weapon fire before the ground attack; Tor had to guess they didn't intend on destroying the structure entirely, or else no defense was going to hold up.
(Yoooouuuu-hew will be part of the gar-har-bage.)
Shouting garbled orders the commanding figure ignited his blade which shone bright in the dim city streets, pointing down the road. Humans had been deposited behind the buildings to the east of the tire factory, and would make their way to the front. The size of the force was unknown, but his pride was unyielding. He'd make sure that the force would fight as hard, and with as much honor as he did. The Covenant forces were infallible under his guidance, at least that's what his command believed so. I will triumph, they will die.
(You don't light the tower when the enemy circles your bay.)
The Covenant might have been indomitable under his leadership, but in the moments before they were engaged by the marines Tor'Sala'Zis' head exploded in a mass of brain tissue and purple blood. The first victim of the sniper teams on the factory across from them.
(So much for the famous "I think I can, I think I can" philosophy.)
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Elijah Gomez was a skilled technician and it didn't take him long to establish a full connection between the factory's server and that of the Jamestown. He's always enjoyed tampering with electronics, ever since he was ten his father had brought him home pieces from the scrap yard, which he would assemble and reassemble multiple times. By the time he was fifteen he could typically take these pieces and turn them into working devices. Before this war he wouldn't have actually been placed on the field, because as a soldier he was mighty frail, and his aim wasn't all that great. It was the desperate times that had him suited up in armor, working the controls of this monitor.
You know you're pathetic when you place arms in the hands of nerds.
Right now the Jamestown was sucking the factory's hard drive clean of any useful information regarding the location of Earth, or any other key human systems. The connection was simple and reliable, but interference would become frequent once the actual conflict had begun. The transmissions would take longer to relay and all sorts of shit could happen during that time. He could hear the cracking of rifles as they discharged their lethal rounds in the direction of the enemy positions, the low rumble of approaching pelicans making its way in the building as well. So far it was just a duel between the enemy snipers and their own, which didn't cause any systems to really get knocked out of whack, but once that main assault had begun plasma had a way of distorting the signals sent out by this old equipment.
Yeah, work the circuits all you want, you'll die once you really get out. Luckily you won't be getting out for some time. Lucky, lucky Gomez.
"Gro-Gomez-errrrrrsh," his ear piece spit out full of static, "Grrrr-et down here right skreeesh now!" The voice was agitated, but it was even more confused. There was something that someone didn't understand and screamed for immediate assistance.
"Shit," the private muttered to himself, the basic radios were getting fuzzy and he was only on the second floor. Even with the voice masked by static he could recognize the corporal. Whatever it was he needed to respond, so he left his gear running, scooped up his SMG and made his way to the lobby. Had to be damn important since Luke knew the importance of relaying all the information back to the Jamestown; normally he wouldn't dare interrupt his work.
Yes please, get out of the circuits and bring him to me.
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Author's Note: This is the first serious fan-fiction I've posted not pertaining to the Alien movie franchise. It has been awhile since I was really into Halo, because the excuse for plot an AI in the third game seriously came close to killing the series for me, but thank God the first game kicks so much ass. I hope you enjoy this story, because I know some of you all who read it won't get some of it. Don't lie some of you are going "Glass in eyes, WTF?" right now. Hell, I don't even get some of that mysterious dialogue thrown in at convienent locations, but I can assure you this all comes together as plot moves on. I think I have one, or two more parts to the Battle of Gilterfig, and will try to post them as soon as possible.
If you have anything to say please leave a review. If you have any questions leave them in your review.
Thanks for reading, sincerely,
Reef