Okay, chapter two. Leave a review to tell me what you think, I can't improve all that much if you don't tell me what's wrong. Don't be afraid to point out errors, (not the plot ones that are undoubtedly there), just don't be an arse about it.
There are some characters here that you can help personalise. If you have an idea for them let me know (a PM will do fine).
Eterna1Soldier: Coming from you that is the best thing I've ever seen in my review box ever. Thanks and I hope I don't disappoint.
To the guest; I did mention Forerunner involvement was off screen, as in; ONI and the UNSC have been studying Forerunner relics to improve their technology for decades. the civil war was just a catalyst for them to invest in it.
Falkland, Camp Moore, September 13, 2560
They'd been on patrol for nearly three hours. Through the shrouded woods and along a wide muddy path with a water filled rut on their left. The trail twisted and turned through the tall dark black tree trunks. If the lithe alien trees had thicker coverage like oak trees on earth, David doubted he would even be able to see where they were going. They were all carrying a full load of kit- nearly eighty pounds of gear along with their armour, ammo and rifle. Carrying it for so long in freezing cold wasn't easy but it was compared to some of the patrols and marches he'd done during training. The bottom of his dark green camouflage fatigues was stained with mud and was damp allowing a slow, ghostly chill creep up his leg. His boots were caked in thick mud, he couldn't even see his own laces.
Just drag 'em through a puddle and that'll wash off the worst of it.
They marched on in a staggered line with a ten meter spread between them. David was second in line. He cast a quick look over his shoulders to see the rest of the squad; Sergeant Cohen was in the middle and Taylor, the private he'd met on their first day on the colony, was at the back acting as the rear guard.
There was a snap and crack of air next him, millimetres from his face, as a round flew by followed almost simultaneously by the bark of an automatic rifle. A tall willowy tree to his right was splattered in red paint from a TTR shot. More rounds followed suit. The point man, Private Andrew-Julien Mann, or AJ as most of the group called him, was hit multiple times. The red paint stained most of his left side and he dropped like a sack of bricks- unconscious.
"Contact!" David called out. "Left side, left side!"
He dove on to his stomach, his belt buckle digging into the ground, and rolled into the water filled rut- it was their only cover. He quick glance to his left let him see the rest of the squad, they'd all made into the ditch with him.
"Form a base line!" Cohen shouted over the roar of automatic weapons fire. A grenade went off behind them; too close for comfort but they managed to form a clean firing line. Corporal Griffiths was next to him, a general purpose machine gun, (GPMG), in hand and laying down suppressive fire.
"Griffiths!" Cohen barked over the SQUADCOM. "Take your section and peel right and flank them. We'll stay here and lay down covering fire."
"Got it," Griffiths replied in his heavily accented colonial brogue. Dirt splashed across his face and shoulders, scattered from a round landing just centimetres from him. More grenades detonated, showering the squad with dirt and mud. David steeled himself to run to the right, being part of Griffiths' section, but he'd be the last to move as he was already on the far right of the group. Taylor ducked low and ran as fast as he could through the water while keeping as low as possible.
As he ran past the corporal he kicked his boot- a signal for him to secure his ammo pouches and run. Someone to his left, Merrick, was hit as he put his head up to return fire, as he fell to the ground, unconscious from the headshot, the person next to him had to make sure he didn't fall in the water and drown. Griffiths ran past him, kicking his boot as he did so. David did a quick check on ammo pouch making sure they were secure before making a mad dash to meet up with the others in the section.
As they came to as stop he could still hear Cohen and his section battling it out with whoever had been ordered to play the bad guys this time. He came to a stop but there was no incoming fire aimed at them. Whoever was out there hadn't seen them move.
Good it'll make it easier.
"Campbell, Taylor, Wilkins and Allie, move up from here. Two by two, yeah?" It sounded like a question but over the months David had gotten to know them all and knew that Griffiths was ordering them, not asking them. It was just the way he spoke. "The rest of us will go further right and flank round behind them."
David nodded in conformation and with the other three in tow he crawled out of the trench and moved to a nearby tree for cover. Taylor was behind him. Allie and Wilkins moved to one to his left. He made a quick motion to the two younger troops indicating for them to move forward while Taylor and he covered them. They moved a hundred meters from the rut like that, a few meters each time two of them moved. By the time they were roughly level with the opposing force some of the fighting had died down.
Was the sergeant's section wiped out? Or have the enemy figured out we're flanking them?
"Campbell," Griffiths said over the radio. "We're just getting in position now, you ready?"
"Yes, sir." David replied in a low whisper. "Ready and waiting on your go."
A conformation light blinked in the bottom left of his HUD. He motioned the rest of his fire team to move ahead as one. As quickly as they could without giving themselves away too early they moved closer to the enemy position. Ahead was a fallen tree, its oil black trunk provided cover for a section armed with rifles and a squad automatic weapon, (SAW), they hadn't seen David and his team yet.
"On my go," David said. The others confirmed with an oaky sign.
He lined up the shot, looking down the scope of his MA5D, a small customization he'd made. He aimed at the machine gunners centre mass. Always aim for centre mass, his instructors had drilled into him the moment they let him near a rifle. He fired.
The gunner went down as did two others who'd been caught out by Allie or Wilkins. Taylor shot off a burst, hitting two guys in the arms. It would hurt them but not take them out of the fight. More shots rang out before the enemy had a chance to return fire. Bullets flew in from behind the enemy position. The rapid fire cracks of Griffiths' GPMG filled the air. Taken by surprise the enemy section was down in a few seconds flat.
"Sergeant Cohen," Griffiths said into the SQUADCOM. There was a brief silence.
"Yeah? You got the bastards?" Cohen's gruff voice answered back over the radio. David couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief knowing that at the very least the sergeant had made it.
"Yes, sir. Enemy position has been neutralised."
"Good, we're on our way to you now. So who was it?" Griffiths checked over the fallen foes. David got a quick look in and saw who it was.
Rowkin. Of course.
As Cohen found them, the rest of his section carrying anyone who'd been hit, David set his Bergen down and pulled out a small pad of paper with a tiny pencil wedged into the tight spiral binds at the top. He took down notes about the engagement, everything he'd done before the firefight, what he did during the fight as well as a quick sketch of where the enemy had positioned themselves and the tactics used by the team to counter the ambush. He did it so he could make a more detailed report in his debriefing when they got back to base. By the time he was done it was time to move again. They weren't going to stay in the area just in case Rowkin had another team nearby that might come looking for them and they still had to survive the next three days before the exercise was over. It was going to be a long three days.
It was the dead of night when they marched back through the gates of the base. Falkland's three large moons were partially hidden behind dark clouds. Despite the heavy cloud cover the base was lit by large flood lamps that covered base with bright lights that reminded him of a Rugby stadium during the grand finals. Only there was less noise and celebration.
They were dismissed soon after arriving back with a debriefing at eight the following morning. As David, Taylor, Wilkins and Allie walked back to their rooms in one of the massive multi-story barracks, they passed by a large square filled with armoured vehicles. Grizzly main battle tanks and AS-50 Howitzers were parked in neat rows next to Rhino mobile artillery platforms and Wolverine Anti-Aircraft tanks. Other vehicles were parked nearby as well; M12 Warthogs and M14 Foxhounds were parked into bays of their own. There would be more such vehicles of all classes stored inside the massive motor pool to keep them safe from an unexpected attack. A quick double take revealed that some of the artillery had disappeared. They'd been moved somewhere but there was no scheduled deployments in the coming days that David knew of that would explain it. But it wasn't his place to question.
Maybe they've been redeployed somewhere else. Or they've been put on the ranges tomorrow.
Neither explanation made sense. Falkland was right on the border with Colonial Alliance held space and was a vital stopping point along the Cygnus-Circinius Shipping route, which made it a strategic waypoint in a war against the Alliance. Why would UNICOM then remove some of the most important assets for a ground war here? Whatever the reason, he guessed the men with stars on their shoulders would know what they were doing.
In the Division headquarters Major General Nicholas Bernard, the commanding officer of all military operations on Falkland, was sat at his desk; a large oak wood piece crafted during the height of the colonial expansion nearly two centuries ago. The dark wood was stained with years of cigar burns and pen scratches. He sat in a leather chair, leaning back with his arms crossed in front of his chest. A decidedly unamused look etched on his withered features. His dark blue-green eyes glared at the younger officer in the room. On the imperial red coloured walls pictures and paintings of previous generals that had commanded the base also seemed to glare at him, equally unamused.
The young officer couldn't help but squirm slightly under the pressure. A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck before being soaked up by his grey officer slacks. Twenty something and with a full head of dark hair he seemed to wither under the generals glare.
"Are you kidding me, son?" Bernard said eventually. His Meridian drawl was deep and thick, showing his displeasure.
"No, sir," The younger officer replied. "ONI believes…"
"I don't care what ONI believes, boy." Bernard interrupted, slamming his fist on the desk. "You came marching in here at the dead of night telling me about how we were under threat. Now you're telling me it's only a possibility? Which is it, boy?"
"General," he tried again. "ONI is aware of a fleet of unknown vessels massing in the Theta-Crwys system. Falkland and Victoria are the closest colonies, which puts them at risk. You have to order an evacuation of all the civilians."
"I have to? Last time I checked I don't take orders from a Lieutenant, no matter who he works for and what makes you think these unknown ships are a threat? For all we know it could be an Alliance fleet or some poor alien bastards with no place to call home." Bernard's accent was getting thick and his voice louder.
"The Alliance doesn't have ships that can travel at FTL speed in real space. Nor do they have the manufacturing capability to create a flotilla the size of the entire Eridanus Defence Fleet. And we know they're hostile, sir." The Lieutenant said, matching his gaze with the older mans. "The missing ships? The freighters and cruise liners, all of them destroyed by this fleet without provocation."
Bernard was quiet for a moment. His fingers tapped the desk slowly, like a timer on a bomb counting down to explode. He looked at the younger man with scrutinizing glare. His lips were paper thin, a small white line on an otherwise dark face.
"How exactly do we explain to the forty million people that call this planet home that they need to leave? Better yet how do we get them all off? The answer is we can't!" Bernard glowered at the young man. He had stood up and was leaning over the desk. "If, and it's a pretty bug if, these unknowns come here we'll be ready for them- hostile or not."
"General, FLEETCOM is putting the entire sixteenth fleet together just in case. The risk is just too great. We have to evacuate or at the very least open up the emergency shelters."
"Look, lieutenant," Bernard said. "We can't. You said it yourself, we can't tell the public just yet but, if we don't then how do we convince them it's for their own safety and not just the UNSC overreacting? It would cause panic in the streets, riots and violence we don't need or want. If war comes to this colony, which has always been a possibility- the reason we are here- then the citizens will have to deal with it the old fashioned way. Hide under their beds and prey."
There was a deathly silence that followed. The only sound in the room was of an antique clock that ticked loudly. The two men were staring each other in the eye, a battle of wills. It was minutes later when the lieutenant finally backed down.
"I have no idea how you made it into Naval Intelligence, son," said Bernard. "You came in here issuing orders and then issued more that contradicted your previous ones. This must be your first outing without a handler. You can't tell me what to do here boy, but you can show me everything you have on these unknowns. And I mean everything."