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Thank you.
Tiger Tank (AKA: RedGuard6)
Working Title: Fox Two
UNSC Colony "Bountiful."
Somewhere in the capitol city "Prosperity."
0116 hours, local time. Late October, 2552 CE
Jill Gilliam gave a sigh of relief, finishing up on the wounded, older, auburn-haired woman. In spite of the grievous wound inflicted by the beam weapon she'd been hit with, the older woman would be fine - provided she got some rest. Jill smiled wanly as the woman's daughter, Amy, clung to her mother and cried. Gilliam was an attractive, twenty-something brunette, clad in a blue tube-top, a short, black mini-skirt, and a pair of high, black leather boots. A black, webbed, pistol belt - with various pouches secured to it - hugged her hips. She carried a pair of holstered M1911 automatics: one in a leather shoulder rig, and the other in a tactical rig secured to her thigh. Although she didn't look like it, Jill was extremely proficient with her pistols - she had to be, since it was one of the reasons she had been able to join the Defense Forces. She was also certified to administer first aid - which had more than once proved to be very convenient and useful.
Just like it did now.
"You're going to be fine, ma'am," Jill assured the red-head. "You'll just have to take it easy for awhile."
"Thank you," the older woman whispered weakly. The brown-haired man, apparently an acquaintance or a friend, echoed the red-head's thanks to Jill. The brunette smiled at them, and little Amy, before getting up and walking over to the de facto leader of the group: her superior and friend, William E. Peyton. Peyton, unlike many of the other horny, sexist men in the defense forces, had accepted Gilliam for her exceptional skills set - and he had been the other reason Jill had been able to enlist. Gilliam had failed to meet the physical and educational requirements of the UNSC Marine Corps, and the UNSC Navy, and was unable to enlist for other reasons (she didn't have a penis, and she wasn't willing to sleep with people for a promotion). That suited her just fine: she hated space travel, anyway.
The big black man was currently in the middle of a heated discussion with some of the other members of the group. He commanded a presence to be respected, Jill knew he cared about the people he was responsible for, and he didn't take any shit. Plus, he was intimidating as hell. She stood back and watched, listening in on the debate.
"With all due respect, we have to find cover. The sun's going to rise in several hours," the dark-haired shotgunner insisted. He was a man of average height, clad in dark slacks and a dark sports jacket.
"No, we have to keep moving," the portly security guard shook his head in disagreement. "If we don't make it to the space port, we're as good as dead."
"We'll be dead if the Covenant catch us in the open." The short Asian woman beside him pointed out. Langdon scratched the back of his head and fell silent.
"The Space Port is our only means of getting off this rock, alive, or even communicating with people off-world!" Caston pressed, "we'll all die here if we don't--!"
"What good is a spaceship gonna do us if nobody knows how to fly the damned thing? And what good is a distress call gonna do us? I bet the UNSC has already written this entire colony off as a loss!" the shotgunner retorted.
"All Planetary Defense Forces will have rallied to Prosperity Space Port and are probably securing it against the Covenant," Peyton interjected; his basso voice and his presence succeeded in shutting everyone up. "That's the standard operating procedure in the event that the Covenant come calling. So, we really do need to get to the Space Port - that way, we'll at least be in the company of the surviving members of the local garrison. And believe you me, they'll be itchin' to gun down some o' those frikkin' aliens and get some payback." The spectacled shotgunner looked ready to protest. "Failing that, we all 'requisition' some transports and get the hell off the planet.
"But," the burly PDF trooper pointed out, "we have to keep first things first. Right now, we have wounded and I think we can all agree that we need to get some rest. We have to take things one step at a time, so we'll worry about the other stuff when we come to it. The million-dollar question now, is: 'where are we gonna hole up?'" Everyone in the loose "huddle" fell silent and pondered his words. More than ever before, Jill admired Peyton's reasoning and his ability to even think under such harrowing conditions. Still, something about this whole mess didn't make sense - Gilliam just couldn't put her finger on it. So, she pushed those extraneous thoughts aside and began looking around for any street signs or landmarks, in an attempt to find her bearings.
"Pard'n me, but what're you all standin' around here, for?"
It was "Mister Funny-Hat," as Caston had referred to him. Briefly, Jill smirked at the nickname bestowed upon the trench-coated rifleman - Caston glowered at him, however, eyeing him with suspicion. Admittedly, the tiger-stripe-camo boonie was a rather unusual piece of headwear - but, Jill supposed he had his reasons for wearing it. His rifle rested on his right shoulder, and he had an unreadable grin on his face. His eyes were still obscured in shadow, but she could tell he wore glasses.
"What the fuck do you think, dipshit?" the blond teenager, Adam, snorted derisively. Funny-Hat's grin suddenly seemed forced; then, it slowly vanished from his face, altogether. Peyton rumbled to the rambunctious teen, "cool it, kid," before addressing the trench-coated man. "We're trying to figure out where we can hole up for the day," he explained, "so we can rest and hide from the Covenant."
"Oh? Then I think I found us a hidey-hole, sir," Funny-Hat's grin returned. "There's a store, 'Larry's Sporting Goods,' not even a block away - we could hide in there for a day or two. There're things we'll definitely be needing, too: water, food, weapons, ammo,--" he trailed off. Peyton considered this for a moment and nodded. "All right."
"What about her?" that Asian girl queried, gesturing to the red-head Jill had treated. "Adam can still walk, but what do we do with her?"
"Nothing, for now," Peyton replied. He turned his head to look at Jill. "Gilliam. Go with Mister--" he paused and shot a look at Funny-Hat; the spectacled fellow caught the hint. "Dave Yamada, sir," the trench-coated man helpfully supplied. The black PDF trooper turned back to his subordinate.
"Jill, go with Mister Yamada and scope out the place. Then the two of you get back here and we'll decide on our next course of action. Watch each other's backs out there."
Jill nodded her assent and drew one of her handguns, while Funny-Hat -Yamada - inclined his head and affirmed, "yes, sir." Exchanging looks, the pair of them set out on the street.
Peyton watched them go and frowned. He didn't recognize Yamada, so it wasn't likely that the younger man was in the defense forces. However, his mannerisms and behavior seemed to indicate that he wasn't exactly a run-of-the-mill civilian. The big black man watched Yamada as he stalked away, keeping to whatever cover or concealment he could; although the trench-coated man's movements were somewhat clumsy and unrefined, it was a pretty safe bet that he knew what he was doing. That inexplicably bothered William E. Peyton.
As the pair disappeared around a street corner, the PDF trooper pushed those thoughts aside and mentally reviewed the situation. A little over twelve hours ago, a trio of ostensibly lost Covenant capital ships had exited Slipspace above the colony. For reasons unknown, the ships deployed Phantom gunships and Spirit dropships before self-destructing above the planet. Ever since they'd made planetfall, the Covies fought amongst each other, killing any humans that got in the crossfire. To make matters worse, the aliens had somehow managed to land heavily armored Wraith tanks, skittish Ghosts, and saucer-shaped Spectres on the ground.
The planetary defense forces had had very little time to react to the Covenant raining from the sky. Given the lack of human aircraft in the skies, it was pretty safe to assume that the half-dozen Skyhawk Short-Take-Off, Vertical Landing fighters had been...neutralized...for lack of a better word. Either they had been shot out of the skies or they'd been blasted while still on the ground at the Spaceport.
He'd seen a number of wrecked Warthogs, already, along with the bodies of their riders. Peyton had no idea how bad casualties were, and even beginning to ponder how many dead and wounded there could be made him sick to his stomach.
The only potentially good news was that Peyton hadn't seen any wrecks of the armored personnel carriers that were stationed at the space port. That meant they were still probably operational - and guarding the facility.
Prosperity's Planetary Defense Force garrison had four, M768 Light Armored Vehicles at its disposal; each LAV was an amphibious, eight-wheeled, armored personnel carrier equipped with a twenty-millimeter gun mounted in a low-profile, dorsal turret. Its design and appearance was inspired by and based upon the ancient Mowag Piranha family of light armored vehicles, which was widely used (and improved upon) for much of the late twentieth, the twenty-first, twenty-second, and twenty-third centuries. The M768 LAV could survive a direct hit from a single SPNKr missile or a rocket-propelled grenade, and could carry anywhere from four to six people in its passenger compartment. A pod containing a pair of guided missiles could also be mounted onto the turret, giving the LAV an extra, armor-piercing punch that could put the hurt on the Covenant Wraith tank. The M768 wasn't as heavily armed or armored as the M808B Scorpion tank, but it was faster, lighter, more maneuverable, and cheaper in more aspects than one.
Since the evacuation/defense strategy of the city centered on Prosperity Space Port, the LAVs were stored in steel-reinforced, permacrete bunkers along the Space Port's perimeter, along with Warthogs and stockpiles of munitions and supplies. When needed, the LAVs would be deployed and would provide limited armored support along a portion of the perimeter. The plan was only partially sound on paper; there were many complications that would actually sink the plan. Prosperity City was in a position to acquire more than four LAVs - but, as it often went, many ignorant civilians saw little need for armored personnel carriers in a city (some nay-sayers even cited that the government was trying to gain more power to oppress the population) and only four units were kept in the city.
Peyton idly checked his wrist chronometer. Some fifteen minutes had passed.
"Sheesh," Adam grumbled as he lay on the street, "can they take any longer?"
"I don't see you doing anything," the stocky security guard retorted.
"Shut up, I wasn't talkin' to you!"
"Then shut your frikkin' trap!"
"Both of you, knock it off!" Peyton snapped. "Bloody Elisa! You're like a couple of freshman high school girls or something." The slender, raven-haired girl next to Langdon gave a half-amused chuckle. "What the hell're you laughin' at, Emma?" Adam demanded.
"I said knock it off!"
"Quiet! All of you!" Caston hissed. "D'you hear that?" The argument abruptly ceased, and everyone strained their hearing - a collection of shadowy figures, almost as still as statues. Amy looked around, curiously. "What's going on?" she whispered? The brown-haired man - kneeling next to Amy's mother - raised a finger to his lips, gesturing for silence; Amy complied as she fearfully glanced around the street, as though expecting something to rush out onto the street.
Which was understandable, Peyton thought as he uneasily shifted his feet. He did hear something. It was barely audible above the distant whine of plasma fire and the staccato of gunfire. After a few minutes, the sound seemed to increase in volume: it was a low thrumming, indicative of an anti-gravity device.
Those were used by Covenant vehicles.
Peyton's eyes widened. "We have to get off the street." he stated as calmly as he could. "Now." The shotgunner hauled Adam to his feet, while Langdon assisted Caston and Emma with moving the injured, red-haired woman. Peyton took Amy's little hand in his own and led her into a dark, abandoned coffee shop. Everyone else hurried inside as quickly as they could manage.
Without a word, everyone took up concealment positions behind the counter, stumbling in the darkness. Just as they'd settled in, the low humming of the anti-gravity device increased in volume. Peyton, who'd hidden at the end of the counter, took a peek and saw a Covenant Spectre loaded down with the ursine/elephantine Brutes.
The Spectre's slim, roughly saucer-shaped hull glinted in the moonlit night, barely concealing its garish, maroon finish. Behind and on either side of the cockpit, two Brutes rode out in the open, clutching handholds and their plasma rifles. The gunner, manning a rapid-fire plasma cannon, had a menacing Brute shot - a massive, belt-fed grenade launcher with a rearward-facing, curved blade making up half the weapon's length - slung across its furred back.
As the brusque PDF trooper turned back to face the others, he could hear the Brutes as the aliens grunted, snarled, and growled to each other in their guttural language. Amy, her mother, and the brown-haired man were together, holding each other and looking frightened out of their minds. Langdon and Emma looked tense, with the former looking particularly twitchy with the MA5K in his hands. The dark-haired shotgunner and Caston looked tense, but they were apparently in control and ready to fight; Peyton found it strange that the shotgun-toting brunet appeared to be so calm - he wasn't entirely unlike Yamada, in that respect...
Are they acquaintances? the PDF trooper found himself wondering.
The sounds of the Spectre and its Brute riders finally disappeared. Peyton risked another peek to confirm what he was hearing. "Are they gone, yet?" Caston whispered. The black PDF trooper saw no sign of the Brutes, and could not see them - for what that was worth. They would have to be quiet and careful.
"I think so," Peyton finally answered. "But we should stay in here and stay low."
"What about Dave and your friend?" the shotgunner asked.
"We'll need a pair of look-outs. One on the roof, if possible, and one on the street to meet Gilliam and Yamada." Peyton pointed to Langdon and the shotgunner, "for now, you two look for an elevated position, then one of you will report back to me. Officer Caston and I will stay here with the wounded and the non-combatants. Just remember: we don't want any attention from the Covies. Keep quiet and stay hidden. Get me?"
Everyone silently nodded in assent.
"Good. Move."
Langdon and the shotgun-toting man headed outside and disappeared from view. Peyton heaved a long, weary sigh and slumped against a cabinet door. He suddenly felt old and extremely tired. His adrenaline rush began to ebb away, now that he was relaxed. Aches and pains made themselves known, since his muscles were fatigued. After a moment, he let out a low groan.
"You okay?" Emma queried.
"Yeah. Tired, is all."
"Wanna take a nap, then?" the girl queried, "we can wake you up in five minutes."
"No thanks," Peyton replied. "I just need to rest my eyes." With that, he closed his eyes...
Caston idly ejected her Glock's magazine and checked it. She'd fired six rounds out of ten in the magazine, so far. All to take down two of those stupid little midgets, she thought bitterly. Upon returning to the station, Caston was ambushed by a pair of the dog-like Grunts. She'd drawn her weapon and fired wildly, expending four rounds, at the first Grunt she aimed at. Her first shot, naturally, had missed, while the others found their mark. She'd then shifted her aim and brought the second Grunt down with two shots to the head.
After that...
Caston shook her head. After that, she'd been constantly on the run. She had no delusions that she stood a chance against the Covenant, alone - all she had were two spare magazines and the half-empty one loaded in her Glock 19. Add in the fact that the 9x19mm cartridge was - compared to other cartridges - relatively ineffective against people, let alone Covenant, and it didn't take a genius for Sarah to figure out that she didn't stand a chance on her own.
Luckily for her, she'd hooked up with the PDF troopers and had been with them, for the past several hours, gathering up any survivors that they could find as they headed for Prosperity Space Port. People had joined the group, and some of them left - while others had been killed, like Velasquez.
The day's events piled up in her mind as she mentally reviewed them. Finally, Sarah began to giggle uncontrollably and felt something wet roll down her face. Her shoulders convulsed as she tried to suppress it. Emma quirked an eyebrow, "hey. Are you okay? Why're you laughing?" The raven-haired teen crawled over to Caston and looked at the blonde officer with a hint of concern.
In the shadows, Emma could barely discern Caston's tear-slicked face as the older woman alternated between her giggling fit and soft sobs. Amy, her mother, and the brunet watched helplessly, while Adam stared.
"I think she's lost it," the blond teenager opined. In her mind, Sarah silently wondered if he was right. She couldn't stop giggling and she couldn't stop crying. Damn it.
"Fuck off, Adam," Emma replied half-heartedly as Caston covered her face. "Hey. It's all right," she said reassuringly as she rubbed the officer's shoulder. "We'll be fine. We'll make it out of this alive."
For once, Adam kept his mouth shut; in fact, everyone remained silent as Caston hiccuped. Emma continued to rub the woman's shoulders reassuringly. I hope we make it out of this alive, she thought. Unknown to her, Sarah mentally shared that hope.
Suddenly, they all jerked visibly as they heard the not-so-distant crack! of a rifle, followed by plasma fire and a bestial roar that echoed through the abandoned street. Everyone exchanged frightened looks in the dark shadows. Adam voiced the question on everyone's mind:
"What the hell was that?"
To be continued...?
Author's Notes: BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA! A cliff-hanger ending! I'm still not very good with character relationships, interaction, and all that jazz. Blargh, I fail. --' This is going to be my last bit of writing for awhile. Pffft. As if anyone cares. I'm going to be stuck in California for about a week. Then I'm hopefully going to start a summer job. Which may or may not consume a lot of my time. Then, Fall Semester starts in August, and I'm hoping to keep working while attending school. So...yeah. I'm going to be a busy, busy bee. Blargh.
But hey. It'll be good to have some money. Textbooks are frikkin' expensive. --'