Author Note: Hey guys! I'm really sorry that it has taken me over a month to update this story but just after I published my last chapter I headed off to University, so for several weeks it has been pretty hectic. I must admit, I did have fun writing some parts of this chapter. If you have any questions feel free to ask me. Anyway back to the story, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 7
Classified Military Base – Shanxi
Alarms rang out through the entire base. Not the same alarm though. Each building had a different sounding alarm all joining together in a disconcerted chorus that echoed across the landscape. The base was alive with activity, everywhere you looked there were people running. Warthogs screamed out of the exit while heading in every single to direction to avoid bunching together and allowing the aliens to pick them all of in one go. Pelicans, packed with as many people as they could carry, lumbered across the runway struggling to gain much needed altitude as they soared over the fenced complex. Everyone was fleeing, like ants escaping their nest. All of it had happened in such a small space of time, all of it caused by something so incomprehensively small but extremely vital.
The operations room was manned by around fifty or so people. Everything that was happening on and around Shanxi was monitored in this room. At the moment this was the most important place on Shanxi. On the main screen was a hologram of the fleet high in orbit around Shanxi, hovering in the same spot for what seems like an eternity now. But something changed. The angle of the bow of one of the larger ships changed by a few degrees. This changed was followed shortly after by the rest of the larger ships. Seemingly a tiny change that was promptly dismissed by some as a slight adjustment to the formation of the fleet. But something bugged one of the operators. The angle gave all the ships a slight downwards heading towards Shanxi. He tapped the trajectory of the angle. Them! That's the trajectory! All of the ships had lined up the base perfectly, a sequenced shot. He hit the alarm. And everything after that was a blur of motion. No questions asked, the UNSC was prepared to move huge operations if one of their operatives had even the slightest indication of a threat. Many big operations against the Insurrectionists had been cancelled at the last moment by UNSC dickers because something didn't feel right.
Williams sat at the rear end of a Warthog as it sped out of the entrance, trying to get as far away from the base as possible. One mile, two mile, three… Alongside him were three other men with another two in the driver and passenger seat. The 12.7mm rounds rattled violently against the framework as the Warthog made its way up a steep bank.
"Stop here," ordered Williams "I want to see this."
"Sir are you sure we're at minimum safe distance?" questioned the driver, his foot still pressed down firmly on the accelerator.
"They fire small high velocity rounds of around 40 kilo-tonnes of energy. Total destruction probably around 1.5 miles, so a reasonable safe distance will be around 4. Their rounds aren't nuclear so we shouldn't have to worry about fallout but we should expect a sizeable shockwave. Pull over here, it's a good vantage point."
They slowed to a halt just as they reached the top of the hill. There they disembarked from the Warthog and gazed down the hill. The landscape was mostly fields of grass with only a few spots of trees, the sun shining down brightly so they could see clearly for miles around. The military base easily visible in the distant.
Then the shells started falling. Not one but dozens of them smashed into the base. The bright blue slugs flashed in the sky, only visible for a split second, but with enough intensity for the flash to burn an image onto their retina. The image continuing to appear in their vision long after it had smacked into the ground.
Then came the noise.
As the rounds impacted a massive shockwave emanated from the core of the impacts. Each one glowing brightly like the birth of a new star. The temperatures reaching into the millions. Anyone unlucky enough to be within one mile of the blast wouldn't even see the flash of the shell, for them death was instantaneous. One and a half miles out the less fortunate would see the shell fall, but then burn in the ensuring firestorm, it wasn't a pleasant sight.
The shockwave was pummelling its way towards them. The trees were uprooted and thrown through the air, the once green grass blackened and died as the air moved across them.
"Brace yourselves!" shouted Williams, the shockwave had lessened over the long distance but he still held his arm up to protect his face.
The howling wind whipped up the hill and struck them. The force of the wind pushed them back, rocking the Warthog back and forth, the air was hot but not enough to cause any pain.
The wind died down and they walked to the ridge of the hill. Where the base once stood was now a raging fire, peppered with deep craters. The buildings were blackened and ruined from the force of the impact. At the epicentre however there was nothing. The force of the shells had completely atomised everything. As you moved away from the base and towards the hill where the general stood, the once green pasture was gone. It seemed like it had been gripped by death's touch, the land was desolate for miles around. Everything from plants to animals was dead.
He hoped everyone had gotten out safely. He glanced at the men around him, before jumping back into the Warthog, and motioning to the driver, "Private, you know where to go."
UNSC Remote Scanning Outpost Damascius- In orbit around Shanxi
Personnel are not usually assigned to Remote Scanning Outposts for extended periods of time. It wasn't that they weren't equipped to do so—the vessels were designed to only need resupply once a year— rather it was the psychological toll of being stuck on a cramped, isolated vessel with duties so boring they were almost considered a form of punishment. It wasn't uncommon for men deployed to the RSOs to come back with serious psychological problems.
None of this was considered much of an issue until a few years after the war when several news organisations ran an exposé on the deteriorating mental health of those serving aboard the vessels. In response, the Navy had slashed deployment times, instituted mandatory psychological evaluations after any deployment to an RSO, and—following a series of deadly incidents—cut the on-board armament to the bare minimum
Definitely not the place for a shootout.
Ollie leaned against the window sill and stared out of a small window of the RSO at the inbound shuttle.
"I'm guessing they're not here for a panty raid," murmured Ollie, pushing himself away from the window and turning towards Ben.
"When was the last time you shot a pistol?" questioned Ben, holding both M9's in his hand.
"Basic training? No! Hanks wedding do you remember? We popped off a couple of rounds to celebrate."
"Oh god I remember that! Really pissed off the head of police didn't it?" exclaimed Ben.
"Jesus yeah! Gravity was such a heartless bitch causing them to come crashing down into his car," chuckled Ollie, "haha, good times, when was that?"
"5 years ago," Ben said abruptly.
"Oh."
"Yeah..."
"Ah well, this could be a refreshers course," Ollie said jovially, catching the pistol Ben threw at him and slamming a clip home. "36 bullets, 18 apiece, should be fun."
They stood there awkwardly for a second, unsure of what to do. Their military training had been short, they weren't first class soldiers destined for the front line. They were nerds, plain and simple. Destined for a cosy job managing UNSC computer systems, or stuck in development or research. Ben's tie was still dotted with last night's pizza and Ollie's glasses were held together by sellotape.
Their military training had consisted of how to load and fire a couple of pistols and assault rifles six years ago. All UNSC personnel were required to spend time down the shooting range but they never did anything productive. Just time they spent messing about.
"Well. Get into cover facing the door I suppose?" Ollie said, gesturing towards the wall which would allow them to lean across the narrow hall way to fire through.
"Meh, sounds about right," replied Ben lazily walking towards the wall.
Looking in from above all of this would seem strange. These two men were on the precipice of death. But they didn't act like it. Their postures were upright and relaxed, not slumped in inevitable defeat. Everything about a person can be determined by their body language, shoulders hunched, arms limply resting by their sides means dejection. Hands clasped behind the back generally means apprehension or frustration. But these men didn't care, they held themselves high and actually seemed like they were enjoying themselves. They were brilliant, but utterly insane.
They set themselves up against the wall, Ollie on the left hand side and Ben on the right. Ben stood upright with his feet shoulder width apart, his toes pointed towards the door which led to the RSO docking platform. Ollie was kneeling with his left leg planted firmly on the ground to provide himself with a stable firing position.
They waited. The seconds slowly trickled past, then they heard the rough grating of the shuttle clumsily attaching to the RSO. They braced themselves, Ollie nervously clutched the grip of the gun,
"Wait a second," he murmured, "what if they come through the other door?"
"Argh," said Ben in exasperation, "well then I guess we would just get up and move over there then."
"Sorrr-ry," countered Ollie, "I was just being constructive."
"Oh jeez, just shut up and face the door, will you?" asked Ben.
"You're a door," muttered Ollie under his breath quiet enough so that Ben couldn't hear.
The aforementioned door suddenly opened and two of the aliens strode through the door, with what looked like assault rifles in their hand.
They quickly swept their aim throughout narrow hallway and paused upon seeing the two men at the other end of the hallway.
They barked something loud and incoherent, and gestured with their guns in a threatening manner, talons clasped firmly on the triggers of their weapons.
"Well," Ollie said quietly from his crouched position behind cover but loud enough for Ben to hear, "This is kinda awkward, I have no idea what they're saying."
"Yeah, sounds like French to me," Ben replied before raising his voice to the aliens standing before him, their weapons trained at the point where their heads were most likely to be if they come out of cover to attack, "I'm sorry guys but we have no idea what you're talking about, parler vous anglais?"
"Was that French?" asked Ollie, his brow narrow and quizzical.
"Sure was Ollie boy, learnt it along with many other useful phrases on my travels," he paused for a moment. "So anyway, we seem to be at a standoff here, on the count of three?"
"Sure, 3, 2, 1 go!"
They both spun around from cover both firing simultaneously, but the rounds petered out harmlessly on the shields of the alien and before Ben and Ollie had got off their third round the aliens were already bringing down a hail of fire upon them, forcing them to duck behind cover.
"Well that didn't go well," shouted Ollie over the roar of the rounds as they smacked into the metal.
"Oh really?" Ben said in a sarcastic tone, "I personally thought everything was going swimmingly!"
Ollie chuckled to himself as he clutched the grip of his pistol more tightly, he risked a quick glance down the hallway, the two aliens were slowly advancing upon their position, and another two more had joined the fray, standing in the doorway and burst firing at Ollie and Ben's position in order to keep their head downs.
"Come on Ollie, think," he murmured to himself as he scanned the surroundings for anything useful. There was nothing, the room was bare. He sighed to himself and glanced over to Ben.
Bullets pinged off the consoles behind them, showering the room with sparks. Ben blind fired several rounds towards the on-coming aliens but it did little to dampen their fire. The aliens were still approaching slowly, sensing that they had the upper hand. One of them pulled something out from behind them and threw it towards Brad and Ollie. It clattered to the floor beside them, spewing a dark green cloud of gas.
"Oh well that's not fair!" exclaimed Ollie as more and more gas rose up and begun to envelop them.
"Yeah totally OP!" replied Ben.
"Oh Jesus! This smells worse than your mum's cooking," complained Ollie, as he started retching, and his vision grew blurry.
"Screw you!" choked Ben, before the gas took hold and they both slumped to the floor unconscious...
City of Dersingham - One day after the invasion of Shanxi
The city was a mess. A cloud of smoke and dust hung over it as fires raged all over the city. Cars were left abandoned in the streets, and it seemed every window was shattered. The aliens had thrown themselves at all major cities across Shanxi but Dersingham was the worst hit. They had hit the UNSC based here with everything they had. The fighting was fierce, the UNSC were unwilling to allow even an inch of land to fall under enemy control. But they were fighting a losing battle, the aliens controlled the skies over Shanxi, and that just made everything harder. Colonial Militia were falling by the dozen every second and thousands of civilians were caught in the cross-fire as many were unable to escape the city before the attack came.
The Spartan IV's mission objective was to provide a safe corridor for as many civilians to escape as possible. So far they'd managed to do so, despite the enemy's best efforts to evict them. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the rest of the defenders. Reports of fire teams being destroyed were coming in from all over the city, and friendly forces were slowly, but surely being pushed back.
The UNSC were outnumbered and the heavy armour had been held back ever since they had lost control of the air. Having their tanks taken out as soon as they left cover wouldn't do anyone a bit of good. They were expecting reinforcements but they weren't sure when they would arrive. Their main goal at this time was to maintain a presence on the planet without losing too much, they needed to keep a strong chain of command in-place to liaison with the eventual reinforcements and share information on enemy positions, movements, tactics, and size. On the other hand, pooling all their resources together was also out. The aliens had absolute domination of the air and nothing would delight their pilots more than a juicy target lacking anti-air. If they all moved out they would be picked off from above.
However, that's not to say the UNSC were defeated. Far from it. They still had several intact infantry battalions along with Pelicans and Warthogs at their disposal, units particularly well suited to the type of warfare the UNSC had to deploy.
What the aliens were likely to find out to their disadvantage was that Shanxi was dominated by jungles. A perfect place for UNSC forces to escape to, or set ambushes, remaining hidden until the last possible second before striking, doing enough damage to force the enemy to call in reinforcements, and then receding before the fresh enemy troops could be brought in.
Still, it was clear to the UNSC that they weren't facing another Covenant. The cities were not pounded into dust and civilians, although the enemy clearly had no qualms with civilian casualties, were not targeted unless they were in the way. On the first day of the fighting, the battles focussed on the cities and military bases. But as day turned to night and the fighting slowed down, enemy radio chatter started picking up. It was encrypted, but nothing an AI couldn't make short work of. The language itself was a tougher nut to crack. Still, after several hours of frantic work they'd managed to pick up a few words, just enough to gather that the invaders were attempting to collect information on them. Fortunately, all known data banks containing navigational or military information had already been erased.
The UNSC hadn't abandoned the city just yet though; they still had one trump card left. The Spartan IV's. Several teams had stayed behind, picking off enemy patrols at every available opportunity.
One such team was currently perched on a non-descript, 20 story tall building. Or rather, it would have been non-descript if it weren't for the massive chunk that had been ripped out of it, along with the shattered windows and rubble strewn floors. A slight glint of light came from near the top of the rubble, the unmistakeable sight of a snipers scope.
Three anti-materiel rifles sat resting on a flat makeshift platform, next to it lay three men in the MJOLNIR generation 2 armour. Their scopes lined up so they were facing straight down the high-street, another three spotters were lying next to the three men. The common misconception that snipers were lone men completing solo missions was bullshit. Where there's a sniper there's a spotter, that's a fact.
Marshall looked up from his scope and turned towards his spotter, "Three minutes" he said before returning to his scope.
"Three minutes," his spotter echoed, "like clockwork every time."
"Charges set?" questioned another.
"Yes, we can remote detonate them from here to catch the rear end of the patrol out."
"Good," replied Marshall, "as soon as we detonate, set the timer for thirty seconds."
"Davis you take the lead man, I'll take the second, and Hammond you take the third," ordered Marshall, the leader of fire team talon.
Marshall got two flashing lights on his HUD from the two other snipers, no need for them to get involved in the conversation, all of their focus was on the narrow road, littered with all kinds of destruction.
"30 seconds," commented Marshall, as he checked his sights for the fiftieth time, just in-case the mystical fairies had tampered with them.
He slowed his breathing, as he let all emotion flow out of him.
The sun shone brightly on the fresh morning dew causing it to sparkle like diamonds. The field went on for miles, dense forests lying to either side of it, their inhabitants just waking from their night slumbers. The field was miles away from anywhere. The perfect place to practice without any disturbance. On the field, spaced at every 200 yards, were holographic targets shaped like sangheili targets going on for around 1600 yards. A group of ten men were standing quietly, each clutching a sniper rifle. The man at the front of the group was holding court, walking from side to side and making gestures to emphasis his point.
"Sniping is an art," he said passionately, cradling his sniper like a new-born baby. "I've been told you're the best of the best, but I was watching one of your exercises the other day and I couldn't have been more embarrassed, we're really meant to rely on you? I'd rather let my poor sighted grandma and her ancient shotgun go on the battle field than you guys. They're expecting me to train you in one of the most difficult types of arms training. But I doubt you could comprehend the dozens of little things that you have to look out for. Look at the lay of the land, what do you see?" he questioned, gesturing down the firing range. "It's early morning and the ground is damp as all hell. The sun's up and the humidity's high, this means the air is denser so your bullet is going to meet greater resistance and drops more. It needs more elevation."
"Now on a day like this, when the sun is high in the sky you could expect to see a boiling mirage. Looking into the distance on a hot day you see it all the time. That wavy stream of air, rising upwards, when there is little or no winds around. Firing into this will really screw up your bullets path. This high temperature will also increase the muzzle velocity causing your bullet to come out much faster which will undoubtedly throw it high."
"Always take note of your surroundings, can you feel the air blowing? No?" he asks, still carrying on his speech without taking a breath, "But just because you don't feel the wind here, how can you be so sure it's not blowing 600 yards away? Looks for anything that can tell you about the direction of the wind. It could be leaves rustling in the wind, maybe even smoke from fires or burning wreckage."
"And of course, save the best till last, the Coriolis Effect. I'm not going to bore you with all the specifics but it basically this. The planet is curved and rotating. A bullet fired may seem to be going in a straight line from your perspective, but because of this spin it causes the bullets path to take a more arched shape. However this will only take affect if you're firing from long distances. Oh, and one last thing, clear your mind, take long, slow breaths and always fire as you breathe out."
"Now get your arses down and show me what you're made of!"
Marshall glanced quietly at his spotter who replied with a curt nod. 800 yards away the alien patrol had just come in view. Unbeknownst to them, the car they were about to walk past was packed with C-12 explosives.
"Wait for it," Marshall said softly, "Wait for it... Start the timer, detonate now!"
The patrol didn't stand a chance. The blast completely engulfed the rear end of it. Their shields shattered and five of them were dead before they could even react. The blast was followed by three cracks, three headshots, three aliens fell and three bullet cases bounced on the ground. The three Spartans shifted their aim, almost telepathically picking separate targets. The aliens were still shell shocked from the blast and as another three shots were fired the patrol fell silent.
As the last echoes of the ambush died away an uncomfortable silence took its place.
"Time," stated one of the spotters.
"Let's move out now!" shouted Marshall, picking up his sniper and hurrying to the back exit. Marshall felt a surge of adrenaline as he powered his way through the stricken corridor, effortlessly bounding over a desk and yanking open the door, his fellow Spartans always one step behind him. As he pulled open the back door, he paused slightly before jumping three stories down onto the roof of another building. He rolled on impact to break the fall and was back on his feet in no time, still sprinting away from the building.
Then a flash of blue light and it was gone.
Marshall felt the rush of wind behind him and he quickly dived behind cover just as the shockwave reached them. Dust and debris buffeted him in his armour, but it barely affected him, his suits filtration systems easily filtering out the dust and leaving him perfectly comfortable. Once the wind had passed, he leaned slightly out of cover to scan the surrounding area, the building they had previously occupied has been decimated, along with most of the buildings surrounding it. Thank god they weren't using the kind of weaponry they used to destroy the military base he thought.
Once he was satisfied they were relatively safe for the moment, he motioned for all the Spartans to join him.
"We have five minutes before the Pelican arrives, if we take the sewers, we should come out right under the evac zon—," his sentence was cut short. Replaced by the blood curdling scream that cut through the air.
