Give a man a rifle, and he calls himself a sniper. Especially with all this newfangled computer crap that accounts for crosswinds and such. Only a few people are really snipers; the people who can kill a man from two kilometers away, who can remain motionless for days on end just for one kill, who wield a rifle like it's an extension of their own body. Gui Montag, despite his urban upbringing, is one of these men.
Drill Sergeant Alan Dubrinsky
Covenant base 150 Kilometers upspin from Command Base Beta, 0403 hours
Gakag was as close to happy as an Unggoy could get.
He sat out in a Shade on the platform overlooking the canyon, just barely dozing off. Fifteen meters to his left, on the other side of the platform, Babag was truly asleep in his Shade. In between the Shades four Banshees sat, ready for takeoff, facing out into the narrow canyon.
Gakag lifted his head to take in his surroundings. The sky was starting to brighten, and the large planet that hung in the sky was turning from purple to light blue. Gakag could feel the cool, moist air wafting up from the river at the bottom of the canyon, could hear the wind gently caressing the canyon. If he could take off his mask, he could probably smell the musky conifers that populated the bottom of the canyon. Best of all, he wouldn't die today. No, the Humans had camped many hundreds of units downspin, and certainly wouldn't come for this out-of-the-way base.
There were four Sangheili huddled near the Banshees, talking, chatting. Gakag wasn't worried. These Sangheili weren't all that bad as far as their species could go, although Lham 'Rehamee was riding high on his new promotion. He was the only Red here, thank the Gods. The more seniority the Sangheili achieved, the crueler and more insufferable they were. The lower ranking ones at least tended to develop what passed for big brother/little brother relations with the Unggoy in their command. When they weren't sending the Unggoy to their death.
But death wouldn't come. No, the Humans would probably be wiped out in the next few days, and Gakag wouldn't see a single one of them. Before long, Gakag's shift would be over, and he could go rest in the methane bunker with his fellow Unggoy, perfectly at peace.
400 meters from Platform, 0403 hours
Sergeant Morris stood in the rear door of the Pelican. There was an L shaped bend in the canyon that allowed the Pelican to hide around the corner while the Marines got some Intel. Hence the briefcase sitting right next to Morris. He picked it up and opened it. Inside was a small plane about the length of his forearm. He gently picked it up out of the briefcase and plugged it into a small computer that came with it. After programming instructions into the plane, he switched a button, unplugged the plane, and threw it out the back of the Pelican.
The Gnat UAV looked like a remote control airplane, weighing only 200 grams, but packing three cameras and a computer. It was an Unmanned Arial Vehicle, which have been in use since the turn of the 21st century, and one of their first uses was to scout out enemy territory for police and Marines. But despite its weight, the Gnat was outfitted with some of the best technology the Marine Corps could fit on its sturdy frame. It had three 32-megapixel cameras with 20 to 1 zoom, could stay aloft for three hours beaming live footage with a video camera, was quieter than a pin drop, and had the radar signature of, well, a gnat.
The Gnat flew out past the bend, recognized the heat signatures of the Covenant machinery, and started taking close up pictures. It completed its elliptical orbit and flew back to the Pelican, avoiding the downdraft and flying into Sergeant Morris's hands.
Morris plugged the Gnat into the handheld computer and studied the photos. Then he pointed at two Marines towards the front of the Pelican.
"Montag, Lincoln, get over here!"
They complied, and Morris sent the photos to their HMDs.
Some of the Marines in Sierra squad had been given over to Tango, since they would be fighting a larger force. Morris had kept Montag, and Private Lincoln had been assigned to his group. All in all, Sierra squad had twelve Marines. Only two of those were snipers.
"We've got two Shades, one on either side of the platform. Clustered by each Shade is two Banshees. In the middle of the platform are three Blues and a Redcoat. I want them taken out first, BEFORE they can board the Banshees. Next, I want the Shade gunners killed. I don't see any other monkeys around, so if there's more, they're probably behind that door. When they come through, take them out AFTER you kill the Shade gunners."
Montag nodded. Not a bad strategy, probably what he would have done without instructions. Private Lincoln looked nervous.
"We will be backing the Pelican around the bend so you guys can shoot before they see us. Hooah?"
Both Marines agreed.
"Send them to Hell."
Four Elites to take out at 350 meters in less than twenty seconds. On board a moving Pelican. Morris severely doubted they could kill all of the Elites. It was, at the very least, highly improbable.
Pelican, 0405 Hours
The Pelican pilot called upon all his skill to perform the maneuver asked of him. He had to be close to the cliff wall to get as close as he could to the platform, but he couldn't crash. He had to fly with his BACK to the cliff, so he couldn't directly see how close he was. And he had to fly SIDEWAYS so he could present the Pelican's backside to the Covenant when they came around the bend. At least there were no crosswinds.
Corporal Montag and Private Lincoln sat at the edge of the Pelican's transport bay, their legs dangling over the edge. They had tethered themselves to the Pelican, but it was still a long drop down. Both had secured additional ammo next to them, and were busy checking the sights on their rifles. Each shot had to count, as it took two shots to kill an Elite, and they only had four shots apiece before they reloaded. When both were ready, they gave Morris the thumbs up sign.
Morris nodded, and told the pilot to go. The Pelican shifted, and moved to the right. The cliff scrolled by, and abruptly fell away, leaving the Pelican in plain sight.
Montag sighted through his HMD, and picked out the Red Elite. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the universe narrowed to just Montag and the circle at the end of the tunnel. One of Montag's better CO's had said this feeling, when one was spilling the blood of the enemy, focusing one's anger and hatred into a single bullet, was one of the best highs possible. Montag was inclined to agree.
He willed his heart rate to slow, and his breathing slowed to. The roar of the Pelican receded to the edge of his consciousness, and he became aware of everything affecting the trajectory of the bullet. The cool air funneling into slow downdrafts, the temperature of the barrel, crosswinds. Everything.
CRACK!
The bullet went precisely where Montag wanted it to. The Elite was spun around by the force of the bullet hitting his shoulder. His shields were depleted.
CRACK!
The Elite fell.
CRACK!
A Blue Elite was knocked backwards by the force of the bullet.
CRACK!
The Elite was down.
Montag ejected the clip and reached for a new one. The empty clip bounced off the deck and fell into open space.
Private Lincoln, a less experienced sniper, had sighted on a Blue Elite a few seconds before.
CRACK!
The first shot went wide, hitting the cliff wall.
CRACK!
The second shot hit the Blue Elite in the chest, depleting its shields.
CRACK!
The third shot connected with the Elites left hand, shattering it in an explosion of blood and bone.
CRACK!
The fourth shot hit the Elite in the chest, killing it.
The final Elite ran for a Banshee.
Montag had finished reloading.
CRACK!
The Elite stumbled to the side as the bullet impacted upon its shields.
CRACK!
The Elite's throat exploded. It collapsed upon the platform, immobile, but did not die.
Platform, 0405 Hours
Gakag was stunned.
The Sangheili, the Sangheili that every Unggoy considered invulnerable, were dead. They would not give the orders to fire, and Gakag was unsure of what to do. He simply followed the Cardinal Rule of Unggoy Combat: when in doubt, shoot. He targeted the distant Human airship, not because he was coherent enough to deduce that the ship was what had taken out the Sangheili, but because it was the only moving thing he could see. He heard a distant crack, and heard Babag stopped firing the other Shade. A panic seized him, for he was what every Unggoy feared: all alone.
He felt an icy numbness shoot through him, and was suddenly happy.
He was going to the Methane Filled Paradise, where he would be forever at peace.
Pelican, 0406 Hours
The pilot spun the Pelican around and raced for the platform, reaching it in less than thirty seconds. Then he put the Pelican into another hard turn and got the back door over the platform and yelled for the troops to disembark.
The Marines jumped out of the Pelican just as the door to the Installation opened, revealing a dozen Grunts.
The Marines raised their assault rifles and shotguns and fired simultaneously, sending a wave of death through the Grunts. Six made it back into the Installation, and the doors started to close.
Sergeant Morris pulled out a frag grenade and threw it at the Grunts. He had the pleasure of seeing the grenade clock one of the Grunts on the forehead before the doors closed. There was a muffled thump, and silence returned to the platform.
Morris pointed at two Marines. "Lincoln, Heywood, man those Shades. Fry anythin' that ain't friendly."
The other Marines gathered in a semicircle around the entrance and checked their weapons. One of them stepped forward, and the door opened, revealing an empty, blood splattered hall.
"Liz, take point."
A female Marine with a shotgun ran forward, and the other Marines followed.
The hall ended after fifty meters in another door. Morris signaled, and the Marines split in two and lined up along each wall. Stepped up to the door, which slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
They had caught the Covenant by surprise. Somehow, the gathered Elites, Jackals, and Grunts had been too busy doing whatever to realize they were under attack.
The Marines spread out, firing assault rifles and shotguns while taking cover behind crates. The Covenant took a few seconds before organizing.
Montag picked out a Jackal that was hiding behind it's shield.
CRACK!
The Jackal's knee exploded, showering the floor in viscera. It fell on all fours, slipping and sliding on its own blood.
CRACK!
A Grunt behind the Jackal spun around like a marionette.
Montag started sidestepping towards a row of crates.
CRACK!
An Elite staggered backwards, its plasma rifle tracking towards Montag.
CRACK!
The Elite's armor cracked above the right breast, and it fell to the ground.
Montag was running to a row of crates, when a Jackal let off a charged burst from it's plasma pistol. The globule homed in on Montag
Montag ducked behind the row of crates, and the plasma burst just feet away from Montag. His hair singed, and his armor changed from a light gray to white with black ripples. It slowly changed back as the fail-safes dealt with the EMP surge.
Montag turned around was surprised to see an Elite crouched two meters away, facing away from Montag. It started to turn when it heard Montag.
Montag reached into the ammunition pouch but couldn't feel an extra magazine. His hands closed around something and he pulled it out. It was a homemade anti-vehicle incendiary grenade. What it looked like was an empty beer can with a spark plug stuck into the opening. Not having enough time to find something else, Montag prepped the trigger and threw it.
"Catch," he said.
The incendiary grenade was basically a beer can filled with thermite and a magnesium timer stuck in the hole. Thermite is a mixture of aluminum powder and powdered rust. When exposed to enough thermal energy, a single displacement reaction occurs. The aluminum atoms will strip the oxygen off the iron oxide molecules, melting the metal with a temperature in excess of 2500 degrees Celsius. It was perfect against machinery, but infantry tended to move away from the reaction.
The grenade, however, worked perfectly this time. It struck the Elite in the chest, making the shields flare up. The energy overspill coursed through the thermite, setting off the reaction. The mixture heated up to a liquid in milliseconds, melting the can and splashing all over the Elites chest. The shields shorted out in seconds, and the thermite continued to burn, dripping down the armor.
The Elite dropped its weapon and fell to the ground, writhing and screaming. It clawed at its chest, only to have its hands burned.
The sheer heat was unbearable, and the armor actually started to melt and fuse in with the Elites skin.
Montag barely noticed the Elite's struggle; he had found an extra magazine and finished reloading the Rifle. He stepped around the crates and picked out targets.
CRACK!
The bullet passed just inches from another Marine's head, and finished off and Elite with downed shields.
CRACK!
A Grunt tripped and fell. It did not get back up.
CRACK!
A Jackal found itself defenseless without its shield arm.
CRACK!
A Grunt fell without its face.
The Marines slowly looked around the room, rifles at the ready. The room was roughly circular, with two levels: a ground floor and a landing above them. There was an exit on the other side of the room, and ramps on either side of the room leading downward. Finally, there were some pillars in the center of the room, surrounding what seemed like a well. But no more Covenant.
Sergeant Morris surveyed the room, then started barking orders. "June, Jordan, secure the right ramp. Jonesey, you lock that door down. Montag and Liz, make sure nothing comes up the left ramp. The rest of you secure the landing above us."
Montag was back behind the crates, reloading the Rifle, when he heard a whimper coming from around his feet. He looked down, and saw the Elite. It was barely moving, and a huge hole had been burned in its chest armor. Blackened ribs sprung up from the chest, but all the soft tissue surrounding them was burned off.
The Elite must have been in enormous amounts of pain, but was unable to vocalize. It was staring pathetically at Montag, pain dulling its pride.
Pathetic.
Montag lifted his boot, and placed it down on the Elites head. Slowly, he transferred weight from one foot to the other, taking his time to separate and crush the bones in the animal's head. The forehead gave way all at once, bulging but not breaking the skin. Montag studied the corpse for a second, and then ran over to the ramp where he was supposed to be, and glanced at his partner, Private Liz. Then he glanced again. It was the female Marine who had taken point on the way in here.
"You're supposed to be guarding the other ramp." he said.
She gave him a funny look, then started laughing. Montag patiently waited for her to stop.
"I'm Liz, June is over there." Montag looked where she was pointing and saw a Marine that did look like Liz at the other ramp. She was talking to a blond haired Marine. Montag realized that Liz and June were identical twins. Very rare, considering that the Marine Corps usually split friends and family members apart, so as to break a person down and rebuild him as a Marine.
"LIZ, IS YOUR AREA SECURE?"
Liz looked down the ramp. It ended in a door after twenty meters. "Yes sir. Send Jonesey over to lock this door down."
Montag watched Jonesey lock the door opposite to the one they had come in through. He was using a cargo clamp to do it, something normally used to lock crates together. It was basically a jack with a clamp on each end. Jonesey was locking either end on the doors and pulling a lever that would lock the door shut.
Jonesey ran over and secured Montag's door last; after which Morris gave the order to search around and inspect the Covenant crates while they waited for Tango.
"Do you have any idea how to get this open?"
Montag and Liz were studying one of the Covenant crates. For all they knew, the crate could be full of plasma rifles, or grenades, or rations. There was some sort of script on one side, but none of them could figure out what the symbols meant. It could be a bar code revealing the contents of the crate. Or it could be nutritional information for the food inside. Who knew?
Montag walked around the crate, leaving bloody footprints with every other step.
"Yeah, grenades usually work."
Liz shook her head. "What if there's plasma grenades in there?"
"Then it only opens faster," Montag thought. Instead, he shrugged and started examining the crate closer.
His fingers ran down the seam on one of the edges. He had always thought it was strange that the Covenant crates were covered in the same alloy that covered the Covenant vehicles. Humans didn't cover their crates in Titanium A. Did the Covenant have more armor than they knew what to do with? That was a scary thought...
Montag felt something in the seam. It was a long, thin hole in the rubbery compound that filled the corners and edges. He pulled out the Knife and jammed it in. After some probing around, the crate hissed and the lid fell open.
The crate was filled with reddish purple crystals that spilled out onto the floor. Liz kneeled down and picked one up in her hand, examining it.
FLASH!
A brilliant beam of light burst forth from the well in the center of the room and out through the ceiling. The room was lit with a painful level of light for a few seconds. When Montag could see again, he spotted an Elite behind Sergeant Morris, its active camouflage overloaded from the sudden increase in light. Montag raised the Rifle and fired, severing the Elites head from its body. The shot echoed in the room, deafening the Marines. Everyone stared in shock at the Elite that had come so close to killing Morris.
Finally, Morris himself broke the silence.
"EVERYONE SPREAD OUT. THERE'S GOT TO BE MORE OF THEM!" he ordered.
Everyone ran for the walls. From there, they could get a good view of the room and the landing above. And the Elites couldn't sneak up behind them.
Morris' radio buzzed. "SHSHSHSHSH Calling Morris. Sergeant Morris, do you read me? This is Sergeant Mobuto."
Morris keyed on his radio. "This is Sergeant Morris. Please continue."
"Topside is secure. We are now coming down to you."
"Sergeant Mobuto, be advised that there may be cloaked Elites in here."
A pause. "Thanks for the warning, we'll be down soon."
Morris turned off his radio and looked at the other Marines. "Anyone see movement?"
Montag looked at an Icon on the edge of his HMD display. It was a square, blue with red dots. He blinked twice while looking at the icon, and the display changed. Instead of the normal view, it was now Infrared. Heat vision.
He looked around the room. The light bending properties of the Elite's active camouflage actually bended and absorbed low infrared, including any radiation that the field emitted. Ergo, any camouflaged Elites would show up as dark blue dots.
Everything was grey, pink, or red.
"Infrared shows all clear."
Everyone visibly relaxed, and started to spread out.
CRACK! CRACK!
"OK, now it's clear."
Most of the Marines broke out laughing. Morris just ground his teeth.
There was banging coming from the other side of the door Jonesey had locked down first. Morris pulled out his radio. "Sergeant Mobuto, is that you?"
"Yeah, that's us. Could you unlock this? It's lonely out here."
Jonesey chortled at Mobuto's feeble attempt at a joke as he unlocked the door. Five Marines came through, four privates and Sergeant Mobuto. Mobuto was rather tall, at six foot six, and was solidly built, authority reeking from him like body odor. His assault rifle almost looked like a toy in his hands.
Mobuto and Morris immediately began comparing notes while the Marines joked around.
"Four Banshees and two Shades on our end," Morris said. "How about you?"
"Failed to acquire the Wraith," Mobuto muttered. "Got the four Shades, four Banshees and three Ghosts, but that's it."
"Wonder what they're guarding here."
"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
Morris shrugged and looked at the ramps. "Which door do we take first?"
A pause. "We'll have to split up and take both. We can't afford to have enemies attack us or the surface teams from behind. Give me two of your Marines, and we'll be fine."
A/N: Well, sorry it took so long to update. I release chapters when they are ready, and not a second before.
I'm pretty sure that I'll be able to update this weekend, but no promises. Keep Reviewing, it only motivates me to update faster.