Hey there! It's your author again. Stat-rep: I'm in school at the time of posting this chapter so writing has been limited for me. But alas, here is another chapter for you. Again, I want to thank anyone who has made it this far, you have my undying gratitude. Any feedback you may have left is appreciated and any feedback you'd like to make is entirely welcomed. Expect the story to end soon though! How soon? And how will it end? Follow up to find out!
Another note, I plan to be writing another story soon, and it may or may not be fan fiction. If you're interested in what it is, go ahead and PM me to update when I post the first chapter/prologue.
Thanks for everything, readers!
- Yours author, TheFreak1407
12
Time passes at an immeasurable speed when you don't want to wake up. Like wanting to stay in bed after waking up in the morning, no clock or device around to let you know what part of the day you have already missed. Allowing yourself to go limp after some kind of exhausting activity, staying on the floor trying to re-energize your body because it just can't move anymore. Or better yet, when your mind enters a blank slate and all one can "see" in their head is nothing but a pitch black abyss. An endless void where one cannot think, where you can't reminisce the past or plan the future. For some, like myself, this is the best way to deal with things. To shut down and stop feeling, to forget things in some sort of irresponsible sense. Entering the blank state is like bandaging a profusely bleeding wound; it will appear to be okay for only a moment but the blood will eventually rise through the white gauze and reveal just how dire things are. In my case, it's like waking up from restless sleep and brought into a reality that is more like a nightmare. In my mind, the void is my solace. My escape. My painkiller. Returning to consciousness is like asking to be hurt again, with a guarantee slapped onto the package. As I stare into the darkness that only I can see, I always keep silent. No thoughts or worries, just what is blank. But even as I lie in wait, I know this will not last forever. It never does. Because I am the Corporal. The Corporal. Corporal. Corporal.
"Corporal! Corporal! Wake up! WAKE UP!" A familiar and feminine voice shouts to me as consciousness returns to my head. My eyes are still closed, tightly it feels like. Not from puss but from dryness, sand caking my face, I can feel, as I bring my arms up. Wiping the sand from my face it feels as though it has hardened over time. As I come round I can feel that my legs are ubiquitously sore, every motion I attempt to make being answered with a punishing rip in the muscles. But that's the least of my worries… Victor. I fell asleep and left Victor all alone. These thoughts flooding my head, my eyes burst open with a painful stinging, a warm orange flash of light coming into focus. Shifting myself into an upright position I grab whatever is nearest to me, clutching what feels like a crusty coat, its comfort value having gone down due to inclement weather. As my sight cleans itself naturally, the blurriness sifting away slowly I can see that it is night time as the sky is completely dark. Looking at what I hold in my hands, my hand is holding on tightly to an ONI uniform, Miller's uniform to be exact. My eyes rise to her muddied face, revealing a more primal version of the Miller I had previously recognized. Her hair was tied back but much more ruffled and messy, the blonde color seemingly fading into a more dirty brown. Looking past her I see that Myra is sitting silently next to a fire that they had produced, its light showing very little details in the environment around us; some brush sits in bundles at the bases of some large trees. Everything else is mostly obscure at the moment, the finer details not apparent to me. Finally, I bring myself to face Miller.
"Vic, where's Vic? Last I remember…" I fumble while taking in a breath, "… Last I remember is that I fell unconscious. Where is Victor? Tell me. Tell me now!" I shake her as I speak, her face already revealing the answer I didn't want to hear. Her green eyes make their way to the ground left of her, breaking any form of eye contact. Her lips suck inward as she places both her hands gently on the one gripping her coat. She closes her eyes for a moment then returns my gaze with her own, mine with conviction, hers with pity.
"Corporal… I'm sorry. When we found you… he was already dead. We were surprised to find that you were even alive." Her eye brows sink lower as she speaks, tightened cheeks as well as quivering lips. Everything around her becomes black, as if it were only Miller and I sitting alone in a dark void. It couldn't process. It wouldn't process. I remember now, my angered fit on the beach. No, it can't be. He wouldn't die, not like that.
"Please… don't lie to me. Where is he Miller?" My grip tightens as I bring my forehead into her chest. I can feel my body tighten, but no tears can come forth. My eyes only sting as I stare at the floor. I've become so dehydrated that I can't even properly mourn for my friend anymore. It's a debilitating and destructive feeling. Anger and grief aren't even present anymore, it's just pure and utter frustration.
A cold hand brings itself atop the back of my head, offering some form of relief that I can't bring myself to understand how. It just does. I sit silently with Miller with what seems like an eternity before she moves, lifting me up gently into a standing position.
"It's been a day since you were out Corporal. You were completely dehydrated since we found you, we've managed to nurse you back into a poor state of health with what little supplies we had left." She helps me over to the fire, my own legs barely supporting my body as I limp. I can feel myself wanting to collapse onto the floor with every motion. On top of that it feels like my temperature has spiked, explaining a lot of my sweat. As we get to the fire Myra looks up at me, smiling pitifully. I return it with a weak wave and let myself down to the left of the fire, Miller going back around to plant herself on the right. Minutes that feel like hours pass as we sit in wait for someone to break the silence. None of us can muster the courage to say anything for an agonizing amount of time. My chest tightens and lips quiver as I process my thoughts, the images and words in my head slowly muddling up as I try to think things through properly. Eventually I stop thinking about anything but how shitty I feel.
"Yeah. I can feel it, I'm in a really shit condition right now… but more importantly how are you two doing? We got separated after falling into the water." Now sitting in a semi-comfortable position I get a better look at both of them. Myra was setup in a very protective posture, arms hugging her knees, head lowered into the shell, her eyes looking at me. Miller sat cross legged across from me, her arms supporting her from behind as she leans back. All things considered, and there is a shit ton to consider, they could be worse. Myra lifts her head to speak.
"We landed further down the river Corporal. Much further." She looks to Miller, Miller nodding in confirmation.
"Yes, that's correct. What probably took you an hour or two to cover, we had already made it very close to the beach head. After trekking down for a while, we set up here, in hopes of seeing you. If Myra hadn't gone out to scavenge, we probably wouldn't have found you." She waves her hand towards Myra as she presents that Myra was technically my savior. I thank her with a weak smile.
"Good girl… but our situation remains the same, if not worse…" I stare into the fire grimly.
"Well… depending on how you look at it, that may or may not be true." Miller's voice has a quizzical tone to it, prompting me to ask a question. She shifts into a forward leaning position, as if she wants to tell some kind of gossip based secret.
"Okay… I'll bite. Whaddya got for us Miller?" I lean in as well, her face dimming in and out of sight due to the flicker of the flames.
"The best of the good news I can give is this: as far as I can tell the covenant is not aware of our presence," her face morphs from informative to a more concerned visage, "even though we are only a few clicks away from the outpost." As she finishes heat flashes into my face, the word outpost slamming into me like a tank.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Sweat dribbles down the right side of my face.
"Exactly what you heard. The outpost we've been searching for is only four or five kilometers off, sitting atop a rocky peninsula. I scouted it yesterday. When I came back, that's when Myra had returned with you." Myra turns to me and nods in concurrence.
"Holy shit… so we're this close… what about the Covenant?" I cough as I sputter out my words.
"That's one of two problems, aside from the geographical advantage. When I got there, two Covenant dropships flew overhead and hovered over the helipads there, a few elites, several jackals and a lot of grunts came off the ship, all of them well armed. And that was to bolster the forces that were already there."
"Ah fuck. Not even ten minutes and things seem like they've already gone to shit," I ponder our options for a few seconds then return to Miller, "and the other problem?"
"Our available equipment and provisions. After our fall into the river I lost the assault rifle but miraculously was able to find a washed up knife, it's probably yours in fact." She ruffles through her pockets and reveals a knife from her right pants pocket, bringing it up over the flame and handing it to me handle forward. I lean over and grab it, examining it closely. As far as I could tell it was just a standard combat knife, serrated back and a solid edge for the long side of the southern face. It could have belonged to anybody, really, but since I was the last one to have held the blade it probably was mine. I hand it back to her.
"What about the DMR I was carrying?" In response to this, Myra leans to her left and pulls out the rifle from under a bush, revealing two magazines as well. She places them carefully at my side and retreats into her original sitting position, this time sitting a little closer to me this time.
"The DMR and this knife is all we carry in terms of weaponry. We have literally no provisions other than some fruit we managed to find out in the forest, but it is no meal." I grit my teeth, realizing that there was no possible way to get to the outpost without placing ourselves into a brutally fucked up situation. Going in there with what we have now is not even worthy of the metaphor "bringing a knife to a gun-fight". We'd be insulting the knife.
"Well then… what about reinforcements? We've been out for at least four days, they have to send someone." I look at Miller, seeking some type of reconciliation. She does not give me what I want.
"As far as your Commander Hayward is concerned, this is an ONI controlled operation, any action he takes without advisory from either me or your sergeant is against his orders. A direct report from this platoon, or what's left of it, is required for him to respond. In short, we can't expect any help from HQ." She shakes her head as she speaks, tapping away at the floor vigorously with her fingers showing both anxiety and frustration. She curls her lips inward and begins to stare into the fire. My stomach churns and growls, a response to both the hunger I've been bearing and the bewilderment that our current situation has evoked. She basically said that it's do or die for us, the latter being the most probable of the two. And the way I see it there really is only one option and that is to go in. We'll probably die out here long before reinforcements are sent purely out of concern, if they care in the first place. But God damn there is nothing in our favor, at least not as far as I can tell. The Covenant forces already posted out there have a vantage point over us, and are armed to the teeth. They're surrounded by water with the exception of the shallow "path" that leads to the front of the outpost. Aside from that I also don't know anything about the layout of the base itself…
"What can you tell us about its design?" Miller stares at me blankly before responding.
"Err… uhh, okay. Ahem. Well, it has a four tier design, the first tier being ground level. That's a majority of the compound," she begins to flatten her hands out and pantomime the design in front of us, trying to draw the picture out in midair, "and two levels upward. The first tier sits along the entirety of the rocky plateau that stands a good twenty or thirty feet above the water level. Basically natural defenses surround the entire post except for the rear end. The outpost is approximately 12000 square feet in size, about the size of an elementary school, most of which is the first level."
"That rear end location, why is it the only portion that the rocks don't cover?" I ask.
"That's the fourth level, technically, it goes underneath the base itself. It acts as a storage area and has a small docking bay for small marine vessels." She creates a roof like structure with her hands and splays out her right hand within the inside of the design, mimicking her words.
"Storage area… weapons could be in there… and the other two levels?" Although it is miniscule, a bit of excitement manages to take a rise in me, a small glimmer of hope for us. It is immediately brushed out by a panging throb that invades my head every few minutes. It seems as though a fever has come to fuck me up as well.
"The first of the upper levels is a combination of the barracks and medical center. You have to go through that building in order to gain access to the third and final tier: the command and communications center." She motions her hands to form a building on one side then draws what looks like a bridge to another, the other building being a much taller structure.
"Why do we need to go through the barracks, there's no ground level access to the comm deck?" When I finish speaking, Miller shakes her head in response, waving her hands back and forth in a "no-can-do" motion.
"Its design is based on heliport and airway direction communication buildings, ground access isn't implemented to prevent unnecessary personnel from wandering in. It's impractical, I know, but it's what we're going to have to deal with. Plus, we have one more problem."
"What is it this time?" I rub my temple in a futile effort to relieve myself of more exasperation.
"The power systems have been, from my distant observations, terminated. There were no operating lights. So no power means no communication."
"No backup generator for the array?"
"Not according to the plans. This outpost is of old design, it was only requisitioned by the UNSC recently, and it's not military built. The communication assets were placed there separately."
"Well shit. It's like the universe stopped knowing how to give people a God damn break…" I drag my fingers through the dirt for a few moments, trying to process all the information given to me. From what she has told me, our best bet of getting into the base is through the docking bay in the lower levels of the ship but swimming there will be no easy feat, especially in my sodding condition. Infiltration from any other point has proven too dangerous on all fronts. And we're only three soldiers with so little equipment. Ach! Why does it have to be like this?
I bring my eyes up to Myra and see that she is morbid in her state of fear. Her eyes are pinned to the fire but the grip she has on her arms as they wrap around her legs is knuckle whitening. Her body jolts momentarily here and there as I examine her, as if she was shivering from a cold chill. Just by looking at her you could see that she was at breaking point, if not as fragile as thin glass already. Anything could tip her right over to the brink of insanity, it feels, and this "operation" could very well destroy what little stability she has. The things she's gone through these past few days is crudely surreal, experiences that even I couldn't imagine. And here I am, deciding how the fuck we were gonna storm the base… looking at her it was like looking at my own daughter. Of course, I've never had a kid in my life, but if there is a moment in my life where I could relate to any father, it would be now. Looking at her, so fragile and vulnerable at this moment, I feel like I can't let anything happen to her. And if I am to be honest with myself, this is not a common occurrence. In my times with Black Ops I had put those feelings away to feel less responsible for the blood on my hands. But with this, this selfish feeling towards Myra, I feel like I can repay all those lives. This is stupid, of course, but it's for my own sake. And God forbid for hers as well. I refuse to let her die. Fuck it, Miller too. No more deaths, not while I can still walk. Oh what a shitty resolve this is but if there is a more appropriate time to feel this way someone tell me. This is all I have left.
"Look… we'll get up right before sun rise. I want to test the current. You said that the base is a couple kilos off from here right? We'll use that to our advantage." I lift myself up, wobbling in my rise, and get into a standing position. The way up forces a grunt out of me, a response to the endearing pain that shoots through my legs with every whisper of movement. I begin to hobble towards the other end of our "camp" in order to find a cooler patch of dirt to lie on. The heat from the fire was for my body to re-stabilize if anything, but I feel light headed from it now. About midway to my intended spot a head pokes under my left arm and plants it firmly under me, another arm coming around the broad side of my shoulders. Looking down I see that Myra has taken on the burden of helping me walk.
"No, it's fine Myra…" I try to shake her off but she holds tightly onto my clothes.
"Please, Corporal… just let me help." Her eyes keep forward as she speaks, her body vigilantly supporting mine as we walk. Seeing as she will give me no opportunity to refuse, I allow her to guide me to my destination, which happens to be just another tree. When she places me against the base of the tree she finds her own spot across from me and plants herself on the floor in a basic resting position; her legs crossed on the floor while she hunches over them. The only light available to us is patches of moonlight peering through the canopy above us, the campfire now a considerable distance away as it now only has minimal effect, a slight tinge of orange on our skin, fading in and out in rhythm with the waving of the flames. Looking at her in this light I see that much of her features are now obscure, the top of her head, shoulders and knees being the only things easily identifiable. She raises her head up, the moon revealing her face which is blemished with dirt and blood. Her eyes water as she looks at me. We hold each other's gaze for several moments until she finally speaks.
"Corporal… I'm so sorry…" She murmurs, the words barely reaching my ears, but resonant enough to sting my heart. For what? I wonder.
"You've nothing to be sorry about kid…" I respond, my voice tired and grumbly from the earlier exchanges.
"Yes… I do. For your losses. I can't even begin to understand what you're going through… but even worse… because…" Her breath becomes rigid as she talks.
"Because?" I ask hoarsely.
"Because I'm God damn useless Corporal… during this entire mission… everyone's been dying. I've been getting thrown around. You're suffering there alone and… I haven't done a single thing!" Her voice is cracking now, her head lowered and hands on the floor as if she is bowing down to me. The sight is pitiful to me but it also wrought out… anger.
"Myra… get up…" I begin, but her voice is drowning out my own.
"I'm just useless… I should've died back there, not Victor. Fucking hell, sir. I can't do anything."
"Myra."
"I shouldn't have joined… not if I'm like this…"
"Myra!"
"The platoon deserved better. I deserve to die." That final word brought me forth, dashing to her, grabbing the back of her head and bringing her face to the moonlight. Rearing my right hand behind me I slam it right into Myra's left cheek, leaving her on the ground cupping the side of her face. Steam exerting from my nostrils, I stand over her, ignoring the pain and with my arms to my sides.
"Corporal what are you-" Miller begins to run over but I put my hand out in her direction, ordering her to stop. When I bring my head around to reinforce my demand, she reluctantly stops in place and stands where she is, glancing over at Myra then me in a repeating back and forth pattern. I turn to Myra and see she is just as stunned, looking up at me with widened eyes.
"Myra, you're a good soldier. Get your God damn fucking act together. This is your first operation, not a single man on this planet could have predicted that you'd be sent straight into hell. You've managed to keep yourself headstrong for this long, don't you dare shut down on me, not after what you said to Victor." I walk over to Myra and grab her by the collar, pressing my finger into her cheek.
"The UNSC bred us to fight. So that's what you, me and even Miller," I glance over at Miller, an eye roll given as response, "are going to do. If we stop now, we fail everyone that died to get us this far." I look at her eyes with a convicting intent. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Holding onto her I can feel the weight in my hand begin to lighten, her body beginning to slowly support itself.
"But… sir…"
"Don't give me that shit Myra. Not for one second." I look deeper into her eyes, as if I was burning her soul with guilt and conviction. Looking at her, I can't help but be reminded of every moment I told myself that it would be easier to give up, to just die. And for every moment I did I refused to give in, because if I had then I would deserve no place among my squad. Among any of the units I was in.
"It's too hard… it's too hard Corporal…" Her weight shifts downward again but I react with upward force, jerking her upward. She buckles for a second but balances herself, then placing her hands atop my own, her forehead acting as the final top layer. I see the sides of her eyes crease, a result of the tightening of her eyelids. She takes a sharp breath inward then, holding it in for a single moment. Only seconds later I see liquid streaming down her hands as she tightens her grasp around my own. It isn't long until she has broken down into a simple sob, her shoulders shrugging up and down in random intervals as her breathing becomes erratic. I free my right hand from the bundle we created and place it on the back of her head, gently bringing her face into my chest. Wrought with anger, frustration and grief, she begins to scream into my bosom, the sound muffled lightly.
"Waaaahh! Waaaahhh-ha-haaah!" Lightly she rears back her right hand and slams it into my arm repeatedly, venting herself in a physical medium rather than vocal. The wailing and beating continues for at least a minute, making my already aching arm even sorer, but it didn't matter. This is something that every soldier needs. A release. A vent. What many people don't realize about soldiers is that were trained to suppress emotion in high-stress situations. This is an effective tactic to keep men and women on the field calm, but it eventually backfires. PTSD, schizophrenia, insomnia and insanity; these are all possible results of extreme emotional suppression. If there is any one way to help a soldier who's in need of help, it's to let them release.
"Shhh-shhh, it's okay girl… it's okay…" I tap her head gently as she continues her fit, closing my own eyes to let the time pass. It doesn't take long for her to calm down into a subtle sob, a fit of breathing that she will eventually control. It's not until I feel virtually no weight in my hand that she places her right hand atop mine and taps it. Promptly I release it and take a few steps back. Myra brings herself into a full standing marine posture, wiping her face and sniffling a couple times, then begins to face my direction. Looking at me, she brings her right hand to her forehead in an honoring salute.
"The last thing on our to-do list is surrender, sir." She holds her position, looking off into the distance behind me. This time, however, her face has a stern look on it. Her eyebrows are softened but hard in their position. Her lips retain their place, the quiver she had originally been ailed with gone. But her eyes, her usually plain brown eyes have a sort of newly found vigor to them. She was no new super soldier by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clear that something different, something good, had come over her.
"At ease kid. That's the only thing I had to say to you… go get some rest." With those final words, Miller extinguishes the fire and everything goes dark. All that is left in my vision is small patches of lunar light.
A cold breeze brushes against my dry face, the sting of salt against my eyes as I scan the dark blue waters that span the ocean of Reach. Daybreak is just occurring, it's probably going to hit 0600 in a quarter of an hour. The environment around me is encompassed in a misty blue tinge, a sight reminiscent of many people who've experienced camping. It's a familiar feeling all around me, not of my childhood but of my experiences in ONI Black Ops. Most specifically is my time in the aquatics division on Alcion VI. Of the many things I learned from there it was three things: 1. Water is cold in the ocean, no matter what. 2. Never use thrown explosives underwater unless you know you will be safe. And 3. To use the tides to our advantage.
Whirlpools, high-tide, low-tide, waves from a cruise liner, it doesn't matter what it is, natural motion in the waters is motion to be used. We were deployed in five man teams, an insertion and elimination branch meant for covert operations. Unlike my other positions, this was the quietest unit I was assigned to. Why? Because my captain got things done quick and clean. But slow.
The device we used for under water reconnaissance and operations were Shark Suits, Mk. IV, amphibious half-plate ballistic and aerodynamic armor designed to allow for fish like mobility under water and unmatched projectile defense on the surface. The plate armor was designed with a three-tier lightweight design, carbon-fiber on the top, aero-gel on the second and imported tight-weave Kevlar matting. The user interface used ONI's satellite AI and A-Class information access. On top of all that it came with a pneumatic propulsion system and oxygenated replenishment drive that could support the user for up to twelve hours. All this amazing equipment to our disposal and our captain made sure we didn't use any of it. At least not for a majority of the mission.
Three days before mission time my captain would take the time to wade and swim the waters that were within the vicinity of our mission location in order to get a "feel" for the waters. Now for three months I thought this was total bullshit, but that was until I realized what it was that he was doing. On every mission we would go 50 meters below surface and deactivate all systems except for the life-support. This basically made us completely invisible to most sensors, even temperature detection since the suits own tech and the 50 meter layer of water between us and it kept us hidden. The three days before the mission was used to determine the nature of the tides. To understand the motion. It was always on the third day that captain would determine point of insertion, where we would literally float to the target zone. Only then was it that we would reactivate all systems to complete the mission. Of course it wasn't always like this, sometimes we had targets smack dab in the middle of the ocean, but that couldn't be helped. Lesson learned, it's time for me to repeat this process.
Fifteen minutes have passed since I recollected my experiences, so 0600 has just about hit. Light is barely cutting above the horizon, the sun hinting its approach. I look behind me and see a gradient of color, dark brown starting from my position and gradually becoming lighter and lighter until it's basically white as the beach approaches the forest line. I'm at the base time of Reach's low-tide on the east coast, the exact time I'm looking for. I begin to make my way into the water, the iciness sending a chilling shock up my leg. I grit my teeth and clench my fists as I get deeper and deeper into the water. As I get waist deep I can feel my balls shrink into my stomach, reverting me from man to woman in seconds. Unlike now, we had wetsuits in the aquatics division, a commodity that would be heavily appreciated as of right now.
By the time I reach neck deep water I become completely acclimated, at least as best as my body will allow. A sort of raw soreness invades my throat as the contrasting cold surrounds it, evoking a hoarse cough out of me. I stay still for a few minutes, attempting to stabilize myself in the water. Soon after I begin to swim farther out, maybe a good thirty to forty meters until I can barely hold my self above the surface. I catch my breath and let the waves carry me for several minutes, my internal gyroscope keeping me steady but also giving me a basic sense of motion. The waves return to the shore, yes, but steadily approach southward. Considering the hemisphere and temperature behaviors further north, this makes sense. It gets warmer as you travel south so the waters will be in our favor by mid-day where the waves and under-tides will whirl counter-clockwise. But that has yet to be confirmed.
Taking in a heave of deep breath, I plunge myself downward and begin to let myself sink, counting down. According to my captain this is an essential part of the process… 1… 2… 3… 4… descending at around a meter per second… 9… 10… thirty meters down I hold, waving my arms. Seconds pass, I can feel my lungs tighten… then finally I feel the brush. It pushes southward, only slightly, but enough to be noticeable. I immediately begin to swim upward to resurface. It's a terrible bearing on how to devise a plan, but it's all I got.