Broman, while I certainly won't object to receiving more reviews, please don't feel like you need to go out of your way to give me more. You've given me plenty so far and the quality of reviews that you, and really everyone else, has given me is astonishing to me. If having less reviews means receiving higher quality reviews, then I choose the quality over the quantity any day!
As to the flashback moments, I did actually struggle with how I wanted to portray those. Like you said, normally there would be a scene break, but in this story, the entire story is being portrayed through Moss' viewpoint and for Moss, the line between reality and memory is extremely blurred right now. To him, his hallucinations of Newsaka are just as real as is his current presence on Actium. What I wanted to do was show was that, whether it be because of exhaustion or brain damage, Moss wasn't consciously trying to recall memories, he just was. And more alarmingly, he doesn't realize what he's doing. Hence the lack of scene breaks. Because, like I said, for Moss, he is seamlessly slipping back into his past.
So, the question is, what exactly is wrong with Moss? Truth be told, I don't even know. I will be completely honest: I really dropped the ball on this. In my original outline, my plan was for Moss to start having flashbacks in order for him to bring all the pieces together. But the problem was, being super nostalgic didn't really fit his personality as he wasn't old or weary enough to start thinking of the "good old days." I felt there had to be a good reason for him to suddenly start having flashbacks, otherwise it would just be weird, and so I hit upon the idea of him receiving a concussion. I did some quick research, just to get an idea of some the symptoms, and then I quickly wrote out the chapter. It wasn't until after I wrote and posted it, did I do some more in-depth research and I kind of realized that if Moss had received a traumatic brain injury that bad he was having hallucinations this severe, he probably couldn't finish the rest of the mission at which point the story would pretty much be over. Unfortunately at this point, it's a little too late to change it so right now for our purposes, Moss is suffering from some sort of vague (and dare I say, cliché) brain trauma. Yay, fanfiction magic!
Needless to say, no one should use this story for medical advice.
Anyways, as promised, the next chapter.
Chapter 12
"Is that the building?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Jeez. You did a number on it, didn't you Sergeant?"
"Thanks? I mean, I could only use what I had at hand which, admittedly, wasn't much."
"On, that wasn't a criticism Sergeant. You did good. Very impressive. Maybe a little too impressive. Let's just hope the building doesn't collapse while we're poking around inside."
"No kidding," Moss said as he transferred his SMG from his left hand to his right so he could wipe his brow with a sleeve that wasn't completely soaked through. Transferring his SMG back to his dominate hand, Moss exhaled. "Alright. Pip, could I have my goggles back please?"
In the dim light, Moss could see Poblede jump in surprise. "Oh, right," she exclaimed. She reached up and pulled the shooting glasses off her face before handing them back to Moss. "It's been a long time since I've been out this late without a pair on, I kind of forget these weren't mine."
Moss grunted in agreement as he slid the glasses back onto his face. Turning them on, he ignored the 'low battery' warning that flashed across his eyes as he switched over to the image enhancement setting. Instantly, the entire area was lit up with a green glow, and Moss sighed in relief as he could see again.
Shouldering his SMG, Moss mentally began psyching himself up to enter the building. He had no idea what to expect, so he had to prepare for anything. However, given his limited resources, that was somewhat difficult. He could only pray he didn't blackout upon entering the building. Realistically, he probably shouldn't be the one to have to clear the building but unfortunately, he was the only one of the group with body armor. Moss supposed he could have given his armor to Norén or Xanthus and let them enter first, except they were both bigger than he was and, in the case of Norén, had a much more pronounced chest than he did which meant his armor wouldn't fit them properly. Not that it really mattered given that his armor was pretty much in ruins at this point, but it was still better than nothing.
Realizing he was stalling, Moss took another deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Alright guys," he said in a low whisper. "Wait for my call."
Without further ado, Moss raised his SMG and limped across the street towards the target building. It was like Xanthus said: Moss' bomb had done a hell of a lot of damage to the building. All the outer walls had shattered and been thrown outwards by the blast, covering the street with masonry which in turn had been covered by snow, making the ground rather uneven and a pain for Moss' wounded foot to walk across. As he drew closer, Moss realized that not only were the walls gone, the only thing still standing, on this corner of the building at least, were the support columns. Many of them were crumbling and as Moss walked passed them, he found himself holding his breath, least he accidently breathe too hard on one of them and cause a cascading failure.
Entering the building, Moss carefully swept the room, even though there was clearly no place for an ambusher to hide. What had once been a break room was now a smoldering pile of shattered masonry, half-melted metal, and crumbling wood. Every single intact surface was covered in soot, and every step Moss took caused little puffs of ash to rise from the ground. Further in, the interior door and walls separating the break room from the rest of the building had been blown apart, revealing a large, vast, empty space. There was clearly no signs of activity, living or otherwise.
Walking to the center of the room, Moss winced as there was a mute crunch, and he reflexively looked down to see what he had stepped on. It was a dome-shaped piece of metal that had shattered when Moss stepped on it, its structural integrity compromised by the sheer heat from the explosion.
Turning it over with his boot, Moss picked it up to study it. It was hard to tell exactly what it was, but it looked like it had, at one point, been part of a kneepad. Moss wondered if it had belonged to that Spartan, or whether it had belonged to one of those Elites he had killed, but the fragment was too badly damaged for Moss to tell.
Creak.
Moss reflexively dropped the piece of metal and readied his weapon as he heard something from the floor above him. He stood there, stock-still, his ears straining, waiting to see if the noise occurred again, but aside from the sound of his breathing, there was only the thud of distant explosions from the fighting taking place somewhere in the city. Clearly, the arrival of nightfall had not slowed the Covenant invasion down one bit.
After a few minutes, Moss began to wonder if he had in fact, actually heard something or if he imagined it instead. Because apparently that was happening to him today. Still, it was perhaps something worth investigating.
Very gently releasing his breath, Moss turned towards the street and let out a low whistle, gesturing at his team to join him even though he was pretty sure they couldn't see him. He didn't allow himself to relax though, at least not until he saw all three figures of team emerge from the darkness and join him inside.
"Area cleared," Moss whispered to them. "But I think I heard someone moving around upstairs."
"You sure?" Norén asked, hefting a piece of rebar she had armed herself with. Moss shook his head.
"No. I can barely hear as it is. Not sure if what I heard was my imagination, the building settling, or something. Still, worth checking out?" He directed the last part towards Xanthus, who shrugged.
"We came this far," he replied. "Might as well. Sergeant, take point. I got your back. Or, at least as well as I can with this piece of shit." He lifted his hand, revealing the sharp piece of metal he was carrying. "Specialist, cover our six. Corporal, um, try not to get killed."
"No promises," Moss heard Poblede mutter.
"Sergeant, move it out."
Moss nodded and headed for the area where the door had once been. Stepping over the broken door, he looked around and notice a set of metal stairs going up to the right.
"Stairs, right side," Moss whispered to his team. He felt Xanthus pat his shoulder in acknowledgement and Moss walked over to the staircase and glanced up the stairwell. The stairs only led up one floor. A single closed door with a small window was all that separated the staircase from the second floor.
"Going up," Moss whispered and started up the stairs. He made sure to ease his foot down slowly on each step, trying to make as little noise as possible, though that was virtually impossible given he was wearing armored boots on a thin metal staircase.
Reaching the top of the staircase, Moss paused outside the door and peered through the window. Just beyond the door was a small hallway. Leading into the hallway were four doors, two on the left, one on the right, and the last one at the very end of the hallway. All the doors were closed, and Moss couldn't see any movement beyond them.
"Clear," Moss whispered. "Going through."
Grabbing the doorknob, Moss jiggled it to see if it was unlocked. It was, and Moss was about to push through the door when a thought occurred to him.
"Hey Sergeant?" he whispered out loud.
"What is it?" he heard Xanthus whisper.
"Let me ask you something," Moss replied. "Theoretically, if you were a Special Forces Operator stuck behind enemy lines and being hunted by some hunter-killer team, you'd probably rig up some sort of booby trap, would you?"
"Most definitely," Xanthus instantly replied.
Moss sighed. "Shit. Send Norén up here, I think I'm going to need her help."
He could felt Xanthus nod behind him, and as Xanthus and Norén worked on switching spots in the line, Moss released his grip on the door, dropped to his knees, and began searching the edges of the door for booby traps. As he worked, he could sense Norén walking up behind anything.
"Find anything?" she asked.
"No," Moss replied. "But I'm not entirely sure what to look for. It would help if we knew what these guys were carrying, what they scavenged, or what they're capable of building with the material at hand. I don't know if I should be looking for a tripwire, laser wire, pressure plate, motion sensor, radio detonator, or something to that effect."
"It would definitely help if we had more light," Norén agreed.
Moss jumped as he remembered something. "Wait, I think I can do something about that."
Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out his long-forgotten, hardly-used stash of IR chemlights. Similar in appearance to a glow stick, IR chemlights differed in the fact they produced infrared light, which could only be seen with military night vision optics, making it extremely useful in situations such as this where they were trying to avoid attraction the wrong type of attention.
Pulling one out and activating it, he rolled it under the door so that it lit up the area on the other side. Peering through the window, Moss tried to look for any obvious signs of tampering to the door.
"See anything?" Norén asked.
"No," Moss said slowly, "but why don't you take a look?"
He handed Norén his goggles and moved to the side to give her room. He stood there in the dark, waiting, as Norén carefully scanned the area behind the door.
"Clear, I think," she finally announced. Stripping the glasses off her face, she handed them back to Moss. "You ready?"
Moss threw his glasses back on and leveled his weapon before nodding at her. She grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open, and Moss quickly pushed through the doorway. Briefly wondering why he felt the need to act all tactical when he had clearly seen through the window there was nothing waiting for him on the other side, he waited until he sensed his team piling in behind him.
"Okay, hold up guys," he heard Xanthus order and so Moss stood there, weapon at the ready, waiting for Xanthus.
After a few moments of silence, Moss started to get impatient.
"What are we doing Sergeant?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Xanthus admitted. "I'm just thinking: if that Spartan is here, shouldn't we be calling out to her, let her know friendlies are here? Avoid any potential friendly fire incidents?"
"Problem is, we're not sure if we're the only ones here," Moss pointed out.
He could hear Xanthus sigh. "You picking up any IFFs on your tracker?"
Moss checked his glasses, only to realize his on board computer had automatically turned off his IFF tracker in order to conserve battery power.
"It won't matter," Norén reported before Moss could switch it back on. "Volkov said they turned off their transponders."
"Damn," Xanthus muttered. "Alright, I guess we're searching room by room. Fortunately, there's not too many of – "
Thud
For a moment, Moss thought he was hearing things again. But then he noticed Xanthus tensing up.
"You heard that?" Moss asked, just to be sure. Xanthus nodded.
"Sounded like it came from the end of the hall," he said.
"Should we start there then?"
Moss could feel Xanthus nodding behind him.
"Alright, moving."
Moss began slowly making his way down the hallway, keeping his eyes on the door at the end of the corridor. As he limped forward, Moss could feel his heart racing and his breath began to come out in short spurts as adrenaline began flooding his veins once more, catching him somewhat by surprise. He would have thought after everything he'd been through today, his body would have been completely drained of adrenaline. Apparently not.
As he struggled to bring his breathing under control, Moss also tried to maintain his focus on the door in front of him, but it wasn't easy. His body was still twitching as it was still reeling from being in close proximity to multiple explosions, and he was so tired his eyes were beginning to hurt. He kept seeing all sorts of movement in the door in front of him, and he kept hearing strange noises coming from the walls around him, though given the general lack of reaction from his comrades behind him, he was pretty everything he was seeing and hearing was all in his head. Still, he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling he was about to walk into an ambush.
It was no doubt because of that feeling, the moment Moss felt something touch his shin, he immediately froze.
"What is it?" he heard Xanthus whisper into his ear but Moss didn't respond right away. Instead, without moving his feet, Moss crouched down and blindly groped the air in front of his shin until he felt whatever it was that touched his shin: it was a piece of wire, so thin it was barely visible even through his night vision glasses, stretched across the width of the hallway and elevated about twenty centimeters off the ground.
"Tripwire," Moss reported, suddenly very glad for his wounded foot. If it wasn't for his uneven gait, he probably would have most definitely stepped on that wire.
"Shit. Tripwire," Xanthus muttered, presumably for everyone's benefit. He turned back to address Moss. "Can you defuse it?"
"Depends on what it's wired to," Moss distractedly muttered, tracing the wire back to the right side of the wall.
Pulling out another chemlight and activating it, Moss immediately noticed the wire was connected to a M9 fragmentation grenade that had been duct taped to the wall. It was a pretty simple but effective trap: the grenade's safety level had been activated, so all it would take would be a simple bump to set the grenade. If he had stepped on the wire, the grenade would have been ripped off the wall, bounced off the floor, and detonated. In this tightly enclosed hallway, the results would have been devastating.
"Found it," Moss announced.
"Can you defuse it?"
"Yeah," Moss grunted. He reached for the grenade, intending on moving the activation lever on the grenade to the "safe" position so he could remove the device from the wall without risking it blowing up in his face. To his surprised though, the lever had been snapped off, leaving the grenade permanently armed.
"Damn," Moss muttered to himself. "I was hoping to salvage that. Oh well."
Pulling out his multi-tool, Moss extended his pliers and prepared to cut the wire.
"Have to cut the wire," Moss announced over his shoulder.
"Okay, go ahead."
Moss positioned his pliers over the wire, glancing over at the grenade once last time to make there wasn't any other way to salvage it, when he noticed something odd: there was another wire leading from the grenade running straight up the wall.
Puzzled, Moss reached over and strummed the wire on the wall like it was guitar string. To his surprise and alarm, the wire on the ground moved with it, indicating they were connected.
"Um, I think we just hit a snag," Moss warned. "This tripwire is connected to something else."
"A secondary?" he heard Norén asked.
"Maybe."
Moss stood up and traced the wire up to the ceiling when he noticed it: in the corner where the wall and the ceiling met, there was a second grenade. For now, the grenade was just dangling there, held in place by the wire. But if Moss had cut the tripwire like he had intended, the second grenade would have fallen to the ground and most likely detonated in his face. It was a rather simple, but clever, way of tamper-proofing a booby trap.
"Secondary," Moss announced, nodding at the second grenade. "Need to deactivate that before I can cut the tripwire. You might want to stand back in case I fuck this up."
Holstering his SMG, Moss stood on his tiptoes and reached for the grenade, mentally praying he could deactivate this one. Because it was hanging in mid-air, it wouldn't take much to set the explosive device off; the thing about impact triggered explosives was that if he breathed too hard, he could accidently blow the grenade into the wall, which would probably be enough force to trigger the time delayed fuze at which Moss would have three seconds to get clear. Moss didn't want to risk that, so he held his breath and -
BAM
Moss had just enough time to look down and see an armored fist burst right through the drywall and grab him by the ankle before he was yanked off his feet. He hit the ground but before he could recover, he was pulled straight through the wall.
"Moss!" Moss heard Poblede scream as he was battered by chunks of wood and drywall.
He barely had enough time to realize he was on the other side before he was flung across the room like he nothing more than a ragdoll. He slid across the floor and hit the wall on the far end. Scrambling to recover, Moss grabbed for his SMG but before he could get his hands on it, the same armored fist seized it and immediately jabbed the barrel under his chin. Moss quickly raised his hands in surrender.
"Identify yourself," a low, feminine, almost mechanical but distinctively human, voice growl.
"Sergeant Moss Shen, Alpha Company, 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade, 222nd Airborne Division," Moss rattled off. "Temporarily attached to Special Warfare Group Three."
The barrel under Moss' chin was slowly withdrawn, not entirely, but enough so Moss could turn his head. He turned to see a hulking figure, wearing the same green armor and gold plated visor as KAI-A019 had, sitting on the ground next to him, SMG in hand. He quickly studied her appearance.
The first thing that struck Moss was her size. Like KAI-A019, she was huge, much bigger than Moss by a fair amount though whether she was bigger than KAI was a little hard to tell as she was sitting on the ground. As noted, she was wearing a similar type of armor to KAI had been wearing, but it wasn't missing as many components and some of the attachments differed. The helmet was the same though, a green painted ODST style helmet with a reflective golden visor, one that was so shiny Moss could see his reflection in it, even in the dim light. Like KAI, this Spartan had clearly seen some action, as her armor was spotting some deep cuts and vicious looking dents, but obviously she wasn't as badly wounded as KAI had been. There was something off about her appearance, something about the way she was holding herself seemed wrong, inhuman almost, but Moss couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the fact she was completely still, like she'd been carved out of a rock or something. In fact, if wasn't for the fact she had spoken, Moss would have thought she was dead. He couldn't see or hear her breathing, and the hand holding the SMG hadn't wavered once, despite the length of time she had been hold onto it. It was somewhat unnerving, actually.
There was a loud BANG as the door to the room burst open, and the rest of Moss' team came piling in. Moss blinked, and by the time he had opened his eyes again, the Spartan had whipped out an M6G pistol with her free hand and was currently pointing it right at his team. Xanthus, Poblede, and Norén all froze.
"Lower your weapons," the Spartan ordered, gesturing at the rebar and sharp piece of metal Xanthus and Norén were carrying. Moss could see them hesitate.
"It's alright guys," Moss announced, trying to sound confident even though he was quaking in his boots. "We're all on the same side here. Go ahead and lower them." He waited until they had done just that before waiting for the Spartan to follow suit. She didn't, and Moss found himself nervously licking his lips.
"Are you, um, Sierra zero six two?" Moss finally dared to ask. He stared at the Spartan, waiting for a response, or at least a reaction, but there was none. Moss started to get really nervous.
"Major Volkov sent us," he finally announced.
That caught her attention and Moss could see her slowly turning her head until she was staring right at him. Moss quickly realized he couldn't figure out what was more nerve racking: the gun under his chin or the unseen stare of a Spartan.
"Where is he?" she finally asked.
"Dead. He was killed in action about half an hour ago," Poblede piped up when Moss failed to immediately respond.
The Spartan turned so she was facing Poblede and Moss let out a mute sigh of relief.
"Who's in charge?"
Xanthus awkwardly raised his hand. "Uh, that would be me ma'am. Sergeant Jacob Xanthus."
The Spartan stared at him and Moss could see Xanthus squirming a bit uncomfortably under her gaze. "You the rescue squad?"
"Yes ma'am. What's left of it, at least."
"But you're Army Paratroopers?"
"Yeah," Moss slowly replied. "It's weird, but I guess we were the only ones available."
The Spartan didn't say anything in response and despite himself, Moss began to feel a bit irritated. They were here to rescue her. Sure, maybe they weren't exactly what she expected, but why the hell was she acting so damn hostile to them?
Almost as if she heard his thoughts, the Spartan abruptly lowered her weapons.
"Petty Officer Second Class Sierra zero six two," she announced as she magnetized her sidearm to her thigh. In her other hand, she spun the SMG around so that the business end was now pointed at herself before offering it back to Moss, who grabbed it, and promptly dropped it because his hands were shaking so much.
"Is that a name? A rank? Or a call sign?" Poblede asked as Moss, somewhat embarrassedly, swooped down to retrieve his gun.
The Spartan fixed Poblede with another stoic gaze. "Yes," was all she said. Moss waited for an elaboration, but there was none forthcoming.
"Well, now that that's been settled, maybe it's time we starting thinking about a way out of here," Norén suggested as she pushed her way into the room, with Xanthus and Poblede following suit.
"Before we extract, we need to make sure the rest of my team is secured," the Spartan abruptly informed them. "We cannot allow them to be taken prisoner by the Covenant."
Moss exchanged an awkward glance with the rest of his team. Was she not aware…?
"Ma'am, I don't think them getting taken prisoner will be a problem," Xanthus delicately informed her.
Fortunately, the Spartan instantly understood what he was hinting at.
"Then we must ensure the destruction of their bodies and any and all equipment they were carrying," the Spartan told them. "We can't allow the Covenant the opportunity to dissect and disseminate my team's corpses."
"That's already been accomplished ma'am," Xanthus assured her. "The engineers secured the one at the crash site with thermite and Sergeant Shen secured the other one on the ground floor of this very building with explosives."
The Spartan gave Xanthus a blank stare. "I see Sergeant," she said. "There there's only one thing left to do."
"And what's that ma'am?"
"You need to eliminate me."
There was a notable pause as everyone else in the room took a moment to digest what the Spartan had just said.
"What?" Poblede finally exclaimed. "With all due respect ma'am, we just spent all fucking day looking for you and now that we've found you, we're not just going to kill you."
"You have to," the Spartan insisted. "I, along with the rest of my team, contain too many classified military secrets, secrets I, nor you Corporal, can allow to fall into enemy hands, whether it be Covenant or Insurgent hands."
The Spartan's inflection didn't change, nor did she react in sort of meaningful way, but Moss couldn't help but feel that last part was directed to Norén and he wondered if that was part of the reason for her initial hostility to them.
"We know ma'am," Xanthus was saying. "That's why we need to figure out how to extract, so we can get you back among friendly forces."
"That's no longer an option Sergeant."
"And why the fuck not?" Moss abruptly snapped, his irritation and impatience getting the better of him.
The Spartan fixed him with a blank gaze. "Because I can't walk," she reported and Moss suddenly realized that was what was off about her: her entire lower body, from the waist down, was twisted in an unnatural pose that could only be accomplished by a human being if several dozen major bones were broken, including the hip and spine.
"What happened?" Norén demanded.
"I'm not able to state with any degree of certainty," the Spartan admitted. "But I was most likely injured upon impact with the surface."
"Okay… how bad is it?"
"I lack the proper equipment to determine the full extent of the damage; my self-diagnostic tool was destroyed during the fighting, as was much of my medical equipment. From what I've been able to determine though, I believe I have shattered my innominate bone and more than likely broken the lower half of my vertebral column. Yet, despite all this, I'm currently incapable of feeling anything below my waist, indicated extensive nerve damage. In short, I'm effectively paralyzed from the waist down."
Moss stared at the Spartan in disbelief. Not being well versed in human anatomy, he wasn't sure what half of that meant in the long run, but he did understand "paralyzed from the waist down."
"But all that's repairable, right?" Poblede asked. "With modern technology and science, that's an easy fix, right?"
"Even if it was repairable Corporal, there would still be the issue of getting her back to friendly positions for it to get repaired," Norén pointed out. "If she can't walk, that drastically complicates matters."
"Well, can't we just carry her?" Xanthus suggested but Moss immediately shook his head.
"No dude, I tried that with the other guy. I could barely drag him a few centimeters across the floor, much less pick him up. I'd imagine she's pretty much the same way."
"Our armor alone weighs close to four hundred and fifty kilograms," the Spartan offered.
"Four hundred…!? How do you guys even move? No, you know what? I don't even want to know." Xanthus pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh.
"Can you remove it?" he finally asked.
"I don't have the necessary equipment to accomplish such a task."
"Of course you don't," Moss muttered to himself.
"Hence the need to eliminate me here, and now," the Spartan said in response, causing Moss to jump. He didn't think she could hear him.
"Look Petty Officer," Norén snapped. "Here's the thing: even if we wanted to eliminate you, we couldn't. Look at us: do we look like we're packing any sort of thermite or explosives?"
"Couldn't you improvise something with the material we have at hand?" Moss asked her. Norén shrugged.
"Probably. If I had a couple of hours to prepare. But I highly doubt we have that much time."
"My suit contains a fail-safe detonation system," the Spartan explained. "Once activated, my suit's fusion reactor will overload, burning everything with a ten meter radius before exploding."
"You're wearing an entire fusion reactor on your body?" Moss exclaimed before pausing. "No wait, wrong question. Better question: if you're so concerned about making sure the Covenant don't get their hands on you, why haven't you used your little self-destruct on yourself yet?"
"Not that I'm saying you should, mind you," he hastily added.
"Unfortunately, due to my injuries, I'm unable to position myself in way that would allow me access to my fail-safe control panel. Therefore, I require your help to activate it," the Spartan explained.
"Hang on a minute. How much time would we have between activation and detonation of your fail-safe?" Norén interrupted.
Perhaps it was Moss' imagination, but he could almost swear he saw the Spartan hesitate for the barest of moments before replying, "Fifteen seconds."
Xanthus let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's not a lot of time to get clear of the blast radius. Alright then." He turned to address Moss and Poblede. "You two are wounded, and probably the slowest amongst us all, so you should start making your way down to the ground floor. The Specialist and I will secure the package, and rally with you outside on the street."
"Wait, hang on a second," Poblede interrupted. "We're actually doing this?"
Xanthus gestured at the Spartan. "You heard her. There's absolutely no way for us to haul her all the way back to friendly positions with the equipment we have, and we can't allow her to fall into Covie hands. If she has a self-destruct, we use it, secure her, then figure out a way to get out of here."
"I don't know about you Sergeant, but I didn't get dragged halfway through the city, get my hand fucking hacked to pieces, just to blow up our objective when we found it," Poblede argued.
"You do realize that was our original mission, right Pip?" Moss pointed out.
"That was when we were supposed to blow up a crash satellite. This now a rescue mission, and we have a survivor," Poblede countered.
"Corporal, you wanted to finish our mission, right?" Norén asked her. "Well, this is it. Unless you've got a better idea, this is the only way to do it."
"I do, actually, have a better idea," Poblede replied. "Our problem is, she's too heavy to carry back to friendly positions, right? Well, we're sitting in the middle of a fucking city. You're telling me there isn't some sort of vehicle around that we could take and driveher back?"
Moss opened his mouth of retort, but then immediately closed it as he realized she had a point. He wondered how he managed to overlook that rather simple solution, but decided it was probably because he was tired. He could tell by the expressions on their faces, Norén and Xanthus were thinking the same thing.
"There might be, actually."
Moss jumped in surprise. The Spartan had been so silent, Moss had already forgotten she was still sitting on the ground next to him. Recovering quickly, Moss turned to look at her, a questioning look on his face.
"Once we realized the area was too hot for an ODST rescue team, we knew we were going to have to fight our way out of the area before the inevitable airstrike," the Spartan explained. "Alpha zero one niner left to acquire a transport vehicle for our usage, which he secured in a garage half a block south of our current location. Unfortunately, all communications ceased with him at that point."
"Huh," Moss commented. "No offense ma'am, but maybe that was something you should have mentioned earlier?"
"The problem is, the Covenant have been heavily reinforcing their positions here," the Spartan explained. "They've been steadily landing more troops and equipment. With the increased amount of enemy combat air patrols, any human vehicle moving in this part of city will quickly be spotted and destroyed. With the frontline moving further and further away by the minute, our chances of making it out of occupied territory are greatly diminished."
"What if we don't have to drive all the way back to the frontline?" Poblede suggested. Xanthus turned to her.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been thinking. Forty-five hundred x-ray."
Moss scratched his head. "Huh. That sounds... familiar."
"It should. It's the registration number for the Pelican that brought us down to the surface."
"Pelican... you mean the one that was shot down?"
"No, not shot down," Poblede protested. "EMP'ed. But the pilots managed to switch over to secondary systems just a few seconds before we crashed. And Lancelot didn't want us wasting time or explosives trying to destroy it, so we just abandoned it in place."
"Corporal, you suggesting we recover that Pelican and fly back to friendly positions?" Norén asked skeptically.
"Not just back to friendly positions. We could fly back to the fleet in orbit, make sure she gets off this colony and back to someplace like Reach, where she would be really secured. Moss here knows how to fly a Pelican."
Moss started. "No I don't."
Poblede glared at him. "Wasn't that the reason why you kept playing that damn video game? 'It's a simulation, it simulates reality.' Isn't that what you always told me?"
"Well, yeah," Moss said awkwardly, "but it's been hours since we left that bird behind! Who knows what sort of condition it's in now?"
"Only one way to find out," Poblede countered. "And really, what option do we have? At least with this plan, we all have a chance of making it out of here alive."
"Well, sounds like as good of a plan as any," Xanthus announced. "I say we do it. No, better yet, we are doing it."
"Quiet," the Spartan unexpectedly ordered and Moss reflexively obeyed. He sat there in silence, straining his ears, trying to figure out what the Spartan had heard, but he still couldn't really hear all that well with the obnoxious ringing in his ears.
After a few moments, Moss decided he couldn't take it anymore. He opened his mouth to ask, but just as he did so, he heard it: the sound of heavy footsteps clunking against metal steps.
"I read four enemy contacts approaching us." the Spartan whispered.
"How do you know?" Moss heard Poblede asked. The Spartan tapped her helmet.
"Motion tracker," she informed them.
"Specialist, shut the door," Xanthus tersely ordered. "Quietly."
"Sergeant, what are we going to do about the hole in the wall?" Moss hissed as Norén eased the door leading to the room closed. Xanthus shook his head.
"Hope they don't see it," was all he could say. "Ma'am, what sort of contacts should we be expecting?"
"Unknown. But they are enemy signatures, so expect Covenant."
"Shit. Okay, where are they now?"
There was a pause.
"Unknown. They've deployed a radar jammer," the Spartan reported, and Moss could pick up just the barest hint of frustration in her voice.
CRASH!
Moss jumped as the sound of a door getting kicked in filled the air.
"That sounded like the door leading from the stairwell," Norén grimly reported,
Moss turned to Xanthus. "Which room are we in?"
"Second one on the right," Xanthus informed him.
CRASH!
The sound of the door leading to the room next to them filled the air.
"Sounds like they're going room to room," Norén said, hefting the piece of rebar she had chosen for a weapon. "Only a matter of time."
In the dim light, Moss could see Xanthus nervously licking his lips. "Shit. Okay. Specialist, cover the right side of the door, I'll cover the left," Xanthus ordered, drawing out the piece of pointed metal he had salvaged. "Sergeant, you got the SMG. Position yourself a couple of meters behind the door and plant a round into the head of whatever comes through that door."
CRASH!
"Door across the hall," Norén stated.
"Alright. Ma'am, if you still got ammo in that pistol, position yourself behind Sergeant Shen and give him support. Corporal? Stay in the rear. Move!"
Moss quickly moved into his assigned position. Taking out his SMG, he extended the stock so that it would fit snug against his shoulder. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Moss hunched forward slightly and raised his weapon as Norén and Xanthus took their position on either side of the door. Behind him, he could hear the Spartan dragging herself across the ground into position. They stood there, waiting, for the door to burst open.
"What are they waiting for?" Poblede nervously asked.
Moss had been wondering the same thing himself. He nervously swallowed as he carefully eased his index finger in between the trigger guard.
KABAM!
Moss had just enough time to feel a sense of shock and horror as a Stealth Elite came smashing through the wall separating their room and the next, like the damn Kool-Aid man, before he was hit head on by the Elite. The blow sent shockwaves of pain rippling through his body, and Moss could feel his gun go off as the pain caused his wounded hand to spaz out, leading to him inadvertently pull the trigger. Then he hit ground, the now empty SMG flying out of his hands, the Elite right on top of him.
"RAAAAAH!" the Elite roared and behind him, Moss could hear the sounds of at least another three Elites come bursting into the room, followed by the sounds of fighting, but at that point he stopped paying attention as the Elite wrapped one scaly hand around Moss' neck and started to squeeze. Choking, Moss automatically brought his knees to his chest, trying to get his legs between him and the Elite so he could try to shove him off, but the Elite was just too damn big and strong for him to accomplish that.
Mindful of his rapidly growing oxygen deficiency, Moss hastily switched tactics. He drove his fist into the Elite's throat, to try and stun him, before grabbing hold of the Elite's thumb on the hand holding him down with both hands and yanking upwards, trying to break the digit, or at least cause enough pain to force the Elite to loosen his grip.
The Elite roared in pain but rather than relent, he grabbed Moss' arm with his free hand and wrenched it away before wrapping both his hands around Moss' neck. In desperation, Moss began lashing out with his legs, kicking and shoving the Elite in the waist, while smashing his fist against the Elite's arms, trying to break his hold. Moss felt his leg knock something off of the Elite's hip, which flew through the air and landed on the ground behind them with a mute clatter, but whatever it was, it wasn't enough to distract the Elite and Moss could feel himself growing weaker and weaker.
Then Poblede abruptly appeared out of the darkness. Holding Moss' discarded SMG by the stock with both hands, she swung it like a bat, hitting the Elite right in the mouth with the upper receiver. She hit him so hard, the SMG actually snapped off at the base of the stock.
The Elite's head snapped back and through his NVGs, Moss could see some of the Elite's teeth flying through the air, but all Moss could really think of was how thankful he was Stealth Elites never really sported much in terms of shield strength. Then the pressure disappeared from around his neck and Moss found he could breathe again.
Trying to regain his lost oxygen, Moss struggled up into a sitting position. The Elite had landed on his back on the ground a few decimeters away and Poblede had immediately jumped on him, desperately trying to stab him in the face with the jagged remains of the SMG stock. However, as strong as she was, Moss knew there was no way Poblede could hope to win a hand to hand fight against an alien that was at least three times her weight, so Moss quickly scrambled to his feet.
The Elite had just managed to grab Poblede by the waist and physically throw her off him when Moss' armored boot came flying in. A squirt of purple blood hit the ground as Moss' kick to his mouth caused the Elite's head to snap to the side. Aside from stunning him, Moss could also see the blow had knocked the Elite's helmet loose, and Moss quickly saw his opportunity.
Throwing himself onto the Elite's chest, Moss wrenched the Elite's helmet off and began laying into him. As he hammered blow after blow onto the Elite's face with his fist, Moss noticed the Elite's goggles coming loose and he saw another opportunity to cause serious damage. Ripping the goggles off, Moss grabbed the sides Elite's face with his hands and drove his thumbs right into the Elite's eyeballs. His wounded hand chose that moment to start spazzing out again, so Moss was only able to attack with one hand, but he quickly felt something give way and his thumb was flooded with warm liquid.
The Elite screamed out in pain and Moss was just about to allow a satisfied smirk cross his face when the Elite jabbed Moss right in the jugular with his fingers. Moss still had his mandarin collar on, so the blow didn't do much besides cause a bruise, but the pain was enough to cause Moss to relent for about half a second. That half second through was more than enough time for the Elite to recover, and before Moss could stop him, the Elite wedged his arms between Moss', planted his hands against Moss' chest, and shove him.
The Elite was so strong that Moss was actually thrown straight up into the air. He had just enough time to feel surprised when he felt his back hit the ceiling with enough force to crack the drywall, before he felt his stomach drop and he plummeted straight for the ground. He could see the Elite roll out of the way and Moss had just enough time to cover his face with his arms before he hit the ground, landing heavily on his stomach and forearms.
With the edges of his vision growing hazy, Moss struggled to remain conscious as he looked around for the Elite. He saw him a few centimeters away, blood dripping from his left eye socket, struggling to his feet. As Moss watched, Poblede came running up. She jabbed the broken SMG stock up, right into the Elite's left knee, the jagged end slipping between the edge where his kneepads and shin guard met and into the Elite's flesh. The Elite bellowed in pain and rage, fresh blood leaking from his joint and swung widely at Poblede, who released her hold on the stock and jumped back. The Elite immediately ripped the piece of plastic out and tossed it aside. As he did though, Poblede kicked his leg as hard as she could, causing the leg to buckle, and the Elite dropped to one knee, putting his face in position where Poblede could actually reach it. She immediately went to town, hitting the Elite with an upper cut with her right hand, and then following it up with a left hook. As soon as she hit him though, she immediately began screaming in pain and it took Moss a few seconds to realize why: it appeared, in her haste to engage, she had forgotten about her mutilated left hand, and the blow had caused her stubs to rip open again. The Elite immediate hit her with an open palm strike to her chest and Poblede was blown off her feet. She flew a good meter back through the air, flying through the hole in the wall the Elite had created, and disappeared into the next room.
Moss launched himself at the Elite's back, but the Elite must have heard him coming because, without even looking, he backhanded him. Moss was knocked on his ass and as soon as he hit the ground, he immediately raised his hands to block the kick he instinctively knew was coming. Despite not connecting with his face, the blow was still strong enough to propel Moss across the room. He slid across the floor until he hit the wall on the far side.
Moss struggled to get back onto his feet, but it was a losing battle. At this point, he was completely wiped, having never been trained for this kind of fight. Sure, the Army had taught him some hand to hand combat, but the mentally behind Army Combatives was to distract the enemy long enough for the soldier to recover his weapon and shoot the bastard, not to make the soldier some sort of martial arts master. True of the matter was, even if Moss had been at full strength, this was not a fight he could have won. He simply didn't possess the stamina or the endurance to continue getting the shit beat out of him.
Elites, on the other hand, did. Despite his injuries, the Elite Moss was fighting looked ready to go on for another dozen rounds, and they both knew it. The Elite grinned, which, coupled with his destroyed eye, made him look particularly hideous, then raised his fists. To Moss' surprise, the Elite gestured for him to stand up, and Moss couldn't help but roll his eyes. Fuck, were they really going to do this? Seriously, what did a man have to do around here to die in peace?
Moss placed both his hands on the ground to push himself up but as he did, his right hand touched something round and metal sitting on the ground. He reflexively looked down to see what it was, and it took his exhaustion-riddled brain a few moments to process what he was seeing: it was the hilt of a deactivated energy sword. But where the fuck...?
Almost as one, both Moss and the Elite turned to stare at the Elite's hip where his energy sword should have been. It was missing; the sword must have been what Moss had accidently kicked off when the Elite had Moss pinned down.
Moss and the Elite exchanged glances, and all of a sudden, Moss felt like he was in a western, right in the middle of the climax when the hero and main villain were about to have a draw. Moss stared at the Elite; the Elite stared at Moss. Both beings glared at each other, both daring the other to make a move first. Moss stared at the Elite's face, watching, waiting. He could see the Elite was missing a few teeth from where Poblede had hit him, and he could see blood oozing out from where Moss had stuck his thumb into the Elite's eye. But most of all, Moss could see the sheer amount of hatred the Elite had for him just emanating from his remaining eye which, quite frankly, the sight was kind of intimidating.
Without warning, Moss felt a drop of sweat roll down his forehead and right into his eye. Involuntarily, Moss blinked, and that was when the Elite made his move. Letting out a war cry, the Elite whipped out an energy dagger and leapt straight at Moss' face.
"Oh shit!" Moss stammered out as he seized the energy sword and lifted it. He fumbled around with until he grabbed something that felt like an activation trigger. Praying to whoever was listen that he was pointing the sword in the right direction, Moss closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
PHCKSH!
The sound of an energy sword activating was usually enough to send shivers down the spine of even the most battle hardened veteran. But at this moment, that noise was music to Moss' ears. But of course, the fact that he had managed to activate the energy sword wasn't necessarily proof that he had been able to successfully defend himself, so he kept his eyes closed, strangely afraid of what he might see if he opened them. But, after a few moments of where nothing happened, he plucked up the courage to see what was going on.
The Elite's face was less than five centimeters away from his, close enough that his rancid breath filled Moss' nostrils. He was breathing rather heavily, and his face was contorted into an expression of obvious pain. Moss glanced up. The Elite's arm was stretched over his head, the energy dagger buried in the wall mere millimeters above his skull. Moss could feel the barest of burns across running across his bare scalp. Well, that was close. But how close? Moss decided he had to glance down. So he did.
The energy blade had entered the Elite vertically right about where the bottom of the sternum on a human being would be. The superheated, magnetically stabilized plasma blade had cut through the Elite's cuirass like it was made of paper and into the flesh underneath. The sheer heat had instantly caused third degree burns to form on whatever flesh the blade had passed through, which had the unintended effect of cauterizing the blood vessels so there was no internal bleeding, but the pain had to be excruciating. The wound was hardly fatal though, but the Elite made no motion to try and re-engage Moss. In fact, the Elite seemed intent on doing his best not to move a muscle. Moss couldn't figure out why, so he did what came naturally to him: he reached out with his free hand and gave the Elite a light shove. The Elite slipped.
The plasma blade stayed in the same place. The Elite, on the other hand, continued to fall. As he fell, the blade cut right through him, like a hot knife through jello, cleanly slicing through armor, bone, and flesh alike until the blade emerged through the top of the his skull. The Elite hit the ground, cut vertically in half, from the bottom half of his torso and straight up through the center of his head.
As the two halves of the Elite clattered to the ground and the acrid scent of melted metal and charred flesh filled his nostrils, stinging his eyes, all Moss could do was gape at the sheer destructiveness of the weapon in his hands. He slowly released the trigger and the energy blade dissipated.
"Holy fuck," Moss stammered as soon as he found his words, staring at the energy sword in astonishment. "Where have you been all my life? No wonder Elites love hand to hand combat so much. How come we don't get weapons like this!?"
The sound of shattering drywall reminded Moss he wasn't out of the woods just yet. He looked around the room to see who needed his help and was astonished by what he saw. The Spartan was at the back of the room, fighting off two other Stealth Elites. Despite being injured and outnumbered, the Spartan was not only holding her own, but actually winning. One of the Elites was missing his helmet, revealing a fist-sized bruise around his left eye. The other had a palm-sized hole in the middle of his cuirass. Both Elites were covered in bruises and fresh blood was leaking from a number of small cuts. In contrast, outside of her initial wounds, the Spartan looked no worse for wear.
At the moment, the Spartan was sitting on Cuirass Elite's shoulders, slamming her right elbow down onto the top of his head. As Moss sat there and watched, Cuirass managed to reach up and grab her by the top of her helmet and throw her off his shoulders, but as the Spartan flew through the air, she flipped around and delivered an upper cut punch straight into Cuirass's lower jaw. As Cuirass staggered back, the Spartan hit the ground and immediately rolled to the side as Helmetless Elite brought his foot down hard enough to break the floorboards, trying his best to stomp the Spartan to death. The Spartan quickly rolled back and drove her fist right into Helmetless' knee, and Moss could hear the shriek of metal as Helmetless' kneepad instantly gave way.
Rolling into a sitting position, the Spartan immediately raised her hands to protect herself from the vicious kick Cuirass delivered at her face. But rather than deflect or even block the blow, the Spartan caught the kick and somehow managed to use the momentum to launch herself backwards through the air. She flew into Helmetless who, out of reflex, caught her in a bridal carry, and the Spartan immediately wrapped her arm around the back of the Elite's head and flipped herself forward. Caught off guard by the sudden weight and motion, Helmetless pitched forward and as he fell, the Spartan managed to flip him over her shoulder. He went crashing into Cuirass and they landed on the ground in a tangled heap as the Spartan hit the ground. Without stopping to even take a breath, the Spartan lifted herself into a handstand and began 'running' across the ground on her hands toward the aliens. She looked absolutely ridiculous doing so, but Moss' amusement quickly turned to astonishment when he remembered she was paralyzed from the waist down.
Reaching the Elites just as they recovered, the Spartan began spinning around on her hands, her useless legs flailing through the air. One of her legs caught Helmetless right in the face and while the blow probably wasn't as bad as it could have been if the Spartan actually kicked him, the impact was still hard enough to knock him right back to the ground. The other Elite managed to duck under the spinning limbs and dropped down with a leg sweep, trying to take out the Spartan's arms, but the Spartan shoved herself off the ground into the air and leaped over the blow. As the Spartan fell back to the ground, she brought both her heels down hard on the skull of the astonished Elite. There was a loud crack as Cuirass's helmet gave way, splitting in half.
As Moss watched the fight unfold, he suddenly realized what Volkov had meant when he said Spartans were "indescribable." Compared to Moss' fight just a few minutes ago, it was clear the Spartan was fighting on an entirely different level, one that Moss could only dream of achieving. The Spartan was moving with such a fluidity and swiftness, the likes of which Moss had only seen in expertly choreographed and professionally edited action films. It was almost like she knew exactly what the Elites were going to do, before they did it. The fact the Spartan was managing to accomplish such a fight, while paralyzed from the waist down, made the fight all that much more impressive.
Moss didn't know how long he sat there, watching, but then a pained scream from behind him reminded him the Spartan wasn't the only one in the room and she clearly didn't need his help. Turning towards the door, he spot Xanthus, who was busy fighting off the last Stealth Elite. Xanthus was welding a piece of rebar and was desperately swinging it, trying to hit the Elite, but the Elite kept dodging and weaving. Even as Moss watched, Xanthus swung the rebar like a bat, but the Elite quickly ducked under the blow. Before Xanthus could recover, the Elite seized Xanthus by the waist and full body slammed him to the ground. Xanthus hit the ground with a tremendous CRASH, knocking the wind out of him, but the Elite wasn't done yet. Grabbing Xanthus by the neck, the Elite slammed him back-first into a nearby wall. Wrapping both hands around Xanthus' throat, the Elite lifted him straight up and held him there, pinned against the wall and getting choked to death. At that, Moss decided to intervene.
PHCKSH!
Xanthus landed on the ground with a small thump, coughing violently and massaging his neck, trying to regain his breath as he was abruptly released. Meanwhile, the Elite stumbled back, staring and screaming in shock at the glowing stumps of where his arms used to be. At that, Moss took another moment to admire the absolutely devastating weapon he had managed to capture. The energy sword had passed right through the Elite's arms like they weren't even there, amputating both of them just below the elbows with the lightest of swings.
Grinning like a maniac, Moss turned this attention back to the Elite. The Elite let out a small choking noise as Moss drove the sword straight into his stomach. The smell of burning flesh drowned out all other scents as Moss slowly withdraw the blade, and the Elite dropped to his knees with a heavy thump. He swayed, but didn't fall, so Moss grabbed the hilt with both hands and swung the sword horizontally through the air. The Elite's severed head toppled to the ground, slipping out of the helmet as it hit the ground, and Moss allowed the sword to deactivate, grunting as he kicked the now headless corpse to the ground.
"Xanthus, you all right?" Moss asked as he ran over to help Xanthus. He glanced at Xanthus' face and winced. Xanthus was a mess. His entire face was already black and blue, his left eye had already started to swell closed, and his nose had not only been broken, it had pretty much been shattered, spewing blood all over his chest. Xanthus began coughing, and he leaned over to the side and violently spat out a mouthful of blood. Among it, Moss could see a couple of this teeth. Clearly, his fight against the Elite had not gone well. Nevertheless, Moss knew it could have gone much worse: Xanthus didn't appear to have any broken bones.
"Whoa, take it easy!" he ordered as Xanthus started to climb to his feet. "Don't rush it, give it some time!"
"Where's the Spartan?" Xanthus managed to gasp out between coughs.
In response, Moss gestured to the back of the room where one of the Elites was dead, his head jammed in-between the floorboards. Meanwhile, the Spartan was laying on her back with the other Elite laying on top of her. She had one arm wrapped around his forehead, holding him tight, while her other hand was enclosed around the Elite's throat. A ripping noise filled the air, reminding Moss of the sound of a piece of fabric getting torn in half, and he winced as the Spartan calmly tore the Elite's throat right out from his neck. The Elite let out a gurgling noise as he began convulsing, dark purple blood spewing out from his wound, and the Spartan casually shoved the dying alien off her. She sat up to see Moss and Xanthus staring at her, with matching expressions of fascination and horror, and she gave a small shrug as if to say, "What?"
"That was a little… excessive," Moss couldn't help comment as he helped Xanthus to his feet.
"Who cares," was the Spartan's blunt reply. "We need to move. More Covenant are undoubtedly on their way."
"Right…" Moss turned to Xanthus. "We go find that vehicle?"
"Go find that vehicle," Xanthus ordered. "Take Corporal Poblede with you. I'll help the Spartan try and figure out how to get her out of that armor of hers so we can get her down the stairs."
Moss very reluctantly held up the energy sword. "Try this. It seems to cut through metal pretty well."
"Thanks, but I'll get my own."
Xanthus walked over to the Elite he'd been fighting and swooped down to retrieve the sword from the corpse's hip. "It's a good thing they didn't use these weapons against, huh? Would have been a lot shorter fight."
"They were probably under orders to take us alive," Moss suggested. He pointed at the Spartan. "It sounds like they definitely want her alive at least."
"Could be. You better get going."
"Right. Pip?"
Moss heard her groan as she walked back into the room, holding her ribs. "You alright?"
"Still breathing now I guess but fuck," she groaned. "Think I broke a couple ribs. That Elite hits like a fucking truck."
"Yeah, well, it's a good thing he was about as wide as one. Probably helped defuse some of that energy," Moss pointed out, shaking off his arms as the pain from blocking the Elite's kick suddenly hit him. "Come on, we got to go."
He started limping towards Poblede, but then paused and glanced around the room. "Wait a minute. Where's Norén?"
"Moss."
Moss froze, because he was pretty sure this was the first time Norén had ever used his first name. He slowly turned around.
Norén was sitting on the ground in the corner to the right of the door. She looked rather pale, and both her hands were tightly gripping her stomach. Moss stared at her, not understanding, until he noticed the dark spot on her shirt that was slowly growing. Norén coughed.
"Fuck," she weakly groaned. "Always knew the UNSC was going to kill me someday."
And just like that, Moss suddenly realized where his last bullet had gone.
"Oh shit!" Moss threw himself to the ground next to Norén and began checking her over. "Xanthus, I need some light! Find me some light! Pip, starting searching those bodies for some medkit I can use!" he frantically ordered. "Hang on Norén! You're going to be all right! Where's my light god dammit!?"
He tried to pry Norén's hands away so he could see the extent of damage the bullet had done, but Norén's groan of pain quickly discouraged him.
"How bad is it?" Moss asked her, trying to look around her hands though given how saturated her shirt had become, it didn't look good. "Pip! I need that medkit!"
Abruptly, Moss suddenly remembered he still had a can of biofoam left in his IFAK and whipped the can out.
"Hang on Norén," Moss repeated as he struggled to remove the nozzle. Unfortunately, his hand was shaking too much and in the process, he inadvertently tore the nozzle off. "Fuck. Fuck! Pip! Give me a knife! Or... or... or something sharp enough I can puncture the side! Hurry up!"
A hand suddenly grabbed his and he looked down to see Norén gently forcing him to lower the can.
"It's okay Moss. I think I'm done," she breathlessly whispered. "Yeah... I think I'm done."
Moss stared at her in disbelief as her hand slipped off his, leaving bloody streaks all over his sleeve.
"Norén, I..." Moss began before the enormity of events suddenly stuck him, and a wave of emotions came washing over him: fear, anger, despair... guilt. He felt his eyes begin to burn and his throat constrict, making it even harder to breath than when the Elite had been choking the life out of him minutes ago. There was a whole host of things Moss wanted to say to her, but Moss found he just couldn't find the words to say any of it.
"Norén, I'm sorry," he finally choked out.
"For what?" Norén asked, her voice sounding surprisingly strong.
For letting you down. For not being able to lead you home. For not being able to save you, Moss wanted to say, but none of that seemed to truly convey the extent of his guilt.
"For not being able to help you kill more of these sons of bitches," Moss finally said. "For... For not being able to help you avenge your homeworld."
Moss felt some warm slide down his cheek, but he refused to take his eyes off Norén. She was fading fast. Her skin had a pale waxy look to it, and her breath was coming out in short spurts. Despite the cold, Norén was sweating profusely, and she could no longer keep her head straight.
Abruptly, Moss realized Norén was trying to say something, and he quickly leaned in to hear her.
"It was never... about... revenge..." she whispered into his ear. A weak smile appeared on her face as Moss stared at her in surprise. Then her smile became rather fixed as her eyelids wavered before gently closing. Her hands slid off her stomach and landed in her lap, and her head drooped forward.
"Norén?" Moss whispered. "Norén?"
He reached out and put two fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse. There wasn't one.
"Shit!" Moss yelped. "I got no heartbeat! She's gone into cardiac arrest!" Grabbing her by the shoulder, Moss gently eased Norén to the ground, laying her on her back. "I need to administer CPR! Someone, give me some goddamn light!"
Putting both hands over her heart, Moss began pushing down. "Thirty compressions to the chest," Moss muttered to himself as he worked. "Following by two ventilation breaths to the mouth."
Pinching Norén's nose closed and pulling her mouth open, Moss blew twice into Norén's mouth, trying to force oxygen into her lungs. He then placed his ear over her heart, willing upon willing he would hear something.
There was nothing.
"Okay, don't panic Moss," Moss told himself as he sat back up. "Never works the first time. Thirty more chest compressions."
He began pumping again, and it just about took all his effort not to panic when he heard a mute snap as he felt one of Norén's ribs break under his hands.
"That's a good sign," he tried to remind himself. "Means you're pushing hard enough. Two ventilation breaths, come on."
He blew twice into Norén's mouth and again place his ear into her chest. Nothing.
"Come on Norén!" Moss yelled as he began chest compressions again. "Just breathe, dammit! You can do it! Come on!"
He leaned over to do ventilation breaths again when someone grabbed his shoulder.
"Moss," he heard Poblede say, but he shrugged her hand off and ignored her. He placed his head on Norén's chest again, and again he failed to hear a heartbeat. He sat up to do more chest compressions, but Poblede grabbed his shoulder again.
"Moss, we got to go, we got to go," she whispered to him as Moss continue with the chest compressions. "Moss, Norén's gone!"
"No no," Moss frantically said as he worked. "I can save her. Just need to keep working!"
"Sergeant!"
Moss jerked and looked up, noticing for the first time the tears streaming down Poblede's face.
"She's gone, we got to go," she was urging, her eyes full of grief and regret. "You can't do any more for her Moss, you have to leave her. We need to leave, right now!"
Moss stared at her blankly, and then glanced down at Norén. She was laying there, looking more like a mannequin than an actual person, with her arms folded across her stomach a serene look on her face, and Moss was stuck with the realization that he had never seen her more at peace. And then he realized Poblede was right: Norén was gone, and there was nothing left he could do for her.
Numbly, Moss reached down and removed her tags from around her neck. Then, impulsively, he also lifted her arms so they were crossed over her chest, not her stomach. He then stood up, feeling dazed, like he'd just been punched in the face. He was immediately confronted by Xanthus, who looked at him with a sympathetic look on his face, but didn't comment. Instead, he handed Moss a plasma rifle.
"Covie weapon for you Sergeant. Careful, it's heavier than it looks," he warned as Moss numbly took the offered weapon. "I got to trigger the Spartan's self-destruct, but I need you guys to get clear of the building before I do so. You think you can carry the Spartan out of here on your back? She should be a lot lighter without her armor."
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and Moss absentmindedly followed the gesture, noticing for the first time the Spartan had managed to extract herself from her armor. She had cut everything off, creating a pile of glowing metal on the ground and leaving her clad in some sort of skintight bodysuit. She had also removed her helmet for the first time, revealing a surprisingly youthful face with Hispanic features, black hair that had buzzed in a military style haircut, and a skin tone that was so pale, it caused Moss to involuntarily shudder as it reminded him of how Norén currently looked.
Moss quickly looked away, forcing himself to focus on Xanthus, who was patiently waiting for a response. Moss nodded.
"Okay. Ma'am, I need you to lead the way. Sergeant, take them down the block, secure our ride, and wait for me there. Corporal? Watch their backs. As soon as you're clear, fire a round from your rifle to signal you're safe and I'll try to join you as quickly as I can. Go."
"Copy that Sergeant," Poblede quietly replied. "Come on Moss."
Grabbing a hold of Moss' arm, she led him to the back of the room where the Spartan was waiting. With Poblede's help, Moss was able to lift the Spartan up and toss her onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry without looking at her face. She was surprisingly heavy, even without her armor, probably weighing nearly twice as much as Moss did, but he was beyond caring at this point.
Exiting the room through the hole in the wall so he didn't have to look at Norén anymore, he headed down the stairs and out the building.
"Take a left," the Spartan ordered and Moss dumbly obeyed. He stumbled down the street, focusing on nothing else but the Spartan's voice in his ear.
"Keep going another fifty meters," she ordered.
"Stop, this is it."
Moss stopped at a building at the corner of the next intersection and waited as Poblede lifted her plasma pistol and fired a shot into the air. A few moments later, Moss could see a figure come sprinting out of the building they had just left, running like the bats of hell were chasing him. Seconds later, a loud explosion shattered the silence of the street and the walls on the second floor abruptly blew out. Already damaged by Moss' earlier bomb, this second explosion proved to be the last straw. The roof of the building began to buckle, before sagging inwards as that corner of the building collapsed. Fire, presumably started by the Spartan's failsafe, began consuming what was left. In the glow casted by the flames, Moss watched as Xanthus came running up.
"Objective secured," he reported, panting.
Moss opted not to respond. Instead, he stared as the fire began spreading through the entire building, consuming everything in its path.
Including Norén's body.
"Come on guys," Xanthus finally said. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
Moss silently turned to follow in Xanthus' path but as he did, his mind was ablazed with thoughts. They had started this mission off with twenty-five soldiers. Now, there were only three of them. How much longer before there were only two of them left? Or one?
Or none?
General Notes:
Friendly fire – isn't
Negligent discharges are unfortunately a real and common thing with firearms. I don't have any actual statistics in front of me, but I'd hazard a guess and say that 99% of them are the result of operator error, rather than any sort of mechanic issue with the firearm in question. When dealing with any firearm, remember the four golden rules (as provided by the United States Marine Corps)
Always treat every weapon as if it were loaded
Never point the weapon at anything you do not intent to shoot
Always keep your finger straight and off the trigger until you intend to fire
Always keep the weapon on safe until you intend to fire
And then one more rule not mentioned by the USMC but I think is just as important
Always be sure of your target and what's beyond it (because a bullet won't always stop when it hits the target.)
Anyways, a bit of Spartan action. I'm sure some of you would have liked to see more, but unfortunately that's going to be the extent of it because A) I suck at writing hand to hand combat scenes, B) seeing as how all my fight knowledge comes from movies, TV shows, and games, I have no idea how someone paralyzed from the waist down would actually be able to fight, and C) if the Maria-062 was actually at full strength, then there would be no point to this story because I can't really imagine a scenario where a Spartan team would need to be rescued by a bunch of NPCs (well, aside from the scenario I've postulated in the story so far.)
Hope you guys enjoyed, I'll see you all again in two weeks.