I do not own Halo. The year is 2548, and the war efforts for humanity are not doing so well. We continue to find ourselves facing gruesome defeats at the merciless hands of our enemy, the Covenant. I guess it isn't a fair fight, being they have the upper hand with weapons technology, and the fact that they outnumber us probably ten to one, but we cant just say no fair and hope that they are "nice aliens" and will give us the same guns as them. It is about time we realize that we are in a life or death struggle here, and the only way we can win is with the might of humankind and the will to survive. However, is that enough? My squad will soon determine that question. There were about two hundred of us, well armed too, but we were on the next planet that the Covenant found, and will eventually destroy. They know that we think we are fighting a losing fight, and want to kill us all. That is why we are stuck here. The Covenant can kill us; it is just catching us that are the trouble since we flee. They are faster, but when you are on the run you pick the place of battle, and we were able to use nebulas and stars to hide. Nevertheless, it could not work forever, now they attack the star ports first, leaving all the Marines stuck down on the planet just waiting to die. However, we could live though it would prove challenging. That is where our current mission factors in. We know of a few bunkers that are still fighting, and we want to get in one, giving us an advantage being that we have cover and all the munitions we will ever hope to use, since if we are to die on this godforsaken rock we will make sure we are not alone in death. Those bastards will think twice before messing with us! Right now though we are not ready to fight, we will by any means needed, and so begins my story. I have not really gotten a chance yet to tell you about me since of the horrible story I had to tell above, but now that I have outlined my lifetime to tell you about my job. I am a 24-year-old man who has lived in fear for his whole life. I grew up on a battleship. I have lived my whole life trying to be the man who saves the day, believing only in virtues associated with war and patriotism. When I was six years old, I was on a ship that was boarded by the Covenant. During this invasion half the crew aboard the ship died, including my parents. The worst part is that I saw them die. My Dad was a Colonel when the ship was boarded. He fought commanding the first security squad aboard the ship, and was gunned down by a badass group of Elites that snuck up behind his squad and let loose. When I was running to the escape pods, I witnessed his death and listened to an Elite laugh as it shot my Dad to death. My Mom was busy leading me to the escape pods when a wayward plasma grenade latched itself to her back. With this, she ran to the nearest group of Covenant and leapt to them before she blew up; giving me the only memory I still have of her. I got away, landing on a nearby planet and was picked up a month later by another ship. When I was eight I killed my first Covenant. I was on another battleship that was invaded. There I was curled up behind a barrier, hands over my head in a fashion that I knew was futile. If I were to be shot all it would offer me was comfort and security. I shivered despite the ship being warm and saw a Commander run up to me ducking, and held out a pistol. "Take this gun son" He said, "And kill us the next bastard that you see. Show him that he has just found out what it's like to die, right?" Seconds later I realized that he was serious, and he handed me an M3B pistol. Inspired by his bravery I started to run for the escape pods, and along the way encountered a lone Grunt and I shot at it. I remember my first shot missed, but I continued to fire three more shots, planting two more shots into its flesh. One hit its wrist shattering it and the second hit its kneecap giving it a good limp. Turning around it saw me. Oozing its blue blood out of two punctures, and crying in pain it let out a statement that scarred my life, branding almost every action I took from that point on. With its high pitched gravely voice it said, "I hate you!" and I promptly shot it two more times, hitting it both times. One shot hit its life support system and set it on death road while the second shot straight through its heart, destroying any hopes it had of surviving, and killing it moments later. After it died I unloaded the rest of the magazine into its body, proving my point. Since that day I have been fighting the Covenant, and hoping to for an end to this horrible war, and hopefully the end that all humankind wants. I am a Jacob Johnson, Marine Marksman, and have been since I was sixteen and allowed to join the Marine Corps. I stand about 6 foot, 5 inches tall, something that is a little above average, but not making me into a giant though. My hair was the color of a night time in summer is on this planet, it was very dark, but not too black. Here on Lunar 4 summer is when the nearby nebulas light the sky giving off a constant sunset like amount of light. So I guess my hair is a golden brown color, but darker. I have a light frame, something like 170 pounds, nothing too heavy because I have never seen any field action but I am not too skinny either. My eyes are two different colors; I lost one in a friendly fire accident. It was training times in the UNSC simulated battleground, our first live fire exercise on Reach, and I was shot in the side of the head. Luckily I was just grazed by the bullet, but it blasted the front of my eye. So I got an artificial one. It was using some nanotech to give me normal vision out of that eye, despite the color being a little off. My one eye was brown, that was my natural one, almost black, but barley clinging onto the brownness that it once had when I was a child. My other eye was more of an amber color, lighter than the other. You wouldn't notice though unless you looked pretty hard. Some say that have a cowardly job, shooting an enemy before they can see you, but do you think that I care about killing the enemy that slaughtered my parents? These creatures do not deserve to be given rights, they are beasts, and should be treated so. Right now I am in an APC (Armored Personnel Carrier) playing a game of Poker with three other Marines under the dim light of a near to burnt out light. The light would sway back and forth with every bump, often leaving the table pitch black, which led to the occasional scuffle of the poker players over who cheated or who stole some chips. The APC was as much a tank though as it was a transport. It was a hovercraft, floating on two large fans beneath its curtain. The hover craft however had a flat desk atop it with two mounted machine guns, mainly just for show seeing as to that the APC could easily run over anything in its path. Behind the two guns was a large barrel of the mortar cannon, the main weapon of the APC. The APC hovered carefully over the ground, mounted just slightly above the front curtain was the cabin. The cabin was a cramped glass enclosed canopy, monitors everywhere to monitor everything in the APC and to remotely control the cannon, something that would be useful if there was no one to manage the turret all the time. The Armored Personnel Carrier kicked up a large cloud of dust and light stones wherever it went, erasing most of the tracks left by the larger tanks. The smell was however the worst thing of all. If you can imagine a smell about the same as a skunk mixed with and Elite, you will understand my pain. When our base was invaded I got a little scar on my face, still has yet to develop from scab to scar, but it is big nonetheless. I consider myself lucky though. Covenant hate snipers and shoot at us a lot, and many of us get off with a lot worse of wound. Gotta love this life, right? Around the table with me was my best friend, whose nickname was Skip a GI, an old guy who has been in the Marine Corps for 29 years (since before the war!), Mac, and a fellow Marksman who we call Logan. These were my friends and damn good ones too. Half of us have lost every other friend we ever had, and knew that at any time we could be short one player in our games. We never bet anything, we did not have much to bet, but we often knew that these games were sometimes the only morale booster we had in this cold planet, which was warming as our glassing began. "Straight beat a pair?" asked Logan Almost ignoring him I shrugged off his question, I had a lot more important things on my mind, one of which was survival. We knew that the Covenant was near, but we would try to fight them off as long as we could, and as I want, make it to the bunker near to the end of Valley Gemini. "Who cares about this damn game" Shouted an edgy Mac, "Look at this situation! We are stuck here! Don't you damn fools realize that we will all die here! We are still fifty miles from the nearest bunker, and what assures us that it will still be there? Nothing does! This whole thing sucks!" "Thanks a lot! This 'damn game' was the only thing keeping me from realizing that! Well, so much for that good emotion, whats it called..." A short pause in the yelling appears as Logan thinks. This is my first opportunity to show Logan thinking, or rather just trying to think. See Logan has not had the greatest education, and it seems his only talent is bursting Tango heads (Tango's are bad aliens). "Oh yeah it was called happiness!" This I realize this may be sarcasm or the lack of intelligence he had, hopefully not the latter, but it is often hard to tell, as he just finished showing you. From the nearby silence came a grumbling voice of our unwelcome guest Commander Dorman "Shut your mouths Marines, remember, we are leathernecks, and we will fight till we are all nothing but little puddles!" After this we all just sort of stared toward the Commander waiting for more of a tongue lashing, "Do you remember what you have been taught?" wondering who he was talking too I looked to the others to see who it was and they were watching, and hopefully to decipher who it was. However they all had the same confused look on their face leading me to believe the Commander was stressed, like us. We all figured He was only releasing some of the tension that he had built up. "You slackers have been doing nothing to help the operation, show some respect for your lives and the others by being ready to fight!" "We do have on our armor, you know that is almost all we need" said Logan. The APC we were in was cold, a cold winter day outside, though it was still at least 40 degrees Celsius outside. That was normal for this planet. The two moons not only had some weird effects on the tides but also held the world in a constant state of El Nino. The cold APC got a little colder as the Commander stared back, which is another reason why we think that Logan is and idiot, he does not know when to stop shooting or talking. This is one of those cases, and most of the reason he was still a Private. Logan Was an awesome shot, and could kill anything when he was still just a speck on the horizon, and could hit even the most mobile targets within his first or second shot, allowing the second shot only if the first did not break the shields. He could also do just as well during the night, despite the obvious shortfalls of the light amplification. He was a better shot than I was, but he was not a discriminate shot, and often let an Elite live over two Grunts, thinking in quantity not quality or something. However, whatever it was we were still lucky that he made it out of the first attack on our battalion, as we all were. The Commander did not ever reply, he just sat there staring at him, and watching him slink away. With this we hit a small bump in the convoy and we all bounced out of our seats, after the bump the light swung for a while illuminating for the first time the Commander, who was sweating in fear and holding a small chest wound with his one hand. I had almost forgotten the wounds he suffered when our base was invaded. That wound was actually friendly fire, delivered by an exit wound in a Grunt. A Marine, one of the ones who died had shredded a grunt and three of the shots had passed through the grunt, hitting our commander who was across the corridor in the chest. Luckily the field surgeons were able to fix him up after he got to the convoy. "Damn it Private, look at this wound on my chest, it's not the armor that does the work it's your damn gun! Now you Marine gonna listen to me or be court marshaled!" "Ummm, sir." Logan said, a slow tone, showing that he was going to do something dumb. "Spit it out Marine." "Um, well, the world is going to be melted, I don't think that a court martial is that big a deal at times like this." The Commander stared at him for a very long times too long for most of us to look into his leering glare, but Logan knew no fear, and just about nothing else. Finally the Commander said "You know private, I can think of a lot worse things to do to you than that. And unless you wanna feel em, I suggest you listen up, and follow orders till you are a melted pile of shit." "Sir, I apologize for my infringement sir!" Logan said, surprisingly militaristic. "That's more like it Marine, respect your elders and your superiors or die. Plain and simple, almost cookie cutter type formula." "Sir, requesting permission to resume playing the game, sir!" Shouted Logan in a non hostile way, something that in his position I don't think I could pull off. Logan was a very Hardy person, and I respect that in a person, being that he might find some way to die happy. "Permission granted son, resume your playing." We all looked around and then decided to resume playing card games "by the way, it doesn't." Our games were brought to a horrible end about two and a half hours later, when we were about 3 miles from the base. Our convoy was lucky so far, seeing as to that we were one of the only convoys to make it out of our base, but also the only one not to fall under attack so far, and one of the five surviving convoys. Unfortunately sensors aboard the mobile HQ picked enemy movement all around us, and tacticians were assuming that we would be assaulted as soon as we left the dense forest that we were in just minutes ago. The Covenant only attacked in places where they were sure that they had all the advantages, and if we had cover we could hold out for a lot longer, Cover such as a forest we could torch if needed to keep them at bay. However, we had just left the forest two or so minutes ago, and were now about a mile from it, and we had just run over an area where the Covenant had killed an artillery battalion. Bodies were strewn everywhere, and most people were not left in anything less than two pieces. Suddenly the alarms started blaring and a voice claimed that the enemy was making its move, right as we hit the middle of Valley Gemini, a place where we had no where to run given they used a pincer attack, and the place we may all die. Apparently a recent patrol group sighted a Wraith and a few Ghosts, a battle group no doubt out to get them. The patrol got away, but just barely with their lives, and also managed to tag a few enemies with tracers, showing that the Covenant were closing in behind us. Ahead of us something was jamming our sensors, and we were left to assume that the enemy was in full force, and already fighting the Marines in the bunker. We were as I stated in the biggest valley on the face of Lunar 4. Gemini was a 5400 something mile long valley that scarred the entire continent that we were on, from one side to the other to within 5 miles between the oceans on either side. Located roughly in the middle of the canyon was a large Marine bunker that housed over ten thousand soldiers. It was without a doubt the best chance of survival we had. When we were two miles from the base Covenant Banshees began to bombard the Mobile HQ and we began combat procedures. Already the radar operator was desperately calling for backup, despite the fact that the Humans on Lunar 4 were in no condition to be sending reinforcements, or even to hear their message when Covenant jamming was next to impossible to bypass with even the best of communication systems. Still any hope of support was fine by me. I knew my job. As the mobile HQ deployed a set of stabilizers as all the APC's formed a tight circle around it and I ran to the Mobile HQ, where all the commotion was, somewhere that it took every fiber of my body to drag myself, and somewhere that my body may later be slumped over, dead after the battle. Nevertheless, I know that if I let one of those slimy bastards live that could have a fractured skull; I would blow my own brains out if the time came. Warthogs that were a part of the scouting parties all pulled back toward the Mobile HQ to be gun emplacements and I had grabbed my rifle, the lucky one. Luck was and excuse, but one I was willing to believe in. The Three M807B Arachnid Tanks we had were already near to the Mobile HQ area ready for when they will be called to go to wherever they were needed to keep the Covenant at bay. Meanwhile I took as much ammo as I could carry and clambered up to my firing post, a rickety little suspended platform with a railing that let me brace my rifle. The ladder seemed a little too long, but this was the last resort. Our bases are well designed and let me get a good vantage point, unlike this where I Have to balance to keep the platform stable and the recoil is almost enough to blow out its bolts and send the platform falling down to the ground some 50 feet below. I also made sure that my sidearms were still there, since I had a bad feeling in my stomach over this one. My sidearms were a standard issue 7-inch combat knife (Mean thing here!) and a pistol, just in case. A sniping rifle is no weapon for close combat, right? It was about 30 minutes before the first wave came. A mixed division of jackals and Ghosts came in. This is when I started firing. The APC's main cannons blasted the enemies with great accuracy, arcs of fire spreading at an exponentially decreasing rate like tentacles jutting outward then whipping back in The enemy was standing with their shield lined up, and not a shot was fired, at least from them... They slowly filled in and extended the line across the canyon, and when one was gunned down by the Marines another rushed into its place to fill the gap. We probably killed at least our numbers in just a few minutes. A minute later after the line was made all hell broke loose. The attack began very organized. Repeated Ghost charges were pouring in. I could see the bloodshed on both sides. Luckily the Arachnids were on top of it. Laying down covering fire was easy, and even easier was killing walls of Jackals. The arachnid tanks say upon their four spiked legs and fired with precision, despite that it was not needed. The covenant were everywhere and just firing randomly would be just as effective, but I guess it was necessary to use such measures to target the most deadly things or the rushing Covenant. I looked through my scope and picked my next target, a lone ghost, all of its friends destroyed. It looked as though a group of nearby Jackals was talking to it when I squeezed off two shots towards it forehead, the first on penetrating it and killing the Jackals on the other side of it. The Elite, my target was however still alive. Then the second shot hit, shattering its skull and leaving it a limp body behind the controls of it Ghost. By now the Jackals had time to jump in fear, although I had no time to see it fall before my sights were trained on another thing, a Grunt Grenadier. He was standing behind a shield barrier while he grabs some more grenades, and while he does this a bead of sweat runs down my forehead, something I realize that he soon will not have. He steps around the corner and instantly dies, with a fresh new hole in his head and once again I move my sights to an Elite, this time in a turret. I fired three shot into its chest to make sure that it was dead and reloaded the gun. When I sat down we had lost about 10 or 15 men. When I stood back up there was a few new craters and many more losses at least 50. We were losing, and we could never hold out. I knew it was time, and I am sure the Commander did too; it was time to do what we did best, run! I heard the Commander give the order, and I loaded onto the side seat of a Warthog. As soon as I got in we were on the move, headed back. As illogical as it may seem our driver plowed through the sea of Covenant to get back to the forest, the best place to hide until the fight is done. The scatter order came a little late for some since many of the people behind me were being shot out of their warthogs and the tanks were swarmed with a sea of enemies, but we were our own bloodbath, killing at least 30 Covenant soldiers en route to the forest. We were going somewhere around 80 MPH and all the things we passed were a blur, and all I even bothered to fire at was things directly ahead of us. Most of the way we were hitting plenty of bumps, and with every one I came near to flying from my seat, so I set down my gun and braced my arms firmly against the glove box area and held on, knowing that it was for my life. I was surprised at how little Covenant there were, it seemed as if we passed by about 400 surviving troops, I expected far more. Once we were beyond the front lines we were able to drive almost clear of enemies for another couple hundred yards before we ran into the Covenant artillery corps. A group of tanks that would sit back and bombard us, and as we came closer we saw another volley fire from all of the tanks simultaneously and arc slowly toward the mobile HQ where just a few minutes ago I was perched. I watched it, seeing it collapse, and seeing it rumble uneasily, and like a dying beast it stopped, the let out a final roar. The roar of an explosion, the final roar of the beast of the Marines and the final testament of failure on our parts, we were letting our base become destroyed for the second time. Shortly after the explosion let out its last words a hill blocked our view of the battlefield. Flinging at high speeds from behind that hill appeared a Ghost, the Covenant's most common vehicle. Mounted with twin pulse cannons and Elite it was easily the deadliest type of Covenant. It arched over the hill in tight pursuit of us. The gunner flinched, which was all that was left after he attempted to jump in fear, with the restricting leg braces holding him. The driver swerved left suddenly, trying to shake the purser, who seemed quite dedicated to catching us. It took a second to get the turn completed because of the traction of the grassy field that we were in, but eventually we had spun around, now going in the reverse direction. Myself, I was near to in the drivers lap. He brushed me from of his side with a quick shouldering. The gunner, who was spinning excessively from the turn began to slow and eventually settled his aim towards the ghost. It was heading straight for us. We were going to hit it in about 3 seconds, and the gunner let the roar of the chain guns drown out all of my thinking. The chain gun chewed holes in the ghost, not hitting anything vital unfortunately, but still convincing the Elite to hit the brakes. The front of the ghost lifted up and we hit it directly between the hovering units with the top of our hood. The Ghost flipped off our hood and into the air about 50 feet, where it spun wildly attempting to find some grounding to hover, finding none. The gunner swiveled the gun around aiming for the flying Ghost. He fired upon it as its ark downwards began. The tracer fire lit a line to the ghost, and with incredible accuracy he shot it. The Elite shouted in pain and fear and the gun ripped the ghost it was riding to pieces and rotated the Ghost into a nosedive. In less than a second it was all over. The Ghost was now a fireball and we drove on. We were driving at full speed when we hit a mine, probably one of our own. That was the last thing I remember...