Story Three: Hostile Intentions
LOCATION: Car Park D-12, Black Mesa Research Facility, New Mexico
TIMESCALE: December 3rd 1998, 16:20 hours (EVENT TIME PLUS ONE DAY SEVEN HOURS)
The afternoon sun was beginning to cast its dying shadows over the hot concrete of Car Park D-12. Cicadas chirruped their desert tune and somewhere in the distance a coyote let off a howl. These sounds of nature intermingled with the distant and violent cacophony of gunfire, explosions and the thwocking of helicopter blades. This scene was anything but peaceful. High above the urbanesque landscape, a petite AH-6 attack helicopter swooped down from the clouds.
Marine Master Sergeant Dwight Barnes clutched his M16 assault rifle tightly, his eyes squinting through the plastic eye protectors that covered the upper half of his face from the dust blasting past his exposed seat. His team of six marines were strapped to what were little more than planks of wood attached to the flimsy helicopter. Barnes didn't like it. He liked being ensconced in the comfort of a heavy APC, not flying through the air like a heavily armed pigeon. Swallowing his nerves, Barnes furrowed his brow and listened to the radio chatter crossing his headset.
"Team Alpha Two, this is command, come in" Barnes's ears pricked up
"This is Alpha Two" he responded in his heavily nicotine tinged voice
"Alpha Two, you are approaching your L.Z., prepare to engage as soon as you hit the deck"
"Roger that command, I'm ready" said Barnes, flicking off the plastic safety catch of his weapon. The marines sitting on the helicopter rapidly followed suit.
"Once you are on the ground, form a field of covering fire around the crash site, help the survivors onto the bird, then get the hell out of there" continued the disembodied voice of HQ.
Barnes just grimaced. Below him he could see the deep scar in the black concrete, a trail leading up to the shattered frame of a V-22 Osprey. Next to the broken cockpit lay three Marines, one of whom was waving madly at the helicopter. The AH-6 rapidly decelerated, causing Barnes to feel a bit nauseous, yet at the same time elated. The combat-hardened marine had not seen any real fighting since the Gulf, and he couldn't wait to pop some heads.
The little bird slammed onto the concrete of the car park with a loud screeching noise. Barnes flew off the plank and ran towards the group of marines clustered around the V-22 wreckage. The marine who had waved at Barnes as he was in flight walked forward and extended a bloodstained hand to the sergeant.
"Thank God you got here sir, we thought we were toast"
"Never gonna happen Marine" said Barnes, shouting to be heard over the whipping blast of the AH-6's rotors.
"You boys load up on the AH-6, we'll cover"
The marine nodded and went over to help the injured man lying up against the broken wing of the V-22. Barnes turned and signalled to his men to take up positions at four points around the crash site. He crawled over to a group of barrels that had been flipped over by the crash and gazed down the road that led towards Black Mesa's ordnance warehouses. Radio chatter picked up considerably, alerting Barnes that a squad of Marines was fighting their way out of the area. The odd flash rose up from behind the buildings in the distance. Barnes tightened his finger on the trigger.
The survivors of the Osprey crash clambered onto the benches and rear seats of the AH-6. They had filled it, leaving no room for Barnes's team. The injured man from the crash could not fit into the rear seat of the AH-6, so he had been dragged back to where he had been resting. The pilot reached for his radio.
"Sergeant Barnes, we're all outta space here, can you hold you position while I take these boys back?"
Barnes frowned and turned to face the pilot, ensconced in his cool plastic cockpit. He nodded and returned to the sight of his weapon, swearing under his breath. The AH-6 gently lifted up into the air and flew off back in the direction of Marine headquarters. Everything suddenly became a lot quieter. Barnes became aware of his own heart pounding nervously in his chest. The sound of explosions from the warehouses was starting to grow louder, and the original dominant chatter of M16's had been replaced by the low wheezing of laser fire.
The injured man started to groan. Barnes looked to his left and gazed at him. He was wearing a sandy-coloured flight suit that was covered in blood, and bandages covered his chest and legs. The marine who he had spoken to, evidently a medic, reached into his backpack and gave the pilot a shot of morphine. The pilot's eyes fluttered closed and he passed out.
"What happened to that guy?" said Barnes, indicating to the pilot
"He was thrown from the cockpit when we crashed, he's got significant internal injuries" said the medic
"What's his name?" asked Barnes, his voice now more sympathetic
"Thomas" said the Medic "and I'm Rand"
"Okay Rand, you keep that pilot alive, he or you ain't allowed to die on my watch," responded Barnes, returning to look down his sights. Rand smiled and continued to tend to Thomas's wounds.
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It was about an hour later when Barnes started to get worried. The AH-6 had not returned, nor had any other airborne vehicle. The sound of fighting had died down and the radio chatter had decreased considerably. Struggling to his feet, Barnes switched his radio to the HQ channel.
"Command, this is Alpha Two, my team is still here at D-12 and we've got a severely injured pilot, what's the status on our pickup?"
There was no response. Barnes tried again, but to no avail. He swore loudly.
"Okay guys, listen up, looks like Command has got the shits, so we'll have to carry..."
As he spoke the broken cockpit of the V-22 exploded violently. Barnes threw himself to the floor as laser fire shot overhead. The three other marines of his team had set up around the pilot and were firing wildly towards the warehouses. Barnes got slowly to his feet, his eyes widening with horror at what met them. A huge group of aliens were lumbering nonchalantly towards the marines, firing their lasers and brushing off the bullets like they weren't even there.
Barnes raised his M16 sight to his eye and loosed off a few rounds.
"Pour it on 'em men, hold those son's of bitches back"
Barnes fired off an entire clip in a few seconds, wiping out the first line of approaching aliens. He lowered the rifle and turned to face Rand.
"There's a working jeep over there, get Thomas inside it and get your ass out of here" he ordered
"But sarge..."
"No freakin' buts Medic" yelled Barnes, inserting a fresh clip into the hungry rifle and returning fire at the aliens
Rand ran towards the Jeep and pulled open the door. Laser fire whipped off the metallic frame, charring it black. Rand reached for the key and turned it, the engine responding with a wild, throaty roar. Racing back to Thomas, Rand dragged him towards the jeep and placed him in the passenger seat.
Barnes was running low on ammo. He inserted his final clip of M16 ammunition and fired it off. The enemy was still coming at them, like a great seething mass of rage that would not stop. The M16 ran dry as one alien bolted forward and hopped over the barrel that Barnes had been using for cover. It was running towards Thomas, its green jaws drooling hungrily. Barnes wasn't going to let it go however, and as it leapt over the barrel he clipped its legs with the butt of his M16, causing the ugly beast to land face first onto the concrete. Barnes walked over to the alien as it struggled to get up, and beat it repeatedly with the rifle, screaming and swearing as he got covered in green blood, not stopping until he had reduced the alien's head to a mass of green goo. Barnes dropped the rifle to the ground and looked up at Rand.
"Get out of here Medic"
Rand smiled and nodded before gunning the engine and turning out of the car park. Barnes watched the vehicle leave then turned his attention back to the alien hoard. It was getting very close to his men, one of whom was now slumped dead on the ground, a thin line of steam rising from where his head had once been.
Barnes smirked at the black comedy of it all. He reached for his Colt .45 and cocked it, gazing up into the multitudinous eyes of the enemy.
"Bring it on, assholes"
LOCATION: Car Park D-12, Black Mesa Research Facility, New Mexico
TIMESCALE: December 3rd 1998, 16:20 hours (EVENT TIME PLUS ONE DAY SEVEN HOURS)
The afternoon sun was beginning to cast its dying shadows over the hot concrete of Car Park D-12. Cicadas chirruped their desert tune and somewhere in the distance a coyote let off a howl. These sounds of nature intermingled with the distant and violent cacophony of gunfire, explosions and the thwocking of helicopter blades. This scene was anything but peaceful. High above the urbanesque landscape, a petite AH-6 attack helicopter swooped down from the clouds.
Marine Master Sergeant Dwight Barnes clutched his M16 assault rifle tightly, his eyes squinting through the plastic eye protectors that covered the upper half of his face from the dust blasting past his exposed seat. His team of six marines were strapped to what were little more than planks of wood attached to the flimsy helicopter. Barnes didn't like it. He liked being ensconced in the comfort of a heavy APC, not flying through the air like a heavily armed pigeon. Swallowing his nerves, Barnes furrowed his brow and listened to the radio chatter crossing his headset.
"Team Alpha Two, this is command, come in" Barnes's ears pricked up
"This is Alpha Two" he responded in his heavily nicotine tinged voice
"Alpha Two, you are approaching your L.Z., prepare to engage as soon as you hit the deck"
"Roger that command, I'm ready" said Barnes, flicking off the plastic safety catch of his weapon. The marines sitting on the helicopter rapidly followed suit.
"Once you are on the ground, form a field of covering fire around the crash site, help the survivors onto the bird, then get the hell out of there" continued the disembodied voice of HQ.
Barnes just grimaced. Below him he could see the deep scar in the black concrete, a trail leading up to the shattered frame of a V-22 Osprey. Next to the broken cockpit lay three Marines, one of whom was waving madly at the helicopter. The AH-6 rapidly decelerated, causing Barnes to feel a bit nauseous, yet at the same time elated. The combat-hardened marine had not seen any real fighting since the Gulf, and he couldn't wait to pop some heads.
The little bird slammed onto the concrete of the car park with a loud screeching noise. Barnes flew off the plank and ran towards the group of marines clustered around the V-22 wreckage. The marine who had waved at Barnes as he was in flight walked forward and extended a bloodstained hand to the sergeant.
"Thank God you got here sir, we thought we were toast"
"Never gonna happen Marine" said Barnes, shouting to be heard over the whipping blast of the AH-6's rotors.
"You boys load up on the AH-6, we'll cover"
The marine nodded and went over to help the injured man lying up against the broken wing of the V-22. Barnes turned and signalled to his men to take up positions at four points around the crash site. He crawled over to a group of barrels that had been flipped over by the crash and gazed down the road that led towards Black Mesa's ordnance warehouses. Radio chatter picked up considerably, alerting Barnes that a squad of Marines was fighting their way out of the area. The odd flash rose up from behind the buildings in the distance. Barnes tightened his finger on the trigger.
The survivors of the Osprey crash clambered onto the benches and rear seats of the AH-6. They had filled it, leaving no room for Barnes's team. The injured man from the crash could not fit into the rear seat of the AH-6, so he had been dragged back to where he had been resting. The pilot reached for his radio.
"Sergeant Barnes, we're all outta space here, can you hold you position while I take these boys back?"
Barnes frowned and turned to face the pilot, ensconced in his cool plastic cockpit. He nodded and returned to the sight of his weapon, swearing under his breath. The AH-6 gently lifted up into the air and flew off back in the direction of Marine headquarters. Everything suddenly became a lot quieter. Barnes became aware of his own heart pounding nervously in his chest. The sound of explosions from the warehouses was starting to grow louder, and the original dominant chatter of M16's had been replaced by the low wheezing of laser fire.
The injured man started to groan. Barnes looked to his left and gazed at him. He was wearing a sandy-coloured flight suit that was covered in blood, and bandages covered his chest and legs. The marine who he had spoken to, evidently a medic, reached into his backpack and gave the pilot a shot of morphine. The pilot's eyes fluttered closed and he passed out.
"What happened to that guy?" said Barnes, indicating to the pilot
"He was thrown from the cockpit when we crashed, he's got significant internal injuries" said the medic
"What's his name?" asked Barnes, his voice now more sympathetic
"Thomas" said the Medic "and I'm Rand"
"Okay Rand, you keep that pilot alive, he or you ain't allowed to die on my watch," responded Barnes, returning to look down his sights. Rand smiled and continued to tend to Thomas's wounds.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------
It was about an hour later when Barnes started to get worried. The AH-6 had not returned, nor had any other airborne vehicle. The sound of fighting had died down and the radio chatter had decreased considerably. Struggling to his feet, Barnes switched his radio to the HQ channel.
"Command, this is Alpha Two, my team is still here at D-12 and we've got a severely injured pilot, what's the status on our pickup?"
There was no response. Barnes tried again, but to no avail. He swore loudly.
"Okay guys, listen up, looks like Command has got the shits, so we'll have to carry..."
As he spoke the broken cockpit of the V-22 exploded violently. Barnes threw himself to the floor as laser fire shot overhead. The three other marines of his team had set up around the pilot and were firing wildly towards the warehouses. Barnes got slowly to his feet, his eyes widening with horror at what met them. A huge group of aliens were lumbering nonchalantly towards the marines, firing their lasers and brushing off the bullets like they weren't even there.
Barnes raised his M16 sight to his eye and loosed off a few rounds.
"Pour it on 'em men, hold those son's of bitches back"
Barnes fired off an entire clip in a few seconds, wiping out the first line of approaching aliens. He lowered the rifle and turned to face Rand.
"There's a working jeep over there, get Thomas inside it and get your ass out of here" he ordered
"But sarge..."
"No freakin' buts Medic" yelled Barnes, inserting a fresh clip into the hungry rifle and returning fire at the aliens
Rand ran towards the Jeep and pulled open the door. Laser fire whipped off the metallic frame, charring it black. Rand reached for the key and turned it, the engine responding with a wild, throaty roar. Racing back to Thomas, Rand dragged him towards the jeep and placed him in the passenger seat.
Barnes was running low on ammo. He inserted his final clip of M16 ammunition and fired it off. The enemy was still coming at them, like a great seething mass of rage that would not stop. The M16 ran dry as one alien bolted forward and hopped over the barrel that Barnes had been using for cover. It was running towards Thomas, its green jaws drooling hungrily. Barnes wasn't going to let it go however, and as it leapt over the barrel he clipped its legs with the butt of his M16, causing the ugly beast to land face first onto the concrete. Barnes walked over to the alien as it struggled to get up, and beat it repeatedly with the rifle, screaming and swearing as he got covered in green blood, not stopping until he had reduced the alien's head to a mass of green goo. Barnes dropped the rifle to the ground and looked up at Rand.
"Get out of here Medic"
Rand smiled and nodded before gunning the engine and turning out of the car park. Barnes watched the vehicle leave then turned his attention back to the alien hoard. It was getting very close to his men, one of whom was now slumped dead on the ground, a thin line of steam rising from where his head had once been.
Barnes smirked at the black comedy of it all. He reached for his Colt .45 and cocked it, gazing up into the multitudinous eyes of the enemy.
"Bring it on, assholes"