Stage 2
Project Archives
Administrator Log
Entry 4
2.17.44
"The project is proceeding well. The codes are harmonizing well and incubation is proceeding perfectly with acceptable failure rate. Growth is faster than expected, even without accelerants."
"The first batch should be ready within six months."
"I hope the professor knows what he's doing."
"Ahh, crap!" cried Silvas. The cry was followed immediately by a dozen clicks. He looked around sheepishly. The whole squad had readied weapons and dropped into cover. The Lieutenant walked over to him with a frown on his face.
"What was that about?" he asked.
Silvas dropped his head, "Sorry sir, I wasn't expecting the bodies to be so…"
"Cold? Wasn't the ice a giveaway?"
"Sorry sir, it won't happen again sir."
"Be sure that it doesn't. We're still in combat." And with that, Lieutenant Rikov walked away, an odd smile on his face.
Silvas could hear the grumbles of the other marines, and hung his head lower. He had seen the ice, but didn't expect it to be that cold. He was missing some skin from his fingers where he had touched the grunts body. He had been trying to not get any of the blood on his hands, so had grabbed it by the fin. His hand immediately burned from the intense cold. He dug into his beltkit for his gloves, mentally smacking himself in the head, "Why didn't I wear these in the first place", before dragging the corpse to the growing pile near one of the flats.
"You heard what I said sergeant, start taking the armour off those elites! I have my orders, and now you have yours," bawled Lieutenant Rikov.
"I understand sir, but if I do that, I'll have to take men off from securing the perimeter," retorted Sergeant Anders.
"We aren't staying here anyways," growled Rikov a hard expression on his face. Anders' expression of confusion caused him to soften though, "We're leaving soon."
"We…are…?"
A quizzical look came over Rikov's face. Then he smiled, "Orders from Command. We're to take some Covenant equipment. A Phantom to be precise."
"What? How? A covie gunship?"
"That's why I'll need the armour"
"You're crazy LT. We're all gonna get killed trying that."
Rikov huffed in amusement, "Trust me sarge. I haven't let you down yet."
Anders walked away, rubbing his temple. The LT was right, he hadn't let them down so far, but some of his plans were…insane. Well, most of them. How he was going to take a Phantom with Elite armour was beyond him. Either way, it was going to be messy. It always was.
The Warmaster growled in satisfaction. The team he had sent to take an outlying area had reported in. A small victory with what was happening now. It had taken some casualties, but mostly lesser races. The commander requested reinforcements to maintain the position. A single Phantom should do it. The rest were engaged in combat trying to hold back such an unexpected threat. The Demon had been sighted and was tearing a corpse-laden trail through his positions. His artillery emplacements were being taken down one by one, even with the Scarab occupying most of the humans' pitiful efforts to defend. This Demon was a worthy adversary. But it was just one warrior, one against thousands. It could not stop the Scarab, or stop the invasion. The Phantom was assigned. It would drop some equipment and extra troops. Kig-Yar animals mostly. The position was not important. It must just be held for security on a lesser front. There was no threat there. The threat was here, and coming closer.
Silvas shifted uncomfortably in the armour. It was heavy, and weighed down his shoulders. The unfamiliar alien weapon didn't help. He didn't even know how to fire it! What help he could be with the Phantom, he didn't know. The Sergeant had called over half the squad and told them to put on the polished, brightly coloured armour, and told them to hunker down at the edges of the cul-de-sac, among the humming purple alien objects. Facing away from the center, oddly enough. Everyone else was hiding in the buildings nearby. The LT was standing near the odd glowing pulsing kite tower. He'd pointed some device at it, then told everyone to get ready. It had been about five minutes when he heard a deep throbbing hum. He turned to see one of the alien gunships come flying over the rooftops. Some of the soldiers cried out, only to be yelled at by the sergeant to "Shut up, and stay down!" The Lt walked over into the open, waving some glowing thing he'd gotten from the bodies. He walked oddly, a sinuous bounding motion. The ship hovered over the road and the Lt ran over and jumped into the rippling purple hole in the ship's underside. Silvas couldn't believe it, the lieutenant was good as dead.
Sergeant Anders cursed. He'd already been skeptical about the plan and its absurdity, but now his commanding officer had just climbed into the Phantom without so much as a grenade primed. He was about to order an attack when the ship bucked suddenly. The engines shut off abruptly and it dived downwards before abruptly leveling out barley a metre above ground. The turrets turned slowly, waving over the clearing. A long pregnant moment passed. The assorted marines held their breath. Then the lieutenant's voice rang out clear over the vox-net, "Ship captured, get the boys onboard. And mind the mess." Anders shook his head in disbelief, "Impossible!" he whispered, before running over.
The inside of the dropship was a morgue. Oddly though, the troop complement was almost entirely of Jackals. They were all down, some still alive, wheezing pitifully, blood bubbling around their jaws. Broken limbs, slashed abdomens spilling pale white entrails and thick purple ooze on the polished floor. The one Elite in the cargo bay had a K-Bar lodged into its mouth, buried to its hilt into its skull. The whole place reeked of alien blood, the harsh bitter smell assailing his senses. He scowled at the scent, trying not to gag, while looking around the cargo bay intently, trying to see how he had done it. No real signs. No human blood, which would be so brilliant in such a drab and dark area. Very few plasma burns either. He would swear that he must have beated them all up in hand to hand, but thirteen Jackals? And an Elite?
The cockpit was a lot cleaner, comparatively. The two pilots (Elites again?) were lying on the ground sprawled in a corner. He couldn't see what was wrong with them, at least, until he realised their heads were backwards. And the blood leaking from their mouths. (How?..) The Lt was sitting in the pilot's chair, spraying sealer over a number of deep punctures on his hand. His unspoken question was rewards with a gruff, "Elite bit me," and an invitation to sit. "You're in the gunner chair, the three screens are for the turrets. The orb under each screen controls direction. I don't know how you fire them though."
"Where exactly are we going with this?" asked Sanders.
"I thought it would be obvious by now," replied Rikov.
"It isn't"
"No?"
"No"
"Ah, well, we're going there," replied Rikov, pointing at an immense purple and silver starship in the near distance.
"Of course we are. Any ideas how we are supposed to survive boarding a Covenant Carrier?" questioned Anders, his voice truly dripping with sarcasm.
"We're not. We're only supposed to kill the commander of the vessel. ONI's orders."
"So you're ONI then?"
"In a manner of speaking"
"Would this help the war effort?"
"Yes, yes it would. More than you could understand," stated Rikov, a sad smile and hooded eyes belying his statement.
"Well," replied Anders, all doubt gone from his voice, "lets get dying then. I've been waiting for a chance to die well." He chuckled brightly, but his eyes held no mirth.
Silvas had just jumped into the queasy fast-moving-elevator-feeling gravity lift and was busy trying not to gag. The smell had been bad before outside, but mostly reeked of sewage. In here, it was more like he had vomited into his nose after an all night drinking binge. An acrid bitter nostril-burning smell. There was gore everywhere. The other marines were busy pushing the spindly broken bodies of the Jackals out of the ship, but there were still trails of bodily fluids oozing into the circular grooves of the floor. Again, that mind dulling purple. Always everything purple. He was beginning to hate that colour. He heard the sergeant talking, "I've been waiting for a chance to die well." Before laughing. Silvas slumped to the ground and started shaking as battle shock took hold.