Author's Note; Hello everyone! I apologize in advance if this chapter seems "rushed" at all, considering I incorporated two decent-sized fights in less words than the last. But, don't worry, things significantly pick up after this. We finally get to see our Spartan get moving and up, even if he doesn't get any hands-on work quite yet. Leaves you off at a slight cliffhangar as well, but I won't spoil EVERYTHING. ;)
As always, please R&R. After this, things are going up to the fight in orbit for a chapter, and then we'll see some more Covies on the ground. :)
1800 Hours. September 14th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
Grid Location Gamma-7, Near Forerunner Structure. Coral, Rio Sigma System.
ODST 53rd Battalion, 3rd Company. Fire Team Echo. Sergeant Jacob Rawlings.
Sergeant Jacob Rawlings clung his back to the side of the battered and destroyed Warthog that he was taking cover behind as he reloaded his MA5C. As he loaded, the marine standing next to him was nailed by plasma fire and fell over, dropping his BR55. Seeing the mans melted, unmoving face, Rawlings knew he was long gone and dove for the Battle Rifle; a much more effective weapon for the task at hand. Looking uphill, Rawlings watched as three or four marines scrambled away from the bottom, where a Covenant Phantom, destroyed, and a dozen or two Covenant were holed up.
The sergeant lifted his head, BR55 at the ready, as he looked over the top of the wrecked 'Hog. Charging up the hill, was a Spec Ops Elite, and this one had two Plasma Swords. As it neared another one of the wrecked vehicles, two Marines and an ODST dove backwards, firing their weapons on full auto. The rounds pinged off the beasts shields as they shimmered, and the monster quickly cut them down with its swords. Sickeningly, Rawlings fired the first of his three-round-bursts, as the sizzling blades of blue sliced through a marine's abdomen, leaving blood and his insides all over the sand and dirt.
The Elite, turning towards it next target, a scrambling Marine, was met with another hailstorm of fire. Shrugging it off, the massive alien kept charging, it's shields flickering but recharging everytime the fire let up the least bit. The marine quickly met the same fate as the last; sliced neatly across the neckline, it's body left to fall into the battlefield.
Suddenly, as Rawlings dropped low to reload his Battle Rifle, he realized that the Elite had chosen its next target. Directly across from him, a mere twenty-meters, the Elite quickly moved to a full pace, and was within five meters of him in seconds.
He was next.
Dropping the BR55, unable to reload it quick enough, he dropped to the sand and grabbed his fallen MA5C. Spraying the entire clip on full automatic, as the beast smiled and slowly advanced, the rounds put a profound effect, to the point where the Elite's shields had almost dropped. But, unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Rawlings pulled a grenade from his belt as the Elite stood over him, raising its two swords before it sliced through him, and prepared to pull the pin, waiting for the Elite to kill him, and itself.
Jacob Rawlings closed his eyes, thinking back to his family. Back on Mars, he had a wife, who he'd never seen again. He'd been away from her for the past eighteen months on combat deployments, but he always thought he'd make it home. Sighing, he thought past his wife to his young son; barely seven, but proudly proclaiming to everyone that he'd be an ODST just like his dad. Rawlings pushed these thoughts aside as he heard the Energy Swords come closer, preparing for the final moment of his life, and he embraced it.
It didn't come.
Rawlings sat there for a full second, hearing more arms fire and plasma in the background, as something heavy dropped onto him. Half-crushed under the mass, he opened his eyes and looked up to see the black, lifeless eyes of the Spec Ops Elite on top of him. A marine quickly rushed to his help, and between the two, and another ODST, they were able to drag the body off of him. The Energy Sword was buried in the dirt mere inches from where Rawlings had been. "How..." he trailed off, as he heard another shot from the sniper on the ridge. He owed that man his life, and he would find a way to repay him.
Turning back to the battle, Rawlings, with a renewed vigor, began unleashing hell with the BR55 he reclaimed from the sand. As the Covenant numbers dwindled, and only another sole marine fell, he took a moment to grab the Elite's fallen sword. Attaching it to his open left-thigh, he was determined to keep it, even use it if the need arose. The large handle was a bit too big for him, but with his strength from the Orbital Drop Shock training, he was confident he could wield the weapon, albeit for a short time. As the firing began to cease, Rawlings activated his COM channel, contacting the marines in the group.
"Men! Report!"
"Sir," one of them cut in, "Covenant forces have either been pushed into the ruins or are taken care of. Permission to move up?"
Taking a second to pause, "Permission granted," he replied, moving out of cover and following the group of marines that began to gather near the Phantom. A few policed Covenant weapons, replacing lost or empty weapons, and one even gave another marine his MA5B Assault Rifle; instead, picking up a Covenant Carbine. The assigned sniper of the group joined while the weapons swapping went on, and he nodded at Rawlings, who gave him a thumbs-up back. Accessing records through his helmet, Rawlings tagged the marine, a Corporal Paul Bach, and included a small note; "Promotion in need." Usually, a marine wouldn't get promotions based on saving one soldier's life, but this marine's excellent marksmanship had completely turned the tide of the battle, something that his CO might be interested in.
"Woah, Sarge. What is this?"
Turning towards the soldier who asked, he too gazed at the massive gray entrance before them. Approximately twenty-five feet high, the gray-silver metal opened into a room of small statues of unknown origin, columns, and openings in small walls. At the end of the room, the ceiling tapered down into a twelve-foot tall, seven-foot wide hallway, which went at a slight downward slope before turning. Markings of some sort, apparently alien language, were etched into the walls, ceiling, and even floors. Taking a quick peek at one more closely, Rawlings realized they were not of Covenant origin.
"Alright, Marines. Lets move in and set up a perimeter defense. Covies are gonna be all over this in a few minutes, they undoubtedly called for reinforcements. You two," he said, pointing to two marines chatting towards the side, "See if you can salvage an M41 off one of the 'Hogs. One of them didn't look too banged up." The marines nodded before jogging towards the Warthog that lay wrecked halfway up the slope.
Moving slightly into the room, Rawlings quickly began pointing marines left and right, setting up a tactical spread that would get the marines able to fire most effectively. Rawlings also made a note not to use grenades inside; the structure looked weakened from years and years of being here, and could probably collapse with the slightest bit of wrong movement.
Activating his COM channels, Rawlings called into the surprisingly un-busy communications channels. "This is Echo-One of Third Battalion, requesting Major Harris or Lieutenant Maries, anyone out there?"
A cough resounded back at him, as the voice of Major Harris came on the channels. "Echo-One, this is Fifty-Third Actual. Maries is down for the count, Second Lieutenant Franklin Marcus is now in charge of Third Battallion. Have you and your men secured the structure?"
Frowning at the news concerning Maries, Rawlings blinked before responding. "Yes, sir. Structure taken, but with heavy casualties. Intel is reporting this structure is of high value; there was a Special Operations Elite present. Bastard tore up damn near a third of our men."
Rawlings could hear as Harris sighed deeply, before the channel was silent for a few seconds. "Alright, Echo-One. You and your men hold up the entrance there. I've got some heavy support coming your way, we've encountered heavy resistance in the town. I'm gonna warn you, you're not gonna like what we're sending. You're only getting five men out of us, but damn if one of them isn't gonna help the shit out of you, as much as I hate to admit. But, time to cut the chatter. Covies got a damn, WRAITH! GET OUT OF THE STRE-"
The channel went silent.
A marine approached him, saluting. Rawlings noticed it was the sniper who'd saved his life. "Sarge!" he called out, "Permission to speak?"
"Granted," Rawlings huffed out, unused to giving soldiers permission to speak, usually seeing that only with highly ranked officers.
"Any intel as to what the hell it is we're guarding, sir?"
"Not a damn clue, but we're sure as hell not letting the Covies get their dirty little hands on it."
"Affirmative, sir," the man replied, snapping another salute and walking to set up his sniper rifle on a ledge towards the back of the room.
Sighing, Rawlings leaned up against a small cube, aiming his MA5C over it towards the downward slope to the entrance. A low whistle was heard, and a marine called out as a Seraph fighter streaked overhead, a blast of plasma impacting high on the slope; nowhere near any marine targets. A few seconds later, a distinct hum was heard as an ODST soldier yelled.
"Sir! Two Covie U-boats, dropping in a half-klick downrange!"
"Well, boys," Rawlings said, barely cracking a smile, "Looks like camping here won't be as boring as I thought. Hop to it! Guns ready! We're gonna have helluva fight coming our way!"
A resounding "Sir, yes, sir!" and a chorus of "Hoo-ah!" were music to Rawlings' ears.
1820 Hours. September 14th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
Grid Location Gamma-7. Coral, Rio Sigma System.
Spartan-II. Petty Officer, First Class. James-005.
James-005 had the urge to grumble at the marines in the back of the M831 Troop-Transport Warthog he was currently driving across the rocky terrain. The spook in the passenger seat, Captain Williams, stayed relatively quiet; holding his silenced BR55 Battle Rifle with his right hand, adjusting his Recon Mk. III variant helmet with his left.
"Sir!" one of the marines called up, shoving over one of his buddies. "Dropships, up ahead!"
Glancing at his HUD, James noticed they were a mere klick from the designated target zone; a structure of some sort, ruins that were being held by a small squad of marines and ODSTs. Looking at the dropships themselves, hovering a half-dozen meters off the ground, James instantly reminded himself of the fact that one of his marines was hefting a Rocket Launcher.
The first of the two Spirit dropships up ahead was deploying troops; what looked like a mix of Grunts, Jackals and a few Elites. The second, however, released a Wraith tank from inside its U-shaped gravity-well, before allowing a Hunter pair to exit through its sides; each behemoth flanked by a pair of Minor Elites.
"Taylor," he said, calling to the marines, "I want you to focus your rockets on the Wraith, then the Hunters. We'll try to catch them off guard before they-"
James-005 was cut short as a mortar blast of blue sizzling plasma impacted the ground a mere two meters ahead of the Warthog. While it didn't damage the vehicle, the Covenant knew they were coming. James swerved the Warthog to the left as a rocket wooshed past, impacting the Wraith and taking out its turret gunner. The other marines, along with Captain Williams, opened fire on the Covenant forces that were turning to face the oncoming 'Hog.
As the Warthog got a few feet of air, bumping over a small rock formation, Taylor allowed another two rockets loose; one taking out the Wraith that was preparing to fire again, the other taking out a pair of Grunts and a Jackal. The marines fire was starting to thin out the troops, but the two Hunters, as well as eight Elites, not to mention other troops, still stood.
The marine fired another salvo of rockets, this time upwards. Before James had a chance to wonder, he watched as the rockets impacted on the closer of the two dropships' plasma turret; a weapon that James had momentarily forgot as a potential threat. Inwardly cursing himself and remembering to think of it next time, James again turned the wheel as he banked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the duo of thick, green Fuel Rod Cannons. Small plasma fire began to erupt from the group of alien warriors, and a single gold-armored Elite stepped out from behind the others, wielding a Beam Rifle.
No one had a chance to react as the Beam Rifle's first two shots penetrated the windshield of the 'Hog. Williams turned back, and James-005 heard as one of the marines fell limp. Taylor fired another rocket, his final one, which impacted one Hunter and killed it, before calling up, "Barker is down! No pulse!"
Captain Williams ducked in his seat as another Beam Rifle shot went wild, and plasma fire started impacting the front of the Warthog. Now only a few dozen meters away, James turned the Warthog, trying to find a route around the group of Covenant. Having boxed in between two large rock formations, however, James saw the best path and quickly came up with a plan to pull it off.
"Marines! I need fire on those Elites! Pin them down!"
A spray of automatic fire was the response over his shoulder, and Williams joined in, spraying silenced rounds, a trio of them taking down the Zealot's shields. The beast roared brutally before rolling back behind cover. The remaining six Elites began to take cover; the Hunter, however, did not.
Neglecting its gun, the Hunter, in rage over its mate, lifted its shield to block against the incoming fire, and hoped to smash the Warthog itself. As the vehicle came barreling towards it, the Hunter stood firm, grunting loudly as it planted itself in the ground. James glanced at the Hunter as they neared five-feet from it, unsure of what the outcome would be. He'd seen Warthogs take down Hunters before, but never one who'd lost a mate, or one that stood firm against it.
The Warthog nailed the Hunter dead on, killing it. However, James and the other occupants of the Warthog were unaware of the rock behind it, and the Warthog was thrown into the air. Williams clung to the side of the 'Hog to stay in as it ramped a half-dozen feet in the air, and one of the marines, Taylor grabbed onto the Spartan's seat. James firmly held his position; however, Ingram, unable to grab hold in time, was thrown out the back of the 'Hog. James-005 quickly turned the Warthog the second it bounced on the ground, but was too late, as they watched plasma fire rain from the Elites down onto Ingram.
"Dammit," Taylor muttered under his breath, now the only one remaining of his original squad.
James turned the Warthog again, completing its three-hundred and sixty degree turn, and gunned it towards a slope, adorned at the far end with a silver-gray structure. A few scattered marines were visible at the bottom, and one called out to men inside as the Warthog slowed.
Stepping out of the vehicle, plasma fire rained down as the Elites reached the top of the slope; five, plus a group of a dozen Grunts. James laid down fire from behind the cover of the M831, while Williams crawled underneath the vehicle to his side for cover. Taylor ducked in the back, firing the MA5B that Barker had been holding when he was killed.
A trio of sniper rounds exited the structure behind James-005, as the rattle of an M41 Machine Gun was also heard, bullets from the two tearing up Covenant forces at the top of the ridge. Two marines rushed out from the inside, both holding M7 SMGs, to go check the Covenant and police their weapons.
Turning, and following Captain Williams as he walked, the Spartan and the O.N.I officer stepped into the massive structure. "Forerunner," Williams remarked, as an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper stood to salute him. "Captain!" the man exclaimed, "Sergeant Jacob Rawlings, Fifty-Third Battalion, Third-Company!" The solider then turned towards James-005 with a less-than-lethal glare, before dropping his salute.
Williams, however, remained silent, as he stepped towards the hallway at the back of the room.
"Rawlings, James. You're with me. Order these men to hold up out here. We're going in."
