Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or Bungie. Too bad.
Chapter Two: Grunts Go BOOM.
14 CYCLES, 24 UNITS (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) / ABOARD FORERUNNER VESSEL
The Spartan grunted as the crazed brute struck across the chest, draining his shields to half charge. He leaped back, and unloaded on the brute with his brute-made plasma rifles. It grunted, as the red plasma cut into its chest. But still, it remained standing. Through its crazed eyes, it saw the Demon, scourge of the Sacred Rings, and Assassin of the Hierarch, the Prophet of Regret. The very knowledge filled it with an unquenchable rage. So it started another charge, running towards the very anti-God in front of it. It paid little heed to the red plasma impacting onto its shoulders, and landed another blow on the Demon. This time, the Demon was forced to his knees. It bellowed in triumph. The Sangheili, the Jiralhanae, even the mighty Lekgolo could not defeat this one. But he, just one Jiralhanae, had managed to force the Demon to bow down to him!
John-117 looked up to the Brute that had managed to knock him down. Instead of killing him outright, it had chosen this moment to… roar in triumph? He took the chance. He rolled off to the side, and stood up, Covenant carbine in his hands. He raised it, and unloaded the clip in the ugly ape's uglier face. It gave a gurgling growl, as it finally collapsed. As the Spartan shakily reloaded the carbine, he heard a booming voice over the ship-wide COM system.
The Demon is here! Whoever brings me its head shall be my personal guard! The Great Journey shall not be denied to you!
The translation system kicked in. John smirked behind his helmet. So, he was worthy enough to have a bounty? Wow. He bent down to search the Brute, and found some strange black objects with spikes on them. Grenades? He policed them all the same.
There. He was ready to take on an army. Or rather… a ship-load of angry, frenzied, pissed-off Brutes and Jackals. How fun.
He opened the doors… and immediately encountered two. Behind one were several red dots on his motion detector. Covenant. Behind the other was nothing. He walked right in front of the door, and then ducked behind the wall. He carefully looked around, and saw three Jackals, their plasma pistols waving around, and their shield gauntlets ready. Good. They hadn't seen him. He looked at the new grenades, and decided to go for it. He threw a grenade at the ceiling, intending for it to bounce down, right in front of the Jackals. However, instead of falling down to the floor like he expected, it just stayed right on the ceiling. Well, that was a waste. He readied the carbine, when he heard a little boom. Curious, he looked around, and saw three dead Jackal bodies lying down. And the many little spikes embedded in their backs. The grenade launched spikes. He inspected the shield gauntlets, and deciding that they were working, he took them.
He checked his motion detector. It indicated that one large contact was coming. How did the Jackals raise the alarm? Oh well, bring them on! He clipped the Jackal shield to his wrist, and raised the carbine. Then he felt the flutters. The ground was shaking. This can't be right. Even Hunters weren't that large. So, what were they?
The answer came soon enough. Indents were formed in the walls. Then they bent inwards. What were these things? Large holes were punched into the walls, and then something forced its arms in the hole, and then tore through the wall. Now the hole was large enough for it to come through. It was hideous. It was much, much larger than a Hunter, and had gray skin. It wielded no weapons, although from the size of its claws, the Spartan surmised that it didn't need any. It wore armor on its shoulders, and where two eyes were supposed to be, there was only one eye. It screeched in rage, even as the Master Chief primed and threw a plasma grenade, connecting with it. It lunged out with its claws, and nearly hit the Master Chief. The grenade detonated. The monstrosity groaned with pain, as the plasma burned its skin, but it remained standing.
"What the…" The Master Chief muttered, as he readied another grenade. The monster, sensing the danger, lashed out with its claws, forcing the Master Chief to roll to the side. The primed grenade fell out of his hands. The Spartan ran away, and the grenade detonated harmlessly.
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The High Prophet of Truth looked in the security monitor, and smiled. Normally, he would not deploy the savage Drinol in a ship of war… but this wasn't normal. Soon, the Demon shall die.
His only regret was that he would have to destroy the beast. They were notoriously hard to control, and after destroying the Demon, it would most likely go on a rampage… and destroy the ship. He would have to jettison it. Regrettable yes, but it would gain the ultimate prize: salvation.
The Jiralhanae Ship master, Haralus, walked up to him, and spoke gruffly, "Your Eminence, I am not sure if this is a wise course of action."
"How so, Ship Master?" Truth responded.
"Drinol are… savage beasts. They are not worthy of this honor. This will destroy this ship, left by the Forerunners, given a chance."
"Oh, and I suppose your people can dispose of the Demon?" Truth smiled as he saw Haralus flinch at this veiled insult.
"Very well… Hierarch." Haralus bowed, and barked orders to a Jiralhanae manning the weapons station. A second later, a Human Orbital Cannon exploded.
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The Spartan looked around. No weapons, which meant a little chance of winning this fight. This beast was savage, too savage for him to contend with. That left only one option.
A draw.
He had surmised that he was around the hull of this ship. A big mistake on their part. If the beast could tear through the walls, then maybe, just maybe, it could tear through the hull. The MJOLNIR MARK VI armor could supply him with around two hours worth of air. The beast, however, would die. A draw, and with luck, maybe a UNSC ship could pick him up. If not, at least he'd go down fighting.
He ran to the edge of the hull, and through a brute spike grenade at the beast. He knew it wouldn't hurt it, but it would piss it off. The grenade exploded, and the beast grunted in pain. Through its crazed eye, it saw the source of the pain: the Demon.
It roared, and lumbered towards its enemy. It lunged out with both of its claws with all of its force. The Master Chief rolled aside, and the claws impacted on the hull, bruising it slightly. The Spartan looked at the damage, and sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long day…
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The Hierarch called Field Master Plutonus to the security monitor. The graying Jiralhanae looked at the Demon leaping out of the Drinol's savage strikes, and occasionally firing off an extra round.
"Explain." He demanded.
Plutonus swallowed a few times, and paused the frame. He looked at the hull, and panicked. "Hierarch, we must jettison the both of them, now!"
"What?"
"The Demon is causing the Drinol to destroy the hull of this ship! Several more hits, maybe four or five, will compromise the structural integrity of this vessel!"
The Prophet felt his blood freeze. He called out to Haralus. "Jettison the Drinol, now!"
Haralus jumped, and then barked a short order. An officer punched in a few buttons, and the door slid open. It turned out that the Demon had chosen to fight in a launch bay.
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The Master Chief pulled out a grenade, before he felt a slight tug. He spared a second to turn around, and saw a door slide open. They had decided that the loss of this beast was worthwhile, then. He grunted, and held onto what little remained of the door. The beast was not as lucky, as it flash-froze. It tumbled out into space. The Master Chief felt his grip slipping, and knew that he would be dashed against the shields. He primed the plasma grenade, and threw it out. He jumped away, soon afterwards. The grenade detonated on the shields, punching a small hole, which enabled the Master Chief to pass through it.
The deep vacuum of space. He felt at peace. His only regret was that he couldn't see the war through. He might as well boost his FOF tag to full strength. The way he saw it, he would either get rescued by a UNSC ship, get fried from a plasma shot, or just die when he ran out of oxygen.
He closed his eyes.
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Alex "Tack"-G111 looked at his other teammates. George "Boom"-G312 was piloting the Covenant dropship around the Super-Flagship's bay. Becky "Sneak"-G012 was sharpening her many combat knives, and subconsciously fingering her deactivated Covenant energy sword. Lena "Tech"-G045 was shifting her new "Icer" Rifle. Lastly, Keith "Speed"-G032 was shifting his weight around. He had never gotten used to the Covenant seats.
Becky was the assassin of the team. She was so good, once, when a stealthed Covenant Elite was stalking them, she turned the tables on it, and knifed it. Guess that's just irony. Her weapon of choice was the Covenant energy blades. She was the prime choice for infiltration. Too bad she was bull with projectiles, even a sniper rifle, except for knives, of course. She took the mission seriously. However, during the post-mission era, she would constantly joke around.
Lena was the technological brains of the outfit. She could hack into a Covenant database as easily as a battle rifle can tear apart a civilian vehicle. Slow to start, but once she's in, nothing can stop her… except for a smart AI, of the highest level. She would be highly useful for this mission. The "Icer" rifle was something of her own creation. She did something to liquid nitrogen and a rifle, and the result was this. It could… you guessed it, fire off super-chilled liquid nitro, effectively freezing the target. However, for a Spartan, she was, well, weak-ish. When others were benching 100 kilograms, she benched 75. Too bad she had a tendency to brag about it.
George was the demolition man. He could put together a timed explosive out of random equipment. Kinda like McGyver. He had extensive studies on trajectories, meaning his grenades went where he wanted them. He could hot-wire a Wraith to go on autopilot, even if someone was manning it, meaning that it would just randomly shoot its plasma mortars, to the frustration of the pilot. The problem was that he was pretty dull. He couldn't make up a plan to save his life! He needed someone to hone his abilities.
Keith was rather average. He was okay with guns and vehicles, but terrible at fighting hand-to-hand. Kind of ironic, considering that he has the physique of a Covenant Brute… in proportion. And about the same level of intelligence. However, he was damned fast. When Mendez organized games of CTF, everyone clamored for him. He was just that fast.
And himself? To quote Mendez, "Sharp as a tack, and about as useful." He was the tactician of the group, but couldn't carry out his plans himself. He was extremely handy with a BR55 battle rifle, and dual wielded M6Ds.
The five of them made Team Razor. They were counterbalanced, meaning that they took care of each other, and covered their weaknesses.
Their mission? To destroy the ship. They couldn't bring nukes, because that would alert the Covenant. So, they'd have to do the classic reactor overload, just like how the Spartan-II Blue Team did with the Unyielding Hierophant.
He was snapped out of his reverie as Boom left the pilot's station, and grunted, "Tech, yer up."
Tech stood up, slinging her Icer rifle around her back, and frantically typed in Covenant pictographs, answering various hails. This was where everything rested on. Tack held his breath, gripping his battle rifle tightly. After about five minutes, she reported, "Done."
Everyone exhaled at once. The flagship was over five kilometers long, with several plasma turrets. If they were slightly suspicious… then let's just say, Phantom vs. 11 plasma turrets.
Boom leaned over, and programmed the Phantom to stay floating, even as Team Razor jumped out of it. However, after two minutes, it would indiscriminately fire its three turrets. The Covenant would surely respond to that. But they needed someone to 'pilot' it. Tack asked, "Got the decoy?" Speed nodded, and grabbed the human body. It was the body of a Rebel… no big loss. But still, there was something… queasy about it.
The Phantom eased into the bay, and Speed unceremoniously dumped the body into the Pilot's chair.
"Stealth, everyone." Tack commanded, as he activated his own. The others nodded, and one by one, they in turn, 'disappeared.' By then, the Phantom was floating above the floor of the bay. Tack leaped down, and activated his COM system. "Everyone down?" Five green lights winked on. "Good. Boom, activate your program, now."
One green light winked on in acknowledgement. A voice chuckled in the COM. "Damn bastards won't know what hit them."
"Right. Tech?"
"Yes, Tack?"
"See if you can open that door."
"Too easy. You see, that-"
"Tech…"
"Yessir." The door slid open. Tack walked through it, followed by Team Razor.
"Boom. Give me a countdown for Phantom fireworks."
"Yes." A timer clicked on. 00:10.
"Let's go. Remember, stay quiet, hidden. Sneak, take point. We'll cover you."
00:06. A shifting. That must be Sneak.
"…And now." Boom cut in. Outside, Tack could hear faint screaming and explosions. Then the screaming subsided, as a larger detonation was heard.
Tack grinned inside his helmet. He was allowed to have fun, right? They walked cautiously, towards the center, where the bridge would be located. After about two hours, when everything had subsided, and a fair measure of luck, evading the patrols, they found themselves halfway through. However, the only way to the bridge was blocked. Twenty Elites patrolled the blocked hallway, and five Grunts were leaning against the compartments blocking it.
Tack clicked his COM on. "Tech? I though that we were undetected?"
"We are. But I think there is… an insurrection of sorts."
"Explain."
"At approximately 1400 hours, there were reports of shots fired. It said that the Brutes were killing Elites. Sorry that I did not tell you earlier."
"Right." Tack thought for a moment. Then it hit him. He scrutinized the cargo boxes. They were just stacked up against the bridge doors. A well-placed explosion would destroy them. Then, he looked at the grunts leaning against the boxes.
"Boom?"
"Yes sir."
"I want you to throw the new brute spike grenades there, there, there, and there." Tack outlined his HUD, set four points around the corridor, and beamed the picture to Boom. "Then, I want you to give me a countdown to ten seconds after the grenades explode."
"Yes boss." A silhouette moved in front of the uglies, and threw four spike grenades. He ran back to the group, and a countdown clicked on. 00:15.
"Good." Tack walked in front of the enemy, and clicked off the safety from his M6D.
00:10. The grenades silently detonated, and the Grunts fell, as the spikes pierced their hearts, their lungs… and their methane breathing apparatuses. The Elites roared as the spikes bounced off their shields. They waved their plasma rifles, but as there were not targets, they still stood, looking confused.
00:05. The Elites began walking around, and a few ran out, oblivious to the leaking methane. Tack clicked on his COM, and said, "Sneak, take them out. NOW."
A shadow shifted, and the two Elites that ran out fell, as a knife severed their brains from their spines.
00:01. Tack fired off one round for his M6D. The white-hot bullet streaked, and ignited the methane that had been steadily streaming out. Tack jumped away, but he still was thrown aside, as the concussive force from the flames impacted on him. But that was better than what the other eighteen Elites got. They warbled and groaned, as the fires baked them.
Tack stood up, even as the other four ran over to help him up. "To the bridge, boss?"
"Not yet. Barbecued Elite, anyone?" Tack replied. Four chuckles. "No? I thought so."
Author Note: So… what do y'all think?