A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing my story! Wow…seventeen reviews in just under seven days…please, keep reading and reviewing!
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Zichalo: Thanks! You too.
Admiral Tway: I'm not sure what happened to that first chapter, but I'll get around to fixing it…eventually.
Warior: Nice to see you again. I should give you some cookies or something…you've reviewed every chapter.
Firebendingguy: You've got something to look forward to! I've got the sequel to this particular story planned, another one after that and a fourth is in the stages of being planned!
The Marines of Charlie Company
Chapter Twelve:
The Green Man Cometh
The next hour or so passed by uneventfully as the Marines tried to get a bit of rest now and then if they weren't on guard duty. David and the radio man spent most of that time switching off the broadcasts and trying to reach the Pelican that had now taken up circling over the swamp in an elliptical pattern. After fifty five minutes of fruitless trying, David finally got through.
"This is Echo-419 to ground team. I'm reading you, five-by-five."
The group breathed a clearly audible sigh of relief. Help had arrived.
"Echo-419, this is Sergeant David Carson. We need pickup approximately two hundred meters to your eight o'clock, over."
Static crackled for a moment before the veteran pilot responded.
"Roger that, Sergeant, but I can't pick you up just yet; I dropped the Master Chief off at your insertion point about an hour ago, but I haven't heard from him since."
Carson cursed softly as he looked toward the shaft. If the Chief was dead, so was all of their hope of escaping this God-forsaken hellhole. With a huff, he stood, approached the device that would activate the elevator, and sent it down, hoping that the Master Chief would come up before anything else did. David also stationed six or seven of his two dozen Marines at the top of the shaft to watch and make sure nothing other than the Chief made it up. David took the radio again and sat down, leaning against the wall.
"Foehammer, we'll wait for the Chief here. How much fuel do you have left? Over."
"Enough to circle for another hour or so and still get back to Alpha Base, Sergeant. What happened to the Captain and his team? Over."
David winced slightly at the question, and many of the other Marines instantly paled. He searched for the right words for several moments, but couldn't seem to find anything that could put what happened into perspective; no word in the English vocabulary did. Eventually, David decided to tell her the flat out truth. Thing was, they didn't even know what happened to them.
"I'm…not entirely sure, Foehammer. One minute, they're fine. The next, they're under attack, but not by the Covenant; these things are much more deadly."
'Takamee grunted as he led his team through the murky swamp, cursing the bushes and fog that impeded their progress. At first, they tried calling for pickup, but the accursed transmitter was destroyed. Fortunately enough for them, the receiver still worked and the Elites managed to pick up a human signal; they were in the same boat and needed a ride badly. The human sending the signal sounded calm and determined, but the others around him did not; they were panicking.
After a quick debate of the risks they were taking, 'Takamee led his small team of five survivors in search of these humans. They were found easily enough, camping at the rear entrance of the Forerunner compound. 'Takamee noticed that their leader had the wits to post guards outside, but stood out with them more often than not. The human, he noticed, talked to his soldiers often, reassuring them that they would be rescued and that the others wouldn't simply abandon them.
To 'Takamee, the Human language was a vulgar one, but easily enough understood. It was merely a simple set of sounds with hard and soft accent and 'vowels' that were present in most words. The Human language sounded a bit harsh to him, but it could prove useful on the battlefield in determining the Enemy's tactics and strength; it also made intercepting and decoding transmissions much easier.
Although tempted to just sweep down and murder the humans like sheep, 'Takamee waited; their transport would be the survivors' only way out. The Elite gave an annoyed huff at the idea that he would spill none of these vile vermin's blood and continued to watch as the other survivors lay behind him. Hopefully, the transport they had called would not detect them if they stowed aboard; even if it did, eliminating the humans would not be a difficult task.
At least an hour passed before anything happened, but after that, chaos erupted. The familiar thunder of a human 'Assault Rifle' echoed in 'Takamee's ears and awoke him from the doze he'd slipped in to. Curious, 'Takamee peeked up over the hill again and saw the one human he feared; the Master Chief. Cursing under his breath, 'Takamee alerted the rest of his team and informed them to get ready to move out; the Humans had what they had waited for and would be leaving at any second. Just as he predicted, the humans gathered at the entrance to the Holy Temple and began their trek through the swamp.
The small group stayed parallel to the much larger human force, and made sure to stay above them and completely out of sight. Thus far, the vile Parasites had hidden their ugly heads, but 'Takamee knew that their luck would not hold out for long; unfortunately, he was proven right. Somewhere in the fog, a horribly twisted cry pierced the silence and dozens of Combat Forms leapt forth toward the Human forces with hundreds of Infection Forms right behind. Another curse escaped 'Takamee's mandibles as he fired in sync with the humans, neutralizing what Flood he could; after all, if there were no Humans alive, why would the transport bother to hang around?
Everyone was moving at top speed now, practically sprinting through the murky water and fog toward the large structure that would serve as the pickup zone. 'Takamee could now hear the Pelican's engines whistling and roaring overhead as the pilot skilfully navigated the dense fog and foliage toward them. Just as the Humans reached the water that surrounded the base of the tower, more Flood emerged and began to attack. That, added to the fact that 'Takamee was now out of high ground, made his choice a difficult one; the Elites would have to fight side-by-side with Humans. He growled in disgust at the thought, but issued a battle cry nonetheless and charged toward the nearest Combat form, firing wildly.
David was now cursing profusely; not only had he lost most of his men to the Flood, the Master Chief had just disappeared in a flash of blinding yellow light. He ordered the Marines to form a tight circle and to fire at will. Carson fired at everything that moved, but only if it was within effective kill range of his shotgun. A Combat Form leapt through the air at him, growling angrily, and he blew it apart with a well aimed shotgun blast. Another began approaching from his left, and David aimed. The M90 kicked powerfully against his shoulder when he squeezed the trigger, but he got the desired effect; the infested Elite was lying in the murky water, quite literally in pieces.
The situation was hopeless at best, and getting worse by the minute; Flood were coming at them from every direction in a never ending torrent of snarls, bullets, flesh and gore. Round after round exploded in a bright flash of death as David fired away, blasting whatever he could in a desperate attempt to hold the Flood off until Foehammer could land. Just as things looked their bleakest, the unexpected happened; somewhere off to his nine o'clock, a war cry sounded. Only, it was that of an Elite rather than a Combat Form. For the first time in his life, David was glad to see the gargantuan alien creatures known as Elites charging his way.
Plasma hissed past his head as several stray shots came their way, but it didn't matter; maybe now they had a chance. The Elites didn't take long to join the Marines, who gladly welcomed them into their circle of death. David began reloading his shotgun hastily as it ran out of the eight gauge shells, and pumped it. Echo-419 landed just as he finished, and the survivors clambered aboard with Carson in the rear. The Pelican ascended rapidly as Carson fired a few more rounds into the horde, blowing the chest cavity clean out of one that was stupid enough to try and jump aboard.
Exhausted and frazzled, David plopped down onto one of the seats that lined the fuselage of the Pelican drop ship. His eyes swept over the mixed cargo the ship was carrying and nearly laughed at how uncomfortable they all looked. The Elite sitting across from David was staring at him intently, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. However, he didn't have much time to ponder that as one of his Marine, Yaeger, spoke up.
"What were those things, Sarge?"
All eyes were upon him now; even those of the Elites. David decided to give in.
"They are called the Flood by the Forerunners."
David then began to explain what had happened over the last few days, going into what detail he could about the three Forerunner that had spoken to him and the small traces of data they'd told him. This seemed extremely unsettling to the quartet of Elites, who stared at him with greater disbelief than those of the Marines.
"So…the prophecies are true…" muttered the leader of the bunch.
"What prophecies?"