SLAYER
The HALO Chronicles
Chapter 3
The sun broke through over the horizon and rose swiftly as another day began anew. The port was empty as always and nothing new was happening for the lonely three UNSC Spartans. Jefferson lay in his sleep chamber when he heard a heavy roaring outside the base. He immediately woke up and ran out. As the roaring got louder, the ground shook slightly.
"EARTHQUAKE! INVASION! EVER' MAN FUR 'IMSELF!" Cookie screamed as he leaped out of his sleep changer and grabbed his M7 Sub-Machine Gun and ran outside screaming. Doc grunted and lazily lifted himself out of his sleep chamber. He wasn't even phased in the slightest by the constant rumbling and roaring and Cookie's belligerent screaming. He simply got up and walked outside, annoyed from being woken up early.
The sun was barely shining through the dark sky that was only recently completely black. It was creeping up along the sky but was blocked by the smog and filth that was exuding from the industrial zones all around New Mombasa. Yet through all of the scum and pollution, there was still a surprising peacefulness and beauty that lay in between the layers of filth. The serenity of dawn was soon pierced as three D77-TC "Pelican" Drop-ships sped through the air at high speeds, their engines roaring like that of a high-speed race-car. The Pelicans arrived at a tall building near the edge of the empty harbor. They swung around the building twice at low speeds, sending the obnoxious roar of the engines in different directions. They ceased their circling and hovered over to a large circular ring-like monument that stood atop the edge of the harbor wall. As the three Pelicans touched down, the ground shook violently from the force of the propulsion-jets thrusting down upon the dirt, filling the already dirty air with a heavy cloud of dirt. There were two loud thuds on the ground inside the dirt cloud and a few grunts, and "Oo-rah!"s.
Jefferson stopped and stared at the large cloud of dirt, and Doc followed shortly after. They could barely even see the tops of the Pelicans themselves until they lifted off the grounds and began their journey back to the UNSC Command. Cookie soon followed Jefferson out of the base, screaming horrendously and shooting blindly into the air, startled by the sudden loud roaring and rumbling. Jefferson, still somewhat exhausted from the abrupt wake-up, stopped in his place and lurched over. His head was swimming with a plethora of thoughts, almost all of them centered on sleeping when all of a sudden, Cookie slammed right into him. They tumbled to the ground, flailing in a rage. Jefferson jumped up and tapped his head to wake himself from his trance.
"Cookie, you idiot! I told you not to knock me over when I'm in a transitional period! There are only two times when you can knock me over: When I'm being shot at, and when I eat anything sweet and smothered in chocolate."
"Yes, sir," Cookie said. The cloud of dust was slowly reducing. Jefferson was startled by what lay before him. There was a warthog, six soldiers and a droid. Jefferson's jaw dropped. The six soldiers walked towards him. One of the soldiers on the left, clad in cobalt-teal MJOLNIR Mark IV armor walked towards him.
"Uh… hi. Um… is this Spartan Outpost Headlong?" There wasn't any response. Jefferson stood there with that plain, blank reflection from his helmet's visor. "Hello? Anybody home?" The cobalt soldier tapped Jefferson's helmet.
"What… the… hell…" Jefferson said hotly. "Where's the shotgun, rocket launchers, sniper rifles, gauss warthog, Scorpion, SMGs, 14 magnums, and the god damned longsword fighter I ordered!?" He screamed.
"Now how did you memorize that?" Doc joked.
"Shut it, Doc!"
"Excuse me, shouting won't solve anything," the stranger commented.
"What's your name, son? You'll speak with respect when addressing your commanding officers! Wait… what rank are you?"
"Sergeant."
"Ha! I outrank you! Lieutenant! In your face!"
"You sure do seem a little uppy and… immature for a lieutenant."
"Well, um… that's just genetics, anyway, Cookie, commence ass-kissing!" Jefferson ordered. "You are an excellent leader, strategist, and the most handsome man anyone has ever laid eyes on!" Cookie saluted. "And don't you ever speak to Lieutenant Jefferson that way again!" He added.
"Good man," Jefferson applauded.
"Now listen up!" Jefferson shouted to the squad of six new soldiers. "I want you all to line up against that wall," he pointed to the wall of the nearest building, "and Sergeant Charlie over here will come over and ask you your… um…"
"Name." Doc sighed.
"Yes, your name! Right. As well as your rank, position, etc. The floor's all yours, Cookie." Cookie stepped up in front of the squad.
"Uh. Hi. I'm Charlie. McPeterson. I'ma… um… Sarge Major... you can… uh… call me Cookie. Um… yeah. Not much else. I cook. I make some purty good ham sandwiches… um… that's 'bout it, y'all. So um… I'ma gon' come 'round and ask you your name 'n stuff." He hastily rushed up to the cobalt soldier first. "Um… name?"
"Spartan-093, Gunnery Sergeant Wilson "Will" Atlas, sir. I have served 11 years with the United Nations Space Command and have fought valiantly at the Second Battle of Harvest with Spartan Group Omega and the infamous Green Squad at the Battle of Reach."
"Green Squad? Why infamous?"
"Well, no one's really ever heard of us because our squad was thought to be cursed. The first account of bad luck, it was early morning and my squad and I were in the middle of a heated skirmish against the Elites. Then in the heat of battle, some idiot activated a plasma grenade and didn't count correctly. He killed two of our squad mates. Then some other guy took a welding torch and accidentally seared right through his and a squad-mates armor while trying to repair a Hornet, and then flung the torch right into my Captain's face while writhing in pain on the ground. Finally, the remaining two in our squad besides me were sent on a Reconnaissance mission to take a couple of Banshees and spy on the Covenant forces."
"An' how'd that go?"
"One of 'em took one of the Banshee and crashed himself and the other guy into the wall. The Banshee's explosion disintegrated them both, as well as a couple of expendable crew-members. I was demoted from Sergeant to Private just for being part of that squad, and yet I never even did anything. That's why I've been in the military for so long."
"Man, that really friggin' blows."
"Yeah, well, I suppose I don't have anything better to do." There was a silence for a moment. "Um… what's your specialty?" Cookie asked.
"I'm an expert demolitionist. It's actually kind of strange, all my life in the military, I've never actually had to blow something up. It's quite sad, actually."
"Well, perhaps I can find somethin' for you to do…" Cookie said deviously. Will shrugged and Cookie walked on to the next soldier. A tall and bulky figure with orange Mark IV armor stood tall in front of Cookie.
"Name?" Cookie asked.
"Laddamer, sir. Tom Laddamer." The man had a heavy Australian accent. "I'm a PFC, yeah? Vehicula' expert, an' awarded 2 medals for service in the UNSC. Vehicles are my thing: good at fixin' 'em, good at killin' 'em. Never missed one in my life. Eva'." Cookie was a tad scared by the Australian. He backed away slowly.
"Er… excellent, welcum 'board," he stammered. Cookie side-stepped to the third soldier who was in a gold Mark IV suit.
"Hello sir, my name is Richard Hocus, a pleasure, I'm sure." He extended his hand to Cookie. Cookie eagerly grabbed the man's hand and shook gently.
"Nice t' meet'cha," he said.
"I'm your new hand-to-hand expert, I've been with the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps for over 4 years and I've served in the Navy for 2."
"What's your rank?"
"Private."
"Wait… why do you have painted armor? Only PFCs and above are allow'd t' paint their armor."
"Because, I'm a specialist. I have privileges. Besides, anyone who wants to try and say otherwise is gonna wake up missing a couple of teeth and possible an arm." Like lightning, he pulled out a knife and an energy sword and immediately sliced through the wall next to him. Cookie stared at the slash, distracted, and turned back to Hocus with the knife at his neck. "See? Cool, huh? It's interesting and surprising to see how distracted people get all the time."
"So you ain't gonna kill me?"
"Oh, heavens no! I only kill superior officers on Wednesdays. Tuesdays if I'm in a good mood. It's Thursday, so you're a day safe. For now anyways." Cookie gulped. "Well, nice meeting you, sir!" Hocus saluted Cookie and stepped in line. Cookie then moved on to the next soldier. There was nothing special about this particular unit. No emblem, no color, and no armor permutations. This was clearly a trainee.
"G'day," the Private said. "As you're well aware, I'm a new recruit."
"What t'hell you doin' 'ere? New recruits usually go to Basic."
"Huh? Oh, right. Command said that this outpost was pretty Basic." Cookie rubbed the back of his head, knowing what Command thought of them.
"Eh, figures…" Cookie shrugged. "What good'ya think we gonna do ya?"
"Well, they said that most all of you are specialists and/or hardened soldiers, so Command said I could learn a thing or two from you guys. Name's Alan Warsaw by the way. Fresh out of enlistment. You guys are the first Spartans I've come into contact with, besides me and these other guys of course."
"Well, welcome to the Marine Corps, I'm sure you'll do fine. Now drop down and give me 300!"
"Right now sir? But I'm exhausted!"
"Hey, recruits aren't allowed to whine until after 10 P.M.! You can't be a sissie 'til you seen a real fight. Besides, you're doin' it all wrong. This is how you whine in the military," Cookie ran over to Jefferson, who was conversing with Doc.
"So I was in the lab the other day, working with the Chem equipment, when all of the sudden, Cookie grabbed…" Doc was just about to finish the sentence when Cookie came barging into the conversation.
"Doc, I…"
"Look, Cookie, I already told you, I'm not letting you make moonshine with the Chem equipment!"
"No, Doc, I…"
"And I am NOT giving you anymore morphine, I have no idea what the hell you do with that anyhow."
"No, I was just gonna say… I don't wanna do this no more!? You go do it ya' big meanie! I wanna go home an' sleep! Why do I have to work in the army?"
"That's some quality whining, Sergeant."
"Thank you sir." Cookie walked back to Warsaw. "That's how you do it."
"Uh-huh. Right."
"Did I give you permission to talk? And where are those push-ups?" He thrust the recruit to the ground. "Remember, Down-Up, 1! Got it?" Warsaw gave a muffled "yes, sir." "Excellent." Cookie then moved on to a soldier that appeared to be drunk at first glance. He was hunched over, and said nothing. He was painted white. This was no ordinary soldier, it was a combat droid. Cookie tapped the droid's shoulder and he jumped to life.
"Greetings, meat-bag… er… ERROR… I mean, greetings, sentient. I am Combat-Protocol Processing Unit No. 200/109, M2551 Version 4.0. However, you may alternately call me 'Dell'."
"Well, pleasure to meet'cha, D…"
"You'll speak when you're addressed, you filthy worm! Oh my, I'm terribly sorry. I have no idea what has come over me. I am an emotionless drone after all."
"Um… alright, no hard feelin's… I guess. How many languages you fluent in?"
"Why, I am fluent in over 8,000 languages, however most of them are dead…"
"Like what?"
"Eh… I can't recall what it's called…"
"Do you understand French?
"Well yes, but it's meaningless."
"Why? It's French."
"Ah, yes, but French has been dead for about 210 years, remember the Amer-Euro-Aussie-Asian war? Those poor meat-bags were as dead as fried chicken."
"Oh yeah… poor bastards. I forgot, what is it called now?"
"L'Amèrica Deux."
"Crazy gibberish!" Cookie then walked back to Jefferson, but turned back. He remembered, there were six figures, one was missing. Cookie walked back to the group and searched for the sixth man. He heard footsteps coming from around the side of the building. He took his SMG and slowly stepped towards the wall, as he was about to turn the corner, a hand grabbed him by the helmet and pulled him into the shadows of a nearby alley.
"Get the hell of me, damnit!" Cookie screamed.
"Shhh…. Cookie, calm down! It's me!" The man dropped him to the ground. His voice was awfully high for a man's. He turned to look at him. The soldier was a Spartan, same as Cookie with pink armor, and was holding a 99D-S2 Sniper Rifle. He was slimmer and shorter than himself and the rest of the Spartan's.
"I don't know who you are. Well I sure as hell ain't ever seen you a'fore. You gay?"
"No, Cookie! It's me, Savannah!"