(A/N) Hey everyone, sorry that this chapter is going up a few hours late, internet has been down the last few days so I'm uploading this off a friends computer. Hopefully our next update will be tomorrow, but that depends on whether or not my internet's back online. If there is a delay, it shouldn't be for too long, so just hang in there! Hopefully it won't be necessary. Anyway, now that you're caught up, this chapter is another one of mine, from the point-of-view of Agent Wyoming! Had a lot of fun writing it!
Enjoy!
Chapter Thirty-One – Urban Warfare
Agent Wyoming
Written by NicKenny
"I never really understood how Wyoming could be so detached at times. Nothing that happened ever fazed the guy, not Penn breaking some guy in half, not Alaska pulling a knife on some guy, not Maine ripping a warthog in half with his bare hands. Maybe it was due to his training as a sniper: you're patient, still, dead to the world until your enemy makes a mistake and exposes himself. Then you pull the trigger and go home. Emotions don't really come into it." - Agent New York (Extract from log entries made after going AWOL).
"Hold on tight, guys!" 343-R's voice rang out from the cockpit, "We'll be going in hot."
Wyoming groaned and gripped onto his safety harness, noticing Penn and Alaska following suit. Seconds later the pelican shuddered and the freelancer's ears rang with the noise of an explosion.
"Are we hit?" Alaska yelled up to the pilot, a note of worry in his voice.
343-R just laughed, and the pelican shuddered once more. "Nope, those are missiles hitting one of the flares we've been dropping. If we had been hit, you'd know about it, trust me. There would be more plummeting towards the ground, crashing, burning. You know, all the good stuff."
"How far to our LZ?" Penn asked gruffly from his seat next to Wyoming, his huge frame barely fitting into the safety harness, which was clearly designed for more…average sized soldiers.
"About four klicks," the pilot swiftly replied, "It'll take no time at all. We'd already be there if it wasn't for all these damn SAM sites. Seriously, what the hell were the UNSC doing before we got here? It takes time to set up this kind of an assault."
Something in his cockpit began beeping and he swore under his breath. "Ok, guys, you're probably not going to like this next bit."
Wyoming groaned again, this time even louder, and the pelican rolled to the left, avoiding whatever missile had currently been locked onto them. Alaska swore as it righted itself, and Wyoming bit back the bile that was rising in his throat.
He wasn't a happy flier.
The attacks on their pelican began to ease off as they approached the city, and Wyoming sprang out of his seat the second the safety harnesses went up, after 343-R landed the ship. He barely heard the pilot's parting words as he, Penn and Alaska exited the pelican as quickly as possible, relieved to be setting their feet back on terra firma.
"Thank you for flying with Project Freelancer. The time in New Delphi is seven-sixteen p.m. We have once again made record time, and have not sustained any casualties, despite the intents of the cluster of bastards who were shooting at us. Your goodie-bags are located at the rear entrance of the pelican; please remember to take one on the way out. We hope to see you again soon."
Pilots. They were not Wyoming's favourite kind of people.
They stood out on the landing platform, taking in the city that lay before them. UNSC soldiers were running to and fro, and sounds of gunfire and the occasional explosion could be heard in the distance. The skyline was almost blotted out by the huge high-rise skyscrapers that the city consisted of, but the evident beauty of the structures had been somewhat marred by the days of warfare, as the taken its toll. The buildings all bore their own individual marks: some had been opened up by missiles, the explosions having left gaping holes in their sides. Others had been scorched from fire, or had partially collapsed, or had every window shattered into a billion tiny shards. Sirens could be heard all around them, and the constant shouting from the UNSC soldiers made it difficult for Wyoming to think of something witty to say.
"So this is what Hell looks like," he muttered numbly, taking in his surroundings with a heavy heart.
Next to him Alaska snorted and turned to him. "I dunno," he said, shaking his head slightly, "I kind of like it. Sure as hell beats that jungle."
Penn turned to them, his face unreadable behind his visor, but Wyoming could tell that he was thinking his next plan of action through. "Okay, we've been ordered to rendezvous with Carolina and the others, and provide additional support to the UNSC. Guess we may as well get started and look for them."
Wyoming paused after Penn said this, turning and looking over to a nearby group of UNSC soldiers. "Or we could just ask them?" he suggested meekly, nodding to the troopers.
He could feel both Penn's glare and Alaska's smug amusement, despite their hidden features, but Penn just sighed heavily and nodded slowly. "If you want to do things the boring way," he muttered to himself as he walked up to the soldiers, evidently displeased with Wyoming's suggestion.
The soldiers turned and saluted as the three freelancers made their way over, and Wyoming couldn't help smiling just a little bit. Evidently Carolina and the others had left an impression on the UNSC. Penn stepped forward and addressed the group, taking on his role of team leader once more.
"Do you know where we can find the rest of our team, in particular the soldier with aqua…sea-green…teal armour?"
The soldiers practically radiated enthusiasm, and nodded excitedly. Their sergeant quickly replied: "Of course, sir. They're with the main force in the northwest corner of the city, driving back the Insurrectionists. Colonel Grant's leading a smaller force against the Innies in the south of the city, where they're less congregated."
Penn nodded and thanked the soldier, turning back to Alaska and Wyoming. "You heard the man, the northwest corner, on the double! I'll be damned if there's no Innies left for us to kill by the time we get there!"
The northwest corner of the city was in even worse shape than the rest of New Delphi, and had evidently borne the brunt of the fighting. Dozens of fires burned in the surrounding buildings, and the sounds of explosions and gunfire were even more prominent.
"I take back what I said earlier," Wyoming noted, walking through the city next to his two teammates, "This is what Hell looks like."
They picked up their pace, and soon encountered a huge group of UNSC troops as they reached the very edge of the battle. Here the UNSC had set up several medical tents, and the screams of wounded soldiers could be heard clearly, even over the gunfire that echoed out from the north. There were also several MAAPs in lock-down mode arranged along the edge of the camp, their Zeus cannons firing at random intervals, the plasma discharge arching through the air, quickly followed by a tremendous explosion.
"I would like to take back my previous statement one final time," Wyoming said with utter sincerity as they tried to blot out the images of the wounded all around them, hurriedly marching through the area.
They followed a group of about twenty soldier who were marching to the front line, eager to finally get into the fight, and reached the rest of the UNSC forces, who were currently locked into battle with a huge Insurgent force, both fighting for control of a few city blocks in the northwest corner of the city.
Penn grabbed a nearby soldier, catching his attention. "I'm looking for Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer!" he yelled, over the gunfire. The soldier just pointed towards a hastily constructed barricade about two hundred yards in front of them, which was sheltering a sort of lean-to that had been erected from the rubble of a fallen building.
Penn let go of the soldier and strode forward, pushing his way through the throngs of soldiers. Wyoming and Alaska paused to glance at one another, before following their team leader into the building.
The building was evidently serving as the field headquarters for the UNSC, which was confirmed, in Wyoming's opinion, by the four ODST's that stood on guard outside the door, and stopped Penn as he made his way up to them.
"Authorization?" one of the ODST's snapped, not quite pointing his battle rifle at Penn, but, at the same time, making it clear that he was in fact holding a battle rifle.
Penn just stared blankly for a moment, evidently considering crushing the ODST's head between his hands, but managed to restrain himself. "Agent Pennsylvania of Project Freelancer, and these are agents Wyoming and Alaska," he said, jerking a thumb back in our direction.
The ODST glanced over at Wyoming and Alaska, then back at Penn, then over at his comrades. "I'm going to have to run this by my superior officer," he replied, looking confused. "We were not informed that we would be receiving more freelancers."
Penn removed his helmet, glaring at the ODST, and things could have taken on a turn for the worst if a familiar voice hadn't suddenly rang out from behind the freelancers.
"Wow, look what the cat dragged in."
The three agents spun around to see a smiling Agent York standing behind them, his shotgun across his back and his helmet in his hand. "And by dragged in I mean spit out like a hairball, hey guys! I thought you were supposed to be off assassinating some Innie colonel?"
Wyoming walked up to him and grabbed his hand firmly, happy to be reunited with his roommate once more. "We're a bit ahead of schedule. That objective was completed a good three or four hours ago."
York's smile widened, and shook Wyoming's hand warmly. "That would explain why the fight went out of these guys around that time," he replied with a nod towards the Insurrectionist camp. "We just thought Carolina was scaring them off with her steely gaze and cold contempt."
He looked past Wyoming and nodded to the ODST guards, who were looking slightly nonplussed by this exchange. "It's okay, guys, they're with me."
The ODST who had stopped Penn shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry York but we still need clearance before we can let them through."
York just laughed at the guard's words. "Don't try to pull that on me, Dave. You wouldn't want everyone to know about that weekend in New Alexandria, would you?"
The soldier blushed behind his helmet and glared at York, trying to ignore the curious expressions of his companions. "Just go in," he spat out venomously, his eyes stabbing daggers into York's soul.
The four freelancers brushed past the ODST's, and as he walked past Wyoming current resist the urge to give the infuriated ODST a sharp salute, earning a glare in return. The building itself was filled with evidently high-up UNSC officials. An irritated looking woman with a hooked nose looked up at them over a pile of maps, each showing different areas of New Delphi.
"Who're these?" she asked sharply, but York just shrugged it off.
"Agents Pennsylvania, Wyoming and Alaska," he replied with a flourish, pointing out each freelancer in turn.
The woman's colleague, a balding man wearing thin wire spectacles, nodded slowly. "The hit team?" he asked, a questioning note in his voice.
Wyoming snorted and shook his head vigorously. "We prefer precision removal unit."
The two UNSC officials glanced at each other, and, as one, shook their heads in disbelief. "Where the hell do they recruit you guys?" the woman murmured to herself, before introducing herself as Lieutenant Jennifer Hilary, and her colleague as Major Jonathon Smith. York broke up the introductions smoothly, asking where Carolina was, and the Lieutenant frowned, saying that she was currently communicating with Colonel Grant.
"Forget Grant, she'll want to see them," was all he would tell her, then ushered the other three agents to the far end of the room, where Carolina stood, talking to an aged UNSC official through a monitor, who Wyoming assumed was Colonel Grant.
"Carolina!" York shouted out as they walked up to her, barging through the officials in order to forge a path. She turned around slowly, terminating her link with Grant, and Wyoming winced slightly. Her helmet lay on the table next to her, so her face was on clear display. Her normally beautiful face was marred somewhat by the black eye that she sported, and the bruises that ran along her left cheek. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she recognised the agents, and she nodded slightly to them.
"I take it that the target has been terminated then?" she asked, immediately all business, just like she always was.
Penn nodded. "He's dead. The Director sent us to help push the Innies out of the city."
"Would have helped if he had told us you were coming, but then again, we've had troubles with our radio equipment lately. We think the Innies might be trying to jam us with something, but we haven't been able to pinpoint the exact area where the interference is coming from." Carolina was obviously weary, and her injuries attested to the fact that she had been in the very thick of the fighting, but there was something to her, some sort of iron will underneath that cold exterior, that reminded Wyoming a little of the Director. She would never give up, no matter how impossible her mission seemed.
"How's the liberation of the city going?" Alaka asked, seeming genuinely curious, a change from his normal fluctuation between disinterested aloofness, and fascinated glee.
Carolina sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Grant just called to inform me that he's driven the Insurgents out of the city in his sector. That just leaves here, but at the moment we've got a dozen city blocks filled to the brim with hostiles, and don't have the manpower to take them out. To be honest, we're at a stalemate. When Grant and his men arrive to reinforce us, maybe then we'll be able to go on an all-out offensive, but for the time being we're just sitting out here, talking."
Penn cracked his knuckles, glancing at Wyoming and Alaska. "Then put us to work wherever you need us. Clearly you guys have seen a lot more action than we did, so let's try to rectify that situation."
Carolina seemed to mull this over, seeming almost unwilling to allow Penn to encroach on her mission, but eventually bowed her head in acceptance. "Right," she murmured, picking up the data-pad that lay on the table next to her helmet, her fingers flying furiously across it, bringing up a map of the city blocks in dispute onto the monitor.
"Penn, I want you to join our main body of soldiers here, at the barricades. We're planning on launching an offensive against the Insurrectionist forces located in this building," bringing up an image of a half-collapsed skyscraper, "York believes that this is where the interference is originating. I want you to take York and Alaska, along with two squads of ODSTs, and liberate the building."
Wyoming cleared his throat. "What can I do to help?"
Carolina turned to him, with a half-smile on her face. "I need you with Virginia and her team of snipers on our building on Dresden Street, to the west of our current location. They're currently locked in a dogfight with a team of Innie snipers in the building on the opposite side of the road, and until they're taken down I can't move troops up that street."
"Understood," he replied, nodding slowly, until he realised that Carolina hadn't mentioned either Massa or Florida, "What about the others?"
"Massa's organising our field hospitals. I'm sure you guys have seen what's going on there. Florida's over on the east side with a team of heavily armoured ODST's, trying to smoke a group of Insurgents out of the hole they've crawled into. I'm not going to lie to you, at the moment all we can do is hold out and hope that our reinforcements arrive before theirs do."
Wyoming nodded, turned and walked out with the other three agents, and York directed him to the soldiers who were running their transportation. After a brief explanation, the corporal running it grudgingly agreed to bring him to the building on Dresden Street, but warned Wyoming to keep his head down and, if he got shot, not to start crying to him.
The corporal hopped into the driver's seat of his warthog and Wyoming got into the passenger seat next to him. They took a winding path through dozens of back-alleys, sometimes forced to retrace their steps when an alley was blocked by fallen rubble, but eventually the driver pulled up and looked over at Wyoming, an apologetic look on his face.
"I'm sorry, this is as far as I go," he said grimly, "Driving the warthog up any further would be suicide. Dresden Street's a no-go area, not with those snipers up there. The building you want is that one there," pointing it out to Wyoming, "Just keep your head down and try to keep behind cover. Who knows, maybe you'll make it!"
With this enthusiastic well-wishing, Wyoming got out of the warthog, thanking the corporal. He made his way slowly along the street, keeping low, glad that his armour helped him to fade into the background, matching up nicely with the chalky-white dust of the rubble all around him. He had just about reached the building that the corporal had pointed out to him when the noise of sniper-fire suddenly filled his ears and a bullet slammed into the ground a few feet to his left. He threw himself forward, taking cover under part of a collapsed wall, wincing each time a sniper shot rang out and smacked into the ground nearby or into the wall that he was crouching behind.
He took a deep breath and slowly raised his head over the edge of the collapsed wall, peeking out for a millisecond in order to judge the situation. Almost immediately a shot rang out and he jerked his head back just in time to avoid the bullet which slammed into a patch of ground nearby, flying through the space of air that his head had occupied only a moment earlier.
"This day just keeps getting better and better," he murmured, taking another deep breath before picking himself up and charging across the small gap between him and the building, physically throwing himself over the last few feet into the gaping hole at the back of the building. He smashed into the ground as dozens of shots rang out, groaning as he slowly picked himself up and dusted himself off. Something moved in the darkness of the ruined building, and he quickly glanced at his motion trackers, confused by the fact that they weren't picking anything up. He flicked on his helmet's torch and paled as dozens of figures suddenly came into view, their guns trained on him.
"Um…hello?" he said, slowly raising his hands to show that they were empty, praying that he wouldn't end up being shot by his own side. Friendly-fire was definitely not the way he wanted to go out.
A figure stepped forward out of the darkness, and Wyoming sagged as recognition dawned. "Wyoming?" she asked, a sniper rifle in her hands, her green and red armour reflecting the light of his torch.
"Hello, Virginia. Nice to see you." There was a brief pause and Wyoming looked around the room, his sense of unease not yet removed. "Um…could you get your men to stop pointing their guns at me? It's…making me slightly uncomfortable."
Virginia motioned for her men to do as he asked, and Wyoming slowly picked himself up, removing his sniper rifle from its place on his back. He flicked off his torch and the room was plunged into semi-darkness once more, but his eyes gradually became accustomed to the lack of light.
"What're you doing down here?" Virginia asked, curious. "I thought Carolina had established this street as a no-man's-zone until we had cleared out that nest of snipers?"
"She thought I could help. Didn't quite realise how serious they were when they described what was going on down here."
Virginia chuckled quietly to herself. "You don't know the half of it. The jammer they've set up to block our transmissions is also playing hell with our motion sensors, so we can't get a lock on the positions of their snipers. So basically, we've gone back a couple of centuries, and are playing the old waiting game."
She paused for a few seconds before asking: "I take it the hit was successful?"
"Of course," Wyoming replied, gesturing with his free hand, "Penn carried it out. You know how he loves breaking things."
Virginia winced slightly, and Wyoming couldn't help but empathise. They all knew how much Penn enjoyed breaking things. It wasn't something you could forget quickly.
"So," Wyoming continued, "What do you need me to do?"
"Just pick a window, and try to take out any of their snipers that poke their heads out. Unfortunately, until that jammer's down, we can't do anything more."
If Wyoming hadn't been wearing his helmet, he would have stroked his moustache, an action he was fond of carrying out when a problem presented itself. "York has taken Penn and Al and a couple of ODSTs to clear out a building that they think the jamming frequency is coming from. Maybe everything will be back online sooner rather than later."
"Maybe," Virginia replied, her voice grim, "But until then, we have a job to do."
Two hours later Wyoming was wondering what on earth was taking the three agents so long to take out that jammer. Of course, York could have been wrong, and the jammer could've been located somewhere else, but Wyoming had a lot of respect for his roommates abilities, and knew that it wasn't like him to make a mistake like that.
They hadn't been having much luck taking out the Insurrectionist snipers. Wyoming had taken out three, Virginia two, and her team of ODSTs had accounted for another three, but they had suffered casualties of their own, and for every Innie that they shot down, another one instantly took his place.
Still, eight to two wasn't bad, but they didn't have the same numbers that the Innies appeared to have, and with their motion trackers and radios down, it was going to be a long fight. Wyoming smiled as another Innie slowly raised his head up over the ledge across the street, pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle and grinned as the man's head exploded in a mist of red spray.
"Four to two, Virginia. You're falling behind."
He had just finished his taunt when Virginia's own sniper rang out, and an Insurrectionist collapsed out of the window of the fifteenth floor, slamming into the street below with a sickening thud. "Four to three, asshole," she replied from the far side of the room, reloading her rifle. "Don't get cocky yet!"
All of a sudden their radio crackled and both freelancers jumped, surprised by the sudden noise. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" a familiar voice asked, his voice crackling slightly at the start but became clearer as he spoke.
Wyoming raised his hand to the side of his helmet, trying to blot out interfering noise. "We here you York. Guessing you found the jammer?"
"We sure did, Wyoming, sorry about the wait. The Insurgents had dug themselves in pretty deep. We did not have a fun time trying to clear them out."
"Our motion trackers are back online," Virginia said, glancing over to Wyoming, who grinned from beneath his helmet.
"I'll get back to you, old chap. Virginia and I have some business to deal with," he informed York, and broke off the transmission.
He glanced over at his HUD, noticing that both their own men and the Insurrectionist snipers now showed up, and nodded to Virginia. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Building cleared," Wyoming informed Carolina over the radio, pausing to reload his rifle. He hefted it over his shoulder and glanced over at Virginia, who was talking to one of her ODSTs. "What now?"
He was surprised when, instead of Carolina's voice replying over the radio, the voice was that of the Director. "Agent Virginia and yourself are to make your way to the Crown Plaza, just six blocks west of your current location. We're going to be pressing forward the attack, and will need the two of you to serve as our eyes in the sky."
"Sir?" Wyoming replied, confused. "Does that mean that we have reinforcements inbound?"
The Director remained silent for a moment, before his southern drawl echoed over the radio once more. "Indeed it does, agent. Indeed it does."
Wyoming gaped as the sky filled with pelicans, several of which changed their course and landed in the Plaza next to the two agents, dozens of armed UNSC soldiers and Project Freelancer personnel promptly marching out of them, rushing towards the area of conflict with all due haste.
"I guess the cavalry have arrived," Virginia murmured next to him. "The Innies don't stand much of a chance now."
Wyoming shrugged. "I just wonder what the Director meant by 'eyes in the sky'?"
His question was swiftly answered when one of the falcons broke off from the main group and descended into the Plaza, landing next to them. The driver's cockpit opened and Wyoming's heart sank just a little as 343-R's cheery voice rang out: "I'm here to pick up an Agent Virginia and an Agent Wyoming?"
"You have got to be kidding me," Wyoming muttered as the two agents hopped into the falcon, sniper rifles in their arms. The falcon's rotors began to spin and they lifted off, throwing clouds of dust up into the air. Wyoming gulped back the all-too-familiar feeling of nausea and peered through the scope of his rifle, hoping that concentration on his work would help dispel it.
The sooner this battle was over, the better.
