The galaxy is a vast place, full of many wondrous worlds, shining stars, and awe-inspiring phenomena. It is halfway through the twenty-fifth century, and Humanity has since left the confines of Earth's atmosphere, soaring to distant planets in spacecraft that are able to fly at faster-than-light speeds, colonising distant star systems and discovering various strange and amazing creatures. Artificial Intelligence, or AI modules, are now so advanced that they are almost human in thought and emotion. New medical techniques and devices allow for enhancement to the body and increased strength, while helping cure diseases and conditions once thought incurable.
With all these technological advancements, humankind, under the auspices of the United Earth Government and its military arm the United Nations Space Command, has uncovered many amazing things in the far reaches of space, finding it full of beauty and mystery.
It is also full of danger.
On February 11, 2525, the outlying breadbasket colony on the planet Harvest came under attack by a faction of diverse alien species known collectively as the Covenant. Overwhelmed by their advanced technology and superior strength, the colony was obliterated, with many of the inhabitants perishing. That was the start of a long, gruelling war, in which humanity suffered many major defeats at the hands of a relentless enemy which made its goal known: the annihilation of the human race. Apparently, their gods declared us an affront to nature or some crap like that.
It has been twenty-seven years of constant warfare, and things are not looking good. A Covenant fleet is in orbit over Earth, engaging our fleets and landing their ground forces by the hundreds. The fighting is the worst around New Mombasa, Kenya, though it has spread across the planet's surface. Civilians are massacred, cities are burned, soldiers fight desperately, and it is essentially a living hell.
Sadly, that's where I come in.
November 2, 2552. Fort Wainwright, Alaska. 12:00 Hours.
"Private Jonathan Christian!"
"Yes sir!" I yelled in response, hopping up from the table where my unit sat, eating lunch. Rows of tables spread out across the large cafeteria, all filled with uniformed soldiers eating, conversing, and laughing.
"Ooh, someone's in trouble," fellow Private Carsen muttered with a smirk, causing a few grins to spread as I rushed towards the Sergeants' table which was situated at the wall nearest to the dessert trays; the flags of the UNSC, USA, and Alaska hanging behind them. My eyes were intent not on the seated officers, but the man standing beside their table, dressed in a full uniform and with the insignia of a lieutenant on his shoulder.
"Lieutenant Potter, sir!" I addressed him, standing stiff and saluting. The tall, African-American man turned, bald head glinting in the bright roof lights. A long scar ran down his face, only centimetres from his right eye.
"At ease, soldier," he responded tersely, his deep, American voice contrasting with my Australian accent. I stood with my arms behind my back as he continued. "I hear there was an incident while out on manoeuvres today."
I gulped, thinking back an hour before when I had be driving a M831 Razorback, a troop transport truck variant of the well used and loved Warthog, when a moose had suddenly bounded out from the woods beside the road. I had used the E-brake to slide around it, barely missing a collision by a foot. Unfortunately, I impacted a king-sized Spruce tree with an unreal thickness. The crash left several troopers in the back roll-cage lightly wounded and pelted with pine cones from the shaken tree, and the truck with a nasty dent in the right side. "Yes sir!"
The Goliath of a man stared down at me, hard gaze not betraying any emotions. "I've talked to your sergeants, and they say you acted promptly to prevent disaster, though I must say the equipment damaged is in need of some repairs, and the captains are paying an undue amount of attention to the incident. You know how hard it is to get supplies up here, especially with the Covenant attacking across the continent." Lieutenant Potter cleared his throat, seemingly unaware that his explanation was a little long winded. That was something he tended to do. The sergeants who were all lounging at their table all watched in amusement.
"I need you down in the garage to help the gear heads fix that 'Hog ASAP, because I'm supposed to deal out a punishment. You understand me?"
I saluted once more, clicking my heels. "Yes sir!"
"Dismissed," he addressed, waving a hand as he turned to the table of officers.
Pivoting on my heels, I marched away to my table. My cheeks were slightly rosy as all the soldiers watched and whispered after me. It wasn't a common thing for the Lieutenant to handle small logistics matters like that.
I plopped myself onto my unit's table, avoiding curious looks as I scooped up the remains of my lunch; beans and franks, shovelling them onto my mouth at an incredible pace with my spoon.
"Eat now, taste later," Bill chuckled, shoving me roughly in the shoulder as I finished up. "What's happening?"
"'Hog," I managed between bites, continuing to vanquish my plate like a half-starved pit bull. "Someone's gotta fix it, y'know?"
Carsen laughed, taking a sip from a cup of water. "Glad it's you, Aussie dude, and not me. You messed that thing up."
I wrinkled my nose at him, gulping down a whole cup. "I saved your necks from that antlered menace, didn't I?"
The soldier named Dean shook his head, rubbing his arm. "Still hurt. I thought I'd get PTSD from the Covies, not pine cones."
"Have yet to see a Covie in person," Carsen griped, biting his spoon. "I would tear those bastards apart with my bare hands, nevertheless my MA37."
"Fightings gettin' bad down in Washington," Bill said quietly. "Casualties are mounting. Just yesterday, Seattle was hit hard. They say the Needle was wrecked."
Carsen grunted, setting his spoon in his empty bowl. "They need to deploy us to mop up those in-human SOBs."
"Can't beat 'em without a proper working Razorback," I announced, standing after cleaning my plate. "As nice as this conversation is, you ladies oughta excuse me." I stepped away from the bench, marching for the doors.
"Don't take too long or you might miss the war!" Carsen called after me, chuckling.
I frowned to myself, muttered softly: "If only."
By 'helping' the mechanics fix the truck, Lieutenant Potter must have meant 'watch them work.'
When I stepped inside the second garage that connected to the new MacArthur Complex, I was instantly greeted by a clamour of machine noises and the smells of oil and petrol. Many different people bustled about between the rows of Warthogs and Mongoose ATVs. Larger crane-like machines whirred, lifting vehicles off the ground for an undercarriage inspection. Mechanics did maintenance on rear mounted chain-guns for the 'Hogs, or occasionally the one or two Gauss cannons. Several large doors opened and closed, briefly letting in a gust of chilling wind from the late fall air.
Sighing, I plodded down the aisles of shelves stacked high with equipment, searching the signs that hung from the roof. I had been told my Razorback was in bay D6. So far, with the numbers ranging from 1-6 and me being at B2, I had a bit of walking ahead of me. Thoughts were buzzing through my twenty-seven-year-old brain like a million riled up bees after a bear attacks their hive. While many of the thoughts were random, there was a prevalent one: 'Seattle was hit hard. They say the Needle was wrecked.'
Spirits were high in Fort Wainwright, despite the looming threat of a Covenant assault. Several times in the past week, Banshee scout fighters had been spotted flying near Fairbanks, Anchorage, and Seward. They had been intercepted quickly enough by UNSC aircraft, but Command had put all the bases in the area on high alert and doubled all guard routines. Drills and exercises were getting harder to do with the constant threat of Covies hiding out in the woods.
I reached bay D6 and froze. There was my Razorback, looking fresh off the assembly line. The dent was flawlessly buffed out and polished while the scratches were all painted over with fresh UNSC green. The signs of a fresh washing were also present from the smell of soap to the water dripping off the mud flaps.
"Cor," I muttered in wonderment. "Who is the dosser who had this much free time?"
"That'd be me," a voice said behind me. I nearly rocketed out of my boots in surprise as I whirled around. Crouched by a shelf was a wiry Asian man, putting a can of lubricant on the bottom row. He stood, brushing his knees off with his grit-blackened hands. He was of average height, with inquisitive grey eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses. His brown hair was buzzed on the sides, with the top only slightly longer, which was very similar to my hairstyle. His mechanic's uniform was slightly dirty from working. "A question: what's a dosser?"
"Oh," I stuttered, looking for my words. "Uh, it's nothing really. An Australian word."
"Ah, a local colloquialism from your country," he acknowledged, turning back to the truck and spreading his arms in pride. "Are you satisfied with your M831 Razorback?"
"Of course! It's perfectly done… eh, what's your name again?"
The Asian man turned so that his left shoulder faced me, pointing at a patch with his name on it. "Private Ian Wolfram Lee, 21st Signal Company, at your service."
"Private Jonathan Christian, 1st Infantry Brigade," I returned, extending a friendly hand which Ian shook with energy. "Did you say Signal Company? What're you doing down here, then?"
Ian smiled lopsidedly, readjusting his tool belt. "I help around the garage in my off time. I am good with cars."
"No joke," I chuckled, stepping forward and running a hand on the flawless surface of the truck. "You from around here?"
"No. I was born and raised on Reach."
My head whipped towards him, seeing a sad look in his eyes. Reach was a nearby planet to Earth that had its entire surface bombed by the Covenant, leaving only a small number of survivors in comparison to the millions of dead. "Oh."
Ian smiled again, shrugging and sticking his hands in his pockets. "I lived in New Alexandria, Eposz. I never saw the destruction, though. I was evacuated with my family before the aliens got that far. What about you? What brings you so far from Australia?"
"Work," I told him, frowning inwardly at the half-truth. "I moved to Alaska for work and joined up with the Armed Forces just six months ago."
"I joined four months ago." Ian walked to a crate beside the truck. Atop the metal box were several firearms: an M6G Magnum pistol, an MA37 Assault Rifle, and a BR55 Rifle. A satchel with ammunition clips was sitting beside them. On closer inspection, the name James Dean was engraved in the bag. "I found these in the lockbox in the truck."
"Dean." I shook my head at the soldier's carelessness. "He's gonna get disciplined soon enough." The lights in the garage flickered before going out, leaving only beams of sun that spilled through windows in the bay doors. "What happened?"
Ian looked around in the darkness. "I don't-"
The lights came back. A second afterwards alarms began blaring, sending a panicked jolt down my spine. "Combat alarms!"
An explosion rumbled loudly, shaking the entire garage and me down to my bones. Items clattered from the shelves and impacted the floor with metallic crashes. People began shouting in alarm, running for doors and to different stations an instant before a door blew away in a fiery blast, sending debris through the air. Shrapnel pierced through the soldiers, sending them down in bloody heaps. Several were crushed under the collapsing door. Gruff, angry, inhuman battle cries tore through the air as gunfire erupted.
Shaking out of my momentary daze, I grabbed Ian by the arm and dragged him down beneath the Razorback. We got on our bellies, listening to the pained screams and horrible shouts. My heart thumped hard against my chest, threatening to break free and run. I glanced over at Ian who had paled in fright, shaking all over. I was suddenly aware that we were unarmed. Cursing silently, I looked to the weapons on the crate. If I could just…
As soon as the commotion had begun, it petered out. The gruff voices of Jiralhanae, or Brutes as they were more commonly called. Stomping footsteps padded about, and there was the occasional crash. I caught my breath when I saw the large, fur covered feet of one pass near without stopping. Soon, all was quiet except for the more distant sounds of fighting. Explosions echoed in the background, and the ground moved like it was a small earthquake.
Cautiously, I peeked out left and right. Gear was thrown about in the garage and shelves were toppled. Blood puddled in places, staining the hard floor in scarlet. Sparks flew about, and the smell of flames permeated the air.
Determining that it was clear, I crawled out, getting to my feet. Bodies lay about in every direction, all massacred in their unarmed state. The sight made my stomach lurch violently and my face pale. Sweating, I moved to the crate, grabbing the Assault Rifle and checking the bullet counter. Ian slowly came out behind me, looking incredibly nauseated. The PA system came to life:
"All forces, we are under attack by the Covenant. Unit rally points have been set at Ladd Army Airfield and the Gaffer Complex. Squad leads are advised to-"
The speaker suddenly cut out mid sentence as the audio died.
"Ladd is closest," I said, slinging the gun over my shoulder with its strap. I loaded the pistol, holding it out to Ian who stared at it, features frozen in a state of panic and terror. "Mate, we have to move. Otherwise, we'll end up dead."
Shakily, the soldier accepted the weapon, checking the safety and clipping it to his belt. His pale face was illuminated by the fire which now spread over some of the nearby garage bays. The building was beginning to fill with choking black smoke. "H-how do we get there?"
I nodded towards the open-top truck which had gone through the strike untouched. "We ride. It's a short drive up Luzon Avenue. I reckon we can make it if we move quick like, especially since there are no speed limits in war." Picking up the Battle Rifle, I walked to the driver's seat. Stepping on the running board, I hopped in and hit the ignition. "Go ahead and open up the door."
Ian scurried to the back wall, pressing the controls. I watched as the door rattled open, staring in astonishment outside.
The sun shone down brightly on the base, glinting off the many different large structures. Many buildings had flames dancing about through large cratered holes in the sides where explosions had visited. A Warthog sat in ruins smack dab in the middle of a large grassy field, several corpses surrounding it. Purple Banshee and Seraph fighters swooped through the blue sky, engaging Airforce jets that fired off relentless sprays of bullets and missiles. Blue plasma shots streaked through the air from the alien ships, striking many targets down. In the distance, the large, sleek form of a Covenant capital ship hovered over the city of Fairbanks, dispatching waves of fighter craft.
Ian ran over, clambering into the other seat. Gunning the engine, I rolled out into the sun and turned right onto the road. We raced down the street, passing by building after building that were torched. Shouts, screams, yells, and cries pierced the air, drowned out occasionally by a destructive blast. The roar of engines overhead added to the commotion as jets flew by, firing off their machine guns. Down one street I glimpsed a group of Covenant Brutes engaging armoured Marines by a barracks building, bullets and plasma being traded mercilessly.
"Look out!" Ian screeched, pointing forward. I whipped my head around to see a large, blue, metal vehicle hover down a parking lot straight at us. Rounded in the front and with large fins protruding out the sides, the Wraith tank had a huge artillery cannon mounted on the rear. Sitting in a nest on the top was a Jiralhanae in black armour, manning a turret plasma cannon. The alien looked like a large ape with its flat facial features, wide mouth and nose, and furry brown body.
"Turning!" I yelled, drifting the truck to the left onto a grassy front yard of a complex, going through a row of hedges. The rapid fire sound of the plasma machine gun ripped through the air as blue shots flew by us, overhead and past the sides of the truck. I drove diagonally across the field and onto another street. Glancing at the truck's GPS, I saw that we were on Ile De France Avenue. "Ian! Find us another route to Ladd!"
"Okay!" Ian responded, hunching over the screen and hitting some buttons. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I saw the Wraith giving a halfhearted pursuit, unable to keep pace with the Razorback. "Th-this road loops around the lake. Turn left onto Santiago… the fifth road."
"Wilco," I replied, speeding by the first one. Glancing right, I saw through the large pine trees the shimmering surface of Monterey Lake, just as he had said. A Banshee was embedded into the bank, flames sputtering atop the craft. We drove by turn number two, the road pitted with craters that way.
"Phantom," Ian warned. I watched as the large dropship slowly descended above us, some sort of tank slung beneath it. It flew ahead of us where the road was occupied by a whole pack of Brutes along with the short, scaly, humanoid piranha guys: Grunts. There were about thirty enemies, plus however many were inside the Phantom.
"Crikey," I spat while turning onto Alder. As I did, a streak of purple shot through the air. I heard a pop and a whoosh of air. The truck bucked as the front tyre began deflating. "Damn! A flat!"
"What hit us?!" Ian yelped as a second projectile struck the windshield. Protruding through it was a jagged, crystalline spike; a transparent purple object sharpened at both ends.
"Jackal sniper! Hang on, I'm gonna pull up at that building." The subject building was a six floor office-style block with many windows that was part of a long row of buildings spreading forward and left. From the top of it, a machine gun fired into the air at passing Covenant aircraft.
The Razorback limped over the grass strip that divided the road from the parking lot. Clenching my jaw in concentration, I plowed over a large rock in the grass, making the vehicle lurch as it landed on pavement again. Another spike zipped an inch past my head as I drove straight towards the front entrance. Pulling the E-brake, I slid it to a stop with the passenger seat facing the double-doors of the building at the top of three steps. "Out!" I yelled, climbing up over my seat and leaping onto the sidewalk. Ian jumped out after me, BR55 in hand.
I reached the door first, yanking it open for my companion before diving through. Needles from the sniper shot inside, bouncing off the floor and walls as I crawled to cover behind a potted plant. Ian took cover behind a plush bench, and I realised we had entered a lobby. The door slowly swung closed.
The Asian man breathed shakily, gripping the rifle close to his chest. "Th-that was close."
I stood, unslinging my MA37. "Let's go upstairs. I think there are some friendlies up top." I jogged to the back of the lobby, past the receptionist counter, and peered down the hall. Two elevators waited, doors shut. At the end was a stairwell. "Time to climb, mate. Stay alert."
"Okay," he replied, hurrying after me.
I entered the stairwell, looking up as they spiralled upwards. The rattle of the machine gun echoed loudly down the tall chamber. I began my ascent, taking two steps at a time, constantly glancing back to make sure Ian kept pace.
"Surrender or we shoot!" A voice yelled from above us as we reached the fourth flight of stairs.
Slowing my pace, I called back: "Privates Christian and Lee, UNSC!"
A man in battle gear peered over the top, pointing an Assault Rifle at us. He let out a breath of relief and waved us to hurry. Ian and I obliged, moving as quickly as we could to climb the last two flights. When we crested the last steps, several men came into view, all in complete tactical gear from their helmets to their chest plates, pointing their rifles at the stairs. The lead one took off his helmet. He was bald with a black chinstrap beard and large, bushy eyebrows. "I'm Sergeant Smith. Where's your gear, soldiers?"
"We were surprised in the garages," I answered, looking down at my regular uniform. "We managed to get out of the MacArthur Complex."
Sergeant Smith winced, patting me on the shoulder. "Good thing you did. It's a reported mass-cas over there. Damn Covies surprised us somehow. Slipped into the base and cut off areas with drop pods. From all the intel I can scrape together, we've lost the east side of the base. We're holding firm at city positions and the airfield, but can't be sure how long that'll last." He looked back, motioning two troopers forward. They obeyed, taking up positions at the top of the stairs. "We have some spare gear. You two need to be dressed in more than just your underwear."
"Underwear?" Ian queried, looking down at his dirty mechanics clothes.
"It's a joke, mate," I mumbled to him as the sergeant led us through a door in the hall. The room we entered was that of an office, with large glass windows and lines of cubicles full of desks, chairs, and computers. Six soldiers occupied the room, nervously checking equipment and bandaging light wounds. A pile of spare armour sat on the floor.
"Go ahead and suit up," Smith invited, looking back out the door. "Gotta be ready for action." He walked out.
I nabbed a combat vest, feeling by the weight that it already had a plate inside, and tossed it to Ian who clumsily caught it. We began to suit up, attaching pauldrons and putting on the vests. As I strap on some knee plates, I notice one of the soldiers approaching us. The man wore a helmet with the red caduceus and cross symbol on the front and the same emblem on his chest. His short red curls stuck out under his helmet, being slightly longer than regulation would allow. Sunglasses obscured his eyes from view, yet he wore a smirking expression.
"Howdy," he greeted in a very prevalent southern accent, hands in his pockets with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. "Y'all havin' fun yet?"
Ian glanced over in incredulity. "Fun? People are dying right now."
The medic shook his head, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "Ain't nothing we can do 'bout that. First combat?"
"Yeah," I reply, standing up straight. "You?"
"Nah, I've been around. Pardon me, names' Grayson. Corporal Grayson Kirn, best pill pusher on this side of the Yukon." He extended his hand.
I gripped it, surprised by his firm hold and vigorous shake. "Jonathan Christian."
"Nice to meet ya, Johnny," he said genuinely, moving to shake Ian's hand.
"Just John is fine," I said with a snicker as Grayson nearly shook Ian out of his boots. "That's Ian Lee."
"Ian?" The medic looked him over. "You a newbie?"
"Uhh," he cocked his head in confusion. "I'm a Private by four months."
Grayson smirked. "Figures. Ya don't know how to wear your armour." He tousled Ian's loose shoulder pad. "Tighten it up or you'll be an easy snack."
Ian quickly went about checking himself as the medic laughed lightly. Sergeant Smith returned, holding a radio up to his ear. "Alright, listen up ladies, things are pretty FUBAR. Several corvettes have taken position over the city and are dropping enemy reinforcements downtown, including a few armoured divisions. As of now, the 11th Airborne has been deployed to defend the population centre."
"What's our situation?" A soldier asked.
"Rhineland, South Gate, France, and West Alder are all occupied by enemy forces. They're clearing these offices one by one and will reach us any minute. Good news is we have a Pelican dropship en route to our location, we just need to survive long enough for them to get here." Smith unslung his Assault Rifle from his shoulder. "What do we say here in Wainwright?"
Every person inside the room shouted in response: "No mission too difficult, no sacrifice too great; duty first!"
"Right you are!" Smith bellowed, cocking his gun. "We-"
"Sir!" A female soldier stumbled in, a bleeding gash on her forehead right under the rim of her helmet. A white braid snaked down her neck. Her uniform patches identified her as Specialist Silverlock. "Phantoms inbound!"
"Up top! Let's send those bastards to hell where they belong!" The soldiers let out battle cries, loading up their rifles and charging out after their leader.
I checked my MA37, seeing the display counting out all thirty-two bullets; a full clip. Ian was slightly pale, holding his Battle Rifle close to his chest. I reach out and grip his shoulder. "Hey mate, don't worry. I'm right here."
"It's just," he gulped. "I've never shot at something… alive before."
"Well, neither have I, but if we don't shoot, those things will." I turned to the door, marching out. I heard his footsteps behind me and knew was following. Gunfire rattled off outside as we followed the rest of the soldiers up a small set of stairs that led out into the open air.
The top of the office building was flat with a few ventilation units protruding out. Guardrails lined the edge, made of steel. Crates were stacked in makeshift barricades protecting two mounted heavy machine guns on opposite sides of the roof. Eight UNSC soldiers took cover behind the boxes, glancing over as their reinforcements exited onto the roof.
I took in the surroundings quickly. The crisp, late Autumn wind kept the sky clear and sunny, though thick clouds of smoke were beginning to remedy that. The mountains stretched across the horizon to the North and to the South, including the imposing figure of Mount Denali, the tallest peak in North America, which jutted up in the far distance. Forests carpeted the mountains and spilled down, surrounding Fort Wainwright and Fairbanks. The city itself had a tall skyline of modern glass and steel towers, stretching farther northward. Huge purple Covenant ships floated above it, occasionally firing off a volley of broadside cannon fire. Fighters circled each other in a deadly dance, vying for air superiority. Phantom and Spirit class dropships hovered down, carrying tanks, hover speeders, and troops.
"Enemy bird, two o'clock!" A man at one of the guns yelled, letting loose a torrent of bullets at the rapidly approaching Phantom. Empty bullet casings skipped across the floor, rolling away with light, metallic sounds.
"Aim for the guns!" Sergeant Smith ordered, aiming his rifle at a Grunt that operated a side turret. I noted the large, armour mortar on the underside of the craft's nose that the machine guns began to shoot at. Soldiers focussed on the Grunts, eliminating them quickly. The dropship didn't stop as it passed overhead, opening its side doors. This allowed four armoured Brutes to leap down across the roof, baring bladed guns and fangs.
"Die, human scum!" A Jiralhanae yelled in rough English, shredding a man to death with a spray of gunfire. Brutes and humans began engaging each other ruthlessly.
Taking a knee, I aimed for a Jiralhanae that impaled a soldier with its rifle's blade, sending blood spattering everywhere. I gently squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of bullets into the beast's neck. Dark liquid spurted out as it fell, chunks of flesh hanging loose. Ian behind me fired off a three bullet volley, impacting an alien monster's chest plate harmlessly. Grayson Kirn tackled the beast from behind, digging a broad knife into its skull at the base of the helmet and yanking it around. The Brute collapsed, soon following it the other two.
"We've got Covies, coming in from down below!" Sergeant Smith yelled as the sounds of engagement came from the stairs.
"On it!" Two soldiers yelled in unison, dashing down as another Phantom drifted over, launching a hailstorm of blue plasma. The machine gunners turned to fire at it as the doors opened.
A half dozen Grunts and two Brutes landed on the roof, shooting at anything that moved. The Unggoy Grunts all wore respiratory masks and packs, as they were unable to breathe air. They wielded plasma pistols and made maddened squeaking and, well, grunting noises.
I rolled to the left as a Brute threw a glowing blue ball in my direction. It landed on the opposite side of the roof, exploding in a flash of light. As I got to a kneel, another Brute charged, bladed gun held to strike. I fired off an automatic burst, tearing its flesh. Dark blood spattered my clothes as the heavy body thumped to the ground.
"Brutes coming- gah!" A soldier screamed as a Brute in shiny golden armour and wielding a huge, blood-stained hammer burst from the stairs, slamming him with the weapon. The man screamed as he flew off the building and down out of sight.
Ian scrambled away as the Jiralhanae Champion charged into another trooper, grabbing her by the neck and roughly snapping it in its grip. It tossed the lifeless body away with an evil grin, watching as bullets bounced harmlessly off its armour.
"Smile about this, ya ape!" A soldier screamed, throwing a small object to the monster's feet. The Brute leapt away as the grenade went off, throwing bodies in the air. In its momentary displacement, that soldier and another charged, throwing their body weight into the beast. It tumbled backwards, teetering towards the edge of the roof.
Thinking quick, I aimed at where its knee pad bent, leaving a little gap for movement. Pulling the trigger, I blasted away its thick, furry joint, sending it toppling off the roof with an enraged yell.
"Go to hell!" The second soldier laughed, hoisting up his DMR rifle.
"Good work Mendez and Keiser!" Sergeant Smith praised, kicking a dead Grunt. Only him, Mendez, Keiser, Kirn, Lee, Silverlock, a soldier and I were left standing. One more trooper lay groaning in pain from a Brute spike wound in his abdomen. "Friendly air incoming!"
I glanced up, seeing that he was correct. Two Pelican dropships raced to our rescue, flanked by Falcon type helicopters. Their jet engines hummed steadily louder as they neared in proximity. The sergeant was busy giving orders as I went towards Ian. The Asian man stood, wide eyed and pointing the rifle around. I slowly put my hand on the jumpy soldier's arm.
Ian looked at me, a disturbed look on his face as his eyes kept flicking to the carnage on the floor. My eyes followed his and I suddenly realised we were standing in puddles of blood. Shredded corpses lay all about, both alien and human. One of the machine guns lay in ruins, the stand tangled up with a blasted off Grunt leg. My clothes were stained with dark colours.
I suddenly felt dizzy and sick to my stomach, like I had just stepped off of a hypersonic merry-go-round that had flown off its track and into downtown traffic. I blinked hard, praying that I didn't retch right there.
One of the Pelicans slowly lowered down onto the roof, nacelles on the wings rotating to allow the craft to land vertically. The rear door opened beneath the large aft overhang, revealing the inside of the fuselage to have five seats lining the each wall. Overhead pods were designed to store weapons and gear. All seats but three were occupied by soldiers.
Silverlock and Keiser aided the wounded soldier into the cabin, known fondly as the blood tray, where a medic was already retrieving his equipment from a pack. Mendez, Smith, and the other trooper boarded as well, filling it to maximum capacity.
"Need a lift?" A voice called out as one of the Falcons set down, jet engines powering down but rotors still spinning. Sitting in one of the extended side buckets and manning a machine gun was a man in Marine armour. He wore a crazed grin and spoke with a thick, Scottish brogue. Golden brown curls stuck out from beneath his helmet, and a thick beard decorated his face. Strangely enough, his gear incorporated a green and red plaid kilt. "Dinnae fret, we 'ave four free seats!"
"Thanks!" I yelled back, jogging over and hopping into the open fuselage, claiming one of two rear facing seats. Ian sat on the single seat aft bench, looking across the middle at me. Grayson ran to the opposite side of the helicopter, jumping into the second gun emplacement, buckling a harness.
"This is Zulu 266 to command," a voice came over the Falcon's speakers from the Pelican which began to takeoff, rear door closing. "Extraction complete and ready for rendezvous location. How copy?"
"Zulu 266, this is command. Proceed to the Morgan Island base."
The helicopter lifted off rooftop, thrusters humming to life as it followed after the other three aircraft. The Scotsman and Grayson began firing at Covenant troops on the ground, mowing down aliens in the streets as the aircraft flew up over the buildings and in a southern direction.
I leaned back, breathing out a loud sigh, watching as buildings passed by beneath us. Covenant forces were spreading out below, sacking buildings and setting up firing positions. Warthogs burned in the streets, and bodies from both sides were already scattered about in many places. I grit my teeth, disbelieving that this place that was fine an hour ago was now being destroyed. Explosions from the battle in the nearby city rocked the air, lighting up at seemingly random places.
We passed out of base limits, beginning to fly over a forest of trees. The Richardson Highway stretched left and right before us, cutting a path through the woods. As we flew over, I peered down over the side. In the middle of the road was a burning Warthog. Several Brutes and Grunts surrounded it, shooting at… someone.
Quick as a flash, I snatched the Battle Rifle from a stunned Ian, pressing the scope to my eye and adjusting the zoom.
"What is it?" He asked in concern, looking over the edge as well.
"There's a soldier stranded down there!" I yelled, watching the woman in combat gear desperately fight for her life, wielding a SMG in one hand and a Magnum in the other. "We gotta help her before she's smoked!"
"Pilot! Turn this bird around!" The Scottish gunner bellowed. "Can't shoot anythin' from this distance!"
"Oscar Mike!" The pilot replied on the intercom, the helicopter swinging back concomitantly.
I steadied my arm, focussing the rifle on a Brute that used a tree for cover. Taking a deep breath, I squeezed the trigger, sending a quick burst of bullets downwards. I missed my mark, blowing away a chunk of tree. The Jiralhanae looked up, startled, yelling and pointing an instant before the Falcon's nose gun shredded it to bits. The nearby aliens all turned to face the new threat as we descended rapidly.
"I'll knock y'all into next week looking both ways for Sunday!" Grayson shouted, letting loose a hellish amount of bullets, massacring the Grunts that stood in the open; their luminescent blue blood flying up in the air. The Jiralhanae that remained all retreated into the woods, some being cut down by human fire.
"Get on!" I called to the blond woman. She charged at the Falcon as it hovered five above the ground; me leaning forward with my hand outstretched. She dropped the SMG before jumping, her hand clasping mine as I hoisted her in with a huff. She collapsed into the second seat, breathing hard.
"Go! Go!" Grayson yelled, still shooting at the trees. The helicopter began to lift up and away.
I glanced at the newcomer. She was shorted then me, with her short hair shoulder length. Her crystal blue eyes stared at the roof, seemingly motionless. Her armour had a few plasma burns on it, but she appeared unharmed. A spray of freckles decorated her flush cheeks as she took deep, purposeful breaths.
"Welcome to the party, partner," Grayson greeted her, extending a hand. "Grayson Kirn."
She looked at his hand, not moving to accept it. "Private Anastasia Volkova." She looked at all the occupants of the Falcon. "Thank you for rescuing me."
"I'm Ian Lee." Ian gestured to me. "If not for John here, we might've missed you."
Her hard blue stare found me, and I fidgeted a little. "Well, I had to call it out. It was the pukka thing."
"Pukka?" She asked inquisitively.
"Ah, it was the right thing," I clarified, jumping in my seat when a loud explosion sounded. I watched as a Phantom dropship spiralled out of the sky nearby, debris flying from its flaming body.
"Well, lassie, it's a fine thing we found you and saved you from your mishanter," the Scottish man said. "My name is Fionn MacCool. You can call me Finn."
"I go by Anya," she replied, warily watching the sky that was filled with combat. We were passing over a large swath of forested land, going in the direction of the Tanana River. "Where are we headed?"
"Morgan Island," Ian answered, accepting the BR55 back from me. "That's where the Pelicans are going."
"Revenant!" The pilot yelped over the comms unit.
A loud bursting sound filled the air as a large crackling red ball of energy shot into the air, striking one of the Pelicans in the starboard thrusters. The large aircraft lost control as they exploded, lurching backwards at our closely following Falcon. The pilot tried to dodge too late. The flaming craft impacted our helicopter head on, making a loud crunching sound. I was jolted in my seat and against my restraining belt, losing my bearings as we plummeted towards the ground in a fatal nosedive.
"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Victor 445; been hit and going down three klicks north of the Tanana!" The Pelican pilot called in frantically as the dropship careened away. I glimpsed a large hill with a rocky outcropping jutting up in the Pelican's path.
"Oh God!" Anya yelled, gripping the roof handles firmly in her now white knuckles.
"Hang on to your butts!" Grayson shouted through clenched teeth as he scrunched up in his gunner's bucket, arms over his head and neck. The Falcon's nose began to raise as our pilot attempted to reign in control. I grabbed onto my seat tightly and closed my eyes, sending up my last prayer.
Crash!