Chapter CLXXIX: First There was Tanks...
May 25, 2549 (UNSC Calendar)/two days later
Sparatus, Paris IV, Paris System
"It started with tanks."– Gunnery Sergeant Pavel Klaus
When Peterson asked for a couple of regiments to help hold down the valley, we got instead two battalions. Peterson wouldn't stop complaining to Command until they agreed to send an artillery battery as well. It would've been a very helpful thing to have, but the heavy troop movements drew the Covenant's attention to this little town. They started believing that this place was important and moved accordingly, but at the same time failed to realize just how important it actually was. We had been outnumbered before and they still outnumbered us now, only that now casualty reports came in the dozens as opposed to ones and twos.
Naturally Sparatus had become the center of attention. The once beautiful little town had been transformed into a mass of crumbling houses and buildings. They debris and broken walls were perfect for taking cover and for hiding. The covvie units that made it to the edge of the city made sure to use it to their advantage. What surprised me the most was the church tower. It was still standing after two days of intense combat and constant artillery barrages. The church itself was on the verge of collapse, but the tower, the tower still stood.
It was there that I spent most of my time. Occasionally Hoff or Miri came up here, but most of the time I had Zepeda's silence for companionship. My two marksmen were busy the town hall's rooftop. From there they had a fine view of the muddy fields that separated the main Covenant force from the town. They were a bit frustrated at the idea of spending their time on watch duty, but they got enough action. The rest of my squad was still under Pavel's command, holding down the most hotly contested sections of the town. They were keeping the covvies from accessing the main street and in turn the rest of Sparatus. And doing a damn fine job of it too. My platoon was the only thing keeping the line in check and I was proud of them.
If my platoon held the town, then Darbinian's unit held the fields outside of it. They were where they were needed the most, using Warthogs for transport. I hated the man and I hated his men, but I wouldn't fight alongside anybody else. Provided that they were far enough away to make friendly fire impossible. They were good fighters, but I wasn't stupid enough to believe that they liked me.
"Zepeda," I said, "when was the last time you got a kill?"
The sniper shrugged without even looking in my direction, his rifle held in his arms.
"About an hour and a half, right?" I asked him. "Maybe a little bit more."
He shrugged again. He knew full well that it had been three hours and six minutes since he had last shot an elite major through the left eye and I knew it just as well. He probably knew I knew too, but the man never opened his mouth. I didn't mind having him here with me, of course. It only meant that the covvies down below were half as likely to shoot at me, but Christ he could've opened his mouth more often.
"Did you reload your magazine?" I asked.
Zepeda nodded and ejected the magazine from his rifle to show me that it had four bullets in it. I waved him and he slapped it back into his rifle before cocking it.
I sighed and closed my eyes, holding my rifle close against my body. The air was filled with the sound of battle. Right now it was a lot quieter than it usually was, but there were still some sporadic explosions and gunfire. I set myself to getting another quick catnap and closed my eyes.
"Church tower come in, do you copy?"
I opened my eyes and saw that I had only been asleep for a couple of minutes.
"This is church tower," I said. "We copy, over."
"We have an elite scout moving over 13th Street, he knows our positions and keeps well hidden from them. We're requesting you take it out."
A lone elite meant a scout. One hingehead didn't warrant mobilizing a unit in order to take it out, but if it was left unchecked it could create mayhem and report back to the other squids on our forces and current positions. As a wise man once said: the only good covvie is a dead covvie. Maybe it wasn't that exactly, but it was something along those lines.
"Understood, can you give me its exact position?"
"Hold a second church tower," the man said. "Ok, it's on 13th, right between Montenegro and Dassel."
"Got it," I replied. "Taking care of it."
"Thanks church tower," the man replied, signing off.
I turned to look at Zepeda. "You want it?"
He extended his hand at me, offering me the kill.
"All right then," I said. "Wish me luck."
I set my rifle to burst mode and mentally visualized the elite's location. I took three deep breaths and stood up while turning around. I quickly located the alien soldier and zeroed in on it. The alien was hunched down and obviously trying to make itself as small a target as possible, but from this angle it wasn't likely that it would succeed. I aimed at its head and squeezed the trigger. I watched its head jerk backwards violently from the three bullets and then squeezed the trigger another three times in quick succession. Each burst weakened its shields further until the last one finally hit the elite itself. Its head was torn apart by the three rounds, blood and skull fragments painted the floor behind it and the elite promptly collapsed in a heap.
As soon as the kill was confirmed I crouched back down behind cover and let myself fall into a sitting position.
Zepeda gave me a slow nod, complimenting me for the quick kill.
"You're welcome," I said, closing my eyes once more. "You've got the next request."
"El-tee, you there?"
I grunted slightly. "Yeah, I'm here, Hoff?"
"Yeah. We're seeing some movement along the northwest end of the town, there's some houses blocking our view, could you confirm?"
"What's so big about this movement?" I asked, not wanting to get up.
"Miranda saw three Wraiths shifting their positions fifteen minutes ago and we saw some movement just now."
Three Wraiths shifting their positions could mean nothing, but it could also mean a major offensive.
"Zepeda, check it out," I ordered.
The sniper stood up and a moment later came back down. He nodded at me once.
"Zepeda confirms that the enemy is moving troops to the northwestern end of the town," I said. "I'm informing Peterson, tell Pavel to get ready for some heavy fighting."
"Understood, wilco."
I tightened my grip on my rifle and passed on the information to Major Peterson. He sighed tiredly and told me to get ready. Then he passed on the information and within minutes the entirety of our forces here were alert and ready for a fight.
The covvies didn't disappoint. Before five minutes had passed they launched the biggest offensive in the past few days. I heard scattered cries and shouts as men told each other to duck and stay down as blast after blast of mortar rounds detonated in the town. Debris flew everywhere, the explosions were intermingled with the occasional sound of a dying marine or cries for help. I heard two houses collapse and kept praying that no mortars would hit the tower. I knew that I would die in combat, but I didn't want to die like this. I was certain that I would be out of ammo and wielding a bloodied knife when I died.
"They're letting up," I said half to myself. "Zepeda, get ready for some action."
He nodded, a little bit more pronounced than usual. The man sure did do a lot of nodding, for a moment I wondered whether his neck hurt from all the use he gave it, but then I realized just how stupid that thought was.
My helmet immediately patched through a dozen different requests for sniper assistance. I immediately turned them all off and announced that church tower wouldn't be providing direct sniper support unless it was absolutely critical. Once I explained that we would be choosing our own targets and requested that only hunters and high-ranking elites be tagged as high-value targets the requests died down.
Zepeda had already turned on his belly, aiming out a large hole near floor level. We had made it with my rifle, shooting the wall a couple of times before making it wider with a piece of metal. Over the last couple of days we had made a couple of holes like that, allowing us to shoot safely from behind cover. The covvies had helped us out with another larger hole a few feet below. I climbed down the hatch opening and a few steep steps down, placing myself so that I could lean back on the stairwell and aim down the quaint little town in relative comfort.
"Of dear," I muttered when I saw the advancing waves of covvie soldiers.
The few aliens inside the town intensified their fire, suppressing as many UNSC units as they could in order to make way for the main force barreling their way towards us.
"Oh dear," I repeated as Wraith mortar rounds once again started landing all around us.
The outermost elements stalled the enemy advance for a few brief, invaluable minutes and then it all went to hell. The outer line was forced to collapse upon itself before they were overwhelmed and fell back to secondary positions after taking heavy casualties. Major Peterson immediately ordered one of our two Scorpion tanks to move up and help hold Main Street as covvie light armor moved up and started setting up defensive positions inside Sparatus.
The tower vibrated as Zepeda fired, taking out an unfortunate hingehead.
I took a few deep breaths and made my best to calm myself down in order to keep my heartbeat to a minimum. I was still at a distance where I had to account for bullet drop. Despite my weapon's purpose and range I didn't often found myself in a situation where I was far enough away from the enemy to be in the BR55BF SR's most effective range. I quickly located a smoky silhouette moving over piled-up debris and towards a machine gun emplacement and squeezed the trigger twice. The elite struggled to keep going and then collapsed backwards as the men manning that outpost used my fire to their advantage and took it out. I smiled and turned my attention to a different target, this time it was a jackal climbing one of the outer houses, seeking to find itself a decent sniping perch.
Its body slid down the rooftop and down into the house's backyard half a minute later. The covvies stagnated slightly after coming through the first few streets. Once we realized just exactly what tactic they were using to advance and reacted accordingly to it. The tank that the main enemy unit met head-on also was a big contributing factor to the slowing down of their fierce assault.
A Scorpion MBT tended to have a somewhat demoralizing effect on those that happened to be unlucky enough to be on the business end of it. For the rest of us… for the rest of us it happened to be something of a show. Pieces of alien flying in every direction soon lifted spirits and the gunfire intensified even as plasma weaponry fire dwindled ever so slightly. I knew that this wasn't likely to last long though and didn't allow myself to slacken my work.
"Hoff, Miranda, how's it going down there?" I asked after a while.
"Didn't know you cared, sir," Hoff replied. "Miri and I are doing just fine, aren't we?"
"We relocated a block closer to the town center," Miranda said. "Advance units took light casualties in the initial enemy assault, the covvies died by the dozens when they busted through the outer line, but things have slowed down somewhat."
"Not unexpected," I said. "We had a nice defensible position with reliable cover and now they do too. Anything unusual?"
"Other than the twelve foot tall aliens barreling through house walls?" Hoff asked. "No, not at all."
"We'll let you know, El-tee," Miranda said.
"There's a good girl," I told her. "Keep me informed."
After they both acknowledged that last order I opened a line to Pavel.
"What's the story Pavs?"
"They're pressing us hard Frank, but we've got one of the most beautiful crossfire I have had the pleasure of being part of in my whole life. As long as those two platoons next to ours are active and we can coordinate then nothing short of an armored column is going to get through."
"Excellent," I said. I knew that already, I had helped Peterson plan de defensive positions after all. "How are the men?"
"Eager for some action, but the covvies seem content with their gains. My guess is that they'll keep moving troops up here and then fight a war of attrition."
"Not their usual strategy," I noted.
"Yeah," Pavel admitted. "But whoever happens to be leading this particular bunch of uglies is doing a superb job at it."
"And I hate the fucker," I added. "Let me know if anything changes, ok? Keep the men's spirits up."
"Sir, yes sir," he replied offhandedly. "Keep your head down, Frank."
"I will, Pavs," I assured him. "Over and out."
During the conversation I had spotted a lone grunt that appeared to have been left behind after an enemy squad fell back. The poor little alien seemed scare shitless. At least that's the appearance it gave off at this distance. It moved from side to side, unsure of where it was supposed to go, clinging tightly to its needler. The grunt kept its head low and walked on three limbs as often as it trudged on its two legs. I looked at it for a while, wondering if it would find out where its squad had gone. My guess is that they had been all killed by machine gun fire or mortar support if those craters were anything to go by. After closer inspection I saw that the grunt was bleeding heavily from a nasty cut in the back of the head.
Maybe it doesn't even remember what's going on…
"Poor little thing," Schitzo tisked. "Hey, maybe it has a family back home that it has to feed and doesn't want to fight this war any more than we do. Well, not we per se, 'cause I know you like this, but the rest of humanity in general. Anyways, getting back on track: you'd think that a slave race would at least try to subvert its masters."
We didn't even know that the grunts were a slave race for certain.
"Come on Francisco, you've seen the intelligence reports, and besides, it's the only possible explanation. My guess is that the hingeheads and baby kongs scare it more than your ugly face does.
A feasible explanation.
"As I was saying, the poor gas-sucker probably has friends and family back home that he just wants to see again and hates this as much as the next guy does. No honor in it for him."
"It," I corrected. "No honor in this for it."
Having cleared that up I squeezed the trigger lightly and sent three rounds through the grunt's neck and skull, killing it instantly.
"Friends and family my ass," I muttered, looking in Schitzo's direction only to confirm his disappearance.
Zepeda's rifle boomed loudly, shaking some dust off the rafters over my head. I could hear some distant cheering a second later. No doubt he had hit a high-profile target this time. I smiled and aimed down my scope. And I waited.
When my eyelids started dropping I quickly shook my head and forced myself to a more uncomfortable position. It wouldn't do for me to fall asleep. Just as I moved in a way that my back hit a step at an awkward angle a beam hit the step just above my head. Startled, I flailed my legs and slipped downwards another four steps, hitting my ass on each one. Another beam almost fried my head, had I not slipped the second shot certainly would've killed me.
"Zepeda! Counter sniper, you see it?"
I got a negative light.
"Shit, did you at least get its position?" I asked.
Red light.
"Fuck!" I cursed. "Ok, I know that it had to come northwest of this position, north-northwest… See any likely spots?"
Green light.
"Good, take your time."
The problem was that I couldn't go up or down. The hole in the wall exposed me to the enemy sniper however I went. I would have to stay in this little corner until Zepeda found the asshole that had tried to ruin my day. Fortunately I had enough of an angle on the battle to provide some limited support.
As Zepeda scouted for the sniper I fired at some less important targets, helping out by taking out a grunt here and a jackal there. The process went on for half an hour. Zepeda carefully examined every window and every rooftop for the sniper that had come so close to taking my head off while I provided some token assistance to forces in a sector that didn't really need my assistance at the moment. Oh, I certainly made their lives easier and their jobs quicker, but I just didn't get that sense of satisfaction that I had become used to getting.
The wall right in front of my eyes exploded in a shower of blue and brown. Pieces of brick hit my visor as a purple beam punched clean through the wall, leaving a nice little hole the size of a grapefruit two inches in front of my head. I leaned backwards and almost fell down the stairwell before regaining my balance. The sniper had waited for me to fire enough times in order to get a reasonable location. The fucker was crafty and had almost managed to hit me through a fucking wall.
"Zepeda, did you get it?" I asked.
Red light.
"Goddamit Zepeda," I cursed. "Ok, I'm coming up, be ready!"
Green light.
I prepared myself to climb upstairs, exposing my left side to the sniper. I pressed my rifle to my left, adding a small layer of protection in case this very smart enemy sniper also happened to be a crack shot. I took a deep breath and hoped that I wouldn't die before pushing myself off the wall and jumping up the stairwell in two quick leaps that promptly put me back behind the relative safety of the wall.
No shot came. The sniper was too smart to expose itself for anything less than a guaranteed kill it seemed. I wondered how it felt about having missed me twice in quick succession for two dumb accidents.
"Did you narrow its location?" I asked Zepeda once I was on the rooftop.
He nodded and brought up an old datapad that was displaying a map of the city. He pointed at a small warehouse-type building near the enemy line. It wasn't held by UNSC forces, but the warehouse was behind some of our positions next to it.
"This fucker is smart," I told Zepeda, who just looked at me. "But we've got bigger guns."
I opened a line to the mortar support unit and requested fire support on the building that Zepeda had designated as the most likely spot for that sniper. It took a few moments to make them understand that I wanted the whole thing showered with explosives and a minute more to convince them to actually do it, but when the rain came in I knew that everything on top of that warehouse was most definitely gone. In fact, the warehouse itself collapsed, only leaving a corner still standing.
"Back to business," I told Zepeda. "And you have to do better next time."
Zepeda shrugged slightly and fired once, killing another elite.
I aimed through one of the holes and looked for targets, firing only on elites. Most of the job I left to Zepeda. His Oracle scope could see through the thick smoke more accurately than mine could and the zoom capabilities on it were beyond anything mine could manage. With the battle's rhythm escalating at an alarming pace I had no shortage of targets. Elite after elite crossed a wrong corner or raised their heads at precisely the wrong time and fell victim to my fire. It almost lost its excitement this way, there were way too many targets here. I started racking up kills pretty quickly, but reminded myself that I couldn't draw too much attention to my position unless I wanted a dedicated task force to shoot at the church tower.
"Ten minutes," I told Zepeda. "We don't fire no matter what."
He nodded quickly and dragged his sniper rifle backwards as he sat up. Zepeda quickly checked the weapon to make sure that nothing had gotten inside the firing mechanism and then reloaded his empty magazines with fresh bullets from the ammunition boxes up here. I followed his example and spent that time filling up my magazines with ammunition. It certainly took my mind off things. I'd much rather be busy pressing bullet after bullet into a magazine than enthralled in the screams of pain coming from men and women that were defending their homes from the Covenant. I had become scarily adept at ignoring the cries of pain and suffering during the last couple of months. Fighting here in Paris IV had been rough.
"Church tower, church tower, this is Rifle One-Four, do you copy?"
"Rifle One-Four, this is church tower, we copy, whatcha need?" I asked, just finishing my last magazine.
"We've got two hunter pairs taking down walls to move forward. Some jackass forgot to bring more ammunition and we need something to hold them back while we get our machine guns fed."
"Roger that Rifle One-Four. Maybe you should just send that jackass for them to toy with."
"That was my first suggestion," she said. "But I was helpfully reminded that doing that would get me a court martial and transferred to a unit where I would suffer a similar fate."
Damn, the woman sounded pissed, but I would be too if someone forgot to bring extra ammunition.
"We got your back Rifle One-Four," I replied. "We'll stall them."
"Thanks, over and out."
"That's your department Zepeda," I said. "I need you to kill one of the hunters if you can, give the others a pause."
Zepeda nodded so quickly that I would've bet that he was smiling underneath his reflective visor. He cocked his rifle and popped from cover to fire all four rounds at one of the hunters that Rifle One-Four had been so kind as to tag. I didn't directly see the results, but after the fourth round the hunter collapsed, needing to use its two hands to keep from completely falling down to the ground. Zepeda ducked back behind cover and reloaded quickly before emerging once again and quickly firing all four rounds. This time the hunter's tag disappeared completely on the first shot. The other three made contact with another hunter.
"One more," I told him. "We're drawing too much attention as it is."
Zepeda nodded again, eager to take out another hunter. In between his second and third shot a purple beam hit the barrel of his sniper. My brain made it all seem like it was happening in slow motion, but I knew that the beam that was shredding through Zepeda's sniper was going too fast for me to do anything about it. The purple plasma beam carved through the barrel and the rifle itself before coming out the back and hitting Zepeda's helmet. The sniper fell backwards, body limp and smoke coming from his helmet.
"Zepeda!" I shouted, lunging towards him to catch him before he fell. I placed him on the ground and took off his helmet.
I let out a massive sigh of relief when I saw that the beam had burned completely through the side of the helmet but left him with only a large burn that went from his right eyebrow to just above his ear. It would leave an ugly scar and he would never grow hair there unless he got some pretty expensive surgery, but it wasn't deadly by a long shot.
I administered some biofoam and quickly patched him up to keep the wound from infecting. His rifle was useless now, nothing but a pile of molten metal. The shot that hit him had come from the general direction of the warehouse I had ordered blown apart. For a moment I wondered how likely it was that the enemy sniper had survived that and come back for revenge. It could've been another sniper for all I knew, but the angle of the shot and the direction indicated that the shot had come from behind our frontline units. It wasn't entirely impossible that another sniper had sneaked past UNSC forces and taken a shot at Zepeda, but something told me that it was the same dick that had tried to kill me less than an hour ago.
"Rifle Two-One and Yankee-Six," I broadcast to the two platoons closest to the area where I presumed the sniper was. "There's an enemy sniper unit somewhere behind your position. I don't know its exact location and he's been… frustratingly successful at keeping us from actually doing anything. I'm requesting you dispatch a small unit to the buildings I'm sending you right now, flush it out and kill it."
The leaders of the two units quickly said that they would and told me, that way we would be even for the help that I had provided earlier. I thanked them for their help and sat back down to wait. After a while I used Zepeda's useless helmet as bait, putting it on his rifle's tip and lifting it above the short wall in order to see if I could get the sniper to reveal its position to the teams searching for it. I bobbed it up and down a couple of seconds and then yanked it back down when no shot came. Something told me that the reason the helmet hadn't been fired at wasn't because the sniper wasn't paying attention. Smart.
I patiently waited for the friendly units to comb the area. I pushed up Zepeda's helmet once again and then brought it back down when I didn't get any results. My fellow Helljumper was still unconscious and I was beginning to get frustrated. It would only take a few more minutes for the guys down there to kill the sniper or at least force it to relocate to avoid discovery. Any of those results would be favorable.
After some more waiting I grabbed Zepeda's useless rifle and carefully examined the damage. The barrel itself was split and melted almost halfway through. The beam had carved through the polymer body's right side, fusing the magazine to the body and destroying the rear of the Oracle scope. It had done a number on the SRS, it would be cheaper to buy a new one than to fix this piece of metal, and the SRS series rifles were notoriously expensive.
I sighed and grabbed the helmet. It too had been damaged beyond repair. The entire right side had been cracked open. The beam had hit right above and behind the visor, opening a massive gash two fingers wide on the right side of the helmet. The shot had come awfully close to killing Zepeda, but the rifle had saved him. Had the shot collided with his helmet at that same angle without hitting his sniper rifle then I have no doubt that half his head would've disappeared.
I cursed quietly and once again propped the helmet on the rifle, pushing it up slowly in an attempt to make the motion seem natural. This time the maneuver brought enemy fire, but not in the way I expected.
For the second time in an hour the enemy sniper miscalculated by mere inches. Another beam punched clean through the wall, right by my left temple. I felt pieces of rock and brick hit the back of my head as a cloud of dust blinded me. My first reaction was to drop to the floor immediately. Down there I realized that the enemy sniper had realized what I was doing and waited for me to repeat my maneuver enough times in order to calculate just the place where I was located. The briefest of errors had saved my life.
"Fuck!" I cursed as the dust cleared up.
"Church tower, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I said angrily. The units below hadn't found the sniper yet. "Did you get him? It?"
"Not yet, but we have its location," the man came in again. "Just a matter of minutes now, sir. We'll take it out."
"Great," I said. "This fucker's been on my nerves for too long now."
"Happy to help," the man replied. "If you want I can open a screen so that you can see us kill it."
"I'd love that," I told him. "Good luck."
"Thanks, sir," he replied, signing off and sending me a view from his helmet camera.
Zepeda shuffled slightly and opened his eyes in what I assumed was fright and confusion. He looked at me with an expectant stare and I quickly explained what happened, showing him his damaged helmet and rifle in order to drive the point across.
"There's a Marine unit breaching the building where the sniper is located, they'll kill it in a minute or two."
Zepeda nodded slightly, running a hand across the bandages on his head and then looking at me questioningly.
"No," I told him. "Wait for them to take it out and then you can get another weapon. You know Peterson's not going to be happy about this. SRSs aren't cheap, you know?"
He waved me away and grabbed his sniper rifle, examining it with an expression that came close to grief. He had been using that rifle ever since the first time he shipped out. Losing it was very similar to losing a close friend.
"They're going in," I told him, redirecting my attention to the small screen on my helmet.
The Marine climbed a stairwell on a large house, two men in front of him. They were being really quiet about this, not wanting to spook the enemy sniper before they could club it in the back of the head. By club it I mean shooting it full of bullets and buckshot.
The Marines spread out and quickly checked the rooms to the sides to make sure they were clear. They knew where the sniper was, but they didn't want its friend to jump them from behind before they got the chance to shoot it. I watched as the squad positioned themselves behind a closed door and prepared to breach it.
"Ready?" the leader ask in a low whisper.
The men nodded.
The man whose helmet camera I was connected to kicked down the door suddenly and abruptly. The first thing that I saw after that was a flash of movement as the man ducked to the side. Bright green lights covered a portion of the camera and a cry of pain was clearly heard through the crappy speakers. The man fired from the floor at a fast-moving shape and then rolled as more green bolts flew his way. The rest of his squad came through the doorframe and filled the room with lead even as the sniper, a jackal, jumped through the window.
"I think I nicked it!" someone shouted.
"Bull's down!" another voice said. "Shit."
"Church tower," the man on the floor grunted. "It got away, but you might still get it if you hurry."
"Oh, I'll get this fucker," I muttered, popping from cover and aiming at the street where the jackal would be.
The enemy sniper was lugging a beam rifle over one shoulder and pressing its hand firmly against a leg. It had been nicked. I calmly zeroed in on the place in between its shoulder blades and squeezed the trigger.
Now, bullets take their time. It's not usually a long wait, but sometimes that delay is more than enough to ruin your day.
The jackal's leg gave way underneath it just as I fired and it narrowly avoided being killed. The burst cut one of the spike-like crest pieces on its head, but it didn't kill it. As it fell it rolled and avoided a follow-up burst before taking cover behind a small car, getting itself to safety.
"Huh," I muttered. Now I knew how the fucking jackal must've felt after missing so many shots to dumb luck. "I'll be damned."
The jackal emerged from the car suddenly, running across the street as fast as its limp allowed. It seemed to be quite fast considering that it had just been shot. It fired at me on the run. The shot hit the wall to my left, making me jerk slightly and sending the burst I fired wide. The jackal then jumped and slid behind a pile of debris, leaving a small trail of blood where it had slid.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I cursed, wiping dust from my visor and aiming at the pile of debris. The jackal would have to come out soon or else it would find itself sharing its cover with a fragmentation grenade.
Two green carbine rounds went a few meters over my head. I instinctively looked up at them and then trailed their origin back to a house too far away for any respectable sharpshooter to bother shooting at me. I realized even as I quickly located the point of origin of the shots that someone had requested fire on my location.
"Shit," I murmured as my eyes returned towards the pile of debris. The jackals was already up and bringing its rifle to bear.
I had the advantage of having my rifle aimed in that direction, but dammit this fucker was quick. I aimed and squeezed the trigger once before I had a certain kill.
As I mentioned earlier, bullets take their time, but this time it was just fast enough. The three rounds hit the jackal's right hand just as it clicked the trigger on its beam rifle. The impact made it jerk the trigger and miss its shot. By miss I meant that it flew a few inches from my left shoulder.
The fucker was real good.
The jackal looked at its hand in surprise for a second, examining the finger that was hanging by a thread and then looking back at me.
I squeezed the trigger again only for my rifle to make a click. I stood there, dumbly thinking that I was certain my magazine still had rounds in it while another part of my brain assured me that I must've fired more times than I remembered as the jackal waited for its death. The bird either realized what was going on or decided that maybe I was giving it a second chance because it took off, abandoning its beam rifle and ignoring the wound on its leg.
"Did you get it?" the Marine asked.
"Negative," I told him, "chopped off its trigger finger."
"Better than nothin'," he grunted. "Bird won't be bothering anyone again."
But I hadn't killed it, and that frustrated me to no end.
"Church tower, a jackal sharpshooter has been pestering us. I'm transmitting its location."
"Got it," I replied. "Urgent?"
"Very much so."
"I'm on it," I told the man requesting sniper support. "Church tower out."
I sighed and took a deep breath as I aimed. The only things I could see through my scope was a battered house and a whole lot of smoke. I made sure to locate all the windows and then deduced which one would be the best to shoot at the Marines. From this angle I had a reasonable chance to hit a sniper firing from inside the windows, but any self respectable shooter would keep himself a little bit behind in case someone like me was gunning for them.
A carbine barrel poked through the window.
Too bloodthirsty, jackals were simply too eager to get blood on their hands to make good sharpshooters. I chuckled under my breath as I saw the jackal's beak appear on my sights and then squeezed the trigger, hitting it square in the cheek. The blood sprayed the window frame and the jackal collapsed to the floor.
"It's clear," I informed the man.
"Thanks church tower."
"Anytime," I replied, watching as two squads moved in to occupy the house that the jackal had been sniping from. Now they had firing positions on two ends of the street. No wonder the guy requesting support had called it urgent. I observed as the two squads moved a car over to the front door and took positions on the windows and sent a sharpshooter to the rooftop. Most UNSC-held houses had a similar configuration. Intersections were bulked up with sandbags and machine guns; the sandbags had a small C-10 charge inside of them, ready to blow up as soon as the position fell to enemy forces.
After I got bored of watching them I switched my attention to the Scorpion tank. The thing was half buried in rubble from nearby houses. I had seen a Wraith mortar barrage burn the area around it to cinders, sending pieces of brick and wood flying in every direction, an hour earlier. To my surprise and joy the tank had not been harmed, but the debris had instead piled up around and over it to give it some sort of protection.
The debris shook as the tanker fired, hitting some unseen target that a house prevented me from seeing. A second shot quickly followed the first one and then the tank was quiet once again.
"Huh," I said. Tank fire was effective and a Scorpion rarely needed to fire more than twice in order to get rid of a target.
The hatch behind me whirred and I instinctively reached for my pistol before I realized that Zepeda was supposed to be coming here. He climbed up and grunted angrily as he tossed an Enhanced Marksman Rifle to the floor before sitting down next to me. I knew how he was feeling at the moment. He had gone down to get another SRS to do his job up here, but we were short on spare sniper rifles, something that had an annoying tendency to keep happening seeing as the weapon was pretty fucking expensive.
On the other hand, the EMR was as good a long-range weapon as they came. It had a pretty decent range and impressive accuracy. Sure it didn't pack the same punch as the 14.55x114mm APFSDS rounds that the SRS-99 used, but they would whittle down an energy shield in no time.
"Get over it Zepeda," I told him. "Snark sometimes uses one of those and you know how good he is."
If anything my comment didn't make him feel any better.
I chuckled. "Relax man, you'll get a new one."
Zepeda settled back into position, expertly manning his weapon but somehow still retaining some sort of dislike for the weapon. I don't know exactly how he did it, but Zepeda had mastered the art of body language. Or maybe it was just that I had become so used to him not speaking that I understood him without a need for words.
Just like love.
Damn. I was bored.
"Christ, Francisco, that embarrassed even me," Schitzo muttered.
I waved the thought away and shot a grunt through the neck. That certainly had me feeling manly once again. As the grunt fell another pair of aliens were startled and emerged from behind cover, running away from my direction. Surely they must've misinterpreted my position or intention, because they exposed themselves to me as much as possible. I quickly switched to semi and fired four times, hitting the first grunt once and the second one twice. I frowned slightly at the shot I missed, but then again, me missing wasn't entirely unheard of and I had been actively shooting aliens for a day and a half now.
"I need some rest," I muttered. "Zepeda, I'm forwarding all requests to you, all right?"
He shrugged as I prepared myself for a very long nap.
No sooner than I had closed my eyes that all hell was unleashed on the little village of Sparatus. Explosion after explosion rocked the church tower and the cries of pain and sounds of gunfire were drowned in an ocean of plasma explosions. A section of the roof above us quivered and shook before collapsing. I put my hands up to protect my face, but the wooden rafters were caught in the walls and stopped short of hitting me. Zepeda himself had dragged himself towards the hatch that led down the church tower and opened it for me, waving frantically.
I grabbed my rifle and the box of ammunition. Our weapons shared the same type of ammunition, but his own rifle could fire it more accurately and make it go faster. I don't really know how that worked, but it did. Zepeda let himself fall down the first flight of stairs as the roof above us finally collapsed and slammed the hatch shut right after I went through it.
"Goddamn!" I cursed. "Zepeda, you stay here," I ordered. "I want you to tag enemy movements on the battle-net, got it?"
He nodded.
"Stay safe," I told him as I ran down the wooden stairs, hoping that they wouldn't give way under my weight.
I landed on the bottom of the tower and slammed my way through the heavy wooden door that led into the church itself. The pews were still in perfect order despite the pieces of ceiling and wall that had fallen. What seemed most foreboding was the stained glass windows that had remained intact. Biblical figures and saints stared down at me with sad stares as I ran through the empty church. The feeling was not one I enjoyed and I felt relief as soon as I left the church.
The massive doors opened into a relatively large courtyard full of command tents and armored vehicles. Men ran in every direction, seeking cover or moving away from fires. I ducked as a mortar detonation sent rocks my way, but the shower of stone pushed me to the ground. I would have some bruises later from that.
"Incoming!"
That word was dreaded all throughout the armed forces.
I barely had time to look up and see a Banshee attack craft dive for a strafing run. I ran towards the nearest crater as it began firing its twin plasma cannons and jumped inside as pieces of stone flew from the impacts.
"Zepeda, keep low for a while!" I shouted from my crater. "We've got enemy birds in the air!"
I got a green acknowledgement light and dragged myself outside of the crater, my rifle in hand. The Banshee had been devastatingly effective, hitting seven Marines and topping it off with a fuel rod that wrecked a Tortoise beyond use. I cursed at the sight of the dead men and crossed the courtyard at a sprint. Mortar rounds landed all around me even as our own mortar unit started firing back in retaliation.
"Phantoms!"
This time I wasn't the only one to curse. I looked up to see a pair of dropships approaching, glancing off small-arms fire with imperviousness. They stopped perhaps a block away from my position and started unloading troops. One of the Phantoms was hit by a shell that could've only come from a Scorpion tank as well as smaller explosive rounds that certainly had their origin in a Tortoise armored vehicle. The Phantom started putting out smoke before it came crashing down on top of a house.
The other one dropped of the entirety of its complement as well as two Ghosts. I fired upon the elite major that appeared to be leading the group, hitting it with automatic fire and killing it before it could react. Machine gun fire from behind me sprayed the grunts and jackals, killing a couple of them.
"Kill them all," someone shouted.
"Don't let them get a foothold," I ordered at the same time. "Wipe 'em out!"
The Marines were all too happy to comply with my order. The disarrayed men and women were happy to have a goal and immediately reorganized themselves to achieve it. The covvies had had the element of surprise on their side, but now that they had lost it they were just a small unit completely surrounded by angry Devil Dogs.
"Good job men!" I shouted loudly once the last elite was dead.
A squad that had come up to me and helped nodded in satisfaction and slapped each other's shoulders.
"Sergeant," I told the leader. "Clear the surrounding area, we don't need any covvies pestering us."
"Yes, sir," he said, nodding towards his men. "Let's move!"
As the Wraith barrage let up somewhat I started moving towards Major Peterson's command post. The place was a big house, but not really something that would draw attention to itself. That was fortunate, because only one blast had hit the front lawn. I made my way past a pair of men carrying a wounded girl on a stretcher and inside the house.
"Major," I shouted. "Major Peterson!"
"Castillo," he called from the dining room, looking over several incoming reports. "What are you doing here?"
"I left a man in the tower," I said. "What's going on?"
"The earlier attack must've been a feint."
"A feint?" I asked, confused. The earlier attack had been the largest attack that the Covenant had launched. If it had been a feint it had been a damn good one.
"They're throwing everything that they've got at us," he told me. "The Western Flank is on the brink of collapse and we're just barely holding up… How the hell did they hide all those birds?"
"Sir, we've lost contact with Colonel Olson!" a corporal shouted.
"Jammers?" Peterson asked.
"Confirming… negative Major."
"Fuck," Major Peterson cursed.
"Sir," I said, ignoring the uncharacteristic expletive. "If Olson is dead that would make you the highest-ranking officer here. Someone needs to organize this."
"I know that boy!" Peterson told me angrily. "Corporal, broadcast the news, I want every unit reporting to me as of right now!"
"Yes, sir!"
"And send Darbinian's ODSTs to the Western Flank."
"They're already en route, sir!"
Peterson turned back to look at me. "Don't like the man, but he sure is effective."
"Tell me about it," I said. "Where do you need me?"
"We need to eliminate Covenant air superiority," he told me. "Our Falcon gunships are grounded as long as there are Banshees in the air. I want you take some of your men right here, we have some SPANKrs and missile pods there, and start hammering away at them. I don't care how much attention you draw to yourselves, Lieutenant."
"Yessir," I replied, saluting. If we killed more than three Banshees from a single location we would have a veritable storm of mortars falling down on our position.
It was a risky mission. Very risky.
"Well what are you waiting for?"
I met my squad three blocks away, closer to the Covenant forces than I cared for, but such is life.
"Where's Miranda and Hoff?" I asked, looking at my not-squad.
Marvin shrugged slightly. "They remained back to provide sniper support, O'Malley and Ramirez volunteered to take their place."
I looked over my temporary squad. Marv, Sandor, and Andrea were a given, but I had never worked closely with O'Malley even despite Caboose speaking very highly of her skills. Ramirez was an excellent fighter, possessing a near suicidal disregard for his safety whenever he was providing covering or suppressing fire for the rest of us. It might've been that he was slightly off up there, but as long as it worked for the best I had no reason to complain.
"Where's the Laser?" I asked O'Malley.
"With Staff Konstantinov, sir," she replied in that thick accent of hers.
"And what the fuck is Grigori doing back there?"
"Commanding half of HW Squad, sir," Ramirez said. "He's a good leader."
"Damn right he is," O'Malley spoke up for her squad leader.
I rolled my eyes as Marvin checked his weapon and Andrea pointedly looked in the general direction the Covenant where coming from.
"All right, Peterson wants us to take out some Banshees," I said simply. "I'm setting a waypoint for a SPANKr cache. Double time it!"
What should've been a straightforward jog through UNSC-held ground turned out to be a slow and hellish crawl through ground we were now hotly fighting to keep. The once-beautiful brick houses with painted windows were now blackened from the smoke and ashes, but most of those had been heavily damaged. White picketed fences surrounded yards that were no more than muddy craters and up heaved earth. The Covenant had managed to move up to the line of houses directly across the street, turning the battle into an extremely uncomfortable close-quarters fight.
In fact, the covvies had a few squads inside houses on our side of the street. Mostly we tried to keep our heads down and leave the heavy fighting to the Marines, but more than once we had to shoot our way outside of a house that had been just recently stormed by Covenant troops. Sandor seemed to be enjoying the unexpected encounters, making good use of a shotgun he had taken to using.
"Hold up," I ordered, standing over the bullet-riddled body of an elite minor. "Hold!"
I got a chorus of 'yessirs' as I raised my voice, giving me a sense of smug satisfaction. As my men slowly spread out to take defensive positions in the house I knelt down to examine the elite. At first glance the minor seemed no different from other elites of its rank, but years of fighting against their kind had thought me a thing or two. Minors were usually younger Sangheili, the equivalent of our fresh-outta-highschool privates. Most of the time their youth showed in the same way it did on human males; with smaller muscles and thinner frames. I was no xenologist, but this elite minor looked older than that, the battered armor and scars on its forearms and shoulders were testament to its status as a veteran fighter.
I started calling for Miranda but bit my tongue when I remembered that she wasn't here. "Marv, get over here," I ordered.
"Sir?"
"Do you see something weird here?"
He looked down at the elite. "All the shots hit in the right side of the chest?"
I hadn't noticed that. "No… well, yes, but that's not what I meant. This elite looks a little bit too experienced to be wearing blue armor."
Marv knelt next to me and carefully examined the corpse. "You're right, sir. Bigger, lots of scars… It could just be an unfortunate squid."
"True, but the Covenant forces we're facing are the toughest and most effective we've faced."
"Elites have a natural talent for war, but they do seem to lack even the most basic training from time to time," Marvin noted drily. "Could these be actual soldiers?"
"If we've been fighting bloody conscripts for the past twenty years…" I muttered under my breath. "Oh well, I always did like a challenge."
"Oorah!" Ramirez called out from the dining room.
"Enough playing detective," I said, mostly to myself. "Let's move on."
"I'll take point," Sandor said eagerly. "Andrea?"
"I got your back," Andy assured him. "Ready when you are."
I waved at them to go as I opened a line to the lieutenant in charge of the platoon holding this street. He appeared to be a capable man, if a little bit jumpy under pressure.
"Lieutenant, we're coming back out," I said. "I need your men to turn up the ante."
"Fucking shit," he replied. "We've got your back, lieutenant, but my men are taking a beating here!"
"I know, I know," I assured him, moving through the small piece of grass that separated this house from the next. "I've told my sniper to provide support."
"That is all good and fucking well, but I could do with some fucking air support right now."
"We all could," I replied with a small chortle of laughter. Perhaps jumpy had been the wrong word to describe him. "All right, we're safe."
"Tell me when you need some more help," he replied. "And please make it fast."
Huh, funny world where two officers of the same rank–one a Helljumper and one a regular jarhead–found themselves in a situation where the Helljumper was the one being spoken down to.
In the past I would've kicked his teeth in first chance I got. Right now it just seemed amusing.
"Sir, are you going to let him talk to you like that?" O'Malley asked quietly inside the next house.
I shrugged. "He said please. Now clear the second floor for me, we don't want another jackal jumping us from behind, do we?"
Her visor covered her face, but I was certain that she blushed behind it. A jackal had attempted to go in for a quiet kill, pulling out a knife and trying to slash O'Malley's throat. She had caught the knife right before it plunged through, but she still required saving. The funny part there was that the jackal had been hiding inside a closet of a room that she was supposed to clear.
Battlefield humor, got to love it.
"Target is just seventy meters away," I said. "Those Banshees need to be taken down a notch or six."
"We go when you say, El-tee," Sandor voiced, finishing up reloading his shotgun.
I quickly requested firing support and the moment I heard the gunfire from the houses around us I gave the order to go. This house was the last one on the block. Ahead of us we had a street as well as a parking lot before we actually reached the building itself. It should've been simple with the Marines providing suppressing fire, but things were rarely that simple.
"Andrea, if you get shot another time…" Sandor began.
"What would that be, the third in this campaign alone?" Marv added teasingly.
Andrea cursed at him before Sandor opened the back door and we poured out the house. We started sprinting across the street in turns, taking cover behind a pair of minivans once we reached safety.
"Move, move," I ordered. "Let's go!"
Ramirez and O'Malley took the first turn, clearing the empty parking lot and sliding behind a thick square column next to the entrance. Several green carbine rounds hit the marble column, tearing shards from it and prompting them to press themselves tighter against the column.
"Shit," I muttered. They knew where we were. "Marv, Andrea, your turn."
"Sir," Marv said.
"I'll cover you," I told them. "Go!"
I popped from cover and fired three rounds at brown house. I shattered what was left of a window and then fired wildly at the roof and windows. Sandor switched to his assault rifle and sprayed the bottom windows, sending a pair of shapes backwards, reeling for cover.
I ducked back down as needles and carbine rounds banged against the car's roof and hood. Whichever soccer mom had driven this thing before the covvies came would surely be displeased with the state of her car.
"Saving the best for last, eh lieutenant?" Sandor asked, reloading his rifle.
"Most certainly Sandor," I assured him. "That's why you'll go first."
He chuckled. "On your go, sir."
I nodded and shouted over at Ramirez to give us some covering fire. His SAW could lay down a heavier volume of fire than most weapons that an ODST could carry. He pivoted out of cover and started firing, holding his SAW tightly against his shoulder. As the weapon fired away Sandor dashed out of cover at a sprint. I immediately moved after him, emptying the rest of my magazine blindly. Not for the first time everything around me slowed down, but unlike the other times I didn't move any faster.
A needle shattered against the ground halfway between Sandor and myself. He ducked as a burst from a repeater flew over his head. As he stalled slightly I caught up and grabbed him by the arm, shoving him forward as plasma bursts hit all around us. For the first time I noticed that the points where the bolts hit turned bright red for the briefest of instants before putting out smoke and vapor.
It was all really quite enthralling, but whiles my mind and eyes moved at incredibly speeds, my body did not. I felt like I was trapped as my legs moved ever so slowly. Sandor almost fell on his face at my shove, but he regained his balance quick enough and resumed his sprint.
Ramirez had to duck behind cover when three carbine rounds hit the column he was using for cover. One of them flew exactly where his head had been half a second later. Andrea and Marvin started firing to pick up the slack, but they were both quickly sent back into cover as needles and plasma flooded their position. A green blob of plasma flooded my vision as it slowly flew an inch from my visor. I only just managed to jerk my head back slightly in shock before I spotted a pink shard moving at a leisurely pace towards Sandor.
I opened my mouth to warn him, but it was too late. The needle flew a lot lower than expected, but it still hit Sandor's right calf. He took another step, putting all his weight on the wounded foot. To my surprise he managed to keep upright despite a cry of pain. He started toppling down and I tackled him just as time resumed its normal pace. We landed just short of safety, but Ramirez and Marv dropped their weapons to drag us into safety.
"Holy fucking fuck!" Sandor cursed loudly, grabbing at his injured leg. The needle had punched a clean hole through and through, but there was an awful amount of blood coming from the holes in the armored boot.
"Take it off," Andrea ordered me. "Hurry!"
I removed the boot, prompting Sandor to bite back a curse. The wound was nasty, with an irregular entry wound and an exit wound that looked more like a cut than a circular hole. The needle had probably split at the outside before coming out through the other side.
"The needle sent shards through your leg," Andrea explained to Sandor in a perfectly calm voice. Every time you put weight on your foot you'll feel them cutting into your muscle."
"Just give me some painkillers Andrea," Sandor spat.
Andy administered biofoam and held Sandor down as he started to shake involuntarily. As soon as that was done she patched him up with good old-fashioned bandages and then put his armored boot back on. Sandor slowly started getting back up, using his rifle for support.
"And I do appreciate the irony of this," he grunted as he managed to get on his feet. "Not a word Andy, not a word."
"Maybe you'll take the human target spot on the squad, huh?" Marv poked at him.
"Enough goofing around," I said loudly, wiping the blood from my gloves. "Ramirez and Sandor, I want you two to stay here and cover the entrance. O'Malley, Marv, and Andrea, you're with me."
"Yes, sir!"
When Major Peterson mentioned a cache of rocket launchers in this building I half expected walls covered with M41 SSRs and rocket boxes in piling up high enough to hide behind, but what I got was the sad reality. Four battered and used SPANKr rocket launchers were leaned against a corner with a pile of about twenty boxes on the opposite side of the room.
Eight rockets in the M41s plus some forty spare missiles. Once my head assimilated the number of M19 HEAT missiles my disappointment quickly turned into anticipation.
"All right, everyone grab a pair," I shouted. "We spot for each other and don't stick outdoors for long, if possible try and stay inside."
"Ah, nothing like noxious exhaust fumes from the missiles, eh?" O'Malley quipped, grabbing her rocket launcher. "By the time the second missile's away we won't be able to see a thing."
"O'Malley, shut up," I ordered, hefting my own rocket launcher. It had been a long time since I had used one, but the weight of it felt comfortable in my shoulders. "Call out your shots, not a single missile goes to waste."
The second floor windows were all broken, giving us a nice view of the sky around us. It was easier than I imagined spotting a Banshee, there were far too many flying about in the sky for comfort. Everybody got a different target and let off a missile before ten seconds had passed. Three of the fliers went down and several more broke off, attempting to avoid being targeted.
"That felt good," Andrea said after taking a deep breath.
"Sure did," I agreed. "Two minutes in between rocket barrages, understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
The chaos of battle kept our position safe for a few more strikes, but by the time fifteen or so Banshees had been shot down our position was made. Before long the aircraft were focusing on our position as opposed to regular strafing runs. The building was sturdy enough to hold up to a few heavy plasma cannons and the occasional fuel rod, but soon enough we were missing a roof above us and Marv had nearly been buried under rubble.
"We can't keep this up much longer!" Andy shouted as soon as a Banshee finished a strafing run.
O'Malley immediately stood up and fired a rocket at the thing, it quickly locked on and started following, chasing it down before colliding in a fiery explosion.
"I'm doing fine," she shouted. "I think we-"
Her boast was cut short as two fuel rods detonated against the walls. The entire building shook violently and a corner started collapsing as the bricks gave way to the hot plasma. I started sliding down as the floor tilted but was promptly grabbed by the scruff by Marvin. He pulled me back and I found myself looking down at the parking lot, a whole section of the building had collapsed upon itself.
"Lieutenant, are you alright?" Ramirez asked. "What happened up there?"
"We're fine, Ramirez," I replied. "We might need to move out soon."
"I don't know about that," he said hesitantly. "I don't think Sandor can move."
"I can move," he cut in. "I'm fine."
I grunted angrily. If Sandor was that insistent it meant that his leg was a mess. He wouldn't be able to run without one or two of us carrying him. If we moved that slow we would surely be mowed down by the Covenant, whether they were in the air or in the ground.
"You think we pulled enough weight here to warrant an APC extraction?" Marvin asked, patting my shoulders to dust them off. "I'm certain some of the Marines 'round here would be jealous."
"Hmmm," I hummed, considering the request. "Maybe Peterson will dispatch on or two and have them mow down the covvies inside those houses…"
"Redirecting two Tortoises to a less important sector, sir? I don't know…"
"I know for certain there's one Tortoise with damaged armor in the square, perhaps they can spare that one for a half an hour."
Marvin shrugged. "I sure hope so."
I nodded sharply. "I'll call it in, no way in hell I'll sleep here until someone deigns himself to come and helps us pull out."
"My sentiments exactly."
I opened up a line to Peterson and held until he checked in. The man sounded tense. It had only been an hour or so since I had left him and the pressure of commanding such a large force was now beginning to show. I was glad that I was an officer and appreciated the pay that came with it, but I decided that if I ever reached the rank of captain I would start turning down promotions after that, I'd rather fight my ass off in the trenches than have thousands of lives under my responsibility.
"Yes?" he asked sharply.
"Sir, could you arrange for some armored support or extraction?" I requested.
"God damn," he replied. "I ask you to do something and then you ask me for help doing it."
I looked up at the most recent smoke mark from a Banshee. "The job is almost done, the screamers are already making themselves scarce or going for us. Sir, we're pinned here for good unless we flush out the Covenant, and that's not going to happen unless you bring in the heavy guns."
"I know the situation!" Peterson said loudly. "I'm getting a live feed from everybody in the area. Map says that there's some twenty to forty Covenant infantry preventing you from moving in any direction."
"Plus the occasional Wraith blast, yeah," I agreed.
Peterson huffed. "I can't spare any Tortoises, your staff sergeant already requested our two damaged Tortoises, and they're holding back the main spearhead."
Pavel…
"I'm gonna kill him," I groaned. "The Falcons?"
"One of them was hit in a bombing run, I can't spare the rest to your position. In short, lieutenant, I can't offer you any help right now."
"Shit," I grunted. "Sir. Can you dispatch some assistance to our position if the enemy assault slackens up? We'll help the units here."
"Understood lieutenant," Peterson said. "Peterson out."
I looked up and cursed at the ceiling. "Everybody to the ground floor," I ordered. "We'll bunker down here until we get evac."
"Shit, sir," Sandor cursed. He said that to me more freely than I had to Peterson. "Any idea how long we'll stay here?"
"As long as it takes, Sandy," Andrea told him. "You just sit tight."
"I'll do whatever I damn well please," he grunted angrily. "And don't call me Sandy."
"You'll do what I damn well please," I corrected. "And right now I'm ordering you to sit tight."
"Yessir," he said through clenched teeth.
"There's a large room near the main entrance," Ramirez said. "No windows and only one door."
"Do you have anything with two doors?" Marv asked. "In case we need an emergency exit."
"I've got a door and a small window," Ramirez told him.
"That'll do," I said. "Marv and Andrea, you two bring down the SPANKrs," I ordered them. "Abri, I want you up here as a sharpshooter."
"Sir, ummm," she said, showing me her MA5. "Not exactly a sharpshooter's weapon."
"Shut up Abri," Andrea told her. "He called you by your first name! You should be excited."
I rolled my eyes as Marvin chuckled slightly. "Here, take my rifle."
"Yes, sir," O'Malley said. "Thank you, sir."
I grabbed her weapon and gave her two spare magazines. "Take care of it."
"I will, sir."
I helped Andrea with some of the rocket launcher ammo and tossed everything inside the room. Sandor had already packed a few crates and was resting his leg on them. He appeared angry, but his face was contorted in pain. Andy removed his boot and told him not to move his foot in the least unless absolutely necessary. The blood flowing through his veins moved his muscles just enough to make the shards cut in more and more with every beat of his heart. He would need surgery to remove the shards before the wound got infected.
"I can remove them if you want," Andy told him. "But I've got no anesthesia or painkillers."
Sandor laughed. "I know I'm tough and I know I'm a little dumb, but there's no way I'm that stupid. Not now."
"Good choice," Andy said, removing her helmet and placing it on the floor.
"Sir," Ramirez said, tapping my shoulder. "You sure you don't want me up there?"
"Not right now, Ramirez," I told him. "We need to conserve SAW ammo. You can guard the main entrance, grab Sandor's shotgun."
"Don't worry," Marv said, brandishing the M90. "I got this."
That left Ramirez, Sandor, Andy, and myself in the little room. I smiled at Ramirez behind my visor. "Well, it appears you get to be useless for a while."
"I just hope it's not very long," he said as the house shook. "I don't think this building can take much more."
A little bit of dust from the ceiling fell on my head and slid down the side. I was worried about the building coming down on our heads, but if things kept going like this the Covenant would swarm past our lines before the building had time to collapse.
"I hope it's not long either," I muttered agreeingly, moving towards a corner in order to catch some sleep. "But you know how these things are."
Ramirez propped his SAW against a wall. "Lucky us, huh?"
Thanks to defarcher and SpartaLazor for helping proofread this chapter.
Talking about that, this is probably the last chapter that I'll have proofread by someone else. No offense to the guys, they did a fantastic job, but this is more of a personal issue. The relatively large gap in between this update and the last was due to something that all fanfic writers dread. Running out of ideas. I always hate it when someone says that they were 'battling with writer's block' because it sounds a lot harder than it was for me. Normally I'd just ask myself what the coolest thing to do would be and adapt it to the story. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but it always allowed me to finish the chapter. During that brief period of absolutely no ideas I felt myself actually start to lose interest in this story, and that's something that I really don't want to happen. Because of that and a multitude of other things I will start posting chapters proofread by me. This will likely amount to an increase of spelling mistakes and the occasional word salad sentence that nobody understands. I hope that it doesn't harm the quality of the story itself, but I'm pretty certain that it won't happen. If this works out as planned I will be able to write and publish chapters faster. I know most of you prefer quality over speed or whatnot, but I really don't want to feel myself losing interest in The Life again.
Now, as for the chapter itself. Pretty long chapter, some humor here, some battle there. A shitload of irony concerning Sandor and his injury... A small thing that I'd like to point out: the jackal that Frank failed to kill isn't some future character, it's just a jackal. I wrote it in because it suddenly occurred to me that I don't very often write in badass enemies. Sure, I've had an occasional elite or brute that can kick ass, but never a covenant trooper that is skilled enough to take Frank or any of Reaper or Platoon Five one on one and come out alive, let alone on top. I'll see about doing that more often.
Johnson will be in the third chapter after this one as will Hanna and Katie. Rejoice.
Stay strong.
-casquis