Exo-Planet-01-051
05 May 2559
UNSC Standard Military Calendar
'The Wall'
It had been half a month since the Incident that ignited a Conflict the likes of which the UNSC never thought it would have to fight again. A war against their fellow Humans. Though this was a strange war. Very strange, in fact, for most of the UNSC personnel engaged in fighting it. Forerunner technologies long lost to man had led to this fateful encounter and the subsequent Incident...
It was an interdimensional war...
Corporal Jake Weston, 26 years of age and a veteran of the latter sections of the Human-Covenant War, stared at the dusty hilltop ahead. Clad in desert BDUs alongside the rest of his Marine buddies, the man ducked as high caliber rounds from enemy gun emplacements across a city wall spat rounds their way. The rounds sparked off the stone and concrete slabs they used as cover, chipping shards. Up above, in the gleaming blue sky of the arid world, two UNSC Broadswords flew in low, chasing a pair of the enemy's own, tail-less fighters and firing autocannons at them.
An enemy fighter's engine caught ablaze and detonated mid-flight as the Broadsword that took it out peeled off away from its mate, enemy light anti-air fire raking its shields. Jake poked up over cover and fired a burst from his assault rifle at the Wall separating them from the enemy settlement. The bullets missed by a wide margin, nailing a metal barricade next to one of the two twin Machine Gun emplacements on the palisades.
The enemy's turrets were semi-armored and they fully shielded the gunner, but the MGs themselves resembled something one would see come out in the 1900s, muzzle flash and the radiators wrapping around the barrel included. Still, it was a 12,7 round. It hit hard enough to punch through their plate and would still do some damage, even slowed down by all the extra layers in his armor.
He dipped back into cover as a bullet struck a couple inches from him, kicking up a small wave of sand. He looked over to the Corpsman tending to one of their wounded and told her, "God, I fucking hate this shit..." before looking at the ammo counter on his HUD. The man wore a more enclosed variation of the armor which included a gas mask with a full HUD.
The Corpsman replied, "Hear fucking hear..." in a murmur as she stuck a biofoam container into the wounded man's abdomen and thumbed the activator. The pressure hissed and the tube spat out the self-hardening medically-enhanced adhesive foam into the wound in the man's gut. He'd taken two of the aforementioned 12,7mm rounds from one of the towers up above. She stuck a painkiller in the man's neck and then turned to Jake, hefting her Battle Rifle. She told him, "Tommy's gonna live..."
"Good," He nodded, "Seen the Sarge?"
"She's out here, some-fucking-where..." She replied, then peeked over the cover. Another round hit the stone and some shards hit the young girl in the face. She winced, wiped her face, then swore, "FUCK!" as she blinked and looked at her hand. Bloody from her comrade, but noticeably fine otherwise, the hand was visible. She sighed and said, "I'm alright."
Jake nodded, then looked to the other platoons of Marines around. All men were clad in Desert BDUs, most pushing up by leapfrogging from cover to cover, followed by Corpsmen and support elements. Most of the troops also wore standard-issue Series 12 Jump Packs. Basically, UNSC Jetpacks. They'd inserted via air-drop because the enemy was said to have actually had AA in the area, so they didn't want to risk the Pelicans.
"Man, if we'd known the enemy's sole AAA is MGs like those," Murmured Jake, clearly annoyed. The man paused as a figure dashed toward them through the sand, bullets whizzing over her blonde head and narrowly missing her helmet. She skidded to a halt in front of them, burning green eyes staring into Jake's own, though past the polarized visor, she probably couldn't see them.
"Sarge," The Corpsman greeted the hardy woman with a nod, "Good to see you!"
"Likewise, Touma, Weston. Tanks will be rolling up within a few," She told them calmly, causing the two to smirk at one-another. She ordered, "Prep yourselves to push up..." and she didn't even flinch as a flurry of rounds struck next to her. She poked up, a scowl on her face, then shot a burst toward the tower, nailing one of the armor plates and knocking it off. An impressive feat, considering the woman carried an M45 Shotgun that fired slugs and had no scope.
"Right," He nodded, "Where's the LT?"
"Should be with the armor," She replied, then patted him on the shoulder, "I'll go drag the rest of our Platoon together, Weston. You and Touma be ready for the shit!" before she stood up and dashed forward, to one of the rocks farther ahead. Bullets yet again seemed like they were avoiding her, the enemy's gunners either really poorly trained, or fucking blind.
Enemy infantry had also joined them on the wall, firing over the railings with iron-sighted rifles. From this distance, Jake could barely make them out as any different from UNSC Marines, their kit eerily similar. Bullpup rifles, rounded, heavy helmets, body armor that looked like it could take a hit and killing glares. The sole things differentiating them from the UNSC was the fact their uniforms were a flat fucking gray. Gray in a fucking Desert.
Sure, maybe the concrete-gray color would provide some cover in the facility ahead, but out here? Against sand and the sky? The fuckers stood out like sore thumbs, worse so than any other unit Jake had had the pleasure and displeasure of working with. Touma laughed as she watched the Sarge stop next to a group of five Marines and rouse them up from their cover, before saying to Jake, "Sarge is one crazy bitch..."
"Makes sense she's leading us idiots," Jake snorted and elbowed her in the shoulder. She laughed again, then her head snapped back, helmet flung off her head. Jake gasped, turned toward her and ducked, before calling out to her, "Jane!" and picking her up. He looked her over, only to see that her head had no marks of any sort of damage sans her discombobulated look. He asked her, "You alright, doc?!"
"Yeah, yeah," She replied groggily, though her voice was loud, "Yeah, I'm alright..." and she seemed to be regaining her functions as she looked Jake in the eye. She asked with a high degree of confusion in her voice, "Am I alright?" as she felt the top of her head with her hand again, only for her heart to seemingly pause as she saw the blood of the comrade she'd tended to on it.
"Yeah, you're fine, doc..." He patted her on the shoulder.
She nodded, then scrambled back into a seated position behind cover, telling Jake, "Good... Don't look at me like that..." before gazing back at her helmet, which now lay on the floor a few feet behind their cover. Jake nodded, snorted and poked up again, before letting loose another burst from his MA40. The assault rifle chattered, three rounds spat out from its barrel and struck the turrets. One of the men on the guns collapsed, gushing blood from a neck wound.
Another soon took his position and swung the MG around...
Only for the tower and the MG to detonate in a blazing explosion, shrapnel slamming into the backs of the men that were on the walls next to the guns. The Marines all turned as the roar of grinding treads filled the air. Rolling up the hill, three of the UNSC's new standard MBTs, the M808B Main Battle Tanks, also known as Scorpions, rolled forward. Slightly more heavily armored than their old counterpart, sporting explosive-reactive armor overlaid onto the front of the more important stuff and with reinforced cheeks and a turret that carried a 120mm Cannon, the desert-tan tanks looked nigh-exactly as their namesake insect.
Jake cried out, "YOU BEAUTIFUL FUCKERS SURE ARE LATE, HAHA!" jovially, while the rest of the Marines also cheered. A second tank fired its cannon, the shell slamming into the gate of the facility and detonating the metal bulkheads. The Lieutenant called out a rallying cry to her men, with Jake pulling out his grenade launcher and firing one grenade into the still-smoldering gate before he and the rest of the hundred-odd Marines pushed forward.
The company poured in through the smoke and into the lines of half-a-company's worth of enemy Infantry. Assault rifles roared, bullets tearing through the thinner plating of the grey enemy. Jake was one of the first ones in next to the Sergeant, even though he'd started farther at the back. First to come into his sight was an enemy officer, carrying one of the shorter carbine-version assault weapons of their military.
Jake was close enough to lock eyes with the bastard. And close enough for his rifle butt to make contact with the man's front teeth the moment he swung it around, knocking the front row out of his mouth. The bastard spun in place, dropped onto his back and tried to grab his rifle, but a short burst from the MA40 put an end to him, blood pooling at the Marine's feet and enveloping still-hot spent casings. A trio of Marines pushed in behind him and opened up with frags, machine guns and even a tank's 50 cal supporting.
The base itself had three major buildings, two of which had been hit by high-altitude bomb strikes from Longswords and had collapsed. Command had identified the targets while there was an orbital fight between the trio of Cruisers and squadron of Frigates that brought them to this area and the six enemy gunboats that had been providing ground support for the enemy's troops.
Mobile Infantry, they called themselves. Jake had taken a team to clear the still-standing building:The Communications center. The dome-like structure with antennae poking out of it was relatively easy to wipe. There were a pair of armed officers and a four-man fireteam inside. The Marines had made short work of all of them, sans one officer they'd captured for the sake of interrogation.
Said officer was now being hauled off by a UNSC Pelican manned by Office of Naval Intelligence Section 1 assets. Interrogators, troops, the whole nine yards.
Corpses littered the courtyard of the forward operations base. All of them were enemy corpses, soldiers of the Mobile Infantry. They were being put in rows by the Corpsmen and whatever surrendering members of the enemy's squads there were. Very few of the enemy's Mobile Infantry had, in fact, surrendered. Marines watched over those that did like hawks, finding most to be young men and women, probably lied-to or promised something the hostile state would never deliver.
The tanks pushed into the courtyard of the FOB as the Sergeant, Lieutenant, Jake and a few Marines walked up onto the walls. The Lieutenant spoke over radio, "... We've secured Compound Golf and are now preparing for possible enemy counterattacks. Requesting CASEVAC for three in the red, two yellow and one black. Roger. We'll consolidate with the Third Company and the Ninth and wait out the night, then push out with the Armor toward City-03. SILVER-3 out." before he thumbed his radio off. He turned to the Sergeant and said, "Niura, I need you to get our units squared away, prep a rotation schedule. We're bunking here for the night and moving for the city tomorrow morning."
"Sir," She saluted. The Lieutenant saluted back, then descended. Niura hummed, then looked to Jake and told him, "Seems like we're deep in the shit, Weston..." before walking with him to the edge of the walls. She leaned over the railing and pointed toward a distant blaze of anti-air fire. Tracers flew into a darkening sky, flashing with the silhouettes of the high-flying UNSC Air Assets overhead. Turning to Jake and crossing her arms, she told him, "Air Force and Naval Air started pounding the enemy defenses about two hours ago, but that don't mean the assholes don't still have a lot of layers..."
"And they're gonna be bringing in their own counter-attack," Jake commented, then sighed deeply as Niura nodded. He told her, "Sarge, I feel like we're a little more ready than a bunch of dickheads who don't even use their air support properly, but I'd rather not count my chickens before they hatch..." and he hummed. He looked outward, to the cliffs, canyons and desert separating them from the city.
"What's the matter?" She asked him warily, turning to look where he was looking.
He hummed, then asked her, "Sarge, you think they set up snipers in those canyons?"
"Heh, if they're smart enough to do that, Jake, I'll buy their commander a fucking beer once we capture him or her..." The Sergeant snorted, then waved it off and said, "Let's go. I'd rather not test it..." before motioning for him to follow. The two descended down into the defended inner area of the FOB, watching as Marines were already setting up at the enemy's old defensive positions, just in case.
Niura looked to Jake and told him, "I'll see you around, Jake. Gotta go make sure our scouts and OPs are set up."
"Gotcha. Later, Sarge," He waved, watching her depart. The man walked up to his squad, who watched him with smirks. One of them offered the man a cigarette, which he took. Removing his helmet and gas mask and setting them aside, he sat himself down between them, slid the cig between his lips and leaned over toward the guy who gave it to him. The man, Arabic by descent from the looks, lit the cig for him, to which Jake said, "Thanks, Ayaan..." with half a mouth.
"No problem, Jake," Ayaan Arouf replied, grinning. A corporal like Jake, the olive-skinned man scratched his bare chin, then motioned toward the piles of enemy corpses, stating with annoyance permeating each word, "Still can't believe we're dealing with this shit, man... Damn Feddies couldn't play nice with us 'till we figured them out, could they...?" while one of the women in the platoon scoffed.
She told them, "Bastards are more bone-headed than the Brutes. Half as smart, too. I mean, look at'em," She showed one of the Federation POWs packing their mates' bodies, then told them, "No supporting elements, they only have fixed positions with HMGs for heavy support equipment and they rely on numbers... They're unlucky our guns can pen their armor."
"So can theirs at times," Ayaan replied. The girl scoffed and shook her head, before Ayaan told her, "Come off it, Marta. Tom got nailed by two 12,7mm rounds in the gut..."
"He's still whole, ain't he?" She shot back, grinning.
Jake nodded, running a hand through his raven hair and peering outward with his green eyes. He took a puff from his cigarette and told them, "His guts got scrambled a bit, but thank fuck for our body armor. Bastards are firing Russian Fifty, considering those MGs are mass-manufactured Dushkas, not even M2s," And that got a few confused looks out of his comrades. He lifted a heavy casing off the floor and told them, "Look, you dumbasses, it fires 12,7 by 108 instead of by 99 like ours do. That's a shitload of extra powder behind the bullet." And his squadmates 'ooh'-ed and 'aah'-ed like a bunch of idiots.
"Fuck," Marta shot back. She was a private, relatively new to the business at only eighteen, but she was cute. Short, petite, brown hair and eyes and a tat on her cheek of an eagle with spread wings. She was very eager for work, obviously. She plucked the spent casing out of Jake's hand and examined it, before smirking and bashing it against the top of her head. She winced, however, when it rang against her helmet. Her comrades laughed at her and she rolled her eyes, annoyed, before tossing the casing aside. It clinked against the floor and stopped in one of the seams between the quick-drying concrete pieces that made up the floor.
Jake took a puff from his cigarette and told his friends, "We tried the diplomatic approach and wanted to talk to'em..." as he pointed at the corpses. He said, "That's the second time we try the 'be nice' approach and it failed, considering how we tried chatting up the Covvies before shit hit the fan so inevitably hard it dented the fucking blades..."
"What're you suggesting, bro," Ayaan asked, leaning his back against the concrete barricade they'd gathered around, "That we shoot first?"
"Would've saved our diplomat and her party," Jake shrugged. He took another deep puff from the cig, looked it over and added, "All I'm sayin's these guys started this shit. Now, we gotta end it fast before we're dragged into another clusterfuck of a Long War... One that's set across two separate versions of the goddamn Milky Way, of all fucking places..."
"Amen," The others replied, seconds after one-another, some laughing, others a bit more somber.
Hugging her legs, Marta whispered awkwardly, "Honestly, I signed up to shoot Covvies, not Humans..."
"Heh. Amen..." Jake replied, rubbing his face as the two moons of the planet began to rise overhead. Faint specks on said moons made out the UNSC Naval Battle Group hanging out overhead, providing defense from any possible arriving enemy fleet. Seemed like they'd cleared out the enemy, too, considering they were back in combat-ready formation overhead. A still silence settled over the squad as each went about processing the situation.
"You guys think their chicks are hot?" Ayaan broke the silence. Some of the guys and a couple of the girls laughed and Marta threw her helmet at him. Ayaan ducked and whined, "Ow, c'mon! It was a genuine question! Maybe I can get myself a Feddie hottie if I can win her over with my charms!" which got the laughter of his mates to intensify. Marta shook her head, grinning, before motioning to another of their mates to toss her her helmet back.
He complied, throwing it back, before telling her, "Watch the helm, Mar. Shit's Corps property, like your ass," his eastern accent thick, hardy and obviously Siberian, kind of like his traits. A mix of Caucasian and Siberian from the depths of the place. The woman laughed and flipped him the bird, to which he shook his head and said, "Jake. How're you, Bratukh?"
"Doing good, Niko Morozov. Doing good," He nodded, "Rash is gone."
"Heheh. Obviously, cuz the sand blasted it all away when you landed flat on your ass," Quipped Jane, the Corpsman, as she approached. Her helmet lay under her arm and her hands were clean, as was her desert armor. The entire Squad greeted the doctor with cheers, Morozov offering her a swig from her flask. She calmly declined, sat herself down between Ayaan and Jake and said, "So... You lads and ladies talking about something in particular while I was out rearranging Tom's guts back into their normal form for CASEVAC?"
Jake snorted, "Just talking about how we gotta blitz the Federation before this turns into some protracted war."
"Thunder Run should be fun, eh?" She asked, getting an approving hum from Jake while she was looking out at the smoke pillars rising into the clear, starlit sky above from the city. She winced, breathing in through her teeth, then said, "Air has sure been doing a number on them if the smoke's rising that high..." and turned to Jake, grinning knowingly, "Speaking of smokes..."
Jake looked at the almost-finished cigarette between his fingers, then sighed, put it down and stomped it out with his foot while still sitting down. He told her, "Swear to god, Jane, you're gonna be annoying me to death about my habits 'till we're dead, aren't you?"
"And even after, if I'm stuck in the same shitty afterlife as you, Jake," She snorted. The man let out a mocking 'ha ha', before seemingly spacing out again. Jane looked at him, a frown on her face now. She looked to Ayaan, who was wiggling his brows at her, then she slapped him on the shoulder, then stared at the corpses of the enemy for a while. Most were just like them. Poor humans stuck in some shitty war.
She chose not to think about it. She elbowed her friend to get him out of his stupor, watching him turn toward her with concern before asking, "Hey, dear osananajimi of mine... You good? You've been staring out into space more often than even during the Covenant's campaign on Earth..." as the guy looked at her, too. He sighed, then averted his gaze, to which she set a hand on his knee and told him, "... Nothing more we could have done for Alluvion. We were kids, for God's sake... You know that. There's no point in thinking about it while we've got another fight here."
"Yeah..." He hummed, scratched his chin, then said, "D'you think they'll reach a compromise? In the negotiations, I mean."
She shrugged, "I'm just here to make sure you guys and gals live to see the end. I don't know when it'll be, seeing as that's up to the Brass and the politicians. And, hey, we've only been at it for two weeks at this point. Who's to say Third Week ain't the Charm..." before smirking. Jake snorted, shook his head and gently nudged the girl with his elbow. She laughed, then pulled out an MRE pack.
Ayaan gagged, then looked to Jane and asked her, "Doc Touma, what the fuck is that?!"
"Supposed to be beef Katsu Curry and rice..." She told him, then sniffed it and coughed. Speaking with a more hoarse voice, she added, "I think..."
Jake fanned in front of his face with his hand, murmuring, "Whatever it is, it sure as shit makes me miss Jansson's Temptation from back in fucking Finland..." while the rest of the team gagged. Marta hummed, plucked the food package she had up and opened it, before sniffing. She almost choked, clearly. UNSC MREs sure as hell were 'nutritious', if not very good-tasting or smelling.
"Trust UNSC procurement to fuck up how the food smells," Groaned Jane. She sighed, rubbed her face and started unpacking the MRE. Jake looked to her, confused and she told him, "Listen, I'm starving and I haven't eaten since we got off the ship like ten hours ago. I don't care if this smells like literal cat piss, I'm eating it..." before pulling out the heating element, a chemical-laden bag, putting the bag with the rice in and pouring water. It started to sizzle, the chemicals reacting with the water to emit the heat necessary to warm the bag of cat food.
Jake wondered privately for a moment if the food was gonna be the death of him, or a Federation soldier's very lucky bullet...