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Brothers In Arms by Diamond Dog
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Chapter 1: Reveille
Date: 19 May 2003, 10:49 PM
Brothers In Arms: Chapter 1
Reveille
Lieutenant Riemer sat with the others in the crowded debriefing room. The only light in the room came from the digital display that Admiral Lennox was pointing at, and it cast shadows on the ranks of seated men, all of whom had serious faces. They looked in fact like ordinary men, and you would have called them as such were it not for their eyes. They were bright and alert, and belied intelligence and wisdom. But if you held your gaze, you came to realize that these were eyes that had seen terrible things and had survived, that had more experience than almost any other human could hold claim to.
They were Delta Force, the elite squadron that held humanity's best warriors. In most inner circles and in awed talk among normal marines, they were simply called "D-Boys" and were the stuff of legend. To be considered for Delta you had to be in special operations, have several years experience, and show bravery and skill unparalleled than any of your fellow team members. Once you were accepted there came the training, endless, brutal training for three years. This was added onto all the previous training you had received as a new recruit and as you were promoted to higher circles. But when you came out of it, it was like nothing else in the world.
The D-Boys were their own force, their own team. They were encouraged to form bonds and throw aside rigid by-the-book methods if they didn't need them or if they thought them stupid or unnecessary. Their hair was grown out long past normal military standards. On flights to the location where they would set up headquarters, when the marines stared stiffly ahead and flipped uneasily through magazines, the D-Boys took off their boots, reclined their chairs, put on sunglasses and cowboy hats and listened to music on their headphones as they laughed and made jokes.
Life itself was amazing for them. They were given special toys, like unlimited ammunition during training exercises, brand-new gadgets, prototype weapons and vehicles, and freedom and variety during training. They were the best of the best. They hungered for combat, thirsted for the thrill of it the way that predators lust for their prey. They were fearless. Because of all the experience and training you had to have before being considered for Delta, most of the D-Boys were in their early thirties, with a few in their older twenties. The oldest were in their forties, and were viewed in admiration and awe by the others. There were legends, of course. Like how McVahn had single-handedly infiltrated a Covenant bunker after the rest of his squad bit the dust and how Sergeant Kramer had carried two injured squadmembers through miles of Covenant-inhabited real estate and back into human-controlled territory.
Riemer thought of Delta as the best human soldiers that existed, period. Of course, there were ODST and the Spartans, but his men were better than any Helljumper that would contest the fact, and the Spartans weren't human. At least, not in his thinking. They were subjected to insane training conditions bordering on torture and biomechanical engineering. Anything that came out through the other end of that was not human. Homo spartanus, maybe.
He was snapped out of his reverie when Lieutenant McCoy nudged him.
"What'd you think of this one, eh? Regular suicide mission," he whispered.
Riemer shook his head. "Doesn't look any different than the ones we usually do."
"That's what I mean."
Riemer grinned and turned back to the display in time to hear Lennox's final summary of the mission. The gruff old soldier looked at them carefully as he spoke.
"The Covenant cruiser Hand of Justice came out of Slipspace roughly 45 minutes ago in the Rigil Kentaurus system. This could potentially be very bad news, as the Kentaurus system is the second system away from Earth. But it doesn't seem to be there as part of an invasion. It is the only Covenant ship to come out of Slipspace in that system. Our recon ships report that it is floating in one spot in space, not moving, and made no attempt to launch defensive maneuvers at the sight of our scouts. However, their sensors showed frenzied activity inside the craft.
"We suspect that there is a battle taking place inside the cruiser, but against whom we have no idea. However, the enemy of our enemy is our friend, to quote an ancient proverb, and you boys are going to help whoever is in there. If this mission is successful, Delta could accomplish what the Spartans couldn't, and capture a wealth of Covenant technology.
"We will be sending four fireteams in hot. Black and Green Teams will enter through lifeboat openings in boarding craft. Lieutenant Riemer has Black Team, and Sergeant Kramer has Green. They should have weaponry ideal for close-quarters combat. Red and Blue Teams will be equipped with heavy weaponry, cause they'll be launching a picnic in the shuttle bay, which our AI Falstaff will crack open for us. Once they secure it, Red Team will guard the bay while Blue Team will move to reinforce Black and Green teams, who will be headed towards the control room and engine room, respectively. Sergeant Perino will lead Red Team, and Lieutenant McCoy will have Blue.
"Any questions, gentleman?"
Riemer raised his hand. Lennox called on him.
"Sir, how exactly will we know where the Control Room and Engine Room are?"
"Good question. UNSC analysis of destroyed Covenant craft shows that their "bridge", or control center, is usually located in the center of the ship, where it's encased in layers and layers of armor. Not a bad idea. As for the engine room, well that won't be too hard, it's where the engines are. Back and bottom of the ship."
Riemer nodded.
"Is that it?" The Admiral waited a few seconds, and then stuck a cigar in the corner of his mouth. "Well, suit up boys. You're in for one hell of a battle."
The armory was incredibly large, compared to most rooms in UNSC ships. It was easily 30 feet by 30 feet, and housed ammo crates, floor to ceiling lockers, and racks that dangled from the ceiling. The D-Boys opened up the lockers and crates and whistled. Hundreds of guns and magazines, gleaming and new, were lined up ready for them. Combat knives, pistols, sniper rifles.
It was like going shopping.
Kramer moved forward, took it in, and laughed. "Those Covenant sons of bitches will have one hell of a surprise when we show up." Kramer eyed the racks and crates with a practiced eye. He selected two MK5 pistols, which he holstered on the straps mounted on his legs. A seven inch titanium combat knife snuggled onto his belt. He then chose a M12 rifle, a tasty Delta-exclusive morsel that coughed up 8.62mm armor-piercing rounds, guaranteed to screw up a Covie's day. The bullets came apart on impact and drove pieces of red hot metal throughout the target's body. When you shot somebody, he stayed down.
The rifle was incredibly accurate and also sported a 2x magnifying scope. It fired only single shot or semi-automatic, but not much more was required after the powerful bullets had struck the target. He thought for a moment, then picked up the rifle's accompanying grenade launcher and slammed it into place. Better to carry a little extra weight than not have it. The reason that the rifle, along with the rest of Delta's weapons, were for them only was that they required much more money than the standard MA5B assault rifle to produce, but God, were they better.
He completed his arsenal with a few grenades, a flashbang, a smoke grenade, and slung a LAW over his back. LAW stood for Light Anti-tank Weapon. It was a portable rocket launcher made out of light plastic that when assembled weighed only 3 pounds and fired a single rocket. He stuffed all his pockets with extra magazines. After some thought, he slung a pair of NODs, nocturnal optical devices, around his neck and advised the rest of his squad to do so as well. If the cruiser was severely bent out of shape, some of the compartments' lights might be out, where the night-vision goggles would give them a huge advantage. He didn't think they would be in there long enough to need it, so he left his canteen behind. Besides, no Covenant bastard was gonna shoot him while he was taking a drink. With all of his gear and armor on, it weighed around 50 pounds, and they would have to move fast to survive. But Kramer was tough, and he hardly felt it at all.
After his squad had selected their gear, he looked them over and made sure that everyone had everything they needed. They were Delta, so thankfully he didn't need to worry that his men would make stupid decisions. They were capable. He had a medic and four heavy-weapons specialists: Blackwater and Collins with SAW-15s, and Matthews and Wilkins with M-60s. They were ready.
Sizemore shouldered his sniper rifle and clambered on board the Pelican along with the rest of Blue Team. They were all dressed in jet-black clothes, and their Kevlar-6 armor plates and helmets were black as well. A passerby on seeing them would have said that they were badass special ops types. That passerby would have been right.
He made sure the rifle's safety was on, then inspected to make sure that everything was in place. His sniper rifle was his baby. He spent hours cleaning it and had customized it even when it didn't need any customizing done to it. It was a S3-AM, a distant cousin of the normal S2-AM rifle that was in wide use throughout the military. It fired .50 caliber bullets that came in clips of six and bore refractive tungsten tips that pierced through energy shielding. Perfect for nailing those Elite sons of bitches. The bullets were devastators, which meant that they exploded inside the target. This gave them incredible stopping power, and also made it very dangerous to any Banshees or Ghosts that decided to come into range. The scope was adjustable, and magnified targets up to twelve times normal vision.
Sizemore was an artist with it, and itching to unleash it on the Covenant in the ship. When he got out there, and found a good spot to perch in...he was God.
Admiral Lennox watched them climb into Pelicans and boarding craft. He felt protective towards them, but knew that the D-Boys could take care of themselves. Even as that thought passed through his mind, he wondered if they could survive overtaking a cruiser, with enemies more than ten times their number. If anyone could, it would be them.
As the Pelicans and boarding craft were filled he stopped by each ship and spoke to the soldiers.
"Good luck."
"Be careful out there."
"Kill a Hunter for me."
"God be with you."
He sighed and pulled away from the ships. He didn't know what had made him do that, and hoped it wasn't a bad omen. He passed through the door to the hangar and sealed it. He strode through the corridors, into an elevator, and out onto the bridge. They had been in Slipspace since he had received word about the Covenant cruiser.
"ETA to the Rigil Kentaurus system, Falstaff."
The Delta's smart AI grew out of a port in the display before Lennox. He turned to face the Admiral. His eyes were bright shafts of light in a stern face that bore a mass of spiky black hair. His body appeared to be muscular and wore combat armor. Lines of code scrolled through him. Falstaff had chosen the appearance of the Epsilon Eridani system's god of war. His name came from a character in an ancient series of texts. The AI was good-natured and had a comical personality when he wanted to have it, but when the time came to be serious he was composed and cool-headed.
"We're six minutes out, Admiral."
Lennox nodded and stared into space.
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