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Halo: The Taranga Campaign by Electrical boogyman
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Halo: The Taranga Campaign: Chapter One
Date: 4 May 2005, 4:54 PM
Halo: The Taranga Campaign
Chapter One==========
0930 Hours, September 7, 2552 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Base H.Q, Planet Taranga 4, Operation Brutis
Newly promoted Corporal Franz Harris strode through the mud, his face a mixture of confusion and dread. His summons had been short and simple, "Corporal F. Harris, the General wants to see you immediately." was all the notice had said, before the piece of paper had been snatched out of his hand by the messenger and promptly burnt with a cigarette lighter.
Weird stuff, what the hell does the General want with me?
He walked up to the command tent, where two armed guards stood at attention outside, their black armour somehow clean from the mud hell the H.Q was set on. He strode quickly to the soldiers, his hands flurrying about his head, fixing his messy, sandy brown hair. He knew that first impressions counted a lot, a lesson he had learnt back on Earth with a certain girl's father...
The guards checked a list on their helmets HUD, verifying his identity and his reason for seeing the General.
"Corporal Franz Harris, born 12th March, 2530, Earth hospital 3496, London, to a Mr.'s Mary Harris, Father deceased, killed at battle for Outer System 3, only child. This is correct?" One of the guards asked, his face set straight, not even looking at him.
Um, yeah, that's me, I also like eating vanilla yogurt and enjoy books by Arthur Darrel.
"Yes, that me..."
The command tent was full of maps spread over desks and lots of big men in green suits pouring over them with great gusto. Or so it seemed as Franz entered, and immediately wished he could exit. The room smelt of old tobacco, sweaty men, and something he couldn't quite pin down, like the smell of over worn clothes...
"Corporal, over here!" barked a man from a desk, his face red. Franz made his way over to him, passing an AI in the form of a Norse giant, hovering from a portable power pack, which was talking to a man about battle tactics.
"Ah, here's the man I want to see, need to see, just right for the job!" the red faced man said, once Franz was at the same desk as him. He looked about 50, his eyes a cool blue, and his teeth a rancid yellow. A green military hat covered his hair, although it couldn't cover the mans god-awful sideburns, and an insignia on his shoulder told Harris he was the General.
" Corporal F. Harris, Eighty Fifth Marine Platoon, reporting as ordered, Sir"
The general looked him up and down, as if checking him out for a bug. Satisfied, he motioned Franz to sit at a nearby chair, while he remained standing, and launched immediately into the mission briefing.
An hour and a half later, Franz left the bad smelling command tent, realizing that he would probably never see it again.
Somewhere North of UNSC Battalion H.Q...
Private Louis Blanchly hid behind a log, his rifle held to his chest. The BR55 fired three rounds per second, time enough to put at least one bullet into the skull of an Elite.
Two to penetrate the shields, one for the kill.
To his left lay his platoon leader, Corporal Harris, hiding in some shrub, a sniper rifle in his hands, currently aiming at their target. Two Elites and a Grunt were patrolling the flooded banks of a river 50 metres away. All had their backs to him and Harris, and were currently facing in the direction of two marines hidden on the other side of the river. Harris gave a slight nod to Blanchly, the squads HUD's registering the command.
Fire in 5...4...
A counter in the top left hand of their vision counted down, reaching zero just as the four marines jumped up from their positions and fired. The Grunt was down; his life support air tanks now home to a single round of super hot ammunition. A flame erupted, and caught the Elite standing next to it. The other Elite had a bullet in his head, blue blood streaming out of the two gaping holes in the opposite sides of its skull, previously protected by a shimmering energy shield, taken out by Harris' expert shot. The surviving Elite turned wildly, his blue plasma rifle firing in one hand, his other hand flapping wildly at the flames catching his now unprotected suit.
"I got the grunt!" Came a voice over the marine's radios.
"So what, I got the other Elites shields down in one hit!" a quick reply came from Blanchly.
The Elite was now completely on fire, his blue armour covered in liquid methane from the grunts suit. The four marines stayed in their places, staring at the giant two-metre high figure burn a slow death. The creature's four point jawed mouth screamed in agony, a loud, booming voice heard in complete English by the marines thanks to their translating software.
Thirty seconds later, it was over, the Elite having succumbed to a death it never knew was coming.
"Well, the methane sure was some stroke of luck, eh? I get dibs on the elites plasma rifle!" Private Richards called over the intercom, his Australian accent making Private Hassan roll his eyes. Hassan and Richards had a bit of a rivalry going, after Australia recently wiped the floor with South Africa's cricket team in the test match a couple of days ago. It was all in good fun, and Harris allowed them, and the other cricket fans in the squad to express their boring thoughts about Leg Stump and deep mid-on over the radio. Although he was British, Harris never really understood cricket, so he remained silent whenever his people talked about it. He didn't mind. It helped to bring the men together, talking about normal stuff back home, and having the men together was the only thing that had bought this squad through what its been through with so little casualties. Harris was in charge of 26 souls, including himself, and it wasn't something he took lightly. Especially now that he had to tell his troops about their next mission.
Harris shook his head, clearing his mind.
I'll tell them after chow, they should at least be sitting down...
Part two coming soon, hopefully. Cya! PS. Helpful feedback would be appreciated.
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