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The World's Worst Day by Chiefy
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Bad Morning
Date: 4 March 2006, 3:24 am
**I have submitted the begining of this before under a different name, but have changed and added a few things for a resubmit**
0530 hours, October 20/ 2552
UNSC Barracks, High Alert
Pfc. Hank Ryder woke in his bed to the sound of air raid sirens blaring all over the base, as First Sergeant John "Angles" McKee shouted at them to get up and get ready. This was not another drill; those sirens are for emergencies only. Hank grabbed his MA5B-2A, an 8.9 lb automatic that wouldn't be able to hit anything that wasn't shoved inside the barrel, if it didn't have the two inch extension on its muzzle. The only reason the UNSC kept them in production, even if it is in limited numbers, is the attachable light grenade launcher that replaced the foregrip. Hank had the only one in the squad; everyone else had the standard issue BR55, except for Mike, the sniper, who not surprisingly used a sniper rifle. Then in only about half a minute, he jumped into his armor, and ran for the landing pad. He was one of the first ones out there and stood in ranks with the other man there. Hank recognized him right away. The man wore the solid black uniform and armor of the ONI special combat experts, and was loading various satchels into long, thin weapons create labeled with the squad's insignia of a burning line of trees with two men running into them. Then Sergeant McKee came around, carrying two duffle bags.
"Here" The Sarg throws the bags to Hank. "Load these in the overhead storage."
"Yes sir."
At this point, the rest of 2nd squad showed up and were ordered into the Pelican. No role protocol. This was definitely not another drill. A few mechanics came up and attached a man sized box, and two smaller ones to the magnetic cargo strips at the rear of the craft, and by then the Sergeant had climbed in and the ship, loaded with all ten men of 2nd squad, 7th platoon, 3rd company, took off and bolted forward. This is when Hank and the rest of the confused men saw the entire 186th earth-side airborne division. All 150 something Pelicans flying full burn towards some location Hank wasn't sure even the pilots knew.
"Mind me asking where the hell we're going Sarg?" asked Mark "Ox" Winters, a big guy known for his college football days. "Or do you not know either."
"Well for your information smartass, I do know, but I just might not feel like telling you now." The Sarg answered without missing a beat.
"Well fine, I just might not feel like paying you that twenty bucks I owe you then."
"You don't pay me and I'll make sure your cleaning out the Warthogs after Gunnery Sergeant Steven's men get done with 'em. Now listen up, while you guys were all sleeping one off, the Covenant attacked, and got the crap shot out of them by the orbital guns." The squad became more alert when they heard this and some made remarks on how fast the fleet took the Covenant down.
"So why are we awake if the boys upstairs already put 'em down?"
"Well apparently, the other ships were some kind of suicidal guard for one of the carriers, and that carrier made it's way to our side of the atmosphere, and HighCom predicts them landing right on our doorstep." The mood in the small space became tense and quiet.
"Holy shit. I mean, excuse me for asking sir, but you mean the Covenant are landing…here?" A marine named Anastasia Wilks, a Russian girl who had hair like fire and could get a grenade anywhere she wanted to, asked the question everyone already knew the answer to.
"Bet your ass they are, but we're only looking at one carrier, and they don't know what we're packing." The Sarg walked to the rear of the craft and looked out at the rest of the division, tracking the Pelicans that split off from the main group to secure other areas of he city. "This is the day we've trained for, the reason that all of us have been together for all this time. We're ready, but don't let the fears of those that aren't trained like you fog your vision. Stay sharp, we'll take em." At this the Sgt walked back into the cockpit and began talking to the pilots, but no one could make out what he said.
Nobody was talking anymore; everyone was checking their gear or cleaning their guns. Hank just sat there, the closest one to the door on the left side. He just looked back at the two Pelicans that followed theirs away from the main group. The closer of the two he recognized right away, it was Major Owens' bird. His squad's Pelican had the most unique nose art, and the most battle scars in the entire division, and maybe in the entire Corps. Dents and welded metal patches spotted the ship all over, and a huge scrape down the whole length of the top of the fuselage was a centerpiece to the art. Major Owens and his squad had some kind of sentimental bond to that Pelican and its pilot, probably the only reason it wasn't scraped by now. Must be all of the crap they've ridden through in that thing. Hell, half the time the thing died a second away from the pad, and had to be towed to the hanger by another Pelican. Just damn amazing it was still in one piece let alone flying. The paint job was a mock up of the Flying Tigers shark face design, but with flames curling off the back of the face, that came half-way down the sides and bottom of the craft. If that was anyone else's Pelican, they might be facing a court-martial for trying to pull that off, but the Major had friends in the right places so for now it was here to stay. It may be prohibited, but damn it was pretty.
About another five minutes went by and they had reached the city and were now flying low between the buildings, and came to a large hospital, with parking on to and crowded into the streets. They all bailed out and received their orders, and after the boxes were unloaded, the pelican took off almost as fast as it had come. The longer box had turned out to be a pair of .50 caliber machine guns for defending the area, while the two smaller ones were loaded with ammo and more powerful weapons.
"Shotguns, a rocket launcher, enough ammo to last me a lifetime, hell, do you think we'll need all of this?" Mike asked John as he pried open one of the crates.
"I sure as hell hope not, but if it was rougher than hell on the other planets than we can expect the same here." John answered in the most serious tone, and at that, everyone went off to secure the area and guide the hostages into three buses that had been prepared outside.
"Damn, I hope the Covenant don't work this fast."
0600 hours, October 20/2552
Inside Overlook hospital, designated 2nd squads CP.
Hank strolled casually through the open lobby area and headed towards the main entrance where Mark should have had the two .50 calibers set up so one could cover the others outside flank. He hadn't been able to keep his mind focused on any single thing due to the scale of the events that had happened and the short amount of time in which they took place. Two hours ago he was in his bunk back at Fort Straus, deeply sleeping, dreaming about his three day pass that was set to happen that weekend. Then he had been rudely awoken, thrown into a dropship, and flown to the southern side of the Granger memorial highway that bisected the entire city before branching off into local roads at the eastern end.
He needed to get his mind off these things. If he worried about it to much he'd scare himself and fear was the Covenants strongest weapon. He noticed that Mark was wandering around the entrance way like he was lost.
"Hey Ox, you done or have you been sitting on your ass admiring the flowers this whole time?" asked Hank as he walked up to Ox who was wrestling with a vending machine.
"Well if you weren't as blind as you are, you might be able to see that I am done. Now get over here and help get a soda out of this thing," said Mark as he turned to face Hank.
At this the two began to tear the front of the machine off in order to expose the racks of available sodas.
"Looks like this war has its benefits after all," Joked Mark, just as the Sgt came walking up to the make-shift bunker.
"Well maybe if we give the Covenant enough snacks and goodies, they might pack up their crap and go back home, leaving nothing but fuzzy bunnies and blue skies in their wake." The Sarg had obviously not found the idea very funny.
"I sure hope not, I'm allergic to bunnies," joked Mark, staring off at the ground with a very spaced out look.
"That's why I keep you around Ox, you make me laugh," The Sarg said through his laughter. He had reached the place where the hefty corporal had mounted the machine and began to inspect them.
The three men then sat down by the turrets and discussed various things, from girls back home, to food, to what Covenant do with their young.
"I still think they eat their youngest for dinner." said Ox Mark for the millionth time.
"Aw hell, That reminds me, one of you two needs to come with me to make sure those buildings are clear." said the Sarg signaling to the row of identical looking buildings across the street.
"I'll go; I'm tired of sitting here anyway. Try not to fall asleep while we're gone, Ok Hank," said Mark as he walked over to then box of special weapons they had been supplied.
"Should I take a shotgun, or stick with the BR?" asked Mark as he lifted an M90 shotgun into the air.
"It's ganna be tight in there, so better bring along the shotty," replied John.
At this the two men set out towards the front door of the closest apartment complex, completely oblivious of the tragedies that will happen within the walls of Zimcom apartment complex 13.
0625 hours, October 30/2552
Zimcom Apartment Complex 13, New Mombasa
"Ma'am, you must leave the cats behind and come with us," was another failed attempt made by Ox to coax an old lady to get to the shelter in the hospital, without any of her 12 cats.
"Oh but I must…." the woman began but was cut off by Sergeant John McKee's call from the hallway, "Corporal! We have to move it along."
"Ma'am please, we have to get going now," Another failed attempt, by the gentle Private.
One of the other 5 people that were being escorted out of the building came over and tried to politely take the cat from the woman's stubborn arms.
"NO! Get back, you selfish brute or I'll…" The woman was cut off short again but this time by a loud, low humming that came from overhead, and by static pouring out of the small speaker in both Mark and John's helmet radio.
"Delta-Mega-Zero-Zero-Four, John, Mark, you guys need to get back here now!" They recognized the nervous, trembling voice as Private Nick Wayne, a younger, marine who was relatively new to the squad.
"Sir we have multiple Covenant dropships inbound on the area. Fall back to ou…" Static washed over the radio and the .50 caliber machine guns could be heard firing upon unknown targets from outside the buildings.
"Sir, forget the last message," The Private was now having to yell into the radio in order to be heard over the firefights that surrounded him. "The route between your position and ours is crawling with Covies." The next part of the message couldn't be made out over the gunfire. "Repeat, Covenant snipers have been seen entering apartment complexes near your position. You need to get out of there now Sir!"
"Shit! Ma'am, c'mon we're going." John had entered the small room of the woman's apartment.
"Hold on I just need to get Mr. Droopies…." The woman stop dead as John ripped the aging cat out of the old woman's arms, threw it on the floor, drew his sidearm, and shot the stunned cat in one fluid motion.
"Ma'am if you don't come with us now, we'll leave you behind, and the Covenant will treat you far worse than you can even imagine." John said calmly and sternly as he holstered his pistol.
"You expect me to just follow you into hell, after you just needlessly shot my beloved Mr. Droopies!" The woman screamed, as stubborn as ever.
"Alright, Ox, c'mon get the others. We're going."
As the words left Johns lips, the lights and everything else in the cramped apartment went dark, and silent.
"Aw hell."
0630 hours October 30//2552
Inside fortified lobby of the Outlook Hospital, New Mombasa.
Damn it Nick! What was the frequency!?! Nick was giving himself a migraine trying to think of a way to get through to the regional HQ where the vehicle squadrons were stationed. C'mon Nick, think! There has to be someway to get vehicle support to push these basturds outta here.
"Nick! Nick!" Came Private Mike Spears' voice from over the second floor, "Where the hell are the Gunny's 'hogs!?!"
Mussel flash and the sound of gunfire washed down from over the railing of the second floor balcony that hung high over the main entrance and extended a good five feet from the building.
"All this damn plasma is creating too much interference for this piece of crap field antenna to work! I can't get anybody on this thing!" The young marine had to cup his hands over his mouth and yell in order to be heard.
"Nick, if you can't get anybody on that thing, then we are all up to our noses in grunt shit!"
"Sir, there's nothing more I can do!"
"I don't care god dammit! Now get back on that mic or I'll feed you to the roaches outside!"
There has to be a way to boast signal! Just than Hank called out from the one of the machine guns, "Grenade!" as a blue ball of fire sailed in through the large front windows, narrowly missing the privates right ear, and landed about two feet from Nicks spot in the center of the practically empty lobby. Nick dove to the left, cursing all the way, as the grenade exploded.
Nick landed on his stomach and turned back and saw the Covenant death ball destroy his radio, and any hope of contacting HQ.
Oh this is not good.
"S-S-Sir!" stammered the marine as he ran back out where he had been sitting, "Sir! The radios dead sir!"
"What!?!" Mike had run over to the railing and stared down at the half melted radio, and without unfixing his gaze, called out the order of "fall back!"
Instantly Anastasia, and two other marines who names were John Foster, and Tony Warren, came in from the outdoor balcony and ran back towards the rear of the hospital, through two double doors.
0637 hours, October 30/2552
Unknown Local Road behind Overlook Hospital
Jim Dawkins held his BR55 stern against his shoulder, as his eyes and head kept darting across the street in front of him, from the rooftops to the various alleyways, and up into random windows. He had heard the gunfire, but had received strict orders for himself and an ONI civilian control specialist, named Ken Whitman, to hold their position and cover the rear entrance of the hospital so the others had an escape route.
The doors behind them flew open and Anastasia bolted out and cleared the seven back steps and stopped at the bottom, "We gotta get the hell out of here!" panted the sweaty marine, "The whole damn area is infested with the little buggers! We'll run out of ammo before they stop coming!"
As she finished her sentence a Covenant Phantom flew low over the row of building in front of the three horrified solders, the ship was facing parallel to the street, and didn't seem to notice them. Then, with the worst of timing, the other five men came flying out of the doors, and stumbled to a stop when they saw the enemy troop ship. This, the Phantom noticed and turned to face them, and several of the leathernecks spoke some of their trademark curses.
Just as the Phantoms three guns targeted the solders, and just as Hank had said "Well it's been a pleasure," a deafening roar echoed through the street, as a Longsword, brandished with a fiery, metal clad eagle flying with the sun, flew overhead, leaving nothing but a distracted Phantom and four small twelve pound rockets in its wake. The Phantom saw the rockets, and the rockets saw the Phantom, and then all hell broke lose.
All three guns on the Phantom tried desperately to target the incoming projectiles of death, all eight marines tried desperately to get across the road in the confusion, and all four rockets tried desperately to lock on and home-in on the reactor of the Phantom.
And the rockets beat them all.
Each of the twelve pound Armor Piercing rockets made its own hole half-way through the left side of the Covenant ship, accompanied by a brilliant multi-colored explosion, killing many of the warriors inside. The ship turned to the right, facing straight down the street, started to move forward, lost power and dove nose first into the row of buildings. The ship rolled over onto its curvy back, and slid to a stop in the first floor of the next building, killing whatever was left alive inside.
"Was it me, or was that a little close."
0637 hours, October 30/2552
Zimcom Apartment Complex 13, New Mombasa
"Wait. Listen." McKee had stopped the group of civilians in the 4th floor hallway.
"What, I don't hear anythi….Oh crap. C'mon everyone!" Mark yelled as he stood to address all 6 civilians in the dark hall, including the ever reluctant Mrs. Burns, the old lady who wouldn't leave her cats until John threatened to shoot every last one of them, just to get his point across.
"Things could get messy quick, so stay together and yell if you see anything! Alright? Lets go, stay between us!" he yelled as he took up guard at the rear of the group.
"Hey," Mark pulled aside one of the more level headed and intelligent members of the group, and handed the man his side arm, "You've ever used one of these?"
"Yea, I go to the range all the time….hell of a day to have my gun re-sighted," the man joked with a nervous laugh as he took the pistol.
"Heh. Check the weather for alien invasions next time, you might be better off. Just keep that ready, and try to stay along the walls, Alright? Good."
At that the civilian, whose name Mark never thought to ask, moved toward the center of the group and tried to be alert as possible. The group moved down the hall, heading for the top floor of the next door parking garage, where they would have the best chance of being picked up by the Air Corps.
Down the hall,
Turn left,
Follow hall to emergency stair on right.
Mark ran through the exit plan that he memorized from the emergency plan card he found along the way.
"Hold up!" John signaled the group to stop at the end of the staircase, "Ox! Get up here!" He waited for the marine to run up from the end of the hall, "We need to move faster, I don't even like wasting the time to tell you this, just try to keep 'em moving along. And tell that Scot the same thing."
"…..What Scot?" answered Mark with a puzzled look.
"The civilian you gave your side arm to."
"Oh, I thought he was British."
"Your wasting our time here…"
"Right."
Mark ran down the hall, stopped to tell "the new guy" and followed the group as they started moving up the stairs to the top floor. Than the same old run, stop, check, clear, move on, repeat, until they all came to a large bay window with a odd hum coming from the other side of it.
John poked his head around the corner and saw a Covie dropship, a "Junebug," finish unloading what must have been the 6th or 7th load of Covenant solders and equipment.
"Shit! Ok everyone stay quiet and try to get past this window as fast as possible, we have to move faster now! C'mon go!" John yelled at the group who scurried past the window as low and fast as possible. They were all running now, down the hall to a bright red door that led to the garage. John kick through it and wished he hadn't, as four Jackals stood about a foot from him, sniper rifles in hand.
One of them fired at John, but fired to fast and struck a young woman from the group square in the chest, killing her almost fast enough to completely block out the pain. John fired back with four three-round bursts and caught the one who fired dead on in the face. By now the other three had turned to him and were about to fire, when pistol rounds peppered the area around them, but failed to find a mark. Another sniper appeared from behind a parked car and shot the armed civilian in the gut, leaving him in a crumbled mess on the ground, with Mark quickly taking up his place in the door frame and hit one of the uncovered Jackals in the head, quickly followed by another in the chest. John had found cover behind a concrete barrier and took out the remaining two with his BR.
"Aw hell, are they breathing?" John asked Mark who was checking the pulses of the two who had been hit, even though it was only a formality at this point.
"No sir, both dead." He turned to the remaining four of the bunch and said, "I know that this is a hard thing to do but please, we have to move out of this hallway," as he knelt to pick up one of the dead.
"No, No, No! Back inside!" yelled John as a Phantom rose over the top of the garage and dumped off a squad of grunts led by an elite, without even stopping to shoot, because of a Longsword, named the Steel Eagle, was so close to it that they could spit on each other, and chased the Phantom out over the sea for a clean kill. The warriors blue fire of death swarmed the doorway and struck down old Mrs. Burns, who wasn't fast enough to get back in the hall that she had tried so hard to leave, while the others ducked back just in time to avoid having the hair burnt off their heads. John opened fire on the grunts and threw a grenade right at the sniper's feet, blowing half-way home. Four of the six grunts fell within the first two seconds while the others turned tail and ran for cover, the elite however whipped an energy sword from his gray and silver belt and charged John. "Not cool!" was one of the many things he screamed as he bolted back into the hall, which was becoming bloodier by the second. "Run! GO GO GO! Keep going!" John caught up to and passed the running group of survivors, who were just to slow to outrun the enraged Covenant warrior. When John noticed he was the only one left in the hall, he turned to fire on the elite, but the only threat coming from his gun now was that of being annoyed by the hammer clicking on an empty magazine. The elite raised its arm up and was about to cut the marine a new one, when a two inch hole was punched through its gut by Mark's twelve gauge. The elite's head turned slowly around to look as Mark before the light left its eyes and it dropped to a crumpled mess on the floor.
"We…We couldn't save them…" Mark stuttered as he dropped his shotgun.
"We said we could, when we got them…but….we couldn't…" Mark collapsed next to the dead elite.
John crouched next to him and tried to say something to comfort him, but just couldn't find the words. So John did the next best thing he could think of, and pulled the dead weight of a marine up to his feet, gave him back the shotgun and told him, "As heartless as it is, we need to leave."
Mark just kind of looked at him like a deer in a car's headlights. He thought about what his CO had said then agreed with a simple "Y-Yes sir."
The two men walked out into the parking lot and surprised the two remaining grunts with a pair of three shot bursts.
"Such a waste…Such a friggen waste!" Yelled Mark as he kicked one of the grunts off the parking structure. Several yelps and cries came from down below.
"Ox you moron! There's still Covenant down there!" Scolded John as he dragged the big man back from the edge, as the three elites and countless grunts opened fire on the small wall that the grunts body came from. Before John could punch Mark in the face for almost getting them killed, a quartet of air horns came from down the street. John looked towards the origin of the horns and saw four warthogs, two mounted with chain guns, one with a gauss cannon, and one transport in the back filled with marines, all firing away at the road block of aliens in front of them. Two-hundred and fifty pounds of alien flesh couldn't stand up to eight tons of alloy steel at forty miles an hour, as the first brazen elite who stood in the trucks path was run down while his friends were quickly cut up by dozens of .50 caliber rounds punching through them.
"Damn you boys have good timing!" John shouted down to the jeeps that had stopped to clear the alien hardware out of the way. "Another minute or two and we'd be toast!"
"Well sir, today's your lucky day! Jump in!"
0700 hours, October 30/2552
On unknown local road to Major Owens' CP
"Come on! We've run farther, faster before! We can make this!" yelled Mike Webb, the ranking Private in what was left of 2nd squad. "We've only got a couple hundred feet more to go!"
The CP was in an old warehouse that had two large doors for an entrance and enough room for the entire company inside. The marine were about 100 feet from the doors when a massive blue explosion shot out of the roof of the building, stopping the them all in their tracks. Out of the blue hell came a beautifully burnt and scared Pelican, that looked like it had just escaped from the grips of Satan himself. The pilot had seen the marines and landed just behind them.
Major Owens hung out the back door and screamed, "Get in here now! Their everywhere, and they've got more troops than we do ammo, so come on!"
Everyone piled into the practically empty Pelican and strapped the four point harnesses around them. The Pelican took off at full throttle, and headed west towards the 112 W, and away from the twelve Shadows that had emerged from the warehouse.
"Strap in, this is shaping up to get rough." Major Owens warned as he strapped himself in to the first seat on the left.
"Sir, where are the rest of your men?"
"Back there, only me and these two SOB's got out" the major was pointing back to the crumbling mess that was a Tempt Industries warehouse.
The ash covered Pelican screamed toward the entrance to the 112 west underground highway. Four Banshees dropped in behind them and struggled to keep up.
"Aw hell, sir, where's your rear turret?" Anastasia tried to get the Major's attention, but couldn't be heard over the un-muffled afterburners.
The sun disappeared as the ship entered the tunnel, and the blue-white light of the plasma weapons being fired at them from the ground troops that had saturated the area.
"Wallace! Roll 'em out!" Owens shouted to his men and all three of them primed and rolled a grenade right out of the back door, and right onto the Covenants heads.
"Nice trick sir!" various comments came from 2nd squad. The pilot's voice crackled over the comm, "We've got a steep drop coming up and we're going to fast," only static could be heard for a second, "Hold on!" The engines outside went dead, and the four Banshees began to catch up. The nose of the ship dropped down and the roof of the tunnel came closer, until the decent of the ship matched the grade of the hill. When the Pelican had cleared the apex of the hill, the engines tried to fire back up but stumbled and cut out again. By now the Banshees had closed the gap, and opened fire, but couldn't compensate for the speed at which the Pelican fell. Plasma bolts scoured the roof of the troop bay and ricocheted off of the landing gear. The engine suddenly came back to life with a tremendous backfire, and began to lift the ship again. The bottom of the ship came so close to the ground that it took the head clean off one of the attacking Jackals. Everyone in the cramped space, and the ship itself, grunted from the extreme G's created by the abrupt change in direction. Three of the four Banshees followed the larger craft with ease, except for one who took the slope too hard and slammed into the ground just behind the decapitated Jackal, blowing out both engine and skidding to a halt.
"Aw man! Now lets see your bird do that!" one of the marines gestured to Mike, who was turning green from the G-forces. "Looks like we got a light weight here sir!" The Corporal's mood was surprisingly light considering their situation.
The pilot's voice came into everyone helmet again, "Sorry about that one, but I ca, Hold on!" the pilot cut his sentence short and the Pelican made a very sharp right turn, pinning everyone back into their seats. Mike lost his gut right out the back door.
"Ha! I told you he'd pop!" the bald marine elbowed his CO in the side. The pilot came back over the comm, "Sorry about that to, but I can't find a way outta this rats nest. The map shows, whoa!" the pilot stopped as he dodged what could have only been a projectile from a wraith. The blue blob of sun missed the Pelican by a couple of feet, and sailed back and impacted square in the face of one of the pursuing Banshees, taking their number down to two.
"Sorry about that one to, but the map shows a couple service vents one the next level, but it'll be tight."
"I don't care, if it gets us outta here, than take it!" Owens replied to the pilots concern.
"Alright, but make sure your strapped in, cause there won't be time for a rescue if you fall out. You have been warned," the pilots response was cold and serious.
The Pelican flew, ridiculously fast, through the tunnels while being fired on from all sorts of things below. A convoy of Shadows were torn apart by six archer missiles from the wing mounted launchers.
"Sir we have a problem, the bulk-head doors to the lower level have closed. What should we do?" the pilots concern was well deserved, if they didn't get to the lower level, they would have to go back the way they came.
"Can you blast through it?"
"Maybe, it hasn't closed all the way, so we may be able to shoot and squeeze through, but it'll be rough."
"This whole damn trip is rough, just do it."
"But sir we cou-"
"Don't think, just act."
"…..yes sir," the comm clicked off and the engines roared.
Owens turned to Hank, who still had a rocket launcher hooked to floor, "Hand me that bug buster!" he couldn't be heard over the engines so he had to just point. Hank slid the launcher back to him, and the marine turned, sighted, and fired the weapon in one swift move. The rocket spun through the air and incinerated what was a Banshee, and through molted metal at the other. He tried to fire again, but only felt a dry click. He grumbled something and threw the launcher out onto the ground.
The sound of the archer missile pods empting out onto the foot thick bulk-head. The metal around the space between the two halves began to peal back and boil, almost to the point were the ship could fit through perfectly. Almost. The ship squeezed between the two pieces at sixty miles an hour, splitting the doors apart, and bending the cockpit out of shape almost taking them all out of commission for the long hall. The ship burst through the gap and came to a skidding halt on the other side. It landed on the dark ground just before a steep decline that would bring them down to the lower level. The engines were still running, but they weren't moving anywhere.
"Steve, Steve you alright?" the major checked on his pilot over the comm.
"Yea, yea I think so, but we cracked a few view ports, and I think Matt got knocked out in the process though, but he's breathing."
"He'll be fine for now, just get us the hell outta here."
"Yes sir."
The Pelican slowly lifted off the ground, and proceeded down the dark, empty tunnel. The one navigation light that was still intact on the front lit the way down into the lowest level of the underground tunnel system.
"Must have been the first evacuated, cause it is empty as a crypt in here."
"Lets hope your wrong."
The pilots comment faded out into the dark of the tunnel, which was only disturbed by the ventilation fans and an occasional yelp from the grunts on the other side of the door. The empty tunnel didn't have as much as a rumpled newspaper on the ground.
"Steve, stop the ship a minute," Mike told the pilot.
"What's the problem here private?" Owens questioned.
"Sir. Look."
"What are you freaking out about? Oh, Steve, get us out now!"
"But sir-"
"Now!"
A spot on the right tunnel wall about twenty feet tall was glowing a low faint glow, and pulsing brighter every second. The Pelican was about five-hundred feet from the now tomato red spot exploded out with the force of a thousand grenades, and a wraith shot out and turned to face them. Every time it fired at the marines its shot would impact on some hit the ceiling and shower sparks over everything. The slow moving beast was left behind by the pair of Ghosts that flew out of the molten hole and took up the chase where the others left off. All the marines opened up on the pair, and one of them skidded to a halt when one of Mike's rounds pierced its drivers head. The other continued the chase until a Shadow pulled out from the left side, where two tunnels merged. Steve swerved the Pelican hard to the right to avoid the Shadow, while the inexperienced Ghost slammed into it and rolled underneath and was flattened.
"Hold on to anything valuable!" Steve yelled over the mike as the ship pulled straight up through a large grate, and what used to be a rack of small mixing fans. Everyone was pulled toward the open bay door in the back as the ships engines were pushed to their limits to propel it up the two-hundred foot shaft and to freedom. The burnt ship burst out through another heavy grate and into the bright sun on a concrete island in the middle of the bay. The engines cut out in mid-air and the craft dropped down like a rock. The landing gear came down and the ship landed very hard and began to purge oil and coolant with what seemed like a heavy sign of relief.
"Woo! Again! Again! I want to go on again!" the bald marine's mood was as light as ever.
"No Wallace, I told you only once. Now get out here before you hurt yourself," the majors mood was just as light.
"That has got to be up there in the top ten funniest things that I've ever ridden this thing through," the other marine finally spoke up. The cockpit door opened and Steve stumbled out and jumped down beside Wallace.
"Thank you ladies and gents for flying crazy marine air, have a safe and joyous trip," This was obviously a light hearted group.
"Yo! Steve! Come look at your exhaust vents!" About three minutes of serious laughter later, that nobody in second squad understood, the men walked back holding a burnt, black, twisted piece of metal that was explained to be a part of the exhaust system.
"Yea, and see where it gets all curvy and shriveled, that's supposed to be a vent," Steve explained to the 2nd, who still didn't get it.
"Aw, don't worry about it, it's a mechanic thing. We've flown her through worse though, look we still have all four engines," the pilot turned to the major, "remember when we had to 'recon' those militia in Siberia?"
"Don't remind me, now come on, I just remembered we still have to get Matt out."
"This'll be interesting."
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