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Halo 2: Uprising - Chapter 5
Posted By: Mad Max<madmax6251991@hotmail.com>
Date: 17 January 2008, 2:17 am
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Chapter 5
Portside Shipping, en route to Fire Control Center
Cairo Orbital Defense Platform
October 20, 2552 (Military Calendar)
Portside Shipping was one of the larger sections of the Cairo. To the Chief's right was a large window that displayed a view of Earth and the Cairo's MAC gun. If one looked, one might've thought that the floor dropped off, but in reality a massive lift used for the loading and unloading of ordinance sat at the very bottom. According to the Chief's tactical map overlay, a control panel was at the front of the lift that almost covered then entire front end, but stopped just short. This control panel helped to gauge the weight of each item to ensure that the lift's maximum weight capacity of five tons was kept within the limit. It also scanned each item for possible traces of biological and chemical-grade material.
As the Chief skimmed the readout on his HUD, he frowned. The report indicated that the lift rose up on slanted walls, which to him meant that if he wanted to get down, he'd have to slide down and if he overshot his jump onto the lift, he could possibly fly over and bounce off a wall.
It's a risk, John thought. But since when do Spartans not take risks?
His ultimate goal was another airlock at the bottom that would lead to a portion of the MAC gun, then Fire Control.
There were two Marines before him. His HUD displayed their names: PVT. WHEELER and CPL. COOK.
When the pair sensed the Chief's prescense, they both took an involuntary step back. Like many within the rank-and-file, they had only heard rumors of the Spartans' existence and had never seen one in the flesh. The Chief was used to such reactions, however, and it didn't bother him in the least.
"Corporal Cook," the Spartan said, "what is your status?"
"Sir!" The corporal snapped straight. "My squad and I were engaged in a firefight on the other side of this door." The young man crooked his thumb over his shoulder to the bulkhead behind him. "We were heavily outnumbered and our only option was to retreat."
"We didn't know where we were going," Private Wheeler added. "Our guys were falling quick and when the corporal and I got through the door, we were the only ones left." His voice became quiet and his gaze lowered to the floor.
"The only choice I had was to close the blastdoor and seal it, sir," Corporal Cook finished. "I did what I had to do."
The Master Chief nodded. "Aren't we all..." he mused, more to himself then to the Marines.
A voice entered his speakers. "First echelon, you're with me, blanket those cruisers, take 'em out one by one." A trio of Longsword Interceptors flew past the massive viewport. "Second echelon, keep those carriers busy!"
No doubt the voice had belonged to a Longsword commander, as another trio of the large bombers blazed past the window in the opposite direction of the first trio.
"Registering all hostile vessels inside the killzone," Cortana interjected. "Thirteen cruisers, two assault carriers. I'm going loud!"
John, Wheeler, and Cook turned to look out into space. The huge MAC gun visible through the bay window came to life, the massive rail flaring and lifting to the cannon's peak. It slammed back down as a shell burst from the tip, accelerating towards one of the Covenant warships. In the background, the Chief saw the other orbital platforms and some UNSC ships fire at the fleet. The Covenant ships he could see were charging their weapons, preparing to fire as they advanced.
The Spartan watched the chaos unfold behind the Cairo's MAC gun. He longed to be on the ground fighting the aliens face-to-face. It was where Spartans operated the best. The Master Chief could basically fight in any type of environment and survive in it: the zero-gravity atmosphere of the loading dock on Reach, the snowy valleys and grimey swamps of Halo, the arid plains of Jericho VII, the forests and urban areas of Sigma Octanus IV--he could go on and on, but the one thing he hated above all was being on a ship or a defense platform above a planet. The possibility of death in the form of superheated plasma, without any control of the outcome, wasn't appealing and even greatly disturbing at times. The Spartan knew he wasn't the only one who shared his concerns.
"Corporal," he finally said, his gaze still locked on the space battle. "You and Wheeler stay here and provide covering fire if need be. I'm going to take a peek down the lift."
"Aye, sir," Cook replied. Wheeler didn't say a word; he ackeknowledged the Chief with a nod, but his BR55 had never trailed away from the lift's position.
The Chief was in the middle of the room, creeping toward the lip of the floor when Private Wheeler called out to him.
"Sir!" he exclaimed. "I think Cook here forgot to mention something, no offense, sir." The corporal shrugged, indicating that he didn't mind that the private had remembered what he had forgotten, but now knew exactly what Wheeler was referring to.
"Anyways," Wheeler continued. "A few minutes after we shut ourselves in here, we heard this...droning noise."
"Droning, you say?" the Chief asked, turning all the way around to face the Marine.
Private Wheeler nodded. "Yes, sir. We barely heard it at first, but we noticed that it faded in and out. Like it would come for a few minutes and then stop."
"What kind of droning?" John's gut was telling him that an ambush was right around the corner. Instinctively, he check his battle rifle to make sure it was loaded and then felt his back for the shotgun.
"It sounded like a--"
A faint murmur of sound started drifting up from the lift. The noise started to grow in volume; it almost sounded like a swarm of bees.
"Like, like that sir!" Wheeler stuttered, his eyes snapped wide open. His grasp on the battle riflr tightened, so tight that his knuckles turned ivory.
"Are they ready, Major?" Zavi asked.
"Yes, Commander," the Elite Major replied. "My team is in position and ready to attack. Our friends have been in position for quite some time actually. If my translation software is correct, they're eager for his blood."
"Indeed, Major, but aren't we all?" He paused. "Anyways, good work. Report back when your objective is complete. Don't disappoint the Prophet."
"I will not fail the Great Journey," the other Elite snarled as the line snapped off.
He seems unusually edgy, Zavi thought. Then again, he reasoned that if he were going up against his enemy's most prized soldier out of the blue, he wouldn't be in the best mood either.
The Field Master's plan had been sound. Due to being tapped into the interloper's communication grid, he was constantly being kept up-to-date on every Human on the station if need be. While this was great, the Field Master had tasked his personal subordinates with monitoring any traffic regarding the Demon.
Zavi had learned from Yiris that he had managed to triangulate the Demon's signal via an infiltration probe that Yiris' personal technician had installed within the Humans' electrical wiring. The technician had sweated over his portable palm-sized computer tablet, tracing and retracing the signal until he was fully locked-in and a unbreakable connection was established.
The Field Master then tracked where the Demon would be going next, and had ordered Zavi to link up with the closet team relative to the Demon's position; miraculously enough, the team was right where Yiris needed them. And according to combat reports, the Demon had yet to face the Covenant's newest addition.
Maybe that will throw him off-guard, Commander 'Peutomee thought with a smile.
The buzzing was now at its loudest, and the next thing Chief knew, he thought some kind of insect flew up, followed by another, and then dozens of them swarmed around the room.
The insect-like creatures had sets of insectoid legs and long slender arms covered in spikes, as well as a near-translucent set of wings. Their skin was a combination of sickly blues, green, and purples. The creatures' heads were triangular, with a snout protruding out. The green eyes were unwavering as they took aim at the human trio from the air; the antennae just above their eyes stood ramrod straight.
"Holy shit!" Private Wheeler screamed. "What the fuck are those things?!"
"Open fire, Wheeler!" Corporal Cook ordered, firing his own BR55. He was finding it incredibly hard to hit the flying bugs, and the plasma and needler fire raining at him didn't help much either.
"Damn it! I'm out!" Cook cried. "Wheeler, cover the Chief!" Cook ducked behind his barricade, reaching for a fresh magazine for his battle rifle.
The Master Chief was taken aback by the briefly overwhelming force of the enemy, and worse, he was in the open and exposed. He immediately began back-pedaling towards the Marines, firing his battle rifle non-stop. He only managed to kill two of the insects, who were roughly the size of Grunts, but the majority were extremely agile. He noticed them sticking to walls on the sides of the room and even the ceiling. He ran out of bullets just as he got to cover.
Wheeler shot one clinging to the ceiling, and it started to free-fall, flailing its spiney arms on the descent to the floor. Mustard-colored blood spattered down a second later.
Clever little bastards, the Chief thought. No shields either. But they have agility and numbers on their side.
He knew that the flying insects had the advantage due to their ability to fly around. It was a classic yet simple tactic that had tipped the tides in wars and battles of centuries past: seek the higher ground whenever possible, as it makes ofr a great defense position. Currently, the bugs had the higher ground, and they had clear shots at the Marines and the Spartan.
Cook's and Wheeler's shots were panicked jerks of the trigger rather than patient, precise squeezes. If the pair didn't straighten their shots up, they'd soon be dead.
"Marines! Tighten those shots up!" John popped out from cover, tracked one of the bugs, fired, then returned to the safety of the barricade as the bug crashed, dead. "Do not panic. If you anticipate their flight path, shoot where they will land!"
After that, the weapons fire from the pair increased in accuracy and more of the Covenant bugs fell. He had started thinking of them as Drones because of their insectoid, monotone hums.
As the last one fell, John proceeded forward towards one of the bodies and stopped to look it over. He crouched on one knee and tentatively reached out to touch one of its arms. The body was starting to lose some of its color, and the Drone's limb felt brittle. Strange considering that during combat, he thought they looked very durable.
Maybe the bones get brittle when they die, the Master Chief wondered. He wouldn't know for sure, but he checked to make sure his helmet's mission camera was recording.
"What the hell are they, sir?" Corporal Cook asked, standing a few feet behind the Spartan. Private Wheeler walked up and joined Cook at his side.
John let go of the arm. "They're new to me," he replied as he stood. He turned to face the Marine pair. "I've never encountered them before."
He looked in the direction of Fire Control on the other side of the Cairo. The Covenant vessels were now much closer to Earth, and the UNSC was still engaged.
Turning back to Cook and Wheeler, he said, "Whenever you two are debriefed, make sure to mention your contact with this new species of Covenant. But for now, I need to get to Fire Control, so hunker down and wait."
"Yes, sir," the pair replied.
The Master Chief turned back toward the window, gave it one final glance, and trodded toward the edge. He looked down at the bottom and saw a mass gathering of Grunts and Elites down at the airlock.
Without a second thought, he holstered his battle rifle with his right hand, unslung the shotgun with his left hand in one smooth motion, and jumped.
Two seconds later, his boots hit the sloped surface. He crouched to decrease his speed, but he wasn't adjusting quick enough for the rapidly-advancing platform. A few sparks started flying and the screech generated by John's contact with the metal slope attracted the attention of the Covenant below.
A volley of green and cyan plasma slashed toward the Chief, battering his shield. With his left hand, he snatched a frag grenade from his waist and held it until he was about to reach the lift. John strong-armed the explosive device over the lift's control panel. Using the muscles in his lower legs, he tensed then pushed off the slope, tucking his knees toward his chest.
He felt his boots hit the lift, but the extra momentum swiftly pulled him off his feet again. The Master Chief scrunched in and rolled to avoid a head-first collision with the control panel. He turned his back toward the panel and collided a second later.
The grenade's detonation followed soon after.
The cries of Grunts pierced his suit's speakers as they sailed through the air on random vectors.
The Spartan checked his armor for any malfunctions and breaches and other than some minor damage to his boots from sliding, he was fine. Slowly, he looked around his immediate area. His motion sensor displayed angry red blobs that moved and ceased every few seconds; the enemy was directly behind and below his position. The Chief crawled onto his hands, took up a low crouch and used the wide panel for cover. He pumped the M90, exhaled deeply, and stood.
John sighted on the closet alien, a wounded Grunt sloppily firing its plasma pistol at him, missing every time. One shell to the chest plate put the little runt out of comission. John sweeped to his right, aimed at an Elite, and blasted through its shields, then took off its head.
In his peripheral vision, he saw a bright blue sphere light up.
"Holy light!" an Elite announced through his translation software.
It was all the warning he had before the unmistakable plasma grenade was flying in his direction. He whipped his head to the right as the deadly device sailed by his head, missing by a few inches. He could feel the heat generated by the grenade for only a moment, then it faded away as it stuck to the lift's floor behind him.
The Chief leaped over the control panel in the direction of where the grenade had originated. The enemy grenade exploded behind him, but he was safe from the blast. He thought he saw a hint of maroon armor sticking out from behind a metal box. John lunged toward the other side of the crate, shoving the butt of his shotgun to his right.
The Elite Major howled as its shield flared, but held. John pumped the close-quarters weapon, and blew a foot-sized hole in the alien's gut, causing purple blood to leak out and a three-inch strand of greyish-yellow intestine to poke out.
The creature dropped to its knees. Its four mouth parts were starting to open in shock as it struggled to keep its entrails within itself. Purple blood started to pool at its legs. It looked up at the Chief with a look he had never seen on the face of any Covenant soldier in his entire campaign.
The Elite displayed pure fear. Almost as though it was begging him not to kill him.
"Demon...please...don't..." The near-inaudible groan that his suit's COM translated startled him. The Chief took a step forward and the kneeling Elite scooted back in response, emitting a pained grunt.
The Master Chief thought of the billions of innocent civilians that had once lived throughout the Inner and Outer Colonies; the genocide of a colony's entire people. He thought of all the Marines and naval personnel who had given their lives to beat back a seemingly invulernable opponent and protect humanity's most guarded secret.
But what made his stomach boil with rage were the deaths of his fellow Spartans. They were his brothers and sisters; they were his family, the only family he had. Even with the many physical augmentations and Dr. Halsey's MJOLNIR armor, it still hadn't saved the majority of them from uncontrollable deaths; James in particular came to mind. He had bounced off one of Reach's docking stations in zero gravity, and the force of his impact had blasted him into space, leaving him to die a slow painful death while his suit's ability to function in space ceased.
And here was an Elite, one of the Covenant's mightest warriors, asking him not to kill him. Did this alien expect to be spared?
You've murdered countless scores of my people, the Chief thought. Your kind have shown no mercy, no remorse, no regrets. I won't be any different.
John shook his head at the Elite, raised his shotgun, pumped the slide, and fired.
The buckshot hit with such force that it blew the Elite off its knees and pinned it against the crate. The shot had been intended for the creature's head but had instead hit the alien's chest plate and neck; the neck was shredded up so bad that it was almost fully decapitated. The head was connected by a small band of tissue, muscle, and skin.
The room was silent except for the occassional hollow sounds of the Cairo's MAC gun loading and firing. Somehow John felt empty as he loaded three shells into the top of the M90. He cursed himself for letting his temper get the better of him. Yet he couldn't help but feel guilty for being so brutal with the Elite. He had shown genuine fear, the Chief could tell he hadn't been faking, and he could've left him to die of his wounds.
But then he thought about what it must've been like for a civilian or the last surviving Marine in his unit confronted by a Covenant alien. Had they begged just like the Elite had? Pleaded for their survival? Most likely, but had they been spared? The Chief didn't think so because that wasn't how the Covenant operated. But admittingly the Covenant were doing many unusual things as of late that didn't make sense to him.
The Chief stuffed his conflicting thoughts to the back-burner as the familiar moan of his COM hummed to life.
"The carriers are breaking through, sir!" Fleet Admiral Harper cried. "They're heading straight for the Cairo!"
"Cortana!" Admiral Lord Hood said. "Concentrate your fire on the first carrier! Admiral, do what you can against the second."
After a five second pause, Fleet Admiral Harper came back on the COM: "Everyone, form up, follow my lead!"
John watched through the window overhead as one of the Covenant carriers accelerated right past the Cairo towards Earth. He furrowed his brow in confusion, shrugged, then stepped into the airlock before him.
"The first carrier completely ignored us, sir!" Cortana informed urgently on the COM. "Blew through the Malta's debris field and headed straight for Earth!"
The Chief noticed a dead Marine laying on the deck in a pool of thick crimson. A battle rifle lay next to the body and John took the time to strip it of ammunition.
The airlock hissed and the doors parted. As soon as he stepped through on the MAC's recoil arm, he came under fire. His shield started to emit its shrill alarm as he ducked for cover behind a metal pillar jutting out and down from the hull above him.
John snaked a fiber-optic probe from a little compartment on the upper-right of his helmet. He bent it slightly and feld it around the corner.
At the far end of the recoil arm on a raised platform was an Elite manning a fixed plasma turrent, firing back and forth across the length of the Chief's side. Two Elites with jetpacks hovered close to the turrent's position. Upon zooming in with the probe, he discovered the alien behind the turrent had a jetpack as well.
Unslinging his BR55 and putting the M90 into the clip on his back, he retracted the probe back into his helmet. The Master Chief's options were limited: stay here and risk getting flanked or charge the Elites' position and surprise them.
Sighing and taking a deep breath, John raised the rifle to his shoulder and charged around the pillar.
Zavi 'Peutomee couldn't believe the cowardice that the Elite Major had displayed.
The radio transmission from the Major Domo kept replaying in his head, followed by the gunshot that undoubtably had been the Demon. He was utterly disgusted by the major's lack of will to fight to the death.
"Commander," Field Master 'Lupomee said through the Elite's speaker. "The Demon is currently on the recoil arm of their orbital cannon. After that, if our Rangers can't take them down..."
"Then we will kill him and mount his head!" Zavi snarled. The enemy was near, and his thirst for blood was in need of quenching.
"Good. If I don't hear back from you, I'll assume your dead. Otherwise, when he's dead, escape to the nearest boarding craft. Yiris out." The COM snapped off.
The only thing Commander 'Peutomee was thinking about was the Major Domo's cowardly last words and Zavi's own lack of fear.
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