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Survivalism: Part 1
Posted By: The Militant Poet<bkollmann@att.net>
Date: 11 October 2007, 4:05 am
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Part 1 – The Haven
0632 hours – August 30th, 2552
Forward Recon outpost Delta – Codename: Haven
The air was still and smooth as dawn approached. Complete silence overcame all other noise in the jungle except for the occasional interruption from passing birds. It was an almost disturbing calm. This morning was a rare occasion for the men occupying The Haven; they almost never felt at peace in this place. Thick walls of overgrowth and tree trunks seemed to claw at them every day – constantly trying to consume them in their meager establishment. They were completely cut off from the outside world, save one radio and an old, beaten path leading through the foliage.
Only a few tents dotted the small grotto where their camp was laid out. The smallest of the three, the armory, rested near the eastern tree line right next to the exit path. Another small tent sat opposite the armory nearly engulfed in overgrowth and tree limbs – The communications "center". The third, and larger tent, was established dead north in the camp. It had multiple "rooms" and even a make-shift garage. Unfortunately for its occupants, the garage hadn't had any inhabitants for a long time; if anybody had to make a break for it, they did it on foot. To the south end of the grotto, a small guard tower peeked its tall perch out of the canopy that covered the sky above the outpost. The endless layer of tree canopies was like a rolling ocean of green in front of the tower. From there, any amateur sniper could pick off a target from over a mile away.
In between the tents, the trap doors leading to the tunnel system that housed, fed, and hid the soldiers living there, rested shut. In the middle of all these structures and doors a small open grassy area freckled with ferns and moss-covered tree stumps sat in waiting for her tenants to emerge from the shadows and leaves. Every building, every sign of human life, was covered in camouflage netting, and erased from the face of Reach. A man could walk right into this place and not even know that ten highly trained killers were waiting all around him, stalking his every move.
A rustling in the grass cut the eerie quiet almost as soon as it started. A trap door in between the tower and the com station perked up ever so slightly, and the dim white of human eyes darted back and forth from within – scanning the area. Suddenly a whistle blared across the grotto; the "all clear" sign. All of the trap doors flung open in unison and no sooner than they hit the ground did almost a dozen men trot out from the depths of the tunnels. They were clad in black and dark grey baggy camouflage under clothes. On top of their fatigues several plates of matte-black armor were fastened securely on their legs, upper arms, fore arms, and thighs. The plates were layered and tied together so intricately that there cumbersome weight seemed nothing more than an extra layer of clothes. Their chest plate reached all the way from the lower part of their abdomen up to the middle of their neck, and over to the top of their shoulder-guards. It was protracted and bulged slightly from their natural chest to allow for extra armor, as well as few extra custom variations to fit each soldier. The sides of the chest plate circled around and under their arms to meet their back armor; a thick synthetic Kevlar – elastic compound that allowed for incredible flexibility without sacrificing protection to their spinal chord. Two smaller armored plates that rested on their upper backs just above their shoulder blades also accompanied the Kevlar for added fortification. The last and most intriguing part of their uniform was the helmet – a small dome with extensions that went along the jaw line and joined together at the mouth. Over the face a black reflective visor shielded any notion of facial expression; the very sight of this black abyss staring back at you would strike fear into the heart of any enemy.
The men poured out of the ground and quickly raised their weapons into the surrounding jungle. They swept their barrels back and forth for nearly a minute before they were sure nobody was watching.
"All right marines!" barked a soldier with a red band that stricken through his right shoulder plate, "boots on the line; move it!"
The other nine men gathered promptly in a straight line and faced the red-banded soldier at attention. The officer inspected the men and gave a nod of approval. Ducking his head down, he clasped the sides of his helmet and pulled it off. He shook his hair free of dust and dirt and took a deep breath of the humid jungle air.
"Alright," he said, "Here's the situation. The Covenant is on its way with a fleet that's bigger than anything we've ever seen before. They want this place, and they want it bad. The fleet is pulling together every ship it can to defend the planet from orbit, but they won't have a chance without the MAC's we have planet-side." He wiped his brow clear of sweat and started to slowly pace back and forth in front of the line, "Our job is to support the 5th infantry division in defense and fortification of the generators that power the guns west of the valley. The spooks in ONI think that the Covenant is going to jump in to space right over the heads of the 5th, so those generators are going to be taking landing parties early and often. Expect a lot of heat, but don't expect it to stop. A Pelican will pick us up at 0800 hours to take us to the generators. Until then, pack all the gear, ammo, weapons, and supplies that you can - we're going in heavy. Let's show those poor Covenant bastards what Hell jumpers are all about." A smirk started to form on the side of his lips.
He paused abruptly at the end of the line and spun sharply – facing down the row of soldiers. He looked at every one of their helmets one after another. He couldn't see their faces, but he knew who each one of them was. He had lived, trained, fought, and bled with all of them for the last five years, and he had been looking forward to this moment ever since day one. He was looking forward to the day he could die for them. "May God have mercy on their souls, for we will show them none."
As if on cue, all nine of the soldiers snapped a crisp salute accompanied by the loudest "Hoorah" that part of the jungle had ever seen. The officer fought back the smile that was trying to overcome the cold image he was trained to portray and returned the salute, "Dismissed!"
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