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Survivalism Part 2 - Leap of Faith
Posted By: The Militant Poet<bkollmann@att.net>
Date: 30 November 2007, 12:04 am
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Chapter 2 – Leap of Faith
0602 Hours – August 30th, 2552
Onboard Pelican Saber Three-Six en route to the fortified Generators
"This is Saber 3-6 – repeat: Saber 3-6," Called the pilot over the radio, "Requesting permission for immediate touchdown at LZ delta, Over."
Sergeant Delano Craig peered past his fellow soldier and into the cockpit in the nose of the ship, listening intently to the aviation jargon – it had a somewhat calming effect on him. The strange language that usually unfolded between pilots during a pre-mission flight always put his mind in another place – a place without war or suffering, a place where he could just sit back and listen. The short, stocky pilot sat at the controls as calm as ever. The ship rocked back and forth, conforming to the rolls and dips of the terrain below. Pilots like him were always nice to have around; taking their careful time to ensure each movement of their precious bird was as fluid as possible. That meant they had experience; that they could be counted on.
The pilot took a break from concentrating on the hills ahead to turn around to his passengers, "Things are starting to get nasty upstairs. The Brass needs you at the generators ASAP," he said, his voice ragged and war-weary. "I'm taking her fast and low, so hold on!"
"Not another bumpy ride!" jibed a soldier sitting in the middle of the row of crash-seats. The marines shared a short chuckle before being rudely interrupted by a sudden burst of acceleration. The Pelican leapt forward like a predator on its prey and descended to just above the layer of canopies below. Delano regained his balance in the seat and turned towards the cockpit again. In front and below the ship was a nauseating blur of greens, browns, and grays. Every once and a while a tall tree that poked above the rest threw the ship into a tight maneuver that jostled and whipped everyone around the cargo hold. Turn after turn, the Pelican winded through the terrain of Reach, creating an endless supply of obstacles in the way of such a bulky transport. In a desperate attempt to regain control of the ship after a nearly out of control bank, Delano felt the pilot crank the belly of the Pelican end over end in a rapid roll. The shoulder restraints in his crash seat tightened and dug in between his armor plating. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision. The gee forces were getting stronger by the second. He couldn't let them get the best of him – he had to fight to stay conscious with all of his might. His eyes grew heavy, and his muscles started to loose feeling. Physics were winning the battle. Suddenly his whole body was jerked into the armored interior wall behind him. His head snapped against the neck brace of the seat as the Pelican pulled out of the barrel roll and sharply arced up to a safer distance from the planet below. As the ship hit the apex of the ascent, huge streaks of light shot from the planet ahead and into space, followed by a tremendous roar that defied all not cower in fear. The blinding light seemed to drive the dizzying black out of his eyes. He pulled his head up and got a better look of the spectacle – it was the MAC's.
"That's your destination, boys," said the pilot, "ETA to touchdown in sixty seconds." The small band of marines unstrapped themselves from their seats and stood in two single file lines in front of the loading ramp. The floor panels underneath the sergeant jerked with a heavy thud as the Pelican touched down near the base of the generator complex, the hatch in the rear of the craft hissing open and lowering itself to the ground.. All ten of the ODST's marched out in an orderly fashion, hefting all of their gear in duffel bags and rucksacks. The site they walked into was a familiar one indeed – Warthogs of various configurations carted marines and supplies around the camp, while a few Scorpion crews readied their tanks for the upcoming engagement. Squads and platoons of engineers worked to place mine fields, bunkers, gun emplacements, and razor wire around the perimeter of the complex. Demolition crews could be heard in the distance clearing the surrounding tree line to give the defenders a better line of site as officers surveyed their progress with brutal scrutiny. Suddenly a full squadron of Longsword heavy fighters screamed over head and arced up into the orbital brawl above. It was an absolutely awe-inspiring situation. It almost pained the newly arrived marines to know that such hard work would be beaten and bashed soon enough.
The camp itself was large enough to fit a small town inside. The base of the complex was a web of make-shift trailers and one story concrete structures. The open ground outside the buildings spilled into an innumerable amount of small alleyways that ducked through the ground floor and led into the darkness of the inner structure. Around and above the ground level, a honeycomb superstructure of metal scaffolding danced around dozens of fifty meter high turbines, coolant towers, and venting structures. The labyrinth of structures and scaffolds built slowly up to the central generator tower that stood high above the rest of the complex. The giant smooth metal cylinder reverberated violently and shook everything around it for five hundred meters in every direction, and cast an ominous humming din over the camp. Del wondered what was more intimidating: The Covenant, or the complex they were now entering.
Craig fell in behind his superior officer and tried to keep pace as Lieutenant Travers led his men through the crowds of marines and chains of supplies moving about the camp. He walked quickly, and with purpose. His presence of authority and experience was not questioned as he weaved through the system of bunkers and trenches. Marines saluted as he strode by, surprised by the late arrival. They kept their form as the rest of the line of black-clad killers walked by, giving their respect to each and every one of them.
This place is huge. How can he possibly know where he's going? Delano thought.
They marched right up intertwined metal-grated staircases to a Bunker sitting on near the top of the complex on a high platform. The marines dropped their gear outside of the entrance and followed the Lieutenant inside. Sitting at a make-shift desk and smoking a fresh cigar was a tall, middle-aged man. His receding hair was nearly pure silver. Years of war had taken a huge toll on this weary soldier. Del corrected his assessment – officer. The blazer he wore was adorned with a rainbow of combat ribbons, and two meticulously polished silver stars were pinned to his collar. His face was rough and sorrowful. It was easy to tell the kind of hell this man had seen. His eyes drooped low, and the very skin on his face seemed to mourn with every injury it had to endure. Wrinkles and scars dotted his body, it was a wonder he was even able to stand up. He slowly walked towards his visitors and gave them a cordial nod. Upon spying the daunting insignia, all ten of them snapped a crisp salute and stood at attention.
"Major General Ramsey – Lieutenant Isaiah Travers. 105th Orbital Drop Shock Trooper division, 3rd recon Battalion, Squad Echo, Sir!" Travers exclaimed as he let down his salute. The old officer returned his salute and nodded in approval. Travers continued to stare straight ahead, "Requesting orders for the preparation of perimeter defense, and awaiting combat instructions."
"At ease…all of you," General Ramsey retorted in a low sigh, "I'm glad you showed up on time. I have an important task for you and your team. The Covenant by now probably have a landing site all picked out, and I'm willing to bet my pension it's going to be just over that ridge," he pointed out toward the direction of the neighboring valley – the location of the Haven, "That is the only point where it is possible to make an approach vector from orbit without getting blown to pieces. That means they will be coming right through the eastern tree line for the main assault. We can't take them head on, not if the reports from space are accurate. Your job is to lead Charlie Company from 8th Battalion through the northern tree line, and give updated reconnaissance reports on enemy positions. By the time they cross the tree line we'll be able to use your intel to position ourselves accordingly. Once the Covenant lines engage the complex defenses, you are to flank their rear lines and engage in sporadic guerrilla assaults in the forest to soften up the attack. Hopefully a two-sided front will be enough to stave off the main offensive until our reinforcements arrive."
"Sir," Delano broke in, "With all due respect, why can't the covenant just hit the generators form orbit?"
The aged officer turned sharply to the interruption, half surprised by the question, "Has all that time in jungle made you stupid, boy? If that was possible without getting shredded by the MAC defense web, don't you think they would have tried that by now?" The general snapped in a condescending tone, "The only way they can get close enough to disable the generators is to take it in a ground fight. That, my boy, is why we're all sitting here today."
"Yes, sir," The sergeant responded, still pondering the new orders, "And who – or what – are we getting for reinforcements? There's not another free infantry detachment for fifty clicks in each direction, and the 4th Armored was still tied up in the Highlands last time I checked, sir."
The General, again surprised and annoyed by the question, turned back out to window in the bunker. He faced the bustling camp below, inspecting the fortification process with eagle eyes. Beyond the perimeter, the Eastern tree line waited for the coming battle, and stared back at the trenches full of nervous marines. Ramsey cocked his head back to Delano, Travers, and the rest of the small ODST detachment, "We're not getting a division, son," he paused for a few seconds and a little smirk perked up the corner of his lip, "We're getting Spartans."
0622 Hours, August 30th, 2552
UNSC Vessel Pillar of Autumn, Epsilon Eridani system near Reach Station Gamma
SPARTAN–064, Jonas, marched around the deck, weaving through the various naval personnel and his fellow Spartans. He was busy amassing his combat gear for the upcoming battle. He packed an entire rucksack full of ammunition clips, an MA5B assault rifle, a magnum pistol, medical gear, grenades, and even some captured Covenant weaponry. Usually the spooks at ONI confiscated foreign weaponry after mission debriefings, but they made a special exception for Spartans – any weapons they needed, they got. He picked up a few Jackal arm shields and tested them. The small bands emitted an almost hypnotic glowing disk of shimmering energy that extended about a half meter on all sides. Satisfied that they were in working order he dropped them into the bag. Next he picked up two captured energy swords – his personal favorite tool of destruction. Jonas loved hand to hand combat. Any opportunity to get up close and personal with an enemy was one he always exploited. Whenever he faced his fellow Spartans in close quarters combat drills, he always won. When he faced Kelly, however, that was a different story. Most of the Spartans never even count sparring matches with her, they always ended in humility. Damn her, she was just too fast. The only other Spartan to ever beat him was his team leader, SPARTAN -117. Then again, being beaten only by the Master Chief himself is an accomplishment all its own. Jonas tossed them in as well and closed the bag. His last piece of equipment rested on the table – his knife. The twenty centimeter blade was flawlessly polished to its natural matte-black sheen and the high carbon steel handle was perfectly balanced for throwing. He picked it up, twirled the hilt to the correct position, and sheathed it in one reflex-like movement. With his personal arsenal complete, he stowed his gear away in the Pelican on the far side of the deck and jogged back to his team mates.
Just as he arrived the ship leaned subtly and slowly listed back on to a new course. That was never a good sign. He looked over to his left and saw Frederick sheathing his combat knife in front of a terrified crowd of deck workers. Jonas and the rest of the Spartans then turned their attention to their leader, SPARTAN 117. The Master Chief was having a short briefing with Captain Keyes on a private com screen, another nerve racking complication. Jonas concentrated hard on the conversation trying to gain whatever information he could.
"Master Chief," the captain said, "I believe the Covenant will use a pinpoint Slipspace jump to position just off the space dock. They may try to get their troops on the station before the Super MAC Guns can take out their ships. This will be a difficult mission, Chief. I'm…Open to suggestions."
"We can take care of it," the Chief replied confidently.
The Captain titled his head and leaned forward to the screen in intrigue, "How exactly, Master Chief?"
SPARTAN – 117 stood firm, "With all due respect, sir, Spartans are trained to handle difficult missions. I'll split my squad. Three will board the space dock and make sure that NAV data does not fall into the Covenant's hands. The remainder of the Spartans will go groundside and repel the invasion forces."
Captain Keyes Frowned in disapproval, "No, Master Chief. It's too risky – we've got to make sure the Covenant don't get that NAV data. We'll use a nuclear mine, set it close to the docking ring, and detonate it."
"Sir," The Chief responded with a slight hint of frustration, "the EMP will burn out the superconductive coils of the orbital guns. And if you use the Pillar of Autumn's conventional weapons, the NAV database may still survive. If the Covenant search the wreckage – they may obtain the data."
"True," Keyes said, tapping the butt of his pipe to his chin, "Very well, Master chief. We'll go with your suggestion. I'll plot a course over to the docking Station. Ready your Spartans and prep two drop ships. We'll launch you – "He looked to his left and consulted with Cortana."– in five minutes."
"Aye, Captain. We'll be ready."
"Good luck," Captain Keyes said, and the view screen went black.
Jonas stood in line with the rest of the team. As the Chief turned around to face them, Kelly shot forward, "Master Chief," she said, "permission to lead the space op."
"Denied," The chief responded promptly, "I'll be leading that one. Linda and James, you're with me." He turned towards SPARTAN -104, "Fred, you're red team leader. You'll have tactical command of the ground operation."
"Sir!" Fred shouted, hesitating slightly, "Yes, sir!"
"Now make ready," The Master Chief ordered. "We don't have much time left."
All of them stood a moment in silence, contemplating the new mission. Kelly broke the silence, "Attention!" she shouted. The Spartans snapped to attention and gave a sharp salute to the Chief, which he returned instantly.
Fred came over Red Team's all-hands frequency, "Let's move, Spartans! I want gear stowed in ninety seconds, and final prep in five minutes. Joshua: Liaise with Cortana and get me current Intel on the drop area – I don't care if it's just weather Satellite imagery, but I want pictures, and I want them ninety seconds ago."
RED TEAM broke out and quickly stowed the rest of the gear and made final preparations. The deck was almost completely silent as the Spartans worked in their systematic peace. Nervousness and slacking were nowhere to be found. There was a mission to complete, and nothing was going to stand in their way.
0628 hours, August 30th, 2552
On board Pelican Bravo – One en route to surface of Reach
"Better hang on," the pilot shouted to Jonas and the rest of Red team in the back of the Pelican, "Company's coming."
In the troop bay of the ship, twenty seven Spartans were crammed together, holding on for dear life as the stripped down transport plummeted towards Reach's Atmosphere. The inside of the Pelican had been completely gutted. The crash seats that usually seated marines were discarded to make room, along with the life support generators that lined the dividing wall between the pilots and passengers, increasing free space. Usually these modifications could be lethal to those who rode in such a warhorse, but it was the only way to fit so many Spartans in one ship. If anybody could handle an uncomfortable trip it was them.
Jonas was squeezed in on the port wall of the ship near the cockpit. He could feel the heat emanating from the Titanium – A panels as a burst of energy slammed into the side of the Pelican. Things are getting ugly out there, he thought.
"Bravo-One to Knife Two-Six: I could use a little help here." The pilot barked over the COM. He swerved the Pelican to the left and rolled to avoid a massive chunk of debris. The Spartans could tell the situation was getting worse out there. Dull thumps creaked at the hull of the ship every few seconds from all directions– MAC rounds.
The nervous Spartan worried to himself, There must be hundreds of Covenant ships out there to be creating that much chaos.
"Bravo-One to Knife Two-Six, where the hell are you?" the pilot yelled again.
Immediately after the second cry for help, the rumbling of engines vibrated through the ship. Something was just outside. A wedge-shaped fighter dropped into position just in front and above the Pelican. The rumbling must have been from its wing men – at last a good sign. Streams of plasma bolts blurred across the front view port of the ship and caught Jonas's attention. The rumbling left the pelican and broke off towards the direction of the plasma. The forward Long sword fighter, however, stayed to escort the transport. The Pilot kicked the engines into full burn and accelerated towards the Planet at what would be nauseating speeds for normal humans. The Spartans held tight and remained silent.
"Negative," the pilot said responding to unheard radio chatter. "We're getting to the surface fast – or we're not getting there at all. Enemy contacts on my scopes at four by three o' clock."
Jonas didn't like what he was hearing. Their lives being exchanged at the cost of being there thirty seconds early was hardly a good trade off, but he couldn't do anything about it. What he could do, however, was sit back and enjoy the ride and hope that the pilot was smart enough not to hit something on the way down. The Longsword ahead peeled off into a tight roll and engaged a new threat. Something told Jonas that brave fighter pilot would never be coming back. The Pelican continued its death dive towards the surface, faint flames flickering on and off around the nose of the ship as they entered the atmosphere. They changed colors from yellow, to blue, to red, and finally to a painfully bright orange.
"Brace yourselves!" Fred shouted over the COM. The ship lunged to the right and nearly tossed everyone aside. The Spartans slowly settled back down to the metal grating on the floor of the ship as gravity set in. Jonas always enjoyed the feeling. It felt like jumping into a pool, only the other way around. One moment you're free floating and the next you're greeted by an awkward re-introduction to weight and balance. It's a real shock to the senses. Jonas's pleasure was short lived. The Pelican rolled and dived to avoid enemy fire. An explosion rocked the hull form starboard side as plasma fire collided with the Titanium –A plating. Metal sizzled, melted, and peeled back. The cargo hold was blitzed with a cloud of super-heated fumes from the blast, but they were sucked out in a split second by the pressurized air rushing out of the ship. Morning sun beams poked through the gaping hole in the armor and tried to find a way through the maze of MJOLNIR armor inside. The Pelican listed to the left and began to slowly descend.
"Gotta shake 'em," The Pilot screamed to the Spartan passengers. "Hang on!"
The Pelican lurched forward and tried to accelerate from the attackers. The stabilizers were ripped away by the sheer force of the acceleration and the ship rolled uncontrollably towards the surface. The ground and sky flashed one after another at nauseating speeds as the Pelican fell violently through the air. Weapons, supplies, and gear was tossed about the ship and bags full of equipment were thrown out of the laceration in the armor.
"It's going to be a helluva hot drop, Spartans," the pilot yelled over the COM. "Autopilot's programmed to angle. Re-verse thrusters. Gees are takin' me out. I'll –"
The shock-resistant glass window in the viewport exploded and sent an onslaught of glass shards at the pilot. He was immediately skewered a hundred times over as glass spikes tore through flesh and bone. The Pilot was instantly killed – a very undesirable death.
SPARTAN – 029, Joshua was closest to the cockpit. He peered over and saw the bloodied pilot and the crumpled, charred nose of the Pelican. "Plasma blast," he said, "I'll reroute control to the terminal here." Jonas watched him hastily type in commands onto the wall-mounted key board with one hand, while the other dug into the metal bulkhead, trying to support him.
"Fire in the hole!" Jonas heard Kelly shout over the COM. The hatch in the rear of the Pelican exploded outward and spun away through the atmosphere. An intense heat washed over the Spartans as superheated air entered the troop bay. The trailing Covenant craft fired another volley of plasma at the Pelican, but the heat from the wake of the tumbling ship dispersed the plasma before it could make contact.
"Too hot for them," Kelly said. "We're on our own."
"Joshua," Fred called out. "Report."
"The autopilot's gone, and the cockpit controls are offline," the Spartan said. "I can counter our spin with thrusters." He furiously typed in a series of commands. The port engine roared and reverberated through the hull. The ship's roll slowed and it finally leveled out.
"Can we land?" Fred asked.
"Negative," He said. "The computer has no solution for our inbound vector. I'll buy us as much time as I can."
Although not a word was said, every Spartan in that compartment knew exactly what needed to be done. They had no parasails, no drop capsules, no jet packs, and no way to land. That left one option – jump.
"Get ready for a fast drop," Fred shouted. "Grab your gear. Pump your suits' hydrostatic gel to maximum pressure. Suck it up, Spartans – we're landing hard."
Jonas was nervous, a rare occasion for any Spartan. Under normal circumstances, the MJOLNIR armor might be able to withstand a hard fall. Hydrostatic gel combined with super-reinforced bones was a tough combination to break, but supersonic impact into solid ground was never even considered when the armor was designed. This jump would redefine the words "field test."
"Twelve thousand meters to go," Kelly shouted, leaning out the open hatch.
"Ready and aft. Jump on my mark." Fred barked over the team COM.
Jonas didn't even bother trying to carry his duffel. In a jump like this, it was questionable if even he would survive; let alone a bulky heap of weapons. He just reached inside and pulled out his MA5B and a handful of spare clips. After a quick inspection of the weapon, he shouldered the rifle and got in line got in line behind his team mates. He heard the Pelican's engines shriek and whine as Joshua tried to arc the craft into a more level vector. The Spartan reversed the thrusters and decelerated the ship to a dangerous glide. Joshua brought the flaps to bear and angled the nose up, again slowing the ship to below mach one. The Pelican's frame rippled from the force. Bolts and rivets popped under pressure and shot around the cabin like ricocheting bullets.
"Eight kilometers and this brick is still dropping fast," Kelly shouted back to the team.
"Joshua, get aft," Fred ordered.
Jonas turned his eyes to Joshua; he released his death grip on the bulkhead and pulled himself hand over hand to the hatch, "Affirmative."
The port engine finally gave out and exploded under the stress, and the ship was again sent into a downward spiral. The out of control tolls and spins sucked Kelly and the Spartans near the aft hatch out into the wind. Whether they liked it or not, Fred and the remaining soldiers had to jump too. They were out of time.
"Jump," Fred barked. "Spartans: Go, go, go!"
Jonas and the rest of the Spartans pulled themselves aft, defying the wind and gee forces. Ahead of him Fred latched on to Joshua and threw them both out of the ship. Jonas looked to his left where Malcolm stood waiting his turn.
"Well old friend," he said, "See you on the other side." He gave a slight nod and propelled himself out of the back in the world's longest and fastest swan dive. Jonas peered over the edge of the floor panels; Malcolm flew through the air, arms and legs outstretched to catch as much wind resistance as possible.
"You too, my friend...you too," Jonas whispered to himself. He went after Malcolm and followed his friend on the long fall to Reach.
I hope we make it.
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