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The Long Defense
Posted By: mr chief 17<joshspieker@yahoo.com>
Date: 27 May 2005, 5:04 PM
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Chapter 1.
Seargent Matthew McLaughlin watched longingly, as the last of the Pelicans, filled beyond capacity with civilians, lifted off, and accelerated toward the waiting Daughter of Autumn which would take them to Earth. Matt knew that the transports had been he and his men's last hope of getting to get off the planet. All three hundred marines, along with two Spartans, had elected to stay behind, and fight to the last; surrendering their armed Pelican's to as many desperate civilians as possible. There were still over fifty left behind, all men, who had volunteered to stay, and help in any way they could.
The structure that the marines were defending was a very solid strategic point. It had been called Outpost Atlantis, due to the Watery nature of the planet. Its appearance was relatively simple, dominated by a high square wall, which had parapets on the corners, each three levels in height. The wall itself was about twenty feet high, with the towers on the corners extending ten feet over that. A platform in the middle of the compound, standing forty feet high provided a commanding view of the vast valley in which the compound was installed. The large tower possessed four turrets on a big platform, designed to help guard the snipers who were stationed there. Within the grounds of the base, trenches had been recently dug, in a bull's-eye pattern all the way to the center. When the defense was breached, the marines could fall back, and reform, ensuring that the line was never broken and divided. Several Warthogs, which were dug into foxholes exposing only the tops of their turrets, guarded the sole obvious entrance into the bunker, a gate which was more than eight feet thick. If the gate was breached, three chain guns, and two gauss cannons would pour lead into the enemy. A Scorpion Battle Tank, which was encased in a custom-built bunker for air protection also covered the gate, along with all four walls should they be breached.
The sergeant turned to his men, who were standing grimly at attention. He saluted them, with tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He fought them off; knowing that if his men witnessed their commanding officer break down would quickly lead to the downfall of the defenders.
"Men, you see them say it in all of the movies, but I really mean it when I say that you are the best marines an officer has ever commanded. And unlike the movies, I have the proof to back up my claim. On Oloc Station, you held off all those bastards long enough for the civis to cross the bridge. You repelled the assassination attempt on Anamis that almost saw our Lord Hood killed. And now, you gave up your spots on the Pelicans. So I owe a no-BS briefing. We're going to die. You all know that. We're not important enough to get reinforced. So, we're going to go out fighting. We are going to take out as many of these bastards as we can. We will put every bullet we have into their skulls, and pile up their dead until they can climb the wall to get us. Then we will break out our boxing skills and knock the hell out of 'em. You guys are a heluva unit. I wouldn't want to die with any other men in the Corpse. So, I tell you what. We are gonna last at least the night, you hear? It's not that hard, seeing as we have a twenty foot wall between us and them. If we can last more than twenty four hours, they just might get scared and run, OK"
The marines cheered, and the morale of the group was raised slightly. They quickly settled down, and listened intently to the ensuing briefing.
"So, we will place all the snipers on the top floor of each parapet. Their job will be to target Covenant snipers. As soon as the battle goes to hell on any of the walls, then both towers of snipers facing closest the wall will exclusively target the Covenant about to breach, and give our boys a break. This should give us enough time to get over there. We will put the best six snipers we've got up on the sniper platform, who will aim specifically for any Elites who look like they might be leading the Covenant Op, or who are doing some damage. We will also put most of our rocket boys up on the parapets. They are to target Wraiths and Banshees before anything else. After that, they should fire on Ghosts or large bunches of Covenant troops."
Matt thanked God for the neutron storm that violently thundered overhead. There was some element in the storm that reacted with Covenant plasma, dispersing it into harmless particles before it hit the ground. ONI scientists were scrambling to find a way of manipulating this to their advantage. Regardless of what ONI did, however, the storm had saved their lives. One doom had just lead to another though, as the Covenant ships were inevitably landing soon.
One hour later, the defenses were prepared, as marines along the wall crouched and stood, facing all sides with their weapons bristling towards what would soon be the Covenant horde. Two Spartans stood above the gate, ready to rush to any breach that occurred, per their orders. They stood rigidly still, seemingly inactive, though they were undoubtedly conversing with each other. Minutes before, the long distance radar had picked up traces of a substantially large fleet. Matthew knew that there would be Covenant swarming over the surface immediately after the Covenant attempted to glass the planet and failed.
Presently, neon blue "rain" began to fall, signifying the bombardment. Matt knew that the rest of the planet would soon be completely dead, with the only patch of life left being the area covered by Neutron storms. Then, the rain halted, and Covenant ships were heard loudly descending into the adjacent valleys.
The defenders waited for hours, as the Covenant set up for their attack. Their movements were not difficult to trace, as the thunderous footfalls of their infinite number fell, gradually encircling the small UNSC base. Matthew knew that the first wave would be small, meant only to test the strength of the defenses. Preliminary estimates placed the strength of the Covenant fleet at over Eighty thousand soldiers, though more landed by the minute.
Then, the snipers on the platform began calling out targets, and their fire struck out simultaneously, creating an almost sonic crack. Elites were quickly dispensed, along with the few snipers that were contained in the enemy force.
Then, a wave of about a thousand Grunts, Jackals, Elites appeared over the hill, and unleashed hell from their weapons, triggering a violent and furious response. The small force was swiftly reduced to an ineffective rabble by precise firing from the walls. A dozen Banshees appeared over the ravine, but were destroyed almost instantly by rockets that outnumbered them many times over.
With minimal casualties, the marines eliminated the first Covenant wave, and cheered when the survivors attempting to escape were unlovingly eliminated by marine marksmen. Matthew assessed the damage done by the Covenant forces, and the civilians rushed underground to retrieve ammunition. It appeared that no more than a dozen marines had been wounded, and only eight had been killed. He knew, however, that the wave was not meant to cause any great damage, and that another, larger wave would be sent momentarily to start breaking the base. Then, they would send the last wave, which would be the final, killing blow. The aliens would be sent in a grand rush to overwhelm the defenders.
Solam'mee turned to face his army, proudly surveying the order and silence in which they stood. No other commander could make the Jackals stand silent, and the Grunt's stay still. They eyed him fearfully, not moving a muscle, in silent reverence. There were eight thousand of them, in his force alone. Eight thousand soldiers standing at attention, waiting for his command to be followed. Not one year ago, he was the proud squad leader in a group of only seven Special Operations Elites. Now he scoffed at the insignificance of that position. He had just received a communiquŽ from the Supreme Fleet Commander telling him that the second wave of the assault would begin soon.
The Field Commanders in the adjacent valleys each sent in their acknowledgement. Solam'mee followed shortly after and relayed the order of the Fleet Commander to his troops.
A gold-armored Zealot, Halen Zalm'ee marched up to Solam'mee and briskly bowed his head. Solam'mee inwardly snorted. The Zealots had always though that they were superior to all other Elite classes. Their "spiritual connection" with the Forerunner ensured that even the Prophets second-guessed insulting or punishing them.
"I have decided that I will lead the second wave against the humans."
"No, you will not. We need your abilities in the final wave against the bunker. I do not fear your sect, Zealot, as you do not fear mine. However, I am your superior, and you will return to your place."
Zalm'ee sneered at Solam'mee, spun on his heel, and strode away.
The white-plated Field Commander sent his troops to their doom emotionlessly. Every one of them could, and probably would die, for all he cared. He had more important things to attend to. As his tradition was before any battle, he would be going to his war room to meditate, pray, and focus. He knew that he would be leading the final assault on the human base. Experienced as he was, Solam'mee was well aware of the fact that humans prioritized leadership when picking targets. He had been hit by eight sniper rounds in his leadership, and yet was still alive. Obviously he was blessed by the Forerunner, more so, at least, than the audacious Zealots who had a seemingly innate ability to attract sniper fire. He departed for his chambers, gesturing for his bodyguards to follow him.
Nayay yelped as a battle rifle round embedded itself into the ground less than a foot away from him. He gazed up at the human bunker, and despaired. It was invincible. What were the Elites thinking? It would take nothing short of a Wraith battalion to destroy any bit of that wall. Projectiles lanced out all about him, shredding into his compatriots, or missing by mere inches. Nayay shrieked again when a bullet buzzed past his ear. All he could do was fire his pistol randomly and sporadically at the installation. The Grunt swiftly grew closer and closer to the wall, and still he didn't die. He saw his friend, Zanaz lose his head, and a full group of his friends catch a rocket flying out from the base. Nayay vomited into his mask, crying in terror.
Finally, the petrified Grunt reached out and touched the base of the wall. There he planned to stay, hugging it as much as possible until something happened. Then, Nayay heard the command that had taken all too long to come: "Retreat" The ground immediately surrounding the wall was littered with dead Grunts, Jackals, and Elites by this time, and he stumbled over the corpses, scrambling to get over the edge of the hill, which now appeared to be miles away. He looked on in envy as he watched some Grunts crawl over the lip and to safety. But his jealously quickly vanished as the Grunt immediately in front of him caught a round in his methane tank, sending the poor creature diving to the ground, thrashing for breath. Nayay athletically leapt over the dying Grunt, selfish for his own life. A sniper round pierced the air millimeters to his left, and another bullet struck his arm, sending intense pain up and down his body. Tears streamed down his face as he longed for home, cursing the Heirarchs for exploiting his races' natural weakness.
As suddenly as the bullets started flying, blackness took over the reality of Nayay's situation, as he found his way to Peynonol, his own world, returning home to his wife, children, and peace. The Grunt tumbled back down the hill, past the flailing, suffering creature, to revisit the bodies he had all-to-recently left behind.
Matthew sighed in relief, as the last Covenant body rolled back down the hill, toward the bunker. It was curious, however, that the Covenant sent such a small second wave. Usually, the second wave was used to "break the back" of the defenders. This was a relatively small one, with minimal damage done. A couple Fuel Rod shots struck the gate, but the damage was miniscule. A few more marines had been killed, and the one Covenant sniper that had been lucky enough to fire a shot wounded a sniper up on the platform. He wandered the compound, praising his men for a job well done. He sent the civilians outside to pick up any useable weapons, before he dispatched them to retrieve more ammunition underground. The clouds continued to roil as the Neutron storm persisted.
The non-combatants placed the salvaged carbines, pistols, Needlers, and plasma rifles in a large pile next to the Scorpion, whose crew was restocking ammo. Matthew joined the long line of soldiers who were taking ammo from large metal crates, also near the huge Battle Tank. After Matt re-supplied the ammo for his battle rifle, he made directly for the wall. He stationed himself on the second level of the tower, on the North point of the base, which covered the gate. Once there, he sat on the ground and sipped at a canteen of water.
Matthew prayed to God that somehow, reinforcements would come before the defenses were completely overrun. The Marine stood up, and faced toward his wall of the valley, listening to the ever present cacophony of the Covenant preparing another assault outside. Crouching next to him was Lieutenant Mel Charles, whose expression solely consisted of determination.
"What's going through your head right now, Mel," Matthew said to his old friend.
"I'm wondering how many of these bastards will have to die before they figure out that we're not going anywhere."
The grizzled veteran shot Mat a rare smile, which lasted only a brief moment, before muttering under his breath, "and how much I wanna go home right now."
Matthew returned the smile, also longing for home. He wanted to see his wife and children one last time. "I know exactly what you're talking about. But we can't show the little guys out here that we care. We'll lose their respect. Besides, I can think of some ways to die that are a hell of a lot worse than what's going down here. At least we have a rifle in our hands, which will still be smoking when we die."
The lieutenant nodded in silent and bleak agreement.
Nayay wandered the vast forest of Peynonol with his thirty two children. He loved taking them here, and they adored coming here. The family always came to the same spot: a pond in which they could catch and eat as many Gwama fish as they could stuff in their bellies. Afterwards, the group would lay on the grass, surveying the stars, as he told them stories of his childhood, when his father took him out there to the forest. Life was peaceful and simple, as it should be. Nayay knew that he would always be safe with his family here. One of his children, Nala, opened his mouth to ask Nayay a question. But before the word formed, her mouth hideously mutated, converting, instead, to the unsightly mandibles of a harsh Elite quartermaster, who was gruffly briefing the task force in which Nayay was a member. They were to board the human vessel and capture the bridge. His task force had the most difficult mission of any unit sent, which had become typical of any operation Nayay was sent on.
Moments later they were rushing through the claustrophobic halls of the human vessel killing humans as they went. The group finally arrived in a spacious hall with some breathing room, and Nayay bent down, panting for breath. But then, two Marines rushed into the room firing. Nayay sprayed a series of erratic shots across the room, dropping one of the two men. In an effort to lighten the desperate mood of his counterparts, he excitedly yelled, "I get his helmet!" which coaxed a slight laugh from the other Grunts, and a disgusted sneer from the Elites who had just entered the room behind them.
Nayay and the other Grunts charged towards the next door, which opened, only to reveal one of the demons. Nayay barked in surprise and leapt back, startled. The demon opened fire on the small squad, just as Nayay's vision again, began to warp.
Solam'mee ignited his ancient energy sword, illuminating the otherwise pitch black room. He whirled the blade over his head, beginning the well-practiced kata that honed his concentration and battle lust more effectively than anything else. When the Elite finished the form, he holstered his blade, knelt down, and prayed to the Prophets for wisdom. The next wave was about to be sent. This wave would be the last wave, led by him, and composed of every soldier in the Fleet.
Solam'mee removed his helmet, and flexed his muscles, which were massive, even by Elite standards. He began his battle meditation, falling into a realm that few Elites were able to reach. The final battle would begin, and Solam'mee had to be ready, as this might be the most testing battle of his life.
Matthew almost dozed off, exhausted, waiting for something to happen. It was past noon, and the Covenant had not acted since the second wave. Just as his guard dropped, plasma from Wraiths began to rain down on the base. The shots that landed near the Marines caused minimal damage to the walls, but did slay a number of soldiers. The tanks appeared over the lip of the hill before their second shots could be fired, which spelled doom for all but a few of them, as dozens of rockets lanced out to obliterate the beetle-shaped nightmares. Eerie silence ensued, which consisted of hasty reloading by the rocket jockeys.
Slowly, the clear ringing of a battle-hymn rang out, both beautiful, and menacing. Audible under the music made by the song, as if an instrument of the voice, thousands of soldiers were marching in perfect synchronization.
Simultaneously, the first line of the Covenant army appeared over the edge of the valley. In unison, and in cohesion with the halting of the voice, the multitude ceased their march.
In a strange, dream like way, Matthew was glad to see them. Here was his doom, staring him in the face. He no longer had to watch, wait, and wonder. Here was his death, looming before him. He whispered into his communicator to the sniper team leader to open fire on the General.
The Covenant Commander, an imposing Elite in White armor, carrying a custom shield, and Energy sword, stood facing the gate, glaring at the Spartans, challenging them. This was the soldier who had been chanting the hymn. Matthew prayed that it be eliminated by the snipers, for it would slay many marines if it was allowed to reach the wall.
Solam'mee stood rigidly still, allowing his stare to drift away from the Spartans, focusing on nothing in particular, but rather, on the picture of the valley as a whole. He noticed snipers' fingers twitch. He tensed as he waited for the precise movement to act.
It came, and he moved, swifter than anything that should have been possible. He whipped the shield in front of him, contorting his body more than unnaturally, secure that not one of the dozens of projectiles would hit him.
Matthew saw the vast number of bullets heading towards the General, viewing it in slow motion. He was confident in his snipers, realizing that it would be impossible to miss. But then the impossible happened.
Solam'mee swirled and blocked, as every last bullet either missed its mark, or was deflected. Without a second thought, he raised his sword arm to declare the charge, but Zalm'ee roared and launched himself down the hill. The confused horde shuffled and stumbled as they tried to decide what to do. In the steeped tradition surrounding a Covenant invasion force, Zalmee had just committed a great crime. Solam'mee bellowed in rage, watching the Zealot attempt to steal his glory. He yelled for his forces to charge, as he leapt down the hill, deflecting and dodging more sniper rounds. As he rushed down the slope he glanced at Zal'mee, who was absorbing fire at the rate that a Scarab would. His shield sputtered and flashed. Rounds pierced his gold armor, breaking through to the other side, and spewing spurts of purple blood from the Elite's back. The Zealot momentarily wavered, nearly collapsing under the strain of the fire. However, he continued, limping toward the wall. As he reached the dead bodies from previous waves, he ignited a plasma grenade, and hurled it towards the humans. Pierced by hundreds of bullets, he then did the unfeasible. The resilient Elite clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, screamed in pain and effort, gathered the last remnants of his strength, and leaped atop the wall. The Zealot engaged his Energy Sword, and started cutting down humans, who were being quickly dispersed and killed under the ferocity of his blows. Bullets continued to pummel him, and he dropped to his knees. With his last breath, he hurled his sword through the air, towards a Spartan, and collapsed.
The warrior was caught off guard, and the sword embedded itself deep within his dark green armor, protruding from his back, sputtering and sparking.
Solam'mee then changed his opinion of Zalm'ee, from utter contempt, to unreserved admiration. As he reached the gate, he bound atop it, not to be outdone by a wounded Zealot.
The remaining demon dislodged the blade from his companion's body, and faced Solam'mee, beckoning him to fight. The Elite lunged at the Spartan, who parried the blow effortlessly, and responded by swinging over his head. The Elite easily parried, backpedaled, and reassessed his under-estimated opponent.
Matthew stole a glance across the wall, just in time to see the first Spartan skewered by a thrown sword. He cursed loudly, and re-loaded his battle rifle taking precise aim exclusively at Grunts, dropping them hastily, and in order, not missing a shot.
Mel caught a Carbine round in the neck, barely flinched, and poured fire into the masses. Matthew dropped his Battle Rifle, and ripped free the shotgun that was strapped to his back. He cocked it and blasted the first Grunt to reach his position. The tiny alien was sent flying backwards. Matt again aimed the deadly weapon, pointed it at an Elite who was approaching, and shot him twice, killing the vile creature with two rounds.
A Hunter, who was half running, half tumbling down the hill grew ever closer to the Marine's location. Sniper fire pinged of its thick armor. Matt started, and flinched backwards. Two rockets streaked out, and eliminated the threat before it became a big one. But he knew that several more Hunters were beginning their descent, and the rocket jockeys would be hard pressed to kill all the behemoths before they reached the compound.
Hours later, the fighting continued. Civilians rushed up to provide ammunition, or simply throw salvaged weapons up to the Marines. Casualties began to grow more prominently painful. The lines were repeatedly evened out, but were nevertheless becoming thin. Hunters managed to break down a portion of the wall, and marines rushed down to fill the gap in time. Rubble from the explosion provided sufficient cover, and the marines were able to hold. Matthew and his squad joined the fight at the breach where his command was needed most.
Chapter 2.
The Spartan continued his duel with the Elite General. The augmented warrior could be of great use at the breach, or over the gate right now, but he was the only soldier who had even a remote chance of killing the white armored menace. A well aimed Fuel Rod Cannon caught one of the bunker roofs, killing half the snipers taking aim at the breach. In actuality, the snipers were the only thing keeping the Covenant out of the base. They eliminated all Elites that showed themselves and the marines easily handled the Grunts and Jackals. However, with hundreds of soldiers rushing to the hole, it was only a matter of time before the ruins were taken, and Covenant begin flooding in. Matthew ordered the Warthogs and overhead turrets to begin firing on the breach. The automatic weapons quickly turned on it, and opened fire. The rounds sent Covenant reeling in all directions, and, on that side of the wall at least, the assault briefly halted, as the Covenant gathered their numbers for another charge. That gave Matt the opportunity to re-deploy the Warthogs in order to give them a vantage point capable of covering the breach, and the Gate, which the sergeant knew, would eventually fall.
A needle inserted itself in Matt's thigh, and detonated, sending him to the ground in pain. He crawled to the outer ring of trenches, and rolled inside, spraying biofoam into the wound. He leaned against the wall of the trench, momentarily, regaining his breath. Then He jumped back out of the trench, and limped forward, toward the gaping wall, just as a wall of thousands charged it.
Solam'mee began to grow frustrated. The demon he was fighting was just as skilled as he, which was admirable, but annoying. Both warriors leapt at each other, and clashed their blades again. Energy swords had never been built for dueling, and the repeated strain on them caused them to finally give in. There was a clap of thunder, and flashes of energy streaked out, damaging both fighters' shields. Solam'mee, without hesitation, charged the demon, ramming into the enemy with his armored shoulder. The Spartan was sent flying, but quickly regained his composure, and moved towards the Elite.
The enhanced warrior gracefully fell into a battle stance, raising his arms and clenching his fists. The Elite followed suit, engaging a fighting style of his own. Solam'mee struck first, giving the Spartan a blow to the stomach. Shields shimmered, but held. Next, a balled fist caught the white plated Elite in the side of the head, overloading shields, cracking armor, and stunning the seasoned warrior. He regained consciousness before even faltering, and kicked his enemy hard in the midsection. The Spartan fell, all the way down to the Covenant side of the conflict. Solam'mee, without hesitation followed. The kill was soon to be had, and Solam'mee would not surrender it to anyone else. The demon twitched slightly, attempting to get back onto his feet. He slumped again, however, seemingly too weak to fight. Field Commander Solam'mee stood over the fallen Spartan, and roared a cry of absolute honorable victory. He raised his fist to deliver the killing blow to his blood enemy, but at that moment, a sniper shot found its mark, dropping Solam'mee to the ground. The Elite was stunned once again, paralyzed, and unable to move. He lay there, with his shield flashing clutching at the wound caused by an armor-piercing bullet in his stomach.
Nayay's life played out before him. From his earliest childhood memories, to his most recent post on the Cleansing Flame, the Grunt remembered being forced to leave his family, his life, his home, and his peace. He remembered both humans he had killed over his four year career. He remembered the one time since his departure that he had seen his mate. That had been his single happiest moment in so many years. Soon his thoughts drifted to the events of that day, when his drop-ship had been descending through the clouds. He and Zanaz, a veteran and hero among the Grunts on the Cleansing Flame were recalling memories of home, sadly reminiscing on the life they had both lead before the coming of the Prophets and their "Great Journey". Both had been well-liked fishermen in their communities, which were located only a few hundred miles from each other. They both had fewer than sixty children, which was most uncommon among their species, and they both only wished to go back. The Elite that had been posted on the ship to keep the Grunts in order snarled for silence, as he chanted prayers to the Prophets and Forerunner requesting a steady aim, and level head. Nayay and Zanaz quickly closed their mouths.
Unexpectedly, something impacted heavily on Nayay's chest, making him gasp for breath and come around. It was now dark out, and Nayay was surprised at how long he had been sleeping. The impact that had brought him to was a dead Grunt landing hard on Nayay. Horrified, he shoved the corpse off, and got to his knees. He was thankful to be alive, but then realized the horror and reality that he had hoped was only a nightmare. Bodies were piled everywhere. He thought that he could probably climb the mounded of corpses, and reach the top wall.
He nearly choked as he realized the taste in his mouth was his own vomit. He drew a deep breath, removed his mask, and cleaned it out quickly. Then he spit out as much as he could, before applying his apparatus again.
Nayay looked around and saw a plasma rifle lying on the ground. He picked it up, and began climbing the mountain of bodies towards the waiting wall above. He poked his head over the wall, and saw about seventy humans exhaustively reloading their weapons, patching up wounds, and taking small naps. He looked about, confused, wondering where his allies could be. He was curious as to why the fighting would have ceased. Te Grunt slid back down the mound of soldiers, rolling once or twice as he descended. He wandered into the night, almost aimlessly, dazed and confused.
Solam'mee found his breath, and emerged from his reverie. The demon no longer lay beside him. Combat had ceased. He hastily patched the wound in his stomach, which was still oozing dark blood. The Elite wondered whether the Covenant had been victorious, or if they had momentarily halted the assault in the absence of their Commander. He looked towards the base, where thousands of Covenant bodies created a hill up to the top of the wall. His gaze moved towards the gate, which had been ruined. Large sections of the wall were missing, and countless bodies littered the breeches. His gaze drifted even higher towards the sniper platform, where he started, seeing a human intently peering through the scope of his rifle, seeking out a target. Solam'mee quickly dropped to the ground and lay motionless, as the scope's field of vision drifted over the Elite's location. Once the marksman's view had turned, the Elite bounded back into the dark, attempting to discover his lost army, which he would lead against the base again. He would not halt until the demon was dead.
Matthew applied cloth to his forearm, where a carbine round had shattered his bone. His condition, however, was infinitely better than many of the men remaining in the base. The feeling of despair had lifted, replaced by utter concentration and bravery. The Spartan had repaired himself as much as possible, managing to assemble his shield generator, and getting it to function. The Scorpion was annihilated in a massive Banshee raid, and a concentrated attack by Hunters had seen major portions of the wall destroyed. The gate was gone, and only two Warthogs remained.
In preparation for the next attack, Matthew decided to completely abandon the walls, with the exception of the snipers. All non-snipers were deployed in the outermost trench. The overhead platform had the turrets manned, and four snipers posted. Matt commended the snipers for their fighting. Their prowess had slain innumerable Covenant fighters. The rocket jockeys had also held the effort together by eliminating Ghosts and Banshees. Mel himself had boasted the most skillful killing Matt had ever seen, and had now dropped his assault rifle, pulling out two pistols. The grizzled man must have killed a couple hundred Covenant combatants single handedly. Matt proudly surveyed his remaining men. They all had displayed courage, honor, and resolve beyond what they should have been capable of.
The Gold Elite who had charged the wall first was now decapitated, and been hastily tied to a pole in the hole left by the gateway. And in every breach, Carbines were propped up, with the heads of dead Elites spiked on each one.
A sniper shot from the platform rang out into the night, as the other sniper also took aim and fired. They complimented each other on the skillful shots, before again taking aim and firing. Soon, as the Covenant became visible from the remaining three rooftops, those snipers also began to fire. The snipers on the parapets were armed with shotguns, because they would not be going to the trenches, but rather, continue sniping.
All manner of Covenant rounds began to come over the wall as well. The snipers were well protected, and were not perishing swiftly. They continued to rain down pinpoint death from above. On the ground, stray needles were barely evaded, and Fuel Rod shots landed all too close. As the fighting on the wall heated up, a large Covenant force gathered at each breach, and before the gate. The white clad Elite who had been such a menace before stood rigidly in front of the fallen gate. He glared at the Spartan, and roared for the attack. The wall of troops stormed towards the overwhelmingly outgunned defenders. Grenades were primed and thrown, rifles opened fire, and Covenant fell like so many bricks. Mel screamed in frenzied rage, taking down one enemy for each of the twenty four rounds he fired. He promptly reloaded, and targeted the ever-closing enemy again.
Matt cried out in fear, unleashing the full fury from his weapon. The weapon might as well have been aimed at an ocean. Anytime a Covenant was killed, three more took his place. It seemed like the Covenant appeared in exponential number, simply multiplying in strength.
Thirty feet, twenty feet, ten feet, the wall grew closer. Matt risked a glance at the fight in the Scorpion rubble, where the defenders were holding up surprisingly well. The Marine Sergeant dropped his rifle, and again withdrew his shotgun. Before the wall hit the marines, a lone figure, the Spartan, left his spot in the trench, and rushed toward the Elite General. Plasma flew at him wildly, but little damage was done. He tackled the alien, sending them both hurtling to the ground. The Covenant army ignored the two titans, content to allow them to fight their own battle.
Nayay involuntarily rushed towards the entrenched marines, pushed forward by the horde behind him. He could see the slaughter fest that was the front line, with Grunts being scourged in number. He cringed and cried for home. He clutched his plasma rifle to him, as if it was the only thing that could keep him alive.
Within minutes, a second wall was formed from the bodies of fallen Grunts. They became easier to kill as they were forced to wade through the death. However, the strain of the fighting became apparent, as some plasma inevitably found its mark.
Cries of anguish echoed across the valley, and the heat rose several degrees as plasma rained from all sides. Matthew called for an orderly barrage that saw the Covenant briefly lurching, which gave the defenders the opportunity to withdraw to the second level. They jumped back a row, momentarily resting and reloading. Now, there were only marines on the top of the parapets, and in the trenches, as the defenders in the Tank rubble were finally cut down. The Covenant regained their composure and again rushed out full force.
Solam'mee was now in a blood rage, utterly livid with the fact that he couldn't kill this demon. Their bare-clawed combat dragged on, both fighters exhausted, but not exposing it. They rushed each other, attempting to tackle the other, straining to push his foe to the ground. Muscles strained, tore, and continued to function. This was a duel of legends, a duel of fates, worthy even, of joining the myths of Achilles, Hector, Hercules, and Thermopylae. The Marines were down to a dozen men, now within the innermost circle of the bull's eye. They continued to fight without fear, each man, worthy of remembrance. And Mel, the bravest of all Marines, stood above the trench, shedding all cover, firing his pistols into the throng. He hurled his duel weapons into the enemy, defiantly cursing them. He then stooped and picked up a shotgun. His fury seemed to double, as the Covenant he sent to oblivion stacked up. Matt was sure that the man had slain over a thousand. He continued roaring, soaked in multi-colored blood. Plasma struck him repeatedly, but he scarcely wavered. Matt glanced up at the parapet, and when he looked back down, the fighting nightmare that had been Mel was fallen. Matthew still heard the man's shotgun firing from under the masses of Covenant now swarming over him. He quickly reloaded another shell, and stuck his gun into the stomach of an Elite. He pulled the trigger, and the blast ripped a massive hole in the alien's front side.
Nayay came upon the human line, where one of them was standing, with no cover, slaying his allies. The petrified Grunt took aim and unleashed fire from his Plasma Rifle. The shots rang true, striking the marine in the chest, stomach, and legs. The terrifying creature finally fell, but continued firing from the ground, before a group of Jackals finally silenced his weapon. Nayay felt a wave of pride and courage after felling the beast that no one else could. He looked up onto the parapets, where the humans above continued fighting. He then looked up at the sniper platform, where the machine guns still blasted into the horde, causing much death and destruction. At long last, after many hours of holding Covenant forces at bay, the sniper platform bristling with turrets were ripped down, by a pair of tireless Hunters, causing the marines on it to scream in terror before plummeting forty feet to their death. Nayay spat in their memory, and rejoiced when they fell. Many of his friends had died at the hands of those men. He spun around, and scurried towards a parapet, where he thought he could do more good.
Matthew and just four marines were now in the very center of the trenches, where many full shotguns had been stockpiled for the final doom. The sergeant primed a grenade, and rolled it over the edge of the foxhole, which he was crouched in. It detonated, sending a dozen Grunts flying. He then stood up and began bombarding away the masses.
Solam'mee and his opponent finally broke off, and began circling one another. He knew that this fight had claimed his life. His body was broken, and all that kept him alive was his desire to end this soldier's life. However, his mentality had gone from that of searing contempt and frustration to one of total respect, and a desire to honorably kill his adversary.
Matthew pumped shot after shot into the crowd of Covenant usurpers. He reached out, and viciously ripped the ventilator off a Grunt, who shrieked and squealed in panic before collapsing and thrashing on the blood-soaked Earth. A plasma grenade impacted the ground just in front of the marine's face. He quickly ducked back into his foxhole, as the grenade detonated, killing several Grunts. He immediately popped back up, and began slaying Covenant. He smashed the butt of his shotgun over a Jackals' skull, and targeted an Elite, blasting him point blank, and barely avoiding the returned plasma bolt. Another Elite leapt through the air, landing in the center of the trench, and dismembering one of the remaining Marines before another defender turned and shot him.
Nayay reached the top of the parapet, just as the last of the humans there were killed. So, content with his battle, and sickened at the thought of so many dead, the small, frightened warrior sat down to watch the end of the battle. He noticed the Demon and the General persisting, near the Scorpion ruins. They were throwing violent strikes at one another, which would have killed any other being. And indeed, even they should have both been dead.
Solam'mee shield had long failed, but so had his opponent's. He spun in a complete circle, backhanding his enemies' bare face. The Spartan had lost his helmet after several massive strikes to his head. The demon himself spun in a complete circle, from the impact of the blow. The demon gathered all of his remaining strength, and pummeled the Elite in the stomach. Solam'mee flew through the air, armor and bones cracking. He nearly landed on his feet, but stumbled and fell. Wasting no time the Spartan leapt atop the breathless Elite, and began to pummel him repeatedly. Face, chest, face, face, the blows fell. And Solam'mee, content with the effort he had put forward, admiring his opponent for its incredible skill and courage, released the last breath from his body, and perished.
The wearied marine sergeant furiously scribbled on a piece of paper, all the while listening to the jeering Covenant outside. After realizing that the marines were down to their last few, the multitude was content to sit, and build up the defenders' fear of their inevitable demise. Matt had to finish describing what had transpired here, in this remote base. He madly detailed the heroics of his men, especially Mel, and the snipers who fought on the parapets and tower. He made little mention of himself, leaving room to honor his men. When he was confident with what he had written, he dropped the paper onto the earth at his feet, and screamed at the last two marines, who were wishing not to go out the way the Covenant expected them to, but rather, with one last surprise.
"We are going to finish this thing, once and for all! We're going out there. We're charging those bastards, and they won't even know what hit 'em"
The two screamed out their acknowledgement, and all three men jumped over the edge of the foxhole, over the dead bodies, and dashed towards the gateway.
Plasma flew, much of it finding its mark. Matt's skin boiled and reeked, but he barely registered the pain. He continued the charge, stumbling, but never losing speed. Aliens fell, and died. Elites grunted in surprise as the attack came.
Matt halted, deliberately. He looked to the horizon, where the sun was just appearing over the edge of the valley. His goal was achieved. They had lasted the night. Matt fell to his knees, and then to his stomach. His last dying though was of his family, only wishing to see them again.
Nayay waded through the bodies of dead Covenant, realizing the relatively low number of dead humans. He came to the mutilated body of Solam'mee, and squeaked. He had never seen anything that disfigured. Then he shrieked, as he saw the demon also collapsed next to the Elite. The Grunt cringed in terror, as the Spartan stirred, and opened his eyes. Nayay scampered away in terror, well aware of what the human had accomplished. He did not wish to stand out when the commanding Elites arrived and found Field Commander Solam'mee dead. Most of all, he was grateful to be alive, still possessing the hope of seeing his family again.
Twenty four hours later, Captain Alex Carlyle of the Setting Star stood in the center of the ruins, reading off the scrap of paper. He shook his head in amazement. Three hundred marines had nearly eliminated an entire Covenant army. The death toll for the enemy had just been confirmed. Sixty thousand aliens were dead. Only three hundred marines were so. He slowly straightened, and saluted, in memory of the amazing battle. One day, someone would write of this battle, as if it were only a dream, a legend. But Alex knew that no author could convey the heroics of the events which took place here.
"Sir." A private startled the Captain from behind.
"Yes, son, what is it?"
"We've found a survivor, sir.
"Who is it, marine? Where is he?"
"A Spartan, sir, designation 117. He's the Master Chief from the Halo incident. He's badly wounded, he might not make it, but he requests that you come to see him, sir. He's over at the field base.
"Thank you, son."
Alex made his way towards the field base, which had been set up at the edge of the valley. A long line of men made their way up and down the hill, identifying, and removing the dead marines of the defense. Alex swooped into the medical tent, where the battle-scarred Spartan rested. The man's armor was cracked and mangled beyond easy recognition. He was burned, bruised and broken, but still alert, however weak he may be. The augmented human slowly turned his head to look up at Alex with his good eye.
Steadily, and with labored breathing, the Spartan shared his tale of the fight. He gave his estimates of Covenant slain by the miraculous Lieutenant Mel Charles. But, perhaps most importantly, the ship's captain learned of Sergeant Matthew McLaughlin's heroics and bravery. The Spartan had witnessed the last defense of the final foxhole, and had seen the final charge.
Alex rested his hand on 117's on the shoulder, and ordered him to rest, and try to stay alive that his account may be translated into a book, which would immortalize the defense of Installation Atlantis forever.
Nayay peered out of the port of the Cleansing Flame from his bunk in the Grunt quarters. He had left with a new admiration for the human race, realizing how brave and heroic they could be. He never understood the race, but realized that perhaps, they were capable of the kind of emotion shown by Grunts.
Regardless, of how they worked emotionally, they were still the enemy, and Nayay had no doubt that he would find himself in the middle of another intense fight. He was happy to be alive now, though, and with the promise of the fleet returning home, he may be able to return home and see his family. He said good riddance to that planet and it's defenders, and looked towards the future, and the end of the war.
Epilogue
Upon his brief return to Earth, 117 shared his tale, and the book, The Next Thermopylae was published, ensuring that Matthew, Mel, 117, and the defenders of Outpost Atlantis would never be forgotten.
As 117's estimates showed, the following is a list of feats performed during the battle.
Sergeant Matthew McLaughlin..................Over five hundred Covenant killed, and displayed a mastery of tactical defense.
Lieutenant Mel Charles...........................Over 1500 Covenant killed during the coarse of the fight, and the recipient of more than a hundred and fifty wounds.
The Sniper squad on the parapets............15000 Covenant killed, taking down most of the Elites before they became a threat, and guarding the downed gate, and breached walls for twenty-four hours.
Marines wielding rocket launchers.........Killing more than four hundred Wraith tanks, two hundred Banshees, and one hundred Ghosts, ensuring that the infantry forces were not overrun too quickly.
Matt's Finest- The three hundred marines who defended Atlantis to the last, over sixty thousand Covenant killed, eliminating more than three quarters of the fleet's army.
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