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The Secret of Zanzibar: Prologue
Posted By: ph33rfuldude<pheerful@aol.com>
Date: 24 February 2005, 7:57 PM
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Fortress Zanzibar, East African Protectorate
Team Operation
Spartans -118 and -129 Active
Josh huffed as his motion tracker showed nothing. No movement, only his team mate's, which showed up as a yellow blip.
He was growing bored with waiting around for someone to kill. The people here in Zanzibar were sick. They were demented militants, using their knowledge in science and engineering to create super humans that they claimed were equal to the Spartans. Perhaps. But they didn't have the UNSC backing them up, although they had created a reverse-engineered MJOLNIR armor, which they dubbed "THOR". Josh scoffed at the thought. The true Spartans were the ones with the upper hand.
Guy, SPARTAN-118, his unofficial team mate for this mission, had been waiting at the shoreline of the fortress, waiting for the "go-ahead" from HighCom in New Mombasa. It was a simple job, nothing to it, silence insurgent "Spartans" and walk out like nothing happened.
Guy was leaning against the only vehicle they had been allowed to bring, a M12 Warthog LAAV for quick transport. He knew it would come in handy. The Warthog had been equipped with a Gauss Cannon, and Josh leaned lazily against the rear bumper of the vehicle.
Josh switched to his private freq. "Anything yet?" He knew the answer.
"No. But sitting here on the doorstep of Old Zanzi isn't making me feel any less at home. I'd rather be back in New Mombasa," Guy said, crossing his arms across his chest, his steel-and-red MJOLNIR Mark VII battle armor glinting the afternoon sunlight. The Mark VII was the brainchild of ONI's Section Three division. They had incorporated elements of the Elite's battle armor by fusing the two together. It was the best the UNSC could offer. Active camouflage with a near limitless capacity, sound dampeners, electronic countermeasures, an autonomous intrusion system for hacking into moderately-protected computer systems, The Mark VII was the best thing to have happened to the soldiers involved with the SPARTAN-SOF program.
"STEEL-02 through STEEL-06, report in," Guy said. He nonchalantly walked around to the passenger side of the Warthog, reached in between the back of the seat and the cab's rear wall, and pulled out his trusty BR55 Battle Rifle. He pulled the magazine out of the receiver, and visually inspected the piece. Slapping the magazine into the receiver again, he pulled back on the bolt and loaded a single round into the chamber.
Steel Team reported in, one by one. "STEEL-02 checking in," "STEEL-03 ready, sir," "STEEL-04 all clear," "STEEL-05, awaiting orders, Chief," "STEEL-06, in position, over." Guy glanced up at the mission clock displayed on the upper left corner of his HUD. "All right, boys. Keep frosty and wired tight. Any second now and we'll get underway."
Josh fiddled with his M6C magnum. He pulled back the slide, and checked to make sure a round was loaded. He turned around and grabbed his Jackhammer rocket launcher. "Nothing beats an M19 Jackhammer," he said, throwing it over his shoulder. He holstered his M6C and glanced at Guy.
"STEEL-07, you ready?" Guy asked.
"Don't call me STEEL-07. It's SPARTAN-129," Josh said, pulling himself onto the turret of the Warthog. He flipped a few switches and the low humming of the magnetic capacitors started. "I'm not 'officially' on this team."
"Official or not, you're still under my command per orders from Lieutenant Colonel Collins." Guy smiled briefly behind his helmet, something he rarely did, slinging his Battle Rifle over his shoulder and opening the Warthog's glove compartment. He pulled out a few magazines of ammunition for the M7 SMG he had holstered to his side. He stuffed the magazines into a pouch and closed the glove compartment. Guy glanced again at his mission clock and reached into the center console to fumble around and find four extra BR55 magazines. He stuffed them into another pouch. "Ready to rock."
Still nothing had come through to the two lone Spartans and the six other squad members. It was a quiet, and it seemed deceivingly peaceful.
Josh knew better than to let his guard down, and so did Guy.
The air around Fortress Zanzibar was quiet as the sun began to set. Josh had been sitting on the back of the Warthog now for two hours. And still no word from New Mombasa. Strange.
Guy sat in the driver's seat of the Warthog. He had taken his helmet off and basked in the East African setting sun. His head was against the headrest when he heard the scream of two Longswords, heavy fighter-bombers. Guy shot up from his restful state. "Holy crap!"
Josh turned to look as loud explosions rocked the beach. An airstrike.
Guy put his helmet on and contacted New Mombasa. Nothing came in response.
"HighCom New Mombasa, please respond." Static filled the speakers built into his helmet. Guy cut the communications link.
"All Steel Team members report in. On the double, Spartans!" Guy started the Warthog, and looked back at Josh. "Knuckle up." Josh jumped into action, hopping up on the turret and manning it. "Kick it into gear."
The two waited for the explosions from the Longswords' bombs. But nothing echoed off the concrete walls of the fortress, only silence. "What's up with those pilots?" Josh asked.
"Screw it," Guy said. "We're going in, with or without HighCom's permission." He slammed his armored boot to the pedal, sand kicking up in a wild cloud and shot skyward as the Warthog lurched forward. He quickly turned the steering wheel as he adjusted course. Pulling the handbrake, he put the car into a powerslide and drifted into a corner, flooring it again as inertia deteriorated and got him back on the track. He continued into through an arch in the stone wall of Fortress Zanzibar and then stopped just inside the wall's perimeter.
No activity.
Josh called up his link to the UNSC geostationary satellite, and overlaid and image on Guy's HUD. "Are they hiding? They should be trying to prepare for another airstrike," Josh said.
Static crackled over Guy's COM. "SPARTAN-117 to STEEL team. Report to these coordinates. I'll meet you there. This is urgent." The COM went silent.
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