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Something Wicked This Way Comes, pt. 1
Posted By: Silent Death Sorrow
Date: 23 January 2004, 10:01 PM
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"Alright Chief, the Pelican's ready anytime you are." The pilot clung to the controls, waiting for Masterchief to enter the opening of the back. "Alright, everything's ready," the pilot softly spoke to herself, "um … check … check, and … check. Yep, everything is ready." The pilot was Captain Carrie Rock, 4-year pilot of the UNSC Academy of Aeronautics. The highlight of her career was piloting The Emerald Beacon, a high-ranked Infantry Cruiser. "Hey Chief, assholes and elbows, come on!"
Masterchief jogged toward the Pelican, going over the briefing in his head. He was assigned to destroy a cluster of Covenant. He was to board the Pelican, and move to the P.O.W camp, destroying anything and everything, and then proceed to the Epicenter of Covenant. He was told they had important information that might include the position of Earth, so it was urgent he hurried. He hopped in the back, and yelled, " Alright Rock, take me away!"
The taillights flared, and dust flew as the Pelican rose. The noise was thunderous, and Masterchief winced as his ears hissed. The Pelican froze for a moment, and then sped off toward the P.O.W camp.
"Chief, it looks like a dust storm is coming up, better hang on, there is bound to be turbulence. With that, Captain Rock twisted the wheel sharply to the right. The ship lurched to the right, and dodged a patch of rock and dirt, and escaped into a crowd of smaller rocks, which pinged and cracked the windshield. Capt. Rock bent down to check the status of the shield, which was showing green. She sat back up, and dropped her jaw. She was staring at a 15-meter long, 20-meter wide rock. She quickly switched the autopilot on, and studied the movements of the Pelican. The mech-pilot swerved the rock, but not sharply enough. It would have still done major damage, even with the maneuver the autopilot tried. Capt. Rock switched the autopilot off, and clinched the wheel with sweaty palms. She turned the wheel even sharper, and somehow managed to dodge the rock. She breathed a sigh of relief, and regained confidence in herself.
Masterchief pulled his Human M5D Pistol out of its holster, and started to take it apart. He pulled the barrel off, and checked the firing mechanism, which was fine. He slid it back on, and preceded to pull a full clip out to check if it was full, check. He slid it back in slowly, and smiled at its beauty, its shine in the light. There was nothing like a fine-crafted weapon resting in your hand, and to know that Earth is depending on you. Few people achieved that, and Masterchief lived for it. He smiled wider as he put his M5D Pistol away, and pulled out his MA5B Assault Rifle. He pulled the clip out, and checked to see if there were the standard 60 rounds in it, check. He stuck it back in his shoulder holster, and wondered what was taking so long. He needed to hurry, and yelled, "Hey Rock, what's taking so long? We need to hurry!"
Capt. Rock heard Masterchief yell, but couldn't make out what he said. The noise was getting worse, to the point where it felt like her ears were bleeding. She could she the camp. It looked about 50 kilometers away. She typed the coordinates into her machine, and it read 57.4 kilometers and dropping. It faded away, and showed the estimated time of arrival. 12 minutes.
Gawka rested his head. He was tired at the moment. The Elites were always pushing the Grunts around, always thinking that they had no reason for existing. But Gawka had other ideas. He thought, that without Grunts the Covenant wouldn't have won half the battles they have under their belts right now. Grunts were infantry; they won the battles, not the Elites or the Jackals. Maybe the Hunters, but definitely not the Elites or Jackals. They sent over thousands of Grunts into battles, and maybe 50 or 60 Elites and Jackals combined. Of course, those were his thoughts, and if they ever got out he would certainly be quarantined. He looked down on the idea. Gawka was about to start his patrol when he noticed an airborne object heading toward the camp.
"They, they have come to save us!" a prisoner said.
"Shut your trap," a nearby Jackal growled with an uneasy look on his face. When it turned it's back, Gawka mocked it, and pointed his needler at it, pretending to fire it. Gawka pulled his thermal goggles out, due to the darkness that always covered the desolate area. He made out the shape of a cruiser ship. He cursed in ancient tongues, and then screamed for help in them. Hundreds of Grunts, of course as Gawka said, a few Jackals, and maybe 2 Elites. The aircraft gained speed, and closed in. Gawka aimed his needler at the ship, but then brought his weapon down. He knew the needler wouldn't do anything to the ship, and decided to wait for the small battalion that was bound to be in the pit of the ship.
He cursed again as the ship lowered, and saw a warrior's green armor. As it stepped out, Gawka's mouth dropped to the floor. There was only one warrior. He laughed, and aimed his weapon carefully. When he was ready to pull the trigger, the enemy turned around, wielding a rather large weapon. Gawka stared in disbelief as he continued by mowing down half the infantry army that had gathered, and then slapped another clip into the gun. Gawka screamed in pure fear, and ran around a corner. There he collected himself, and turned the corner, firing at will.
Masterchief finished off a Grunt and two Jackals before he popped another clip into his MA5B. It was his last. He ducked under a metal table, and reached for his M5D Pistol. He looked down after discovering it wasn't there. Then heard the familiar pops that it made when fired. He turned, and saw that the pilot had joined in on the battle, but stole his Pistol. He liked her courage, but disliked her way of acting. She was radical, untrustworthy, and strange, but that's what Masterchief looked for in a pilot. Someone that would make risks, and take risks. He got out of cover, and mowed down 4 more Grunts, using up 6 shells. He ran toward Captain Rock, and yanked the weapon out of her hand. He dragged her toward the table, and pushed her under it, "Stay here, and out of trouble. I don't want my pilot getting hurt, or worse, getting killed." Masterchief looked at her and winked. Although she couldn't see it, he could tell she knew he did.
Masterchief stood back up, and looked around for more opponents. He didn't see any, but remembered a Grunt that had headed around a corner, and decided to go finish the chicken off. He headed in that direction, and could see the corner. He lifted his weapon, and went into SPARTAN Time. He walked cautiously toward the corner, when the same Grunt turned the corner and fired approximately 20 needlelike rounds into Masterchief's chest plate. Not long after that, they exploded, and Masterchief screamed obscenities at the little 'thing'. His shield was down to nothing, so he ducked around a Plasma Mortar to wait for it to recharge. It did, and he ran around the corner, chasing the Grunt.
He saw its foot, and fired 13 of his 54 rounds at it. He rounded another corner, and saw a small pool of blood. He smiled in pleasure. It was wounded, and wouldn't be running around for long. He walked toward the edge of another corner, and sniffed the air. He smelled charred metal and flesh. He looked around it, and saw no enemy threat. He jumped out, ready to fire, but again found nothing. There's nothing wrong with being ready. He noticed that it had abandoned its weapon, a stupid thing to do. He picked the needler up, and saw that it was out of the sharp needles; it wasn't as stupid as he thought at first. He rounded that corner, and saw it dragging the dead foot behind itself. He fired 5 of his rounds at it, and it blew off. He reached for his Pistol, and cursed again. That bitch Rock had stolen it again!
Gawka slowly dragged his body around corner after corner, until finally he couldn't go any farther. He slumped down against a wall, and consider killing himself with the enemy's pistol. He'd stolen it when the creature ducked under a Plasma Mortar to recharge, at least that's what he thought it did. He knew that Grunts were excellent thieves, and sneaks. He lifted it to his head, and squinted. He tightened his grip on the trigger, but before it shot, it was yanked out of his hands. He opened his eyes, and saw the front of a green fist before it smashed into his face. He grabbed his face, and started sobbing. He held his hand up as to mean, 'don't shoot, please don't shoot'. It seemed to work, as he felt no sharp pain, as it felt when a bullet entered the body. Instead, he felt a hand grab his whole head, and lift him up. He smiled at the creature, but then frowned as it proceeded to bash the back of his head into the wall. He heard his skull crack, and felt the hand let go. He then slid down the side of the wall. He was in deep pain, and breathed long, labored breaths. He smiled at freedom. If he died, he would no longer be part of this Movement. No longer part of this 'Operation'. His smile faded, and he sighed deeply. The enemy creature lifted its boot, and kicked Gawka in the abdomen. He gasped, and spit out purple-black blood. It already stained the floor from the major head wound. He saw the enemy lift his boot a final time, and bring it down on his face, which not only crushed his skull, but also his brain, killing Gawka.
Masterchief bashed the animal's head into the wall repeatedly. He flexed his arm, and grip and threw its head this time. He heard a wet slop as its skull broke into 7 pieces, and it slid down the wall, lying on the floor. He then kicked it in the stomach, and stomped its head into the floor. He wiped his boots of, and spit on the Grunt. "Thanks for keeping my gun warm." He walked toward the 'P.O.W Camp'. He walked through the main entrance, and stood there surprised. No one was guarding it; He guessed they thought in could never be infiltrated, either silently or viciously.
He walked over to the control panel, and pushed a button. All the captive cells opened, and they all followed him back through the doorway. Masterchief held his weapon up, and turned both ways, just to make sure. When his head was cocked to the right, he heard the sound of the Covenant doors when they opened. A sort of sound that was like the unsheathing of a sword. Kind of like a subtle zing. He then heard footsteps, and felt butterflies. He would need to keep every P.O.W alive. He ran into the hall, and closed the door manually.
Before it was fully closed, he whispered into the crack: "Stay in here, and don't open the door!" He gave a final push, and the door slid shut. He was nervous. How could he hold off, who knows how many Covenant warriors with only 36 AR rounds, and maybe 3 60 shot clips for his Pistol. The footsteps got louder, and he braced himself. He traded his AR for his Pistol, and put his index finger on the trigger. The first Grunt came from the corner, and Masterchief fired a round into its head. It dropped, dying that moment. Three more Grunts rounded the corner. Bam, bam, bam! , three more grunts fell, and actually helped Masterchief.
The dead bodies started piling up, and created a distraction. It took the enemy's attention away from him for a spilt second, which was all it took. He shot 4 jackals, using 12 shots, and pulled the trigger, but the clip was dry. He gasped, and turned around a corner. He pulled a full clip for the M5D, and stuck it into the cartridge. He went back around the corner, and was greeted by four Elites with Plasma Swords. He swore loudly, and brought his Pistol up to bear. He aimed at the closest Elite's head, and fired five times. It fell down, and died later, drowning in a pool of its own blood. Without missing a beat, Masterchief switched to the next Elite, and fired six times. It also died. He swung the pistol to the right again, firing twelve times, finally bringing the beast down. He positioned his weapon on the final Elite's head, and fired 12 times also, but it kept coming. He switched to his AR, and aimed at its sternum. He fired the rest of his ammo, and still white-knuckle gripped the trigger when the gun was dry. The Elite doubled over, landing on one knee. Masterchief ran up to it, but was presented with a face full of Plasma Sword.
'Nezzella fell on his knee. He was hurt, but had come up with a plan. He was going to lure the enemy over to him, and chop his head off. His plan had worked so far. He had done a fine act of being hurt, and the enemy had started running toward him. As it neared, 'Nezzella held his Sword tighter. When it was a meter away, he swung upward, slicing the enemy's face, but missing his whole head by inches. It had fallen onto the floor, and moved itself backward by pushing its elbows away from itself. 'Nezzella lifted the Sword up, and brought it down. It landed between the threat's legs, and he decided that he would try again. He brought it down again, and made contact. He separated its arm from the rest of it. He lifted the Sword up once more, trying to achieve his goal. He swung down, and hit the ground to the left of the enemy's head, missing by centimeters. The enemy then kicked him in the groin, and he froze, dropping the Sword. The enemy got up, grabbed the sword, and in a single motion swung the Sword and chopped 'Nezzella's head off.
Masterchief grabbed his nub that used to be his left arm, and winced. He ran toward the door that he had closed earlier, and struggled to open it. It finally came loose, and the rest was a cakewalk. He slid it open with ease, even with wound. "Alright men, follow me!"
He tried to remember the way out, and finally found it. He walked into the large opening that was the Dock. Captain Rock walked over to him, and smiled.
"Let's go, Masterchief. I'm beginning to dislike this place very much."
"Did you ever like it? I hate every inch that the Covenant touch," Masterchief said as he crushed the head of a dead Elite. He held a dirty rag up to his nub, and held it tightly.
"Yea, I guess you're right. I never liked this place; so let's get the hell out. Did you get all the prisoners, every 14?" Capt. Rock hadn't noticed the arm wound, and looked up. "Holy shit! What happened, chief?"
"Oh nothing, it's just a flesh wound," Masterchief said as he wiped the dead flesh and membrane off his boot. "God, let's go!" Masterchief walked over to the back of the ship, and the prisoners followed. He told them to get in, and counted each and every one that walked on board. He, himself then hopped in, and gave the order to go. The Pelican lifted off the ground, and then flew away, back to home base.
A Covenant Elite named 'Nofaless walked through the hallways of the UNSC Armory Base. He had his active camouflage on, but still moved cautiously. You can still see a person in camouflage in the light, they shimmer. He turned a corner, and saw to UNSC marines marching down the hall. He stopped dead, and breathed in silently and out slowly. They passed him, and he continued on. He saw a door labeled: SILO 17. He thought of his briefing, and that name stuck out. He opened the door, and looked around for a man in a dark blue uniform, with an Admiral hat on with a bunch of different types of stars. He looked, and noticed the man. He lifted his Plasma Rifle, aimed it carefully, and fired 7 times. The Admiral was nearly blown in half, and fell to the ground dead. 'Nofaless lifted his Rifle again, and caught four more highly ranked officers off guard, blowing of heads and limbs. Ten marines barged through the door, and each fired sixty rounds into 'Nofaless' chest. He died, but had succeeded in his goal. The Admiral was dead, and so were 4 members of the SILO 17 Board.
"Admiral, are you alright," there was no reply. "Oh shit, man, that ain't good!"
"Stow it, marine. This is no time for panicking. Medic, we need a medic now!"
"It won't do use any good. Look at him, man! There's only half of him there. We're officially FUBAR, okay. There's no use for a medic here. He's dead, dude." The top half was lying there, but the plasma had disintegrated the other half. The lifeless eyes stared at the whiny marine, until the Commanding Officer walked up to it, and shut the eyes.
"I know this isn't the time or place to ask, but why do you think they did it?"
"What kind of dumb ass question is that, marine? Who gives a fuck? The Covenant sent a dirty ass Elite, and got lucky, end of story!" An investigator walked up behind them, hearing the question. These marines were cutthroats, dumb meatheads that spouted out meaningless questions and answers. They spoke loudly and confidently, but buckled under pressure. These were the guys they made stereotypes from, and they were to blame. All show and no go. But that last question had interested him. He moved in.
"Hey, hey, hey. Watch your language," he said, turning and smiling at the man that had answered. " That last question was a good one. I think that that hit on the P.O.W Camp we did last week was the cause. We took out a Camp, they take out a major part of our UNSC Army and Aeronautics Force."
"There you go, Masterchief." A doctor had built a new arm out of scratch and grafted it onto him. The doctor's eyes gazed at him, the look he usually got from most marines. He thanked the doctor, and waved as he walked out of the ER. He traveled down many halls, and around corners, until he reached his bunk. He walked toward his bag, and opened it.
He took his armor off, and grabbed his toothbrush, and fresh clothes. He marched toward the Showers, and grabbed a towel. He set it on a bench, along with his clothes and brush. He looked at his equipment on the long, slender wooden bench, and knew he was missing something. Toothpaste, he was missing toothpaste. He walked back to his bag, and got toothpaste. He got to the showers really fast, and spread the paste across his brush. He walked toward the shower, and was about to turn the knob, when the COM barked: "Attention Masterchief, attention Masterchief. Please report to the Intel Room immediately. Thank you."
"Oh shit! I finally take my armor off, and I have to put it right back on." He got his armor back on, and walked toward the Intel Room. He slowed his pace when he reached the door. He marched toward the handle, grabbed it, and twisted it to the left. He pushed it open, and entered a totally dark room. A spotlight flashed to life, and appeared over a figure. Even with the light, he still remained a shadow. The figure then spoke.
"Masterchief, we have a big problem."
TO BE CONTINUED
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