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Apocalypse Halo by Elpolloguapo
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Apocalypse Halo
Date: 2 July 2008, 5:47 pm
Part One
Prologue-The First Battle of Earth
New Mombasa, East African Protectorate, October 20, 2552
The field radio crackled with static. "Corporal Fisher!" the Lieutenant's voice came through. "Report!"
I grabbed the transmitter. "Sir, we've taken up defensive positions in an office building overlooking memorial park. We've had a pretty steady stream of survivors coming in since the first attacks, though recently they've been scarce. Last count gave me five men left from my fire team, fourteen other marines, three of whom are too badly wounded to fight, twenty-seven civilians, of whom eighteen can be considered combat effectives. The rest are either wounded, elderly, or children. Two of them have medical training. Ammunition and medical supplies are plentiful, sir, we've captured about two dozen covenant weapons and many of the survivors brought medkits. Over."
"Good. Hang in there, Corporal. Air support and VTOLs for evac to hardpoints are inbound ASAP. Over."
"Yessir. Can I have an ETA on that? Over."
"Negative, Corporal, things are pretty messy and we're not sure when equipment's going to be free. Over."
"Got it. Thank you sir."
"One more thing, Corporal. Master Chief is on the ground working with the Marines. Have hope. Over and out."
My heart jumped to my throat. Master Chief was a living legend. To think that we were fighting the same battle as him, defending the same ground as him…
I replaced the transmitter in its cradle and grabbed my BR55 Battle Rifle as I stepped out of our makeshift CIC. "Jones, how're we doing?"
"Not much to tell, sir. Looks like we've got some grunts, maybe a jackal or two, hiding among the rubble down there. No exchange of fire in the past ten minutes," Lance Corporal Jones, my second in command, called out to me. While talking, he remained kneeling against the wall with his eyes down the sights of his rifle, which was pointing out the window.
I kneeled by another window and leveled my rifle, staring down the barrel through the 2x scope. I occasionally spotted the points of backpack methane tanks, and occasionally a hand or foot, sticking out from behind a mass of broken concrete in the park. "Yep, looks like five or six grunts and a couple of jackals. They must be terrified if they're hiding down there together."
"Any orders, sir?" The Lance inquired from my left.
"Keep your eyes peeled for anything more serious-elites, or god forbid, hunters. Any break in the pattern, any movement anywhere else, I want to know. Got it?"
"Yessir."
"Good. Now, how about a friendly little wager-I'll bet you a beer I can bag one of those grunts."
"Sir, I hardly think that proper."
"Damn you Jones, why do you have to act like some ancient English butler?"
"Actually, sir, an ancestor of mine was butler to the Duke of-"
"Stow it and make the bet."
"Is that an order, sir?"
"It will be if you don't do it."
"Then I accept your terms, sir."
"Good man." I had been making bets with Jones over just about everything since we had been in boot camp together. It was just a way for me to relieve the tension, the fear, of being in combat. I lowered my eye to my rifle and lined the crosshairs up on a grunt's methane tank, began easing the trigger and-
"Sir, come here, we have a problem," a marine from across the room shouted.
I cursed, got up, and ran over. Out the window I saw three squads of grunts, each led by an elite, advancing through cover across the park towards our building. "All right, wait until they get close enough for a sure hit, then headshot all the grunts. Once they're down, concentrate your fire on the elites."
"Got it, Corporal."
I called over a few men from elsewhere around the room to set up crossfire on the infantry below. The enemy slowly but surely advanced, and I lined up my shot, preparing to give the order to open fire. But suddenly the building shook violently and there was a deafening explosion.
I whirled around to see the corner of the building where I had been, minutes before, completely annihilated, and streams of white-hot plasma oozing in rivulets down twisted rebars. Through the hole I could see a bulbous purple vehicle, hovering a few inches off the ground. A Wraith. There was no sign of Lance Corporal Jones.
I shook my head and shouted to my men, "down the stairs, get out of the building, now!" Everyone scrambled to their feet and poured down the stairs. "Somebody grab all the rockets we have. Private Richards, get the launcher!" After I made sure everyone had gone, I sprinted after them, just in time to escape another lethal ball of plasma as it exploded behind me. We all poured out the back door.
"Civilians, get to the end of the street, take a left! Try to link up with Sergeant Banks' team! He's in the office building at the end of the plaza. Go!" I turned to the soldiers in my group. "Marines, take cover and provide suppressing fire. We'll hold out as long as we can, try to give the civilians a decent shot at escaping."
As the civilians ran off behind us, every marine unflinchingly raised their weapon and ducked behind whatever was available. There was no argument to the order in spite of the fact that it unquestionably spelled death for us all.
The approaching elites howled with rage as they saw the civilians escaping, and drove their squads in pursuit. The grunts closed extremely fast for beasts of their size, and within seconds were nearly in range. I brought my rifle to bear on a grunt's head and prepared to fire…when suddenly there was a screeching sound and it exploded.
I swung my rifle down and looked up. Just over the far line of buildings, a pair of stubby, delta-winged aircraft was circling back for another pass. They were UNSC Shortsword bombers. Looking back at the enemy squads, I saw the survivors scrambling for overhead cover, but they weren't in time. The bombers came tearing over once again, and the enemy infantry was engulfed in another massive explosion. A third pass destroyed the Wraith in a blast of blue flame and plasma.
As the bombers banked off to some other target zone, dipping their wings in acknowledgement of me and my men, three Pelican VTOL transports swooped over the buildings to our left, coming down with their landing bays open and their nose machine guns sweeping the ground ahead of them, ensuring that no Covenant soldier was left alive.
A cheer rose from the Marines as we came out of cover and trotted towards the Pelicans. Once everyone was on board, the transports slowly rose into the air and started for a field hospital far behind the lines. Rising away from that street, above the charred Covenant corpses, was one of the best feelings of my life. It wouldn't last.
We had just begun our horizontal flight, maybe fifteen seconds after takeoff, when someone looked out the aft hatch of the Pelican and called out to me. "Corporal Fisher, you gotta look at this!"
I walked to the back, ducked under the lip of the hatch, and stared out. The massive assault carrier that had been hanging over the city had turned and was ascending slowly into the air. As I watched, a white ripple appeared at the bow, then all along the forward edge of the ship. It was entering slipspace, running away.
"We got 'em!" A Marine jubilantly cried, "They're running!"
"We did…" I said softly. But something felt wrong. "No one slips this close to a planet…"
Just as I said it, the pilot screamed over the ship's radio. "Brace for impact! Close aft hatches, everyone grab on to something!"
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light from the center of the city. A wall of debris appeared in the air, rising higher and higher, and at the very top of my field of vision the New Mombasa Orbital Elevator began collapsing, until my view of it was blocked out as the wall approached.
The shockwave hit the Pelicans moments later. As the pilot screamed that she had lost control, the transport swung madly around, my view panning from rapidly advancing ground to rapidly advancing flying debris. Something, moving too fast to be identified, flew past not ten feet from where I sat, holding the seat so tightly that my knuckles were white. It was at least as large as a bus. Then a flash of dull color overwhelmed my sight as a thousand noises overwhelmed my ears, and I knew no more.
Apocalypse Halo [Revised Prologue + Chapter One]
Date: 3 September 2008, 1:35 am
PROLOGUE
New Mombasa, East African Protectorate, October 20, 2552
It was eerily silent in our building. While it was possible to make out the sounds of heavy combat from several blocks away, in our immediate area not a shot had been fired for the past several minutes. As a result, I almost jumped when the field radio crackled with static. "Corporal Fisher!" Lieutenant Rico's voice came through. "Report!"
I dove to the transmitter and snatched it up off the rough concrete floor. "Sir, Sergeant Stanton is still in critical condition and unconscious, along with a couple more civilians five more marines have joined with the squad, they're all privates, the rest of their squad was wiped out. We're holed up in an office building overlooking Memorial Park, facing moderate enemy resistance. Over."
After a short buzz of static the Lieutenant's voice once again came through. "We've got heavy air support inbound along with VTOL for evac. Hardpoints are being set up on the outside of the city, and we're starting to push them back. Hold your position as long as you can. Over"
"Yessir. We've got two medics and enough medkits and ammo to last a couple more hours, provided we don't see a big enemy push in this sector. Do you have an ETA on that support? Over."
"Negative, Corporal. Things are pretty messy; we're working on making sure our hardpoints are locked down before we start committing forces to evac. Over."
"Got it. Thank you sir."
"One more thing, Corporal. Now, I'm speaking strictly off the record here, but there's a rumor going around here that Master Chief may be on the ground here. Over and out."
My heart jumped to my throat. Master Chief was a living legend. To think that we were fighting the same battle as him, defending the same ground as him…
I replaced the transmitter in its cradle and grabbed my BR55 Battle Rifle as I hurried back to the outer wall of the building. "Jones, how're we doing?"
"Not much to tell, Corporal. Looks like we've got some grunts, maybe a jackal or two, hiding among the rubble down there. No exchange of fire in the past ten minutes," Lance Corporal Rogers, the acting second to my acting command, called out to me. While talking, he remained kneeling against the wall with his eyes down the sights of his rifle, which was pointing out the window.
I knelt by another window and leveled my rifle, staring down the barrel through the scope. At first I noticed nothing but broken chunks of concrete and charred grass. Next to the window, the air felt heavy and fetid. The occasional breeze did nothing but carry the smells of carrion and smoke by my nostrils. However, after a few moments of scrutinizing the park below, I spotted the tip of a methane tank poking up from behind some cover.
"Any orders?" Rogers inquired from my left.
"Don't waste any ammo on suppressive fire, hold it unless they start trying to move up. But it looks like the little bastards are scared enough to stay in cover as it is, so if all goes well we'll be able to ride this one out, evac's on the way. Just keep your eyes peeled for anything more serious-Jackal snipers, Elites, or god forbid, Hunters. Any break in the pattern, any movement anywhere but dead ahead, I want to know. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Good." As Rogers relayed my orders around the perimeter, I got back to my feet but kept my upper body stooped low, and worked my way over to our makeshift aid station, where Sergeant Stanton, the former commander of the squad, lay. I looked him over and turned to a medic. "How is he?"
"Still in bad shape, Corporal. I'm keeping him going on IV, but you know as well as I do that we don't have a limitless supply of it. There's nothing more I can do until we can get him to a decent field hospital, though."
"I don't expect any miracles, especially not in this godforsaken place. Just do what you can for him and hopefully we'll be out of here in time to save him."
The medic started to say something in reply, but a marine frantically shouted to me from across the room. "Sir, come here, we have a problem!"
I cursed, got up, and ran over. Out the window I saw three squads of seven or eight Grunts, each led by an Elite, advancing through cover across the park towards our building. "All right, wait until they get close enough for a sure hit, then headshot all the grunts. Once they're down, concentrate your fire on the elites."
The order echoed down the line of men, and I heard grunted affirmatives from all of them.
I called over a few men from elsewhere around the room to set up crossfire on the infantry below. The enemy slowly but surely advanced, and I lined up my shot, preparing to give the order to open fire. I eased my finger onto the trigger, and began to squeeze, but suddenly there was a massive explosion from behind me. The shockwave threw me against the wall as bits of concrete and plaster pelted my back, I jerked the trigger, and the burst went into the ceiling.
Whirling around to see what had happened, I was confronted with a terrifying sight. Nearly half of the building had been completely annihilated, and streams of white-hot plasma were oozing in rivulets down twisted rebars. Through the gaping hole in the wall I could see a bulbous purple vehicle, hovering a few inches off the ground. A Wraith. Half of my men, including Rogers, had simply disappeared, along with them the aid station and the Sergeant.
For a moment I was unable to act. Time seemed to slow, and all I could hear was a dull ringing. For a split second all I could think of was Rogers, my friend of several years, now gone in an instant, but then I saw the wraith again, lining up for another shot. I shook my head, gritted my teeth, and shouted to my men, "down the stairs, get out of the building, now!" Everyone scrambled to their feet and poured down the stairs. "Somebody grab all the rockets we have. Richards, get the launcher!" After I made sure everyone had gone, I sprinted after them, diving down the stairs and slamming my shoulder into the floor just in time to escape another lethal ball of plasma as it exploded behind me. We all poured out the back door.
"Civilians, get to the end of the street, take a left! Try to link up with Sergeant Banks' team! He's in the office building at the end of the plaza. Go!" I turned to the soldiers in my group. "Marines, take cover and provide suppressing fire. We'll hold out as long as we can, try to give the civilians a decent shot at escaping."
The civilians started to run down the street, then one of them screamed and pointed. A massive, four-legged vehicle was walking slowly but purposefully along, perpendicular to the street we were on and about half a klick away. In my momentary glance at it, I saw a device on the front release a massive, deadly-looking stream of plasma, incinerating a building. But it seemed not to have seen us. "Ignore the Scarab!" I called out to my men. "Concentrate fire on the Wraith and the infantry!" Every marine unflinchingly raised their weapon and ducked behind whatever was available. There was no argument to the order in spite of the fact that it unquestionably spelled death for us all. As I took up my position alongside them, I muttered to myself, "Banks is going to need a miracle to beat that thing off."
The approaching Elites howled with rage as they us taking up our positions, and drove their squads in pursuit. The Grunts closed extremely fast for beasts of their size, and within seconds were nearly in range. I brought my rifle to bear on a grunt's head and prepared to fire…when suddenly there was a screeching sound from overhead and the grunt, along with the rest of its squad, was engulfed in a column of flame, smoke, and debris that reached up several stories, leaving scorch marks on the buildings on either side of the street.
I held my rifle down, but looked up. Just over the far line of buildings, a pair of stubby, delta-winged aircraft was circling back for another pass. They were UNSC Shortsword bombers. Looking back at the enemy squads, I saw the survivors scrambling for overhead cover, but there wasn't any. The bombers came tearing over once again, and the enemy infantry was engulfed in another massive explosion. As the Wraith tried to escape, another pair of bombers entered from the side and flew straight over it, each dropping a pair of bombs, reducing the formidable tank to a hulk of plasma and molten metal.
As the bombers banked off to another target zone, dipping their wings in acknowledgement of myself and my men, three Pelican VTOL transports swooped over the buildings to our left, descending with their landing bays open and their nose machine guns sweeping the ground ahead of them, ensuring that no Covenant soldier was left alive.
A cheer rose from the Marines as we came out of cover and trotted towards the Pelicans. Once everyone was on board, the transports slowly rose into the air and started of for a position far behind the lines. As we rose above the park, the Scarab came into view, then, just a moment later, was wracked by explosions and collapsed into the canal. The marines in the Pelican began to cheer as the pilot informed us that it had been Master Chief who had brought it down, operating just a sector away from us. Sergeant Banks had gotten his miracle.
We had just begun our horizontal flight, maybe fifteen seconds after takeoff, when someone looked out the aft hatch of the Pelican, which had not been left open during our flight, and called out to me. "Corporal Fisher, you gotta look at this!"
I walked to the back, ducked under the lip of the hatch, and stared out. The massive assault carrier that had been hanging over the city had turned and was ascending slowly into the air. As I watched, a white ripple appeared at the bow, then all along the forward edge of the ship. It was entering slipspace, running away.
"We got 'em!" A Marine jubilantly cried, "They're running!"
The men started cheering even louder, but something felt wrong. I had never seen a ship slip this close to a planet….
Less than a second later, the pilot screamed over the ship's radio. "Brace for impact! Close aft hatches, everyone grab on to something!"
A blinding flash of light erupted from the center of the city, followed a moment later by an awesomely loud roar. A wall of debris appeared in the air, rising higher and higher, and at the very top of my field of vision the New Mombasa Orbital Elevator began plummeting down to earth, until my view of it was blocked out as the cyclone of debris approached.
The shockwave hit the Pelicans moments later. As the pilot screamed that she had lost control and that the hatch was jammed open, the transport swung madly around, my view panning from rapidly advancing ground to rapidly advancing flying debris. Something, moving too fast to be identified, flew past not ten feet from where I sat, holding the seat so tightly that my knuckles were white. It was at least as large as a bus. Then a flash of dull color overwhelmed my sight as a thousand noises overwhelmed my ears, and I knew no more.
CHAPTER I
New Mombasa, East African Protectorate, October 20, 2552
I awoke in complete darkness. The only audible sound was that of plaster and concrete showering down and hitting the floor every few seconds. I felt below me, and my hand ran along rough meta-the deck plates of a pelican. We must have crashed into a building when we went down. I reached out for something to hold on to, and my hand closed around something soft and wet. It was a blood-soaked leg. I recoiled, releasing my grip, and wiped my hand on my tunic, only to find that it, too, was covered in blood. A wave of pain shot through my body, and I groaned, wincing. With my other hand I could feel a long, bloody gash running along my left thigh, and at least one of my ribs was broken.
I reached out again, feeling bloodied, still forms until I found a handgrip on a wall. Pulling myself to my feet, I blindly felt around in the upper compartment until my hand closed on a long, thin tube. Taking the emergency flare in both hands, I bent it, trying to light it.
I heard the flare make its customary cracking noise; heard the hissing as it ignited, and felt the heat on my hands. But I saw nothing. I was blind.
My heart raced and I began to sway dizzily. Trying to remain calm, I felt for a seat, but every one was occupied by one of my former brothers in arms. The dizziness worsened every second. Finally, I gave up, and slumped back to the deck plates, unconscious.
I had been out for some time when a shrill voice awakened me. "Sir, I think I might have found one!" I tried to push myself up from the deck, but my arms were like lead, weakened by blood loss. "Yeah, he's definitely alive. Somebody get me a stretcher!" the voice called out again.
I opened my eyes, and a blinding light poured in. For a moment a rush of exhilaration poured through me at the return of my sight, but all I could see was a mess of bright, blurry forms. A dark blob appeared and drew closer to me. "You're going to be ok, Corporal. We're getting you out to a field hospital. Stay with me," a deeper, calming voice said.
I shook my head with what diluted strength I had, and the blobs started to resolve. I was on the floor of the Pelican still, but a few of the bodies of my men were gone. Between my feet I could see several sealed body bags in a row on the dry, dirty ground. I lifted my head up, and saw several marines a few feet away, some carrying more bodies. All of them were wearing black HAZMAT suits.
Within minutes I had been placed on a stretcher and carried outside to an undamaged waiting Pelican, which had landed about fifty yards away. From this point I could pelican, along with the two others, which had crashed into the buildings on the far side of Memorial Park as they collapsed. Every building I could see from the crash site had been reduced to rubble, and in the center of the city the orbital elevator had vanished. Smoke from massive fires poured out of every part of the city, darkening the sky and giving the air a nearly unbearable thick stench. Over the entire scene was a strange, almost disturbing, quiet calm.
Along with me in the Pelican were two other survivors of the crash, both unrecognizable under countless bandages and IV tubes. My leg wound was sewn up and had stopped bleeding, and I'd been given some morphine to dull the pain from my rib. In answer to a request a medic propped me up so I could look out as we took off, before the pilots closed the aft hatch.
New Mombasa had been destroyed. Looking down as we rose into the air, I could see nothing but charred and disordered rubble. I had no idea where I was in the city, all landmarks had been wiped away. It looked like a child had taken an eraser to a drawing, except that every smear and smudge originated from one point-exactly where the Covenant assault carrier had slipped out.
As the aft hatch sealed a marine handed me an oxygen mask. "Put this on, you'll need it while we recycle the air system," I heard the same deep voice from before say.
I put on the mask, and moments later there was a whooshing sound, lasting for several seconds. After it stopped, the marine signaled that it was all right to remove the mask. As I did so, he removed the helmet of his suit.
"Sir!" I instinctively tried to salute, but my arms were still too heavy to lift.
"Relax, Corporal," Lieutenant Rico said, with the hint of a smile playing around his mouth. "You technically don't have to treat me as an officer. I'm AWOL."
"Sir?"
"Command wanted all units to pull out of the New Mombasa area to let 'special units'-ONI, probably-have a look at the scene. I wasn't exactly in accordance with that order, so I found a few men and made this team," he gestured at the Pelican and the surrounding men, who acknowledged him with nods, "to see if we could find any survivors. I'm not the only one to do it, either. There're probably a hundred or so other search parties that violated orders and went back in."
"So where are we going, sir?"
"Back to Diego Garcia. The entirety of the 405th, or what's left of it, has been given a unit citation and seven days' leave once they muster at any UNSC base. We could go somewhere closer, but the best hospitals in the area are back at Diego, so that's where we go."
A medic leaned over and whispered something to the Lieutenant. He nodded and stood up, as the medic stepped over to me and prepared a srynge. "What's that?" I demanded.
"It's a sedative," he said, injecting the syringe into my IV. "You need to rest until you've been looked at in a better facility and have had a decontamination shower." He said something else, but by that time I was already too groggy to hear.
Asclepius Military Hospital, Diego Garcia, October 21, 2552
I awoke to the sound of klaxons and stampeding boots. I checked the clock, registered that it read 0820 of the next day, and stood up. Neither my rib nor my leg was giving me much trouble, and in the closet by the door I found a set of combat fatigues. They were brand-new, though they had my name on them, and sported a third chevron on the upper arm. 'Buck Sergeant Fisher,' I thought to myself, chuckling.
I opened the door and leaned out. Marines were sprinting down a hallway, and I had to quickly duck back to avoid one of them crashing into my face. I grabbed a Private as he went running past and asked him what was going on.
"You really must've been out of it, Sarge. There're riots in major cities all over the world. After what happened at New Mombasa the civilians are all panicking. I don't blame them, myself. Anyway, all units have been mobilized, and we're moving in to take over riot control."
"What about the Covenant?" I asked.
"They're gone, sir. They never landed anywhere but New Mombasa, and since they fled we haven't seen any sign of them. Sir, I really have to go"
"All right, move out then. Thanks." I sent him off, then started looking for someone from the 405th, or at least someone who could tell me where to find my unit's orders.
It didn't take long. After a few seconds of wandering around in the maze of halls, a tall, authoritarian-looking Captain came up to me. "You look lost, Sergeant. What's your unit?"
"Sir, I'm from the 405th," I replied.
"The 405th?" He looked me up and down. "And you're still standing? Well, Sergeant," he glanced at my name tag, "Fisher, you truly are a specimen. The 405th suffered 94% fatalities. They've been disbanded. And since I need good men, and you need a unit, it looks like you're with me now. Welcome to the 111th."
"Uh…" I took a moment to process what he had said, and after a few moments realized I had no choice but to go with him. "Yessir."
"Good. Now come with me. We're heading to the armory to suit up." He began walking briskly, and I followed.
We ran through a crowd of dozens, if not hundreds, of UNSC personnel on the way to the armory, all of them running frantically. As we walked, the Captain explained the unit I was joining. "The 111th is a special assignment group, Sergeant. You'll be my second in command, with two squads of ten under you. We'll be heading to a major city, you'll find out which one when we get to the pelican, to help the rank-and-file marines to restore control.
"Sir, I thought I was a rank-and-file marine." I pointed out, confused.
"You were, Sergeant. You aren't anymore." He then closed his mouth in a way that clearly told me he wasn't saying anymore, and remained silent until we met the team at the armory.
The Captain looked around, then called out, "All right men, suit up , lock and load. You have three minutes." All of us strapped on body armor, helmets, and comm gear, and began pulling weapons and ammunition down off of racks.
I picked out an M90 CAWS shotgun, and after making sure it was in good condition, loaded it, slinging a bandolier of shells over each shoulder. I was about to strap an M6G pistol onto my leg when the Captain called out to me.
I was at first unable to see him, but after a moment I found him. He was standing inside an adjoining room, which had previously been locked. The door, which read 'RESTRICTED ACCESS,' hung open. All around the walls were outdated or defective weapons and armor for resale to other departments and agencies. The Captain was leaning over a small crate reading 'M6 x2', which he opened as I approached.
"What is it, sir?" I asked, confused and wondering who exactly the Captain was to be fishing around in a restricted area.
"Here." He handed me a pistol and its holster, along with several clips. I examined it, and was surprised to find a number of slight differences to my old standard-issue sidearm, among them a small scope along the top of the weapon. Stamped into the slide was 'Misriah Armories: M6D.'
After strapping the weapon to my leg, I looked him up and down. He carried, in addition to his M6D and its ammunition, several SMG magazines. However, when I looked at the weapon itself, which he held in his left hand, it had an unusual elongated barrel. It was silenced. My eyebrows arced slightly.
He clearly noted my interest, and seemed almost quietly amused, but said nothing as he holstered the weapon. He then strode back into the main area of the armory, momentarily lifting a hand to his earpiece and grunting in acknowledgement. When he was back in the center of the room he addressed the men, who were now milling idly around. "All right men, I just got our destination. In Hangar Seven there's a pair of Pelicans waiting to take us to the center of the Glasgow Metropolitan Sector. They've been hit pretty hard by riots, and we're going to get in there and help calm things down. Make sure you've got everything, then move out, double time."
We once again made our way as quickly as possible through choked hallways until we reached a giant cargo elevator. After we filed in, the Captain punched the activation button, and after a long descent we were spilling out onto a platform and clambering into the pelicans, one squad in the first with the Captain, the other in the second with me. Within moments the thrusters roared, the pelican slowly above the tarmac, and we sped out of the hangar and into the morning sun, low over the glittering ocean.
Apocalypse Halo [Chapter Two]
Date: 26 November 2008, 3:14 am
Chapter II
Pate Island, East African Protectorate, October 22, 2552
For most of its history, Pate Island was a small, relatively insignificant island. However, when the New Mombasa Orbital Elevator was built, this changed dramatically. Its location near the elevator but in an easily defensible position came to the attention of the UNSCDF, and within months of the elevator's completion the first base there was commissioned. In the next century, businesses moved in to thrive off the military commerce, and one of the biggest cities on the East African coast arose surrounding the biggest military base on the continent.
Due to the shortage of available pilots in the confusion following New Mombasa's destruction our Pelican was one of dozens being sent off on an instant's notice to such strategic sites. The first things I saw as we approached the island were columns of fire and smoke, uncomfortably reminiscent of a scene a day before and a world apart. Then the radio buzzed and a voice came through.
"Incoming aircraft, this is UNSC-Pate Island Air Traffic Control. Your flightpath takes you over a compromised sector. Redirect via these coordinates," at this point the air traffic controller read off a series of numbers, "and proceed to your objective from there. Over."
The pilot swore and responded "Air Traffic Control, this is Tango-Lima three-one-five. We are bingo fuel and must proceed directly to our objective or utilize an alternative landing site. Over."
"Bingo fuel?" came back over the radio. Then there was a pause, followed by the air traffic controller's voice once again. "Jesus, I've got nothing for you guys, you're either going to have to make an emergency landing wherever you are and hope we can get someone to you before you get torn apart on the ground, or you can risk the direct route. It's your call. Over"
The pilot grimaced, then conferred quickly over the comm with the other Pelican. After a few seconds, he replied; "Roger that, Air Traffic Control. I'm going to try for the direct route in, my wing is going to land as close to here as possible. Over and out."
"All right, Tango-Lima, good luck. You'll need it. Over and out." The radio spat white noise and went silent.
The pilot turned to me. "You might want to check your straps, Sergeant. I have a feeling things are going to get very, very ugly here. Tell your men to do the same." I secured my straps and relayed his advice to the men in the back of the pelican over the PA as the pilot, who had until then been slowing the Pelican in preparation for a landing, eased the throttle forward.
I was pressed back into my seat, slightly at first, then more, as we gained speed. All of a sudden, tracers arced through the air in front of us, barely missing us. The pilot, a seasoned veteran if the mission tally on the Pelican's nose were to be believed, was now calm and almost businesslike, remaining silent as he banked the aircraft heavily to the left, then rolled back upright and brought the nose up. We climbed for several seconds, each of which seemed to last an hour, then started to level out. Our trajectory was nearly even when there was a screaming sound and something exploded under our tail.
A rocket had hit us under the aft port thruster. The force had thrown the Pelican's tail above the nose and sent us into a spinning dive. Only as he struggled to regain control did the pilot break his stony silence, swearing loudly as he adjusted thrusters and flaps. The ground, directly ahead of me out the canopy, seemed only a few feet away when it suddenly swung down and we were once again flying straight. I exhaled, realizing that I had been holding my breath since we began our mad climb, but we weren't out of the woods yet. The hangar, which was straight ahead of us, was only a couple klicks away, and I didn't see any way we could get our airspeed down enough to avoid plunging head-on into the far wall on landing.
I still can hardly believe that the pilot pulled it off. I was sure we were going to die, hurtling into the concrete at hundreds of KPH. My memory of it is a blur, and I don't remember much, but I found out later what the pilot had done. In the few seconds of time he had to maneuver, he had managed to brake with the forward thrusters as he elevated the aft ones, a feat someone with three hands should have been proud of. As the tail flew over us, he barrel rolled and extended the landing gear, sending us into the hangar backwards. At the last instant, he expended every drop of fuel we had left on the afterburners. The thrust brought our airspeed plummeting down. When we hit the tarmac, it was a fraction of what it had been before, but it was still enough to send us skidding across the hangar and snap of the landing gear. We came to a halt mere centimeters from the far wall.
When I unstrapped from my seat I was barely able to stand. Shaking the pilot's hand and muttering what few words of praise my stupefied brain could summon up. I pulled myself together as much as I could before walking out through the back of the Pelican, and noted with mild satisfaction that, for the most part, the crew had fared even less well than myself-there were splashes of vomit in several places on the walls and floor.
After assembling the squad on the tarmac I contacted the Captain via a private commlink he had set up during the flight. "Sir, we've made it to the hanger. The squad's all right, more or less. What's your situation? Over."
For a moment there was only static, then the Captain's voice cut through it. "We're in a square about a klick from the hangar, Sergeant. We've set up a perimeter and are holding position. I'm sending you the coordinates now. Get some transport and get here ASAP. Over."
"Yessir. Should we bring additional transport for your squad? Over."
"Negative, Sergeant. We'll proceed on foot from here and hand off the vehicles to other ground troops. Make sure you bring some firepower, though. We're getting reports of well-armed hostiles in the area."
"Acknowledged, sir. Over and out." I motioned for the squad to hold still, then went up to a flight officer nearby. "Sir, I need to rendezvous with my CO at these coordinates." I read off the figures to him, then continued. "Where can I get some intel and ground transport?"
"Head down to the motorpool, three floors directly below here. Report to a vehicle requisitions officer, he'll give you what you need, if he can."
"Thank you sir." I called the men, and had them follow me. We trotted over to a service elevator and rode it down to the motorpool. Marines were frantically running back and forth, warthogs of all varieties pulling in and out through massive blast doors, but I was able to maneuver the squad through the mob to a harried-looking reqs officer.
He turned wearily towards me. "All right, Sergeant, what do you need?"
"Sir, I need to rendezvous with my CO out in the city, and am requesting whatever ground transport is available to get there."
He sighed. "So is everyone else out there, Sergeant. Every vehicle in the base has been either deployed or reserved."
I stood for a moment, unsure what to do, when the Captain contacted me again. "Sergeant, do you have transportation yet? Over."
I jumped, then replied, "negative, Captain, there's nothing to be had. Over."
"All right, Sergeant, don't worry about it. Patch me through to a reqs officer. Over."
Confused, but not knowing what else to do, I followed his order. The officer was silent for a moment, then started to interject, but was suddenly silent again. After a few seconds, he stepped over to a wall terminal and entered something, then looked surprised. He again turned to me. "All right, Sergeant, take what you need," he said in a soft voice.
I contacted the Captain again to ask what had happened, but he shut me down, signing off by repeating; "get here ASAP, Sergeant."
I stood still for a moment, then shouted to the men. "All right, marines, let's go. We're taking three hogs, two LRVs and a TT. I want three of you taking rocket launchers and riding shotgun, the rest of you pile in. Now move!" My assistant squad leader, Corporal Gordon, tapped three privates, who ran off to a weapons locker, while the rest of us headed over to a group of parked warthogs.
I climbed into the driver's seat of an M12. The others followed suit, and within seconds the three privates were back, each with a double-tubed SPNKr rocket launchers and several rectangular cases of rockets. Once they had clambered into the vehicles and stowed the extra ammo at their feet, myself and the other two drivers started up our hogs and slowly maneuvered towards the blast doors.
"We need to go, open the doors!" I called out to the marine manning the door controls, yelling over the roar of engines.
"I'm sorry sir, I'm not authorized to. There's a group of rebels making a push at the base, and I can't open the doors until they've been cleared out." He called back.
"Goddammit, I need to get out there, right now!" I shouted back at him.
"Sir, I can't, I-" he was cut off by the requisitions officer, who had come over when he saw that we were being held up. He muttered something to the Private, whose eyebrows shot up. Then, as the requisitions officer and I stared impatiently at him, he glanced nervously back and forth, then dropped his shoulders and turned to a switch. There was a howl of machinery, and wind, smoke, and the sounds of not-too-distant gunfire flooded over us as one of the doors inched somberly open.
Apocalypse Halo [Chapter Three]
Date: 17 December 2008, 11:27 pm
Chapter III
Manaka Base, Pate Island, East African Protectorate, October 22, 2552
I gave the gas a gentle nudge and eased the hog out of the door. Before us stretched a short road, a perfectly straight line from the door out to a fortified gate. My energy had been drained almost instantly by the sounds and smells that had gushed in as the door opened, and it was with trepidation that I brought the vehicle to the perimeter of the base and past the gate. Marines, their weapons lowered only slightly, watched us nervously as we exited.
The base loomed over us from behind, a concrete citadel extending hundreds of meters up and out to each side. Above it VTOL craft and longswords circled, occasionally darting off above the city. In the opposite direction was the sprawling cityscape. Smoke was pouring up into the sky, creating an ominous pall that hung over everything.
At my command, a GPS marker flickered onto the live map on my HMD. Obeying the arrow, I brought the warthog around to the left and slowly accelerated. The two others followed in a V formation, the turrets turning, scanning for any hostiles. Within minutes we were on a wide throughway in the city, and civilians began to appear.
I could tell the men were edgy. While passive scanners investigated all vehicles for weapons, scanners could fail, and in the end the only true test of whether we were in danger was if we had been fired on. In an ironic way, it had been comforting back in New Mombasa, where if anything didn't have an UNSC comm tag, it was a hostile.
An hour later we were in a large rotary, just over halfway to the Captain's position. The hogs were in single file, weaving between cars both wrecked and moving. Up until that point we had taken no fire, and were optimistic about getting to the Captain without any difficulty. I was maneuvering around a small, burnt hulk when behind me something exploded.
I reacted instantly and without thinking. I slammed down on the accelerator and E-braked the back wheels, swinging the front of the hog around 180 degrees. A brown-black smoke trail, leading from a building to what had been an occupied car in the road, was dissipating into the air. Two charred bodies lay in the wreckage. The transport warthog had flipped, but its crew had jumped clear and was taking cover behind it. The gunners in both remaining hogs were laying down suppressive fire on the building.
"Hold!" I yelled. "These bastards just blew up a civilian car, I guarantee they've got hostages in there." The gunners let up, but kept the barrels trained on the building. "Gordon, keep these two hogs up and moving. Get any remaining civilians clear, and give the Captain a sitrep. You!" I pointed at a private who was in cover behind the flipped transport. "You're driving this hog." I jumped out and unslung my shotgun. The rest of you are coming with me. We're going into that building and clearing it. Just watch where you shoot."
I ran over to the building's entrance, the four remaining privates from the transport behind me. I gave them a few moments to form up into pairs on either side of the door, and then pulled the trigger on the shotgun. In one fluid motion, I kicked in the door and then was blown off my feet.
There was a barricade just inside, and someone behind it had hit me in the chest with a small-caliber round. Not enough to penetrate, but more than enough to knock me off of the one foot I had down. I rolled to the side as two grenades flew gently over my head and clattered to the ground inside. There was a frantic shuffling noise, then a cacophony of agonized screams. I leapt back to my feet in time to lead the leapfrog advance down the hallway into the building, activating my flashlight as I did so.
The stairwell was at the end of the hallway, behind another locked door. This time I was more cautious, taking cover, then firing two shells at the door, the first to take out the lock, the second to blow it off its hinges. This time there was no ambush, and we reached the second floor, where our targets hid, without incident. At the top, we slowly stepped through an open doorway into a large atrium.
We could see the window the rocket had been fired from, and after a moment of crouching by the door, I could hear muffled footsteps and breathing coming from a corner. I switched to infrared and saw two men, clearly armed, and three or four seated figures, who appeared to be tied up. "Freeze!" I yelled.
One of the armed ones jumped for a switch, and I was barely able to deactivate infrared before the room was flooded with light. The other tried to dash to a rifle that was leaning against the wall, but was instantly cut down by Battle Rifle fire from my men. I turned my attention back to the first, who was now holding a woman, tied up, in front of him, with a pistol jammed into her throat. I slung my shotgun as he started to talk.
"All right you bastards.," He was a fidgety man, and his voice oscillated in pitch as his body swayed nervously back and forth. "Get out of here, or she gets it." I slowly moved my hand to my waist and started to back up, motioning with my other hand for my men to stand down.
"Good, good. Now, back down the stairs like good little soldiers, get the fuck out!" His voice suddenly rose to yelling volume. He pulled back the hammer on the pistol and shoved it harder into the woman's throat. "Out!" he screamed.
Something caught his attention. Maybe it was one of my men who sensed my plan, maybe it was nothing, I'll never know. But for a split second he took his eyes off of me. In that split second, I drew my M6D, scoped it in, and pulled the trigger. The .50 magnum round ripped open his skull, splattering red and pink across the walls.
I took a deep breath and turned to the men. "You and you, stay here and help out the hostages. Get medivac in here asap, and see if you can figure out who these two wannabe terrorists are. The other two of you, come with me." I brought the remaining two men back out to the rotary with me, where I took back the driver's seat of my warthog. Three men, not counting the two inside with the hostages, were now without a vehicle. "All right, we're going to continue on to the Captain. Keep this area secure and try to get your hog working again. If any ground units come through, obey orders you get from their officers as long as they don't contradict the Captain's. Above all, keep me updated, got it?" They nodded. "Good. Gordon, let's go."
As we continued on towards the Captain, I filled him in on what had happened. He stayed quiet throughout the sitrep, keeping his comments to a succinct "well done, Sergeant." He seemed unconcerned that we were arriving undermanned, so I put my worries in that regard aside. The Captain, even when not in person, was a man who inspired confidence.
There were no more holdups on our route. If any hostiles were in the area, they kept clear. As we neared him, a clearer picture of what we were up against began to form, both from what the men we had left at the rotary found and what we were told by command. Apparently in several cities worldwide, anti-UNSC organizations had banded together under the banner of one group, which had yet to receive a name. Their stated cause, though, was peace. They believed that it was the UNSC who had initiated and was perpetuating the war, and that humanity, under a different leadership, would be welcomed into the Covenant. Combined with the post-New Mombasa panic, the population had reached a boiling point.
It took close to an hour and a half to finally get to the Captain's position because of the state of the roads. By the time were nearing it, the sun had completely set and a menacing darkness had engulfed the city. When we were within sight of the Pelican, the Captain contacted me. "I can see you on my HUD, Sergeant. Get your men out of the vehicles, take cover, and don't move," he said softly over the radio. Knowing better than to question his order, I swiftly relayed it to the men. "Get ready for some fireworks," he said a moment later. "Just don't hit us."
There were a few seconds of silence, then a flare shot into the sky above the Pelican. I could see the Captain and his squad in a perimeter around it, but more importantly I saw more than a dozen armed hostiles, caught in the open in an adjacent road. As the Captain's men opened up, I started methodically firing on each with my pistol. My men followed suit. Moments later two chainguns opened fire on us from a building, but their rattle was drowned out by the two high-pitched screeches. Their rattle did not resume after the rockets detonated against the building. I approached the Captain as several men ran out to check the buildings nearby. The entire firefight had lasted less than a quarter of a minute.
"Well done, Sergeant," he said as I saluted him. "As you were." I relaxed my salute and once again closed both hands around my shotgun. "I've been in touch with Manaka base, and a contact of mine there is keeping an eye on the men you left behind. The position they're at now seems to be a good one, and command wants them there for the time being. If we need them as scouts, though, they're available."
"Yessir, thank you. How have things been here?" I looked around. In the dying light of the flare, I could just make out piles of rubble and watchful marines.
"Simple enough. A few of them hit us as we came in, but from then until now it's been pretty quiet. Two men are wounded, though. We're leaving them here with the other Marines that joined us-they'll be medivacked asap. You still good to go?"
"Uh, yessir. Where are we going?"
"There's a building at the southwest end of the island I need to get to. Beyond that, you'll just have to bear with me."
I sighed, but quietly. "Yessir. I'll round up the men."
Shortly after, the Captain, the remaining thirteen marines, and myself had formed up. He looked us over quickly, then spoke. "We're going southeast, and we're going on foot. That's all you need to know." He shot a fast, unreadable look at me. "Check your time. Midnight at my mark…mark." He paused for a moment. "All right, move out."
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