 |
About This Site
Daily Musings
News
News Archive
Site Resources
FAQ
Screenshots
Concept Art
Halo 2 Updates
Interviews
Movies
Music
Miscellaneous
Mailbag
HBO PAL
Game Fun
The Halo Story
Tips and Tricks
Fan Creations
Wallpaper
Misc. Art
Fan Fiction
Comics
Logos
Banners
Press Coverage
Halo Reviews
Halo 2 Previews
Press Scans
Community
HBO Forum
Clan HBO Forum
HBO IRC Channel
Links
Admin
Submissions
FTP Uploads
HTTP Uploads
Contact
|
|
|
Arbie and the Sarge by Hunter_Killer
|
Arbie and the Sarge
Date: 25 May 2005, 12:40 AM
Author's Note: Anyone remember me? Didn't think so.
_________________________________________
Arbie and the Sarge
Ch 1
//0936 Hours, 19 March, 2553(Terran Calendar)
Loyalist Covenant Space Station, Holy of Holies//
Sergeant Major A. J. Johnson racked another round into his Prototype Human Pulse Rifle, and fired. A lance of red slashed into the nearest Drone, causing it to spew green blood. The other two Drones took to the air, and Sarge jumped back as twin Plasma bolts came back in retaliation.
"That all you got, you buggers!?" He yelled up, firing again. The Drones scattered across the rooftops of the buildings.
"I hate Stations that have outdoors environments..." He mumbled, taking cover behind one of the Pyramid-like structures. A bolt of plasma hit the deck plating of the floor, and a section of it became white-hot and spewed sparks.
"Ha!" He sprang from cover, taking out the second Drone with another shot. "I didn't want to kill you," He yelled over there, "But you were simply too ugly to let live!"
The third one slowly crept up opon the Sarge, and drew a bead on the back of his head. The Plasma Pistol began to glow with emerald green plasma, hum, and shake violently...
When a Plasma Sword cut the creature fully in half. Sarge turned in time to see the halves go down, then saw the ripples in the air harden and the Arbiter, in full ceremonial armor, appeared.
"Heya Arbie," Sarge said, thumping him on the back and making a clang as the armors clanked.
"Greetings, Johnson. As you humans might say, 'Buisiness is good'." He clicked off his Energy Sword, stowing the handle in his belt.
"Yah. Look at this area; probably evacuated before we got here," Johnson said, taking in the empty streets and towering buildings.
"Vile cowards..." Arbie stopped, and sniffed at the air, suddenly alert. He whispered, "I can smell the stench of numerous Brutes, they are sneaking up on us from all sides. Our Motion Sensors will not work with the interferance of all this energy and obstacles. Prepare to fire."
Sarge readied his Energy weapon, and the Arbiter's Plasma Sword began to hum. With a roar, twin Grenades landed next to Arbiter and Johnson, who sprinted in different directions, Johnson firing off rounds into the thick hide of one of the Brutes, who cried out in anger as purple blood spurted out in little bursts.
"Brave Eagle, this is the Juggernaut," Crackled over the COMM as the two soldiers ducked between buildings to avoid a hail of Grenades and Plasma. "You still alive?"
"Yah, for now," Growled Johnson into the reciever as he was thrown several meters by an explosion around the corner.
"Well the battle in space is going poorly. We've lost thirty per cent of the fleet, with none to spare. Are you near the objective?" Johnson glanced upwards, at the massive impenetrable glass dome that passed for a sky, with light blue glow lines running along it. Large dots in space duked it out with Plasma and large fiery projectiles that were MAC rounds. Explosions dotted the sky, temporary stars mixing with the real things.
Then he referenced the scematics, still running. The Arbiter had taken a side route around the enemies, and was now next to him. A map of the city showed Johnson to be directly two levels above the Generator Complex.
"Yah, Admiral, we're so close I can taste it. Call in the Exfil." Johnson rotated the maps; there were multiple access hatches to the lower level, a fairly small maintenance area where Engineers skitted along. Or did. Everything was Neg now.
"Dropship Harken deployed," Sang out a female voice.
Johnson eyed an access hatch in the middle of the street ahead. Twin explosions behind them hastened their movements. They were soon in the narrow tunnels, above the Generator Complex, which housed about 100 Starship-Class Tritum Reactors. Wavering heat drifted in from the purple metalic grilles.
It was totaly empty, where there should have been hundreds of floating purple Engineers, scurring thing way and that. But Sarge did not ponder this, he merely pulled open the nearest grille. Or tried. It held steadfast.
The Arbiter pounded it, but it only minorly dented. "That's it, we do this loud," Sarge said, laying twin Frags on either side of the Frags, and a Satchel Charge ontop of it.
They dived away, and Sarge tossed another Frag. With a temendous noise Sarge was sure Admiral Harper could hear from space, the grille was blown off with tremendous force. Sarge jumped down, onto a catwalk. A group of Jackals had gathered at the noise, and Sarge began to fire. Red lances pierced several of the unshielded, unready Jackals. The Arbiter jumped down, and rushed the remaining enemies, taking them out with his Plasma Sword with a cold fury, in rapid sucession. A dozen dead Jackals lined the catwalks.
Sarge looked down, at the massive Reactors, each one producing a massive supply of power, running on Tritium, Star-Fuel. Drops of purple blood fell onto one of the Reactors, instantly fizzling and evapoating on contact with the increadably hot metal shielding.
A Brute Captain roared, dropping his weapon and charging them. They dove out of the way, and twin Pulse Rifle rounds did next to nothing to faze it. Then Johnson had an idea. He ran up a ramp, heading for a dead ending. The furious, alien simian followed, bellowing curses and ferral roars.
Johnson let him come, then slipped out of the way just in time. The Brute fell over the edge, onto a Reactor.
The heat made him scream in agony, and Sarge could see his flesh melting. Sarge turned away, the Brute still screaming. Arbie joined him, and they made their way to the other side; lined with control pannels.
Sarge stared at the Alien symbols. And stared. He squinted hard. Then, "I can't figure out a word of this gibberish."
"I believe I can work this 'gibberish', Sarge," Arbie said, and he holstered his Plasma Sword, going to work slicing the terminal. "Hm... slicing the system... Standby... I'm in. Reactor Controls.... OutPut Programming... Overload... done! Ha! Take that, Loyalist Engineers!" He cried in triumph.
Sarge already noticed the heat level in the room getting even higher. "Hey, let's go. Four minutes to ka-boom, and it's already hot as hell in here, three ways."
They climbed a ladder, then another one out of another access hatch, into the street. A nearby fountain was spewing boiling water, and the glow-strips began to get brighter as Sarge stared at them.
03:40. They took off, running. They nearly ran headfirst into the large group of Brutes from earlier, then quickly bypassed them, dodging explosions and sizzling plasma bolts.
"Landing Bay, 200 Meters, Northwest!" Bellowed Sarge, running as if his life depended on it. As a matter of fact, it did.
"Harken here," The female voice yelled over the radio, "I'm under attack. Multiple fighters. Returning fire. Might be late."
"Now she tells us," Arbie muttered, ducking a plasma bolt.
They were there. They flew through the doors, and the Arbiter locked them behind them. Explosions and loud thumps on the other side of the door hastened them along the hall, and onto a balcony on the third floor of a Landing Bay. No Alliance Dropship.
Sarge looked around. "Well, no ships." A light overhead exploded with a large force, and several holopanels did as well.
"I don't like this..." The Arbiter said. "Wait... enemy forces!"
A particle sniper bolt streaked past them, and Sarge looked to see twin Snipers behind several Brutes and Jackals. "More company..." Sarge muttered, "And nothing to help us get away. Welp, time to kill."
He fired upon the snipers, energy rounds peppering the area near them. An energy lance sliced into one of the Buzzard's heads, exploding with force and spraying his brother in purple blood, along with a Brute, who sent a Grenade at the team. They dove off the balcony, and landed on the second floor.
"Almost... alright, in the pipe! Five-by-Five!" Hearken's pilot declared. "Twenty seconds to Exfil."
The doors behind them opened, and a dozen Brute Captains ran out, firing at the two.
Sarge jumped to Level One, and Arbie followed. Grenades exploded all around them; their Energy Shields began to buckle and strain.
Arbie pulled a Needler and sent a hail of Magenta needles directly into the face of a Brute, exploding in a shockingly pink cloud. This also killed two others near him.
Doors on the Lower Level opened, and Elite Jackals formed Phalanxes in the doorways, sending Plasma bolts at them.
They ducked behind a cluster of supply crates; the enemies continued to fire, chipping at the cover. One of the crates was punctured, and Plasma Pistols spilled forth. Sarge grabbed two of these and stuck his head out long enough to send several bolts at a group of hostiles before returning to cover.
"Pinned!" Barked Johnson.
Then, large bolts of plasma slammed over their heads, into the enemies. Star Hammer Mk VII rockets glided into the bay, and exploded in hails of shrapnel and bodies.
The Gunship hovered above the two. "Need a lift?"
"You know it," Sarge replied, and jumped into the GravLift. He was carried upwards, and whooped as he landed in the Troop Bay.
"Some ride," He noted to the Marines and Elites inside the bay. The Arbiter materialized in front of him, and stood quickly.
"Hang on," Bellowed the pilot, and the ship lurched as she hit the Afterburners out of the bay. Sarge peeked out a Pressure Window, and saw the Holy of Holies being enveoped in white light and breaking out in explosions. Every ship hastened away from it.
Sarge slumped back in his seat, and sighed as the Station exploded soundlessly with brilliant light. "Phew. Hard day's work."
Arbie and The Sarge, CH 2
Date: 15 March 2006, 11:47 am
Author's Notes: Yes. The last part of this was, in fact, several billion years ago. Well I take long with FanFiction nowadays. Be advised that some I'm more proud of than other parts of it. Anyway, enjoy.
Oh, and finaly I got a cool E-mail address for people to pester me at! ^^
-- Hunter_Killer
Arbie and the Sarge
Ch. 2
///The First Age Of Enlightenment
Seperatist Colony, New Gerkeck
Public Forum///
"I don't like the humans. We should be slaying them, not helping them!" A teenaged elite said exasperatedly.
"Need I point out, Komma," Another elite, very old in Cycles, "That, as Keti The Great once said, 'The Enemy Of My Enemy Is My Friend'."
"But, they are our enemy!"
"Who told you they are the enemy?"
"Well..."
"The Prophets and their... loyalist scum, right? Well, as I'm sure even you have percieved, the Prophets have fed us a lie of collossal proportions, or you wouldn't be on this colony. Well, if they lied once, what's to say they have not lied again?"
The debate, which had been going on nonstop for several dozen Ulics, was brought to a hault as Loyalist Banshees swooped down from the sky, plasma weapons blazing.
Komma dove from his bench, which was incinerated by a massive blob of green Plasma. Sirens began to cry out, and a nearby Plasma AA gun spoke with a blue flash and a loud boom.
"We are under attack! Alert the Alliance!" Ordered a Red Elite to a pair of Grunts manning a SatCOM Uplink Computer.
One of the pyramid-buildings imploded with flames; rubble flew everywhere. Twin cruisers could be seen, descending on the city from above.
One of the Grunts looked up, and said, "Oooh, fireworks."
The other grunt whomp'ed him over the head with a glowing instrument.
Sarge reclined in his squishy chair as Flip music blasted over the speakers of the Troop Bay. Several Marines and Grunts were nodding with the beat or even singing along. One Elite was grinning slightly, the others all with stern, concentrating faces.
"You know," Johnson casualy noted to the Arbiter, "If I were to shove a lump of coal up your ass right now, in less than a week it'd be a diamond."
"How can you relax so? Battle is almost upon us," The Arbiter said fixedly.
"We humans have advanced to such a mental standard where it's possible," The Sarge answered with mock umbridge.
The Arbiter glanced at a group of Marines, huddled around a magazine with pictures certainly against Corps Regs and guffawing stupidly, but said nothing.
"This is Gunship Xai, we are 30 seconds from the Drop Zone! It's hot; Loyalists are swarming the whole damn city!" The radio declared.
"Time to kick some Loyalist ass! I'ma bag me a few hundred Wraiths, Peters!" One of the Marines whooped.
"B-b-b-b-b-buuuuuulllllshhhhhhhiiiiiiittttttt," Peters declared, stretching the declarative much past it's expiration date.
"Well, I bagged your mom pretty good," The marine said.
"You're a bag, Crispy," Peters said.
"Ten seconds!" Bellowed the pilot, and the blastshield lowered off of one of the deck, revealing it to be a massive window. Everyone looked outside, except one Grunt, who was fixedly staring at the inapropriate magazine. The landscape of the city resembled something a PCP-addict would stumple into ten minutes after snorting the dust. Add liberal ammounts of Plasma. Mix with troops, swarming across the surface, exchanging fire.
"And in Jesus' name, amen," Ibanez said quietly.
The Gunship hit the ground, and Sarge stood. "I'm first, what an honor," He mumbled, walking over to the Gravlift, and jumping down.
He landed on the Purple street, and rolled away to allow the Arbiter to land next to him. They ran down the road, to an Alliance roadblock, where seven Elites had set up stationary Plasma cannons and had heavy weaponry stashed all around.
"The Arbiter..." The commanding Zealot, wearing golden armor tinted with orange to show it's independence from the false Prophets, and with a Fuel Rod gun at the ready, mumbled, then took an official tone. "Leader, this is one of the last remaining checkpoints that is unattacked, although an enemy strike group has been sighted heading this way. As you can see, we are prepared."
"Oooh, a Plasma Sword..." Sarge said, clicking the powerful blade to life, and waving it in the air. It gave a graceful hum and a light blue glow.
The Zealot rolled his eyes, and looked behind him in time to catch a Plasma sniper round into the shoulder. He went down with a roar, his FRC clattering onto the metalic street.
"Filth!" Roared an all-orange Elite with a new set of armor from the Old Covie ones, as he manned a stationary turret. "Unworthy, vile sludge!" Three such emplacements sent a torrent of deavistating plasma rounds into the area of the enemy, who were taking cover behind a few overturned alien trucks.
"Peters, Ibanez, mark that position!" Sergeant Stacker ordered, and twin Marines handed two more something that looked like a Rocket Launcher, but everyone knew it was far more deadly than that.
"Fire in the hole!" Yelled Ibanez, and a small rocket burst out of the launcher, and whooshed into the enemy. The allied forces took cover imeediately.
The Katana Fission Rocket exploded in the middle of the enemy ranks, devestating the entire road and the buildings on each side. Shockwaves rumbled over the allies's heads. The ground thumped in massive waves, cracking the street in many places. The noise was overwhelming.
Then is was over, and they gradualy popped their heads up, and saw a smoking hole and toppled buildings. No contacts.
"Whoo!" One Marine said. "Hot damn, good shooting, Ibanez!" He thumped the nuke-man on the back.
Sarge barked, "Marines, stay with the freakshow roadblocks and defend positions. We can't loose any more ground to the Old Covenant. Me and Arbie here are going into the tunnel system. Good luck."
The nearest tunnel entrance was 200 meters up the road, past the remains of a terrible battle. Sarge looked up. An Allied Gunboat and several Covenant Banshees were duking it out, 1,000 feet in the air.
It was a cavernous hole with a forcefield over it and a large sign which said; Entry Toll, 5 Credits per Sentient in Basic. Sarge didn't carry money with him on Combat Drops; the Arbiter also had no currency. So Sarge devised a highly technical solution to the problem; his steel boot fit quite nicely into the machine.
After serveral such payments, the forcefield wavered and dissapeared, and Arbie said, "Ah, more of that Human Ingenuity, right, Johnson?"
"Damn skimpy," Sarge said, leading the way and lighting up another cigar. They entered the tunnels. All the glow strips were extinguished, so Sarge and Arbie activated their night-vision units in their armor.
Sarge looked around at the hundreds of corpses littering the area. "Damn, the Old Convenant weren't very happy to see these hobos," He observed, weapon at the ready.
"The dislocated and downtrodden; a result of the corrupt religious system," The Arbiter growled, swinging his Needlers everywhich way.
"Nah. It ain't religion. We got plenty of these home, and I'll be damned if we're as spiritual as you split-lips," Sarge said, carefuly walking into the dephs of the tunnels. "Alright, ONI said that your boys here, while digging deeper than ever before for a new tunnel extension system, they discovered a massive cache of Forunner artifacts, Arbie. But it looks like the Loyalists got here first."
"We must race to secure any remaining artifacts in the cache," The Arbiter said, still looking around warily.
"Or stop the enemy in the act. This blood is new. Come-on, 400 meters this way!" And they proceeded through the tunnels, which were decked in corpses, blood and craters. Carbon scoring was everywhere, along with fragmented needle shards and depleted Plasma Sword handles.
A Seperatist Elite laid propped up, the wall behind him smeared with his blood, his breathing heavy. Sarge kneeled by him, and he said, "Reinforcements. We could have.... used that.... earlier. These civilians.... wiped out. They're up ahead. Left me.... to die. I just might..... too...." The elite closed his eyes.
Sarge shook his head and stood. "C'mon, Arbie, we're getting close!" And as they turned the corner in the tunnel, they spotted a group of Brutes loading a Seperatist container full of Forrunner artifacts onto a Creep APC.
"I think we found the Gold," Sarge said. "Ions, Arbie." They both powered up the Alliance's newest experimental grenade; an Ion Detonator which fused skin and disabled all electrical pulses. Basicaly an improoved Plasma Grenade. "Throw!" The two glowing orbs of white flew true, onto the face of the two Brutes in the middle.
With a nearly comical roar and a thundering explosion five Brutes were thrown free, instantly dead, leaving two quite pissed alien monsters, who instantly charged their attackers, shedding their weaponry and armor-helmets.
Sarge calmly blasted into the head of one Brute with his AX-20 Plasma Battle Rifle, bursts of orange energy slamming into it's skull, while The Arbiter drew his Plasma Sword, igniting the blade, and lunging at the beast.
Sarge held his ground. The beast lunged but he sidestepped and it flopped into the wall, dead. Johnson shot another burst into it for insurance. He turned to the Arbiter, who was pinned against a wall, the damaged Plasma Sword fizzling in his hand.
With a burst of plasma, the wounded creature fell, and Arbiter brushed his armor off. "You owe me," He called to Arbiter cheerfuly, and ran forward rapidly. The elite grumbled slightly and then followed the human.
Within a tunnel, several unmanned anti-grav platforms carrying rare artifacts passed them, landing in neat rows. Several Jackals supervised the cargo-trams.
"Hey, Ugly!" Sarge yelled at the nearest one. It was dead in mid-point and he reloaded the clip of the rifle with a loud clacking noise. Arbiter charged up to one, using his Plasma Rifle Advanced as a cudgel. It worked quite fine for bashing Jackal skulls. Then he shoved it into another with a sickening crack, and pulled the trigger down for continuous plasmafire. The alien twitched and coughed blood.
Arbiter tossed him at the last enemy, whose shield was distracted long enough for Sarge to plant much plasma in it's face. "Area secure," He reported. "Sarge to Second Squad. We got an assload of artifacts in the municipal Subway-Mining tunnels. Get some troopers to Junction J-52."
"Copy Sergeant. Second Squad moving out."
"Third Squad holding position."
"Fourth Squad, ready to roll, sirs! Soon as ya'all are topside."
"The Fifth Squad is unloading now, Leaders."
A group of five Marines and two Hunters approached from the direction they had come. The Marine Sergeant saluted and said, "Sons of bitches and sons of elephants reporting for duty."
"Hold here, humans," The Arbiter said. "Your abilities are sufficient to guard this load until relief teams may retrieve it."
"Gee, thanks, sir."
"Hunters! On us; we are assaulting deeper into the Mines." He sniffed the air. "I sense a Prophet."
"The Prophet of Research; one of the ones that escaped our Strike," An elite said over the radio, growling. "Raaar. I will alert command and then follow you. Fifth Squad setting up at the Comm-Center, Leaders."
"Roadblock Delta here!" A human said, his voice haggled by static. "They got Wraiths, Banshees, Creeps, Ghosts, hell, I think they got one of our nuke-launchers." The line was interupted as a huge explosion sounded in the backgroud. "Nuke-launcher confirmed. We need HELP. We're not going to hold here. I'm pulling my men back to Tertiary positions. Delta out."
Sarge sighed. "Affirmative, Delta. I'm en-route." He turned to Arbiter. "Looks like we split paths now, Arbie. Take care of yourself." Arbie bowed to Johnson.
"Yes, and you, Friend. I wish to fight alongside you soon again."
Sarge nodded. "I'm quite sure we'll meet again." He turned and jogged off, meeting another group of soldiers down the tunnel. With that Arbiter sighed and turned to his objective: the badly-lit mineshafts.
All for now. Meh.
|
