 |
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
|
|
|
Zulu Chronicles by Liam Grove
|
Halo Story Zulu 45.6
Date: 28 November 2004, 6:58 PM
I wipe the sleep from the corners of my eyes as my vision clears. My feet clank on the metal floor. I groggily roll out of my bunk. Walking towards the door to the mess hall, I wonder what Chief Petty Officer Mendez will have for us today. Probably some more exercises. I slip on a standard-issue camouflage uniform as well as some loose combat boots.
Fully awake, I scan the menu. M.R.Es, more M.R.Es, and soup. Why can't they have more options than Meals Ready to Eat? A heavy sigh escapes my mouth as I grab some cream of mushroom soup.
Once I have finished my "Meal" I walk over to the briefing room. The doors lock as CPO Mendez prepares to explain our next mission.
The dark room is filled to the brim with other marines, fidgeting with their uniforms.
"Alright!" Mendez's bark silences everyone.
"Four Cruisers have gone missing in the Delta wing of the milky way. Recent intelligence notifies us that we have made first contact with another species. This is the message we received while establishing communications."
A cold, metallic voice fills the atrium. The words are easy to comprehend.
"Your destruction is the will of the gods. We are their instrument."
The voice, strangely formal, sends a shiver down my back.
"Is this message translated?" I ask Mendez.
"No," he replies. "It was in English when we received it, which means they have been watching us for quite some time."
My sense of security shatters as I look up at the roof, wondering. This enemy will not be easy to defeat.
"I will continue my campaign against the humans," says Kamamee to the darkness where the prophets hide. The crowd behind him stirs. Kamamee moves across the raised platform towards the blackness, then stops.
"No, you will not," responds the prophet of truth. "Your actions in space deserve punishment. Was this action not intended? After all, you have given them notice of our existence."
"It was an accident," says Kamamee through the four segments of his jaw.
"Nay!" Comes a voice from the crowd. "It was heresy!"
Thousands of voices fill the court.
"We will have order in this council!" The prophet of regret, hammering his fists on the arms of his hovering throne. "We sentence you to the punishment of disgrace, and to be left behind when the great journey comes." The prophet's voice echoes throughout the dome.
The muscles in Kamamee's body seize up as two arms, densely coated with grey, bristly hair, grab him from behind and drag him to the room of punishment. For a failure such as this, no punishment is too great, he tells himself. He shrugs off the alien guards and drags his weary feet to the door in front of the prophets.
The room of punishment is not really a room, more of an open balcony where spectators can watch the torture.
"You draw quite a crowd," says the hulking alien setting him up in energy shackles.
In experiment, Kamamee tries to pull his hand out of the shackle.
"If they came to see me beg, they will be disappointed."
"Are you sure?" The alien chuckles. The stench of this mass of muscle reminds him of the human fuel that powers their primitive space vessels.
The energy creates great flames that burn at Kamamee's arms. He opens his giant four mandibles to the sky and screams.
I watch Mendez pull back a curtain revealing five statues. One is a small humanoid figure wearing a gas mask, with an odd triangular pod on its back.
"The enemy call themselves The Covenant, a bonding of five known alien races." Mendez points at the first statue.
"They call it the Grunt. It is the basic foot soldier of the Covenant." He walks along the briefing room and points to the second statue. It carries an energy shield, again it is biped, and its head reminds me of an alligator.
"They call this one the Jackal, the assassin in their army."
The statue to the right of the Jackal is the Elite, the most humanlike creature of them all. Roughly eight feet tall, its jaws are divided into four parts. Then the Brute, simply a furry, muscular version of the Elite.
The last one, and easily the most fearsome, is a Hunter. It stands twelve feet tall, with a huge metal plate fused to its arm. Six long spines plate the back of the beast.
"Now," said CPO Mendez. "We begin our training. First off is a capture the flag game, with rubber bullets. Go to your positions and start it up."
I crawl on my belly towards a rock jutting out of the ground. There is a sniper's rifle lying beside the rock. I raise it above the red boulder and zoom in on the concrete bunker in the distance. It is a circular shape, with a teleport on top. Several ridges make it look like a turret on a castle, with treasure inside. Through the 16x scope I see a soldier poke his armored head out of the hatch.
"Gotcha," I mutter under my breath as I pull the trigger. His red visor cracks as he falls to the ground inside the bunker.
I roll to my side and run for the path that juts several feet from the cliff. The rocks on the path slip out from under my feet. Lucky I've got my traction boots. Once I am finally at the smooth part I kneel down and take a few deep breaths. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a quartet of plasma grenades. Cautiously, I lower them into my pack.
My motion tracker flickers as I pick up the pistol lying on the ground.
Down the cliff, an enemy soldier crawls along the sandy ditch. I ignite a plasma grenade and throw it at him. The grenade glows a sickly green-white as it melts onto his armor. He stands up and does an insane dance in an attempt to remove the grenade before it explodes. I duck for cover as pieces of shrapnel fly everywhere. I crouch-walk down the path, keeping an eye on the enemy bunker. As I climb up to the roof of the concrete structure, there is a sniper crouching on one knee, several feet from the edge of the bunker. Common tactical plan. I hit him with the butt of my rifle. There is a certain sound when bones break, whether human or alien. This sickening crunch tells me that he is long gone. I search his dead body. The corpse's head is rolled off at a bizarre angle, like a knight's helm opened backwards. I find a few frag grenades in his pouch, as well as some 8.43 mm armor piercing rounds. When I finish searching, I drag the body into the teleport at the edge of the bunker. Three red blips crawl along on my motion detector. The enemy soldiers are inside the bunker. I take a frag grenade, pull the pin, silently count to three, open up the hatch and throw it inside. A low bass sound rumbles the roof of the fort. Just as suddenly as they had come, three red blips disappear off of my radar. I climb down into the scorched, smoking, mazelike bunker. I avoid the black, scorched circle where the grenade landed, and grab the flag. Once I have it I run from the bunker. A hail of bullets showers upon me. I grit my teeth. I gotta get to the warthog jeep. Sweat fogs my visor. I jump into the driver's seat and floor it through the dunes.
Suddenly I hit the brakes. That is the sound of a grenade hitting the 'hog. I jump out and run for the dark caves. Then, I hear a huge explosion as the reconnaissance vehicle becomes Al's Used Auto Parts Store.
Hiding in the cave, I drop my sniper's rifle and pick up a beam sword. The goal is to get the flag to our base. I have to stop procrastinating. The thumping of a heavily armored warrior marching into the rock formation shatters my thoughts. I jump out at him and slash my beam sword. The double-pronged blade easily slices through his armor. He turns and runs. I draw my pistol and shoot him in the back of his head. He tumbles to the sand. Sprinting for our bunker, time seems to slow as my foggy breath mists the inside of my visor. Once I am there I plant the flag in the beacon.
We Win.
Exhausted, I walk out of the training room. Then, I go to my bunk and sleep.
|
