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Of No Consequence, Chapter One: Fate's Setup
Posted By: Hecatoncheires
Date: 1 January 2006, 5:00 am
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Shrouded in innocence and honor, it picks and chooses, lowers and exalts. It is called hope, savior, butcher and killer. Clothes stained red from slaughter, it knows no law other than expedience and no authority other than itself. It fights the enemy with skill and rage, but toasts each victory with human blood, draining the cup and licking its lips with relish. It treads the fields of humanity leaving a trail of crushed bodies and bloody footprints, and although it goes by many names, its favorite is The Greater Good.
Eden had a population of nearly a million and with its beautiful landscape, Earth-like seasons and prosperous economy, it seemed to be a haven in a time of turmoil. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Shortly after the planet was colonized a decade and a half earlier, something had arrived: something so dark and horrible that it seemed the product of a childhood nightmare. Living and growing among the happy citizens it waited patiently for the day that it would possess and eventually kill every man woman and child on the planet. And then, mere hours before Death's chosen time, something unexpected happened. Eden received an urgent warning: the Covenant were on their way.
In light of the horror that followed, it is ironic that for a short time it represented the most successful evacuation in history. Due to the advanced warning, every person on the planet escaped the Covenant invasion and the certain death that always followed. Nearly a million saved without a single casualty. Corks were popped, backs were slapped and promotions were pushed through—for exactly forty-seven hours. The most frightening dreams are those that appear good at first, but then the façade melts away, revealing the nightmare beneath.
Something had been left behind—something so valuable that all but one of the ONI officials responsible were executed within hours. Moments before the final condemned spook was to be put to death, ONI received chilling news. Apparently the Covenant was aware the planet contained something of interest and had been landing troops on it for almost two days. Since someone familiar with the "package" would need to join the UNSC's suicidal insertion team, the final condemned officer was spared. It seems that Fate had something much, much worse planned for him. He knew something that the other soldiers did not; that ONI had given them a one way ticket to Hell.
You see, it had been the first such evacuation that had not been christened with human blood, and Death had taken the slight to heart. But if the Reaper was looking for a cakewalk, it should have hit the nearest school carnival. Death was about to be challenged by the UNSC's best, and if it was easy it was hoping for—
It had messed with the wrong Marines.
Chapter One
Fate's Setup
Sundown Four
The early evening was quiet, the soft and beautiful array of purple and pink hues reflecting pleasantly off the high wispy clouds, adding a certain calmness to the minds of those looking upon the sight. Rarely could one enjoy the sunset anymore, and even seeing nature's raw elegance was something of recherché.
In a war that primarily consumed time—aside from lives—there were relatively no breaks to enjoy the little things in life; which included watching a beautiful young star set below a distant horizon. From the roof-top of the charred building, however, the time and opportunity suddenly presented itself as the majestic view (Original: "sight") filled the surroundings with tranquility and contentment.
Sherwood gazed off blankly into the sinking sun, soaking up every free second he could while absorbing the awe unfolding before him. He had seen the sunset many times before, and had taken the time to enjoy its magnificence on more than one occasion, but this time it seemed different. He could feel the serenity, the calmness that abounded only in the silence of war, and the invigoration settling in as he remembered once again why he picked up his weapon and fought against this relentless enemy.
Though, despite the drive and motivation that brought him face to face with this foe, he always longed for the life he had left behind. Perhaps it was just the sight of this sunset seizing control of his senses, or maybe the aroma in the still air, but he felt the deep emptiness there. Bloodshed never filled the heart and soul with anything, instead it slowly killed off another portion, leaving a languishment that called out for healing. He would get it someday, however, and no matter how hard he was clinched in this war, he would find a way to quench the thirst inside.
"Nothing short of amazing," Michael observed, walking over and staring out upon the horizon. The view was spectacular, being eight stories up and so allowing an unhindered gaze at the masterpiece painted in the sky. The urban stretch was a mixture of khaki and brown, and the scars and wounds from the battle that raged around this city were momentarily dulled out as the breathtaking view consumed all fear and apprehension. This moment was worth more than life itself.
"Satellite uplink is ready."
Both soldiers turned as the third member of their group stood up, looking down in satisfaction at the small satellite dish that pointed skyward. The shorter man stretched out his arms, releasing the tension in his fingers and turning to face the other two.
"We should be in contact with all Talon units now," Paul reported, not taking a second look at the sunset that had captivated his companions. His official designation was "Communications Technician," and he was all business, rarely paying attention to the seemingly trivial aspects of life. But he had not spent the last week in this city like the other two, and thus had a much greater attention span to work from, his mind and body fresh and so able to stay focused.
Michael nodded in approval, staring at the small device for a moment. The thirty-three year-old Gunnery Sergeant was well experienced on the battlefield, and had chosen being deployed over heading off for a technical degree. While he possessed a certain mechanical prowess uncommon in most, he doubted his ability to do what Paul had just accomplished in ten minutes. Well, that's why the techie is with us, so I don't have to worry about this.
Now that they had established the communications net for this portion of the city, the small operation could continue, and whatever foe remained in this deserted city scape could be systematically eliminated or bypassed completely. There were no civilians left to save here, nothing that would realistically merit their presence, but it was deemed geopolitically important by some hothead on another planet, and thus their presence was required. Formerly the home of just under a million, it had once been a bustling commerce capitol and known across the Outer Colonies as a prime trading post. But after a significant invasion by foreigners—"foreigners" being the official name according to the Gunnery Sergeant ever since he was stuck on this rock—it was now a ghost city, only harboring stray Covenant and small groups of Marines who fought to achieve minor victories amongst this massive invasion.
Why wasn't this planet just glassed like the rest? He was glad that it still existed, but it seemed pointless to any extent for the Covenant to be here. The rumors that had been passed around implicated a location that was of value to the aliens, supposedly somewhere in this city; but those were nothing more than rumors—tales to spice up their daily lives. He could appreciate the effort, as it gave him and his small team something fictional to fantasize over, but it was nothing more than meaningless side-talk. None of it could change the fact that Covenant now populated this city, and that meant that he was still committed to completing his "objective."
"I remember the first time stepping into this city," Sherwood commented, drawing attention toward him as his eyes lay fixated on the horizon. "The first thing I thought was 'what the hell are we doing here?' I've wondered time and time again what our efforts are trying to achieve. I know there's something valuable here, but as of yet, I can't even go to imagine what it is."
"Don't worry about it too much," Michael replied dismissively, oddly changing the subject . "We've done our job, now let's wait for the rest of this to get underway. If there's any luck, we'll be riding out of this pit by tomorrow morning."
Sherwood and Paul paused to soak in those thoughts and expectations. Getting out of here was definitely something worth fighting for, and as it stood at the moment, there was very little to do other than observe the actions about to encompass the city, nearly guaranteeing their egress. While it was only a small task force, it still required monitoring, and therefore their attendance. Besides, someone had to report back about its success or failure.
The three soldiers wearily glanced towards the source of the high-pitched wailing originating far in the distance, nearly exactly on time as the OPORD dictated. In the distance, several black specks flew on towards them, announcing their presence with compromising screams from their engines. Despite the tactically unsound entrance, that was the task force, inbound to complete the mission that had just been prepped by the three-man team.
In the streets of the city, figures scurried about, the sounds striking a mixture of fear and motivation into the alien minds. Silently, they moved to cover and firing positions, rapidly preparing for the incoming force of humans; bringing their weapons to bear and their determination to life. The night was young, and would prove exhaustingly long for both sides; but these beings wanted to be the victors by morning, and would fight until the last enemy dropped to the ground.
The confrontation was being birthed.
Sierra-141
"Sundown-Four, Sierra-141 is on Insertion Waypoint to Objective Riley. ETA is three mikes." Jun announced over the newly set-up network. The pilot manipulated the controls of the Pelican, keeping it in a tight formation with the leading craft just ahead. He let his eyes flow over the digitalized instrument panel, his many years of experience absorbing the information in a mere second; confirming the complete status of his craft.
The Pelican cruised through the still air, the ride unusually steady as the atmosphere began to cool in the delectable evening. The black craft flew on determinedly at just over a hundred meters above the ground, its flight trajectory set on the waypoint marker just over two kilometers away. The occupants in the back were unusually quiet—something about them seemed different to the pilot, but he didn't complain; it was actually rather relaxing. Ordinarily, loud and talkative Marines chattered nervously before they dropped out of his craft, but these soldiers took on a far different demeanor: Silent and Professional.
He chuckled softly, drawing a quizzical look from his copilot. Silent and Peaceful more accurately represented his favored outlook on the men. No jokes, no meaningless stories, and sure as hell no motivational speeches. Having flown over forty combat missions, he had heard his full share of a commander trying to rally his troops, and every one of them varied only by a word or two. He understood the importance of getting the blood pumping and the fortitude for success, but it got old—fast.
For that very reason he hoped these particular Marines were ready. Something twitched in his gut, and he found himself wishing them well. It was uncommon for him to do so—provided the fact that they all seemed to blend together over the years—but this group seemed to have some true character to it. Hopefully these troops would fair well, and he would be the one picking them up when they completed their task.
"Sierra-141, Sundown-Four, Objective Riley appears to be clear, you are go for insertion."
Jun subconsciously ran through all his craft's systems yet again. They were good to go. "Sierra-141 copies."
The team of eight Marines sat tensely in the rear of the Pelican, not bothering to speak a word as the terrain passed below the open rear door. Tall, weathered, and partly destroyed buildings spanned out for kilometers. Empty streets were littered with trash and the occasional burned-out vehicle. The sight was not pleasing to the eye, and the urban setting brought upon an apprehensive foreboding.
No one liked operations in the middle of a city. There were far too many places for their enemy to hide, and far too many mistakes to possibly be made. Even from the relative safety in the Pelican a hundred meters above the many structures, the potentiality for death was demandingly present, and the common fears that crept into many minds silently made their mark among the Marines. An abandoned city filled with Covenant, with a single, small objective desired by both sides was far from an ideal situation—perhaps closer to a suicide assignment.
The thoughts preoccupied the officer sitting closest to the rear door, his rifle swaying back and forth as he pondered over the future that awaited him and his team. The First Lieutenant was the highest ranking Marine on this mission, and he felt the full responsibility for not only his own team, but for the other two as well. Twenty-four soldiers were going into this city, twenty-four men and women who followed his command. It was a daunting thought, and he felt the full pressure of it resting on his shoulders.
His primary concern was getting everyone back out alive, but he knew the very nature of this mission would make that goal nearly unattainable. Merely searching for their objective was a dejecting task, and having to do that under the watch of Covenant who roamed the city in search of the same objective made it seemingly impossible. He didn't doubt his own abilities, nor those of his team, but the odds were stacked against them. Whoever had come up with this mission was truly senseless.
"Sir, one mike to drop!"
Sam looked over and nodded at Sergeant Kale, a young but capable Marine assigned to his team. He appreciated the soldier's enthusiasm and motivation—and tried to feed off of it himself—but nothing could really break past the burden in his mind. Maybe they could make it; maybe they would be alright.
He looked once more at the seven Marines staring back. His mental response was rather dejecting.
Maybe not.
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