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Force Recon, Scout Sniper Part 6
Posted By: Helljumper
Date: 6 June 2006, 4:22 pm
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0459 Hours (Military Time), January 26, 2553 (Military Calendar)/ Planet classification Omega 23/ Fross Star System
Despite all the rigors of ODST training, Force Recon training, and more than three dozen combat missions, Sergeant Deel couldn't stop his heart from beating faster as the Covenant patrol approached. He blinked twice, coating his right eye with moisture as it followed the enemy's movement through the scope of his camouflaged battle rifle.
Two Grunts walked ahead of a Jackal, barking loudly in their language. The subtle body movements of the orange feathered Jackal depicted its dislike in its assignment. The bird like alien's head hung low watching it's feet as it continued along the beaten patrol path. Looking up for a moment, it snarled at the sight of the two Grunts and continued back to its boredom.
Two rifles with steady fingers followed the trio of Covenant foot soldiers as they disappeared out of view. Sergeant Deel and Corporal Baker moved from a prone position to one knee as their weapons continued to point in the direction of the patrol. Deel slung his rifle over his right shoulder, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead before it rolled into his eyes. Producing a data pad from his utility belt, he typed in the four digit pass code. The device's menu appeared with several options. The sniper commanded the device to connect to the surveillance satellites launched from the Mystic. A lay out of the planet's, dominate continent appeared with two triangles representing the Force Recon Marines and a large rectangle for the enemy cruiser.
Deel used the satillete uplink to zoom in further. His eyes scanned the topographical image on the screen for a suitable firing position. The image rotated, zoomed in and out at the sniper's control. Numbers representing distance and coordinate planes raced across the image, but none of the data satisfied him. The situation wasn't ideal, but when in war was that possible, Erik thought to himself. The Covenant cruiser was positioned in a large valley. The satellites couldn't give him an idea of how deep the valley was, but estimated it to be a little over two kilometers wide. Sergeant Deel logged out and turned off the device. He would have to see with his own eyes the particulars of the enemy's location.
Platoon leader, Second Lieutenant Jason Temyer ducked as the superheated plasma bolts flew over head while others struck the steel and reinforced concrete ramparts. Machine gun and battle rifle fire answered the enemies advance. Temyer knew the battle wasn't faring to well. His platoon had repelled two Covenant attacks but with heavy casualties. The thirty eight Marine infantry platoon was down to twelve able bodied men.
Sitting with his back against the meter and a half high wall, Lt. Temyer pulled the empty magazine from his battle rifle and replaced it with a full one. Glancing to his right he watched Lance Corporal Bois on the M247 GP Machine Gun. The Marine's body shook violently as he held down the trigger. Plasma flew by the gunner's head but they didn't even evoke a reaction or reflex. The Marine officer had seen the scene before, it was desperation. The hopelessness of the war had taken over the Marine manning the standing machine gun. The only things that mattered were the targets in his sights.
Temyer debated pulling Bois off the heavy weapon and having him assist with the wounded. Another option was decided for the Lieutenant as he watched a green plasma bolt impact the Lance Corporal's helmet. The near deafening sound of the machine gun stopped instantly as the limb body hit the ground a few seconds later. The closest Marine in the recently deceased Corporal's fire team moved to check on their leader. Private Morris looked up at Lt. Temyer. His hands were covered in rich red blood and pieces of brain tissue. Time seemed to slow as a single tear formed and rolled down the Marine officer's face. The battle could be heard roaring around the Lieutenant, but his mind refused to expect it. Nothing existed except for him and the blood covered Private.
An explosion rocked the structure throwing Temyer to the concrete floor. His mind raced back to reality. A flash of bright green disappeared from where the M247 GP Machine Gun used to be. Private Morris was laying on his stomach as the smoke from his blackened and charred skin and uniform blew in the wind. Before the officer could ask what happened, two purple Banshees flew over the Marines' position. Fuck this. Temyer thought as he activated his COM.
"Outpost Bravo Whiskey to control do you copy?"
"Control here Bravo Whiskey, what's your SITREP?" replied the calm voice through Temyer's headset.
"Under sustained attack, effective strength down to ten, requesting immediate EVAC." The Lieutenant tried to block out the noise of gunfire as he awaited the reply.
"Negative Bravo Whiskey, the area has been deemed too hot for extraction. Trying to redirect air support to your location, hold for further directions."
"Fuck," escaped Jason's lips as he took his place back on the walls of the outpost. The Covenant were advancing across the open kill zone. The range finder on his scope labeled the row of Jackals, with over lapping shields, at less than a hundred meters, with Elites following closely behind. Most of the enemy's Grunts were dead and their bodies served only as a hindrance for the remaining Covenant warriors to step over.
Platoon Sergeant Leo took a position next to Lt. Teymer. He hoisted the massive M19 SSM Rocket Launcher onto his shoulder. His finger laid softly against the trigger as the two Banshee flyers approached the outpost. Their fuel rod canons glowed green as they charged preparing to take lives. The target locking mechanism beeped in the Sergeant's ear followed closely by the weapon's firing. The rocket escaped the launcher leaving behind a plume of white smoke. It raced towards the duo of aircraft. The Banshees broke formation but too late for the lead craft as the rocket impacted the nose.
Marines cheered at the destruction of the enemy plane. The second Banshee fired its fuel rod cannon from a distance and pulled out of its attack run. The weapon impacted a few dozen meters from the Marine outpost creating a haze of dirt and dust.
The TAC COM beeped in Second Lieutenant Teymer's ear, demanding his attention. The officer opened the channel on his radio.
"Control to Outpost Bravo Whiskey," said the soft female voice back in the command and control center of the Battle Cruiser somewhere above the planet.
"Bravo Whiskey here control, where is my air support" Teymer demanded out of frustration and exhaustion.
"Redirecting a flight of Skyhawks to your location, ETA nineteen minutes, you're to hold position until they arrive."
Lt. Teymer walked away from the ramparts of the pre-constructed outpost. "We don't have nineteen minutes, ammo is low, I have critical wounded." A stern male voice replaced the gentle one of the naval radio operator. "Lieutenant you are to hold your position those are your order!" The channel closed. The Marine CO kicked the air in pure unrestricted frustration. The urge to scream filled his mind as he struggled to contain his sanity.
Composure was difficult to capture but Jason forced himself. Looking up, he was grateful that his Marines were attentive to the enemy and didn't notice their CO's unexpected outburst. Taking another minute to gather his thoughts, he came to the realization that silence filled the space around him. The Marines of second platoon, Bravo company 187th Regiment were not firing, and neither was the enemy. He advanced back to the concrete and steel walls. Standing next to Sergeant Leo, Teymer took in the sight. Two Covenant dropships approached from the west two hundred meters away and deployed two massive Wraith mortar tanks.
Jason debated notifying Control, but ruled out the option. "Sergeant," he said followed by a strong yes sir from the platoon Sergeant. "Have Stonoisky help the Corpsman with the wounded, prepare them to be moved. Then gather all weapons and ammo from the dead and wounded, redistribute it among the men. I figure we have a few minutes before those Wraiths can warm up their plasma mortars and get into position. I don't wanna be here when that happens."
Sergeant Leo nodded in approval and moved to execute his orders.
The lone D77-TC Pelican gunship hugged the deck flying at ten meters. The thrust from its engines kicking up dried leaves and loose dirt in its wake, as the armed dropship approached its maximum speed over the flat field. The military green aircraft's battle scars of blackened sections of its armor, didn't affect the visible lethalness it still possessed for its enemies.
Marine aviator Captain Carlos Domin decreased the power to the thrusts, slowing down the gunship. The range finder on his heads up display rapidly counted down as the eighty meter high hill approached. Pointing the rear and wing thrusters vertically down, the Pelican came to a halt, as the pilot delicately feed just enough power to the engines to keep the aircraft in a hover.
Domin glanced over at his gunner and co pilot First Lieutenant James Resident. "I got the satellite uplink, Outpost Bravo Whiskey is just over this hill. Wait," Resident said as he zoomed the in the image on his screen. "Looks like two Wraiths two hundred and nineteen meters from the outpost. Their power levels are rising, they have to be charging their mortars."
"Guess we don't have much time then, Jim." Carlos replied swaying the aircraft side to side playfully. "What kind of weapons do we have left?"
"Hmm," Lieutenant Resident tapped his finger on the touch screen bring up a display of the Pelican. "We have one air to air, one tank buster and a little over three hundred rounds for the chain gun."
Controlling the aircraft with his left hand, Captain Domin searched through the channel listing on the radio. "Outpost Bravo Whiskey this is Birds of Prey Leader call sign Bravo Papa One, what's the location on that Banshee." Carlos opened the channel for his gunner to hear.
"We still don't have enough to take out that second tank," the gunner replied after closing the COM with bravo whiskey.
"There are Marines down there dieing, we aren't some punk ass naval flyers, we are Marine close air support, so that's what we're gonna do, get nice and close. Just get those targeting locks and I'll do the flying."
"Aye, aye sir. Ready when you are."
The pilot pushed the throttle to the max, sending the gunship into a vertical climb over the hill. At a hundred meters, the Pelican leveled out.
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