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Survivalism: Part 1 (revised)
Posted By: The Militant Poet<bkollmann@att.net>
Date: 24 November 2007, 7:53 pm
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Chapter 1 – The Haven
0530 hours – August 30th, 2552
Forward Recon outpost Delta – Codename: Haven
The air was still and smooth as dawn approached. Complete silence overcame all other noise in the jungle except for the occasional interruption from passing birds. It was an almost disturbing calm. This morning was a rare occasion for the men occupying The Haven; they almost never felt at peace in this place. Thick walls of overgrowth and tree trunks seemed to claw at them every day – constantly trying to consume them in their meager establishment. They were completely cut off from the outside world, save one radio and an old, beaten path leading through the foliage.
Only a few tents dotted the small grotto where their camp was laid out. The smallest of the three, the armory, rested near the eastern tree line right next to the exit path. Another small tent sat opposite the armory nearly engulfed in overgrowth and tree limbs – The communications "center". The third, and larger tent, was established dead north in the camp. It had multiple "rooms" and even a make-shift garage. Unfortunately for its occupants, the garage hadn't had any inhabitants for a long time; if anybody had to make a break for it, they did it on foot. To the south end of the grotto, a small guard tower peeked its tall perch out of the canopy that covered the sky above the outpost. The endless layer of tree tops was like a rolling ocean of green in front of the tower. From there, you could see the surrounding landscape for miles around.
In between the tents, the trap doors leading to the tunnel system that housed, fed, and hid the soldiers living there, rested shut. In the middle of all these structures and doors a small open grassy area freckled with ferns and moss-covered tree stumps sat in waiting for her tenants to emerge from the shadows and leaves. Every building, every sign of human life, was covered in camouflage netting, and erased from the face of Reach. A man could walk right into this place and not even know that ten highly trained killers were waiting all around him, stalking his every move.
A rustling in the grass cut the eerie quiet almost as soon as it started. A trap door in between the tower and the com station perked up ever so slightly, and the dim white of human eyes darted back and forth from within – scanning the area. Suddenly a whistle blared across the grotto; the "all clear" sign. All of the trap doors flung open in unison and no sooner than they hit the ground did almost a dozen men trot out from the depths of the tunnels. They were clad in black and dark grey baggy camouflage under clothes. On top of their fatigues several plates of matte-black armor were fastened securely on their legs, upper arms, fore arms, and thighs. The plates were layered and tied together so intricately that there cumbersome weight seemed nothing more than an extra layer of clothes. Their chest plate reached all the way from the lower part of their abdomen up to the middle of their neck, and over to the top of their shoulder-guards. It was protracted and bulged slightly from their natural chest, and seemed to be more like a flexible shell than body armor. The sides of the chest plate circled around and under their arms to meet their back armor; a thick synthetic Kevlar – elastic compound that allowed for incredible flexibility without sacrificing protection to their spinal chord. Two smaller armored plates that rested on their upper backs just above their shoulder blades also accompanied the Kevlar for added fortification. The last and most intriguing part of their uniform was the helmet – a small dome with extensions that went along the jaw line and joined together at the mouth. Over the face a black reflective visor shielded any notion of facial expression; the very sight of this black abyss staring back at you would strike fear into the heart of any enemy.
The men poured out of the ground and quickly raised their weapons into the surrounding jungle. They swept their barrels back and forth for nearly a minute before they were sure nobody was watching.
"Let's go marines!" barked a soldier with a red band that stricken through his right shoulder plate, "boots on the line; move it!"
The other nine men gathered promptly in a straight line and faced the red-banded soldier at attention. The officer inspected the men and gave a nod of approval. Ducking his head down, he clasped the sides of his helmet and pulled it off. He shook his hair free of dust and dirt and took a deep breath of the humid jungle air.
"Alright," he said, "Here's the situation. The Covenant is on its way with a fleet that's bigger than anything we've ever seen before. They want this place glassed, and judging by what's on its way, they want it done badly. The fleet is pulling together every ship it can to defend the planet from orbit, but they won't have a chance without the MAC's we have planet-side." He wiped his brow clear of sweat and started to slowly pace back and forth in front of the line, "Our job is to support the 5th infantry division in defense and fortification of the generators that power the guns west of the valley. The spooks in ONI think that the Covenant is going to jump in to space right over the heads of the 5th, so those generators are going to be taking landing parties early and often. More than likely the generators are going to be a primary target, so we have to hold them at all costs. Expect a lot of heat, but don't expect it to stop. A Pelican will pick us up at 0800 hours to take us to the generators," He darted his eyes from soldier to soldier, "Until then, pack all the gear, ammo, weapons, and supplies that you can - we're going in heavy. Let's show those poor Covenant bastards what Hell jumpers are all about." A smirk started to form on the side of his lips.
He paused abruptly at the end of the line and spun sharply – facing down the row of soldiers. He looked at every one of their helmets one after another. He couldn't see their faces, but he knew who each one of them was. He had lived, trained, fought, and bled with all of them for the last five years in this war, and he had been looking forward to this moment ever since day one - to the day he could die for them. "May God have mercy on their souls, for we will show them none."
As if on cue, all nine of the soldiers snapped a crisp salute accompanied by the loudest "Hoorah" that part of the jungle had ever seen. The officer fought back the smile that was trying to overcome the cold image he was trained to portray and returned the salute, "Dismissed!"
The men dispersed and scattered to various positions around the camp. The entire outpost was bustling from anxiety for the upcoming mission, more so than the usual pre-mission jitters. Some sat around fine tuning their weapons. Others grabbed some extra MRE's from down in the tunnels. A couple went to the armory to start loading up what was left of their C-12 supplies.
"Hodges!" Barked the officer, "get up in the nest and see if you can get a good heading on that landing zone - a rough map would be nice too."
"Yes sir!" replied a slender, medium height soldier sitting on a hollowed out stump. He dropped the screw driver he was holding and smirked as he hefted his S2 AM. The newly cleaned and adjusted weapon was a thing of beauty. Each individual part was meticulously maintained to perfection. Its barrel shone with a glassy smooth glaze. The scope was perfectly clear and accurate. The stock was as stable as ever. It was the perfect gun.
Private Mark Hodges didn't even struggle to carry the enormous firearm. He treated it as his child – smooth, graceful, and cautious. After finding a comfortable position on his back for the rifle, he climbed the long and arduous ladder up to the perch of the tower, and let his gun rest against the railing. The view was absolutely stunning – birds danced in the air over tree tops, faint stars could be seen in the deep blue dawn sky, and golden rays echoed from under the horizon telling of the Sun's coming arrival. This was one of the first and the last chances in a long time he would be able to enjoy this view, and he knew it. He slowly pulled off his helmet and stared longingly into the views beyond wishing that one day he would again be able to see something as beautiful as Reach. Reluctantly he pulled his stare away from the scenery to check the time – 5:34.
Suddenly a flare of light caught the corner of his eye. The strong beam of illumination peeked over the mountains in the distance and brought its full glow down on the valley – sunrise at last. Dew drops sparkled and created a dazzling display as the shifting rays of light danced passed them – chasing the darkness from the jungle. All at once the symphony of the jungle erupted and greeted the approaching sun after a long night's sleep. Animals could be heard from miles around waking up with the land below them – birds – bugs – predators – prey; all of them played their role in the morning opus.
"Guess I won't be needing those," the young private muttered to himself glancing at a pair of night vision goggles hanging on the railing next to him.
Hodges scanned the jungle around him for a long while, staring due north where the pick up zone was supposed to be. He strained his eyes even harder, trying to inspect a little spec in the sky just above the horizon. He held the gaze longer and grew increasingly nervous as the spec grew larger. From his view, the distant craft had a wide middle with two out-stretched, flat appendages – probably wings. His head cocked as his ears plucked a faint rumble out of the air. It grew louder and louder as the unknown craft grew larger. There was mistaking that roar, no matter how far away it was, it was a Pelican. The now somewhat visible air craft stopped, turned, and gently lowered itself into a cleared patch in the middle of the all-to-welcoming canopy.
That must be the landing zone, thought Hodges. He leaned over the railing and hollered through the tangle of tree limbs and foliage, "Lieutenant Travers!"
A long pause resonated through the wall of flora between the private and the outpost below. Finally a response, "Yeah Hodges, what is it?"
"I think our ride came a little early; it just touched down about ten clicks north of here."
A flock of birds stormed out of the trees and briefly caught Hodges's attention. He glanced over in its direction and saw a trail of dust racing its way through the jungle, seemingly on a direct line to the camp. Some one, or some thing, was coming.
"And I've picked up one bogey, maybe two, heading towards the Haven coming from the North West; Hostility not yet known. I think they're on the trail."
"Can you give me an E.T.A.?" replied the voice from under the canopy.
Hodges took a long look at the dust pillar rising from the tops of the trees; it was moving fast and hard – faster than any covenant could run. He promptly turned back to the ground below, "Ninety seconds!"
The outpost was alive with movement. Every man on the grounds was loading and preparing weapons for whatever was coming their way. Near the outpost head quarters a tall, and heavily built soldier shouldered two M41 Rocket Launchers – one for each arm. The man was built like a tank; his entire set of armor bulged with the suit of solid muscle underneath. His torso was thick and toned, and his thighs alone seemed like they could crush any normal man. His helmet was removed and sat on the ground next to him. He had dark skin and a rough, battle weary face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and a large scar ran vertically from just under his shaved hairline, over his eye, and stopped at the bottom of his cheekbone.
"Darian, set up shop just across the trail entrance to give a welcome gift to whatever comes through those trees," Barked the officer with the red band on his shoulder – Lieutenant Travers.
"Yes sir," responded the rocket wielding soldier jogging across the grassy jungle floor of the camp.
Darian crouched and aimed the two launchers right down the throat of the trail, waiting in anticipation. The rest of the men formed up on the flanks with whatever weapons they could find and took various positions around the camp, all ready to face the new threat. Lieutenant Travers shouldered his assault rifle and crouched right next to another marine holding two sub machine guns.
"Thirty Seconds," Shouted a voice from above the trees.
Travers looked around, "All right boys, nobody fires until I say so. We don't know who or what is coming, so I don't want any trigger happy bullshit. Got it?"
"Yes sir!" responded all eight men steadily leveling their weapons at the trail. They all held their positions silently and clicked the safeties off.
"Twenty Seconds!"
They maintained the silence and gripped their weapons tighter in anticipation.
"Ten Seconds!"
A low rumble vibrated through the tree line and the wall of undergrowth crawling across the jungle floor. A soldier crouched right next to the mouth of the trail slowly got up, and stared down the path. His shoulders dropped in what seemed like relief and the barrel of his gun trailed off to the ground. He took off his helmet and turned towards the rest of the men, "No threat."
As his words rolled off his tongue, two warthogs screamed around the corner and broke through the tree line surrounding the trail in a tremendous rush. They skidded to a halt and rested in the middle of outpost completely still. They didn't look like normal hogs; instead of the normal bed in the back, accompanied by a chain gun, they had a long compartment with a roll cage. There was a double row of seats running along the middle of the bed. The rails of the rear compartment were padded, like seats, and there were large openings in the roll cage to allow for soldiers inside to fire out of them, or even make a quick escape if things got bad. The improvised troop transports were like Christmas presents to the marines that gathered around the unexpected site; so full of excitement, so full of possibility.
Travers let out a low whistle of amazement, "Nice ride." His gesture of hospitality was not shared by the rest of the anxious soldiers.
A short, thin marine in a standard issue uniform stepped out of the lead vehicle and looked around the camp, smirking, "Damn, you guys are sure hard to find. It took us close to an hour to find that freakin' trail, and our radio isn't even working."
His attempts at conversation were met with cold stares from the rest of the circling marines, "Who are you? What is your purpose here?" said a marine making his way from the back of the crowd of soldiers. A standard BR-55 hung off his back, and his helmet rested comfortably under his left arm. He had a small layer of stubble growing from his slightly protruded jaw and chin, and short, messy, dirty-blonde hair. His deep blue eyes stood out in his slightly tanned skin and pierced through the stare of the intruding driver. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and started to drip on to the mossy ground below. His stare intensified on the unexpected arrival.
The young driver faced the ODST, "HQ at firebase Alpha just got word from FLEETCOM – The covenant came early." The Marines exchanged worried glances back and forth, "I was sent hear to pick you guys up and shuttle you to the pick up zone immediately for extraction. The Pelican is already waiting," He glanced at his watch, "And we have to go now. I was supposed to be here at Oh-five-twenty."
Private Hodges came trotting over from the base of the tower, "Sarge, the MAC's just started firing, we better move."
The blonde marine turned towards Hodges and nodded, and exchanged stressed glances with Travers. He looked back at the Warthog driver, "Give us a minute to pack up and we'll be on our way."
Travers looked around at his men, and back at the two warthogs, "You heard the man, time to mount up marines! Load all weapons, ammo, and supplies you can find into the hogs. Tires roll in two minutes – move!"
0547 hours – August 30th, 2552
Just outside of Landing Zone X-ray – eight kilometers north of the Haven
The warthogs bounced and jumped through the jungle. The young driver pushed the hog to its limits, nearly rolling the vehicle on every rogue root and rock they encountered. Ever since they broke off the trail and into the jungle itself, every turn and jump was a horror story in itself. Tree limbs scarred and battered the side panels of the transport, and tires threw by standing rocks into the troop compartment, pelting the marines with projectiles at every turn. Any ODST would by happy to die with his comrades, but not when he couldn't do anything about it – not when it was at the hands of something beyond his control. A fatal car crash into a tree definitely fell into that category. The marines rolling and tumbling in the rear compartment barely held on for their lives; they ducked down and held together there completely still for the entire trip.
Lieutenant Travers sat in the passenger seat in the lead warthog. The young wheelman leaned over to him, "So…Hell Jumpers eh? Aren't you guys supposed to be in space?"
Travers turned back at the driver, surprised by the question, "Let me answer your question with another question. What happens when there are no ships, or no landing zones?" The driver stared straight ahead, perplexed by the response. Travers continued, "Hell Jumpers aren't very useful to a ground engagement if they can't even show up to the party. Our job is to be a fast action response unit when orbital insertions are not an option. Get in, get out, get gone. If possible, we lay out the welcome mat for reinforcements, but most of the time there's really nothing left for back up to kill once they get here – if you get what I mean." Travers sat there contently pondering his explanation, reflecting back on all of his unit's accomplishments.
Suddenly pure rays of light filled the air, and blue sky prevailed over tree canopies. The ground below them became smooth and less turbulent, and they could feel the vehicle slow down and stop. The marines in the back compartment lifted their heads woozily out of the warthogs and saw a wide open clearing, with a Pelican waiting in the middle. A clear cut tree line sat in the distance on the other side of the clearing, and various naval personnel gathered around the Pelican tweaking and inspecting the hull.
"There's your ride gentleman," said the marine in the driver's seat.
"I hope it's a little less bumpy than this one was," muttered the blonde sergeant as he stumbled dizzily out of the back of the warthog.
All of the black armor clad marines gathered up the almost two dozen duffel bags full of weapons and supplies that were piled on top of each other in the backs of the warthogs, and hauled them over to the rear of the cargo bay of the Pelican. The ramp lowered with a long hiss, and they calmly marched two by two into the drop ship. They stowed their gear, strapped in, and patiently waited for take off – anxious for the coming fight. Travers started to walk up the loading ramp, and saw the blonde haired marine staring straight up in to space.
"You coming Del?" quipped the lieutenant.
"Yeah, I'm just taking in the sights," the gruff soldier murmured as he walked past his superior officer to the front of the cargo hold," just one last time." The blonde Seargeant slid his helmet over his head, and fastened it in to place. He took his seat right next to Darian and gave a smooth nod to across the ship.
Travers stepped up to top of the ramp and stared inside, taking a long look at his men; all nine of them stared back with intense, respectful looks. After a long, reflective moment of silence, he cocked his head and took a deep breath, "I do not expect anything different out of any of you today. I do not expect anything other than perfection. I do not expect anything other than the fact that you will make it out of here alive. And as God as my witness, I will make sure that happens." The other marines nodded in agreement, "If there is anything that I taught you that I want you to remember, it's that you should be fighting for one more day with the man next to you, not one less day with the man opposite to you. Remember those words men – remember them, and live by them."
Travers' eyes wandered lazily to the grating on the floor of the troop bay, and he began to slowly walk into the depths of the Pelican. He slid on his helmet, and the loading door behind him gently raised and hissed shut, closing off the morning light outside. The mission had finally begun.
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