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Deck 35
Posted By: Argonaut<PaladinHero@aol.com>
Date: 3 March 2005, 10:02 AM
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"There's no reason to stay here," Pvt. Nyx muttered as he peered into the room at the grisly scene before him. Standing in the doorway the stocky Marine could make out red-painted walls and potrusions of limbs mercifully shrouded in the darkness of shadows. The room was small, about five by eight meters square, but it was large enough to accomodate the remains of a few helpless cadets.
In front of the Pvt., halfway wrapped in the shadow of the doorframe, Sgt. Ptolemy stood quietly observing the carnage. "I loved her," he half-sobbed, stark blue eyes locked onto a bloody, barely recognizable corpse that laid sprawled across a bunk.
"You've never loved anyone," Nyx responded dismissively, lazily tossing his rifle up onto his shoulder before reaching down with his other hand to fumble with the transponder at his waist.
All Ptolemy could do was grind the grip of his battle rifle. Behind him the faint tempo of a radio call beeped in his ears. He lowered his head mournfully as the sound penetrated his own earpiece. For a long moment the two just stood there, one leering at the charred carrion of a female form while the other caste an elongated shadow that conveyed more boredom than sympathy.
Still the beeping of the transponder continued.
"Are you gonna answer that?" Sgt. Ptolemy finally asked, a frustrated snarl coming over his face as he wheeled on the Pvt..
With a look of stoic indifference Pvt. Nyx flipped the switch on the transponder and reached up to press the earpiece further into his lobe. A series of muted transmissions flooded the air around him as the message issued forth. Pvt. Nyx just stared off into the short distance while the emphatic caller relayed what could only be discerned as their troubles. When it ended the Marine looked to his superior.
"They're moving to Deck 34," he answered, still pressing the now mute earpiece into his head. "All squads have been ordered to defilade to Decks 33 and 35. They're going to try and set up a crossfire."
Ptolemy grimaced. He wished to Hell his radio hadn't blown out earlier. A nearby plasma grenade explosion had made short work of his equipment. Even his battle rifle had a hard time recognizing the new magazines' input, often requiring him to load them by manually bolting the thing. It was a real pain the ass.
"What about the breach in the foredeck?" he asked. "Are they abandoning that?"
Nyx shrugged. "How the Hell should I know? They just sent out a full call up for Decks 33 and 35. I guess the Covs are trying to outlfank us."
"Hard to 'outflank' on a battleship, Pvt.," Ptolemy mused. Nyx only rolled his eyes. He didn't give a shit. "Fine, we'll move to Deck 35. At least there we'll be among company when we die." With that he wheeled from the room and made his way down the burnished steel hallway of the starship. Periodically placed ceiling lights flickered on and off as the power fluctuated in response to the constant barrage of enemy cruiser fire. They created pockets of sporadic shadows that would flicker into and out of existence as Ptolemy stormed down the corridor.
For a moment Nyx only watched the Sgt. leave, hesitant to follow such a dour leader who he was sure was going to get him killed. The man sought death, especially now. The lifeless, mangled body of the woman he'd loved had been all that kept the poor bastard together. Now that she was gone what did he have to live for? Yep, Pvt. Nyx thought casually, I'm royally fucked.
He was still mulling over that apparent fact when he stepped into the small lift, crowding into a space between the handrails while Sgt. Ptolemy adjusted the fire control on his rifle. Surreptitiously, Pvt. Nyx watched Ptolemy flip the switch from three-round-burst to full-auto. It only confirmed his dire suspicions of personal doom.
The ride up was quiet for a long time. Only the hum of the anti-gravity wells propelling the lift made any noise. Pvt. Nyx decided to keep his mouth shut. Besides, what could he say? No words of solace would suffice. In any other circumstance the situation might be awkward. But there was a battle raging and both were exhausted with the knowledge that death could occur at any minute and in any gruesome fashion. It was a point that was reiterated by their sorrowful discovery inside the bulwarked living quarters. Nyx remembered the fear of being too late as they raced down the long snaking corridor of the Residence Deck, hoping to get there before a cluster of Covenant boarders did. He wasn't afraid for those people hunkered down and hiding in the bunks for their own sake, but for his. He knew if they got there too late it would mean the end of Sgt. Ptolemy's sanity; the end of his reason to live. He may have indeed loved her, or at least thought he did, but either way Nyx knew with each successive step that if she was dead he definately wouldn't be far behind.
This fact was confirmed by Ptolemy's progressive and repeated cursing as they grew nearer. When at last they drew up to Bunk 49 they knew it was over. The smell of blood was an acute and well-known stench to both Marines. So was the acrid smell of gunpowder and ionized haze of plasma scoring. But that wasn't what sealed his knowledge of their deaths. No, it was the silence. That post-mortem silence so defeaning it rang in the ears. He would have preferred a thousand plasma barrages to that foreboding noiseless resonance.
"We could have made it," Ptolemy finally stated as the lift continued to hum beneath them. He turned to Pvt. Nyx. "I could have saved 'em. If that damned Captain hadn't've ordered us all to the foredeck breach I could've saved 'er."
The Marine beside him only grimaced. "At least she's out of this hell," he tried. "I think now we should try to focus on revenge though, Sgt.," he proffered. "Get those squid-faced bastards back for what they did."
Sgt. Ptolemy said nothing. Nyx watched him while the lift's floor counter beeped every few seconds. 25, 26, 27, 28....
"I mean, it's only a matter of time anyways, right? Half the fleet's gone, our company's been reduced to slag, the dropships and escape pods are either spent or they're fragged, and there's more Covenant pouring into the ship with each passing minute. We're probably already dead, let's at least make 'em pay for it."
The Sgt. just stared up at the green LED floor counter. 30, 31, 32....
A distant sound resembling thunder erupted from far above the lift. An explosion. It trickled down and flooded its shockwave into the lift, shuddering the handrails violently. The two reached for the rattling bars along their waist to brace against the exigency of impact. A quick succession of smaller eruptions followed suit, sending tremors through the beaten frame of the lift.
"Jesus, I don't want to die," Pvt. Nyx half pled to himself. "But until they realize there're no Spartans on this ship they'll keep landing. That means we have time to do something." A sudden burst of hope surged within him. It was small, miniscule, but it was there. "We could signal one of the remaining dropships from the other ships! Or we could commandeer one of their-"
All of a sudden a great wailing erupted from Ptolemy. He sunk to the floor and landed on his haunches, his rifle clattering on the steel grated frame. He buried his head in his hands and issued forth uncontrollable sobs. It was all Nyx could do to stand there and watch with disgust as his superior fell apart in front of him.
33, 34, 35. The male voice of their inept shipboard AI sounded the number and with a slightly different pitched ping the lift drew to a halt.
Without any explicable amount of pretense the Sgt. was back on his feet and drying his eyes on an exposed patch of OD sleeve that protruded through his armor. His battle rifle was in hand and a moment later he was fumbling with the controls, making sure everything was in order.
Pvt. Nyx looked at him warily. Silence filled the small lift. Outside could be heard the distant crack and peal of random explosions; probably grenades. Following this were the tin-like sputterings and drumrolls of various small arms fire punctuated by a tremendously violent blast that leaked streams of heat between the cracks of the lift doors. Pvt. Nyx felt his stomach drop.
A second later and the lift doors were open.
Pvt. Nyx had no time to register the scene of chaos before him; Sgt. Ptolemy was leaping in front and diving for the nearest bit of cover before he could spit, laying down streams of suppressive fire into what he perceived -and what Pvt. Nyx hoped- was the direction of the Covenant boarders. The stocky Marine made sure he was close on the ass of his tall, lanky superior, even as the two thundered into a nearby supply crate. Plasma fire quickly scoured the air overhead, drumming into the interior of the lift where they had stood only seconds ago.
Now relatively secure, Pvt. Nyx took a minute to drink in his surroundings. They were on Deck 35 alright, and it looked like things had been well under way. Apparently the Covenant had arrived sooner than they thought. He could only see a few makeshift barricades strewn about the place. Most were upturned tables or slabs of floor paneling. A few were the "battle bunkers" set up deliberately by Marines, but it looked like time had not afforded them much preparation. His suspicions were confirmed when he spied a cluster of the things piled up and awaiting deployment in a shadowy corner.
To his left an unknown fire team of Marines hunkered down behind a riddled mess hall table. They crowded around one another in an effort to shield themselves from the infuriating barrage of plasma fire coming from across the room.
"This is bullshit!" one of the Marines shouted through gritted teeth over the den of chaos. His mates were silent in their agreement. Pvt. Nyx watched as a trio of plasma grenades landed a meter away from them. A quick turn of his head saved the Marine from witnessing the gruesome explosion and charred aftermath that ensued.
To his right, on the landing above, he saw three fire teams huddled around a series of pillars and battle bunkers exchanging fire with the Covenant. He recognized two of them as Fire Team Bravo and Fire Team Zulu. Zulu was in his company. He tried to peer through the smoke and haze of plasma ionization and gunpowder to see if there were any familiar faces on the upper level. It was nearly impossible with the amount of muzzle flashes and smoke.
"Hey!" shouted a nearby voice. "Hey, jackass!" it called again, this time with a thrumming on Pvt. Nyx's shoulder paldron. He turned to see Sgt. Ptolemy glaring at him, his outstretched hand rapping on Nyx's armored shoulder. "Radio C&C and find out who the hell the goddamned officer is down here, I can't see shit!" he bellowed, his vulgar tone barely audible over the cacophony of fire.
Without hesitation Nyx got to work on the call.
"C&C, this is Fire Team India requesting officer beaken on Deck 35!" He repeated the phrase several times as the battle raged around him. Just as he was saying it for the eighth time, as Sgt. Ptolemy rose to fire off a few indiscriminate rounds of battle rifle fire, a reply transmission came back. Pvt. Nyx listened intently, straining to pick up on the voice as empty shell casings from Ptolemy's rifle spilled into his lap. He tugged on the Sgt.'s knee cop to get his attention.
"What'd they say?" he asked as he dropped down beside the Marine. A fresh barrage of plasma fire thundered into the worn crate top above them.
"Chiron!" Pvt. Nyx replied. "Chiron is the Lt. up here!" Ptolemy nodded his acknowledgement while plucking a grenade from his web harness. Nyx couldn't help but eye the thing, a feeling of uneasiness sickening his gut. He knew what was coming.
"We've got to find him!" Ptolemy shouted.
"Are you kidding me?!"
Ptolemy only glared at him, his expression conveying only hopeless determination. Below, the faint sound of a pin being pulled registered in Pvt. Nyx's ears.
"Just give me some coverfire and stay on my ass!" the Sgt. ordered.
Pvt. Nyx closed his eyes and leaned back, his body went limp with terror, evidenced by the back of his head thudding against the rough-hewn material of the protective crate. A moment later and he had composed himself. He looked at Sgt. Ptolemy.
"You sonofabitch," he growled. "You're going to get us killed."
Sgt. Ptolemy only grinned, his face resembling that of a rabid predator.
"Frag out!" he yelled.
Seconds later they were over the top of the crate, ass-deep in hell.
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