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Minutemen: The Battle of Boston Chap. 1
Posted By: Azrael<tondorf@bc.edu>
Date: 9 August 2004, 4:36 PM
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MINUTEMEN: THE BATTLE OF BOSTON
Chap. 1
This is my first submission to Halo fan fiction. I hope you all enjoy it, this is the first part of many. Please let me know what you think, I've read a lot of helljumper's stuff and I tried to stay loyal to his style. No ODSTs, though. I don't know much about 'em and that wouldn't be fair to those who know much more than I do. Anway, enjoy.
In a moment, it was too late. Bright blue plasma fire crashed into what used to be an apartment building as the squad scurried from the main entrance. Rubble crashed down on antique cars and warthogs alike.
"Parsons, move your ass!" Captain Jack O'Shea yelled as the youngest member of the squad hustled out of the structure. The shaggy blond Sniper specialist from Massachusetts ran as fast as his weary legs could propel him, stumbling and dragging his hefty sniper rifle along with him. The last few steps were more like a prolonged fall as Parsons pitched head first into cover. From behind him, concrete and steel smashed, bounced, and twisted into unrecognizable heaps as the young sniper settled into what little cover he could find. The rest of the 53rd Massachusetts' Militia (Minutemen) crouched in a huddle by an upturned warthog, smoke wafting out from the undercarriage.
"One day, just one goddamn day," Master Gunnery Sergeant Gus Reynolds yelled, "I'd like to have someone in the militia give a warning before the f'ing covies fire." Reynolds slapped a fresh magazine into his assault rifle with a beefy, weathered hand.
"Seriously, sir," Corporal Ron Parsons muttered over the radio as he picked dried blood off his hands, "I have about two weeks' rations and I don't know how many rounds in that building-turned-parking lot back there."
"Stow it, Corporal." O'Shea shot back. Jack O'Shea was 42 and showing his age despite his better-than-average physical condition. The guerilla war with the Covenant invaders, the evacuation of Boston, the loss of hundreds of thousands of Marines, National Guardsmen and Militia, many close friends and relatives; the ever increasing list made a combat death look appetizing as opposed to the post-trauma disorders that awaited the squad after battle. The gray was creeping through O'Shea dark brown hair as he uncharacteristically removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" A latino medic said from the other side of the huddle.
"Granted," O'Shea replied, replacing the helmet.
"That was the best insult you could come up with?" Medical Officer Harold Ibanez asked. The wide grin showed bright white teeth contrasting sharply with a dirt-smudged face.
The squad laughed in spite of themselves as heavy plasma fire continued for six more minutes, decimating the former apartment building to half its' size.
"F'ing Covenant." Reynolds said again as the plasma subsided.
"All kidding aside," 1st Sergeant Mahmoud Tonsi said, "what do we have for weapons and ammo? The covies are gonna be sending in mop-ups sooner rather than later."
"Right on, Tonsi. Status reports, everyone." O'Shea ordered.
"Snipers are about 75-80 percent." Parsons called out.
"Assault is at 50 percent ammo, and McHale is MIA," Reynolds added.
"Medical is 100 percent, jacked up and good to go." Ibanez finished, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the medic next to him.
"OK," O'Shea said, nodding his head and pointing out positions, "Parsons, go salvage what you can from the building. Take McManus with you and then get yourselves set up for incoming enemy infantry. Stay high and out of sight. Tell us if you run into McHale."
"Roger that, sir." Parsons confirmed and waved a hand signal across the street to Tim McManus telling him to move out. Parsons slinked off into the smoke and rubble.
"Assault, you all right?"
"Huah, sir," came a chorus of voices over the radio.
"Good," O'Shea said. O'Shea looked up and down the street. Commonwealth Avenue was ending at the decimated apartment building, forming a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. On both sides of the street were medium-sized structures that afforded excellent cover. The dead end would be a good spot for an ambush. "Split up the squad into two, one to each side of the street. If the Covies are coming in here, we'll let them move past us down the street and let the building trap them in. Wait 'til my signal, and then we'll let 'em have it."
"On the way, sir," Reynolds replied. As one, the seasoned assault group got up from prone positions into crouches. The gray, black, and stone colored warriors peeked down the street and hustled into craters and heaps of rubble.
"On a side note, sir," Tonsi said, "the brothers say they can build a pretty effective car bomb with one of these dead warthogs, copy?"
"You can take the soldiers out of Ireland," Ibanez quipped, "but you can't take the-"
"Stick it, Ibanez," Tonsi's voice crackled from the radio. Ibanez looked down the street and saw a tan hand sticking up from behind a charred warthog. The extended middle finger was quite visible.
"This is a guerilla war, and I intend to use every resource," O'Shea said. "Do it."
Parsons and McManus had been luckier than they had anticipated. Even with the structural integrity of the building failing rapidly, Parsons had managed to sneak into his old sniper nest and grab all his rounds and a week's rations. Halfway across the room Tim McManus, Worchester, MA, started to hear the creaking and snapping that indicated the floor didn't have much life left.
"Tell ya what, Parsons," McManus called out. Throw me the rations and hustle out. It'll be less weight."
"Good idea, McMan," Parsons replied, tip-toeing across the floor, "and how 'bout you get a spoon and eat my ass? If I die, I'm taking the food with me." Parsons laughed and threw the sniper rounds in his tactical pack. He secured the cord and heaved it to McManus before the floor gave one last anguished sigh and began to buckle.
"Fucking A, Parsons." McManus said, and immediately reached for his rapel cord. The floor gave out in the middle of the room, turning the sniper nest into a giant funnel with a generous fall at the bottom. Parsons threw what he could of the rations in McManus' direction and promptly lost his footing, sliding feet first toward the ever-widening hole. McManus ignored the MRE's flying past his head into the hallway as he whipped his cord at Parsons, the carabeener leading the flight. The metal clip hit Parsons in the chest as his feet went into empty space. With what little time Parsons had, he clipped the carabeener onto his waist harness. The Mass. Militia snipers were renowned climbers, famous for scaling buildings in urban environments. As a rule, they always carried basic climbing equipment. As Parsons fell, McManus supported his weight in the doorframe with both legs and braced for the sudden stop. McManus hoped Parsons kept his waist harness tight. The sudden jerk might break his hip.
"Car bomb armed and ready, Captain," crackled the radio.
"Roger that, Demo." O'Shea confirmed. "Ibanez, split up your team. The Covies will be here any minute."
"The Covies are gonna be cryin' for my help more than our boys, you know that, sir." Ibanez laughed as he took a quick look over his warthog.
"Weapon?" O'Shea asked.
"Please, sir," Ibanez moaned as he reached for his SMG. "You think the Covenant cares if I have a red cross on my helmet? Besides, last I checked, I had more confirmed kills than Tonsi the camel jockey."
"One freakin' grenade that I gave him, and he runs his mouth," O'Shea heard Tonsi's gruff comeback from across the street, "I should get an assist or something. Oh, and Ibanez, you make one more Arab comment and I detonate that car bomb right next to your wise-crackin' mouth."
"Apologies, mujahadeen." Ibanez mocked. "See if I save your life any time soon."
"It won't be my life that needs saving." Tonsi said.
"Hey, ladies, quit your yappin'." Reynolds broke in. "Captain, I can hear 'em, Sir. Covenant are inbound. We can't see a thing, though."
"Clear these goddamn channels," O'Shea ordered. "I need them open for intel. Where the hell are those snipers?"
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