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Apocalypse Halo [Revised Prologue + Chapter One]
Posted By: elpolloguapo<tom_leith@bbns.org>
Date: 3 September 2008, 1:35 am
Read/Post Comments
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PROLOGUE
New Mombasa, East African Protectorate, October 20, 2552
It was eerily silent in our building. While it was possible to make out the sounds of heavy combat from several blocks away, in our immediate area not a shot had been fired for the past several minutes. As a result, I almost jumped when the field radio crackled with static. "Corporal Fisher!" Lieutenant Rico's voice came through. "Report!"
I dove to the transmitter and snatched it up off the rough concrete floor. "Sir, Sergeant Stanton is still in critical condition and unconscious, along with a couple more civilians five more marines have joined with the squad, they're all privates, the rest of their squad was wiped out. We're holed up in an office building overlooking Memorial Park, facing moderate enemy resistance. Over."
After a short buzz of static the Lieutenant's voice once again came through. "We've got heavy air support inbound along with VTOL for evac. Hardpoints are being set up on the outside of the city, and we're starting to push them back. Hold your position as long as you can. Over"
"Yessir. We've got two medics and enough medkits and ammo to last a couple more hours, provided we don't see a big enemy push in this sector. Do you have an ETA on that support? Over."
"Negative, Corporal. Things are pretty messy; we're working on making sure our hardpoints are locked down before we start committing forces to evac. Over."
"Got it. Thank you sir."
"One more thing, Corporal. Now, I'm speaking strictly off the record here, but there's a rumor going around here that Master Chief may be on the ground here. Over and out."
My heart jumped to my throat. Master Chief was a living legend. To think that we were fighting the same battle as him, defending the same ground as him…
I replaced the transmitter in its cradle and grabbed my BR55 Battle Rifle as I hurried back to the outer wall of the building. "Jones, how're we doing?"
"Not much to tell, Corporal. Looks like we've got some grunts, maybe a jackal or two, hiding among the rubble down there. No exchange of fire in the past ten minutes," Lance Corporal Rogers, the acting second to my acting command, called out to me. While talking, he remained kneeling against the wall with his eyes down the sights of his rifle, which was pointing out the window.
I knelt by another window and leveled my rifle, staring down the barrel through the scope. At first I noticed nothing but broken chunks of concrete and charred grass. Next to the window, the air felt heavy and fetid. The occasional breeze did nothing but carry the smells of carrion and smoke by my nostrils. However, after a few moments of scrutinizing the park below, I spotted the tip of a methane tank poking up from behind some cover.
"Any orders?" Rogers inquired from my left.
"Don't waste any ammo on suppressive fire, hold it unless they start trying to move up. But it looks like the little bastards are scared enough to stay in cover as it is, so if all goes well we'll be able to ride this one out, evac's on the way. Just keep your eyes peeled for anything more serious-Jackal snipers, Elites, or god forbid, Hunters. Any break in the pattern, any movement anywhere but dead ahead, I want to know. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Good." As Rogers relayed my orders around the perimeter, I got back to my feet but kept my upper body stooped low, and worked my way over to our makeshift aid station, where Sergeant Stanton, the former commander of the squad, lay. I looked him over and turned to a medic. "How is he?"
"Still in bad shape, Corporal. I'm keeping him going on IV, but you know as well as I do that we don't have a limitless supply of it. There's nothing more I can do until we can get him to a decent field hospital, though."
"I don't expect any miracles, especially not in this godforsaken place. Just do what you can for him and hopefully we'll be out of here in time to save him."
The medic started to say something in reply, but a marine frantically shouted to me from across the room. "Sir, come here, we have a problem!"
I cursed, got up, and ran over. Out the window I saw three squads of seven or eight Grunts, each led by an Elite, advancing through cover across the park towards our building. "All right, wait until they get close enough for a sure hit, then headshot all the grunts. Once they're down, concentrate your fire on the elites."
The order echoed down the line of men, and I heard grunted affirmatives from all of them.
I called over a few men from elsewhere around the room to set up crossfire on the infantry below. The enemy slowly but surely advanced, and I lined up my shot, preparing to give the order to open fire. I eased my finger onto the trigger, and began to squeeze, but suddenly there was a massive explosion from behind me. The shockwave threw me against the wall as bits of concrete and plaster pelted my back, I jerked the trigger, and the burst went into the ceiling.
Whirling around to see what had happened, I was confronted with a terrifying sight. Nearly half of the building had been completely annihilated, and streams of white-hot plasma were oozing in rivulets down twisted rebars. Through the gaping hole in the wall I could see a bulbous purple vehicle, hovering a few inches off the ground. A Wraith. Half of my men, including Rogers, had simply disappeared, along with them the aid station and the Sergeant.
For a moment I was unable to act. Time seemed to slow, and all I could hear was a dull ringing. For a split second all I could think of was Rogers, my friend of several years, now gone in an instant, but then I saw the wraith again, lining up for another shot. I shook my head, gritted my teeth, and shouted to my men, "down the stairs, get out of the building, now!" Everyone scrambled to their feet and poured down the stairs. "Somebody grab all the rockets we have. Richards, get the launcher!" After I made sure everyone had gone, I sprinted after them, diving down the stairs and slamming my shoulder into the floor just in time to escape another lethal ball of plasma as it exploded behind me. We all poured out the back door.
"Civilians, get to the end of the street, take a left! Try to link up with Sergeant Banks' team! He's in the office building at the end of the plaza. Go!" I turned to the soldiers in my group. "Marines, take cover and provide suppressing fire. We'll hold out as long as we can, try to give the civilians a decent shot at escaping."
The civilians started to run down the street, then one of them screamed and pointed. A massive, four-legged vehicle was walking slowly but purposefully along, perpendicular to the street we were on and about half a klick away. In my momentary glance at it, I saw a device on the front release a massive, deadly-looking stream of plasma, incinerating a building. But it seemed not to have seen us. "Ignore the Scarab!" I called out to my men. "Concentrate fire on the Wraith and the infantry!" Every marine unflinchingly raised their weapon and ducked behind whatever was available. There was no argument to the order in spite of the fact that it unquestionably spelled death for us all. As I took up my position alongside them, I muttered to myself, "Banks is going to need a miracle to beat that thing off."
The approaching Elites howled with rage as they us taking up our positions, and drove their squads in pursuit. The Grunts closed extremely fast for beasts of their size, and within seconds were nearly in range. I brought my rifle to bear on a grunt's head and prepared to fire…when suddenly there was a screeching sound from overhead and the grunt, along with the rest of its squad, was engulfed in a column of flame, smoke, and debris that reached up several stories, leaving scorch marks on the buildings on either side of the street.
I held my rifle down, but looked up. Just over the far line of buildings, a pair of stubby, delta-winged aircraft was circling back for another pass. They were UNSC Shortsword bombers. Looking back at the enemy squads, I saw the survivors scrambling for overhead cover, but there wasn't any. The bombers came tearing over once again, and the enemy infantry was engulfed in another massive explosion. As the Wraith tried to escape, another pair of bombers entered from the side and flew straight over it, each dropping a pair of bombs, reducing the formidable tank to a hulk of plasma and molten metal.
As the bombers banked off to another target zone, dipping their wings in acknowledgement of myself and my men, three Pelican VTOL transports swooped over the buildings to our left, descending with their landing bays open and their nose machine guns sweeping the ground ahead of them, ensuring that no Covenant soldier was left alive.
A cheer rose from the Marines as we came out of cover and trotted towards the Pelicans. Once everyone was on board, the transports slowly rose into the air and started of for a position far behind the lines. As we rose above the park, the Scarab came into view, then, just a moment later, was wracked by explosions and collapsed into the canal. The marines in the Pelican began to cheer as the pilot informed us that it had been Master Chief who had brought it down, operating just a sector away from us. Sergeant Banks had gotten his miracle.
We had just begun our horizontal flight, maybe fifteen seconds after takeoff, when someone looked out the aft hatch of the Pelican, which had not been left open during our flight, and called out to me. "Corporal Fisher, you gotta look at this!"
I walked to the back, ducked under the lip of the hatch, and stared out. The massive assault carrier that had been hanging over the city had turned and was ascending slowly into the air. As I watched, a white ripple appeared at the bow, then all along the forward edge of the ship. It was entering slipspace, running away.
"We got 'em!" A Marine jubilantly cried, "They're running!"
The men started cheering even louder, but something felt wrong. I had never seen a ship slip this close to a planet….
Less than a second later, the pilot screamed over the ship's radio. "Brace for impact! Close aft hatches, everyone grab on to something!"
A blinding flash of light erupted from the center of the city, followed a moment later by an awesomely loud roar. A wall of debris appeared in the air, rising higher and higher, and at the very top of my field of vision the New Mombasa Orbital Elevator began plummeting down to earth, until my view of it was blocked out as the cyclone of debris approached.
The shockwave hit the Pelicans moments later. As the pilot screamed that she had lost control and that the hatch was jammed open, the transport swung madly around, my view panning from rapidly advancing ground to rapidly advancing flying debris. Something, moving too fast to be identified, flew past not ten feet from where I sat, holding the seat so tightly that my knuckles were white. It was at least as large as a bus. Then a flash of dull color overwhelmed my sight as a thousand noises overwhelmed my ears, and I knew no more.
CHAPTER I
New Mombasa, East African Protectorate, October 20, 2552
I awoke in complete darkness. The only audible sound was that of plaster and concrete showering down and hitting the floor every few seconds. I felt below me, and my hand ran along rough meta-the deck plates of a pelican. We must have crashed into a building when we went down. I reached out for something to hold on to, and my hand closed around something soft and wet. It was a blood-soaked leg. I recoiled, releasing my grip, and wiped my hand on my tunic, only to find that it, too, was covered in blood. A wave of pain shot through my body, and I groaned, wincing. With my other hand I could feel a long, bloody gash running along my left thigh, and at least one of my ribs was broken.
I reached out again, feeling bloodied, still forms until I found a handgrip on a wall. Pulling myself to my feet, I blindly felt around in the upper compartment until my hand closed on a long, thin tube. Taking the emergency flare in both hands, I bent it, trying to light it.
I heard the flare make its customary cracking noise; heard the hissing as it ignited, and felt the heat on my hands. But I saw nothing. I was blind.
My heart raced and I began to sway dizzily. Trying to remain calm, I felt for a seat, but every one was occupied by one of my former brothers in arms. The dizziness worsened every second. Finally, I gave up, and slumped back to the deck plates, unconscious.
I had been out for some time when a shrill voice awakened me. "Sir, I think I might have found one!" I tried to push myself up from the deck, but my arms were like lead, weakened by blood loss. "Yeah, he's definitely alive. Somebody get me a stretcher!" the voice called out again.
I opened my eyes, and a blinding light poured in. For a moment a rush of exhilaration poured through me at the return of my sight, but all I could see was a mess of bright, blurry forms. A dark blob appeared and drew closer to me. "You're going to be ok, Corporal. We're getting you out to a field hospital. Stay with me," a deeper, calming voice said.
I shook my head with what diluted strength I had, and the blobs started to resolve. I was on the floor of the Pelican still, but a few of the bodies of my men were gone. Between my feet I could see several sealed body bags in a row on the dry, dirty ground. I lifted my head up, and saw several marines a few feet away, some carrying more bodies. All of them were wearing black HAZMAT suits.
Within minutes I had been placed on a stretcher and carried outside to an undamaged waiting Pelican, which had landed about fifty yards away. From this point I could pelican, along with the two others, which had crashed into the buildings on the far side of Memorial Park as they collapsed. Every building I could see from the crash site had been reduced to rubble, and in the center of the city the orbital elevator had vanished. Smoke from massive fires poured out of every part of the city, darkening the sky and giving the air a nearly unbearable thick stench. Over the entire scene was a strange, almost disturbing, quiet calm.
Along with me in the Pelican were two other survivors of the crash, both unrecognizable under countless bandages and IV tubes. My leg wound was sewn up and had stopped bleeding, and I'd been given some morphine to dull the pain from my rib. In answer to a request a medic propped me up so I could look out as we took off, before the pilots closed the aft hatch.
New Mombasa had been destroyed. Looking down as we rose into the air, I could see nothing but charred and disordered rubble. I had no idea where I was in the city, all landmarks had been wiped away. It looked like a child had taken an eraser to a drawing, except that every smear and smudge originated from one point-exactly where the Covenant assault carrier had slipped out.
As the aft hatch sealed a marine handed me an oxygen mask. "Put this on, you'll need it while we recycle the air system," I heard the same deep voice from before say.
I put on the mask, and moments later there was a whooshing sound, lasting for several seconds. After it stopped, the marine signaled that it was all right to remove the mask. As I did so, he removed the helmet of his suit.
"Sir!" I instinctively tried to salute, but my arms were still too heavy to lift.
"Relax, Corporal," Lieutenant Rico said, with the hint of a smile playing around his mouth. "You technically don't have to treat me as an officer. I'm AWOL."
"Sir?"
"Command wanted all units to pull out of the New Mombasa area to let 'special units'-ONI, probably-have a look at the scene. I wasn't exactly in accordance with that order, so I found a few men and made this team," he gestured at the Pelican and the surrounding men, who acknowledged him with nods, "to see if we could find any survivors. I'm not the only one to do it, either. There're probably a hundred or so other search parties that violated orders and went back in."
"So where are we going, sir?"
"Back to Diego Garcia. The entirety of the 405th, or what's left of it, has been given a unit citation and seven days' leave once they muster at any UNSC base. We could go somewhere closer, but the best hospitals in the area are back at Diego, so that's where we go."
A medic leaned over and whispered something to the Lieutenant. He nodded and stood up, as the medic stepped over to me and prepared a srynge. "What's that?" I demanded.
"It's a sedative," he said, injecting the syringe into my IV. "You need to rest until you've been looked at in a better facility and have had a decontamination shower." He said something else, but by that time I was already too groggy to hear.
Asclepius Military Hospital, Diego Garcia, October 21, 2552
I awoke to the sound of klaxons and stampeding boots. I checked the clock, registered that it read 0820 of the next day, and stood up. Neither my rib nor my leg was giving me much trouble, and in the closet by the door I found a set of combat fatigues. They were brand-new, though they had my name on them, and sported a third chevron on the upper arm. 'Buck Sergeant Fisher,' I thought to myself, chuckling.
I opened the door and leaned out. Marines were sprinting down a hallway, and I had to quickly duck back to avoid one of them crashing into my face. I grabbed a Private as he went running past and asked him what was going on.
"You really must've been out of it, Sarge. There're riots in major cities all over the world. After what happened at New Mombasa the civilians are all panicking. I don't blame them, myself. Anyway, all units have been mobilized, and we're moving in to take over riot control."
"What about the Covenant?" I asked.
"They're gone, sir. They never landed anywhere but New Mombasa, and since they fled we haven't seen any sign of them. Sir, I really have to go"
"All right, move out then. Thanks." I sent him off, then started looking for someone from the 405th, or at least someone who could tell me where to find my unit's orders.
It didn't take long. After a few seconds of wandering around in the maze of halls, a tall, authoritarian-looking Captain came up to me. "You look lost, Sergeant. What's your unit?"
"Sir, I'm from the 405th," I replied.
"The 405th?" He looked me up and down. "And you're still standing? Well, Sergeant," he glanced at my name tag, "Fisher, you truly are a specimen. The 405th suffered 94% fatalities. They've been disbanded. And since I need good men, and you need a unit, it looks like you're with me now. Welcome to the 111th."
"Uh…" I took a moment to process what he had said, and after a few moments realized I had no choice but to go with him. "Yessir."
"Good. Now come with me. We're heading to the armory to suit up." He began walking briskly, and I followed.
We ran through a crowd of dozens, if not hundreds, of UNSC personnel on the way to the armory, all of them running frantically. As we walked, the Captain explained the unit I was joining. "The 111th is a special assignment group, Sergeant. You'll be my second in command, with two squads of ten under you. We'll be heading to a major city, you'll find out which one when we get to the pelican, to help the rank-and-file marines to restore control.
"Sir, I thought I was a rank-and-file marine." I pointed out, confused.
"You were, Sergeant. You aren't anymore." He then closed his mouth in a way that clearly told me he wasn't saying anymore, and remained silent until we met the team at the armory.
The Captain looked around, then called out, "All right men, suit up , lock and load. You have three minutes." All of us strapped on body armor, helmets, and comm gear, and began pulling weapons and ammunition down off of racks.
I picked out an M90 CAWS shotgun, and after making sure it was in good condition, loaded it, slinging a bandolier of shells over each shoulder. I was about to strap an M6G pistol onto my leg when the Captain called out to me.
I was at first unable to see him, but after a moment I found him. He was standing inside an adjoining room, which had previously been locked. The door, which read 'RESTRICTED ACCESS,' hung open. All around the walls were outdated or defective weapons and armor for resale to other departments and agencies. The Captain was leaning over a small crate reading 'M6 x2', which he opened as I approached.
"What is it, sir?" I asked, confused and wondering who exactly the Captain was to be fishing around in a restricted area.
"Here." He handed me a pistol and its holster, along with several clips. I examined it, and was surprised to find a number of slight differences to my old standard-issue sidearm, among them a small scope along the top of the weapon. Stamped into the slide was 'Misriah Armories: M6D.'
After strapping the weapon to my leg, I looked him up and down. He carried, in addition to his M6D and its ammunition, several SMG magazines. However, when I looked at the weapon itself, which he held in his left hand, it had an unusual elongated barrel. It was silenced. My eyebrows arced slightly.
He clearly noted my interest, and seemed almost quietly amused, but said nothing as he holstered the weapon. He then strode back into the main area of the armory, momentarily lifting a hand to his earpiece and grunting in acknowledgement. When he was back in the center of the room he addressed the men, who were now milling idly around. "All right men, I just got our destination. In Hangar Seven there's a pair of Pelicans waiting to take us to the center of the Glasgow Metropolitan Sector. They've been hit pretty hard by riots, and we're going to get in there and help calm things down. Make sure you've got everything, then move out, double time."
We once again made our way as quickly as possible through choked hallways until we reached a giant cargo elevator. After we filed in, the Captain punched the activation button, and after a long descent we were spilling out onto a platform and clambering into the pelicans, one squad in the first with the Captain, the other in the second with me. Within moments the thrusters roared, the pelican slowly above the tarmac, and we sped out of the hangar and into the morning sun, low over the glittering ocean.
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