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Battlefield 2552 first Clash of a New Campaign
Posted By: John Morris<Katrn@msn.com>
Date: 29 April 2003, 4:16 PM
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Battlefield 2552
First Clash of a New Campaign
(the sequel to Looking Back to Move Foward)
The snow seemed to fall in thick sheets, blanketing the ground in a solid white layer that look as if it to continue to rise; the comforting reflection upon my past had left my mind, leaving only room for the thought of the here and now. My Marines were ready, each one skilled in their field, each one deadly. I stared at Private 2nd Class Tim Johnson, a new recruit from the UNSC training grounds on Earth. He shivered in the cold, clouds of vapor blowing from his nose as he exhaled each breath nervously. It had been several hours now, waiting for the signal to arrive, approving our evacuation. Johnson listened carefully; acting is if he were prey, I suppose we all could have been. He peered left and right, shaking off the near inch of snow, which had accumulated on all of us.
The cold titanium plates pressed against my chest leaving cold spots where they sat. My fingers had been numb for a half hour, the tingling sensation disappearing, and the early stage of frostbite setting in. I looked down at them; pulling off my gloves I noticed that the tips were purple and curled around my weapon. I slowly moved my right hand, the tingling sensation returning. Reaching into my pockets I removed two hand warmers that I had been saving for later, Screw it I thought to myself. Breaking the seal I allowed the two chemicals to mix, releasing their energy.
I pulled the gloves back over my hands and added the packs back into them. After a few moments, the warmth had returned the feeling to my fingers and once more I clutched my weapon. Winter on this planet had played hell on everything; the crops and natural resource exports had been shut down for quite some time yet the UNSC still found it an important area to safe guard. Up above the battle raged on in space, I watched as streaks of hot plasma flew towards UNSC ships, which returned the fire with Archer missiles and nuclear explosives. I frowned as another UNSC ship burned up in the atmosphere of the giant planet, thousands of lives lost due to a single hit, their screams of agony echoing over the Comm. Transmitter. I turned the volume down on the radio, any moment now the planet could be overrun, our only escape cut off.
Five elites sat in the open of the broad Ice Lake, the silhouettes of their 8 ft figures stretching for some 30 feet beyond the camps light source. Johnson grabbed my shoulder, initially I ignored it, but he persisted, until I acknowledged his presence. Terror rested within his eyes.
"What is it?" I asked him as I watched the young man before me fidget
"Sir." He said worriedly "We're losing, UNSC drop ship missions are going to be scrubbed." He gulped, obviously unsettled by the notion.
"Our drop ship is on it's way don't worry." I tried my best to assure him, but I felt as if I had failed at least in that aspect. I had never been one for the emotional support, but for now it seemed to have work, he nodded his head, and returned to his position. The elites paced across the ice, one slipping as it moved along the glossy surface. I watched intently, counting down the time before we would leave. My radio clicked on, a message coming through on the secure line.
"Alpha, Bravo, Lancer evacuation ETA thirty seconds." I sat up from my resting position against a large fern tree, brushing off the thin white powder in the process. I waved my left hand in mid air, signaling the snipers on the hill to take their shots.
A few fleeting moments passed, in the distance the lights from the pelican drop ships rapidly closed in on the ice lake. I watch devotedly at the targets, impatiently waiting for my men to fire, I felt like rushing them, but I knew they were professionals in their field, waiting for the ample opportunity in which to take the shots. The woodlands surrounding the ice lake made it near impossible for the enemy to see us, but I trusted that my men were prepared for any potential show of aggression, as they had been in prior engagement. The white streaks burst from the hilltops, acquiring the one shot one kill that so many snipers train for, two elites fell, the 20mm shell piercing their shield and skulls. The others glimpsed around vigilantly now, alert to our presence. Two more vapor trails materialized from my snipers location, followed by one more quick shot, flattening the remaining enemy.
Standing up, I waved to my men as the Pelicans circled overhead, preparing to touch down. The two sleek aircraft hydraulics on their landing stilts hissing as they stabilized the craft. Walking to the edge of the lake I glanced around, before waving my men to follow. The snow that had crunched under my feet had now turned to solid Ice, which echoed through the plain. I turned and crouched down waiting for my men to reach safety. A year ago when I attended Officer Candidate School, and took to heart the phrase "The First One In, The Last One Out." My men continued to approach, setting up a pattern of a crisscross maneuver, something only taught to Special Forces, which I had taken and implemented upon my crew. Johnson knelt beside me, aiding me in my efforts.
The Marines had all boarded the craft now, for the exception of the snipers who had just reached the ice lake some hundred yards away. We were almost to safety, a perfect mission, no casualties, but all did not go as planned. Johnson was the first to see it, the snipers had climbed into the Pelican, but we now were to far out, by some 50 ft. He yelled and pointed to the squadron of Banshees as they flew in to attack, screaming as they closed in on us.
"Run" I yelled emphatically, lifting Johnson to his feet we bolted to the Pelicans, which were preparing to leave. Johnson tripped and I slid forward on the ice, coming to rest on the rear-landing skid. I watched the young Marine struggle to get up, as the streams of radiant blue plasma showered down from above. I wanted to run out, to help as once more he fell, only to be held back by a crew chief. Pulling a lever, the back of the ship began to seal closed, yet allowing enough time to watch the plasma splash over his back and listen to his excruciating screams of pain, before the ship became dark and silent except for the humming of the engine as the crafts lifted off flying in formation to the decimated UNSC fleet. Once more I had made it, but knew this was just the beginning, and the road ahead would be long and treacherous. As I sat down, the red lights illuminating my face, I realized something, survival was not guaranteed.
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