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Shell Shock
- Chapter 4
Tyrell Fitzgerald found himself in a strange area...fellow marines rushed by, not in combat armor, but in training uniforms and standard gear with MA5B assault rifles. "Fitzgerald, move it trainee!" a drill sergeant barked. The marine ran through a thick area of heavy mud that appeared to suck him down further each step. He pulled his boots free and ran forward. A hail of stun rounds thundered over the trench he and another trainee crouched in. One man rushed for cover and was hit and hauled off the field. Tyrell popped up firing his weapon three guns went down. He sprinted forward to a 100 foot wall. He grabbed a hold and climbed the vertical expanse. Stun turrets opened up and several opened up on him. They had the impact of a paintball, but it was enough to fell him and fall fifty feet below...
Tyrell woke frantically screaming. Two doctors looked down in astonishment. "He's awake...sir he's awake!" One yelled. Fitzgerald got the message that the whole training image was a dream. Davidson appeared in his line of sight, a large black-purple bruise covered his left eye, and a skinny slash was etched onto his forehead with his short buzzed black hair just above that. Conner rewarded him with a warm smile. Tyrell could see various members of his squad in the large infirmary. Shifty lay in bed cursing about his broken arm, Stocks sat at a table with Brant and Borne, all sipping cups of coffee, Jeremy Ryan and Davidson were checking on everyone else, Barnes was alive but still unconscious, and Jones was, well Jones. Tyrell pulled himself out of the bed and grabbed a mug, filling it with the dark brown coffee drink. Ryan, Davidson, Fitzgerald and Jones joined at the table with the others and Stocks unleashed a deck of cards, dealing to everyone...starting "seven card stud." After a full forty-five minutes of playing, the marines eagerly made their way to the cafeteria. The civilian clock mounted on the wall read 2:47 in the morning. The men began slipping into their bunks and falling asleep. It felt good to really sleep again. Tyrell thought to himself.
The next morning the marines were sent to briefing. The Brass conveniently had an office near where they had crashed...Hawaii. Their ship had somehow broken free of the outpost and slipped down to the surface. Both of the dropship's pilots were dead, probably because they crashed in the water. Hawaii had almost become Earth's headquarters considering that the Covenant had not even bothered to scan the area thoroughly enough to even locate the tiny island ring. Tyrell eagerly escaped after a long ninety minutes with the Brass. Fitzgerald walked outside in the cold morning breeze, Tyrell ambled down to the beach and walked the area. An hour later the troopers were hitting the armories and depots.
Dante 'Fasamee dove through a human city, dodging in and out between the high spires and skyscrapers. The Banshee wobbled and was in danger of crashing when he found his designated landing platform. The attack craft landed and the Elite bailed from the cockpit. Seconds later the fighter exploded, vaporizing five Grunts. "Get that craft off the platform!" Field Officer 'Ganamee ordered to several blue Elites. "I'm starving," one Brute was saying, "We've had nothing to eat but old maggoty bread for three stinking days!" The orc-like alien drew his machete and raised it, bellowing a battle cry. Other Brutes joined and they began cutting up and killing Grunts for food. It was amusing to watch until one Grunt drew his needler and killed a Brute. War broke out on the platform with the Elites cutting down which ever crossed their path, the Brutes mutilating Grunts and Jackals and then one Hunter went down, really pissing off three others. Four Elites were blasted off the platform and a Brute was transformed into paste. 'Fasamee knew why these Brutes were so battle-hungry. The small human detachment had been annihilated with leaving the covenant on the brink of blood thirst for even their fellow comrades. 'Ganamee stood with two other golden Elites in the center of the platform, all of which activated plasma lances and cut down seven Jackals and two Brutes. The three Elites cut their way to the door and the surviving four Elites followed and then the door to the platform was sealed. 'Fasamee wouldn't miss coming back later to see what happened, but for now the seven Elites would head to the prophet's counsel room aboard the Glory's Strength. 'Fasamee found that he was needed else where. Dante was in great want of his dress uniform armor. His combat armor was punctured in various places, where the sharp shards of the hanging armor stabbed into his skin. All of these breaches were courtesy of the thousands of human projectiles that had killed so many of his men. He found his quarters and requested his dress armor. Minutes later a rookie blue Elite opened the door, knelt and offered up the golden suit. "Much thanks 'Ralosee." The Elite replied with a simple: "You're welcome Excellency." The Elite turned, took in what had been a combat alarm, drew his plasma pistol and ran towards a wall mounted armory. Fasamee knew the Brutes were at it again. The Grunts were wise enough to side with the Elites and for now, the Jackals were on their own.
Tyrell stood in full combat armor, which included a visor over his face...basically the same as the ODST armor, all black fatigues with an assault rifle cradled in his arms. A huge hanger gathered twenty eight company sergeants with nine platoon lieutenants. Sergeants: Klein, Ryan, Fitzgerald, Barkley, Anderson, Burnside, Reinhart, Boblit, McGinnis and twenty more. The Lieutenants included: Greyer, Davidson, and Blackwell with six others. The combat marines filed into the hybrid class warhorse troopships. They appeared much sleeker than both covenant and human ships, armed with four rocket pods with dual 70mm chin guns, also wielding a larger troop bay of sixteen. The jet black ships loaded up and ascended out of the hanger.
Tyrell had been assigned a new team which only contained Borne from his other squad. Private Beckman manned the door gun and the rest of his squad sat eight across one side of the warhorse with Sergeant Klein's squad on the other. He peered down towards the cockpit inspecting his squad which contained: Private Beckman, Private Reline, Private Borne, Corporal Salazar, Lance Corporal Miller, Private Jameson, Corporal Richards, and Private Brooks. This was a great squad; it finally was time to stage an all out assault on the Covenant.
'Ralosee snatched up a standard plasma rifle and ran for the docking bay. The Brutes were out of hand. Ninety percent of the Grunts lay on the landing platforms and docking bays, dead. The Elites were the antidote for this rebellion, but numbers belonged to the Brutes. "Kill them all!" a Brute down the hallway shouted, killing a trio of Jackals. Ralosee was not affected by the loss, but still his plasma rifle flared and knocked down the Brutes. The Elite rushed past the bodies, through yet another Grunt gore splattered corridor and finally to the bays. He regretted to answer the call...a mere eight of his kin were battering down a platoon of Brutes. Ralosee luckily made the difference in the battle; four Brutes remained when they drew mini fuel rod guns and massacred the eight Elite atop the opposite side of the bay. 'Ralosee spent too much precious time and received a machete swipe to the base of the skull. All went dark and his life left him. 'Fasamee slipped into his armor, grabbing two plasma rifles on his departure. The Elite stepped inside his Seraph personal fighter and did a quick fly over of the city. The main base was a giant battle between the Brutes and the Elites. It wasn't a big deal seeing that the humans would attack sooner than later...and unfortunately to Fasamee, they did.
To be continued
By: Myth
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