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Present Darkness, Chapter Five: Part I
Posted By: russ687<russ687@hotmail.com>
Date: 20 December 2004, 7:37 AM
Read/Post Comments
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Chapter Five
The Fight Within
0700 hours, November 21, 2552 (Military Calendar)
UNSC Carrier Stanton Bay
In orbit above Planet Red Dawn (Codename), Theta 1440+90 System
Foster waited for the information to finish uploading to a data pad, then removed the device from the computer before him. They had made the speculation, put it to the test, and now verified that their, or rather his, idea of the Covenant using biologically enhanced beings on the surface was indeed true. And along with that thought, they also found that within that process, something had gone wrong that left those altered beings no longer under the Covenant control.
Like he had stated earlier, Foster knew that this ultimately didn't change the operation on the surface. Those Marines were still tasked with taking out the Covenant supply caches, and so far that was going relativity close to planned. However, this information was important on a strategic scale, not tactically surface-side. Knowledge of this could drastically change the defensible strategies of the UNSC and also change when and where resources were placed. While at the moment this was utterly nothing more then interesting, in the long run it would prove to be far more important.
"Sir, I have all the data." Foster said, walking up to Nodern in the GFCIC.
His CO looked up at him. "There's been a change of plans. I have the feeling were going to need first hand intelligence of these intra-Covenant skirmishes; something more then just aerial photos and our own reasoning."
Foster nodded, but remained in question about where this was going.
Nodern grabbed his own data pad and beckoned for his staff to follow. "This won't fly very far with the information we have, we need more. There's no way my superiors will take any of this to heart if we can't show them more evidence. Therefore, I am tasking you with getting first hand information and documentation of this issue on the surface and bring it back to me before the end of this operation in..." There was a pause as the Battalion CO looked down at his watch. "...Just over three hours." Nodern paused again and saw the look on his Intel Officer's face. "This started with you, now I need you to finish it so we don't run into problems with my superiors in the near future."
The Battalion CO leaned closer and talked softly. "Besides, you're the only one on my staff who could go down there and get the job done right."
Foster nodded, seeing where this was going. The previous plan of him accompanying them to converse with the Fleet Commander was obviously no more; instead, he had to go to the surface of this planet. The realization that he was heading into a extremely hostile area hadn't quite hit him yet.
"I'll make sure you have the right personnel in the armory," Nodern said. "Get down there, pick your team, suit up, and get the job done."
Foster nodded.
"And come back in one piece."
His CO turned and walked out of the GFCIC with his staff.
The armory was almost dead quiet; normally, this would be unusual, but with all their forces deployed, it was no surprise either. The comprehension finally hit Foster when we looked at the combat gear secured to the wall: Body armor, Load Bearing Vests, Radios, Grenades, Rifles, side arms. He had been in combat three times before, but those days were far behind him. Seeing the battlefield was now at a distance for him, something he was mixed about. Seeing men die in front of you was no joke, but staying off the field of battle, knowing there was someone out there who needed help, tore away at him as well.
This time around, however, he was going in. From the reports he had heard from the Marines on the surface, the fighting was intense, but scattered. After the initial, nearly fatal drop for every Marine, the Covenant had turned away to face their own problem. It was ironic that he would be going down there to find these beings, while the rest on the surface would be trying to avoid them.
Like every Marine, he was well versed in marksmanship and battlefield survival. Having been an ODST for nearly six years, he had seen some very tough insertions and fighting; which all left him with plenty of experience on the field, but his specialty was in Intelligence, not in carving up Covenant. While he still wore the famous patch across his BDUs, he had left that life to fight a new side of the war. Would it all come back?
The doubt quickly faded as several men entered the armory. The right question to ask: was it ever lost?
"Major Foster?"
Foster turned and faced another Marine. The man was not an ODST, but looked squared-away from what he could tell. A slight nod answered the Marine's question.
"My name is Second Lieutenant Luke Sherman, Second Marine Battalion. I have been ordered to accompany you on a mission surface-side, along with my team."
At least Nodern did not expected him to go alone. "Very well, and your team is...?"
The young Lieutenant looked behind him as several more Marines walked into the armory. "Myself, and a Squad of six from my unit."
"Is that all?"
The young officer nodded softly. "We're spread thin as it is, sir."
Foster stood silent for a moment, then moved to grab some gear; this was far less then he expected, but anything was something. As for them being regular Marines...he dismissed the thought. They would need all the hands they could get, no matter what the experience level. From what he knew so far, these Marines may have never fired a weapon at the Covenant in their lives, which slightly discouraged his attitude towards this mission. But then again, he could be wrong; these could be very valuable troops on the field.
He looked up as the Armory PA intercom came to life. "Major Jody Foster and team are to report to the Operations Deck, berth nineteen, in ten mikes for departure."
Foster looked back at the seven Marines with him, none of whom at any combat gear or weapons. He grabbed a M6C and slid a magazine into it with a satisfying click as the announcement repeated again. This was all second nature to him, and any doubt that remained seemed to disappear as he handled the gear he used to don every day. His past would prove invaluable to him, his experience a factor that would pull them through. No mattered how bad it was down there, he was determined to get the information they needed; not because Nodern had ordered him to, not because this was going to help a few high-brass make up their minds, but because this would help the men who fought alongside him.
This would help the UNSC.
"Suit up, Marines."
Nodern listened idly as his Operations Officer summed up their situation on the surface. Nothing had really changed over the last fifteen minutes, and the talking just seemed to drone on inside his head. It was, unfortunately, common for him to find disinterest in what his staff talked about while aboard a ship far above the real action.
He belonged on the ground, with a rifle in his hands. Even though he knew that he had far better control over the situation from inside of the dark-red GFCIC, he felt far more effective fighting along side the men he led.
When had all this changed? He remembered the days of being a platoon leader, then moving up to commanding a company; all of those times he was on the surface making things happen. Now he was usually condemned to a digitalized command post deep in the hull of a ship, thousands of miles away from the fight.
He thoughts ran again as they turned a corner down another corridor, his Operations Officer still talking. Maybe he could get demoted? Something, anything, that would get him back to where he belonged would work. To see him send his men to battle and not lead them first hand had been a major shock for him the first time around. He hated every protocol that dictated his presence to stay on this ship, and he hated whoever had come up with such a senseless policy for their commanders.
His thoughts gently drifted to another issue that haunted the back of his mind. While he cared for his troops, the memories of his family always seemed to wash back over him. He hadn't seen them in nearly a year, prompting his concern about personal safety to rise up periodically, especially when he allowed his mind to wander during these seemingly trivial briefings by his staff.
He longed for the day when this war would be over, when he could put his duties on the shelf and just spend time with the people that meant most to him. He wanted the turmoil of fighting and losing battles to end, along with the nightmares that plagued him every waking chance. He wanted to win and go home.
The talking filtered back through him as they made it to the end of the corridor and began the turn to the turbo-lift. He reached up to scratch the back of his head as the long corridor leading to the lift came into view.
Time stopped.
The long gray hallway, lit by bright white lights on the ceiling above and reflecting it back off the beige walls was empty; devoid of any single crewmen. The numerous doors lining this particularly long section of the ship were closed; not a usual sound of men or women being heard as his eyes focused on the black figure before him.
His mind began the slow process of recognizing it while he continued his walk forward, even though his steps were long and slow. He blinked again as the arm of the unknown man came up towards them, a long object pointing directly for him.
His mind recognized the gesture, and his training reflexes took those interpreted signals and reacted, but Nodern knew that nothing he could do would stop this sequence of events from happening. No matter how fast he was, or could have been, he could not stop the long, silenced pistol of the figure in front of him from taking aim.
As time held still, he recognized the man. The face he had seen before; this man had accompanied him, spoken with him, and even worked along side of him many times in the past. His heart jumped, not at the fact that the index finger of this man was hovering over the trigger of the weapon, but that this man would do this to him, and his staff. They were on the same side, fighting against the same common enemy. What possible reason would this man, someone who was once his acquaintance ally, lead him to murder?
Deep down inside, Nodern knew why. He wouldn't let this happen without a fight, but he knew it was over. He knew this man, along with his companions, worked in ways that allowed them to have complete surprise and superiority in a situation; a situation they planned a devised.
This whole walk from the command center to the turbo-lift was nothing more then a trap, nothing more then a plot devised by these men to stop his existence. Why? Nodern knew why. These instinctive questions that flooded over him could be answered without thinking.
He knew too much.
His right hand flinched and brought out his M6C sidearm, trying to force it up in time to stop his assailant from ending his own life. He felt the betrayal wash over him as he willed his weapon higher into the air, and he felt the anger of being played by his own comrades.
His family would never see him again; he would never speak with them, never spend time with them, never go home and spend the rest of his life with the people he loved most. His life was ending before his eyes, and the hurt of never being able to raise his children tore into him; the pain of never seeing them grow up, never seeing them live the life he wished for.
The life he fought for.
Had this been some Covenant being, he would have gone down with a grin, but this wasn't their common enemy. This was far beyond that.
The single round from the silenced pistol entered his skull, and the blackness of death took the man from the hell of war to the realm beyond.
Foster turned and looked back before stepping into the Pelican compartment on the Operations Deck. He didn't know why; nothing could be heard or seen, nothing that would force him to stop and look back into the ship he was departing from.
Nothing but a feeling.
Something was wrong. He could feel the chill wash over him and stared back blankly into the massive deck that could house hundreds of troops. He broke his stare and looked down at the Loadmaster, who stared back in question. He turned and looked at the Marines, all geared up and ready, in the Pelican; they stared back, questions etched over their faces as well.
It was just him. Nobody else seemed to feel the same chill that existed around him. He had long since learned not to ignore these feelings, these times when he could sense something, but there was no way he could put his finger on it; he just knew something wasn't right. Whether it was in regards to his mission to the surface, or something else on this ship, he may never know, but the feeling remained the same.
Foster slowly turned and entered the Pelican, drawing looks from Lieutenant Sherman and his Squad. He took his seat silently and buckled the harness around him, still feeling the darkness.
"Something wrong, sir?" The question from the Lieutenant caused him to flinch uncharacteristically.
Foster looked up into the man's eyes. He wanted to tell them what he felt, he wanted to share the concern that flooded his mind; but he knew it would serve of no purpose to them, and of no help to himself. There was nothing he could do about what he felt at this time, nothing he could do to investigate what had caused it.
"Negative, Lieutenant." The Major said.
The Loadmaster closed the rear door and the craft came to life. They would be on the surface of this planet in less then fifteen minutes, facing an unknown enemy and trying to find a mysterious Covenant force that tore its own path through the forests of this planet. He had plenty to worry about, plenty to think about, but it still didn't change anything about the feeling in his gut.
Regardless, he would soon find the source of this darkness. Of that he was sure.
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