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Marooned
Posted By: Steve Ollett<sollett@clydematerials.co.uk>
Date: 6 October 2003, 8:54 AM
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M A R O O N E D
---------------
A story based on the Halo Universe by Steve Ollett
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CHAPTER 1
1542HRS 07-OCT-2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
SECOND PLANET OF ACKWAZE SYSTEM
"There they are!" shouted Private Murray over the growl of the Warthog's engine as the robust all-terrain vehicle crested a small hillock. Stood at the triple barreled machine gun - the standard issue of most M12 LRV (Light Reconnaissance Vehicle) Warthogs - he had the better view.
"Bloody scientists!" muttered Corporal Stocks, in the passenger seat. He sat one foot up on the dash, holding his S2 AM sniper rifle aloft in this right hand, the long barrel of the weapon pointing skyward, resting against his right shoulder. "Three bloody hours driving round looking for them... ...Three Bloody Hours! Do they think we're some kind of taxi service?"
"Yeah, and I'm bouncing around like a pea on a drum back here" answered Murray, "This gun is a bitch to hold over this terrain!"
Turning to face the rear passenger, Stocks incredulously retorted, "Then why the hell didn't you lock it down, Murray?"
"Hey, I ain't taking any chances", Murray replied as he struggled to keep the chain gun level, "what with us being on the edge of the Covenant frontier systems."
Stocks countered, "Well, quit your bitching then Lanky, or I'll lock your mouth down. Permanently!"
"Can it! Both of you! We're professionals, remember?" answered Sergeant Ryan, as he gunned the Warthog downhill. Although being in charge of his unit, he liked to have a hands-on approach, which included doing some of the driving. He liked to think that it gave the impression that he was just of the guys. Besides that he actually enjoyed throwing the Warthog about, it was a great way to get rid of his tension.
Ryan skidded the Warthog to halt. As he prepared to jump down from the vehicle, he turned to the other occupants and said sternly "I'll deal with this". His boots squelched on the water logged ground as he made contact.
"Stay here?!?! What? Are we dogs or something?" Stocks muttered, as Ryan strode off towards the scientists.
Just as he was walking out of earshot of the Warthog. Ryan could just make out the distinctive laugh of Private Murray jesting at Corporal Stocks, "Yeah, well you're a grumpy puppy today aren't you?"
The answer to that wasn't going to be too pleasant, Ryan mused. In fact he was glad of being away from them, even for a short while. Their constant banter had escalated as they fed off each other's comments to the point that they were virtually at each other's throats. If they'd been kids, he would have probably banged their heads together by now.
All things considered they weren't that bad. Ryan had a long history with John Stocks. They both trained together as part of the British contingent of the United Nations Space Command (UNSC), having done the usual Norwegian winter survival exercises, and also surviving in the Australian outback after an exercise that went wrong. Their Pelican crashed killing everyone except John and Ryan. To make matters worse Ryan had a broken leg, yet the pair made it out six weeks later after Stocks had patched up Ryan's leg up as best as he could with only minimal medical supplies. After that experience they were like brothers.
Three months after the Australian incident they were both assigned to the UNSC Sheffield, a destroyer class vessel, and served almost twenty years since in the Special Space Services, an elite division of the UNSC Space Marines.
John's only real problem was that he was a grumpy bastard. He tended to see things only in black and white, which was fine in most situations, but that often led to snap decisions that caused all sorts of trouble. But caught in a fire-fight, Ryan couldn't think of anyone else he'd rather fight back-to-back with. Being the gun-nut that Stocks was, he always seemed to be bristling with firepower, be that scoped weapons. Ryan often joked that he once saw Stocks actually club an opponent with an empty pistol, rather than pick up a full assault rifle that lay nearby.
Private Steve Murray was totally different. At eighteen years old, he was still a raw recruit. Fair-haired and about 6'-4", he was skinny for his height. Despite his thin build, 'Lanky' Steve Murray was deceptively strong.
Steve had transferred from the UNSC Halifax, a Frigate class vessel after 3 months active duty. Someone had recognized potential in him and so he ended up on the Sheffield and six months later he was seconded to Ryan's unit.
Ryan hadn't actually fought beside him in an actual combat situation yet, but in the exercises that they'd been in so far, he had given him the impression that he'd be a fine soldier. His optimistic attitude was another plus point and his sense of humor helped to lighten the mood of everyone, that is except John Stocks, but that just added to the comedy value of the situation between Murray and Stocks. In between the banter and harsh comments, Ryan swore that he could see the mutual respect growing between the pair of them.
At about ten feet into his walk, a series of low distant rumbles caught Ryan's attention. Turning around, and looking back past the Warthog (Stocks & Murray were still going at each other), black clouds loomed ominously.
Just distant thunder, he thought. Nothing to worry about.
Turning his attention back to the science team, he made his way towards them walking up a slight rise. The wind had picked up slightly, being channeled down the huge 'U'-shaped valley that they were in. Ryan took in the fantastic view.
A small stream wound it's way down the center of the valley, through a large mere that was flanked by boggy grassland on either side. Small waterfalls hung on either side of the valley walls at various intervals, their white water cascading down with a quiet hiss, these small tributaries eventually joining the stream and the mere in the center of the valley floor. The wind fanned the foot high grass, and he could have sworn he caught the fragrance of pine trees.
The valley floor was fairly flat, being dotted with huge rounded rocks and mounds, with huge grooves scored across the rocks, running parallel to the valley walls. They were probably formed along with this valley millions of years ago by the immense power of a slow moving glacier pushing rocks and other debris down the valley over thousands of years. Looking at the magnificence of the scene Ryan suddenly felt small and insignificant.
Refocusing on the job in hand, he strode on. About thirty feet away the two civilian scientists knelt on the ground near to their drilling equipment, examining six foot long core samples drilled from the rocks and soil. Several microscopes, shovels, sample jars, and a couple of portable computer terminals sat within easy reach.
Two standard issue tents and another Warthog stood nearby. Two soldiers sat feet-up, playing cards in the front seats of their Warthog. They had the pleasure of baby-sitting the scientists, but weren't paying attention to their activities.
"Dr Zoran, are we finished here?" Ryan announced loudly. The irritation in his voice was crystal clear.
"Er, Ya, Sergeant Ryan." The scientist replied in his Swedish accent, "we have many interesting samples here. But need more time to analyze."
Annoyed by the Zoran's apparent lack of respect for procedure, Ryan's dressing down of scientist was brutal and strangely funny, "Analyze this Zoran; Next time you decide to have a little drive in the country, turn your radio on and fucking call in first! We are only 15 light-years from the edge of Covenant Space, and we don't know whether or not the Covie have a claim on this rock. Next time, follow procedure or the only thing you'll be analyzing is stool samples from the ships latrines."
"But the radio was on!" said a voice behind Zoran. "I switched it on myself." said a young dark haired woman, stepping forward. She was dressed in a grey single piece flight-suit, which fitted her well in all the right places. Extending a hand out to Ryan, she continued, "Hello, I'm Karen, Karen Moore, Dr Zoran's assistant."
"Assistant, huh? Well, you didn't look much like a scientist to me." Ryan answered.
"Yeah? And you sound more like a comedian with your comment about stool samples, rather than a soldier. What's your name?"
"Sergeant Ryan" He replied, and while gesturing toward his team, "- and this is my bunch of goons, some of them you've met already."
Gazing at her sculpted cheek-bones, her dark shoulder length hair and dark brooding eyes, Ryan suddenly felt like he'd been stood there for a year. Starting to feel like a fool he tore his eyes away from her and back to Zoran.
"Zoran, we're leaving. Anything not packed up in ten minutes gets left behind".
With that Ryan turned on his heels and strode off towards the second Warthog.
"Hey wait for me!" came a shout from behind. "Who's she?" Stocks asked inquisitively and slightly out of breath, having jogged over to see what was going on.
"Just the Scientist's assistant, John. You know, taking and analyzing samples, scientist shit." Ryan replied in what he thought was his most nonchalant voice, "Anyway, I thought I told you to stay put?" he added.
"I wonder what else she 'assists' him with?" Stocks grinned, ignoring Ryan's question. "I saw you looking at her. I bet you had a sample of your own in your pants for her to analyze!" he laughed.
"Fuck off, John." was Ryan's response.
As Ryan and Stocks approached the second Warthog, the two soldiers glanced up for a split second, then returned to their card game.
"Garrett! O'Shea! Listen up!" Ryan's bark was so loud that the pair of them fumbled and dropped their cards.
"shit. I almost had a full house!" muttered the tallest of the pair with a distinctive American accent.
"Garrett, get on the radio - call in the Albatross. Tell them we've found the scientists and give them our co-ordinates for extraction!" and turning to the other soldier, Ryan's orders were no less urgent, "O'Shea, pack your shit up, I want that Warthog ready to go in 5 minutes!"
Garrett and O'Shea were the other two guys in Ryan's team.
Travis Garrett was the sole American in the unit. At twenty-nine years of age he was a veteran of many campaigns, a few of them against the Covenant. His real skills were in electronics, and anything to do with computers. Before he joined up, Travis was a part of the development team that designed starship A.I. systems. He could hack anything given enough time and the right tools. Ryan's only issue with Garrett was that he was good at what he did, and liked to remind people of it. That really got up Ryan's nose.
Sean O'Shea was the mechanic/driver in the unit. He had played with motors and machinery since being a child back on his family's farm in Ireland, back on Earth. He was quite jovial, approachable, and an asset to the team - he knew just how far to tweek or push a machine to get it's best performance. When tasked to achieve a goal, and especially when working with Garrett, the pair of them could work minor miracles.
Ryan turned his attention back to Garrett, who already had the radio headset against his left ear attempting contact with the dropship. Garrett looked puzzled. Something was wrong.
"Problems, Travis?" Ryan asked.
"The Albatross, sir, its not transmitting!" Garrett exclaimed, with a hint of panic in his voice.
"Are you sure it's not just our equipment?" Ryan replied.
"I'm pretty sure that it's operating fine," Garrett answered as he put the headset down and pulled a small toolbox out from under the passenger seat of his Warthog. Opening the box, he produced a small digital test meter. "I'll check it out anyway" he continued, and cracked the case of the radio open. Setting up the test meter on the Warthog's dash, Garrett took both test probes and started checking various components. The meter's display blinked into life and bleeped, "Yeah, we got juice..." he said as he glanced at the figure on the display. He moved onto the next component. "The transmitter is... um, transmitting." After a few more minutes of checking he finally announced, "Yeah it's working fine." he said as he snapped the radio's case shut. "Let me try it again, maybe they've switched frequencies" he added.
By this time, the rest of the team has gathered round to see what the commotion was about.
After a couple of seconds of switching channels and re-transmitting, Garrett put the headset down. "I can't get them. Either their radio is broken, turned off, or..." his voice trailed off, "Or they're not there!"
"Maybe it's because we're in the valley, you know, not having line of sight with the dropship?" Murray volunteered, helpfully.
"No, it's not that", Garrett replied, launching into his tech-speak, "These transmitters don't require line of sight. They work on a similar principle to the old AM transmitter/receivers that bounce the transmission off the layers in the upper atmosphere, giving over-the-horizon communications."
Garrett stood silent for a second, with a distant look in his eyes, but you could see the realization suddenly hit him. "If the dropship is gone, then we can't contact the Sheffield - it carried the only radio capable of reaching a ship in orbit!"
"Christ!" Exclaimed Stocks.
"Awww shit" whined Murray, "We're stranded, marooned!"
------ more soon ------
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