Apologies for the double post, but new chapter!
*Chapter Three
14th of October, 2553
Unknown base, Russia
Earth
The machine-gun turret gave a high-pitched whine as hundreds of rounds kicked up plumes of snow. Deafened, Horatio and his team threw themselves behind a sizeable snowdrift. Terry was, predictably, swearing at the top of his voice. “What the hell is this ***? I thought this was a *** practice mission!”
“Obviously ain’t, “Horatio growled. He twisted over to face Lazu. “Got anything for those bastards? We got frags, but those ‘Hogs are too fast-”
“I have plasma grenades, “the Elite replied. He pulled from his waist a loop of cord, with three blue orbs dangling from it. “But my shields will fail in the face of their turrets. You must needs distract them.”
“We have to what?” Terry asked incredulously. He peered over the top of the snow mound. “Forget it, we’ll just wait it out-”
A thunderous detonation sent him flying back a few paces. It was the grenade launcher. Terry sat up, the wind knocked out of him. “On the other hand, maybe we should do something. Alright, so you get close and stick ‘em. What do we do?”
Lazu stood up, flexing his arms. “You must lure them to another place of safety. Then, when they are unsuspecting, I shall strike. Terry, go left. Horatio, over there.” He indicated a pair of snow mounds.
The alien inched his head around the side of the mound. “They have withdrawn to further away. Now is the time-go!”
Horatio was surprised that the order came so quickly-he stumbled, but hastily straightened up and ran like hell.
Panting, his breath rising and lowering, he pelted his way to his destination. A screech of tires was heard-the ‘Hogs were turning in his direction. Pulling a frag grenade from his belt, he pulled the pin and tossed it in the general direction of the noise. His cover wasn’t far off now; fifty paces-
The turret ‘Hog was suddenly beside him-where had it come from? Its gunner turned to track him, but Horatio had years of experience on his side. He dropped and rolled to the left, and the modified Warthog roared off in the other direction, the gunner too slow to react. He’d bought himself more time. Sprinting, he made it to the mound. Nestling on the covered side, he keyed his radio. “Alright, guys. I’m in position. Any day now.”
Terry was in his own fight. A round from the launcher had sent shrapnel flying everywhere. A stray piece had punched through the side of his helmet, leaving a long cut. Blood trickled down.
The enemy ‘Hog was strafing him, not wishing to become caught in its own blasts. He swore as the launcher zeroed in on him, and fired, a gout of smoke issuing from the barrel. Mother of God! He threw himself flat, waiting to hear the shell that killed him.
The explosion assaulted his ears, but he felt nothing. Looking around, he saw-back at the first snowdrift-Lazu, standing on the top, carbine in his rippled arms. He musta fired at the grenade when it was in the air! Christ, he’s good! Lucky break. Pushing himself up, he resumed his frantic run. Lazu fired more shots, the radioactive rounds drilling holes through the vehicle’s armour. But the Warthog was already coming back in his direction.
He half-turned and fired his rifle, but it was like attacking a whale with a stick. Pulling out a frag grenade, he tossed it into the path of the incoming vehicle.
The driver had cut it too fine-they couldn’t risk a grenade at this range without killing themselves. Panicking, the driver tried to swerve, but too late.
The grenade went off with a cacophonous bang, blowing the ‘Hog off its wheels and onto its side. The driver had been killed, but the gunner was alive, struggling to free himself. Terry smiled mirthlessly and strode over.
The man had almost extricated himself from the wreck when Terry’s shadow fell over him. “Boo, “the Marine said flatly, and put a bullet in his skull.
The immediate danger over, Terry hurriedly searched the bodies. They were carrying M6K pistols-firearms usually reserved for undercover police. Terry frowned in consternation. You ain’t cops. So who the hell are you?
He also found a razor-edged combat knife-which he grabbed-and a short-range radio, which had been broken in the crash. Pity-might be broadcasting right now. Ollie could crack their frequency with our own radios-assuming he’s alive right now. His search over, he looked more closely at the insignia on their fatigues.
White fist and red circle-it was damned familiar, nagging at the corners of his mind. He shook his head-it didn’t matter who they were, they were enemies, and that was that. Terry sprinted over to where Horatio was pinned down by fire from the turret ‘Hog. About thirty paces off to his right, Lazu was also running, muscled legs pumping. The alien pulled out a grenade of his own-the plasma kind.
Unfortunately it was at that moment that a lull occurred in the gunner’s barrage-he heard them approaching and responded accordingly. Lazu snarled in frustration as his shields began to take fire-the Elite jumped behind another snowdrift. Terry raised his weapon, ready to feel the bullets next.
Surprisingly, the Warthog reversed slightly and drove off towards the gate. Evidently it was going to raise the alarm back at the base. “Stop him!” Terry yelled, firing his rifle.
Horatio gritted his teeth, pulled his sniper rifle off his back, stepped out from cover and sighted along the scope. The driver’s side was facing him-the driver’s face jumped closer through the magnifier. Tensing himself, he fired his first shot with his new weapon.
The recoil was considerable-the butt of the rifle kicked his shoulder. A jarring noise accompanied the shot, and a white trail also. In what was something of a fluke, the bullet had gone straight through the man‘s head-the ‘Hog slowed and stopped as the driver slumped over dead, brains and gore spilling onto the dashboard. The gunner hadn’t suspected the sudden stop and fell off the top of the LRV with a yelp.
Lazu stepped towards the man, growling, a hand going to his plasma pistol. The man drew his pistol and fired, but the rounds failed to penetrate the alien’s shields. The first blast of jade plasma took off the man’s arm. The second splattered his head. The corpse toppled, steaming.
Lazu stood over the dead man and spread his mandibles in a sneering action. “That was the last of them. What shall our next move be?”
Horatio nodded at the ‘Hog. “It’s still in one piece. I say we take it for some recon-see if we can’t locate the rest of the team. Quick, soon that base’s gonna realise we killed their scouts.”
Terry stretched his arms. “Sounds good to me. Let’s head west, like you said earlier.” He turned to the Warthog. “I’ll drive.”
With some difficulty they all piled into the vehicle. Lazu had to squeeze his massive legs together just to fit, and his right arm stuck out awkwardly. Horatio manned the turret, and Terry turned the ignition. It sputtered, and the dashboard flickered on. The ungainly-looking LRV roared away, edging towards the snow dunes so it would remain in cover.
Stationed on top of the gatehouse, a sentry followed the ‘Hog with a pair of binoculars. When it disappeared from sight, he keyed his radio. “Captain Stillis, we have confirmation, hostiles are present on the southern fence. They took out one of our prototypes, but they have the other one and are making their way west. Orders sir?”
Through the mike came the sound of his CO’s voice. “Leave three men with heavy weapons and have the rest of the garrison proceed to the western fence. Another one of their groups is present there-this way we can eliminate both of them. Tell Sergeant Toven to send reconnaissance east-make certain the ground sensors are active. There may be more bogies inbound.”
“Aye sir. Erm, sir-there is one more detail-one of the hostiles-”
“What of them?”
“One was definitely an Elite sir.”
There was a moment of silence over the radio, punctuated by the hissing wind. Then:
“Do not give anything away. Do you understand? Our treaty must remain secret. I have new orders for you-lock down the armory. Ready the detonator-if we have to leave this place a smoking crater we will. Snap to it, son.”
‘Aye sir.” The man descended down the ladder, and began issuing instructions.
**********************************************************
The grenade went off, and an enemy soldier screamed as the shrapnel lacerated his face. Three of his comrades ducked behind their barricade and returned fire. Len, his face-plate broken, reciprocated. His face was plastered with a rictus grin-he lived for stuff like this. But privately he was pissed.
When they’d landed, of course they’d been immediately set upon by these bastards. But with the help of a few well-thrown grenades by Xavier and Dasa’s awesome fuel rod cannon (God, he wished he had one of those), they’d broken one side of the attack. Now they were pressing forward, intent on exacting revenge.
But they were slowing now-sustained fire had halted their momentum. Dasa had cleverly used one of his plasma grenades to create a sizeable depression and so give them a foxhole, but it was all they could do to return fire. Xavier had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but was otherwise OK. Still, they needed to do something, and soon.
Len lay with his assault rifle cradled in his arms, occasionally turning to fire a burst. Beside him, Dasa had laid down his heavy cannon and was harassing the enemy with his spike rifle. Molten spikes chattered as he sprayed the attackers with deadly hail. One of them cried out as a burning round penetrated his arm, and fell.
Dasa growled his pleasure; like Len, he revelled in close combat. He fired off more shots. “Another kill! They fall like aspens before the storm! Come, humans, let us partake of glory’s sweet nectar!”
“Or, “Len muttered under his breath, “we could try and stay alive.” He flicked the release switch on his weapon and slapped in a fresh clip.
Dasa seemed disappointed. “To consider only survival is to make life into death in all but name. To seek glory is to-”
“Yeah, yeah, cool. We can discuss respective ideals later, Dasa. I’m running out of bullets and Xav’s wounded-got any ideas?”
The Elite champed his teeth. “We are pinned down. I see no escape method. All we can hope to do is make them fearful of us. Mayhap they will retreat.”
Len grunted, unimpressed. “Great plan. Keep shooting.” And he did just that.
Xavier crawled over to them, his shoulder blade a puckered red hole. “Listen guys-I’ve got some mines in my pack. We could toss them and-”
“No thanks. I’ve seen what your stuff does-we’ll be lucky to have any hair left. Besides, you throw like a girl, Xavier.”
Dasa seemed confused. “What relevance does gender have in physical throwing?”
“Long story, “Len told him. “I’m telling you, one of the other groups will find us and bail us out. We just gotta wait-”
At that moment all hell broke loose.
A bizarre-looking Warthog appeared behind them. Len shouted in alarm and Dasa turned to fire, but then they saw the dark skin of the gunner‘s fingers.. It was Horatio. He waved one hand at them.
They shouted and cheered as the vehicle drove straight towards the enemy ranks, the machine gun ripping them to bits. Men attempted to dive out of the way, some succeeding, but eventually being downed by the turret. One escaped unscathed and attempted to run, but Dasa’s spike rifle took him down. Resistance broke, and the enemy fire ceased, for the moment.
It was time for the marines to go on the offensive-Len, Dasa and Xavier pulled themselves from the hole and charged the fence. Xavier grabbed a mine from his pack and tossed it-it spiraled spider-like through the air, impacted on the fence and exploded, tearing a decent-sized hole in the wire. Len punched Xavier on the shoulder. “I said not to do that, idiot!”
“You got a better idea? We gotta get inside, or we’re sitting ducks!”
The Warthog ground to a halt before them-Terry hopped out of the driver’s seat and approached them. “Looked like you could’ve used a hand.”
Len nodded tersely. “Any idea who these bastards are? They’re wearing insignia but I don’t recognise it-”
Dasa spoke. “I do.”
Everyone turned to him. Horatio scowled. “How’s that?”
“In our war with your race, we encountered those not of the UNSC. These we destroyed anyway, since the Prophets, devil-spawn that they were, commanded it so. Intelligence suggested you were their nemesis. They had a name…” Dasa frowned, trying to remember. “The Insurrectionists.”
The humans stood dumbfounded. Horatio scarcely believed it. The Insurrectionists? God, I haven’t heard that name for…well, years. Not since Madrigal. Are they back? Maybe they’ve decided to seize their chance, what with the peacekeeping and everything-
“Look!” Xavier cried, pointing.
On top of one of the many concrete buildings inside the complex, a figure appeared. It was carrying a long tube on its shoulder, and it was pointed at them.
“RPG!” Xavier screamed. “Through the fence! Go, go, go!”
The group frantically squeezed through the hole in the fence, seeking cover in between the buildings. Lazu attempted to fire at the RPG-wielding Insurrectionist, but missed. The man prepared to fire.
In that moment, Dasa, Lazu and Horatio were on one side. Len and Xavier were on the other. And Terry was still struggling through the fence. There was a soft phoomph as the rocket sped towards them.
Dasa, Lazu and Horatio dived towards a small shed, trying to get behind it. Len and Xavier did the same with the barricades set up beforehand by the enemy.
Terry threw himself sideways and prayed.
The rocket hit the snow and made an ungodly explosion. It drove him down, and blood spurted from his ears and nose despite his helmet. Coughing, he fumbled for the neck seal and found it. Terry pulled off the helmet and spat a red stream into the snow, while more of it dripped from his nose and ears.
His training kicked in quickly-he took stock of the situation. The rest of the group was nowhere in sight. He was lying on the edge of a small depression made by the RPG, not far from the gate, which lay unattended. But, through his damaged ears, he heard alarms and the sounds of running feet. The enemy was coming. He needed a place to hide. And hopefully, link up with his squadmates.
He grabbed his weapon (which was lying beside him) and shakily got to his feet, and made his way right, following the fence and passing the gate. Up ahead, he could see more buildings. The distance was about fifty paces.
He cautiously led his rifle along the rooftops to his left. Nothing. The snow hissed in his ears.
Far off, he heard a muted explosion. With any luck, it was his friends, giving these rebel chumps hell.
He was closing the gap; twenty paces-
A bearish rebel stepped out from an alley, carrying a pistol. Voicing a yell, he charged the Marine, firing. Terry sidestepped, snapped up his own rifle and fired. The man dropped, but the noise had alerted more rebels-he heard them approaching.
He went to the iron corrugated door and wrenched it open. Rust flakes fluttered down from the steel beams. He entered quickly and closed the door.
It was small and poky; there was a single bare globe dangling from the ceiling and a steel bench along one wall, that was it. It appeared to be a maintenance shed-tools lay on the bench, wreathed in dust. Terry went forward to inspect the bench, when his foot clanged on something. Frowning, he knelt to look underneath the bench.
Cans-at least a dozen. He unscrewed the lid on one and sniffed its contents. Smelt like paint. Bringing it into the light, he saw it was white. For camouflage purposes, no doubt.
Camouflage. He dipped one finger into the can. The paint stained it alabaster. Terry grinned, eyeing the cans. “Now this is gonna be interesting.”
**************************************************
“We’ve gone and left the others behind, “Xavier whined.
“Shut up, “snarled Len. “We were lucky to have gotten away at all.” He glared at his squadmate. The bullet wound was troubling him, but the blood flow had stopped. One small victory on this day, which had truly gone to ***.
They had taken cover in one of the buildings on the corner of the fence, which happened to be two-storey. Len and Xavier were currently on the top floor, which had proved to be a communications area-radio equipment, generators and small computers littered the room. There had been a few rebels present, but only one had had a weapon, and Len had taken him down straight away. The other men had just been radio techs-they’d died easily enough, and one they’d been able to take as a prisoner. That man now sat hog-tied beside the door with a gag in his mouth and a murderous look in his eyes.
Len paced, worried. It was far too dangerous to go outside, as squads of rebels searched the complex. They’d yet to check this building, but that wouldn’t last, he knew. And when they did, this little fete would be over.
Over where the radios lay, Xavier tried in vain to establish a COM link with any of the squad, or HighCom. No luck so far-one couldn’t blame Xavier, however. His field was explosives. Ollie would have been able to do it, but Len hadn’t seen him since the drop, nor Kyle or Gerun. Privately, he suspected they hadn’t made it. Stow those thoughts, dickhead. Focus on the here and now.
Len ran his hands over the shaved stubble of his head (he’d removed his helmet). “Well? Got anything?”
Xavier shook his head. “Nada. And there’s no point trying-the magnetic field out here is creating a storm of interference. We’re stuck here.”
“Fine.” Len paused for a moment, then stood, putting on his helmet. “Then we go.”
“What? You said it was too dangerous.”
“I know that, “Len snapped. “But you really wanna stay here and get mulched by those jack-offs downstairs? Listen, we could get outta here. Take that guy with us, and maybe he can tell us something. Find the others and get the hell away.”
Xavier depolarized his visor and rubbed his forehead. “I dunno….”
“You got a better idea?” said Len, unconsciously throwing Xavier’s words back in his face.
“Alright, fine then.”
Len nodded grimly. “Good. Now, first-”
The sound of the door on the bottom floor opening echoed up the stairwell. Len’s head snapped around. “Terrific. Now how do we get out of here?”
Xavier pointed at the prisoner. “Maybe he knows.”
Len cracked his knuckles. “Maybe he does. Xav, go watch the stairwell-anyone comes up stick a bullet in his face.” The Marine hurried over to the door.
Kneeling down to eye level, he ripped away the gag and got down to business. “Your buddies are coming, and we need another way down. Where?”
The rebel spouted a stream of anti-UNSC invective and spat on Len’s visor. The Marine sighed, and backhanded the man across the face. “I’ll ask again. Where is another way down?”
The rebel sat silent, glaring at him. Len’s temper broke-he grabbed the man by the lapels and put his knife to the rebel’s throat. “Here’s how it works. You tell me now, or I give your neck a nice big smile. Your choice.” He made to slit the man’s throat.
The man’s courage broke, and he started babbling. “The panel, over there. Rip it away and there’s a shaft. It used to be a garbage chute.”
“Thankyou, sir, you’ve been very helpful.” He sheathed the knife, and shot the man with a pistol. Standing up, he went to the door.
The rebel squad was inching their way up the stairs-hearing the gunshot, they became cautious. Three men ascended the creaking plastic and concrete stairs, their machine guns pointed upwards at the door. Nothing could be heard except for the creaking of the stairs.
Suddenly a small, black sphere rolled its way out of the doorway-it fizzed quietly, issuing green smoke. One man nudged it cautiously with the butt of his rifle. Nothing happened. Inside the sphere, however, a small photo-eye opened and started surveying the men, targeting certain parts. The first man made to step past.
With a shlik the grenade exploded, with computer-coordinated fragments of razor-sharp metal hissing in all directions. But most of the metal flew and embedded themselves in the legs and arms of the men-places where tendons were located.
The trio screamed as they fell, blood spurting from their wounds. Lethal metal ripped through their flesh, cutting tendons. The three fell to the ground jerking spasmodically. They weren’t dead, but they were on their way. The other rebels gaped in silent horror.
Len, standing beside the door, snickered silently. One of Xavier’s inventions, when he’d been in extensive training for use of new Elite technologies. The grenade held a tiny AI, which located vulnerable spots on the bodies of targets. It then programmed the metal scatter accordingly. It was an amazing piece of technology, but was very rare. Still, Xav knew how to put it to good use. He drew his pistol, and cocked it.
The rebels were angry now, and charged through the doorway. Xavier had gone back into the room, taking cover behind some tables. He fired a few shots at them, and ducked. The rebels continued their run unabated, quickly encircling Xavier’s hiding spot.
Len stepped quietly behind them, and fired twice, rounds tearing through the heads of two. The other whirled around, but a burst from Xavier dispatched him.
That was taken care of-but looking out the window, Len saw more squads converging on their position. They had to bail.
Len strode over to the panel indicated earlier, and used his knife to carve through it. As soon as he was done, he pulled it off and threw it away. He peered down the shaft. Xavier’s voice behind him asked, “How is it?”
“Not wide, and it gets narrower. I’ll go first. Watch my back.” Len unspoiled a loop of rope from his battle pack, tied it around a partition and threw it down into the darkness, along with a grenade. It bounced off the walls, and exploded dimly below. “Hope they didn’t hear that.” Xavier, who was busy drawing something from his pack, didn’t reply.
He grabbed the rope and rappelled down the shaft. He got stuck twice, but with some wriggling he made it to the bottom, and out onto the street.
He waited behind a dumpster, until Xavier’s form bounced out of the small gap in the wall. Xavier brushed himself down, and got up. “Where to now?”
Len gazed upward. “You left something for ‘em?”
The upper level of the building exploded outward, showering the surrounding area with debris.
Len grinned and the pair bumped fists. “Right, let’s head through that alley for starters-”
The wall next to his head exploded as bullets struck. The two Marines frantically ran for cover as a five-man squad of rebels fired on them, coming up from the street adjacent to the building. Len looked about for an escape route. “Xav, we gotta split up. Meet me back here, alright?”
“Gotcha!”
“Good luck buddy.” With that, Len hurled himself through the alleyway, as bullets sparked off the ground. Panting, he got to his feet and started running, but not before priming another grenade and tossing it behind him.
Screams rent the air-the rebels had paid for their eagerness. Len laughed wildly and took a right turn.
Two rebels stepped out from the end of the street, weapons trained on Len. “Damnit!” he shouted as the pair opened fire, and a white-hot bullet struck him in the ribs. Stifling a yell, he ducked behind another dumpster. He poked his rifle over the top and fired a prolonged burst. Hearing nothing, he peered around the corner of the dumpster.
The two rebels were down. And they hadn’t taken bullet wounds. In fact, as Len leaned closer, their throats had been slit. Who’d done that?
Who cares. Len resumed his run, ducking low and keeping to the shadows.
Len resumed his run, ducking low and keeping to the shadows.
Xavier, meanwhile, was being pursued by three rebels, and was having a tough time shaking them. He half turned and fired, but the wily rebels ducked behind a wall. Xavier uttered a stream of Japanese curses and kept running.
And ran smack into a dead end. ***! He looked around for another way out, but there was none. He tried his radio. “Len, Horatio, Terry, please respond. Anyone there? ***.”
Nothing on his radio. Xavier gritted his teeth, and reloaded his gun. If I’m going down, I’m taking these bastards down with me-
The three rebels rounded the corner. The leader smiled in anticipation and cocked his rifle.
With a barely perceptible whoosh a completely white figure plunged in among the rebels, jumping down from the roof. They shouted in alarm and fired, but their shots were wild and ricocheted off the walls. The new arrival had a knife, and was using it to deadly effect. The first two rebels went down in a gurgling spray, but the third had gotten a clear shot.
Xavier snapped up his rifle and killed the final rebel. He approached the white figure, smiling sardonically. “Terry. Still using the old ghost disguise?”
Terry, completely smeared in white paint, grinned. “If it hurts, it works. You seen anyone else?”
Xavier shook his head. “Nup. I was with Len, but we got separated.”
Terry nodded his head towards the alleyway leading out. “Then let’s find ‘em.”
***********************************************************
Len sat in the small shack and waited to die. What a stupid way to go, with twelve rebels pouring fire into this tiny shed he’d managed to take cover in.
Things had gone sour-two squads had ambushed him, and he’d barely escaped. Now he was sitting in here, the proverbial sitting duck.
Len patted his combat harness for any grenades-but he had none left. For the fifth time, he tried his radio. “If there is anyone out there, respond, damnit! I’m trapped in a shed on the northern fence, under heavy fire. Need immediate assistance. I repeat, need immediate assistance.”
Static hissed through his radio. Then-
“Len, we hear you. Sit tight, the cavalry’s on its way.”
It was Kyle. Len scrabbled for his radio. “Sarge? That you?” ‘You bet. Now, sit back and enjoy the show.”
‘You bet. Now, sit back and enjoy the show.”
Outside, the rebels had formed a semi-circle around the shed, with a pair of snipers on the rooftops. The sergeant in charge watched with satisfaction. Soon they’d rip down the shack, and make those UNSC pigs pay.
He keyed his radio. “Corporal Higgins, send another squad over from the barracks. We’ll need heavy weapons to speed up the job-”
With a crackle, his radio signal disappeared in a storm of static. Frowning, the sergeant tried it again. Had the magnetic field interrupted him? No, they’d worked that out as soon as they got here. This was different.
Someone was blocking him. The sergeant turned to one of his men. “Find us a radio technician and tell him to-”
Three black orbs spun out from an alley and landed in amongst one squad-they exploded, shredding the men there. As the smoke cleared, the sergeant saw that they looked nothing other than minced meat. He spun to another of his men. “Get a squad over there and find whoever’s doing that!”
With a pained yell one of the snipers fell off the roof, his body crashing to the ground. The second peered about for a target, but a green bolt of energy took him down as well. Looking where the shot had come from, the sergeant saw an Elite-an Elite, Christ- standing tall on another roof, a carbine in his hands.
He was about to tell his men to fire on the alien, but there was no point. Four Marines had converged upon what was left of his men, to virtually no resistance. And now he could see-emerging from an alley-another goddamned Elite, this one in golden armour and wielding an energy sword, cutting down those left.
The man turned to run, but a white figure appeared from nowhere. Shouting in panic, the sergeant fired, but to no avail. The figure threw something, and the sergeant fell to the ground, only dimly aware of the knife in his throat.
Len pushed his way through the wreckage of the shack, and turned to his teammates-Horatio, Xavier, Kyle, Ollie, Dasa, Gerun and Lazu. “Sure as hell good to see you guys.”
Kyle depolarised his helmet. “Likewise, Corporal. What’s the situation?”
Len removed his helmet and spat on the ground. “Everything’s gone to ***. Apparently these guys are Insurrectionists. Didn’t think there were any left.”
Kyle frowned. “Neither did I.”
Ollie pushed his way forward. “Sarge, I can’t keep jamming their radios forever. Where to now?”
Kyle pointed at the large building in the centre of the complex. “I suggest we get inside.”