Prologue: Recon
12/20/2555
Russian Tundra
UNSC Air Pad and Barracks
Frozen winds tore across the icy dunes of the sparsely populated Russian Tundra. Trees dotted the huge expanse of ice, snow, and water. It seemed too barren for anything to survive.
Of course, not much really did live there. Siberian Tigers, rabbits, deers and bears of assorted kinds lived among the denser inland forests. Other organisms managed to cling for survival. One of those organisms happened to be Private First Class Jacob Fuchs of eighteen years old and German descent. The kid had a near-fresh shaved head of blonde hair, and green eyes to boot. On his bland little outpost, he saw Pelicans, Hawks, Hornets, Shortswords and even newly-re commissioned super sonic Black Bird spy planes land, take off, and some simply fly by. The Marines also had a motor pool and two tiny little barracks to fit the 50 personnel of the base.
A firing range and half-mile track managed to cram themselves in on the single square mile splat of blank steel and ice. All in all, Fuchs hated the place. He reclined in his observation chair, and stared at a group of refueling Hornets. In a few minutes, they had taken off and flown out of sight.
“Private,” a yawning voice called out from the stairwell, “get down here. Sarge Milky and the Corporal want you for Reconnaissance duty.”
“Harry, what’s with you coming up here at 5:00 A.M.?” Jake filled up a styrofoam cup with some cold water, and drank. It felt pure; no residue like in the cities where he had grown up.
“Not my fault,” The other boy yawned again, scratched his short hair, and shoved the other Marine downstairs.
Jake’s black armor clacked against the walls. The dimly lit exit corridor wasn’t any help, either. He tapped a button on his helmet, and a helmet spot-lamp flickered on. His VISR system illuminated the rest of the stairs. He didn’t need it for long, though. He stumbled through the door, marked EXIT.
To his left, a few trees lay scarce across the landscape. A mountain range stretched along the background. On his right, the air pad and barracks lay. Straight ahead, an M12 LRV “Warthog” zipped out of the motor pool. On the back Gauss Cannon, Corporal Harper Kingston had his green armor on. Only his pale face shone. Sergeant Jamie “Milky” Fisher, a British woman, was in the driver’s seat. Her brown hair was bundled under her helmet. She was a three year veteran of the Human-Covenant war, twenty one years of age. A red face was masked by her polarized visor.
The empty passenger seat beckoned Jake in. He grappled with the MA5D; a powerful mid-to-long range LMG. He unhooked it, and Milky started off on a pre-set course through the place.
“So, Rookie,” a buzz of static cut into his private radio channel. “taking you hate it here?”
The Rookie took off his helmet, and answered audibly, “Yeah, guess so.”
She did the same. “Heh. Well, here’s a tip: don’t try for anything over mediocrity.”
A long drive off led them a mile away from the camp. Milky made a curvy turn. The gunners adjusted their aim forward.
A few minutes later, the trees got a little thicker. One seemed oddly out of place... It was blue... wait, what? Blue? On Earth? A shine burst from the tree; and within a half-second, the Warthog was tumbling through the air, missing an occupant.
Chapter 1: Under Fire
12/20/2555
Russian Tundra
Unknown location
Jake woke up, face down, in the snow. His visor was cracked from the top right corner to the bottom left. His radar showed two huge contacts. They were moving, white dots. No friendlies were on the circular display. His rifle was no where to be seen or felt. He attempted turning over; only to find himself staring straight in the face of a fat-looking Grunt.
The curious alien retracted his large head, and shrieked in fright. Some sharp, uncared teeth showed from under the creature’s mask. Spittle flew onto Jake’s helmet, blinding an eye. Blue and green flecked skin scattered the unarmored areas of flesh.
The thing grappled for a C-shaped weapon, which hung from its belt. However, Jake managed to punch it in the face, grab the pistol, and burn a section of head off the beast. he grinned momentarily, until plasma burned a few feet too close. Kicking the dead Grunt off, he stood, surprisingly easily. He wouldn’t have expected being thrown out of a seat belt at 90 KPH would’ve had an easy, soft landing. Then again, it was in the snow. He took aim at the blue mass he thought had shot him. An overcharged bolt was well in order. Holding down the trigger, he released the “bullet”. A pulsing beam of green energy strove for the alien. The huge thing stumbled forward, fell, and quickly stood up. Its plasma rifle pulsed, burning a tree beside Jake, and singed his ankles.
“Argh!” he screamed in pain, but forced himself to stay up. He fired wildly, and was rewarded with a frightful yelp. He saw his rifle in the throngs of a massive pine. He tugged it. The tree was unrelenting. It seemed to want the gun as a trophy. Jake yanked the LMG out, and pulled back the charging bolt. He loaded a magazine, looked through the scope, and noticed some smoke. Peering deeper, he noticed the Warthog’s burning carcass; and another. This time, it was human.
He limped somewhat, but managed to make it over to the crash in a minute or two. The left half of the vehicle was completely incinerated, but the back gun lay intact. Apparently the Hunter had taken out the Corporal, or what was left of him. He had no idea what happened to Milky, but could only assume she was dead as well.
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Shortsword squad leader Sergeant Aleksei Vasquez lifted off from the air pad. He and his squad flew a patrol path, adjusted to find the lost Warthog. The base had lost contact with the ground patrol an hour before. The reason of slow action was the lack of notification. The Sergeant called in to his left wingman, “Blue Two”.
“Blue Two, anything of interest?” Aleksei asked in his thick northern accent.
“Negative,” the Texas man replied in shockingly calm voice.
“Blue Three?” Aleksei continued the chain.
“Uh... some smoke, up ahead. West, 30 degrees.” the right winger pointed out what #2 had missed.
Aleksei reported quickly back to base, giving the location away.
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Jake inspected closer, and found more LMG ammo and two grenades. An MA5C Assault Rifle also lay beside the truck. Picking it up, he scraped ice off the grip, and found a magazine inserted already. Oddly enough, a few shell casings and three dead Jackals could be found, lying limp.
He finally put the puzzle together. Milky was nowhere to be found, and Harper must’ve put up some sort of a fight... and then, Jake realized where he was. The Russian Tundra. Earth. Covenant? he thought, Here? How did we miss them? With a network of sensor outposts, we should’ve spotted them....
He turned and looked at the body of the Brute he’d killed. It looked smaller than in training... and it had a longer head. No, it couldn’t be... an Elite? Fuchs had worked with Elites before: he hated them, and he could never repay them for their brutal slaughtering of his race. He had also fought against Brutes, hated them the same, too. So he knew it was an Elite. With no doubt in his mind, he walked up to the limp form. The rifle was still clenched firmly in its hands. It had no armor, and wore only a soft combat skin and a boxy device on its left hip. Trudging through the snow around the beast, he slung his rifle and tried to pry it off. A shock met his fingers-obviously a shield generator.
A screech roared overhead, followed by three more in quick succession. Looking up, the Private saw a lance of Shortswords zipping past. He hoped they had seen him. Without further ado, he lay down beside the burning vehicle, and fainted, thinking about the dead Elite.
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Private Harrison Cooper (lol) floored the Warthog to Jacob’s last known location. His gunner scanned carefully for danger. He soon saw a flame and smoke rising up into the sky. Driving slower as to avoid slipping on the ice, he came into view of Jake. Sliding to a stop, he got out of the car, and was horrified. Milky was nowhere in sight; Harper was bloodied and torn apart. Jake was spattered in dead flesh, and had an array of burns on his legs.
“Jake! Jake!” he shook his friend, hoping to wake him. The teen’s head lolled to one side.
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The Rookie opened his eyes slowly, rolled his head, and answered Harry.
“Just take me home....”
12/23/2555
Beta Checkpoint
Briefing room
Beta Checkpoint’s briefing room was a nice, tidy place, positioned directly below the squad leader’s quarters, with a shaft leading up into the other building. A coffee table, with seven chairs, lay idle in the back. An old-fashioned black-board gathered dust. A holographic map of the surrounding 500 miles contained aerial views of Alpha Base, all the way through to Epsilon Checkpoint, sat plainly in the left center of the area. A coffee maker and a few mugs waited to be used on a desk beside the door.
That door led out into an underground armory, below the normal barracks. It had similar entrance and setup to the briefing room. It, to, could accommodate the 25 flight staff, the 7 command staff, and the 43 personnel. No light could filter in from the super slender window that stuffed itself upon the ceiling. Tile floors lay ridden with mud, snow, and lattes.
In the central command chair, at the main table, Lieutenant Henry Sandoval reclined and took a swig from his coffee cup. Five of his six squad leaders did the same in near unison.
“So,” Sergeant Anderson, a dark-skinned man with brown eyes and a close shaved head, said, “we have a sergeant MIA, and a trooper down. Great. Our only witness is unconscious in the med bay, and his friends have no idea what happened. How did this happen?”
“None of us know. An aerial reconnaissance might help. Call in the Tokayrov. They have a camera, they can image the area for us.” Sandoval tapped the desk.
“In the rain? Yeah, right. Of course a spacecraft 68,000 miles above the surface can pierce these clouds and see anything.” Sergeant Ashley Cape held arrogant blue eyes behind her brown hair and soft face.
“Well, we can’t have a ground reece. There could still be Covenant out there. ONI hasn’t got anything they can do, all they know is they’re here.” the Lieutenant racked his brain for any useful information. His green armor elevated up and down with his breathing.
“It could be our only option,” An African American soldier, Sergeant Badilini Uki was from New Mombassa and had fought valiantly in the Human-Covenant war. He had a shaved head and a deep, accented voice.
“I guess so. Let’s see... who can replace Milky?” Sandoval looked around.
“I-I- I could, sir,” Drake Movano stood up. His hairy head and straight face was the picture of the not-so-perfect soldier. He was a seventh, squad-less sergeant. It seemed impossible for him to have become one. But, he would do for now.
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Beta 3 Russia Barracks
Bunks 4 days after contact
Jake rolled over in his bunk. He could hear a droning noise above him, but didn’t bother to make out the horrible noise. His dream of good food and home drifted away as he came to his senses. A red light winked on and off above him. His hearing returned, and the sound of an alarm pounded on his senses. The top bunk above him creaked as Harry rolled out of bed. Corporal Danny was already in full gear, giving orders.
Jumping up, Jake slapped on his body suit, tugged on armor plates, and was ready before he knew it.
“Armory, now, Private! Alpha base and Alpha checkpoint are under attack!” the Corporal shoved him down the ladder into the weapons stock.
It, too, had gleaming red lights blinking. Rack upon rack of MA5B-MA5M rifles lay on the left side. Shotguns of various ranges and types were on the right of the green titanium door. 6 sniper rifles of many calibers took position backwards and left of the ladder that led from the barracks to Beta, Alpha and Delta’s armory. The whole team was flooding in, grabbing rifles and machine guns and SMGs and grenades. Jake struggled up into the concrete bunker. The room was unimaginably small, somehow fitting the horde of troopers and Marines.
Padding over the floor, he squished and squirmed through the bombardment of people, leaping over a ditch in the cracked, gray ground, that was most likely created by an ordnance accident. He tried not to think about the risks of having all this dangerous material in one confined little room.
Reaching for an MA5D, he grasped it and a few drum magazines. The rifles shifted as he gripped an MA5B and bumped into another Marine. A trickle of ODSTs shoved through. Snatching a few grenades from a shelf of steel and titanium, he locked them onto his belt. He liberated an M6D pistol off a hook, marked with a mish-mosh of digits: 6778-594-86 JF PVT 1C, his serial numbering code. A treasure trove of ammunition stole his gaze from the beautiful work of art, machinery, and steel. Shoving the small sidearm in his holster, he strode back to the ladder, climbing with renewed urgency.
Exactly twelve minutes and eight seconds passed before he approached the B3 and A3 Pelican. Alpha squad, comprised of ten men, fiddled with weapons and switches and knobs and adjusted ammunition on chest straps on one side. Beta was on the other, doing much the same.
Clambering up into the jaws of the fearsome aircraft, he could hear the roaring and growling of the engines, like a lion’s warning screech. Armed to the teeth with missile pods and machine guns, the D77H-TCIHA “Pelican” was the assault version of the normal, more common D77H-TCI. It had four wings, two large ones in front and two smaller maneuvering jets in the back. It looked much like its namesake, but ironically, instead of diving low for the kill, the Pelican often provided close air turret support-death from above.
Jake sat down between Harry and Danny. The Pelican took off, and they set sail through the air on a highway to hell.
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The wind roared as the Pelican opened its back troop bay. Snow descended slowly on the warriors below. Alpha base’s AAA cannons burned human and Covenant transports alike. Gamma 3 was destroyed in a fireball as it attempted a crash landing over a horde of alien warriors. Bodies tumbled out, alive and dead.
A crackle of static shoved its way through the screams and requests of defenders. “...Alpha...Be....3....” the signal screamed. “Alpha, Beta 3! This is Lieutenant Sandoval! Retake the southern...tillery quadrant! O...er!”
Drake snapped his helmet com-link on, “Sir, yes sir!”
With a lurch, the aircraft broke out of the protective shield of Hawk attack vessels. Swooping low over the ground, it pierced the air with bullets. Brutes and the mercenary Elites, as Jake dubbed them, were all subject to being torn apart. Hovering over a landing pad near the artillery, the pilot said, “Next stop–freaky aliens and cannons! This is where you get off, boys!”
Jake leaped the remaining ten meters to the ground. His boots’ shock absorbers sponged away most of the pressure, but he still reeled from the impact on the concrete.
As he descended, he heard an animal scream. An explosion ripped the air apart.
“Pelican’s down! We have to find another way out, Marines!” someone yelled.
Fuchs had only been in a few firefights, never a full scale battle, though. He was pumped with adrenaline, a cold feeling searing his legs. Jake sprinted with his 35 kilo pack rattling, across the gray, cracked ground, with only the nearest AAA in his mind’s eye.
Danny booted through the door. Iron walls, which, ironically, were covered in rust and grime that rotted away at them, lined a corridor that stretched into a vehicle pool. A few Warthogs on the left side gave free will to burst out through the large door and up onto the surface with some heavy firepower.
“Arrow, Burn, Cally and Amy! Man those Warthogs and give us some covering fire!” Danny ordered four of the Beta troopers over to the ‘Hogs.
The engines belched and the vehicles gathered speed. Jake ran under a narrow catwalk that lay in the middle of the room, to the loading room of the cannon. Up a flight of stairs he went, behind Fredric “Boom” O’Brien, an Irish man in his early twenties who carried all the demolitions equipment. The loading room embraced them with a gloomy light, eerily projecting on the loading mechanism and shells that rolled about in crates carried by–Brutes. Unlocking the safety, Jake opened fire on a crate. A blast sent shrapnel and flesh flying from the square, compact room and into the larger main area. He sent short bursts at the other Brutes that survived, and killed them all.
“Nice touch,” O’Brien unlimbered hi M9 SMG. Fred nailed those who crawled across the floor, dragging blood and intestines. “Now, for a real explosion.” the Corporal snapped small charges on the loading mechanism, and pulled out a detonator.
“Kid, you might want to step back,” His bloody and scratched face looked at him with a smile as he flipped a switch and shoved Jake to the ground.
An orange fireball burst over their heads, sending clouds of debris at them.
“Whoa...” Jake’s jaw dropped. The door was completely covered in rubble, masking the destruction inside the room.
“Hey! Get down here, soldiers! We need to access the top floor!”
Following the man’s orders, they both raced down.
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Tank > Banshee