here is the prolouge to a fan-fic I have thought up.....but it's gonna continue if I get good feedback with this and probably after First Blood is done.
and yes......I did get the title from the Linkin Park song, which inspired this, if you really care or think this is stupid...I will change the title.
Trey looked up at the gold memorial, with nine hundred seventy-two names etched on it, a sense of respect flew through him, his mom tugged on his hand, and he followed her, staring back at the huge slab of obsidian. He would've stayed there all day if he could, but instead he followed; the shoes of the tour guide thudding on the marble floor.
"This way." the Tour Guide lead them into a large oval-like room, a large screen was placed on the far side with about one hundred cushioned chairs built into the floor, it was just like a movie theater. "Please, if you would take a seat, we have a movie for you." Trey and his mother shuffled on the carpeted floor to two seats near the middle of the 'theater'.
Another man walked through a door, he was dressed the same as the tour guide, he worked at the museum. The man had a clean cut face with short black hair. He stepped with long, confident strides, until eventually he was at the front of the theater. The man paused for a minute, Trey wondered what he was doing here.
"Hello, I am Greg Tory," the man said in a strong voice. "A long time ago, when the Covenant invaded Earth, the main force was focused on Mombasa, where, we--here in America, sent our finest to help out--we never expected that anywhere else would be attacked. We were wrong. Another small fleet snuck into orbit and went to the United States.
"The first to contact was the 71st Battalion, who were at the time considered the 'Underdogs', which was the reason they weren't sent to Africa. It was only because of that Battalion that we are here today....they lost every member except one....who was more concerned about saving his own skin than his country. His continent. His planet.
"Every man and women that died in the Battalion has a story of heroism...and we are here to tell of it. The story...that shows the world that the underdogs can win. The story....that shows what patriotism is....
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Chapter 1
Sirens sounded with an earsplitting, annoying sound. Clint shot up in his bed, hitting his head on the top bunk. Red lights were flashing in the bunkers, illuminating a part of each room, a face, for a second, until it moved on. Men and women alike were scrambling out of bed, grabbing a magnum if they slept with one, running out of the section of the base without, if they didn’t.
Clint cursed and then sprinted out of the door, into the chill of the night. He cursed again that his battalion had to sleep in a bunker separated from the rest of the base. And his underwear and undershirt wasn’t keeping him very warm. He booked it across the small field standing in-between the main compound and his sleeping quarters.
He nearly tripped over himself twice, for the moon wasn’t out that night, and clouds blocked most of the stars. He finally reached the main compound by the sound of an officer’s shouting. The red lights were spinning here, too. Clint finally reached the Comm Array, running up to his good friend, Corporal Vehun. Taking a pair of headphones and switching them to the proper channel.
“What in the whole galaxy just made me run across that field in my boxers!” he found the proper channel and held it up to his left ear.
“Just what we feared…” Vehun stated grimly, and then put his own pair of headphones on. Clint turned the volume up on his headphones, listening.
“—are coming up Rejhan Street! We need back-up, we’re getting low on rocket ammo, and my sniper was taken out by a Wraith shot at first contact.” Rejhan Street, Clint asked himself, isn’t that in Mombasa?
“This is Squad 143, we have two men down, a third wounded, and us five are pinned by banshees, no can do” Static crackled for a few moments. “This is Bob Fermer, Longsword Pilot, we are heading in your direction, Aaron, and then we will try to—oh crap! We lost a pilot!” Another voice came in.
“Fermer! This is General Jared! You have nine enemy banshees coming in on your location!” Said a strong voice of a man who obviously wasn’t taking part in any action of the battle.
“Yeah! No kidding, I’m the only one left in this section of the city! They picked off Wash a few seconds ago, I can’t ho—,” Fermer’s voice was cut off by an explosion. Clint heard a few more voices, and listened, nobody was doing really well, they were all having their reinforcements cut off, and then he heard one voice, clear as a bell.
“Hey, UNSC ship is entering…what is it?” one voice asked.
“This is Miranda Keyes! We have just entered from In Amber Clad, Sergeant Johnson and the Chief are with me! Hold tight…we are on our way!” Many exclaimed voices shouted in joy, Clint slammed his headphones on one of the machines.
“What are we going to do?” he asked Vehun. Vehun looked at him, staring him down, examining him to the bone.
“Do you even have the slightest clue what’s happening?” Vehun pierced Clint with ice cold blue eyes, but Clint ignored them.
“Of course I do…Rejhan Street is in New Mombasa, the Covenant have found earth! And that brings me back to my question, what the heck are we going to do!”
Here, Vehun did the most surprising thing of all; he smiled.
“We improvise,” he said.
Chapter 2
Clint looked at his friend in pure curiosity, debating to himself whether to ask what the heck Vehun had just meant, but then shook his head decisively, walking away from his friend; he knew better than to ask.
A female ODST from his battalion by the name of Lori Hawkin walked in the Comm Room. Clint looked down at his boxers, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He knew Lori well, and if he wasn’t in the war, he would try to improve his relationship with her, he, of course, didn’t know it but she was thinking the exact same thing. But she didn’t look her normal, friendly—incredibly beautiful—self, except for the incredibly beautiful. Her dirty-blonde hair was longer than regulation allowed, but, for some reason, the officers didn’t enforce that rule on her.
Clint’s hair was brown and short, with his bangs sticking forward, it did follow regulation. But now wasn’t the time to think about that, Earth was being invaded.
She ran over to Clint, which embarrassed him even more. “Clint!” she exclaimed. “They won’t let our battalion leave, nor the 57th, or the 789th! We deserve to fight too!” This took Clint incredibly by surprise, he grabbed her arm—gently, with a firm touch—and made her follow her back to Vehun.
“Why the heck can’t we go to Mombasa!” He shook his friend once they reached him, Lori stayed a couple feet back, wondering if Clint knew he was doing this to a commanding officer. And worse, in his underwear, Lori, herself, was wearing her full ODST armor, besides the helmet, which she held with her right hand.
Vehun smiled a smug, tight-lipped smile at the young boy of twenty-two years of age, he himself was forty-seven, getting too old to be running after those Covenant, and Lori…oh, sweet, sweet Lori…a flat twenty years had passed since her birth. He then looked back at Clint.
“We need you here.” He stated simply, then turned around again and pressed a few keys on his screen, making lists of squads come up. But Clint wasn’t satisfied, he grabbed his commanding officer by the shoulder and wheeled him around again.
“What!” Clint shouted louder than he meant to, but didn’t even mind the odd looks from other men and women in the Comm Room. Vehun shrugged.
“What if the Covenant launch another strike here, we can’t be totally unprotected. And besides the fleet is already gone, you can’t go now anyway.” Vehun turned around a third time and resumed his work. It seemed it didn’t matter, no matter what Clint and his battalion were staying out of that fight, they wouldn’t even get to prove themselves. They would stay and have to do the boring duty of patrol.
But Clint knew an hour later—when he was fully dressed—that when unknown ships were entering the atmosphere above, it would be so much more than that.
Chapter 3
“Vehun! Vehun! Open the door, Vehun!” Clint pounded on the steel door with his fist, only to get a notable bruise. Shaking his hand, he tried the sensible solution—turning the knob. The door swung open, Clint felt like an idiot, he stepped into the room to find his desk empty, Vehun wasn’t there, which Clint could’ve guessed as well.
He walked across the room and around the desk, it was a small metal thing with papers scattered across the top and a couple of pens and pencils under them. He picked up a map of what used to be Harvest, then put it down.
He decided it was useless to stay in here, he took a step towards the door when something caught his eye, a paper which read:
The 71st Battalion
With the most recent battles including, we have decided from the Battalion’s battle record, expulsion from battle. Meaning, they cannot fight any Covenant forces until they can prove themselves in an extra training program, which will start with the beginning of January of 2553.
They may become suspicious as to why they will not or have not seen combat, if this gets to extreme levels, you have orders to tell any member of that battalion. Hopefully, they will understand and cooperate fully.
Clint felt the anger rising from his feet up his legs, past his torso and straight to his head. He snatched the paper and ran out of the office, slamming the door on the way out.
The ground under him shook as something hit the base, Clint drew his magnum sidearm and wished he was nearer to the armory, he began to cautiously step forward when wall on the left of him was blown in.
Two grunts ran in with two plasma grenades each, they turned and ran straight towards Clint, one of them squeaked something in its language, Clint stepped back in fear, but this fear only lasted a moment.
He raised his magnum and took a shot at the grunt on the right, hitting it squarely in the chest, it stumbled, giving the grenades in its hands time to unleash their fury, blowing the other grunts grenades as well. Needless to say, both grunts were dead.
“Welcome to America,” Clint muttered under his breath, he placed the paper into his armor and lowered his pistol slightly. “No, welcome to San Francisco, we’ll give you a living—,”
An elite jumped through the large hole in the wall, a loud sizzling sound filling the air, an energy sword was grasped in its right hand. It growled at Clint and was about to charge when a large crack filled the hallway, the elite fell on its face, as dead as the suicide grunts.
“And we can make one darn good pizza!” Vehun smiled, filling the place the elite had just stood, a shotgun held tightly in his hands.
“Stay on those Jackals!” A fellow ODST shouted at Ronnie Talo, Ron for short. Ron moved out from behind the overturned ‘Hog, then promptly wheeled back around as plasma bolts shot by, he looked at the other ODST, shaking his head. He looked over the edge of the bridge and saw the water, he could survive the fall, then swim away, completely unnoticed. But he shook the thought out of his mind at once, he wouldn’t jump from the Golden Gate bridge.
“Watch out!” Came a nearby call, Ron flattened himself on the pavement as the Warthog was blasted backwards, crushing the other ODST. Ron—still on the pavement—looked straight forward and saw a horrendous blue boot coming towards him, to any UNSC troop, it was the bringer of death, and it’s name: The Hunter.
Ron closed his eyes, waiting for what he imagined the blackness of death, he didn’t want to be an ODST, in fact, he was a coward at heart. He was waiting for a sharp pain and then oblivion, but all he heard was a yell.
He opened his eyes to see that another ODST had ran up to it and stuck a combat knife in its belly, the Hunter growled and swatted the ODST away like a fly, Ron saw the body hit a cable, then limply fall into the water below.
The Hunter began to advance on him yet again…and this time, there wasn’t any help to be seen.
ChucklesAnyone else here getting sick of tiny two-word posts that become huge because of the O.G. picture?