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Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

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Anowa
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Posts: 17534
Founded: Jul 29, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

Postby Anowa » Sun Dec 05, 2021 8:59 pm

Halo: Trepidation


>>OOC<<
>Theme<
>Halo Discord<
OP: Anowa
Co-OP: TBD




Image
1SGT. David Blackburn
105th Shock Troops Division, 7th Shock Troops Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1537 NST



Three layers of defence is all this cobbled together unit had. First had already collapsed, not from lack of trying but because being in the sight line of a Shade turret had forced them to move back, it was near the terminal's North entrance. Up a flight of stairs and to the second line of defence was where most of the battle hardened members of the unit had stacked up.

The third layer was where most of the meat was at. The Army troopers, a few Air Force goons, etcetera. That was the rear echelon and the last line before covies poured through and started shredding civies. It was past a T in the halls near Gate D.

Blackburn, Dubbo, and the rest of the ODSTs that had been shuffled in to this formation were currently walking through that T.

The CM officer, loathingly the only infantry officer present that wasn't an ODST, perked up from behind the series of sandbags and flipped tables, and was now staring attentively as the ODSTs approached.

Blackburn spoke up, as he approached, and mounted the obstacle, "A chieftain's arrived, we have to roll the perimeter back into the food court or we're gonna be slaughtered here. It's too enclosed."

The CM officer's face paled noticeably, "Is that smart? We already have cover here, we ca-"

"Cover, but no emplaced weapons, and a hallway only barely long enough for the time to kill a brute if it charges us. This isn't tenable."

The officer looked at the others, "We're pulling back to the food court! We're gonna rally at Bear's position."

A voice cut over the com net, <<This is Kilo Dispatch: all available teams not currently predisposed, advance to Traxus Tower. Evacuation will commence ASAP.>>

Another with a distinct southern twang, <<Copy, Dispatch. What's the status of the tower pad?>>

<<Tower pad is green. Let's move these civilians before it changes.>>

<<Copy, Dispatch. Four-Zero out.>>

Chips promptly called out, "Alright everyone this is the home stretch. When we get these people out we'll be sinking tinnies in no time. Just buckle down and she'll be right."

Striding through the rest of the hall, the unit would soon be in the food court. The glass roof having long since shattered with glass, some rubble, and a lot of garbage littering the floor, with a bust of Fujikawa resting on a now deactivated fountain. The World Cuisine 'stall' was the largest in the food court, and coincidentally the only one that was 2 stories tall, sitting between the halls that would lead to gate D and C, it gave a good view of what was going on outside and across the bay. The inside was what a fast food restaurant typically looked like, now flipped tables lined with scant sandbags, counter backed by access to the kitchen, a large seating area, some stairs leading to the second floor, a play place, and and the tinny sound of Bear's radio as he was conversing with someone on the other end.

Chips called out as he entered, "Rier, Chiao, Bear. This is it!"

The trio were the rear of the rear, guarding Bear with their lives. From what could be garnered on command nets, there were at best estimates 3 or so ATC qualified individuals left in the city, and Bear was one of them. They were on the second floor that had a decent view of the area, the best that could be given if Bear didn't want to risk being detected and glassed in an instant.

The southern twang broke over radio again, <<Kilo 26, this is Kilo 40. Covenant corvette is raining hell on us! Final protective fire - 1, danger close, on my command, over!>>

<<Copy, Kilo 40. Firing FPF-1 at your command.>>

<<Fire FPF-1, over.>>

<<Firing FPF-1... Shot.>>

<<Hold on to your helmets!>>

Blackburn yelled out, "Brace! Brace! Brace!", a moment later, the ground shook, and a few plates of glass still stuck to their frames fell from the roof, shattering on the ground as teeth chattered. Looking up, everyone could see a Corvette now looming over the city less than a kilometer away, it's shields giving off the tell tale glow of having been recently struck.

<<Kilo 40: request FPF sit-rep.>>

<<Negative, 26! Corvette still coming!>>

<<Copy, 40. Firing FPF-2... Shot.>>

Once again, teeth rattled, more glass fell, and this time it was close enough that Blackburn could feel the M260 missile's impact in his chest.

<<Damn! How do you stop that thing?>> The southern twang gave a pretty solid summation of everyone's current opinion on the Covenant menace right now.

A demonstrably inhuman voice yelled out from the hallway the team had just left, angled in such a way that it's owner couldn't be seen. In a language only recently having been translated, a Brute Minor and his squad of Grunts and jackals rounded the corner and began spreading out. They were followed by another squad and lead, and a Brute Major.

Blackburn didn't hesitate, God willing his team would be the only things walking out of this building alive.

His BR barked from the first floor, signaling the beginning of the firefight.



Above, the war was going differently. A lack of widespread channels meant that several air units were now sharing a single channel, and that meant communication was starting to break down slightly.

<<7 Delta 5, Yankee 9-1. NOBLE 2. You're required at Olympic Tower. Priority One. ONI VIP needs escort to their craft in orbit. Yankee 9-1, you'll be escorting 7 Delta 5. 7 Delta 5, proceed to landing pad Echo. Over.>>

A few moment later, a voice cut in, <<Yankee 9-1, it's Foxtrot Dispatch. Still no update on resupply and refuel. Camp Independence is gone, and the nearest resupply is near the Aszod Yard. If you head there you likely won't be able to make it back tonight. Only other option is the Pillar of Autumn in orbit, if that's where you're heading I'd recommend linking there and seeing what else you can do. Over.>> a pause, <<Covies are closing in on this position hard. This may be my last correspondence 9-1. Foxtrot Dispatch, over and out.>>
Last edited by Anowa on Mon Dec 06, 2021 7:11 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Tayner
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Posts: 7887
Founded: Oct 09, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Tayner » Mon Dec 06, 2021 4:07 am

Lance Corporal Lana Sorokina
Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo-45
New Alexandria, August 23rd, 2552



Things were bad.

Many members of the patched together unit had already been killed, a shade turret claiming them. It didn't take long for their leader, whoever it was, to give the call to retreat towards the secondary perimeter. The ODSTs and accompaniment had spent a lot of time and ammo holding the choke point of their section of the terminal before a Brute chieftain arrived. It was simple enough for the battle hardened ODSTs to kill the waves of grunts, jackals, and brute minors that entered their field of fire, but the arrival of brute majors and a brute chieftain pushed them back.

It wasn’t long before they were in a food court, inside the most defensible position, a World Cuizene, a shitty chain restaurant that Lana had frequented while on leave, among other fast food services. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Lana thought as she reloaded her weapon during the lull in combat, the M90 CAWS Mark 1 was an exemplary weapon, especially when slugs were utilized. The weapon served well in mid ranged combat, so long as the weapon was utilized to its fullest extent, and at close ranges it allowed the most inexperienced of troopers to be combat effective. With the simple idea of point and shoot, the boomstick would take care of the rest.

Two shots from FPF-2, while many were shaken, Lana knew better. She steadied herself with her cover, a table reinforced with sandbags, with one hand while she kept her weapon ready with the other. While she was ‘used’ to the teeth rattling shockwaves, Lana doubted that she, or anyone else would ever get used to the thump deep in their chest that was caused by such ordinance. Adrenaline pumping and ready for combat, Sorokina took aim at the entrance to the food court, where the enemy would most likely arrive from. Breathe. She thought, taking a scant few deep breaths to lower her heart rate. Aim. She thought, aiming her shotgun at what she wagered was head level for a brute at the entrance.

It was now when the enemy made their entrance. Multiple contacts, with First Sergeant Blackburn taking the first shots on a Brute Major, who was either leading the charge out of bravery or pure blood lust. Blackburn’s shots, while doing little harm to the brute, served a very important purpose, weakening the brute’s armor. The Brute Major’s shields served little protection after a battle rifle weakened them.

Squeeze. Lana thought once more, defaulting to her training as she depressed the trigger of her weapon, sending an eight gauge slug down range that would make connection with the Brute Major’s forehead. Power armor served little protection in it’s weakened state, and the Brute Major dropped unceremoniously as Lana racked another shell into the chamber. She said nothing before choosing her next target, something that would be considered out of character for most younger members of the Orbital Drop Shock Trooper corps, who chose to boast after every kill, no matter how small, as long as they overshadowed their comrades.

A lance of covenant forces were behind the now deceased Brute Major, led by a Brute minor. It was common knowledge since the beginning of any war, cut off the leadership, the subordinates will fall into disarray. This was even more so true with the Covenant. Seeing his leader killed, a Brute minor took it upon himself to follow through with his late leader’s charge, bringing his subordinates along. Breathe. Aim. Squeeze! Lana repeated again, not once, not twice, but three times as she aimed at the Brute Minor’s center mass, watching as one slug tore deep into their chest after another until they eventually collapsed, either out of blood loss or the shock of three slugs rearranging their sternum.

She took cover behind the sandbag reinforced tables as plasma started barreling towards her. What subordinates who weren’t panicked returned fire with their weapons at the most egregious offender, while the rest scattered. While Lana couldn’t poke her head above cover, with fire focused upon her she could only hope her fellow troopers could return fire.

Sinking tinnies? Shut the fuck up Dorito, and use your fucing weapon.” Lanna spat over her radio while plasma flew over her head. It mattered little what came next, if they were so lucky to survive, it was simply a here and now equation, and anyone who didn’t realize that they wouldn’t last long past the now part without fighting needed an attitude adjustment.
Last edited by Tayner on Wed Dec 08, 2021 4:07 am, edited 1 time in total.
If anyone askes where we were Saturday at 14:30, we were at The Pub, understand?

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Bolslania
Minister
 
Posts: 2792
Founded: Mar 07, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Bolslania » Mon Dec 06, 2021 7:34 am


Image
2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey
Ad-Hoc Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552. 1537




The situation in New Alexandria was quickly deteriorating. The first 2 defensive lines had fallen, he and the other ODSTs doing their best to hold off the covenant assault, however the covies had rolled up a shade turret, forcing Grey to order a withdrawal to the Food Court.

Before Grey's opaque visor stood a Colonial Militia officer barely old enough to shave, a chef, a JTAC, and a mechanic. He sighed deeply. He'd have to make it work. He knelt down next to Bear, listening in on the radio as there was chatter about birds getting of the ground. He looked up as he watched the Corvette break through the clouds above them.

"God dammit." He muttered, barely audible over the thumping of the missile slamming in to the Corvette's shielding. Grey braced himself on an overturned table, steadying himself as his whole world shook as not one but two FPF-2's slammed in to the Corvette. The Corvette continued to descend unbothered by the pitiful attempts of the defenders of New Alexandria. A pane of glass fell from the ceiling, coming down all around the World Cuisine building one pane arced right for the cluster around Bear, quickly, Grey stood up and got in the way of the pane, it shattered on his back harmlessly. His head snapped towards the entrance of the food court as he heard the unmistakable roar of a brute coming down the hall. As he sprinted for cover he saw Blackburn and Lana drop a Brute Major and a Minor, taking out 2/3s of this assault team's leadership.

He hit a sandbag wall, sinking behind it as plasma bolts slammed in to it. He popped out of cover, raising his DMR. He drew a bead on a Brute Minor charging down the hall, firing 2 times to the chest and twice in the head. The first two rounds slowed it down, giving Grey the time he needed to send two rounds in to its head. He dropped back behind the sandbags as the remaining grunts returned fire. Turning to Maple and Chiao he shouted.

"Get to cover and keep your heads down! Anything gets over these sandbags you shoot it!". He then turned his attention to his CNM, speaking in to it.

"7 Delta 14, Wolf here, need ammo at the World Cuisine in the Starport Foodcourt. Over." Over the sound of plasma and rifle fire he heard the reply.

"Copy that Wolf, on the way." Seamus said with his faded irish accent.


Image
1st Lieutenant Seamus O' Duggan
7 Delta
FLEETCOM HQ
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552. 1537



Seamus turned from the radio and began shouting at his two door gunners.

"Mike, John! Load up rifle and shotgun ammo on the Falcon! We're resupplying the starport!" He shouted. The two men, who'd been catching much needed down time, sprang out of their seats and began running towards the ammo storage, grabbing up boxes of rifle ammunition and shotgun shells. Seamus ran with them grabbing an M247H and carrying it to the Falcon, tossing it on top of some ammo boxes. It was followed up by a mount for it, as well as 300 rounds of ammunition.

"Alright load the fuck up, we're lifting off!" Seamus said, putting his helmet on as Mike and John hopped in to the gunner's seats. He sat in the cockpit, firing up his falcon as the canopy descended on him. The engines roared to life, throwing dirt and debris away from the chopper.

"Everything strapped down?" He asked his crewmen.

"Affirmative, we're ready to go." Mike replied.

"Copy that." Seamus said, raising collective. The heavily laden Falcon lurched off the ground, he maxed out collective, pitching forward to increase their speed.


A few minutes later, and Seamus could see the foodcourt. He depressed his radio button.


"Wolf, 7 Delta 14 here, im nearing the foodcourt, im going to drop the ammo through the ceiling on the top floor of the World Cuisine make sure you're not under it. Over." He said.

"Copy that 7 Delta 14. I'll get everyone away from it." Crackled the reply.


Grey shouted at everyone

"Stay off the top floor!" Ammo's coming in!" He finished just as the falcon came to a pause over the skylight, the sound of the blades drowning out all but the loudest of weapon reports.

A second later boxes of ammo came crashing through the remains of the skylight, slamming in to the floor below. Grey noticed the machine gun strapped to its ammo boxes and mount.

"Somebody get that MG set up!" He called. Speaking in to his radio, he said.

"Thanks for the candy 7 Delta 14. Over."

"Sure thing Wolf, don't eat it all at once, over and out." Seamus said, pitching the Falcon over and turning it around as he flew back to the airpad.
Last edited by Bolslania on Tue Dec 07, 2021 2:18 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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Empire of Donner land
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Posts: 6516
Founded: Jun 28, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Empire of Donner land » Mon Dec 06, 2021 7:54 am



Image
Lt. Santo Schirmer
17th Tactical Strike Group, Casimir Air Base, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1537 NST



<<7 Delta 5, Yankee 9-1. NOBLE 2. You're required at Olympic Tower. Priority One. ONI VIP needs escort to their craft in orbit. Yankee 9-1, you'll be escorting 7 Delta 5. 7 Delta 5, proceed to landing pad Echo. Over.>>

<<Yankee 9-1, it's Foxtrot Dispatch. Still no update on resupply and refuel. Camp Independence is gone, and the nearest resupply is near the Aszod Yard. If you head there you likely won't be able to make it back tonight. Only other option is the Pillar of Autumn in orbit, if that's where you're heading I'd recommend linking there and seeing what else you can do. Over.>>

A pause.

<<Covies are closing in on this position hard. This may be my last correspondence 9-1. Foxtrot Dispatch, over and out.>>

"This is some grade-A hornets' nest shit. Priority one right underneath the nose of a corvette and I'm the only one that can pull escort?" Schirmer looked up from the instrumentation as the Longsword made a transition from sub-orbital to atmosphere flight towards the city. The power whirring, engine purring, and the dull thud of hydraulics. Comforting noises to Schirmer's ears, of the longsword getting ready to change from space to air. The altitude in his Head Mounted Display ticked down quickly as the rate of descent slowed due to the thicker air. His anxiety ticked back up as he saw the devastation of the city, and the large corvette dominating in the air. He was probably already on their sensors, they just didn't care yet. bigger targets, smaller ones too, as he thought of the civilian casualties. His perception of the situation changed.

"More likely than you think..." he told himself, the voice echoed within his pilot helmet. Smoke billowed from every part of the city, plasma and bullet traces flying up and into the sky in painted arcs, explosions dotted the sky above New Alexandria, blue and red, in every part of it he could see. No inch was spared, as was the way of the Covenant. He turned his thoughts back to the radio.

"Yankee 9-1 copies all directed transmissions." Schirmer replied, though he spoke silently under his breath between responses a hushed "regrettably". "NOBLE 2, observing FUBAR, interrogative, if the Corvette catches wind of Priority 1 extract? I've only got so much ammo, Over."

<< Package is bound for a Halcyon-Class, Pillar of Autumn. I'm afraid its purpose is classified, and I can't go into further detail over an open net. I need to know if you're capable of assisting or not. >>

"Roger, NOBLE 2, Yankee 9-1 will comply and is ingressing towards New Alexandria. At least we're going the same way." It was all black-ink speak for 'it gets done or we don't get another chance" in the politest way possible. How could he argue with that? He wouldn't, not with a Spartan on the other end, and not when the three-letter word "ONI" was mentioned. He sorted through the friendly contacts available in the AO on the battle net and found his escort charge, '7 Delta 5', a Pelican.

"7 Delta 5, this is Yanker 9-1, I've got you on my heads-up. I'm joining our elements together on the Bee Net datalink. I'll be on your wing shortly. How copy?" Schirmer reported, banking the Longsword down and directly towards them as a blue digital block formed around their location on his hud. Soon, the Pelican was in visual range as he could see its large distinct silhouette, he pressed for the airbrakes, lowering the throttle to the engines, as he pulled into a perfect banking turn to slot into formation with the craft on its right-wing, airbrakes lowering as the longsword slowed to a shuttering stop. Flight computer only now doing the rest to maintain speed with the Pelican. "Just a casual jog through New Alexandria, right? Heh-heh."

Nervous laughter, never a good sign, he thought.
Last edited by Empire of Donner land on Mon Dec 06, 2021 5:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Shyluz
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6953
Founded: Mar 13, 2015
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Shyluz » Mon Dec 06, 2021 3:04 pm


Image
1LT. Jack Foster
442nd Naval Air Transport Squadron, UNSC Trafalgar, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1537 NST




<<7 Delta 5, Yankee 9-1. NOBLE 2. You're required at Olympic Tower. Priority One. ONI VIP needs escort to their craft in orbit. Yankee 9-1, you'll be escorting 7 Delta 5. 7 Delta 5, proceed to landing pad Echo. Over.>>

<<Yankee 9-1, it's Foxtrot Dispatch. Still no update on resupply and refuel. Camp Independence is gone, and the nearest resupply is near the Aszod Yard. If you head there you likely won't be able to make it back tonight. Only other option is the Pillar of Autumn in orbit, if that's where you're heading I'd recommend linking there and seeing what else you can do. Over.>>

Foster pulled off from his search pattern as he was retasked. His copilot, a man by the name of Corti, grimaced as they orientated towards Olympus Tower. Neither of the men liked that they were being pulled of CSAR, not that they there was anyone left to rescue. Covies had made sure that the civilian evac shuttles didn't get far. Anybody who didn't die getting shot down was sure as dead. The bay made sure of that.

<<Covies are closing in on this position hard. This may be my last correspondence 9-1. Foxtrot Dispatch, over and out.>>

Foster clicked on his transmitter. "NOBLE-2, 7 Delta 5. Tasking acknowledged, rerouting now. Over." He flicked it off.

"What the fuck is this, Jackie? They're pulling us for some goddamn spook?" Corti sputtered, even as he scanned the skies for inbound contacts. "Why the hell is there even a Priority One asset on this dirtball still?"

Foster shifted uncomfortably, taking stock of the remaining munitions aboard the Pelican. He hadn't used much, maybe a quarter of his seventy mil to scare off some Banshees. A full load of eight ANVIL-IIs and a pair of rocket pods. "I don't know, Corti. If I knew I'd be the Priority One extract. Let's just get this done."

<<Yankee 9-1 copies all directed transmissions.>> The new voice crackled over comms. He didn't sound familiar, but not many pilots did these days. When Trafalgar went down, it took most of his acquaintances with it. Friends too. <<NOBLE 2, observing FUBAR, interrogative, if the Corvette catches wind of Priority 1 extract? I've only got so much ammo, Over.>> Foster smiled a bit as he gained altitude. Yankee 9-1 had a good head on his shoulders, whoever they were.

<<Package is bound for a Halcyon-Class, Pillar of Autumn. I'm afraid its purpose is classified, and I can't go into further detail over an open net. I need to know if you're capable of assisting or not.>> Fantastic. Foster had pulled a few high-priority extracts in his days, but it was always a sign that something would go to shit when dispatch got clammy.

<<Roger, NOBLE-2, Yankee 9-1 will comply and is ingressing towards New Alexandria. At least we're going the same way.>>

Jackie flipped on the intercom to his crew chief. "How many cassettes do we have left for the '68, Raz?"

"I've six ready, plus one in the gun, and about a dozen in the locker." Raz replied.

<<7 Delta 5, this is Yankee 9-1, I've got you on my heads-up. I'm joining our elements together on the Bee Net datalink. I'll be on your wing shortly. How copy?>>

Foster clicked off the intercom and Corti flicked open the comms channel. "Good copy Yankee 9-1, happy to have you." He watched as the Longsword slotted into formation from above. Foster was happy to have an escort, but he would've preferred a Wombat or an aerospace fighter over the heavy Longsword. Still, needs must.

<<Just a casual jog through New Alexandria, right? Heh-heh.>> There it was. Good, at least the Longsword jock was nervous. He had a self-preservation instinct. Foster had seen enough of the overconfident fighter jock bravado in the last few weeks. He'd seen the end more than enough times, too.

"With luck, Yankee 9-1. We've been on station for a good while now, seems like the Covies haven't put much effort into a CAP. Banshees and droppers at most. Best guess is that the Anchors upstairs are keeping the heavier stuff busy." Foster didn't word the part where if that Covie capship spotted them, the two craft were as good as a pair of flying coffins. Yankee knew that already. He opened the throttle a bit, and the Pelican began to accelerate towards Olympus Tower.
Last edited by Shyluz on Mon Dec 06, 2021 3:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Beiarusia
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10749
Founded: Dec 29, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Beiarusia » Mon Dec 06, 2021 3:46 pm

Image
Private Maple Rier
8th Armor Brigade, 3rd Support Battalion Kilo-45
New Alexandria Spaceport, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552





This couldn't be happening...

The terrified woman — a teenager, really, not yet old enough to legally purchase alcohol — sat with her back pressed tightly to the rough canvas of the sandbags that had been used to fortify the World's Cuisine. An M45D was straddled awkwardly in her grasp, between her legs with the buttstock braced against the silver-blue tiling and the barrel pointed up and just over the edge of where she was hidden. Her standard issue Army BDU (minus the shoulder pads) was dirtied with various oils and hydraulic fluids that had irreparably stained the olive drab fatigues. Her left thigh was bandaged in white gauze from a shrapnel injury. The bleeding had stopped, and she could move if necessary without too much difficulty, but the cut was painful. Mentally the shell-shocked private was maintaining her composure but only just.

Maple Rier was lucky to be alive. The Covenant had found Reach, and in response the young woman had been fast-tracked to active service just in time for the offensive at Szurdok Ridge where the 8th Armor Brigade, leading the tip of the spear, and despite an initial strong push, was nearly obliterated following the loss of the UNSC Grafton. Private Rier was fortunate to be rear echelon so had not seen direct combat. Following this, the remnants of the 8th Armor Brigade had retreated to New Alexandria to bolster the defending garrison and to assist in evacuations. With the arrival of a much more massive Covenant fleet the city had been hit hard.

A blast sounded off somewhere nearby. A dull roar accompanied by a slight tremble that rattled the glassware that had not already been shattered. Maple strengthened her grip on the shotgun until her knuckles turned white as she steadied her breathing.

Deep inhale... slow exhale... deep inhale... slow exhale... repeat ad nauseam.

A week ago the 8th Armor Brigade had been at full strength. Three days ago the brigade numbered at considerably less than half. As of current Private Rier and Lance Corporal Chiao may well have been the only survivors of the entire unit. The Covenant had blown apart the front lines in the opening blitzkrieg, and during the inevitable rout Maple and another trooper, Private Dawson, had become separated. Maple had escaped mostly intact but Dawson had succumbed to his own traumatic injuries before they could reach relative safety. Soon thereafter she had linked up with Chiao (who had remained at the spaceport) and was subsequently drafted into Kilo 45.

They were now assigned to the last-ditch effort of defending the evacuation against the Covenant onslaught. A new line; a new inbound offensive. As green as grass, Maple had yet to fire her weapon against the enemy and had only seen Covenant up-close very recently. In truth she had never expected to see combat. Reach was supposed to be safe.

Maple was on the second floor of World's Cuisine alongside Chiao and the man they had been assigned with protecting, Master Sergeant Bridges, aka "Bear." The man, who's radio was now active with chatter, was identifiable as Air Force given his insignia and uniform, and was considered a VIP asset due to his ATC qualifications. First Sergeant Blackburn had made it crystal clear that nothing was to happen to this man under any circumstance. Not that Maple was averse to the orders. She'd much rather be on guard duty than up front with the ODSTs.

Her breathing under control, and feeling a tiny bit less nervous, Maple risked a peek over the sandbags to take stock of the situation. The food court below was an outright mess, but it was safe... for now. "Still looks clear," she called out to Chiao, though this was more to assuage her own worries. That much was clear given the slight waver to her voice. Another deep breath for good measure and then she stood, ignoring the pain in her leg as she relocated away from the overlook, picking her way past the mess of overturned tables and chairs and towards the interior to take advantage of the relative tranquility that undoubtedly preceded the coming storm (which she'd rather not think about). She needed to find a restroom for obvious reasons and felt deserving of that one comfort considering just how bad things had gotten.

That was when she spied the telephone inside what had probably been a break-room. Changing priorities, she hurried over to tap the CALL button and almost squealed in delight when a dial tone greeted her. She quickly dialed her uncle's number, hit CALL, and impatiently waited the agonizing few seconds it took for connection with bated breath. It started to ring. Once... twice.... Maple was hopeful, but that optimism was quickly dashed by an irritating beep and an automated message:

"We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is unavailable or is no longer in service."

She hit END and tried her aunt. When that failed she tried each of her three cousins, her neighbors, and a family friend. Nothing was getting through, and as the automated message repeated for the umpteenth time Maple was slamming her fist into the telephone. When that proved unsatisfactory she bashed the screen with the buttstock of her shotgun until the glass paneling was cracked and shattered. She wanted the yell out in frustration, so did just that, kicking a discord thermos as hard as she could against the wall and trying her best to not break down crying.

That was when she heard one of the ODSTs calling out. "Rier, Chiao, Bear. This is it!" he had yelled in his distinctive accent.

Maple had barely managed to peer back outside from the break-room when she felt the ground shake beneath her. She stumbled, falling to a knee but managing to catch herself before she could fall flat. She had just gotten back to the overlook when another tremor sent her flailing. People were shouting now, but Maple could hardly make out their words for her eyes had been drawn skyward and she had been overtaken by a jolt of fear. Overhead, emerging from the clouds like a shark from the surf, loomed the ominous form of a Covenant Corvette, its shields flaring from whatever had just hit it. The glass above broke free of its fittings to shower down upon them. Instinctively she raised an arm to protect herself, but an ODST had put himself between her and the falling shards, the glass shattering against his black armor.

"Get to cover and keep your heads down! Anything gets over these sandbags you shoot it!" he yelled before turning his attention elsewhere.

Something inhuman was barking its own orders now somewhere down below as the firefight erupted. Maple scrambled onto her hands and knees and quickly placed herself behind a table with the laminated wood between her and the balcony's edge. "Shit shit shit!" she yelled to no one but herself, again holding onto the shotgun as if it were her lifeline.

For now it very well might be.
Last edited by Beiarusia on Mon Dec 06, 2021 4:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Parcia
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Posts: 7573
Founded: Feb 11, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Parcia » Mon Dec 06, 2021 5:12 pm


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Warrant Officer Grimsdottir, Olivia
ONI Section 1 "Jester's Hand" Data Analytics Team
Sub Level 3, Office of Naval intelligence Regional HQ, Olympic Tower, New Alexandria, Reach.
Office of Naval Intelligence Section 1
August 23rd, 2552 - 1540 NST



The office was dark, with only the red emergency lighting above the door and the blueish green light of her data terminal offering any visibility in the darkness of of the empty office. She had already trashed and burned all her personal files and paper copies and as she sat back to watch her clean up program utterly obliterated her saved file while the inhouse issued Cole Protocol worm program caused her office server to spark, sputter and die, she took a moment to take a long drag from her nicotine vape and look over her kit laid out on the floor next to her.

She had entered and passed most of the inhouse combat sims, especially as the war got progressively closer and closer and she felt she needed more and more training. Still, as a data analyst, she wasn't supposed to be in a fire fight, and yet one was raging on the ground floor entrance a few hundred feet above her. It was the dark irony of the situation that made her chuckle internally, the "rear echelon spook bitch" putting on combat grade armor and slinging a rifle.

She had taken advantage of some loose Req file request forms to secure her a combat kit some weeks prior and said kit had arrived maybe a week before the covenant had arrived. A standard ODST kit moderately tailored to her fit, with a spare S-1 issued Recon helmet with smart link capability having found it's way to her possession after Enemy presence was confirmed on Reach a few days prior. It wasn't something that'd fly during peace time, as in all likelihood if humanity wasn't getting its collectives shit kicked in she'd been told to simply make due with her issued side arm.

How ever, her supervisor had seen the amount of denied requests for front line work and, actually being one of the few reasonable heads in her department, had cleared her for the extra training sims and firearms practice. Still, the SRS-99AMS2 was a intimidatingly large rifle for any one to use, except maybe a spartan. It was an impulse choice to grab the 15kg monstrosity of a firearm and when she balanced out her kit, found she could only really afford to carry two spare magazines for it. Still, she had read the training manual on it and used it on the range enough to know its basic operation and felt confident she could at least hit what she would aim at.

The M7S and her M6C where what she was trained and qualified on though, and she had secured them with 3 spare magazines each along side a medkit and her knife. Getting up out of her office chair, she went about putting on the armor vest and its accessories and lastly, her helmet. Waiting just a moment for its BIOS to boot and her HUD to appear, she went about checking the VISR suit and sorely wished she had a dedicated chip implant to make better use of it.

When she was done, Olivia turned and attached her side arm to its magnetic holster point on her hip, slung the M7 on the other, and hefted the rifle to the one attacthed to the load bearing ruck sack's mag point and took a few steps. The damn thing was long and off set her balance enough that she had to lean just a bit forward to keep from slinking backwards.

Turning to her desktop, now reset to its factory settings, she retrieved one of the three thermate charges in her desk and stuck it to the top of her terminal directly over it's hard disk, pulling the pin and stepping back as she watched it spark up and melt the casing in to slag. Next was her data server node and while it was already fried, she chose to slag it for posterity's sake.

The last was to be saved for her data laptop should she need it though she chose to store the charge in an armored pocket in her ruck. Checking her self one last time, she turned from the sparking mess of an office and paused as she walked out the door. Sitting on the wall just inside of the door was a picture she had placed there when she had been transferred to Reach the year prior. It was an old photo she had taken when she graduated from ONI data school at The Farm and showed a younger, more youthful Olivia Grimsdottir, one who hadn't been exposed to the horrors of this war.

She was smiling, beaming with the pride of having graduated one of the hardest C schools in the Navy. She took the picture off the wall and removed the photo from the frame, stowing it in a spare pocket and began to make her way down the hall towards the lift.
So apparently Cobalt has named me a Cyber terrorist, I honestly don't know to be Honored or offended.
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Kyraina
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Posts: 7494
Founded: Aug 12, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Kyraina » Mon Dec 06, 2021 6:47 pm


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MSGT. Joseph "Bear" Bridges
24th Air Force, 112th Special Tactics Squadron, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1537 NST



Bear was listening and arguing to a few of the more Hotheaded and over confident Pilots. He also kept looking down at the tablet he for Air and Space Lane traffic, and out the window at the Covenant Corvette outside and above the space port. They had all heard the announcement about EVAC about to start, and of course the inexperienced and the ones with to much confidence and not enough brains wanted to go ahead and start despite the massive enemy space ship over head.

Bear: << 21 Echo 9, 4 Delta 44, 9 Echo 9, 21 Delta 69. This is Kilo 44 Romeo, Hold your god damn spots, but keep those engines warm. We have to wait for that Corvette to go down or you all are toast. We got the go ahead to get ready, not to take off. I repeat hold positions, Do not take off. Break.
8 Echo 9, 21 Delta 45, 8 Delta 7, 5 Echo 5, Keep those Engines Warms, we are going to start evac as soon as we get the go ahead. Break
All Evac Callsigns assigned to me we start as soon as I get the go ahead and give the command. Kilo 45 Romeo Out>>



He looked around as the ODSTs cam into the restaurant and up on the second floor, and then the impact of rockets near by into the Covvie Corvette over head, and then saw Lt Grey stand up above Bear's crouched form and take a glass pane across his back. He shook his head at the ODST Officer's stupidity, placed his tablet back on a near by table, picked up his DMR.

He popped up out of his Cover, sighted his rifle sights on a Grunt Storm trying to rally the troops, and pulled the trigger twice, sending the grunt to ground and its blooding joining the Brutes blood on the floor.

Below him, the noise could be heard as the M37 LMG manned by Lcpl Killroy opened up into the enemy formation.


Image
lCpl. William Killroy
UNIT AMX-42, Phoenix Raven Security Section
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
DATE AND TIME



Killroy had spent the first 4 days helping organize the initial landing zone defenses, but as the fighting had gotten more intense he had fallen back to the last line of defense to finish sitting up his MG position in the bottom of the World Cuisine restaurant. He had busted out a window on bottom and had placed sand bags in front and behind the wall, and sat up his MG on the Bags. He watched as the ODSTs came from the Third
line of defense, and as they passed through the restaurant doors, which he closed and blocked off the entrance. He quickly ran back to his position and took up his LMG, and sighted it towards the hallway from position 3 and heard the roar of a Brute issuing commands to those under its command. Two Brute Minors with Squads, and a Brute Major and its squad walked into the food court. Before he could site and fire the ODSTs ripped into the Brutes and and Grunts and jackals started to fall.

He sighted a group of Jackals with shields up, so he sighted, and pulled the trigger. He started pouring lead in burst at the group of Jackals. The heavy fire forcing them back, suddenly 3 of the jackals' shield failed, and fell dead to the ground. He poured more fire into the chaos that was now the three covvie squads, whos numbers were quickly dropping.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is suppose to go here?

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Anowa
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Posts: 17534
Founded: Jul 29, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Anowa » Mon Dec 06, 2021 7:25 pm


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Evocatus Delgatus Rtusze 'Tralcamai
Crusaders of the Burning Reclamation
Quezon Museum of Science
Covenant Empire
August 23rd, 2552 - 1537 NST



All things considered, the building was quiet, a fact that was perturbing to those under his command. To his left, the Warrior Jopa 'Vomanee, was irritated, an emotional state that was affecting the Unggoy with them.

the tallest by far, and the highest ranking spoke, "Speak your mind, Warrior. It is clear something disturbs you."

A flanging sigh was what came first, "It may not be my place Evocatus. But why are we here when the fight rages elsewhere, even in this city. Why are we wasting time here?"

"Our objective in this city isn't to fight, it's to learn." the 12 foot tall beast began descending the pile of rubble that used to be a wall, and in to the Museum.

"Learn? Learn what? What is it these heretics can teach us?"

The mention of heretics caused a few of the Unggoy to pause. The ones who had been in this unit for some time, specifically, but not a word was said. The Ultra moved deeper in to the building, his eyes scanning various signs on the walls. The pearl colored armor shifted, as hand signs were given to the Unggoy, and the company split off to search the rest of the building. The two Sanheili continued deeper in to the building, the Minor still awaiting an answer as the Ultra's eyes scanned the signs his junior could not read.

"There is a philosophy regarding what knowledge you have over your enemy. There are many things we don't know about the Humans, many of them trivial, irrelevant in the long run. But we are here for the knowledge of their past, because the Humans like keeping records of where they've been, where they're going, what they've discovered. 'If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat' Sun Tzu said that, and I find it profoundly true."

The Minor seemed... tamed, his stature changed from that of irritation, to piqued interest, "I'm... not familiar."

"You wouldn't. He was Human."

The Warrior tensed as he stopped in his tracks, "You..." a slow realization, "...This is why your ship is registered as an Execution position."

"Because I've come to some sallow truth, yes. There's a great many things I know in regards to the humans that has... opened my eyes. Your assignment as my charge means that you won't be going anywhere else unless you die. We are, all of us, locked in place, like sand in an hourglass laid aside."

A section labeled as Aerospace was where the Ultra took a turn, as the Minor then jogged to catch up.

"Evocatus, what? What is it you've learned? Why toss your life, your honour away in such a fashion? Just to learn philosophies from backwards heretics like this?"

The Ultra stopped and turned, "Do you know why we started this crusade against the humans? What happened during the opening shots fired?"

The Minor stood up straighter, "The humans destroyed multiple relics in their wayward and reckless occupation of that world. Soon after they committed against aggression, and our patience with them was cast aside. They were, all of them, heretics to be burned. Any divergence from this fact is folly at best, and heresy at worst. I've tolerated this thus far for my respect of your position, but you tread on fine ice, Evocatus."

"That sounds like our Taming of the Lekgolo, doesn't it? A mere five year conflict before a relent from the worms. And now we fight side by side as they recite somewhat poorly structured poetry. You're too young to remember that their attempts at surrender prior was met with holy fire. I was much like you during those days, blinded by faith." The Ultra continued until one display representing the human's early exploration and colonisation attempts. He gazed at it for some time.

Te sound of an energy sword ignoting, "I've heard enough. Perha-"

the Ultra ignited his own and turned, but there was a rush of air, a dull, wet thump with the accompanied sound of shattering bone, both upon impact, and as the Ultra visually confirmed the Minor becoming a part of the solid wall behind him with a massive wet blotch on the wall. His chest cavity was basically paper, his combat harness a shattered mess clattering on the floor. His eyes lifeless as his body began sliding to the floor with an unnerving sound of pulped flesh peeling off a wall.

The floating mess of gore on a shield ruffled, before the pair of Hunters the Ultra considered his true companions revealed themselves. Abita and Yibine Kufu Moyu.

"A visage of blue, A war against ignorance, less killing today."

The Ultra's sword deactivated, "You're getting better. Though your last lines are still tangential." a pause, "You didn't need to do that."

The Hunter pair spoke up, in unison, "He was a threat to you, you appeared to be lost in thought."

The Ultra simply looked at the crumpled, lifeless body, "Perhaps. Let us keep looking for that disc, our time is short."
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An Intro to Anowa

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Ubaria
Minister
 
Posts: 2790
Founded: Sep 14, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Ubaria » Mon Dec 06, 2021 9:00 pm

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Captain Vera Patkós
ONI Section 1, Special Activities Center Reach
New Alexandria, Olympic Tower, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552






Again the building shuddered in the wake of another tremendous explosion occurring some dozens of floors below, the intensity of the carnage propagating through the tower multiplying by some thricefold in the last thirty minutes or so; evidence of the siege ramping up to it's fever pitch. Mindful of the clock ticking so perilously fast, Vera had too sped up her efforts in her mission of the destruction of sensitive ONI data, she darted between the blinking and bleeping data terminals with the speed and grace of a dancer, at each one she paused and rattled off a series of commands into the console with rapid precision and then without wasting a moment of time she moved to the next.

Her mind was focused, though with each passing explosion and trembling of the floor beneath her very feet, the gravity of the situation had begun to slowly seep into Vera's brain. Covenant, on Reach. It was no doubt the war was going poorly but their discovery of the planet now jeopardized Humanity's fight in their war against the alien menace; for the first time in a long time Vera feared her enemy. She'd read the reports, scrutinized every dispatch and slowly come to understand their enemy but only now had it sunk in completely when they were on her doorstep; a few hundred meters below.

Only the mainline terminal remained in the data sub-hive; the final obstacle in her execution of the Cole Protocol. In truth much of the data was benign; field reports about Insurrectionists movements within Reach, debriefings and such, information Vera had spent years upon years gathering and collating, much of it at the expense of good men and women and parts of herself. Now it was all to be burned and cast into the digital abyss, anything to delay and deny the Covenant any foothold they could get, though did it matter now? They had found Reach and if they had found Reach, Earth was surely to follow. Despite Vera's grievances, her mission was to be completed and after tapping in the relevant commands to upload the viral data burner, there was no going back. A final swift press of the confirm key started the process. The large holo-screen dimmed to an ominous red as the program did it's work.

<< Juliette. You copy? Directive three has been executed. What's the situation on your level >>

The earpiece crackled with the interference of dozens of layers of polycrete between Vera and her commanding officer. A tentative pause followed.

<< It's done. Listen i'm staying to ensure that they get Sub-Hives Echo through Romeo. You get out of here, you're done - >>

<< I'm not leaving you here Julia. >>

<< Get the fuck out of here Vera. Spartans downstairs are reporting more and more Covenant showing up by the minute, it won't be long before even they're overwhelmed. You have more to lose than i do. >>

<< Fuck ... You make sure you're on the next Pelican out of here too. You hear me? >

<< I'll do my best. Out. >>

Vera fought back a sob and took one last glance around her office, a place that was almost a second home to her, soon to become nothing but ash. However, Julia was right. Even the Spartans downstairs couldn't hold indefinitely against the hordes of Covenant and so Vera had to move fast. She made a brisk jog down the halls, heavy boot thudding against lacquered tiling, all the while the sounds of the apocalypse drifted in from outside, her only form of navigation was the dimmed emergency lighting, highlighting a path on the floor like runway landing lights. They led her to a pair of metal sliding doors that shielded one of the main arterial elevators that linked to the surface. Vera glanced once more behind her before tentatively entering the metal box, hammering the button for the ground floor.

The lift chimed and started humming as it descended the fifty or so floors to the bottom. Encaged in the metal box, Vera could slowly hear the reverberations of battle transmitted through the solid structure of the building grow more fierce in nature, her heart began pacing faster the lower she got. Her right hand quickly clasped at the familiar hilt of her M6K sidearm, she pulled it from it's holstering and gave the chamber a quick look over. There was no telling what she'd be stepping out into. Now Vera was no stranger to battle; her fighting perhaps done in a different manner entirely, but these beasts scared her and she didn't mind admitting that to herself. The pictures of seven foot reptilian fiends with split maws bristling with vile teeth had been burned into her mind; made scarier by the fact that the weaponry they boasted could turn a man into a walking blister with a few shots. The smaller ones, Grunts they had been termed, were as equally tall as a man but much, much broader in stature, further amplified by the strange breathing apparatus that they carried with them. Those alone could disembowel a man with their rock like fists.

Vera gripped at her pistol tighter as the countdown continued through the low twenties and into the tens. The battle now a veritable cacophony of chattering rifle fire, ear popping blasts and chaotic shouting. The elevator slowed, Vera remained static until the very moment the doors open at which moment she bolted out and dove to one side behind a particularly large granite pillar. Luckily the fighting hadn't progressed as far as the mezzanine, the Spartans and the rest of the defenders managing to put up a stalwart defense at the lobby. However many of the wounded, maimed and dead had been dragged to the rear lines, Vera's eyes darted over many of the bodies who were mere office workers and administrators, not battle hardened soldiers.

A soldier approached her as she cautiously made her way forwards, his face partially bloodied though Vera couldn't see any contributing head wounds.

"Where have you just come from?" He yelled over the nearby gunfire.

"Fifty-third floor. Sub-hive Delta. It's scrubbed but there are still others up there finishing the others. Don't you have anyone you can spare to help them finish them off?"

The soldier quickly shook his head and gestured over to many of the wounded.

"Maybe one or two who can't hold a rifle any more but we need every gun we can get lady! We've got them stalled at a chokepoint and the Spartans are keeping the west and north entrance clear but we're taking casualties left right and bloody center" He paused as a particularly loud explosion rippled through the area. "Is that all you have?" The soldier gestured to Vera's pistol. She nodded.

"Grab a rifle and a magazine from the pile over there and just start shooting. Doesn't matter what at as long as it's at those doors!"

Vera nodded and darted over to the pile of weaponry that had been haphazardly been thrown to the ground on a dirty tarp. She picked out an M329, a more subtle weapon than perhaps a Battle or Assault rifle but one that exuded a little more exactness. A weapon Vera was familiar with and had much experience handling, it's weighty carcass felt right in her hands. A small fiddle with the weapon's scope and a prudent once-over of the weapon to ensure it was fit for combat and it was good to go. Vera snatched up a couple of magazines and tucked them into pouches on her rigging and started to make forward to the battle, only pausing as a woman jogged past holding a rifle almost bigger than she was.

"You sure you want to use that thing indoors?" She asked wryfully.
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Parcia
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Founded: Feb 11, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Parcia » Mon Dec 06, 2021 9:34 pm


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Warrant Officer Grimsdottir, Oliva
ONI Section 1 "Jester's Hand" Data Analytics Team
Ground Floor Lobby, upper atrium, Olympic Tower, New Alexandria, Reach
Office of Naval Intelligence, Section 1
August 23rd, 2552 - 1540 NST



The sounds of battle grew louder and louder as the lift neared the upper atrium were NOBLE was making their stand along side a few gathered marines and ONI security and Olivia felt a pang of fear as the door pinged and opened and she stepped out, weapon ready...

Just in time to see a burning blue hot bolt of plasma streak past only a foot from her face. That spike of fear quickly elevated to near panic and she stumbled back in to the elevator, landing hard on her ass. For a brief moment all was calm, with only the thumping of her chest and her heavy breathing filling her ears. Then another streak of plasma, and another, and a form dashed across the lift door towards the plasma fire.

She stared in aw for just a moment before her training made it self known and she scrambled to her feet, M7S raised and peaked out the lift towards were the fighting seemed to be taking place.

If there was a hell as like the Christians believed, then a good chunk of it was located in the lobby. The atrium it self was pot marked, burned, shot up and otherwise marred horribly by the fighting that took place between the marines and Spartans holding it, and what seemed to be an entire company and a half of Covenant troops trying to force their way in. She had elected to exit the lift at the second floor of the atrium as it held a commanding position over the entrance to the tower and provided what she felt to be good cover to set up and provide fire support with her rifle. Dashing to the nearest peace of cover she found her self next to a rather angry looking marine sergeant barking orders in between bursts of fire from his rifle.

She stayed there for just a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to calm her nerve when the rougneck called out to her with out braking the line of sight of his rifle. "Oie, you, spook, the hell you doing down here and not topside with the rest of your ilk.?!" She opened her mouth to speak only to be silenced by an incoming bolt of purple crystal imbedded it self in to her cover and exploded in a small pink cloud.

A few more shards imbedded them selves in to the sergeant's cover and caused him to duck. They locked eyes for a moment before he barked at her. "Fucking well?" This snapped her out of her stupor and she answered. "WO Grimsdottir, Section 1, I was wiping servers and terminals, speaking of which the building's system should be wiped and slagged by this point, and my lift stopped working on this floor." He sighed loudly and rose to put some more fire down rang.

"Fucking great, now I've got to deal with some lost spook bitch. Well, you got ammo for that sniper rifle and do you know how to use it?" she nodded to both questions and slung her SMG and shouldered the rifle. "Good, you dont have a fucking spotter so I'll call em out, you ready?" she nodded and rose to brace the rifle on the metal rimmed stone rail.

Taking a moment to sight in the rifle on the front entrance she found she had a pretty clear sight line down the entering pathway and as a result, had a pretty good view of the mass of grunts, Brutes, and jackals fighting their way down the path in to the building.

"Right, brute, big fuck, leading those grunts, send it!" She sighted in what she thought was the target in question, held her breath and pulled the trigger.

The rifleboomed and the kick just about sent her back on her ass. Another spike of panic was quickly over come with a sense of joy as she watched the torso of the brute fold in half in to a mass of pulped flesh and bones as the 14.5mm round tore through it and impacted the grunt behind him.

The roughneck yelled out to her. "Ok, good shot, not the brute in question though, sight the one about 15 feet to his left and slot em!" Some distant part of her brain recognized another voice among the symphony of battle and Olivia peered around to find another section one operative call out to her.

She tried to make out her words but she barely had time to recognize the face and blurt out Patkos's name before she felt like a sledge hammer impact on her head, snapping her back and down to the floor. She lay there for a moment, dazed and glossy eyed as her brain caught up with the reason for her sudden lay down on the floor.

In a moment the Marine was hunched over her and screaming at her. "Holy fuck women that was a needler bolt, you functioning?!" she reached up with a shaky hand and felt the still hot gouge in the side of her helmet as the marine took her by the arm and wrenched her to a sitting position behind cover. "Look if your fucked I need to know cause I need some one on that rifle of yours, are. you. fucking functioning?!"

Leaning over she picked up the rifle and nodded, looking at the older women for a moment and calling out to her. "Loot, Lt, stay down and in cover, w-we've got this!" Turning, she braced the rifle on the wall again and sighted in the nearest brute and snapped a shot off.

Again, a deafening boom and mule kick to her shoulder, the recoil sending the round high. "That was high, pack that big bitch against your shoulder and lean in to it you green cunt!" Letting the momentary sense of anger at the insult pass by her, she sighted in the brute again and this time took his words to heart, pressing hard in to her shoulder with the stock and leaning just a bit forward before holding her breath and pulling the trigger.

This round went low, impacting the concrete walkway and sending a shower of shards and chips and bullet fragments in to the enemy force. "Jesus women, squeeze it, don't snatch the fucking thing!" Another insult laced with valuable advice, something everyone in ONI was personally familiar with. Re-sighting the brute who was know behind his grunts, she held her breath and squeezed the trigger.

This time the round found it's mark, impacting nearly dead on with the brute's plasma rifle and ripping it, and the brutes shooting hand and indeed most of his lower arm, in to a mess of metal shards and flesh bits. The thing roared and fell out of her line of sight, being replaced by a shielded jackal who sent a few wild bolts of plasma in to the forces fighting below her.

The brightly lit, large shield gave her a much better target and she sighted in, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger only to be met by the cold, deafening click of an empty rifle. Curing her self in more then one language she ducked back down behind cover and scrambled to reload the rifle with one of her two spare mags.

Gods above this was turning in to a shite day.
So apparently Cobalt has named me a Cyber terrorist, I honestly don't know to be Honored or offended.
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Hastur
Envoy
 
Posts: 270
Founded: Jul 01, 2017
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Hastur » Tue Dec 07, 2021 12:26 am

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Staff Sergeant Alison Longacre
105th Shock Troops Division; 2nd Shock Troops Battalion Kilo-45
New Alexandria Spaceport, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552






Longacre had seen how this scenario had gone on too many times.

The losing battle with an opponent hellbent on turning everything into ash.

Terrified civilians crammed into evacuation stations, desperately counting on being ushered to safety.

And an ad hoc team of whoever they could muster, tasked with holding the line so that they could make that escape.

It had grown exhausting for Longacre; the ODST was functioning on a cocktail of fumes, combat drugs, and their remaining packets of instant coffee and creamer from their rations. Her tired eyes tracked the line of troopers routing through the tunnel, their trot matching their rhythm as they fell back through the long tunnel. These were her new brothers in arms. People she had found mere hours ago and seldom knew their names. Her own squad was missing or dead amongst the claustrophobic street battles that preceded. She held a thin shroud of hope lingering as she mulled over the fate of her compatriots but knew better to remain realistic. She would have to place her trust in these people now, a difficult prospect.

The straggling group closed in on the end of the tunnel, Longacre’s thirty-four-pound amalgamation of alloys and plastics that she called her rifle cradled tight to her chest, arms fatigued as they reached the second lines of sandbags. Behind that was the food court. The tiled floor littered with glass, rubble, and trash, the bust of Fujikawa staring outward, encircled by barely fortified store fronts.

That is the last line of defence?

The senior NCO explained the situation to the only officer manning the post. Brutes were incoming with a chieftain. She recognized what would transpire if they caught them in cramped quarters; they had to relinquish what defences they’d drawn up if they preferred to live, but she knew odds weren’t much better inside. The butter bar attempted to argue, Longacre giving a transitory expression of concern towards him. Her eyes narrowed, cheeks scrunching up in irritation from behind the polarised visor. She considered saying something, but the fresh-faced officer was instantly shut down, given no quarter.

It hardly inspired confidence with her that an inexperienced kid might end up having to lead her into battle. Longacre loathed the concept, but they would have to make do with what they had. At least he listened to the senior NCO when he gave the order to fortify around a world cuisine stall, that at least put him a step above some of the others she’d had unfortunately served under.

Longacre scanned it briefly, eyes focusing in on the family friendly food stand fortified with sandbags and rubble. Hardly a fortress, nor ideal as a sniper’s nest, the two-story option being the best there was, and it was where the last ATC in the area operated. If they lost him, it would be game over for any sort of positive control. With a laboured sigh, the woman hustled inward with the others, breaking into a light sprint as they pushed inside of the food stand, ascending the stairs to the upper level to where most of the fighting force seemed to be located.

She took count, eyes briefly jumping from person to person. Most seemed to be army, with what looked like some air force incorporated in. Some looked to be clued in, others frightened. Hardly the most cohesive fighting order, but it wasn’t unforeseen. Lesley paid no mind, determined as she drove her way through, towards some sandbags. Her gloved hands cracking the bipod out and into position on the sandbags. She scoped in on the main entryway, the automated computer systems automatically correcting for the tight range, giving off its soft, tell-tale mechanical twirl. Her rifle was now ready to engage, but the lack of lead to throw at them was a concern.

The voice of apprehension was squawking in the back of her skull. Attempting to generate anxiety for self-preservation’s sake as the anticipation for the fight grew. Longacre knew she didn’t have the ammunition for this, the street fighting just to get to this point had exhausted most of her reserve, being cut down to two magazines for the sniper rifle, and one for her backup, the MA5B slung which sat idle, slung around her back. The stress attempted to tick away, but Longacre steeled herself, challenging them back by accepting it one step at a time. This was the last hurdle for the evacuees. All they had to do was hold the sector long enough for them to escape, and their mission would be accomplished.

Concerned voices echoed off across the singular communications channel. Panic and confusion being cut out as a southern voice echoed. The covenant corvette was closing in, the ship dawdling over the horizon, breaking for the attack. Final protective fire was being called; Longacre knew it was bad news. She titled her head inward, cramping her jaw in apprehension, girding herself against cool bags of sand. The ground violently jolted, glass panes above shivered and shattered. The pulse of it hits rumbling through her chest as not one, but two rounds were fired.

<<Damn! How do you stop that thing?>

“Bollocks.” Longacre spat, her voice raspy, tone lethargic as the words carried a northern English twang. Her eyes fluttered briefly in disappointment as countermeasure had little effect, even though the follow up told her what she had expected. A moment of hubris that maybe, just this once, they’d get lucky.

Alien yells began echoing through the space, stemming from the line she’d came from. Longacre focused, identifying the targets rounding the corner as they stepped into engagement range, quickly funnelling out into a striking formation.

“Contact! Line 3 -!“ Longacre yelled, cutting herself off as reactions took over. She bowed herself downward in a singular, smooth motion. Feeling the sweltering heat from the grand balls of plasma that showered the high ground, suppressing her position as the orchestra of gunfire followed as the others returned fire. Using the MA5B, she took potshots towards the hostiles, flashing up from cover to short, controlled bursts before ducking back down. The fire was hardly accurate, but it was kept the opposition on their toes.

The sound of twin rotor blades soon became overwhelming. Downwind kicking up grime and garbage as the helicopter lowered itself down, fire being drawn from her position and to the more conspicuous target. The ODST 2nd lieutenant bellowed out for everyone to move as boxes began streaming from the sky. Longacre ignored him, voting to contort herself further into the shelter as the panes cracked, large boxes of ammunition tumbling downward onto the roof with a solid clash, shaking the foundations of the shack like construction itself. Shards clattering off the hard material of her armour as she took cover, with her luckily coming out unscathed.

“Great idea!” She spat sarcastically for no one other than herself. Glancing around, at least now she didn’t have to worry about running out of ammunition, if she was lucky enough to get a delivery of 14.5×114mm. Her eyes quickly locked onto something else, however. Amongst the chaos of everyone desperately fighting, one army soldier, who looked no older than twenty, was stuck cowering behind the false security of a wooden table perched at the edge of the balcony, clutching a shotgun for dear life, terrified. A sight not to dissimilar to her own experiences on Meadows IV.

“Hey! Hey!” Longacre shouted; voice scarcely discernible over the roaring battle as fire continued to come in. The army troopers’ position was bad. One blow from a plasma bolt and her cover would be gone with her along with it. If she didn’t do something, she’d get killed. Longacre balanced the anti-material rifle against the sandbags, hugging the formation as she pushed forward to the edge, quickly darting out of the relative safety and toward the teenager. Longacre attempting keeping a low profile as she moved quickly, sliding behind the table, breaking into a stop right in front of her.

Longacre grabbed a grip of her uniform, hand weaving the clothing tightly into her grip as she dragged her upwards away from the dinner table, and back towards the sandbag wall in which she’d once came. Longacre throwing herself behind the cover as the fiery heat hit hard, a tell tale sign of a near miss. Now safe, Longacre turned to face her once more, a measured glare forming on her face as her visor depolarised, driving her fist into the girl’s shoulder to fight the state of hysteria. “If you don’t want to get die, either start shooting! Or get me and everyone else some ammunition! We do not have time for this bollocks!” Longacre bellowed, her expression stern before she prepared herself to engage the enemy again, discarding the MA5B to the floor as she snagged the anti-material rifle, swiveling it high towards the enemy.
Last edited by Hastur on Tue Dec 07, 2021 4:59 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Beiarusia
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Founded: Dec 29, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Beiarusia » Tue Dec 07, 2021 7:07 pm

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Private Maple Rier
8th Armor Brigade, 3rd Support Battalion Kilo-45
New Alexandria Spaceport, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552






The uneasy stillness of the New Alexandria Spaceport had given way entirely to that of an active warzone. A frantic exchange of lead and plasma as the Covenant pushed hard against the few soldiers trapped inside the World's Cuisine, the final obstacle between them and the hundreds of civilians awaiting departure. The ODSTs hit back just as hard but the Covenant showed little sign of slowing or abandoning the assault. Worse, more were likely to join the fray in the coming minutes.

Maple hunkered down as low as she could as the plasma burned the air above her. "Everything will be okay," she told herself, repeating the mantra as if that alone would somehow make the statement true. "Everything will be okay! Everything will-" Something crashed down with a metallic bang several yards to her left, prompting a panicked wail as she sheltered herself with her free arm from the glass shards that had broken loose from the already shattered skylights. A Falcon was overhead, offloading... something, its crew tossing the containers overboard before the pilot was forced to pull back against the hail of plasma. Maple buried her head in-between her knees. "Everything is okay!"

She didn't hear the ODST that was calling out to her. It took all she had to not collapse into the fetal position, let alone to be cognizant of her surroundings, and one individual voice was easily lost amongst the cacophony of shouts (human and alien) and frantic gunfire. Maple only became aware of the black-armored soldier when they had grabbed onto her — prompting another terrified cry — and hurried to pull her up and away from the table that she had been using as cover. She stumbled but quickly recovered as she fell in with the ODST as they slipped back into more proper protection behind the sandbags. Seconds later a stray bolt of super-heated plasma struck where she'd only just been, vaporizing a large chunk of the overturned table and burning through with little effort. The scrawny Army trooper wouldn't have offered up much more resistance. Having survived for a moment longer she pressed herself against the sandbags alongside the ODST. She repeated her mantra but it had lost its luster. Things were FUBAR.

The ODST glared at Maple from behind her now depolarized visor as she punched a fist into the younger woman's shoulder, like smacking a television to get it working again, but it did knock the young woman from her growing hysteria. “If you don’t want to die, either start shooting or get me and everyone else some ammunition!" she reprimanded. "We do not have time for this bollocks!”

Maple looked to the older woman as she readied the the anti-material rifle, her mouth slightly agape like a goldfish as she tried to work through the fog that had muddied her senses. "W-what?" It was only then that she recognized the ammo boxes that had been delivered by the Falcon.

“Either shoot or get ammo!”

"R-right! On it!" she stammered. Maple turned away from the ODST and quickly scrambled over to where the ammo boxes lay atop the balcony, keeping low to avoid the plasma that was still cresting the overlook. The nearest box contained 7.62x51mm. She grabbed it and chucked it over towards the others. The box landed short but skidded close enough. The next box contained more of the same and was also thrown over. The third contained 9.5x40mm. It, too, was tossed over but didn't get as far. As she reached for a fourth she noticed the machine gun strapped to it. That was too heavy to toss over. She dragged that towards the ODSTs as well as kicking over the BR ammo. The last two boxes contained more 7.62x51mm and 14.5x114mm. Grabbing them, she hurried back towards the ODST that had told her to play ammo bearer. As she skirted along the concrete banister of the balcony exploded from an overcharged short of green plasma, rocking Maple in a spray of small pebbles. She stumbled and fell, the box containing the 14.5x114mm breaking open as it hit the floor and scattering the mags. Maple cursed as she gathered what she could before crawling back to the sandbags.

She was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating, but she managed to hand the sniper the spare magazines that she'd collected.

The ODST would no doubt put the ammo to good use.

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Beutarch
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 393
Founded: Sep 13, 2016
Father Knows Best State

Postby Beutarch » Tue Dec 07, 2021 8:00 pm

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Lieutenant Marcus Vince
8th Armor Brigade, 37th Cavalry Kilo-45
New Alexandria, Olympic Tower, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552





Four M12s making a fighting retreat. A plasma bolt cutting through the morning sky. A terrible explosion.

Vince's eyes flew open, his mouth struggling to contain a scream. Rough hands pulled the chest plate from his BDU, failing to notice that it had melted to his flesh. Blood, pus and patches of torn skin decorated the inside of the damaged armor piece. Another set of hands revealed a canister of biofoam, which was promptly used to smear a white substance over the soldier's scorched left flank. The application of the foam caused another wave of white-hot pain to wash over Vince, sending him into unconsciousness again. After a couple moments, he awoke to the same set of hands lightly slapping the side of his face.

"Anybody home?"

Vince quickly gathered himself and examined his surroundings. He was slumped on the ground, in the corner of a rapidly ascending elevator. The foam which had caused him so much trouble a few minutes earlier had now crusted over and hardened, the side of his abdomen looking as if someone had stuck a very large piece of chewing gum against it. Across from him knelt an analyst-type, an ONI lanyard swinging on his neck. Another person stood in the opposite corner of the elevator, clutching an opened first-aid kit to her body. The soldier grunted his affirmation, groping the sides of the elevator for a bar to pull himself onto his feet. The analyst's companion breathed a sigh of relief, loosening her grip on the kit. The analyst, however, was not pleased.

"Not even a thanks, huh? Those marines downstairs dragged you in from the street right before they closed the barricade, and stuck you on this elevator with me and Kaylee because they thought you weren't gonna make it. Now, I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure those jarheads were almost correct in their diagnosis."

The elevator pinged, signalling they had reached their destination. On a less tumultuous day, Vince may have made some effort to hide his exasperation. But, today called for some choice words.

"Thank you. Now shut the fuck up."

The elevator doors slid open, and Vince, clutching his side as he went, pushed past the two Intelligence drones and into one of Olympus Tower's innumerable hallways. This particular one was located on a floor with a dedicated landing pad, and had been quickly converted into a staging and triage area. Noting his pained stride and lack of a frontal breastplate, a nurse quickly picked him out of the small crowd of civilians exiting the elevators. The nurse gingerly prodded the biofoam-covered region of his body with a gloved finger, considering its quality for a moment, before asking for the Lieutenant's ID number and telling him to sit in a waiting area. Evidently the nurse was satisfied with the analyst's work, and pinned a green holo-card to Vince's chest. Restless, but too obviously wounded to return to the fight downstairs, he wandered out of the designated triage area. He first peered out one of the Tower's reinforced windows, examining the destruction that had been wrought on the city of New Alexandria since he had last been awake. The skyline was aflame, plasma barrages from Covenant ships visible in the horizon. From this sight, he knew immediately that the defense of the city had utterly collapsed, and that he and every other person in Olympus would be lucky to make it off-world alive. He also knew that his unit had likely been utterly shattered.

The few remaining intelligence reports and combat updates on the UNSC BattleNet confirmed what he already knew, the latest documents written in an unsettlingly dire tone for what should have been dry technical reading. Scanning through a few of them on his HUD for any information concerning his men, Vince's attention eventually shifted to the new unit designation he had been given. Gone was the "37TH CAV" and pony he was used to seeing, replaced by "Kilo-45" and a blank image filling the spot where the regimental heraldry should have been. Examining the motley list of personnel in the unit's latest-updated roster, he sighed to himself.

45, huh? What a piece of work...
I have no idea what to put here.
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Empire of Donner land
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Posts: 6516
Founded: Jun 28, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Empire of Donner land » Tue Dec 07, 2021 8:35 pm

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Lieutenant Santo Schirmer
17th Tactical Strike Group, Strategic Orbital Command Reach
New Alexandria Spaceport, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552





<< "With luck, Yankee 9-1. We've been on station for a good while now, seems like the Covies haven't put much effort into a CAP. Banshees and droppers at most. Best guess is that the Anchors upstairs are keeping the heavier stuff busy." >>

Schirmer hoped to god that was the case, they didn't have air superiority here, it was a miracle that they've been able to keep the orbital battle going as long as it has with the fleet that arrived. He leaned towards better safe than sorry either way, the skies were messy and explosive enough already, they didn't need any more problems. "I certainly hope so, otherwise, we're rightly fucked, 7 Delta 5. I can take Banshee's easy, but Seraphs are another matter entirely." Schirmer pulled the throttle forward along with the Pelican as it banked on their four o'clock. The burners on the Longsword started to bellow out Mach cones in a streak of spiked fire from the engines as the acceleration started to push him, ever so slightly, into the back of his seat.

They curved around the Corvette which menacingly hovered over the city's river, as its plasma fire ripped into anything that dared get closer than it liked. Line of sight on it breaking in and out as they hid behind the skyscrapers of New Alexandria's smoking skyline. In the distance was their goal, rapidly approaching, Olympic Tower, and the signs of battle both around and within it no doubt showed as fire and smoke poured out from holes in its glass architecture. Explosions and gunfire came from different rooms, different floors, both the fire of UNSC munitions and the blue flame of covenant explosives. Whatever was here, the UNSC wanted it defended, and the Covenant wanted it gone.

"Jeeze, to think I was gonna try and buy a place in this area. So much for that plan." Schirmer spoke over the com idly, another nervous chuckle. "Got a name 7 Delta 5? Lieutenant Santo Schirmer, Air Force. I'm no navy jock, but I'll have to do."

Following the height of the building upwards were the landing pads, still shining their approach lights in a bright red. At any other time, it would mean, "CAUTION, TAKE YOUR TIME LANDING." But now the cautionary lights on the pad of Olympic Tower, between the fire and chaos, spoke another meaning. "S.O.S, SAVE OUR SOULS." He tuned back to 7 Delta 5, "Eyes on Olympic Tower, I don't see anyone on the pad right now, think you can try and raise them 7 Delta 5? all I'm getting is static and... screaming through my channels."
Heyo.
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Ubaria
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Posts: 2790
Founded: Sep 14, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Ubaria » Tue Dec 07, 2021 8:49 pm

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Captain Vera Patkós
ONI Section 1, Special Activities Center Reach
New Alexandria, Olympic Tower, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552






Vera only noticed the incandescent purple bolt as it was moments too late, not that action action nor warning she could have given would have been able to make any meaningful difference in the miniscule timeframe between her eyes registering the incoming projectile as a threat and her brain processing it's lethal intent. The air was suddenly filled with a fine spraying of purple glitter as the needler round ricocheted off the woman's helmet and shattered like a cheap vase, one projectile suddenly becoming thousands in the fraction of a second.

Vera flinched and reactively bought her offhand up to protect her eyes. She felt the hot release of speeding glass fragments on her forearm like an itchy rash; though it lasted for only a mere moment before the heat of pain subsided leaving only a trailing tingle on her skin. Removing her arm from her face, Vera noticed that the woman had been floored by the impact, though thankfully just by a quick visual observation it was apparent that she was still breathing; though perhaps alarmed and a little disoriented. Instinct and training quickly kicked into high-gear and Vera threw herself forward in a bounding lunge towards the nearest solid cover, that happened to be right next to where her comrade had fallen. A supporting granite pillar just about offered enough cover to avoid suffering a similar fate, pockmarks of plasma had eroded away much of it's square form leaving little breaks on it's edges that she could use to lean a weapon into.

Taking her left hand, Vera clamped it in a C like manner against the weapon's side and pushed it into one of the pillar's many loopholes, using it as a base to support her fire as she began squeezing off rounds into anything and everything that moved within her field of fire. Grunt, Jackal and Brute alike began catching rounds which only served to aggravate them more, volleys of plasma and needler fire began finding their way back as the enemy pushed further and further towards their line of defense.

Smoke trailed from the DMR's barrel, a dry click signified the end of the current magazine and Vera dropped to a knee to replace it. Taking a moment to look over the sniper who was eagerly getting stuck back into the action. She leaned in further and pointed to the Sergeant nearby.

"I'll take over. We need your rifle at the front, you're not hitting shit from here Sergeant!" She yelled over the veritable roar of gunfire.

"Who the fuck are you lady?"

"The fucking virgin Mary come again, get the fuck to the front and regain some initiative before we're truly in the shit!"

The Sergeant didn't seem to have a retort. Instead he hefted his rifle up to his shoulder, rattled off a burst and maneuvered away, firing wild bursts as he went.

"How are you doing?" Vera asked the fellow ONI agent, noticing her issued armor. She couldn't see the face behind the visor, yet stared into her eyes intently. "You know how to use that thing?" Vera gestured to the sniper rifle gripped in her arms like a weightlifter holding onto barbells.

"Loosen your grip. Not enough to drop the damn thing but you don't want your hands clenched like that. Lactic buildup will start making your hands shake ... and when your hands shake ... you miss." She began.
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Anowa
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 17534
Founded: Jul 29, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Anowa » Tue Dec 07, 2021 10:31 pm


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Second Lieutenant William Stuart IV
Viery Militia, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1539 NST



The green as grass Luey was having serious misgivings about the situation. It was the first time he'd been in combat, while he was sure Blackburn knew what he was doiung, the looming sense in the back of his head kept repeating the fact that Blackburn, and assuredly all of those present, were mortal, and thus made mistakes. Was he right to listen to Blackburn? Should he have asked for others to weigh in with what little time they had? Maybe stood his proverbial ground and insisted they remained in place at the barricade? William remembered his father saying the chains of command weighed heavily... William really should've pondered that more than he did.

Taking a few deep breaths, he raised his weapon over the sandbags and began trying to get a bead on something, anything really, but his hands were shaking too much. He was a good shot, he knew that, but being shot at added something terrible to the equation.


A few blasts of plasma near his cover forced William down, the heat washing over him, but thankfully not doing much through the vacuum rated BDU he was wearing. To his right he heard Dubbo retort to something one of the other ODSTs said, "Call me, Dorito again and you'll be saluting an E-2 for the rest of this siege." There were few situations where that was warranted, and at the moment, William heard something that very quickly hijacked his sense of calm, and his pondering.

A rage filled scream from a giant goddamned ape charging them, not only charging them, but carrying a hammer that was longer than he was tall.

Dubbo all but screamed, "Chieftain's here!"

Bullets started slamming in to it from the MGs, rifles, SMGs, shotguns, the sniper up top who's name William hadn't had the time to ask for fired a round that popped the thing's shields. But it didn't even slow down, in fact, it was promptly covered in a field not too dissimilar to the shield, but a lot brighter. Every bullet that hit it at that point either stopped dead or literally bounced off.

Blackburn yelled as he began reloading, "That's fucking new!". It was something that roughly translated to "I haven't seen this before. Oh God, Oh Fuck." and coming from the oldest and most battle hardened present... it was a shock.

So was the brute literally blowing the restaurant's front door open, turning a recently picked up Army Trooper in to a ceiling decoration.

It turned left as bullets still kept bouncing off, and a pilot they'd picked up from a wreck on route started backpedalling, bumping in to Dubbo. The hammer hit the pilot dead in chest, turning the Falcon operator in to a mix of paint and jello, sending both his remains and Dubbo sailing out of the storefront.

As the field dropped, it set it's sights on William, who was not knocked on his ass and with the wind forced from him by the two shockwaves. To his credit, the teenager began mag dumping rounds in to the Chieftain, but the FMJ rounds did fuck all against the armour. Blackburn jumped on the Chieftain's back and started firing his own M6 as fast as he could in to the Brute's neck, but it was all for naught when the Brute grabbed a hold of the SNCO's shoulder.

A harsh yank, and the veteran was slammed to the ground hard enough that William the ceramic back plates crack. The chieftain followed it up by slamming the bladed side of the hammer in to Blackburn's chest, swinging to the side with Blackburn still affixed to the weapon, a sudden stop of the backswing caused Blackburn to go sailing in to the kitchen with the clattering of pots, pans, and utensils.

At this point, William had pissed himself, and was struggling to reload, and the Chieftain still had it's sight on him.



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Lieutenant Elias Haverson
Office of Naval Intelligence, Assigned to UNSC Pillar of Autumn for Operation RED FLAG
Olympic Tower Pad Echo
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1539 NST



The officer hefted the briefcase chained to his arm, as he and the 4 marines escorting him made for the now landing Pelican, the serial on it's side reading N-909. As the ramp opened the officer made his way forward to the cockpit as the Marines took somewhat useless positions.

Red haired and green eyed, the man opened the cockpit door and spoke up in a tone that betrayed his stocisim with anxiety, "7 Delta 5. I'm Lieutenant Elias Haverson, we're all aboard. You're escorting an AI in this suitcase." he hefted the metal box, "If we crash land or are otherwise disabled and unable to make it to the Autumn, and either of you are all that's capable, you're to destroy this AI and kill me." a pause, "The Lieutenant Commander should have already uploaded a Nav Point to the Autumn to your flight computer."

"Here's praying our window doesn't close."

In the distance, the three corvettes looming over the city were now beginning to launch fighters, more likely a result of how the battle was going rather than any perception of the ongoing escort mission.



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Warrant Officer Rosenda-A344
Special Warfare Group Three, NOBLE Team
Olympic Tower Atrium
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1539 NST



It was a killing field, a less experienced, or perhaps more pessimistic person would consider this Hell. But given the high ground, the number of MGs in place, the duo of snipers, and the array of marines attached to the building as well as Army rallied here meant that Rosenda was spending less of her time mending wounds than she was laying down suppressing fire.

For a moment, she mentally recounted how many SRS-99 reports she heard, and came to the realisation that Jun and the Marine, Mobuto, weren't the only two snipers present, watching the vapour trails both lead the S-IIIs gaze to the source of the third shooter, but also to the realisation they couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat. Also noted was the ongoing marksman lesson a sergeant and spook were giving her.

She called out as she swapped drums for the M739 she was carrying, "Hey Chica! This isn't the time or place for scout sniper training. Give the ammo and rifle to someone who can actually hit what they aim at, because you're just wasting it at this point!"

Racking the bolt on her weapon, Rosenda went back to gunning down any hapless grunt that came in through the shattered windows.
Last edited by Anowa on Wed Dec 08, 2021 1:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Kassaran
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Posts: 10828
Founded: Jun 16, 2013
Democratic Socialists

Postby Kassaran » Wed Dec 08, 2021 12:13 am


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Corporal Benjamin Amir
Eposz Militia, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1539 NST



He'd been working on a way to access the security mainframe since he'd been left to his own devices on the upper floor near the radioman or whatever he was supposed to be. All he knew, was he was going to be the one calling for the getaway car when this was all over, and it was taking everything in his shaking hands and adrenaline-flooded mind to keep focused. Rounds cracked and snapped, hissed and popped around the courtyard below and outside, but the barely-a-man soldier kept his head down and his eyes glued to the datapad, watching the flowing streams of information begin to pour in. Covenant chatter, he didn't understand a lick of it, but it didn't matter. He could tell from the mess of the first through fourth columns in the flow, they were busy looking for something or someone... or, well, looking in general. They had orders at the very least. He cursed the complexities of even having tried to self-learn an alien civilization's language.

"Bear! Got your bridge! Opening up Ultra between the one-one and one-four gigaband! Trying to patch you into central, but squids got the nets tied up with gibberish!"

Covenant jamming wasn't something they did intentionally by all the intuiting Ben ever had done on their stuff. Then again, he'd been at this roughly two weeks, but the absolutely sheer magnitude of their communications networks and their idiots meant that he could occasionally find a weak link and break through. It wasn't ideal, and hell, it might not even have been secure, but he could hear even now on his headset the telltales of Covenant ship-borne chatter starting to whiteout the line. His hands flew over the terminal as he tucked himself under a half-fallen slab of reinforced concrete that had wedged itself between the ramparts of the second floor and the rear walls. It wasn't much cover, but it gave him the exact amount of placebo needed to steady his breathing.

Cycle the net, purge the old encoding and bring in something newer and better. Not that he knew what was better at that point, the Covenant traffic had caused the cyber-equivalent of a highway jam and they'd be sending packets out to a parking lot if he tried anything less. The building's relatively crude structure and similarly simplistic idiot in charge of the computer systems had been easily foisted from their positions the moment he'd gotten a hard-splice. Wireless connections tended to fizzle out and hard-wired connections had been the poison of choice for hundreds of years so far. Besides, nobody in these places ever backed up their anti-virus when they expected an "artificial intelligence" could just outwit any human.

Maybe if those humans are idiots too. They're called artifi-

The sound of wet matter slapping and boiling against the concrete slab made him jump, slamming his unprotected skull on the rock and sent stars across his vision. His fingers fumbled but quickly recovered as the tactile response pins from the screen softly vibrated with each keyed input. His vision sharpened and he could feel the tears that had been building in his eyes subside as his train of thought got back on the rails.

-artificial intelligences... fake smart, that's a good synonym for them. Idiots in simple terminology.

Wailing of alien spacecraft grew louder as the firefight began to come to an eerie silence and for a moment, he could have sworn he heard a soft thud. He peered up and around the corner of the slab on the second story to see the monster that came barging through. Eyes widened, he fell back to his position and practically forced his fingers into the screen to maintain a semblance of reason. That thing had been huge. A soft laughter filled his chest, welled up from inside and seemed to spill out through his lips as he continued to purge, cycle, repeat. The fuzz got light on the net as heard the screaming from downstairs and felt directly beneath him a bone-vibrating shudder. He didn't think about it. No time to think. Just do.

The frequency shuffled again, this time it was coming from UNSC channels. Reports of a new gunfight breaking out near Traxis. He gave a city cam a once-over and then quickly looked away. He knew the familiar dark figure skulking around. Not personally. But anyone who'd seen the propaganda had seen plenty like it. The soldier had been massive. It was a fleeting blur of motion that had pushed through a darkened metro terminal less than a kilometer away, but for all it had mattered, the being may as well been a god, inaccessible and completely irrelevant. Right now, all they could do was try to keep the Covenant on the back foot as Benjamin found the opening he'd been looking for.

"Building idiots let me in! We got comms back up!"

Slipping the datapad back into his chest-plate admin pouch, he wheeled around to hear the strangest of sounds. It had been familiar, like the splitting of-

He'd barely had time to roll away as the concrete slab's weight and every other point of wear and tear on the building's edge forced the walls below to give in and buckle. He slid, feet first, down and away from the roof as his eyes grew wide and he could see the maelstrom he'd been hiding away from before now grow closer as he scrabbled on the slipping surface. Then there was nothing as he fell and hit the ground. Hard. He'd managed to avoid breaking anything, or at least injuring anything severely. He'd not know until the adrenaline wore off and he slung the M7 off his hip and levelled it at the grunt whom had spun to look at him. He squeezed the trigger and several rounds impacted before a sudden snap, and a spray of gas into the air sent the grunt careening to the side. It's close friend had spooked from the sudden entrance of the human, but had quickly recovered as it leveled a glowing green weapon at him. He raised his arm reflexively, spinning to try and dodge the sickly green bolts of heat that caused his eyebrows to singe as they missed his face by inches.

The wild spray of SMG rounds had killed the creature, but the realization didn't register until he'd heard the depressing click of the weapon and the cessation of it firing as another tooth-rattling jolt shook him. The roaring had come from inside and as he turned to watch the beast wade through the sea of fire just moments before, the glowing of its shielded armor bringing back the sudden recollection of a night he'd witnessed dozens of men die. He scrambled as a man flew through the air, weapons fired and the brute continued its rampage as the corporal fumbled for the alien weapon. His mind was clear, just- not on the specifics of what he was about to do and he pulled the weapon up like he'd seen the Grunt do only moments before and he held down the trigger.

The weapon hummed and vibrated, but didn't fire and for a moment Amir looked at the weapon with a mixture of confusion, disappointment, and incredulity. Did the Covenant bio-lock their-

His question was answered as his trigger finger released and there was a moment where the odd angle of his wrist and the sudden rush of heat through his arm and hand didn't equate to the orb of plasma he sent sailing through the air at the back of the Cheiftain. Then there was pain as his broken wrist registered and his vision filled with tears as he crouched low and cursed loudly, rushing away from the scene of his crime as he struggled to move quickly back towards the roof access. He needed to get out of the fight, he didn't belong down here, especially with a broken wrist as he nursed the injured arm and ducked low behind cover.
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Zarkenis Ultima wrote:Tristan noticed footsteps behind him and looked there, only to see Eric approaching and then pointing his sword at the girl. He just blinked a few times at this before speaking.

"Put that down, Mr. Eric." He said. "She's obviously not a chicken."
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Tayner
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Founded: Oct 09, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Tayner » Wed Dec 08, 2021 5:51 am

Lance Corporal Lana Sorokina
Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo-45
New Alexandria, August 23rd, 2552



Lana fired her weapon as fast as she could at the encroaching covenant forces, as did many others. Dubbo had some choice words, the man seemed to dislike the nickname and had some very thin skin when it came down to it, something uncommon for most ODSTs. Lana didn’t bother to reply with something snarky, the last thing they needed to do right now was get into an argument over something so pedantic right now, and she didn’t know the man well enough to graciously shit talk him.

She knew little about her fellow troopers, not much outside of the names and ranks of the ODSTs she had been fighting alongside. It mattered little, she’d get to know them later if they, or Lana, lived long enough. Prospects of such longevity were falling short as the Chieftain made its entrance. It’s shields were brought down, but then the big bastard activated some type of secondary shielding, and Lana could only watch helplessly as he blew through the door, and started his rampage. Two people died in a blur, and shortly after Blackburn too found his way on the receiving end of the gravity hammer before being thrown into the kitchen.

Lana found herself in the middle of the dining room, and she decided that she simply did not wish to exist in the same room as the Chieftain in this particular moment. Her options were to run outside into the straggling covenant force’s field of fire, or to retreat into the kitchen, which was on the other side of the brute, who thankfully had his back to Lana as the beast closed in on the butter bar. And so she ran, firing a slug into the Brute’s side as she passed closer to it than she would have liked, other members of the squad starting to wildly open fire.

Lana dove into the kitchen, rapidly forcing more slugs into the magazine of her weapon, before she heard a pained moan, mixed with some gurgling sound. Unceremoniously, laid out in a pile of broken glass, plastic, and ceramic next to an industrial grade dishwasher, laid a very bloody Blackburn. Lana scrambled over to the man, and looked over his wounds for a scant second before dropping her ruck and rustling through its contents. Somewhere under the high explosives, buckshot, and grenades laid a canister of bio-foam. She produced it, and quickly applied some to Blackburn’s chest wound, just like she had been trained to do, and just like she had done many times prior in combat.

A million thoughts ran through her mind as she looked over his body for any secondary wounds. Nothing she could do, mostly broken bones. She noted the rising and falling of Blackburn’s chest, making it obvious that he was breathing between coughs and sputters. She rolled him into a recovery position before making sure his airways were unobstructed.

“You’re gonna be okay Blackburn, just focus on breathing.” She spoke as she rolled him into position. She couldn’t tell if Blackburn was conscious, or even if he was responsive. Once he was as stable as someone with basic first aid training could get him, she reached down and grabbed his hand before speaking. “Blackburn, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.” She hoped the bio-foam would do its job and they’d be able to get him off Reach or at least to a hospital capable of treating him.

They had already lost too many soldiers today, Lana just wished she could stop them from losing another one.
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Bolslania
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Posts: 2792
Founded: Mar 07, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Bolslania » Wed Dec 08, 2021 7:25 am


Image
2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey
Ad-Hoc Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
[sub]August 23rd, 2552. 1539/sub]



The assorted members of Kilo 45 had done a good job of stagnating the covenant assault. All the brutes and a selection of grunts and jackals lay dead in the hallway. However that hadn't stopped the covvies from laying down a hail of plasma on the UNSC forces. Grey dropped behind cover, plucking out his expended magazine, tossing it to the ground. As he reached into his rig for a new mag, he noticed as Longacre tried to corral the panicking Rier. The poor girl was clearly not coping with the stresses of combat well.

He went back to his kneeling position again, keeping only his head and rifle exposed to the plasma fire that was taking chunks out of the World Cuisine building. After squeezing off three shots he got fully behind the sandbag wall again, taking stock of the situation behind him. He saw Bear and Amir frantically at work on their various equipment. As Maple began sliding ammo boxes around to the members of Kilo 45, Grey reached out and slid a box closer to himself, reaching in and plucking out several of the pre-loaded magazines, which he shoved in to the empty mag-pouches on his chest.

Thats when he heard Dubbo scream that the Chieftain arrived. Grey quickly rose from cover, joining in on the hail of UNSC fire that was now bearing down on the monster that was charging them. He emptied his mag in to the thing, which barely even flinched as it activated a secondary level of shielding. He lost sight of it as it ripped right through the door.

That's when the screaming started.

Grey felt the first Army trooper slam in to the ceiling right below Grey's feet. He ran over to where the HMG was strapped down to its ammo boxes, grabbing Maple by the shoulder as he did so.

He quickly slapped an ammo pouch in to the gun, feeding the belt into the chamber and racking it as he shouted at Maple.

"Help me carry this fucking thing!" He yelled over the plasma fire, the young mechanic ran over, grabbing one side of the HMG as Grey grabbed the other. The pair ran to the stairs, Grey catching eyes on the thing up close for the first time. It was absolutely terrifying. He saw the young Colonial Militia officer backing away from the monstrosity as it advanced on him. That would give Grey some time to set up.

He shoved the barrel of the machinegun in between a stair and the top floor, bracing it between the two concrete structures. He took a grip on the trigger paddle, taking a deep breath before he pushed down on it. 50 BMG rounds began ripping in to the side of the Chieftain as Grey let out a long, continuous yell. It was a mix of both fear and pure, unmitigated adrenaline that prompted Grey to yell, as if in competition with the roaring brute. The M247H shook in it DIY brace, its recoil sending small bits of concrete loose from the floor of the second story and the stair on which the gun and Grey were laying. The makeshift brace for the gun was at the moment working, keeping the machinegun from firing wildly in to the first floor of the stall, and the rounds stayed directly on top of the brute, ripping chunks out of its flesh and depositing them on the walls and floor. The Brute let out a final roar at Grey as it was blown apart, the pock-marked carcass of the Brute falling to the ground with a wet squishing sound. Grey let up on the trigger as it fell to the ground.

His yell left his body as soon as his thumbs lifted off the trigger paddle, being replaced by heavy panting as sweat soaked the inside of his helmet. He shouted over the sounds of plasma fire

"Sound Off!" His eyes scanned around the floor, trying to assess the damage. One soldier had been slammed in to the ceiling, blood dripping from where the soldiers intestines had been smashed against the concrete. Dubbo was laying in a pile of blood and body parts in front of the store, and Lana and Blackburn were no where to be seen. One thing was for certain, that Chieftain had done a number on the members of Kilo 45.
Last edited by Bolslania on Wed Dec 08, 2021 12:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Vacif
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Posts: 4803
Founded: Mar 22, 2015
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Vacif » Wed Dec 08, 2021 6:53 pm


Image
LCpl Oliver Chiao
8th Armoured Brigade, 3rd Support Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1537 NST


Oliver stood watch on the balcony of the World Cuisine. It was funny to think that he could have very well been in this place when the evacuation order was given if he wasn't enlisted in the army. Oliver had been feeding refugees and soldiers for the past few days, up until Headquarters got glassed and went to ground, leaving his kitchen unit alone at the port. One by one, his squad was re-tasked one by one to other units until it was just him cooking for over 3000 fleeing refugees. As much as not getting scorched by plasma was important for one's health, so was eating something when some people hadn't eaten in days. Being here, evacuating civilians, he couldn't help but wonder what was going on back home? He could see flight cancellations for Tribute on the flight directories above. Last he heard, the Covenant found his home at about the same time they found Reach. But since then, he'd heard nothing. It was a major industrial and economic powerhouse and was by no means poorly defended, but if Reach was in shambles, what was it like elsewhere? Was the bulk of the Covenant force here, and not there? In an awful way he kind of hoped so, more Covenant here meant less Covenant elsewhere trying to kill his family. And if anywhere would give the Covenant a run for their money, it was Reach.

He returned his focus to the present. Food was also important for the fighting soldiers, especially when things were as grim as they were. Unfortunately they'd spent most of their fresh food. Anything left, well he had to get creative. He shook his head. Oliver couldn't help but nervously look across the river, watching what he assumed to be Fox Company slowly getting pushed off of their beach head against increasing amounts of Covenant forces. Being tasked with protecting arguably the most important person in the building, who happened to have a direct line to everything going on was a sobering experience. He hated hearing everything and not being able to help, but still wouldn't have chose another duty. Being able to hear and know for sure what was going on was something he'd prefer over blissful ignorance. 'When will they reach us?' he thought to himself. Chiao pulled out another cigarette. There were plenty laying around. He double tapped the end of the cigarette and the object lit itself.

As if the universe were reading his mind, he saw human figures striding into the cafeteria kill zone below. Chips called out as he entered, "Rier, Chiao, Bear. This is it!" In the distance he could see smoke trails from the Wolverine batteries, pounding away at the corvette's shields, rocking everything around them. Shards of glass fell from the sky as Chiao stepped back into the stair well. His heart fluttered as it was now bouncing between his chest and his gut. Even from such a distance, the FPF could shake the city and still not punch through the heavy corvette's shields.

There weren't many guys or gals left from the 8th, let alone from the support Battalion after the Covenant blitzed through the city and routed their HQ. No idea where they were now, but at least he had a friend in Maple. She was awfully shook up, having actually been on the receiving end of the Covenant's rapid assault. Familiar faces were far and between. All around him, soldiers, marines and airmen took up positions around their shoddily entrenched position. Nowadays there were much more unfamiliar, least of all friendly faces than even normal human ones. His heart almost skipped a beat as he witnessed over a dozen bodies flood out of the hallway just to begin getting cut down, but just as many bodies that fell, more came in. He willed himself into action, leaving the stair well and approaching the sand bag line on the second floor. M45D barking as he fired down on the squad orange grunts or the large glowing shields of jackals. The squat legs of the grunts couldn't carry them fast enough, but it didn't matter when there were a lot of them. Jackals sprinted past all of them towards the fountain or other bits of concealment. Six shells later, four grunts lay dead or writhing on the ground, with another jackal, sprawled out facing the bust of Wallace Fujikawa.

Chiao dropped to the ground, breathing haggardly as he fumbled to load more shot shells into the tube, unbelievably hot balls of green energy had zipped by him, not-so-gently cooking his skin and hair, baking the air. He felt like he'd just been flash cooked by an arc welder. He blinked rapidly, desperately trying to re-hydrate his eyes. Amazingly his cigarette was still in his mouth. He took a long drag to calm his nerves as he loaded his weapon. Overhead he could hear rotors, "Stay off the top floor!"

It was one of the ODSTs, and if an ODST was telling him to get off the top floor then by god he would, as he scrambled towards the stairwell. Heat washed over his back as he ran. He could hear a heavy crash behind him as he got to the door. Looking back, a stack of crates, guns and ammo. "Somebody get that MG set up!" came the same voice. Oliver was familiar with the weapon set up, somewhat out of necessity in the past few days. Maple however got there first, as she hadn't left the room, opting to stay with the ODST Sniper by her side. They didn't need to two people unloading ammo, so he took the time to properly reload his shotgun this time, and crouch walked towards the edge. Grunts sprayed the adjacent ODST sniper, the sand in the sand bags were quickly turning to blackened glass. He scowled as he popped up from cover, Oliver snapped three shots down at the grunts below, their bodies doubling over as 15 ball bearings gutted the creatures.

Grunts and Jackals quickly turned their attention to the human still standing and fighting on the roof. Oliver dropped prone again as all the moisture in the air was evaporated by green balls of ionized energy. Then, a somewhat familiar Australian piped up over all the fighting. "Chieftain's here!" The gunfire downstairs doubled, it roared from downstairs, but there was something else. He could hear pounding foot steps, rapidly approaching and then... a thunder clap. The entire building shuddered. Screams. It sounded like the entire first floor was unloading everything they could at the source of the thunderclap, and then another. Each time the gun fire got quieter. His grip tightened on the shotgun. "What the fuck is that sound?!"

Image
LCpl Akakios Callilis
12th Marine Regiment, 4th Infantry Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1538 NST


Akakios grunted as he placed down the AGS behind his sandbag. He posted up right next to the front door of the World Cuisine. With the Covenant forces streaming in less than 50 meters away, they couldn't quite justify the use of their grenade launcher. If they tried using it in the hall way, they would have killed themselves. Hell, given how fast and how viciously the Brutes had pushed up and out of the tunnel, they wouldn't have stood a chance. It would have been nice to use as there were two squads (lines?) of cannon fodder in the cafeteria. But he'd just need to use old fashioned elbow grease to lob grenades now. As the Covenant force made themselves known, Akakios whipped an M9 straight at a Grunt. "Frag out!" the grenade shot through the air, spinning with more force than a normal human could before the grenade decked a Grunt Major in the eye. The Grunt's head snapped backwards from the force of a half kilo grenade before it exploded, erasing the Grunt's upper torso, as well as killing four of his underlings. The Grunt fire team was hurled from their position, wood splinters and bone showered the Grunts around the blast.

Callilis smoothly brought up his MA5B and began hosing down the remaining foot soldiers. Everyone was always afraid of the Brutes, they were dangerous, unpredictable. But that didn't make whole packs of Jackals and Grunts safe. They made up 90% of a Covenant Lance's firepower. 7.62x51mm Match rounds tore through the tables and Covenant light body armor. He was pretty sure Covenant body armour wasn't actually designed for ballistic protection. Not that it mattered, the Grunts were dropping like flies. Jackals ran past their Grunt counterparts as they were getting torn apart, literally. For as horrifying plasma bolts were, ballistics were capable of dolling out their own type of carnage, which was important against the lower caste aliens. The lead two Grunts came speeding towards the Humans and were awarded a quick death as four rounds of 7.62 punched through each of their head. The next three had a moment of pause, enough hesitation and time for Callilis to lay into the Minors, rending flesh and limbs. The last began to run for cover as the last of his mag impacted their air tank. The "small" creature shot almost comically into the sky in a wild pattern, spewing foul methane before slamming into the ground.

Akakios crouched behind his cover, hitting the mag release he flipped the spent magazine out and slotted in another just in time to see his life flash before his eyes. An ODST screamed "Chieftain's here!" The Brute came in low, fast, blindingly so. If they were still in that corridor they'd all be paste. He felt the blood leave his face as he depressed the trigger, lyrics to Brahms' Wiegenlied, an age old lullaby sung in all languages all the way to the 26th century, began to flow out of Akakios's mouth. Practically shrieking as the Chieftain seemed to be immune to everything the Ad-Hoc team sent at it. Like a ball of white fury, the glowing Brute Chieftain blew past him and into the World Cuisine.

"Good evening, good night, go to sleep, go to slee-!" The Chieftain slammed his hammer into the front door of the World Cuisine, sending the Lance Corporal careening 20 meters to the left of the doors, tumbling and knocking the air out of his lungs as he slammed into a support column. Every inch of his body ached but he had distance and tumble to break his fall and distribute the impact. He felt nauseous and could taste iron in his mouth. Callilis shakily rose to his feet, hammer going off inside the building, an ODST and a whole lot of red flying out of the front.

His rifle was gone, but he still had his sidearm. He drew it hastily and made for the door when he heard an almost high pitched squeaky sound behind him. Instinctively he dropped to the ground as Needler shards flew past him and embedded them into the wall and ground beside him. He had no idea how the Needler tracked its prey but he was glad it wasn't good at making sharp turns. The shards exploded harmlessly and the Marine shot up to his feet, snapping three shots into the first Grunt he saw. Two first sized craters and a large hole were punched into the Grunt with the Needler. Evidently with the appearance of the Chieftain, the remaining Birds and Grunts began their attack with renewed vigour. The Greek popped off another four rounds before dropping to avoid the return fire. Rapid fire balls of green plasma fired overhead in order to suppress the Marine as the Grunts advanced under Jackal cover fire. He slotted in another magazine. With the distinct sound of an M247H sounding off inside the Cuisine World, he knew he wans't getting help. Now all he could do was lay and wait and sing.

"Well I don't know why I came here tonight. I've got the feeling that something ain't right." He began. Unable to move to help, unable to move to attack. He knew there was an ODST still outside so he couldn't throw a frag. "I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair, and I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs."

'Fuck it!' He thought, and popped around the load bearing column. "Clowns to the left of me! Jokers to the right! Here I am stuck in the middle with you!" He and fired his Magnum.
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Parcia
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Posts: 7573
Founded: Feb 11, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Parcia » Wed Dec 08, 2021 8:11 pm


Image
Warrant Officer Grimsdottir, Oliva
ONI Section 1 "Jester's Hand" Data Analytics Team
Ground Floor Lobby, upper atrium, Olympic Tower, New Alexandria, Reach
Office of Naval Intelligence, Section 1
August 23rd, 2552 - 1540 NST



She had just managed to get the fresh mag seated in to the the Sniper rifle when she heard the Spartan call out. A feeling of both embarrassment and anger rising in her before she contained it and shoved it in to a small box in the back of her mind, she had more important things on hand. With one hand she grabbed her M7 ready and with the other grabbed the rifle's carrying handle.

Crouching down to stay in cover best she could, she broke out in an awkward run towards the Spartan in question, ducking instinctively when a plasma bolt or two flew over and made it in just a few moments. Half throwing and half dropping the rifle next to it, Olivia patted around her chest rig for a moment before pulling her spare magazine out of its pouch and slid it next to the gun. "Here, fresh one in the gun and a spare, I grabbed it from the armory down stairs after wiping my shit." Not waiting for a response, Olivia turned and repeated her crouched run until she reached the ONI captain, sliding up next to her and properly shouldering her smg.

Taking a moment to fumble with the helmet's switch, she depolarized it's visor and spoke. "Ma'am, Warrant Officer Grimsdottir, I led the Jester's Hand team downstairs, most of my department is off world and all our shit is wiped and slagged." She paused as a green bolt passed over head and, with a not insignificant level of spite, Olivia peaked over the wall, sighted in the offending grunt and put two single shots in to it's skull with her M7. Ducking back in to cover she went on. "Ma'am, with all do respect just what in the fuck are you still doing here, your supposed to be either topside or off world by now?"
Last edited by Parcia on Wed Dec 08, 2021 8:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
So apparently Cobalt has named me a Cyber terrorist, I honestly don't know to be Honored or offended.
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Futrellia
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Posts: 1661
Founded: Mar 29, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Futrellia » Thu Dec 09, 2021 9:45 pm

Image
Corporal Dariga Şäkirova
97th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, 4th Battalion, "W" Company
Approaching Reach // August 14th, 2552


The ride from Reach to Tribute was as uneventful as they came but uneventful was a feeling Corporal Şäkirova and the rest of the 97th was very unaccustomed with. Despite being stuffed into the cramped storage and unoccupied bunk space of the Howling Dark, exhaustion ensured that most of the surviving troops that boarded the ship from the Pelicans and small civilian transports commandeered for military use would be asleep. Despite a relatively short ride from Tribute to Reach, there was enough time for those troopers not requiring sleep to grab a bite to eat, as Dariga, Michael and Lei had done. Since the serving times aboard the destroyer were at set points in the morning, noon and evening during regular duties and because they were altered to service the crewmembers of the various branches now aboard their ship, there were few other marines, soldiers, or sailors present. An appetite that was once present prior to their arrival to the mess hall had now subsided once they sat down. Because of how short the ride was set to be, all forces bound for Reach were ordered to remain in their combat gear with their firearms on them by Lieutenant Colonel Engelmann, one of the few command officers left that had been placed in charge of the 4th Battalion. So there they sat, with dirty chest plates, kneepads and an assortment of other gear with stained BDUs. Resting next to their plates of various meals were their CH252 helmets and MA37 rifles, leaving barely enough room for the stark white ceramic plates and clear plastic cups of soda, water and orange juice. Dariga was fumbling her fork through the meat loaf and assorted vegetables on her plate, taking a few small bites as the three troopers sat in silence. Despite the dirty gear, their faces had been cleaned of the muck and soot of Casbah's burning infrastructure around them, the captain of the ship gracious enough to offer the ship's showers to the evacuated forces, up until they used all of their water reserves. Luckily, the three Corporals were able to get into the shower before they were shut off.

"You think they 'ere lyin'?" Michael said in a thick Cockney accent, biting into his cheeseburger, looking as dry as it could ever be. A moment of silence engulfed the three before Dariga finally spoke up. "About what?"

"About Casbah. About Tribute. Never heard of the UNSC pulling troops off of a winning campaign. Maybe if they were putting more troops in to replace us, but I didn't see nothin' of the sort when those evac birds came in. Didn't look like a reinforcement of any kind." Lei simply shook her head and raised her shoulders, not quite able or willing to give an answer to that complicated question. Dariga's head tilted a bit. "Sounds like a stretch." Before another word could be spoken, alarms blared as yellow caution lights flashed intermittently across the mess hall.

<<On approach to Reach, time of arrival in 10 minutes. All deployment personnel report to commanding officers. I repeat, arrival to Reach, ETA 10 minutes, all deployment personnel report to commanding officers.>>

The three troopers were already out of their seats and on the move before the second status update, Dariga sliding her helmet over her hair that had once been wrapped tight in a bun, now a bit shaggier with strands hanging from it.

***

By the time Dariga found their commanding officer in the main hangar bay, Marines and troopers had flooded in from their various states of sleep and rest or anxious waiting to form up in appropriate blocks. As Dariga entered the hangar through one of the several doors leading from corridors around the ship, the Howling Dark rocked violently, lighting above flickering for a moment. She couldn't believe it, couldn't believe how it felt like the ship was taking fire. She remembered talking to some of the sailors onboard when they first arrived, heard about how the UNSC was confident the Navy would own the space before they got back from Tribute. Now? By the way it was sounding, the Covenant was still here.

"On the Pelicans! Go, go, go!" Screamed one Marine Sergeant as he lit a fire under the asses of some of the enlisted.

"Window's closing, y'all need to deploy!" Yelled another voice from an unknown source around them. The three joined formation with the rest of the Platoon. Standing at the head of the formation was Lieutenant Yuri Pavlovich, the replacement to Lieutenant Bryan Taylor, assigned to them shortly before departing Casbah. Instead of addressing his platoon on what was currently the situation around them, all he did was signal for them to pile on the Pelicans. In response, the Army troopers scrambled to get aboard any of the few Pelicans that could fit within the hangar. Luckily, Dariga managed to grab the last seat on Pelican 3 Bravo 6. Within seconds, the Pelican's rear bay door had closed tight and sealed, immersing the passengers in a deep red light. As the ship departed the Howling Dark along with an assortment of other Pelicans, ODST drop pods flinging past them on the way to Reach's surface, Dariga breathed heavily, trying to keep herself under control as that familiar rush of adrenaline filled her once more. She looked around the blood tray of the D77, scanning the various troopers and marines present, some of them belonged to her platoon, others were marked from units present on Tribute but not around their area of operation. Her train of thought was interrupted by a fierce shaking that felt as if her brain would be knocked from her skull. "Holy shit!" Screamed one of the Troopers. As the shaking began to relinquish hold of the Pelican, Dariga's breathing intensified from the intensity of her experience in this coffin. "Қасиетті блять!" Yelled the Corporal in Kazakh as she began to chuckle a bit from the fact that she was still alive. The rest of the ride wasn't nearly as violent as the Pelican entered atmosphere. "ETA 2 minutes to New Alexandria!" Called out the Pilot.

"Holy hell!" Yelled one of the marines as he interacted with the built in comm unit in his helmet. A moment passed before the same marine filled in the rest of the blood tray on what caused such an outburst.

"That big rip we felt? Howling Dark's gone!"

***

New Alexandria, Reach // August 23rd, 2552


Less than half of the men and women carried aboard the Howling Dark lived long enough to deploy to the surface of Reach before Covenant cruisers and destroyers descended on the UNSC ships en-route from Tribute with reinforcements that they believed would help in defending Reach after the Long Night of Solace was destroyed. No-one could have predicted how quickly the Covenant responded, sending in an entire fleet to ensure that dominance in space would remain solely in the aliens' hands. This in turn all but guaranteed that ground reinforcements from other postings across the system and beyond would be next to nothing. Regardless of the ODST deployments and the few Pelicans that made it through from the UNSC fleet, it proved to do nothing to level the playing field. For three days, Corporal Şäkirova prepared for the eventual arrival of Covenant forces to the city the Pelicans had brought her to and when they did, whatever remained of the 97th MIB would ensure that they'd give it all to defend Reach, to defend Humanity.

<<Damn! How do you stop that thing?>> Yelled out a unique voice over the comms as Dariga took over behind a cement barrier that had been riddled with holes from various energy and kinetic weaponry, her helmet jarred from her head and cocked to the side after she smashed her shoulder into it during a dive to avoid getting struck with a spike from a Type-25 Carbine, fired from a Brute 25 yards north of her. Her ears rang from the impact of FPF directly above her onto the Covenant corvette that became a resident in New Alexandria airspace. A shit deployment to say the least. Her and her Squad were deployed to the city center to assist in evacuation efforts along with various units from the Army, Marines and Air Force. To say they weren't going as planned was an understatement. Corporal Lei took a round to the skull from a Jackal as soon as their boots hit the ground from the Falcon they rode in on, Michael sucked the business end of a Type-51 while coordinating a group of civilians to a waiting Falcon, a dozen other troopers met a dozen different ends just in the first day. What's worse is that Dariga couldn't even figure out where she was at this point. Skyscrapers, fashion outlets, fuel stations, clothing stores, business centers, trade centers, it all looked strangely foreign compared to the traditionalist and minimalist structure of Utyugrad carried over by the first Russian, Uzbek, and Kazakh colonists from Earth.

Temporarily relinquishing control of her MA37, Dariga adjusted her helmet, tightening the straps to make sure it wouldn't rock from her head again. She brought the rifle back to her shoulder as troops around her continued laying down fire. "Concentrate fire on that brute!" Shouted one of the troopers as the rest continued laying down fire, some of them redirecting to the closest Jiralhanae warrior.

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Hastur
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Posts: 270
Founded: Jul 01, 2017
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Hastur » Fri Dec 10, 2021 12:20 pm

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Staff Sergeant Alison Longacre
105th Shock Troops Division; 2nd Shock Troops Battalion Kilo-45
New Alexandria Spaceport, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552






Longacre watched the inexperienced young army trooper. The ODST’s glare latched on, her frown reinforcing as the girl hovered stagnant. Confusion gripped the kid’s face, mouth lax as she struggled to fathom the situation in their state of fear induced shock.

“Either shoot or get ammo!” Longacre screamed. The second reinforcement of the command seemed to produce wonders. The girl determining to do the latter as she scurried from the security of the sandbags to the packages of ammunition that lay on the central part of the roof. Longacre was content. At least now they were doing something practical.

The impressive suppressing fire light show that had been harassing the loftier positions was now veering between the high ground and the low. Brought in by the opening salvo of ill will from a machine gunner downstairs. It gave Longacre the moment she desired to assess, combing the swiftly advancing but disorganised force as they undertook their assault. Her ire attracted by a group of four jackals at the front, using their shield gauntlets to push closer, lead deflecting and ricocheting as they progressed in relative safety. The leading raider of the group having the tell-tale sign of a charged plasma bolt peak from around the side.

Longacre swung the rifle round, leading the sight onto the radiant gleam, the scope making the mechanical adjustments required. Relaxed, her breathing regulated, she gently pinched of the trigger, the anti-material rifle firing its first volley. The heavy piece of kit kicked hard into her shoulder as the distinct crack joined in with the chaotic orchestra; the round leaving the trademark vapor trail lingering as it drove home. A brief purple puff followed as the force of the impact shattered the creature’s arm. The glow dimming on the plasma pistol as it toppled to the floor in the abrupt shock. The surrounding jackals stopped in fright at the sight but continued to hold their formation.

Within the second, and without so much as blinking, she rapidly readjusted onto the target. Longacre squeezed as the creature sought to scuttle away, shield no long protecting its frame. Her rifle gave off its second scream; the bullet striking its cranium. The sudden explosion of cartilage, gristle, and blood sent the rest into a stampede as they routed, their shields dipping from their defensive stance as they attempted to break from the fight. Capitalizing, Longacre fired again twice. The brisk fire provided the last addition of its rhythmic pulse to the firefight as her weapon ran empty, striking two of the fleeing jackals in their backs. Their corpses toppling groundward unceremoniously as the last got cut to shreds by the suppressing fire from the machine gun downstairs.

The enemy’s morale was waffling, but they held their ground, as if they were waiting for something.

The fear inducing sound and vapor trails drew the adverse fire back high, bolts and needles slamming around the cover, the wall of sand barely holding up to the intense punishment it received. Longacre ducked down and shifted her position, moving along to a less shot up position. She Discharged the spent magazine as she packed in her last one. Across from her, one army trooper fired off his shotgun, picking off the engaging targets. The fire slowly becoming less fierce on her side as it split between the two targets, parting towards him.

The situation now bleak, concern creeped into her thoughts as she searched for the source of ammunition, needing it now, rather than later. She caught sight of her as she emerged onto the balcony again. Longacre giving off a curt sigh of relief before the sudden shock of a vibrant green plasma burst sent the girl tumbling to the floor. The ammunition she’d been lugging bursting from its container, stretching across the ground in all directions. The last thing anyone needed.

“Move it! Move it!” Longacre bellowed in irritation as the ammo runner crawled desperately, gathering what she could as she shuffled along the floor. Longacre offering out her hand to help drag her into cover as she grew close, seizing the ammunition from her hands, breaking the packets open as she turned a stern stare back to the mule from under the polarised visor.

“How the hell did you manage that, you git?” Longacre chastised, swelling the pockets of her LBV with the fresh magazines. The girl’s breathing was sharp, laboured, the expounding of panic still getting through. Longacre silently rued for a note. Out of all the individuals she could be ad hoc’d with, it had to be inexperienced army troopers, and the one closest to her being barely out of high school. “Hey! Take a second, breathe, then shift it. You’re no good to anyone if you’re spilling the ammunition all over the shop! Go! Now!” Longacre ordered. The trooper replying with a dubious nod before the ODSTs attention was hurled her backward to the field. Her ears picked up the animalistic scream that sent a vicious, frigid chill through her bones.

A brief scan revealed the worst of the possibilities.

The brute chieftain was here.

The heavily armoured ape-like creature made the bend at line 3. Longacre’s cheeks scrunching, eyes widening as she watched the hulking giant equipped with an oversized war hammer close distance with disconcerting momentum. She knew what it could do if it got inside, the sheer chaos it would spawn. Yelling from below sounded off, accompanied by a volley of combined fire. The shape of the behemoth turned bright and pulsed as the rounds from their weapons caught against his energy shield, blocking everything being levied at him, their fire having no effect in stopping him.

Longacre wasted no time, avoiding the incoming fire from the remaining force as she pushed her rifle upwards, one of the few weapons with the distractive power necessary to eliminate shields. She rapidly aligned the sight with the creature’s head as it passed the water fountain, getting closer with each wide gallop. inhaling, she crushed the trigger downward; the projectile striking the creature’s head. The surrounding air sparked, the glistening white flicker fading away, leaving it uncovered. A refreshing sight, Longacre confidence ratified. She re-sighted and pulled the trigger again. The rifle roared, and the round stuck home again, but had no it had no effect. His shattered shield supplanted by another, this one of an unusual flickering hue.

She dithered for a moment, her mouth ajar as she became engulfed by genuine bewilderment. Her finishing round had zero effect. She’d experienced nothing like it. Two shots to the skull had invariably been adequate before, but it was different now, defying her training and experience at the worst conceivable time. The titan was now past the fountain, practically right on top of them. Longacre battled her anxiety back, her grip stiffening on her rifle as her breathing became unbalanced. The sniper rifle drew a third and fourth shot towards the head and chest. The rounds ricocheting right off the surface, the frantic blows producing nothing to even lessen his rage fuelled dash into the building as it ultimately crashed its way inside. The ODST commander on her floor struggling to drag the HMG to the stairs in an attempt to kill it.

The foundations tremored as chaos immediately peaked. The howling wail of the gravity hammer reflected up from below as yelling and more fitful gunfire followed. Longacre impression of disorientation turning to genuine distress as she witnessed the sight of one ODST trooper being sent sailing out of the storefront and into the fountain. Thrown like a rag doll by the unmitigated concussive blow of the brute’s weapon, now cornered in the middle of the enemy force. From the loftier position, it was explicit that the enemy’s determination, once waning, was now renewed. The grunts and jackals reaffirming their advance to assault the building, while a limited detachment snapped off to inspect the flung ODST.

They’d be in trouble if they got any closer.

The confused army trooper on the alternative side of the balcony bellowed in the turmoil, the man clearly unsure of the situation as she lolled behind the sandbag cover. Longacre gaze verifying that only three people were left on the high ground, the rest having descended or fallen.

“Chieftain inside the wire!” Longacre shouted back, refreshing her now empty rifle with a fresh magazine. “The rest are pushing hard! Keep firing! Or we’re going to get overrun!” Longacre took aim yet again, attempting to make herself as small a target as possible as she scanned her rifle over the fountain as semi-accurate fire darted inward, locating the ODST within the fountain, his status unclear.

“We’ve got a friendly in the fountain! Watch your fire guys!” Longacre affirmed over to the others, opening fire on the approaching force towards the fountain.
Last edited by Hastur on Fri Dec 10, 2021 3:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Anowa
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Posts: 17534
Founded: Jul 29, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Anowa » Sat Dec 11, 2021 2:56 am


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PFC Chips Dubbo
105th Shock Troops Division, 7th Shock Troops Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1541 NST



His chest plate was partially crumpled, his ribs hurt, his lungs hurt, his shoulder hurt, as it should after bouncing off of a concrete bust, and his ears burned, though not nearly as bad as his chest. No doubt he had fractured, if not shattered ribs, the only thing keeping him together until he found out for sure was his BDU. His rifle had been tossed halfway to Perth, and Dubbo wasn't too sure it'd be worth looking for.

Laying at the bottom of a pool was comforting, though not knowing how much of the blood was his was mildly disconcerting. It wasn't all his gore, seeing as a green eye floated by that certainly wasn't his. And he was still breathing fine so his helmet's seal was just peachy. The muffled sounds of gunfire reached his ears as well, he spotted a few tracers flying over the flountain, and elected to keep his head down for now, simply reaching over to his shoulder, and shoving it back in to place with a lance of almost crippling pain. But to him, it was just another day, pain to him lost meaning after he had to get his groin reconstructed after a particularly nasty hit on Meridian.

Sitting up, he could feel some ribs grind together in an unhealthy way as he drew his pistol from it's holster. The M6G wasn't the typical choice for ODSTs, but it could load HE rounds without jamming, so it was enough for him.

Popping out of the water, he took aim at a grunt, and proceeded to fire a round in to it's methane tank. The ensuing explosion ripped the grunt to shreds, bathing a small section of the food court in their black light tier blood.

Not so soon after, the gunfire stopped, and Chips stood, making his way to the front door, nearly slipping on patches of gore on the way there. Blackburn, who had since shrugged Sorokina off and drew his own pistol, a variant of the M6 that could only be described as archaic, due to it's classical trigger guard, was walking in to the front room, a ragged sound to his breathing as he stuck himself behind a group of sandbags. Chips holstered his sidearm and picked up the now dead Army trooper's rifle, now caked in gore, and with the ammo indicator cracked and glitching, he too got himself back behind cover, "I'll get a few of 'em for you mate."

The muffled sound of Stuart calling for something from under the 500 pound form of the now gibbed Chieftain was something Blackburn homed in on.

"Someone help the LT before he suffocates." a particular high pitched whirring reached his ears, "Preferably now! Callilis, get back inside for fuck sake!"

A few seconds later, Brutes with Jump packs came sailing in through the broken ceiling windows, a total of 12, all armed with spikers, how could anyone tell? The front wall was starting to look like a porcupine. One of them wearing a more ornate set of power armor than the others yelled out, as he landed behind a chunk of concrete that had fallen from the ceiling.

Judging from the trajectory, a quartet of them were inbound to land on or near Longacre and Chiao on the second floor. ABove all this, the sound of one the shuttle's engines spooling up less than 200 meters away could be heard.



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WO-2 Sierra-045
NOBLE Team
New Alexandria
UNSC
August 23rd, 2552 - 1541 NST



It was obvious to anyone but the braindead or the blind that they were losing Reach. It wasn't yet lost, but the hardware in her helmet didn't help at hiding the fact that the situation in Orbit was rapidly decaying, just as, if not faster than the situation on the ground. Supposedly something less than a fifth of the defensive fleet was still capable of fighting back, but in Navy speak, that meant they had ammo, not that their hulls were fine. From what little she had monitored, the Aegis Fate, Stalwart Dawn, and Pillar of Autumn were the only 3 ships in orbit that weren't missing chunks, and Stalwart Dawn had expended all the ammo, fighters, and personnel it had. It was laying in wait until the Corvettes above either got taken out or left before it was going to load up as many civvies as it could and get out.

Of course, this was in contrast to orders, that it was supposed to be for military personnel. But the crew didn't care for that order, and neither did most of the troops on the ground.

Helmet radio queued up again,

<<"Fox Actual to UNSC frigate Stalwart Dawn: request immediate airstrike on Covenant corvette over starport.>>

<<Solid copy, Fox Actual. Longswords unavailable at this time, over.>>

<<This is civilian transport 6 Echo 2, I need to go now, Sergeant Major!>>

<<Hold on, Echo 2. Stalwart Dawn, I have multiple commercial craft loaded with civilians. I have got to get them out of this city. I need air support, now!>>

<<As soon something frees up, you'll be the first to->>

<<Not good enough!>>

<<I've got six hundred souls on board, Sergeant Major! I can't wait any longer!>>

<<Negative, Echo 2, I can't cover you! Do not take off!>>

<<Damn it!>>


Looking up, 045 could see the telltale glow of the plasma mortar on the corvette powering up, along with the distant sound of engine flaring. She could just see the evac shuttle crest over the starport's roof when the mortar put a bus sized hole in the aircraft.

<<Mayday! Mayday!>>

<<6 Echo 2, can you maintain altitude?>>

<<Negative! We're going down...!>>

<<Fox Actual... Should we send search-and-rescue birds?>>

<<Negative, Dispatch... No point.>>


600 dead, not instantly. The sound of an impact in to water was audible to the Spartan. The ones who died from the flash vapourisation were lucky, the ones who were now drowning were likely damning the pilot in the name of whatever God they believed in.

She queued her own radio, as she started to jog faster than most people could sprint in to an alleyway to her right.A direction vaguely pointed at the Starport with the echoes of a firefight coming through it, "Six, status?"

<<Traxis Tower evac point is cleared. I'm almost at the starport exit.>>

"Copy, get those batteries up post haste, we don't want to lose another transport. I'm almost at the terminal, will update you then. Out."

Rounding the corner from the alley she spotted a grave situation. A squad of Army troopers currently being bombarded by Brutes, skirmishers and a squad with a heavy weapons Grunt. Almost the instant after turning the corner, she watched as a trio of troopers were erased in a flash of green, and another was turned in to a gut strewn paste by a barrage of pink projectiles.

at that point, three IFF tags were visible, one for a Sgt. Golovanov, one for a PFC. Ataboyev, both wounded, and Corporal Şäkirova, all hunkered down behind a rapidly melting and burning barrier of sandbags.

045 almost casually strode down the street towards the opposite side of the road of the three trapped troopers, and took position behind a pock marked car. Taking a solid stance behind it, she drew a bead on the Brute Captain leading the charge, the series of barks from the DMR causing every set of eyes on the street to be drawn to the space that was, just seconds ago unoccupied. The facade gone, the Spartan dropped her active camo as her fifth round down range slammed in to the brute's head.

Cries of fear from the grunts followed as the arrival of a Demon propagated through the ranks. A few skirmishers felt it necessary to press the attack, and subsequently had a plethora of 7.62 AP rounds rip through their centre of mass, a scant few were tough enough to take a few more rounds, but they went down just the same. 15 rounds expended, 1 Brute, 9 Skirmishers dead.

Dropping to a knee, the Spartan reloaded, empty magazine clattering on to the street before she stood, a massive green bulb blowing apart the car she stood behind to shred, her shields flaring, she took aim through the smoke towards the Heavy, and slammed a round through it's skull. Taking another knee for her shields to recharge, she looked over at the Army troopers, and in the stoic Spartan fashion, nodded towards the enemy.




The air network, after the destruction of one of the commercial craft, very rapidly descended further in to a panic. Civvie pelicans and air transports small enough to be ignored were starting to outright ignore ATCs in order to take off, and as a result, aerial collisions started occurring. Off to Duggan's left, some 100 meters, a Heron was struggling to maintain altitude as a Condor was embedded in it's side, both were burning, the Condor pilot on an open mic while burning to death. As the screaming cut out, and a number of exclamations could be a heard, an authoritative voice cut over the first of three remaining ATC channels.

<<7 Delta 14, Delta Dispatch, your needed for close air support near the Starport exit. Caracalla Park, you'll be helping Fox Company and a Spartan asset retake the air defence network. Without that network, those civvies aren't leaving this city. It's an enduring mission, you don't leave until you're out of ammo or dead, whichever comes last. Delta Dispatch, out.>>
Last edited by Anowa on Sat Dec 11, 2021 7:39 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Awards:
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