Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

by **Bolslania** » Sat Dec 11, 2021 10:34 am

_{1st Lieutenant Seamus O' Duggan}
_{7 Delta}
_{Above the New Alexandria Starport}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552. 1537}

Seamus watched in horror as he saw both a large civilian transport take a round from the Corvette, sending it crashing in to the bay, as well as a Condor smash into a Heron as it tried to gain altitude. Seamus sighed as he heard the Condor's pilot burning to death over an open mic.

"Jesus Christ" He muttered. He quickly distracted himself from the horrors occurring outside his cockpit with the direct transmission he was getting from Delta Dispatch

<<7 Delta 14, Delta Dispatch, your needed for close air support near the Starport exit. Wallace 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.>> He sighed again. This was going to be a rough, but probably not very long, day.

"Delta Dispatch, 7 Delta 14 acknowledges direct transmission, en route to objective area know. 7 Delta 14 out." He said, maintaining his stoic composure. He flicked over to his intercom with Mike and Lewis as he pitched the Falcon in the direction of Caracalla Park.

"Alright boys listen up. We've been dispatched to provide CAS to a Spartan and Fox Company. They're trying to get the AA batteries up to fuck up that Corvette above us. Now we aren't leaving this assignment unless we're dead our out of ammo, so I want you boys to make sure its the latter. Got me?" he asked.

In the back, Mike and Lewis looked at each other before they replied.

"Understood sir." Came the reply. The two were almost certainly preparing themselves to die. Seamus set about doing the same in silence. In a matter of moments he was 100 feet above the Starport exit at Wallace Park. He scanned along the ground, his gun following where his eyes looked. There, a brute leading a lance of Jackals and Grunts. The Covvies were all over the place, no wonder Delta Dispatch had sent him out here.

"Alright boys, light 'em up!" He shouted. Lewis was manning the door gun on the side that was angled towards the ground, he began firing in to the Covvies below, .50 BMG rounds ripping through a handful of Jackals and grunts. Seamus joined in as well, settling the reticle of his autocannon on a Brute that was scrambling for cover. He pulled the trigger, sending three 20mm rounds into the brute, ripping the beast apart in a spray of blood and body parts.

Super-heated plasma bolts began streaming towards the falcon. Most of them missed, but several bolts slammed in to the falcon, leaving smoking burn marks on the hull. Seamus and Lewis continued on firing, sending the remaining covvies scurrying for cover as brutes tried to get them back under control. Seamus quickly turned his attention to his radio, messing with the frequency dial until he found Fox Company.

"Fox actual, 7 Delta 14 here. I've been dispatched to provide air support for you boys. I'll be sticking around until I'm dead or out of ammo, over." He said, his eyes scanned the sky, looking for any signs that the Covenant had dispatched air support to shoot UNSC aircraft down. Through the armor plating he could hear the report of Lewis' machine gun as it ripped through the bodies of the covenant forces on the ground in front of Noble 6 and Fox Company.

by **Futrellia** » Sat Dec 11, 2021 6:42 pm

Corporal Dariga Şäkirova
97th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, 4th Battalion, "W" Company, Fourth Platoon, 2nd Squad
Solaria Place // August 23rd, 2552

Seeing a Spartan work is something the young Corporal wouldn't get used to. In the few moments of downtime that she and her squad got, they would talk about them. From watching Spartans reinforce the collapsing defensive lines on Concord, annihilating Covenant squads by the droves and actually allowing UNSC forces to reoccupy an area they thought they wouldn't see again. To hearing about how Spartan teams were leading charges against superior Covenant positions on Tribute and actually winning. It was incredible. Now, here she was, cowering behind this thin cover that was very quickly becoming nothing better than concealment watching a Spartan relieve the pressure off of what remained of her Squad. In the time it took the Spartan to seemingly appear out of nowhere and down several bad guys, Corporal Dariga had expelled her spent magazine, slammed another into the magwell, rack her bolt and watch as the auto ammunition counter reset to 32 rounds. As the Spartan took down the Heavy weapons Grunt, releasing a shrill screech that Unggoy usually follow with a quick onset of death, Corporal Dariga made visual contact with the Spartan and watched as it nodded towards the enemy. All the Corporal could feel was a rush of adrenaline and with a quick return of a nod, Dariga spun around, rising up from the cover and resting her MA37's handgrip down unto the sandbags. With the remaining grunts focused on the Spartan, Dariga released quick bursts of her rifle, sending five rounds into an Unggoy that had begun running in circles out of sheer terror at the sight of their heavy weapons member falling to the Spartan. Dariga immediately refocused and slammed rounds into another and then another, the last Grunt in the squad. The Corporal collapsed back behind the cover, her rifle's counter reading 14 rounds remaining before she'd have to reload again. She breathed heavily as she looked over to the others in her squad. All that remained was Golovanov and Ataboyev, both received various wounds ranging from their arms to their chest, their squad leader nowhere in sight. Considering there'd been nobody else moving around them, Corporal Şäkirova was quite sure that they were all that remained of their squad, perhaps even the whole platoon.

by **Caber** » Sun Dec 12, 2021 8:01 pm

Private Joshua Moiner
Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport // August 23rd, 2552

The magazine clunked roughly into the rear of the MA37 rifle and clicked satisfyingly as the bolt carried a round into the chamber. Leaning against a pillar near the back of the food court in the starport was private Joshua Moiner. Wearing ill fitted combat armor someone had told him to put on and lacking a helmet on his head he looked little different from some of the more professional UNSC army troopers around him. He counted the remainder of his ammunition by a search of his ammo pouch by hand. One full magazines for his rifle in addition to the one currently loaded into the weapon, that combined with the remaining four rounds in his holstered M6D Magnum sidearm were all he had left after the past few days of grueling street by street combat. Earlier in the week he had been with a full company strength of militia men defending some residential section of the city on the west side; now he didnt even know where his unit was. Moiner had been with them one moment riding passenger in a warthog before a blast from an enemy drop ship had turned the road ahead of them to smoking glass and the vehicle had diverged course down a side road where it met with others falling back to the starport and now here he was. Private Moiner checked the ammo counter on the rifle reading thirty two and relaxed a little bit Its not a lot, but it'll have to do he thought to himself. Looking around the now mildly fortified environment Moiner thought how he had never actually been in the star port. He had seen it sure but never actually been inside, this was a place for richer folk than he, soon to be off worlders and those leaving for the vast expanse of space far above. Before the Covenant arrived Moiner never actually thought he would leave Reach, it was his home after all and no matter how much it sucked here he would certainly never have enough cash to pay for a ticket on a ship out. But all that didn't matter now, now he was about to be in a fight with a genocidal alien menace to protect others on their way off planet; then after all the civilians were away it would be his turn. Just a little longer.

The fight was coming. All the professional soldiers that were defending the second line by the stairs had fallen back into the makeshift defensive third line at the food court, arraying themselves in food stalls, crouching behind sandbags, and leaning behind pillars and walls. Moiner heard an ODST shout for others right before the ground shook underneath him. Pushing his back into the pillar he steadied himself just as a second tremble rocked the ground under him. Looking his head out around the pillar he looked up through the shattered glass dome and witnessed mouth agape as a Covenant ship with flared shields held position just above the starport, too close, way too close, way closer than Moiner ever wanted to or thought he'd be to an actual honest to god alien war vessel. We are fucked! So monstrously, totally fucked! he screamed inside his head to himself. That thing just took two big ass missiles and it's not even scratched!

The distinctive sound of a burst from a BR went off and Moiner looked back down to where a squad of the small alien bastards lead by much bigger, angrier alien bastards had entered the room. Instinctively he brought his head back behind the pillar and pressed even closer into the pillar as alien energy and human ballistics lit up the room ahead of him. He had been engaged in several firefights throughout the city before this but each one including this time shattered his nerves and reminded him just how much of a bad idea it had been to join the militia. Gotta do something! he thought as he stepped to the side and entered a crouch with his rifle raised in the direction of the enemies approach. Lining up in his sights he spotted a grunt moving up following a now deceased charging brute minor and jerked hard on the trigger sending a burst of five rounds down range. The sudden recoil forced his aim upward an only his first round made contact, embedding itself into the grunts methane tank but doing no noticeable damage. He brought his rifle back down on target and more gently squeezed the trigger and fired off two shots which hurled through the air and cracked the grunts front armor and ripped through his internal organs immediately dropping the alien freak in a puddle of blue blood. Moiner scrambled back into the safety of the pillar before any Covenant soldiers could fire off a shot at the exposed militiaman.

Sticking to his cover he peeked out every few seconds to see how things were going, from what it looked like the human soldiers were holding against the alien menace pouring into the room from the hallway. One sight caught his eye as a sniper ran from cover to retrieve an army trooper hiding behind a knocked over table right before a burning plasma bolt turned there she just was into vapor. Moiner stepped out and fired a covering burst into the group of grunts that happened to be closest to them sending one to the ground either wounded or dead and another stumbling backwards to reach for a shatter in his armor. The other two noticed the militia man and unloaded several quick shots in his direction, the blasts went wide but were enough to send Moiner back into cover. He checked his ammo counter again only to see a disheartening double zero. Pressing the release on the mag well he let the mag hit the floor and fumbled with his pouch to retrieve his last mag and jammed it into the back of the rifle with the same satisfying click as before. Gotta make it count he thought and stayed low as he stepped out and dashed to a nearby sandbag wall before sliding into cover just under a burst of small orange needles from one of those new brute weapons.

"Just a little longer" Private Moiner said to himself as he prepared to lean out from the sandbag wall and fire off a burst again.

by **Ubaria** » Sun Dec 12, 2021 8:30 pm

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

'Warrant Officer Grimsdottir'. The name swam around in the profusion of other information currently rushing through her mind like rapids, most of her concentration was going into where she was placing her shots and the information seemed to skim on by, as did the other question. It was only until she had finished off her next magazine, downing three Grunts and a Jackal in the process, did she register the young soldier attempting to speak with her, the Warrant Officer's head canted to one side quizzically. Vera pondered a reply as she let loose the spent magazine from the butt of her weapon and slid in a fresh one with an awkward pause between, the bolt slid forward with a click.

"Well. To be honest with you Warrant Officer. ONI in their infinite wisdom deemed me a necessary asset to the war effort, not so necessary that they wanted me alive to see sundown." She explained with just a hint of derisiveness, her mouth screwing up in mild contempt. Not that she would have abandoned her fellow colleagues to the Covenant, nor turned her back to the invaders that were burning her home. All the while the image of her daughter burned in the back of her mind, a fire stoking a survivalist mindset that fed her will to fight. Sara had been one of the first evacuated on the transports, Vera had made damn sure of that, she had strings she could pull and squirrelling her away with some of the ONI top brass had been her first directive, even if it meant sacrificing her own passage off the planet.

"Besides, I had to make sure we haven't left anything for these freaks to find." Her rifle spat another trio of rounds in quick succession, pinning a Grunt in the centre torso, sending him crashing backwards with a shrill shriek and a flurry of garbled alien tounge that was drowned out by the weapon fire. Soon enough another one took it's place, followed by a couple more, the troop of infantry fighting their way up the courtyard steps that lay a few dozen feet between them and the entrance to the building. More plasma fire found it's way towards the pair, scalding the polished stone and lacquered wood cladding with craters of fizzling green and blue, the heat it cast off was palpable. Vera spied two tall ones in the backlines, weaving and darting between streams of bullets like a dancer at the ballet, their tall slender yet frighteningly sturdy frames were clad in a goldish-orange armor, their forked jaws and stone like skin hidden behind a mantle to match, seemingly glowing with each muzzle and plasma flash. Those were what they dubbed 'Elites', Vera supposed. Highly agile, highly capable warriors that were the Covenant's officers and commanders; beings fueled of pure hatred and zeal that let little stand in their way between a quarry. Vera had studied reports - classified at that - of Elites dispatching of whole companies of soldiers without so much as breaking a sweat to do so, leaving behind a trail of corpses and terror.

"I hope these Spartans have enough ammunition for all these fuckers." Vera spat, jostling around behind a low wall for a better angle. "They'll be the last ones standing at this rate."

by **Bolslania** » Mon Dec 13, 2021 5:02 pm

_{2nd Lieutenant Jordan Grey}
_{Ad-Hoc Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria Starport}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552. 1541}

Grey chuckled as he heard Stuart’s muffled call from underneath the dead Chieftain. Setting the M247H on the staircase, he jogged over to where he approximates the noise to be coming from. Luckily for the Militiaman, he was trapped under the part that had been shot by the machinegun, giving Grey an easier time of what amounted to deadlifting part of a dead brute. He held it up long enough for Stuart to scurry out from underneath the brute before dropping it with an audible plop. Grey slapped the panting Militiaman on the shoulder.

“Surprised to see you still alive kid.” He said, his forearms smeared with the blood of the Chieftain. His jovial demeanor slid off his face as he heard the distinct sound of jump-packs descending upon the defenders of the starport.

“Shit, Jumpers!” He shouted. He sprinted back up the stairs, quickly dragging the HMG behind him. He slid it along the floor, returning it to its resting place besides the ammunition pile. Setting it up properly would have to wait. He detached his DMR from his back and turned to face the oncoming threat just in time to get hit by a 9-foot tall monkey traveling in excess of 20 miles per hour. The impact of the 1,500 pound beast sent Grey flying across the top floor, depositing him on his back some 10 feet from the ammunition pile. The air quickly evacuated his lungs as he hit the ground. There would be no time for him to stop and catch his breath however, as above him was the Jumper, dropping from several feet in the air in an attempt to crush Grey with its sheer mass. He rolled to the left, the brute slamming down on the floor which had previously been occupied by Grey’s chest. He quickly reached down to his side, pulling up his M7S. He gripped it firmly as he fired from his back, pushing himself away from the brute with his legs. The brute roared as the bullets slammed in to its power armor, many sparking off harmlessly. The enraged Jumper bore down on Grey as the ODST desperately backed away.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit.” Grey muttered increasingly panicked as the Brute closed with him. Grey’s heart crawled somewhere into his throat when he felt the trigger depress, but the M7S didn’t go off. He was out of ammunition. Grey barely had time to process this before the Brute slapped the SMG out of his hands, sending it skidding across the floor. The slap was quickly followed by a large ape-like foot planted firmly on Grey’s chest. The ODST groaned as the Brute put its weight down on him. He scrambled for the combat knife on his hip, his fingers desperately working the clasp, freeing the knife from its sheath. Though the knife was without its metal sheath, it quickly found itself a new sheath in the form of the Brute’s foot, which Grey had jammed it into as hard as he could. The brute roared in pain, stepping off of the ODST’s chest. Grey had time to suck in a fresh breath of air, just before he was lifted off the ground. The Jumper had its hand around Grey’s throat, lifting him up to eye level. Grey’s feet kicked at the Brute’s chest as they dangled 3 feet off the ground. The Brute roared at Grey, spittle being flung on to his visor as the Brute drew the hand holding its Spiker back in preparation to skewer the helpless ODST.

Preparing himself for a painful death, Grey roared back.

by **Anowa** » Tue Dec 14, 2021 10:51 pm

_{WO-2 Sierra-045}
_{NOBLE Team}
_{New Alexandria}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1542 NST}

There was a wink of red from the corner of her eye, glancing over, Golovanov's IFF read deceased. Silently so, the pool of blood under him having grown in the past few seconds, a spike that had blown through the sandbag having impaled his heart through his back plate.

Ataboyev, who was still alive seemed to be too doped up or in too much pain to do much other than writhe every so often, plasma burns across his left arm damned it to a fate of amputation, while his right bicep had injuries indicative of a needler round detonating after hitting bone. Medigel and Biofoam was keeping his limbs on, but he wouldn't be operating any firearm.

045 keyed her comms and spoke to Şäkirova, "Get Ataboyev up, we're moving to the Starport."

With that, she stood and stepped out of cover. Grunts and jackals being the only things left in the street that presented a problem, a majority of them broke ranks and started running at the sight of a so called demon now striding towards them.

Firing at a rate that could only be described as 'cyclic', the Spartan emptied her magazine in to the dozen or so xenos that had the balls to put up any sort of opposition. Heads cracked open, limbs were removed and methane tanks detonated. The street had gone from a cracked and garbage littered black to a modern art project in the span of maybe 3 minutes. Swapping mags, she continued her unimpeded march down the street as she fired round after round in to the backs of the retreating alien menace. A jackal regained some courage and turned, a full charged plasma bolt headed her way, the 7.62 round only ripped a hole in it's gun and blew it's three fingered hand in to paste after the bolt had been let fly.

In most circumstances, such a projectile would've partially or outright incinerated a fireteam. Striking the spartan, the shield's tanked the blast even as the energy enveloped the woman. Having shaped her shields to more specifically protect her center of mass and head, meant most of the burning was felt along her arms and legs. The glare faded, revealing that her rifle's polymer had melted, the metal having turned a distinct matte, and the last few rounds were cooking off. Tossing it to the ground, she picked up a needler from the road and aimed it at a cowering Grunt. Emptying what remained in the magazine, turning the Grunt in to a pastel coat of paint.

Taking a knee, she looked at the fuel rod gun that Heavy had dropped. The Banana Slug kind, as opposed to the Hole Puncher kind, typically didn't explode after being dropped.

Grabbing it, the Spartan proceeded to pilfer the two other racks of ammo from the Grunt, and stood. Taking stock of her inventory, she found her M6G was still adhered to her thigh, thankfully. Pulling it free, she locked her newly found AT gun to the magnetic strip on her back. Turning she beckoned the troopers up as she casually walked down the street about as fast as most people could run.

by **Kassaran** » Wed Dec 15, 2021 2:08 am

_{Corporal Benjamin Amir}
_{Eposz Militia, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria Starport}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1543 NST}

Amir's eyes swam with tears unshed, his gaze was sharp nonetheless with pain and adrenaline flowing through his veins. As he breathed deeply, he focused on his wrenched hand, the wrist seeming to have swollen in size in the breadth of a few seconds that he'd spent looking for shelter and cover. The sound of more Brutes appearing from above had brought him to look about the area with a newfound sense of urgency and determination. The ODSTs had rallied and begun to shed fire on the newcomers, their precision and effectiveness was enviable. Amir's pistol was nowhere to be found, and the alien weapon he'd used had most definitely burned his hand through the protective gloves. It wouldn't be severe enough to do permanent damage, but the heat from the break among other things was keeping him from being able to accurately assess his own injury.

The chieftain had fallen relatively quick within the confines of the World Cuisine and Benjamin had managed to find his way back inside during the brief interlude that the firefight had settled into. It was a brief and hurried lull, but his eyes searched the insides of the room, assessing the casualties and struggling to try and stay out of the way of the various other personnel who weren't injured. The sound of howling brutes falling from the sky, their jumpjets flaring and cushioning their landings had Amir spinning towards one of the windows. Adrenaline had managed to continue to numb the pain of the broken wrist, but the intense heat from the overcharged plasma pistol he'd used had gone through his technician's gloves. They were excellent insulators against electric shock, but not plasma. He made a mental note of that fact wryly as he checked his M6 at his hip and drew it. He couldn't remember how many rounds he had left, but as the front of the building rattled and shook from the spike weapons of the alien apes, he dropped low and braced.

"Fucking hell, what do they feed those fuckers?"

He could hear one of the Brutes shouting over the din, but the language, if it had any meaning, was lost on Amir as he struggled to peer around a corner and fire off a choice few rounds towards a brute jumper whom had strayed too far out of cover and into the peripherals of the courtyard. The rounds didn't connect, but the beast howled and screamed back towards Benjamin before dropping back into a more concealed position. Amir looked towards the magnum, the last trigger-pull not having registered in his mind, and the extended slide confirmed his suspicions as he primed the mag release and watched the empty box fall away. Propping the sidearm between his knees as he slumped back to the floor, his hands fumbled to extract yet another magazine before inserting the fresh ammunition and releasing the slide forward to feed a new round. Within a moment, he had the magnum back in hand and was pouring fresh hate on a pair of brutes whom had tried to take a higher location he could see from his position in the restaurant storefront.

"I need a medic for my wrist!"

He called out over the shouting and shooting. He didn't know if anyone would hear, much less care, but he kept his eyes on the gunfight that had erupted outside, dropping below the window as a salvo of spikes slammed and shook against the wall and sailed through the open space over him. He was beginning to regret not having pursued getting back on the roof top quicker, but he'd expedite that process the next time the universe saw fit to allow him. It wasn't that all the shooting had rattled his nerves all that much, he was honestly starting to get used to the concept of being brutally savaged by some piece of foreign alien armament. Rather, he was just shaken at the idea it wouldn't outright kill him as his experience with the plasma pistol was beginning to reveal was a greater possibility.

by **Futrellia** » Wed Dec 15, 2021 8:24 pm

Corporal Dariga Şäkirova
97th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, 4th Battalion, "W" Company, Fourth Platoon, 2nd Squad
Solaria Place // August 23rd, 2552

Corporal Dariga's chest expanded and collapsed rapidly as she came to terms with her fellow soldier dying. Though she didn't know him long, Yuri Golovanov proved to be a valuable member of her squad, racking up his fair share of kills on Covenant targets in the first few hours of the constant barrage of fire on Evac Zone Alpha. Had it not have been for him, she could have very well taken a bolt of hot plasma right to her head had he not have seen the Jackal raise it's ugly head over the wreckage of a burnt out police cruiser earlier that same morning. He saved her life and in the moment, she blurted a rushed "thanks" and moved on, engaging other targets while trying to ensure the safety of the Evac Zone Alpha prior to her battalion commander establishing a second EZ three hundred yards east. Once forces were divided, the Covenant had an easier time wearing down EZ Alpha's defenders until they were pushed off completely, forcing Captain Somers to shut it down and divert reinforcements to EZ Bravo. It wouldn't have mattered to her or her squad as the Covenant cut a bloody line through the rest of fourth platoon, effectively cutting them off from getting to EZ Bravo. With Covenant on their tails, they were forced south, hemorrhaging men and women until nothing remained except herself, Golovanov and Ataboyev. Even as the Spartan gave her an order to retrieve Ataboyev and begin following her, she hesitated, staring over at Yuri's immobile corpse. He saved her life but she couldn't save his.

"Y-yes, ma'am." the Corporal said with a less than enthusiastic tone, shaking off that moment's harsh reality and moving forward. She approached Sasha, examining the wounds on him and finding the best way to grab him, force him over her shoulders and move forward, all while carrying her MA37 in one hand. "I got you, I got you." She said as Sasha groaned in pain, simply moving the affected limbs seemed to be painful enough. Despite the order from the Spartan, Dariga waited a moment for her to finish off remaining Covenant forces that had pursued them with a blood thirstiness. A single combatant taking out the same murderers that took the lives of ten other troopers, something her platoon couldn't do to keep Alpha secured. Once the area had gone quiet, she rose up, her leg muscles burning as she was now picking up a heavier male, groaning as she did. When the Spartan looked back and signaled for them, Dariga did so, moving as quickly as she could. No matter how fast she could go, the Spartan was much faster, even while walking. "Shit, shit, shit." She mumbled as her legs burned but continued on.

by **Parcia** » Wed Dec 15, 2021 9:57 pm

_{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 - 1544 NST}

Olivia popped up twice more to slot a grunt and jackal respectively, the first being a solid shot to the large orange methane tank that caused it to cook off, sending the thing flying across the path and scattering a few others. The jackal in question had fired a shot that flew a few inches too close for comfort and Olivia had thoroughly enough of its bullshit.

Peaking over to sight the offending Kig-yar minor, she steadied her aim on it and tapped the trigger, sending a shot down range that clipped its shield emitter, buckling it and sending the alien's arm to the side. Keeping her aim, she put another two shots in to the thing and dropping it to the floor lack a sack of potatoes. Feeling a mingling of pride and anger, she kept her weapon down range while screaming out in her accented, broken Sangheili, roaring out an insult in the lingua franca of the enemy.

Tahshee, kal jahn-rayn-chay rohyahyah nar-Igzuk-bal, mori-Keeoh-eesay!

This seemed to have the intended effect, as a roar of anger could be heard and a torrent of plasma fire was launched at her section of the wall. Ducking back behind the hard piece of metal reinforced concrete, she scrambled after the captain and took up a spot next to the other women. Her helmet still depolarized, she peeked over and joined her superior's fire with a few bursts of her own.

"I hope these Spartans have enough ammunition for all these fuckers." "They'll be the last ones standing at this rate."

"Gods above I hope not, I don't feel like dying on this gods forsaken rock, you tapped in to the local net? I-I never got the channel list."

by **Shyluz** » Wed Dec 15, 2021 10:56 pm

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

<< I certainly hope so, otherwise, we're rightly fucked, 7 Delta 5. I can take Banshee's easy, but Seraphs are another matter entirely. >>

Foster watched as the Longsword put the burners on, keeping formation with Spellcaster as he skimmed across the ruined skyline of New Alexandria. Corti scanned the bay warily, his eyes wired open on a mixture of caffeine, adrenaline and sleep deprivation. Foster banked around towards Olympus Tower.

<< Jeeze, to think I was gonna try and buy a place in this area. So much for that plan. Got a name 7 Delta 5? Lieutenant Santo Schirmer, Air Force. I'm no navy jock, but I'll have to do. >>

Jackie let out a dry chuckle as he flicked the transmit button. "Well, the property value's way down in the sink. Give it a few centuries and you'll get your beachfront condo." Jackie replied with saccharine optimism. "Name's Jackie Foster, one-ell-tee. NATS-442 off the Trafalgar. With me on the stick is Adrian Corti, two-ell-tee, and in the blood bay is Staff Hailey Raskov. Charmed, I'm sure."

Foster looked out as he released the transmit, and spied the Tower. It was all fucked up, a mish-mash menagerie of fire, broken glass, and high-temp plasma flames. Combined with the occasional tracer zipping between cover and ricocheting into the skyline, he could almost call it familiar. In a fucked up, post-apocalyptic kind of way. He flicked the comm once more, "On approach to set down now, Yankee. Stay frosty."

Spellcaster flared up, decelerating rapidly as it came in on final approach toward the designated pad and swapped over to the local battlenet. "Olympic Tower, 7 Delta 5. We're here for the Priority One."

The Priority One--at least, Foster assumed he was the Priority One, being the only one in ONI fatigues and all--and his escort moved towards the Spellcaster at a light jog, but hey, at least they knew this whole thing was time-sensitive. Better a jog than the smarmy stroll of some doctor-of-whatsits or admiral-of-desks that had gotten the Priority One treatment earlier in the fight. The man had red hair and green eyes, was of average height and build and carried a metallic hardcase. By the time Raskov was closing the bay, Spellcaster was already lifting from the pad.

Jackie heard the clumping of boots and the hiss of the compartment door, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with the Priority One. For all the ONI-trained stoicism in his voice, he sounded nervous. He braced himself on the frame as Spellcaster shuddered alive.

"7 Delta 5. I'm Lieutenant Elias Haverson, we're all aboard. You're escorting an AI in this suitcase." He gestured with the case. "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." He took a breath, and lowered the case into a more tenable position. "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."

"Noted, ell-tee. Not that you have to worry, if we get hit we're either vapor or in the bay, and saltwater is a mean, mean, bitch." He gave a tilt of his head towards Corti, who nodded back. "That's Corti. In the back is Raskov. I'd advise you return to your seat and strap in, expect turbulence." Foster turned and took back the stick as Haverson exited the compartment. Corti transmitted the nav data over the element channel towards the Longsword. Even if it wasn't strictly necessary, if the jock knew where they were going, he could draw them off. As the bulkhead sealed shut, Foster turned and shouted, as if he had forgotten: "Ah, and welcome to Spellcaster, ell-tee."

Foster flicked over to battlenet and pressed the transmit switch. "NOBLE-2, 7 Delta 5. Package is aboard, and outbound now." He switched off and pressed the burners on. Making orbit came with problems--for one, he was climbing and therefore losing speed. Two, he would be completely and utterly exposed, there was no way the Covie capships wouldn't detect an exo-bound craft. He'd seen enough civvie shuttles get downed today to know for certain. They'd spot him, especially with his burners all the way on. Three, there could be an entire Covie wing up in orbit, and he had precisely zero air-to-air. The ANVILs could lock up a dropper, sure, but they weren't particularly capable in exo, and they certainly weren't agiles. Apart from that he had the rocket pods and the seventy, and only seventy would do him a lick of good. But it wasn't nearly good enough. There's a reason they strapped the rotary and the nineties on Longswords, and it wasn't just NAVORD compensating again. That left him relying on his sole escort, Yankee 9-1. Santo Schirmer.

Corti pulled him from his thoughts with a cry of "Fuck! Fighters launching from the corvettes!"

Foster pulled himself from his pessimism, glanced in the direction of the corvettes, and hailed the Longsword jock. "Fuck me dead! Yankee, this is 7 Delta 5, fighters off the corvettes, count and class are unknown!" Foster didn't know if they'd spotted him yet, hell, he halfway didn't want to know, but he'd left the sensor suite cold. No point in attracting attention on the infil, right? Of course, now he was burning bright into orbit. It wouldn't matter if the sensors were hot, he could probably be spotted from Sydney if they knew where to look and squinted real hard.

He had time before he had to go evasive, even in the worst case. Covie fighters couldn't teleport as far as the UNSC knew, they'd be out of engagement range for a while. Cursing under his breath, he slapped the sensor switch over, the suite slowly spinning up as they burned ever closer to the Karman line. The Autumn, and her point-defense was a long ways off still. If the Covies came in, Foster could at least spit on them with the seventy and lock them up in sensors--the Longsword would have to do most of the pest control today.

by **Revlona** » Thu Dec 16, 2021 9:53 am

_{HCFC Alissa Viel}
_{105th Shock Troops Division, 7th Shock Troops Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1542 NST}

"Look Marine, for the twelth time you are not going to die, at least not soon," Alissa said from underneath her helmet, its muffled sound doing nothing to stop the screaming victim beneath her. He was a young Marine, probably 19, whose left arm was hanging by a thread of flesh at his elbow. A needle had struck bone there and had detonated, taking a chunk of flesh and ensuring the loss of the arm one way or another. Veils eyes flicked briefly to the upper right of her visor, which was currently feeding her information as it scanned the marines body.

SFG: 27%

She sighed as she realized her Sterile Field Generator probably wouldn't last the day at this rate. When it failed she would be well and truly fucked, not that she already wasn't, as she would have to do all of her knife work and surgery with either non sterile tools or try and sterilize them the old fashioned way. She'd get to that when need be however and turned her focus back to the Marine below her. The SFG activated and cast a dim yellow glow over his arm. She pulled her knife from its sheathe, gave the SFG a second to sterilize it, and began to cut. The useless arm came off as the Marine screamed and shook, held down by an airforce helper Alissa had all but drafted as her orderly.

The arm came off and Veil sheathed her knife and switched off the SFG. "Prop him up against that wall there and give him his rifle, prop it up for him so he can still be useful," She said to the orderly as she sealed the rest of the open wound with Biofoam and rose to a crouch. The orderly nodded but Veil missed it, already moving off to find her next patient.

She was Kilo 45s last medical professional. Their had been three of them just the day before, and army Medic and another Hospital Corpsman, but not anymore. The medic had been to far forward and had been blown to bits by a plasma grenade while the Corpsman had found himself on the bad end of an Elites power sword. Alissa had stripped them clean of what little supplies they had, their morphine, scalpels, Biofoam, and other supplies all went to good use with her.

Just like the other Kilo 45 members, she had barely slept in the past few hours. Caffeine and adrenaline shots were all that was keeping most of them up and she was almost out of those too. If things continued she knew that she might start having to operate like it was the second world war, she shuddered at that.

She slid up next to Sergeant Blackburn and let loose a quick burst of fire from her M7 SMG at one of the Brutes that were attacking them. "Let me see Sergeant!" She said, all but tackling him behind a small outcropping of cover as she scanned him with both her equipment and eyes. She grimaced at the quick work someone had done on his chest wound, it would hold however. "Alright it'll hold, come see me after this shit calms down a bit, oh and cover me!" She said to him quickly before running out of the cover towards the next man her equipment told her needed treatment.

"Hey Amir how are you? Fucken brutes messing up my nap, oh that wrist looks nasty lemme see," She said, it was broken clean and was swelling even as she looked at it. "Well ok then, this might hurt a little,": She said as she held his wrist in an iron grip and jabbed it with a needle. The numbing agent going to work immediately so she could make the necessary incision. She looked at him once to see if the numbing was done, flicking the wound with her finger and finding his reaction to be about right.

Her SFG activated with a hum, it's yellow light encompassing Amirs wrist, and she took out her secondary scalpel which was connected to an power source. She switched said source on and watched as the blade heated up to a bright red. "Gonna have you back on your feet and fighting brutes in no time, just try not to use the covie weapons unless you're about to die otherwise," She said to him as the blade heated. Finally it was ready and she brought it down, making a swift and efficient cut which allowed her access to the bone. She then pressed a small tube to the open cut and thumbed a button on top of it. The bone knitting polymer within the tube went to work immediately, forming a cast on the bone and providing pain relief.

"Alright try not to fuck it up anymore than it already is," She said to Amir as she applied a little Biofoam to the incision she had made. "Oh also, here," she said, handing him her M7 before drawing her M6 and holding it at ready. "Cover me will you?" Veil said before once more dashing off towards the next ping on her sensor.

by **Vacif** » Fri Dec 17, 2021 11:31 pm

_{LCpl Oliver Chiao}
_{8th Armoured Brigade, 3rd Support Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria Starport}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1542 NST}

As the gunfire died down, Oliver carefully stood up to observe the cafeteria below. The ruined cafeteria was now more devastated than before, furniture was shattered and riddled with holes. Bodies littered the floor, pools of blood caked the floors. Luminous dark and light blue from Jackals and Grunts bled into the tile. Oliver took another long drag on the now almost spent cigarette as he topped off his shotgun. Several seconds passed in peace as he watched the Troopers and Marines regroup downstairs. They finally had a moment to breath. Though the battle was barely five minutes, it felt like a week.

"Well don't count your chickens yet lads." said the ODST Sniper.

A strange sound filled the space, several small whirring noises and one large engine starting to spool up. Oliver looked up and his heart sank. A large shadow quickly began to envelope him.

"Are those the-"

“Shit, jumpers!” yelled the ODST Lieutenant. Oliver could catch on why they were called Jumpers.

The army cook looked up and raised his shotgun, the weapon kicked once, the shields on the Brute glowed bright. Twice, the shields popped but the armour was still intact. All around him, gun fire tore through the air. His mouth hung open, cigarette falling out and bouncing off the ground. Suddenly it felt like he’d been hit by a space freighter. His M45D and one of his shoulder pauldrons flew from his person and clattered against the floor. Sprawled on the floor, Oliver sputtered for air as he panickedly grabbed for his sidearm. His head throbbed from the impact as his head bounced off the ground, his body ached and he was pretty sure he split something open in his mouth.

The Jumper grunted in satisfaction as it strode towards Oliver. 12.7mm rounds rapidly punched into the Brute’s chestplate but the monster seemingly didn’t care. The Brute batted the pistol aside and struck the prone soldier in the abdomen. Blood and vomit projectilely shot out of Oliver’s nose and mouth as he instinctively curled up from the pain. His nose and mouth was overwhelmed with the scent and taste of iron and half digested yams and Moa. His body didn't even register the Brute's ironclad grip around his left calf. The behemoth had grabbed his leg and he could feel himself being pulled up. He wheezed in pain as the Brute lifted him into the air from below the knee, the joint feeling like it would give in at any moment.

Swung like a rag-doll, Oliver was flung into the metal safety railing. He could luckily feel the metal bar give way, but that was where the luck ended. His back and arms lost feeling as they collided with the bar. Air forcefully extracted from his body for the second time in under a few seconds. Oliver’s body jolted instinctively as he tried to get away from the Brute. The creature made a noise, something like a gutteral half-roar-half-laugh as he watched the cook try to escape. Oliver’s heart was pounding as he scrambled off his back and out of the guard rail but felt yet again felt the vice grip of the Brute as he was grabbed by the shoulder. He screamed as it felt like his shoulder would be split from his body. Oliver didn’t know what the Brute would do next but he was sure he wouldn’t survive the next blow. Instinctively, he unsheathed his knife with his free hand and plunged it as hard as could between the Brute’s armour plate. The monster roared loud enough to shake Oliver’s insides as it released Oliver’s shoulder. The Cook’s fight or flight senses were in overdrive now as it determined what it needed to do. He could run but the creature would catch up and kill him in half a second. His senses screamed at him to fight, so latched onto the only thing he could use as a weapon. The Brute had a pair of savage looking softball bat sized tomahawks attached to his hip. Oliver lunged forward, below the Brute’s swipe and grabbed onto the alien weapon, wrenching it free from the Brute’s side. He received little resistance from what he assumed to be some kind of magnetic holster. The huge spiky thing was surprisingly light. If he had the time to guess, it was around five pounds.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Oliver screamed as loud as he could as he swung the spike stick into the Brute Jumper’s side. The spike gained purchase, sinking into the flesh and material. Upon contact, the weapon ominously began to glow. “What the fu-?!” A giant gloved hand grasped his face and lifted him, throwing him across the second floor. As Oliver flew, he began to get the hang of it, he curled up as he tumbled through chairs, tables and umbrellas. The Brute Jumper roared again as he grabbed at the spike in his side. The gnarly spikes looked hooked into the skin and armour plate. With murder in his eyes, the alien looked back at Oliver and began to run towards him. Low to the ground, crossing meters in a step. Both yelled as the two got closer together. The Brute Jumper pounced towards the Lance Corporal but his target threw himself to the right at the last moment. Sending the Brute tumbling over the side of the building into the Greek Restaurant below. A half moment later, an explosion. White hot metal spikes shot into the sky. The cook let out a haggard half-cough-half-laugh.

There was no rest to be had however as the rest of the second floor was still in chaos. Oliver wanted to laugh and cry as he got to his feet. He wasn’t out of it yet. There were still three other Brutes on the roof battling it out with his team. He could see the ODST sniper not in much better of a position than he was earlier with a Jumper of her own descending on her. Maple, maybe the only person left from the 8th in this building was being rocketed wildly into the space above them by her Brute. Or maybe by her own design. Last but not least, probably the most reliable officer left was about to be skewered by their Brute. Not that the MP wasn't trying his damnedest to kill the thing. In the corner of his eye he saw an M45D, not his though, Maple's. He rushed to grab the weapon, he really did not want to fist fight a Brute again.

by **Hastur** » Fri Dec 17, 2021 11:33 pm

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

A brief hiatus in the desperate spat came. The last of the covenant assaulting squads being wiped out by the cumulative firepower of The World Cuisine. Longacre took a taped exhale as she scanned the field, spotting no stragglers amongst the bodies strewing the field. To her relief, the trooper, who had been slung from the front of the store like a cheap cartoon, was alive. The man rose from the fountain and made his way back inside, under the cover of Longacre’s rifle. Despite the silence, her control on the weapon was adamant, stock inserted tightly into her shoulder as she scanned.

“Don’t count your chickens yet, lads.” Longacre announced dryly. The moment of stillness wouldn’t last. More would come, they always did. Underneath the atmosphere of distant pitched battles, a gentle, drifting hum became distinctive. Longacre glancing upwards as a soft shadow was cast downward from above, trembling sharply against the hazy natural light.

The ODST lieutenant let loose a warning shout as she identified the next engagement. Twelve brutes sunk from the skylight in unison, their jetpacks lowering them towards them as they opened fire. The tell-tale swoosh of incoming bolts and crack of their carbine overpowered the silence. Tungsten alloy peppered the surrounding milieux, the super-heated spikes protruding from the more solid surfaces. Longacre hugged the sandbags, rifle lowered, teeth gritted as she delayed for the lull. In her moment of artificial calm, she recognized from experience that they would have to reload soon, then she could hit back.

The murmur turned into a shriek, accompanied by a sequence of loud trembling thunk throughout the building’s construction. Longacre’s eyes swelled as she scanned her side. One of the colossal creatures landed mere inches away. For a moment, it failed to notice her, the brute focused on others diving for cover. But eventually, it’s hostile hate filled gaze clashed with hers. Almost as if it could see her shocked expression through her polarised veil as it raised the spiker carbine towards her face.

In a flash, and without thinking, Longacre darted from the security of the sandbags. Spikes pulverised the position she was in as the weapon flashed incessantly. The rounds tracking close behind her as she bustled away around the behemoth, desperately attempting to put distance between her and the threat in order to engage.

The brute weapon paused its rattle. The monster turned to eclipse her, giving chase. The weighty clatter of its stride followed closely, outpacing her own. Unable to run, Longacre knew she had to fight, or she’d be torn limb from limb. Her heart galloped as she spun, flicking her rifle towards it, her arms leveraging the cumbersome weapon high through a stressed sputter. In a flash of misjudgement, the brute was tighter than she realised. In the rapid flow of motion, the long barrel smashed against the brute’s bicep, rapping against it with no effect. The abrupt break produced a flare of trepidation in longacre as the monster bore its teeth in disgust. Snarling, It smashed her weapon aside with one effortless action.

Her last means of defence was wrenched from her hands. The hulking mass aggressively shuffled towards her, growling in anger, malice gleaming in its eyes as it almost seemed to be toying with her. Anxiety was winning over. A weirdly surreal sensation she had felt twice before assailed her, the notion of imminent demise became thoroughly real. She had seen what the brutes would do, and she wouldn’t survive it. It was a lost battle.

“Come on then!” Longacre screamed through gritted teeth; her cry suffused with dread as she slipped herself backward. She heaved her hands up defensively. Her arms shuddered as she discharged all her weight into a staunch right-handed stroke towards it. Her fist crashed with its mouth, the creature barely blinking as it retorted to the bold jab merely with direct retaliation. Its massive hands seized hold of Longacre’s arm as pursued a second jab, yanking her suddenly up from the ground.

Pain spiked through her arms, Longacre expelled a brief shriek in agony. She desperately squirmed to get free, her legs kicking frantically as the grasp of the beast fastened, cutting off circulation as it shook her around. From her watery, hazy vision, she could see the brute preparing the brute spiker rifle to run it right through her abdomen.

Gunfire suddenly came in from the side, pellets from the eight gauge shotgun coming alarmingly close to the ODST. The beast appraised the new menace, electing to toss the ODST to the side like a child in a hissy fit rather than tear her limb from limb. With an energetic flick from the brute, Longacre went soaring, letting loose a brief yelp before colliding with the wooden furniture back first. The material splintered and smashed as it broke her fall; the armour being the only thing saving her from a serious injury.

Her body felt broken, a thick pain buzzing through her joints and back as she coiled around amongst the wreckage. Longacre gave off a harsh, deep sputter involuntarily as her head tilted upward, glancing towards the front of the store. The brute had now found its next target, the army trooper who had helped her previously with the shotgun.

by **Caber** » Sat Dec 18, 2021 1:59 am

Private Joshua Moiner
Kilo 45
New Alexandria Starport // August 23rd, 2552

Quiet. At least moderate quiet compared to the cacophony of violence that had filled the space just moments ago. The chieftain was dead and all the little buggers had been killed or ran off back the way they came. Private Moiner stood up and looked over the devastated food court, debris and bodies littered the area while cries of wounded warriors made Moiner's stomach feel uneasy. We actually lived. he thought to himself with a slight smile on his face. The silence was broken just a second later by the whirring sounds of jets, more Covenant, the big ones that had lead the attack. A dozen jumpers rained down from the sky peppering the area in firepower and explosions, the screams of troopers and marines filled the air as men were hit by melee and ranged attacks from this new menace. Moiner had just got down a crouch when the brute landed not ten feet to his left.

A snarling beast, nine feet tall in full armor with a jet pack worked in. In his left hand the roaring monster held a long pistol like weapon with a great metal spike on either side curving out like a pair of twin swords, the weapon would have taken both of Moiners hands to use and would have been clumsy, it looked like a child's toy in this things muscled grip. Private Moiner turned in his crouch and let loose a scream from deep inside. No anger or aggression just pure fear and a feeling of warm liquid spilling down his leg. The brute pivoted to look down on Moiner and let out its own roar or laughter. Moiner couldn't tell. In addition to Moiner's scream came out an automatic spray from his fully loaded magazine. Thirty-two 7.62x51 mm full metal jacket armor piercing rounds fired at next to point blank range contacted with the brute's left leg and chest and traced up to his head. The majority of the mag was absorbed by his shield and bounced harmlessly off the armored juggernaut in a spray of blue energy, the last few rounds broke it and knocked the metal helmet off the Jiralhanae's head and sent him into a rage as purple blood trickled down his forehead. and dropped to the stone floor. Moiner now fully out of ammo for his rifle decided on his next best choice of action Fuck this! he thought and threw the several pound rifle at the creature hitting him square in the jaw and knocking him back a step.

Turning around and stumbling as Moiner left his crouched and accelerated to a full sprint behind the pillar he had previously run to, looking back the brute was in pursuit and despite his massive size he was faster than the militiaman and gaining quickly on the terrified human. He made it to the pillar and started to turn while reaching his right hand down his leg to retrieve his holstered pistol before a fist struck Moiner in the gut and he fell to his knees. His vision was filled with stars and his mouth tasted metallic. The beast had thrown aside its weapon and caught up to Moiner to kill him with its fists alone.

"No wait!" He screamed in vain as the gigantic beast picked him up by the neck and slammed Moiner into the pillar. It laughed as it beat him into the pillar once, then twice, then three times and finally held the militia soldier at eye level, saying something Moiner didn't understand in another language it brought up it's free hand and prepared to leave nothing but a bloody paste on the pillar. Joshua Moiner beat him to it. In one solid, quick motion Moiner brought up his M6D sidearm he had upholstered when the beast first grabbed him and raised it to the creatures left eye. The alien menace actually looked surprised and alarmed as Moiner fired one 12.7 mm round through its eye and out the other side of its head, leaving a trail of purple blood. The grip around him loosened as the body crumpled to the floor in a heap and Moiner was left sitting behind the pillar with a dead brute in front of him. I actually did that? he asked himself as he sat, exhausted, while others kept up the engagement ahead.

by **Beiarusia** » Sat Dec 18, 2021 9:17 pm

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

The Chieftain was dead, shredded by the HMG that 2LT Grey had braced atop the staircase. Maple, stepping back and away from the ODST, and away from the carnage that had rocked the ground level – she still wasn’t accustomed to the blood – felt a sudden pang of optimism as the gunfire lessened throughout the now wrecked food court. Grunts and Jackals were dangerous on their own, but now that their leadership had been thoroughly dispatched the assaulting Covenant had lost their momentum. Easy pickings for the battle-hardened ODST’s.

“I-Is it over? Did we win?” stammered the young and inexperienced Army Trooper. She peeked over the sandbags just in time to witness Dubbo limping back towards the main entrance of the World’s Cuisine.

To that Longacre simply said, “Don’t count your chickens yet, lads.”

Maple had barely the time to comprehend the idiom when the growing calm was suddenly torn away. Beyond the concourse a civilian transport was spooling its engines for liftoff, but alongside it an odd whirring that was familiar yet not quite human machinery. Then came the shouts, the panic, as Brutes descended upon them from above with oversized jump-packs made to suit their gargantuan frames. Most landed near the fountain, in the wide-open space of the atrium, rallying the scattered Grunts and Jackals into a newfound assault against the World’s Cuisine with a vicious and booming warcry. They fired indiscriminately at anything remotely human, suppressing those inside with a lethal spray of spikes that threatened to skewer whatever or whoever they hit. Unlike the Chieftain that had charged recklessly ahead – a tactic that, while inflicting multiple casualties, had not succeeded in dislodging the squatters – the new arrivals advanced slowly and with overwhelming firepower to minimize any retaliation.

Worse, those up on the balcony were unable to provide much needed assistance as more Brutes had landed amongst them. Within seconds they were engaged in a very one-sided brawl. Maple, a deer in headlights, could only watch on in horror as Grey was tackled by the nearest Brute. Another had slammed into Chiao and sent the cook’s shotgun flying unceremoniously off the balcony. A third had disarmed the sniper.

Maple scrambled up and was about to run, the only thing she reasonably could do, when a fourth Brute landed almost on top of her, fangs bared as it yelled out in anger. Only after it had finished its howl did it take notice of Maple standing just off to its side, the young woman trembling as all the blood drained from her face. She wasn’t particularly tall but neither was she small, and yet standing next to this behemoth she felt incredibly tiny and vulnerable as it glared down to her with bloodthirsty eyes. But nothing happened. Not for a long moment as if neither had expected the other to be where they were.

“Uh… I was just gonna go,” the young woman croaked, knees shaking, and very much regretting not having gone to the restroom when she had the opportunity. It was taking all she had to maintain that dignity.

The Brute reached out, far faster than one would assume of something its size, and seized her by the chestplate, lifting her up and off the ground so that her feet were dangling, kicking uselessly against the tree-trunk torso, and that their eyes were level. The Brute roared, its rancid breath filling her nostrils as spittle flew from its open maw. Maple, having dropped her shotgun upon being snatched, kicked and punched and cried but accomplished very little other than to elicit a small chuckle from the Brute as it mocked her puny efforts.

Before the Brute could end her life it was distracted by the commotion going on nearby, and ranking Maple low on its priorities, hefted its Spiker to begin shooting at whoever it could with its “snack” held in the off hand.

“Let go of me you… you… fuck!” she yelled, her voice drowned out by the gunfire that had once more consumed the food court. Kicking did nothing. Punching did nothing, and only resulted in the Brute shaking her as if annoyed. Prying at the fingers made it abundantly clear the vast difference in strength. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she repeated, over and over and over, as if that word alone would keep at bay the chilling realization that she was about to die. She had heard the stories, they all had, and her death would be anything but pleasant. Maple racked her brain for something, anything, to free herself, mentally taking stock of every tool she had on her person.

A knife? Maybe, but the Brute would likely just snap her like a twig.

A screwdriver? Same problem as the knife.

Her eyes drifted then to the Brute itself, looking for anything she could grab at before settling onto the mechanisms of the jump-pack. It was a snap judgment, but she reached out, stretching so that her fingers brushed against the tarnished metal of the contraption. She groaned in determination as she stretched further. The Brute, preoccupied with the battle, was not helping as it moved about, shaking her in an uncaring and lackadaisical manner. Then her fingers caught something and she began pulling.

Only too late did the Brute realize that the human was up to something. Pausing its attack, it turned its head to look upon her with confusion just as the mechanism snapped back, activating the jump-pack and sending the two of them hurtling skyward. Maple screamed in panic; the Brute yowled in confusion. The Brute’s shoulder slammed into the skylight frame, sending it rocketing in an awkward trajectory as it finally released Maple, who flew higher still until the feeling of weightlessness hit and the subsequent freefall. She landed against the skylight frame, wrapping her arms around whatever she could as she dangled high overhead, still screaming.

But she was no longer grappled. Small victories.

“Don’t look down. Don’t look down.” Maple then immediately looked down and quickly panicked. She scrambled to get herself onto a better perch. A pull-up was easy, but as she tried to get high enough to throw her leg over the thin metal railings that constituted the skylight frame it wobbled slightly which was enough for her to rethink her plan.

Not too far away, however, the Brute was shaking its head clear of the ringing that had resulted from the unceremonious landing atop the roof. Jump-pack sparking, shield drained by the impact, and its weapon missing, the Brute howled in frustration before catching sight of Maple dangling not too far away. Growling with a seething fury, it crawled over to the edge and reached for Maple but she was too far out.

“Shit! Can we talk about this!” she yelled, now trying to scoot further away without losing her grip.

The Brute howled as it reached for one of the many Spike Grenades held magnetically at its side, but instead of tossing the explosive it instead tried to club Maple to death, again coming up just short with the spikes sparking against the metal railing as it passed too close for comfort. Then it started to crawl out onto the railing itself to get closer, the frame buckling somewhat under its weight, but the furious Brute was too overtaken by its anger to notice or to care.

Maple yelled again as the frame wobbled. She was inching her way towards the opposite side, away from the Brute, but the alien was determined to reach her, to club her into a messy pulp, but more likely they’d both fall into the atrium far below. “Go away! Bad monkey! Stop!” she shouted as if shooing the Brute would somehow work. It didn’t, and instead she found herself trading one precarious situation for an entirely new one. She considered letting go and taking her chances with the fall but that option seemed equally as unpleasant. So she tried another tactic: “Help! Someone help me!”

by **Anowa** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 2:13 am

_{WO-2 Sierra-045}
_{NOBLE Team}
_{New Alexandria}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1543 NST}

Futrellia wrote:"Shit, shit, shit."

It was a mumble, about 100 meters back or so. Turning back, the Spartan came to the stark realisation that the Corporal couldn't move as fast as she could, of course she couldn't she was carrying close to 200 extra pounds on her back.

The Spartan took a knee at the next crossroad, waiting for the Trooper to catch up. Another 100 meters ahead, the sound of gunfire and screaming was heard from the Starport. No exit was visible in a reasonable walking distance, and even then 045'd need to cross a green belt and a parking lot. The wail of jump packs, the howling of brutes, and the cacophony of weapons fire and pained and fearful yells came from in. 045 didn't know if they were soldiers or civvies, but at that point it didn't matter.

Holstering her pistol, she stood and planted her feet, "We're out of time, follow me in."

As the Spartan stepped off, the pavement cracked, damn close to the instant she stepped off, her own organic legs, and the circuitry of her armor had plunged her in to a 50 kph sprint, a half dozen more strides and she hit 80 klicks, she blew through the green belt, approaching the wall of concrete and set her shoulder. Peaking at almost 96 kph, she blew through the two feet of reinforced concrete and sent a hail of rubble and rebar across the food court in a cloud of dust. The shield indicator on her HUD dropped barely a hairwidth. Thermal sights activated with less of a thought and more of a brain stem based primordial thought of needing to see through the smoke screen.

A gutteral roar to her left, and she moved without looking. A pink needle blew past her head as she calf hopped towards the Brute Captain, clearing the 5 meters between them. The Brute gave out a cry of something in it's godawful language, something 045 vaguely recognized to translate as an epithet for her kind: 'Demon'. The brute, preparing to try and crack the rifle he held over her head, took a step and coiled back. The Spartan dropped under the blow, her fist snapping out in to the brute's knee with it's power armor's shield shattering, and the snap, crackle, and pop of obliterating bone and ligaments. It let out a scream of agony, and perhaps for the first time in it's putrid life, fear.

Inside it's reach, the Spartan shifted her feet and put all the power she could summon to her legs, and left arm in to moving up. A sleight vapour trail formed around her fist as damn near every muscle from her heels to her left wrist tensed and acted in unison with the armor she wore. There was a sonic crack as the Spartan was a blur of upwards movement. Her fist met the Brute's jaw, and it decapitated the brute, if you could call partially severing it's head and vapourizing the rest a decaptiation.

Force carried the Brute's body another 4 meters in to the air, out of the dust cloud, which was now settling enough that the results of the fight between the Spartan and the brute were visible from the waist up.

Without looking, the 7 and a half foot tall walking tank snatched the Needle Rifle from the air and directed her fire on one of the Jumpers who was now hesitating as he was caught between the Store front, and one of the few actual threats left on the planet. The remaining brutes who weren't preoccupied with ragdolling the squishy unaugmented humans, began opening up on the Spartan, who countered in turn.

To 045, the Needle Rifle was likely the most unwieldly piece of alien garbage she ever had the displeasure of being forced to use. No stock, awkward length of pull, and a hazard to reload without a respirator. But unless she wanted to waste chunks of barely stable radioactive metamaterials, or the somewhat rare SAPHE for her sidearm, it'd have to do for now

Depressing the trigger, the first quintet of needles out of the rifle slammed in to the chest of a Brute now moving towards an IFF tag labeled as a Lance Corporal, the small readout hovering above his head indicating he was in a bad state, but as the last needle slammed in to the deshielded Brute, the entire upper floor was painted in a mist of Brute gore, courtesy of the blamite minerals. At that point a Spike from one of the brute's rifle slammed in to the rifle, and in an instant there was a flash of pink as shrapnel sprayed across her visor, color flaring a solid white in her thermals. Her visor automatically adjusted to prevent flash blindness, as the alarm in her HUD blared. Her shields were out, and she could feel Spike bouncing off her armor as the light in her eyes was reduced. Flicking her thermal vision off, pain lanced across her arms, the heat from the rifle detonating in her grasp being enough to burn her flesh and turn the coating on her armor a matte color.

A stab of pain rippled up the left side of her abdomen as she side stepped behind a support beam, almost every gun in the food court not being wielded by a human was now taking chunks out of the stony pillar. Aches from the wounds she had sustained were now at the forefront, but sheer force of will pushed them in to the back of her mind. Section that part of her instincts off, keep moving, keep fighting. Pulling the FRG off of her back she waited until a majority of the Brute's were in the process of reloading, as her shields began to regenerate.

A bright green bolt flew true with a howl and a diaphragm shifting thump. The recoil caused the pain in her hands and in her gut to intensify, but that was a worry for later. The Brute didn't do much but scream at the sight of the gel filled projectile ripped across the room, nearly melting everything in it's path from the ambient temperature. A heartbeat later, him and everything within three meters was incinerated, melted or heated to a nice cherry red.

Adjusting her aim, a second bolt lanced out and did the same to a Brute trying to retreat through the skylight, molten glass and aluminium rained down on the the floor. A Third frantically ran behind the statue at an attempt to breaking line of sight. In response, 045 took a few strides closer, fired a third round at the inner curve of the fountain's basin, and before the bolt had reached it's terminal phase, it bounced off the surface, redirecting it straight in to the Brute during it's terminal phase. The brute and his pack mate he was rallying with, were turned to ash, the rock that made up the fountain bubbled and gave way causing a small steam explosion, in turn causing warm to hot water to rain across the whole food court.

The statue of Wallace Fujikawa was still giving off that stupid grin.

No sooner had the squadron of 2 Seraphs and 6 Banshees identified the Pelican making a burn for orbit did they change corse for an intercept, an option only the two Seraphs could take. With Yankee following, his contrail was both much larger and much more recognizable to the Seraphs.

Yet the human Longsword had a solid reputation with Covenant pilots. Bristling with enough ordinance to down a corvette, and more than manueverable to hold it's own against anything the Covenant had, it's only weakness, was that it's armor was "only" 10 inches of titanium-A. More than enough to handle a prolonged firefight, but too much damage and the airframe would need to be scrapped.

It was almost exactly 2 seconds after Yankee's contrail formed as they broke through the atmosphere did the Seraphs outright turn 90 degrees to the ground, and give up the chase. Sangheili were glory hounds, but the pilots of the species had the brainpower to not engage with the veritable grim reaper of UNSC air power.

Off a few hundred klicks to the left, the wreckage of Anchor-7 and between three to five frigates were scattered across Hell's half acre. Three to five primarily due to the fact that there were enough engines for 3 Stalwarts, but there was no way in Hell that much debris came from just three of them. Off in the stance, a picket of destroyers and frigates were successfully fending off a series of corvettes and cruisers, though at a cost, "downwards" was the ruins of both UNSC and covenant vessels, though the glittering far in the distance certainly wasn't stars. To the right, nearly beyond the horizon the sight of a mass field of wreckage, with the cracked back of a familiar ship. A ship that rather quickly became a second sun as it's engineering section detonated in to a white hot ball of plasma.

Corti spoke, more to himself than to his crewmate, "That was the Trafalgar...Fuck... Is that all of Golgotha?"

Golgotha was the battle Group the Trafalgar was assigned to, but the debris field had no further movement in it, and a few ships in formation "up" began to redirect to that area.

The Autumn was in visual range now, less than 90 klicks. It was sat dead center in a debris field of Covie wreckage likely as a mask. It seemed like they weren't the only craft approaching to making deliveries either, Albatrosses were coming and going, as were Herons and Condors, all sling loading various things or open bay transport. They were loading the Autumn up with all manner of ordinance and gear, but very little personnel by the looks of things.

A voice cut over radio <<November 909, this is the Pillar of Autumn's Traffic control, updating waypoint for hangar bay 6, land on pad 4.>>

_{Warrant Officer Rosenda-A344}
_{Special Warfare Group Three, NOBLE Team}
_{Olympic Tower Atrium}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1543 NST}

The gunfire started dying down. It was either a good sign, indicative of having killed all the alien bastards assigned to killing everyone in the building... or...

"NOBLE 2, NOBLE 7. We don't have any radiation spikes do we?"

"Negative, NOBLE 7. There aren't any Covenant vessels in range with excavation beams, it's not a glassing over."

"Betcha that's what the Grafton bridge staff said." there was silence on net, "Sorry."

"... We don't know how long you're going to have Seven. One's coming down to talk to the next in line."

"Next ion li-... God damn."

Across the room, a spartan in blue and gray armor approached, his foot falls not indicative of the weight his armor weighed. He didn't salute on approach, acutely aware of the area's status as a combat zone, even if imminent risk was gone, he took a knee beside Patkos and Grimsdottir, though his attention was on the elder of the two, "Captain Patkós, Commander Carter; Special Warfare Group Three, NOBLE Lead. We haven't formally met but I'm afraid this isn't the time for that." a pause, "I'll be forthcoming as I can Captain, you're currently Third in line for overall command of the Reach Defense Coordination Zone. The UNSC Trafalgar was rendered inoperable and was lost with all hands less than a minute ago. You took Admiral Cunningham's spot in line."

The Spartan gave the woman a moment to digest, "As of current, we're working on finding you the equivalent of a personal guard and hopefully to get you somewhere more secure, but as you can understand that criteria is rapidly dwindling. HIGHCOM as of current wants you rooted in this facility, do you understand?"

by **Ormata** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 3:44 am

_{CTT1 Vykopal, Marián B.}
_{ONI Section 1 "Totem Pole" SIGINT Analytics Team}
_{ONI Regional HQ, Olympic Tower}
_{New Alexandria, Reach}
_{August 23rd, 2552}

The lights didn’t flicker, the smooth hum of the generators echoing throughout the building, the comfortable whine of air conditioning always in the background, and it all just seemed to unnerve Vykopal. He stood in his room, foot tapping as he watched the program devour itself on his computer. The bar ticked away and away, jumping in micro-leaps and then crawling away, and one hand reached into the pocket of his uniform. The others had already been out, their own systems wiped clean by ONI bugs, but Vykopal wasn’t all that lucky. He’d amassed only a tad too much information in his short stint on Reach, something that was proving difficult to scrub by the program. Another little jump as he withdrew a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out. The lights didn’t flicker, the air conditioning didn’t cough, and a whole planet was going straight to hell. It made him uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right. Armored shutters had closed down over what would’ve been the window, only further serving to isolate the office from what otherwise felt like a pervasive, omniscient fact of life that Reach was under assault and that it wasn’t going well. The only fact which reminded Vykopal of the seriousness of the situation was the red lighting, dark, oppressive.

He’d heard the fleet get blasted out of orbit. Thousands of souls were snuffed out like candles against the wind, without probably a second thought, and it seemed wrong but the man was sort of glad he hadn’t known the poor bastards. Alice was back on Earth, Radovan elsewhere on projects he didn’t need to know about, and the parents were still on Neos Atlantis…and besides, whatever other friends he’d made were either on Reach a few dozen stories above him or were on Prowlers across the width of the territories. No, the people dead up there had been strangers and with a strange feeling in his gut Vykopal was happy by that. He lit the cigarette, watching the program tick by nice and slow.

The armor about his chest wasn’t a comfort, either, though Vykopal had donned it because of the simple fact that, while it might not always stop a needle, it might stop the shrapnel from an explosion that wouldn’t have otherwise killed him. The man sighed as he took a drag, glancing down at the M45D he’d had ‘procured’. It was pretty likely that half a dozen ONI crazies had done the exact same thing he had. Heck, the Warrant Officer he’d worked with on a few occasions was among those crazies…in all honesty, so was he. Getting a shotgun for a rainy day was preparation for truly strange weather, the sort that might shoot back, though he’d always logic’d it away to himself. Maybe riots, maybe Insurrectionists, maybe some sort of security breach, one thing or another. Covenant invasion had always been on that list, but never really thought about all too much. After all, what was a shotgun going to do against a Covenant ground force…he’d logic'd that away, too. Vykopal just didn’t like being useless and the M6P in his belt holster, while useful, was a far cry from a longarm. Four of it’s small magazines nestled in pouches about the other side of his belt, safe and sound, while the red and black shells for the M45D stuck-out like lights running down either side of his chest on the place carrier webbing.

Another drag as he surveyed the office. It was barren still, barren compared to many of his colleagues, with only two pictures framed on a wall. The first was his family right before Oleg and Alice had left, the two of them in their dress uniforms as shiny as can be, all of them smiling. The second was his graduation photo from the CT schooling on Luna. A slow look over them…half, maybe five-eights dead or missing. A lot of them had been put out on the heavy cruisers and battleships, big decks that were the first casualties in most battles. They were all smiling, too, though a few…a few Vykopal couldn’t rightly remember much of them, remember how they acted, what they did during school, their quirks or likes or dislikes. They were just gone. He didn’t rightly know how to feel.

Shots from down below. He could hear it through the floors just as the progress bar finished and the system shut down entirely. One hand grabbed the M45D in his off hand, the other retrieving his access card, leaving the room nice and quick with light footfalls. Moving through the hallways, ballistic glass on either side with cubicles off to the left, he made his way over to the elevator. Why he’d volunteered to stick around…god, Vykopal wasn’t all that sure on the precise reason. It was hard to put something into words. As it made its way down to the atrium floor, the fire seemed to die down finally…had the Covenant all been killed? Possibly. Had every human been killed? Also just as likely if not more so. He desperately hoped the latter wasn’t the case. As the doors slid open and the man grasped the M45 with both hands, he was relieved to find that it wasn’t the case. A good number of people were still standing, along with…christ above, the Captain, that same Warrant Officer, and a SPARTAN of all people. That explained why they’d lived to one degree or another. Crouching down and praying that some Jackal with a rifle wasn’t lucky…or was waiting a tad too long…he made his way over to the cover the three had set up about in a short, weird little sprint.

“Ma’am,” was Vykopal’s little greeting with a nod as he got down beside the Warrant Officer, well off to the side of the SPARTAN and the Captain. She had a silenced M7 in her hands, one of the types you always saw ODSTs get…was it even surprising anymore? Not really. The armor Grim had kitted herself in was just as weird, all things considered, something he would expect from a field agent and not a linguistics expert. A part of him felt underdressed, though in all honesty he was. “Glad to see you’re in one piece so far.”

by **Romic** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 4:19 pm

Staff Sergeant Jaxon Steele
Ad Hoc Unit Kilo-45
New Alexandria Spaceport, Reach, Epsilon Eridani // August 23rd, 2552

One...
Jaxon took a deep breath. Fighting for the food court had started, some of his favorite food represented at the World Cuisine. The fighting had made everything a blur. Then a shock and falling debris descended on him causing blunt force trauma to his helmet. His body flattening against the ground as bullets, plasma, and dirt flung over head. His eyes fluttered for a moment as his vision blurred and came back to focus on what seemed to be a walking, talking, and ass kicking tank. Then his head got light, and he began staring into an abyss.

Two...
"Jaxon... Jaxon... HEY! JAXON! Wake up, get up kid." The big and brawny foreman smacked his face as his eyes fluttered to life. "You're gonna get yourself killed if you don't get up. That blast went off a little early..." rocks crumbled down the shaft disintegrating an excavator. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" screamed the foreman bolting toward the opening.

Jaxon flailed his arms amongst the dirt and rock on the ground, boots catching and scrapping causing him to fall back on his face and hands. The collapsing shaft continuing it's wrath of destruction toward him... "Dear fuck, I promise to be a good man, I promise to be a good man. I'll do anything if I make..." his boots finally catching some traction and moving upright and in a jaunt to survival.

Three...
"Three...Two...One..." Jaxon grinned, ear to ear as his first charge went off. All the schooling and hard work with mine finally payed off. Now he can finally make sure the charges are placed, weighed, and detonated with safety and rules in mind. The old demo guy had little regard for all of that and almost got him killed early in his career.

His eyes shot open
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" this wasn't like the simulations and training rounds he did. This also wasn't some pudd guard duty he was pulling, or even some end of year demo blows. This was the real fucking deal. His home, his planet, his people being attacked by these... these... things. The small ones still standing just as tall if not a little taller than him. "Why the fuck did I do this, where the fuck is my gun?" he thought to himself.

His kit was a disorganized mess, everything out of regs and with no real order. He flailed his arms amongst the dirt and rock on the ground, boots catching and gaining a little traction. His HUD was fucked and hoped he could snag something to replace it, with his luck some of the small amounts of explosives would still detonate without it. He hadn't done a proper inventory since fighting started. He touched his chest rig pockets "check", then moved to his holster "check", back pockets "check." he thought to himself, rushing to whatever cover he could muster his M7 cracking off rounds at whatever non-human flesh his could see. He saw one trooper on the skylight with one of the big motherfuckers swiping at them. His head still swimming from the knock to the head.

by **Futrellia** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 7:49 pm

Corporal Dariga Şäkirova
97th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, 4th Battalion, "W" Company, Fourth Platoon, 2nd Squad
New Alexandria Starport // August 23rd, 2552

Corporal Dariga panted heavily as she continued marching forward, her legs on fire, her arms numb, and her shoulders aching. Even as she tried to keep up pace, it always seemed that the Spartan was always just nearly out of view, no matter how quickly her pace had become during her struggle to maintain the weight upon her shoulders. She thought that the hulking warrior would have just left her there, realizing that getting wherever she needed to be was more important than waiting for some lowly Army trooper that'd probably just get shot and killed whenever they got to where they were going. But she was pleasantly surprised that whenever she looked up from the cracked and shattered chunks of concrete that was formerly one of the main thoroughfares of New Alexandria's freeway, counting her steps, each terrible step accomplished by the effort of burning muscles of carrying something 74 pounds heavier than her, she found the Spartan, knelt down and waiting.

"We're out of time, follow me in." She said to her as she immediately stood back up and sprinted off. Corporal Dariga stood in utter shock as she breathed heavily. Waited for her to catch up just to leave her again. "Шын айтасың ба! Сен бейбақсың. Сен айлакер бейбақсың!" She cursed out in her native language as she continued on, running as fast as she could.

By the time she arrived to the World Cuisine section where there were other UNSC friendlies, she felt the hot rain pour all around her. Near the safety of the ODSTs and other personnel, she collapsed to the ground, Ataboyev rolling off of her aching shoulders. "Medic!" She yelled out.

by **United Islands of Polis** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 9:45 pm

Lance Corporal Maksim Ruslan Chukov
88th Armored Battalion, 3rd Company, Second Platoon, 1st Squad
New Alexandria, Olympic Tower// August 23rd, 2552

Maksim looked at the scope of his BR-55HB. The magnification of the weapon's scope gave him an advantage over almost anyone at range, however from the third floor of the Olympic Tower, it proved to be a bit of a struggle. The view was vast, but not too far, however with the sun setting, it was going to get harder to identify targets. Even when covenant weapons glowed neon colors, in the dark of night in a burning city drowned in orange and red, it was incredibly hard. The threat for now asides for the adventurous Covenant Lance was eye fatigue, and Maksim was feeling it already setting in.

How long had it been? Hours for sure. The first time he heard that the Covenant was detected in Visegrad, he knelt on the floor and prayed that it wasn't true, that maybe it was ONI doing something questionable with Covenant weapons, but it was not. it was all true. And they were losing. Reach was the gateway to Earth, and he had to do something to stop them, cause the Covenant problems if it was possible. It felt like that's what they were doing. They sent waves of infantry and other equipment to try to dislodge them from the ONI office, but to no avail. But casualties were mounting. The only reason he was still sitting in an office chair on top of a table, with two tables stacked in front of each other his over and weapon mount was because of Covenant stragglers.

It didn't take long for him to find another group as a lance consisting of a dozen total, several Grunts and jackals, led by a Brute opened fire on a ground floor security team. It was a good thing that all the Covenant weapons were color coded, he knew exactly where that Brute was by following the orange spikes. For a second he saw that it was relatively unarmored, wearing the usual Brute garb, whatever counted as usual for them anyway. Adjusting the scope to get a clearer view he saw that the Brute was not utilizing cover as much. But at this point the ground team was starting to get overwhelmed.

Pressing on his helmet to transmit a message, he also adjusted the rifle for the last time. "Ground team, this is Chukov, I'll buy you some time to get your shit together."

Pulling the trigger the three round burst flew out, the first trio knocking the helmet off of the Brute. Turning to see where the source came from, it aimed the Spiker at him but it was too late, a second burst ended its life. As the Brute fell on the ground, eh could hear the squeaking of Grunts as they began to run. The ground team began to sweep the rest up while Maksim switched to another position, this time a Janitor's closet where the wall broke, providing yet another commanding view, but not as good as the previous one. he had other positions to switch to, alongside other marksmen present, taking out the Jackals and Grunts who tried to rally the group into an attack. In a few minutes the situation was under control again. With a sigh of relief Maksim pulled out his canteen and took a drink of water. The main question now was what was going to happen to them now? Get off planet? Fight to their last? Or perhaps a new not so known mission? It was an ONI Headquarters after all, God knows what's going to happen next.

by **Vacif** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 11:04 pm

_{LCpl Akakios Callilis}
_{12th Marine Regiment, 4th Infantry Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria Starport}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1541 NST}

Callilis picked up the battered MA5B. It had been thrown from his hands when the Chieftain barreled past him, but it wasn't too damaged. Outer casing looked fine. The digital display was a bit glitchy but he just did a hard reset of the weapon and ran a system diagnostic as he returned back inside, hopping over a shot out window. The reset fixed the electronics and the weapon was mechanically functional. He started towards the Brute Chieftain's shot and burnt corpse to aid the unfortunate soul trapped under the ~1500 pound space ape before he actually died but the ODST, Grey had got to him first. But then he heard it, the whirring, the sound of jet thrusters burning.

The Marine threw himself behind a booth, away from the windows. Upholstery and furniture wasn't going to protect him from super heated spikes, but it was concealment, and it would buy him a bit of time. The restaurant front exploded into gunfire as the exterior of the World Cuisine was quickly turned into a Brute's recreation of a porcupine. Callilis could see Brutes inside the perimeter as everyone fired everything they could into the invaders. Luckily his helmet had sound dampening and ear protection or else he'd not be able to hear naturally again. A soldier was being choke slammed, the rest of them being heavily suppressed. For the better part of a few minutes, Callillis bobbed between pieces of concealment and the scant few sand bags and deployed cover inside. Popping up just long enough to send off bursts of return fire, keeping Brutes from charging or maintaining fire superiority.

Brute Jumpers, he wasn't sure where they stood on the Covenant ground pounder ideology. They were definitely some hot shit unit, but he wasn't sure if they were like the Brute version of an ODST or a specialized unit like the Hellbringers. Another hail of suppressive spiker fire gave them an opening. They were definitely a gutsy bunch as proven by another Brute charging into the building under withering fire after the last one got put down by their target. Honestly Callilis was pleasantly surprised to see the kid still in one piece. The Greek popped out and braced the MA5B on his flipped table and held down the weapon as he held down the trigger. The 60 round magazine quickly depleted as they and everyone else's fire quickly whittled down the Brute's shields and soon power armour as it got neared. White hot tungsten spikes tore through the table, missing him and spiking into the front of house counter, going inert. It was surprising how sturdy the bar was. The Brute wasn't doing so hot but was committed to its decision. Under injury and desperation it charged the lone Marine and tumbled through the metal table. Bleeding heavily, and out of rounds, it attempted to slam down its bayonet onto Callilis. The marine backpeddled and let the unbalanced and injured Brute come to him. It growled at him as it continued its attack crawling towards the Marine on his back. Callilis raised the rifle and dumped the rest of his magazine into the space ape's skull.

And then, he heard something different. Like a wall came down and suddenly the roaring wasn't directed at the Cuisine World, but rather the other end of the cafeteria. The Greek huffed as he got up to his feet and peeked over cover. A Spartan had tore through the wall of the cafeteria and was single-handedly taking on the Brute squad. "Spartan on the other side of the cafeteria! Watch your fire we got friendlies!" Behind the Spartan he could see army IFF tags entering the breach. "Cover the wounded!"

A lone soldier with another on her shoulders came sprinting through the break in the wall. It was kind of redundant to announce the wounded and to tell the others to provide cover fire but sometimes people missed things, or electronics messed up. Callillis began firing on the Brutes to distract them from the Spartan and the army troopers, but the Marine heard the weapon before he saw it. The signature 'whump' of a fuel rod cannon being fired. Then, before his eyes the Spartan had atomized five Brutes that he could see. He could still hear a jetpack and screaming so he knew they were still in the fight. He raised his rifle and scanned for targets. The last Brute he could see on the ground level. He wasn't sure what it would do. He didn't care too much though, his solution would be the same. He began laying down hate on the Jumper with a needle rifle. Finally the army trooper broke through to their position and promptly collapsed, yelling for a medic. The wounded trooper and the exhausted trooper were both soaked in hot fountain water. "Corpsman up!" He yelled past his suppressive fire, pinging his position for the Corpsman.

by **Kyraina** » Sun Dec 19, 2021 11:42 pm

_{MSGT. Joseph "Bear" Bridges}
_{Kilo 45}
_Starport
_UNSC
_{23AUG2552 TIME}

Bear walked over to the window and listened as one of the evac pilots freaked out and left the docks and against orders. He watched as it was smacked from the sky, and then the pilots in his charged started to freak out and some crashed into each other, sending more wrecks into the ground. He looked at the work Amir had done and decided it was good.

Bear: <<All Callsigns assigned to Kilo Four Five Romeo, calm down, and stay where y'all are at. If y'all leave y'all will meet the same fate as Echo 2. I repeat, hold positions or flight path. We will hopefully have the skies cleared soon.>>

He heard the One Officer with a solid head yell out a warning.

“Shit, Jumpers!” Lt Grey had shouted. Bear up and saw the 12 jumpers in bound with 4 heading towards his position on the top floor of World Cuisine. One Brute went towards grey and started to man handle him, while another went after Maple, another towards Chiao, and The last one towards Longacre. Before he could even move to help, Chiao had gotten rid of his with a resounding explosion, and Maple had taken the brute with her on a Joyride. Longacre had tried to go cqb with her rifle against a brute only for the rifle to go flying.

Bear moved towards Lt Grey, who was hanging by his neck in the grasp of a brute, but the Brute's back was faced toward Bear, which gave Bear a very good target to aim at, The Jumppack on the Brute's back. He brought up his DMR, sighted on the Jump pack, and started to pull on the trigger. The first 5 rounds bounced off the brute's shield, while the next 4 tore into the jumpjet. The Jumpjet exploding and lighting the Brute on fire, who promptly dropped Lt. Grey. A few seconds later the jumpjet ignited one more time, and propelled the brute out the window, and into the chaos below.

He quickly dropped to a Knee and sighted on the Brute up top with Maple. He saw the Brute swing the spike Grenade at her like a club.

"PVT. Move out of the way!" He yelled over the Unit's comms to the poor girl. He pulled the trigger on the DMR several times, sending rounds towards the Brute. As the Rounds Impacted into the Brute's shield. The Brute turned its towards Bear and roared. It stopped its advanced towards Maple and prepared to jump at Bear as he poured fire into the Brute in Semi Auto fire.

_{LCPL. William Killroy}
_{Kilo 45}
_{Starport[/s
[sub]UNSC}
_{23AUG2552 TIME}

Killroy had first been pouring fire into the Grunts and Jackals, whittling their numbers down, but they was slowly advancing towards the restaurant, when the Brute Chieftain came charging through the mess of Jackals and Grunts and charged into the restaurant, and launched a few of Killroy's teammates through the air and even made a few of them paste. He heard several loud bangs as someone had somehow dragged a HMG that had been dropped with Ammo on the second floor of the restaurant. He ignored the Brute Chieftain and focused on the growing numbers of Grunts and Jackals. He heard the brute chieftain yell, the ricochet of the 12.7mm bullets off of the ground, and eventually the death gurgle of the chieftain, and the HMG go quiet.

The grunts and jackals were still fighting when 12 brute jumpers dropped down, with 4 towards the top floor. Killroy quickly ducked behind cover as rounds from the 8 remaining brutes poured into the window he had just been in. he popped back up and picked a target and began firing again, pouring fire towards a fireteam of brutes. He soon heard the bolt of the LMG slam close as the belt ran dry and he ducked in cover. He went to grab ammo, but he was out of ammo completely for his LMG. He thought about used the SPNKR on his back but decided against it as the back blast would likely kill everyone in the restaurant. He drew the M6G off its place on his hip, and popped back up out of camo and fired at a Brute with the pistol. to his surprise 1 round ripped through its already damaged shields, 1 knocked the helmet off of said brute and then the final round went into the Brutes head and detonated, killing the brute.

Before he could think about what happened a spartan came out of no where followed be reinforcements. He went back into cover and noticed a discarded AR beside him. He picked up it, synch its sights with his helmet, popped out of cover and fired towards the remaining brutes, as the Spartan took on a group of brutes.

"Someone back there, I need Ammo for the my MG, I need one of yall to get it, while I keep fire up."

by **Kassaran** » Mon Dec 20, 2021 8:36 am

_{CPL Amir, Benjamin}
_{Eposz Militia, Ad-hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria Starport}
_UNSC
_231544NAUG52

Amir had been trying to stay low as the firefight with the jumpers had begun to progress, but the sudden presence of the corpsman next to him bolstered his confidence as he turned and flashed a quick smile at the wry joke she gave. Naps or no, he'd kill for some sleep, and as he unloaded the rest of his pistol over the edge of the window, he honestly aimed to do so. He winced, the pain in his wrist flaring as she took hold of the injured area, a quick flick of her own wrist and he felt the area go numb, the doc working quick to get him patched up as he looked away and kept his gaze levelled out the window. Needles and plasma flew in every direction as the brutes took to the task of trying to eliminate the ad hoc platoon. He could hear the other UNSCDF in the area shouting out calls and he winced as he felt something brush bone in his wrist. He resisted the urge to look down, knowing it'd only cause him to likely freeze up and his eyes swam with unshed tears once more as he felt the biofoam fill the incision the corpsman had made.

His head turning to look the other soldier in the eyes, he nodded briefly as she passed him her own weapon and vaulted over the low window edge. He barely had time to register the direction she was heading before he scanned the area and saw a brute take more than a passing interest in the combat medic. The SMG chattered in short, controlled bursts. He had been trained on heavier systems, and his body worked automatically, the reflexively lean into the fire and the management of the caseless weapon's blistering-fast rate of fire made short work of the shields on the Jiralhanae as it whirled to send a few rounds from its spiker carbine back his direction. Another UNSC trooper began to shoot at the brute and its attention shifted again as Amir's vision was filled with flashes of pink. Only briefly, he registered that the jetpack on the beast was malfunctioning and his SMG chattered again as rounds impacted along the sparking and malfunctioning piece of equipment. Everything went a weird haze of pink and white and then black.

He snapped back to consciousness as he felt a warmth buzz at the back of his head. The explosion from the brute's jetpack had lifted him off of his feet and sent him careening back into an overturned table. The din of the firefight was dulled by the ringing in his ears and he shook his head to try and free the cobwebs from his cranium. It didn't do much, but it was enough to get pain rolling in his mind and to bring him to awareness as he recalled the fleeting form, of the corpsman as she'd sprinted away from him. If he was going to be this injury-prone, he'd invest in just attaching himself to her six. It was all he could do to think that much as plasma slammed into the wall beside him and he dove for cover, the sound of a new firefight erupting at the far end of the atrium brought a curious glance towards the hulking sight of a cyborg now engaging the covenant from their flanks. It was a familiar and awe-inspiring sight of a SPARTAN in action and he thinly grinned as the platoon comms lit up in recognition of their sudden arrival.

"Copy that Marine! Eyes on."

Looking around, he saw a rather stunned looking soldier collapsed against a pillar, a familiar look of shock and quiet where they were sitting. He pointed at the man and shouted, the militaman's armor showing Viery as their position of origin.

"On your feet Private! You're with me. Load that magnum and stick to my ass."

With that, Amir checked the SMG and extended it's stock. It was likely only going to be good for one more burst of fire, but he could use his Magnum if things got that dire. With a SPARTAN present now though- and he could hear the familiar whumping sound of heavy ordnance being employed- they stood a chance of holding this position if only for the purpose of buying the civilians on the transports beyond the bay doors a little more time. Warmth trickled across the back of his neck and droplets of water fell in sauna-hot sprays across the open areas of the courtyard. His eyes briefly averting as he avoided letting any of the liquids fall onto him, he cast a second glance around the area and noted that already all but three, maybe four of the brutes, were already down and the few stragglers were being taken to task, though it appeared things had gotten uncomfortably hot on top of the World Cuisine and a soldier screamed in terror from her position, just hanging around in the rafters.

I'm going to a special hell for that one, but I'll care when I have the chance I guess.

He quickly caught up to where the Corpsman had ended up and keeping a distance of only a couple meters between himself and her, he kept a keen eye towards where he could see the remaining aliens fighting, and where the new arrivals had ended up. A wounded soldier quickly being deposited by a weary soldier from the Army after having been dragged in by the SPARTAN likely from the fierce and vicious urban combat beyond the Starport walls. She called out in the midst of the fighting for a medic and nodding towards the corpsman if she'd cared to check, he readied himself to put down whatever suppressing fire to cover her. He didn't need to tell the Army soldier to prepare herself for the fight though, just had to be able to support and so braced himself for the next wave and whatever alien horrors it would bring. A quick check of the battlefield and he could only pick out the location of one high above, with a second on the roof from the sound of it. He hoped that the ATC was still good as he gave a derisive groan and looked towards the Corpsman.

"Doc, I'm grabbing more ammo from up top, and something a bit bigger. I'll see if I can't scrounge up some more kit for you too."

Quickly circumventing the multiple soldiers that were posted up in positions around the ground floor of the restaurant, trying to take stock of their ammunition, he bounded up the stairs -two steps at a time- only to nearly fall on his face as he caught sight of a massive ball of angry fur and flesh charging another soldier. Sweeping low, he skirted the beast and focused on his job, there was already more than enough eyes and barrels trained on the beast and he didn't need to add to the firing mass of those on the roof. Instead, he snatched two cases of 7.62 ammo by their handles and dragged them towards the edge of the roof. His right wrist throbbed and he winced as he figured he wasn't doing himself any favors, but he didn't have a choice and the doc could patch him up again if need be. His vision parting slightly from the exertion, and what he guessed was a minor concussion from the earlier explosion, he hefted the first case onto the rampart of the roof and looked over the edge. Nothing but wall and floor. He shoved and let the case slam into the courtyard below with a heavy thunk, spilling open and revealing fresh magazines of assault rifle ammo.

The second one he put on the edge, before noting it was the wrong size and his eyes caught sight of the LMG designation. He looked around hurriedly, trying to see if there was proper MA 5 ammo still nearby.

"Killroy! Munchies away!"

Somewhere below in the restaurant, he'd heard the man calling out for ammunition as he'd retreated towards the rooftop. The case of M247 went over the edge and slammed down next to the spilled AR ammunition, narrowly missing some of the exposed magazines that surely would have been crushed if he'd not pushed it over as far as he had. Looking back towards the rooftop battle, he searched for more pistol ammunition before snatching up a discarded MA5 and checking the ammo counter. 17 rounds left on the ticker, and the yellow band around its muzzle identified it as Army-issued. MA37's were familiar enough to him and he snatched the weapon before dashing towards the stairs back down to the ground floor again.

by **Revlona** » Mon Dec 20, 2021 5:20 pm

_{HCFC Alissa Viel}
_{105th Shock Troops Division, 7th Shock Troops Battalion, Ad-Hoc Unit Kilo 45}
_{New Alexandria}
_UNSC
_{August 23rd, 2552 - 1542 NST}

It was a haunting sound, one which had woken her from sleep in the past. The sound of desperation, fear, and pain in the voices of grown men and women as they called for help, for her help. It didn't matter in what form the called her, Doc, Medic, Corpsman Up, they were all the same. The all had her reacting immediately, her eyes flicking to see that most of the Bravo Kilo had been eliminated after the arrival of the Spartan, a path to the pings appearing on her IFF and sensors was clear. She broke into a sprint, covering the distance between where she had been and where she was being called from.

Combat medics had long been looked upon with respect, admiration, and love by those soldiers and marines which they had been entrusted with. Devil Docs, Angels of the Battlefield, and many other nicknames had been given to them over the many years of human warfare for what they were willing to do. The good medics were beyond willing to give their own lives to save even one of the lives they had been trusted with. Corpsman First Class Alissa Veil personified this now. Her medical bag flying from its strap behind her as she ran.

A slide brought her to a stop besides those calling for her, her sensors and the IFF already having informed her of what she needed to know. The Lance Corporal was fine as was the Corporal on the ground, if extremely exhausted. The man she had deposited however looked awful. "Corporal I get you're exhausted but that can be said for everyone, so catch your breath and get back in the fight," Veil said without looking at her, already injecting the downed soldier with morphine.

She next pulled a tourniquet from her bag and fixed it in place just below his left shoulder. He bucked then, a breathless scream accompanying his thrashes of pain, veil knew she couldn't amputate his ruined left arm with him in this semi conscious state safely. She turned to the Lance Corporal who was in the middle of changing mags, his IFF tag identified him as one Lance Coporal Akakios Callilis of the 12th Marine Regiment. "Callilis, hold this guy down or I can't cut!"

The Marine moved immediately, his weapon gently being propped up before he pressed his weight down upon the wounded man below him. After a couple prods to move his weight and ensure her patient was secure, she turned towards the arm. She activated her SFG and its now familiar yellow glow encompassed both his arm and her knife, sterilizing both. She began cutting then, attempting to save as much as the arm as she could . It didn't take her long, the flaps of flesh needed to sew the wound close being made in several practiced stroked of her blade.

She began fumbling in her bag for her saw then when a spike slammed into the concrete beside her head, she must have exposed herself while searching. "Fucking hell, brute bastards just want to make my life harder, " She muttered to herself as she finally found her Gigli saw and put it in place. She then began to saw, steadying the poor guys ruined arm with her knee. It was relatively quick and soon enough the limb was separated, she put down the saw and grabbed her stitches, sealing the wound quickly and ending the procedure.

Veil let out a small sigh before moving over to his right arm. He'd get to keep this one and her work was relatively simple to fix it up. She used a removal agent to dissolve the Biofoam which had already been placed on the wound. When it was gone her helmets sensors helped her to find the leftover fragments which remained in the wound after the needle had shattered, she removed these quickly with a pair of tweezers. When this was done she applied a healthy amount of medigel to the wound before covering it once again with Biofoam.

"I set up a small station for those wounded I already treated near the back there," Veil said to Lance Corporal Callilis. "Take him back there for me," She said, before gathering up her gear and departing, her job done for now. She kept low encase any covvies other than the obvious Bravo Kilo were hiding and looking for targets. Her eyes strayed to the second floor where she could hear an abundant amount of moans, screams, and general sound of the wounded and calls for medics coming from. It was there that she made her way next.

by **Ubaria** » Mon Dec 20, 2021 5:24 pm

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

"Gods above I hope not, I don't feel like dying on this gods forsaken rock, you tapped in to the local net? I-I never got the channel list."

"No. I'm afraid not" Vera shook her head. Her personal communication unit that was standard issue from ONI was wirelessly linked to the buildings intercommunications system which meant she could talk to any other member of ONI staff with a similarly linked device, though beyond that, it was hermetically separate from the local UNSC battle-net, though it could be paired if she had the correct encryption keys. Not that any of the channels on it currently were giving any clarity to the situation, a back and forth of scattered chatter between various groups in the building basically presented as much information as Vera could gather with her own senses. They were surrounded, vastly outnumbered and suffering casualty after casualty. She watched with a helplessly as a Marine took a plasma bolt to the throat, his scream was drowned into nothingness in the maelstrom of the battle as his buddy dragged him behind thicker cover.

She stooped to one knee once more and rattled off several shots at no target in particular, hoping the suppressing fire was at least effectual to buy any scrap of time she could. As Vera was just about to retreat into cover to exchange yet another magazine, a shadow loomed up next to her. A Spartan. They were just as imposing up close as they were watching them from afar, the armor clad figure had moved with surprising purpose and had wound up next to her relatively un-noticed. As he knelt, he was still around Vera's height and she found herself eye level with the soldier as he leaned in to speak.

"Captain Patkós, Commander Carter; Special Warfare Group Three, NOBLE Lead. We haven't formally met but I'm afraid this isn't the time for that ... I'll be forthcoming as I can Captain, you're currently Third
in line for overall command of the Reach Defense Coordination Zone. The UNSC Trafalgar was rendered inoperable and was lost with all hands less than a minute ago. You took Admiral Cunningham's spot in line."

Vera's eyes widened, narrowed and then fell sullenly into the floor as Carter explained the situation. Had it really come to this? The situation on the planet so dire that now Vera, of all people, was the third most important person on the planet. Her mouth fell agape for a moment, her lips poised to speak though nothing came but a brief exhale of concern.

"As of current, we're working on finding you the equivalent of a personal guard and hopefully to get you somewhere more secure, but as you can understand that criteria is rapidly dwindling. HIGHCOM as of current wants you rooted in this facility, do you understand?"

Understood? She did. Though grasping the significance of the situation was still something she was coming to terms with. Vera sucked down a gulp of air and nodded.

"I understand Commander. Though don't spare any men for my expense, i'm perfectly capable of defending myself." Perhaps a true statement if she were facing a comparable foe, but the Covenant were anything but.

Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

Halo: Trepidation (IC|Open)

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