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108th - Beta Halo by Jared Thomlinson & Mykail Morrier
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The Beginning
Date: 18 June 2007, 5:09 am
Darkness. Pain. Anguish. A single seat was placed in the middle of a nondescript room. The lights were out, and one could only vaguely make out the broken figure of a man as he hung limp in the aluminum chair. His body shook violently as he coughed. Blood splattered on the floor as the violent spasms slowly tore his lungs apart.
His eyelids forced their way open, breaking the bonds caused by the blood encrusted on them from a week of torture.
The room seemed to go on forever in the darkness. There were no clear lines showing where the walls were. The special operation's soldier found himself at home in the utter darkness. It felt safe, but he knew better than to think he was safe. He was anything but. There was a thump and he looked up, a white rectangular outline appearing on the wall in front of him.
Light enveloped him as the steel door swung open, creaking loudly. He raised his head weakly, looking at the tall silhouette in the door. "Hello again Mr. Thomlinson," the figure said, stepping into the room.
Jared's eyes slowly adjusted to the light as it filled the room. He could now make out those familiar concrete walls, covered in blood stains from past prisoners. There were faintly visible etches in the concrete, marks from where people had tried to claw their way out of the torture chamber. Jared knew that some of that blood was his. His shirt had been removed, and the marks from the whip were plainly visible on his back.
He breathed as deeply as he could without inducing a cough, the fresh air from the hallway outside replacing the stale air of the room he was in. The smell of death dissipated slowly as the air was recycled.
"I've always enjoyed torturing my prisoners, especially right up to the day where I shoot them in the head. As a matter of fact, everyone who has crossed me has died in this room."
"That's nice you piece of shit. I bet you take pleasure in hearing their screams of pain. I'm sorry that I haven't given you that nicety yet. Frankly, I think that you might as well shoot me now, just get it over with," Jared responded in as firm a voice as he could utter. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth, and he raised his head, spitting a glob of red at the man's feet.
"Oh really, I guess I'll just do that," the man said, jerking his sidearm out of it's holster and slamming it into the side of Jared's head. He cocked the hammer back, glaring at the soldier. Jared just stared right back, a cold piercing gaze, right into the man's eyes. The obvious hatred of the terrorist bringing the soldier's eyes to life, a stark contrast to his beaten and broken body. The man averted his gaze from Jared's, it was a stare few could stand. "You know what, you just want me to kill you. I think maybe I'll prolong your agony for a little while longer," the man said, turning around. Jared dropped his gaze to the floor once again as the sounds of the familiar torture tools clinked in the vague darkness.
"So, what's today, maybe a couple more lashes, some more hooks to my forehead? Maybe you'll be cutting off my leg now. If you do that, could you cut the right one? I need a new one anyway. An elite kind of messed it up and it hasn't been the same since."
The man continued his work at the table, ignoring Thomlinson's taunts. "No, I have something much worse for you today." He turned around, holding a needle up. "Today, I'm letting you pick your torture. This first is this," he said, raising the needle in his right hand up. "It is a hallucinogenic drug. The typical reaction is the overwhelming sensation of being on fire, or being hit by a plasma burst. Usually one of the two, but sometimes it has profound effects on a person, and they get thirsty. Extremely thirsty. And no amount of water can quench this thirst."
Jared tried to smirk, but failed. "And option two?"
"The second thing is this aerosol spray," the terrorist said, holding a small can up. "It is a muscle tenser. It has a second stage though. After tensing up every muscle in your body, it invokes massive muscle spasms. Combine these, and you will pull every muscle in your body, possibly tearing many of them."
"Hmmm. I've always wondered what it's like to be on fire, give me the needle."
"Oh darn, I was hoping you'd pick the spray. I've wanted to test that on someone for a while, but most people don't make it to this point." The torturer walked over to Jared and jabbed the needle into his chest, piercing his heart. The plunger went down, forcing the chemical into his body. "While that take's effect, I think I'll do something." He turned his head and shouted, "Guard! Come here!" He looked back at Thomlinson. "Watch this while you wait to start burning." The guard stepped into the room.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Yes, try this, it's a muscle relaxant. The Sergreant here doesn't believe what it does, and he thinks that it is some type of trap. I think that if I can prove that it isn't, then he'll let me use it on him. I'm having a benevolent day."
Jared felt like someone had just lit a fire at his feet. It wasn't so much as burning as it was just heat at this time. The warmth began to pass up through his entire body.
"Yes sir, but, are you sure sir?"
"Yeah. Why would I try to kill one of my own people?"
"Good point sir," the guard replied as he inhaled the aerosol. He stood there for a few moments, wondering what was supposed to happen. And then he went rigid. Every muscle in his body locked up at that specific moment and he fell over, his eyes moving wildly. His breathing was cut into short little gasps. And then his arm spasmed. The man tried to scream, but it came out as a squeak. His body began shaking violently. Then Jared screamed.
The heat came without warning. His body was on fire, and while he knew it wasn't somewhere in the back of his head, it sure felt like it. His vision had gone black just as he saw the guard start to spasm, and that was when the pain kicked in. He felt as though his skin was melting off as he screamed horribly. Not even a plasma blast that he had once caught in his side felt this bad.
Then the pain moved inside, and it felt like every cell in his body was flaming. As though his insides contained some kind of terrible inferno that was breaking out of his body. Nothing had been worse than this. Not a single one of the tortures could match the pain that this chemical was inducing upon his body. He writhed just as violently as the man laying on the floor was. He knew that he wasn't burning, but he couldn't help but scream in agony. And then came the mental blocks.
The Ghost's anti-torture training kicked in. He had an adrenaline rush and looked up, the pain dissipating temporarily as he caught the eyes of the terrorist in his gaze. The man tried to look away, but couldn't avert his gaze from the sight of the grinning soldier. And then came the laughter. Thomlinson laughed as hard as he could, laughing at the man's failure to break him down to a babbling fool. "YES! YES! THIS IS GOOD! JUST LIKE A DAY AT THE BEACH! YES!" Jared screamed at the top of his lungs And then the adrenaline wore off. The pain once again overwhelmed him, but this time, he didn't fight it. He let it overcome him, and fell unconscious.
____________________________________________________________
"Ghosts. We've got a new mission for you. Same general deal, but with a twist," the ONI intelligence officer said, speaking quickly. "I want this briefing to be well, brief, so here's the skimmy. First off, the location of a terrorist base. Here, in the small city of Roanoke, Virginia," said the Lieutenant. He waved a pointer to a holomap of the United States. "This is the big one. You know the leader of all of these terrorist attacks on Earth? He's here. We need him. That's part one of the mission. This is his name," the officer continued, pulling up an image of a forty something year old man. He was balding and had several large scars on his face. "Thomas Holland. World class asshole. This is a guy who's been organizing attacks on the UNSC since he was 17, and they've just gotten bigger.
"The second objective is to hack into their computer database and retrieve information on who's been funding them, and who supplies them with their weaponry. These guys are organized, and they're well equipped-"
A hand shot up in the air. Tom Simmons spoke. "Sir, with all due respect, why do you need us? Couldn't the UNSC hack into their system on their own?"
"No. That's the straight up answer. Not only is their entire computer network off of any main connections, it has one of the toughest firewalls we have ever encountered. Whoever did the computer work was good. Triple security, three separate firewall systems. All of these on a system that isn't on any connection that we can link into that may be strong enough to support the bandwidth of an intrusion AI hacking it. Even if the AI could get in, it would be transmitting far too much data for the terrorist network to handle, and the entire computer system would probably collapse. No more information. They've got it planned out well. It's ridiculous, I know, but it's the truth.
"Not only do they have the firewalls, but our biggest problem is that each computer has a fingerprint scanner. Without it, the computer won't even let you enter a password. There's no way to access the system except locally. And that's where you guys will come in. I'll leave the mission specifics up to your commanders, but the objectives are simple. Get in, capture Holland, download lists of those funding them, and then blow the place up. Conventional explosives only. No nukes. Not only are we short on them, but we can't just detonate a nuke in a city of two hundred thousand."
"Damn," Zero McGuiness muttered in the back.
The Lieutenant ignored McGuiness and continued to speak. "I'm leaving the infiltration methods up to your squad leader, Sergeant Major Thomlinson. Good luck Ghosts, and sorry for the rushed briefing." The Lieutenant picked up his laptop from the table and walked to the door. The light above it flashed green, the door slid open, and the Lieutenant left the room.
The Sergeant Major stepped up to the front, looking at the holo map. "Okay guys, the base is located under the city, as previously stated. Yeah it's cliched, and yeah, they probably looked it up in the big book for bad guys, but hey, it's their problem. Our satellites show entrances on the outskirts of the city. Now, the neat thing is, is that it is actually below the subway tunnels. There are access panels in these tunnels that drop to a lower level. Cut through the floor of that lower level, and we're in. Any question's so far?"
____________________________________________________________
Jared's eyes snapped open. The room was dark once again, and the torturer had left. From the small amount of light that filtered in under the door, he could make out the body of the guard who was stupid enough to take that aerosol. I guess he deserved to die, anyone that stupid couldn't benefit these guys at all. Then Jared noticed it, the bullet hole in the man's skull. Looked like a wound from a frangible, the only mess on the floor was a little bit of ooze coming out of the hole.
Lovely, so that's going to be me in another one or two days. What the hell other kinds of tortures could this guy have? He's flippin nuts, which would explain why he want's to kill anyone in the UNSC. Clearly we're the bad guys trying to destroy humanity. Jared looked around and sighed. No doubt the guard's keys had been removed from his body, and his weapon was gone for sure as well. The Chair, as he had come to know it, was aluminum, so there was no way that he could break it apart. Thomlinson sighed in resignation to his fate, and closed his eyes once again.
____________________________________________________________
"Sir, these sewers smell like shit, sir," Zero called from the back of the group. "Do they really lead to the subway system?"
"Yes, shut up and stay in formation," Jared said back, keeping his voice quiet but firm.
"Yes sir."
Jared peered down the tunnel. It appeared to narrow down about two hundred yards from where they were. They rounded a corner and the sewer stopped. Jared looked down, the water was just standing here, no drainage or anything. "Sh*t. Mitchell, are you sure that this is the right tunnel?"
"Yes sir, we're standing right in front of where the subway access is supposed to be."
"Okay, well, there are two possibilities. One, that map is completely wrong, or two, the door was covered up by our friends."
"Sir, I don't think it was either," Simmons said. He pointed down into the murky water. "Use infrared, there's a square patch here that is warmer than the rest of the floor."
Jared flipped his goggles to IR, and saw the patch. "Good work Simmons. Muldoon, get that hatch open. Chien, set up the fast rope from the ceiling. James, McGuiness, and Roberts, block off that water flow at the last passage."
A solid chorus of "Yes sir," was the response. Jared turned back to the spot on the ground with the great.
"Absolutely brilliant. Could I have been any dumber?" he muttered under his breath.
==================================================
The pelican roared out of the ONI Prowler Insepid Rumor on a wake of azure fire, it's engines screaming as they where pushed beyond the normal tolerance levels by the grim faced pilot. He was the picture of calm anonymity behind his polarized helmet, his breath mask keeping a steady beat; his heart rate didn't even raise as he typed in the silent handshake protocol of the 108th Ghosts, the defense satellites giving a green light on the HUD as the hurtled past.
From within the sealed troop bay, a squad of grim warriors sat calm, all wearing seal helmets, linked to the ship's air scrubbers directly; the bay had no air, as Charlie Squad said they didn't need the consideration. They where still as statues, looking the stuff of myths and legends as they would occasionally run an equipment check on their gear. If they where talking, none could hear them; over their personal comms, they where sealed away from the world, part of one mind, one voice...
Normally they'd spend this time to joke and have idle chit chat, a usual occurrence before a high risk mission; but not today. Delta Squad had called a red flag and needed immediate assistance, and after a slight mission that still came back as rather fuzzy for them, Charlie Squad had been in a position to assist. Not only where there two MIAs, one was none other than Jared Thomlinson... NCOIC of the 108th. Boots clanked up and down the corrugated steel of the pelicans center aisle, though sound carried terrible in the airless chamber.
If those seated around him where legendary and epic heroes, this being stood as a God amongst men. Standing barely under seven feet tall, the towering behemoth in ONI's latest Mjolnir Mark V armor paced the aisles, the dark urban camouflage adorning it not in the least dulling the dramatic affect of his form. He was magnificent and awe inspiring to his soldiers, placing a hand on each of their shoulders as he held a private word with each man over secure comms. He knew them all... he'd met their wives, friends, and families. They where his foster family, his brothers in arms... he would do anything to make sure they made it out alive.
He stopped at the end of the row, staring at the closed loading ramp of the pelican, his polarized visor belaying nothing of his emotions; Jared Thomlinson had been something like an older brother to him since he arrived, not coddling him, but doing his duty as a senior NCO...
____________________________________________________________
"Charlie Squad!? You where listed MIA after action on Sigma Octanus; explain yourselves!" The ONI lieutenant barked, the soldiers standing at attention before him. The Squad leader, a towering figure of a Spartan, had conveyed the courtesy to the Section 0 operative to remove his helmet, and the gesture had softened his demeanor... ever so slightly.
"Sir, we where caught up in some rather fortuitous events after a running gun battle, and then ended up on a Covenant vessel; we where able to ex-filtrate several POWs and technology, sir." He said calmly, his body rigid as a ramrod. The officer stared him in the face, but knew even if the soldier was lying his expression would betray nothing. He was a soldier, and a very hardened one at that.
"Very well then... I'll debrief you more candidly later, but we have an urgent mission that requires a Ghost solution... at ease, soldiers, take a seat." he said calmly, the soldiers finally relaxing as the projector came online. A satellite image of Roanoke came on screen, overlaid on the grid for the subway tunnels and sewer drainage pipe.
"Delta's mission..."
____________________________________________________________
The jolt of the Pelican finally breaching the atmosphere brought Asa-057, Spartan II, out of his trance. He turned to look at his soldiers, his comrades; helmets turned to face him, though it was unnecessary. He placed his hands calmly up into the hand holds overhead, usually reserved for airborne drops. No one, however, on this pelican was wearing a parachute. This was no aerial insertion, and they'd gone over it a dozen times together; hundreds maybe over the comm and HUD displays.
"Delta's down there waiting on us, men; they're two MIA, counting our good ol' Sarn't Major. He'll know we're coming, and so will the bad guys... but that's like saying you know a hurricane is coming, but there ain't much you can do about that, is there? When an act of God comes, no amount of warning is going to save you." Asa spoke darkly into his comm, rousing their spirits and adrenaline up with every word.
"We ARE that act of God; we're what they send in when the nukes aren't enough firepower! We are the right hand of the Lord above that will take hold of our enemies and crush them with our divine might! We are deliverance, my brothers; we are what haunts their nightmares! Ghosts in the Night! We'll show them what happens when you try and stand up to a HURRICANE!" He roared into the comm, the soldiers letting out a loud hurrah in reply. The Pelican thundered down through a cloud, gaining speed...
==================================================
Jared was flying through the air, still bound to the same chair that he had been stuck to before. It hit the ground with a thud, and the legs bent inwards, making the chair unusable. Thomlinson's head snapped back and hit the concrete floor, hard. His vision went black and he tasted copper.
There were loud footsteps and the chair was jerked upwards violently. The bindings holding his hands to the chair popped open and he collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently. "You God damned son of a bitch! I'm going to fucking kill you!" Jared shouted as loud as he could, but he was too weak, and it came out as a near whisper.
A massive hand wrapped around his neck and he was pushed forward, and then he was being dragged. The man jerked his head up, and grabbed one hand. He placed it on a table and bound it down. He grabbed the other hand and did the same. Jared tried to kick, but the guy was faster than he was, and he pinned his legs down. He felt something wrapping around his legs and then he couldn't move them.
"Mr. Thomlinson, good morning. Today is the day that you will die, but I'm still not done having my fun with you. Today we do a more psychological torture than anything really physical. Do you see these pliers?"
Jared glared at the man, and then the big guy's hand grabbed the back of his head and forced his head to nod yes."
"Good. You know, the great thing about having lackeys who can do your job for you is that you have all of the time in the world to come up with ways to torture people who try to harm you.. Your hands as well as your fingers are currently braced to the table in front of you. It's anchored into the ground, and you won't move it if you try. These pliers, a simple tool that you can buy at a hardware store, can be used for some of the most gratifying tortures that there are." The man lowered the pliers down towards Jared's fingers. He opened them up and moved them forward. "Like this," he said, jamming the bottom piece of the tool up under the nail of Jared's pinky finger, and clamping them shut. Blood poured out over the table and Thomlinson winced.
"So, after all of your elaborate tortures, you're going to rip my fingernails off?"
"Yes, that way you can't claw at me when I kill you."
Jared winced as the man began to pull at the pliers. There were many things that Jared could stand. He had watched friends get pumped full of holes with bullets, fellow soldiers bodies melted into nothing by plasma, a mine blow a man to pieces, but none of it phased him. But anything regarding fingers and fingernails drove him nuts. It was something weird that he couldn't stand.
He looked back at his hand, his finger was bleeding pretty bad, surprisingly bad. And there was his fingernail, crushed and soaked with red, sitting right in front of him. The man continued with the next finger, and the next. Jared clenched his teeth in agony, Then his thumb was latched onto. He couldn't bare it anymore, and he blacked out. He could feel everything still, but he couldn't see a thing. He knew that within a matter of hours he would be dead, and there was nothing that he could do about it. And then he fell unconscious.
____________________________________________________________
"Sir, you almost done?"
"Almost. Just hang on one second Roberts. It's transferring to my data pad now."
"Sir, I've got a bad feeling about this."
"Relax soldier, just watch the door," Jared responded. He looked back at the computer screen. He was downloading the financial records as well as lists of all known members of this group. He was lucky that these guys obviously didn't know much about preventing intrusions from inside the base, and they had classic passwords that were easy to guess. He glanced over at the body of one of the men that Daniel Roberts and him had killed when they broke into the room. Three shots had nearly destroyed the man's skull. He looked back at the computer. Ninety-two percent complete.
He had sent the rest of Fireteam Alpha off to recover an inventory of their weaponry on the base, and Bravo was in charge of the demolitions. That was the one smart thing about these guys. Their information was compartmentalized. You couldn't just walk up to one console and get all of the information that you needed. You had to find the main office of every section of the base and download it from that specific computer.
"Sir, come on."
"One second, it's at ninety seven percent."
"Well hur-." Roberts voice cut off, and Jared recognized the tell tale whisper of a silenced weapon. He reached for his weapon and swung around, but he was too late. He spotted Daniel Roberts laying dead on the floor. He saw blood pouring out of his fellow soldier's skull. He saw the man standing in front of him. He saw the butt of a MA5B slamming into his face. And then he saw blackness.
____________________________________________________________
When Jared woke up, he felt a dull stinging in his fingertips, and a burning pain in his back. He was being dragged along the ground. The cold concrete of the floor was scraping his back, tearing open the wounds from earlier in the week and peeling the skin off. He painfully twisted his head back and saw a trail of blood behind him. A man with a mop was just entering the room that he had occupied.
Before the mission had started, he had made sure that if any teams did not show up at the rendevous by 0900, to get out and to call in a gold report. It meant that men were MIA and needed pickup. His team wasn't equipped with the right equipment for a rescue mission, and would have no chance to save anyone, since it was more than likely that it would turn into a major firefight, and when it came to that, Delta wasn't properly armed to win a sustained firefight. So if someone didn't show up, the mission was to continue as planned.
They were supposed to detonate the explosives at either that time or when the team had reassembled completely, but the chances that the mission had been compromised were high, and that all of the C4 had been discovered and disarmed. When Chien had pressed the detonator, the worst that happened was a dozen primer pins just sparked.
Jared tried to sit up some to see where he was being dragged, but his feet were elevated upwards, and he couldn't see past his legs. His back had gone numb, and he was beginning to get slightly dizzy from the blood loss. And then it hit him like a freight train. He was about to die. No ifs ands or buts about it. He was going to die and there was nothing that he could do about it. He felt a cool breeze on his face and looked up. Through the small crack between his bound legs, he could see a bright light.
Looks like they'll be killing me outside. At least it wasn't completely horrible. When they reached the room, the man leg go of Jared's legs and pulled out a knife. He cut the tape that bound his legs together off and looked at him.
"You're free to walk around until Holland gets here."
Jared glared at the man. He turned and spit on the ground. "And who the fuck is Holland?" he asked defiantly.
"Oh, you don't know? He's your best friend. You know, the guy who beat the hell out of you daily? Or did he not tell you his name. Odd, normally that's the first thing that he tells his victims."
"Maybe I'm just special. You gunna stand here and chitchat all day or are you going to go be lazy with your terrorist pals?"
"Terrorists? Hah, we're terrorists, that's a joke. You guys are the bastards who kill millions to buy the billions a couple more hours of life. Don't even call us terrorists. Hah, wow, you are amazing." The man walked off, still laughing.
Thomlinson forced himself to stand up. His legs were wobbly and he could barely move, but he could walk. It looked like he would be able to escape, there were woods directly across a field from him. But then he saw it. Through the trees he saw an unnatural piece of metal. And then he realized what the metal was. It was part of a massive fencing system surrounding the area. Looking around, he spotted a small door in the side of a concrete building that looked similar to a bunker. It was dark inside, so he moved towards it. Upon closer inspection, he realized what it looked like. It looked like a doggy door. He heard a growl from inside, and saw two yellow dots appear. There was another growl behind him and he spun around, the quick movement dizzying the soldier. A vicious looking animal was standing there. It appeared to be a wolf, but much more menacing than any Earth native species he had ever seen. He had no idea what it was, but he figured that it's teeth could probably tear him apart.
"You've got to be sh*tting me," he muttered. Jared glanced back over his soldier. Two more of the animals had just stepped out of the little doggy door. "I guess that dumbass didn't remember to get the dogs in." With that, Jared turned toward the forest and ran. He ran as hard as he could, knowing that his only chance was to climb up one of those trees.
His adrenaline had spiked when he saw the first of the animals, and it had shot up even higher when he saw the other two. He could hear the snarls and barks of the animals as they pursued him. He grabbed onto a tree branch and swung, flinging his body up into the air and over the first branch. He stood up and climbed to another branch. The animals weren't doing anything. They were still standing where they had just been standing. And then one of them jumped. It wasn't a little jump. It had just jumped thirteen feet into the air. Jared looked around from his perch and noticed the fences. They were at least fifty feet high. And then the animals charged.
Jared looked out over the field as they raced across it with blinding speed. The first of them got into range of Jared, and jumped, practically flying towards the special forces soldier. Somewhere in the back of his head he thought that he was going to die, but he figured he might as well try to fight. He stepped off of the branch backwards and grabbed onto it as he fell. Thomlinson dangled there as more of the animals leapt at him. And then he dropped.
He fell 8 feet and landed on his back with a wet smack and a splatter of mud. He looked over to the side of his head and saw a sharp branch sticking out of the ground directly next to it. Jared stood back up and prepared to run, when he noticed the creatures around him. He was completely surrounded. The animals bit at each other and snarled. They shook their heads, sending saliva through the air. Thomlinson's head dropped, and he collapsed to his knees. He could hear the pitter patter of feet as one charged from behind, and then it stopped. An ear shattering shriek pierced the air, and Jared noticed a man standing by the door.
It was Holland. He turned around and shouted into the door. "Who the hell let the damn dogs out!? This guy's mine to kill not theirs!" He turned around and blew the whistle again. The dogs began to hobble back to the pen. Jared collapsed on the ground. He gave up.
==================================================
Holland smiled darkly then, savoring the image of the broken down UNSC marine. He caressed the pistol grip with a lover's touch, shivering with anticipation; they would become one, he and his most trusted friend, and together they would end the life of this meddlesome fool. The finely tuned and custom made M6 series 12.7mm handgun was a thing of beauty and refinement, the weapon's mechanism whirring as a finely tuned magnetic acceleration system came to life. The weapon was rated against battle plate similar to the way a hot knife could be rated against a stick of butter.
The aged terrorist grinned as he gave Jared a light kick to the cheek bone, lifting his face up; he wanted to see the man's eyes widen when he saw his fate, the immaculately conceived weapon that would be his undoing; it gleamed silver under a cloudy sky, shimmering in the sunlight that pierced the clouds. It was glorious… nothing could spoil such an event…
"SIR! Radar's showing an incoming pelican from high orbit! She's coming in hot!" A soldier cried out, a file of troops rushing out with weapons; deadly Anaconda missile launchers and Jackhammers; they'd been prepared for this, though they'd never really thought the UNSC would be stupid enough to try a frontal assault. The scanners showed it coming, nose first, down on their position; but up above, all one could see was the clouds and golden sunlight shimmering off of them.
"Heh… give them a warm welcome, boys. I was getting tired of Roanoke anyway… nice place to grow old… die, you know?" he chuckled to Jared, who groaned, trying to reach out and grab the man; for his trouble a boot stomped down on his hand, the pistol's capacitor whining at full charge as it was brought to bare on the Ghost's temple. Holland didn't care about that right now, anyway… nothing could ruin this moment.
Yet overhead, something was about too. It emerged from the skies above, wreathed in clouds with a charred hull from a high friction burn to enter atmosphere; it punched a hole in the celestial bodies as it's loud engines roared with a fury unknown to man or beast of this world, fire streaming from the engines at full and terrorizing burn. Through the hole in the clouds sunlight flowed through as if water, trapped in the clouds and finally finding a leak. It shined upon the lone drop ship, the white skull of the Ghosts some how having been unmarred by re-entry; it gleamed as the speck like pelican descended towards the terrorist base.
"We've hit the atmosphere, troops, and we're still alive; that means that, from on out, we can't blame anyone but the terrorist for dying here, hoorah?" Asa called over the squad comm, receiving a chuckling hoorah in reply. The adrenaline that now pumped in their veins had flushed out their somber faces; it was intoxicating, invigorating to be on a pelican, about to drop into hell and bring death upon the deserving.
"Hey Asa, you know they're gonna have some anti-air weapons, right?" Sgt. Hergowitz called out, checking the bolt on his rifle with a cursory glance; a habit he'd picked up from a past experience. The young marine was a great friend to have out on leave, but on missions he became stoic and concentrated; and after reading his CSV, Asa didn't blame him… rather, that was why he'd recruited him for Charlie Squad.
"Course, Bob; that's why we got counter measures… sure they've never seen anything like that before on a pelican, eh?" Asa asked, his cheerful demeanor well practiced; he learned that discipline was key in all things, but he couldn't help but enjoy the company of his brothers in arms. After being on shore leave with them, he couldn't just call them by rank or last name… they where more than colleagues, they where his family now.
"Well, Mr. Tin Can, I was thinking you had some kinda cockamamie scheme worked out, just incase that wasn't enough assurance." Bob replied casually, and even through his face plate Asa could feel that good natured smile. Several of the ghosts laughed at the moniker of endearment Bob used on Asa, to which the Sergeant smirked.
"Why yes, Hurtmywitz, I do have a cockamamie scheme worked out, as you say." Asa replied calmly, checking a reinforced eye loop in the blood pan. He anchored himself calmly, as by reflex and wide eyed weariness all checked their seat belts.
"I suppose you wouldn't like to share it with us…" Bob ventured.
"You know me. Surprises." Asa replied calmly, over the thump of fired counter measures.
The missiles snaked up at the pelican, a dozen or so; half of their number where cut down in mid flight by the 70mm chin gun as the co-pilot cursed at the chaining explosions in the pelican's path. He snaked the screaming machine gun across the path of another, bringing the number down to five, then four… and then they where to close, moving to erratically.
"Fire counter measures… now! Executing emergency burn…now!" The pilot called out, his companion striking the counter measures button, which winked green as distinct thuds echoed from the side of the vessel; burning and pulsing flares, guaranteed to become a juicy target for any heat seeking missile. The pelican rolled hard as it's engines tilted, sending her into a roll as the vessel streaked past the missiles… which found a much more advisable target in the flares, fiery explosions ballooning in the wake of the lone pelican.
It screamed downward towards the quickly reloading terrorists, who began to have a look of panic on their faces; it looked like Asa was right in surmising they'd never thought a pelican would mount a counter measure package. They where sloppy and panicked, and the zoomed in view of the chin gun exemplified this… as well as a startling image that stopped him from squeezing the trigger. He piggy backed the feed to Charlie Squad leader, as it was about to be pertinent…
"It seems your friends are persistent on saving you, Thomlinson. Too bad all they'll find is a corpse." Holland laughed, the capacitor screaming as it boomed fourth a deadly 12.7mm round. The projectile sped past the sound barrier, aimed expertly at the marine's head; if it hadn't been for that audio cue beforehand, Jared never would have been able to shove his body out of the way, the 12.7mm rail burrowing into the ground before detonating with a rain of sod and dirt, catching Holland offguard.
The Ghost sprung up into a crouch, his body screaming in pain and teetering; not even adrenaline could keep his tortured and battered body fully sustained as the terrorist brought the gun to bare, wiping the dirt from his eyes as he fired another round; the bullet winged Jared, but thankfully zipped past, leaving a brutal gash and a massive kinetic strike. Thomlinson spiraled in what had begun as a dive for the man's legs, landing with a groan before the man as he planted a stiff boot into the marine's ribs, rolling him onto his back, facing the skies above.
Suddenly, the towering figure of Holland blocked out half of his view, a dark shadow with a maniacal face against the heavenly light of the skies overhead. The pistol slowly raised, aiming for his right eye. Jared was too weak now, in too much pain from the graze and the kick to do much but wheeze as the terrorist looked around him and took a deep breath of the air, sighing theatrically.
"Are you the God fearing sort, Thomlinson? Just asking, since you screamed his name so much during our intimate time together, heh heh… I gotta ask you something, then; where is your God now?" he laughed, the laser sight half blinding the marine as he tried to look up, past the b@stard; he didn't want that face to be the last one he ever saw… and then started laughing, which came out between coughs.
"What's so funny, dead man?" Holland remarked, curiosity staying his finger.
"He's above you, looking down at you right now. He's not happy." Jared remarked, closing his eyes with a pleased smile on his face.
"Who? What are you babbling about?" Holland growled.
"God."
God was in the gleam of sunlight off the lens of an ORACLE scope, in the belly of a pelican. God had been and was still in the over taxed engines of said pelican, as it had performed a harrowing and stomach clenching one hundred and eighty degree rotation, presenting its armored troop ramp, which opened rapidly as the enormous machine slowed from reverse burn, so as not to crush those within. God was with the Spartan that laid calmly strapped down to the blood pan center aisle of the troop bay, sniper rifle in hand as he faced straight down at the Earth… or rather, straight ahead.
This was how God saw the world; everything moved much slower, and sound had long since drowned out of perception. His eyes perceived things far away as if they where closer, adjusting and perceiving every fraction of a second as it happened, unlike any other being. God knew the calculations to run for the angle, the caliber, and terrain, as well as to the factor of the falling Pelican, who had given just a single strong burst to stop it's descent for just a moment; not even noticeable by man, only by God.
God squeezed the trigger. Four times. God was in every high powered round as it thundered down; his wrath, his punishment to the undeserving. God waited just another fraction of a second before cutting away his straps and sliding with a shower of sparks a few inches, before kicking with his feet, somersaulting onto his boots, before leaping out into the sky. God flew down to the Earth in Mjolnir armor, arms spread… feet first.
They never heard the crack of the rifle, the roar of the pelican overhead was so loud, so suddenly; but what Jared did hear was Holland scream and fall over, and the clatter of a handgun beside his head. What he felt was the warm drops of blood that had eschewed from the terrorist's arm when the bullet tore through it and kept going, buffeting the ground with a deep crater. An explosion from the far side of the clearing was a SPNKr going off in it's tube, taking out five of the twelve rocket jockies.
A third round passed through the face plate of one and tore out the back of his helmet, stopping in the shoulder of the man behind him; his rocket lost lock as he squeezed the trigger, the ordinance zipping up into the sky. The final round struck a man with an anaconda in the foot as he had finished loading, screaming as he squeezed the trigger… barrel down. All but one of the men packing anti-aircraft weapons where either non-combat effective or dead… and the last one roared defiantly as he brought his weapon to bare, before a dark shadow overcame him.
The last thing he saw through the zoom on his targeting reticule was a size 12 marking on the tread of an armored boot. The impact was like that of shelled artillery upon the lone figure, the ground rumbling and shaking from the high speed projectile, several of the men close being thrown from their feet as dust and debris billowed up; and a faint crackling noise came over the air.
One of the infantry who had been knocked over stumbled to his feet, feeling at the dirt on his face, weapon trained generally on the impact. He felt something other than dirt… something wet and sticky. Dumbfounded and in shell shock, he peeled it off, knocking some of the dirt of before screaming; he dropped the bit of his buddy's flesh to the ground, another soldier running up to see what was wrong…
FWIP-SHHK
The screaming soldier's eyes bulged out as his body was thrown back, blood eschewing from his back as a knife tumbled end over end through him, tearing through muscle, organ, and bone. The knife sailed onward, the force of it's throwing carrying it on with enough power to bury itself to the hilt in the soldier who'd come to help… and carried him a good four feet, before he bounced once and rolled to a stop, some extra feet away. Rifles trained on settling cloud of dirt and dust, but no one saw the silhouette of a mythic being as he hurled a pair of knives out, which caught two men through the faceplates, breaking through without slowing.
It was a shower of gore to those standing beside them, the way the high speed projectile burst out of the bisected helmet, two halves of the soldier's heads exploding outward. A soldier fell over in terror, choked for words as bone fragments and brain matter rained down on him. His weapon clattered away as he tried to wipe it all off, terror in his eyes as he finally mustered the air to wail.
As one, the terrorists unleashed a hail of bullets on this figure, who answered it by rushing towards the nearest group; no projectiles struck him, a shield flickering to life as bullets pinged away, the fire team backing away from this charging titan in vain; he was upon them instantly, leaping higher than any man should.
The light caught on the polarized golden faceplate of the Spartan as he lashed out with a boot in a descending heel kick, the soldier screaming as his shoulder bone splintered into a hundred different pieces, driven into his torso. However, it was a rather abrupt one, the Spartan bringing his other foot across in a wickedly accurate kick that caught the man in the side of the head with it's toe, decapitating him with a sickening crack and sputter of blood. The caved in helmet and crushed in head sailed through the air, catching the furthest of the remaining five in the gut, doubling him over as Asa landed amidst the other three in a crouch.
They where too slow… all of them; Asa could have easily ended their lives with controlled bursts from his guns… but that'd be too nice. They'd made this personal now, capturing Ghosts… and most likely having killed one, since the only one present was Jared. Asa didn't want quick, and he didn't want clean. He wanted vengeance… he wanted them to feel the terror they'd put in others before they died.
The man before him screamed at his own reflection in the Spartan's visor, and that was the last thing he ever saw; a hard palm thrust through his unarmored underbelly tore all the way through his abdomen and out his back, shattering his vertebrate. He couldn't fall as the Spartan held him up by his shirt, disemboweling him merely by getting a grip and ripping his hand out. It was like an anatomy lesson had been spilt on the floor, the man's eyes glazing over, his corpse falling onto the pile of his entails.
The man to Asa's left received a sweeping hook kick, and before he hit the ground his comrade was dead; Asa had grasped him by the shoulders and head butted him so hard it caved in the front of his face, leaving a bloody imprint on the Spartan's helmet. To describe the death of the man on the ground was to say that Asa walked up him, stomping all the way; like stepping on eggshells… only far more messy.
Jared had seen the blur of Mjolnir armor, and knew Charlie was here. Good ol' Asa… heh, God… he'd have to tell him about that. He lay panting as the pelican thundered over head, once again level with the ground; the rest of Charlie jumped the three meters or so from the dropship's belly, forming a perimeter around him; they where loaded for assault, and the all too welcome sound of automatic rifles boomed in Jared's ears, as the teams not engaged by the blood thirsty Spartan where being chewed apart by the best of the best; Ghosts. Yet what he also saw, out of the corner of his eyes, was a man stumbling away, clenching his bleeding arm… the pistol seemed to slide into Jared's grip on it's own accord, half a magazine of 12.7mm ready for him.
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Jared rolled over onto his chest and pushed himself up. He moved a knee under his body to support himself as he raised his chest, blood covering his body. He felt a surge of anger and stood, forcing his body to move quickly. The kick he had received from Holland had broken three ribs, and the sudden movement shot pain throughout his chest. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Asa tearing the terrorists to pieces with his bare hands.
He turned, facing the man trying to run away while clutching his severed arm. Blood coated his shirt and pants as he wobbled towards the door inside. Jared followed him, barely moving any faster than Holland, but fast enough to catch the terrified man before he could reach the entrance to the base.
Jared reached out and grabbed Holland's shoulder, spinning him around before sending a violent kick to the man's chest, slamming him into the concrete wall. "I see God took your arm. So, how do you like being the bitch? How do you like knowing that you're going to die, and having no control over it."
The man just stared into Jared's eyes, and then averted his gaze. His eye's showed fear, terror, that look of someone who had just looked death in the eyes and knew that it was coming for him. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me."
"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you you son of a bitch. You'd like it if I just let you slip away quickly. Things aren't that easy." Jared lowered the handgun, and the man's shoulders visibly slumped. But then he heard a familiar noise over the staccato of machine gun fire. The distinct whine of the capacitor charging, it's pitch shot up, the sound piercing the air around the two men. Holland's eyes widened, and he heard the thump. Blood splattered the wall behind the man, and suddenly he collapsed.
Thomlinson looked down. Holland was lying on the ground, whimpering. There was a gaping hole in the wall where he had just stood, and bone fragments were stuck into the concrete. Jared looked at the man's leg, laying severed on the ground, blood draining from the stump. He looked back at Holland, who was trying to crawl away from him. He stepped over and picked up the leg. On it was a large combat knife.
Jared ripped the blade and the sheath off of the leg and dropped it on the ground. Every movement that he made translated into pain, but he was far to angry to notice it. He grasped the stump by the ankle and twisted backwards, swinging his arm back forward. At the apex of the throw, he released the leg, and it spun toward's the man, the shin smacking into the back of Holland's head. The man grunted and dropped to the ground.
He picked the knife back up and hobbled toward's Holland, who was back up and crawling, his whimpers barely audible now. His skin had turned pale from the blood loss. Jared reached the man and stepped up to his side. He brought his leg back and kicked him in the rib cage, rolling him onto his back. Thomlinson dropped down, his knee slamming into the man's chest. The Ghost ripped the knife from it's sheath and grabbed the man's tounge. Holland tried to bite but couldn't. "Let's take care of this annoying whimpering." He jerked at the man's tounge, bringing his head up as well, and swung the knife down. Pain rocketed through his body, but he didn't care.
His aim was off slightly, and the knife hit the guy's nose, slicing the tip of it off before hitting the tounge, removing the small muscle. The man screamed, a scream that one didn't hear often from any human, man or woman. Jared brought the knife back up and slammed it down into Holland's chest. He twisted the blade and pulled while angling down on the handle, forcing the man to sit up. The soldier brought the pistol up to the side of the terrorist's head as Holland shook his head violently side to side. Tears streamed from his face.
"Do you think that crying will save you? DID CRYING SAVE ANY OF THOSE POOR BASTARDS THAT YOU TORTURED! DID CRYING SAVE THEM FROM THE PAIN AND AGONY THAT YOU FORCED THEM TO ENDURE THAT WAS TEN TIMES WORSE THAN THIS? YOU SICK FUCK! YOU'RE PROBABLY THINKING THAT I CAN'T DO THIS TO YOU, THAT I'M A SOLDIER AND THAT WE AREN'T ALLOWED TO DO THIS! HELL NO WE AREN'T, BUT YOU'RE THE EXCEPTION! BASTARDS LIKE YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE TREATED WITH ANY SEMBLANCE OF RESPECT OR DIGINITY!" Jared screamed. His thumb flipped the charger on the pistol, the capacitors once again began to whine as the magnetic charge built up. "HOW DO YOU LIKE KNOWING THAT YOU'RE GOING TO DIE? HOW DO YOU LIKE IT YOU MOTHERF*CKER!"
The whine hit an inaudible pitch, and then Thomlinson fired. The magnetic strips within the barrel spun the bullet, propelling it at speeds far beyond the speed of sound. The steel projectile blew a fist sized entrance wound through the side of Holland's skull, tearing the other side to pieces, leaving nothing but half a face on the man. Then came the thump of the gun firing.
He looked down at his quivering hand. He coughed, splattering blood on the remains of the man's face. And that was when he noticed the silence. It wasn't eerie, or forboding, it was just silence. The sound's of machine gun fire had ceased. The screaming men had been silenced. Jared turned his head, wiping the blood off of his chin, and saw Charlie standing there. Asa stood in the front of the 11 man squad, looking at the Sergeant Major. He noticed one of the soldier's mouth the word "damn."
That was when 057 waved his left hand forward, fire team bravo came running toward's Jared. He flicked his wrist, giving Alpha the signal to move into the base and commence the cleanup. He nodded to Jared before following fire team alpha into the base doors. Machine gun fire began almost immediately.
Jared's world spun, and he collapsed onto his back. The first man that reached him was Sergeant Bob Hergowitz. Thomlinson looked at the man and grinned, and then the world went black.
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