Crouching Spartan; Hidden Grunt by Echo630
Crouching Spartan; Hidden Grunt Pt.1
Date: 23 June 2004, 4:08 AM
This story is dedicated to the poor abused Grunts who died on Halo. We miss you Yayap...Gagaw.....Zuka..... Section 1; Chapter 2-Intro: Enemy
The 'Loyal Victor', a 2 kilometer long Covenant cruiser, reappeared in the the in the Milky Way galaxy-just ten-billion kilometers from Earth. It had been returning from a manditory check for surviving ships and troopers at the 'Unyielding Heirophants' blast site. Permanant scouts could not be afforded.
"Thank You for allowing me in your presence,Ascended Master," said the Head Master Grunt of the 'Victor', "Our scout results are being transfered directly to Your neural database at this moment-Eighty percent-Files are trasfered, O, Exalted One!"
"Your service is appreciated Head Master Fimbaw..." The medium Prophet scanned the files in a matter of seconds, then spoke, "It says here that the final count was nine-million casualties, three-million survivors, and only twenty surving or wounded ships. Now, if I'm not mistaken, the last count before this was twenty-three ships, and the one before that was thirty-two."
Fimbaw pondered on this query. It was extremely confusing. But he didn't interupt, instead he kept listening.
"Tell me Head Master Fimbaw, what happened to my other ships?"
Fimbaw continued to ponder through this, and finally said, "I am sorry Excellencly, but I have no answer for Your question."
"Well, Fimbaw, this is quite...something. I assume as you being the ships head intelligence officer, that you be able to give me a quick, percise answer. Obviously, I was wrong." The Prophet raced through personal databases. He sorted them by officers, ranks, Grunts, ships, and finally found the Head Master Grunt's profile in system. "Your record shows you had a slight problem before...In the Sacred System. At Halo..."
The Grunt flinched at the name. Now that the object, a sacred, Forerunner facility, was gone...It was imppossible...Just-impossible!
"...You gave the go-ahead to open a certain door in a certain, dangerous region of the ring world. I guess you gave that go ahead because it was an Elite who is now dead...along with ten-thousand others?"
The Grunt stared at his monitor. Not at the Prophet, but right through to the silvery wall. It had been because of that. An Elite named Ano Zukorro had practically forced him to open the doors. And him being a Grunt, didn't give a single back talk. He just did it.
"Two strikes is too many. I am relieving you of your duties. Permanately. You are being transferred straight to the planet. You will stay under control by an Elite named," he raced through a database of open squads, "Fasa Zukorro."
The Grunts mind raced. He remembered, when he made the mistake on halo, it was brodcasted through trooper headsetd around Halo and beyond. He knew, too, that the Elite named Fasa Zukorro got the message too, and he was especially pissed about it, "So...your giving me his brother?"
"Correct. Gear up and head to the launch bay instantly. an escort is there to take you planet side." The monitor snapped off, and black filled the Grunt's vision. He was paralysed. H had worked all his life to earn such a high rank among the fellow Grunts. And now..Now that he was lowered to such a fowl position in the caste system, no longer higher in the ranks than a normal Elite or a snobby Jackal...Now-he was ready. Ready to take all his fear, anger, and pain that had bottled up inside him, and never let out, and release among everything. He wasn't just going to slaughter hums, or torture animals, but he would rage among his own fellow soldiers...He would tear them apart, and not regret any of it.
As he made his way to the launch bay, and down to Earth, he rembered what the motto was for black clads before he was transferred to gold clad. I was the only thing that ever mattered to him. The thing that they said before they went onto an almost certain suicide mission.
"All for one; Army of one!"
The escort Phantom lifted from the deck of the ship and sped off into the black abyss. Fimbaw observed the crew of the ship. His team.
Three Elites. Two crimson clads and a spec ops. Fasa was the black clad. He was tall-nine foot-and had broad shoulders. He snarled everytime the Grunt looked him in the eye. He was definitely angry.
There were two Jackals. Their names were Rok and Zik. They showed as much respect for the Grunt as did the Elites.
And there were five Grunts. Zirrow-an orange clad rookie. Simbo-a red clad vet. Another orange and a spec ops black clad. And then him. They had let him keep his rare golden armor and especially souped up plasma rifle. His fired twice as fast and was twice as powerful.
He thaught about what he'd do. The Jackals would have to go first. He hated Jackals, and they hated him. They were sneaky, and if they were to hear his plans, they'd report it to the Elites immeaditley.
Then the Elites. He wasn't sure how, but he'do it. Somehow.
The Grunts? No. They'd stay. They were the only things he could count on. They were his only friends.
Now. His plan was almost finished. During the rest of they way to the human planet, he'd devise his plan as best he could, tell his fellow Grunts as soon as he could, and in the end...he couldn't tell. Perhaps if he could recruit more Grunts....They probably could win. It would be a while before they reached they planet, and until they did, he would stay a sleep. Curled up in his little hold in the shade of the craft.