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Operation: Stingray by Nick Kang
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Operation: Stingray
Date: 26 March 2004, 12:17 AM
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh yeah, Fanfic's up! I'm gonna start my writing stuff back off with a smaller series before starting back on my big series. Enjoy.
0800 HOURS, ST. JOSEPH BEACH, FLORIDA, CURRENTLY UNDER COVENANT SIEGE
Cold, salty ocean air bit at Sergeant Nicholas Bradley 's face as the UNSC ocean Destroyer Retribution slowly approached the sandy shores of Saint Joseph beach, Florida. Luxurious beaches stretched out as far as the eye could see on both sides. Bradley might have been able to enjoy the sight a bit more, had the background of the beautiful seen not been a blazing inferno. Pillars of smoke stretched up to the clouded sky while walls of flame hundreds of meters high slowly stretched toward the hard-packed sand of the beach. It looked almost as if the Earth had opened up and belched Hell into the atmosphere.
The Covenant had occupied the area. They had broken through the 4th Armored Division, as well as the 8th Army. They were on an inexorable march to take Florida, and this area was their next target. It was Bradley's Troop's job to slow their advance long enough for major reinforcements to arrive.
Bradley's Troop was not like normal Marines. They were Special Forces, the Green Berets of the UNSC. The best of the best. Those of the mighty Spartans only rivaled their skills at combat and strategy. Bradley envied the super-soldiers. He looked to them as idols. He had even shaken the Master Chief's hand before. He wished there could only be two or three in his Troop. But there couldn't be, so he had to make due with what he could get: his two hundred comrades on the Destroyer.
"Sir?" Corporal Tyler Benson's voice pulled Bradley out of his thoughts. The Sergeant turned around to see that the Corporal had joined him on deck.
"What is it Corporal?" he asked.
"Sir," Benson said, "our shipboard radar has picked up a large Covenant reconnaissance group heading toward our position. There's a chance that they may have spotted us.
"Very well, Corporal, send a few silenced snipers to take care of them. I'll set up an encampment and work on fighting this blaze." Bradley replied.
"Yessir." Benson said before turning around and jogging to the dormitory door. He opened it and swiftly stepped inside. Soon after that, ten fully armed snipers with silencers screwed onto the barrels of their rifles ran out, followed by Benson toting dual silenced M6Ds. They ran down the docking ramp and began jogging down the left side of the beach.
Bradley grabbed an outdated MA5B Assault Rifle from the armory. Though they were old, he still chose them over the newer battle rifle. He liked the design more. He grabbed a handful of extra clips and loaded one into the rifle before putting on his helmet. It was almost like a standard Marine helmet, except where it had the UNSC SF insignia in the middle of the forehead, a circle with a diamond shape in the middle of it. The other SFs were already in the armory before he had come, getting ready for setting up the HQ. He quickly rallied them all and set out on the task of setting up the camp.
The Jackal's head leapt forward as Corporal Tyler Benson activated the 2x scope on the M6D pistol. The Covenant recon party was abnormally large, consisting of five Jackals, three Elites, and fifteen Grunts. The ten other SFs were lying prone by Benson's side, sighting their targets. He made a quick hand signal and eleven coughs from the silenced weapons echoed through the trees. The three Elites dropped as well as one Jackal. The survivors looked around with alarm at their fallen comrades and began firing in random directions. A green plasma bolt shot past Benson's head, leaving behind the smell of burnt ozone. Eleven more thuds brought down the remaining Jackals as well as four Grunts in splashes of gore. The remaining eleven orange-armored Grunts screamed and ran for it, their arms waving wildly in the air.
"If those bastards make it back to their base, they'll tell their commanders that we have arrived! We can't let them reach their HQ!" Benson quietly said. The eleven snipers quickly got up and took off in pursuit of the fleeing Grunts. They put the sniper rifles in their back holsters and drew silenced M6D pistols. A few silenced thuds killed two of the slower Grunts. The remaining nine disappeared in the mist surrounding the giant blaze. Benson and the ten others soon found themselves shrouded in fog, unable to see anything more than five feet in front of them. All they could hear was the wild yips and gasps of the running Grunts and the snapping and blazing of the huge inferno. Benson activated his infrared vision implanted into his helmet and nine Grunt-like shapes appeared in the fog. He fired, catching one in the arm. It hooted in pain and kept on running. Just as he was about to take it down with a shot too the breathing apparatus, five bright red shapes appeared in the mist, these much larger than the running Grunts. Benson wasn't sure what they were, but it was obvious if they were Covenant, they were going to be a tough obstacle.
Operation: Stingray Ch. 2: --Desperation--
Date: 31 March 2004, 3:35 AM
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This may seem not as good as the first one, something is nagging at me that it isn't as good, but I read it over several times and couldn't find any ways to improve it. So for those of you that expected more, I'm sorry for disappointing you.
AUGUST 2, 2552, 1100 HOURS
SAINT JOSEPH BEACH, FLORIDA
CURRENTLY UNDER COVENANT SIEGE
Field Commander Dallano 'Rootamee surveyed the great landscape that stretched on for miles; ending at the blaze his warriors had started. No doubt the Humans had already landed soldiers at this position to tackle the inferno. But they would get a surprise. A big one. He turned around and proudly inspected the three rows of Wraith mortar tanks. Yes, they would indeed get a big surprise. As five Banshees took off to patrol for the Human LZ, 'Rootamee chuckled to himself.
Though half a mile away, the great hellfire warmed Bradley's face, distorting his features with shadows that danced across his armored body. His face was already half-numb with cold from the great winds that whipped across the shore, and the small amount of warmth from the distant blaze was comforting.
A Scorpion MBT rolled by as the vehicles were unloaded from the Retribution. Five Warthogs and three Scorpions were lined up on the beach, their weight causing the soft, wet sand to sink under their wheels and treads. Grunts and murmurs could be heard from the SFs currently digging the trench around the LZ, the ditch growing bigger with each shovel-full of sand and dirt.
Just as Bradley was about to turn and walk into the Retribution for a bite to eat, a high-pitched shriek split the air. He looked up to see five purple, bulbous shapes clear the tops of the trees. Banshees. Bradley smiled and removed the safety of the MA5B. He had been getting bored.
As the five shapes came into focus, Benson wished he had brought his battle rifle along for the mission. Four Brutes and an Elite slowly marched toward his squad, covering three feet with each huge step. Luckily, they hadn't noticed the Humans yet, but the fleeing Grunts were quickly approaching, and were bound to tell the stronger Covenant about their situation. Benson made the 'fall back' hand signal to his men, and the eleven snipers quickly ran the direction they had come from, barely making a sound.
Veteran Mottrie 'Uzukamee made out nine small shapes running toward his recon party, mud splashing up with each step. They appeared to be Grunts, and by the speed that they were running, something was wrong. 'Uzukamee quickly activated his energy shield generator and watched as the glowing blue barrier faded into view and then slowly disappeared. Raising his Needler, 'Uzukamee swept the area behind the running Grunts, looking out for any Earthlings. The four Brutes 'Uzukamee was in command of also seemed alarmed, raising their grenade launchers and observing their surroundings for hiding enemies.
The nine Grunts reached 'Uzukamee, and began gasping for breath from their methane tanks.
"We...were...ambushed by the Humans..." one of them said between wheezes, "I...don't know how many there were...but they killed our squad commander along with thirteen others. We never even knew what direction they were coming from. One second we were patrolling, the next we were standing in a puddle of gore with our dead squad mates laying around us! We were attacked over there," he said pointing the direction they had come, "We gotta get outta here! Retreat!" he then finished. The nine Grunts huffed and puffed down the trail towards the HQ, one of them clutching it's arm, bright blue blood oozing from a bullet wound centered on the forearm.
"We should take out the new threat." 'Uzukamee suggested, "Perhaps this new enemy will satisfy our boredom. Perhaps."
Bradley fired a burst at the head Banshee, watching the bullets ricochet off of the armor in yellow sparks. Blue plasma lanced from the five Covenant vehicles. The bolts hit the sand, leaving small platforms or glass resting on the beach.
The Retribution's anti-air cannon swung around on the turret with the grinding of metal. The cannon's reports echoed through the woods as it fired 90mm slugs, fire sprouting from the steel barrel with each shot. One of the rounds punched right through one of the Banshees, sending it spiraling down into the beach with a fine smoke trail growing from the nose. It hit the beach and slid forward, smashing into a boulder that was protruding from under the sand. It exploded in a mushroom of fire, enveloping six SFs that were unlucky enough to be close to the crash.
Bradley watched as one of the Banshees flew closer, the great blaze reflecting off the shiny armor. He raised his assault rifle and held the trigger. The rifle bucked in his hands and tightened against his shoulder. Empty shells flew from the bolt as it rocked back and forth, landing on the sand where a thin trickle of smoke sprouted from the hollow end.
The bullets sparked on the vehicle's armor, but caused no visible damage. The rifle stopped firing and began making a clicking sound. Bradley hit the clip release and watched the empty metal slab slip out of the rifle. He fished around in his clip holder and brought up a new one. He ripped off the foil paper and jammed it into the clip hole. The Banshee was almost upon him now, and the fuel rod cannon was beginning to glow a sickly green. Bradley brought the rifle back up and held down the trigger again. The bullets once again pinged off the armor, but this time they hit something vital. The Banshee disappeared behind a curtain of flame, its gutted skeletal structure sailing over Bradley's head and landing in a foot of ocean.
A rocket hit another Banshee in mid-air, causing it to explode. Trailing smoke and fire, it collided with the Retribution's main hull, punching through and hitting the engine. A sprout of fire filled the smoking hole the Banshee had made, and the anti-air cannon blew off the turret, landing with a thud on the soft sand. The hull began to erode from heat, and boiled away. Large chunks of it chipped off the bridge as personnel and security guards onboard dove off and swam for the shore. So far the secondary hull was holding, as the ship was still afloat, but barely. The three remaining Banshees swept in for an attack run, firing their fuel rod cannons in unison. The green blobs impacted the secondary hull of the Retribution, exploding in a greenish mist and melting the metal. With a final gurgle of escaping air, the fine destroyer drifted out several hundred feet and disappeared under the calm waves.
Operation: Stingray Ch. 3: --Desperation pt. 2--
Date: 9 April 2004, 4:28 PM
1300 HOURS(HUMAN MILITARY TIME)
AUGUST 2, 2552(HUMAN MILITARY CALENDAR)
SAINT JOSEPH BEACH, FLORIDA
The sight of the giant ocean Cruiser drifting beneath the calm surf kindled a spark in Bradley's gut. The spark soon grew into a blaze that rivaled that of the hellish inferno that populated the forest not too far away. But before he could turn around and unload his assault rifle into the two Banshees, he heard the sound of two rockets leaving their tubes and two explosions in quick succession. Two smoking, gutted Banshee carcasses soared above his head and splashed into the water, floating for a split second and then sinking beneath the water. The two Elite drivers floated on the water, their dead, beady eyes staring ceaselessly into the heavens.
Dallano 'Rootamee heard the radio beep. He tore his gaze from the hypnotic spectacle of fire and strode toward the purple box sitting on the dirt ground not too far away. The computer sticking out of it flashed as a radio transmission came in. 'Rootamee pressed one of the glowing purple symbols on the control panel and the speakers filled with static.
"Sir, this is scout group number one!" the Banshee pilot on the other end screamed. Frantic COM chatter could be heard in the background, along with the staccato rattling of machine guns and plasma cannons. "We have discovered the Human LZ! We're facing heavy resistance! We need reinf—" static suddenly washed over the COM channel and the radio went dead.
'Rootamee quickly tapped several symbols and held his hand down on a sensor.
"Come in Scout group number one!" he yelled into one of the many speakers connected to the purple cube, "Do you read me? Scout group number one come in!" he released the symbol and static filled the speakers. 'Rootamee sighed and listened to the white noise, waiting for a pilot to answer—if a pilot answered. At one point he thought he could hear a faint cry for help, but it was gone within half a second. Having finally giving up on the lost cause, 'Rootamee slammed his fist down on the computer keypad and gave a cry of rage. The Humans would pay.
Mottrie 'Uzukamee leveled his Needler and bellowed a war cry before charging off into the mist, closely followed by the four Brutes. 'Uzukamee tapped a symbol on his wrist plate three times as he ran and a visor slid over his face. The world suddenly became very colorful and confusing under the thermal imager. Off in the distance, there were eleven pinpricks of red in the mist. They were most likely the Humans that had killed the Grunts' recon group. They would pay for their actions. Dearly.
'Uzukamee heard mud splashing against his shin armor with every step. He heard the Brutes' heavy breathing and thunderous footsteps. Such noises would interfere with his hearing. He had to know whether or not enemies were present, and to do so, he would have to hear them. The thermal visor would prove useless in the woods with all of the strange Earth animals running about. He stopped and held up his hand, signaling for the Brutes to stop. He swept the area with his needler, tension mounting in his gut. His grip tightened on the needler, preparing to kill anything that jumped out.
Corporal Tyler Benson gasped for breath as his squad ran. Those Brutes would pulverize all eleven of them without breaking a sweat. It was probably a good idea to fall back to the LZ where there were proper defenses suited for taking out Brutes. But if the Covenant continued pursuit, there was no way to reach the LZ in time before the behemoths were upon them. Benson was so deep in thought that he nearly tripped over the pile of Covenant bodies stacked up from where his snipers had killed them. They still had faint heat signatures emanating from them. Suddenly, Benson had an idea.
"This is Special Forces Platoon-011. We have come under Covenant attack and have lost our Naval vessel. Request replacement. Repeat, requesting Naval replecement. Over." Bradley released the radio button and static boomed out of the speaker. It was several seconds before a response came. It was plagued with static outbreaks and gunfire and explosions could be heard in the background.
"Roger SFP-011! This is UNSC Frigate Mayflower in company of naval convoy three!" the speaker had to shout over the sounds of battle in the background, "We're under heavy attack by Covenant air units right now, but as soon as we fight 'em off, we'll come an' getcha. That may be a while considering how many Covie bastards are on us n-" the radio went dead. Bradley held the button again and repeated,
"Come in Mayflower. Mayflower?" Bradley gave up and sighed. Naval convoy three didn't have his platoon's coordinates. They'd never be able to drop ooff reinforcements. It seemed they were cut off from the rest of the world.
Operation: Stingray Ch. 3: --Survival of the Smartest--
Date: 11 April 2004, 1:09 PM
1500 HOURS(HUMAN MILITARY TIME)
AUGUST 2, 2552(HUMAN MILITARY CALENDAR)
SAINT JOSEPH BEACH, FLORIDA
CURRENTLY UNDER COVENANT SEIGE
The bushes rustled. Mottrie 'Uzukamee unloaded half a clip from his needler into the plant, filling the air with bright pink projectiles. The green plant exploded in a small pink mushroom cloud and a dead Earth animal flew out. 'Uzukamee sighed and punched another needler crystal into the gun.
"False alarm." he said to the four waiting Brutes, who merely grunts and kept on waddling down the pathway. 'Uzukamee took one last look at the animal's lifeless eyes before pushing on to follow the four behemoths.
Corporal Tyler Benson made a series of hand signals to the ten other men in his squad. They quickly acknowledged him and took cover behind the trees. Benson could see the five heat signatures approaching from down the murky path. He quickly made sure the dead Elites were up. They had stuck eleven Elites to the trees with medical tape. Lots and lots of medical tape. The eight-foot aliens were much heavier than they looked, as Benson and his squad had found out.
'Uzukamee, having regained his lead, stopped at the faint signatures of heat farther down the trail. The unsuspecting Humans would never know what hit them. Mottrie bellowed a deep, guttural war cry before holding down the trigger of the needler and sweeping it back and forth. The Brutes also joined in, letting off bright blue grenades that tore the trees to shreds. 'Uzukamee reloaded and signaled for the Brutes to stop. The hail of explosives ceased. Nothing could have survived that.
"Sir, I've got a radio transmission from SFP-011! They desperately need reinforcements! What should I do?" asked Private Shawn O'dwyer.
"Tell 'em we'll come help 'em as soon as we shake off these damn Banshees!" yelled Staff Sergeant Chris Atkins over the explosions and rattling of machine guns.
"Roger that, sir!" O'dwyer yelled and returned to the radio. "Roger SFP-011! This is UNSC Frigate Mayflower in company of Naval convoy three! We're under heavy attack by Covenant air units right now, but as soon as we fight 'em off, we'll come getcha! That may be a while considering how many Covie bastards are on us right now! What are your coordinates?" O'dwyer let go of the radio button and waited for a response. There was none. The radio had gone dead.
Benson ran, amid the sounds of explosions and cracking timber. He could see his squad running around him, flitting from tree to tree while the Covenant were occupied with the dead Elites.
'Uzukamee cautiously approached the dead Humans. Although he was one hundred and twenty percent positive they were dead, there still could be others hiding in the area. He reached the blackened, mutilated area where the eleven Humans had been. He stepped on something that crunched under his weight. Looking down, 'Uzukamee realized what it was. The arm of one of his fellow Elites. 'Uzukamee felt a ping of rage go through his system. He reared back his head and bellowed a cry of rage so fierce, it would have frozen the blood of a Prophet.
Bradley looked up as he heard the bloodcurdling roar of an Elite. Benson must have been doing his job well.
He had the count of the Banshee attack. Thirty-two were dead, eighteen were wounded, and eleven were missing. Along with the loss of the Retribution, that attack had severely crippled his Battalion. He hoped they came back in radio contact with the Mayflower once again. If they didn't, they would never be able to hold their position long enough for the counter-invasion force to arrive.
His men were busy cleaning up after the attack. Some dragged the bodies away and buried them on the beach, whereas others dug out the blood-drenched sand and took check of surviving equipment. They had a small amount of equipment that they had taken off the Retribution before it had sunk. There were few tents and even fewer food rations. They had to conserve their supplies long enough for radio contact to be established with the Mayflower. And no one knew how long that would be.
Dallano 'Rootamee couldn't help but think that the Humans had the upper hand in this area. He didn't know why. He had several divisions accompanying him, along with his battalion, and a whole mess of Wraiths, Ghosts, Shadows, Phantoms, and Banshees. He should have felt secure. But something deep down inside him told his brain that the Humans would win the area back over, even with their small arsenal. Perhaps he was just thinking too much of how they had quickly destroyed his five Banshees. But whatever his gut told him, he vowed that he would not let the Humans take back the land.
Operation: Stingray Ch. 4 --Monkey Business--
Date: 21 May 2004, 1:38 PM
AN: Sorry I haven't posted this chapter for a while, but about fifty things are going on at my house at once, and I'm really stressed out.
I know the date of the story is different, but I had the original date and then reread
H: tFoR and realized the book takes place AFTER the story, so...
And the story probably won't be as good as the others, I've been under a lot of stress lately, but Track has ended, so hopefully that will change.
1600 HOURS (HUMAN MILITARY TIME)
DECEMBER 7TH, 2552 (HUMAN MILITARY CALENDAR)
SAINT JOSEPH BEACH, FLORIDA
CURRENTLY UNDER COVENANT SIEGE
Benson's chest burned. He felt his lungs straining to keep up with his sprinting pace. His heart thudded in his ears, as did the bloodthirsty roar of the Elite not three hundred meters behind him. Him and his squad had to get out of the woods and within defensive range of the LZ. Before the Covenant patrol got to them. The Elite and Brutes could easily catch up to them if they caught on to the trick soon enough.
Benson saw his squad mates running around him. They too, sprinted. Benson heard the pounding footsteps of the Brutes and knew they were coming for him. He willed his legs to carry him faster through the thick woods, but they wouldn't. He heard the Elite wail a battle cry, but couldn't hear it's footsteps, as the thundering of the Brutes drowned out every other sound around him.
His lungs screamed for him to stop, but he had to keep going. He looked over his shoulder. His thermal sight picked up five heat signals that sliced through the dark fog. They were faint, but getting darker. He refused to die here.
Benson turned his head back around to be confronted with a slim tree. He quickly dodged it, but sacrificed some speed. A plasma bolt wailed by, barely five inches from Benson's head. A wave of heat washed over him. He felt the right side of his face blister, and his nose picked up the faint smell of burning atmosphere. The Covenant were getting close.
There was a loud BANG and another wave of heat washed over Benson. At first he thought another plasma bolt had shot by, but then realized the bang had come from the top of one of the trees. A rocket screeched out of the leafy canopy overhead.
Dallano 'Rootamee kicked a small pebble over the edge of the cliff. He watched the rock tumble through the air and land on the forest canopy several hundred feet below. It was simply boring on this world. He had checked and rechecked his battalions' barracks, as well as the status of the hangar. There was not a speck of dust in the Mess Hall, and he had made his troops straighten out the armory. He had run out of things to do several units ago. 'Rootamee clicked his mandibles and watched the pillar of smoke extend into the dark clouds. The thick gray column lazily drifted upwards from the burning orange firestorm. The inferno was slowly eating away the forest, burning anything before it.
'Rootamee quietly clicked his mandibles, the Human equivalent of a sigh. He wished he could just see some frontline combat, such as he had experienced when he was a Rookie and Veteran.
But 'Rootamee wasn't going to see front-line combat. Front line combat was going to see him. And it already had a full schedule.
Bradley heard and felt his stomach rumble with hunger. He nonchalantly wiped the half-frozen sweat from his brow and stepped out of the trench he had been busy digging. The sounds of men working were everywhere as they dug new trenches around the perimeter of the LZ. The previous trenches had been glassed in the recent Banshee-attack. The only problem was that there weren't enough rations to feed the working soldiers, and they were all hungry. Radio contact had to be established with the Mayflower again if they wanted any hope of surviving the night. But he was brought back to reality by a loud gunshot off in the distance and a section of the forest exploded. The shocked screams of Marines filled the air. Bradley looked off in the direction the shot had come from: the ocean. A line of small black dots had appeared on the horizon, yellow and red explosions speckling the surrounding area. Smaller dots were shooting through the air, light lancing from them towards the larger ones. Bradley suddenly realized what was happening. He ran down the beach, pushing past a couple of dazed Marines, and reached the UNSC patrol boat that had been off on patrol during the Banshee-attack. In crude black writing, someone had painted the name Enterprise on the side of the small boat, after the famous World-War II aircraft carrier that had been on a secret mission during the Pearl Harbor bombing. The Carrier had been the only ship in the American fleet for a matter of time, and had been a critical part in winning the Battle of Midway, which had tipped the war in the Allies favor.
Bradley quickly strapped himself into the gunner seat behind the large 20mm chaingun, and called for four others to come. Four Marines, all armed with battle rifles, crowded around the Enterprise and strapped into the seats, telling the driver to floor it. The Marine that had sat down in the driver seat wrapped his hands around the twin joysticks and pulled on them. The engine kicked to life and the boat slowly began to back up out of the sharp rocks jutting out of the water around the beach. The driver turned the joysticks to the right and the Enterprise began to turn until it pointed towards the distant battle on the horizon. The driver depressed the gas pedal and the engine gunned to life, slowly speeding up until it had reached its maximum speed of seventy miles per hour. It left a trail of waves in its wake, and a brown spray of fuel surfaced from the area of the propeller.
Bradley swiveled the turret around and trained it on the battle. They were off.
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