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Subit Sepulcrum Titan Ipsi by Sage Scorpion
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Subit Sepulcrum Titan Ipsi- Chapter 1
Date: 5 March 2004, 3:17 AM
0500 Zulu September 4, 2563
900,000 km outside Tacyon System
UNSC Necromancer
Second Lieutenant Jack Madison awoke peacefully via neural stimuli after roughly 6 hours of sleep. 'Damn,' he thought, 'I was banking on having at least eight hours. They must have some serious work needs doing.' Ever since the last campaign the Foxtrot battle group had fought in, they seemed to be running short of everything from toothpicks to MAC rounds, and especially skilled personnel. Plus, over 50% of the fleet had damage of one kind or another, and many were critically hurt. The Marine and Army troopers had been shuttled from their amphibious ships to places like the Necromancer. Mainly they had done little things, such as spot welds, and the clearing of debris, but those with civilian maintenance backgrounds were asked to do complex stuff, such as reactor repair, or weapons systems diagnostics that the AIs were just too busy to do. And considering the "brain" power of an AI, that meant that there was a major amount of things to do.
Lt. Madison was on his way to form the squad for some PT drills, then some early morning strength training, and finally, a few hours at the shooting range. His squad of Delta Force Recon was cleared of work detail duty because they were elite, and a part of the preciously small remains of a once powerful UNSC Armed Forces. Not only were casualties becoming astronomical, but populations were at an all time low, as was recruitment. Earth had been hit twice, hard. But the UNSC had reached deep and pulled out the power to retake most of the Inner Colonies, and a handful of the Outer Colonies. The population had rebounded, but it was still below the norm. It seemed to be a stalemate now, with both sides fortifying their territory heavily, and occasionally coming out from behind their defenses to slug it out in 'No-Man's-Land', a small arc of systems which no side had the strength to take and hold. And so time passed, and the human race grew stronger on a daily basis. But sometimes it was not enough, and people still died, and ships still blew up faster than they could be replaced.
But at least it was improving, somewhat. Weapons and technology once available only to elite units like Jack's and SPARTANs were finally entering large production. Things such as the PWS-134, which fired 20mm air burst explosive shells and contained a computer link to the helmet of a soldier, and a laser range finder, which fed target data to the computer. The microchips in the helmet would then feed that back to the nano chip inside the individual bullets, telling them at what range to detonate. When the weapon was fired, the 20mm shells would be spit out at a rate of 300 rpm (rounds per minute), decimating anything in it's path. Jack had used one of them, and was immediately hooked. And because of it's miniscule alloy weight, he could still carry more traditional weapons as well as a sidearm and grenades. He went nowhere without it, even on the ship.
Another big improvement was the newly integrated sights and body armor. All UNSC troops now recieved armor as close to low level MJOLNIR as possible for non-SPARTANs. They lacked shielding, but contained a full faceplate, neural implant, and access to a company based AI at all times, although it wouldn't be the same as having one for yourself. The armor was coated with the same plasma dissipating layer as the first generation MJOLNIR. The weapons and even grenade sights now were displayed on the Heads Up Display inside the helmet. Computer uplinks would take data for every type of UNSC weapon in service, even custom jobs, and alter the recticle accordingly. The helmetbound computer also factored in range, wind resistance, air pressure, muzzle velocity, round size, gravity, and barrel droop, as tended to happen with a hot barrel. The sights were so advanced, plus the new PWS-134, that all one had to do to hit a target was to put the recticle on the target and pull the trigger. However, Jack's squad still did weapons training daily, with and without the helmet mounted recticles. Because machines could and did break. Often.
While he mulled this over in his mind, he entered Muster Area B6, his assigned company muster area. His 14 member squad were the only ones in this room, however, because most of the company was spread out over the ship, training or drilling, or still asleep in their barracks. As soon as he walked through the threshold, he was greeted by howls and catcalls from his troopers.
First, there was his great friend, Assault Expert, and Team-2 leader, Staff Sergeant Tony D'angelo, known as Daga, or Greasy Tony, and sometimes just Grease. His call sign was "Knight", and he acted like it was his holy testament. He bought in to honor and loyalty like a 20th century capo in some Mafia, and hated the Covenant with a passion rivaled by few. He often carried 2 SMG-900s in thigh holsters, a PWS-134, an 8-guage gas- operated, magazine fed assault shotgun, called an MK9D (known as the "Big Mak"), and an assortment of pistols. He swore colorfully under his breath in Italian in every engagement, without noticing it.
Next there was Specialist Alicia Boggs, the Team-1 sniper. She was a beautiful woman, with curves and bulges in all the right places, but she had eyes of blued gun steel, and would not hesitate to pull the trigger. She and Jack had had a long time attraction, and had actually dated for a short period of time in their first assignment in the regular Marines. She had been his first choice for his handpicked squad, preceding even D'aga. What resulted was a sexual and romantic tension between the two so thick as to deflect a bullet. However, their relationship allowed them to predict each other's actions with an uncanny air of psyche. Call sign "Contrail".
Also there was Specialist Hitoshi Mishimitsu, a 5' 6" Asian man, call sign "Yoshi". The man was a stealth specialist, and belonged to neither team. He also fit the stereotypical description of a ninja like his Nomex Stealth/Infiltration suit. Short, thin, agile, and surprisingly strong for his build, he often carried one 90 cm full tang katana blackened titanium blade, one 65 cm full tang wakisashi blackened titanium blade, several throwing knives, a silenced MA2B assault rifle, and 2 M9C silenced pistols. He was a very quiet man in person, and deplored conversation. He often got into trouble by trying to rely too much on himself, instead of asking for assistance.
Lance Corporal Henderson Greene was Team-1's demolitions man, and carried loads of C-12 and Semtex into battle, along with a fully automatic 40mm grenade launcher, 2 SMG-900s, and an M23 SSR Rocket Launcher, which, when combined with the M403 guidance package, could be turned into a heat seeking missile launcher. He was a 6' 8", 260 lb. black man, with a jolly disposition, who often could be observing laughing out loud while blowing hordes of onrushing enemy troops to smithereens. Call sign "Bam Bam".
His prodigal protege, Corporal Will Jameson followed in Greene's footsteps, "Pebbles" was highly deadly. He used the older weapons, such as the MA5K, an old MA5B AR modified with a 350 round drum magazine, a longer barrel, and upgraded sights. Also, he used the near ancient M19 SSR SPNKr Rocket Launcher as his heavy weapon of choice. He too carried mass quantities of explosives, and his armor was modified to be heat resistant, in case he screwed up. This was a point of humor throughout the oversized squad.
The Team-2 Sniper was none other than Jack's own younger brother, Alex Kelly, call sign "Kid Brother". He was constantly trying to match the skills of Alicia, who was quite a bit more experienced than him. However, this competitiveness drove him to perform above what most believed to be a near perfect shot. He was beginning to breath down Alicia's neck in battallion match shoots, and he also had a huge, obvious crush on the next member of the squad, Janey Hatfield.
Specialist Janey Hatfield, call sign "Hot Lips", was arguably more attarctive than Alicia. She was more curvy, and much warmer than Alicia, and was not slow to show it. Many believed her to be a flirt, but behind her ample bosom, and soft brown eyes, lay a warrior spirit, which came out rather quickly in high pressure situations. She was an assaulter, carrying a PWS-134, an MA11 Battle Rifle, several pistols, and a 14 cm combat knife. She was crazy about Alex, but would never show it, for it was too much fun to tease him with an almost peek here, an almost glimpse there.
Corporal Joe Henter was a Team-2 assaulter, and carried a load identical to Specialist Hatfield. His call sign was "Chains", because he was married, and he was teased about being "chained down" by a single girl, but he payed it no mind. He was unknowingly of British descent, and very proper about everything, down to the last syntax of his decievingly charming British accent. He carried a PWS-134, several pistols, a single SMG-900I, along with radio equipment. He carried the hyperwave radio communicator, which allowed him to communicate with ships in orbit from a planet's suface, and also at extreme ranges. This allowed him to speak with FLEETCOM HQ on the newly retaken Reach.
Lance Corporal Eddie Price was a capable assaulter, but a magician with field medicine, and Team-1's medic. He carried a standard PWS-134, plus a pistol and a wicked looking combat knife, a full 20 cm of carbide steel, only a single theoretical "rung" below diamond hardness, and about as expensive. He used this massive knife in everything from combat to opening a crate of ammo, or an MRE-I package, to cutting clothing or debris from a wounded soldier. Call sign "Knife", he was always up at the front of everything. He could hold his own as a marksman, knife fighter, of in hand-to-hand combat, but deplored violence. He was as close to a conscientious objector as a badass Spec. Ops Marine could be, but no pussy. If you made any comment like that around him, you did so at risk of your life. But he would rather heal you than harm you, and everyone who had ever "gone under The Knife" had survived. Price had never lost a soldier in his care.
His Team-2 counterpart was an Aryan giant by the name of Franz Fritz. The man was almost the exact opposite of Price. He enjoyed firing automatic weapons until his hands went numb, preferably into the carcasses of a Covenant soldier. He didn't enjoy medicine, but it made him feel useful, and he was crisply efficient at it. He carried the basic load of a medic: BioFoam, gauze, blood plasma sacks, and a field surgery kit, but his weapons were unique. He carried two vamped up MA5Bs, an MK9D, two M0R Magnum Load pistols, and a carbide titanium shortsword, modeled after an ancient Roman gladius. However, this metal was created from negatively charged titanium molecules, and would actually be able to deflect a blow from a Covenant plasma sword. While dueling would be out of the question, it had saved his neck plenty of times to warrant the high cost of the blade. Call sign "Germ".
Rounding out the squad's heavy weapons aspect were the Russian twins, Vanya and Andreyev Kosovskiya. Both were heavy weapons specialists of powerful builds. They were of average height, though both weighed nearly 250 pounds, all muscle. Vanya preferred a Vulcan Mk. 99 rotary cannon, with a bore size of 35 mm, as well as a PWS-134, an MK9D, several M0R Magnum Load pistols, and a titanium sickle. Andreyev was partial to a 40mm autocannon, a PWS-134, an MA11 Battle Rifle, and 2 SMG-900Is, as well as a massive titanium warhammer. Apparently, the twins had done some research on their homeland, Mother Russia, and found an old Soviet Union flag. Before battle, Vanya would cross his sickle with Andreyev's hammer and shout 'Mother Russia!', and then share hearty laughs. Call signs "Comrade" (Vanya) and "Bear" (Andreyev).
The last man in the squad was another non team-specific trooper. He was a recon specialist, who worked as the eyes of the unit. He was a Hispanic man of Colombian descent. Juan Domingo Martinique was quick tempered, passionate, and intelligent, but fiercely loyal and easy to be friends with, but hard to be an enemy to. Dom, as his friends called him, held grudges for the length of his life, and forgot nothing. He was quick to speak his mind, and even quicker to back up his words with action. He loved firearms and weapons of any kind, make, or design, and was something of an expert on classic antiques and new prototypes. His intense hate of the Covenant did not stop him from marveling over their designs and ingenius mechanisms, either. He would usually carry a semi-auto 10-guage shotgun of custom make, two SMG-900Is, and two Beretta M1s. These were classic remakes of the ancient weapon, with improved ammunition, grip, alloy construction, and recoil absorbers. These were his babies, and he carried silencers for them, just in case he needed to drop someone or something quietly. But, since these affected the power and accuracy of the guns, he often neglected them. Call sign "Loco".
Finally, there was himself. John Patrick Kelly. Of Irish background, Jack was the most capable soldier in the group. He was an average sniper, having hunted game all of his life, and he could handle a rocket or grenade launcher, but he was a wizard of small arms. He could hit anything at any range, with no computer aid. He was a brilliant strategist behind his emerald green eyes, and had an IQ of over 175. He carried a PWS-134, as well as two M0R Magnum Load pistols, and an authentic-looking KA-BAR knife, of blackened titanium carbide alloy. It had a full 18 cm blade, with a deep blood channel and reinforced wristguard. But his most curious weapon was an odd looking rifle. It looked big enough to be a sniper rifle, but lacked the scope. It was an SRsk75, a Slavic looking weapon, with visible traces of the ancient AK-47s of the 20th and early 21st centuries. It had an extremely long range, and when combined with the infrared/gamma/low light sighting capabilities and laser rangefinder of his new helmet, it was lethally efficient. The big gun could strip the shielding from an Elite in three shots, and kill it with another, sometimes two, but only on one of Jack's bad days. And he rarely had one.
Jack had first been a regular Marine, in the same unit as Alicia. But he was quickly promoted and sent to ODST school to get his "silver shuttle" badge, making him a drop certified killing machine. He eventually rose to command a platoon of Helljumpers, and was recruited by Delta Force as a squad second in command, a master sergeant. Once in Delta, he was rapidly promoted to second lietenant after only one campaign, and was sent to the Delta Force Recon division, the 97th. He was now the elite of the elite of the elite, and given the choice of his squad. Most of the troopers under his command he had known at one time or another. Alicia had been in his first unit, he and D'Angelo had been friends since high school, and he had met Hitoshi while on a mission in which ONI was riding shotgun. Hitoshi had been the operative that they were ordered to extract, and a friendship had been struck instantly in that barren desert world. He had known his brother Alex, of course, from birth. Janey Hatfield, Eddie Price, the twins, and Domingo Martinique had been his Helljumpers, and Franz Fritz and Joe Henter had been part of his Delta squad. He had led this squad for several months now, taking zero losses whatsoever, and the worst injury was a torn ACL ligament in Dom's knee after falling into a 5 meter deep ravine, because he had lost his footing on a loose pile of shale.
Jack's troops often operated hundreds, if not thousands of kilometers away from the nearest UNSC combat personnel, so support or reinforcement were out of the question, as was speedy extraction or air support. The only things they had were what they brought with them, and if they didn't have it, they had to improvise. There was no walking down to Requisitions and ordering a new one. But, sometimes they were part of a large offensive, with all of that at their disposal. However, even then they rarely took advantage of it, because theywere used to not having it, and they usually didn't know what to do with it. Their normal objective was to infiltrate without detection, and then annihilate an unalert enemy with extreme prejudice, and then to slip away again. They never took prisoners to be deported back to a UNSC prison; they took hostages, and would use them for information, or as a forced guide, and then execute them. They gave no mercy not because they were cold and heartless, but because they all knew that they would be given none. Their reputation was as great as a SPARTAN's, and they had killed every type of Covenant imaginable. They had killed minor prophets, one major one, engineers, Elites, Brutes, Hunters, Jackals, Grunts, and even an AI or two with their intrusion software. If they were captured or cornered, they would be slaughtered to the last. With this in mind, they always went into battle with a ferocity matched by few and feared by all. This is their story.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and stay tuned for the next installment! Sorry about the length of this one, it's a monster. But, I was reading through it and I realized that I couldn't break any of it up, it would end up sucking. As it is, it's still not complete. I was hoping to get in their drilling and such, but then I did a quick word count, and realized that I needed to end this pretty quickly. But, in the future, don't expect them to be so long. And you might have to wait a week or so for the next one, as school work is piling up, and baseball season is starting in a day or so. Wish me luck! Thanks again, and I will clear up questions about the title and the series on the comment page. Gotta go jam to some AC/DC and Metallica, now so rock on! m/m/
Subit Sepulcrum Titan Ipsi- Ch.2
Date: 22 March 2004, 4:27 PM
0505 Zulu September 4, 2563
900,000 km outside Tacyon System
UNSC Necromancer
When Jack walked through the door, all of his troopers jumped to attention. He smiled inwardly at their obedience. That would all change when they got to know him, and got to know what he would and wouldn't put up with. But, until then, it would be nice.
"At ease, boys..." And, after seeing the enraged looks from Janey and Alicia, he added "and girls."
Alicia made her way over to him and led him back to a seat at a bench. "Howdy, Jack. We have some visitors here that want to talk to you. Intelligence pukes from the look of them," Alicia said.
"Hhmm, I think you might be right. Damn, I hate ONI missions!" he replied.
"How do you know that they're here to send us on a mission?" she asked, puzzled.
"They wouldn't be here in person if it wasn't. If this was a briefing, or some new intel, they would have sent it down through our liason officer. No, they're sending us to some new hellhole, otherwise they wouldn't have picked us. How is it that the best soldiers get the worst missions, and the worst soldiers get the best? Ah well, better go talk to them before they wet themselves. See ya in five... better make that ten, one of 'em's General Twiggs. Crap."
He got up from his seat and moved to where the officers sat in their black ONI dress uniforms. 'Well,' he thought, 'At least this week won't be boring.' He saluted the men, and they returned it.
"Hello there Jack, nice to see you. How's life been treating you, kid?" the General said, greeting him warmly as a friend.
"Kid? Who's a kid? You're only 6 years older than me, you windbag. And I'm doing great, except I filed for some motorized ascenders a few weeks ago, for scaling and repelling, and Requisitions still hasn't gotten them to me. Now, I been askin around, and you're the only guy I know who outranks that prick of a Quartermaster, and I was thinking-"
Twiggs cut him off in mid-sentence, "Later, later Jack. This is of utmost importance, and needs to be addressed right away."
"Ah. I see."
"Could we speak in private? This is highly classified." the general said, glancing around as though there could be a Covenant spy overhearing them.
"When is it not? Sure. Right this way." Jack led them to a small room at the rear of the muster area, where his name was spelled out in gold leaf on an ancient looking polished oak door. It led into a small antechamber, which in turn led into his private officer. His sergeant secretary glanced up at them, and then pressed a button which opened the door.
When they stepped through the doorway, Jack took his seat in a high-backed synthetic leather chair, and Twiggs and the ONI officer took the seats facing his desk. Only then did Jack take the time to analyze the intel man. He was of average height, thin, and frail looking. His head seemed to come to a point in the front and back, and was very thin on the sides. He had a tannish complexion, with a vaguely Arabian or Persian look, but was very sallow looking, with deep bags under his eyes.
As soon as they were settled, Twiggs began to speak. "Jack, as you know, after we pulled out of the Nocturnisa system, reeling from a defeat, the Covenant battle fleet gave chase, and suceeded in doing a moderate amount of damage to a destroyer. However, that's not why I'm here. I'm here because the Covenant ships did not break off afterwards, as usual. They followed to the edge of this system, Tacyon, and hovered around 500,000 kilometers outside of the actual system, like we are now, but on the other side of the system. They appear to be reinforcing, and we don't have the strength to create even a disruption. An entire battle fleet is coming out here to reinforce us, containing several cruisers and a few battleships, as well as several amphibious ships with ground forces to supplement the already substantial number on the surface of our main fortress world, Tacyon IV. These ships will be carrying a full Marine armored division each, as well as a Combined Arms Tactical Air Squadron. Now, you may be asking yourself, 'What the hell does this have to do with me and my squad', but I'm just getting to that. Tacyon IV is as strong as we can make it, but not all worlds in the system are as well off. Tacyon II, for example, is a mining colony, with a relatively large civilian population, but it is virtually defenseless. There are no nuclear mine fields, and only a few orbital gun platforms. There are no ships in orbit because we can't spare any, and they would just be swept aside. On the surface, there are only roughly 10,000 troops on the entire planet, which is relatively the size of Earth. We can't really afford to lose the planet's mining and construction facilities, but we will have to. What we absolutely can not lose are the civilians, scientists, and miners on the surface. They may not seem important, but they are more important than could possibly be imagined.
"We are ordering you and your troops, as well as the rest of your company, to Tacyon II to beef up the Marine and Army troops there, and once the situation is critical, you are to retreat into the rural areas and fight a guerilla war, just to stall for time. ONI has been so kind as to supply you with enough stealth Prowlers to get you out of there once your objectives are complete. And your objectives are, (1), to hold off the Covenant ground forces for as long as possible with minimal loss in life, and (2), to then retreat and stall the Covenant for as long as possible before you pull out. Well, I've been sitting here doing all of the talking, what do you think about all this, Jack?"
"Thank you General, my most pressing concern is, why don't the Covenant just risk the loss of a few ships and take out the orbital batteries, and then glass the planet like they always do?" After that question, the ONI officer gave a small snort of derison, but said nothing, which earned a glare from Jack.
"Well, we know that they will want all of the ships that they can get for the main, and they are highly unlikely to risk the destruction of valuable ships for a small, seemingly unimportant backwater mining complex. They migh launch a few troop ships your way, but they will be concentrating everything on Tacyon IV, or so the Major here tells me, because they believe that if they break our outer lines of defense here, that they can roll us up on all fronts and destroy us in a mobile battle. Intelligence believes that this static war is killing them, because they are running out of allocated ships, troops, and supplies."
"How do we know this? Did you get some highranking Elite to defect, or something?" He asked, puzzled.
"No, these are more trustworthy than that. These are ONI's own estimates, created by our top analysts," the major said, smugly.
"What!? That's it!? This is what you're basing all of your plans for the defense of this system on?! Some ONI bullshit, that's what your'e going to place your faith for the lives of every civilian and soldier in this sytem in?! Man, fuck that! I have been fighting the Covenant face to face for my entire adult life, and I'm telling you that that's a steaming load of bullshit! These are the same Covenant who will stop on the very fringes of the Sol Sytem, turn around in space and jump backwards thousands of lightyears if they suspect a single human escaped their wrath on some little shit of a planet, and they will piss themselves to wipe out a few hundred thousand at a single time!" Jack cried passionately, turning over his chair in the process.
The snobbish ONI officer sat and sneered, unaffected, and then began. "Well, there are certain, um, factors involved. The miners and scientists on the planet have been excavating a little more than just iron and aluminum ore from this planet. The entire planet is dotted with ancient alien structures, which almost the entire population of the planet has been studying. The Covenant wouldn't dare glass it."
"Goddamn you people! If the planet is worth so much, why isn't it better protected then? If all these 'structures' are so damn valuable, why aren't there a hundred Super-MACs in orbit, and a fleet in the skies at all times?"
"Our biggest defense for the planet is simply the abscence of defenses. If it is big and strong and proud, it will attract too much attention. So, we try to make it look like there's nothing there worth the effort of-" Jack interrupted him.
"Wait wait wait, that makes no sense at all. You claim that the Covenant wouldn't dare glass it because it is valuable to them, too, but you're also saying that putting a large number of defenses up would attract attention. That is a complete contradiction, you moron! All of the relics and structures already make it a huge target, and so now it's defenseless because you have to overanalyze every damn thing! This is a suicide mission!" He exclaimed.
"It is not," the major snarled, "and you WILL follow orders, whether you like it or not!"
Up until now, Twiggs had been silent. He had watched the debate between the two, quietly siding with Jack, but not saying anything. ONI was NOT and enemy one wanted to make. After all, they still had a political black ops section, and well... "Point made, both of you! Sit down! Jack, he's right. You WILL follow orders. However, Major Ariagh, if you believe your plans to be foolproof, then you can accompany them. But," he continued, seeing Jack's outraged expression, "you will have absolutely zero authority over Jack, his squad, or his mission. You will have all of the authority of a civilian over all aspects of his mission, and he can give you orders only in the field of combat, but no other time. And no Lieutenant, you can't order him to make a suicide charge, or make him run off of a cliff. You are separate entities throughout. So get used to each other, and find a way to get along. Or die. It's your choice, either way."
"Sir, I will follow your orders to the best of my ability, to the Gates of Hell themselves, but I will NEVER follow this ONI puke, never. To me, his opinions and 'expertise' are moot. I will accomplish this mission, and bring back our boys alive. That's a guarantee," Jack stated proudly.
Twiggs gave a hearty chuckle and clapped Jack on the back warmly. "Good man, that's what I like to hear! Jack, follow me," he said, leading him out of the office and back through the muster area to the corridor outside. "Jack, this mission should be a walk in the park. The orders we've given you are loose enough to allow your own interpretation, and no one will question you. And if you can pull this one off, you'll have your Captain's bars. Now, I know you hate promotions, because you think it's just one step closer to being a washed-up has-been Lieutenant Colonel, sitting behind a desk at a backwater regimental post."
"How did you-?"
"Know? Alicia told me. When the squad was first coming together, she gave me a few warnings about you. That was one of them. The others, I can't tell you. She'd kill me."
"Hhhhmmm, gonna have to talk to Alicia about that..." he said, pondering something.
"Want some advice? Don't.You two have enough issues between each other already, and I don't want anything to interfere with your squad dynamics at a time like this. But, to change the subject, back to the mission. You'll have a few hours to gather your gear. Normally, it wouldn't be so long, but you need to pack up alot more than some weapons and supplies. You'll be leaving the Necromancer for good for deployment, and your personal items will be shipped to a planet a long way from the front. Like the Sol System. Or close. We don't know yet. But if your mission is a success, you should be looking forward to some serious R&R. Your squad has been on more straight deployments than any other unit in the war, since the beginning. Well, except for the SPARTANs, but they don't count. Their R&R is being surrounded by three squads of enemy Special Ops troops, with some Religious Guard Hunters for help. And having to take them on blindfolded, with an AirSoft gun. Well, I'm ranting. What I'm really trying to say is-"
"What you're really trying to say is to come back with my shield or on it, or not at all. I get you."
"No, you couldn't be farther from the truth. This war has enough dead heroes, Lieutenant. No, Tacyon II is important, but not so terribly important as to cost us thousands of miners, scientists, and soldiers to hold it in a fight-to-the-last-man deal. No. They are needed, which is why we're sending you in. The best of the best. Of the best. God bless."
"Yeah, I'll need him. Lucky we're such close pals, me and Him, huh?"
That earned a hearty laugh from both men. It was an old, inside joke between the two families. Jack's old man had been tight with Twiggs and Twiggs' father. Both were hard-drinking, hard-fighting Irish Catholics. And they were gonna need every ounce of lead, booze, and scripture to get them out of what lay ahead....
Subit Sepulcrum Titan Ipsi- Ch.3
Date: 26 April 2004, 2:30 PM
0700 Zulu September 6, 2563
Planetary Headquarters Tacyon II
Firebase Alpha
Jack awoke from his sleep, two hours later than usual. 'Hhhmm. I could get used to this, no problem. No Covies, no dead bodies, no lying in a trench with your own shit...' His head ached like it had been a landing pad for a concrete slab, and he couldn't fathom why... Suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks: He had gotten piss-faced drunk on vodka and whiskey at the officers bar with Tony the night before, and had tried unsuccessfully to pick up some female NCOs from the administrative detail. Just at that moment, a female NCO climbed out from under his blankets, in the nude. 'Guess I was more successful than I thought. Not bad, boy. Not bad.'
"Uh, you want some coffee or something?" he asked, scratching his head awkwardly.
She just giggled and shook her head no, before climbing into his shower. Afterwards, she dressed and whisked herself of to her station. 'Well, at least there won't be any harassment charges against me. Huh, they couldn't punish me even if they wanted to. I'm too "valuable". Those poor enlisted bastards. They'll never know the joy of amnesty.' With that thought, he took a quick shower, threw on some cargo pants and a Helljumper T-shirt, black with the silver shuttle on it, and tight. He walked to a mirror and looked himself over. 'Eh, could be worse, boy. Gotta start workin out more, but other than that... ' He was lean and muscular, about 215 lbs., and relatively tall at 6'1''.
Five minutes later, he was at the Command Center, or CIC. He walked straight past the first armed MP checkpoint, but had to scan his I.D. disk to the second. This second checkpoint was guarded by a light .30 cal. machine gun and two MPs in a makeshift bunker. he was still new around here, and the guards didn't know him yet. When he finally arrived in the cool, dark building he was another two minutes late. He hoped and prayed that the CINC here wasn't a total prick, because he knew that it would make a huge difference in his squad's attitude, morale, and mentality in the coming storm. 'Hell, he didn't even know I was here for two whole days. Lord, if you love me, don't let him be incompetent. I'll take an efficient prick over a nice dumbass any day.'
He wasn't disappointed. Brigadier General Arwell was a combat veteran of 34 separate engagements, and was a weather-beaten, grizzled 52-year old hellraiser of a man, as well as a competent and beloved officer. He had fought on Sigma Octanus twice, Reach once, Earth twice, and a myriad of other systems whose names he had long forgotten. He had experienced death in many forms, on both ends of the spectrum. He knew what it was like having to send men and women he knew and loved to their deaths, and he threw no lives away uselessly.
He commanded the men and women of the 113th Marine Regulars Division. His unit was only about 2/3 of a normal Infantry Division, the norm being approximately 15,000 fighting troops, and a few thousand support troops. Arwell's forces numbered 10,140 combat troops, mainly infantry, with an independent armor battalion included. He had 3 brigades of 3,000 men each, containing 3 battalions each in turn. They were organized with 1 armored battalion, or tank heavy, and 2 mechanised infantry battalions, or APC heavy. Then there was the steel fist, the armor battalion, which was a very tank heavy unit, containing few infantry carriers.
The weapons and equipment they used were worn in, but still efficient and effective. There was the M23 Asp-II IFV, sporting two heavy machine guns, a 25mm cannon capable of firing HE-T (High Explosive-Tracer) and AP-T (Armor Piercing-Tracer) rounds at almost 300 rounds per second, and some newer models also had a 30mm bow rotary cannon. These vehicles were extremely effective at what they did, and they highlighted the Covenant's inability to make a similiar APC to compete with them.
The tanks used were M808 Scorpion Mk.-III MBTs, with the same coaxial 7.62 mm machine gun, but an entirely new main cannon and fire control system, complete with a laser range finder and several low-light vision systems. The cannon was a 120mm cannon, made of new alloys, which decreased barrel droop and increased muzzle velocity under high stress and temperature. Utilizing a brand new auto-laoding system, the Mk.-IIIs were able to fire about 6 rounds per minute under good circumstances, with enough speed and power to destroy almost anything they could hit on the ground with one well-placed shot. But, in turn, the Covenant MBT, the Specter, could do the same with it's high-powered pulse laser cannon.
To supplement this, there were several thousand M12 Warthog LRVs on the planet, configured as everything from Anti-Armor, to Air Defense/Suppression, to Ambulances to troop carriers, they did it all. Jack's unit rarely used any heavy vehicles or armor at all, but they were in love with the Warthog in all of it's guises, except for the Ambulance. If there was an Ambulance around, odds were, it wouldn't be for the company.
As Jack read through these figures on a console in the CIC, he was impressed. However, he knew that the Covenant could just as easily pour 50,000 troops down to the surface with heavy support and all the trappings of an invasion army in a few hours, and he would be powerless to stop them. He also knew that he and the Marines and Army troopers on this planet could kill every single one of the bastards, and it wouldn't even put a dent in the Covenant numbers. But, he had his orders, and he would follow them to the best of his ability.
Just as he was beginning to get depressed, Tony D' Angelo walked up behind him and popped him in the back of the head, with some force. Jack shoved him back, and punched him in the solar plexus.
"Urrghh, truce, okay? Bleedin' Irish...." Tony weezed and grumbled.
"Hey, you damn wop, you hit me first!" Jack cried, and shoved him lightly. However, Tony lost his balance, and fell over into a chair, which happened to be occupied. He got up, red-faced with laughter.
"Okay, now we're even," he panted. Then seeing Jack's expression, he followed his eyes to the console. After scanning it he said, "Hey, I know it looks bad, but we're not here to be easy on the Covenant. They started it, you know."
Jack chuckled at that. "You're an idiot, you know that?" he said.
"Yup. But you gotta put up with me. You don't have a choice."
"I could have you court martialed for assaulting an officer, you know. I am your superior, you ass."
Tony snorted with laughter. "Hah! I'm sure you would. And the High Prophet 'imself is gonna come down and say 'Tony D'Angelo, we tried, but we can't stand it nomore. You're so good looking, that we just had to come down and surrender. So please stop looking so good! Try looking more like Jack, he's-". He would have kept going, except Jack had punched him in the ribs, and he couldn't really breath. He was also beside himself with laughter.
"Hey you two! Stop wrecking my CIC!! You'll have it a pile of rubble if you keep crashing around here like a Grunt done got into a liquor ration, and you'll save the Covies a plasma torpedo! Cut it out, before I knock yore heads together!" Arwell said, half serious.
"Sorry General," Jack said, shaking hands, "Just easing the tension, sir."
"Don't worry about it," Arwell said, waving it off. "The troops' morale got a big boost when you got here. Before they sent you, they thought that no one cared. When you showed up, they figured somebody's gotta care some give a shit, to risk a whole company of super-elite troops. There's even six SPARTANs here with their leader, Master Chief Petty Officer Peter-347. Hhmmpphh," he grunted, "Must be their HQ detail, my guess."
"Hhhhmm. I wasn't briefed on them being here...." muttered Jack, puzzled.
"Hah! Neither was I! They just showed up! What was I gonna do, turn 'em away? Hell no! They're just as much as a help as you guys are, just we can't risk 'em as much. Not that we risk you too much, we just can't use them as versatily as we can you. First of all, they're irreplaceable 'til that new series hits the lines, and second of all, it's their leaders. It's the MC and all his officers and staff. He doesn't have the same views as FLEETCOM though, which is refreshing; all he ever wants to do is slaughter some Covies. If it's one thing I can't stand, it's an arrogant bastard. I met that last Master Chief of SPARTANs, his name was Paul or something, and he was an asshole. Always so condescending. He basically shit on everything we tried to do for him. We all hated him, so we loved it when he got his balls busted back down to Specialist for that whole corruption scandal. Huh, I thought they only cared for battle, not money or power.... Oh well, guess they messed up on him. But, I'm rambling, son. Your briefing will be at 0900 hours, in that room over there," he said, pointing to a small alcove leading to a room with a few chairs and an AI pedestal. Trash and wrappers littered the floor, and one of the chairs was lying on it's side, a leg rusted off. "Uh, we've been here for quite some time... with no new supplies except the basics, really. Hell, most of our ammunition is almost two years old. With you guys there was a sudden infusion of all the basic stuff we'd been wanting, except the non-combat aspects. Anyway, see you then. I got a crowd of newbies to orient to this planet's logistics supply, they're with the Quartermaster's Office. Huh, this promises to be boring as hell..... Nevermind me, go get some chow and be back here at 0900. Goodbye and good luck," he said, and walked over to lead a group of rather bookish, pale, and thin men over to a small table.
They began to argue about something, and Jack figured that he should go rouse the squad. This was shaping up to be a long day.
Author's Note: Sorry, another boring chapter. These first few installments will tend to be pretty devoid of action, because I have to set up my universe for you. The setting of this series is lightyears away from the known and accepted Halo universe, so I must descibe all the actions, history, and all the new stuff that I've thrown in. That stuff about the armored vehicles they used was probably annoying, but if I had just said "An Asp-II rolled down the hill and opened up with it's main gun" you would have been like: "What the hell is an Asp? There's no such thing!" Also, I know that it has been about 2 months since my last story went up. I have had the stories written up through Ch.6, but I just haven't thought to post them. You should probably go and refresh your memory by reading the whole series (all 3 parts) again. Thanks for your patience, hope you enjoyed it. Oh, and does anyone here know how to write all those spacial ranges that you were lecturing me about in the first 2. I intend to have some space combat later, so if you could zap me an e-mail telling me that you're willing, and I'll send you the distances I wanted to put in
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