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Trial of Ice and Fire by Capn Rasc
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Trials and Tribulations: Intro
Date: 28 April 2006, 8:23 am
I hunkered down deeper in my foxhole, pulling my cold weather jacket tighter around my soldiers as the icy winds began to pick up again. The planet, if the lump of ice hanging in space rated such a title, was aptly named "Hell's Freezer." It was cold as hell, snow was always getting into gear, and our weapons had to be modified with specially designed heaters to prevent the components from freezing. All in all, it was without a doubt one of the shittiest duty posts I'd ever drawn. I rubbed my gloved hands together and idly wondered if I should waste time putting in another transfer request and which Admiral I had pissed off enough to get this assignment. The only good thing about the job, was that it didn't involve much fighting. Guarding a listening post and minor dockyard in the middle of an otherwise dead system that nobody cared about tended to promote longetivity, since the Covenant were not likely to show up here for a long time.
I actually missed fighting sometimes, and yearned for a few plasma bolts to flash by, if only for the brief heat of battle. I was hardly suicidal, far from it in fact, but that didn't mean I missed the adrenaline and rush of battle, all Marines did at some point, at least, all the REAL Marines did.
My radio crackled with static and voice called over, "Cold Jack?"
"No Command," I replied dryly, "in fact, I'm so hot I'm thinking of stripping to me skivvies and trying to catch a tan."
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the cot this morning."
"Try the wrong side of the galaxy," I muttered, "You want something control?"
"Actually yes, sensors reported anamolous Slipspace readings at the edge of the system, there's a possibility the Covenant are snooping around the system. Your being placed on high alert alpha until further notice."
'Roger Control, we'll keep our eyes open," I said, inwardly feeling a thrilling rush of fear and excitement. I switched the radio from base to squad frequency, "You guys heard that? We might actually get to earn our pay today."
"Boss," replied Private Jessie Pommler, "Personally, I think we get paid way too little to sit in holes and freeze our asses off babysitting some listening post."
"I agree, but at least now we might get to shoot something."
"And get shot ourselves," put it Corporal Mike Malarkey.
"Only if you don't duck Marine," I replied, "Don't worry it'll be fine, probably just another false alarm anyway."
"What are we supposed to look for anyway?" asked Private Tom Willard Dropships? We won't see them in this mess. Soldiers? They'll probably fall into our foxholes before we notice them or they notice us. Plasma bombardment? All the forewarning in the world won't help against that."
"We're supposed to watch for anything that doesn't know the proper clearance codes, and then shoot it, and then tell base that we shot it. That simple enough for you?"
"You left out the not getting shot part," put in Jessie.
"Well then it would have gotten too complex for poor Tommy to understand," I said.
"Ha Ha guys very funny," said Tommy, "I'm being serious."
"So was I, at least when I answered your question."
"Hey Lieutenant, why'd you join the Marines?" asked Jessie suddenly, "You could be in the Navy on the bridge of a cruiser sipping fine wine in comfort, or in the cockpit of a longsword. Why'd you join the Corps?"
"Because its personal, I'm not fighting some obscure blip on the sensor board or a faceless nameless, shapeless pilot in a fighter. I'm fighting someone I can see on the ground up close and know for a fact is the enemy. Or, at least I could fight them if they ever showed up...."
"So how'd you end up on this hellhole though with your record?"
"You've seen my record?"
"Sir your something of a well-known figure these days, after the battle for Earth and all."
I sighed, "Honestly I don't know why I was transferred out here, nor do I care I just want to get transferred OFF the Freezer and back to some civilized and comfortable war zone."
"Amen to that," said Tommy.
"I know how that is sir. I wish something exciting would happen around here."
"So do I," I said, "So do I."
Looking back on it, I didn't realize just what kind of mess I was getting into....
Trials and Tribulations: Snowfire
Date: 29 April 2006, 11:05 pm
The blizzard died down after about thirty minutes, but not after covering me and most of my foxhole with snow. Snow still fell of course, it always seemed to be falling, and it hadn't gotten any warmer, but the winds had died down to more tolerable levels. Shaking off the snow I slowly eased my head up over the edge of the foxhole, and took a look around. Motion trackers were fairly useless here, and most sophisticated thermal sensors weren't rated for such cold weather, so we relied for the most part on our eyes and ears, assuming we didn't lose those to a bad case of frostbite.
The rocky snow covered plain was as empty as it ever was, nothing moving under the dark grey clouds of snow. If the split-jaws and their little gas-sucking minions were about, they weren't showing themselves. I sat back in my foxhole on a tiny ledge I had dug there to allow me to sit comfortably while being able to see just over the edge of the foxhole. Keying the squad frequency on my helmet's radio I asked, "See anything other than shades of white of black out there?"
"Not even a snowman El-tee," replied Jessie.
"That's because they're all on some nice, warm planet where its a balmy thirty below," remarked Mike.
"Yeah, sitting and catching a tan and sipping a cold beer," put in Tom.
"Hell warm beer would be good on this iceball," said Mike.
"Beer hell," I said, "Vodka is the stuff for this weather. Why do you think that the Ru-" I cut off mid-sentence, as just then, a small pile of snow detached itself from the ground about forty-eight yards away and began moving towards me, floating at shoulder height from the ground.
Shoulder height for an Elite that is.
"Boss?" asked Tom, "What is it?" I didn't reply immediately, easing my rifle from my lap and flicking the safety off.
"Contact," I whispered, "Camoflauged Elite. Eyes open Marines." I said, easing the rifle to my shoulder. The pile of snow was still moving, but not directly towards me, nor particularly fast, meaning the Elite probably had not spotted me in my snow-dusted camoflauge, and I didn't want to give myself away prematurely. Setting the butt of the battle rifle against my shoulder, I took careful aim the center of the slightly distorted section of air beneath the little snow pile, and tightened my finger on the trigger.
The rifle bucked against my shoulder as it spat out a three round burst. There was a anguished howl and a spray of purple gore splattered across the pristine snow as the camoflauge generator overloaded and the revealed Elite toppled forward, spilling a fair amount of his intestines on the ground in front of him.
I switched my frequency over to the bases emergency frequency, "Control, Outrider Five, be advised we have had contact with the enemy. Commando Elite with camoflauge has been neutralized repeat stealthed contact has be-"
I was cut off as bolts of blue plasma erupted from a spot in the air about three dozen yards away and to the left, turning a patch of snow about two feet to my right instantly to steam. A voice crackled in my headset, but I was too busy to listen at the moment. I ducked down into my foxhole as more bolts whined over my head and impacted in the surrounding snow, sending up little clouds of steam. There was a sharp report followed by a gurgling roar and the steady stream of plasma fire stopped.
"Got 'im boss," called Tommy, at the same moment my radio crackled and the voice of Central Control spoke again.
"Outrider Five what the hell is happening out there?"
"About time," I muttered under my breath before replying, "We have contact with two Elites using camo generators, they've been neutralized, but its a sure bet they know we're here."
"Understood, sit tight. We're sending a squad to your position."
The whine of plasma fire erupted again nearby, punctauted by the barking reports of a sniper rifle and the rattle of automatic fire. "Better make it fast central," broke in Jessie, "Additional contacts and lots of them."
I risked a quick peek over the ledge and almost wished I hadn't. With the element of surprise lost, seven Elites in black armor were now crouched behind what cover there was, spraying covering fire at two foxholes off to my left as four more elites advanced across the open ground under the base of fire. A figure with an MA5B popped up from the nearer foxhole long enough to fire off a quick eight round burst that blasted one of the advancing Elites in the head before dissapearing back into the cover of his foxhole. I brought my rifle to my shoulder and fired four short bursts that overpowered the shield of another Elite and turned his chest into a bloody shattered mess, then ducked and reloaded as plasma fire flashed in my direction.
"Mike," I said over the radio, "Time to give them a spanking."
"Aye aye," came the enthusiastic reply. From behind me there came the loud whoosh of a SPnKr launcher being fired, and a rocket flashed over my head and exploded in the middle of the stationary Elites. The explosion sent snow, steam, and the blood and body parts of seven elites flying into the air. I immediately opened fire on the two remaining elites, and the other three members of my squad joined in. The two elites danced as they were caught in the hail of led and toppled to the ground, their innards steaming on the ground.
As the echoing reports faded over the landscape we dimly heard in the distance the welcome roar of approaching Warthogs.
Trials and Tribulations: Interlude
Date: 8 May 2006, 7:55 am
The Warthogs roared over the snowy embankment in which our foxholes were dug and skidded to a halt on the icy ground. Each of the three Warthogs carried three marines, and two of the passengers were carrying "Spanker" rocket launchers. The gunners swept the sky and the surrounding are as one of the drivers hopped out and approached.
"You boys sure took your sweet time getting here," I said, "Hope you brought some Joe."
"No go on the Joe Lieutenant," said the driver, a Corporal whose IFF transponder identified him as one J.C. Jones of Tango Company, "Boys at the squirrel cage want us to assess the situation then pull you back to the base for debriefing." The "squirrel cage" was the name of the ONI sector base on the other side of the planet and which had broad jurisdiction over everything that happened on planet within its own infrastructure or within the command of the Marine forces on base. The name is a throwback to a term applied to the central command base of the United States back hundreds of years before I was born, but its fitting. When ONI gets excited, they run in circles, make a lot of noise, and sometimes throw nuts at people in the form of intel agents or, rarely, Spartans.
"Can't the bloody spooks let us stay here and do our job?" asked Tom.
"Orders," said Jones with the helpless shrug of the messenger who is in danger of getting shot for brining bad news, "We're to take over your position and give you a lift back to base for immediate transfer."
"And it was just starting to be an interesting shift too," put it Mike.
"If the spooks are getting interested," commented Jessie, "Then it may be about to get too interesting."
"Good point," said Mike, as the passengers of the three Warthogs took up our former positions in the foxholes, and one of the Hogs was park in a slight defallade and manned by a gunner. I felt sorry for the guy on the gun, because despite all the claims by their manufacturers the cold-weather combat suits were not warm, toasty, or comfortable. At least in a foxhole you were out of the elements and below ground level, which helped a little with temperature, even on a planet that is mostly ice. Out on the gun it would get real chilly real fast.
I shook my head as I climbed into one of the other Warthogs passenger seats as Jessie wedged himself into the back between the turret and the two front seats as best he could. The faulty cold weather gear was yet another sign of how truly screwed up humanity could be. Here we were, fighting a war which could very well wipe out the species, and the soldiers fighting on the frontlines are being issued gear which is proven to be faulty by the same group that makes the armor, and yet the company won't change it because it would cost them more money. So what if more Marines may freeze to death, at least the bigwigs in the contracting department and the companies that the UNSC contracts with are making money.
With a roar the two Hogs carrying my squad lurched and turned ponderously uphill, churning over the embankment with their massive off-road tires and scooting down the other side and across the frozen surface of the planet towards a few low-lying structures that marked the location of Alpha base.
"If Alpha base gets attacked while we're gone and I miss the action, heads are gonna roll," muttered Mike.
"Look on the bright side," I said, "ONI will probably have heaters and coffee and hot food and showers and bunks...you'll get to thaw out a little."
"Yeah, but they won't let us use any of it. Pass it off my cleanliness and happiness as a risk to the security of our mission." I snorted.
"What mission?" put in Tom over the radio from his seat in the other LRV, "All we've been told was 'Sit here, make sure you shoot any enemies, and don't die if you can help it.' We don't even know what we're really protecting!"
"This is new?" I asked, "Since when were we ever told what we were dying for, other than humanity and the Corps. You really shouldn't complain Big T, we're not supposed to know...sometimes it's better not to even."
"Just once though I'd like to know why I'm stuck on some frozen out of the way hellhole in space rather than fighting the actual war on the frontlines."
I looked back towards our sentry post, "Then you should be happy...the wars finally found us."
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