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No Place For Heroes; Ch 1 - Outpost 1
Posted By: DevilsInjector<mj-power@hotmail.com>
Date: 6 May 2009, 11:32 pm

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~ Digital Log
UNSC ID; 77856-34256MS

~ Personal Computer #6MS9 @ Outpost 2

      The Covenant wiped out Outpost 1 today. They didn't stand a chance. I managed to pull it together and force a retreat, but we still lost more than half of the men at O1. They had Wraiths. Now I know why they call 'em that. You only get one look at 'em before your gone.

      Private Clark*[reminder]; the company clerk was one of the one wounded. He's going home. Poor bastard went and lost a leg. Maybe they'll give him a parade. AS IF. Last parade I saw for a solider was when they brought back Johnson from Harvest. He deserved that. But don't we all deserve it?

      What seperates us from any other man or woman. Few thousand light years if you ask me. Oh, speaking of those, saw a Covie cruiser rip through today. Just over the city. Had half of it glassed in a hour. Left the rest for the ground troops to scope out. Captain wants us to go in tomorrow. I'm against it but what can I do? I'm just a sergeant.

      Got a new shipment today, some new MA5Cs. Lack the punch of our MA5Bs but they make up for rounds per minute.

*[reminder] Send Silver Star citation to command ship orbiting.

      The bunker shook. Dust fell in loose spirals down from the ceiling. Lying flat on his back Sergeant Michael Skrim blinked the dust out of his eyes. He shook his head. Where's my helmet? More dust crumbled down from the ceiling. God dammit.

      His fingers curled around the faceplate on his helmet. Its amber glow lightly emitting through his fingertips. Sliding it back onto his head, he turned the polarization back to clear.

      "Squad, report." He rammed a fresh clip home. No sound came over the COM. Turning, he slid back into his quarters. He walked around the back of the desk and pulled the data chip out of the computer. Don't want to forget this. Might be a bad mistake.

      Stepping back into the hallway, he shouldered his rifle and walked down the hallway. "Squad, report!" Nothing. He broadcasted again. Nothing.

      "Where the hell are they?" He snapped his rifle up and around the corner. An Elite stood over the body of a Marine. Michael pulled the trigger and drilled a five round burst into the alien. It turned and warbled as its sheild sparked, and flickered off.

      Michael crouched and fired again. The aliens head pulped in on itself from the fire. It sprawled to the ground. Kneeling down, he checked the Marines tags. No use... melted to his chest. He pulled the Marine into a room and walked on.

      The stattico of rifle fire ripped down the hallway. Breaking into a run Michael came across his squad (or what was left anyway). Two of the new guys were laying dead on the ground. Pete Rauns was pulling a wounded Marine behind a barricade. Jake Creery (another newbie) snapped up and fired a burst. And Opus "Dai" D'Antoni, hands covered in blood, was staunching a minor arm wound on another Marine.

      The volume of fire in this hallway was withering. Michael crouched next to Opus, "This is it eh?" He fired a burst around the corner and turned back to the medic.

      "Yeah, we got hit pretty hard. The two new guys got it in minutes. Jake is holding up well and Pete... well he's Pete."
      "Okay, get any news from these guys?"
      "Not much other than the fact that all the forces are congregating here. They want the officers quarters. For obvious reasons."
      "Alright, well we're pullin' out. Get Jake and Pete ready to move, these two will tag along as well."

      Michael tapped the wounded man on the shoulder, "Whats your name?" The man lifted his good arm and fired two pistol shots down the hallway. A grunt spiraled and fell to the ground. " Names Larke McCreary." He shifted and felxed his hand, "Feels good doc'."

      Standing up, Michael ran over and pulled Pete and the wounded man over to Opus. "Pete, get em out of here. You know the fallback point right?" Pete nodded." Okay, get there. Jake and I will be comin' along."

      Michael looked at the other Marine, "M'names John Smith. Friends call me 'Cliche'." Nodding, Michael looked around. "Dai, Larke, Cliche. Listen to Pete, he knows what he's doin'." They nodded. Michael turned and clapped his hand in Petes. "G'luck."

      He watched them jog down the hallway, take a turn, and vanish from sight. "Jake, we gotta give 'em a bit of time. Drop a claymore and pop a grenade down the hall. I'll keep the fire up,when I stop, you haul ass back to the supply room okay? I'll be right behind you." Jake gave a shaky but confident nod and rigged a claymore up with a sensor trip.

      Michael leaned out around the corner and sprayed fire down the hall, just as jake tossed a grenade. Michael heard a squawk and the plasma fire ceased – for now – and he stopped firing and turned.

      Right behind Jake, they turned the corner and barrled down the hall. An explosion rocked the pair. That'd be the claymore... anytime now. A plasma bolt struck the wall next to Jake, spraying him with melted concrete.

      Jake turned and backpedaled, firing from the hip. Michael ran by and slammed through the door to the storage room. Jake stumbled back through, and landed on his ass, screaming. "Plasma grenade, right outside the door! Close it!"

      Michael lunged and slammed the door shut, the metal dented and warped as the grenade went off. Luckily, it fused the frame to the inner metal walls of the room. They werent trapped, but the aliens outside would have a hard time getting to them.

      "We're safe for now. Lets get the hell out of here. Grab a duffel bag, and load it with extra clips and ammo." Jake nodded and went about his business. A rustle behind some boxs caused Michael to spin around and snap up his rifle.

      "Oi, take it easy. Its me, Clark. I took it as a... moral choice to hide in here. Now you brought the bastards to my spot. I was holdin' em off pretty good till you showed up." Michael looked around, two Grunts were slumped into a corner, one to many bullets wounds in their bodies. He shook his head and turned, "Get some extra shit Clark. No matter how full of it you are."

      Michael removed his ear from the door. "They're gone, lets go." Moving across the room, he quickly opened the back door and started at a run. Clark and Jake followed. "Jake glanced sideways at Clark, "Careful with that shit man, all you got is explosives." Clark ignored him, and focused on a large figure rolling through the mist.

      "WRAITHS!" Clark screamed and jumped into a large patch of boulders. Michael wheeled around and dove in. Jake, a good distance behind, dropped to his stomach and crawled over.

      Michael looked over the top of a boulder at the three Wraiths hovering near a guard post. "We need a plan. We dont have any launchers, or high powered explos –" He stopped talking. Clark hefted his duffel off and dropped it on the ground. "Oh yes we do." A smile cracked across his face.

      Michael looked Clark over. Thirty eight years old, joined the Marines two months before they decided this place was worth keeping. He moved to an outpost as a company clerk and stayed there for the duration. A run in with a sergeant in a pub got a chevron torn off. Busted down.

      Slumping down, Michael looked at Clark, "Okay, what the plan?"

      "I say, you guys haul fuckin' ass out of this ring of boulders. They'll zero in on you sure, but make it to that bunker, why hell, your good for a few lobs of plasma." He hauled off his bulky gear as he said this, and slung the duffel in a backpack style. He flexed his burly arms. "I should be able to make it."

      Jake looked at the man in suprise. "You'll get killed." Clark shot back, "They need you more than they need me." Michael spoke up, "Okay, sounds good. On three Jake, we haul and get to that bunker. On four... Clark, you get up there, drop the stuff, and get back. Understand." Clark nodded. "Okay, on three."

      "One." Jake leaned forward, Michael heard Clark take a deep breathe.

      "Two." Michael slung his rifle over his shoulders. Clarke got into a crouch position, ready to run.

      "Three!" Michael burst out of the boulders with Jake, and shot in the direction of the bunker. A Wraith tank tracked them. They dove into the door as the bolt struck outside. Looking through the door, he saw Clark sprinting towards the tanks. The man was like greased lightning.


      Clark watched as the soldiers ran off. Four. He jumped up and sprinted in the direction of the behemoths. I don't remember, did I tell Mary to tell the kids that I love them in that letter? He was ten meters from the tanks now, he primed a grenade. Skidding, he turned and peeled the duffel off, throwing it in the direction of the tanks.

      Two seconds. He turned and ran for the bunker. The explosion rippled through the ground. The first Wraith rolled into a ball of flame, taking the others with it.

      Clark was lifted off his feet and thrown against the bunker. He looked down. Shocked, he looked at his severed, burnt leg. The burning had stopped any bleeding, and he thanked God for that. He'd be going home, the next damn ship of this shithole, he'd be going home.

      Michael dragged Clark into the bunker and snapped on his COM. "Pete, get em down to Bunker Delta. We'll regroup here.

      Jake pulled Clark further into the bunker and dropped in on a camp bed. "He'll be alright. Dai will take care of him.

      Pulling a chair up and sitting next to the bed, Michael pulled out his COM pad, inserted his data chip and brought up the holo keyboard. Muttering to himself, "Personal Computer #6MS9 @ Outpost 2."