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Arbie and The Sarge, CH 2
Posted By: Hunter_Killer<SWAT-Huntr@hotmail.com>
Date: 15 March 2006, 11:47 am
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Author's Notes: Yes. The last part of this was, in fact, several billion years ago. Well I take long with FanFiction nowadays. Be advised that some I'm more proud of than other parts of it. Anyway, enjoy.
Oh, and finaly I got a cool E-mail address for people to pester me at! ^^
-- Hunter_Killer
Arbie and the Sarge
Ch. 2
///The First Age Of Enlightenment
Seperatist Colony, New Gerkeck
Public Forum///
"I don't like the humans. We should be slaying them, not helping them!" A teenaged elite said exasperatedly.
"Need I point out, Komma," Another elite, very old in Cycles, "That, as Keti The Great once said, 'The Enemy Of My Enemy Is My Friend'."
"But, they are our enemy!"
"Who told you they are the enemy?"
"Well..."
"The Prophets and their... loyalist scum, right? Well, as I'm sure even you have percieved, the Prophets have fed us a lie of collossal proportions, or you wouldn't be on this colony. Well, if they lied once, what's to say they have not lied again?"
The debate, which had been going on nonstop for several dozen Ulics, was brought to a hault as Loyalist Banshees swooped down from the sky, plasma weapons blazing.
Komma dove from his bench, which was incinerated by a massive blob of green Plasma. Sirens began to cry out, and a nearby Plasma AA gun spoke with a blue flash and a loud boom.
"We are under attack! Alert the Alliance!" Ordered a Red Elite to a pair of Grunts manning a SatCOM Uplink Computer.
One of the pyramid-buildings imploded with flames; rubble flew everywhere. Twin cruisers could be seen, descending on the city from above.
One of the Grunts looked up, and said, "Oooh, fireworks."
The other grunt whomp'ed him over the head with a glowing instrument.
Sarge reclined in his squishy chair as Flip music blasted over the speakers of the Troop Bay. Several Marines and Grunts were nodding with the beat or even singing along. One Elite was grinning slightly, the others all with stern, concentrating faces.
"You know," Johnson casualy noted to the Arbiter, "If I were to shove a lump of coal up your ass right now, in less than a week it'd be a diamond."
"How can you relax so? Battle is almost upon us," The Arbiter said fixedly.
"We humans have advanced to such a mental standard where it's possible," The Sarge answered with mock umbridge.
The Arbiter glanced at a group of Marines, huddled around a magazine with pictures certainly against Corps Regs and guffawing stupidly, but said nothing.
"This is Gunship Xai, we are 30 seconds from the Drop Zone! It's hot; Loyalists are swarming the whole damn city!" The radio declared.
"Time to kick some Loyalist ass! I'ma bag me a few hundred Wraiths, Peters!" One of the Marines whooped.
"B-b-b-b-b-buuuuuulllllshhhhhhhiiiiiiittttttt," Peters declared, stretching the declarative much past it's expiration date.
"Well, I bagged your mom pretty good," The marine said.
"You're a bag, Crispy," Peters said.
"Ten seconds!" Bellowed the pilot, and the blastshield lowered off of one of the deck, revealing it to be a massive window. Everyone looked outside, except one Grunt, who was fixedly staring at the inapropriate magazine. The landscape of the city resembled something a PCP-addict would stumple into ten minutes after snorting the dust. Add liberal ammounts of Plasma. Mix with troops, swarming across the surface, exchanging fire.
"And in Jesus' name, amen," Ibanez said quietly.
The Gunship hit the ground, and Sarge stood. "I'm first, what an honor," He mumbled, walking over to the Gravlift, and jumping down.
He landed on the Purple street, and rolled away to allow the Arbiter to land next to him. They ran down the road, to an Alliance roadblock, where seven Elites had set up stationary Plasma cannons and had heavy weaponry stashed all around.
"The Arbiter..." The commanding Zealot, wearing golden armor tinted with orange to show it's independence from the false Prophets, and with a Fuel Rod gun at the ready, mumbled, then took an official tone. "Leader, this is one of the last remaining checkpoints that is unattacked, although an enemy strike group has been sighted heading this way. As you can see, we are prepared."
"Oooh, a Plasma Sword..." Sarge said, clicking the powerful blade to life, and waving it in the air. It gave a graceful hum and a light blue glow.
The Zealot rolled his eyes, and looked behind him in time to catch a Plasma sniper round into the shoulder. He went down with a roar, his FRC clattering onto the metalic street.
"Filth!" Roared an all-orange Elite with a new set of armor from the Old Covie ones, as he manned a stationary turret. "Unworthy, vile sludge!" Three such emplacements sent a torrent of deavistating plasma rounds into the area of the enemy, who were taking cover behind a few overturned alien trucks.
"Peters, Ibanez, mark that position!" Sergeant Stacker ordered, and twin Marines handed two more something that looked like a Rocket Launcher, but everyone knew it was far more deadly than that.
"Fire in the hole!" Yelled Ibanez, and a small rocket burst out of the launcher, and whooshed into the enemy. The allied forces took cover imeediately.
The Katana Fission Rocket exploded in the middle of the enemy ranks, devestating the entire road and the buildings on each side. Shockwaves rumbled over the allies's heads. The ground thumped in massive waves, cracking the street in many places. The noise was overwhelming.
Then is was over, and they gradualy popped their heads up, and saw a smoking hole and toppled buildings. No contacts.
"Whoo!" One Marine said. "Hot damn, good shooting, Ibanez!" He thumped the nuke-man on the back.
Sarge barked, "Marines, stay with the freakshow roadblocks and defend positions. We can't loose any more ground to the Old Covenant. Me and Arbie here are going into the tunnel system. Good luck."
The nearest tunnel entrance was 200 meters up the road, past the remains of a terrible battle. Sarge looked up. An Allied Gunboat and several Covenant Banshees were duking it out, 1,000 feet in the air.
It was a cavernous hole with a forcefield over it and a large sign which said; Entry Toll, 5 Credits per Sentient in Basic. Sarge didn't carry money with him on Combat Drops; the Arbiter also had no currency. So Sarge devised a highly technical solution to the problem; his steel boot fit quite nicely into the machine.
After serveral such payments, the forcefield wavered and dissapeared, and Arbie said, "Ah, more of that Human Ingenuity, right, Johnson?"
"Damn skimpy," Sarge said, leading the way and lighting up another cigar. They entered the tunnels. All the glow strips were extinguished, so Sarge and Arbie activated their night-vision units in their armor.
Sarge looked around at the hundreds of corpses littering the area. "Damn, the Old Convenant weren't very happy to see these hobos," He observed, weapon at the ready.
"The dislocated and downtrodden; a result of the corrupt religious system," The Arbiter growled, swinging his Needlers everywhich way.
"Nah. It ain't religion. We got plenty of these home, and I'll be damned if we're as spiritual as you split-lips," Sarge said, carefuly walking into the dephs of the tunnels. "Alright, ONI said that your boys here, while digging deeper than ever before for a new tunnel extension system, they discovered a massive cache of Forunner artifacts, Arbie. But it looks like the Loyalists got here first."
"We must race to secure any remaining artifacts in the cache," The Arbiter said, still looking around warily.
"Or stop the enemy in the act. This blood is new. Come-on, 400 meters this way!" And they proceeded through the tunnels, which were decked in corpses, blood and craters. Carbon scoring was everywhere, along with fragmented needle shards and depleted Plasma Sword handles.
A Seperatist Elite laid propped up, the wall behind him smeared with his blood, his breathing heavy. Sarge kneeled by him, and he said, "Reinforcements. We could have.... used that.... earlier. These civilians.... wiped out. They're up ahead. Left me.... to die. I just might..... too...." The elite closed his eyes.
Sarge shook his head and stood. "C'mon, Arbie, we're getting close!" And as they turned the corner in the tunnel, they spotted a group of Brutes loading a Seperatist container full of Forrunner artifacts onto a Creep APC.
"I think we found the Gold," Sarge said. "Ions, Arbie." They both powered up the Alliance's newest experimental grenade; an Ion Detonator which fused skin and disabled all electrical pulses. Basicaly an improoved Plasma Grenade. "Throw!" The two glowing orbs of white flew true, onto the face of the two Brutes in the middle.
With a nearly comical roar and a thundering explosion five Brutes were thrown free, instantly dead, leaving two quite pissed alien monsters, who instantly charged their attackers, shedding their weaponry and armor-helmets.
Sarge calmly blasted into the head of one Brute with his AX-20 Plasma Battle Rifle, bursts of orange energy slamming into it's skull, while The Arbiter drew his Plasma Sword, igniting the blade, and lunging at the beast.
Sarge held his ground. The beast lunged but he sidestepped and it flopped into the wall, dead. Johnson shot another burst into it for insurance. He turned to the Arbiter, who was pinned against a wall, the damaged Plasma Sword fizzling in his hand.
With a burst of plasma, the wounded creature fell, and Arbiter brushed his armor off. "You owe me," He called to Arbiter cheerfuly, and ran forward rapidly. The elite grumbled slightly and then followed the human.
Within a tunnel, several unmanned anti-grav platforms carrying rare artifacts passed them, landing in neat rows. Several Jackals supervised the cargo-trams.
"Hey, Ugly!" Sarge yelled at the nearest one. It was dead in mid-point and he reloaded the clip of the rifle with a loud clacking noise. Arbiter charged up to one, using his Plasma Rifle Advanced as a cudgel. It worked quite fine for bashing Jackal skulls. Then he shoved it into another with a sickening crack, and pulled the trigger down for continuous plasmafire. The alien twitched and coughed blood.
Arbiter tossed him at the last enemy, whose shield was distracted long enough for Sarge to plant much plasma in it's face. "Area secure," He reported. "Sarge to Second Squad. We got an assload of artifacts in the municipal Subway-Mining tunnels. Get some troopers to Junction J-52."
"Copy Sergeant. Second Squad moving out."
"Third Squad holding position."
"Fourth Squad, ready to roll, sirs! Soon as ya'all are topside."
"The Fifth Squad is unloading now, Leaders."
A group of five Marines and two Hunters approached from the direction they had come. The Marine Sergeant saluted and said, "Sons of bitches and sons of elephants reporting for duty."
"Hold here, humans," The Arbiter said. "Your abilities are sufficient to guard this load until relief teams may retrieve it."
"Gee, thanks, sir."
"Hunters! On us; we are assaulting deeper into the Mines." He sniffed the air. "I sense a Prophet."
"The Prophet of Research; one of the ones that escaped our Strike," An elite said over the radio, growling. "Raaar. I will alert command and then follow you. Fifth Squad setting up at the Comm-Center, Leaders."
"Roadblock Delta here!" A human said, his voice haggled by static. "They got Wraiths, Banshees, Creeps, Ghosts, hell, I think they got one of our nuke-launchers." The line was interupted as a huge explosion sounded in the backgroud. "Nuke-launcher confirmed. We need HELP. We're not going to hold here. I'm pulling my men back to Tertiary positions. Delta out."
Sarge sighed. "Affirmative, Delta. I'm en-route." He turned to Arbiter. "Looks like we split paths now, Arbie. Take care of yourself." Arbie bowed to Johnson.
"Yes, and you, Friend. I wish to fight alongside you soon again."
Sarge nodded. "I'm quite sure we'll meet again." He turned and jogged off, meeting another group of soldiers down the tunnel. With that Arbiter sighed and turned to his objective: the badly-lit mineshafts.
All for now. Meh.
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