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When the Crap Hits the Fan [Part 1]
Posted By: Justin Pruitt<corokidmax@alltel.net>
Date: 27 November 2005, 5:29 pm

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Lance Devon almost didn't realize that he had been hit. He felt something bump into his midsection during the heated firefight with the Covenant patrol, and didn't give it a second thought. But when he tried to shift over to a more secure part of the rock he was using for cover, he found himself on the ground. Private Devon looked down in wordless horror to see the bloody mess that used to be his
"This is... D-devon to A-adams," he stuttered into the radio. "I'm hit, r-requesting immediat-te... m-m-medical assis..."
Private First Class Devon's eyes closed for the last time.
"Goddamnit, we've lost Devon!" shouted Tidwell over the chatter of his MA5B assault rifle.
"This isn't working," Adams shouted back. "We need to fall back to camp!"
"Damn Covies are just gonna keep killin' our damn friends," cried Tidwell, halting his fire for a moment. "They're not going to kill anymore! Not if I can help it!"
Tidwell leapt over the log he was hiding behind, and charged, screaming, at an Elite a dozen meters away. The smoking casings poured out of his assault rifle,
and he almost made it to the elite's position, before four bolts of blue fire converged on his body. Tidwell's flaming corpse toppled to the grass in a spray of cyan and crimson.
Josh Adams watched through a film of tears. He choked back a cry of anguish, and drew a radio from the pocket of his vest.
"This is Adams to Gonzales. Requesting immediate approval of reteat back to camp."
"Gonzales, here," came a staticked reply. "Notify your men, and conduct a fighting retreat 200 meters back up the valley. My forces will rendezvous with you
there, and we'll head home."
Adams felt a tear running down his cheek, and bitterly wiped it away.
"Yes, Sir. We'll be there shortly."
Adams turned back toward his makeshift defensive perimeter, and began shouting the orders.
Master Chief Petty Officer First Class 117, John, stood unwavering before a group of cowering grunts. Plasma pistols clattered as they were dropped to the ground, and the four grunts slowly began to back away. John made a motion with his hand, and the grunts turned and ran, screaming, in the opposite direction. He gave them time to run a few meters, then raked fire from his MA5B across their humped backs. The grunts stumbled to the ground with sickening thuds, as luminous blue blood sprayed. John checked his clip, and trudged on up the steep mountainside.
The M12 LRV "Warthog"s engine began to whine, a high pitched keening that made Corporal Finnigand's teeth hurt. Shaking his head, he turned to the marine driving the vehicle.
"How far until target?" he asked.
"We're currently four and a half klicks north of the building, south-southwest bound around these mountains," the driver replied, raising his voice slightly to compensate for the jeep's roar.
"ETA?" Finnigand half-shouted.
"Approximately 9 minutes, sir," was the reply.
Corporal Dave Finnigand drew back the iron bolt on his assault rifle, and felt a round chamber with a heavy click. He checked his tac-vest for extra ammunition, four fragmentation grenades, and his M6C service pistol. Everything in it's proper place, Finnigand turned to the LAAG gunner in the back of the vehicle.
"When we get in range, I want you to hold fire until the covies spot the jeep. We're coming in on a wide arc around the complex, and I want you to suppress them as much as you can. We're not here to rack up kills, understand?"
The gunner nodded solemly.
The Driver gunned the engine, and with a deep roar the Warthog cleared a deep ravine. The front tires came down first, heavily, and kicked dirt up onto the windshield as the rest of the vehicle followed. Checking his compass, the driver pulled hard on the steering wheel, and the jeep sped up a nearby dirt path.
Sergeant Gonzales met with Adams' force at the appropriate rendezvous point, and they began jogging up a nearby hill. The covenant forces, content with having spilled blood and repelling the attackers, opted not to pursue them. As the marines neared the crest of the incline, though, they heard a sound that made everyone's heart sink.
With an otherworldly scream, two Banshees dropped out of the clouds and began to pour liquid doom into Adams' and Gonzales' position. The marines screamed and dove for any nearby cover. Several were hit by the huge, blue bolts, and were hurled unceremoniously as flaming, bloody ruin down the hill.
As Adams scrambled frantically for cover, a nearby marine was reduced to a pair of legs and gore, with charred stubs spraying crimson. Adams rolled into cover behind a small, jagged boulder, and cursed the misfortune of this mission. Slamming a magazine into his MA5B, he leaned around the rock and fired a long burst into the closest Banshee.
The 7.62mm rounds tore numerous holes into the Banshee's armor, but managed no significant damage. The pilot of the craft roared in his alien tongue, and wheeled the craft around for another pass on the hilltop.
As the covenant flier peeled off from it's attack run, two fuel rod bolts slammed into the marines' position. A boulder was vaporized, killing the three men using it for cover, and leaving a smouldering crater in the ground. The other bomb crashed into the ground, spraying dirt and rocks meters into the air.
Suddenly, both of the alien fliers turned around and boosted away without hesitation. The marines peeked out of their cover, and Sergeant Gonzales walked shakily to the middle of the rise. As the banshees became distant specs on the horizon, Gonzales wondered why in Hell they aborted their certainly advantaged attack.