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Never Give Up
Posted By: Slimby<buddycorp@gmail/hotmail.com>
Date: 16 September 2005, 9:31 am
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Five Marines. Four are the battle hardened ODST, weaned of their mothers milk by Covenant blood. The fifth is a Spartan, 058 Mikey, harder than granite. Their cover is a hulk of a Warthog, and a large crate. Their attackers are a regiment of Elites, wielding plasma rifles. And their time: it's running out.
"Concentrate your fire on the Blue coming up the middle. Careful of the plasma grenades." Mikey calmly spoke into the microphone, and the ODST's moved to comply. One of them rolled over, bringing a 14.5mm barrel into view. "I have him," came a rough voice. The barrel flashed once, and the Elite dropped. "Firing grenade!" yelled the one next to him. He hefted a 50mm GL launcher, emptying the tubes and then discarding the useless launcher. Twelve Elites down, compliments of their fallen comrades grenades, four hundred to go. Mikey sized up their odds. Stranded next to a shop front, and beyond reach of any help, their best choice was to take down as many Elites as humanly possible. But Mikey was barely human. "Covering fire!" he ordered, readying himself for a full-on sprint out to a car repair station halfway along the street. Three rifles started up behind him, their staccato clatter heralding his burst into the open. Plasma bolts zinged past him, scorching the already blackened stone next to him. He slid into the car repair station, casting around for pressurised canisters. He found three of them, about the size of fire extinguishers and packed full of NOS. Nitrous Oxide, laughing gas, boost juice. Whatever name was spoken, it was the same thing. Highly explosive, and very dangerous. Mikey hefted them, slinging his battle rifle and preparing to sprint across again. He gathered himself up, then sped across the rough green stone the entire city was made of. More plasma hit him, absorbed into his shields. Mikey again slid into cover. "On my mark, fire on the canisters." Hey threw one down. The Elites laughed at this pathetic attempt to slow them, a hundred scoffing voices mocking the humans. Let them feel some vague hope, each squadron thought. "Mark!" Mikey ordered. The bullets bounced off the armour casing, smacking open the seal. Another bullet hit the stone next to it, causing sparks to come into the fuel stream. In seconds, the canister was in flames and exploded. Mikey threw the last two as far as he could, firing on them in mid air. The ODST's fired with him, and twin blossoms of firey death grew. "That thinned their ranks," thought Mikey. "Sir, I'm running low on ammunition. A few more Elites and I'll have nothing but my fingers to shoot." Mikey laid a hand on him, firing the rifle one handed. He threw down two more clips, and the ODST quickly reloaded his rifle. Mikey primed a grenade, and threw it into the mob of Elites quickly descending on their position. "Sir, I'm almost out too. We can't survive this. We're doomed, Sir, we're doomed!" Mikey span round and glared at the Marine. A rifleman by the name of O'Conner. "Never give up! Never surrender!" he yelled. "Attack!" Mikey tried to resist the rage flowing through him, but he couldn't. He leapt over the Warthog, firing his rifle into the crowd in front of him. At least three hundred, it was impossible to win. Three White Elites were almost on him, wielding wicked plasma swords. Mikey sped into them, ripping their mandibles apart and firing his gun into the gaping wounds. Within seconds the Covenant's most powerful warriors were dead, their plasma swords in the hands of the unclean ones. Mikey kicked the dead bodies down the street, temporarily slowing the onslaught. He threw five more grenades, each impacting on the wall of shimmering armour and alien flesh. His shields were long gone, there was no way of surviving the beating he had endured. Mikey spent the last round in his rifle, flinging it away. He power up two swords, and flung himself into the Elites in front of him. Spinning round and round, purple blood being thrown up in front of him and getting caught by the sunlight, he slaughtered them in their dozens. Mikey felt like he couldn't breath any more, and drove himself harder and harder. Plasma bolts impacted on every part of his body, he choked on his own blood as it poured out of his mouth and into the space between his visor and his face. He somehow opened the visor, and the spray of crimson was caught up in the blood bath too. Mikey was amongst his most deadly enemy, wielding the weapons of those he had killed. He had just killed, and killed again, giving no quarter. His arm finally gave way, burned right to the bone. He still swung his left arm, tearing through energy shields with their wearers most sacred weapon. He felt himself falling back, into the carcasses of his recently deceased foes. As his eyes grew dark, and he felt his heart stopping, he felt proud of what he had just done.
Bored, with a concussion. Some of you may remember me, Slimby, from the forums. Hope you get something out of this, it's just a way to kill time for me. Thanks for reading.
Slimby
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