War Is Hell: Chapter 1: Getting Across
Posted By: Burny<firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: 25 April 2004, 1:01 PM
War Is Hell: Chapter 1: Getting Across
"Everyone switch on your thermal vision!" Sergeant Pillar said on the platoon frequency. "There may be invisible swordsmen."
No one needed to reply. The Marines instantly flipped on thermal vision. Skitch's vision, greatly enhanced due to the setting sun because of low-lighting, made it possible to see exactly where the Elite swordsmen could be. He spotted it heading for another Marine shooting a Jackal. His FOF tag read: Private Gerard.
"Gerard, get down!" he said. Gerard, some feet away, dived to the ground as Bart, with his back against the half-burnt emplacement, aimed and fired his Rat33 with one hand.
The Elite spun around as three 9.96mm rounds smashed into his unprotected chest. Private Gerard fired his Malkov SMG and brought the best down un a pool of purple-black blood. Skitch counted to three, then dashed from cover and up the beach until he, Corporal Sherman, and a half-dozen men from Alpha's First and Second Platoons, were prone on a tall sand dune. They were covered up so well that the bunkers couldn't overlook them.
Corporal Sherman was first to speak. "Okay, Marines, listen up! The reinforcements are arriving soon. We need to take these bunkers so we at least stand a chance when we hit the airfi--"
A plasma mortar landed less then a foot away from the boiling, urainium-powered fence. "Go go go! Up and over, ladies!!" No words were said, but the order was carried out. As much as forty men made it over the wall and up against the purple bunker wall. The reinforcements arrived, boosting the Marine numbers to 1,000+ men. The remaining squads of A Company's First and Second Platoons were making there way over the wall. Since the forces were split up evenly, this confused the Covenant forces and made them think twice about which force to fire upon.
This invasion is exactly like D-Day, was the thought on every Marine's mind right at this very moment.
Field Master Ibanuree 'Tosolva stood in what those filthy maggots referred to as Fire-Eye 2. What a disgraceful name for a marvelous structure of this size and power. The moonlight cast an illuminating glow through the narrow opening of the bunker, reflecting off his polished golden armor. He walked over between the two plasma turrents, his two Brute body guards standing at rigid attention. 'Tosalva surveyed the battlezone with sharp, ghostly, neon eyes. Two Grunts manned each turrent. One of them, a pathetic warrior by the name of Gorg, was concentrating his line of fine on the humans farther back.
"Gorg! What the hell are you doing?!" 'Tosolva exclaimed gutterally.
The little Grunt jumped from the sudden interruption. "K-k-killing Infidels, Y-Y-Your Greatness!"
'Tolsalva became annoyed. "You're killing the wrong humans! Shoot the ones coming over the wall! Do it now!"
"Aiieee!!" Gorg screamed and he quickly mashed down the triggers of his plasma turrent, unleashing a barrage of purple light on the maggots coming over the wall.
"Good. Just don't let it happen again, okay? Trega, Hukra, let's go. We need to get to the airfield to set up defenses. Move out!"
The two Brutes nodded, raised their weapons, and followed the Field Master as he ran out of the bunker.
"GO! GO! Across the minefield, dam--ARGGGHH!!" Corporal Aaron Smart screamed as he stepped on a Covenant landmine, throwing him a few feet forward and blowing his left leg off from the top of the knee cap and down. He started convulsing uncontrolably, blood leaking out of his severed stump and staining the sand. Private Bart Skitch, racing for cover with many other Marines, grabbed Corporal Smart's arm and hefted him onto his shoulders. "It'll be alright Corporal!" he yelled over the plasma blasts and bullets.
It was a bitter dash for life. There had only been one casuality, and that had been Aaron. The first nine men who had gotten over were safely within the cover of walls of concrete. Fortunately, a medic had been among the nine and he worked on Corporal Smart. Everyone else crowded around, watching. Smart was a great man to many, a woman charmer, but right now he was fighting death itself.
"C'mon, Corporal, you can make it!"
"It'll be alright! You'll get through this!"
Aaron's eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale, and his convulsing began to decrease. The medic, using a pair of surgeon's scissors, dug around in the mess of blackened muscle tissue and severed veins looking for bits of plasmatic shrapnel. Once he spotted one, he quickly yet carefully worked at prying it out as his fellow Marines kept uttering phrases of hope.
But it was no use. The man's eyes spun back into his head as his body ceased to exist. "Damn it, he died from shock..." the medic said, putting the scissors into his ruck-sack.
Will Sherman and the rest of the Marines stood. "We can't let a single casualty get to us! We have a mission that needs to be completed! Let's move out!"
Bart reloaded his Battle Rifle, slapping a 30-round magazine into place. After sliding the bolt back, he gazed up at Fire-Eye 1 and the barrage of blue, pink, and purple plasma emanating from it. The screams of Marine warcrys and the shouts of orders roared over the ever-increasing chaos. The private made a quick, mental prayer, then followed Corporal Sherman's lead as the squad of nine pushed their way into Fire-Eye 2.
TO BE CONTINUED...