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The Chronicle of Squad Omega: Chapter II
Posted By: Dark-NiTe
Date: 9 March 2004, 10:48 PM
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The first thing that Jett Amarillo thought was that he should be dead...
But then he realized he had a thought.
He was alive.
The term "alive" however, was used loosely due to the fact that his injuries were fatal. After the fall, he had a mid-level concussion, and nearly all his ribs were broken. It pained him severely even to breath, and his legs were numb, but he could still feel them. He tried to sit up, the hot blades of pain in his chest deeply frightening him. "Oh shit," he grunted, and fell back over, which caused him to scream. Everything hurt too much.
He looked around. He saw the Warthog on its side on the ice to his left, a spiderweb of fractured ice snaking out from the point of impact. He saw the other Captain...Styer...Stripe...Stryfe his name was; legs pinned under the vehicle. He was motionless. Another marine from Delta sprawled over the car. Smitty lay dead in front of the hood. Tilting his head back, he saw Skye behind him, face down. Straight ahead he saw Captain Alexander face down in a bank of snow. At his right, someone was in a massive snow drift...he couldn't see who. It was Jon South.
"Wort Wort," it was a soft and distant sound. Jett heard it clearly none-the-less.
"God," he moaned. Don't let them find me now.
At the top of the ravine, he saw a blue figure walk to the edge with slow, dignified strides, its tall body held straight. Its head looked left, right, straight...down. It bellowed a cry while pointing that remotely resembled "Hold 'em up!"
Jett thought why the hell the fall didn't kill him when this bastard was going to just then. He looked around frantically. Play dead, or fight? He could barely move, but an MA5B was right beside him. The Elite ran down the slope, now 10 feet away.
"Ah fuck it," Jett said aloud and scooped up the rifle. He unloaded into the Elite, muzzle flashing wildly. He held the kicking and bucking rifle in one arm feebly, but managed to keep his target. The clip was full, good. He yelled out as the pain in his arm and torso nearly physically overwhelmed him.
The Elite growled and grunted as the lead was pumped into its flesh, spraying the icy ground with its blood. It was 5 feet way. It shreiked as 2 shells peirced its skull, but it ran on, nearly braindead.
"Fuck youuahh!!" Jett's speech became slurred in desperation and agony. "Just die!" The screen read 25.
With a final burst of rebellion, the Covenant leapt at Jett, but was struck down in-air and thunked onto the ice, cracking it.
Jett fell back over, not even able to cry out as the pain shot up through his back when he landed. His breathing was erratic and ragged. He just lay there for about 5 minutes. He then rolled over and tried to crawl to the Warthog. Inch by inch, he dragged himself closer...hopefully, the com still worked. The one in his helmet was hissing annoyingly ever since he gained conciousness. It obviously didn't work: wrecked when he hit his head.
He reached onto the dashboard of the Warthog. He fumbled around blindly with one hand until he yanked out the small little speaker phone at its spiraled cord. He clicked in the button at the side. "Hello." Click. He winced in pain.
A click of static preceded the response, "Delta Squadron is this you?"
"They're dead...EVERYONE'S DEAD DAMMIT!" Jett's voice started toneless, but rose into a frantic cry of panic.
"Who is this?"
"Jett Amarillo, Omega Squadron."
"We're finding your coordinates, Amarillo, one moment," the woman said. She didn't have a stern military voice...it was calmer...more human.
"Get me some evac...please," Jett grunted. "PLEASE," his voice was beginning to shake.
Silence.
"Amarillo...you aren't in our duresdic--"
"Oh BALLS!" Jett screamed into the mic. "YOU WANNA TELL ME YOU CAN'T GET ME WHEN I'M DYIN' OUT HERE?! FUCK YOU! EVERYONE'S DEAD! YOU WON'T EVEN DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?! GODAMMIT! God damn it all..." It was like a bad movie.
Author's Note: I'm not dissin Behind Enemy Lines, it was good.
"Sir, there's nothing we can do unless you get to the safezone that's located by the lake deeper beyond your position," she kept the calm, yet caring tone.
Jett sighed. He clicked the button in, "What's the estimated distance..."
A pause. "Less than a mile. About 2/3."
"Okay," Jett said. "I'm....I'm on my way."
"We'll be there, Amarillo. We'll get you home."
Somehow, he doubted her intensely.
He heard a stir. Captain Vincet Alexander rose to his feet on the butt of his M90. His face was extremely bloody; had knicks and deep cuts all over it. His left arm was broken. The right side of his pelvis was fractured as well. He managed to walk weakly, a sight that dumbfounded Jett. "Well, let's get going," he said in a gravely voice-almost like he had been drinking.
"Captain..." Jett said.
"I heard everything," Vincent said. He limped over to Jett and scooped him up, putting his arm over his shoulder. Supporting him, they both started to walk down deeper into the frozen ravine.
"Don't forget about me..." Skye Firenze said. He limped over to them. He had some fractured vertebrae, and his left leg dargged as he walked. It seemed he lost operation of the left side of his body from the mid-section down. But he was alive.
"Firenze, good to see you alive," the Captain said.
Jett thought, if he were to experience a miracle in his lifetime, this was it. They all should be dead right now, he thought. He even lived through an attack from an Elite in this state. After it all, he didn't want to give up. He couldn't. Maybe, they might get home. Who knew.
They proceeded to the safezone.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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