A Desperate Plea (Pt. 1)
Posted By: Dexdiman
Date: 24 June 2004, 7:00 PM
Guns blazing and shell cases flying, forty marines fight against all odds. They are the last marines of a once great fortress in the city. Every enemy, in the city, is converging on the marines.
"C'mon boys hold the line." The commander screams.
"Sir, we can't hold, they're coming." A marine says with a cold, loud voice.
"Warrant Officer," the commander demands, "are there any ships in the area."
"I've been hailing the Orion Class Cruiser, Fremont, in high orbit, but they're not responding to our hails." the officer responds.
"Sir, there's a COM channel coming through, but in heavy static." the officer yells with glee."
"I'll patch it to your helmet."
"This is Mar... get there ye... heavy atta.... your location... hot." Marco yells with command. "I'm giv... you a... point were... meet you."
A NAV point appears on the commander's heads up display.
"Boys," the commander says. "I've got a way out of here."
"I want five of you to give a blanket of cover" the commander orders.
Five marines launch smoke grenades towards the enemy forces, giving cover for the marines, making the enemy blind. The marines pick up there stuff and follow Commander Johnson. Running down back allies and streets killing any enemy that stands in their way. After much exhaustion they reach their location. An old, abandoned, high rise office building. They race inside and up the stairs shooting any enemy following behind. The marines reach the fifth floor.
"You two set remote charges enough to blow this building away" the commander orders. "And hurry!"
They reach the roof and barricade the only door to the top. Soon after, they point their guns over the edge of the building and shoot the enemy below.
"What are we doing here?" A scared marine said.
"Shut up marine, don't question my command, and stow that garbage." Johnson furiously barked.
Suddenly the sky was filled with the sound of salvation.
"Sir, it's-it's, Marco" A marine happily yells.
And like the White Horse coming from heaven five human drop ships descend beneath the clouds flying effortlessly in a 'V' they rocket over the marines; but Marco 311 stops and slowly lands on the roof to pick up the marines. The other four ships drop their Warthogs, in mid-flight, into the enemy crowd. Then they fly on and land to let their troops out to fight. Marco lifts off the building and disappears into the clouds.
"Quite a big show just to save us Marco." Johnson tells Marco. Marco eagerly responds,
"We're hear to retake the city and we happened to receive your hail. So I called the Fremont and asked if we could land at your location and not the designated LZ."
"Thanks for going out of your way to evac. us." Johnson graciously says.
A marine looks out the back hatch of the ship, and switches his helmet's visual filters to "infrared".
"Hay, look at that, they're standing on the rooftop jumping up and down yelling." The marine laughingly says.
"Time for a light show." Johnson responds.
Johnson looks at his wrist and a small computer screen flips up. He taps the screen twice then raises his head. Suddenly the fifth floor of the building erupts with a brilliant light and sound, spreading the clouds and creating a ditch in the ground. The enemy runs in fear as the building and all who stood on it come crashing to the ground. Even at such a high altitude the sound, when it reached the marines, was still as loud as a gun. The ship climbs higher and higher. Till the day turns to night with the sun still held high in the sky.
"Everybody make sure your battle suits are sealed tight, we're about to leave the atmosphere." Johnson orders with a parenting voice. The ship begins to shake violently.
"Passing into the atmosphere in five." Marco barks. "So hold on tight."
Marco 311 passes through the atmosphere, engulfed in flames, and engages his visual filters, filtering out the flames. Marco begins hailing the Fremont...
"USS Fremont, USS Fremont this is Marco 311, repeat, this is Marco 311. What is your location?" Static is the only thing he hears. Marco tries again.
"USS Fremont, USS Fre..."
Marco glances down at his sensors.
"Contacts! Everywhere!" Marco yells out the cockpit door. Johnson darts into the cockpit and says,
"What, how come you didn't see them before?!"
"We were to deep in the atmosphere to get a clear reading." Marco responds quickly.
"Crap," Johnson yells ''turn off the filters so we can see how many there are."
Hundreds of gigantic battle cruisers, two to four kilometers in length, move through space like a precision game of chess. And for every cruiser there were ten times as many smaller ships from one-man fighters to half a kilometer carriers. The Fremont was nowhere to be seen.