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The New Reach Campaigns Chapter 5
Posted By: Gasmask
Date: 16 September 2002, 2:23 am

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      Pandemonium ensued. The troops of the USSSR knew that they had been left. They knew that this mission would be their death sentence. They were right. Bullets tore through men, blood staining the concrete. Men on both sides fell. Finally, after an hour, it was all over.

      General Krensky hopped out of his Pelican. He knew he had sent those men to their deaths. He also knew that Orumov would kill him if he ever found out what Krensky did to his men. He would have to dispense of Orumov first. He saluted as he made his way to the main offices. He would have to gain his trust first. That would mean lying. That was it. He would lie to Orumov, gain his trust, then kill him to get the jerk out of his way. That would leave him in charge of Fort Strom. Yes, it was perfect. As long as Orumov never knew, nothing could hurt him. He was invulnerable. He was going to lead the USSSR, one way or the other. He walked over to the lift, hit the button marked "12" and zipped up to the satellite observation tower. He would have to destroy anything implicating him. It was time to get cracking.

      The same could be said of Adam. The Spartan finished piling up the dead, and then lit the bonfire of bodies. All the troops around the fire saluted, honoring their sacrifice. Adam walked over to Mike. "What do we have left," he asked quickly.

      "Not too much," the other Spartan replied, "A few Longswords, three Warthogs, and a Scorpion. We still have all of our dropships, though."

      "Good," Adam replied, "How much damage did they do?'

      The other Spartan snorted shortly. "You have to ask? They hit the supply depot and the hangar, and took a chunk out of the barracks. They didn't get anything in the command bunker, though. Good thing we have that."

      "Alright. I'm putting you in charge of operations while my team and I are gone."

      "Gone, sir? Where are you..."

      " We need supplies, Mike, and I know just the place to get them..."

      New Orleans Revived was a large city, bristling with lights. People walked the streets, minding their own business. They had to. The city was held by the Communists. The only reason why this Communist city was more prosperous that the others is that it was a supply city. It was well guarded, however, to prevent radicals infiltrating and going renegade against the USSSR the way that Spartan team had a few months ago. It was nearly impenetrable. It was guarded by snipers in towers, and regular ground pounders patrolled the streets regularly. There wasn't much of a chance of anyone getting in here. But where there is a will, there is a way...

      Maranatha stood in his sniper tower. He didn't want to be there, however. He wanted to be at the front lines, avenging his brother, Jareth. Unlike his brother, however, he was not trained as a Spartan. He was just another expendable regular. He held no bitterness for his brother now, but he did before. With his brother's death, he thought that he had lived up to his name. Cursed. Ironic, really. He wasn't chosen to be a Spartan, and now his brother was dead.

      "Can it get any worse?" he asked himself. As is the case, it soon did.

      A shot rang out. Captain Stromgarde sat up in his bed. What was going on? It sounded like one of the snipers had fired. But there was a hitch. It sounded like one of the snipers had been shot and fell out of his tower. He could tell by the sickening splat of flesh and crunch of bone. One of his men was dead. He didn't want another to die. He hit his comlink. "Lieutenant Cabbel, get your men to Alpha alert. We are under attack."

      "Yes, sir," came the garbled reply. The Captain got up and walked over to his locker. He opened it up. Inside was what he was looking for. A suit of Spartan armor. He pulled on the boots and greeves, and heard another sniper shot, and a deathcry. He swore as he put his breastplate on. He was getting his armored gauntlets on when he heard the first actual assault rifle fire. There was a lot of it. It must be a raiding party, he thought as he fitted his helmet on and grabbed his assault rifle. He was proud of the weapon. He had used it in many battles against Covenant and his fellow man. He punched the activation switch, and the door slid open. The fire outside was getting more and more heated as he descended to the ground floor. Men lay strewn about, dead. He ran out, firing at enemy marines. He was in his element, spinning around enemy fire, and returning it. He fired, his weapon smoking, and men fell. It was time for his enemies to die.

      Maranatha hyperventilated as he looked down his scope. He had found the enemy sniper. He started to shake, but he calmed himself. He could do this. He would avenge Jareth's death with this sniper's. He blinked once or twice, then squeezed the trigger.

      Emily never knew what hit her. She had lined up an enemy Spartan in her sights when the bullet pierced her helmet. Her head lolled and fell onto the rooftop that she lay prone on. She knew no more.

      Adam saw what happened to Emily through his binoculars. His heart fell. He had lost a good soldier. The sadness was quickly replaced by rage. His hands grasped the binoculars too tightly, and they broke. He had never been so full of anger. He pulled out his pistol, zoomed in on the sniper's head, and fired twice. The soldier's brains splattered the concrete below the tower. Adam was not a bit sorry. He put his pistol away, then grabbed his assault rifle. Forget commanding and not fighting. He had to do something. He had to do it now.

      Steven took fire as he returned it. Lead sprayed from his beloved shotgun, and took men down. He ran with superb speed, hitting people with the butt of his weapon, and blasting them full in the face. All of a sudden, he saw Adam run out of his hiding place. He was firing full auto at any enemy target that presented itself. Steve wasn't surprised. He though Adam had been getting too much stress from just commanding. He could take it out on the field.

      Steven continued to fire. He had killed thirty men. He would kill over thirty more if it would end the battle. Suddenly, a stray rocket hit a building in front of him, and a chunk of it fell towards him. He tried to dodge out of the way, but it clipped his foot. He felt it being crushed under all that tremendous weight. He lifted the concrete up, then hobbled out from under it. He could still fight. The next scene filled Steve with unimaginable horror. He saw Adam lying on the ground in a pool of blood next to an enemy Spartan. No. It just couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. But it was. His best friend was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. The marines had already fled, and their dropship was taking off. He turned on his com unit. "Emily, this is Steve. Adam's dead. We need to get out of here. Do you read me? Come in, Emily!"

      Emily's voice did not come on the other end of the line. "She's dead too. And we have you now." Steve had the terrible feeling that the enemy Spartan had answered him. "You *******! What did you do? You ****** ******!"

      The voice came back cooly, "Now is that any way to speak to your host? I would hold my tounge if I were you."

      Steve saw what his enemy meant. There was no way of escaping. Unless... He turned towards the last dropship, and saw it explode. The voice came back.

      "Oh, please. You don't think that we would have let you off scot-free, now do you?"

      Steve fell to the ground. It was more than he could bear. This was it. They were going to kill him or capture him. All he knew is that whatever they did, it would not be pleasant. Unfortunately, he never saw the medtech with a sleeping medication syringe behind him. All he felt was a little prick through the kelvar he wore on the back of his neck. He fell asleep, and dreamed fitful dreams. Dreams that always ended up with his team mates dying, and him helpless.