Operation: Stingray Ch. 4 --Monkey Business--
Posted By: Nick Kang<digitai430@yahoo.com>
Date: 21 May 2004, 1:38 PM
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AN: Sorry I haven't posted this chapter for a while, but about fifty things are going on at my house at once, and I'm really stressed out.
I know the date of the story is different, but I had the original date and then reread
H: tFoR and realized the book takes place AFTER the story, so...
And the story probably won't be as good as the others, I've been under a lot of stress lately, but Track has ended, so hopefully that will change.
1600 HOURS (HUMAN MILITARY TIME)
DECEMBER 7TH, 2552 (HUMAN MILITARY CALENDAR)
SAINT JOSEPH BEACH, FLORIDA
CURRENTLY UNDER COVENANT SIEGE
Benson's chest burned. He felt his lungs straining to keep up with his sprinting pace. His heart thudded in his ears, as did the bloodthirsty roar of the Elite not three hundred meters behind him. Him and his squad had to get out of the woods and within defensive range of the LZ. Before the Covenant patrol got to them. The Elite and Brutes could easily catch up to them if they caught on to the trick soon enough.
Benson saw his squad mates running around him. They too, sprinted. Benson heard the pounding footsteps of the Brutes and knew they were coming for him. He willed his legs to carry him faster through the thick woods, but they wouldn't. He heard the Elite wail a battle cry, but couldn't hear it's footsteps, as the thundering of the Brutes drowned out every other sound around him.
His lungs screamed for him to stop, but he had to keep going. He looked over his shoulder. His thermal sight picked up five heat signals that sliced through the dark fog. They were faint, but getting darker. He refused to die here.
Benson turned his head back around to be confronted with a slim tree. He quickly dodged it, but sacrificed some speed. A plasma bolt wailed by, barely five inches from Benson's head. A wave of heat washed over him. He felt the right side of his face blister, and his nose picked up the faint smell of burning atmosphere. The Covenant were getting close.
There was a loud BANG and another wave of heat washed over Benson. At first he thought another plasma bolt had shot by, but then realized the bang had come from the top of one of the trees. A rocket screeched out of the leafy canopy overhead.
Dallano 'Rootamee kicked a small pebble over the edge of the cliff. He watched the rock tumble through the air and land on the forest canopy several hundred feet below. It was simply boring on this world. He had checked and rechecked his battalions' barracks, as well as the status of the hangar. There was not a speck of dust in the Mess Hall, and he had made his troops straighten out the armory. He had run out of things to do several units ago. 'Rootamee clicked his mandibles and watched the pillar of smoke extend into the dark clouds. The thick gray column lazily drifted upwards from the burning orange firestorm. The inferno was slowly eating away the forest, burning anything before it.
'Rootamee quietly clicked his mandibles, the Human equivalent of a sigh. He wished he could just see some frontline combat, such as he had experienced when he was a Rookie and Veteran.
But 'Rootamee wasn't going to see front-line combat. Front line combat was going to see him. And it already had a full schedule.
Bradley heard and felt his stomach rumble with hunger. He nonchalantly wiped the half-frozen sweat from his brow and stepped out of the trench he had been busy digging. The sounds of men working were everywhere as they dug new trenches around the perimeter of the LZ. The previous trenches had been glassed in the recent Banshee-attack. The only problem was that there weren't enough rations to feed the working soldiers, and they were all hungry. Radio contact had to be established with the Mayflower again if they wanted any hope of surviving the night. But he was brought back to reality by a loud gunshot off in the distance and a section of the forest exploded. The shocked screams of Marines filled the air. Bradley looked off in the direction the shot had come from: the ocean. A line of small black dots had appeared on the horizon, yellow and red explosions speckling the surrounding area. Smaller dots were shooting through the air, light lancing from them towards the larger ones. Bradley suddenly realized what was happening. He ran down the beach, pushing past a couple of dazed Marines, and reached the UNSC patrol boat that had been off on patrol during the Banshee-attack. In crude black writing, someone had painted the name Enterprise on the side of the small boat, after the famous World-War II aircraft carrier that had been on a secret mission during the Pearl Harbor bombing. The Carrier had been the only ship in the American fleet for a matter of time, and had been a critical part in winning the Battle of Midway, which had tipped the war in the Allies favor.
Bradley quickly strapped himself into the gunner seat behind the large 20mm chaingun, and called for four others to come. Four Marines, all armed with battle rifles, crowded around the Enterprise and strapped into the seats, telling the driver to floor it. The Marine that had sat down in the driver seat wrapped his hands around the twin joysticks and pulled on them. The engine kicked to life and the boat slowly began to back up out of the sharp rocks jutting out of the water around the beach. The driver turned the joysticks to the right and the Enterprise began to turn until it pointed towards the distant battle on the horizon. The driver depressed the gas pedal and the engine gunned to life, slowly speeding up until it had reached its maximum speed of seventy miles per hour. It left a trail of waves in its wake, and a brown spray of fuel surfaced from the area of the propeller.
Bradley swiveled the turret around and trained it on the battle. They were off.
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