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Beckoning of Doom: Ch. 3: --Escape--
Posted By: Nick Kang<digitai430@yahoo.com>
Date: 5 June 2004, 11:20 AM
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"Hang on! We got multiple contacts! They've arranged in a V-formation! This is gonna be a bumpy ride!" the Pilot's voice was broadcast over the loudspeaker. Tesler held onto the support handles as the dropship bucked and rolled through space, blossoms of fire sprouting all around them. He still hadn't gotten a sight of what was shooting at them, but whatever it was, there were lots of them.
The dropship jerked slightly as a pair of HE Anvil-II missiles launched from under the Pelicans wings. Tesler felt his harness strain as the ship did a barrel roll and dodged a missile that streaked harmlessly past. The faces of the other ODSTs, revealed now that they had their helmets off, were scenes of pure terror. The dropship began to shudder as the heavy 90mm chin-gun fired. His teeth rattled in his head from the jarring of the machine gun. He felt helpless. All of his long, painful, and arduous training was worthless inside a ship, leaving his fate in the hands of a pilot he hoped had an equal amount of training.
Once again, the Pelican pitched and rolled as rockets silently streaked by. Finally, Tesler caught a glimpse of what was shooting at them. Ten small maintenance crafts, fitted with three HE Anvil II missiles and what looked like a 15mm chaingun each flew at them, leaving the charred hulks of three others in their wake. One by one, they fired their missiles at the dented and scuffed Pelican. The pilot detonated the starboard thrusters. A wall of inertia slammed into Tesler, pressing him against the cool metal wall. The pilot's frantic voice could be heard through the cockpit door, calling for backup from their carrier, the Liberty. The dropship shook as a barrage of 15mm bullets harassed it. A small hole sprung from the wall next to Tesler. He sat wide-eyed as the atmosphere began to vent through the 15mm hole in the Titanium-A.
The other ODSTs immediately sprang to life, one grabbed a scrap of Titanium-A battle plate and plugged the small hole up, while another grabbed a portable welder and held it up to the small hole. Sparks shot from the spout as the ODST turned the nozzle. Within seconds, the metal had been grafted over the breach.
The next thing Tesler knew, a squadron of Longsword Interceptors appeared out of nowhere and went to work at the stubborn rebel vessels. The 110mm rotary autocannons on the Longswords activated immediately, punching right through the two-centimeter thick armor on the engineering single ships. In the blink of an eye, five of the ten makeshift fighters floated dead in space. The other five regrouped and came back at the Longswords, firing all of their missiles. There was a silent explosion in the void and two Longsword hulks drifted away, their hulls breached in dozens of places. The remaining four fired a combination of 110mm ammo and ASGM-10 missiles. The bullets cut down three of the five rebel fighters before the missiles even reached their targets, but when they did, it was all over. One final, huge explosion cast shadows through the carrier section of the Pelican as the missiles impacted the last two rebel ships. Hunks of scrap and frozen blobs of molten metal lazily floated through space. Tesler gave a soft sigh of relief and knew that he would live to fight another battle.
'Farnasee shielded his eyes from the blinding green light and felt his feet lift off the ground. Hot pain shot through his back and up his spinal cord. He heard a cracking sound. Opening his eyes, Fanoon realized that he was temporarily adhered to the wall with his own sticky blood. His back felt like someone had just hit it with a blunt plasma sword. Imaginary fire licked up his sides. He felt his back peeling off the wall. He landed on his stomach with a hollow thud, where he moaned and kept his eyes closed, waiting for the second time for death to come. He heard footsteps coming from the bay. Surely it was an enemy Elite coming finish him off. But before he could open his eyes and thank the gods for taking him out of his misery, he felt something scoop him up. He opened his eyes and felt the dried blood around them crack. That was when he noticed for the first time that his shields were down. It hadn't even occurred to him that such blunt force from a fuel rod cannon would take down his shields. He must have been suffering from shock.
But in any event, he was being carried. One of his comrade Elites had picked him up and draped him over his shoulder. He looked back and saw a big bloody smear on the wall where he had hit it. The bloodstain was quickly obscured from view as a pair of Hunters lumbered down the hallway after them, their fuel rod guns charging. The Elite carrying Fanoon realized this and sped up. Walls carved with religious symbols raced by as the two Elites ran from their pursuing enemies. With a cataclysmic bang, the two Hunters discharged their loaded fuel rod cannons and ejected the empty rods. The two green blobs shot past 'Farnasee's vision and exploded further down the hall. A Jackal, two Elites, and six Grunts went flying as they ran from the marauding enemy. He raised his plasma pistol to fire at the advancy enemy, but realized that he had lost it in the explosion.
The surviving party rounded a corner and was confronted by a door. It slid open, revealing a blockade of Fanoon's comrades. All of the soldiers in it were Special Operations operatives. Fifteen Elites in well-polished black armor crouched behind a wall of overturned supply crates while twenty black-armored Grunts, ten armed with fuel rod cannons, took up positions in the middle of the hall. The survivors leapt over the wall of crates and continued their retreat. The two Jackals stayed behind and decided to shield the Grunts, as did two Elites. Fanoon's group rounded another corner and through a door where four Hunters had taken had taken cover in smaller off-branch hallways and were calmly awaiting a fight. The survivors ran past the Hunters and through a door, and were confronted by a large, smoothly lit room. Blue light reflected off the shiny walls and refracted to the top of the Control Center where it erupted in a cascade of blues and reds. In the center of the large chamber was an upraised platform, held up only by the ramp connecting it to the floor. Standing on the platform, his figure distorted by the hemisphere of holographic control panels, was Ship Master 'Henifamee. His polished gold armor reflected enough of the light to give him a godly shine.
The Control Room was heavily defended. Cleanser plasma turrets had been mounted along the edge of the control platform. A layer of supply crates blocked off the platform to invaders. Brutes carrying small grenade launchers patrolled the circular chamber in groups of three while Grunts carrying Fuel Rod Cannons guarded the entrance ramp to the control platform. Ship Master 'Henifamee carried a plasma rifle and had a deactivated plasma sword hilt strapped to his hip while he checked and re-checked the optical cameras stationed through the ship. A pair of Veteran Elites wearing scarlet-hued armor stood at attention on top of the upraised platform. Six Hunters had crouched down behind another wall of supply crates and were ready to lob fire at anything that came through the door. As if this wasn't enough, ten Jackals had overlapped their shields and were facing the door that Fanoon and his savior had just entered through. Six Elites heavily armed with Needlers ducked down behind them. The calm faces of Elites and Brutes could be seen above the trench-like structures to the right and left of the control platform. It seemed as if one fourth of the total forces on the ship were stationed in the Control Room.
The Elite carrying Fanoon stumbled across the room and stepped down into one of the trenches. There, a large cushion hooked up to a medical stand had been placed on the smooth, blue floor. Four medical Grunts accompanied by two Elite and two Jackal body guards waited to heal his wounds. They removed the sloppy plasma pack and injected him with a dose of a tissue-rebuilding liquid called Faybronum. He instantly felt his cells working harder to rebuild the damaged muscles in his back and leg. The feeling was a relief. The medics injected him with more sterilizer and anesthetic before neatly placing more cooling plasma packs on his wounds. 'Farnasee instantly felt battle-ready and lifted himself off the cushion to go join his comrades. After picking a Needler off the makeshift armory, Fanoon walked over to the door and crouched behind the wall of protective energy shields made by the Jackals. Making sure his own Needler was fully functional, 'Farnasee made a foreward glance over at the other Elites crouching behind the Jackals. Sweat once again ran down his face in salty rivulets.
The sounds of battle had already begun echoing down the empty halls as the barricade that Fanoon had passed engaged the enemy forces. The sounds of whining plasma and fuel rod explosions ripped through the air, accompanied by the screams and grunts of both sides.
'Farnasee listened for the several minutes it went on, his face a portrait of grim determination. Even down the corridors, Fanoon could hear the sounds of sizzling plasma as it melted flesh and metal as if it were evaporating water. There was one final, large explosion and all was silent. The sounds of fighting immediately ceased and the air became calm again. The sound of thundering footsteps was also absent from the eerie silence, which also meant that the blockade had held.
But for how much longer? Fanoon's mind raced. Surely, the last attack had severely crippled their forces. How many casualties can my brethren endure before they are forced to give up and retreat, same as I was enticed to do?
Fanoon was dragged back to the dangerous situation as the ship began to vibrate. All of the color instantly drained from 'Farnasee's face. The Grav-Beam had kicked back on, and the enemy was receiving reinforcements.
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