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All Roads Lead To Sol...Despite What The Map Says: Chapter 8
Posted By: S7N<n.j.r.jones@brighton.ac.uk>
Date: 29 July 2003, 9:30 PM
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Chapter 8
1430 Hours, March 17, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
Derias System, Derian Prime
It didn't take long to locate the bodies. The Grunts were littered around in pieces, two Jackals lay face down in their own blood, and Hulasomee had the top half of his head missing. Caro 'Kiolosomee knelt down next to his dead comrade, placing his claws over the dead Elite's chest in a sign of respect. What ever did this to his brother would pay dearly. He rose and walked over to his commanding officer. 'Ikolamee stood surveying a nearby tree. It was badly splintered and charred, probably from an explosion of some sort. The commander rubbed his hand over the surface, trying to figure out what had happened.
"Have you an idea as to what has happened, master?" 'Kiolosomee said in a low tone. The superior officer turned to him, and clucked his lower mandibles.
"No." he said bluntly, and went back to inspecting the tree. 'Kiolosomee turned away from him, and looked out into the brush. Three Black armoured Elites appeared in front of him. One of them came to a stop next to 'Kiolosomee.
"It appears," the Elite spoke "that the primitive used a projectile weapon to kill 'Hulasomee." He held up his hand; clutched between his fore-claws was a metallic cylinder. The shell casing to the sniper weapons the humans used. 'Kiolosomee cursed to himself. This was the third recon squad to be wiped out by this mysterious human. They had gotten reports from a Grunt Spec Ops squad that an escape pod had crash landed somewhere in the forests near their main camp. Hoping for some easy kills, the Grunts had engaged the downed craft. Their bodies had been found near the pod, but no humans were found, dead or alive.
A patrol of Jackals was sent out, but never returned. Two more squads were dispatched, neither were seen again until they were found dead. Now the camp was on full alert, and Tura 'Ikolamee, the highest-ranking Elite on the planet, had decided to go and track this human down himself. He had picked 'Kiolosomee and three other Elites to help him, knowing their skill at tracking and hunting would be extremely useful, as well as bringing along two Hunters.
The lumbering creatures stood guarding the perimeter whilst the Elites tried to get a rough idea as to what the hell happened. 'Kiolosomee turned to 'Ikolamee.
"Master, you may wish to see this." The commander turned, his bulky form coming round on the smaller Elites, his gold armour sparkling in the arid light that poked through the trees.
"What is it?" he snatched at the shell casing. "Ah, yes. Sniper round, I believe." He motioned for the Elites to gather round. "We are dealing with a very hostile entity, extreme caution is to be taken." They nodded in agreement.
"Do you think its one of them?" one of the Elites said.
"No," 'Kiolosomee replied. "Last reports from the first squad spoke of a black figure, and not a particularly big one either. Those creatures wear green armour, and are bigger than normal humans, and if one of them were here I'd doubt we'd be able to fi..." he never finished his sentence as the Gold clad Elite struck a blow to his head.
"Never speak of such failure, ever!" he roared "By the will of the Prophets, we have the power to destroy anything that stands in our way, even one of those things." 'Kiolosomee shook his head, trying to shake the pain.
"Sorry, master." He bowed his head. "It shall not happen again." He acknowledged his mistake, knowing it was the wrong thing to say. The other Elites stood warily, not wanting to speak for fear of the same punishment. They had all heard of the reports of green armoured warriors that were unstoppable in battle. No Elite had encountered these beings yet as they, themselves rarely entered the battlefield, believing the lesser races could handle them. Only Jackals and Grunt had come into contact with them, and those that did, rarely lived to tell the tale.
It was widely regarded between the lower-ranking Elites that the green-clad warriors were a thorn in their side, one that would not be easy to remove.
"I believe" 'Ikolamee continued. "the warrior we are searching for waited for this squad to rest, then struck. The Jackals have distinct blade wounds to their throats, and where they are standing suggests they were on guard. The warrior knew to dispatch these first, which meant that 'Hulasomee must have been off guard. The blackened tree suggests an explosive of some sort, and judging from the general scatter of the Grunts, I'd have myself believe that the explosive killed them all outright.
"This left 'Hulasomee." The Golden Elite pondered for a moment, clicking his upper jaw. "With the Jackals out, the warrior could easily kill the Grunts, leaving 'Hulasomee without backup." 'Ikolamee drew his plasma sword from his armour, and flicked the switch. The blade hummed into life, the blue light bouncing off of the Elite's armour. "We must move. The warrior is probably a few units away by now, and we have precious time." The lesser-ranking Elites drew their Plasma Rifles, motioned to the Hunters and set off in the direction they believed the interloper to have gone.
1030 Hours, March 23, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
Military Training Camp Utah, Australia
Earth
"Ten-hut!" Drill Sergeant Pom shouted, the sound echoing around the rectangular room. The men and women occupying the large room stood up straight and snapped crisp salutes. The room they stood in was one of the smaller sleeping quarters on the Camp. When the recruits had come to Camp Utah, it was two hundred men and women to one large room, but as training went on, the need to separate out into squads was outlined. That way, the soldiers in those squads got to know the people around them before they hit active combat, and it also made it easier to trained squads than it did to teach a whole platoon all at once.
"At ease," another voice came, this one deeper, yet softer than that of the drill sergeant. Two men walked in, stepping passed Pom, who stood rigidly at the opening. Fincher recognised both of them as the guys from the Canteen earlier. What ever it was, them talking to Pom was no coincidence. He had identified them as a Sergeant and a Corporal when eating in the Mess Hall, and now it was even clearer, the speaker stood just in front of the other man. They looked equally as rough as each other, but also very neat. Their army uniforms were clean and creaseless, their boots polished, and their hair worn at what looked like exactly the right length.
But what the hell were they doing here? Fincher pushed the thought aside as he dropped his hands behind his back, spreading his legs to shoulder length. The Sergeant stepped forwards, walking slowly down between the two rows of soldiers, looking at each one individually.
"I am Sergeant Raynes," he began, stopping near Greggs. The big man exhaled even more, trying to bring his large belly in, just in case the newcomer decided to give it a whack, as Pom often liked to do. But no such action came from him. He simply stared at the other man, then nodded to himself and carried on down the line. "I am to be your commanding officer when you finish Boot." He pointed back up to the top of the room. "That man over there is Corporal Harland, who is my second in command. Just to let you know, that when you are not answering to me, you are answering to him." Fincher stole a glance up at Harland, and noticed he was staring straight back at him, the flicker of a smile crossing his face.
Fincher turned back to eyes-front, feeling a drip of cold sweat trickle down his back. That was the second time that had happened.
"You are coming to the end of your training, and from what I hear, you are some of the best marines in these barracks, which is saying something. But this war is not going to be easy. Many men and women have died to try and stop the Covenant from getting to Earth, and so far they have succeeded. This is not meant to dampen your spirits, recruits, this is to prepare you for the world you are about to enter. Make no mistake, every action you make when you leave Boot Camp could well extend or shorten your life." He managed to stare round the whole room, at each one of the twelve men and women at once.
"In two weeks you will be taken, on a UNSC Carrier, to a designated hot-zone. I cannot disclose whereabouts as of yet, for security reasons. The other squads in this platoon are also being briefed as we speak, you will all be in the same boat." He took one last look then marched up to the front of the room. He turned sharply, the hint of a smile on his face. "Good luck with the rest of the training, and I'll see you at graduation. He saluted sharply, the man behind him dong the same. The twelve men and women saluted back, then waited for Raynes and Harland to leave before dropping their hands. Fincher exhaled deeply.
"Well, well," Pom shouted as the door closed behind him. "Look's like you're gonna be out fighting the covie in a fortnight, eh?" he said, a wide grin on his face. "I'm proud of you, people, but that's not to say these next two weeks of training are gonna be easy." Although Fincher knew Pom was just kidding with them, trying to scare them, there was a hint in his voice that suggested the next two weeks could be the worst two weeks of his life.
"You now have two hours to yourselves, soldiers," Pom said. He turned, nodded to Manny and walked out the door. Manny closed the door behind the Drill Sergeant then turned to the others.
"Party time, people," Manny's soothing voice said. Fincher collapsed backwards on his bed, his head hitting the mattress hard, bouncing a few times. He looked around and saw every gathering into groups or pairs and chatting excitedly about the events to come. He felt someone sit heavily on the edge of his bed.
"What do you think of all this?" Manny said. He slapped a hand over Fincher's thigh, leaving a sting. "You ready to fight for Earth?"
"I don't know about the fighting for Earth part, buddy but I know one things for sure. The next two weeks ain't going to be easy." He looked up at the other man.
"Yeah, I got that feeling too." Manny yawned, cupping a hand over his mouth. He glanced around the room quickly, then settled his eyes on Sarah. Fincher saw her look up at Manny, wink and smile, then get back to talking to Grace and Tanya. "Do you think it's weird that our squad mainly consists of the people you got to know first?"
Fincher thought to himself for a moment. "I guess that's why they did it." He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and coming to sit next to Manny. "I mean, the better you know someone, the more likely you are to know how they are going to react in a situation. That way, if you are in a fight, you know what to expect and won't be surprised by what they do." Manny looked distant for a minute, then nodded.
"But," Manny replied. "The better you know someone, the harder it is when you lose them."
"You thinking about Sarah?" Fincher nudged him with his shoulder. Manny looked up at him, began to nod then stopped.
"Not just Sarah," Manny said, his voice lowering. "I feel close to all you guys. Walker, Tanya, Grace, Greggs. Hell, even if Harris were to bite it I'd still feel something." They both glanced over at the man. Harris sat chatting happily with Walker.
"He's not so bad," Fincher said, knowing the comment was likely to spark a reaction from Manny. But that reaction never came.
"Yeah," Manny said, sighing deeply. "He's not a bad person at all. It's just that he's a competitive person. When I first met him, I had him pinned down for an arrogant bastard. I still think that, but he's an arrogant bastard I can respect. We play off of each other. I know it, he knows it and in doing so, we both work harder."
"Mutual respect, eh?" Fincher replied. He stood and stretched his arms over his head, then bent down and touched his toes. Coming back up, he felt something huge slap him on the back. Nearly falling to the ground, Fincher inhaled sharply. Standing back up he came chest to face with Harris. The bigger man smiled. But it wasn't his usual menacing smile, this time it was genuinely friendly.
"Sheesh, Harris do you have to hit so hard?" he whacked him in the stomach, but felt his cheeks turn a little red when he noticed Harris didn't even blink at the retaliatory action.
"We're heading down the bar if you guys wanna come. A drink or two to celebrate finishing boot camp. You want to come?" Fincher noticed his invitation wasn't just aimed at himself. He noticed that Harris looked over at Manny as well, the smile not leaving his face. Was he feeling alright? Manny glanced over at Fincher, a look of bemusement on his face.
"Er..." Manny stuttered, "Yeah, why not. You coming Fincher?" Fincher nodded, feeling a smirk coming on.
"Right," Harris boomed, oblivious to the facial expressions both men had just pulled. "we're leaving now, so are you going to meet us down there, or come with us?" Manny stood and motioned for Harris to go.
"We'll come down with you." Manny blurted out. As Harris turned away, muttering something to himself about numbers, Manny looked over at Fincher. Bewilderment covered his face. Fincher shrugged, then wrapped an arm round the other man's neck.
"I don't know what he's on, but enjoy it while it lasts," Fincher said, chuckling to himself. Manny dug him in the ribs lightly.
"Let's just hope this isn't a ruse for him to beat my head into a pulp when I'm lying face down on the floor in a drunken stupor." The two men laughed as they exited the sleeping quarters. Tonight would be a great night. But although they didn't say it to one another, Manny and Fincher both realised this could well be the last good time they have.
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