The sky was orange as dawn came. Looking up was like staring at a smooth, cloudy, flawless nectarine. The air was far less idyllic, full of screams and terrified cries for support, as the enemy bore down on the Marine soldiers.
Gamma Halo was unaccounted for, thanks to Blue Team's skirmish with the Didact a week before. Securing Zeta Halo, and keeping the Covenant Remnant off of it, was an important task indeed. Each Installation was a potential doomsday level weapon. A detachment of fanatical Sangheili and their cohorts quickly rallied the moment Zeta Halo's location was gleaned by their agents.
For them, it was a glorious day, to fight and die upon the hallowed ground of the Sacred Ring.
For Vance, it was Tuesday.
The Spartan III clenched his teeth as he moved out of cover, abandoning his fallen warthog and engaging his enemy in a manner that gave the marines around him genuine hope. A brute was his first target. Vance fired his shotgun and killed the jiralhanae with a single shot, sending the brute flopping back onto the ground. He yanked back on the shotgun's forward handle, ejecting the shell and sending it over his shoulder, as the next one was queued up. A skirmisher pounced, unintimidated by the death of the jiralhanae before.
Vance was quick to prove that it wasn't luck. He turned and swung down the butt of the shotgun, striking the feathered beast over the head with it. The single blow crushed the skirmisher's skull, an eyeball popping out of the socket. Vance stepped on it, turning his shotgun towards a small lance of two brutes and four grunts.
His next action struck fear in their hearts. He laughed. "Heh hah hah HAH!" Vance snatched his pistol from his hip, firing four shots. The grunts, without any energy shielding or facial protection, took the bullets to the dome of the skull, each one dropping, leaving the brutes exposed as Vance charged forward. The scattered marines watched as the Spartan did what he did best; administer trauma.
Vance ducked the swing of a brute shot and turned, keeping his body low as he fired his shotgun into the back of the brute's knee. He noticed his shotgun was damn near empty (two rounds to go), so with lightning speed, he holstered it, turning and raising his fists alone for the upcoming task of disabling the standing jiralhanae.
He planted his feet, keeping them high as the brute closed in, bruteshot blade ready. The brute went for a melee first, the straight swing easily evaded by the Spartan. The brute turned and fired a grenade, but Vance dipped low, the explosive round passing right over his shoulder. The brute raised his blade, but Vance overrode his offense with an attack of his own.
The first punch was a mere jab from the Spartan III's left hand. The brute felt the lights go down as his brain was jarred by the strike. The second was a right cross, striking the brute's upper chest. There was an indent of Vance's fist, and the jiralhanae's brute-shot fell, the creature's collarbone broken. The third punch was a blow to the stomach that forced the brute captain to his knees.
The last thing the brute saw was the heel of Vance's shoe as the Spartan dropped an axe kick on the brute's snout. The attack was bone-shattering.
"...Infidel...red-shelled CUR..." The jiralhanae who Vance had plugged managed a few words. "Do not get cocky, vermin! We will claim the rings, butcher your children for meat, and commit your world to the cleansing flames of Rukt!!!"
Vance drew his shotgun, but kept it lowered, clearing his throat. "Ahem. I don't know if you know me, but here's something you ought to know."
The Spartan III shoved his shotgun into the brute's mouth, racking it as the brute prepared for the weapon's payload.
"Rings or no rings, fire or no fire, children or no fucking children, unless you find someone who can beat me one on one, I'll be as cocky as I want."
Vance pulled the trigger, the satisfying kickback of his shotgun accompanied by a spray of purple blood. He put his shotgun on his shoulder, its barrel leaking a long, steady stream of grey smoke.
"...Was it good for you? To be honest, I wasn't feeling it." Vance raised an eyebrow at the felled brute. No humor was too grim in a battle like this.
"Are we doing phrasing again?" Vance heard a familiar voice on his comms. It was another Spartan. A survivor from Beta Company that Vance recognized. John-B069, one of Dr. Bailey's attack dogs.
"It was intentional, John." Vance grinned, happy to hear a familiar voice. "Maura with you? Or your pwecious widdle Wucy?"
"Oi. Jackass. Look up range. Might want to get your head down for a sec." At John's prompt, Vance turned and looked Eastward, noticing a small detachment of brutes. Led by a Captain and clad in power armor, one of the minors leveled a plasma cannon downrange, directly at Vance, whose eyebrows shot up.
"Oh shit-" The CQB specialist, with no long range firing solution, scrambled behind cover as splashes of blue plasma torched the ground he was previously standing on. He dove behind a broken warthog, and the junker's chassis was peppered by plasma and spiker-fire.
Vance rolled his eyes. "Well, shit," he grumbled. He looked around, and could see other marines stuck behind cover as the jiralhanae's plasma cannon sprayed wildly, threatening to cut down anyone who moved to retaliate. "My armor can take maybe a few hits of that, but I don't like my odds. John, do you have a rifle? Think you can take Rambo out?"
"Well, I have something like that," John replied, speaking rather quietly.
He wasn't sneaking up on them, was he?
"...You're sneaking up on them, aren't you." Vance sighed, wishing he could rub his temples through his helmet. He looked over the warthog, and, plain as day, could see John standing behind the brutes, popping his knuckles.
In an unprecedented moment of generosity, John gave the minor holding the plasma cannon a tap on the shoulder, alerting the brute to his intentions.
The brute minor turned, and John skipped forward, thrusting a side-kick into the jiralhanae's temple, killing him with the single hit. He turned snatched the brute's spiker, firing it from the hip into a nearby brute's back. As a third brute turned to retaliate, John swung the spiker around, slashing him across the stomach and spilling the brute's guts.
It was still five on one. Vance reloaded his shotgun, and quickly began hauling ass.
John bayonette stabbed the brute beside him in the thigh, abandoning the spike rifle and firing his modified submachine gun. The kick of the weapon knocked the brute back, and John turned to fire on the brute behind him.
"SURPRISE!" Vance shouted as he leapt onto the brute, his shotgun butt smashing teeth into powder. He turned the shotgun downward and fired into the brute's chest. A brute moved to strike him from behind, but Vance knew he was covered. John moved in front of the brute, bouncing on his feet. The jiralhanae's claws swung, but John's footwork was far too deft for the brute's fists to land even once. He ducked, slid, and weaved, each blow passing through thin air. When the brute threw one last haymaker, John caught the arm and swung the brute over his shoulder in a powerful takedown. The brute major's weight landed right beside Vance, who placed the shotgun onto the brute's face and fired.
John and Vance turned towards each-other, and bumped fists. "Been a while since I saw you work," Vance said. "Not bad. Not bad."
"You haven't been slackin' off either, it seems." John reloaded his submachine gun, having spent the remaining half clip. "New shotgun, huh?"
"Yup. The old one got banged up. I'm liking this new model." Vance flipped the shotgun in his hands, admiring it. "The hell's up with your submachine gun? The shots sound different."
John lifted it. It had a pair of brown streaks on the top. It was an old model, side loaded SMG, rather than the newer top-loading varient. "Bailey revamped it for me. Slower firing pace, but less recoil and more impact. It's special."
Before the two could compare their weapons any further, a Phantom dipped low to the ground behind the hill. The both of them raised their weapons, watching as a Brute Chieftain dropped from the ship, landing and drawing a gravity hammer. The brute turned, spotting the Spartans, and loosing a bellowing war cry.
"...Dibs on the hammer," John quickly said.
"Fuck you. Hammer's mine." Vance immediately jumped, sliding down the hill towards the Chieftain.
"Fuck ME?! Fuck you! Dibs is a human institution! I'm pretty sure the UNSC has laws on dibs!!!"
With that, the two Spartans took control of the battlefield, leaving the Marines in the dust.
Soldiers call for back up. The Vanguard only calls for cleanup.
Gamma Halo was unaccounted for, thanks to Blue Team's skirmish with the Didact a week before. Securing Zeta Halo, and keeping the Covenant Remnant off of it, was an important task indeed. Each Installation was a potential doomsday level weapon. A detachment of fanatical Sangheili and their cohorts quickly rallied the moment Zeta Halo's location was gleaned by their agents.
For them, it was a glorious day, to fight and die upon the hallowed ground of the Sacred Ring.
For Vance, it was Tuesday.
The Spartan III clenched his teeth as he moved out of cover, abandoning his fallen warthog and engaging his enemy in a manner that gave the marines around him genuine hope. A brute was his first target. Vance fired his shotgun and killed the jiralhanae with a single shot, sending the brute flopping back onto the ground. He yanked back on the shotgun's forward handle, ejecting the shell and sending it over his shoulder, as the next one was queued up. A skirmisher pounced, unintimidated by the death of the jiralhanae before.
Vance was quick to prove that it wasn't luck. He turned and swung down the butt of the shotgun, striking the feathered beast over the head with it. The single blow crushed the skirmisher's skull, an eyeball popping out of the socket. Vance stepped on it, turning his shotgun towards a small lance of two brutes and four grunts.
His next action struck fear in their hearts. He laughed. "Heh hah hah HAH!" Vance snatched his pistol from his hip, firing four shots. The grunts, without any energy shielding or facial protection, took the bullets to the dome of the skull, each one dropping, leaving the brutes exposed as Vance charged forward. The scattered marines watched as the Spartan did what he did best; administer trauma.
Vance ducked the swing of a brute shot and turned, keeping his body low as he fired his shotgun into the back of the brute's knee. He noticed his shotgun was damn near empty (two rounds to go), so with lightning speed, he holstered it, turning and raising his fists alone for the upcoming task of disabling the standing jiralhanae.
He planted his feet, keeping them high as the brute closed in, bruteshot blade ready. The brute went for a melee first, the straight swing easily evaded by the Spartan. The brute turned and fired a grenade, but Vance dipped low, the explosive round passing right over his shoulder. The brute raised his blade, but Vance overrode his offense with an attack of his own.
The first punch was a mere jab from the Spartan III's left hand. The brute felt the lights go down as his brain was jarred by the strike. The second was a right cross, striking the brute's upper chest. There was an indent of Vance's fist, and the jiralhanae's brute-shot fell, the creature's collarbone broken. The third punch was a blow to the stomach that forced the brute captain to his knees.
The last thing the brute saw was the heel of Vance's shoe as the Spartan dropped an axe kick on the brute's snout. The attack was bone-shattering.
"...Infidel...red-shelled CUR..." The jiralhanae who Vance had plugged managed a few words. "Do not get cocky, vermin! We will claim the rings, butcher your children for meat, and commit your world to the cleansing flames of Rukt!!!"
Vance drew his shotgun, but kept it lowered, clearing his throat. "Ahem. I don't know if you know me, but here's something you ought to know."
The Spartan III shoved his shotgun into the brute's mouth, racking it as the brute prepared for the weapon's payload.
"Rings or no rings, fire or no fire, children or no fucking children, unless you find someone who can beat me one on one, I'll be as cocky as I want."
Vance pulled the trigger, the satisfying kickback of his shotgun accompanied by a spray of purple blood. He put his shotgun on his shoulder, its barrel leaking a long, steady stream of grey smoke.
"...Was it good for you? To be honest, I wasn't feeling it." Vance raised an eyebrow at the felled brute. No humor was too grim in a battle like this.
"Are we doing phrasing again?" Vance heard a familiar voice on his comms. It was another Spartan. A survivor from Beta Company that Vance recognized. John-B069, one of Dr. Bailey's attack dogs.
"It was intentional, John." Vance grinned, happy to hear a familiar voice. "Maura with you? Or your pwecious widdle Wucy?"
"Oi. Jackass. Look up range. Might want to get your head down for a sec." At John's prompt, Vance turned and looked Eastward, noticing a small detachment of brutes. Led by a Captain and clad in power armor, one of the minors leveled a plasma cannon downrange, directly at Vance, whose eyebrows shot up.
"Oh shit-" The CQB specialist, with no long range firing solution, scrambled behind cover as splashes of blue plasma torched the ground he was previously standing on. He dove behind a broken warthog, and the junker's chassis was peppered by plasma and spiker-fire.
Vance rolled his eyes. "Well, shit," he grumbled. He looked around, and could see other marines stuck behind cover as the jiralhanae's plasma cannon sprayed wildly, threatening to cut down anyone who moved to retaliate. "My armor can take maybe a few hits of that, but I don't like my odds. John, do you have a rifle? Think you can take Rambo out?"
"Well, I have something like that," John replied, speaking rather quietly.
He wasn't sneaking up on them, was he?
"...You're sneaking up on them, aren't you." Vance sighed, wishing he could rub his temples through his helmet. He looked over the warthog, and, plain as day, could see John standing behind the brutes, popping his knuckles.
In an unprecedented moment of generosity, John gave the minor holding the plasma cannon a tap on the shoulder, alerting the brute to his intentions.
The brute minor turned, and John skipped forward, thrusting a side-kick into the jiralhanae's temple, killing him with the single hit. He turned snatched the brute's spiker, firing it from the hip into a nearby brute's back. As a third brute turned to retaliate, John swung the spiker around, slashing him across the stomach and spilling the brute's guts.
It was still five on one. Vance reloaded his shotgun, and quickly began hauling ass.
John bayonette stabbed the brute beside him in the thigh, abandoning the spike rifle and firing his modified submachine gun. The kick of the weapon knocked the brute back, and John turned to fire on the brute behind him.
"SURPRISE!" Vance shouted as he leapt onto the brute, his shotgun butt smashing teeth into powder. He turned the shotgun downward and fired into the brute's chest. A brute moved to strike him from behind, but Vance knew he was covered. John moved in front of the brute, bouncing on his feet. The jiralhanae's claws swung, but John's footwork was far too deft for the brute's fists to land even once. He ducked, slid, and weaved, each blow passing through thin air. When the brute threw one last haymaker, John caught the arm and swung the brute over his shoulder in a powerful takedown. The brute major's weight landed right beside Vance, who placed the shotgun onto the brute's face and fired.
John and Vance turned towards each-other, and bumped fists. "Been a while since I saw you work," Vance said. "Not bad. Not bad."
"You haven't been slackin' off either, it seems." John reloaded his submachine gun, having spent the remaining half clip. "New shotgun, huh?"
"Yup. The old one got banged up. I'm liking this new model." Vance flipped the shotgun in his hands, admiring it. "The hell's up with your submachine gun? The shots sound different."
John lifted it. It had a pair of brown streaks on the top. It was an old model, side loaded SMG, rather than the newer top-loading varient. "Bailey revamped it for me. Slower firing pace, but less recoil and more impact. It's special."
Before the two could compare their weapons any further, a Phantom dipped low to the ground behind the hill. The both of them raised their weapons, watching as a Brute Chieftain dropped from the ship, landing and drawing a gravity hammer. The brute turned, spotting the Spartans, and loosing a bellowing war cry.
"...Dibs on the hammer," John quickly said.
"Fuck you. Hammer's mine." Vance immediately jumped, sliding down the hill towards the Chieftain.
"Fuck ME?! Fuck you! Dibs is a human institution! I'm pretty sure the UNSC has laws on dibs!!!"
With that, the two Spartans took control of the battlefield, leaving the Marines in the dust.
Soldiers call for back up. The Vanguard only calls for cleanup.
Last edited by Bad John on August 2nd 2015, 10:17 pm; edited 1 time in total
