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A little something I wanted to save |
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Subways. He had never liked them, too dark, and being underground gave him the creeps. The distinct aroma of death perforated the air, there was something squishy a few meters behind him, he didn't want to know what it was. PFC. William "Bill" Lipton moved slowly and quietly through the darkened railway. Had the tracks been active he probably would have been killed by now, he didn't know the number of times he had stepped on the middle rail, nor did he want to. He could see light at the far end of the tunnel, that was his objective. The rest of the Platoon was securing the station, he had wandered into the rail system, though it was not exactly a voluntary move. He and Saunders had wandered into a Covenant Patrol, doing the same thing they were, exploring the station for the enemy. After calling in their position and contact, Lipton and Saunders had gone on the defensive. The Covenant in the patrol outnumbered them three-to-one. There were about four, maybe five Grunts, and at least one Elite. The grunts were easy enough to kill, but the Elite was smart. The first thing it did was duck into the shadows and engage it's damn active camouflage. Saunders was dissected by the damn plasma blade they carry, Lipton would have bought it too if he hadn't shoved an M9 into the b*****d/s mouth. Now he was down to one grenade, two clips for his BR55, and his knife. For some reason, the corps didn't think that the men needed sidearms. Something about a pistol being too expensive for cannon fodder. "Savin' 'em for the Spartans" was a popular gripe among the marines.
Something moved, he was sure of it. The sudden action and sound had jarred his mind from its wanderings. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Too many good men died because they let their thoughts wander. He crouched, to decrease his profile and steady his aim. Just a little further... and he was at another station. This one was abandoned, but at least there was light. If his helmet hadn't been smashed to kingdom come by his little encounter with the Elite, he would have been able to see bright as day thanks to the boom-mounted mini-screen. The helmets contained all sorts of fancy gizmos to help the average grunt in the field. One of which was the low-light display, in which case a small visor would extend, cover his eyes, and display the world around him in the low infra-red spectrum, thus a form of "night-vision". There it was again. Sound. He was sure of it. Moving to a better firing position, he quickly checked the ammo counter on his BR, 12 rounds left. He missed the MA5B rifles, sure they were bulkier, but they were much better suited for the job.
A distinct clatter, almost like hooves. It was coming from his left, from the abandoned station. He could see them, three Grunts, two orange ones and a red. Their yowls and squeaks echoed through the empty tunnel, real smart. He waited to fire on them, if he could, he would take them out silently, he really didn't want to risk drawing the attention of one of their superiors. The bad thing about the tunnel was that sound carried, so he couldn't just shoot them, or others would come to investigate. He also couldn't stay there because they would notice him. A Spartan would come in real handy right about now. There, turn around... what's that? Something got your attention up the stairs? Run along, back to your fellows, we'll kill you in time you little bastards. He thought to himself. Something had caught the interest of the Grunts, and they had left him. Something reverberated through the tunnel, the lovely thump of a M9 fragmentation grenade detonating. Next came the cry of an Elite, now more gunfire, mostly Covenant weapons. They were really busy shooting at something.
He moved forward. He heard something, it sounded like hushed voices, but they were so distorted he couldn't tell if they were human. His only option was to continue, sure he could return to his platoon, but he had no way of reaching them, and they would understand, staying alive was priority numero uno when it came to fighting the Covenant. There was a bend in the tracks up ahead, he moved slowly, careful to make little sound. Something snapped under his boot, the voices stopped. "Echo!" Came a hushed challenge. "Back!" was Lipton's reply. "Echo" was the challenge of the day, and "Back" was the response. It was a way for Marines without FOF tags to identify incoming targets. Why command had chosen those two words, he had no idea. "Lip? Izzat you?" Asked a voice. "Yeah it's me." "Get over here." Lipton moved toward the source of the voice, near a large chunk of concrete sitting about twelve feet from where it was supposed to be. "Walsh, is that you?" Lipton inquired. "Yeah, Lipton where's Saunders?" Returned Cpl. Henry Walsh. "He didn't make it. One of those squid faced-bastards left him in pieces." Lipton replied. "s**t, have you heard from anyone else?" Asked Walsh. "No, my helmet got stepped on during the fight." Lipton said with a slight smile. "Great, how much ammo do you have?" "Not much. A couple of clips, one grenade, and my knife." "OK, we'll have to make it last." "How did you get over here?" Lipton finally asked. "Reynolds and I got cornered near Bustamonte station, We got split up, I haven't seen him for half and hour." "Perfect." "So now I guess we should... hold it. What's that?"
What's that was indeed the question. Slow heavy steps seemed to be growing louder. Lipton and Walsh hugged the wall, they both knew what was coming. The Hunters moved single-file, they were too large to move next to each other. Their large armored bulk made it almost impossible for them to maneuver in the tunnel, killing them would be easy, but they were still too dangerous for too Marines to handle, besides, Lipton didn't know if Walsh even had a weapon. The towering behemoths lumbered past the Marines' hiding spot, only to stop. They sensed something, though they weren't sure what it was. They moved faster, and charged ahead, into a part of the subway tunnel that opened up, into a larger platform. Lipton and Walsh followed, all the while sticking to the shadows (which wasn't hard).
The two Hunters roared and charged the well-lit platform, there were a number of Covenant fighting on it, though the two Marines couldn't get a good look at what it was they were fighting. The distinct staccato report of the MA5C Modular Assault Weapon cut through the air. The modified MA5B used Magnum rounds for greater damage, at the expense of a smaller clip. One of the Hunters was immediately cut down, the upper torso falling to the ground, leaving the legs standing for half a second, before following the upper half of it's body. The unknown warrior had cut the Beast in two with their fire. The Second Hunter bellowed in pain as its Bond Brother was killed, and charged the attacker. The sound of a shotgun burst and the distinct sound of metal on concrete echoed through the dark tunnels before the blue flash of a Covenant plasma Grenade illuminated the area, and blew a large chunk out of the Hunter's midsection, instantly killing it. The unknown fighter approached the two Marines, who moved out of the dark and toward the station, and armored hand reached down to the two men, inviting them up.
Lipton saw in the golden visor that his mouth was open in amazement as he accepted the Spartan's help up. Out of politeness, and embarrassment, he closed it and helped Walsh up. "Your unit is back that way Corporal." The Spartan's voice was gravely and almost devoid of emotion. He said nothing else as he moved off down the tunnel to find and kill more Covenant. Walsh and Lipton exchanged glances and hurried up the stairs and into the subway station, then out onto the streets of New Zanzibar.
The Hegemon · Wed Mar 07, 2007 @ 06:25am · 0 Comments |
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