Chapter Text
Szurdok Ridge, Reach.
Corporal Chris Nixon, UNSC.
3rd Marine Expeditionary Battalion, 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon.
HE RELEASED THE BOLT ON HIS RIFLE, SENDING A 7.62 ROUND INTO THE CHAMBER.
"Corpsman! Jackson is hit near the Warthog!" Raising his head from over the plasma wreckage, Corporal Nixon looked to his right as the firing of his fellow Marine's rifle deafened him. A constant ringing in his ear distracted him as he stared through his cracked, blurry helmet visor. The mission was simple enough: A pincer maneuver conducted by Army Calvary Company 32 was supposed to flank a group of Wraiths. Yet, his platoon was watching the same units they were supposed to escort being ripped in half by constant, indirect plasma fire.
He could only smell burning and scorched skin. It was difficult to breathe.
"All stations in the blind, Kilo-Four-Four, we are going down at the southwest point of target Victor, off of Szurdok Ridge!"
"Radio! Get me comms on that bird!" Lieutenant Weston screamed at the platoon's Radioman, RM2 Silverstone.
Looking up from his phone, the Radioman shook his head as he saw a distant explosion, "Sir, still calling for suppressive fire on those Wraiths!"
The junior officer shifted from his cover, moving alongside his Gunnery Sergeant. "God—" Before he could make it behind a parked Scorpion MBT, a stray bolt of plasma cut through his rifle, scoring the metal and melting the surface, rendering the weapon useless. As he let out a harrowing scream, the spawl of plasma that erupted from the weapon coated his flame-retardant uniform, ruining the camouflage pattern.
Looking beyond the wreckage, Nixon surmised that the enemy was at least 400 meters downrange. It was well beyond the effective range that any decent rifleman could put down and hit a target. They had already survived two close ambushes by Covenant demolition squadrons, leaving him with a measly four magazines to use for killing and suppressive fire.
This was the Tip of the Spear, and here they were stuck. This mission, ultimately made by a joint decision by HIGHCOM and ONI, was enough to wipe out a company of troopers in the area of operations. He was once a Private who had escaped Ohio, and now he was a 23-year-old Marine stuck in the middle of humanity's counterstrike.
"Oh shit—Grunts and Split Lips coming around—three o'clock!" Looking at the Marine next to him, Nixon snapped his MA5B left as a Wraith and a fireteam of Covenant stormed their flank. Nixon couldn't even get ten shots off before he shrunk below cover as the Wraith Mortar screeched.
"LT! Move to cover," Gunnery Sergeant Yuki screamed, taking a bloodied MA5B and shoving it into his hands, "Sir, get your head in the game!"
"Sir, the second platoon is moving, ETA 30—" RM2 Silverstone's voice over TEAMCOM was drowned out by the mortar impacting the sister Scorpion moving up the rear, igniting the ammunition reserves and evaporating the tank crew inside.
Slipping his finger into the trigger guard of his rifle, Nixon put fire upon a team of Grunts moving into position. The 7.62x51 AP FMJ rounds were enough to crush the exoskeleton that made up the alien's anatomy, killing them with a short burst of no more than 5-9 bullets. Chaos followed the immediate engagement, making the Marines scatter as a hail of plasma returned to their position.
"Hey! Where are my anti-tank gunners? Someone get me a SPNKR!" Gunnery Sergeant Yuki screamed.
"Gunny, those Wraiths are closing in!" Nixon shouted back as he spotted the nearest fireteam equipped with anti-tank launchers. "I'm going to gun it to their Warthog!"
Szurdok Ridge, Reach.
Radioman 2nd Class, James Norman, UNSC.
HCS Gallant Inferno – Paris Frigate Class.
HE WAS SILENT AT HIS WATCH STATION. COUNTLESS WORDS SCROLLED ON THE SCREEN BEFORE HIM.
"Radio, Conn. Report the status on comms to GFU's heading course north." The current standing Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Jackson Calarco, echoed over the 27MC, making the current Radio Supervisor, RM2 Norman, snatch the microphone sitting between him and his Radio Operator, RM3 Polk.
"We're still scrolling VLF," Norman observed as Polk selected a different thin client, bringing up the remote controller for the UHF SATCOM controller on the other side of the room. "And we're up UHF. Conn, Radio, holding active communications with Green Force Units; I recommend testing communications before proceeding with Strike Package Alpha-Zero-Kilo-Niner."
"Radio, Conn, aye." Lieutenant Calarco removed the phone next to him as he patched into the radio circuit. Dialing the GFU's radiomen, the junior officer glanced at the callsigns behind him: "Whiskey Cat, this is Juniper Falcon. We are standing by to proceed with option package Alpha-Zero-Kilo-Niner over." The officer was contacting a detachment of ODSTs that had been hot-dropped to designate a Fire-Control-Engagement-Box (FCEB) for the Gallant Inferno's Archer Missiles.
"Roger Juniper Falcon! Fic-EB is lasered, friendly forces in the blue smoke!"
"Roger Whiskey Cat, be advised that Fic-EB is a walking friendly fire statistic."
"Go hot—"
The communications became garbled as the OOD placed the phone beside him.
"Conn, Radio, in receipt of Emergency Action Message, recommend Alert 1," Norman said over the 27MC.
Taking down the 1MC, the OOD cleared his throat, "Alert 1. Alert 1. Man Battle Stations Missile for Tactical Missile Launch." As he placed the microphone back, he looked at the Chief of the Watch and the Pilot watch-standers, "Chief of the Watch, sound the General Alarm, Pilot, set course North, come to 5,000 feet for Tactical Missile Launch."
"Setting course North for 5,000 feet, ringing Maneuvering!"
Szurdok Ridge, Reach.
Corporal Chris Nixon, UNSC.
3rd Marine Expeditionary Battalion, 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon.
"WE NEED TO GO!"
Gunnery Sergeant Yuki didn't even have time to tell each of his men to clear the area. By a miracle, Corporal Nixon and his Fireteam had waved off the Wraith that had flanked them. However, the distance that the counterforce had approached was too close for comfort. Managing to corral the Marines, the Gunny had fallen behind the lieutenant as they booked it out of the firing zone. Less than ten minutes earlier, nine ODSTs attached to an Army Airborne company had broken through the lines in a single Falcon and had touched down in nothing but a ditch while surrounded by at least two platoons of Covenant infantry. By the end of the ten minutes, they had called for a storm of Archer missiles to be deployed just as the primary objective for the operation was accomplished.
Sprinting to the nearest amalgamation of Warthogs that had been shuffling wounded men out of the combat zone, they had made it to the vehicles just as a team of Medics and Corpsmen had loaded the last of casualties. High above them, as they all clambered over each other into the Warthogs, the air battle continued. As a single UNSC Frigate, the HCS Grafton moved into an intercept position in the airspace, Pelican Gunships and Longswords swatted Banshees away from the vessel and began to engage distant Scarabs that were crawling along the battlefield.
Nixon was the last man on, and the driver took just a moment to confirm that everyone had made it aboard before he put the Puma into drive and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. Rocks and dust kicked up from the troop Hog as it tore across the hot zone. Blood, bullet shells, and men lay amongst the scattered and dwindling supplies.
"Incoming!" Yuki screamed as the Arche Missiles fired and impacted the target area.
No one could even see the munition before the Wraiths and encroaching infantry were evaporated into a plume of dust that shot up from the ground. Black smoke permeated the dust cloud as the shockwave thundered across the field, slamming into the Hog, making some of the Marines groan or shoot in joy.
Looking up from his seat, Lieutenant Weston cracked a smile as a large shadow slowly blocked out the sun. "Secondaries! Hold your heads, here she comes!" he shouted with a hoarse voice, almost jumping in excitement.
A loud 'Whirring' noise came from the Frigate as a 600-ton piece of Ferric Tungsten appeared to shoot out of the front like a beam of light. A large explosion came from the purple tower, prompting the other troopers to shout out in excitement while some jumped from the round's shock.
"Yeah, take that you alien sonsabitches!"
"Hot Damn!"
Filled with exhaustion, Nixon lowered his head and closed his eyes. He had a migraine, and his water bladder had run dry. Forcing himself to open his eyes, the Marine looked towards the sky at a burning wreckage.
"USNC Frigate Grafton, do you copy!?"
"Grafton is dust! We need to get out of here now!"
Raising his arm and resting it on his head, the camouflage was distorted and turned dark purple.
He felt lightheaded...
...So, he closed his eyes again.