Simon-G294/Desperate Fire

The rocket spiraled overhead, looping in an uncertain arc before slamming down into a Scorpion. The tank vanished in a wave of burning smoke, then burst free of the shroud as its machine gun blazed away at an unseen target. The lumbering machine's armor was barely dented.

"Shit!" the rebel soldier swore, tossing his launcher away and looking around desperately for a new weapon. Beside him, Simon clutched his rifle close to his chest and wormed his way deeper into the rocky dugout.

The rebel turned on him before he could slink away. Simon froze as the man's desperate eyes bored into him.

"Hey, kid!" he yelled. "Where are your charges? Grenades?"

Simon looked up at him, putting on his best "I'm just a frightened kid" face. It didn't take much acting; he felt like a quivering mass of terror on the inside already.

With a snarl of disgust, the rebel crossed over to him as bullets and explosive rounds pounded over head. "Your rifle!" he yelled over the cacophony of war. "Give it to me!"

Simon hesitated. The rifle, with low penetration bullets more worthy of a submachine gun and its antiquated bayonet, was all he had out here on the battlefield. If he handed it over now, he'd be utterly helpless.

"I said give it to me!" The rebel aimed a kick at Simon's face, and in the next instant he was slumped against the rocks, still twitching from where the bullets had punched through his body.

Simon scrambled for cover as the tell-tale sounds of a UNSC battle rifle's three-round burst filled the air. Rocks around him shuddered and burst from near misses as he dove clear, stumbling and rolling down the rocky slope to land in a disheveled heap on the dusty ground.

He was completely exposed. All it would take was for one round to hit him anywhere on his unprotected body, and he'd be finished.

His rifle lay a few feet away. Pulling himself hand over hand across the dirt, he strained and grunted as he reached out for it. A year ago he'd have had armor to protect him, teammates to cover him, and the best sensor technology the UNSC had to offer to detect enemies before they could even think about targeting him. Now that shitty rifle was all he had against those same, hyper-advanced forces he had once fought for.

Grabbing the rifle, he held it close and rolled over and into another pile of rocks. Shrugging off his threadbare coat, he draped it over his head and shoulders and lay still.

The dugout he had just escaped from explode in a storm of dirt and rocks, obliterated by any one of the UNSC Marines' heavy weapons. Debris rained down on Simon's position, coating his body in a new layer of dust. Under the coat, he gritted his teeth and fought to keep still.

''Keep it together. You're not a Spartan anymore, just another kid stuck out here with the rebels. Stay out of the way and don't get shot.''

A whine filled the air as a Warthog rolled over a nearby hill and skidded to a halt less than a yard away, kicking even more dirt up onto Simon. His hands were gripping the rifle so hard he was sure they'd start bleeding. Every nerve in his body was recoiling in terror, an instinctive cowardice that he had learned not to be ashamed of. Heart in his mouth, he peered up at the LRV from under the coat.

Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me...