User:Camp Froman/Forsaken Darkness

Forsaken Darkness is a short story written by Matthew Martin, AKA Camp Froman.

Author's Note
This is my last article. Ever. I already announced that I was leaving Halo Fanon, but I started writing one day recently and this story came into place. After this, I am done.

-Matthew

Part One: Emergence
Deckland observed the bridge of the Halcyon Cruiser. Standing there, waiting for orders, the Spartan peeked at each Crewman’s panel, one by one, curiously overlooking the commands that they frantically entered. Deciding that he had no other option than to wait patiently, Deckland sat down next to one of the Bridge’s stainless steel walls, relaxing at ease while waiting for Captain Nielson to arrive.

As he leaned, Deckland noticed an immediate look of sudden fear on the crewmen’s faces. He noticed what seemed to be several red squares appearing on each control panel.

“Lieutenant… you might want to see this,” said a Crewman, with noticeable fear in his accent. From the other side of the Bridge, Lieutenant Bradbury rose from his deck chair and slowly, somewhat cautiously, approached the Crewman.

“What am I looking at?” muttered Bradbury. “Tell me that’s not…”

“Sir, we have contacts! Lot’s of contacts!” yelled a Crewman from the opposite side of the room.

From his Neural Interface, Lieutenant Bradbury issued a Red Alert to the rest of the Ship’s crew.

“All combat personnel, report to your positions immediately. I repeat, all combat personnel need to report to battle stations immediately!”

Deckland arose from his spot to see Captain Nielson, along with several other Naval Officers, sprinting towards the bridge. Crewman issued numerous reports to him, to the point of Nielson having to push backwards the crowd of nervous Crewmen. The Captain looked at the terminal monitor, carefully and thoroughly inspecting each red object that appeared.

“Those aren’t Covenant ships,” Nielson declared. “They are humans.”

A sudden dreadful silence filled the bridge. The crewmen sat in fear. Deckland slowly approached the Captain, attempting to figure out the mysterious situation.

“No, sir, it can’t be! Those things couldn’t have…”

“System failure. Military equipment, always works. Not on my watch.” The Captain interrupted Lieutenant Bradbury in an attempt to relieve the tension between the men.

“Heavenly Watchman, this is the UNSC Fahrenheit, uh, we are receiving signals of what looks to be 10 bogeys from the northernmost part of this sector, please advise.”

“That’s a big negative, Fahrenheit. We read no contact with enemy ships, over,” reported a crewman onboard the UNSC Space Station Heavenly Watchman. From outside the bridge, squads of Marines sprinted from left to right.

“Gemini, this is Fahrenheit, check NAVCOM for enemy contacts, over,” urged Nielson to a neighboring ship, the Gemini.

“Once again, Fahrenheit, we read negative. Nothing on our screens.” As Captain Nielson maintained contact with friendly ships, Lieutenant Bradbury observed more red figures appearing on the ship’s NAVCOM.

<p style="text-align:justify">“Um…Heavenly Watchman, we may have a system fault here. Could be sun spot activity. Please run a systems diagnostics test.”

<p style="text-align:justify">“Fahrenheit, this is Gemini, we may have a problem. I am now reading what looks like 30 bogeys on our NAVCOM. Looks like you were right.”

<p style="text-align:justify">“This can’t be good…” muttered Nielson.

<p style="text-align:justify">“Fahrenheit, Heavenly Watchman here. This is not a system failure! We read 30, no, 40 incoming ships inbound to your position, Danger Close! We recommend you evade the area before they make impact!”

<p style="text-align:justify">“Wait,” Nielson said, puzzled, “What are they? Surely they aren’t…”

<p style="text-align:justify">“These are not Covenant! They are Human Ships! All UNSC Ships, evade the area! Evade the area! Bogeys are Danger Close! Evade the…” Anchor Nine’s signal faded.

<p style="text-align:center">

Fahrenheit’s personnel began to panic, aside from Deckland and Nielson. From the observation deck, Captain Nielson watched as the fleet of human ships approached the UNSC Sector. Although he stood strong and seemed to have nerves of steel, Captain Nielson stood with nothing but fear in his mind. If the ships weren’t Covenant, they could only be Human. He knew that Insurrectionists were not on Cherynobhhyl, which could only mean one thing.

The enemy ships came in many shapes, sizes and classes. Halcyons, Frigates, Marathon Cruisers. From various leaks in the exteriors, green and brown smog polluted the Atmosphere. There were at least thirty of them, maybe forty, each containing death for everyone who stood face to face with what was contained inside.

Several Squadrons of Longsword Fighters were sent into the atmosphere in an attempt to test the hostility of the incoming fleet. At first, the Longswords’ payload seemed effective, but their payloads were put to an immediate halt soon after. From An airlock in one of the Human Ships, several large clumps of orange and red biomass soared out into the atmosphere, striking the bombers violently. Nearly 20 Longswords were destroyed by the inhabitants of the Human Ship. Captain Nielson, observing with fear, knew what was to become of the UNSC Fleet under his command.

Seeming troubled, Nielson paced from left to right until it seemed and began to sweat. As he paced, he noticed the enemy ships approach even closer. As Lieutenant Bradbury, who tried to keep the Crewmen calm, loomed to the Captain’s observation deck, Nielson spoke the words “Contingency Protocol” with a neutral, grim accent. Bradbury nodded in agreement and left the bridge immediately to spread the word of Captain Nielson’s orders for all the ship’s crew to be evacuated.

“Coward’s way out, sir?” Deckland pronounced as he prepared to receive his orders.

“We leave or we die, Spartan. I’m getting you out of here, too. Pack your bags and head to Launch Pad Seven.”

“Sir? What about yourself?”

“By the time my pod is stationed, those things will already be onboard. Save yourself, Deckland.”

“Understood.” Deckland turned away from the Captain and prepared to leave the bridge for extraction.

<p style="text-align:center">

Several minutes had passed. Captain Nielson had hardly budged from his Observation Deck. Deckland made his way to the Emergency Pod Bay, where he would be extracted from the ill-fated cruiser. Marines stood guard while crewmen and other non-combat personnel loaded the Pods, fitting 10 men at a time. Suddenly, one of the leading ships of the enemy fleet accelerated quickly towards the Fahrenheit. Captain Nielson spoke quickly to Lieutenant Bradbury, who then left the bridge afterwards. Deckland never saw him again after that.

The personnel were loaded into pods by rank, with the exception of Nielson who was insane enough to go down with his own ship. It would be some time before Deckland would manage to snag a seat, and he could only wait and stand guard with the rest of the Marines.

As he peered out of the glass, Deckland noticed that the enemy ships were drawing extremely close. In the background, Captain Nielson made continuous announcements for any and all personnel to get to the extraction area, which began to annoy Deckland. Ignoring the sounds of the frantic marines around him and the booming voice of Captain Nielson on the PA System, Deckland stared blankly into space. Suddenly, his heart sank into a pit of darkness that surrounded himself into a state of terror, even for a Spartan.

From the front of the leading ship of the enemy Fleet, several large clumps of orange and red biomass were released, aiming straight for the Fahrenheit. The ship Deckland was on would receive the same fate as the Longsword Bombers nearly an hour before.

The world around him went silent. Immediately, Deckland screamed “Incoming!” at the top of his lungs. Regardless, it was too late. The biomass raced through space at a remarkable speed. It weighed several tons, and was certainly capable of ripping straight through the Fahrenheit. But the true horror of the incoming projectile was what remained inside.

Without thinking, Deckland dove straight to the ground, taking a few Marines with him. Right on time, the massive clump made direct contact with the ship, sending it tilting into a downwards slope. Falling backwards, Deckland held on for his life. His sight and hearing began to fade at the blood curling screams made by the marines, as well as the incredible “boom” that the biomass created as it tore through the UNSC Fahrenheit. Deckland knew that he was surely set to die, but tried to survive the massive attack with all his might. Ceiling collapsed above him, walls were torn to pieces. The shattered remains of the Evacuation Center sent Pods in all directions, trapping everyone inside the severely damaged vessel. There was no escape. There was no chance of survival.

The biomass had passed quickly. Deckland had survived the contact, but the ship was set to crash. Engines, NAVCOM, everything was disabled. The only direction that the Fahrenheit could go at this point was south, straight to the surface of Cherynobhhyl. From the damaged Intercom, Deckland could faintly hear a wounded Nielson. Deckland could not make out the Captain’s words, but he knew that Nielson was trapped, wounded, or both. Struggling to stand straight, Deckland sprinted over the dead remains of Marines and Crewmen and journeyed to the bridge to find Nielson.

He had nothing to defend himself with. If the operators of the biomass emerged, he would be trapped and killed. Luckily, Deckland came across a jammed but operable Assault Rifle, which would save his life if fate decided it. Carefully, Deckland walked to Fahrenheit’s Bridge, examining every nook and cranny for hostile contacts. He found nothing but the aftermath of what used to be the UNSC Fahrenheit.

Struggling to find his way to the bridge, it took several minutes for Deckland to manage his way through the fallen debris. He could hear the moans of Marines and Crewmen, but their fate was hopeless at that point. Many of them died as Deckland passed. Being desperate, the Spartan scavenged weapons and ammunition from the dead soldiers on occasion.

After walking through what seemed to be miles of the Fahrenheit, Deckland finally found the bridge. Carefully securing an entrance, he found that the room was all clear, aside from the pile of dead Crewmen. From the entrance, Deckland spotted a wounded Captain Nielson, lying on the glass of his observation deck.

Deckland approached the Captain carefully, examining the wounded man. He was covered in dust from the fallen debris. His lucky pistol, of which he named “Lucy,” sat next to his left leg. Nielson’s hat still remained the same, as it had for as long as Deckland had known him. Deckland leaned down to pick up the Captain.

“Don’t be a fool…leave me here…” Captain Nielson mumbled his final orders to Deckland as he lay there helplessly. “I’m not…”

“Captain!”

“Get yourself out… get OUT of here!”

“Not without you.”

“No… without me… get yourself… out… before the Flood…”

At that moment, Captain Carter Joseph Nielson had spoken his last words in the arms of Deckland-512 on the cold observation deck of the UNSC Fahrenheit.