NOTE: THIS IS AN OLD VERSION OF THIS STORY, ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE 5TH OF JUNE, 2022. FOR A REWRITTEN VERSION OF THIS STORY, CLICK HERE.
NEXT: Buckle Up
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This fanfiction article, Thankless Job/Old, was written by Underlord1271. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
1932 HOURS. 1 NOVEMBER 2552 \ TROGIR, PLANET NOVI HRVATSKA, EZEKIEL SYSTEM.
As he walked through the ruined asphalt of Lilyden Street, SPARTAN-G100 carefully scanned a variety of extraterrestrial corpses with the flashlight mounted on his BR55 Service Rifle. The star Ezekiel had faded over the horizon minutes ago, kissing the sky with velvety shades and finally allowing a clear look at the capital ships scattered throughout the atmosphere. At the far edge of the city, as a group of UNSC Frigates engaged a single CCS-Class Battlecruiser, the SPARTAN could hear the powerful sounds of their cannons despite the extreme distance; the battle was far from over, but for now, Sector F-11 was quiet.
He stopped about 5 meters behind the end of the street. What used to be a residential intersection was now a smoldering crater, hosting the burnt husk of a destroyed M808 Scorpion Battle Tank; the area of interest was just past it. He blinked both eyes in rapid succession, a signal for his Semi-Powered Infiltration armor’s systems to quietly inform his teammates that he was ready to advance. Green acknowledgement lights flashed on his visor, indicating that SPARTANs G177 and G258 were in position as well. He stepped back, counted to three, and then gave the order to proceed.
He accelerated to a speed of sixty kilometers per hour before jumping, clearing over half of the twenty-meter hole before boosting himself off the tank’s barrel, putting him well past the crater’s end. He sprinted through an eerily desolate backyard, the gentle cracks of nearby fires massaging his ears before the silhouette of SPARTAN-G177 appeared beside him. Towards the end of his journey, he began to decrease his speed and slid toward the edge of an inground courtyard. All seventy meters were covered in just over six seconds. As his teammates joined him, SPARTAN-G258 handed him a set of binoculars, which he quickly took to inspect the environment.
The area was a large rectangle, sporting marble tiles and wooden benches which had been destroyed by plasma fire hours earlier. Densely packed shops and restaurants lined the sides of the plaza, their decorated rooftops easily accessible; it was an outdoor shopping mall, he concluded, which had been caught in a warzone created by the aliens that had threatened humankind for the last 27 years. SPARTAN-G100 spotted a group of 3 Grunts in the farthest corner, appearing to play games; he initially thought they were the only forces left, but in the corner of his eye, he saw something: a round, metallic construct that had only been spotted since yesterday. It patrolled the border of the plaza, occasionally stopping to scan the environment before departing again.
SPARTAN-G100 put the binoculars down, turning toward his teammate on his left and briefing her on the situation. “3 contacts, infantry, top-left. Abby, handle them. Dami,” he turned, “head to the rooftops and give us fire support, let us know if anything gets out of hand. I’ll take the orb; once I give the signal, execute. Is that clear?”
“What about the snipers?” blurted Abelina-G258, briefly pointing toward the jackals SPARTAN-G100 failed to notice. The creature's combination of canine-esque smell and avian-like eyesight made them formidable opponents, able to kill nearly any human soldier from a great distance. While it may have been simple for Damian-G177 to shoot them with his M392 DMR, none of them felt like risking their cover thanks to the construct they saw disintegrate UNSC Marines. Thankfully, their SPI Mk. II armor had built-in photoreactive panels and signature hiders which made them, for all intents and purposes, invisible. A Jackal’s eyesight was only good at seeing demons, not ghosts.
“Activate your camo. Go through with the plan like normal, but Dami, I want those snipers dropped the second we uncloak. Got it?”
“Yes sir” both SPARTANs said, beginning to rise.
“Alright, Bayonet. Move in.”
As soon as SPARTAN-G100’s active camouflage had taken effect, he ran along the edge of the plaza at an extreme speed. Before he was even in position, lights flickered in his visor; his teammates were ready, and about to go through with the plan. As the metallic orb approached his position, he gave Abelina the order to execute. In the distance, he saw the stout aliens collapse, their bodies crushed by the force of an invisible SPARTAN. The only sounds he heard were the crunches of broken bones which played over comms, followed by an ‘all-clear’ signal. He brought his attention back to the construct, which was 3 meters from optimal engagement distance.
As the construct made a bend, SPARTAN-G100 pounced, uncloaking and squeezing with all of his might. As it began to frantically spin in mid-air, its body’s streaks of light turning red, he heard three separate shots: Damian had eliminated the snipers. A beam of hot energy shot out of the machine’s frontside, making its exterior uncomfortably hot but missing the SPARTAN’s arms. It began to accelerate upward, its body cracking and failing before collapsing onto a rooftop, broken. SPARTAN-G100 saw his teammates below him before he jumped off the roof, taking the seven-and-a-half meter fall with no issue. He stood up, unable to tell who was who in their identical armor, before one of them spoke.
“Rough landing, Gavin. You okay?” The male voice and closed body posture told him that it was Damian.
“I’m fine. Think I may be a bit bruised, but I can manage.”
“It’s best we get back to the rest of the team,” suggested Abelina, “the sun won’t last long and we’ve got to get those civvies out before the Covies start glassing the place.”
“Alright, hold on-” mumbled Gavin-G100, switching his helmet to an alternative frequency. “This is Bayonet-Two, paging Bayonet-One. Bayonet-One, do you copy, over?”
The familiar voice of Allan-G130 spoke through the channel: “Affirmative, Bayonet-Two. What’s your status?”
“We’re all fine, the LZ is clear and we’re ready to proceed, heading back to your position now.”
“Copy, Bayonet-Two. Things are getting a little hairy here. See you soon.”
As Gavin and his fellow SPARTANs walked back through Lilyden Street, the last strands of sunlight began to disappear over the horizon. In the distance, a Covenant warship’s ventral projector began to glow, a solid beam of bright energy piercing the surface of Novi Hrvatska. The UNSC Navy had pulled out, and the last rounds of evacuations were now taking place. Gavin reached their origin point, a church that had been converted into a forward operating base, and stepped through the Marine-operated barricade.
Around thirty refugees sat in the pews of the building, what looked like three families, a few young couples and some stragglers. The remains of a Marine squad were positioned around the various points of entry for the building, their bags piled around the altar. In the center aisle stood Allan, Fireteam Bayonet’s leader, conversing with the Marine Sergeant. At the back of the building was Kendal-G043, huddled around some communications equipment and a few weapons. Abelina sat down next to some Marines, and Damian moved toward Kendal. Gavin approached Allan in an attempt to be briefed on the situation, hearing the tailends of his conversation with the Sergeant.
“We don’t have enough people to cover us, we barely even have a guarantee to get out of here. I have no idea in hell how we’ll get everybody out, Spartan.” The Marine looked grizzled and experienced, as well as stressed and anxious.
“We have enough ammo, and I’m sure at least some people know how to shoot. We aren’t leaving anybody behind, that’s final” responded Allan; his voice was calm, but his body language betrayed his anger to Gavin.
“Alright. I’ll swing around and see who’s willing to fight” said the Marine, lighting a cigar. “But if anything happens, their blood is on your hands, Spartan.”
Gavin knew the impact those words had on Allan, all of the SPARTANs did. He never wanted an operation to result in casualties, but he was a level-headed leader; he knew which decisions were, ultimately, for the greater good. Gavin suspected those decisions haunted him, but he never showed it physically. The two SPARTANs got along, but making questionable decisions never bothered Gavin. To him, the mission came first, always. Deep down, he wondered why a sentimental soldier was given command of a unit; he was older than the others, stronger, and was influential over them- and when it came down to it, would he inspire them, or make them weaker? Could he watch them die if it meant saving humanity as a whole?
Gavin buried those feelings. Right now, Allan was his leader- no, his friend- and they weren’t in a very dire situation, yet. He approached Allan, putting away his weapons and standing at attention.
“Hey, Gavin” said the leader, looking him up and down, “you okay? You’re limping.”
“All good, sir. We were clearing the LZ and-” “He fell off a wall, took a great fall” chuckled Abby, bending over the pew with her helmet off, which revealed her golden hair.
“Put your helmet on, Abby, we’re about to move-”
“Relax, Sir. Didn’t attract any Covies on the way here, so we should be good. Besides, they wouldn’t be down here if they started glassing, would they?”
“Actually,” chimed Kendal, “lots of Covenant movement. Looks like they know somebody’s down here, but they don’t know exactly where. A couple banshees overhead and lots of chatter. Movement will be quite difficult.”
Allan’s visor was opaque, but Gavin knew his expression regardless. “Somebody triggered an alarm.”
“That’s impossible!” Gavin protested, “Abby killed the Grunts, then Dami shot the snipers before they were any the wiser- I took out the construct, then-”
“Those constructs,” said Kendal, standing up, “are called sentinels. If they detect too much damage, they’ll send out a distress signal. We found out the hard way, after you left. We were swarmed.”
“Lost 5 men” added the Marine Sergeant, spitting the remains of his cigar onto the floor. “Goddamn circles...”
“Covenant must have intercepted the signal,” Gavin decided, “found out about it. Shit, I’m-”
“Save it, we don’t have too much time. We’ll have to move soon, UNSC is leaving the system in an hour. Pelican is landing in 12 minutes. We’ve got to move. Gather the troops.”
“Yes, sir” said Gavin, walking toward the younger SPARTANs.
By the time he reached Kendal and Damian, the Marine Sergeant shouted at the crowd. “Alright, anybody physically able and willing to shoot some aliens, stand up now.” 5 men and 2 women stood up, as well as a teenage boy who had barely begun to rise from the end of the pew before sitting back down. Behind him was a young child. “Get your asses over here.”
The civilians lined up, taking small weapons and ammo from the Marines. “You,” he said, pointing at the kid, “are you fighting or not?” He looked dazed and confused, barely able to look at the soldier. He walked up to him with an M6J/C, holding it out towards him. “You said you wanted to fight, didn’t you? Get up, kid.”
“N-no sir. I can’t.” he looked scared, and tired.
“Are you sure? Are you really fuckin’ sure? Because we’ve got lots of guns here, and not a lot of people. You want to protect your little sister there, don’tcha?” the toddler began to cry. “I can’t shoot. I can’t-” By that point, everybody in the room knew what was happening. The SPARTANs watched Allan in silence, his body language revealing anger. After a few more seconds of arguing, both of the children in tears, he stepped in.
He grabbed the back of the Marine, throwing him back to the aisle with one arm. “That’s enough. We have enough men, and we’ve got to get moving. Piss off.” Allan was likely the same age as the teen, but he towered over the Marine in his SPI armor. The Marine stared down the visor for a moment, before conceding. “Your hands” he said, loading his rifle and stepping out of the barricade.
The SPARTANs moved toward their leader, Damian and Kendal obviously thinking over what had happened. Kendal was holding something: a Covenant weapon. “Modded it myself,” she said, unable to take her eyes off it, “standard Covenant carbine, but I put in some Plasma Pistol systems and a staggered trigger. It fires two shots in rapid succession, the first one is an EMP and the second is- well, to finish them off. Basically, this ignores energy shields.”
She handed them to each of the SPARTANs, a gift for peace of mind. “Handy,” said Abby, “think they’ll make ‘em standard issue?”
“God, I hope so. We could use all the help we can get- but, you know, Cole Protocol and all. Can’t bring them onto our ships.. Hopefully they’ll make an exception.”
“Awaiting your orders” said the Sergeant, his Marines and militia looking back at the supersoldiers. Allan nodded, then looked away. “Alright, Bayonet. Everybody is here and accounted for? Let’s move.”
The group walked on the right side of Lilyden Street: civilians in the back, militia surrounding them, Marines ahead and the SPARTANs in the front. The sky was dark, and the only sounds were the gentle crashes of distant glassing beams, but the SPARTANs remained vigilant. There could be enemies around any corner, and such a large group could easily be split by just one banshee. Though they carried their standard-issue equipment, they all put complete trust in Kendal’s modified weapons. They could only hope their increased power would buy some time for the group to get to safety.
As they reached halfway toward the intersection crater, Gavin stopped. Allan knew that this meant nothing good, so he ordered the rest of the group to stop. “Bayonet Two, what’s happening?”
“I hear something…” In the distance, Allan made out the light hum of a banshee’s propulsion drives. The Marines took a second to realize, but their confusion was quickly replaced by a muted look of terror.
“Kendal?” Besides her ingenuity, Kendal was studious and had an impressive command over all of her senses. “We’ve only got 20 seconds!”
Allan opened to all frequencies, and practically screamed. “Get to cover, now!” The voice of the Marine Sergeant responded: “There’s hardly any here, all these houses are shredded to hell. All of you, in here! Follow me!”
“Kendal, you said this thing fires an overcharged plasma pistol bolt?”
“Yes sir.”
“Alright. Abby, Dami, Kendal, once that thing is in sight, fire. We can’t let it get a shot at the civilians.”
“Incoming!” shouted Gavin, from behind.
Allan turned. A Covenant lance had appeared, an evenly-distributed group of Jackals, Grunts and Elites. Bolts of plasma began to fly towards them and the main group, followed by the cracks of gunshots from Marines and civilians alike. As Allan shouldered his BR55 and began to fire, the sound of the banshee’s engines began to twist; the SPARTANs had shot it, and it was beginning to fall. Before it could, it fired a single shot from its fuel rod cannon, right at the civilians. Before he could even warn them, it had melted 5 people. Abby ran toward the Banshee, ripping its pilot to shreds and rendering it inoperable within seconds.
“GET IN MORE!” shouted the Sergeant, reaching out to protect the boy and his sister. As he did so, a single plasma bolt struck his face, causing him to fall to the ground. A final crack from his rifle, and the infantry was down. It was time for the Elites. As Allan prepared to fire, Dami and Kendal were already fighting, the modified weapons easily breaking their shields. While most of them fell, the largest Elite was simply staggered, 2 bolts impacting its armor before it growled. Allan’s shot went right through its throat, twisting its body and causing it to fall after the bullet ejected a short stream of purple blood.
“How many casualties?” he asked, after making sure the area was safe. “6 Civs and 3 men, including our commander,” responded a younger Corporal, “It’s been a lot… but we can keep moving, sir.”
“Roger. Dami, Abby, go forward, make sure that LZ is clear.” They nodded, jumping across the crater with ease and disappearing in the trees. “Let’s keep moving. Covenant will send reinforcements.”
By the time they got everybody over the crater, there was only two minutes until the Pelican arrived. While he was impacted by the loss of the civilians, Allan was most desperate to find the teenage boy and his sister: they were fine, though shaken, and he helped them along the crater. They looked into his eyes as he picked them up; Gavin looked too, but Allan could not make out what he was thinking. They crept through the backyard of a long-abandoned household, stopping at the plaza.
“Bad news. Really bad news.”
A Pelican dropship hovered on the plaza, a variety of Covenant troopers on the ground. Damian said he had counted fourty.
On his headset radio, Allan made out the voice of a UNSC Pilot coming through static. “Fireteam Bayonet, we are descending on your position. What is the status of the landing zone?”
“Not clear, repeat, not clear. Do not engage, we’ll have to clear it for you.”
“Negative, sir. We need to get you out now, there’s no more opportunities. We’ll provide fire support.”
Allan turned off his comms and cursed under his breath. “Allan, what’s the plan?” asked Kendal, crouched toward the back of the group. Allan inspected the plaza: there were far too many aliens for the group to engage, even if everybody had a gun, and the Phantom’s heavy plasma cannon provided enough cover for the enemy that it would be suicide, even for SPARTANs, to fight them. Allan came to one conclusion: they needed that advantage for themselves.
“We’re going to steal their ship.”
“What? That’s crazy,” objected Damian, “there’s no way-”
“It’s our only option. Two, Four, Five, turn on your cloaks. Once I give the signal, start some mayhem- fire on them from the balconies, but keep moving, don’t get pinned. While they’re distracted, Kendal and I will jump onto it and hijack the gun. Hopefully, by then, we’ll be able to catch them by surprise.”
“Alright… yeah, this is crazy. But I’m ready, commander.” Kendal’s armor faded out of existence, to the astonishment of the civilians next to her.
The rest of them activated their cloaks. Allan briefed the Marine Corporal on the plan, then moved toward an elevated rooftop. Kendal was already there, a single M6C in hand. Green acknowledgement lights blinked across Allan’s visor, and he gave the signal to proceed. This could be a success, or it could mean their deaths. They would find out in one minute.
At the edge of the plaza, three SPARTANs uncloaked, firing on a surprised group of Grunts and Jackals before they had time to react. The Phantom pivoted toward them, firing a series of heavy plasma shots. Allan stood up, his cloak still activated, and preferred to drump. “5 seconds after me, no later. I’m going.”
He began to accelerate, jumping off the roof and clearing 12 meters in under a second. He grabbed onto the edge of the Phantom’s turret platform, firing a single shot through the skull of a Grunt before uncloaking. On second 3, Kendal heard the sound of gunshots from human and Covenant weapons alike. On second 4, they stopped. On second 5, she was inside the Phantom. Allan was there, surrounded by a pile of Covenant corpses. She deactivated her cloak and he nodded, before hitting the entrance to the control cabin.
There were four grunts, who were willing to fight before they realized who their opponents were. They cowered in fear, and Allan ordered them out the sides of the craft. They took control: Kendal as the pilot, Allan as the gunner. She brought the aircraft around, granting Allan a clear look at the battleground through its targeting systems: the SPARTANs were on the ground, utilizing various strategies to overwhelm the Covenant. Armed members of the primary group provided cover from above, scattering some Covenant forces and merely distracting others. He selected a dense group of enemies, and touched the controls to fire.
The cabin shook, thick bolts of plasma raining onto the ground units. Collectives of Elites and Grunts melted, Jackals abandoning their shields for any increase in speed and being fired upon. He saw his team in action: Gavin went hand-to-hand with an Elite, quickly knocking the wind out of it; Dami, though disoriented and jumpy, was able to kill four grunts with three shots from his DMR, and Abby was able to eliminate almost a dozen enemies by herself. The ground was almost clear by the time the Pelican’s engines roared overhead. “Shit” muttered Kendal, opening comms on all frequencies. “Phantom is friendly, do not fire- repeat, DO NOT FIRE on the-”
The entire Phantom had swerved to avoid gunshots, and Kendal accelerated it to a quick pace. She hit the side of a building, launching from her seat as the thing burst into flames. Allan took a second to reorient himself: he was fine, Kendal had a limp, but was ultimately fine fine. To their left, a crack had appeared in the hull of the cabin.
“Really nice flying, there.”
“Thanks. I mean, I could have stuck the landing a little better.”
They grabbed the sides of the crack and pulled, climbing out of the wreckage to the rest of the squad.
“Oh my god, you’re alright. You’re alright..” Damian ran toward Kendal and helped her with her limp. The Pelican landed in the courtyard, Marines helping the civilians along.
As they approached the doors of the drop ship, a medic rushed towards Kendal. Abby and Dami followed, Allan staying behind to listen to Gavin.
“I’ll be honest, Al. I thought you were a goner.”
“I’ve had worse done. Thankfully.”
“Well, at least that means you didn’t break any bones.”
The two SPARTANs began to laugh, as a single Marine walked down the ramp. “Spartans, you coming? Or do you- oh, SHIT” she shouldered her rifle, firing behind the two of them. They turned around: the sky was full of sentinels, descending onto the group and firing. The Marine’s shots were harmless, their bullets activating a yellow energy shield around their hulls. The last few stragglers screamed, running onto the ramp and begging for them to close the doors. Allan and Gavin took most of their hits, their armor ruined but their bodies intact. The hatch had closed, their company shook by the sounds of lasers impacting the Pelican’s hull. As Allan stood up, collecting himself, he heard a scream from behind him. The screams of a young child.
“SHE’S HIT! SOMEBODY, PLEASE, HELP!”
The teenage boy from the group clutched his young sister, her face twisted into an otherworldly expression of pain. Allan was confused, she seemed fine. Then he looked down: her foot had been melted clean off, probably by the weaker sentinel beam; the wound cauterized, but it still required immediate medical attention.
As medics shoved themselves through the crowd, Allan stood back. All he could do was watch. They gave her medication to help with the pain, and sent a radio signal to the UNSC Frigate they were traveling towards. Allan sat down and removed his helmet, exhausted. Gavin sat next to him, the two SPARTANs towering over the rest of the refugees packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Well. That was a hell of a week.”
“Yeah,” said Gavin, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “Good job today, commander. You saved a lot of lives.”
“Not enough” murmured Allan, looking away. Gavin contemplated offering a form of physical comfort, but was unable to decide before Abby emerged from the crowd.
“You guys should put your helmets on. They don’t know-”
“They won’t notice, Abby. That’s all we are to them, really: Ghosts. Something everybody knows, but no one can recognize what they really are.”
“You’re a hero, nevertheless. Kendal is fine, by the way; doc said that it’s nothing a Spartan can’t walk off.”
She sat down next to them, resting her eyes and trying to ignore the smell of sweat around them. Allan looked toward her. “I’m not a hero,” he sighed, “I’m a soldier. We do bad things, just so that we can protect people we think are more important, and after all of that it’s a thankless job. There’s an entire universe out there, and in the end, I think there’s people a whole lot better than us. Hell, there’s better people in this room right now.”
Just as he finished thinking, somebody approached him from the crowd: a woman, in her early twenties, with ruffled hair and a black eye. She looked him in the eyes; he was a couple of years younger, but she didn’t realize that: between his scars, and the dirt on his face, he may as well be thirty.
“Sir-” she said, almost doubting what she was doing. “Thank you.”
She went back through the crowd, sitting down on the lap of another man who appeared even worse off than she did. Allan looked down at his lap, unsure of whether or not it was real: though it was childish, he pinched himself.
It was real. He was real, even: very real. Not a ghost.
“Guess it isn’t so thankless after all” Abby laughed, nudging him with her elbow, her eyes still closed. For once, Allan smiled. Maybe he had a purpose after all.