LOCATION: VIZEGRAD
He was Sgt. Harry Jansen of the UNSC Marines, 82nd Mechanized Infantry Battalion. His entire family used to be farmers. Used to be; until Harvest fell to the Covenant years ago. Sometimes Jansen liked to think of the stricken world as farms and plains preserved perfectly under a sheet of glass. But he knew that the Covenant ships left nothing more than a charred black orb, floating silently in space for eternity. Jansen had joined the Marines not because of some deep-seeded patriotism, but because he was the oldest son: destined to inherit acres of farmland and be bound to his family tradition. When his father tried to stop him from joining the Marine Corps and to continue the family tradition, Jansen yelled: “It’s just dirt!” To him, it was just dirt, acres and acres of dirt with no value at all. He didn’t want to be a farmer; he wanted to experience the life and adventures of a UNSC Marine. But being a Marine wasn’t all about the adventure, it was about saving lives. And he was going to save this young boy’s life right here. The boy reminded Jansen of himself, same blue eyes and brown hair. And just like Jansen, the boy had nothing left. He carried the child outside. Jansen felt the boy’s body start to tremble as he looked around; what was once a suburban street was now flames and dust. Jansen turned the boy’s head into his chest. Jansen walked towards the four-wheeled LRV Warthog parked on the curb and set the boy in the passenger seat. “Lopez,” he barked. “Get on the gun.” Obeying orders, the Marine got behind the tri-barreled light anti-aircraft gun mounted in the Warthog’s trunk. “Hey, I’m coming too,” Abdul called out, hefting a rocket launcher. He picked the boy up and set him in his lap as he sat down in the passenger seat. “Where are we going, Sarge?” he asked. “Airport,” Jansen called out.
“Wait, but-“ Lopez was cut off by the engine growling to life. Spewing dirt from under the oversized all-terrain tires, the Warthog took off down the remnants of the street. “That’s right through Covie airspace!” Lopez called out over the wind. “Under,” Jansen corrected, as if that made a difference. The Warthog raced off into the night.
***
Lopez scanned the sky. He swore he heard it: the wailing sound of anti-grav engines that gave the Covenant Banshee attack aircraft its name. Suddenly, he saw it: a flash of purple in the night sky. And it was coming right for them. “Get down!” Lopez screamed. Abdul pushed the boy’s head down by the dashboard and covered the boy’s small body with his own. Lopez fired the LAAG, and the Banshee shuddered under the impact of the rounds. But the Banshee fired, spewing blue plasma at the Warthog. Abdul screamed as his armor superheated and burned his skin. He fumbled for his rocket launcher, and started crawling to the trunk, slipping into a state of shock. Like sharks attracted to blood, two more Banshees appeared and started making runs on the Warthog. Jansen swerved violently to avoid the blue globs of plasma. The missed shots impacted the dirt, burning it instantly into glass. The Light Reconnaissance Vehicle bounced through a pothole in the road. “Steady, you bastard,” Lopez growled. “Kiss my ass!” Jansen screamed back. “Not you,” Lopez yelled as he fired the heavy machine gun, “The bastard on our six!” Lopez put up a steady stream of fire. The first Banshee finally collapsed, losing a wing and spiraling into the ground. A second Banshee swooped in, aiming for Lopez. He swung the LAAG with all his might, but he couldn’t turn the gun fast enough. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, there was a whoosh, and the Banshee exploded into bits of blue fragments. Lopez looked down and saw Abdul there, lying in the trunk of the ‘Hog with a smoking rocket tube. His eyes were filled with tears from pain and mirth as he visualized the poor alien bastard that was hit in the face with a 102mm shaped explosive charge. Then he passed out from shock and pain. “Shit,” Lopez muttered as he reached for a medkit. The other Banshee banked away into the night, leaving the Warthog free to get to the airport. “That’s right you alien bastard!” Jansen screamed. “Run!”
And suddenly, to Jansen, the ground whizzing by under the Warthog’s tires wasn’t ‘just dirt’ anymore. It was his dirt, humanity’s dirt. And even if he had to throw the last rock himself, he would make the Covenant pay for every inch of it.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Friday, October 8, 2010
Chapter Two: The Boy
LOCATION: VIZEGRAD
Jack was tired, but he found himself unable to sleep. An unnatural behavior for a seven-year-old boy; when they get tired, they drift away quickly. It was hard for him to enter that comfortable state of unconsciousness, however, as the television was murmuring in the room down the hallway. His parents enjoyed watching the news at night. But enjoyed doesn’t seem to be an accurate term...
From the few times their voices became barely audible, they seemed frightened. It's been like this every night since a few years back. Around the same time they stopped visiting his Grandpa. Grandpa lived far away from Reach, on a planet called Harvest. Jack and his parents used to visit Grandpa every year. But suddenly, they stopped; around the same time his parents started watching the television in the dead of night.
It's because something happened to Grandpa, Jack thought, trying to put two and two together.
He stared out the window. Some shooting stars left fiery trails as the burned through the black: leaving shimmering gold tails in the night sky.
"I wish I knew what happened to Grandpa," Jack whispered to himself. It was a question he was asking himself for the past three years. In the distance, a strange noise murmured. It was like a mechanical whine, echoing through the still air. It must be the maglev train, Jack thought to himself. There was also a popping noise, reminding Jack of the noise a firecracker made when it exploded. To the innocent mind of a seven-year-old, there was no way those sounds could be produced by firearms, no way that those shooting stars could be ODST drop pods and fragments of battleships falling from the sky.
I wish I knew what happened to Grandpa... he thought as he wished upon a star.
Unnoticed by the boy wrapped underneath his covers, the sounds outside steadily grew louder.
***
Jack’s mind started to collapse under the weight of fatigue. He couldn't even keep his focus on the questions he had formulated about his grandfather. Jack was so tired, he didn't even care when his semi-unconscious mind noticed that his parents were crying in the living room. His eyes closed as he finally started to give in to the urge to sleep...
There was a massive explosion, the crash of wood splintering, the shriek of metal tearing, and the whine of some unknown origin; the sound of the house's front door flying off its hinges. Now wide awake and bolt upright in bed, the seven year old could hear his mother screaming, the patter of running feet, and a roar of anger. He leapt out of bed, and was just about to open his door when his toes encountered something wet in the dark. He looked down, but could not see what he had stepped in. Just outside, there was the sound of heavy breathing, along with the sound that accompanied something heavy being slid across the floor. Jack opened the door just a crack, and peeked through the opening. He held back a gasp.
The monster outside his bedroom door was not human. It was tall, even taller than his father. However, it stood hunchbacked. It had sharp beady black eyes, and the head of a shark. It grunted, as if it was aware of Jack's presence. It held his father in one hand. His father was very still, his eyes glazed over… The terrified child stumbled back on all fours, leaving the door slightly open. I gotta go to sleep…It’s all a bad dream… A single ray of light illuminated the wetness on the floor; it glinted red. Blood red. Suddenly, Jack could hear the sound of the monster springing to life. And the child thought about something he had never thought much about: death. But quickly, he heard another sound amidst the shuffle of the monster's feet. "Fucking-Covie-get-out-of-my-FACE!" Through the crack in the door, Jack could see the shadow of the monster stumble back, and the shadow of a human take its place. In his hands, he held what was obviously a gun. There was a bright flash of light, and the sound of firecrackers popping. The monster roared, and then everything fell silent. The man outside Jack's bedroom sighed.
"Threat neutralized."
There was a crackling noise.
"Good, get to the next waypoint."
There was a pause.
"Negative. I-I think there's someone here. I can hear...breathing."
Jack's bedroom door opened. A Marine stood there, holding the gun casually in one hand.
"Hey come here little guy," he said as he knelt down.
Jack walked over, tears starting to come to his eyes.
The Marine slung the gun on his back and picked up the seven year old.
He's damn lucky the Elite didn't notice him, the Marine thought to himself.
He keyed his radio.
"I got a survivor, I'm coming out."
"Roger, where is he from?"
"Here, I think."
"I mean, where can we take him?"
"Hey, uh..." the Marine said to the boy, unsure of how to phrase the next question.
"You got any...relatives?"
Jack stuttered, "Only Grandpa, but he lives far away on a planet called Harvest."
"Oh," the Marine said, a tear coming to his eye.
Jack was tired, but he found himself unable to sleep. An unnatural behavior for a seven-year-old boy; when they get tired, they drift away quickly. It was hard for him to enter that comfortable state of unconsciousness, however, as the television was murmuring in the room down the hallway. His parents enjoyed watching the news at night. But enjoyed doesn’t seem to be an accurate term...
From the few times their voices became barely audible, they seemed frightened. It's been like this every night since a few years back. Around the same time they stopped visiting his Grandpa. Grandpa lived far away from Reach, on a planet called Harvest. Jack and his parents used to visit Grandpa every year. But suddenly, they stopped; around the same time his parents started watching the television in the dead of night.
It's because something happened to Grandpa, Jack thought, trying to put two and two together.
He stared out the window. Some shooting stars left fiery trails as the burned through the black: leaving shimmering gold tails in the night sky.
"I wish I knew what happened to Grandpa," Jack whispered to himself. It was a question he was asking himself for the past three years. In the distance, a strange noise murmured. It was like a mechanical whine, echoing through the still air. It must be the maglev train, Jack thought to himself. There was also a popping noise, reminding Jack of the noise a firecracker made when it exploded. To the innocent mind of a seven-year-old, there was no way those sounds could be produced by firearms, no way that those shooting stars could be ODST drop pods and fragments of battleships falling from the sky.
I wish I knew what happened to Grandpa... he thought as he wished upon a star.
Unnoticed by the boy wrapped underneath his covers, the sounds outside steadily grew louder.
***
Jack’s mind started to collapse under the weight of fatigue. He couldn't even keep his focus on the questions he had formulated about his grandfather. Jack was so tired, he didn't even care when his semi-unconscious mind noticed that his parents were crying in the living room. His eyes closed as he finally started to give in to the urge to sleep...
There was a massive explosion, the crash of wood splintering, the shriek of metal tearing, and the whine of some unknown origin; the sound of the house's front door flying off its hinges. Now wide awake and bolt upright in bed, the seven year old could hear his mother screaming, the patter of running feet, and a roar of anger. He leapt out of bed, and was just about to open his door when his toes encountered something wet in the dark. He looked down, but could not see what he had stepped in. Just outside, there was the sound of heavy breathing, along with the sound that accompanied something heavy being slid across the floor. Jack opened the door just a crack, and peeked through the opening. He held back a gasp.
The monster outside his bedroom door was not human. It was tall, even taller than his father. However, it stood hunchbacked. It had sharp beady black eyes, and the head of a shark. It grunted, as if it was aware of Jack's presence. It held his father in one hand. His father was very still, his eyes glazed over… The terrified child stumbled back on all fours, leaving the door slightly open. I gotta go to sleep…It’s all a bad dream… A single ray of light illuminated the wetness on the floor; it glinted red. Blood red. Suddenly, Jack could hear the sound of the monster springing to life. And the child thought about something he had never thought much about: death. But quickly, he heard another sound amidst the shuffle of the monster's feet. "Fucking-Covie-get-out-of-my-FACE!" Through the crack in the door, Jack could see the shadow of the monster stumble back, and the shadow of a human take its place. In his hands, he held what was obviously a gun. There was a bright flash of light, and the sound of firecrackers popping. The monster roared, and then everything fell silent. The man outside Jack's bedroom sighed.
"Threat neutralized."
There was a crackling noise.
"Good, get to the next waypoint."
There was a pause.
"Negative. I-I think there's someone here. I can hear...breathing."
Jack's bedroom door opened. A Marine stood there, holding the gun casually in one hand.
"Hey come here little guy," he said as he knelt down.
Jack walked over, tears starting to come to his eyes.
The Marine slung the gun on his back and picked up the seven year old.
He's damn lucky the Elite didn't notice him, the Marine thought to himself.
He keyed his radio.
"I got a survivor, I'm coming out."
"Roger, where is he from?"
"Here, I think."
"I mean, where can we take him?"
"Hey, uh..." the Marine said to the boy, unsure of how to phrase the next question.
"You got any...relatives?"
Jack stuttered, "Only Grandpa, but he lives far away on a planet called Harvest."
"Oh," the Marine said, a tear coming to his eye.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Remember Reach: The Hope
LOCATION: CLASSIFIED
CODENAME: KINGUNDERHILL
-Obj.FileName:ASpartanWillRise///Halsey, Katherine (DR.)
-Obj.FileType:ViDoc
-Me.Open()
-Buffering...
---100%
-BeginRecording
We knew this day would come. They have found our fortress among the stars. They are on Reach. They will burn this planet. Kill millions. And when Reach falls, and fall it will, there will be nothing left to stand between them and Earth. Yet even in our darkest hour, hope remains. Now, who will protect it?
-Obj.TypeAI:Online
-ArtificialIntelligence name: Cortana
-OpenFile:SPARTAN-II
-So I get to choose, huh? What a weight on my shoulders. Does it seem fair to make an artificial intelligence like me choose the most deciding factor in the fate of humanity? Well, it’s not my job to ponder such things...
-OpenSubFile:Canidates
-But it’s strange. I have the same mind as Dr. Halsey and she does not know the answer to her own question? Well I do.
-Obj.Highlight:
---JOHN117
So, you've made your choice? Yes...well great minds do think alike.
-EndRecording
-Me.Close()
CODENAME: KINGUNDERHILL
-Obj.FileName:ASpartanWillRise///Halsey, Katherine (DR.)
-Obj.FileType:ViDoc
-Me.Open()
-Buffering...
---100%
-BeginRecording
We knew this day would come. They have found our fortress among the stars. They are on Reach. They will burn this planet. Kill millions. And when Reach falls, and fall it will, there will be nothing left to stand between them and Earth. Yet even in our darkest hour, hope remains. Now, who will protect it?
-Obj.TypeAI:Online
-ArtificialIntelligence name: Cortana
-OpenFile:SPARTAN-II
-So I get to choose, huh? What a weight on my shoulders. Does it seem fair to make an artificial intelligence like me choose the most deciding factor in the fate of humanity? Well, it’s not my job to ponder such things...
-OpenSubFile:Canidates
-But it’s strange. I have the same mind as Dr. Halsey and she does not know the answer to her own question? Well I do.
-Obj.Highlight:
---JOHN117
So, you've made your choice? Yes...well great minds do think alike.
-EndRecording
-Me.Close()
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Beginning
The dead planet's sky was black with smoke. It was as if the atmosphere itself was singed by Covenant plasma. Black clouds tumbled by in the atmospheric turbulence caused by extreme temperature differences. The orbital drop was tougher than most others, but it still didn't bother the ODSTs. What SGT Jasmine Knightly was worried about was the Scorpion-II main battle tank being dropped not by a dropship, but by a trapezoidal radar-absorbent-material-coated box. When they all landed, Corporal Marshall inspected the tank, commenting "Well for a brick, it flew pretty good."
Everyone knew this drop was going to be difficult. Even LT. Andrews had told Knightly to be careful as he kissed her goodbye; and he wasn't afraid of anything. That's one of the reasons why she loved him; Girls do love their brave knights in shining armor. But a flicker of fear danced in his eyes when she took his hand and placed it on her shoulder, right above her ODST insignia. At least it means he got the message, Knightly thought. She was a Helljumper: tough as nails. Never careful. The word's just not in our dictionary. That's what Knightly often told herself, but in reality, if ODSTs were careful, they wouldn't even exist. The word contradicted their trademark move: dropping through a planet's atmosphere in an aluminum pod at many times the speed of sound.
SGT Knightly inspected the caved-in entrance as if testing its structural integrity by sight alone. There was something behind those fallen rocks, she knew: those black char marks were the product of human explosives, not the blue-gray residue of Covenant plasma. Marines must have self-destructed this facility to keep Covenant hands from getting on it, lets see what we can dig up. She pushed at the rocks, to no avail. Not that I actually expected to move one of these things. The rocks that had cratered in were massive. But luckally for the Helljumpers, they had the UNSC's finest door-knocking tool. She turned to the main battle tank growling behind her. "Marshall," she called out over the noise of the Scorpion-II's engines. "Rotate turret Zero-One-Eight degrees, Armor piercing round." She could picture Marshall's happy face from behind the cockpit's armor. He thought that the sound of a Scorpion's 90mm cannon firing was a sound from the good Lord himself. "Normally..." Marshall's voice echoed over Knightly's radio. Knightly rolled her eyes. She knew what was coming: Marshall loved quoting his old drill instructor, SGT. Avery Johnson. And that man loved his battle tanks. "Normally," Marshall continued, "the good Lord acts in mysterious ways. But not today. This here is sixty-six tons of straight up, HE-spewin' dee-VINE intervention!"
Knightly laughed. "Just shut up and fire that-"
Her last word was cut off by the sound of the Scorpion's main cannon discharging. The Scorpion reeled back from the recoil, and the round tore straight through the rock. The ringing in Knightly's ears was replaced by Marshall's hysterical laughter. "Gets me every time!" he said between laughes. Knightly motioned to the rest of the ODST squad to follow her; the dust had settled, revealing a gaping hole in the rock. Fearless, she stepped into the dark. It was all quiet, except for the silent patter of her troopers' footsteps behind her. She turned on her helmet-mounted lights. She could see the shell where it had imbedded itself in the rock wall. Then she panned the light around. Jackpot. The uncovered room was full of computers. Information. Just what the Captain wanted.
In this dark, quiet, and desolate cave, this is where the true memories are located. Not the propoganda of brave Marines fighting evil aliens to save a helpless world, but the real stories of the real struggles: homes destroyed, blood spilled, screams of the wounded, cries over lost loved ones. The requiem of an entire world.
Remember where it all began.
Remember Reach.
Everyone knew this drop was going to be difficult. Even LT. Andrews had told Knightly to be careful as he kissed her goodbye; and he wasn't afraid of anything. That's one of the reasons why she loved him; Girls do love their brave knights in shining armor. But a flicker of fear danced in his eyes when she took his hand and placed it on her shoulder, right above her ODST insignia. At least it means he got the message, Knightly thought. She was a Helljumper: tough as nails. Never careful. The word's just not in our dictionary. That's what Knightly often told herself, but in reality, if ODSTs were careful, they wouldn't even exist. The word contradicted their trademark move: dropping through a planet's atmosphere in an aluminum pod at many times the speed of sound.
SGT Knightly inspected the caved-in entrance as if testing its structural integrity by sight alone. There was something behind those fallen rocks, she knew: those black char marks were the product of human explosives, not the blue-gray residue of Covenant plasma. Marines must have self-destructed this facility to keep Covenant hands from getting on it, lets see what we can dig up. She pushed at the rocks, to no avail. Not that I actually expected to move one of these things. The rocks that had cratered in were massive. But luckally for the Helljumpers, they had the UNSC's finest door-knocking tool. She turned to the main battle tank growling behind her. "Marshall," she called out over the noise of the Scorpion-II's engines. "Rotate turret Zero-One-Eight degrees, Armor piercing round." She could picture Marshall's happy face from behind the cockpit's armor. He thought that the sound of a Scorpion's 90mm cannon firing was a sound from the good Lord himself. "Normally..." Marshall's voice echoed over Knightly's radio. Knightly rolled her eyes. She knew what was coming: Marshall loved quoting his old drill instructor, SGT. Avery Johnson. And that man loved his battle tanks. "Normally," Marshall continued, "the good Lord acts in mysterious ways. But not today. This here is sixty-six tons of straight up, HE-spewin' dee-VINE intervention!"
Knightly laughed. "Just shut up and fire that-"
Her last word was cut off by the sound of the Scorpion's main cannon discharging. The Scorpion reeled back from the recoil, and the round tore straight through the rock. The ringing in Knightly's ears was replaced by Marshall's hysterical laughter. "Gets me every time!" he said between laughes. Knightly motioned to the rest of the ODST squad to follow her; the dust had settled, revealing a gaping hole in the rock. Fearless, she stepped into the dark. It was all quiet, except for the silent patter of her troopers' footsteps behind her. She turned on her helmet-mounted lights. She could see the shell where it had imbedded itself in the rock wall. Then she panned the light around. Jackpot. The uncovered room was full of computers. Information. Just what the Captain wanted.
In this dark, quiet, and desolate cave, this is where the true memories are located. Not the propoganda of brave Marines fighting evil aliens to save a helpless world, but the real stories of the real struggles: homes destroyed, blood spilled, screams of the wounded, cries over lost loved ones. The requiem of an entire world.
Remember where it all began.
Remember Reach.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Last Words? Goodbye.
CAPTAIN'S LOG: we've spotted a small area of Reach that hasn't been glassed yet, ODST shock teams are prepairing for a hard drop. I will not make this journey fruitless. If the ODSTs come back without anything, I will destroy one of the Covenant assault carriers in orbit. I will accomplish something. after coming so far, I will not return empty handed. but then comes the thought that I may not return. that I will die on this pointless, self-assigned top-secret mission. will anyone realize it when I'm gone? will anyone remember me?
Will you remember me?
Will you remember me?
Arrival
CAPTAIN'S LOG: emerged from the far side of the moon only to realise that in my own delusions, I have led nintey brave soldiers to the edge of the universe. The only thing that remains here is a glassed world-
-and a Covenant fleet.
-and a Covenant fleet.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Frozen Dreams
ATHENA'S NOTES: Slipspace drives running smoothly. I'm so glad to be on a ship-shape vessel such as the Ultimate Contingency. Sometimes I've pondered what her name means; final choice, best plan, last unforeseeable event, it could mean anything. Nevertheless, it is a fitting name for a Prowler. The emergence of another Contingency-subclass Prowler is disturbing. I guess there's nothing to fear though, the security measures on the Ultimate are tight (although there is some off-duty fraternization I turn a blind eye to, most notably between Weapons-Operator LT. Samuel Andrews and ODST SGT. Jasmine Knightly.) Anyway, back to more pressing matters; we are about to emerge out of slipspace behind Reach's moon; I best be tending to the final calculations.
CAPTAIN'S LOG: just jumped out of slipspace. Reach isn't in view yet. LT Andrews seems skeptical of what remains, but he remains steadfast to his duty. never seen anything that scares him yet. Mira Connor is in charge of navigation; she also is devoted to her job. Jack Jenson (sensor op) sometimes appears as though he wants to challenge my orders, but he is the least of my concerns...
they say you dont dream in cryo. i must be strange like that. before i closed my eyes, i remember the reflection of my face staring back at me, suddenly distorted by the crystillization of my breath...
i was in a room. trapped, maybe...i didnt try to run. there seemed to be glass on one wall, night beyond. i could see my reflection in the glass. bloodstains outlining scars on my face. i collapsed. crying? cant remember. I asked aloud to the reflection, "who are you?" To my suprise and horror, it responded in a deep throaty voice, "I? I am the monument to all your sins."
CAPTAIN'S LOG: just jumped out of slipspace. Reach isn't in view yet. LT Andrews seems skeptical of what remains, but he remains steadfast to his duty. never seen anything that scares him yet. Mira Connor is in charge of navigation; she also is devoted to her job. Jack Jenson (sensor op) sometimes appears as though he wants to challenge my orders, but he is the least of my concerns...
they say you dont dream in cryo. i must be strange like that. before i closed my eyes, i remember the reflection of my face staring back at me, suddenly distorted by the crystillization of my breath...
i was in a room. trapped, maybe...i didnt try to run. there seemed to be glass on one wall, night beyond. i could see my reflection in the glass. bloodstains outlining scars on my face. i collapsed. crying? cant remember. I asked aloud to the reflection, "who are you?" To my suprise and horror, it responded in a deep throaty voice, "I? I am the monument to all your sins."
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