Assault
Snow smirked as 133 rounds of the 200 he had fired off smashed into the defensive forcefield, exploding. The fragments from the exploding rounds scythed through the guards, and the fighter screamed past the gate. Snow checked his periphial vision from habit as he switched the fighter's armament to the napalm bombs slung under the fighter. Another smirk as the base hurdled towards him. Suddenly, he jerked the stick hard towards him and to the right, and the fighter barely pulled up in time, missing the base's fench by meters. At the same time, Snow hit the switch, and the bombs were suddenly free with over 500 knots of momentum. A second later, the canopy rocketed off and a figure burst into the air as the bombs detonated, taking out the fighter as well. The figure's parachute deployed, and he drifted off behind the moutains to the left of the base as what was left of it burned merrily. Screams for commands, what the hell had happened, and desperate orders to put the fire out competed for dominance across the radio frequencies as officers scrambled to cope with the apparent suicide bomber.
.....No one seemed to notice that the canopy was lyring several meters away from the burning wreckage of the fighter.
.....No one seemed to notice that the canopy was lyring several meters away from the burning wreckage of the fighter.
Comments
In my stories characters unrelated to me face long and exhaustive journeys of self discovery.
USSC, Official report on the begining of the end of the world.
All ground and air forces obliterated, all that remains is a regional military station in low orbit. Dozens of artillery rounds fired from the station clear an area for a landing zone. Drop pods are launched, several Powered Armor Shock Troopers [PAST], accompanied by a wing of sentinels, dropped via separate pods, are dispatched to secure what remains of Los Angeles. The PAST squad encounters heavy air resistance, a swarm of Rapiers. Sgt. Marc Johnson's pod is soon torn apart in the lower stratosphere. Pvt. Eric Daniels and Pvt. Thomas Jackson are the two remaining survivors, determined to carry on the mission. Three other pods fall with theirs, the three support sentinels; code named Watchdog, Cerberus, and Warden, experience violent turbulence and their course is altered severely, placing them 5 miles away from their determined LZ. Pvt. Daniels' pod is then ripped apart in front of Jackson's monitor. Jackson then assumes he's next to die, but suddenly, the pod stops. He has reached his LZ.
Alone, against a monstrous swarm of rapiers, Jackson pops open the hatch to the pod and fires away with his MG32. Behind him lie the ruins of a city, in front lie hundreds of corpses of his fellow soldiers, as well as a graveyard of tank hulls, and scorched fighter jets reduced to a smoldering pile of metal scrap. Jackson receives a message over his personal radio, it's Cerberus, on it's way to Jackson's position...
...
...
Have you ever thought that the next version of ACCM would be bigger than expected?
There's no master chief/cortana blowing up aliens. Sure I need to rename the sentinels to something else, but that's about it.
USSC is close to UNSC, and the halo novels often prepend chapters with similar things.
Orbital Drop Shock Trooper [ODST]
Sgt. Johnson
yes.
I had a feeling someone would make a connection with those two. To be honest, it's hard to make an acronym for a space-based-military force without it sounding like Halo's, as it's too iconic.
What the fuck is an ODST? Honestly, the original name for PAST's was Zone Trooper, then until Zaxxman kindly notified me that was a name from a type of unit from Command and Conquer, was kinda bugged about that. Guess I'll have to rename them yet again... (I'm still keeping the powered armor bit in there, since that's what the armor's called, regardless if someone else bitches about it being in another game that I don't know about.)
I know Marc isn't a black name, plus Johnson is a common name, the first thing that came to mind when I came up with that particular name was Jimmy Johnson from NASCAR.
:rolleyes:
Honestly, I got the whole idea from Quake II's intro movie, not Halo. The sentinels, yes, I got that idea from you, who got it from Halo. I try not to base anything off Halo, but it seems to have similarities regardless how hard I try not to make it seem so.
Here is Q2's intro if you're interested in watching.
Go #3!
About that time a slap to the side of my helmet brought me back to my senses, I was on a havoc heavy transport, well actually a cargo container being carried by one. It was refitted for an old airborne style jump. Honestly it was ridiculous the age of the idea behind it. The whole idea was scrapped back during the horde wars. Funny what the military will scratch up when there knee deep in shit.
Anyway it was specialist benton who had slapped my helmet. He was my team leader, an over all good guy but a bit of a hardass at times.
"Hey you! Arnt you excited to be jumping like the old vets! Into a war zone at that."
"Honestly, specialist, I think the ideas barbaricly old."
"Well fuck you then. This is gonna be sweet."
It was pretty obvious that everyone was quite anxious aswell they just learned how to cope with it better than me... by acting like idiots. All around the cargo container people were slapping each other across the helmet, dancing screaming "death to our enemies!" and singing what sounded like an old 90's song.
But that all ended right about the time the first missile was launched within hearing distance.
The jump masters opened up the doors and then yelled out "one minute!" and everyone hooked up their static lines and repeated "one minute" through the container. There was a command that was supposed to follow it, and that was "30 seconds" but we never made it to that. The light went green and then 3 short rings went through the container. We all rushed the door attempting to get out of the vehicle before what ever cut our jump time short happened. I was the last person on my side to succesfully do so. Specialist benton... didnt.
Martyrdom.
...is all.
my $0.50:
...the pack of Eolks encircled Demoncard, fangs dripping with the blood of Demon's noobish comrades.
Demon watched them.
An Eolk lunged at his helmeted noggin.
Demon twirled his Scythe expertly.
The Eolk howled in pain and indigestion (it had already fed) and fell to the ground, dead.
Demon ate it's meat, regaining 50hp, then left the bewildered Eolks with the chewy Eolk carcass.
All i could really tell at the time was I saw hundreds of chutes, smoke, explosions, and tracer rounds, everywhere. The intensity of this attack was unmeasurable.
An entire Division was being dropped into a fort containing 2 divisions in itself, which were under seige, and the force attacking was putting up one hell of a fight.
I looked up to check my chute and insure there were no rips tears or gouges in it, but my attention was diverted to the conflict currently taking place in the sky. Dozens of transports were over head carrying men and armored vehicles with multiple fighters from both forces viaing for control of the skies weaving between them. It was a mess of missiles, smoke, shrapnel and a massive number of tracer rounds aswell.
Chaos, barbaric amounts of chaos. This was what war was like back in the early 20th century. Men just randomly fighting for their lives, and luck was truely the only thing on ones side. Far unlike what war had turned into, a sympany orchestra of pin point accurate munitions and coordinated attacks, where a mans skill is his saving grace, not luck. This on the other hand was far more like an atistic kid with a drum set.
I was disgusted, and terrified all at the same time.
Now nearing the ground I pulled the quick release on my gear and my rifle bag and ammo pack drop to 20 feet below me dangling on by a rope to insure i didnt lose it. "Thunk" I hit the ground. Rolling over the way i was trained to land, i quickly took a knee and pulled the rope to my equipment to me.
A sudden tug on my shoulders set me dropping back onto my back. Probabley for the best because as i lay there trying to get my risers detached from me so the chute would stop dragging me a rocket wizzed over my past location, and then slammed into a tank that was just dropped by a transport.
Releasing myself from my chute I tugged my equipment over once again then slung my pack on and put my weapon into operation. It was time to truely enter the malestrum.
Continuation of my rp:
Snow peaked over the lip of the mountain, and smirked. His hand tightened involuntarily on the SMG he had beside him as he watched a lightly armored guard stroll around, smoking a cig. He went on his round, never even bothering to look up at the mountain, despite the fact that about a quarter of the base was still raging as merrily as a Christmas bon fire. Snow smirked again. The mountain neatly sloped down to a base entrance, which has a single sentinel patrolling it. (No, not halo sentinel.) Around the entrance was the building itself, and the building was about on the edge of the actual base. There was no fence or anything in the way, they figured the mountain would stop any opposition, and Snow didn't blame them. The other side of the mountain was a sheer cliff, at least a thousand feet down. To his left, the mountain slowly sloped down to the flat plains which he had just screeched across in his now ruined fighter. To his left was a steep slope as the mountains continued to grow, and he was currently in a neat oval depression. Snow glanced up, and pink clouds greeted him merrily. Sunset. At nightfall, he would move. He smirked again, unable to help it. His armor was midnight black. As long as he stayed in the truly dark spots, he'd be invisible.
"One of man's greatest fears is the dark. Use that against them."
He would give them another reason to fear it.
"BOGEY DOWN, ONE ON MAH SI-"
"-ger that, divi-"
"-URNS, IT BURNS, SOMEBODY-"
Snow grimaced as that transmission turned into an outright scream that cut off abruptly. The sky was absolute chaos, and he smiled in spite of himself, even as the yellow letters MISSILE WARNING blipped on his screen, for what must have been teh 9th time that half hour. Snow waiting a minute and jerked the stick hard, rolling violently off to oneside. From the canopy, the view skewed and slid wildly, and a greesey smoke streak with a red head suddenly appeared, passed him, and kept going. The warning blip vanished as Snow struggled to right the fighter, and laughed as another transport entered his gunning reticle. He stroked the trigger, a lover's carress, and the trans belched smoke and started a downward climb. Snow righted the fighter for a second before rolling to the right and pulling a 7-G turn. The sky was all smoke, tracers, and missiles. It was chaos, and it showed on the radio, it was all screams, officers screaming orders, men dying, stragglers vainly trying to hook up with an intact flight pattern. Too bad there were no such things anymore. Snow idly wondered for a minute what had happened to the flight leader, Jackie. He hoped she was okay, the wink she had given him had promised more than good luck in the skies. A fighter suddenly appeared, hovered in his reticle, and flitted off. Snow cursed and pulled after it, just as a burst of tracers flared past his canopy. Snow added his voice to the caconaphy of chaos on the radio.
SON OF A BITCH!! 7th flight, this is Snow, one on my six!"
Snow pulled the stick to the right suddenly, skewing off wildly again in a well practiced move, pulling up suddenly, a high yo yo. At the top of his view he saw a fighter go flaming down, shredded, and a familiar fighter screamed by.
A smirk tugged across his lips as he heard a giggle through everything else on the radio.