Deliverance of a GiftEdit
\\Date: 13th June 2531
It was just a simple job; delivery and baby-sitting. To be honest, it sucked to be one of them babysitters, but the payment was good though.
Shukhov threw away his helmet off the Troop Transport Hog, being boring over the whole trip. It’s been 8 months and no action. The United Rebel Front has engaged its latest confrontation with the UNSC on the other side of the planet while he just guarded a stupid box. “Fucking baby-sitting job,” he thought.
Shukhov should never have left the UNSC; he would have been shooting Covenant squids back in the front lines but all that waiting for a battle to happen, all the orders given, everything was fucked up and the officers were like shit, especially that Sergeant Johnson.
Four Troop Transports, all modified to protect passengers against AP rounds, drove in one line in the urban centre, now just another ruin formed after the rise of the Insurrection.
The radio chattered, giving orders and providing the safest direction to avoid any ambush. The packages they carried were important to make them, the URF, more recognizable and more to be reckoned with.
“Move to the left next after the clinic. Third Party is guarding checkpoint 6, over”
The whole trip was boring. They drove over 120 kilometres (or 100 miles) after waiting 4 hours for the dropship to come by and all they ever do was just listening to the radio chatter of a battle that took place on the other side of the planet.
Block after block, all Shukhov saw was the result of the victorious battle between the URF and the UNSC a while back ago.
No pedestrians would want to be in the streets while the convoy was on the road. They were afraid that there may be an ambush conducted by either the UNSC or some private military corps and that some of them might get hurt in the cross-fire.
So far, no such thing occurred.
The horror of war one might say; several piles of corpses were seen in the field which was once a play ground for the kids. No graveyard, so people would just have to burn them up, cremating is an option for the family.
“Checkpoint 6 checked. Proceed to warehouse D.” The stupid radio ordered again."
Behind the convoy, three URF squads appeared from the alley of the building. Protection became tighter.
“What’s with the back up?” Shukhov asked looking back through the rear window. The three squads were in high alert based from their stance; rockets armed and HMGs set on the roof.
“We heard that the UNSC may be coming for the nukes. They may be sending a whole bunch of tanks or possibly a Spartan Team,” answered Aryan, a friend who joined the rebellion with him back in 2527
Spartans. Another bunch of experiment-born freaks from the UNSC. Shukhov has heard of a legendary team before. The commander once spoke that a Spartan group called Blue Team shattered Station Jefferson in the asteroids belt of Eridanus last year. Nevertheless, they were just freaks with power armour on, nothing a few AP rounds couldn’t handle, he thought.
Shukhov wondered what it would be to kill a Spartan. A rank promotion? More credits? He pondered on the subject for a while.
The convoy later slowed down, turning left after the clinic.
A bright light soon enveloped the room…
Exhaling hard, he looks up, only to find a rifle pointing in the right eye.
Around him, his friends, every one of them, killed.
Opposite of him layed Aryan, staring at him with his white eyes. Aryan’s body was covered with blood; his jaw split apart, looked as if he was screaming at the top of his lungs. His arms were in different areas, one seemed to be behind him, twisted around while the other, missing, wandered off someplace else.
Nothing could save him now; time was against him, not even a second on his side. If he were to pray, it would be hopeless, maybe.
His right eye could see into the rifle’s chamber, hollow as it was, but the bullet was visible, silver-coloured, only to be far back, waiting to strike.
It had gold and silver casings around the bullet. Something was scripted on it, random characters of some sort. Doesn’t matter to him, his fate was final; he was going to die.
The rifle cocked and the bullet moved to the back.
He tried closing his eyes. He fixed his mind on something, trying to remember what was important to him most.
With a bang, it struck out. It moved by slowly, out of its cave. He looked at it and time stopped.
Flashes of images passed through until only a single beam of light lit behind him. He turned and looked at the light, a hand reaching out of it. He reached out, nearly grasping it, and then darkness swallowed his vision.
Back in reality, the shot went through his skull, bursting a lot of blood on the wall. His skull cracked, a hole formed around the eye socket.
No one knew the guy, just another unlucky bastard.
SPARTAN-005 (Ryan) holstered his FAMAS G4C-S back into the silhouette. A figure entered the room in fighting stance, weapons out. Ryan was caught off-guard, in no position to fight back.
“Are you okay?”' the figure said. SPARTAN-148 (Akira) holstered her weapon as she looked around the room. She was the first person he met back during the conscription. The nicest person to talk to just about anything.
“Yeah, I’m fine. My mind is a bit hazy.” Ryan picked up his combat knife. “Are we done? Can we go now?”
“Adam is almost done with the files. Come on, let’s meet up with him,” Akira put her hand on his shoulder. “and yes, we’re going now,” Ryan exited with a sigh.
Akira near the door looked back and lay down a C1-4 OCG grenade. As it rolled on the murky floor, a sudden beep started. The ball hit the wall, and the beep changed to a screech. A fireball suddenly spewed out of the ball, engulfed the entire room. A normal protocol; clearing the evidence and traces.
Everyones' armor has the same features though some would be able to modify the suit to their taste. Akira in the other hand was shorter than others; you can never miss her physical state.
“I just contacted F16. They’ll be in the Rendezvous Area in 7 minutes.” Adam informed as he pulled out a disc from his helmet, containing all the files ONI wanted on the United Rebellion Front's future activities. SPARTAN-053 (Adam) was the leader of Gray Team. He and Kurt were once best friends, always doing stuff together. It had been 6 years since he last saw him. “Everyone’s green?”
““Green as always. Did you two run into any trouble?” Erin talked simultaneously. “Did you manage to find that Commander?”
“No. According to the terminal, the bastard left about two days ago. No other records found.” Akira answered. The three consulted the matter as they headed for the gate. Ryan opened the first of the three gates.
Ryan then stopped in his tracks. “Guys, we need to go now.”
“Why?” Erin asked.
“There,” Ryan made a hand gesture at his faceplate. A link opened within each faceplate; motion sensors began to collect multiple objects moving in to their position. The blips came closer and closer to the centre.
URF Soldiers were on their way as always. All armed with the usual; Machine Guns and Confetti Makers.
“They never learn, do they?” Adam said as he pulled out a Sniper Rifle.
The Spartans just stayed in one area, weapons ready. “You think we can handle it?” Akira asked.
Hundreds of URF soldiers arrived at the front gate, blocking the exit while the four Spartans just waited with their carbines out.
Ryan answered, “Hell yeah…”