halo: Frontlines.

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1

This is my first ever Halo story I wrote. It follows a squad of Marines as they fight on the planet Reach. Here’s the prologue.

Halo: Frontlines.

Prologue: A very busy day… Azho, Harvest. 24/12/2521

The night was cold. Freezing nothern winds blasted the small farming village of Azho. Its rusty old buildings stood surprisingly strong against the deadly gales. It stood firm in the middle of a vast plain; perfect farming land.

However, this normally unconcerning farming village was marked by ONI (Office of Naval Intelligence) as a supplier of explosives to the Insurrection, and a priority-one target for the UNSC (United Nations Scace Command) Marines, who crept up to the run-down settlement, weapons at the ready. Normally, most Insurrectionists would surrender immediatly, but recently the number of suicide bombings and gunfights had increased, so nobody was taking any chances.

The man leading the five-man squad into the village, Staff Sargeant Ryan Becker, eyed each and every building closely, looking for a way to sneak into the suspected building while remaining hidden from the locals who would no doubt raise the alarm. His green eyes peered through the long grass around the village, his entire person camoflauged brilliantly. He crawled to an exceptionally large patch of grass and looked around again before signalling the all clear, allowing his squad to follow up and get into position for a quick infiltration. He sighed and removed his helmet, running his pale hand through grey hair. He sat and drummed his fingers on the helmet and began to speak, nearly shouting over the deafening wind.

“We should start looking for any explosive residue. Anderson, have a look through those two buildings there.” He pointed to an alley between a market and an old church.

Anderson nodded and removed a metal pad with a glass screen. He slid his hands around the glowing surface and held it up over his eyes and peered into the darkness. He pivoted left and right, before stopping. He looked more closely and bit his lip, considering what to say.

“Er… I’m seeing something, sir. I’m not sure what it is; not in the database. it’s radioactive, though… and warm.”

Becker sighed.

“Damn Innies… Why is it that they’re always one step ahead. I swear, every time a substance is added to the database, they find two more!”

One Marine at the rear of the group, a Corporal named Emmet, looked up and peered over Anderson’s shoulder and studied the new substance.

“You said it was warm, Anderson? On a night like this? Whatever it is, it’s been used recently, probably being made into bombs right now.” He said, his thick South African accent barely heard by the powerful winds.

Becker placed the helmet on his head and removed the safety from his MA37 Assault Rifle, and his squad copied. He made one last sweep of the area with his eagle eyes before climbing to his feet and slowly walking to the back of the church. He snuck down the alley, looked left and right and signalled for his squad to follow. The wind hid the sound of the heavy metal plate armour, worn only by EOD (Explosive Ordance Disposal) squads quite well, and they made it to their Staff Sargeant without a hitch.

2

Becker started to walk out slowly towards the radioactive liquid. As he squatted down next to it, Emmet shone a torch on it, revealing a dark-brown sludge.

“Huh. This is new.” Anderson said quietly.

Becker nodded and looked at Emmet.

“better turn that torch off, son. Don’t want to be seen.”

Emmet put the light away and held his Assault Rifle to his cheek, aiming at an old butchers shop.

“Sarge, I think they might be in there. The residue isn’t wanywhere else, just in front of the store.”

Anderson revealed his datapad once more and scanned the doors. After a few seconds, he placed it back in his TACTICAL/HARDCASE pouch on his right thigh.

“Yeah, strong radioactive buzz around the place.” He said, nodding towards the door.

Another marine spoke, a Private named Kyle.

“Sir, me and Park can wait here. We’ll give you three flashes on your HUD if we spot anything suspicious.”

“Good man. We wont be long.” He noted grimly. He pressed a button in his helmet with his chin and his clear visor, protecting his eyes from damage, turned to silver. His voice crackled through a speaker in his helmet.

“Let’s go. And don’t take too long. I want to get back home for Christmas. I’d like you all back too… in one piece of course.”

“Fantastic pep talk there, Sir.”

The squad of five split, with Anderson and Emmet backing up Becker as Park and Kyle guarded the large iron doors from the outside. Becker slowly pushed the door with his foot, only to find it stayed put. He removed the knife from his left thigh and jammed it between the doors and pushed, using it like a crowbar. The door held firm for a few seconds before giving in and opening. Anderson gripped his rifle tightly, his heart racing. Emmet drummed the handle of his M90 Shotgun and slowly pulled back the pump, which made a small click. Becker counted slowly in his head, one… two… three!

Becker kicked the doors open, which swung and opened up wide, allowing the moon to shine into the old butchers. In the store, five or six men and women in messy mechanics outfits toiled over bubbling barrels of unknown substances and emptied the contents into small metal cans. They jumped rom their positions as soon as they spotted the Marines in their massive and bulky EOD armour pointing steel barrels straight at them. They began to run, but stopped dead thanks to Emmet as he fired his Shotgun into the air, causing dust to fall on many of their unprotected heads. Becker stepped forward, keeping his Assault Rifle pressed on his cheek, ready to fire should he need to.

“Right, hands in the air! Now!” His intimidating tone was unnerving to say the least. Even his own men felt cautious around him in times like these, as he had a deep hatred for the Insurrectionist, and he had no intention of hiding it.

Slowly, the prople raised their hands above their heads. They slowly fell to their knees as Emmet and Anderson searched them for any weaponry. However, what the three men failed to see was that one woman at the back of the old store had a can held in her hand and a burning cloth in the other. She stuffed the cloth in the can and stood up to face the marines. They reacted in a split second, placing three shots in her chest. She dropped to the floor and the can rolled away, towards a massive barrel of explosive liquids.

Both the marines and the Insurrectionists looked at the can for a second before Kyle peered into the store. He saw the burning can and yelled.

“Run!”

Nobody needed telling twice. All ten of the men and women sprinted away from the shop, running past the old church. Th Marines easily bounded over a fence on the right of the church, while the Innies slowly clambored over. They just reached the back of the church when an immense white flash erupted into the sky. For a few seconds, the Innies and Marines fell to their knees and covered their faces. just as they did, an almightly hot rush of air blasted through the countryside of Harvest. The entire village was flatened, and the men on women were blasted off of their feet. The shards of the buildings flew overhead for miles around. Everyone was quiet and still until the eruption had died down. Then, one by one, they rose.

Two Innies had died from the blast with another injured, a wooden stake from the splintered building had gouged his leg during the blast. Backer stood, dazed, head spinning. He thought the urge to vomit and looked around at the survivors. He looked closely at each of his men, then noticed something was wrong.

“Where’s Anderson?”

The Marines looked at one and other and noticed he was not with them. They turned around, looking at the plains, now littered with flaming debris. And over the wind, a faint cry could be heard.

The squad followed the sound of the cries, leaving the stunned Innies near the village remains. They yelled to their missing friend, yelling his name over and over.

“Anderson? Anderson!? You okay? Where are you!”

After several pain-staking minutes, they found a large sheet of metal with a leg protruding from under it. They removed it quickly to find Anderson. He lay in a pool of blood, and his right leg had been torn off by the explosion.

Emmet dropped his gun and sighed, looking at Andersons still body.

“Oh God…”

Becker touched his head with his hand, then his chest and shoulders.

“Rest in peace, soldier.”

3

As they turned to walk away, a sudden sound caused them to jump. They turned around and saw Anderson moving, coughing violently.

“Anderson! Thank God. Emmet, get an evac bird for him. Here, use his tacpad.” He fished out the glass and metal tablet from the jagged mess that was once Andersons right leg.

Emmet began punching numbers into the screen as Becker attempted to talk to Anderson. Seeing no signs of co-operation, becker slung Emmet over his shoulders, not caring if his sage armour is stained with Anderson’s blood.

After a long twenty minutes, a Pelican arrived and Anderson was put onboard. A medic looked at him then at Becker and he lowered his head. Becker knew that Anderson would probably not make it, but at least he will die in a warm safe place, and not in a smoldering field in the middle of nowhere.

Becker looked at Emmet, who pumped his shotgun and nodded. They then walked back to the village, where Kyle and Park were holding the Innies… holding Anderson’s killers…

As the Innies and the two Matines caught sight of each other, their eyes widened. The Innies were terrified as the raging Marines walked up to them. Becker approached the man closest to him and grabbed him by the collar. He held his head close to his own and growled.

“Because of you, one of my men’s probably going to die.”

The Innie man looked half-scared, half-defiant as he said:

“His life would be wasted by now anyway, seeing as your facist pigs of leaders can’t fix a problem without a good, bloody conflict!”

Beckers eyes widened as he took in the words said to him by this piece of Innie dirt. He couldn’t find words to say. his anger rose to a dangerous level and he held the butt of the rifle in his hand and thrust it into the mans face. The man realed back, with a black eye, bust lip and broken nose and fell to the ground.

Emmet looked at the other four Innies in front of him.

"Are you going to be quiet, or do you and your friend here- He kicked the man hard in the leg - want to p**s us off a little more?

The people in front of him shook their heads quickly and Emmet smiled.

“Good!”

A Pelican arrived later to retrieve the marines and their captives. Becker entered first, but stopped with one foot in the large air unit. He looked at the floor and saw blood all over it. Anderson’s blood. He closed his eyes and entered the Pelican, strapped himself in and waited for the others. One by one they filed in, all trying to avoid Beckers wildly furious stare. The marines entered last, and Kyle looked at the blood then at the Innies. They all looked away save for one, a man who said:

“Don’t look at me, it’s not my fault he’s mangled.”

Kyle dove at the man and punched him hard in the face continuously. Becker only watched as the man spat blood and took every one of Kyles powerful punches without making a sound. Finally, Kyle delivered a poerful uppercut which knocked the man off his feet and onto his collegues. He looked a becker, his face covered with blood, and Becker only stared back, his eyes distant and pained. Kyle sat slowly, looking at his bloodied hands. He looked ashamed, and peared at the man who he had beaten, who sat in the corner, hiding behind the others. Kyle pulled a towel from his backpack and passed it to the Innie, who looked away from Kyle with shame, humility and sorrow apon his face.

As everyone buckled up, the Pelican door shut with a hiss, plunging the men in temporary darkness before dull red lights flickered on overhead. As the Pelican took off, Becker held his head in his hands and wept quietly…

4

Chapter One: Fortress

New Misrata, Reach. March 24th, 2552.
The Pelicans engines roared as they were twisted and readjusted by the great beasts pilot. The sound of the Pelican resonated through the immense dry-docks of New Misrata, Reach. The huge steel structure, over three hundred meters long, and perched on one of Reach’s trademark mountain ranges, shone brightly as the bright midday sun bore down on the grassy plains around the cliffs.

The back of the Pelican opened with a hiss and a protesting groan, and out of it stepped four men and a woman, all wearing the newest prototype ODST armour variants. These differed slightly from the standard armour permutations that were so well-recognized throughout the UNSC. For example, the helmet worn by the woman, had a thin eye-slit visor, with a more round and angular edges, also lacked the shoulder protection of her male peers.

She walked across the dock and to the edge of the steel floor and looked over the vast greenery and stunning mountain displays. ‘A lot different from Earth.’ she thought. She looked back at the four men who accompanied her, stood around a Transport Warthog, a five-seat 4X4 jeep used for recon and scouting operations. She leaned on the rail and drummed her fingers, listening to the light, whistling echos. She sighed and turned to the four men with her.

“Well, time to roll. Sooner we get this season done, the sooner we can all go back home.” She called with a clap of her hands.

The ODST entered the Warthog, two in the back, one shotgun and another about to enter the driving seat, before he saw his female superior walking towards him quickly. He sighed and climbed out of the seat, and voiced his concern, his voice muffled and crackling through the mic of the sealed helmet he wore.

“Seriously? Come on, you never let me drive!”

She pushed him out of the way and entered the seat, and ignited the engine.

“Exactly, so I never let you crash.”

The ODST mumbled to himself as he clamored into the back of the Warthog, and the female driver called over her shoulder.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, rook. You’ll learn to drive properly eventually. Well…”

One of the ODST chuckled, and nudged his moody partner.

“Hey, ladies man. Y’wanna share your secrets?”

The others laughed along to this, and the driver grinned, too. The first ODST replied and discolored his visor, turning the clear glass into a silver mirror.

“That’s no way to talk to a Gunnery Sargent, Corporal.”

The other ODST chuckled and also discolored his visor.

“Well, Gunnery Sargent Buck. Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re a Sargent, now… the Covenant may as well just kill me now, it just saves everybody’s time!”