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  • Subject: (Story) Halo: Operation Mirratord
Subject: (Story) Halo: Operation Mirratord

Keep your friends close but your enemies closer

March 12th 2547 Malpor IV

I hate flying, always have, but not for the reasons that you might think. It's not because of gravity and how it affects your life, or the Pelican and the possibility of it crashing.

Crashing doesn't really concern me. If you're going to crash then there's not much you can do about it. Of course, you can sit there screaming like a stuck pig, but voicing your concerns to God and all around you won't change a thing. You're still going to crash. No, crashing doesn't even enter my mind if I'm honest.

The safety harness, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. I know rapid atmospheric insertions require the passengers to be securely strapped in - it stops you bouncing around in the back, but at the cost of cutting off the circulation to your legs is a step too far not to mention the occasional jolt, in the increasing turbulence, which would result in your entire body being lifted upwards for a split-second only to drop down again and trap a small area of skin on your thigh where the strap meets the seat. Damn straps.

Of course, those opposite me have far more serious concerns than my dislike of Pelican harnesses. For them, this journey could be their last - something which became apparent when two of the four Marines accompanying me vomited on the pale green, Titanium-A deck floor. The smell was disgusting, but rather than add to the breakfast assortment that was now running towards the rear ramp area I concentrated on what would be required of me in the next few hours.

The Marines, of course, had no idea what was about to happen. I had used my ONI clearance to pull in a couple of favours, including my own personal escort party. No, the marines were more fixated on the rough ride down to the surface. But they wouldn't have to worry for much longer.

A minute later our descent was interrupted by a loud screeching noise. The side of the Pelican fell away along with the four marines, one of whom was still alive and screaming in terror. Maybe my prediction was wrong, at least for one of them. A Banshee fuel-rod shot had scored a direct hit on one of the reserve fuel tanks. The resulting explosion had ripped the Starboard wing away along with a section of the hull.

Fortunately, we were well inside the atmosphere of the planet, so all I had to worry about was the air pressure, or the lack of it. I quickly fitted an oxygen mask and endured the journey down. The pilot that I had selected was indeed of the highest calibre. Despite missing a large section of the hull he was still able to maintain control over the descent. A few moments later he announced over the intercom that we were about to crash-land.

I braced.

Years seemed to pass as my stomach dropped again and again. But my concerns remained the same. Damn straps.

We hit the ground.

I awoke to shouting.

"You okay? We have to get out of here. Ground's crawling with Covenant," the pilot shouted.

I shook my head and then released the harness. Damn that felt good. No more bruised thighs.

I followed the pilot out of the wreck and away to a wooded area where we stopped to catch our breath. I was offered water and took the opportunity to quench my thirst.

"Whoa, slow down there. We have to ration it," he uttered.

I doubt it.

A rustling sound grabbed his attention.

He jerked his head to the left, towards a clump of felled trees. He pulled out his sidearm and aimed it towards the logging pile.

There was a shimmer of air in the distance.

He fired.

A dozen bolts of bright blue plasma replied in kind.

The pilot fell. His smoking flesh filling the air with a pungent odour.

I stood up to face the attacker. Three Covenant Elites shimmered into sight. Each of them was holding a deadly plasma rifle.

The nearest one walked towards me and handed me a tennis ball-sized, cube-shaped object with a series of unusual inscription on the surface. It was covered in a wash of metallic blue.

The Elite grunted something in its native dialect.

I pulled out a small object and placed it around my right ear. Then the Elite repeated its message.

"You are late, human."

...


[Edited on 11.04.2009 2:52 PM PST]

  • 11.04.2009 2:49 PM PDT
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No matter how many seals are killed by sharks a year, it never seems to be enough :D

INTENSE! The perfect song on my itunes came on when i read the ending line, it was epic moment. I believe this is the first time i have ever read any of your fan fictions. Now i see why they are so popular.

  • 11.04.2009 6:22 PM PDT
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One day... I am gonna grow wings... A chemical reaction... Hysterical and useless... hystecial and let down and hanging around... crushed like a bug in the ground.

Is this connected to the Epigolue Trilogy.

  • 11.04.2009 10:39 PM PDT

In a word, no. Consider it practice. And practice makes perfect.

  • 11.05.2009 12:18 AM PDT

Posted by: Dropship dude
No, acnboy. Spartain Ken 15 is a lesser being. Much like the bacteria that lives in your shi­t.
Posted by: mike120593
My shi­t bacteria takes offense to that comparison.

Don't make me lel. You won't like me when I lel.

Posted by: Dead Major
INTENSE! The perfect song on my itunes came on when i read the ending line, it was epic moment. I believe this is the first time i have ever read any of your fan fictions. Now i see why they are so popular.


Yu've missed so much, check out his original Halo 3 Epilogue. It's been archived, but PM me if you want a linky.

  • 11.07.2009 3:49 PM PDT