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Subject: [FanFic] Halo: The Great War - Ch. 2 "Things Go South" is...

Honor Light Your Way, Our Blood Shall Forge a Thousand Generations!

Author's Notes:

This series will be focused around the horrors of war, and will include the entire Human/Covenant war from the first contact of Harvest all the way up until the Ark's destruction. Please keep in mind that this is for mature audiences ONLY, seeing as how I will include sex, drugs, and profanity. This will not be the typical Halo fanfic with the slight swear word, or peck on the lips - but rather what Halo would be if it were Real Life. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.


Extras

Chapter Selection

Chapter One - The First Contact

Chapter Two - Things Go South

[Edited on 12.20.2009 9:31 AM PST]

  • 12.14.2009 3:48 PM PDT
Subject: [FanFic] Halo: The Great War - "The First Contact" is up!

Honor Light Your Way, Our Blood Shall Forge a Thousand Generations!

Chapter One - The First Contact

Gladsheim, Harvest
Febuary 23rd, year 2525, 1400 Hours


Corporal Williams lit a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He admitted a satisfying inhale, then let his lungs expand, allowing the smoke to shoot through his nostrils. He glanced around, noticing that the used-to-be city streets of the city of Gladshiem were now empty of civilians, replaced by soldiers, ammunition, and tanks.

Almost two weeks earlier, Staff Sergeants Avery Johnson and Nolan Byrne engaged in combat with an alien race aboard a United Nations Space Command (UNSC) ship, thought to have been taken over by the Insurrectionists, the UNSCs human enemies in their current civil war. Johnson and Byrne had been ordered to board the ship and reclaim it, unaware to find the vulture like aliens aboard instead of it's imaginary human captors. Since the aliens had slain the humans and claimed the ship as their own, Byrne and Johnson considered them hostile, and opened fire.

Now, negotiations were being made between the UNSC and the mysterious alien species, in order to prevent a war. Williams sighed. The thought of fighting aliens was absurd - many still couldn't get over the fact that aliens actually existed - and fighting a two-front war wasn't on top of the UNSCs agenda. With a huff, he blew out more smoke, hoping the nicotine would calm his nerves.

"Hey, Mike," a voice called behind the Corporal. By the thick, British accent, Micheal had already guessed who it was calling his name, and wasn't surprised to turn and meet the gaze of his friend.

"Hey, Conor. Heard any news?" Micheal replied, passing his friend the cigarette. Conor gratefully accepted it - cigarettes had been getting scarce as of late - and took a whiff.

"Nothing. It's bloody killing me, mate. 'Ell, I think I'd rather be fighting those damn Innies than sit around here, waiting to see if the negotiations go well and what-not."

Micheal nodded, reclaiming his cigarette. "I hear you, bro." he agreed.

Conor gazed at Micheal's cigarette in envy. "How many of those you got, anyway, Mike?"

Micheal dug in his pockets, fumbling to find a spare cigarette for Conor, but was interrupted with by a loud screech. Instinctively, both of the soldiers looked towards the sky, from the sounds origin. In the sky filled a long, metallic looking object, with purple plating, and predatory fins jutting out of it's sides. It looked more like a shark thank anything else.

"What the hell...?" Conor trailed off, brow knitting together in confusion. Micheal didn't say anything. He just gazed, jaw dropped, and eyes shining with bright curiousity; so curious and distracted by the object in the air, in fact, that he hadn't even noticed the cigarette on the floor which had fallen from his mout just moments ago.

The shark's sides started to glisten a purple color. It only took the two a few moments to undserstand whar was heppening. "It's a ship!" Micheal exclaimed. The ship's sides started to glow more and more, until finally, the light retracted, heading straght towards the city of Gladshiem. Buildings began to fall like dominos, and a symphony of cries and screams began to note throughout the city, coming from the soldiers dying lips.

Dozens of troops began to turn tail and run, abandoning their stations as plasma filled the sky with armageddon flames. Conor and Micheal were the first amongst these men. The two ran along with the others until their legs felt like they were about to detach, and even then, they kept running. Plasma created craters as it impacted into the dirt, sending rich soil flying into the air. Soldiers fell to the ground, either dead, or missing several limbs.

It was an awesome display of fireworks that would have matched any festival, party, or Earth's continental ritual of the Fourth of July. Had it not been so deadly, it would have been a truly beautiful thing to behold. Ahead lay several pelicans, either taking off, or awaiting more troops to carry to safety. Soldiers watched as a few of the transport carriers burst into flames as plasma as hot as Harvest's sun itself made short work of them.

Conor and Micheal climbed into the belly of one of Pelicans, just in time for it to take off. The two looked out onto the valley, almost convinced as if they were looking into Hell itself; the once rich and prosperous soil was nor marred and black; the beautiful, green grass now was reduced to ash and ember; and the bright, blue sky was hidden behind smoke and death.

Everything had happened so fast, that nobody knew exactly what had happened. Conor and Micheal began to recollect themselves. Other marines aboard the Pelican were either in shock, or on the brink. With a shaking hand, Micheal reached into his pocket, retrieved two cigarettes, and handed one to Conor, keeping the other for himself. He them both, and sunk back into the cushioned seat of the armored transport.

The war had truly begun.

[Edited on 12.14.2009 4:02 PM PST]

  • 12.14.2009 3:50 PM PDT

Honor Light Your Way, Our Blood Shall Forge a Thousand Generations!

Chapter Two: Things Go South

Sydney, Austrailia, Earth
Febuary 23rd, year 2525, 1430 hours


Admiral Jason Shoemaker sighed as he continued his paperwork behind his desk. Sweat dripped from every pore and opening on his body; but it wasn't the usual Austrailia heat that caused it, but rather the odd alien race that had been released to the admiralty weeks before.

He wondered what the situation was: how the negotiations were going, what would be the outcome if they went South, how the UNSC could fend against an alien race? Intelligence Officer Richard Bryant make short work of his theories.

"Sir?" the intelligence Officer asked, knocking on the Admiral's already opened office door. Shoemaker looked up.

"Yes, what is it, Richard?" he asked, heaving a miserable sigh.

"Sir. We've just recieved word from Harvest," Richard paused, blinked twice, and swallowed as a lump formed in his throat. "They're under attack."

* * * * *


Gladsheim, Harvest
Febuary 23rd, year 2525, 1440 hours


"Move, move, move! Get down, damn it!" so ordered Sergeant Mathew Harry. He skidded into one of the many made - and freshly dug out - trenches as plasma rained over him.

"This is nuts, Sarge!" yelled another marine, holding both hands over his head as he lay on the floor curled into a ball. Sergeant Harry ignored the cowardly marines complaint, and peered over trench, noticing that many of the vulture-like alien were closing in on them quick. This was the last defense Gladsheim had. If this line failed, the aliens would invade the city.

Mathew hauled the soldier to his feet. "Quit the bellyaching, soldier! Now do what you were trained to do!" He spat the last fe words so harshly that it gave the marine something new to fear, rather than the aliens. He stumbled, picked up his fallen MA5B, and fired into the crowd of aliens - to no avail. The bastards had some sort of gauntlets which deflected projectiles. Getting behind them seemed to be the only alternative. "Damn it," the Sergeant cursed, turning to his men. Nearly three dozen remained alive, and double that many lay dead on the dirt floor.

He pointed towards four men, indicating them to follow him. He then led them through the complex trench, in an attempt to circle around the alien's shields and get them from behind. He found a nice spot, set up shop, and told his men to open fire. One by one, the shielded aliens fell, unaware of their attackers origin. Harry emptied his clip into every one of the bastards, and looked in satisfaction as the battlefield was cleared of each and every alien.

A trembling marine sighed. "Is that the last of 'em?"

Harry had been about to reply, but was cut to an arubt hault. Something caught his ear's attention, and by the looks of other marines confused faces, he knew it had caught theirs too. The sound was a loud screeching, which pained the soldiers to listen to. Over the horizon, they could see the origin of the loud sound. Nearly two dozen aircraft with two wings and bipods at both ends sailed towards them faster than they could keep count of.

Then, they did what each and every soldier feared: they fired.

* * * * *

Covenant Holy City, High Charity
Age of Doubt, fourteen units


Soro 'Varumee's mandibles flared as he tried to make the Propehts of Truth, Regret and Mercy see sense.

"But your excellencies," he resumed. "The Mendicant Bias does not lie! Those aliens are Forerunner!"

"We have entrusted the information from Mendicant Bias with you because you are our most reknown warrior," Regret explained. "Do not make us regret it."

"But these are Forerunner! The very beings we live to worship and follow!"

"No," Truth disagreed. "They are alien filth, descendents of the Holy Forerunner who mock their names. They deserve nothing but absolute extinction."

The sangheili growled in disapproval. "Do you think differently, Soro?" asked Mercy.

Truth be told, he did think differently. "No," Soro lied, turning to leave. "Farewell, noble Prophets. I apologize for my stuborness." He bowed, silently left the meeting chamber, and headed towards his ship, fists clinched every step of the way. He recited one sentence in his head constantly, and even sometimes he would say it aloud.

This is the very definiton of Heresy.

  • 12.20.2009 9:30 AM PDT