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]