Chapter 1
UNSC Destroyer Romeo
August 15th, 2540
"Captain? Captain, wake up."
Amadeus moaned and rubbed his eyes. He could feel a crackling pain in his ribs and back, where he'd hit the ceiling when the ship lost gravity. Which, he noticed, was still gone, leaving him floating about on the bridge. The lights were dead. Agoura's sun shone warmly through the viewport, providing some glow to see by.
"Coral?" Amadeus called out to the ship's AI, who normally preferred to stay behind the scenes. "Coral, give me a status report."
The AI pedestal glowed mildly, and a holographic anemone began to sway atop it. The head of a clown fish poked through the tangles of poisonous tentacles--Coral's avatar.
"The dreadnought did some damage, but I think less than they thought. However, the entire starboard side took a big hit. The laser burned through three decks, and we're still patching up the side. Luckily, all it really touched was a few cryo rooms. I also cut most of our power before the Covenant fleet could detect us."
Amadeus looked around the bridge from his ceiling view. A few of his men still floated like him, unconscious. Others were in their chairs, coordinating the repair efforts. The captain smiled. He'd taught his people well. Lamb currently occupied the Captain's chair, ordering around her fellows.
"Sofia," Amadeus pushed himself down to her, tapping her shoulder and shocking her out of her screens and charts.
"Sir," she said, her head snapping over her shoulder and her eyes locking with his.
"Give me an update on our enemy." the Captain said.
"Yes, sir." Sofia looked back to the monitor. "The dreadnought was part of an early scout group, designed to trick us into complacency. When we got hit, one hundred and twelve new contacts jumped in-system; half of them have gone planet side to bombard and capture. The ground-based accelerator cannons are still active after all these years, though, so I think they can hold off glassing for a little longer." She brought up a new window on the screen, showing a Marathon class. "The Hrafnkell, Juliet, and Guðmundur are with us. From their separate and varied reports, I managed to gather that Hrafnkell shielded them, and then they retreated, laying mines along the way. Those have claimed around twenty Covenant ships, a loss which probably deterred them from pursuit."
"Good work, Lamb," the Captain told her. "but I think now would be the time for action. Get the others on the line and tell them to power up. Do the same for us."
Sofia's face paled with doubt and fear. "Sir? The Covenant would blow us out of the water if we powered up!"
Amadeus looked to her with a calming expression, letting his next words flow softly. "What does a naval frigate do when the ocean behind it is filled with vessels chasing it?" he waited a bit, wondering if she would find the answer on her own.
Her eyes glowed with sudden clarity.
"It lays depth charges."
**************
"Pile out!"
Commander Walker jumped from the side of the Warthog as he yelled the command, diving to the ground with the rest of his soldiers just as the grenade stuck to the chassis. An explosion of blue fire cascaded over the troops, providing a contrast of heat in the stinging cold rain.
More stinging particles slashed in lances over the Commander's head, which now looked up to see the other Warthog, this one with a turreted LAAG, heading down the water-slick highway to the planet based mass driver, once used for harvesting trash, but now it fired 120mm tungsten shells at ridiculous velocity. He was glad that his men hadn't wasted their lives staying with the crushed troop transport, and that now Agoura had a chance.
That didn't mean he would die here, though. If these alien bastards thought to do more than just delay him, they had another thing coming.
That 'other thing' being thirty two grenades and the synchronized gunfire of five MA5B assault rifles, two BR 55 SR battle rifles, and an SRS-99C-04 sniper rifle.
Stacking up against a wall of barricades and destroyed motor vehicles, the Army Rangers returned fire from their shelter.
Two Ghost fast-attack vehicles took the brunt of the damage, but after about ten seconds of sustained fire and a casualty, the remaining vehicle fell back to the line.
Walker reloaded, and, looking up at the enemy, saw the aliens pushing up and cover fire.
"Rangers!" he shouted, "give me grenades at the red sports car!"
The troops responded with five high explosives sailing over the ridge towards the other end of the highway. The Commander rose with his sniper, Jameson, and together they pinned the Elites behind the car. After several earth-shaking explosions and five two-meter-wide holes in the highway overpass, the Grunts and Jackals shuffling forward on small feet were left without cover in the middle of the road.
The perfect killing floor.
The Grunts shifted behind their shielded brethren, but those comrades were cut down in seconds by the absolute hail of bullets. Their shields had gaps at the wrists so that weapons could be fired through, but this proved to the phalanx's demise.
With their avian friends bleeding out on the pavement, the Grunts broke ranks and fled, but short bursts of 7.62 mm ammo ended their pitiful lives.
"A--blam!--mazing work, Rangers!" Commander Walker said as his troops pulled the weapons and grenades from their fallen opponents. Not one casualty on their side.
Jameson popped up, and sighted through his rifle. After a quick pull of the trigger, and the sounds of a dying alien, he walked over behind a flipped truck and came back riding the Ghost.
"Nice ride, Jameson," Corporal Holonski said with admiration and a hint of envy, "Looking to pick up chicks in that?"
"I'd never date you, Holonski," the sniper said with stone-faced seriousness that had the rest of the Rangers breaking out in laughter at Holonski, who soon found himself joining his brothers in arms.
Commander Walker got his men to quiet down, then told Specialist Farrison, the resident combat engineer, to hook up the remarkably intact tow winch to the Ghost.
Upon hearing the command, Farrison's eyebrows rose in... doubt? Surprise?
"I can do a hell of a lot of crazy metal work, but that winch is scrapped half to death and the Ghost doesn't have a hookup," she said.
"Dammit, Farrison, try for the old man, at least," one of the designated marksmen, Specialist Wernher, encouraged her with pat on the shoulder, which Farrison shrugged off. The rest of the squad clamored as well after a short pause.
"It can't be done," Farrison did not take her gaze from the commander as she flipped a string of hair out of her face.
"Unless you want to walk the ten kilometers to the mass driver, I think you should try." Walker said, his voice hinting at a rising anger. A bluff, of course. He was never angry. However, the affect on Farrison was the same regardless of validity. Without another word she got down to her knees and pulled out a wrench and wire cutters.
"Step back, everyone," she said as the squad crowded in to watch her work. "Lady needs her space."
___________
It's cheesy as hell, I know. But I wanted to make it long yet simultaneously have a decent ending.
I don't think it worked.