Odst:to Hell And Back

[UNSC Leatherneck]

The ODST armory on the frigate UNSC Orinoco was a beehive of activity with marines donning Body Suits. Marine armorers assisted each trooper with the suits as systems were checked and rechecked. In the Drop Bays, navy and marine technicians prepared the Human Entry Vehicles for the drop. Sergeant First Class Chris Taylor stepped up in front of the assembled platoon. Armor was donned and helmets were sitting next to the men. Alpha Company, First Platoon was ready for embarkation. "Listen up," Taylor barked. "You've all been through the briefing, but I'll go over it again for the slower ones. Today's drop will be a company drop, vee formation. We'll be securing an LZ for follow on landings by dropship. We are expecting rebel resistance, so stay sharp. Watch your fields of fire. Muster in the Drop Bay in five." Taylor stepped back as his men prepared for the drop. These were his boys. Most of them were veterans with dozens of drops to their credit, but a few of them were rookies. Replacements. Men straight out of ODST school and no combat drops. Several of the men in this space would not return alive. That was the nature of their job. Over in the corner Petty Officer Wallace looked over his gear. He was the platoon's corpsman. He may have been Navy, but the men of First Platoon respected him. Anyone who could get through the ODST school earned the respect of the troopers.

As the scene in 1st Platoon's armory was repeated in identical armories for 2nd and 3rd Platoons, Captain Jean LeBlanc, Alpha Company Commander, met with his platoon commanders in the drop bay. "Gentlemen, remember our objectives. Neutralize rebel resistance, secure an LZ , hold ground. The faction we're up against is believed to have anti-air weapons, so we need to eliminate that threat. The latest intel indicates we're to expect one , possibly two battalions of resistance. Stay sharp. And keep an eye on the replacements. We've got a lot of guys who haven't made a combat drop. Let's do this."ODST's filed through the airlocks and lined up in front of their respective HEV's . The ship's PA sent all personnel to Drop Stations. The First Sergeant ordered the Company to attention. Capt. Leblanc addressed the men, "Today we go to fight those who would see the colonies descend into anarchy. We will not let that happen. You have all been briefed on our mission today. Remember your training, watch each other's backs, and do your jobs." He nodded to the First Sergeant, who barked the order to man drop stations.

Up and down the drop bay, ODST's climbed into their HEV's , assisted by navy techs. Sgt. Taylor climbed into his pod. The navy tech helping him strap in was a cute little brunette. "How 'bout a kiss for luck?" he asked. She smiled and shook her head.
"I don't think so, sergeant."
He gave her a disappointed look that turned to surprise as she tightened the straps down as tight as they would go. "Damn, any tighter and I won't behavin' kids any time soon!" He said with a grunt as he put his helmet on.
"I cringe at the thought," she replied. Hooking up hoses and wires. "Is your air good?"
Taylor gave her a thumbs up.She nodded and finished the closeout. As she closed the hatch she winked and blew him a kiss. He smiled inside his helmet as he checked the HEV's systems. The screen in front of him showed a countdown timer, stopped now. That was the time to drop. He tried to relax. In the drop bay the navy personnel secured all loose objects, made one last check of the systems, then retreated to the safety of the airlock. The drop bay would be depressurised prior to the drop, as the shafts the HEV's traveled down would be opened to space. The drop systems division officer called the bridge, "Bridge, this is Aft Drop Bay. All stations manned and ready for drop. Airlocks secured, bay clear."
"Roger, all stations ready for drop." Then, over the PA, "All hands, standby for braking. Brace! Brace! Brace!" The alarm sounded and the occupants of the ship were slammed into their seats and against bulkheads. The Orinoco fired her engines to align her orbit for the drop. If the ship's AI got it right, and it usually did, the HEV's would land within meters of their objective. In the drop bay, Taylor gritted is teeth as he was shoved against his harness. He would have bruises from this one. He always did. In front of him, the timer began counting down. As the timer counted to zero, four tones timed the drop. After the fourth, higher pitched tone, there was a bang above him and his vision went red as his pod was ejected from the ship. Below him, the company commander, first sergeant, and first platoon commander had dropped moments before him. The gees lessened and he became weightless. Five hundred kilometers up, the battle had begun.

 

[odst26]

awesome

 

[pacbury]

wow nice
are you going to follow this up? because that would be great

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

wow nice
are you going to follow this up? because that would be great

Yup, that's the plan. I have a story arc in mind, but for the most part it will be written on the fly. Enjoy. Comments and criticism welcome, just make sure thry're constructive.

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

Alpha Company was streaking towards a world Sergeant First Class Taylor had never seen, and barely even heard of. It technically wasn't even a planet. Rodne' was a heavily forested moon orbiting a gas giant 100 light years from Sol. It was smaller than Earth, with gravity only 90 percent as strong. The moon was rich several strategic deposits, however, so the presence of rebels was something that needed to be dealt with. Taylor would have preferred to stand off and nuke the site from orbit, but, hell, an ODST drop was the next best thing.

Taylor checked the screen in front of him. His thrusters were online, velocity nominal, and his trajectory was right down the middle. Orinoco's AI was good. This was shaping up to be a near textbook drop. The hull temperature began to rise as his drop pod skimmed through the upper atmosphere of Rodne'. HEV drops were purely ballistic and the g's were high. He could feel the thrusters firing, keeping the pod aligned for entry. Around him, the very air was being ripped apart by the intense friction of entry. The HEV was surrounded by a glowing cloud of plasma as bits of ceramic skin ablated off. Alpha Company was a cloud of meteors streaking landward. The onboard computer beeped to indicate the air pressure had reached a predetermined level and deployed the drag chute. The force nearly knocked Taylor's fillings out. He was shoved into the seat as the pod decelerated. This chute was only temporary, though. It served to get rid of some speed and ensure the pod was properly aligned for retro-rocket firing. That is what separated the men from the boys.

The protective aeroshell on the bottom of the pod was explosively peeled away and the rockets fired. Moments later the drag chute was released with a bang, its task finished. Taylor, and all the ODST's for that matter, tensed their muscles as the g forces climbed. Their body suits inflated, pressing against their bodies in an attempt to keep blood from pooling in the lower extremities and causing the men to black out. The velocity indicator plummeted as the pod drew nearer to the ground. The pod jolted. "$#!T!" Taylor exclaimed. Their arrival was not going unnoticed. Enemy anti-aircraft gunners had the ODST's in their sights. That missile had detonated close, too close. Taylor needed to do something. A predictable landing would get him killed. He switched to manual, cut his retro-rockets and dropped like a rock. If this worked, Taylor would drop off the radar scope of the enemy gunners. If it didn't, he'd be the first one on deck. He quickly relit the jets, g-forces crushing him into the seat. The landing was normal. Calling it hard would have been an understatement. The breath was knocked from his lungs, but Taylor kept going. He jettisoned the hatch, grabbed his weapon, and jumped from the pod.

Taylor found himself standing in the middle of a forest. The trunks of the trees were gigantic. His still-smoking HEV sat embedded partially in the ground. Taylor scanned the forest. His HUD showed markers all around him. The company was still landing; he could hear pods touching down with a crash off in the distance. Checking his map, he saw he had landed about 400 meters from the rendezvous point. It was a good drop. He grabbed his gear from the pod and dashed into the forest to link up with his men. Time to bring the fight to the bad guys.

 

[Assassin716]

you need to put breaks in there, it gets hard to read

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

you need to put breaks in there, it gets hard to read

I broke it up at what I consider to be natural break points. Sorry 'bout that. When I get on a writing roll I'll sometimes forget to break it up. Also, sorry about missing the swear word in there. I write my stuff in Google Documents and I try to edit it for language, but sometimes I miss stuff. Comments? Criticism? Suggestions?

 

[Rid3r]

What swear word? Just kidding.

 

[helios]

It's a cool story. I'd like to see more!!

 

[ShArK]

Keep it coming man! very impressive so far!

 

[leegrisham]

I'm gonna ask what we'd all like to know .... If you like writing... why are you not in the RP?

 

[BlacRoseImmortal]

Great start to this story, you've got my undivided attention lol

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

Here's the next installment. Hope everyone enjoys it. I have read a bit of the RP, and there's some good stuff there, but I like the control of writing my own story solo. I'll probably end up doing something in the official RP, but finding time is always a challenge. Hell, writing this took the better part of two hours. Look for something in the RP in the future.
Comments appreciated. Enjoy!

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Captain LeBlanc shook the effects of the landing off. Looking around, he found himself in a clearing surrounded by immense trees. The forest around him was quiet. That was bad. For all it's effectiveness, an ODST drop was not exactly a low-key operation. Anyone within thirty kilometers of the DZ now knew exactly who had arrived. LeBlanc needed to get under cover quickly and rendezvous with the rest of the company. LeBlanc pulled his weapon, an MA5C, and his gear from the capsule and hustled for the cover of the trees. His motion detector showed movement to his right. He froze, weapon at the ready. The movement turned out to be Gunnery Sergeant Rico, along with a squad o fODST's. LeBlanc motioned for them to set up a perimeter while he figured out where they were, where they needed to be, and how they would get there. He keyed his radio, "Wildcats, this is Wildcat Actual, sound off by platoons and report status." The platoon commanders acknowledged, the went to work. The radio nets came alive, with squad leaders taking stock of their squads, platoon sergeants getting the reports from the squad leaders, and the platoon commanders reporting to LeBlanc .

The reports were mostly good. The AI had computed and executed a near perfect drop. Alpha Company was in near perfect formation. Unfortunately, seven men didn't make it to ground. Three HEV malfunctions, the rest due to enemy fire. One of the first priorities would be to locate and neutralize that anti-air battery. The intelligence briefings said nothing of significant anti-air threats, but intel was often wrong. LeBlanc pulled up the command channel, "Baker, take first platoon and scout to the east. The AI is working on the location of that anti-air battery. Second and third platoons will move to the LZ. Intel indicates a large cleared area 8 klicks to the north, that will be our primary LZ . Stay sharp! Wildcat Actual, out." First platoon began moving to locate their quarry, while second and third platoons moved north, leapfrogging as they went.

Sergeant Taylor listened to the orders coming down over the command channel. He briefly considered them, then discussed their options with Lt. Baker, the platoon commander. The company had a limited amount of time before the enemy figured out what was going on. Baker had the men spread out to sweep the forest as they advanced. Taylor also sent a sniper team ahead of the platoon, to act as eyes and ears for the rest of them. Gunnery Sergeant Rico came over the command channel with the coordinates of the anti-aircraft battery. First Platoon was close, and the sniper team confirmed it. At the edge of a clearing, the sniper spotted the AA battery. The rebels were industrious bastards. They'd placed four captured warthogs under camouflage stealth netting. That explained why the intel overflights missed it, the camo netting hid the vehicles from radar and disguised their infrared signatures. Two of the vehicles had been modified to carry missiles in place of the gun.The shooter radioed it to the platoon commander, "Sir, this is Rifle One-Two, I have eyes on the AA battery. Four vehicles, two with missiles, the other two with chainguns. Approximately 20 personnel in the vicinity in prepared fighting positions. I am holding position, awaiting instructions."
Baker acknowledged, then turned to Sgt. Taylor. "Sergeant, time to kill some triple-a. Make it happen."
"Aye, Aye, sir." Taylor responded, grinning beneath his visor. He lived for this.

"Rifle One-Two, maintain eyes on target. Prepare to engage on my mark. First squad, take the left flank, second squad, take the right. Third squad will provide fire support from the center." The squad leaders' green acknowledgment lights flashed, the men understood their orders. Taylor was the conductor of a well-practiced orchestra, one that made deadly music. After a moment, the men were in position. Taylor pulled up a private channel to Rifle One-Two. "Wallace, this is Taylor, I want you to find the most important looking SOB in the bunch and take him out on my mark. Understood?"
"Affirmative, Sergeant." PFC Wallace took a close look at the enemy emplacement. His years of training, from hunting as a boy, to boot camp, to sniper school, went to work. The enemy emplacement was typical: vehicles arranged to provide the best firing arcs, fighting positions for the perimeter guards. Wallace was looking for something special. If you took out a leader, someone important, the enemy could be paralyzed for a few precious moments while they figured out what to do. The sniper located his target. A man stood talking to a group of soldiers, and they seemed to be listening to what he had to say. That meant he was an NCO. No better way to start the party. "Sergeant, Rifle One-Two is ready."
Taylor, looked around, the stage was set, "Roger, Rifle One-Two, cleared to engage. Go loud!"

PFC Wallace felt his heart rate slow. Time seemed to stand still and the trigger squeeze lasted seemingly a lifetime. Suddenly a meter-long blast of flame erupted from the end of the rifle. As the round left the barrel, the sabot separated as the tungsten-cored dart streaked to its target. The armor-piercing penetrator found its mark, slicing cleanly through armor, flesh, and bone, and kept going straight into an adjacent vehicle. The enemy NCO was dead before he heard the shot. The other soldiers stood there in shock, but it was quickly interrupted as third squad loosed a volley of rockets into the emplacement. First and second squads moved in, taking precise, measured shots. It was over nearly as soon as it began. Lt. Baker surveyed the scene, then radioed the company commander. "Wildcat Actual, this is Wildcat Papa Zero-One, triple-A battery neutralized. No casualties."
Capt. LeBlanc came over the radio, "Roger, good work, Zero-One. Reestablish contact with the rest of the company. Secure the LZ. Wildcat Actual, out." Baker was pleased with his men. They had performed superbly, and it was looking to be another routine search and destroy mission for A Company, 3rd Battalion, 501st Marine Division. First platoon left the anti-aircraft battery a smoldering ruin as they turned north to rendezvous with the rest of the company.

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

Alpha Company occupied a sector of an ore processing facility fifty klicks west of their original drop zone. After the rest of the battalion landed, Alpha company was tasked with taking the ore processing facility from within while the regular marines assaulted from without. Captain LeBlanc was not happy. He and his men had dropped into the forest, neutralized enemy resistance, and secured a landing zone, only to be ordered to insert into the ore processor by Pelican. It was typical bull$#!t. The battalion CO had it in his head that ODST's were invincible super soldiers. If only that were true. The Colonel would use the troopers to bear the brunt of the assault while HIS marines would op up and take the credit. It worked, too. Right up to the point where the successful attack walked straight into the ambush. LeBlanc watched as the mission plan fell apart around him. The insertion had gone off well. The pelicans landed in two waves at the ore processor's auxiliary landing zone. Alpha Co. moved towards the control center, intending to to take control of the facility's power and security systems. What they found instead was an entire regiment of rebel regulars, all itching for a fight. The ODST's gave them hell, but they were out gunned, out manned, surrounded, and cut off from the Marine reinforcements advancing on the complex from the outside. "Rico, this is LeBlanc, fall back to Building 42 and cover First Platoon! Rico?! RICO?!" Automatic weapons fire ripped through the air, but the radio was nothing but static. What in the hell happened to the Gunny?

"Papa One One, Wildcat Actual. Taylor, take a squad up to the crossroads at the gas reclaimer, backup the Gunny."
"Papa One One, Aye!" Taylor responded. He signaled for a squad to follow him. Wallace, the sniper, and HM3 Wallace, the corpsman were followed by five other troopers. They made their way towards the crossroads in a bounding overwatch, using the buildings and machinery of the complex for cover. It was nearly eighteen hundred meters of hustling. The rescue squad drew the occasional burst of fire. Reaching the crossroads, Taylor stopped and signaled for a defensive perimeter. The men quickly complied and scattered to cover as many firing lanes as possible. While they did, Taylor switched his COM to the emergency mode. "This is Papa One One to any member of the Gunny's squad, please respond. Over."
There was silence.
"This is Papa One One to..." a panicked voice interrupted over the link. "Gunny's dead! Oh my god. We're surrounded! Get us out of here! HELP! Help!"
"Calm down, Marine. Breathe." Taylor said. "Now, who am I speaking with?"
"PFC Orlando, sir. You gotta get us outta here! The Gunny's dead; Corporal Waco, too, and We're running out of ammo."
The panic in the ODST's voice was palpable. Things had obviously gone horribly wrong. Gunny Rico, dead? Taylor knew he had to stay calm. He had to take control of the situation.
"Orlando, this is Sergeant Taylor. What is your POSIT and how many wounded do you have? What is your status?"
"Ummm, there's three, no, four wounded. May be some others on the other side, I just don't know!"
"That's okay. What is your POSIT?"
The radio link was quiet for a moment, "We're in the southwest corner of the northeast building at the crossroads. Ummm, Building 86, I think."
"Roger, Orlando. Hang tight." Taylor switched over to the command frequency. "Wildcat Actual, Papa One One, have you been monitoring, sir?"
"That's affirmative, Papa One One. I'm moving Third Platoon up to back you up. Secure the casualties, ASAP. I'll arrange for some support."
"Papa One One, wilco." Taylor switched back to emergency mode. "Orlando, we're coming in! Give us what cover you can."

Taylor called his men back into a column and advanced up the the edge of the building. The trapped ODST's were directly across the street, thirty meters away. Thirty long, exposed meters. Taylor peeked around the corner, only to be met with a hail of weapons fire. Well, they know we're here, he thought. "Smith, Jackson, give me two frags down the street. We'll pop smoke, then cross." The men nodded in affirmation and prepped the frags. The explosions from the frags echoed off the wall as Taylor tossed the smoke grenade into the street. Thick white smoke billowed, filling the space between the buildings. Taylor counted to three then bolted across the street. The men filled air around him with gunfire, hoping to keep the enemy's heads down. Having made it to the other side, he provided cover for the men to follow. Almost as they had all made it, Jackson fell. Taylor swore. He yelled for covering fire and ran back into the street to make the pick up. As he got to the corporal, he could see it wasn't good. There was a hole in the trooper's chest plate and blood was oozing out. He grabbed Jackson by the backplate and picked him up, fireman's carry. As he staggered to the safety of the building, he could hear bullets ricocheting around him. Steps from the waiting arms of the ODST's Tylor felt the shot. It was like getting hit by a sledgehammer square in the back. He stumbled and nearly dropped the wounded Jackson, but caught himself. Reaching the open doorway, he handed Jackson to an ODST and collapsed. He heard Wallace shout for the Corpsman, and felt himself being dragged inside.

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

PFC Wallace yelled for Doc, HM3 Wallace. The corpsman hurried over. Jackson wasn't moving, the hole in his armor the obvious reason why. Doc checked Jackson while the others were looking over SFC Taylor. Suddenly, Taylor coughed. "I'm okay, I'm okay. The armor took it. Damn, that hurt. How's Jackson?" he said, removing his helmet.
Doc looked up, "Not good. Vitals are weak. Let's get his helmet and chest plate off." They removed the armor and saw the wound. Doc injected the wound with biofoam, and Jackson groaned. Taylor was there almost immediately. Jackson was pale, his breathing shallow. His undersuit was stained with blood and his breathing was labored. "S...Sarge?" Jackson sputtered.
"I'm here Jackson. Try to relax. We're gonna get you outta here. "
"How bad is it?" Jackson asked. Taylor looked at Doc, who shook his head.
Taylor swallowed hard. "It ain't too bad, couple days R&R and you'll be all squared away."
Jackson coughed, a rivulet of blood trickling down his chin. "You're a lyin' sonovabitch, you know that, Sarge. Damn, this $#!t burns"
"Yeah, that biofoam's crazy stuff. Doc's gonna give you something to make you more comfortable, hang in there."
Jackson's brow furrowed, "You mean he's gonna make it so I can die in peace. What happened to 'Feet First into Hell'?"
"Who says they'd take you? Hell, if I knew Lance Corporal James Jackson was comin', I'd lock the very gates of hell and turn off all the lights."
Jackson tried to laugh, but the effort was too painful. "Sarge, can you do something for me?"
"Anything, Jackson."
"Can you tell my little girl..." Jackson coughed some more; Doc gave him another injection of painkillers, "Can you tell my little girl to behave for her momma. That I love her very much."
Taylor fought back tears. The lump in his throat seemed as large as a baseball. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Now, try and relax."
"Sarge....thanks, for picking me up." Jackson said weakly.
"No problem Jackson. I know you would have done the same for me."
Another coughing fit overcame the ODST. After a few heaves, he stopped and went limp. Doc checked for a pulse, and, Finding none, closed the young marine's eyes. Lance Corporal James Jackson was dead. Taylor sat back, a despondent look on his face. He got up and walked over to some machinery on the side. He needed to be strong, for his men. Jackson's death had been rather pointless. A stray round while running between buildings. In the blink of an eye, it all changed. SFC Taylor composed himself, put his helmet back on, and turned to the rest of the strike team. "Let's get to work."

Taylor walked over to the ODST's they were sent to rescue. Gunnery Sergeant Rico's body was over to one side, and the marines' body language was plain. They were scared. "PFC Orlando?" Taylor asked.
"Here, Sergeant." The PFC said, standing up.
"What's the situation?" Taylor asked.
The ODST composed himself. "We've got five dead, the Gunny included; four wounded, two seriously, two walking; three of us in fighting condition."
"Good. How we looking on ammo?" Taylor asked.
"Probably enough for one or two more assaults by the rebels."
"Damn! We're not going to be walking out of here any time soon. You men sit tight, I'm gonna call for support."
Sergeant First Class Taylor switched to the Company radio channel. "Wildcat, this is Papa One One, My position is Grid Bravo 55 South, I have multiple wounded. Ammunition critical. Request immediate dustoff."

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

Taylor sent a burst from his battle rifle towards an adjacent building. Another burst emptied the magazine and he ducked behind a reinforced wall to reload. After he reloaded, he checked his mags. Five left, 180 rounds. He would have preferred more, especially with the way the rebels were fighting. Damn, this situation went south quick. He thought back to something the instructors at Orbital Drop School used say: 'No plan ever survives contact with the enemy.' This was one hell of an example.

"Papa One One, this is Wildcat Zero One, you have Pelicans inbound. ETA in ten minutes. Stand by for dustoff. Wildcat Zero One, Out!" Taylor's spirits were immediately lifted. "All right, marines, the cavalry's on the way. Let's take the party upstairs." The ODST's spread out on the rooftop, scanning the surrounding buildings for signs of enemy activity. Wallace had his sniper rifle out and was picking out likely positions for snipers. The Pelicans, hovering over the roof, would make big, fat, enticing targets for enemy gunners. Taylor kept the wounded just inside the stairwell, to keep them protected. He hoped the enemy wouldn't try to storm the building. With all his men either on the roof or on the upper floor, they were in a poor position to defend.

The call that Taylor wanted to hear came over the radio, "Papa One One, this is Pelican Juliet Four oh Six, flight of two. Inbound for dustoff from the west. What is your position, and can you talk us in?"
Taylor nearly laughed out loud. This was the break they needed. "Four oh Six, Papa One One, affirmative. Stand by for talk in." "All right, we've got Pelicans inbound, stay sharp." Taylor yelled to the men. "Four oh Six, following Road Alpha One east, there is a large tower on the south side of the road, call visual."
"Roger, Four oh Six has visual on the tower."
"Roger visual, proceed east to a large intersection. LZ is on the northeast building. Marked by IFF beacon. Call visual."
"Papa One One, visual on the building and your beacon."
As the first pelican made its approach to the rooftop, the second climbed to orbit overhead, its gunner scanning the streets for hostiles. The thrusters of the pelican kicked up a cloud of dust and debris as the pilot swung the tail over the edge of the roof; The roar of the pelican's engines was deafening. Three marines jumped off the rear hatch and onto the rooftop. One of them carried a rocket launcher while the other two sported assault rifles. They ran for the stairwell where Taylor and Doc were waiting. The marine with the rocket launcher introduced himself, "Lance Corporal McNeill, Charlie Company. Let's get the wounded onto the bird."
Taylor slapped McNeill's shoulder, "Man, am I glad to see you! I've got two seriously wounded, they go first."
"Roger, let's go." McNeill responded.

They picked up the wounded ODST's and made for the hovering Pelican. Halfway to the bird, Taylor heard the whizzing of a bullet and watched one of the marines take a hit in the neck. Taylor immediately reacted, "SNIPER! WALLACE, COVER US! CORPSMAN!" PFC Wallace swung his rifle around to engage the enemy sniper while Doc, the Corpsman, went to the marine's side. The wound was clean through his neck and bleeding profusely. Doc quickly pulled out a battle dressing and applied pressure to the wound. He couldn't use biofoam for fear of obstructing the marine's airway. The sound of ricocheting bullets filled the air as the rooftop became a prime target for every rebel in range. Overhead, the door gunner in the other Pelican furiously tried to suppress the enemy fire. There were just too many enemies. The hovering pelican was taking hits all over as the door gunner was frantically trying to get the wounded aboard. As the last of the wounded ODST's climbed aboard, one of the dropship's engines took a direct hit. The Pelican wavered, oscillated, then straightened. Only the supreme skill of the pilot kept the massive dropship from colliding with the building. The door gunner waved the marines on the rooftop off as the pilot began to pull away.
"Papa One One, Four oh Six is outta here. The LZ is too hot, we've lost an engine and are RTB. Four oh Six, out."
Taylor pounded his fist against the rooftop. Damnit, he thought, we were so close.

Doc and the men managed to drag the wounded marine into the safety of the stairwell. Doc looked up at McNeill, "Hold pressure on the wound! Don't let up!" McNeill knelt beside the wounded marine and pressed hard on the dressing. Doc pulled an autoinjector loaded with Polypseudomorphine out of a pouch and thrust it against the marine's thigh then asked McNeill, "What's his name?"
"Schiff, Private Schiff."
"Schiff, stay with me," Doc yelled. "I'm gonna try and start an IV. I know it hurts, but stay with me!"
Doc began inserting the catheter into the marine's arm.
McNeill offered encouragement to the marine, "Come on Schiff. Hang in there. We're gona get you out of here." Taylor, standing nearby, looked into the young marine's eyes. There was fear there. Fear of the unknown. Fear of death. Just pure fear. The only sound was sound of the gunfire outside and the gurgling of young marine bleeding to death in a stairwell in some building on some moon that no one had heard of, much less gave a damn about. Schiff's breathing quickened and his eyes darted back and forth. The gurgling at his throat grew louder as the marine fought for breath. Doc finally got the IV in and attached the bag. "Damnit, we're losing him!" The marine's breathing became labored and his body was wracked with convulsions. He was losing the battle. Doc frantically shoved an epinephrine autoinjector against Schiff's skin in a valiant attempt to keep the young marine alive. Schiff's eyes rolled back and he gave one final gasp. Doc sank back against the wall, head low. McNeill released his hold on the dressing and slumped. Taylor, who had been standing just by the door, felt a knot in is stomach. It was almost too much, but he knew he had to be strong, a leader. He looked down at Doc, McNeill, and Schiff. Taylor closed his eyes for a moment, glad that the helmet hid his face. As Doc began picking up the medical gear, Taylor spoke. "Grab his tags and his ammunition. We're gonna need it. We've got a long fight ahead of us." With that, Taylor walked down the stairs.

 

[UNSC Leatherneck]

The mood in the building was sullen. They were cut off, low on ammo, and facing overwhelming opposition. The deaths of Jackson and Schiff did little to soothe the nerves of the marines. They may be bad ass leathernecks, but they were still in trouble, and they knew it. Taylor walked down the stairway into the room. He was struck at the state of his men. Their slumped figures, huddled among machinery and piping, bore little resemblance to the proud fighting men he had spoken to in the armory before the drop. They were desperate, and he needed to do something to get them out of this. "Smith, get on the radio with Company, Battalion, whoever. get us some support. We need to figure out a way to get the hell out of here before the rebels decide to crash our little party. Waco, Harrison, start inventorying our gear. I want to know what we have to fight with. Weapons, ammunition, grenades, anything. Get creative if you have to. The rest of you, set up a perimeter around the building, but stay under cover. Report anything you see. We are NOT going to die here sitting on our asses and twiddling our thumbs! Let's move!"

Taylors words galvanized the men into action. They scattered throughout the building, being sure to cover all approaches. Meanwhile, Waco and Harrison took stock of the ammunition and supplies. It could have been worse, but not by much. Each man had just enough for a decent firefight, plus enough left over for decent a rude sendoff. The marines off the pelican had brought with them a new toy. The rocket launcher McNeill carried bolstered their capabilities greatly. They had seven rockets on hand. More would have been better (it was a rocket launcher, after all) but seven would do. With the satchel charge and a few dozen grenades, they were prepared to make the best of what was close to being a hopeless situation.

Nearly half an hour later, PFC Smith walked over to Taylor, "Sarge, I think we've got something. I just got off the horn with the Company TOC and they've come up with a plan."
"A'wright, let's hear it." Taylor said.
"They've located an open area large enough to land pelicans in about three klicks south of our position. Battalion will airlift three warthogs in and provide air cover for the ride out. We just have to hump it to the LZ."
Taylor thought for a moment, turning the plan over in his head. It certainly had its risks. Advancing three kilometers through enemy held terrain in an ore processing facility that resembled a city was no mean feat. There was a touch of audacity to the plan, and that made Taylor like it all the more. He nodded to Smith, "Sounds like a plan, get back on the horn and make it happen. Good work, marine." Smith went back to his radio to work out the details and Taylor gathered the men to explain the plan. He could see their excitement building as he explained what was going to happen. They thrived on the thought of doing something, not sitting in a hole waiting for fate. That was what made them ODST's. He knew that they all recognized the risks in the plan, they all had extensive instruction in analyzing situations. ODST training was as much mental as it was physical.

As they were packing up the gear in preparation for moving out, a frantic call came over the com link. It was Corporal Davis, "Sarge, we've got company! East side! Platoon sized, at least. Advancing on my position. $#!t, they've got a tank."
Taylor turned to the men, "Wallace, go topside and provide some cover. McNeill, take Harrison and your man to Davis's position buy us some time. The rest of you, prepare to move out." Taylor slapped a fresh mag into his battle rifle, slapped the bolt shut, and headed for the door as LCpl McNeill headed for a duel with a tank. As the team rounded the corner, they saw that Harrison was engaged in a furious firefight with the enemy forces. The tank was primarily acting as cover, refraining from using its main gun. Probably to avoid doing unnecessary damage to the ore processor. McNeill knew that the minute the enemy saw the rocket launcher he would be number one on the menu. Carrying a SPNKr in combat was kind of like wearing a sigh that read 'shoot me.' McNeill motioned to the other marines. They nodded in acknowledgment. They would lay down covering fire so he could get into a good firing position. As he made his way along the wall, McNeill could see the infantry around the tank pointing in his direction. That wasn't good. The tank's turret traversed and McNeill sprinted for cover. The tank's round impacted above where he had been, showering him in concrete shrapnel. Shaking off the effect of the blast, he moved forward to a low wall. He swung the big rocket launcher around and looked through the sights. The tank looked gigantic in the sights. He could see the turret repositioning to take another shot on him. He steadied his breathing and squeezed the trigger to the first detent, letting the rocket get a look at its target. The launcher beeped, then sounded a tone: Locked On. He yelled, "Back blast area cleared!" and squeezed the trigger the rest of the way. The 102mm HEAT rocket shot out of the barrel, corkscrewed for a moment, than turned unerringly on target. At the same moment the tank fired its gun. McNeill ducked behind the wall as the air around him was enveloped in the explosion. His lungs were choked with dust and pieces of steel and concrete were strewn about. An ODST, Harrison, came running over. "McNeill, McNeill, you all right, man?"

McNeill checked all over; all body parts accounted for and no major bleeding to be found. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm good. Did I get 'im?"
"Hell, yeah! It's a regular weenie roast over there." The ODST responded, slapping McNeill on the back. McNeill looked over the wall and saw the results of his rocket. The tank was engulfed in flames, belching thick smoke punctuated by the sound of ammunition cooking off. McNeill smiled. Damn, he loved his job!
The other ODST's and the marine came over. Harrison was quick to tell the story. "My boy here killed him a tank. Dodged two shots and got the rocket off in the nick of time. Half a second later and we'd all be toast. Hell, bad ass as that was, McNeill could be mistaken for an ODST. McNeill took that as the compliment it was intended and settled back against the wall. Davis keyed his comlink, "Papa One One, this is Davis. Enemy armor neutralized. Infantry retreating. Over."
Taylor's voice came back over the link, "Good work. Fall back to the south side of the building. Out"
"Aye, aye. Falling back. Out." Davis replied. He turned to the others, "Let's get the hell outta here."