Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Jul 26, 2012 12:15:34 GMT -8
((Fanfic: Halo. All of this story is copyright to either Burge/343 Industries or to Ghost of RMW. I'll trust that the reader can determine which parts/ideas belong to whom))
The calm before the storm, that’s what Xyro ‘Mrataoree’s commanding instructor, Vortas ‘Sratrenee, had called the pervasive quiet, and Xyro was in no mood to disagree. There wasn’t a single sound, and the air seemed to have the heavy, stuffy feel that came when rain was on the way. This was Xyro’s first real training mission, and he was determined that he and his teammates, Jorvai, Setho, Kratas, and Huze carry out their objective with as little hassle as possible. The pathetically out of date radio cracked, and Vortas’ voice issued from it.
“Your objective is to take the fortified hill at 45 – 32 and wire us once it’s secure then hold it until the Phantom we send gets there and lifts you out.”
“Yes sir,” Xyro said, the radio cracked again as it turned off, and they were alone in the mountains, surrounded by high-altitude cacti. Although they weren’t high enough up for it to have cooled off much, it was a little cooler there, about 45 degrees Celsius, compared to 47 degrees on the valley floor.
“Come on guys,” he said, turning to his teammates and shouldering his carbine, the plasma rifle already strung across his back, “We need to get moving.”
He heard a groan behind him, but he didn’t bother turning around and smacking the groaner, which was likely Setho; Setho believed that because his father was an aristocrat, he shouldn’t have to do this. At the edge of the descent, he paused, waiting until the other four caught up before he started off again, with them staying close. They weren’t moving that fast, just a steady jog, but they didn’t stop, and the distance between them and their goal steadily disappeared. The terrain changed from upper foothills to valley to foothills and then finally to mountains as they jogged on. Dusk grew, and still they were jogging, their movement hampered but a little by the rough, uneven, and treacherous terrain. Night had fallen, bringing full darkness with it when Xyro raised his hand and signaled a halt.
“Good call, I can’t wait to get some sleep,” Kratas said, flopping down and removing his pack.
“Only till both moons rise,” Xyro said, sitting on a rock and loosening his own equipment, “Then we continue.”
“You barbaric Jiralhanae, Xyro, they don’t expect us to try and take it tonight,” Setho said, stretching out on the ground.
Xyro looked over at him, his eyes remarkably carrying more amusement than anger. “What is the first rule of war?” He looked around at all of them, but his eyes settled on Setho’s.
Setho looked both confused and angry, and though the others looked like they might know the answer, they weren’t about to volunteer it, so Xyro continued. “The first rule of war is to find out what your enemy expects, and, time and objectives allowing…” He paused and met their eyes. “…do something else.”
Setho snorted, “That makes no dif…” Xyro’s suddenly intent stare silenced him.
“Why does it make no difference?” Xyro demanded, his eyes seeming to shoot off sparks.
“Because I need sleep, that’s why!” Setho shouted, glaring right back into Xyro’s eyes. The other three drew back, not liking the expression they saw on Setho’s face.
“You shame your father’s blood, Setho,” Xyro said, not lessening the intensity of his stare. “He was an aristocrat, and you sit here, sniveling like an Unggoy that’s been told it needs to work.”
Setho jumped up, “You take that back, you useless civilian’s son,” he snapped, pulling out his plasma pistol and aiming it at Xyro’s head.
Xyro’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but he stayed where he was. Setho smiled crazily. “Who’s the Unggoy now?” he jeered, reaching around behind him for a rock as he did so. His eyes had left Xyro for no more than a fraction of a second, but that was all the time that Xyro needed. When Setho turned back around, Xyro was already in motion. He leapt towards Setho, snatching the pistol from his hand at the same time as he struck him across the check. Setho flinched backwards, shrinking away farther as Xyro leveled the pistol at his chest. Still looking full into Setho’s eyes, Xyro turned the pistol around so that the hilt was facing outwards.
“You will need your gun tonight, Setho,” he said, handing it back to him. “The hill will be guarded.”
Setho clasped the pistol to his chest and bowed, swallowing nervously. “I am sorry. I will not speak in such haste again.”
Xyro nodded in acknowledgement. “Your apology is accepted,” he said, turning and walking over to a group of rocks that formed an almost perfect lookout perch. “We will split the time until both moons rise into four watches. I will take the first and the last, Kratas and Huze will take the second, and Setho and Jorvai the third. That way we will all get at least two hours in a row of uninterrupted sleep.” He slipped up into the perch made by the group of rocks and looked around, taking stock of what was normal for the night. The other four rolled out their thin camp blankets and lay down; dropping off to sleep by the time he was settled. The watch passed without incident, and he switched off with Kratas and Huze, falling asleep only to be awakened after what seemed like a couple minutes by Jorvai whispering “Your next watch.” He sighed, rolling up and packing his blanket before walking back over to the rocks. This watch passed without incident as well, and when the second moon rose to join the first, which had risen almost an hour before, he slipped down and woke the others. “Come on guys, we need to get there by midnight.”
“Why, Leader, do you have a plan?” Kratas asked sarcastically, rolling his head around to look at Xyro, who just smiled.
“I’m glad you know my position for this mission,” Xyro said, “and yes, I do have a plan, several actually, but we can decide which to use as a basic starting point when we get there.” He was packing his bag as he was talking, and as he finished he slipped his carbine over his shoulder again. He turned away, walked a couple steps and paused, glancing back over his shoulder at them. “We still have a ways to go.” With that he walked off, the others following. Without looking back, he sped up to a loping run, the others accelerating to join him a few moments later.
They sped through the night like stealthy ghosts, unheard and unseen.
The calm before the storm, that’s what Xyro ‘Mrataoree’s commanding instructor, Vortas ‘Sratrenee, had called the pervasive quiet, and Xyro was in no mood to disagree. There wasn’t a single sound, and the air seemed to have the heavy, stuffy feel that came when rain was on the way. This was Xyro’s first real training mission, and he was determined that he and his teammates, Jorvai, Setho, Kratas, and Huze carry out their objective with as little hassle as possible. The pathetically out of date radio cracked, and Vortas’ voice issued from it.
“Your objective is to take the fortified hill at 45 – 32 and wire us once it’s secure then hold it until the Phantom we send gets there and lifts you out.”
“Yes sir,” Xyro said, the radio cracked again as it turned off, and they were alone in the mountains, surrounded by high-altitude cacti. Although they weren’t high enough up for it to have cooled off much, it was a little cooler there, about 45 degrees Celsius, compared to 47 degrees on the valley floor.
“Come on guys,” he said, turning to his teammates and shouldering his carbine, the plasma rifle already strung across his back, “We need to get moving.”
He heard a groan behind him, but he didn’t bother turning around and smacking the groaner, which was likely Setho; Setho believed that because his father was an aristocrat, he shouldn’t have to do this. At the edge of the descent, he paused, waiting until the other four caught up before he started off again, with them staying close. They weren’t moving that fast, just a steady jog, but they didn’t stop, and the distance between them and their goal steadily disappeared. The terrain changed from upper foothills to valley to foothills and then finally to mountains as they jogged on. Dusk grew, and still they were jogging, their movement hampered but a little by the rough, uneven, and treacherous terrain. Night had fallen, bringing full darkness with it when Xyro raised his hand and signaled a halt.
“Good call, I can’t wait to get some sleep,” Kratas said, flopping down and removing his pack.
“Only till both moons rise,” Xyro said, sitting on a rock and loosening his own equipment, “Then we continue.”
“You barbaric Jiralhanae, Xyro, they don’t expect us to try and take it tonight,” Setho said, stretching out on the ground.
Xyro looked over at him, his eyes remarkably carrying more amusement than anger. “What is the first rule of war?” He looked around at all of them, but his eyes settled on Setho’s.
Setho looked both confused and angry, and though the others looked like they might know the answer, they weren’t about to volunteer it, so Xyro continued. “The first rule of war is to find out what your enemy expects, and, time and objectives allowing…” He paused and met their eyes. “…do something else.”
Setho snorted, “That makes no dif…” Xyro’s suddenly intent stare silenced him.
“Why does it make no difference?” Xyro demanded, his eyes seeming to shoot off sparks.
“Because I need sleep, that’s why!” Setho shouted, glaring right back into Xyro’s eyes. The other three drew back, not liking the expression they saw on Setho’s face.
“You shame your father’s blood, Setho,” Xyro said, not lessening the intensity of his stare. “He was an aristocrat, and you sit here, sniveling like an Unggoy that’s been told it needs to work.”
Setho jumped up, “You take that back, you useless civilian’s son,” he snapped, pulling out his plasma pistol and aiming it at Xyro’s head.
Xyro’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but he stayed where he was. Setho smiled crazily. “Who’s the Unggoy now?” he jeered, reaching around behind him for a rock as he did so. His eyes had left Xyro for no more than a fraction of a second, but that was all the time that Xyro needed. When Setho turned back around, Xyro was already in motion. He leapt towards Setho, snatching the pistol from his hand at the same time as he struck him across the check. Setho flinched backwards, shrinking away farther as Xyro leveled the pistol at his chest. Still looking full into Setho’s eyes, Xyro turned the pistol around so that the hilt was facing outwards.
“You will need your gun tonight, Setho,” he said, handing it back to him. “The hill will be guarded.”
Setho clasped the pistol to his chest and bowed, swallowing nervously. “I am sorry. I will not speak in such haste again.”
Xyro nodded in acknowledgement. “Your apology is accepted,” he said, turning and walking over to a group of rocks that formed an almost perfect lookout perch. “We will split the time until both moons rise into four watches. I will take the first and the last, Kratas and Huze will take the second, and Setho and Jorvai the third. That way we will all get at least two hours in a row of uninterrupted sleep.” He slipped up into the perch made by the group of rocks and looked around, taking stock of what was normal for the night. The other four rolled out their thin camp blankets and lay down; dropping off to sleep by the time he was settled. The watch passed without incident, and he switched off with Kratas and Huze, falling asleep only to be awakened after what seemed like a couple minutes by Jorvai whispering “Your next watch.” He sighed, rolling up and packing his blanket before walking back over to the rocks. This watch passed without incident as well, and when the second moon rose to join the first, which had risen almost an hour before, he slipped down and woke the others. “Come on guys, we need to get there by midnight.”
“Why, Leader, do you have a plan?” Kratas asked sarcastically, rolling his head around to look at Xyro, who just smiled.
“I’m glad you know my position for this mission,” Xyro said, “and yes, I do have a plan, several actually, but we can decide which to use as a basic starting point when we get there.” He was packing his bag as he was talking, and as he finished he slipped his carbine over his shoulder again. He turned away, walked a couple steps and paused, glancing back over his shoulder at them. “We still have a ways to go.” With that he walked off, the others following. Without looking back, he sped up to a loping run, the others accelerating to join him a few moments later.
They sped through the night like stealthy ghosts, unheard and unseen.